⛧ 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
Of course. But you must call me Sansa, when we're alone.
[she grins.]
You'll have to choose a sigil for your house. I don't know that the Targaryens would like it very much if you took a dragon, but they're all dead now, anyway.
[NO, SANSA]
no subject
Mm. [ He smiles finally, softly and so very relieved. Grateful. ] Sansa, then.
Although I, ah... [ is he squirming? it kind of looks like he is ] A sigil? Like... a coat of arms? [ Ah, his fluster is visibly rising again. ]
Is that... really appropriate? I wouldn't even know where to start...
no subject
For your banner. You would paint it on your shield, so that everyone would know to cheer for you in tourneys. And I could sew it on your shirts.
[she's not sure how to tell him that he has founded his own knightly house without causing him to actually swoon.]
Many noble houses in the Seven Kingdoms began with one brave knight.
no subject
I... I'll have to give it some thought. [ While continuing to fluster if that's even appropriate or anything he even deserves, let alone what kind of design would be his!! Also this is the Trench, things are different! But he can't be contrary when she's being so... so... this!! Why does she see him in such a light!! Yes he wrestled a dragon and cleansed it, but!!
B-but... being considered a knight, that's... aaaa why does he feel fuzzy. ]
no subject
That's good. It's an important decision. You wouldn't want to choose something boring, like triangles.
[or poor jeyne poole, with her blue plates. she glances back at the dragon.]
You should probably see to his wounds.
no subject
He smiles more warmly then, giving her a nod. Grateful. ]
Mn. I'll let you know how it goes? [ Since it... probably will definitely only let him on it. And she should stay and tend to the people and corruption with her bloodhound. ]
Will you help take care of everyone here?
no subject
Yes, of course. Let me know if you need me to call him a healer.
[she's...pretty sure she remembers which streets winter flew her over...]
no subject
I will. [ Between his one non-dangerous hand and pulling himself up with one of his ribbon tethers it's not that hard to manage getting back up between its shoulders. He is an acrobat after all, and deceivingly strong. But he peers down at Sansa after he's done so for a moment, as the dragon raises itself back up to its standing height. ]
I don't suppose there's... any sort of advice you can offer on how people normally did this, is there...?
[ Gets on a dragon before he really understands what he's doing: yup, that's Allen Walker. ]
no subject
Nobody remembers. None of the Targaryens ever wrote it down. And nobody without Valyrian blood could get near enough to a dragon to work it out.
[she will find some dragonlore from her homeworld soon!! it will not help much in that regard.]
no subject
O-oh. [ Well. He probably won't end up barbeque or a pancake. ] That's fine.
[ He pats the dragon beneath him reassuringly. For him or the dragon? Hard to say. It's fine! Be confident! Let's go! ]
After before figuring it out shouldn't be too hard to -- [ The dragon is moving.
The dragon is taking off.]
— do? [ Slightly panicked? Slightly panicked. Or really excited. It's hard to tell.
It twists away from Sansa and the rest of Trench, beginning to lumber at a rapidly increasing pace as it gains momentum and begins to beat its wings. Ground shaking under the heavy footfalls and Allen clinging on with his cloak already whipping out straight from the increasing wind. With labored, heavy wingbeats as it pulls itself upward despite its fatigue and wounds.
Flying. As it wheels back around towards the Tower and quickly starts to gain altitude. ]
no subject
Do you need me to guide you?
[winter is probably handling the blood hound situation...]
sorry for delay! my portfolio deadlines left me very little brainpower for many tags
It's okay! I have Tim, he's always good at this sort of thing! [ The only reason he doesn't get lost all the time, both because of Tim being the shape his omen took here, and everything Timcanpy was before.
But even from such a distance, perhaps because he's no longer quite so hung up on the immediate concern for the dragon or being flusteredly breathtaken about dragonknighting... his eyes finally snag on the little raven in her arms. And he recalls her omen, the white raven.
Oh my god he's stupid. ]
Wait! That bird -- ! [ Ah! Before! No, it was definitely the same one!
He is actually good at putting two and two together, even after he's been really distracted from noticing what was right under his nose the whole time. ]
That was you?! [ He's almost comically startled by that realization.
Unfortunately for the both of them, dragons and the speed of dragonflight do not particularly care or are meant for sustaining human conversations. So it ends up shouted behind him as the grey ghost gets the height it needs and wheels then, in a strong and swift line deeper inland.
But Sansa!!! You better believe he's going to be asking about that later!!! ]