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deercountry2022-09-20 06:06 pm
distant_one) wrote in deercountry2022-09-20 06:06 pm
September Catch All
Who: D, his Left Hand, and anyone
What: September Catch All for D
When: Throughout September
Where: Various places.
Content Warnings:: Blood and gore, purposely slow death
Knowledge Is Power [open]
Learning something sounded easy. Even after finding out what it was he was supposed to learn, it wasn't truly that arduous a task. Simply one D didn't want to engage in. Many lesser prizes would have simply been abandoned as there was little enough that D actually needed. But this was something with a benefit that was hard to duplicate and hard to quantify.
'Knowing' someone was a bit subjective. D would just have to pick someone a lot more open and outgoing than himself.
The Great Hunt(er) [open]
D could easily be found visiting areas where the Bugge had died or been sighted during the day. His nights were otherwise occupied, but during the day he had time to investigate. When he wasn't stalking its trail or trying to lure it into a preferable area he could be found taking samples of soil, freshly spilled blood, or pieces of plants near where it had been killed.
When it came time to kill it, D deviated from his usual method of a quick painless kill. Shallow slashes as part of a running battle let blood spray everywhere except onto D himself. Only when the Bugge began to slow or its roars turned from anger to pain did he go in for the kill
Wildcard
What: September Catch All for D
When: Throughout September
Where: Various places.
Content Warnings:: Blood and gore, purposely slow death
Knowledge Is Power [open]
Learning something sounded easy. Even after finding out what it was he was supposed to learn, it wasn't truly that arduous a task. Simply one D didn't want to engage in. Many lesser prizes would have simply been abandoned as there was little enough that D actually needed. But this was something with a benefit that was hard to duplicate and hard to quantify.
'Knowing' someone was a bit subjective. D would just have to pick someone a lot more open and outgoing than himself.
The Great Hunt(er) [open]
D could easily be found visiting areas where the Bugge had died or been sighted during the day. His nights were otherwise occupied, but during the day he had time to investigate. When he wasn't stalking its trail or trying to lure it into a preferable area he could be found taking samples of soil, freshly spilled blood, or pieces of plants near where it had been killed.
When it came time to kill it, D deviated from his usual method of a quick painless kill. Shallow slashes as part of a running battle let blood spray everywhere except onto D himself. Only when the Bugge began to slow or its roars turned from anger to pain did he go in for the kill
Wildcard
cw: body horror starts here
I already knew you weren't an easy man to disarm.
[ It's funny because John took his arm off. Normal jokes to start with before digging around in a guy's lungs.
Still: he holds up his bare hands as though to show he's unarmed, the line of his mouth drawn wry again. ]
This may feel a little funny. Shout and I'll stop.
[ He steps in close, the hems of his pants dragging through the molding water of their ruin, and sets a bare palm upon D's exposed chest. John rubs a thumb over that stretch of skin, makes a thoughtful sound low in his throat, and then— in what ought to be painless and simple, on an unresisting human— tells D's skin to split like ripe fruit, his ribs to open like a gruesome flower. ]
no subject
Funny, is it?
[For D it isn't painless. Even when he's not actively resisting the cursed blood fights against any magic interfering with his mind or body. It's not impossible to overcome, but it's very unpleasant for D. He doesn't make a noise, though, in fact he doesn't breathe at all. He holds his breath to avoid the risk of exhaling blood and then swallowing it. The only sign of pain is the way his jaw clenches and his heartrate picks up, though he forces his heart to slow down almost as soon as it begins to beat faster.]
cw: weirdly appreciative body horror
It's beautiful. John has forgotten to crack a joke, intent as he is. The delicate tissues of the lungs part for him; he worries his lip as he puzzles his way through the hitching, catching resistance. D's lungs spasm in awful little twitches as John works, stroking his fingers through interior structures never meant to be touched. He catches on the sprouting threads, teases them free like the roots of weeds in soil.
When he draws his hand away, there is an ugly collection of wet strands in his palm. ]
cw: weirdly appreciative body horror
It's both more and less fascinating when it's happening to him instead of to a cow stuck in death-like stasis. D looks down, to watch where he can. The sight of his own ribs and lungs doesn't bother him, he's been cut open nearly this bad before, but the details were harder to see then due to the blood.]
Kill every cell in them.
[It's a risk, exhaling enough to say those words. If he accidentally swallows even a drop of his own blood this is going to get much worse, but the risk that these things might cross breed or hybridize or regenerate through corruption and blood is too great.]
cws continue
John works his fingers up and through D's airways, peeling open bronchi and splitting the trachea, still chewing his lip in focused thought. Finally, he withdraws his fingers, and D's body peels itself away from him and seals wetly shut. The ribs close like a jaw shutting, and pop as they set back into place. ]
You're clean.
[ In the airways, at least. He rakes his fingers slowly down D's chest, pulling up the burrowing threads in wet and clinging strands. John's expression tightens as he works: his own parasites are getting more ambitious, and he hitches an unpleasantly wet cough through gritted teeth. ]
Usually when someone gives me flowers, it's not quite this exciting.
cws continue
These are unusually exciting flowers even for my world, but at least they haven't grown enough to start screaming. Do you want me to cut them out of you? Flesh and bone only.
no subject
Not to be greedy, but I've got it.
[ He ought to get it soon, because they're seriously fighting him. John just furrows his brow in mingled frustration and discomfort, but he waits, hands hovering over D's skin between the open lapels of his shirt. ]
Any others?
no subject
[They hadn't grown large enough to consume too much blood, but with the sun up and his recent nocturnal habits D is tired. His body's natural struggle against John's necromancy didn't help matters either.
With no need to remain even a little exposed, D starts picking up his weapons. No mores roots growing in his lungs means that the risk that he'll exhale blood is lower if he can resist the urge to cough, so there's no longer a need to hold his breath.]
We're fortunate nothing worse came back with us. These, at least, are easily dealt with.
[Although between the two of them, there aren't as many threats that would pose a problem. The ones that would trouble D aren't as difficult for John's powers, and those who might be difficult for John aren't too much of a problem for D.]
no subject
If this is the low-stakes stuff, I'd hate to see what worries you.
[ Still: he unbuttons his shirt, fumbling a little, frowning into the middle distance as he goes. When John shucks his shirt entirely, he presses it into D's hands for lack of anywhere better. He wrinkles his nose with displeasure as he cracks open his own chest, like a wet and glittering geode, and goes fishing around with his fingers. There is a deeply unsettling glimpse of movement from within, as he rearranges things to make the job easier.
He doesn't need air, exactly, but he hates to lose his ability to talk. He just flashes D a look of tight exasperation over the worsening gore, and hopes that conveys it. ]
no subject
[D watches, and accepts the shirt. Seeing John Gaius do this to himself is even more interesting. Part of him had expected the man to just close his eyes and concentrate or make his body reject them the way splinters could be pushed out of skin.
It's uncomfortably reminiscent of the 'failures' at Muma, except instead of part mummified husk and part immortal organs and flesh exposed as everything around them decayed, John is simply all immortal.
John's discomfort is also clear in his face.]
My world isn't so different from this one, except the dangers are more varied and were usually created on purpose by long-dead vampires.
no subject
(If he keeps one, sectioned off in a regenerating capsule of skin and nail-sourced cartilage, it's only because Mercy will want to glare at it in a laboratory later.) ]
Vampires versus squid. [ He clears his throat, thumps his chest as though to dislodge the phantom ache of all that, then shakes out his already-clean hands. He offers an open palm for his shirt back. ] I think I'd take the vampires, but that's just personal taste.
no subject
I'd prefer neither, I doubt you'd find the Nobility to your taste if you had to deal with them for a few thousand years.
[Their sacred ancestor had certainly grown tired of them quickly enough, even if he'd been content to let them slowly wither to extinction rather than truly devote himself to ruling.]