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sticksandbones2023-07-10 09:07 pm
simplicitas) wrote in sticksandbones2023-07-10 09:07 pm
[OPEN] baby wake up i found the plot
Who: Elsword & You
What: A curated selection of our finest bullshit including: making a grave for a child, sharing the Plot, repairing his armour, and... fishing!
When: Backdated to mid-June
Where: Outside :)
Warnings: There will be mentions of a dead child, but otherwise not too grim. Other warnings TBD/in tag headers.
i. this is the plot-relevant prompt
cw: electrocution mention
ii. in memoriam
cw: mentions of a dead child
iii. i didn't go to blacksmithing school
iv. feesh
What: A curated selection of our finest bullshit including: making a grave for a child, sharing the Plot, repairing his armour, and... fishing!
When: Backdated to mid-June
Where: Outside :)
Warnings: There will be mentions of a dead child, but otherwise not too grim. Other warnings TBD/in tag headers.
i. this is the plot-relevant prompt
cw: electrocution mention
[Elsword is feeling a bit better after getting electrocuted within an inch of his life the other day, finally able to move about and do things again. The first thing he does isn't something ostensibly normal, though — the boy never is. Rather, he's coming up to you with a framed photograph, large and featuring a group of many people. One of the people in it looks like you from the past, however you were — younger, in a different form, whichever it may be — and Elsword taps a claw against the frame as he hands it off to you.]
Did we... Did I know you when I was a kid? And I... forgot about it?
[It's difficult to see, but the little redheaded boy in the photograph — no older than thirteen — bears a striking resemblance to the boy in front of you now. If you squint, anyway.]
ii. in memoriam
cw: mentions of a dead child
[Just outside the manor — well, actually, about ten feet away from it, but still — Elsword is holding a large piece of stone in his lap, sitting down in the grass and dragging the clawed finger of his gauntlet against the rock face. If you look closely or approach, you might catch the soft, golden glow of magic, as he tries to carve something into it.
Your footsteps alert him, but all he does is swivel his head around briefly to look at you and nod, before setting back to what he's doing. He's got a few flowers next to him as well, and Leon is curled up at his side, slow-blinking at you with his head against his giant paws.]
iii. i didn't go to blacksmithing school
[It's late into the evening, a bit past dinnertime, when Elsword finally doffs his armour and sits outside the inn hammering away at it. When he went into the mansion, it got messed up by a giant wolf attacking, see, and the consequence he suffered upon leaving it made it worse. He hasn't had time until now to actually sit down and try to repair it, and boy...
...boy, he gets why this is a Profession and not just Something Anyone Can Do.
Dinged-up, broken armour isn't good for combat. It gets weaker every blow until it fractures, and by that point, you're likely to get pieces of metal embedded in you when it fully breaks, depending on luck. He's like... pretty sure that's how it works, anyway. But man... man, every hammer strike seems to make it worse, and there's not a proper forge to fix things in.]
Do you know how to fix armour?
[Maybe he should just give up and go without.]
iv. feesh
[He's feeling a little out of sorts for the rest of the week, no idea why other than "emotions are starting to bubble up to the surface" and "had a generally bad time with the mansion"... so to take the edge off, Elsword can be found doing what Elrians do best.
Fishing.
He's silently sitting by the riverbank on a log, wearing a hat that reads "THE EL WANTS ME, FISH FEAR ME", and catching just... myriads of fish. So many fish for to munch. They're piling up on the bank fairly quickly.
Please feel free to just rob him he won't miss any of these.]
no subject
...for the amount of flower he was thinking, one case is more than enough. Elsword has, of course, provided... all of his pillowcases. Rennuid thinks about it for a second, then folds them all together over top of his arm like a butler with a towel, resolving to put the rest back where they belong later, surreptitiously. anywhere with a gap wider than a quarter, after all... ]
This will be perfect, Tyr'oc. All else of need is scissors, then needle. The spiders will help out~.
no subject
[Okay. You know what, the spiders will help out. That's fine with him. It's off to find scissors, then, which likely means a quick trip to the shopkeeper to just borrow some sewing supplies. Or the Trader, maybe. Either one of them... Elsword automatically makes way to the shopkeeper, though, since he tends to have just General Things on hand.
And, yeah, sewing supplies are easy enough to borrow. With that out of the way, they can therefore make their way back to the little grave site and set to work.]
no subject
[ he sits down, all his flower-making supplies a pile in his lap.
Their little supply adventure went smoothly, and personally Rennuid quietly liked having the chance to show up together to talk to the shopkeeper. The few of them, clinging on to this place, keeping things together as they could... it was notable, having the chance to come together in clusters.
The underlying reason was a tragedy, but he always found that more the purpose of mourning rituals, than anything; the motion and togetherness they spurred you to, between the great stillness. It was a perspective that served him well, when he had to sit, once upon a time, and think: how in the world should we venerate the dead, because it just said "thine sanctified soul set in meditation will guide to you in time the truth" instead of, like, instructions.
...
anyway the safest thing to reach for to contribute was certainly the flowers he saw nature itself grow for the dead, at home. gorogor'nac was brutal, but it wasn't an actively malevolent forest. it was just a very very old and hungry one. the flowers that grew best in blood-drunk soil had no evil in them... they served as helpful reminders.
he draws the outline of the first flower with the point of one of his black nails, and a crisp line is left of actual ink behind it as it goes. ]
no subject
...as does Elsword, frankly, who takes up a criss-cross-applesauce position in the dirt and leans forward, hands wrapped around his ankles, to watch.]
Is that magic? [He asks,] You don't have a pen you're hiding, do you?
no subject
[ the ink carries has a scent like ants, and seems to need drying as any other ink, because Rennuid blows gently on it when he's done with the first round of flower shapes. ]
no subject
[Elsword hasn't exactly gone over the details of what he saw in the house, not in so many words. He looks to the gravestone, where he's inscribed upon it 오드리 — "Audrey" spelt in his native tongue, and the translation will be made clear by the grove's magic.]
So that's good... that it doesn't.
no subject
(don't call it a prayer. don't call it a prayer.)
Each flower is meant to be in three layers. Largest, smallest, middlest piece. When he's made the first stack, he sets it down, lays the needle on top, and leaves it alone to start the next one. Rennuid hadn't asked for thread.
...yeah he's
He's waiting for the spiders for that. ]
It's... ice. It will go fast if you hold close. But if you just brush it... this is not even to brush. No worries for Audrey. No worries for Tyr'oc.
[ with his non-ink hand, he scritches Leon. ] No worries for Leon.
[ "yeah if I don't use spellslots everything is fine," ]
cw more dead child mentions
Meanwhile, Elsword... is still very much haunted by what he saw in the Manor. For all his emotionlessness, certain things stick with him — his sister's fury as she pulled him from the El, Add's displeasure with the forest's parasite in his wrist and Elsword's general dismissal of it, the lives he's failed to save. They are their own parasites in the back of his mind, reminding him of why he does what he does. Why he threw himself into the El, knowing he'd likely die from it. Why he always throws himself headfirst into danger, because in the end, at least he'd be saving someone.
There's a little girl in that house lying cold on the bed, one he couldn't bring outside because it was too dangerous. One he said a prayer of his own for before he left, whose grave they're sitting in front of for lack of anything else.
Elsword breathes a heavy, long sigh. It's a rare day indeed when he feels bothered, a distant pang under the rubble of all his failed and forgotten promises. Despite everything, the sensation is not as foreign to him as other emotions tend to be.]
...she was young, [he murmurs.] Probably eight... maybe nine. I'm not sure.
cw more dead child mentions
he's stilled, as Elsword spoke. something small and dark crawls by in the corner of his eye, but he pays it no mind. he is watching Tyr'oc, and then, he is watching the fresh, dark soil of the grave. ]
It's... a cruel wrong, for a child's death. [ the words he says next he couldn't have, three years ago. ] There is not sense.
no subject
[This isn't about him. Yet, all the same, for every life that is lost, Elsword manages to actually feel something — the weight of a duty failed. It's a heavy burden to bear, worsened by his connection with the El. The El does not want him to fail. He is the El's Guardian, and therefore, the guardian of Elrios's life itself. Removed of it, he still feels a deep need to continue to guard everyone here. It's a protective instinct... but there's blowback when something untoward happens.]
I tried to get in days ago. If I had persisted on breaking in, I might've been able to do something. I shouldn't have given up... but she's dead now. All I could do was this much. And there are two other kids still stuck in there, and I couldn't get them out, either.