middaeg | [OTA] November Catch-All

Who: Red Wine & YOU
When: Through November
Where: All around Aefenglom
What: Quests, being around, and the full moon
Warnings: None yet

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a. [quest] 'many man's trash'

[Having no tie at all to the traditions of this place, he has no interest in persuading the people who would prefer to hang on to their possessions that they should really think about other options. What he will do, however, is roll up his sleeves in the poorer districts of the city and assist in the organisation and clean-up of the upper class junk that has been dumped there.]

A peculiar tradition. [He hums to himself, sighing as he passes over a slightly dented but no less ornate brass lamp, or a silk cushion with a single stain on one side over to one of the other volunteers (or perhaps to an eager local who has their eye on a new piece of furniture). Red Wine can move heavier items with ease even before any monster-driven transformation begins to take place, and occasionally pauses to delight watching youths by lifting an entire chest of drawers without struggling.]

One might think they'd have a designated place for this, rather than using the streets of the poor.

[The not-so-subtle derision in his tone speaks volumes of just what he thinks of that attitude. He may be used to a higher quality of life, himself, but that does not come at the expense of those beneath him.]

b. [quest] 'out of the city'

[Patrolling, watching for danger with a sword in his hand is Red Wine in his element. Whether with a partner or without one, he keeps his palm resting against the pommel of his rapier and keeps his eyes scanning the horizon. It's a good distraction from the way his skin has been becoming steadily more ashen over the course of the month, and from the way the natural red colour of his irises is now more like freshly spilled blood than his namesake.]

See that? [He says - and whether you've been patrolling with him or happen to be passing in the same direction, he gestures with one white-gloved hand towards a movement in the distance that almost blends in with the land around it.] What do you think?

[It could be nothing. It could be something innocent. It could, however, be something to fight... and he's itching for something to fight right now. Something that isn't Steak. Something he can actually do some real damage to.]

c. the full moon (first shift)

[In the week and a half leading up to the full moon, Red Wine has been more than a little tetchy. It hasn't taken any particularly outstanding level of intelligence to work out exactly what he's going to be - not when the blood cravings, always a whisper in the background, began an occasional internal banshee scream that can occasionally knock him entirely out of whatever he's doing at the time - but he hasn't breathed a word of it. He hasn't said a thing, and only waited.

No doubt the worst thing he could have done, in hindsight.

Prior to the day itself, particularly in the few days before, his temperament shifts from being casually dry to outright waspish at best. Any small children who have been wary of him before now are unfortunately given a reason to be and he even manages to get into a fight with a group of three sailors at the docks, taking all of them down into the muddy path outside their chosen public house. Anyone who has even had a single conversation with him would know this is far from his usual behaviour, but are they going to step in to try and calm him down?

During the full moon, the sound of breaking glass precedes an entire chair falling into the street and breaking into several pieces on the ground below. Most of the night is spent sitting up on the roof, where the ashen-coloured skin and the sharp hunger in his eyes mark him out for what he is far more than his natural features ever did. Having spent most of his existence resisting similar urges, he manages not to go roaming about the city looking for people to bite... but there's no small level of horror in how much he wants to.

Anyone checking in on him the morning after, should they wish to, will find him somewhat unwilling to open the door. It would only be his nature that would keep him from ignoring them entirely (unless it's Steak, who can go to hell).]

d. wildcard

[Wildcard! Find him anywhere in the city where you might want to run into him. He's not quite to the point of hiding away just yet.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You can't just dismiss this as you've spent the last two centuries dismissing my concerns.

[The words are spat out, but there's no real fire to them. He's never felt so helpless against himself, never been able to turn around to Steak and tell him without a doubt that no, his fears are not at all unfounded, that this is what he is now and he is far too likely to cause harm if unchecked.

And causing harm to innocents is such anathema to any Food Soul that it makes him cringe just to think of it.]

... This is only the beginning. I don't know what to expect next.

[ Even Steak doesn't have it in himself to begin an argument for once, taking a long drink of his tequila, letting the burn warm him from the inside, letting it provide a temporary distraction from the weight around his waist and the ghost of sensation where his horns should be. ]

What happened?

[ Tierran myth at least refers to what Red Wine appears to be becoming (of course it would be that, what else would it be), maybe they can work something out from their world's reports and stories. ]

[What happened?

Red Wine swallows a mouthful of tequila and winces at the taste as it goes down. It's revolting, but he doesn't care. He sinks down into the chair and looks away from his companion, feeling a tightness in the back of his throat.]

... I don't want to talk about it.

[Not now, and... not with Steak.]

It's enough that it happened, and it's going to keep happening.

Fine.

[ He tries not to sound petulant that Red Wine won't talk about it, when they could have looked into some perfectly practical ways of dealing with it.

But instead they'll have to deal with tequila. And not even tequila Steak would rate as "pretty good" among all the alcohol he's tried in his long existence. And so, for the space of the rest of his drink — and the pouring of another —, he's silent, running a hand through his hair as he leans back into his chair and finds himself promptly reminded of his new limbs. ]

... The hell am I supposed to be?!

[ The frustrated question rises up out of his throat before he has a chance to stop it, a combination of fingers hitting his newly re-aligned horns and the tentacles preventing him from properly lounging, a harsh growl asked more to the ceiling than to Red Wine. ]

[He would challenge Steak to find any practical reason of dealing with turning into your worst nightmare. Red Wine is more than satisfied with dealing with it using awful-tasting alcohol, but after a few mouthfuls of it have gone over his tongue he can barely taste it well enough to be offended.

The question draws a look, a weary glance up and down the other Soul's altered form, (an internal shudder at what it reminds him of) and a tired shrug.]

Chimera. [He ventures, then sighs and pushes himself up to his feet to retrieve one of the softer cushions from the couch, tossing it in Steak's direction.]

Put that behind you. It'll help.

... Thanks.

[ Look, he'll take it right now, along with the pleasant buzz drinking brings. Not enough to distract him from his own changes, not yet, but enough to take the edge off last night's events. ]

I look ridiculous.

[ And, yes, too much like a certain Fallen Angel for his comfort. ]

You do.

[But it doesn't come out like a barb. Red Wine tips his head back against the chair and closes his eyes for a few moments.

Gods, he's so tired, and knowing how it can be now hasn't made the anxieties that have been keeping him from sleeping any easier to settle down.]

Does it hurt?

Not any more.

[ Which, of course, implies that it did hurt before. But what else could be expected from suddenly sprouting new limbs and having your horns realign themselves?

He's never had to so much as grow an inch since he came into existence, and now... now he finds himself sprouting limbs in tearing agony as the full moon rises.

How fun.

He takes another drink, a long one, and immediately refills and drinks that next glass. He needs to be more drunk than he is to properly voice the thing that's unsettling him. ]

Ah.

[He expects that it hurt before. He takes that information in, absorbs it, and decides that he doesn't like it.

He doesn't like it at all.

The tequila is barely hitting the sides and Red Wine can't taste it after the first few mouthfuls. It does nothing to numb the peculiar ache in his gut, but it works well enough to quiet the rest of him.]

I'm going to need your help, I expect.

[ He prefers the nights where they end up in a stupor because they did a job well done and are celebrating, but this is what they've been given.

Two curses of different types. ]

Tch, you know you always have it.

[ It's... unusually sensitive a response, for Steak.

Perhaps the tequila is affecting him more than he thought. ]

[It's unusual enough to give Red Wine pause, even through the haze of drink quickly descending through how swiftly he's been working his way through his drinks.

He could say something bitter, or scathing, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks down at his glass and mutters two words.]

Thank you.

[ There's a cough, a soft clearing of Steak's throat. Something they've both known so well, that's remained unspoken because that's how they've always operated best. Fighting, fighting, and coming to the same conclusion because they work best together.

It's strange to have to say it.

He huffs into his drink, making the liquid slosh against the sides of his drink, and laughs in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes. ]

Don't get so sentimental on me, old man.

Tch. Disrespectful brat.

[It took swallowing a large amount of pride to express the need for help so openly, but there were few people he would admit the need to other than Steak and none of them are here.

He tops off his glass again, but eyes the offensive liquid instead of drinking it immediately.]

Don't expect I'll be leaving you to deal with things alone, either.

[ And, being Steak, no matter how much he may enjoy laughing at his friends, he wouldn't let anyone know this happened.

He knocks back the last of his drink and falls silent for a moment. Can he even ask Red Wine to take care of him when Red Wine is dealing with the horrors of his worst nightmare? ]

What are you going to do? You can't beat me in our normal fights. [ Yes, he's deflecting. But truly... how much more powerful is this form going to make him? ]

In your dreams, I can't beat you.

[It's something to rile him up, he knows, but he's had enough to drink that it doesn't prickle the way it usually would. Drinking so much tequila so quickly hits him in a way that the more refined drinks he usually chooses does not.

Steak may not ask, but that doesn't matter.]

We can test our new limits another time.

[ With them, that's all but guaranteed, Steak knows. It's just the way they operate, much to the chagrin of any nearby buildings. ]

Heh. I'll hold you to that.

[OTA] November Catch-All

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