open / a fading echo spinning away

[battlebound]

Who: Steak and you??? [ Open log! ]
When: Throughout the month
Where: Aefenglom, the Wilde
What: Returning from the expedition, going feral, comfort seeking and quest goodness!
Warnings: Violence, suffering, all the good shit

— back home / open to residents of caren's house

[ When Steak walks through the door, he's short one (1) sword and massaging a knot in his shoulders with a tentacle, face drawn into the kind of no-nonsense glower it usually has.

He's still irritated about being devoid of half of his weapons, but it's been days since the theft and he can't keep stewing on it. ]

I need a bath...

[ More to the point, he smells less than pleasant and everything aches in that satisfying way only hard work can achieve. A bath sounds right on point — providing he can reach the bathroom before anyone points out that he smells like dirt and sweat.

Or before anyone catches him detouring towards a bedroom that isn't his, knocking once as warning. ]

Oi. Red Wine.

[ Nothing. But hey, housemate. ]

Is he in there?

[ Or off somewhere being a scoundrel? ]

— losing it / open

[ That there's a war inside Steak is something he's quite aware of, even if the fighting goes largely unbroadcast to Aefenglom and its people.

It's nothing more than an irritation. He can deal with it, live life here as normally as he did on Tierra. There's no trouble but the bother caused by growing tentacles and cow ears.

He's fine, as long as he keeps working. Keeps going to DiplomaTea and carrying boxes, helping out those he meets in the city. He ventures into the Wilde, even sans one of his swords, tries to use his new form to combat the lack of a second weapon, and shrugs off the dual instincts responding to any threats.

He craves the water, the land, and enemies on his horns, in his grasp. Anything to keep him safe from the things which follow him back from the Wilde and to the limits of the wall. ]

Get away from me!

[ The cry he lets out as he attacks, fierce and hot, tentacles spinning in lieu of his second sword, is one which should be all too familiar to anyone who spends time in or near the Wilde. But the growl beneath it is harsh, rough with growing instincts and pain as the full moon hovers just beneath the horizon.

But it's fine. It's just another transformation, another evening of agony and strangeness. Nothing unusual, he just needs to get back—

Get... back.

His head spins, thoughts dissolving from words to shapeless blobs, flashes of pain blinding him as he crosses back into the city.

What is it this time? How much further can his transformation twist his form into something he never intended it to be? Beyond anything any Master Attendant may have forced him to become?

His brow twitches, and he blindly grasps for the nearest surface as his legs buckle, as something white hot clutches at his chest, a vice against his lungs and heart. ]

Dammit...

[ The argument inside him, constant as it is, grows louder, and he grimaces. No. He won't allow this. Even under the full moon, he is not a monster. Not a beast.

And certainly not a discount Uke Mochi.

Steak grunts, head shaking, limbs trembling as he resists the urge to collapse, or the urge to listen to the nature inside of him.

He is a Food Soul.

He is not a monster.

But his body, his mind, disagrees, and the last parts of his arguments to himself disappear within the fog of instinct and destruction. ]

— between the wars / closed to red wine

[ Silence reigns inside him, the quiet of exhaustion and agony leaving him still in his bed, hands folded over his stomach, tentacles draping over the edges of the bed.

He knows Red Wine is there, but his eyes don't leave the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the paint job without any real interest. The only noise the gentle, continuous exhale of breath as he counts the seconds between inhaling and exhaling.

Is... this really what he is, now? Something which loses control so easily? ]

— continuing conquest / open to those on the quest!

[ He could rest. Some may say he should rest, but Steak has never been good at that. He throws himself into the ongoing quest as soon as the full moon leaves the sky, bouncing over to Dorchacht via teleporter and heading out with a group to set up a new outpost.

The more he moves, the better. The more useful he can be, the better.

The more like a Food Soul he feels.

So perhaps it's a bit overbearing, a redheaded young man striding over when he sees someone trying to lift a heavy object, tentacles already poised to grab it. ]

Let me help!

— in the city / open

[ That overbearing need to help extends to Aefenglom itself. While Steak can easily be found continuing his work in DiplomaTea, or fighting things in the Wilde, the real difference is found in the way he approaches the city itself.

He spots small problems with an uncanny accuracy. A cat wandering around the streets? He's the first to try to pick it up, to see if it has a tag, or ask anyone nearby if they recognise it. Those stumbling out of the taverns and bars at night are regarded with a wary eye, and he rushes forward to assist the uneasy or stop the violent as needed.

He does whatever he can, but it never quite shakes the unease he feels of that night ]

— wildcard

[ hit me with anything! feel free to contact me at isanghae#8071 / isanghae to hash something out! ]