citylogs | October Catch-all!

Entry tags:

October Catch-all!

WHO: Midnight (

unreserving) & open!
WHAT: October catch-all
WHERE: Where isn't he, honestly
WHEN: Catching all of October, will update after the plot details drop!
WARNINGS: ~*Midnight*~. But also probably alcohol and disordered eating mentions generally, will update as necessary. UPDATE: there is some MENTAL HEALTH going on in Hiyori's thread. mind the warnings, there are cults in there.

a. various places (day)

How was that?

[ Midnight flagged your character down for a practice session! Fortunately, it's not his usual jock routine: he spent the last 20 minutes explaining the ins and outs of the City as though his partner has just arrived here. It was a very serious roleplay, Midnight answered all questions with great thought and care. ]

I think it may be best to also mention some basic safety precautions... To proceed with great care to any new locations, to consider supplies and other survival items before risking a new encounter. But other than that... Do you remember any other questions you had in mind when you first arrived here?

b. swimming pool (afternoon)

Did you want one?

[ Why were you staring at this teen in the relaxation pool? Probably because he's sitting on a pool noodle, floating near the edge, snacking on a large carton of chicken nuggets. Said carton is... probably somewhat moist, but he's doing a pretty good job of keeping it from becoming overly waterlogged, and he certainly doesn't seem to be up to any specific mischief. Nope. Just vibing in the pool with chicky nugs.

The kid himself has short, ragged black hair with a few pink streaks, pink eyes, pointed ears, pale skin... Basically, if anyone's met Midnight, one might wonder if he had a little brother or a son who's just arrived. The similarities are quite uncanny. However, his question isn't particularly... Midnight-y. It's just a question. The most obvious reason why one would be staring at someone else's food in the first place. ]

c. garden prompt

[ Midnight will be avoiding the more grabby plants — he doesn't want to test if their thirst for his blood will lead to their demise via Originium — so the grabbiness here? Why, that's your hand he's grabbing. Because he's spotted someone he may or may not know among these very rude plants and, after listening to some of the gossiping circulating, has made an executive decision to leave the venue with his new partner in tow. (He... did get an earful about your characters issues on the way, but his main concern at the moment is getting his new partner out.) ]

Nasty lot, aren't they? Manners are free. Come along, love. Let's get a drink.

d. wildcard

if you'd like a custom starter please dm me (i don't have plurk sorry)

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[ This fight is nearing the end; Tsurumaru has the weight of hundreds upon a hundreds battles guiding him, Midnight is just a callboy without his sword. Still, not many callboys have a thirst for blood and a bite to match...

Which means that Midnight's mouth and tongue are already coated with blood as he pants in exhaustion, but he snarls, snaps, and lunges for Tsurumaru's head one last time, one final shambling attempt to grab that white head of hair and slam it against the nearest wall. It won't work, he's simply too tired for the prospective strike to connect the way it should, even if he should grab him in the way he intends, but this house has a grip on him that defies everything except Midnight's desperate urge to keep going, to stand up, to keep going, keep going—

He often drops in his tracks of exhaustion in his day to day life. It might take the same thing to take him down here. ]

(He'd understood the concept behind the haunted house quickly enough. It was just a test of courage and all they had to do was make it to the end or retreat and find an escape. The latter has never been his style though and true to himself, he'd gone forward instead with practically reckless abandon.

Surely, this city would have some surprises in store for all of them. He can sense how rotten the energy is the moment he makes it to the next floor. It reminds him of the twisted spirits he fights back home and he feels that familiar rush of excitement course through him.

The first few encounters are insignificant. He dances with the ghosts, giving chase, running away, wrestling, and fighting for control. It's this recent one that has him most caught off guard. He hesitates and pulls back.)

You really surprised me, you know?!

( He adjusts his grip on the wooden table leg in his hand. If it was a sword, this would reverse the blade but it makes no difference now. )

How long have you been going?

[ Midnight snorts. It's just a desperate intake of breath, not a reply, but it kind of seems like one. Long enough. Not done yet. Even if he's shaking with exhaustion. He just needs one solid strike... not that he'd be thrilled to hear that. He'd like to be tougher, even if he's using said toughness for evil.

He charges. No warning, no preamble. He swipes at Tsurumaru's head again, grabbing for hair, teeth out. His eyes are very open, very bright. Flat pink, empty. A rattle that sounds like a growl escapes him. He's really, really out to kill. A Sarkaz deals death, after all. That's what they do... ]

...

(He smiles and for just a moment, there's almost something soft. Something pitying. He can tell Midnight is in poor condition. He sounds worn and he wonders if it's as mental as it is physical. But there's no time to pity a poor soul now and he steels his heart, gold eyes shining bright with fierce determination,)

A surprise attack?! That only works once.

(And he charges right back at Midnight. He can feel Midnight's fingers wrapping around his hair and his instinct is to fight back. He bows his head and raises it to headbutt the other under the chin. If that isn't enough, he also uses their now close proximity to kick Midnight's legs.

Even if Midnight is an ally, that doesn't mean he's going to hold back. And why should he when Midnight isn't either? It isn't in his nature to yield to others. The most strategic and merciful thing he can do now is end this as quickly as possible before either of them gets hurt more. )

[ Midnight's teeth clack shut, his ears ring, and he hits the ground hard. Certainly, he scrambles, tries to get back on his feet, but he's dizzy, seeing stars instead of his opponent, dazed and moving sluggishly. He's on his last legs. He hasn't given up, of course — the possession of the city puts enough energy to swipe at Tsurumaru's legs, wherever he sensed he was last — but he doesn't know where he is or how he's going to get on his feet. Keep going, keep going, but go without a map.

He snarls, shaking his head, and rolls onto a knee, but he's swaying. He's almost done, even if he's far from broken. The fury in him is stronger than his body... Well, that's par for the course, at least. ]

(Midnight falls back and it's the type of progress that gives Tsurumaru a high. He has his opponent in a weaker position and he knows from here, he only has to pounce. The other man flails, and manages to scratch at his legs, bare from this costume he's been forced into. It's just a scratch, he tells himself, adrenaline coursing through him to the point he feels nothing at all.

He's not one for close combat like this. He'd rather be swinging a sword than using his bare hands but at the end of the night, isn't his entire body a weapon? This human form may not be as sharp but he knows himself. He knows he can still be deadly.

Midnight is taller than him and he knows he needs to take advantage of the fatigue and their current positions now before he can recover. With all of his force, Tsurumaru tackles him, his hands reaching for his neck to keep him from snapping at him again.)

[ Midnight snarls, snapping at Tsurumaru's hand indeed, but once he hits the wall, he's stunned for a moment, long enough for those hands to latch around his throat. He scrabbles, kicking with long legs and clawing at Tsurumaru's hands, but with his flagging strength, it doesn't appear as though he can get free...

... Until his eyes turn a slight shade darker, from pink to magenta, and black smoke starts exiting his mouth, his nose. He's screaming as his hands start catching on fire — white fire — but the smoke continues to pour, and he doesn't appear to be able to stop. Whatever he's doing, he's appearing to be hurting himself, too. Whatever's driving him, he's gone past the point of thinking of his personal safety... If that was ever an option for him at all. ]

(It's a raw feeling being clawed at.

Though sharp, nails are still quite blunt compared to the clean, sharp cuts made by a blade. He can feel Midnight's claws digging into his flesh and the pain is impossible to ignore. His hands begin to sting and he can feel them grow wet and sticky with his own blood. It only makes him apply more pressure on his neck.

This isn't beautiful. There's no grace or skill here. It's raw and dirty and he thinks for a second what a miserable way this would be to go. He doesn't get to linger on thought long before things take a sudden turn.

Of course, he's looking him in the eye as he strangles him. If he's going to kill someone, he thinks he should at least face them. Make sure the last thing they see is something beautiful. The change makes him curious but given how everything has been, he doesn't linger on it. Even the smoke isn't enough to make him loosen his grip because it's not unlike the phantom spirits and their cursed miasma back home. It's the fire that catches him off guard and he immediately lets go and jumps back defensively.

He doesn't understand but... if the smoke is like the twisted retrograde army back home, could this be some desperate exorcism? And he's drops down back at his side and tries to get a grip on him-- tries to stabilize him, tries to figure out what's happening now.)

[ That grip might be well-intentioned, but it will cause him some singed clothing at the very least; Midnight grabs onto Tsurumaru's hand and, with another blaze of black smoke, white fire erupts from his fingers and burns whatever is unlucky enough to be underneath them. This truly is a last ditch effort, though; it might be frightening, and even painful, but Midnight coughs, and with the smoke comes flecks of blood. Another slow line of blood slowly begins to seep from his nose. Whatever this fire is, he's trading some measure of health for it. ]

Burn... with... me...

(Fire is familiar. They are, after all, born from flames.
Fire is destructive. They've lost so many of their comrades to it.

And right now, he can only handle so much before the pain pierces through the adrenaline and he realizes how much this hurts. It hurts. It burns. And there are not many things that can shake an old spirit like Tsurumaru but this does. Fire is a horrible way to go and his Halloween costume leaves nothing between him and Midnight. )

Midnight--

(His flesh burns and he can smell it through the heavy smoke. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and he can't hold on anymore. Survival instinct overrides his selflessness and he tries to pull himself free and this time for good. Even if he can hear how wet Midnight's coughs are becoming. Even if he wants to try to shake sense into the man, to see if knocking him out might help, or something, his hands can no longer work like this and he can feel shock spreading through his body. )

[ Midnight reaches out to try to grasp at Tsurumaru, more flame blossoming from his fingers, but, perhaps mercifully for both of them, his body has had quite enough of being used as energy for his own Arts. His mouth, still billowing smoke, tongue and teeth covered in blood, hacks one more time, then another time, harder, blood spraying to the floor, and he tries to move forward, and keeps trying, but he can no longer move. He strains against something invisible, eyes wide and unseeing, pupils faint pinpricks in unfeeling seas of flat pink.

It happens quite suddenly. He gasps, then from the side of his neck comes another spray of blood. He opens his mouth to scream, but can't, voicebox crushed by the sudden growth of black, shining stone jutting from his throat. As though he'd been stabbed in the neck with a shining piece of obsidian.

Things progress very suddenly from there. The flame picks up, but it seems to come from within; there's a sickening pop, then another, then another. His chest suddenly deforms, bulges, his top soaks with blood that is replaced by more black crystal. It's as though some sort of crystal structure, like the inside of a geode, has decided it's had enough of living inside of Midnight's skin and would like to come out as quickly as it can, multiplying like a pox, like bubbles in a pot of water. Like fireworks.

For lack of a better word for it, he explodes, but very slowly, in parts. Fire that had first come from his fingers begins to engulf his new wounds, before the stones embedded in his skin, irregardless of the flesh and bone around it, begin to blow up and apart, like popping candy. Midnight looks down, mildly unseeing, mouth still open in a fanged, silent scream. There's another pop, and his ear begins to gush blood; another whining crackle, pop, then his wrist seizes up, explodes into black crystal, then falls off, hitting the floor with a dull, heavy thud, where it immediately catches fire.

It is far, far too late to help him. Midnight looks up, at this beautiful, singed being in front of him, takes one last struggling gasp for breath —

his face splits, from the top of his head, down his neck, then over his collarbone, his ribcage opens like gates and his entire body is filled with smoke and fire and harsh, jagged, black stone, shining and hissing, sparks in the air

and then he's no longer in front of Tsurumaru. Not even a drop of blood remains. ]

(He sees Midnight reaching out towards him and despite everything. Despite Midnight's state of mind. Despite his own injuries. Despite the pain. He tries to move towards him because maybe, possibly, somehow, there might be something he can do.

And he freezes because things take a sudden turn once more. It starts to really set

There are some things that just can't be helped.

What a pitiful sight this all is. The way he suffers in such an ugly way. The way this all seems to go on forever when the least he deserves is a quick and painless death. If he had his sword with him, he would have been happy to help but all he can do now is sit and watch. Sit and watch as Midnight's form breaks down and breaks apart in front of his eyes.

He's always prided himself in keeping his composure. Even among his allies, he's known for keeping his cool even in the most difficult times. But can anyone not be horrified by this? How could he not pity him? It feels so slow but when its all over, it feels so quick.

There's nothing left but a burden. If it weren't for this burden or these burn marks on him, there would be no proof that there was ever anything there. And despite this burden and these burns --

--He can't let himself break, either. No, he has to keep himself together. He has to gather himself and get back onto his feet. The air feels heavier. He feels heavier (but he can never let anyone know that). He lingers for just a moment. He commits the moment to memory and as he's trained this body of his to do,

he moves forward.)

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October Catch-all!

for @cranekin; haunted house hours, cw: blood

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cw: blood

Re: cw: blood

cw: blood, death, terminal illness mention, body horror

Re: cw: blood, death, terminal illness mention, body horror