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( mini-plot post: open to all )
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jawdacity & all of cerealia!
When: towards the end of the event (so this won't conflict with any event threads you may already have going). 2-3pm.
Where: Abandoned village + surrounding jungle
What: THERE ARE EXPLOSIONS. And mushrooms.
Rating/Warning: Possible NSFW for gore?
Details about this mini-plot HERE
(theme song of this post, courtesy ofmoribound.)
[ it's another muggy, meandering day in the jungle; nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. ]
IN THE VILLAGE
[ if your character is near the center of the village, they'll bear witness to the curious sight of a herd of shuffling mushroom beasts. in terms of threat level, to the experienced hunter they may have ranked low on the scale: slow, lacking an external fang or claw, they seem to be interested only in their endless march forward.
but, if your character is close enough, they may catch sight of a red-haired young man, a manifesto of anger written across his face. one breathless moment, the calm before the storm, and then he hurls a metallic pair of gloves at the closest beast, the gloves trailing arcs of flame.
what may strike your character first is the searing heat, the thrum of the earth below their feet. the whole village is demolished in a moment, the dying cries of the beasts rising above the din. the explosion lasts much longer than it should, the line of mushrooms going up one after another.
if you're too close, you might be torn in two. you might lose a limb, or two, or three. you might go deaf, you might lose your sight. you might lose all your eyelashes, your clothes. maybe the bag of mushrooms you'd collected for dinner is now little more than ash.
keep running. the smoke trails into the air. someone is screaming. the smell of charred meat follows you even after you disappear into the jungle. ]
IN THE SURROUNDING JUNGLE
[ if your character is close enough to the village, they'll feel the blasts, one after the other. the jungle is on fire, quickly spreading. maybe you'll hear the screaming, too; maybe your lungs will fill with smoke. maybe you'll run into one of the last mushroom beasts, fleeing from the explosion only to trigger a lesser one in the depths of the jungle.
it came from the village, didn't it? maybe someone you love was swept up in the explosion.
if you manage to escape the stampede of terrified jungle beasts (some of which may stop to crunch you up as a quick meal as they dash away from the blast), maybe you can venture closer to see what's happened.
or maybe you should get as far away as possible. ]
jawdacity & all of cerealia! When: towards the end of the event (so this won't conflict with any event threads you may already have going). 2-3pm.
Where: Abandoned village + surrounding jungle
What: THERE ARE EXPLOSIONS. And mushrooms.
Rating/Warning: Possible NSFW for gore?
Details about this mini-plot HERE
(theme song of this post, courtesy of
moribound.)[ it's another muggy, meandering day in the jungle; nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. ]
IN THE VILLAGE
[ if your character is near the center of the village, they'll bear witness to the curious sight of a herd of shuffling mushroom beasts. in terms of threat level, to the experienced hunter they may have ranked low on the scale: slow, lacking an external fang or claw, they seem to be interested only in their endless march forward.
but, if your character is close enough, they may catch sight of a red-haired young man, a manifesto of anger written across his face. one breathless moment, the calm before the storm, and then he hurls a metallic pair of gloves at the closest beast, the gloves trailing arcs of flame.
what may strike your character first is the searing heat, the thrum of the earth below their feet. the whole village is demolished in a moment, the dying cries of the beasts rising above the din. the explosion lasts much longer than it should, the line of mushrooms going up one after another.
if you're too close, you might be torn in two. you might lose a limb, or two, or three. you might go deaf, you might lose your sight. you might lose all your eyelashes, your clothes. maybe the bag of mushrooms you'd collected for dinner is now little more than ash.
keep running. the smoke trails into the air. someone is screaming. the smell of charred meat follows you even after you disappear into the jungle. ]
IN THE SURROUNDING JUNGLE
[ if your character is close enough to the village, they'll feel the blasts, one after the other. the jungle is on fire, quickly spreading. maybe you'll hear the screaming, too; maybe your lungs will fill with smoke. maybe you'll run into one of the last mushroom beasts, fleeing from the explosion only to trigger a lesser one in the depths of the jungle.
it came from the village, didn't it? maybe someone you love was swept up in the explosion.
if you manage to escape the stampede of terrified jungle beasts (some of which may stop to crunch you up as a quick meal as they dash away from the blast), maybe you can venture closer to see what's happened.
or maybe you should get as far away as possible. ]
no subject
he steps away, shying away from the electric snap of the containment field, wondering. he can see the carcasses of the mushroom beasts, still smoldering, some still convulsing with tiny and tinier explosions as the moments pass onward.
rin thinks: a dream?
he's had dreams like these, death and more, his father's white face in the water, goldfish swimming in eternal circles. they used to keep him from sleep in his tiny bed in australia, even with winnie's puppy warmth curled up beside him.
not a dream, because heine's sharp knuckles would have torn through the edges of sleep a long time ago.
he's gone skiing in the height of winter. he's seen the trees half torn apart by man or nature, one side evergreen thick, the other bare-boned. he must look ridiculous. ]
It worked.
[ is all rin says, bright-eyed like he's won another race, another and another. a whole series of victories, except this time it's not for him. why doesn't heine get it?
because that's what's important now, not the spiraling ache, not the barely-rendered knowledge that others had been in the village, too. his gloves are little more than twisted metal. ]
It worked. If it was the Dog -- I know you didn't want me to do anything about it, but --
[ i wanted to help, isn't what he should say. i wanted to be useful, isn't right, either. ]
I had to. You were being an asshole about it.
[ asshole. his finger on the smooth button. he could let heine out, but he wants to convince him that this was the right thing to do, first.
wants to shut out the rest of the world: just for a second. ]
no subject
don't let it be what he thinks it is is a thought infused with rage, copperhot and ironsharp as he takes breaths of his own and they sound more like pants. it prevents him from focusing directly on the state of rin.
his head hurts, pressure pressure and he fights the urge to crush his own skull to make the hound stop his incessant snarls and his heartbeat is too loud in his ears and his breaths come harsh and thin as though they cannot even pass through his throat. if he had any idea on what this state of mind really was, he would not assign blame to whatever was around him - it was nothing more than an anxiety attack and the only way he knew how to cope was torn suddenly, violently out of his reach. what was worse, it was by someone he was starting to trust.
he never thought that would be possible. he never thought something intrinsically locked into his own fucking brain could be locked in and the grip on his pistols is harsh.
dragged to heel, and he doesn't dare reach out against the field around him, because who knows what the hell it does. ] It worked?
[ he snarls and for once, the dog and him agree. those rare moments are the worst, the ones that twist his stomach so much he could vomit and he doesn't know what to think. what to focus on - the fact that rin could pass out any fucking minute, or the fact that heine could snap in full lucidity and that fact alone should be enough to scare anyone. ] - fuck, Rin -
- I don't know what you did - I don't know how and I don't give a shit - [ his footing doesn't feel stable, but he stands, a flurry of white and eyes red as embers. ] - You had no right.
[ words come hollow, cotton tongue on teeth that taste like metal. ] - I'm lucid. So let me the fuck out before you pass out.
[ he doesn't know what rin is running on. he doesn't know why he isn't in pain. maybe it hasn't hit him yet. the last thing heine wants is to be stuck here, risking the chance for something else to sneak up or show up and get to rin before he has the fucking chance to tell him everything he thinks about him.
(he won't, but the temptation to fling fists and words is overwhelming.) he is a beacon of anger and hurt and something quietly lethal ] - The last thing you want me and the Dog to do is agree.
[ take that threat - warning - statement as you will. ]
no subject
one moment to the next, pain like an earthquake, bones knocking together, fists clenching — except it's one and not two, except there's a knot of flesh and bone and blood, and his throat is overfull with bile. rin blinks, heine's face blurring to white, his angry retort lost in the sudden roar that pulls words through rin's mind and shreds them into meaningless sound. he swallows the iron taste of blood, swallows again to let the bile settle. he takes one darting glance towards his shoulder, then has to swallow a third time --
charred mean on the bone. a fucking barbeque, except he's the one on the rack.
heine. right. heine in tadashi's containment field.
when rin was twelve, newly transferred into haru's class, a sparrow had flown in through the window. terrified, the flash of brown feathers had darted to and fro, upsetting a stack of papers. finally, it had flown to the door, throwing itself at the glass square set into the middle. smashing its wing in the process.
the pain like a jackhammer. rin remembers how easily the knife had slid into heine's skin, blood slippery on his skin --
maybe he passes out, because a heartbeat later he's breathing ash, crouched in a pile of limbs (one too few, one too fucking few), his heart thrumming so quickly that he can feel the rhythm in his teeth. someone is shouting, but none of it makes any sense. heine is an ink wash painting, too white, too black, and rin doesn't remember why he's held back from him, why he looks so angry, why he's not --
his left hand clenches around the trigger device, the release button depressed under his thumb. intentional or accidental, it doesn't matter: the containment field flickers, running through the spectrum of colors, then it fades.
it worked, he thinks, but that doesn't make any sense, either. ]
Fine.
[ rin doesn't know what he's saying, how tongue and teeth and throat work together to form a word, but he tosses it at heine's feet nonetheless. anger for anger. it's rote. ]