( closed ) the only ones who need love are the ones who don't receive enough

[gradenine]

WHO: roland and certain people
WHAT: roland came back after disappearing mysterious and realized some really bad things. plotting comment for reference.
WHERE: the garden
WHEN: around the middle of the month, before the event
WARNINGS: body horror, violence, talks about murder and other nihilistic shit. also major project moon spoilers. see his opt-out for more info.


[ roland emerged out of the darkness like a dream.

or rather, he stumbles into the relatively new location as if he woke up from a horrible nightmare, clutching at his head as he makes his way towards the tea-party setup. this was the last place he'd remembered before vanishing, but the details were foggy. he wasn't even aware how long it's been. all he knew was that he met someone terrible who gave him equally terrible news, but he's used to disappointments -- even more so in this desolate imitation of a city.

someone had left green tea on the table, still hot. binah had told him that green tea is good for him, so he may as well take the load off and hope that the drink will clear his mind, and make him forget the bad news he'd received from argalia.

ah, yes. argalia is here, angelica's own flesh and blood. angelica had come back wrong, he gleefully. right. totally normal.

...

luckily, this isn't the first time this abnormality has taken over roland. he's used to the way the muscular sinews bloom across his body like a second skin (or even a flesh wound), the multitude of eyes blinking themselves open and roving their pupils around to scan the area. a gnarled leg of a bird sprouts from the top of his head, flexing its digits. his own left arm, meanwhile, has morphed into a bulbous club made of muscle and claw, which he is using to thrash at a nearby flowerbed for speaking out of line. ]

Why is he here... Why. Why. Tell me...

[ "i know why he's here," the half-dead flowers insist. "nothing ever goes my way. this city is out to get me, too."

but just because he's too engrossed in destroying the flowers within reach, it doesn't mean that the bulging eyes won't notice whoever comes into the garden, their unblinking gazes boring into anyone's eyes should anyone stumbles this sorry sight. he is making quite the ruckus, after all. ]

Comments

[gradenine]

[ the flowers that speak for daan made roland pause for just a moment. luckily for the doctor, the abnormality that's taken over roland is far from powerful compared to how it's usually dealt with. or maybe roland's making a conscious effort to hear a fellow widower back?

who knows. ]

The story... isn't done. I've got a long list...

[ "the shadow of a shell laughed. how pathetic must i have been that even an empty being would mock me." "i have nothing left to protect, nothing left at my side… i have nothing." ]

I thought... that you'd understand me. You wanted to destroy everything to see her again too. Just to make her love you back.

[ "Why should I begrudge it, since during the hours
when my soul crushed the depths of my heart,
it was seated there beside me?"

parts of the poem echoes throughout the garden like choir as roland lunges forward to attack daan head-on. can't risk letting the doctor come out of here alive. ]

[limbical]

[The days in Prehevil are, fortunately, enough for Daan to be prepared enough to dodge the beastly swipe at him. It's a close thing to be sure, and Daan is certain a strike like that would be enough to break some bones.

Which would be a real pain in the ass to heal in this city as things are.]

First of all-- that's a pretty sick thing. Making someone love you. Love me. I could have-- I gotta bunch of things I'm not proud of, but that's not something I'd do.

[A careful eye observes Roland, looking for a weak point of any kind as he prepares his knife to strike back.]

Secondly. I'd never take people down with me. Destroying myself? Sure. No problem. What's a fucking leg, what's an arm, or an eye? Even my whole body.

But I won't drag someone else down into my personal hell, no matter how fucked up the world is. What about you? You good with that, Roland? Fuck everyone else so long as you get what you want?

Would your wife want that for you?

[Can he even do enough to force the antidote on the man? Maybe. Daan doesn't even need to win the fight traditionally. He just needs to get Roland into a position where he can get the cure into his mouth. Theoretically, anyway.

So he goes for the low blow, and it probably means Roland can get in a hit too, but. Fuck it. Daan isn't keen to abandon him, not when he can actually do something about it. He ducks down and goes in as quick as he can, bringing down his knife to try to stab the back of Roland's knee.]

[gradenine]

[ well, that's a relief. good to know that daan's not that desperate enough to yearn for his wife's love back! that's something roland would approve of.

but daan's second point touched a nerve or two. roland had tried keeping his burdens under wraps, like everyone else in the cursed city he grew up in. everyone else would rather look away from other people's suffering and focus on their already hard life, after all.

daan is just like everyone else he met in that city. roland's had enough of it. ]

Exactly. To hell with everyone else. She would've wanted me to remember her the only way I know how.

[ "What I cannot do is own her heart." "Instead, my graceful love stole my heart and left me with lone hardship." "I can’t help but love the pain which fills the void of solitude." ]

This is not the first time, you know. [ "i'm used to having blood on my hands." ] And I'll do it again, just to feel something.

[ the creature possessing roland may be severely weakened, but it's still rather slippery thanks to the multitude of eyes on his person. roland deftly dodges daan's attack, spinning around and retaliating with a roundhouse kick at the doctor's side. even without nothing there, roland's own kicks and punches can, well, pack a punch for a beanpole like him. ]

[limbical]

[Ah, well, fuck.

The kick lands soundly, cracking a rib; it sends Daan back, landing on his back in the leaves and flowers, coughing and holding onto his side. Runes start to appear in the air as Daan presses a hand to his side, trying to work on mending the wound with one of his spells.

Really, he can't fault Roland. There was a part of Daan that felt the same when he came upon Elise's body in the basement of the von Dutch estate: after years of toiling through a torturous life and a bloody war, he couldn't even have a family he worked for. A part of him wanted to burn down everything, make everyone feel it. But that's the difference; Daan's empathy's just always won out on top, just enough to weigh out the frustration and anger.

He's never been good at making his issues someone else's problem.

Daan pushes himself up, exhaling.]

Maybe that's our problem. Spending too much time thinking about what they would've wanted...

But what use are corpses, telling us what to do with our lives?

[None of his spells are really meant to be used in the offensive sense. Doctor and all. Still, Daan's never been good at just laying down and dying.

He's always been a survivalist.

Daan slowly steps backwards, watching Roland, making his way toward the table with the assorted tea and respective antidotes.]

Tell me the truth, Roland. I gave you mine, and I've never been very keen on an unfair trade.

[gradenine]

[ roland cackles, his own voice echoing with dozens of others that are no longer in this world. right, right. the flowers around them are going to spill out the truth anyway, so why continue to hide it? ]

What truth? That I killed countless people in search for the truth?!

[ "i just wanted an outlet for this helplessness i keep feeling over and over." "it was futile anyway. i couldn't protect her." "it's people's fault... it's the city's fault."

he cautiously watches daan, his eyes warily boring their gazes at him. as expected, daan has little to no offensive skills. roland can easily tear him apart, and that's what he will do in a second. ]

I don't know how... you could keep calm after that, Daan. I thought you of all people would understand me. But you're just like everyone else I knew.

[ "o my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved." ]

[limbical]

[It's not as if Daan is unfamiliar with killing in his own right. Though he had ensured that his own grief was never made someone else's problem, he also was perfectly fine with defending himself.

And thus, that was how a man killed his own wife.]

Just like everyone else, huh? I don't know about that, pal. Because I'm about to do something very stupid for your sake, Roland.

[Daan lets out a sigh, then mutters, clearly not speaking to his fellow widower:] I know you'll remember this, you damned cat. And you were disappointed that you didn't earn me last time. So now you owe me, if you're a good merchant. I gift you myself, in so long as you give this man his medicine.

[The good doctor has his drink of green tea, and so swift are the changes. He grits his teeth, feeling his bones creak, snap, and stretch as he becomes uncannily taller. His eye glows a bright yellow, fingers end in claws, and that horrible rubber mask blossoms over his head.

When the change is done, there's just the Pocketcat, sliding one hand into his pocket.

A jovial laugh escapes him.]

My old friend, you tricky little thing. I do so love a good bargain, and this... is rather generous of you. Truly, our bond is deep.

[A pair of wide, yellow eyes set their sights on Roland, and the cat gestures to him in a flourish.]

Roland! I was so heartbroken we didn't meet last time. And here you are, not dressed in your finest, are you? Ah, but we all have our bad days, my friend. I know those too well.

So! Are we to do this, meat to claw? Not very gentlemanly of you.

Oh, behave.

[gradenine]

[ if roland were still lucid, he'd be standing there in shock as daan transforms into the very thing he hated. it's easy to conclude this transformation as a distortion, but it seems as though that pocketcat has a mind of his own -- much like how roland has to share a multitude of brainspaces as nothing there.

the flowers around them raise a ruckus. "daan is that cat... why?" "so he killed his own wife. is that how it goes?" "nothing makes sense anymore. nothing." ]

Daan... You're making a big mistake. [ he shuffles over to pocketcat, dragging his enormous arm across the floor. ] You have no idea... what you're dealing with here.

[ and when he opens his mouth again, another unknown voice exclaims-- ]

"Mon… ster. That… mons… ter… That monster… why is it here…"

[ -- right before he takes a swing at the other sad, sad little man. ]

[limbical]

Daan, you say, but the doctor is currently out of the office, old boy! It's just you and me.

[Another laugh, indifferent but just as energetic as the last. The cat slides out of the way of the meaty club swinging for him.]

Now, if I were at full capacity... I could rip you apart, my friend. Alas! It seems we aren't to our usual strength, are we?

So shall we see what bones I can break?

["Here we are again, my old friend. Back to this deep pit of despair. Perhaps this was your home all along, Daan?" one of the flowers purr in the cat's voice. "Who loves you but me?"

Pocketcat himself is abruptly reaching for Roland's more normal looking arm, very much intent on attempting to snap it at the elbow if successful.]

[gradenine]

[ the distortion has completely engulfed daan, it looks like. at least roland is still himself, somewhat. but can he be truly himself even in this world?

no. no, he could not.

roland and his multiple eyes are still processing the connection between daan and the cat, too distracted to notice that the cat had grabbed ahold of his arm until he's seconds too late. there's a resounding crack as pocketcat breaks his arm, and roland screams. he hollers, then uses his meaty club as retaliation upon pocketcat's grinning head. ]

[limbical]

Ah, what a scream! He'll remember this, echoing in the brainpan! How thrilling! Though it seems you're out of words now, aren't you, darling? What a shame!

[The meaty club swings toward his head, but the cat does brace up an arm. Naturally, there's a loud CRUNCH in the air as the club shatters bone, squelching as it rips into flesh.]

Tsk tsk.

[The cat kicks out, aiming to slam it against Roland's chest to knock him over.]

Now, be a good patient and stay down. I plan to fulfill my side of this little exchange!

[gradenine]

[ roland isn't a good patient, actually. he's not really used to staying down even when the odds are against him. he's stubborn to a fault, and... well. he didn't get to where he was in the peak of his career as a fixer if he's going to let broken bones stop him, despite him letting out a cry just now. ]

I don't... care about you. Not one bit. I need to get... to Daan himself.

[ "that idiot. i'm beyond help. there's no fixing me."

the force does knock roland over, but he is going to deliver a powerful kick on the other man's shins in hopes of making him fall down, too. get on his level, punk. ]

[limbical]

[The kick is successful, and the cat does knock him over -- but he falls forward, landing on the mauled arm to prop himself up, hovering over Roland. Pocketcat doesn't even utter a noise of pain at the ripped up limb or putting any pressure on it. It's not useful beyond being a mere prop anyway right now.]

He's mine right now. I wonder whose fault that is? Ha, I wonder if I get to keep him forever this time!

[With the good hand, the cat brings down his claws to drag down Roland's chest, to carve into flesh. Not deadly, not to kill, but to make him hurt and bleed.]

THIS TAG SLIPPED THROUGH ME AHHHH

[gradenine]

[ mine? is daan even capable of letting someone own him again? the man should know solitude as much as roland does. they are kindred spirits, after all.

it would've been easy to let pocketcat do what he pleases. maybe roland and daan can truly be one and the same if that were to happen.

and yet.

roland cries out in pain, mutated hand grasping at his bleeding front. it would've been enough to stop him completely. but daan... daan wouldn't like that.

"daan... you fucking idiot."

this is probably his final shot. if he clubs the cat right on the head as hard as he can, it might be enough to knock the guy out. so roland grits his teeth, sucks in a breath, before raising his club once more to bring it down pocketcat's head. ]

ALL GOOD BUD, also lemme know if this does not work for u

[limbical]

[The sequence of events are as follows:

The cat's pockets are ever so deep. And thus, with the hand still functioning, he reaches inside of a pocket and reveals the seeds. With a deep purr, Pocketcat is keeping true to his wicked word, aiming to shove the seeds into Roland's mouth.

As he does so, the club comes down, smashing over the Pocketcat's head.]

...Dear me.

[Medicine: given. Club: taken to the head.

The cat collapses, either dazed or unconscious.]