hearthebell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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middaeg2019-10-25 02:20 pm
hearthebell) wrote in middaeg2019-10-25 02:20 pm
[OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out
Who: L Lawliet and YOU (some open prompts, some semi-open)
When: Octeuril 21 through the end of the month
Where: Around Geardagas
What: Waking up to find that he doesn't have permanent severe brain damage is tempered by realizing and processing that his Bonded actually does.
Warnings: References to violent events, angst, will update if necessary
A. Octeuril 21, The Cottage (Open to residents, visitors and healers)
[It's been a week since Myr's desperate attack had thrown blackout curtains over L's senses and thoughts, further complicated by the violent fundamental alteration of his Bonded. He'd received prompt healing to his head and ribs that made the overall prognosis hopeful, and has been cared for and kept comfortable enough, but the fact of the matter is that Connor woke up, and then the SQUIP, but trailing behind them, L just didn't. Frequent doses of healing magic can help, but not change, the fact that the brain is complex and fragile, and rebuilding and repairing it can take time with even skilled and careful intervention.
For seven days and nights, he's been sleeping it off, recuperating in the quiet and subtle ways that make the biggest collective difference. Eventually, the culmination amounts to "enough", and with no trigger, catalyst or warning, he sits up in bed with no memory of how he got there.
So, start from the beginning.
Who? The SQUIP. Rich. Niles, Michael, Jeremy, Connor and Justine. Myr.
What? The Bond is different. The Bond has changed. The SQUIP has changed.
Where? Just outside. There was blood on the pavement.
When? Too long ago. So much has happened.
Why? It had to be stopped.
How? Fingertips explore the tender place where a skull was broken, has begun to mend in earnest. Clear enough, somehow... with no small measure of disquietment, L understands that he should probably be a vegetable. Someone, or several someones, have been working on ensuring that he woke up with the one thing he couldn't live without intact. How long is the list of names? How many people does L theoretically owe his life to, now?]
Is someone there?
[A week in bed has him anxious to get to his feet again, but... oh, slow, it's a head rush just to put them on the floor while he remains seated. He's hungry, and though either magic or gentle attentive hands have been keeping his body free of grime, he wants to bathe badly.]
Please tell me what's happened.
[He'll settle for anyone, the first person he lays eyes on. Friend or foe, he has to know; he isn't usually the last, this way.]
B. The Coven (Open)
[Getting back to some semblance of an ordinary life means returning to old familiar habits. The things that L's grey matter remembers so well it's second nature are, quite simply, folding into the sanctuary of committed study, and while the new and far more human SQUIP needs him in ways it didn't used to, that's still overwhelming. Latching onto L as a fellow human who can guide it through this transition is a mistake; whether or not it's a birthright, L was never very good at being human. It's the reason he considered a machine safe, and now that it's distraught and tormented and volatile, all on account of its reaction to his injury.
Books and scrolls are stacked high at his side, and he's working on a new set of runes. A jeweler's magnifying lens is held against his eye as he carefully etches them into pieces of scrap metal bent into the crude shape of a ring. These are just practice goes, of course, but some of them are promising. He places them in one pile; a far larger pile of rejects is littering the floor around the legs of his chair.
He glances your way, shoulders curling, seeming to grow a touch more protective of his work. Lately, he can only assume that others want to take things from him that bring him some small semblance of happiness.]
C. The Sly Seadog- Samuin (Open)
[Then, of course, there are the things that are not familiar at all. A mind is more than just a collection of memories and compiled facts; it has to adapt and respond and arrange data into solutions, and while working in a controlled and quiet environment is one way to test that, L can't think of a better scenario than this one to put himself through his paces.
The SQUIP can't help him the way it used to. He feels, in many ways, like a child about to cross the street for the first time without holding his caretaker's hand.]
Buy me a shot of liquor.
[He's addressing you. Maybe you know each other and he genuinely feels you owe it to him; maybe you're strangers and he is just testing the baseline for any kind of natural charisma he may possess in this capacity. Either way, he's getting some looks from a few of the bar's rowdier-looking individuals, and deigns to add]
...please.
D. WILDCARD
[Don't see it? Want it? Well, COOL, in all likelihood I do too but just didn't think to include it. Write your own prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up on plurk at lexil or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]
When: Octeuril 21 through the end of the month
Where: Around Geardagas
What: Waking up to find that he doesn't have permanent severe brain damage is tempered by realizing and processing that his Bonded actually does.
Warnings: References to violent events, angst, will update if necessary
A. Octeuril 21, The Cottage (Open to residents, visitors and healers)
[It's been a week since Myr's desperate attack had thrown blackout curtains over L's senses and thoughts, further complicated by the violent fundamental alteration of his Bonded. He'd received prompt healing to his head and ribs that made the overall prognosis hopeful, and has been cared for and kept comfortable enough, but the fact of the matter is that Connor woke up, and then the SQUIP, but trailing behind them, L just didn't. Frequent doses of healing magic can help, but not change, the fact that the brain is complex and fragile, and rebuilding and repairing it can take time with even skilled and careful intervention.
For seven days and nights, he's been sleeping it off, recuperating in the quiet and subtle ways that make the biggest collective difference. Eventually, the culmination amounts to "enough", and with no trigger, catalyst or warning, he sits up in bed with no memory of how he got there.
So, start from the beginning.
Who? The SQUIP. Rich. Niles, Michael, Jeremy, Connor and Justine. Myr.
What? The Bond is different. The Bond has changed. The SQUIP has changed.
Where? Just outside. There was blood on the pavement.
When? Too long ago. So much has happened.
Why? It had to be stopped.
How? Fingertips explore the tender place where a skull was broken, has begun to mend in earnest. Clear enough, somehow... with no small measure of disquietment, L understands that he should probably be a vegetable. Someone, or several someones, have been working on ensuring that he woke up with the one thing he couldn't live without intact. How long is the list of names? How many people does L theoretically owe his life to, now?]
Is someone there?
[A week in bed has him anxious to get to his feet again, but... oh, slow, it's a head rush just to put them on the floor while he remains seated. He's hungry, and though either magic or gentle attentive hands have been keeping his body free of grime, he wants to bathe badly.]
Please tell me what's happened.
[He'll settle for anyone, the first person he lays eyes on. Friend or foe, he has to know; he isn't usually the last, this way.]
B. The Coven (Open)
[Getting back to some semblance of an ordinary life means returning to old familiar habits. The things that L's grey matter remembers so well it's second nature are, quite simply, folding into the sanctuary of committed study, and while the new and far more human SQUIP needs him in ways it didn't used to, that's still overwhelming. Latching onto L as a fellow human who can guide it through this transition is a mistake; whether or not it's a birthright, L was never very good at being human. It's the reason he considered a machine safe, and now that it's distraught and tormented and volatile, all on account of its reaction to his injury.
Books and scrolls are stacked high at his side, and he's working on a new set of runes. A jeweler's magnifying lens is held against his eye as he carefully etches them into pieces of scrap metal bent into the crude shape of a ring. These are just practice goes, of course, but some of them are promising. He places them in one pile; a far larger pile of rejects is littering the floor around the legs of his chair.
He glances your way, shoulders curling, seeming to grow a touch more protective of his work. Lately, he can only assume that others want to take things from him that bring him some small semblance of happiness.]
C. The Sly Seadog- Samuin (Open)
[Then, of course, there are the things that are not familiar at all. A mind is more than just a collection of memories and compiled facts; it has to adapt and respond and arrange data into solutions, and while working in a controlled and quiet environment is one way to test that, L can't think of a better scenario than this one to put himself through his paces.
The SQUIP can't help him the way it used to. He feels, in many ways, like a child about to cross the street for the first time without holding his caretaker's hand.]
Buy me a shot of liquor.
[He's addressing you. Maybe you know each other and he genuinely feels you owe it to him; maybe you're strangers and he is just testing the baseline for any kind of natural charisma he may possess in this capacity. Either way, he's getting some looks from a few of the bar's rowdier-looking individuals, and deigns to add]
...please.
D. WILDCARD
[Don't see it? Want it? Well, COOL, in all likelihood I do too but just didn't think to include it. Write your own prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up on plurk at lexil or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]