— survival can be summed up in three words

[arrancar]

WHO: grimmjow, vincent valentine & others
WHERE: around stygia and the shadowlands
WHEN: month of october
WHAT: catchall for event / other prompts
WARNINGS: language, violence etc.

( ooc | planned logs for both grimm and vv only. plotting comment here. feel free to hit me up if you're interested in doing something with one of the boys. if we've already discussed a log beforehand, feel free to drop it below or i'll get a starter tossed up. )

Comments

[paraselenes]

[ Thankfully, despite being more withdrawn (or perhaps just more cautious), the other man is quick, and springs into action without missing a beat. Puck complains loudly as he's trapped in place. Rather than leaping to pummel him, Dimitri stares at the broken lantern and is properly chastised for his own part in this mess.

He openly grimaces—the spark of guilt wakes something else up in his mind, something that wants to answer with something barbed and lashed, but he tempers his tongue. ]

...I did. My apologies.

[ And he does sound contrite about it, dropping to a knee to examine the broken lantern bits, carefully cradling a piece in his fingers to inspect. It's thoroughly trashed, gone dark. Even if it was a magical implement, it's not going to magic itself back together any time soon.

He drops the shard with a sigh, glancing up at his companion, then more sternly at Puck. ]

What to do now?

[lapses]

[ frightened by what these men would do to him, puck is more than ready to spill what he knows — on the condition that he's let go afterward. initially, he attempted to negotiate a more immediate release, but as soon as vincent applied some pressure with his clawed hand, he hurriedly adjusted the terms.

he informs them of the blood sacrifice required to repair the lantern, making sure to emphasize that it could come from a slight cut, lest they try to take his life to complete their mission. puck eyes the blond in particular warily before he requests to be let go now.

vincent doesn't speak for a moment, still locking the kid in place. ] I'll release you after the lantern is fixed.

[ he lowers his gaze to dimitri. ] I can do it if you're opposed.

[paraselenes]

[ Puck struggles, and a group of overlapping voices grumble in his skull about how this now-harmless prankster had led to the death of those people in the broadcast, and who knows how much more suffering. His Shadows is the loudest of them: it reminds him that there's nothing stopping them from using Puck's blood for this—there's no reason to forgive mischief when it comes at the cost of other lives.

But with Puck safely ("safely") in Vincent's grip, he stifles his reaction down to a harsh glare before he turning his attention back to the lantern. ]

No, it's all right. As you said, it was my mistake.

[ And therefore his responsibility. Though whether one person's blood is really enough to fix this, they'll see.

He's not armed with anything seriously sharp though, so after a moment he turns to Vincent, eyeing the same claws that he's using to keep Puck in place before he extends a hand towards him, almost too conversational in tone considering his request. ]

Though would you mind helping me? [ by... slashing him up a little?? ] No need to hold back.

[ He can grab Puck, if that helps. ]

[lapses]

[ like many others, vincent's first exchange with his shadow was startling.

he has grown used to chaos stirring within him, so a new presence — one that could actually communicate with him (no less in his voice) — was disconcerting and unwanted. but as the carrier of more than one monstrosity within him, his shadow has now become more of an extra nuisance than something to be feared.

it spoke of words that he knew himself and its singular motive was provocation.

he had far more control than to allow it to manipulate and taunt him into action. but as dimitri offers his arm towards him, he hesitates and his shadow spoke: don't pretend you're afraid of harming him. you enjoy the bloodshed. go on, slice deep into him.

his brows crease together slightly before he stifles the thought and nods once. lowering his gaze to the proffered hand, he momentarily releases his grip on puck to cut into the flesh of his palm with one sharp metallic finger — clean and precise. ]