[The sound of the alarm clock drilling at his ears causes the lieutenant to wake. Kim sits upright from the sleeping bag on the floor, his vision blurred as he instinctively gropes about for his glasses. A sense of confusion disrupts his sleep-laden thoughts as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. This isn't Whirling-in-Rags. Why is he on the floor? And why is he still dressed in his day clothes?
And then he remembers. The parasites. The snow plow. The monsters--
His hand makes contact with his glasses, and he snatches them up, wiping off the lenses and perching them on the bridge of his nose. His eyes adjust to the dark surroundings, making out kitschy furniture, plush rugs and lounge chairs, and dusty old knick-knacks placed delicately upon glass bookshelves. That's right--he had secured temporary lodgings for himself and the detective by negotiating with an elderly woman in the downtown area of the city. The woman was keen on having people about to run her errands, and was kind enough to provide a space for them to sleep. What she had failed to mention was the abundance of cats that prowled her hostel--though, Kim was able to keep them out by simply locking the entrance to the living room. The sound of them clawing at the door had kept him in a state of half-waking, though, and it was only until around three in the morning when he was able to finally fall asleep.
It is nearly seven in the morning. He's only gotten around four hours of sleep.
A sigh escapes him. Mechanically, he rises from his position on the floor to wander to the bathroom. It's only when he's face to face with the mirror does he realize that there's a problem. He doesn't have a razor with him, much less any aftershave. That ritual will have to wait until later. A slight sense of irritation enters his mind as he trawls his thoughts for any other sort of normalcy he can use to ground himself.
Breakfast, maybe. He washes his face in the sink and tries to tidy up his appearance before trudging towards the kitchen. He begins poking around the refrigerator for something he can easily reimburse her for. He doesn't want to claim this woman's food for himself, after all. His aerostatic pilot's jacket has been hung up on one of the kitchen chairs, waiting to be donned for a day's work.
A pair of shining eyes in the darkness can be seen in the doorway. One of the woman's cats seems to have decided to observe Kim.
All the while, he waits for the detective to wake.
The smell of toast wafts through the small apartment.]
Harry awakes the way he normally does. Untangling himself from the depths of his scaly bullshit sleep-mind with a grunt. Sweating profusely. He’s sweating so much these days. He didn’t think it was possible to sweat this much. In the dim light he briefly considers shutting his eyes again, despite the clamminess of sheets sticking to his skin. It feels easier than heaving his aching body up out of its current position.
Also, sleeping on a bed that isn’t trashed to hell? It’s nice.
(INLAND EMPIRE: The lights of Voyager Road are still burnt into the back of your eyelids. There’s no point in going back to sleep. VIDEO RENTAL. You can see it now. Flickering in the rain.)
(VOLITION: It’s time to get up anyway. On your feet. It’s a new day.)
He squints at the clock. 7:30. How does his body know that?
After getting dressed and everything, he’s still not entirely sure he’s awake as he shambles out into the living room. He announces his presence with a half asleep grunt that was meant to be a ‘good morning’, with his face contorted into…some sort of expression. Not The Expression. Just remarkably stiff. Comically stiff.
(HALF LIGHT: Oh god. You can’t move your face! How are you going to talk? How are you going to eat? You’re going to die!)
(LOGIC: Your jaw locked up. Just take it slow.)
(PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: No time for slow. The lieutenant CANNOT learn your weakness. This is very uncool.)
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: Did you know that Post Polio Syndrome usually manifests 30-40 years after the initial infection? Symptoms may include muscle atrophy, a number of throat and breathing complications and general fatigue.)
He turns away from Kim’s direction, almost demurely, and stretches his jaw open in one terrible motion. The resulting cracking noise startles a nearby cat.
[Sorry.]
The cat just continues to look mildly offended. The cats don’t speak much. For the moment he’s satisfied that they are actual cats and not small businessmen in disguise trying to infiltrate the home of their elderly host. The thought of small capitalists taking advantage of the kindness of an old woman’s heart makes him bristle.
[Do not mistake my leniency for clemency, felines. I am watchful.]
(RHETORIC: …that sounds right. Yeah.)
He points to his eyes and then at the cat. When he's satisfied that the message has been received he then turns his attention back to Kim, and tries this whole ‘good morning’ thing all over again.
“Good morning.”
(DRAMA: Excellent work! You even enunciated and everything.)
[Harry will find a small box waiting for him, meticulously wrapped and tied off with a big red bow. It smells vaguely of peppermint, and even prior to opening it, it isn't hard to work out who it might be from.
Inside is a handkerchief, neatly hand-embroidered with a big silvery HDB and a pattern of tidy little silver rectangles along the border. Beneath it, there are some chocolate chip cookies, and a very tidy little note:]
I am thankful for your help - you helped me not feel so frightened when we were lost. We are all in this together.
[Phil was a mess after dealing with the flower disease. A part of him wants to lie down for the rest of the month and not do a damned thing. But at the same time he doesn’t want to be alone.
Rev’s busy with work right now. He knows he could call his boyfriend whenever and he’s come running to check up on him but, well, he didn’t want to be a burden on him. Especially after he worried Rev sick over something he already knew about. He thinks about who he should contact before eventually deciding on Harry. He didn’t know him super well but he’s interesting enough to talk to and he has preened him before and enjoyed it, and god he could use some nice TLC.
He pulls out his laptop and immediately goes to contact Harry.]
Hey I’m coming over. I can let you mess with my wings again if you want to.
[He means preening.
Phil doesn’t even wait for a response as he’s at Harry’s door in less than a half hour, trying to look casual about the situation. When Harry opens the door, Phil grins]
I hope you’re ready to be absolutely graced by my presence.
Harry has been going stir crazy. Don’t get him wrong, he’s glad the surgery worked out and he didn’t die of flowers and didn’t lose his cool in Haftesal and punch a doctor but he was walking around minus an eye and he’s too worn out to run much. His brain has not been happy about these things and he’s been left alone with his thoughts too much.
Boredom is dangerous to recovering addicts and cockatoos, alike. Relapse, over plucking, it’s all bad. They say that in the pamphlets.
“Always, man.”
He fingerguns at Phil, clicks his tongue. Pew, pew. He’s armed and dangerous with these things. Especially to those matts. He sees you, hiding in Phil’s feathers, messing up his cute little wings.
EMPATHY - (He probably won’t appreciate you calling them that. Even if you argue that they are, objectively both little and cute.)
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Standby, he might under the right circumstances. Wait and see.)
CONCEPTUALIZATION - (Think of this as building a case for how cool wings are. They feel good when they’re taken care of. In the end you will lay it all out on a metaphorical cork board. Your wings are guilty of being very cute, Phil Connors, you are under arrest. Do not resist. Your case will be taken before the court system of the Moralintern and from there you will be judged fairly and prudently.)
Harry kind of wiggles out of his jacket, Kim fixed up his clothes with slits in the back so he can like, wear shirts and stuff now but there’s a bit of a flappy learning curve.
“Can I uh, have a hand?”
He tries to look kind of cool when he asks and not like a grown man losing a battle with his blazer. His face is kind of working out for him but his left wing is wiggling and twitching in a way that says ‘help me, this is an actual problem.’
COMPOSURE - (I'm really glad you're past the 'freaking out because a guy's shirt is kind of unbuttoned' thing.)
[I can’t remember seeing this guy in pants, like ever. And this place? It’s basically immersion therapy. I’m cool. I’m disco. Oh god.]
COMPOSURE - (You got this. You don’t really have to take *your* shirt off or anything.)
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Just focus on making him feel nice.)
[The sky is a gray, eventide haze as a gentle rain drizzles onto the cold asphalt below--a far cry from the acid rain that plagued them just a month ago. Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi and Detective Harrier Du Bois make their way back to their living quarters, their day of investigation done. The lieutenant shakes water off a large black umbrella before holding the door open for the detective to follow.
The door shuts behind them. Kim turns to look towards the detective, his foot tapping against the ground.]
Detective, I'd like to discuss something with you. It's regarding your recent behavior.
[Another pause. The lieutenant purses his lips, trying to think on how to best approach this line of questioning. The tips of his ears twitch ever so slightly. The detective has been in a delicate state ever since that odd network...malfunction. He can't entirely blame him for having this sort of reaction, either. In an empathetic, concerned tone, he asks:]
Harry’s fingers are already playing with the cold key in his pocket. He’s comforted by the idea that at any moment he could, hypothetically, make a run for it. He may always be in danger, but he’s always not too far from safety either. He can dash to his Dyster nest. To the arms of the Fog.
“Uh.”
HALF LIGHT - (Run. Make a run for it. You’re faster than him. You’re not far from your room. Just fucking run.)
LOGIC - (From what?)
VOLITION - (Kim isn’t going to hurt you.)
EMPATHY - (He’s worried about you.)
[Why am I so scared then?]
HALF LIGHT - (Because he’s going to hurt you.)
VOLITION - (Stop that. Let go of the tension you’re holding in your jaw.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (Be candid. The Lieutenant values honesty. He doesn’t appreciate it when you waste his time. Don’t tell him you’re fine.)
He turns to face Kim, but he can’t really meet his eyes. He fiddles with the key in his fingers, keeps his eyes on it.
“…not really, no. I’m really freaked out almost all the time. I don’t know how to calm down and it’s not like it’s an irrational thing, it happened before. It could happen again, as long as those machines are running in Haftesal.”
His throat closes. His stomach clenches. It’s one of the oldest feelings in his body. It’s a child-feeling. He knows he’s going to cry. Maybe not this second but it’s coming. And he’s just standing here. And he can’t stop it.
If you're still interested, I'm going to have the scrapbook/crafting group meet on the 13th.
Feel free to bring food or any supplies you like. I'll be supplying both as well. Figured I should make things easier for people who've never scrap booked before.
-Tawna
[Included with the text is instructions on how to find Tawna's apartment.]
[It's been a while since...what happened. Between the Castle, the Movies, and everything else that happened, it's been hard for Alfred to even consider how to approach this.
Until, one day, a letter appears for Harry, written in familiar (if shaking) penmanship and smelling vaguely of candlesmoke and peppermint. There are tear marks on the page.]
Harry,
I don't know how to even begin to tell you how sorry I am for what happened.
I was out of control. It was stupid of me, waiting as long as I did to feed, and the price was paid by you and two other people. I saw what I did to you, how I hurt you, and I don't know how you could possibly forgive me.
Still.
I am sorry, Harry. I am so sorry.
If you never want to see me again, I would understand.
Your Friend Sincerely,
Alfred
Edited 2022-05-03 00:41 (UTC)
cw: references to violence, choking, sexual references, Harry typical dysfunction
Harry wakes up alone. He wakes up disoriented. Hungry. He stumbles through Dyster. He beats someone to death and when he’s done, picking bone shards out of meat and choking food down like a ravenous animal there are no features on the body to distinguish it as a man or woman. But for a moment his mind was clear. There was bliss.
That’s what it must’ve been like for him.
For days he is confused. He cries, sometimes. He doesn’t feel sad, and he’s just accepted that his body is going to do these things anyway. His emotions make him tired and when he’s not working he’s crashing.
…But anyway, that was weeks ago. All the while his old nightmares continue as scheduled. Better dreams sneak in alongside them.
xxx
Harry drifts when he’s alone with his thoughts and his heart has pumped all the cocaine out of his system. Ever since the movies, everything in his head has been more jumbled than usual. He’s drifting when he’s checking the mail. He stops when he spots Alfred’s letter.
When he’s done reading, he shoves the letter in his pocket, wipes his wet face and rushes out for the roof. Alfred’s in a castle now? He can find that from the air.
xxx
He’s thought a lot about Alfred. He’s played back the whole thing over and over in his mind. Sometimes he takes artistic liberties with the reconstruction in his head. It doesn’t dampen his confused, messy feelings. It does make his dick hard, though. He feels guilty for this. Last night he imagined it was all the same but Alfred was choking him at the moment of his death- not the way Jean did, bruising and crushing his windpipe- but with the same gentle cruelty he teased him with before, one handed, the other playing with his soul.
He spots him from the sky, as he circles over the castle. He’s never seen a castle before so it didn’t occur to him that he wouldn’t just be able to knock on the door.
“Hey! Alfred!”
He doesn’t want to startle him when he lands so he yells out first. Then lands next to him.
Then he hugs him very hard.
EMPATHY - (You've left him to worry for so long, Harry.)
This does not even register as off to Harry, who is frequently up at night and in the DMs of his friends. Asking if they’d like him if he was a mouse or perhaps a bug.
[ It takes Nanami a little while to get to the Tanabata park. She's a little slow and awkward on her feet, now that she's on solid ground again, and she's feeling ill besides.
But as soon as she arrives, she makes a beeline for the giant tree in the center of the park, and settles down next to it, laying in its roots. Even untransformed as she is, it's grounding, soothing to be near her.
Maybe Harry sees her approach, or maybe he doesn't arrive until later, when she's half-dozing in the tree's shade. ]
Harry, I know you're not my biggest fan right now, but ... I was thinking about things. And I'm curious, because we share some experiences ... which of your voices was encouraging you to attack Marco? And the grocery store? And Beat...?
Ho ho ho! Your Secret Santa giftee is BEAT. I don't think that's his real name, but his real name is something Japanese I didn't write down. "Soundsurfer" on the network, anyway. He likes skateboards and stuff.
Buy or make Beat a gift by December 26, or Santa will come down your chimney and box your ears.
If you need more information, contact me C/O Hawkeye Pierce at Crowe Clinic, and I'll delegate him to tell you to do your own research.
[Well, not so secret considering she signs her name in the book but she drops off a book of random trivia for Harry. It might seem a bit of an impromptu gift but, really? For a simulacrum who loves trivia? She knows random facts can be fascinating.]
[Once the heat has died down some from what had happened in March... once the rains slow and the echoing wails fade... Mukuro goes on a hunt. A different kind than usual, though. There's no rage or violence in her heart, there's no hunger or guilt in her belly. She's looking for a specific person, but not to harm. She usually doesn't, unless it's in self-defense, and she doesn't think she needs to worry about that much. Or she hopes, at least.
Mukuro is a very deadly enemy to make, and she would rather not be that right now. He doesn't need any more.
So, she searches. She moves at a steady pace, nose at the ground and up scenting the wind. It can be harder to find a flying monster than others, but she's patient and focused. It may take several hours, but she's sure she'll catch the trail eventually, whether it's in the city's confusing mess of smells or the cool quiet of Dyster.]
It’s Dyster. Harry is out on his porch, perched on a chair with his knees up to his chest as he smokes. The house itself is odd. Three stories from the outside, a tower of white paint. A spacious attached garage. It sticks out oddly in Dyster, it was meant to be packed into a city much bigger than this town, sandwiched between other buildings. Made of gassy smells, harbor horns and sharp angles.
It’s made of hopes and dreams and maybe a dozen other homes he looked at with his ex in another life all clobbered together.
His eyes aren’t built for the dark but the porch light is on, he squints. Sees something moving in the darkness. And grips the handle of the door.
It’s a good question to ask a harpy, especially one who enjoys perching on the tower of a castle as much as he does! Unfortunately? That harpy is still Harrier Du Bois. Who was barely awake a few moments ago and is now Very awake.
they fucked the moon
there’s a hole where they fucked it sky is messed up stars are weird
He’s wiping paint off his hands when he gets the notification. As he reads his stomach. He only knows them by reputation, but what a grisly reputation it is.
[Sometime after Alfred putters off on his motorbike to head to work, Harry will hear a scratching at his door, low to the ground and accompanied by the tippy-tap of little claws on the stone floor.
A few seconds pass, and the scratching begins again, but this time with an impatient boof! and finally a familiar-- if exhausted --voice, calling from the small gap at the bottom of the door.]
Harry? Are you in there?
[She can smell him; she knows he's in his nest. But she should at least give him the benefit of answering on his own time... There's no telling what he gets up to in there, after all.]
PERCEPTION - (The noise of a creature. Some sort of beast.)
LOGIC - (One of the dogs, clearly.) Harry snuffs out his cigarette in the tray (a chipped plate) (shaped like a fish) (rescued from the trash) and hops down from his perch. He lands securely on all fours. Sturdy stonework.
“Hey bud, what’re you doing up here?”
When he cracks the door open to peek he sees what must be one of the fluffiest dogs he’s ever seen. He reaches out to pet her almost immediately.
My apologies for dropping in unexpectedly, but I wanted to ask about your availability in the next few days. And if I were to set up an altar for The Fog, would you be interested in guiding me through a... prayer of sorts?
There’s a delay as Harry argues with himself about answering a message from Ray. Is this allowed? He knows he’s working himself up but he’s been a wreck and his brain really knows how to get him upset when he’s vulnerable like this. Bastards. They all crowd around his head and start yelling at once.
Finally the calmer voices break through. Marco. Reira. He’s allowed to talk to Ray over the damn computer.
yeah
A smaller pause and a release of tension. He knew he was okay but now he knows he’s really ok. See? Nothing happened.
Get B.J. a present by December 26, and if you can't figure out how to deliver it, you can drop it off (clearly labelled, please!) at Crowe Clinic up until the 24th.
THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT BJ: - Goes by "orionsarmpit" on the network; - Actually, he's got some other names as well, but I think "B.J." and "orionsarmpit" are the ones you need to know; - Likes: alcohol, stripes, stupid jokes; - Minotaur.
Merry Nattensfest!
Uhhhhh I can't remember a good date for this but it's before the event at least Eyyy
A lot of people have gone missing all at once, it feels like.
Reira's kept her photos updated- she has a lot of them in her bed space now, she's not sure if she'll have room for much longer though- but she's keenly aware that she's not going to be the only one affected by it all.
It seems like everyone's going to be going through something, and the posts that follow on the laptops only serve as a reminder.
Reira can't help but wonder though, if certain people have anyone 'left'. She remembers a good amount about how Harry especially felt about things through the last year, and beyond, and it feels like a good reason to worry.
...
Reira doesn't send a message ahead, in any case. She just trots her way on over to where she's pretty sure Harry will be, and knocks on the door.
Harry doesn’t tell many people about the larger woods cabin, it wasn’t really his business to tell people because it wasn’t his until just a few months ago. But he doesn’t really get radio reception so letting some close friends know where it is important. He should be taking care of the castle but it’s very big and it’s so so empty. He just needed a break. For a week or so.
“Uh hey?”
He calls out, a little surprised, a little tired. Dusting crumbs off his shirt and sweatpants as he gets off the couch. These are the kind of sweatpants you don’t do anything in, not the kind you jog and teach gym class in. It takes him a second to get to the door and crack it open, with one eye peeking out nervously.
[Near Harry's home in Dyster, he'll find a manilla envelope. Inside is a typed letter (because AM's handwriting is atrocious) and a set of prisms from a deconstructed windchime.
The letter is short and to the point.]
For your nest.
- AM
[Why has AM done this? Well, he's a harpy right now and has appreciated the heightened vision. Plus, Harry is a useful ally. Crazy as all hell, but useful.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
12/5
And then he remembers. The parasites. The snow plow. The monsters--
His hand makes contact with his glasses, and he snatches them up, wiping off the lenses and perching them on the bridge of his nose. His eyes adjust to the dark surroundings, making out kitschy furniture, plush rugs and lounge chairs, and dusty old knick-knacks placed delicately upon glass bookshelves. That's right--he had secured temporary lodgings for himself and the detective by negotiating with an elderly woman in the downtown area of the city. The woman was keen on having people about to run her errands, and was kind enough to provide a space for them to sleep. What she had failed to mention was the abundance of cats that prowled her hostel--though, Kim was able to keep them out by simply locking the entrance to the living room. The sound of them clawing at the door had kept him in a state of half-waking, though, and it was only until around three in the morning when he was able to finally fall asleep.
It is nearly seven in the morning. He's only gotten around four hours of sleep.
A sigh escapes him. Mechanically, he rises from his position on the floor to wander to the bathroom. It's only when he's face to face with the mirror does he realize that there's a problem. He doesn't have a razor with him, much less any aftershave. That ritual will have to wait until later. A slight sense of irritation enters his mind as he trawls his thoughts for any other sort of normalcy he can use to ground himself.
Breakfast, maybe. He washes his face in the sink and tries to tidy up his appearance before trudging towards the kitchen. He begins poking around the refrigerator for something he can easily reimburse her for. He doesn't want to claim this woman's food for himself, after all. His aerostatic pilot's jacket has been hung up on one of the kitchen chairs, waiting to be donned for a day's work.
A pair of shining eyes in the darkness can be seen in the doorway. One of the woman's cats seems to have decided to observe Kim.
All the while, he waits for the detective to wake.
The smell of toast wafts through the small apartment.]
no subject
Also, sleeping on a bed that isn’t trashed to hell? It’s nice.
(INLAND EMPIRE: The lights of Voyager Road are still burnt into the back of your eyelids. There’s no point in going back to sleep. VIDEO RENTAL. You can see it now. Flickering in the rain.)
(VOLITION: It’s time to get up anyway. On your feet. It’s a new day.)
He squints at the clock. 7:30. How does his body know that?
After getting dressed and everything, he’s still not entirely sure he’s awake as he shambles out into the living room. He announces his presence with a half asleep grunt that was meant to be a ‘good morning’, with his face contorted into…some sort of expression. Not The Expression. Just remarkably stiff. Comically stiff.
(HALF LIGHT: Oh god. You can’t move your face! How are you going to talk? How are you going to eat? You’re going to die!)
(LOGIC: Your jaw locked up. Just take it slow.)
(PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: No time for slow. The lieutenant CANNOT learn your weakness. This is very uncool.)
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: Did you know that Post Polio Syndrome usually manifests 30-40 years after the initial infection? Symptoms may include muscle atrophy, a number of throat and breathing complications and general fatigue.)
He turns away from Kim’s direction, almost demurely, and stretches his jaw open in one terrible motion. The resulting cracking noise startles a nearby cat.
[Sorry.]
The cat just continues to look mildly offended. The cats don’t speak much. For the moment he’s satisfied that they are actual cats and not small businessmen in disguise trying to infiltrate the home of their elderly host. The thought of small capitalists taking advantage of the kindness of an old woman’s heart makes him bristle.
[Do not mistake my leniency for clemency, felines. I am watchful.]
(RHETORIC: …that sounds right. Yeah.)
He points to his eyes and then at the cat. When he's satisfied that the message has been received he then turns his attention back to Kim, and tries this whole ‘good morning’ thing all over again.
“Good morning.”
(DRAMA: Excellent work! You even enunciated and everything.)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Backdated to December 24th
Inside is a handkerchief, neatly hand-embroidered with a big silvery HDB and a pattern of tidy little silver rectangles along the border. Beneath it, there are some chocolate chip cookies, and a very tidy little note:]
I am thankful for your help - you helped me not feel so frightened when we were lost. We are all in this together.
I hope you like cookies!
Alfred
Post Hanahaki Event
Rev’s busy with work right now. He knows he could call his boyfriend whenever and he’s come running to check up on him but, well, he didn’t want to be a burden on him. Especially after he worried Rev sick over something he already knew about. He thinks about who he should contact before eventually deciding on Harry. He didn’t know him super well but he’s interesting enough to talk to and he has preened him before and enjoyed it, and god he could use some nice TLC.
He pulls out his laptop and immediately goes to contact Harry.]
Hey I’m coming over. I can let you mess with my wings again if you want to.
[He means preening.
Phil doesn’t even wait for a response as he’s at Harry’s door in less than a half hour, trying to look casual about the situation. When Harry opens the door, Phil grins]
I hope you’re ready to be absolutely graced by my presence.
[He winks coyly.]
no subject
oh shit yeah!
Harry has been going stir crazy. Don’t get him wrong, he’s glad the surgery worked out and he didn’t die of flowers and didn’t lose his cool in Haftesal and punch a doctor but he was walking around minus an eye and he’s too worn out to run much. His brain has not been happy about these things and he’s been left alone with his thoughts too much.Boredom is dangerous to recovering addicts and cockatoos, alike. Relapse, over plucking, it’s all bad. They say that in the pamphlets.
“Always, man.”
He fingerguns at Phil, clicks his tongue. Pew, pew. He’s armed and dangerous with these things. Especially to those matts. He sees you, hiding in Phil’s feathers, messing up his cute little wings.
EMPATHY - (He probably won’t appreciate you calling them that. Even if you argue that they are, objectively both little and cute.)
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Standby, he might under the right circumstances. Wait and see.)
CONCEPTUALIZATION - (Think of this as building a case for how cool wings are. They feel good when they’re taken care of. In the end you will lay it all out on a metaphorical cork board. Your wings are guilty of being very cute, Phil Connors, you are under arrest. Do not resist. Your case will be taken before the court system of the Moralintern and from there you will be judged fairly and prudently.)
Harry kind of wiggles out of his jacket, Kim fixed up his clothes with slits in the back so he can like, wear shirts and stuff now but there’s a bit of a flappy learning curve.
“Can I uh, have a hand?”
He tries to look kind of cool when he asks and not like a grown man losing a battle with his blazer. His face is kind of working out for him but his left wing is wiggling and twitching in a way that says ‘help me, this is an actual problem.’
COMPOSURE - (I'm really glad you're past the 'freaking out because a guy's shirt is kind of unbuttoned' thing.)
[I can’t remember seeing this guy in pants, like ever. And this place? It’s basically immersion therapy. I’m cool. I’m disco. Oh god.]
COMPOSURE - (You got this. You don’t really have to take *your* shirt off or anything.)
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Just focus on making him feel nice.)
(no subject)
(no subject)
early april, a few days after arrivals
The door shuts behind them. Kim turns to look towards the detective, his foot tapping against the ground.]
Detective, I'd like to discuss something with you. It's regarding your recent behavior.
[Another pause. The lieutenant purses his lips, trying to think on how to best approach this line of questioning. The tips of his ears twitch ever so slightly. The detective has been in a delicate state ever since that odd network...malfunction. He can't entirely blame him for having this sort of reaction, either. In an empathetic, concerned tone, he asks:]
Are you...alright?
no subject
“Uh.”
HALF LIGHT - (Run. Make a run for it. You’re faster than him. You’re not far from your room. Just fucking run.)
LOGIC - (From what?)
VOLITION - (Kim isn’t going to hurt you.)
EMPATHY - (He’s worried about you.)
[Why am I so scared then?]
HALF LIGHT - (Because he’s going to hurt you.)
VOLITION - (Stop that. Let go of the tension you’re holding in your jaw.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (Be candid. The Lieutenant values honesty. He doesn’t appreciate it when you waste his time. Don’t tell him you’re fine.)
He turns to face Kim, but he can’t really meet his eyes. He fiddles with the key in his fingers, keeps his eyes on it.
“…not really, no. I’m really freaked out almost all the time. I don’t know how to calm down and it’s not like it’s an irrational thing, it happened before. It could happen again, as long as those machines are running in Haftesal.”
His throat closes. His stomach clenches. It’s one of the oldest feelings in his body. It’s a child-feeling. He knows he’s going to cry. Maybe not this second but it’s coming. And he’s just standing here. And he can’t stop it.
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<Grappled>- 4/10
Feel free to bring food or any supplies you like. I'll be supplying both as well. Figured I should make things easier for people who've never scrap booked before.
-Tawna
[Included with the text is instructions on how to find Tawna's apartment.]
A Handwritten Letter - 5/2
Until, one day, a letter appears for Harry, written in familiar (if shaking) penmanship and smelling vaguely of candlesmoke and peppermint. There are tear marks on the page.]
Harry,
I don't know how to even begin to tell you how sorry I am for what happened.
I was out of control. It was stupid of me, waiting as long as I did to feed, and the price was paid by you and two other people. I saw what I did to you, how I hurt you, and I don't know how you could possibly forgive me.
Still.
I am sorry, Harry. I am so sorry.
If you never want to see me again, I would understand.
Your FriendSincerely,
Alfred
cw: references to violence, choking, sexual references, Harry typical dysfunction
That’s what it must’ve been like for him.
For days he is confused. He cries, sometimes. He doesn’t feel sad, and he’s just accepted that his body is going to do these things anyway. His emotions make him tired and when he’s not working he’s crashing.
…But anyway, that was weeks ago. All the while his old nightmares continue as scheduled. Better dreams sneak in alongside them.
xxx
Harry drifts when he’s alone with his thoughts and his heart has pumped all the cocaine out of his system. Ever since the movies, everything in his head has been more jumbled than usual. He’s drifting when he’s checking the mail. He stops when he spots Alfred’s letter.
When he’s done reading, he shoves the letter in his pocket, wipes his wet face and rushes out for the roof. Alfred’s in a castle now? He can find that from the air.
xxx
He’s thought a lot about Alfred. He’s played back the whole thing over and over in his mind. Sometimes he takes artistic liberties with the reconstruction in his head. It doesn’t dampen his confused, messy feelings. It does make his dick hard, though. He feels guilty for this. Last night he imagined it was all the same but Alfred was choking him at the moment of his death- not the way Jean did, bruising and crushing his windpipe- but with the same gentle cruelty he teased him with before, one handed, the other playing with his soul.
He spots him from the sky, as he circles over the castle. He’s never seen a castle before so it didn’t occur to him that he wouldn’t just be able to knock on the door.
“Hey! Alfred!”
He doesn’t want to startle him when he lands so he yells out first. Then lands next to him.
Then he hugs him very hard.
EMPATHY - (You've left him to worry for so long, Harry.)
LOGIC - (But why?)
“I’m sorry.”
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cw: more of the usual, masochism
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cw: reference to relapse
<Symbiont>
Hello. Are you awake?
<t_sunset>
yes
hello?
<Symbiont>
<t_sunset>
<Symbiont>
<t_sunset>
<Symbiont>
after Beat's post
But as soon as she arrives, she makes a beeline for the giant tree in the center of the park, and settles down next to it, laying in its roots. Even untransformed as she is, it's grounding, soothing to be near her.
Maybe Harry sees her approach, or maybe he doesn't arrive until later, when she's half-dozing in the tree's shade. ]
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EMPATHY - (She looks very peaceful. Which must be nice after you exploded her friend in front of her.)
Harry approaches and waves. He’s wearing comfy jeans and an orange sweater that reminds him to be nicer.
“Uh hey.”
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yes he’s slav squatting, perching if you will
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cw: intrusive thoughts, child death, mental illness,
<DrOsborn> early November, cw fictional did/mental illness
<mr_sunset>
what
they’re all pissed off
Which voice tells you working for the boy child and the mole people is okay? where is YOUR conscience
<DrOsborn>
<mr_sunset>
<DrOsborn> rare use of this icon not for ooc
<mr_sunset>
<DrOsborn>
<mr_sunset>
<DrOsborn>
<mr_sunset>
-> Action
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cw: references to child death/suicide ideation, Harry typical sexual dysfunction/references
finally closing this off, sorry, thought I already did!
cw: gore
CW: discussion of brain death/drowning
<KrisKringle>
Buy or make Beat a gift by December 26, or Santa will come down your chimney and box your ears.
If you need more information, contact me C/O Hawkeye Pierce at Crowe Clinic, and I'll delegate him to tell you to do your own research.
SECRET SANTA
april 9th, after sundown.
Mukuro is a very deadly enemy to make, and she would rather not be that right now. He doesn't need any more.
So, she searches. She moves at a steady pace, nose at the ground and up scenting the wind. It can be harder to find a flying monster than others, but she's patient and focused. It may take several hours, but she's sure she'll catch the trail eventually, whether it's in the city's confusing mess of smells or the cool quiet of Dyster.]
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It’s made of hopes and dreams and maybe a dozen other homes he looked at with his ex in another life all clobbered together.
His eyes aren’t built for the dark but the porch light is on, he squints. Sees something moving in the darkness. And grips the handle of the door.
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<PasUnPolicier> Dated July 7th, about 10:48 PM
Deliver to my desk at La Forteresse in two days' time, Sunday, by eleven fifty-nine in the evening.
<ambrosius>
wait
how do I know you’re really him?
<PasUnPolicier>
<ambrosius>
<PasUnPolicier>
<ambrosius>
<PasUnPolicier>
<ambrosius>
<PasUnPolicier> Aug 4th Moon Explosion Time
Quick, before I step out. What did you see from where you are at?
<ambrosius>
they fucked the moon
there’s a hole
where they fucked it
sky is messed up
stars are weird
either too many or they moved
<PasUnPolicier>
<ambrosius>
<PasUnPolicier>
<ambrosius>
<PasUnPolicier>
<ambrosius>
<PasUnPolicier>
You know what to do. Do not spare them mercy. Any you bring in alive belongs directly under AM's jurisdiction.
Stay alert for further instruction on higher-level tasks. You will be issued a written invitation when the time comes for detailed talk.
<ambrosius>
heading out now
did they get someone
<PasUnPolicier>
<ambrosius>
8/24 | Castle Von Krolock | Night time
A few seconds pass, and the scratching begins again, but this time with an impatient boof! and finally a familiar-- if exhausted --voice, calling from the small gap at the bottom of the door.]
Harry? Are you in there?
[She can smell him; she knows he's in his nest. But she should at least give him the benefit of answering on his own time... There's no telling what he gets up to in there, after all.]
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LOGIC - (One of the dogs, clearly.)
Harry snuffs out his cigarette in the tray (a chipped plate) (shaped like a fish) (rescued from the trash) and hops down from his perch. He lands securely on all fours. Sturdy stonework.
“Hey bud, what’re you doing up here?”
When he cracks the door open to peek he sees what must be one of the fluffiest dogs he’s ever seen. He reaches out to pet her almost immediately.
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cw: description of lost limb
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< thirteen > [8/26, after his monster date with Javert]
<ambrosius>
shit yeah
Uh.Of course. I’m available.
< r.gardner > 9/26 sure
You said you could still do something like that, right?
<ambrosius>
Finally the calmer voices break through. Marco. Reira. He’s allowed to talk to Ray over the damn computer.
yeah
A smaller pause and a release of tension. He knew he was okay but now he knows he’s really ok. See? Nothing happened.does other stuff too though
side effects
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< r.gardner >
<marco> after the AU event waves hands
I'm SO sorry.
<ambrosius>
wasnt your fault
And it wasn’t like he ambush-murdered him or anything??<marco>
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<KrisKringle>
Get B.J. a present by December 26, and if you can't figure out how to deliver it, you can drop it off (clearly labelled, please!) at Crowe Clinic up until the 24th.
THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT BJ:
- Goes by "orionsarmpit" on the network;
- Actually, he's got some other names as well, but I think "B.J." and "orionsarmpit" are the ones you need to know;
- Likes: alcohol, stripes, stupid jokes;
- Minotaur.
Merry Nattensfest!
Uhhhhh I can't remember a good date for this but it's before the event at least Eyyy
Reira's kept her photos updated- she has a lot of them in her bed space now, she's not sure if she'll have room for much longer though- but she's keenly aware that she's not going to be the only one affected by it all.
It seems like everyone's going to be going through something, and the posts that follow on the laptops only serve as a reminder.
Reira can't help but wonder though, if certain people have anyone 'left'. She remembers a good amount about how Harry especially felt about things through the last year, and beyond, and it feels like a good reason to worry.
...
Reira doesn't send a message ahead, in any case. She just trots her way on over to where she's pretty sure Harry will be, and knocks on the door.
that works!
“Uh hey?”
He calls out, a little surprised, a little tired. Dusting crumbs off his shirt and sweatpants as he gets off the couch. These are the kind of sweatpants you don’t do anything in, not the kind you jog and teach gym class in. It takes him a second to get to the door and crack it open, with one eye peeking out nervously.
“Oh. Hey.”
The door opens all the way.
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The letter is short and to the point.]
For your nest.
- AM
[Why has AM done this? Well, he's a harpy right now and has appreciated the heightened vision. Plus, Harry is a useful ally. Crazy as all hell, but useful.]