⛧ Aʟʟᴇɴ "ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴇsᴛ" Wᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ★ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likethelight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-04-08 08:41 pm
likethelight) wrote in deercountry2022-04-08 08:41 pm
[semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark
Who: Allen & others, possibly Argonaut appearances
What: Event-log and other April-related prompts. Plotting prompt stuff!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various
Content Warnings: SAD THINGS, harm and death to NPC children, mutilation, nightmare fuel mindfuckery, high corruption and beasthood.
⛧ 1. if your screams don't make a sound (wonderkind/AKUMA) ★
[ You were probably just minded your own business doing something totally normal — and then you got caught in up in Allen Walker's vortex of bad luck. Sorry. It's just a thing that happens. He doesn't even have his unlucky rabbit's foot on him! He learned better really quickly...!!
Regardless of whether you might have been haggling with a bakery over the price of day-olds, sipping tea in some little shop, or maybe this is your house that he's... about to put a hole through. So sorry — but all of a sudden part of the nearby brickwork explodes as a slender figure is bodily slammed entirely through it.
Yeah. It's that kind of day.
It does not look comfortable. And it does not look like something anyone could have gotten away with without some broken ribs, but as the dust settles the boy that was indeed used as a wrecking ball of sorts starts coughing and trying to sit up. This is just -- ugghhh...
Coming to his senses quickly though, dressed in a black and red jacket underneath what seems to be a impossibly volumous feathered white cloak that seems to be made of moonlight itself he -- blinks. And then whirls around, realizing you're there.
His left eye has bled black throughout the sclera, and the iris has shifted to glowing red rings that shift in and out like a camera lens focusing. There's a dark, corrupted sort of smoke that seems to be pooling around it as well. His expression is wide with alarm, actual fear for a moment at seeing you there, before he stumbles back up to his feet. To square his shoulders, face the hole he just was thrown through—
And rip back, shouting at you over his shoulder as he spreads a single arm out in warning. ]
RUN!
[ Because, over the edge of the rubble... there's a faint sort of here-but-not dark glow. And the world seems to desaturate, fading from color into the black and white. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're even looking through your own eyes.
And then you hear a faint sobbing. Distant, but far too close as well. Like it's there in your own skull. Faintly.
And a figure floats into view, cresting the stone. At first, it looks like... an extremely mummified corpse. Bone dry, curled up in a fetal position. It isn't even the thing crawling up and through the hole, but that seems deem and distant right now. It's attached to it.
Because the sobbing stops as soon as you look at it, and the specter stiffens suddenly. Socketless pits for eyes turning right towards you as it realizes you see it —
—and its jaw falls open as it screams. ]
⛧ 2. if your heart just cries too loud all the time (butterflies/beasthood) ★
[ He knew this worked like a game of Russian roulette, he really did. And he doesn't even want to have to destroy any of the butterflies that have flocked to the Trench. It's fine when they stay up and away from people, but when they choose to land near populated areas...
It's not even for misjudging his own ability to purge corruption from his own body! It has limits, he knows that... too much can still be too much if it's all at once. But he has to keep trying. Better him than someone else. Or at least, thinking about that...
...it's easy to forget the actual consequences.
Maybe you were there when he destroyed the butterfly, a boy who suddenly transformed into into a white harbinger wreathed in what looks like condensed moonlight taking the shape of a huge feathered cloak and wielding a great broadsword as long and broad as he is. Maybe you just see the consequences of that — or hear the sudden howling gale.
What: Event-log and other April-related prompts. Plotting prompt stuff!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various
Content Warnings: SAD THINGS, harm and death to NPC children, mutilation, nightmare fuel mindfuckery, high corruption and beasthood.
⛧ 1. if your screams don't make a sound (wonderkind/AKUMA) ★
[ You were probably just minded your own business doing something totally normal — and then you got caught in up in Allen Walker's vortex of bad luck. Sorry. It's just a thing that happens. He doesn't even have his unlucky rabbit's foot on him! He learned better really quickly...!!
Regardless of whether you might have been haggling with a bakery over the price of day-olds, sipping tea in some little shop, or maybe this is your house that he's... about to put a hole through. So sorry — but all of a sudden part of the nearby brickwork explodes as a slender figure is bodily slammed entirely through it.
Yeah. It's that kind of day.
It does not look comfortable. And it does not look like something anyone could have gotten away with without some broken ribs, but as the dust settles the boy that was indeed used as a wrecking ball of sorts starts coughing and trying to sit up. This is just -- ugghhh...
Coming to his senses quickly though, dressed in a black and red jacket underneath what seems to be a impossibly volumous feathered white cloak that seems to be made of moonlight itself he -- blinks. And then whirls around, realizing you're there.
His left eye has bled black throughout the sclera, and the iris has shifted to glowing red rings that shift in and out like a camera lens focusing. There's a dark, corrupted sort of smoke that seems to be pooling around it as well. His expression is wide with alarm, actual fear for a moment at seeing you there, before he stumbles back up to his feet. To square his shoulders, face the hole he just was thrown through—
And rip back, shouting at you over his shoulder as he spreads a single arm out in warning. ]
RUN!
[ Because, over the edge of the rubble... there's a faint sort of here-but-not dark glow. And the world seems to desaturate, fading from color into the black and white. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're even looking through your own eyes.
And then you hear a faint sobbing. Distant, but far too close as well. Like it's there in your own skull. Faintly.
And a figure floats into view, cresting the stone. At first, it looks like... an extremely mummified corpse. Bone dry, curled up in a fetal position. It isn't even the thing crawling up and through the hole, but that seems deem and distant right now. It's attached to it.
Because the sobbing stops as soon as you look at it, and the specter stiffens suddenly. Socketless pits for eyes turning right towards you as it realizes you see it —
—and its jaw falls open as it screams. ]
⛧ 2. if your heart just cries too loud all the time (butterflies/beasthood) ★
[ He knew this worked like a game of Russian roulette, he really did. And he doesn't even want to have to destroy any of the butterflies that have flocked to the Trench. It's fine when they stay up and away from people, but when they choose to land near populated areas...
It's not even for misjudging his own ability to purge corruption from his own body! It has limits, he knows that... too much can still be too much if it's all at once. But he has to keep trying. Better him than someone else. Or at least, thinking about that...
...it's easy to forget the actual consequences.
Maybe you were there when he destroyed the butterfly, a boy who suddenly transformed into into a white harbinger wreathed in what looks like condensed moonlight taking the shape of a huge feathered cloak and wielding a great broadsword as long and broad as he is. Maybe you just see the consequences of that — or hear the sudden howling gale.
A whirling gale of feathers, light, and tattered wings made from moonlight themselves that rips upwards from a doubled over figure. A white and gold gigantic masquerade mask floats above as well, twisting to and fro from the feathered cloak like it's unsure how to hold its shape, like it's too angry to remember its shape and cares not for what it was, but is trying to contort itself into something new. But the winged sort of cloak looks almost angelic, glowing white-gold and ethereal. It's beautiful, and somewhat terrible as well. Especially as the figure, with his hands clutching his head like it wants to split in two, would not seem to have a normal left hand but a great white and gold monstrous sort of claw instead. But it too can't seem to hold its form, splitting into glowing feathers along his arm that twist in the air.
It's like a howling monster clinging to the figure even as it also tries to rip away.
And if you're caught staring, an edge of that tattered, feathery wing-cloak rips out towards you and slashes into—and through the brickwork by your head. And that's when you might realize that even though it looks like a cloak and feathers, it cuts as sharply as any sword. ]
Stay— [ It's a boy beneath all that. A teenager, pale and ethereal himself as the feathers around him, with a dark red scar cutting through the left side of his face. And he pants and rasps it out, gritting his teeth audibly and fixing a surprisingly sharp and hard dark eye on you. A window of raw clarity in a maelstrom.
Anguished clarity, his face twisted in tragedy.
But that eye is blood red and black, and the scar surrounding it twists itself restlessly across his face like an angry, living thing. Black smoke bleeds from that left side of his face, mixing in with the white. ]
—back...
More closed prompts below! I'm trying to do more closed/planned things since I have a lot going on this month and a bunch that are sequential, but please feel free to hit me up on my plotting prompt and I'm happy to plan something and do a private prompt for us! He will be generally collecting the hope orbs, mostly for Viktor, getting fucked up with his restored memories/tether and hiding from people later in the month, and trying to purify and reverse the corruption/beasthood of any turned, especially as a result of the butterflies. So, especially if you want to get your character in on realizing even full beasthood can be reversed by exorcists and other sorts of purification abilities and you want them to be able to see the human souls still in them... 👉👈 hit me up.
It's like a howling monster clinging to the figure even as it also tries to rip away.
And if you're caught staring, an edge of that tattered, feathery wing-cloak rips out towards you and slashes into—and through the brickwork by your head. And that's when you might realize that even though it looks like a cloak and feathers, it cuts as sharply as any sword. ]
Stay— [ It's a boy beneath all that. A teenager, pale and ethereal himself as the feathers around him, with a dark red scar cutting through the left side of his face. And he pants and rasps it out, gritting his teeth audibly and fixing a surprisingly sharp and hard dark eye on you. A window of raw clarity in a maelstrom.
Anguished clarity, his face twisted in tragedy.
But that eye is blood red and black, and the scar surrounding it twists itself restlessly across his face like an angry, living thing. Black smoke bleeds from that left side of his face, mixing in with the white. ]
—back...
More closed prompts below! I'm trying to do more closed/planned things since I have a lot going on this month and a bunch that are sequential, but please feel free to hit me up on my plotting prompt and I'm happy to plan something and do a private prompt for us! He will be generally collecting the hope orbs, mostly for Viktor, getting fucked up with his restored memories/tether and hiding from people later in the month, and trying to purify and reverse the corruption/beasthood of any turned, especially as a result of the butterflies. So, especially if you want to get your character in on realizing even full beasthood can be reversed by exorcists and other sorts of purification abilities and you want them to be able to see the human souls still in them... 👉👈 hit me up.
no subject
His eyes flick from watching Shouto's work back up to his face when he asks that, studying his expression for a moment. ]
Mm.. [ It's an absent-minded sound, considering that for a moment. It isn't something he really dwells on a lot. ] I guess so.
I've been an exorcist for about seven years now.
[ So, since he was 10. If he knew exactly how old he was. ]
no subject
His mouth pulls down, trying to make sense of that statement through his limited lens. ]
They let you get shot with those bullets at that age?
[ Was it to build immunity slowly? His brows crease at the image. ]
no subject
It isn't so much "let"... [ His own mouth pulls a little thin, trying to think of how to explain that. ]
I was apprenticed to my master, but we traveled all the time and you never knew when fighting would happen. When something would track us down. You can't predict what'll happen on the battlefield, and that was what out purpose was for.
To fight akuma. Like the one you saw. [ Even him, at that age. Albeit against much, much weaker ones. ]
Sometimes he'd train me to avoid getting shot, but that usually involved him shooting at me with his own gun... [ The last part is said a bit dryly, his gaze sliding aside somewhat woodenly. But beyond that, he talks like it's an entirely normal thing. With a neutral, even tone himself that's hard to get a read on.
Because while once wholly accepted as Life, he doesn't know anymore, about a lot of that, how he feels. Because he just doesn't know what he thought he once did. His memories creeping back in are actually making it worse. ]
But we start fighting from the first time our ability chooses us and wakes up. One of my friends -- I think she was six.
1/2
Your master sounds like the equivalent of a Pro-Hero from where I'm from.
[ Which makes him an intern. The bullet wounds make sense once he's got the terminology right in his head. Internships were dangerous. There was always the possibility of getting injured or, rarer, killed. ]
Except, [ and here is where their worlds differ ] Heroes exist to protect the public from people who decide to use their quirks to break the law. A villain is just a moniker for someone who willingly endangers people. There's no 'Akuma' equivalent. [ Aside from One-For-All, but that's an entirely different matter. ]
People dying en-masse...
[ He starts laying down the gauze, methodical in his movements, while he tries to convey this last thought into words. ]
... that doesn't happen where I come from.
[ Which only confirms what Allen probably suspected from his reaction to seeing all those dead bodies piled high. Death isn't common where he's from. He's not used to it, probably never will be. ]
2/2
He... shot you...
[ It his too close to him. Endeavor knocking him down with enough force to make him vomit, then telling him to get up. This somehow manages to be the minor blow compared to what comes next. ]
--Six?!
[ Stop it, please! He's only five years old!
Yes, he's already five! So get out of my way!!
Private training, behind closed doors where there was no one around to condemn it was one thing, but as a policy?! ]
... They forced children to fight those things?!
[ On their own?! He looks utterly appalled at the news and has stopped treating him entirely. ]
no subject
It means this is also such a terrible world for him to be in now.
But he set off an unintentional cascade effect, and he startles lightly at Todoroki's reaction.
Honestly, it was a sore point for him even before realizing certain other things. When Timothy was identified as being an Accomodator... he screamed and thrashed and resisted, wanting nothing to do with them. He'd called them out point blank on them not seeming like any kind of "good guys". And the Order didn't listen to him. Didn't care it was ripping him from the only home he'd ever known just to fight in a war he'd never heard of. He was an exorcist. He was going to fight for them.
He had been 9. And Allen had had doubts about there being anything "right" about the whole thing even then.
Holding Shouto's appalled stare for a moment, that spark and suddenly a lot more feeling obvious there again, the outrage, he swallows a bit uneasily for a moment, hesitating, before his gaze slips aside. ]
...It wasn't the worst thing done in the name of trying to win a war.
[ He says it more uneasily still and in a manner where he isn't making light of that sort of thing at all. Which means yes, they did. And it was honestly just the tip of the iceberg. ]
no subject
His eyes shift to him, and for the first, he wonders how old he is. He looks around his age which means... He was still a kid when he fought one...
His eyes shift to some of his older wounds, ignores the urge to touch them, and starts taping the gauze. His movements are slow at first while he tries to digest all he's learned. ]
... Was it worth it?
[ Did something good come out of it, something to justify it? ]
1/2
He tenses up, before he twists back around to face the other boy. A hand comes up, grabbing the wrist that's closest to him. Not harshly, but to face him more directly as he leans in, nose almost to nose and he really doesn't care. Eyes sharp, fierce and the kind that could hold captive and bore straight through you -- but not angry.
Just no, and this is important. Flashing with a deeper emotional fire than even Allen usually shows, one hardened into diamond certainty. ]
Nothing can justify all the things they did. [ It's a strong tone, not even a shred of doubt, and yet still not unlike his normally soft-spoken self. Not unkind. ] Trying to win a war by sacrificing all of that --
2/2
Ah, he overstepped... Crap. ]
... I don't know what ultimately happened anyway. [ It's a bit quieter. ] It backfired, some of their attempted experiments. A lot more people died. A lot of people suffered... but it didn't change anything. Nothing ended. Everyone was still fighting. It just felt like...
...we kept losing. [ He blinks, although his expression doesn't change. Aa, that's the first time he's ever actually said that aloud. Even if he had thought it sometimes.
He clasps his own hands, pressing one thumb tight against the other. ]
I left, anyway.
no subject
Captured, his wrist goes slack in his hold and he stays in place even as those sharp eyes fill his vision. The last time someone looked at him like that they left bruises on his throat. But this is Allen, he's not afraid of him.
Meeting that intensity with a solemn look, he lets him speak without interruption. Watches him as his train of thought falters. Realization dawns behind grey eyes and Allen lets go of his wrist, turning in on himself. ]
...I'm sorry. It was an unfair question to ask.
[ Impossible to answer. Having glimpsed into his world, he can't even begin to imagine the cruel reality that could leave him in this state. ]
no subject
No, it isn't you... [ Really. His expression is clear; sober still, but clear and gentler again. Actually, he looks a touch guilty. ]
I don't mind. You didn't do anything wrong. [ The people who chose to torture and twist the lives of others like they meant nothing -- they're the ones who did something wrong. Whatever side of a battle they might be on, whether their reason to fight is right or not -- it's just as wrong.
He looks away again, fidgeting with his hands lightly. ]
It's a good question. One I think people should consider more.
no subject
You're nervous.
[ He sets a hand over his, a light point of connection. ]
You don't need to talk about this.
no subject
You're... baffling, you know. Sometimes. Hot one minute and cold the next. And he tries to stack that against how he was before, how all of those add up. Utterly buried and cold in what almost seemed like projecting something into what Allen had been trying to say. Practically ripping away from the simple gesture of holding another's hand one moment and reaching out the next.
It's baffling, but... he also think he might understand it a little. And hesitantly, he shifts one hand a little to lightly hook his fingertips around the other's. Pressing gently, gratefully, in a very small sort of gesture as he just gives a quiet, uncertain nod to that. Still meeting his eyes steadily. ]
...thank you for helping me save its soul earlier. [ Not helping him fight, not helping to protect the city; those were givens. That, specifically. ] The akuma.
[ Because most people would have only see a murderous monster that should be destroyed. ]
no subject
Are you okay?
The answer comes in the light press of fingers as they hook around his offered hand.
... Right now? Yes.
They seem to convey, even if he doesn't fully understand the full reality of his words. ]
We're friends.
Friends help each other.
I'm dead, the first version of that had him saying something Lenalee once said word for word LOL
Yeah. He's okay now. More for being glad to see the Todoroki he recognizes again. ]
Aah. [ It's affirming, and much more relaxed as he smiles faintly at that. That's almost exactly what Lenalee once said.
Hesitantly, more hesitantly than in the past, he shifts his fingers against Shouto's. Moving to raise and brush fingertips together, like leading some delicate sort of dance, before lacing gently together. Very light, very hesitant at first before he makes his mind up and it's steady, and easy to break away from. ]
That goes both ways.
Really?! It was already a lot calling him a friend for the first time, so had to pull it back!
He nods. A quiet simple gesture, never taking his eyes off the point of contact. ]
Can I finish dressing your wounds?
I figured haha, it still made me crack up
Yeah. [ A little sheepish, he lets go and sits more upright as he rubs for a moment at the back of his neck. His wounds; right, he kind of forgot. Sure, the aches never left, but... he's also just used to being wounded a lot, okay. It becomes a state of being, that's how you cope.
Timcanpy snuck to the nightstand sometime during this time, watching, but now starts to lean in and peer at the supplies Todoroki had laid out. He bumps a roll of gauze lightly with what would probably be his nose... if he had one. Is he being helpful yet? ]
no subject
Mainly, dressing his wounds.
He nods at the omen in silent acknowledgment of his efforts, understanding his sentiment. Bullet wounds are not something he's ever treated, never even heard a gun go off live until today. It's a sound he never wants to hear again.
Picking up the gauze pushed in his direction, Shouto continues with his work until every injury is treated and dressed. Once he tapes down the last of the gauze to keep it in place, he moves on to the pile of bloody cotton he used to disinfect the wound. The pile is in a glass jar that he empties into his left hand, crumpling the lot. Skin stained with blood, he immediately activates his left side and incinerates the cotton, blood, and germs in a concentrated burst of power that leaves nothing but carbon behind.
When he's done he walks over to the trash and empties the black soot into a trashcan before returning to the glass container. Letting it rest in his hand, he gradually warms it up until the blood staining its walls turns to ash before stepping back the heat, slow and steady so as not to cause an explosion. When he's down, he sets the glass back down and starts repacking Viktor's first aid kit; cleaning up after himself. ]
no subject
Happy that he did good and Shouto understood, Timcanpy wags his wings lightly and watches him work intently. Allen does too, if more quietly and in a contemplative sort of silence this time. Grateful and honestly just content like this, injuries or not.
It's weird, how peaceable it is.
As Todoroki moves to clean up and Allen's freed, he reaches over for his clothes again and shakes them out. Too bad he doesn't have a change here, but oh well. Watching for a moment how he incinerates the contaminated materials, he marvels slightly at how it really is so useful for that, both of his abilities. He moves on to button up his shirt and reaches for his tie.
His gaze snags again on the ointment jar as he does so though, hesitating for a moment before continuing to knot his tie with practiced precision. He should probably use that now, but he's hesitant to draw any sort of attention back to that either. Also, another thing-- ]
Were you injured at all either? [ His eyes skim up and down Shouto, seeing if there's anything of note. He'd checked earlier when he was unconscious but his only concern at the time had really been for anything urgent. ]
When it threw you. [ That energy orb. He's been hit by it himself before; the concussive force is incredible. ]
no subject
I used my ice for protection.
[ Offensive and defensive. Intangible, his fire is almost impossible to contain with nothing to hold onto, but there's also no physical force behind it. In contrast, his ice is a tangible mass that can be shattered or do the shattering. The physical force behind it isn't trivial when he goes all out. Two opposing elements, synchronized within him. Genetics in perfect balance so he too, like the glass he heated, doesn't simply explode into a mess. ]
It absorbed the shockwave.
[ Shattered the ice but absorbed the energy of rapidly generating ice leaving him whole. There's a reason why he's not the best at hand-to-hand combat. Few ever get past his defenses to make him bleed. In the case of the Akuma. It wasn't interested in him. He was a distraction, Allen was the real target. ]
no subject
You can use it for that? [ More to the point, he can use it for so many different things. But that makes sense actually, if he thinks on it. Something as simple as his being able to control the physical manifestation of his cloak is what lets him do actually the vast majority of what he can on the battlefield. Defense, offense, crowd control, and mobility. It's a small part of the things his Innocence can do and arguably the simplest, and yet it's the most useful.
He shrugs his coat on, straightening out the lapels and smoothing it as he does so. Timcanpy looks intent, just staring at him for a moment without moving from where he is yet. ]
That's really useful.
no subject
I have some glass vials if you want to keep this or I can burn it.
[ He makes the same offer he did down in the catacombs. It's his blood, his choice what happens to it. ]
no subject
Six months and this is still a strange concept. ]
I'll keep it. [ He still has the last vial too. He has zero qualms about using his blood for payment, but... it's not for that. Sure it's gross, but he's far too practical about money to let that get in the way. Going even so far as to stockpile it and what he can gain through gambling with it, but... This is different. He'll probably actually keep this one too.
He moves to slip it into welcome bag; his is a small one, barely larger than a coin purse, and kept attached to his belt. Exactly the sort of thing it's useful for. After he does, he meets Shouto's eyes more directly and smiles lightly. Tired, but grateful. ]
Thank you.
no subject
He watches him put away the jar into his coin purse before he turns back to him, greeting him with an open smile without any pretense.
Thank you.
It's not the words that leave a mark, but the sentiment behind them. Smiling faintly, he nods in acknowledgment.
You're welcome.]
I left four pills on the nightstand for your fever. You should take one every 12 hours.
no subject
Allen's smile broadens at that, both of those responses. The obvious one, and the less obvious and fainter one. Warmer, but also softer, and his head tips to the side in a fond sort of manner. Timcanpy's dislodged himself from where he had stayed for the duration, hovering lightly just to the side of his shoulder. ]
Mn. I will. [ I'll be okay. ]
Take care of yourself, alright?
(no subject)