middaeg | open / a fading echo spinning away

Entry tags:

food fantasy: steak

open / a fading echo spinning away

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! ]

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[He's there. He's been there since he dragged Steak back here and locked him in this room, battling against his protests and the turmoil in his own head brought on by his fellow knight's loss of control.

Red Wine hasn't taken a breath in the last ten minutes. No need for it, save for when he needs to speak, and he's growing used to the lack of necessity.

But Steak isn't saying anything, isn't doing anything, and while his first instinct is to snap at him he's done enough of that today already. He pulls in a sharp breath through his nose and stands up, pushing himself from the chair with the heel of his hand. The space between them is only a few strides and he closes it silently, sitting down on the edge of the bed.]

... You need a Witch.

[ It isn't even that he's running through thoughts, not really. The idea of what he's become hangs over his head, heavy and still.

He simply feels... numb. As cold as he would be in an ice arena, but this time he doesn't feel refreshed by any of it. ]

What? [ The suggestion is enough to make him push himself up, looking at Red Wine with brows knitted together. ] Why?

[ It was just one mistake. He can deal with this. ]

Why?

[Red Wine looks at him sharply, a flicker of annoyance in his blood-red eyes. After what just happened, he has to ask why? He huffs softly and shakes his head.]

You know why. This can't happen again, and I can't help you to control it. [He isn't like Red Wine, who has spent decades, centuries battling to keep himself under control. Even Red Wine feels himself slipping at times, but he brings himself back from the brink each time.]

I can't help you, but a bond with a witch could.

[ It's something which, in words, is so much like a contract with an Attendant that it shouldn't feel antithetical to Steak's nature. Food Souls always have to be prepared to face the possibility of a contract if they no longer have one, after all. But he doesn't like it. Not after so long being without any bonds but the one he's always had with Red Wine.

He folds his arms, pulls his legs up until he's sitting cross-legged on the bed, scowling at the very idea. He doesn't need one. Needing one implies he's incapable of dealing with this problem.

And he's dealt with it until now, so why can't he go back to that? ]

Would that quiet the fighting?

[ He knows it's supposed to be the most stable bond, but does the bond have anything to do with the parts of his transformation tearing at his mind? ]

I don't--..

[He's been aware of it, in a vague sense. That internal battle that has only grown stronger within Steak as the transformations have progressed. Perhaps it was inevitable that it would become too much for him, and even a different bond couldn't have stopped it, but...

But then again...]

I don't know.

[They would have to ask about it. Red Wine knows they've been avoiding the issue, and it's left them at a disadvantage now.

Red Wine's expression flickers, and he looks down at his hands.]

I can't help but feel I... hastened you towards it. In no small way.

[ That's just how they deal with things. Ignore too much of it and quibble over petty issues instead, distracting themselves with absurd pranks instead of properly talking.

Why would they need to? Steak knows Red Wine well enough that he shouldn't need to talk about things any more. ]

...It's done now.

[ His eyes cast over at the window, away from Red Wine, and he exhales. It is done now. Whether Red Wine hastened him towards it, or it was merely coming because Steak believed he could ignore things and work as normal, doesn't matter. ]

I feel it would have happened anyway.

Mm.

[They have their moments of serious conversation, though they're usually framed in spats and arguments, or in insults. Things between them have never needed to be any different, and as time has gone by that has only become more true.]

Perhaps it would have. [He agrees quietly, still looking at his hands. His skin is so pale, now - ashen, even - and he clenches his fists together in response to a sudden, angry thought that he quickly stamps on and dismisses.] But still, [Cold, slim fingers brush Steak's hand then rest there.]

I am sorry. I should have been taking better care of you.

[ His ears twitch at the contact, hand to cold hand, and then at the apology. Red Wine has berated him, in the past, for never saying thank you, but an apology from Red Wine is much rarer, in Steak's opinion.

He swallows, unwinds his arms from around his chest slowly, and catches Red Wine's hand between his own. The chill of his skin enough to make the hairs on the back of Steak's hand prick, just slightly, and whatever warmth Steak offers won't last nearly long enough but...

It feels good. Like this. The numbness from earlier fades slowly as contact is maintained, and some old, Tierran part of him, revolts at the fact that this city has forced him to seek solace in touching Red Wine like this. ]

... [ You always were selfish springs onto the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back, ducking his head as he shakes away the instinct for the usual kind of griping he would normally reach for. ] You've enough to deal with.

[ And Steak has hardly been a help there. ]

[Hector really shouldn't be venturing out this close to the full moon. His first full moon, he'd been a shaking, paranoid mess. But forewarned is forearmed, and Hector is determined to not let his animal instincts keep him from his work.

So he's out, coming back from scouting around the wild for injured animals. Today's search was fruitless, which is both good and also frustrating. He doesn't want animals hurt, but he likes having work to keep him busy.

He's not inclined to be so charitable to people, but a chimera? Chimeras are interesting. And this chimera, he's met before. Hector muscles through the faun instinct to avoid danger and follows after the chimera as he passes.]

Hey, slow down. Take a breath.

Edited (subject line) 2020-03-03 00:09 (UTC)

[He could try to claim that it was only the bond between them that made this kind of contact so comforting, but he'd be lying. Steak is the only familiar thing to him here, even as strange as he looks now, and Red Wine has been holding on to that far more firmly than he would ever want to admit.

The tips of his pointed ears twitch, pricking up slightly and then dipping back down. He claps his free hand over Steak's and feels the warmth slowly leeching into his skin.]

I have. [It's been a lot to get used to, and he hasn't handled it with as much grace as he would have liked to. Steak has been... patient in his own oafish way.]

But I'm well-accustomed to keeping myself and my urges in check. I hated to see you like that.

What is that smell--oh.

[Unfortunately for Prompto, being a turnskin means he gets super senses and he happened to get boosts to his sight, sound, and smell. This means he can smell Steak before he even gets near Red Wine's room, and means he's heading out of his room to find who it is that's stinking up the place.]

Everything alright?

[ Steak's words dissolve in an instant when Red Wine's ears move. When he properly realises that they moved. ]

Have they always done that? [ And he wastes no time in reaching out a hand, prodding the tip of one of Red Wine's ears with a finger curiously. How had he never noticed that before, in 200 years of not-quite-friendship? Too busy yelling at Red Wine to watch the details of his ears properly. ]

[!!!]

You--

[Red Wine jerks back, bringing up a hand to smack Steak's aside on impulse. His expression is immediately indignant, but clearly embarrassed.]

Yes, they've always done that. Have you known me for two centuries and never once looked at me?

[ Saber is merely running errands to her own satisfaction when she runs into Steak again. And this time he has a furry little friend (and Saber has a lion tail). She bends over to offer the cat her hand, eyebrows quirked curiously. ]

I'm afraid I don't recognize them and I don't own a cat. But they're certainly... cute.

[ if jongdae was smarter he'd be indoors right now, resting somewhere. that's usually what you do when you feel like he does which only seems to be getting progressively worse with time (and full moons).

sucks!! when you're restless on top of that.

which is why he's out here, taking a walk in the hopes that he might be able to calm down enough to do the settling and the resting bit. walking and kicking rocks along the road. it's extremely productive, right??

movement somewhere ahead of him snaps him back to attention, looking up and hovering awkwardly where he's stopped short on the street. there's a tension in him, like he's trying to decide if he wants to stay put or get away. his senses, he's discovered, feel like someone cranked up his dials to eleven during the full moons. it makes a guy a little more paranoid than usual and the shape of an unfamiliar monster is not suuuuper reassuring. he hasn't been in aefenglom long enough to have the connection of monster = friend just yet and the staggering and unsteadiness he's seeing is also not helping, even if part of him wonders if maybe he should actually be helping.. ]

Uh—.. hey? You okay over there, buddy?

[ Red Wine, you little...

Well. Steak can't be too mad at the bastard when he's got that hilarious expression on his face, an expression which is more than enough to bring forward a soft snicker which quickly snowballs into warm, amused laughter.

Enough to drive the reasons they're sat in this bedroom from his mind for a little bit. ]

What, are you saying you want me to look at you?

[ Doesn't Red Wine normally bitch about them being anywhere near each other? ]

[Red Wine huffs sharply. That question is a trap, and a surprisingly sophisticated one by Steak's standards.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he thumps his companion's arm with a balled fist.]

You are undoubtedly the most unobservant oaf I have the displeasure of knowing.

[His voice is annoyed, but the bond between them doesn't hide anything. He's pleased to see Steak laugh. Frustrated at his ridiculous candor. Baffled at his lack of attention over so many years.

And, under that, a glimmer of unreluctant affection.]

Idiot.

[ The punch quiets his laughter, fading away into a familiar grin, the buzz of their bond keeping his mood up even through Red Wine's words. ]

What do you mean unobservant?

[ Red Wine's the one that hides everything! Gosh. ]

[He's so--!

The dark haired Food Soul gets up, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. Since returning he had already foregone his jacket and waistcoat, both in dire need of cleaning after their little scrap, and the white of the shirt only makes his ashen skin look all the paler.]

If you're going to make fun of me I shall deduce you fully recovered and leave you to your own devices.

[Sulking. He makes a small fuss of retying his hair.]

Utterly ridiculous. Why do I even put up with you.

[ So..........?

Steak's laughter disappears into a grumble at Red Wine's moving away, his lips pursed into something he would never call a pout. Because it totally isn't one. ]

Fine, I'll stop laughing.

[ H u f f. ]

It isn't as obvious as Gingerbread's.

[ Her ears twitch every time she breaks into a smile. Red Wine's are, evidently, more subtle. ]

Hmph.

[It isn't as obvious as Gingerbread's, because Gingerbread has never made any effort to conceal it. He had noticed it about her the day they met one another.

Red Wine looks sidelong at Steak, bright eyes holding a touch of an odd kind of wariness, but something draws him to sit down again - at the end of the bed this time, rather than directly beside him.

Thinking about Gingerbread just makes him miss her.]

... You are feeling better, aren't you.

... Wh—

[ — a...h. Steak shrugs, the thing-that-is-not-a-pout shifting into a frown. ]

I won't go feral again.

[ So, in that case, yes, he's feeling better. But he doesn't feel like himself, not entirely, and the banter and laughter is nothing more than a brief distraction from the numbness in his chest, an ache like grief and mourning.

Like losing something he can't quite place.

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the familiar routine of shrugging things off and forging on ahead dangling in front of him, comfortable and tempting. He's dealt with all sorts of things just fine in two centuries of existence, how could this be any different? ]

... Such things aren't supposed to happen to— [ But me doesn't sound right, and there's only the briefest pause, intake of breath, before he corrects it. ] —us.

[ Because Red Wine is no more meant to be feral, to fall like that, than Steak is. ]

[Won't go feral again yet.

He almost says it out loud, but decides that some tact might be more appropriate here and bites back the urge. His eyes lower, a troubled frown briefly tugging at his brow, but Steak's words have him looking up again and meeting his companion's gaze.

Ah.

So, he's finally got there.]

No, they're not.

[Red Wine can feel it even now. The faint tugging in the back of his mind that tempts him to sink his teeth into the soft pulse he can sense throbbing at Steak's throat. Such things aren't supposed to happen to them.]

I'm glad you're finally realising it.

[ It might help, if Steak was... Steak. But his inner voice has reduced to a whisper among the shrieking of monster instincts, wordless and angry things, furious that they've been ignored for so long.

A battle cry rips free of his throat, a low rumble of anger punctuated by breath forced out of the nostrils, and tentacles reach forward, grabbing for someone he has a twinge of recognition for.

But that recognition is no more than a red cloth, waved ceaselessly in front of a rampaging bull, as Steak's head begins to lower in anticipation of catching and skewering it. ]

[ Sorry about that Prompto. He'll be in a bath soon enough, hopefully. ]

You seen Red Wine?

[ He hasn't lost his mind and started feeding on stray cats, has he? Steak would think he would have felt that, but he has no idea what to expect from Aefenglom's magic and bonds, really. ]

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open / a fading echo spinning away

between the wars;

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Losing It

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Back Home

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In the City

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