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Entry tags:
( open ) dark eyes without a face
Who: giorno giovanna & OPEN
When: throughout octeuril
Where: bad decisions haus, desmodus, throughout the city during fright night
What: catchall for octeuril. pm if you'd like to plot anything in particular, or feel free to catch him anywhere.
Warnings: b. blood. blood probably. :E
Notes: With respect to the Desmodus prompt, I'd prefer to limit any actual blood-drinking threads to age-appropriate CR right now (16-19ish). That being said, anybody is welcome to tag that prompt with gen content, to slap a vial of blood in Giorno's hand, to shake him gently, etc.
i. heard voices in the night ( garden )
When: throughout octeuril
Where: bad decisions haus, desmodus, throughout the city during fright night
What: catchall for octeuril. pm if you'd like to plot anything in particular, or feel free to catch him anywhere.
Warnings: b. blood. blood probably. :E
Notes: With respect to the Desmodus prompt, I'd prefer to limit any actual blood-drinking threads to age-appropriate CR right now (16-19ish). That being said, anybody is welcome to tag that prompt with gen content, to slap a vial of blood in Giorno's hand, to shake him gently, etc.
i. heard voices in the night ( garden )
[Maria is ill.]ii. whispers of double lives ( desmodus mori )
[In a curious turn of events, this leaves Giorno feeling very responsible. He wants things to be in order when she wakes, because . . . well, he just does. It seems like the right thing to do. He knows he'd be annoyed if he got sick and woke up to the house trashed. Not to mention that she and Kaede kept the place safe from looters while he was in Dorchact.]
[Plus, he's fond of her decorations. They're all over the fences, a warning to potential intruders: turnips decorated like heads, stuck on spikes. They're terrible and hilarious, and he loves each and every one of them. As such, along with generally keeping things clean and tidy, he spends some time each day checking the turnips to make sure they're not rotten and still facing the street, not crooked, et cetera. The first time one of them lets out a blood-curdling shriek, he nearly falls off his stepstool.]
Hey! [Local mafioso yells at turnips.] When did she fix you to do that?
[He can also be found gardening after the sun sets, filthy to the elbows in rolled-up sleeves with (more than likely) a smudge on his cheek. His mission: weed the sunflowers. It's late in the season and the sunflowers are tired in any case, but he's on a mission. These sunflowers are Important to Maria.]
[The thing about the bloodlust is—]iii. so i backed from where ( event | changes )
[Well, lots of things. It's embarrassing. Under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn't trust anyone in Aefenglom to touch him in the ways that are necessary for comfortable feeding. And there is, of course, the unfortunate and unavoidable mental connection that comes with drinking blood, every single time. Even his own stubbornly strong self-image can't stop him from feeling some fear in the face of his own bloodlust, considering the legacy of Dio Brando.]
[So he's been doing it as little as possible, from as few sources as possible. The issues with this became evident extremely quickly. Which doesn't mean Desmodus is a good alternative, but . . . when your other options are starving or depending unfairly on your Bonded, a vampire bar starts to look decent.]
[He's pretty obviously not enjoying himself, all the same. Shoulders tense, he's at a table by the wall for a solid hour before he ventures to move; he spends this time with cat-slit eyes, watching the goings-on, getting an idea of the rhythm of the place. He gets a blood drink, and he does finish it, but without particular interest. It seems like a waste of time. If he's going to eat or drink something decent, he'll do so. If he needs blood, there's no point watering it down.]
[There is a point during the night when he considers just going home. But even if no one bullies him into actually getting what he came here for — although they'd be well within their rights to do so — he does eventually slink to the bar to sit next to another patron, or into someone else's booth. Someone who appears to be a little more familiar with Desmodus than he is. That's right, people: Giorno Giovanna is willingly talking to other vampires! Amazing.]
Does this actually get easier at some point, or is that just propaganda? [Incredible. What an icebreaker.]
[Giorno is awake when the mist rolls in. Sitting at the windowseat in the kitchen, in fact; reading innocently, chin resting in his hand. This book is terrible. He wishes, idly, for a distraction.]iv. your knife went in ( event | enforcement )
[Moments later, the mist creeps across the periphery of his vision. Glancing up, his gaze catches on the sister moons as they're rapidly obscured by the mist. His eyes begin to burn. A moment later, all of him begins to burn.]
[It starts badly and ends badly. The sound of bone grinding on bone audible from the moment he slides to the kitchen floor, he grunts and bites down hard on the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep his voice down. He can't keep track of what's happening, only that it hurts: things poking out through his skin, bones crunching, joints reforming. The clearest thing he can see is fur: like when he's in bat form, but all over, gray and white and startlingly fluffy along elbows and down over his shoulders. Ears shift and go wide and curved, less batlike than feline. Elbows and knees reverse, forearms lengthening. His hide goes rough and patchy with fur and, sometimes, not — sometimes more like a rhinoceros's side. From all angles, wings poke out — from hips, shoulders, elbows. Other places. Anywhere, not always in pairs. His feet spread, wide like a lion's pads. His hands . . . they don't really know what they're doing.]
[He ends up a patchwork creature, about 50% feline with bat wings sticking out everywhere, bright red eyes, and a long — very long, too long tail. All of his limbs are too long for him to know what to do with right now, but the tail is the worst. It lashes like a duster across the kitchen floor. He's Furious.]
[There's a lot about this form, and this situation, that's terrible. Chief among these things is the fact that his body still hasn't really stopped shifting. Every hour or so, something significant shifts, his face or his proportions or the length of his stupid tail, so that he has to consistently switch between going on all fours or switching back to old-fashioned bipedalism. Sometimes his face is unsettlingly human, sometimes it's unsettlingly not.]
[However, he doesn't mind being out and about tonight, despite the chaos. This body seems shockingly content to roam the streets, tail swishing curiously, vertical pupils blown wide in the darkness. It seems very certain that this is all one big adventure, so he thinks he might as well go along with it.]
[He does a lot of pouncing on muggers, truth be told. He's heavier than he looks, and his paws are enormous, so once muggers are pounced upon, they stay down and he lets someone else bother with dragging them away. The looters he doesn't so much bother with, especially the ones who appear to be looting things they actually need. He watches, evaluates, and sometimes accidentally starts licking his feet once satisfied before spitting irritably.]
[When he sees the orphans, though . . . well, he just goes to stand guard as they take what they need. Anyone who tries to stop them gets an extremely unpleasant glowing red glare, Giorno's tail extending as it whips back and forth.] Can I help you?
[Hopefully, the answer is no.]
[By the time the sun rises, he's meandered home, exhausted and with his bones hurting like hell. His stamina's garbage these days anyway, but with his body shifting every half-hour, he passes out as soon as he gets home. On the couch. On top of anyone who happened to be sitting there already. So, you know, deal with it.]
I - ish
But as the days stretched onward, she began to get restless. There were only so many books she could read, so many spells she could read about that she couldn't practice while her mind was putting itself back together. Only so much sleeping she could do when scaled maws opened over triangular teeth and screamed in her face, flailed their giant anchors, flung their ghastly white snail-tailed bodies at her, ranted curses and madness in the corners of her nightmares. She was getting too into her own mind.
The days piled into a week, and Maria finally decided she needed fresh air, so she stepped out. Not off her property, not just yet, but into her gardens. It was late in the season, and even those flowers that she had salvaged from the vandals were beginning to wilt and fade - the scent dissipating from the normally very fragrant garden. The sun had set, but Maria didn't want to sleep. She had been sleeping too much as it was and tonight she could feel the stirrings of more things in her mind.
"Each wretched birth will plunge each child into a lifetime of misery." Yes. She needed to get outside.
She's not really expecting to see Giorno there, though she also isn't really sure where she expected him to be. She's unarmed, so at least he doesn't have that to fear from her. But she does consider his presence for a moment before saying anything.] Have the weeds gotten bad? It's only been... [She falters. There's a... gap there, in her mind. A very uncomfortable one, though not one that reminds her of the way the Blood used to make her memory muddled.] .. A little over a week, right?
II
So he's been sympathetic, usually trying to offer donations when he can, and at this point, someone sidling up beside him isn't cause for concern or nerves. Rich gives a sideways grin at the newcomer and takes a swig of his water.]
From what I've heard, it gets easier, but depending on who you are, it can take longer to get over all the icky feelings.
iv-adjacent
He indulges. Just a little bit, nothing directly harmful that would have the enforcers chasing him at length. As it is, he's recently shaken one, using what height he can get with his unfamiliar wings to perch up on a lamppost.
From there, he has just the right perspective to watch as an almost feline creature swiftly downs some winged humanoid clutching a wallet in its hand. Huh. Well, Akira is glad that one wasn't after him. He's quiet and still as he observes the aftermath, and in the shift of those below, his eyes pause on vaguely familiar features around bright red eyes.
Akira leans down a bit from his perch. ]
I thought the cat who caught the canary would look happier than that.
i
...that said, every walk or two he runs into A Weirdo. god, sometimes it feels like they're everywhere. for example, this guy's out in his garden yelling at a vegetable on a spike. he'd just keep walking, but what the fuck was that scream? it's a little... too weird, he thinks. he's gonna pause in front of the house. ]
You good?
[ that turnip's not picking on you, is it? ]
no subject
Oh. [A soft huff of laughter, mostly at himself.] Hello. A little bit over, yes.
[He slides sideways, sitting on a bare patch of soil so he’s half-facing her, still with eyes on the sunflowers as he works. It’s always important to keep someone potentially dangerous within one’s field of vision. It’s also rude to be facing away from someone when you’re talking to them. Two birds.]
They’re not bad. I just didn’t want them to get bad, you know? If it were me and I came back to a messy garden, I’d be furious.
no subject
Practice probably helps.
[A poorly thought through commitment to nutritional asceticism probably hurts. Which is why he’s here, but that’s beside the point currently, in his opinion.]
This city has had years to come up with a blood nutritional substitute, you know, and nobody’s done it. Not a single person. There’s money to be made there. [A long, irritated moment of tapping immaculate nails on the bar, before he begrudgingly admits:] This place isn’t so bad, though. You look comfortable.
no subject
[After putting his ears back against his head, he looks up towards the source of the voice. And up. And . . . up some more. He’s down lower than usual, and Akira, whose voice he recognizes but whose overall shape he most certainly does not, has quite the vertical advantage.]
[Traitorously, his tail swishes.]
This is a pretty pathetic canary, you have to admit.
[He leans down to tap the mugger’s head with a heavy paw. Yeah, he’s like. A little concussed. It’s fine. Knocking the wallet open, Giorno sighs.]
There isn’t even anything good in here. You look very symbolic tonight. [This is a very weird life they lead, that he can just say these things conversationally.]
no subject
[Stupid turnip. He glares at Levi.]
My stupid housemate—
[Before he can finish his sentence, two turnips scream in unison. One at Giorno (presumably for the crime of being rude about Maria) and one at Levi (for getting close to the fence).]
no subject
Once she knows he's not totally about to jump and run, she moves closer, kneeling down, herself, toward the garden to admire his handiwork.]
... Well, it's already been mostly destroyed once. [She reaches over with a bit of what might seem to be uncharacteristic tenderness and cups one of the wilting flowers in her palm.] Still, thank you for doing this. They can sleep for the winter in peace.
[She huffs a tiny bit in amusement.] I'm not sure what I'm going to do with myself for the winter. Someone mentioned a greenhouse. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea for some herbs and vegetables. The flowers I think I'll keep outside.
no subject
Still, he certainly has questions, just like this stranger seems to. He leans his head against one clawed hand, sighing overdramatically.]
Yeah, well, you'll probably find out soon that this place isn't really interested in helping out monsters, especially monsters from the mirrors. They say they're here to protect us and that they're more than happy to have more magical energy or whatever bullshit, but it's all talk.
I'm only comfortable because I took the action to be. Getting paid to offer blood once in a while isn't a bad gig.
no subject
. . . That's a good way to put it.
[Poetic, in another surprisingly Maria-ish way. Sleep in peace, like a benediction.]
We could build a small greenhouse here, you know. There's space in the yard. We could probably build a stadium in this yard if we really wanted to.
[A greenhouse would be much nicer, obviously.]
Trees are planted in fall or spring, too.
no subject
You know, funny thing, I've noticed that. Lots of very polite smoke and mirrors.
[No pun intended. He thinks about bringing up the fact that this blood could be used for things like transfusions, but dismisses it. Even he knows that's a buzzkill thing to say in a fucking vampire bar.]
Were you here back in May? For the bonfires? I don't remember seeing you, but . . . [There were ten thousand things happening, so he's not going to be too wildly self-critical if he's forgotten a face.]
no subject
[Rich is definitely a little bitter about being expected to solve his own problems here, when he was told to go to them about anything dangerous. But hey, no need to get this stranger all involved in his messy business.]
Oh, no, I got here a couple months after that. I'm Rich. Rich Goranski.
no subject
There is. I think on the other side of the stables and horse yard, though. I will soon be taking on a horse. [She cranes a look back beyond the area for the horses.] Hm... fruit trees, were you thinking? Perhaps some apples or pears would be nice.
no subject
It's a lesson we've all learned, I think. Unless somebody's very, very lucky, or favored.
[He hasn't heard anything like that, though. Maybe some people are naive enough to think things are going well, but the evidence is clear.]
[But oh, introductions. Being polite. Socializing appropriately. Right.]
Giorno Giovanna. [So Italian.] I asked because everyone was separated. The Monsters and the rest. There were separate bonfires for each. That's what you made me think of, when you said people don't want to help Monsters. That was the first thing I saw here. [He rests his chin on his hand.] Not a good first impression.
no subject
[He's abruptly very excited. He doesn't know much about horses, but he does know that having a nonhuman (or Monster) living thing around would make things . . . easier. Just easier, that's all.]
[Best not to think about whether a horse would be frightened of him like animals are of vampires in the movies sometimes. Really just not even going to go there.]
Fruit trees would be best. I don't think citrus trees would work at all around here or I'd say oranges, too. Maybe a walnut.
no subject
If I could keep the garden spelled to be warm all year, citrus could work, but it might not be worth it. I'll try something heartier. Walnuts might not be bad, either. If I could clear up some space, an olive tree wouldn't be bad, either. Olives have many uses, after all.
no subject
so instead, he glares at the turnip that yelled at him. what are you gonna do about it, asshole? you're a fucking vegetable. ]
...Your housemate what? Put a screeching little bitch curse on your garden?
no subject
Right! Some people seem so determined to think the best of them, or think they're just doing the best they can. They definitely didn't do the best they could when I talked to them.
[Oh, wow, fancy name. Rich nods along with the story, making a face of disgust at the appropriate time.]
Ugh, I'm not surprised. They kept claiming they're better than that Dorchacht place, but it started to sound like specific denial after a while. Made me wonder if they were just as bad in the past. Besides, I thought bonfires were for meeting new people and they wanted Monster-Witch bonds. How does that make any sense?