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sweetacres2024-02-10 08:49 am
sweetmod) wrote in sweetacres2024-02-10 08:49 am
Entry tags:
All that bloodshed, crimson clover
Characters Involved: All characters in the game
When: The month of February
What: A failed garden project and an unusual affliction
Where: Voddisson Park and the rest of Sweet Acres
Open/Closed: Game event thus open to all
When: The month of February
What: A failed garden project and an unusual affliction
Where: Voddisson Park and the rest of Sweet Acres
Open/Closed: Game event thus open to all
| Month Year Experiment |
Prompt One | Prompt Two Left Image: Skeletal human torso and head covered in blood surrounded by roses against a black background. Right Image: Chalk white human back with golden crack painted through the middle. Fingers holding the back of the neck against a white background. We recommend reading this section if you are a brand new player to get a better understanding of game events. If you're an old hat, you can feel free to skip this section! The majority of events are experiments created by Daisy. Daisy may drastically alter the setting of Sweet Acres or alter the physiology and psychology of characters to increase the stakes of an experiment. Even characters usually resistant to manipulation and persuasion will often feel heavily compelled to participate in events. We encourage players to have fun with this: does your character feel threatened and get involved out of fear? Do they get involved without thinking twice about it? Do they feel pain through their Daze if they try to stay away from an event? Do their powers glitch as a punishment for not being involved? Some events will have specific consequences for avoiding prompts, but for the most part, ya'll get to have whatever brand of fun you want to have! Characters can alleviate symptoms or escape situations more quickly or avoid them altogether with the use of their Grounding Item. Grounding Items should be used sparingly for the sake of maintaining the consistent mood of the overall game. All character experiences are technically recorded through the Daze. Characters are being observed by an unseen Audience at all times - but especially during experiments. You can incorporate this into your scenes as well! Throw in a laugh track or audible gasping or have your character feel as though they are being watched! You don't have to ever acknowledge the Audience, but it certainly adds to another layer of terror! Audience members may offer assistance or resistance during certain experiments. |
| [ The Garden Project ] |
Summary: ๐ผ Content Warnings: Forced altered state of mind, relaxation, possible vine porn if u really dream hard enough, drowning, living plants, carnivorous plants, hallucinations, life energy/water being rapidly removed, possible forced/rapid weight loss Toward the beginning of February, all characters will begin to feel greatly tempted to visit Voddisson Park at different intervals throughout the month. Even after they realize that Voddisson Park is probably the last place any sane person should want to visit. In your defense, the park is a sight to behold. Even as you approach, you will notice the air absolutely teeming with the sweet, succulent aroma of mixed florals: fresh freesia, jasmine, lilies, roses, and more. There are bottom notes of musk and amber, the air soaked with warm inviting notes of vanilla. While it should be too much, it's somehow a perfect blend no matter how sensitive your nose might normally be. It pulls you in, and like the scent, the flowers appear immaculate. They also don't seem to ascribe by the typical botany of our world. There are extraordinary trees of thick roses of every color, the blossoms the size of basketballs. Lilies grow several feet taller than the average person while walls of hydrangea seem to burst with buds. The flowers seem to put everyone in a giddy mood, giggly and nearly drunk on the aroma and presence of the flowers. You may start to feel drugged, the world floating around you, your body warm and relaxed. Some characters may be more impacted by this than others (per player discretion). This becomes a problem when the flowers begin to move on their own and your walk in the park suddenly becomes its own level of hell: Thick Vines creep along the ground, wrapping around your ankles and wrists, or even your waist before yanking you up toward the trees. You may just get thrashed around rather violently, or have some of your clothes torn and scuffed up, or you may just be crushed by the vines' abnormal strength. Vines can be destroyed with strong metal and/or fire and/or ice. Despite the many violent possibilities in the park, there are plenty of flowers to merely enjoy with a certain safety. Still, it won't take anyone long to realize that the more violent flowers are beginning to encroach and ruin the rest of the park. You won't have long until they go past the park and into the rest of the town. Daisy will be seen hacking away at the flowers now and again, and if you attempt to her approach her at this time, she will whip around to face you with a wide, strained eerie grin, her eyes a glaring white instead of their usual nearly infinite black. "What is it? Oh? The flowers?" she asks, "Gardening sure is hard work! Together we should be able to get this place cleared up!" Then she turns to stare up at the sky, her smile frozen, her entire body motionless. "What's that?" This time she isn't talking to you. "Of course. I won't-..." She stops, looking almost scared for a moment before she turns her attention back to you. "Sorry, Sweet Subject, but I have to go now. I'll come back later to help remove these pests. Good luck!" And just like that, she glitches out of existence. Not the most engaging conversation, but it does make one wonder... |
| [ Not All You're Cracked Up to Be ] |
Summary: ๐ผ Content Warnings: Body horror, manipulation of abilities, forced honesty, forced physical and mental weakening. It begins at the tips of your fingers. Your skin begins to harden into a chalky white color, spreading across your arms, and up into your shoulders. The effect creeps down your back and across the rest of your body, until even your eyes and hair are white, your tongue and insides just as white. You have become something of a breathing porcelain doll, your body delicate and light. The cause of the spread starts with feelings of vulnerability. The feeling like you may not be in control of your own life like you once thought you were. Like you believed before arriving in Sweet Acres. If your past was a mere fabrication, then what about everything else? What about who you are? The kind of person you are? The things you believe? Memories are one thing, but your personality is another. Has that been fabricated too? Or perhaps you do get caught up in the memories from your "fake" life. Perhaps you're fixated on things, things you can't change, things you can't go back and fix. Because you're here now, after all, so your mistakes have been left with open ends and your dreams in limbo. What does that mean for you now? The despair of it all is easy to sink into. The deeper you go, the more delicate your body becomes, until finally, the cracks begin to appear. At a glance, they are beautiful to behold. Rivers of gold shimmering against the white, spreading over your skin like scored veins. That is when you begin to feel as vulnerable as you appear. You feel like the slightest wrong movement could turn you to dust. But you can't die: you can only break. And when you do, you'll remain completely conscious. But you'll have to put yourself back together or get someone else to help you. Thankfully, this isn't too hard as it only requires you to physically push the pieces back together, but if your body is scattered to the wind...Well, you might just end up having to be patched up by Daisy. It isn't entirely hopeless. After all, don't forget that you're being watched by a live audience. And what does a live audience love more than the drama of people opening up to one another? During this state, you will be more inclined to be surprisingly honest with those who make you feel protected and understood, and if they show support toward your vulnerability, your body will toughen up and the gold will spread. Each person's journey is unique to what they need to feel confident in, but eventually, if someone manages to make you feel supported enough, you'll turn completely gold, impervious to any physical damage for at least a week. Then the gold will melt away from your body entirely, finally leaving you as you used to be in your normal flesh and blood, but you will feel renewed and better than ever. If you fail to feel comforted by anyone, your skin will begin to crumble away toward the end of the month, eventually exposing your old body, but you will feel extremely fatigued and a bit like you have the flu. |
Questions
Ignatius "Iggy" Melville | OC | OTA
cw: drugged state of mind, saw 'vine porn if u dream hard enough' and baby I can dream
Iggy has spent much of his time in Sweet Acres just wandering around, trying to get his bearings. The environment is not what he's used to - he has lived on the coast of the Pacific Northwest his entire life, and he misses the ocean, misses the mountains. He even misses the rain. So he wanders, trying to get used to the place and to the people, not sure where the hell he should be living and what he should be doing. You can spot him at the White Elephant Shopping District pretty frequently, looking in shop windows.
Like everyone else, he is drawn to Voddisson Park. The greenery at least soothes some of his homesickness, and after spending an length of time in the park he does begin to feel drugged. Although he is more a fan of stimulants, he's not about to look down on a free high. You can find him sitting on a park bench, periodically giggling silently to himself, more than happy to share his seat.
Another time while walking through the park, he stops to admire some of the flora and does not notice the vines creeping across the ground like snakes. Lacking any powers, any combat training, and possessing the body of an art student with smoker's lungs, he is immediately dragged away, screaming.
The vines string him up amongst the branches of a large judas tree - he isn't terribly far from the earth, but that really isn't the biggest problem. He squirms amongst the pink blooms as the vines twine under his clothes, splitting them open, and begin to wrap tightly around his extremities, forcing him to hang there spreadeagled.
"Oh, fuck! I've seen this movie! Help! Somebody help me!"
doll parts
cw: body horror, non lethal dismemberment
Iggy has decided that if one must live in a sort of Truman Show nightmare, the smartest thing to do is avoid the super suburban houses. They just seem to be the creepiest choice you could make. The lovely old Victorians are a no-go, too - although Sweet Acres sure seems to be functioning on its own rules, he still thinks they're more likely to be haunted. No, Iggy gravitates to the brutalist school of architecture.
It's while he's trying to spread out in a house that looks like a couple of concrete blocks that he first begins to worry.
Iggy spent most of his life being extremely vulnerable, and it has only been in the past few years that he's stablished some sense of control over his own life. Being suddenly alone in a strange place and told that his life was a fabrication does nothing for his mental health. Outwardly he is cheerful and helpful, but in his empty home he sinks deeper and deeper into his personal existential crisis. His entire body is chalk white in no time.
He leaves the house for errands. To look at the shops. Just to walk around. (He avoids the garden now, at least.) Anyone who sees him will see the golden cracks running deeply through his porcelain flesh, shining beautifully in the sun. He isn't the type to avoid talking, so he's likely to tell you exactly what's wrong if asked.
Iggy's a graceful enough person, but it only takes one mistake - one day he trips and falls. His shocked cry is cut off when he hits the pavement and shatters into several pieces: one whole leg snaps off, one whole arm. A forearm, too.
And his head of course. That winds up in the gutter.
He could use a hand.
OOC: feel free to drop a wildcard!
Will match format - brackets or prose, it is all good!
1
Dirk is standing on the grass below, staring up at Iggy Spreadeagle and being steadily pulled apart by the vines. So far, it seemed more like a sexy pulling apart than anything horrific, so sue Dirk for smirking a little bit. He was going to save Iggy, totally, but he had to be an absolute asshole about it first.
"No way, man, this is a good look on you, seriously. I gotta take some pictures or something." He has had so many dreams like this but never had the reality right there for the taking. Man, he was so lucky sometimes.
cw: look just probably nsfw all the way down
"...really?"
Iggy.
"That's great and all but I'm pretty sure you can see my asshole from down there and I'm feeling a little vulnerable?"
100000%
"Really, darlin'. Ain't never seen such a gorgeous asshole." Except maybe his own. Oh right. The vulnerable thing. He floats up into the air and brings himself right up in front of Iggy.
"I'm gonna have to get you to beg a little. I'm not a charitable guy, y'know?"
no subject
Some people will resist begging even when it's in their best interests - their pride is too strong, their desire to appear strong too ingrained.
Iggy has no such issues.
"Please," he says in a soft, breathy little voice. "Oh, please, I need your help so badly."
That vine wraps itself around his dick, which is both alarming and a little hot because there is a gorgeous blonde right in front of him and all.
Koby | OPLA | ota
[The park is always nice. Koby's used to the sea -- the endless blue, the horizon stretching off into nothingness, the way the air smells and the deck moves. He misses it, every time he wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare or steps outside the grey house him and Mihawk have taken as their own odd quarters. But the flowers are nice enough, and the trees are a novelty after being on the ocean for so long. So the urge to visit the park isn't necessarily unusual.
But the way he feels once he's there is. Koby isn't sure how, but he finds himself sitting cross-legged among a large patch of poppies, frowning and blinking at the large, heavy orangeish blooms. One hand reaches out, strokes along the delicate petals, huffing out a soft laugh.] That's -- strange. I've never seen these before.
[And yet -- he feels like he's back, by the ocean, the sun going down, the waves rolling soft and foamy onto the sand. Koby isn't really sure what beach, if he's by a Marine base or at a port or on the island he called home as a child. All beaches were the same, regardless of whether he was trapped with Alvida's crew at some grimy dock in the middle of the East Blue, or running barefoot and careless with the other girls from the orphanage. There was always sand, warm and damp, studded with shells and seaweed and beach glass and smooth stones, plush beneath his feet, the air salt-bright and familiar.
The poppies creep in closer, twining around Koby's arms, his legs, roots starting to dig their way beneath his skin as he reaches out for a handful of sand that isn't there, much as he can feel it gritty and fine between his fingers. He...might need some help.]
ii. not all you're cracked up to be
[Honestly, Koby just thought he'd been off the sea for too long -- he's always been on the paler side, tending to burn or freckle, rather than tan beneath the constant sun out on the water. The sun in Sweet Acres is so odd, so artificially cool that he's even paler than usual these days.
Except -- nope, that's not just being pale, that's an odd sort of cool, almost stonelike quality to his skin, spreading up his fingers to his arms, smooth and alien. Koby is distracted from thoughts of home by how wrong it feels, an odd sort of tingling loss of sensation that he can't get away from, no matter how he rubs or scratches at the porcelain.
Then, the cracks -- running threads of gold, spidering over Koby's arms, his shoulders, up his neck. It'd leave him terrified, sobbing and shivering, but he just sort of feels...numb. Empty. Maybe it's the porcelain inside him, but as the cracks grow wider, spreading bright and shining and nearly beautiful, Koby just sits on a bench, hands out in front of him and...watches.
The thoughts don't stop either, the memories of home, of the choices he'd made, the ways he'd grown since Luffy rescued him, since he enlisted, since he'd finally taken control of his own life. Why would he have had an entire artificial life, a whole fake existence that was all about autonomy and making his own choices? What sort of cruel, horrific irony was that?
If anyone approaches, Koby just looks upwards at them, face blank, cool, almost serene.] You're blocking the sun.
cracking up
[Iggy sits down beside Koby carefully. He's just as pale, gold spiderwebbing across his skin.
He looks over.]
It's happening to you, too.
no subject
Still, as Iggy sits down, he straightens up, frowning a little and reaching out to touch the splintering cracks of gold. He can't feel anything, like his fingertips are completely numb.] Are you...it doesn't hurt you, right?
no subject
I keep crying, though.
[Stated quite simply.]
You?
no subject
Koby almost reaches out, but every movement makes him feel very much like he's about to just crumble to bits, so he stays very still.] But no, it doesn't hurt. That's good.
no subject
Yeah.
[He sits quietly, looking around at the eerily perfect streets around them.]
Why do you cry?
no subject
Because I'm afraid. Or frustrated, or overwhelmed. That's usually why. It just...seems to be my first reaction to most things. It always has been, and I've always gotten into trouble for it.
What about you?
no subject
[He studies his cracked arms.]
How did you get in trouble?
no subject
Flogged, usually. It was a pirate ship. They're big on floggings. [Koby says it very matter-of-fact, almost carelessly, but there's a flicker of the way he actually feels on his face -- haunted, hollow, wounded.] Or no meals or sleep or something like that, if there wasn't time for proper punishment.
Eventually I learned to...not feel anything, until I was alone. Where nobody could see. I've gotten worse at that, lately.
no subject
[He turns and awkwardly opens his arms to offer a hug.]
That's terrible. They never ever should have done that.
You didn't deserve that treatment.
Is that bad? I don't think it's bad to feel things.
no subject
As does the embrace, even if his whole body shivers and tenses in anticipation of it -- hurting, breaking him more, something.] It was better than it could've been. I was the smallest and weakest on the ship. It...could've been something much, much worse. But -- thank you.
[A soft sigh, Koby's cheek resting on Iggy's shoulder.] I don't think it is either, but...feeling out of control about what you're feeling is. Scary. I don't like not having control.
no subject
Just because it could have been worse doesn't mean that you're not allowed to feel shitty about it.
[He hugs Koby a little tighter.]
I've spent most of my life with no control, and you're right: it's scary. But think, with emotions at least the storm will pass.
no subject
I try to feel other things. I've spent so long feeling terrible about that time. I don't want to give it any more of me.
You mentioned. But it's better now, right? It gets easier.
no subject
[It does feel much better to have physical contact. Platonic contact, even, which is novel.]
It is, and it does.
And we have each other now. I'll look out for you.
no subject
Then, looking down at his hands, Koby prompts softly:] Look. It's -- the gold's going away? I think? [He does feel considerably better. Perhaps it's connected.]
I can look out for you too. I'm not very strong yet, but I'm going to be. Someday.
no subject
It is!
Oh, sweetie. You are strong. I can tell, because you've made it this far.
And thank you. I would like that a lot.
no subject
Is it working for you too? Making the -- porcelain, ceramic, whatever it is go away?
no subject
[Iggy pushes up a sleeve and studies his arm. The cracks have thickened considerably, but they feel... strong.]
...yeah. I think... I think what's underneath it is stronger.
It's like if we pull each other up, if we stick together and share, we don't have to becso scared of breaking.
Have you ever broken before? Like, completely? Emotionally, I mean.
no subject
[It's a bit of an on-the-nose metaphor, and Koby huffs out a soft laugh, pushing his glasses back up his nose -- but he's relieved, all the same. Though the question makes him pause, thinking back.] ...not in a really long time. Maybe when I was a kid, but I don't think that counts the same way.
no subject
No, I guess not. Little kids can fall apart and then go back to normal really quickly.
[He isn't sure if that's normal, actually.]
You're a lot tougher than you look.
no subject
[That gets a bit of a half-smile, and a gentle nudge of Koby's elbow.] Were you a kid that fell apart a lot, then?
I guess. I sometimes think about what used to be normal to me, what I dealt with and...I don't really see how. Even thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.
no subject
[He gives Koby another hug.] That's because terrible shit was done to you, yeah? And you didn't deserve it. You should like, say that. Make it an affirmation.
no subject
Yeah. Yeah, it was terrible. It was awful. [Saying it makes Koby shiver a little, hands curling into fists where they rest on his legs.]
no subject
[He grins.] Yup. A mermaid. Where I'm from there's this movie about a redhead mermaid? And I just thought she was the best. I knew all the songs and shit... God. I was so gay.
[Iggy pats one of those fists gently.]
And you didn't deserve it. Say that part, too.
no subject
...huh. Is liking mermaids, um...automatically a sign that you're, uh. Gay? [He's learning a lot today, wow.]
And I didn't deserve it. [There, ugh. Not without an eye roll, but at least he said it.]
no subject
[Iggy blinks, then grins. As he does, the cracks on his face split more to reveal even more gold.] Oh my god, of course! I love them, by the way. You have a great look.
[He shakes his head, laughing silently.] No, no. It's more like... There's a lot of sort of stereotypical things about it. It can be really damaging to some people. But me, I'm just like... I am the sort of person who actually is like that, I guess. Like I had dolls as a kid. I loved em. I liked the cartoons with singing and princesses. I care about fashion. But none of that actually matters when it comes to who I wanna fuck, no. I dunno. It's a complicated social thing.
[Iggy hugs him again.] Yay! I'm so proud of you!
no subject
The compliment makes him laugh, cheeks going a little red, which offsets the gold oddly.] Thanks. I'm really lucky they haven't broken. I don't know if there's anywhere here I could get them prepared.
Another "construct"? [Koby's learning so much about sociology. But he laughs a little, sort of amused.] I had dolls too, but that's because I was supposed to. It was a girl's orphanage, so whenever anyone donated toys and things, it was mostly dolls. I remember always being disappointed there weren't more books. I eventually just...made my own fishing pole out of a stick and tried to catch things in puddles.
[Koby rolls his eyes, but he can't help but laugh.] Okay, okay, that wasn't that hard, you're right.
no subject
Good question. I feel like there must be. It's a medical issue, I can't imagine our clown overlord wants us to suffer that way.
Yeah! Yeah, exactly.
[Iggy smiles.] You sound so cute! And you felt the call of the sea really early. That's lovely.
It gets easier with practice, too!
2
And you are, apparently, sick.
(Something like being sick anyway. Frail. Infected, even, possibly. Mihawk moves closer and squats down, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn't touch Koby, and doesn't move much closer. Instead, he looks up into Koby's face, his own expression carefully neutral.)
Tell me how you feel.
no subject
He's just thinking about how fragile he feels, how logically he should be moving away from Mihawk, who could damage him under normal circumstances, but could do even worse in this state. That'd be the smart thing to do. Instead he just wants to -- reach out, grab onto Mihawk like he's the one tether to sanity, to reality. Koby never wants to let go.
He swallows hard, the motion sending a spidery, glittering track of gold splintering up his throat, over his jaw.] I'm not in pain. If that's what you mean. I don't feel sick. Just...
...strange. Sad.
no subject
(Cool! He has absolutely no clue what to do with someone sad. He was not a creature of comfort, but the idea of merely rolling his eyes and leaving wasn't even a concept that entered his mind. Perhaps that too is telling.
His eyes snap to the fracturing spread of gold. It's undeniably beauty, in its own strange way, but it was far more concerning than beautiful.)
Pain is not always a reliable indication of a problem.
(He didn't like this whatsoever. He reaches a hand out slowly, bringing his palm carefully to rest against Koby's cheek, his touch incredibly delicate. Perhaps the softest he has ever touched another living creature that wasn't the petals of a flower in the garden. Koby looked like he was about to shatter - literally. He did not want to risk that.)
I think it would be wise if we go inside. I do not think you should be out in the open like this. Do you feel...(...His brow furrows together. He really is out of his wheelhouse here.)
Weak...?
no subject
But there's no infection, at least not visibly, and something in Koby's chest unravels a bit. He closes his eyes, leans his cheek into Mihawk's hand -- half porcelain, half flesh, the spread of the strange affliction slowing considerably. The answer takes a moment to come, like Koby has to actively focus on selecting the words.]
That's...probably a good idea. I don't -- I'm not tired, but I feel like...if I stumble or something, I'll fall to bits. [A laugh, and he blinks his eyes back open, looks down into Mihawk's familiar, intent, golden ones.] Does that sound insane? It feels sort of insane.
no subject
It's a strange feeling. Then again, he has never really touched Koby like this either. He doesn't have a base of comparison. Was Koby's face always so soft? The porcelain was an odd feature, but strangely, it suited Koby even if it wasn't ideal.)
That very well may be true.
(He looked that weak.)
No, it does not sound insane.
(Genuinely. He moves closer then and carefully, he slides his arm beneath the bend of Koby's legs while wrapping an arm around his back. He scoops him up easily, carefully, adjusting Koby against him.)
All right? I'll bring you in. (Then there would be no risk of a fall. Expert logic here.)
What's with this sorrow you feel? Is it...(Ugh. He has no clue! What to do here!) Specific or?
no subject
Mihawk scoops him up and for a moment something in Koby tenses, waiting for something to shatter or crack or splinter. Nothing does, though -- which makes sense, someone as attuned to his surroundings as Mihawk does nothing carelessly. Still, the obvious care is something thoroughly unfamiliar to Koby, who is still awestruck each time Mihawk makes any sort of contact. It never hurts. It's never too much. It's always somehow exactly what Koby needs in that exact moment.
What does that mean? Perhaps part of the vulnerability Koby's feeling is how easily he'd slipped into this odd arrangement with Mihawk. He should be on edge, constantly walking on eggshells and preparing himself for danger, or at the least an annoyed altercation. But he isn't, not at all. In fact, the thought of Mihawk taking him back to the house -- back home -- fills Koby with a relief so acute it's nearly an ache.
Shifting a bit so his cheek is pillowed on Mihawk's shoulder, Koby exhales shakily, hands curling together in his lap.] No, it's -- very, very complicated. I can be upset about lots of different things, all together. I'm talented that way. [Is self-deprecation a good or bad sign?]
no subject
As for now, Mihawk is assured by the attitude. They would figure this out.
He begins to walk, stepping with more intention than usual, making sure to keep his stride as fluid and smooth as possible to ensure less jostling.)
Oh, can you, now? (Drawling sarcasm.) I never noticed.
Humor me anyway. (Because it seemed suspicious that that was what Koby was feeling over fear.) Did I burn your breakfast?
(It's a bad attempt at a joke, but he's never been one for comedian or comfort so he figures Koby will be fine with the attempt.)
no subject
It's nice, feeling safe. It's new.
As is the sensation of being teased and not feeling immediately embarrassed or annoyed by it. Koby huffs out a laugh, forcing himself not to pick at his nails and instead reach out to grab onto Mihawk's coat instead. His fingers curl in tight, white-knuckled.] No, nothing like that. I don't think you could do that if you tried.
I just...keep thinking about everything I remember. From our world. How much of it was...so bad. And about how if...none of it was true...did I survive all of it for no reason? [Koby pauses, laughing wetly, reaching up to wipe at his eyes with the heel of one hand.] I guess that's also pointless. Worrying about it, if it wasn't real.
no subject
True. (He is a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to literally anything he does. He falls silent and attentive as Koby begins to speak, and if he holds Koby a bit tighter as the waterworks begin, that's neither here nor there.)
It is not pointless. I often find myself thinking the same, but in the reverse. If I truly spent an entire lifetime only thinking I became the greatest swordman. The idea that that title was a mere fabrication given to me by someone else.
(There was an enormous amount of shame that threatened to engulf him anytime he thought about it too much.)
I believe it is good that you worry about that. We have put in the work to survive in our world and to have that effort written off as some silly little story...
(It felt miserable. He shifts Koby ever so slightly so that he can get their front door open. He brings Koby inside, quietly shutting the door behind him with his foot.)
For what it is worth...(He walks into the living room, then comes to a stop, looking down at Koby, his gaze calm and steady.)
I do not believe it was for no reason - whether the memories are fake or real. You are who you are because of them. We might not know what to believe in here, but I choose to believe in...you.
(Because. It felt like an anchor. He clears his throat and moves toward the couch.)
And us. We mustn't waiver on that. You and I are the only concrete things here. We know that this is real.
no subject
It makes it possible to breathe again, even through the tears. Glasses shoved up on top of his head, Koby blinks up at Mihawk with those huge, damp eyes, taking in every feature of his face. Almost fervently, tracing the familiar line of his jaw, his sharp brows, the scalloped beard he's somehow managed to maintain, even in this place. Koby doesn't really stop to consider when he'd taken the time to memorize Mihawk's face.] I can't imagine how much worse it is, for you. You'd already come so far, and done so much.
[The familiar surroundings have Koby's shoulders relaxing slightly, more of the gold sealing up as the door closes behind them. He thinks home, and it sends an almost painful surge of tenderness through him -- as do Mihawk's words. Koby wipes at his tear-streaked cheeks with his free hand, sniffling. It doesn't occur to him, not in this vulnerable, emotional spot, to lie, not when Mihawk's being so honest.
So:] I know you're real. Sometimes it's like -- you're the only thing keeping me sane. Isn't that strange?
no subject
He notices the fractures minimizing and watches as Koby seems to come back to life with each tear.
Then Koby is looking at him with large, wet eyes and Mihawk feels a strange, foreign notch in the pit of his chest. He finds himself staring back, completely unflinching, coming to a stop yet again in the middle of their home. He could put Koby down. That was what he had planned to do all of five seconds ago, but suddenly, it's the last thing he wants to do. He exhales, finally blinking, and shakes his head.)
You have no need to worry about me. I'm closer to the end of my days than you are. This may as well be an annoying forced early retirement. (Mihawk was only middle-aged and not that old, but with his track record back home, he always felt significantly older than he was, and the years before him had seemed to stretch out endlessly.)
...It is upsetting in some ways. But in other ways, I feel empty about it. It wasn't as if there was much of interest back home. Everything felt a bit monotonous.
(He does wind up moving to the couch, but sits down and just...Holds Koby. Mostly because he felt like perhaps this honesty was helping. He also wasn't sure if Koby would still be delicate and he didn't want to risk breaking him by forcing him to rest on the couch. Mihawk felt his own body was just a more secure option. Or something.
A bit of surprise sparks in his eyes because, wait a second.)
You're...(What's even the word.)
Being rather compassionate toward me.
(No one did that??? On top of the honesty? Crying in his arms? ? ? ?
This place really was leading him down a path he had never imagined. Then Koby is telling him how mentally secure he felt, and well.)
I must admit...I do feel the same. (Strange? Probably. Bad? Definitely. Something he was willing to change? No. He looks away from Koby, staring across their room, what they have already made of it. An obvious contrast of their preferences and personalities throughout the living room, not much, but enough, and yet it felt cohesive and comfortable.)
I think perhaps...(A beat.) I have grown fond of you in some way. I recognize your footsteps and your breathing by now. (And because he can't be too soft!!! He adds on:)
I wonder if this must be how it feels for people when they become fond of a pet? (He smirks at Koby a little, maybe trying to make Koby smile or annoyed or something.)
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You aren't that old. [Almost like Koby's reminding himself of that fact, even as he braces himself to be set down on the couch. But then -- Mihawk doesn't let go. Just sits there, Koby in his arms. It feels...well, it feels like a lot of things. Strange, a relief, a comfort. All of that.
If he wanted to, Koby knows he could move away, could turn to wiggle out of Mihawk's arms and onto the couch, without any resistance. For all that he could, there hasn't been a single instance of Mihawk forcing Koby to do anything. Maybe it's because he doesn't feel the need to? Or maybe he senses, on some level, how much has already been decided for Koby, how important the freedom is. Regardless, Koby knows implicitly that he could carefully move away from Mihawk, and there'd be no attempts to hold onto him.
But he doesn't move.
He keeps looking upwards, watches the shift of Mihawk's face, the subtle movement of his jaw, his eyebrows, the way his mouth forms each word. Koby watches like he's transfixed, thinks wildly, absurdly, of reaching out and touching Mihawk's mouth. Just once. He doesn't, of course, just swallows hard and finally lets the words register.] You pay attention to that sort of thing? My -- footsteps? The way I sound? Do you do that for everyone?
[The smirk and the comment get a dramatic eyeroll, and Koby elbowing at Mihawk's chest, completely ineffectively.] I've had enough of being a pet, thanks. [Mission accomplished?]
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That is the only sane reply one could make about someone's age. (Let's be real. He relaxes his hold somewhat, and part of him expects Koby to move away from him as well. It would only make sense. It's not like they spent their together huddled up like this. It was an exception, Mihawk told himself. One of comfort and necessity with whatever was going on with Koby's body. It would be an embarrassment if he failed to keep Koby from dying just because he refused to keep the cadet close when he needed it. If he even needed it.
Koby's right. Mihawk had no interest in controlling Koby or telling him what to do, and he hasn't since they arrived. Whatever choices Koby made, he encouraged. He was far from a pirate like Alvida (ahem, ex-pirate. Technically.)
The question gets a thoughtful, short hum from Mihawk.)
Frankly, I don't spend much time around anyone enough to bother memorizing that sort of thing. I do know the steps of people I have worked with or fought.
(But this wasn't either of that.)
Careful, darling, we don't want you to shatter. (Another tease because he's pretty sure that Koby is getting better. He looks better.)
Yet you would make such a cute kitten. Or perhaps puppy.
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So does that mean Koby will need to sort out what exactly this specific emotion -- attachment, affection, whatever it is thrumming in his chest right now -- and do something about it first? Maybe. Probably. It's all too much for him right now. Crying makes him tired, makes him lean against Mihawk's chest and exhale slowly, wiping the last of the tears away.] Then...thank you. For being kind.
We haven't worked or fought together. [Aside from whatever you'd call the gentle, mildly exasperating bickering the two engage in on the daily -- nothing serious, just "why do you put all the good cups up so high, you know I'm short, you do it on purpose" sort of things.] So...is it just proximity?
[Koby tries to scowl upwards, but because of the angle, it comes off not at all intimidating whatsoever.] I'd be a full-grown animal thank you very much. Just because you're enormously tall wouldn't make me a kitten.