Once upon a time, in a land not so far away...
You wake to the feeling of being watched. Of a set of unfamiliar eyes, of warm breath on the back of your neck. A jolt back to the land of the living, and it's gone. No matter how quick you are, how sneaky, the source of the disruption has long since disappeared, so you have no choice but to try and ignore it. To continue on with your day and try to set that moment of strangeness aside.
You eat, drink, speak with others. Perhaps you explore a little. Whatever it is you choose to do for the day, that feeling from the morning won't return. And by the time the sun sets and the moon glows brightly above, you've likely set those moments of strangeness aside. It's not like it's anything new, after all.
It's the same again for the next few days. No better, no worse. Something best ignored, right?
A speck of blood on the doorframe. That wasn't there before, was it?
A snap of twigs in the distance. A crunch of leaves.
Claw marks gouged deeply into the door.
Into the wall above your bed.
Scraps of red fabric, turned darker with blood. Pieces of fur. Of flesh.
Do you run and hide? Do you fight? Whatever you choose, it's definitely time to make sure your body parts aren't scattered next...
...what a horribly big mouth you have.
--------------------
Since first waking up on the island, characters have been stuck with that feeling of being watched. It isn't a constant. Isn't more than a few seconds at a time, dotted throughout the day. Investigation has never turned up much, and there's never been any sightings of the cause of it all.
Until now.
Throughout the first half of the week, characters will find themselves suffering from that feeling of being watched on a far more constant basis. Rather than it being a one-off, few seconds occurrence each day, that feeling will last for minutes at a time, and on multiple occasions.
However, it isn't until the fifth day that they'll start stumbling across physical signs of their monitoring. There are claw marks on doors. Spots of blood on the paths outside. A crack of twigs in the forests, or the imprint of bloodied paws in the snow.
Ten days in and those signs start finding their way indoors. Wet footprints, tinged with red. Claw marks in the walls, the floor. Torn sheets and the smell of wet...something. Whatever it is that's been watching you, its finally decided to come and say hello.
Two weeks in and characters will begin to have sightings of the creature, its fur dark and its eyes a glowing yellow. At times it looks like a wolf, prowling in the distance. At other times, it's walking on its hind legs, almost human were it not for the muzzle full of gleaming sharp teeth. Get too close, and it slips away like a shadow, gone between one blink and the next. It decides when to reach out to characters, not the other way round.
It's after characters finally get a good look at the creature that it starts leaving...gifts. Characters will start to find familiar items from their home worlds amidst the mess. The remains of a childhood pet, perhaps. Photographs of loved ones, faces torn almost beyond recognition. It's only once it delivers its final gift that the creature retreats to the trees again: a blood-splattered item of clothing that clearly belongs to the person the character misses the most at the time, alive or dead.
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ʀʏᴏ ᴀsᴜᴋᴀ >> ᴅᴇᴠɪʟᴍᴀɴ (ᴏᴠᴀ/ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ)
ʙ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
ᴄ. ɪᴛ's ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴇᴀsʏ
ᴅ. sᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜰᴀʟʟs, ᴍʏ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟs
C
So here he is.
He didn't expect-- that. The bloodstained glasses. He's got good eyes, unfortunately good, so he can tell that's what they are, even in the low light. Lance feels suddenly wrong-footed, offkilter. He's not sure what to say, there are a dozen questions buzzing around his head, but none of them seems like the right thing to start with.
... So he doesn't. He stands, and waits, fingers nervously dancing over the makeshift quiver and the ends of his arrows, to the end of his bow slung over his back. Makeshift. Bamboo. He's still learning, but he is learning - as much as he still wishes he had a rifle. He lingers, not sure what to say, what to expect Ryo to say. When he does speak up, Lance jolts just slightly, like he got lost chasing after trains of thought. ]
Hey. Uh. [ A smoke? ....... It seems so outlandish it takes him a moment. ] Not really. I wanted to ask if you wanna come with us tomorrow, we're going hunting. [ Addendum, he's suddenly not sure if Ryo is familiar with the "we" he means here, ] Me and Keith.
But... did something happen?
no subject
There's often isn't these days, the hands on the clock ticking toward increasing uncertainties. Ryo hadn't much to spare, much to consider beyond what was next, who was next — if he was next, his father's hunting knife kept just beneath his pillow.
So, what was the use in dredging up what had gone past? What was the use in recounting any unsettling distance, paranoia staining dark the white bones that kept it all inside his chest? Maybe once Ryo would have regarded Lance as someone who was innocuous, who had no real interest in him as much he had no real interest in him. Perhaps he would have given him more than a cursory glance, a family name to term him by when crossing paths.
Instead, he only tugs his collar closer with his free hand. It brushes, curls toward the cut of his cheekbones. It hides so much of him. ]
Ha, [ he breathes, after a time. He takes a long drag off his cigarette, flicks from it the thin film of ash. ] Nothing like that.
[ If he notes Lance's discomfort, he doesn't seem to pay mind to it. His eyes flit to quiver Lance consults, the repetitive movements meant to steady him. And still, even after, Ryo doesn't look at him. He looks beyond him, the curve of his shoulder like a level for the horizon line. He doesn't really want to go, but he knows Akira will want to. At the very least, he could ascertain the lay of the landscape and guarantee that Akira'll remain safe.
He takes another drag. ] We'll go, [ he says, words punctuated by thin wisps of grey smoke. ] I'm good at tracking.
[ He omits that he won't be the one to kill. He can't bring himself to do it. ]
wildcard
[A voice roars overhead, equal parts exuberant as it was threatening, though the latter is less intent and more from the simple volume one can achieve by yelling from a massive throat.
The accompanying meters-long wingspan casts a wide shadow, the preceding soar of a hawk calculating its dive for prey were it a hostile creature. However, instead of beginning the fall to sink claws into hair and flesh, the beast above simply grazes the treetops, a green and black blur attempting to get a glimpse of his target of interest below. Gusts of wind launch a brief shower of woody debris and clouds of loose pine needles to the forest floor as Akira finally makes his landing on the sheer edge of a broken boulder up ahead.
It had been a few days since his arrival on the island, and he had spent his time largely surveying the nearby land in devilman form. He was faster this way - and more insulated from whatever elements the change of climate brought with it. His flights were mostly hours of combing through the green of woodlands, counting the bald patches where abandoned cabins happened to be. It was watching the the clear crystal of the lake, tracing the snaking forms of streams and rivers, and eventually beginning to veer outwards to the heat and cold and humidity skirting in opposite directions.
He had seen signs of other inhabitants too, but none seized his attention quite like that familiar dot of blonde in the dark green of the woods. It was the moment he happily realized he wasn't alone.]
no subject
Not since he'd been deposited here, not since he'd woken up. The strap of the pack had long bitten into the meat of his shoulder even through his coat, but it had only served as a distraction. It had kept him grounded through his fatigue, his stomach filled only by the knowledge he'd kept. There wasn't much here, but there wasn't much anywhere. And besides, why would it matter without a solid plan? How could he trust to do more than that, when he could trust so little to begin with? He'd seen enough to know that he was not alone, but it was that fear of what he did know that kept him restless.
And, from what he could discern, his lack of knowledge was widespread. It was rampant. And Ryo, Ryo refused to be part of those who settled in when he had —
But, Ryo Asuka had always been a fickle thing. And his heart, too, had always possessed a singular target since the start of this all. And so, when he hears his name, there's no doubt that his plans have shifted.
He needn't think on it. ]
Akira!
[ It comes all at once, a sharp exhalation. The syllables break easy against his teeth like waves to a shore, familiar and well-worn. He knows that voice. He knows that form. He needn't even look up, but he does. He doesn't have a choice. For as long as he'd known Akira Fudo, Ryo'd known his attention had come to house itself against his skin. And now, it returns to where it lives.
And instinct — it's just as declarative. Already, he's pushing his way through the treeline. His feet have decided for themselves to find a way to his side, his eyes fixed on the breaks in the evergreen. The lay of decay that coats the forest floor does nothing at all deter and neither does the network of roots beneath. In a way, isn't just as suiting that that lack of grace never finds him? Isn't it just as suiting that even now, in this place that has nothing at all he can place realization in, Ryo can rest relief in him?
Human beings are not known for their speed. He can't keep up with the powerful press and push of wings. Forever bound by gravity, it was only a human's reason and endurance that kept them going this long. And without the former, for the moment, it's only that perseverance that pushes him on.
He runs on that alone, both literal and figurative.
When catches up, he stills before the outcrop — shakes the sharp scent of pine from his hair and opens up his posture, the heavy canvas of his coat settling back against him. He doesn't pause for long, before he's climbing his way up to where he is. He has to be sure. He needs to be. ]
no subject
The yellow of Akira's eyes manage to glow with very human relief as he sees Ryo follow him and emerge intact from the boreal forest. From his height in the sky, his friend had looked like a pale grain on the ground, and it was only vague resemblance and a twinge of gut feeling that got him to slow down and get a closer glimpse. Luckily, it looks like that instinct had been entirely right.
In his own excitement, he briefly forgets what several meters of stone means to someone unable to simply leap it in one bound. That is, he forgets until Ryo decides to climb up the rock face on his own with nothing but his hands and his tenacity. He is certain that Ryo could make it all the way to the top if he wanted. It hasn't been so long since their forays through the wilderness back home that he’d forgotten the unusual stamina. It had been Ryo helping him up the last sharp slopes of an exhaustive trek in those times before his possession, after all.
Akira, in kind, lowers a rough palm to save him the trouble. The clawed fingertips brush gently against the skin of Ryo’s hand, waiting to be gripped to allow him an easy hoist up to the top. Though, a little close attention to that large forearm would reveal small streaks of still-drying blood coating the base of his claws and clumping a little of the short, dense hair. Some of it remained on his lips and teeth, too. With the time that had passed and a land full of plentiful wildlife, it wouldn't be too hard to guess how it ended up there. It looks like being absent of human company for a few days left a devilman’s social graces a bit lower on their list of priorities.]
no subject
His hands find holds, his feet certain where they rest. The path gives itself to him, the topography of stone like the topography of home – it weaves, as those once long paths wove down to the sand, the salt, the ocean. Back then, they’d tethered themselves to each other. Back then, Ryo had placed his hand in his countless times, directing Akira this way and that. More to the left, he’d tell him above the sweep of the ocean. Do you feel that one?
He remembers the occasional topples, the collapsed heap of too long limbs. He remembers that Akira would still follow despite it all, but it had been only them. It’d had been only the long, humid hours on slow, summer evenings – school shirts quick to fold over the crest of their broadening shoulders, baring still pale flesh beneath. It’d been so long now since he’d seen that narrow alcove, had swum the warmer currents with Akira beside him. It’d been even longer since the scent of the sea would impart itself warm and damp against their sun-flushed skin, brush Akira somehow even more gentle, vivid.
But, Akira had always been that way: clear and sharp, a means of focusing all that Ryo no longer could touch. He was delineated, brilliant against the inconsistency of the human heart. He’d always been more than Ryo ever could permit, the shape of his vulnerabilities like the shape of his name on his tongue, the fall of his footsteps neat into his own. For all that Ryo guides, Ryo too follows. And follow he does.
He’d follow him anywhere, just as certainly as Akira does.
Against the sun, Akira’s wings are like the sleeping red of eyelids, the soft web between fingers and toes. He could trace all that blooms bright and vital beneath the leather of them, but there is nothing that comes, but this:
Ryo’s hand settles about a claw that reaches for him, his hand dwarfed by the enormity of what he is. What this body is. Akira, at the end of it all, is still the one he chose. He is still the one who wrests control from the demon that coils beneath the skin, present in the blood that dries upon the fur that brushes against him as Ryo allows himself to be pulled up.
He isn’t frightened. Of Akira, he never was.
His pulse hums. ]
There you are, [ he says, more breath than not. It isn’t for exertion, but rather the relief that feathers from him, that folds about the lines of his body like a flare. The rest can come later, once his cursory inspect confirms that Akira is together, whole. His eyes travel, without thinking. They touch upon the gore, assess and dismiss it as not Akira’s own in quick measure. His hand keeps hold of his claw, almost as if he’s forgotten.
And still, his lips tip up. ] You’ve kept yourself busy.
[ He tips his head up, eyes bright, the corners crinkling just enough to be perceptible. It’s more than he’d hoped for. It’s more than enough. ]
no subject
But aside from the stains of grass and dirt marked onto his clothes, it looks like he had nothing to worry about. He couldn't smell any blood, either - at least, none that belonged to Ryo's. There was just the beat of his eager heart, the relief in his breaths, and the glint of a real smile in his eyes. That was more than enough.]
Busy -
[What he was referring to doesn’t quite hit Akira until he notices the red smear on Ryo’s coat from his own hands. The claws retreat from him apologetically, a foaming wave reaching its crest too early and seeping quickly back to the ocean. Were it anyone else's eyes looking back at him, he may have felt a stronger sting of human insecurity at his frightening appearance.]
- I’ve been trying to find out where we are. None of this place looks familiar.
[His hands lift to his chest, where where something begins to shift unnaturally, driven by neither bone nor muscle. Over his sternum grows a mass, not much larger than the devilman's palm, stretching the hair and skin until it acquires a bare leathery texture and oblong shape. The stitching only engraves itself into recognizable, manmade patterns once the pack is mostly formed and nearly freed from the grasp of pliant, pulsing demon flesh. It falls into his hand in the same state as when he absorbed it, entirely dry and preserved inside him. Somehow.
Akira didn’t know how it worked, exactly, just that it was the first thing that came to mind when he became too large to properly wear it. The same way he knew Ghelmer’s name, or how to grow his wings, or to grab Sirene’s antenna with his own. ]
Someone left this.
no subject
He wasn't positive how he'd managed it. But, he knew that he had to. He knew that he did. And he knew, in the hours spent in pursuit, he'd somehow pulled the talons out from beneath the firm lay of his ribs and shoved the extremity over the lip of the steel beam that given him a vantage point to begin with. It was too heavy, he knows, for a human to typically lift. But, humans in their own right could be strong enough when given opportunity. And he was, more than once. From one day to the next, he'd grappled with what anxieties subsumed them. He held back their teeth and their claws, felt the acidic bite and the slow abrasion of inevitability as the world they'd come to know began to distort. For one who'd been so gentle, he'd splintered under the strain and the barbs of what remains is enough to fend most people off. It was an adaptation, in its own right. It was its own power, though illusory and cloaked.
But, as he does not fear Akira, Akira too does not fear him. No matter the way he arms himself against all beyond him, Akira finds his way through. He shoulders through the strongholds, uses the sensitivities that still exist within the skin to peel away the layers that surround him. Ryo takes a slow breath as Akira's curved nails skim, take from him one guard in part as Akira inspects him in the same way Ryo had inspected him. He's careful, precise. His wounds, much like Akira's own, had healed without indication of why or when. It is only that they had, leaving the residual cast of bandaging beneath his shirt to cover what once was there. ]
I was thinking the same thing, [ Ryo starts, after a moment. The bright in his tone dulls, like a frost pressed against dark windows. It smudges what is beneath, an odd ache that curls within his ribs like ivy. His hand retreats as Akira's does, finds a place to rest beneath the shoulder strap that cuts dull into his flesh, even above the coat. It's heavy with wild vegetables, fruits — a few other items, here and there. His gaze moves, for a moment, to what fans around them. There's forest as far he can see, a green sea of trees. Ryo sighs through his nose. ]
There's no way I traveled as far as you did, but there's nothing about what I've seen that looks geographically familiar.
[ He glances back. The manifestation of the pack, somehow, isn't surprising to him. He'd seen an action akin to this before, the reconstitution of muscle and sinew, the weight of Akira's arm in his hands. The recollected sensation of blood smeared across his palms strikes him, but he does not say a word. Akira is here and Akira is whole. He is uninjured and that is all that matters now, in a place they both do not know.
He turns the pack around to the front of his hip, demonstrative. He pushes aside the flap, blind, with one hand as he roots in. ]
I got one too.
[ Though, what he comes up with shouldn't be in most bags. It's a book, its binding bent and battered. The pages are dog-eared in ways that reflect something well-read, a singular and makeshift bookmark holding the place the owner stopped reading it. He extends it to him. ]
Here.
no subject
The thick keratin of claws retract back into their beds as the dense undercoat on his legs thin out until bare skin was all that was left underneath. Crouched on the ground, the monstrous mass of his limbs slim down to human proportions. The long tail, with all its tense and emotive curves and arrowhead tip, vanishes into his spine. Wing-like crests and thick antenna lose their shape, becoming a formless, writhing mane of hair absent of any effect of gravity. The shearing carnassials and fangs of his teeth lose their vicious sharpness - though a hint of them remains by the end.
Akira soon stands to his feet, bare as the day he was born, and wipes the still-present blood from his mouth. His eyes are obstructed by wisps of hair, falling chaotically over his face once they lose their supernatural viscosity. The yellow glow of the demon fades from his eyes until there is nothing but a familiar, warm umber staring back at Ryo, and a hand (mostly) wiped clean of his lunch reaching for the book.]
[Touching the worn paper edges with his fingers brought fond memories of being lost with Ryo in the curiosities of the Professor’s study. Despite his rougher appearance and even more physical methods nowadays, the human Fudo Akira once enjoyed diving through a library - whether they be at his school or in the dark corridors of the Asuka mansion. His room in the Makimura’s house was sparsely populated, save for small things like this copy of the Divine Comedy he'd taken a liking to, unaware of just how relevant Dante’s stories would be to his future.]
Why this, of all things…?
[Akira muses on the question as he picks it up out of Ryo’s hand, his own pack nearly empty in comparison. A quick flip of the pages uncovers the scent of old paper before the book is packed away.]
I have something for you too. Let’s trade.
[Akira offers his lighter bag in with the thing in question, taking notice of how Ryo’s strap sank sharply into his shoulder. Even with his friend’s uncanny endurance, Akira knew he’d have an easier time carting around something heavy on his own back. Ryo was still human, as far as he knew.]
Bryn Thornbreak | Original Character
[ Bryn is not sure what to think when she opens her eyes. She remembers falling asleep to celebrations. She remembers the sound of her friend trying to navigate playing his banjo with his new arm. She recalls another one complaining about how no one told her how dirty adventuring was. She knew the sounds she fell asleep to and the familiar voices. When she wakes up there's a tired confusion as she looks around. Her companions weren't alongside her. Surely they couldn't have wandered off that far. Why would they have? They had some measure of comfort in the druidic settlement.
A moment later it clicks. She isn't in the settlement. Her companions aren't with her. She scrambles up quickly, hooves kicking away any twigs or leaves that had touched and startled her. She reaches to her hip for her weapon only to feel air. Not good. She reaches behind her to see her smaller sword was still on her back. Nothing. A sense of dread hit her at the idea that was alone and unarmed. Normally she found comfort among the woods but now her heart began to sink. Surely this was a joke. A poor joke but what other reason was there? ]
Alessandra? Azogg? If you dragged me from camp to play a joke this isn't funny.
[ Slowly she starts to walk forward, trying her best to rest each hoof lightly on the ground. Her movement is slow and cautious. She peeks slowly around each tree close enough to her. The tightening feeling in her chest gave her no comfort. She knew the wilds though. She should feel at ease but the hairs on the back of her neck felt like they were standing up. If only she had even her hunting knife on her. There were so many small comforts she was used to even if it was as simple as feeling like she had a real weapon on hand. Now of all the times to be stuck without them. ]
Last time I ever listen to someone and sleep near people.
Day Ten
[ She knows the feeling of being watched. A feeling she was far too familiar with that brought forth more emotions than she knew how to handle. She hated it. It got under her skin and wrapped all sorts of negative thoughts in her mind. She had to survive though. A small cabin, weathered and worn and barely fit to be shelter was her new home. It served primarily for storage of anything she manages to salvage from the area. Food, material that she might be able to use for crafting and a few things she thought might be interesting. Yet every night so far despite the feeling of being watched she kept sleeping outside. There was a deep comfort to sleeping in the wilds and exposing herself to the elements. It was one of the few comforts that she could find at the moment. Considering she was positive she wasn't finding a familiar village anytime soon she took any comfort as a victory.
That comfort was ruined when she found tracks in the cabin. Within a few moments she's galloping through the woods as fast as she can. Twigs, branches and roots snapping underneath her as she is done trying to sit and wait to find out what's been around the area. She is a fighter, a hunter, and she would not be bothered by some unknown creature following her. ]
Come out! Are you afraid to fight me?! Cowardly beast!
[ Finally at her last shout she slows to a stop to catch her breath. She's at about a zero on the level-headed scale as she keeps looking around to see if the beast has shown itself. ]
Just you wait! When you show yourself I'll crush you!
[ Zero chill. ]
A gift
[ No mater what she's done it seems like the creature won't fight. She tried everything she could think of. Traps, goading, even trying to knock a tree down when she thought she heard it on the other side. Not that the tree budged nor did she find that fight but she tried. That was all she could do to find comfort. It never mattered how fast her legs made her run. It was faster then her. As much as she hated to admit it maybe it was even smarter than her. What a joke. She was supposed to be capable of taking beasts down. Now this thing was messing with her like she was nothing. It was eating at her. She was letting a mere animal get her. Bryn was positive that somewhere her companions would be laughing at her. To go from the fearless fighter who charged into anything without question to a paranoid fool.
This morning as she heads out it's different. Instead of finding food while she's out and about she finds a blacksmiths hammer. Ornately carved runes along the hand and a crest engraved into the head. The hammer has certainly seen better days but it was made with a fine eye detail. She takes the hammer and turns it over in her hands a few times. There's something unsettling about having the hammer in her hand as she notes some marks on it she doesn't remember seeing on it before. ]
Hordus? Hello...? Are you out there?
[ Now she's confused. She was certain there was no one she knew here. Part of her almost hopes that it was someone else's if only to ease her mind. ]
I hate this place.
Wildcard
[ Wanna make friends with a centaur? Now's your chance! I got a little info post for her here and for any questions/plotting stuff feel free to pm me. ]
day ten!!
Hooked claws, a mouth full of fangs and a whip-like tail made it certainly look like something that would make a mess of one's cabin. In truth, a devilman's monstrous form was everything one would expect from a demon, vicious and sharp and right at home in an image of hell. Except, a glimpse of its eyes would reveal something softer, something a little more vulnerable than what you'd find in a prowling monster.
Akira brushes the remaining flakes of ice off the green-blue hair of his upper body, having flown in from the snow flurries northeast. Despite his own encounters with the wolf, it had been long enough since his last visit to allow some of that tense hunger for bloody catharsis to seep out of him. This particular forest had a soothing air to it, and he enjoyed the peace of the trees. The animals tended to go quiet upon arrival, but he knew a little time would give the birds the regained will to sing again.]
Akira Fudo | Devilman
(cw: he arrives in the nude because that’s how devilman rolls; also some minor canon-typical injury description)
[Akira doesn't awaken so much as he's ripped out of a blood-loss induced unconsciousness. It takes a few seconds for the shock to wear off to let him to realize a few things: (1) he was no longer in his devilman form, (2) his injuries have mysteriously vanished, and (3) Sirene was similarly gone. Was he dead? Surely, she would have killed him without a second thought. If that were the case, he probably wasn't in any sort of heaven, considering his merging with a demon as vicious as Amon.
A hand lowers to pat his stomach, double checking in slight disbelief to find his innards no longer exposed to the elements by Kaim's horns. There was nothing - not even a scar left behind. Akira doesn't think to check the bag on the ground for clothes as he stands up. Beyond the disregard for his own nakedness, he looks entirely human at the moment. The only odd features on him were two long scars on his back. The markings snaked over his shoulders to the chest, and were far too symmetrical to be from any accidental injury.
Not that Akira is expecting any company to actually see him. Instead, he’s taking a moment listen to the rustle of leaves and twigs above him, to the sound of rocks embraced by the edge of a creek, to the chirping songbirds fluttering from tree to tree. He lets himself soak in the calm of the natural landscape, unbothered by the exposure to the temperate air. It was incredibly peaceful here. So much so that a single, sure observation comes to his head:]
This can't be hell.
b. good pickings
[Once half-clothed and introduced, Akira quickly finds himself busy enough with the task of survival. No convenience stores seemed to be on the island, sadly, so it was back to basics.
Perhaps it should be natural that a devilman would take some fondness for hunting. The visceral impulses of a demon fit perfectly well in untouched wilderness as much as they clashed with life in a human city.
But of course, killing things wasn’t the only way to gather food. Sometimes, you’re on foraging duty.
For all Akira excelled in picking out elusive game and landing his marks, he couldn’t escape the grasp of boredom picking fruits out of a tree. Standing comfortably between two branching trunks of particularly large, old and magnificent looking one, he digs into the leafy branches hovering twenty feet into the air. Every dozen seconds or so, an apple gets picked from its base and is lazily tossed downward - presumably, to someone below.]
[Not that he’s paying any particular attention to where he’s throwing them, he’s just chucking them to the ether. Rather than an orderly pile, the grass below is going to be scattered with fruit all over the ground.
Eventually, his head appears out of the green:]
Is that enough? Can we call this done?
c. two weeks in
[Fight-hungry devil blood and youthful impatience mixes into quite the powderkeg after weeks of a threatening thing hovering in Akira’s periphery. The viscera left behind was familiar enough for him to assume some kind of demon was fucking with him, even if the typical demon he knew tended to leave more intact displays of gore. The moments of uncanny quiet left him with a sense of urgency, and soon enough he was itching to find monster flesh to rip apart with his bare hands.
Needless to say, a first proper sighting of the creature finally sets that powderkeg to blow. Through the fog and the dark of night, Akira is quick to spot a glimpse of the massive, vaguely canine shape near the wooden walls of a dark cabin. In the half-second it takes to register in his head, a fearless staccato drumbeat instantly flares up his veins.]
Finally revealed yourself, have you?
[ He was going to kick this thing's ass for all it’s damn trouble.
With an inhuman speed of his own, he slams his forearm square through the wooden door behind the shadow. Whether the cabin was inhabited or not seemed to be lost on him - to hell with the consequences at this point.
The planks shatter into pieces as the hinges snap clean off. Splinters and nails bounce across the floor and opposite wall with the larger pieces of wood. Akira bursts in with his fangs locked together, footsteps heavy and breaths agitated as he looks back and forth for the beast. Of course, there is no monstrous opponent waiting for him. The creature melted into smoke the moment he got anywhere near melee distance.
Instead, all he had was his mess, the cold wind from outside, and whomever was around. Well - at least that was one way to make an entrance. ]
d. wildcard!!
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A because why not!
It isn't that Lance is lost, exactly. It's more the fact that it's absolutely horrifically mindnumbingly boring to trudge through the forest on his own. And it also maybe possibly makes him a bit paranoid. The paranoia perhaps goes hand in hand with the fact that he never knows what this place is going to throw at them, because it's difficult to actually feel safe here.
Even so, making his way through the underbrush he's not as sneaky as he might be. The rustle of leaves is audible as he approaches, bow in hand, though it's lowered, he's aiming at nothing.
A human voice isn't the last thing he expects, but it's close. And yet, his response is almost automatic. ] I wouldn't know, I've never been- can you put on some clothes?!
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After the initial shock, Akira doesn’t seem all that embarrassed at being caught in his birthday suit by a stranger. Aside from the shameless confidence that came with being host to a demon’s vices, once he got to fighting his fourth or fifth horrifying boob monster in his equally nude devil form, he just got accustomed to that kind of thing anyway. It is less mortifying faux pas and more slight inconvenience at this point, even stranded on some unknown land with who knows what skulking around.
So, he turns to face Lance with more interest in his bow and his gear than in making any attempt to cover himself.]
I don’t know. Do you have any?
[There is an attempt to walk forward, but it is interrupted by a bare foot hitting the leather bag. Akira looks down with the slightly confused realization that says it is definitely the first time he’s noticed its existence.]
b
I guess? I don't know how many of them they all want.
[This is probably one of the worst combinations for foraging, truth be told. So she's just kind of looking around at the scattered apples, also wishing she was out hunting instead.]
Jeez, you couldn't have put them all together or something? We're still going to have to pick these all up and lug them back. Yeah, you know what, this is fine. If they want more, they can come out here and get them.
[She's just going to continue looking at all the apples before picking one up and taking a bite out of it. They won't miss this one. Probably.]
theyre gonna be best friends
No, they're going to be eaten by something else if we just leave it on the ground.
[He may be a little more useless at foraging than he was at hunting, but he was at least picking something out of branches. Maybe it speaks to how poorly they planned this whole expedition to the apple tree that neither of them thought about how to actually bring all the fruit back to camp.]
Wasn't it your job to get a basket?
absolutely
[She did bring her empty pack though, and will start unfolding that and grumpily tossing apples in it once she's finished eating that one.]
Probably going to need a few trips for all this.
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Akira drops his pack at the tree's roots before making his own landing in the grass. He never kept anything in it beyond the very basics like the mirror shard. Plenty of room for apple-carting.]
How many? I lost count after the first dozen I threw down here.
[It does occur to him to take his unused shirt from the pack to make an impromptu bag out of it. Helping!]
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[Was she supposed to be counting? She probably was, but tallying and record keeping's never been her strong suit. Even back in the days of the Round Table, other knights were way better at doing things like that than her.
She was more looking at them being all over the place than trying to keep track of how many there were. So she'll take another glance around and give her best guess.]
...more than a dozen then.
[Anyways, moving on!]
Hey, that's not a bad idea. We can probably use this too.
[She'll take her jacket off, figuring between that, his shirt, and the two packs it's hopefully enough to get all of these bagged up. Or at least some of them.]
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[He asks with genuine concern, as if totally oblivious to his own pants-only situation. Nevermind the fact that he was currently attempting to hackey-sack kick one of the apples into his hands with equally bare feet. He supposes he may as well get some entertainment out of the most boring of their daily tasks.]
Except, rather than land in waiting palms, it goes flying well over his head and rolls to a stop in Mordred's direction. Fighting dark forces doesn't require one to be particularly dignified, apparently.]
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No way! Maybe if I was a normal person, yeah, but stuff like this is nothing to someone like me.
[Both because as a Servant, she's more durable, and because she's just arrogant. What are things like the cold to the person that slew King Arthur?
And as far as that apple goes, she'll wedge her shoe under it and kick it back over at him.]
Now if it was some of the others, yeah, you'd probably have to worry about that with them.
HOPE LATE TAGS ARE COOL
Sure. I like someone who can teach the weather a lesson.
[This time, the apple caught and tossed in with the others, though it may be in a bit of a less edible state after being kicked around so many times. Whatever. They had plenty of other ones to go around.]
Who are you supposed to be, exactly?
[Sure, he gets paired with someone named ‘Mordred’ and he’s bound to have a few questions. Mainly about naming choices. Assuming she’s the traitorous quasi-historical figure supposedly seen frozen in Cocytus? Nah.]
Definitely fine!
What do you mean who am I supposed to be?
[She's a little put off by that. It's partially her own fault, she's spent her time here being quiet about her name, giving Saber out instead.
Which'll probably stop after this month anyways. And her True Name doesn't lead to much recognition anyways since when most people think about the Knights of the Round Table, this version of Mordred really isn't what comes to mind.So yeah, this is a sore spot with her.]
Didn't anybody tell you?
good yes
[He apparently didn’t get the memo about his apple-picking partner being a big deal. Akira tended to just skip any reference to being Devilman or anything about demons to begin with. Made for conversations with strangers a little less awkward.
If he was just weird guy Akira Fudo with an uncanny ability to eat enough for eight and almost never getting tired, that was fine with him.]
no subject
[She can't imagine anyone going around calling themselves Mordred if it wasn't their actual name, and the confused look on her face says as much.]
It's my name. Saber's more like my nickname. I guess? It made sense at the time since I wasn't trying to throw my name out there to everybody.
[She says this like it all makes sense and isn't canon specific garbage that only applies to her here.]
Gobbet | Shadowrun: Hong Kong
[This is not Hong Kong.]
[Gobbet knows this before she even opens her eyes. It's the feeling of solid ground beneath her that tells her she's not in the hammock she fell asleep in. It's the scent of pine and the sound of birdsong that warns her she's been taken from the boat, from Heoi altogether, and brought somewhere very far away. It takes her a few moments to convince herself to open her eyes. To break the illusion that this is just a lingering dream.]
[Her attention is drawn immediately to the pack beneath her head. Besides the clothes, there's a bit of food and some items she doesn't recognize. She turns the wooden coins over in her hands, examines herself in the shard of mirror. Does find comfort in the little red orb tucked away at the bottom, when she finally notices it. Wherever she was, perhaps she was not beyond Rat's reach, if this little blessing could follow her here.]
[It's not often something gets the jump on her. The feeling of eyes on her back is unfamiliar. Unwelcome.]
[Gobbet freezes, getting the sudden inescapable notion that she is prey. Her eyes scan the brush, her ears strain to hear footsteps, breathing, anything - nothing is there. Not anymore, anyway. And that is her cue to get lost in this new, strange land. Somewhere that sensation can't find her. Literally anywhere else but this little exposed clearing in the woods.]
[With her new bag slung over her shoulder, the ork picks her way through the unfamiliar terrain towards...where is she going exactly? It's not unusual for her to have this feeling of being guided somewhere. But the pull is almost from the ground, not her gut, and that's what worries her. This isn't Rat telling her where to go, it's the land. And she doesn't much like that, but what choice does she have? She deals with it the same way she deals with every other problem she can't be assed to address: She tunes out and lets life take her wherever it's going to take her.]
[Unfortunately by the time she emerges from the woods to the lake's shore, she's not paying any attention whatsoever to where she's going.]
Day 5: Tension
[She nearly drops the food she's foraged. Gobbet thought being in the middle of this little village would be safe. Would shield her from the prying eyes of whatever has been hunting her. It wouldn't be able to slip past the others who lived there. It wouldn't leave big, red-tinged gouges on the doorframe. And it certainly wouldn't leave smears of blood on the pathway leading up to her door.]
[Okay, it might not be blood. It might be an elaborate prank. A joke. Or a warning that the others didn't want her here. Be reasonable. Think about it a bit.]
[She's just standing there, staring at the claw marks, feeling that feeling again. That she's prey. That there are eyes hot on her back, searing and hungry. And that's why she wheels around on the first noise she hears, eyes wide, stumbling backwards.]
Day 14: Critical Mass
No. Fuck this!
[The yell of frustration comes as Gobbet kicks open her door and chucks the mangled, blood soaked remains of her best friend's cyberdeck out into the snow.]
You're fucking with me! Whoever, whatever you are, you're not fucking funny!
[She's not paying much attention to where she's going or who might be around. She's just hauling ass down the path towards the forest. She's holding something in her hand so tightly that her knuckles are white. At the first snap of twigs, she cocks her arm back and hurls the item - an...apple? - towards the sound.]
Fuck you!
Wildcard
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