logs | — villainy wears many masks

WHO: aristaeus & others
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: month of october
WHAT: catch-all
WARNINGS: will update as needed!

NOTES: Starters will be in the comments. Feel free to hit me up at

resurrectionist or at the event planning comment for plotting.

WILDCARD OPTIONS

CR: OPEN TO ALL; GEN-FAVOURED OFFERING:

KNOCK ON WOOD - General woodland encounters; he'll be escorting/teaming up with Johanna (exilire) but the woods are tricksy so it'll be easy to run into people. BONUS: Monster encounters
GO BIG OR GOURD HOME - Feast and Harvest Hunt meet-cutes. For the Feast, I'm interested in: grablenuts, will-o-the-whiskey and elysium particularly. For the Hunt, he'll probably be the hunter.
PARADE - No solid plans. He'd be really pressed about body-swapping.
WAYWARD SUN - Quite probably going to try to fight the Horseman to be honest.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( it's precisely what he wants to hear, delivered in the least satisfying way imaginable. aristaeus' gaze slips to the side, as if considering whether or not he shouldn't just leave her here.

but then he hears it — or, rather, the echo of it. a voice more prominent than the others. a voice that is hers but not hers. )

It's right, you know. ( dropping slowly into a crouch in front of her. extending a hand, fingers curling as they tuck underneath her jaw.

her pulse is thundering. )

You are a danger. ( inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. matching her breathing to his. drawing that racing heart into something less fraught. ) But you can't help that.

[ she chokes, at first, but she can feel her lungs expand and draw a deeper breath without her say-so, can feel her heart slow. her hands fall from her face, her shoulders loosening, her eyes opening.

yet beside the somatic relief, each sentence slips between her ribs like a fresh knife. he is only confirming what she already knows. yet somehow, hearing it said aloud deepens the wound. that grief feels far away though. it doesn't settle in her throat or in her cheeks. it is as any other thought. so is the panic induced by that realization. it exists somewhere outside of her body, and even the wrongness of that cannot fully settle.

because he is throttling it. she cannot help but slow her breathing, but slow her heart. he is killing her, she thinks. he is killing her and she cannot even raise an alarm.

she reaches up, grabs at his wrist, tries to shove it away from her face. she does not think of how the voices of the people around them have started to draw into more orderly rows, trickling over her more like a brook than a monsoon. ]

Good girl.

( it's the tone you'd use for a beloved pet. one that's performed a difficult trick for the first time. the expectations had been low — and yet.

his fingers remain pressed against her skin. the contact is necessary to maintain the effect, but the truth is that he's just reluctant not to touch her now that he can. )

Isn't that better?

( as if to say "look, it needn't be unpleasant all the time". it's a lie, of course, but a pleasant one. )

[ her mouth trembles, as if she wants to contradict him, but the feeling isn't there. instead, her body feels loose and relaxed. her hand closes around his wrist as if she still means to remove it, but she doesn't.

why would she? there's nothing to worry about anymore. with the stress of panic, whatever anger she might have directed towards him drains out of her. so instead, with an almost dreamlike slowness, she nods. ]

How are you doing this? [ it's not that she can't hear the voices. they run through her mind in tidy lines. he didn't suppress her ability to hear them — but her thinking is more ordered, relaxed. the noise doesn't bother her. ]

Come back with me, and I'll show you.

( it's unlikely that she'll be able to master it on the first try. it's not an advanced technique, as such, but it requires a level of knowledge of yourself that's difficult for a lay person to master.

even someone as talented as she is. )

Where?

[ she shouldn't be considering it. not really. but soothed as she is, she cannot rouse the self-protective urge to avoid the obvious danger. ]

Just off the Harbour.

( in the kind of place that would charitably be described as "having character". but it's cheap and (mostly) clean, so he has few complaints. )

[ if he lets go of her, will it stop? will the flood rush back in? will the neat rows that her thoughts and the thoughts of others been organized into spill back over into each other, turning back into that chaotic storm?

these considerations make her want to cling tighter to his wrist, make her want to keep her head still.

but though she is drunk on her own relief, that relaxation only makes her thoughts clearer. the harbour will cut off one of her avenues to run. she can't swim. how will she get away from him, then? useful as it would be to have what he knows, she cannot be cornered like an animal. ]

No. [ she will take this breather for what it is — time enough to get back to serene. ]

( he nods. it's the answer he'd expected — and, disappointed as he might be, he is prepared.

he doesn't remove his fingers so much as he shifts their position, moving away from her jaw to slip into her hair. )

Shame. Well — ( the grip tightens, sharp enough to hurt. that tiny thorn of pain magnifying and magnifying until it overwhelms her senses entirely. ) — I did offer.

[ she doesn't cry out. she never does, when she's in pain. a cry of pain anticipates a response, and she has long foregone that delusion. no one has ever been around to hear her shouts, and eventually, they had stopped coming.

but the lancing pain is so sudden that anyone else might also not even have the chance to. rather, her eyes shoot wide, chin tilted up by the grip of his hand in her hair. and then her brain clamps down on the feeling, like some kind of emergency shut-down procedure.

she slumps into him, head lolling to the side as unconsciousness sets in. ]

( she goes quietly in the end. this surprises him more than it should — he has some idea now of the life she'd lived. she was no stranger to pain, certainly. so he hadn't held back.

he gathers her into his arms. tucks her head into the crook of his neck. has she lost weight? he can't quite remember how it had been the last time he held her.

it's another thing that will need to be dealt with. but that's okay. they have plenty of time. )

— villainy wears many masks

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