Here You Are, Stick Figure and a Busted Grin [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The first thing that the dreamers of Manhattan might notice is that the ground is a good deal closer than it normally is. The second thing they might notice is that their surroundings are larger than they might expect. The playground looks almost daunting. Of course, there are other ways for the dreamers to occupy themselves on this hot summer day: a charming fountain bubbles away a little distance from the playground. There's an ice cream stand with treats free for the taking. Beyond the paved area is a meadow, covered in wildflowers and dominated by a huge, sprawling tree, perfect for climbing.

It's all prime entertainment for children. So really, it's just as well that 'children' is what the dreamers will find themselves to be - once more, for those who had childhoods, or for the first time, for those who didn't.

Perhaps you'll remember everything: the Rift, Manhattan, the friends (and enemies) you've made since your arrival. Or perhaps you'll only remember who you were when you were young, and find this an opportunity to forge new friendships - or new (and probably pettier) animosities. Run around, get dirty, have a good time. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

[ooc: usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, whether they've been apped to the game or not. Characters will remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Mental and emotional regression is optional, but physical regression is mandatory: your character is in the body of a little kid - human, or human-ish - regardless of who or what they are in the waking world.]

Comments

[omnomnom_feels]

Nhodd still cannot discern a purpose to his presence here. More troubling still, he has determined that he does not know where here is, and that he is unable to leave. The conundrum had cause his mental system to hang for some minutes while his processes all turned inward in an attempt to solve the problem, but he's since relegated the questions of where and why to lower priority levels. It is possible he will gather clues to those questions as he addresses other variables, and so those other variables have increased in priority.

This variable seems likely to be quite important. The mortal scratching symbols into the wood of the play-fort exudes prickly unhappiness, and it draws Nhodd like a moth to a flame. Perhaps he is meant to help this child.

"Blessings of Order and Peace be upon you," he says from a little ways behind the mortal, cheeks dimpled by what he has calculated to be a reassuring smile.

[lottawork]

Someone interrupts him, and Nick's head jerks up with a glare. He doesn't like interruptions unless they're worth his time, which this one doesn't seem to be.

"Th'fook's that mean?" he asks with a suspicious squint and a dubious twist of his mouth. It sounds like something silly and Yuleish, and he doesn't have time for it. Can't he see he's busy? "S'not Christmas-taem. Not bloody baltic enough."

[omnomnom_feels]

English was the correct language in which to greet the child, but it seems Nhodd selected the wrong dialect. He adjusts accordingly. "I came fae th'Host tae bring blessings," he explains. He's not entirely sure it's true, but he's capable of bringing blessings and it seems an advisable course of action. He's much more used to providing visions and dreams to beleaguered adults facing death and various other sharply defined crises, and is only guessing at what one might do about a child who just seems generally unhappy.

"You're unhappy," he observes.

[lottawork]

Nick's eyes narrow. He wasn't speaking like him and now he is. He doesn't want any blessings from anyone. Does he fucking look it?

He straightens up to his full, lamentably unimposing height, the knife gripped at his side in a firm, unspoken challenge. He knows how to fight with or without one, and just because the older boys knocked him around some, doesn't mean he can't hold his own. He's got to. He's had to learn it.

"I'm busy," he says pointedly. "An' I don' need annae of your blessings."

[omnomnom_feels]

Nhodd sees the knife and its implications, but he gives no indication of comprehension as he blinks languidly at the child. "Why are you unhappy?" he asks, setting aside the illogical refusal of blessings to be addressed later. The little thing simply does not know better yet. "You huv Order in you," he points out with a gesture to the equation carved into the wood. The exact form of expression is not something he's bothered to learn, but he recognizes physical truths when he sees them represented. "In a way you huv already been blessed."

[lottawork]

What's order? What's he mean? Order of operations? That's kid's play, simple stuff, and he's fair fucking brilliant, he is. It's what everyone says. But whatever he's going on about, blessings, Nick's got to outline the point where he doesn't care.

"I'm unhappy 'cause I'm busy," he clarifies shortly. "And you're interrupting."

[omnomnom_feels]

Errant followers will often express doubts or object to recommended courses of action given them in visions. Those for whom the angels manifest in order to provide direct protection from violence are often afraid despite the illogic of being anything but assured in their own safety once a celestial guardian is present. Nhodd is no stranger to the need to cajole a mortal to accept his presence and whatsoever he offers or commands.

This is, however, the first time a mortal has objected on the basis that he is interrupting something more important. It is clear that this cannot be the source of the deeper emotions, as they were present before Nhodd offered his blessings, but it is possible that he might be exacerbating the problem if he is only one of many interruptions to the child's work. "I apologize," he replies after a moment's indecision. "But it goes fair deeper than tha', I kin tell. I want tae help you."

[lottawork]

"You can take your help an' fuck off." Basic courtesies only go as far as when the other boys get insistent. Now's time to push back and handily demonstrate that he's no time for this or anything else that's getting in Nick's way. He's a reason to be here and a problem to solve, no time for any stupid distractions.

He turns back to the problem scratched in wood and frowns at it, hacking the two parallel lines forming the equal sign a little deeper into the paneling. He pauses once, and only to glare.

"Y'heard mae. Fuck off, or I'll chase y'off massehl'."

[omnomnom_feels]

Option One: accept that this variable is likely not the key to his presence and respect the mortal child's decision to be alone. Pro: there is little to no indication that this is the correct avenue for his efforts, and his energy may likely be spent better elsewhere. Con: it is not this mortal's place to command an angel, and he should not be suffered to transgress Order in this manner, knowingly or unknowingly.

Option Two: incite the mortal child to violence by accepting his challenge and reveal one's angelic nature via a carefully controlled show of force. Pro: this would correct the transgression the child just committed, and theoretically convince him of Nhodd's authority. Con: extreme caution is required; to damage this child would be an abhorrent act of entropy.

Nhodd selects Option Two. Stepping closer, he offers the reassuring smile once more. "Ahm nae going anywhere."

[lottawork]

It is an invasion of space.

An invasion of space under the guise of a too-bright, intensely irritating, hateful smile, offering comfort where none is needed or appreciated. It is something perhaps meant to be compassionate or soothing, that which Nick merely finds enraging. A blatant ignoring of his wishes leads to one thing and that will invariably lead to another, so he elects to skip the next several steps that he would describe as the typical exchange of build-up and shift to the most likely end result. He knows how this goes.

Nick bristles, wrenching around to face the other boy, knife held in front of him in a much clearer symbol of his hostility.

"I said," he growls tersely, "fuck off."

[omnomnom_feels]

Nhodd tilts the head of his manifestation. Would the child really injure another child with that knife? This does speak of a deeper problem. "You do nae need defend again' me," he says stepping slowly closer and reaching out for the knife. "Ahm here to help you. Ahm an angel of th'Host and it is my duty."

Though his movements look slow and easy, he's watching, waiting. Testing. He wishes to know if this child will truly attack what appears to be another human child, and should the mortal do so he is ready to grab the child's wrist and disarm him. Nhodd is very fast and very strong no matter the appearance of the form he has taken. He also means to be very gentle, but that does not mean he will tolerate excessive damage to his current form.

[lottawork]

Nick jerks back, winding back in preparation of deliverance of a blow. He knows where t' slip a blade, jam it between the ribs and stick it in where no one'll hurt him. He got raised in streets gray-streaked, rain-flecked, he knows how to fight and how to read the lines and angles in the body before it all goes to shite, it's how he got where he is and how he'll keep going 'till he gets a scholarship and gets the fuck out, and he knows this fuck is gathering himself to grip him, grab him, touch him. The older boys know how he hates it. They know what names to call him.

He's got a blade, he knows how to chib someone who's not backing off. He can do it. He's had to learn how.

"Nae such thing as angels," he spits, low and scornful. "Tha' means fuck-all t'me. An' I don' want yer bloody help."

[omnomnom_feels]

It would be simpler, far simpler, to change his manifestation to something more imposing and show the child what he is. It is, somehow, not possible. Nhodd pauses, considering. He is still not certain this is the problem he is meant to address, nor that he is addressing it correctly. He is certain that the child is incorrect in his assertions and should not be left to suffer under such delusions.

"You shouldnae speak untruths," he admonishes the mortal, taking another step closer, bringing himself within arm's reach, dark eyes trained on the other boy's face.

[lottawork]

He's too close, too fucking close. He hates it, the steady approach, the unwavering mask, the falseness of his friendliness and how he advances - he loathes it.

"Fuck you untruths," Nick snarls incomprehensibly, and he brings his arm down and up to ram the blade just beneath his ribcage.

[omnomnom_feels]

How unfortunate to find that the child's aggression is not mere posturing! The task of disarming a foe without breaking its body and smiting it into the Pale is a novel one, but Nhodd is nothing if not capable of precision when he is sure of what he means to do. He skirts to the side and strikes the child's arm to deflect the blade with inhuman quickness, then continues both movements, trying to slide his hand down to the boy's wrist so he can bring the limb with him as he positions himself behind the human.

[lottawork]

Nick knows the older boys are quick and they don't always spring for a square go so he does his best to coast with the motion even if he does so clumsily. It's a dodge, and then the other boy is touching him and so the logical progression of thought abruptly loses its logical progression.

Nick thrashes.

He twists in an explosion of wiry limbs and uncontrolled fierceness, jerking an elbow up to jam it at the boy's nose.

[omnomnom_feels]

The human's arm snaps out of his too-gentle grip before he can twist it around and force it behind its owner, and Nhodd feels the knife's blade slip through his hand and leave pain and wetness behind in the same moment that a bony elbow slams into his nose. His neck doesn't given like a human's would under the circumstances, his head failing to snap back.

A slight miscalculation. This will be more difficult than previously estimated.

The lack of coordination that surprised Nhodd can also work in his favor. He swings his bloodied arm up to catch round the back of the child's neck and force him down while Nhodd's other hand goes again for the wrist of the hand holding the knife. Force the neck down and forward, force the arm up behind. Do not force the arm too far up behind; it is relatively fragile.

[lottawork]

The impact stings like his elbow's slamming into concrete but Nick makes no sound but a low grunt that aborts itself in a huff of air when fingers wrap 'round his neck, horrible and restricting.

He swings the knife away and back again in halting repetition, aiming skite the blade between ribs, to load the stone-faced fuck with so many goddamn holes he lets go he lets go he lets go he cannot let him seize the knife he cannot let him seize the knife this is priority number one if he gets the knife it will be over and so Nick will not let him have it he cannot let go of the knife this is priority number one.

[omnomnom_feels]

This would be so much simpler if he intended to kill the child. Nhodd can hardly keep a grip on the squirming thing, and he has to abandon his efforts to snatch the flailing knife-hand out of the air in favor of grabbing at the shoulder and sliding a much firmer grip down the arm again to end at the wrist. It is not ideal; the stabbing motions necessitate a constant dodging away and he grunts as the human scores glancing blows along his torso that leave his shirt torn and body bleeding.

No matter. It will be repaired, or it will not matter when he de-manifests. It only matters that he hold the child still and force him to drop the knife.

[lottawork]

He has to facilitate a shift in priorities, and that priority is to get away. The kid doesn't want to give him a doing but Nick doesn't care, he just wants him to go away and stop being his goddamned creepy sick stone-faced self. He wriggles, desperate, uncontained, tiny wiry back arching - they say he's built all wrong for this, he's too many angles and he's meant to grow up wrong, can't he see - but they're wrong, he's Nick and he's always been Nick. He grew up cut from steel with square corners and sharp edges, and he won't be shown by this silent little fuck.

He keeps swinging, squirming, throwing every raw ounce of kin - of kaen - of kinetic energy into getting away from the stupid knob. Let him go let him go let him go.

[omnomnom_feels]

"Jus' stop, Ahm going ta give you a vision," says Nhodd in an attempt to appeal to the boy's seemingly nonexistent rational side. He's really at a loss here; a warrior would certainly struggle against him but would not panic like this, like some wounded animal rather than the proud little sapient he is.

It is very difficult to concentrate on forming a glorious (if severely abridged -- no need to burn the little thing's mind out) vision of the inner workings of the universe to send into the child's mind while he's also trying to hold on with hands increasingly slippery with his own manifestation's blood and simultaneously avoid any further injury to them both. Perhaps he should have begun with the vision and worked from there. For a brief moment he thinks he has it, but just as he tries to send over the first little packet of information the boy gives a particularly violent thrash that yanks him out of Nhodd's grip and sends the angel scrabbling to recover him.

[lottawork]

"Go - fuck - yersel'," he manages in a taut, breathless snarl, and a successful wrench tears him from the other boy's grasp.

It's the only window he needs. He's fair fucking fast when he needs to be, always has been. Always has had to be. He stops only to jerk two fingers up in a defiant 'V' before facilitating his escape by pitching himself over the edge of the slide. He lands in a flurry of sawdust and scrawny limbs but picks himself up immediately, scrambling off and away.

[omnomnom_feels]

Well, that certainly did not go as planned. Nhodd watches the little sapient go, noting the gesture with disapproval. He is bleeding and he got his blood all over the human child without accomplishing anything to justify it. This is a most unsatisfactory outcome.