[ OPEN ] July Catch-all!

[unrequite]

WHO: Midnight (unreserving) & You (you)
WHAT: Midnight, please calm down, it's only been a week, you can't be this much of a disaster already.
WHERE: Lots of places! Mostly in outdoor or public spaces he hasn't been to yet. If you would like a closed or specific prompt, please PM me or take a peek at my OOC intro so I can get you set up!
WHEN: Pre and post Sylvain's shitpost. Probably mostly pre-event!
WARNINGS: Most definitely alcohol use! Some references to death and terminal illness. Will update as necessary, please see Midnight's content warnings for possible canon-typical content.


a. day (a local gym)

[ Generic workout routine. He does arms and legs on alternating days for about two to three hours there starting at about 7 am, then an hour (or however long he has at the end of the day until, uh, midnight) before showering and going home. He may also steal a practice room and swing around a stick he's found in lieu of his sword... He should probably think about getting a practice sword made, huh.

He's friendly, cleans up after himself, and will spot for anyone, but also feel free to accost him walking in or out of the facilities! But also, if your character needs... well, less of a personal coach and more of a cheerleader, he's there for you. Why'd you ask him for this? I don't know, but he's so there for you at this lateral press, bench, tiny silicone dumbbells, whatever. He is rooting for you! ]

Two more in the set and you're done. Don't think about it, just do it!

b. day (shopping center)

[ Midnight just needs to go clothes shopping. That's it. He'll carry bags for people, he'll help out with menial tasks. Look at this guy, do gooding.

Okay, specifically: ]

Do you think anyone would mind if I procured that?

[ He points at a neon sign, a bright Edison light, a small discoball, a chandelier. Something very bright, flashy, and... probably not intended for sale. ]

I mean, I don't suppose there's a manager, and I wouldn't like to interfere with their marketing, but I quite like it.

[ ... He rolls up his sleeves, drags over a chair, and begins climbing. He's decided he doesn't need an opinion anymore, or just straight up didn't wait for an answer. Look, sometimes a guy just desires a lava lamp. ]

c. evening (town hall)

[ Once the dust settles and everyone is perfectly happy with the distinct lack of helpful information in the help center, Midnight will still arrive there in the evenings, haul out a bunch of books into an empty side room, and flip through them, a plastic bag of assorted drinks at his side. (Mostly alcohol and water.)

Weird nightclub looking vampire here, books open on his lap, spinning a pen between his fingers. Occasionally, if someone walks by his room and doesn't look too busy, he'll get up, go to the door, and gesture to them, an open book in his hand. ]

Hello, love. Do me a favor and write anything you like here.

[ He clicks the pen in his hand and offers it. Man's doing some experimenting! ]

d. night (the park)

[ Remember the stick he has at the gym? He needed to find it at some point. During the evenings, but honestly any time he isn't doing something else throughout the first three or four days, he'll be poking around the park, searching for fallen branches long and straight enough to do the trick. It'll take a while, and he definitely looks like he's lost something! (Or feel free to assume that you've already joined the hunt. Find a bird's nest with no birds! An odd little gravestone! Get stuck up a tree! Help!!!)

If that is overly gung-ho Boy Scout behavior, feel free to catch him a little later in the night, either from 9-10 pm or 1-2 am, sitting at a bench, workout bag sitting at his side, his running shoes neatly tied by their laces and looped around the strap.

He stares out into the darkness. That's... sort of it. It still seems like he's looking for something, but not to the point where he's about to get up and look for it. If one would like to sneak up on him using the cover of darkness, his eyes will slide over and lock on a little more quickly than what should be natural. He sees you.

He grins. (Even if he isn't surprised, he grins.) ]

Hello, darling. Having a pleasant walk?

e. morning (everywhere!)

[ Remember when we said Midnight starts his workout routine at 7 am? He actually starts at 6 am with a jog. He'll be everywhere, just exploring, and he'll use most of the subway systems to make his way back to his gym of choice. He is... not shy at all about his body, so he'll probably pull off his shirt once the sun comes up so he can cool down a bit.

He is truly minding his own business here, but he'll pause his run for anything, even if it's just a short conversation. Or just feel free to wonder why there's a shirtless, sweaty vampire on public transportation at like 7 am. Where does he need to be? Where does anyone need to be??? ]

f. day (city hall, again, late July)

[ Midnight has a seat he's pulled up to the information kiosk, but he doesn't use it all that often. He only sits to add to a growing list in a book he keeps on his person. If one would peek over his shoulder, the list is composed of questions, some pertinent, some less so. Please feel free to make one up, but the first on the list is definitely "Are you single?", which should tell you how seriously he's taking this endeavor. ]

g. evening (shopping district)

[ Not much to this prompt either, he's just poking around. Poking around at the restaurants and bars in the area, his planner occasionally out as he takes notes on... something or other. He tries to choose establishments that see less traffic, so it's very likely that wherever he finds someone, they're the only two in the building. ]

Sorry to interrupt your meal. Mind if I ask you a few questions?

h. wildcard

Feel free to make your own starter, or PM for one! Will match prose and bracket text, please start however you like.

Comments

d. night (the park)

[possessum]

[ The man isn't the only Strange Thing to be found at the park after-hours... Someone has helped Peter find a place to stay, and he does hole up alone in that apartment most days, but there are times the young man wanders — eyes half-lidded and dazed, roaming slowly around like a spectre. He may wake up several hours later in any location, unable to predict or control an outcome.

It gets worse at night, as though the things that haunt him grow restless then. And so here he is, having slid from the quiet solitude of the apartment room and out into the hall, shuffling quietly along in just a pair of socks. His fugue brings him out into one of the city's parks, where everything is so still and so quiet.

On occasion, the silence is broken by a clipped cluck of the boy's tongue.

He wanders like that for some time, until exhaustion finally takes hold of his physical body and down he goes. Sometimes he ends up on park benches. But sometimes, like tonight, the young man is right there on the ground.... When Midnight starts poking around and searching for branches, he'll find something else instead — an entire teenage boy, tall and thin, all six feet of him curled up sideways against the earth. He doesn't look good, a large bandage occupying the center of his face, blood and bruises blossoming from around it. His eyes are rimmed in purple, and his breaths are too quiet, too still. He probably looks dead. ]

[unrequite]

[ Midnight decides to pick him up and sling him on his back. Of course he does. Well, of course, he pats a cheek, checks for a pulse first. He says something that he doesn't remember saying. If the young man is conscious, it sounds something like this: ]

Oh, my love. Don't do this.

[ But before the panic set in, the training did. Because of course it did. It's why he entered military service. He needed to be prepared next time.

Cover, triage, comms, in that order. Get out of sight, assess and treat the injury, then radio for help. Care for yourself first, cadet.

(Advantages to having such a strict drill sergeant in basic: you remember the discipline, not the fear.)

So Midnight checked that the boy hadn't been running from anything, that cover wasn't needed — why can't he see beyond a few meters in the dark, now, of all times — before moving onto the next step: triage. Pulse is weak, bandages look like they're beginning to soak with new blood. Breathing slightly. Still alive. He's not a medical professional, but he keeps some things in his workout bag. Water, of course, but a very basic first aid kit as well. That's where they're going. He'll pause if the boy regains consciousness, but unless he has some significant objections, Midnight will continue to follow procedure. It's what he can do. It's the very least he can do. ]

[possessum]

[ When the man reaches for him, checking for a pulse and patting his cheek, Peter does stir just a little. He's not knocked-out, thankfully, just deeply asleep — but he doesn't wake, not just yet, only gives a soft moan.

Otherwise, there's no reaction, and it will be easy for the man to pick him up — well, as easy as draping his lengthy self over one's body can be. Peter hangs loose and limp, long limbs uncurling like a spider as he's slung over the man's back.

And he'll remain just as numbly dead to the world to begin with through whatever procedure the man follows through with. It's only after a few moments that something within him stirs a bit more, some awareness of.... influence. Of something close to him, in his personal space. Usually it would automatically send Peter into panic mode, but he's too exhausted and strange to be capable of that much, just now.

No, when his eyes slowly start to open, there's not panic in them, but... something else. His pupils are swollen, making the warm browns of his eyes look eerily black. And his tongue gives one of those odd sounds — stroking the roof of his mouth, giving a sharp cluck.

This is probably fine! ]

[unrequite]

[ Sure! Fine! The response is heartening, firming Midnight's resolve to get this boy some medical attention as quickly as he can. Carrying dead weight around is easy enough, at least; Midnight's vampiric strength might be mostly gone, but he's never skipped out on his fitness training on top of mandatory military exercise. He's never needed to rely on his heritage for anything. Nothing at all.

Hyperaware as he is, Midnight will take the stranger's strange waking behavior in stride as soon as he notices his eyes opening, in the midst of lying him on a nearby park bench. He's not a medical professional, which actually saves him from more of a heart attack than if he was. If he doesn't know what's supposed to happen, what's to say that the eyes and the small noises aren't normal?

Naïve? Absolutely. It has landed him in quite a bit of trouble. But at the very least, whoever's behind those eyes right now isn't looking at him with any specific emotion he can place. That's fine, actually. More than fine. He'll take apathy. He'll take whatever this is, even if it isn't apathy. Midnight's seen alternatives, and this non-panic nothing is doing nothing to him at the moment. That's fine. ]

Hello, darling. My name's Midnight, I'm here to help you. Can you tell me your name, please?

[ He reaches to the waterbottle he has strapped to his arm and pulls it off, uncapping it. Time to eliminate dehydration as a possible cause, here. ]

[possessum]

[ The young man body's is draping against the park bench, slow and easy (and maybe with something that almost seems like obedience; every gesture the man coaxes from him is met with easy compliance.) He lies down and blinks upwards at the man, long arms loose and limp at his sides. He stares, and it's difficult to tell how much is true comprehending and how much is a blank emptiness. Maybe at first it's more the latter, eyes so swollen black, devoid of much going on beneath the surface.

....But then there's something else, something that glitters like the black of an insect's eyes — not quite so empty. Maybe something does flutter there. Something is watching. (But who? What? The man says 'can you tell me your name' and the boy stares for another long moment, silent, unmoving, wet eyes stretching wider still.)

Name. He knows what that word means, doesn't he? But there are so many names, too many, he's been ripped open like a stuffed animal and refilled with too many. Zipped right back up, but the seams won't fit right anymore and he's about to burst wide open. The boy's tongue moves again, flutters. He gives a soft sound, like a whimper. What is his name? ]

Don't.... don't know.

[ The voice that comes out is hoarse from lack of use, but the tone is soft. Almost too soft for the age that Peter appears to be; he sounds like a much younger child. His eyes slowly move to the waterbottle, staring there. An object he recognises, he thinks. The question comes of its own will. It isn't Peter's. ]

Where's my grandma?

[unrequite]

We can do without for now. Try to remember in the meantime, if you can.

[ So, this young stranger is a bit like Miss Popukar. She tends to get distant when she's confused, unable to make normal decisions, a danger to herself and others. He falls back into the rhythm of placation easily, speaking gently, like he's soothing a startled burdenbeast. If there's something in there watching Midnight... Well, that's something he'll tuck away for later. If it's ever necessary for him to look at it again, he'll take a look at it. He doesn't like to see malice in others if it doesn't exist. ]

You're in a park right now. I found you here by yourself. If your grandmother was looking after you, I'm afraid we haven't crossed paths yet.

[ He's aware, vaguely, that the young man might be speaking of someone who may not be in the city, but he'd like to keep what he says short, simple, truthful. It helps, as far as he's aware. (What he isn't aware of is that the boy doesn't speak of his own free will. Midnight's observant, but not perfectly so.) ]

I'll stay with you until we find someplace you can rest on your own. Here. Drink this. Have you eaten?

[ He pops the attached straw and lifts it to the boy's mouth. Plain water. Hydration, nutrition, rest. Things he often needs himself. ]

[possessum]

[ A park.... Peter slowly looks around, eyes glossy and confused. He doesn't recognise this park, albeit it's hard to really recognise anything in the night. Still.... He's fretful, uneasy, as he looks around, before his eyes slowly return to the man.

Slowly, he manages to sit up a bit so that he can tilt his body more towards the offered drink. A hand moves to touch it, taking a cautious sip at first. Then his body reacts — thirsty, dehydrated, needing liquid. The boy's sips become more intentional, faster than he means. Desperate. He's so thirsty, there's dust and dirt and blood in his throat, he can't clear it out enough.

Finally his mouth parts from the straw with a soft gasp, and he gives his head a shake. ]

I don't think so. Not for awhile. [ He can't remember eating. ....Though pieces start coming through; a restaurant that felt like a dream. There was food there. It just... appeared, even if nobody was working. Did that even really happen...? Regardless, that was a long time ago, but his stomach curls at the thought of eating now, and Peter gives a frown. ]

I don't think I can eat. Stomach hurts. [ He gives a soft wince, trying to sit up a bit more. And he's staring to remember other things, more pieces that do come through the haze of himself. Places, names— He asks with a quiet fear to hear the answer. Maybe he already knows. ]

...Is this.... Are we in Utah....?

[unrequite]

Then we can leave off for now. I... don't think we're in Utah, but I've never been.

[ Midnight's actually never heard of Utah, but the alacrity with which the boy drains his water supply is much more worrisome. "If you're thirsty, you've been dehydrated for a while. Drink enough so it doesn't get to that point, ever. Idiot." His medic never minced words with him. He's grateful for that. He misses him.

Something else Spot would have griped at him for: moving the patient. On one hand... never move the patient, let medical professionals do that. On the other hand, he can't leave the boy alone in a park, but he definitely needs more water. Water he doesn't have.

They're not too far from one of the park entrances, and Midnight's run the entire perimeter enough that he remembers where all of the convenience stores are. There's one that's close enough. ]

We should get you more water. Can you stand?

[ If not, Midnight will simply carry him. Sorry, Spot. He needs to move this patient. He needs water, and also needs to not be alone in a park when murder is a possibility, here. He can deal with disappointing Spot. He usually does. ]

[possessum]

[ That this might not be Utah.... is a concept that he feels with some horror, but it's muted, dulled. He's incapable of even reacting to that thought with the typical rise of panic. No, for now Peter remains only able to react to things so dimly, and any fright regarding just how displaced he is remains tempered down for the moment. He only gazes glossily at the strange man, staring for a long few moments, before the question pulls him out of his fog.

Stand...? The idea feels impossible, his body so heavy, limp. But he remains almost eerily obedient, head slowly tilting to the side for a moment before he slowly tries to move himself. Stand. Move— long legs sliding from the bench, arms trailing along to support himself by holding onto the side of it for a moment. He can stand, albeit it's stiff and strange for a moment, as if he's having to remember how to work his own body.

His body.... Everything feels wrong. Peter gives a quiet whimper under his breath and turns to reach for the man like a child, reaching out to hold onto his arm. His tongue brushes oddly within his mouth again, flops to the side and scrapes against the inside of his cheek, and his throat flutters with soft wet sounds as his mouth opens and closes and opens again; he finds the words, strained— ]

Can you hold my hand?

[ He's trying, it's hard, but— Maybe he can walk if he has a hand to hold onto. Admittedly, he also seeks the comfort of it, some small, childlike part of himself. (And beneath the surface of him, so many lost things whisper and wail, unsure, confused, yearning for guidance. Take care of me, take care of me, who—) ]

[unrequite]

Yes, of course. Let me know if you need me to carry you.

[ Said with a tilt to his head, a worried wrinkle between his brows, but out his hand comes to take the young man's hand, his other currently steadying the boy under that frail grip. There's no hesitation or self-consciousness here. Midnight can give such things easily, so he does.

He'll make sure they're both steady before beginning to guide them both to the convenience store he has in mind. Miss Popukar has a proclivity toward violence when she's having one of her episodes. This is somehow much more tame, yet much more eerie. With Miss Popukar, he knows exactly what's happening, or at least as much as the doctors are able to inform them. This is much more of a mystery. ]

We'll be walking for a few minutes. There's a few steps down, then a street we'll need to cross. I'll warn you when they're coming, but if you need to stop or take a break before we give these things a try, we can do that.

[ Midnight focuses more on steering them both, making sure their path is clear of obstacles, than on the strangeness of the situation, the way this boy looks so lost within himself. He's a pragmatic creature at heart, much more concerned with what he can do than fretting about what's beyond him. Still... he can't help but wonder how the boy got here in the first place, in such a state. A latecomer fresh off the train, perhaps? ]

[possessum]

[ Ordinarily, Peter wouldn't ask. Not to a stranger, not when he's already so afraid. But this.... most definitely isn't Peter, not fully, anyway. And though this persona (if that's what it could be called at all) is shy in its ways, also wary of strangers, it's less filtered by social norms and strangeness. It wants a hand to hold, needs it, and this man seems safe, as safe as a stranger possibly can, anyway.

The boy gives another slight movement of his head forwards, not quite a true nod but perhaps meant as the gesture. Before his fingers wrap gently around the other's pair, with a grasp that's almost feather-soft at first, timid. Then it tightens just a little bit, holding on childlike, and very willingly letting himself be guided by the man. The clear instruction that Midnight gives helps immensely, a warning of things to come. Step by step, a path to follow. It soothes certain pinpricks of anxiety within Peter, of the unknown.

So he walks with the man, shuffling slowly forwards, body remaining tense as he looks nervously around the unfamiliar area. Nighttime makes everything seem worse. Scarier — so many places for things to hide. Shadows warping the true shape of things, stretching them out longer and more strange. It's difficult to know what's real, but there's one thing that certainly is. The grasp of the other man's hand, solid and real in Peter's fingers.

And perhaps it grounds him a bit, helps clear some of the fogginess in ways. He's frowning quietly in thought, speaking up again after several long moments of silence. ]

Was there... a train? I was on a train...? Were you?

[unrequite]

There was a train. You were on it. These were both very real, yes.

[ Tonally, this could have easily read as condescending, perhaps a bit too congratulatory, but Midnight's apparently mastered the art of a good supportive teacher voice. He says these things like they're facts, without judgment behind them, as though he's just as proud of the boy for his journey as he is for reaching his conclusion. His grip is steady, he keeps up the pace without leaving his charge behind. Midnight may not have been born to look after others, but 20 years of trying has given him something of an edge. ]

I was on the train, but we arrived at different times. I don't remember seeing you, and if you saw me, we never met.

[ Midnight looks down at the boy's brown head of hair and smiles, squeezing his hand. This is encouraging. Remembering things unprompted, making the attempt to connect to past events... it's progress. ]

Tell me something else you remember. Or if you like, you can tell me something about how you feel right now. Or what you see. We can just chat a bit, hmm?

[possessum]

[ The man's tone certainly doesn't offend or upset the boy; on the contrary, it soothes him. It feels like being petted, like a hand stroking through locks of hair, soft and gentle. It's encouraging, helps him keep thinking a bit more.

Granted... such a thing is also frightening in its ways. It'd be easier to fade into nothingness, to not think, or feel. Now he's remembering how that dreamlike train felt, smelled — too real to be any dream. And he's starting to feel the pain in the centre of his face return, can smell the sharp copper of crusted blood around his broken nose, and feel the pull of the bandage.

He grasps the man's hand a bit tighter. ]

Okay. [ He says, softly, and still halfway-haunted by someone else's mannerism for the lingering moment, with the way his head dips down close to his chest. Like his little sister Charlie would behave, and speak, and even walk, shuffling footsteps beside Midnight. ]

I remember.... a dog. At the train station. She talked to me. ....It must have been a dream.

[ No, there really was a talking dog here, Peter.... As his mind quietly struggles to form thought again, more of Peter continues to seep out, and after a few moments, something occurs to him. It's a terrifying thought, but he asks it weirdly calmly. Maybe he's already wondered this. ]

.....Is this Hell?

[unrequite]

Perhaps it was a dream. Quite a lot of things seem like dreams here. This is real, though, or at least it feels real.

[ Probably best to stick with physical realities. That being said... Midnight hums. ]

I don't think so. I wasn't dead right before I came here, and there are several people here who have every right to believe they're still alive.

[ True enough, as far as he understands. He says this in a very even way, hand coming to rest on the boy's arm. (He's noticed the injured nose, of course, but he'll have to see a doctor for that, and he hasn't had a chance to contact Daan. Perhaps something they can do once they're near better lighting, civilization.)

Midnight takes his free hand, puts it on the boy's back reassuringly. ]

Watch your step, here's the step down. The convenience store is just across the way, we'll get you some more water there. Are you staying here with anyone? Shall we call a friend of yours?

[possessum]

[ What the man says makes Peter think about his own... situation. (Is he dead, back home? Did he die? Did his whole family die? Was that real or was it just some nightmare? Where does the nightmare end, and reality begin? He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything.

....Except that if this is Hell, he deserves to be there.)

He keeps walking with the man, looking down at the step when directed to be careful, taking his time not to fall down, becoming painfully aware of just how wobbly he is. ]

I think.... there's a room. I've been staying in a room. [ He pauses, reflecting on it with a slight frown. A room... no, an apartment. ]

....The apartment building. Someone helped me find some place to stay, someplace safe. A boy. Um. [ Memory keeps seeping in, and he finds his free hand moving to the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out the phone he was given here. ]

I don't remember his name, but his number's in here. We can call him.

[unrequite]

[ When they arrive at the convenience store, Midnight pushes the door open for them both, immediately searching for something to sit on. His arm has been available to lean on this whole time, but if that wobbliness persists, he'll feel better about letting the boy rest. He snags a small stepstool, then guides them both to the freezers near the back, keeping an eye on the boy. He's not sure how sensitive to light and sound he is right now, but he knows that this might be an overwhelming experience. ]

We should do that. Here, sit.

[ He sets up the stool near the counter, within sight of the glass coolers lining the back of the establishment, then slowly sits the boy down. ]

Let's get your phone out and call your friend. While you do that, I'll go fetch some water and something for your nose, all right?

[ He probably shouldn't actually be messing with whatever injury the boy has under there until Daan or Shoko get a chance to look at him, but at least cleaning it so it's a bit less uncomfortable couldn't hurt. ]