( Her voice gets quieter, and it feels more gentle like that. Peter stares at her, some mix of uncertain and knowing, some weird contradiction that shouldn't make sense.
But then he's walking, slowly, "leading the way, she guesses", and it's weird but he's very sure of where to go, in a way Peter normally wouldn't be. A way that doesn't quite match his lost, zonked out state just now. Details are memorised like they've been woven into him; he starts to lead her through the stalls and stands.
The question has him looking back over at the girl, mouth opening slightly for a moment. )
I don't know. ...Maybe. I might be. ( He should definitely be more upset by the fact he can't remember his name, but there's just some weird, numb acceptance. )
Oh, [ she says, and pauses. Maybe it should freak her out more that this guy can't remember his own name, or that she's having a hard time remembering hers, but it seems pretty fitting, considering how fucked up this entire day has been so far. ]
Mine is, um— [ give her a second... ] it's Clarisse. La Rue. [ Once the words are out of her mouth, it feels like a little bit of tension goes out of her shoulders. She knows her name. It's okay. She can do this. ]
( Peter stares at the girl in silence as she finds the words, the shape of them. Clarisse, La, Rue. Three separate pieces.
He tries them quietly to himself afterwards, the sounds rolling off of his tongue, a little weird and stiff. But the sounds are easy to make despite that, kind of smooth. La Rue.)
I think... I think my name is Chris. Like you said.
( He is... very much just latching onto that title because she suggested it and she managed to find her name, so she probably knows, right? Oops.... )
(Girlfriend? Is that a word he should know? Peter lowers the sunglasses again for a moment, looking back over at the girl (Loooooosss).
No, he's pretty sure he doesn't know that word. But he's interested in the subject now, albeit for... different reasons than Peter would ordinarily be. )
You don't have... a Luna? ( Is a Luna something most people seek out? Why would he have one, and others wouldn't? Peter glances around again, eyes finding the shops and stalls selling a wide variety of items, down the Boardwalk. It seems like people are buying all kinds of stuff. )
[Oh boy. This was really starting to get confusing. Also, did he have to go and say that]?
I don't have a special person like that, no, but you do. Think about her. Pretty blue eyes, blond hair, a witch that cares about you. She knows you, and you know her. So you should be trying to find her, Peter.
( "Dude?" It's a strange word. But not nearly as strange as what the boy (flower) says next. Peter repeats that too, though awkwardly, stumbling over the word that feels unnatural to voice aloud. )
Deer—ngton.
( What is that? Judging by the blank look on his face, he absolutely does not remember Deerington. )
Is that... the dark place? ( Peter turns his head slowly to look at the ocean, and just as slowly lifts his hand, fingers gesturing to it. He remembers coming from there, though he has no real awareness of what happened within. It was... cold, and wet, and impossibly dark. It wasn't bad. It was... simply existing.
[Ohhh geez. Peter - or Paimon's - brain is mush right now. Cool, that's cool, he knows how to deal with this. Fern reaches up to rub his own head, his worry and anxiety spiking.]
No - look - maybe you should sit down until your head's clearer. Okay?
Peter's ready to follow — falling right along behind the man, with a sort of weird, blind trust that's some mix of childlike and mechanical. He wasn't outwardly seeking guidance, but now that he's getting it, he's latching onto it hard, trailing obediently along after Booker.
He finally blinks at the question, feeling out the shape of the words quietly to himself for a moment. Feeling alright? He... knows what it means to feel something, doesn't he? How is he feeling?
"My head hurts." A pause, as he considers a little further. He doesn't sound upset about it. "I don't know who I am."
At least Booker knows for now, the kid's safe with him. It's unnerving, the earnest sort of way he trails behind Booker like a duckling. Booker is not a good mother duck. He's the worst sort of duck. Like one of those ducks that misguidedly doesn't fly south for the winter.
But for now, he feels like he has a handle on this, as tenuous as that handle is.
Headache, par for course of what Booker has seen around here, and the 'I don't know who I am' wouldn't be as alarming if the kid really didn't seem so bewildered by popsciles and general existence.
( Where before he was all out of it and probably in danger of dropping his ice cream, now his grasp on the thing is.... just as intense as the rest of him. His hands wrap around it, tightly, securely, fingers curving inwards. His demon gremlin hands aren't letting go of it any time soon, now.
He looks back up at her; the fact she phrases things like a question.... helps. It means he has to really think about how to answer, put it into a certain form. )
Didn't you? ( There's still no real recognition in him, but he does seem to be thinking about it, at least. And he's... kind of capable of having a conversation, even if it's weird and follows a bizarre train of thought. He's.... trying.... )
You're.... a girl. ( A calm nod as he provides this insightful knowledge. ) You cooked? You're mine? I think you're mine.
( What exactly he means by that.. is uncertain... It's probably mostly like a little kid would be. A little... demon kid. )
Ah, careful... [Bella reaches out, her (very very icy cold) hands trying to soften the claw-like grip he has on the cup.] Not too tight or it'll squish, see? Just firmly, one hand, so you have one for the spoon.
[Then she trails off, gnawing at her lower lip.] I...think I did. I don't know, my head is all...fuzzy and confused. You know? Things make sense for a moment and then just go...fuzzy again. [The comment makes her laugh, but she swallows it back, turns it into a cough. He sounds so serious about it, she feels bad laughing.] I'm...pretty sure I cooked, though. Yeah. Pancakes, maybe.
( He's S T A R I N G as the boy licks the ice cream — and fortunately, that single, quick echo of a lick is enough to satisfy him. He licked it! And he's full now, (but thanks)! )
Mmmmm. Hmmmmmm..... Mmmmmm.
( He's just making.. weird little humming noises now. Pleased sounds, as he looks the boy over again with a fresh intensity, almost as though waiting for something to.. happen. Some change, after what just transpired. It leads his eyes to re-find the space where a leg should be, and he's staring there now. )
[He's just gonna... drop the ice cream on the floor, wiping his hand on the bench to get rid of the excess sticky mess off it. God, he hates he ended up doing that. AT the question, he rolls his eyes skyward, letting out a sharp tch sound. ]
Yeah, 'course it will. [The sarcasm is so strong.] I'm like a lizard, it'll just grow back one day.
( Having her under his arm like that actually helps a lot. Her shorter stature gives him something to lean again, and he does, tilting his body weight against her, blinking out across the beach for a moment. Adjusting is... strange. Adjusting to this weight and height and all of the spaces of a body. And within him, so much is swirling: boy and Other and everything else. )
Oh.
( He blinks again, this time down at her, eyes wide and searching. )
[Oh. That... Actually made her heart feel a little tight. She had really hoped Peter would have put himself back together enough to remember Luna by now. She didn't quite know what to say or do.]
Well she's-
[She falters and pauses briefly but she's not sure it's really her place to explain Luna.]
You know what? I'm going to leave that as a surprise. But trust me, she's one of the best and most important people in your life.
( It would, probably, be justified for the boy to throw more wet sand at him, but he finds himself not even too worried by the fact in the here and now. He's more concerned with... this, with understanding, or trying to. His other hand carefully moves up to join the first, and this time he touches the tip of the boy's nose. Oh. That's what it feels like! )
Peter.
( It's said softly, but there's something assured about it. Like he thinks he knows, as he answers the other boy's question. His eyes widen slightly, as though he's seeing him all over again. )
Um... Peter makes a face at that. Really, he couldn't... remember enough to tell if that felt right or not. If there is a sixth sense of wrongness, it is only smothered by the fact that the man's memories are all mixed up. It's very confounding, but Peter supposes that's just what happens when you've awoken on a shore.]
I do seem to remember... it being rather biblical. The name 'Peter', I mean. And I am a monk...! I — I think, anyway.
[Peter stares calmly as Paimon bops him on the nose with a finger.
This is normal. Surely. As is the way his cheeks are being smooshed a bit in Paimon's hands.]
( Truly, he doesn't even know what he's saying — the word comes out of him like it's this body speaking without his consent, saying something of its own accord. His grip stays tight, fingers latched on.
But something pauses when there's the most gentle pressure against his head. A touch, and this..... feels familiar somehow. His eyes blink against the tiny grains of sand sticking to his eyelashes, and he slowly turns his head to see who's there. A... person? Person. With big brown eyes and hair that's the same colour, and a kind voice. Peter stares up at the other boy: there's no recognition in his eyes for Will, but his mind still insists, whispers, Grandma. There's... a sense of comfort, one that's quickly linked to this boy. He found him, and somehow he thinks he was supposed to. )
[Honestly, Will isn't sure if this is an improvement or not. At least the older boy is looking at him, rather than calling out for someone who isn't there. He doesn't look great -- sandy and wide-eyed and dazed -- but at least he isn't dead?
So Will smiles, hesitantly, still unsure if he's doing the right thing. There's a tug of remembrance somewhere in his chest, and he wants to follow it, wants to unravel the memories that are dancing somewhere out of his reach. But for the moment he just nods, petting awkwardly at the older boy's hair.] Yeah, I'm here. I'm right here, see? We're...we both made it. [He recalls, vaguely, that this hadn't been a guarantee, that it had been in question for a while.]
A name is truly a powerful thing. Peter (or whomever he is) can't remember as much in his confused state, but the knowledge is still there in him, somewhere. To be given a name... It means something very important to the ancient, deep part of him. The part that sits there in him like an old stone well, and something lurks within.
And maybe some part of him is slowly coming out, even if it's at a crawling pace, something creeping up from that deep, dark well. Some part of him, fueled by the context of given names and.....what the boy (Alec Lightwood) says soon after that.
I wish I could help you...
His dark eyes flutter and widen; it feels like something's.... clicked inside of him. Some little bird, or an insect, wings flashing fast. I wish; that phrase. It's the most important thing of all, for the ancient demon king of wishes and secrets. Countless people over countless time have come to him with their wishes, their desires, presenting offerings as exchange.
This young man has given him no offering, certainly hasn't summoned him, but Paimon is strangely compelled by those words all the same.
"You can," he says, and his voice is weirdly a little clearer all of a sudden, more sure of itself. (Even... a little firm?)
His eyes slowly drop back down to the fabric in Alec Lightwood's hands. "You can help me find cloth, too. Like this."
The demon king wants to find nice new clothes too, it seems... and Alec Lightwood clearly has an eye for it.
[Seeing... someone who looks familiar, but who he can't really remember pressed into the sand is... just a little concerning, but he's not going to dwell on it too much.]
You'll... catch a cold doing that.
[His voice sounds much too disused, but he can't think about that right now.]
Who knows what's in that sand.
Definitely! I am always down for more Lucifer in Peter's life ♡
( The sand's pressed to his mouth and nose and eyelashes, but he doesn't mind, only dimly aware of the sensation of "uncomfortable" at all. Moving his body is too much of a task, so it's better like this. He'll probably drift into sleep soon, anyway.
Only a voice is sounding through the calm sounds of the water lapping against the shoreline, and the body lying there stiffens a little in awareness. Slowly, his head turns to the side, dark eyes fluttering. There's sand caked in his eyelashes and against his mouth, and he gives a soft moan. )
Dad?
( He barely even sees who's approached him, just hears a man's voice, and some instinctive part of him reacts to it. He doesn't even remember what "dad" means. )
( The Energy within the other being speaks to him. It's a language that differs from his own, but he doesn't try to decipher it; he just lets its feeling wash over, into him. He can make understanding of it that way, listening to what and how the energy speaks to him in its own way. Discordance into a shape. Like beams of light shuddering and aimless until they managed to come together to form something; oh, he knows that sensation very well.
The being, the one with the golden eyes, is found. Slowly and steadily regaining, returning, becoming stronger. He isn't afraid, isn't wandering aimless. And this makes the being that looks like a boy feel comforted. He, too, will follow this path. He, too, will slowly regain himself, he thinks. Perhaps this other being can serve as a sort of guide for that.
The question is mirrored back to him, and he tips his head a little, eyes sparkling. )
Lost. But becoming found.
( He keeps moving his fingers through the sand, liking the feel of it. Soft, but if he presses hard enough, it hurts a little, too. )
[There is a sense of approval from Maul at the answer. Too long, this one has been in turmoil caught between the boy and the demon, both trying to find their way to surface while being trapped. But they appear to have found a way to now co-exist, using the opportunity of morphing from squid to their new form to blend together. The fact this was exactly what Maul had told them to do pleases the Sith Lord greatly.
He nods at the question and writes some letters in the damp sand beside him. D-A-R-T-H M-A-U-L. He might not remember much about himself but the name comes easily enough. The title of Darth came through blood, sweat, and tears, so he's not going to be quick to forget it, even with the memories of his mind still feeling slippery. And his proper name, Maul, that held great meaning for the Nightbrothers of Dathomir, so he has a good sense of who he is right now.
'I remember your name too.' He writes next. But he doesn't write it down in the sand. He knows names are a peculiar thing for the demon, a source of power when one knows to call him Paimon. He knows the boy has a name too but Maul cannot recall what it is right now. That's less important as the two will fuse together, two starting to become one.]
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countryclub2021-08-09 05:25 pm
Peter Graham 👑 Hereditary ( deer crau / darkblood )
( Clarisse La Rue )
( Her voice gets quieter, and it feels more gentle like that. Peter stares at her, some mix of uncertain and knowing, some weird contradiction that shouldn't make sense.
But then he's walking, slowly, "leading the way, she guesses", and it's weird but he's very sure of where to go, in a way Peter normally wouldn't be. A way that doesn't quite match his lost, zonked out state just now. Details are memorised like they've been woven into him; he starts to lead her through the stalls and stands.
The question has him looking back over at the girl, mouth opening slightly for a moment. )
I don't know. ...Maybe. I might be. ( He should definitely be more upset by the fact he can't remember his name, but there's just some weird, numb acceptance. )
...Do you know your name?
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Mine is, um— [ give her a second... ] it's Clarisse. La Rue. [ Once the words are out of her mouth, it feels like a little bit of tension goes out of her shoulders. She knows her name. It's okay. She can do this. ]
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He tries them quietly to himself afterwards, the sounds rolling off of his tongue, a little weird and stiff. But the sounds are easy to make despite that, kind of smooth. La Rue. )
I think... I think my name is Chris. Like you said.
( He is... very much just latching onto that title because she suggested it and she managed to find her name, so she probably knows, right? Oops.... )
I'm Chris.
( You're not..... )
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( Luz Noceda )
( Girlfriend? Is that a word he should know? Peter lowers the sunglasses again for a moment, looking back over at the girl (Loooooosss).
No, he's pretty sure he doesn't know that word. But he's interested in the subject now, albeit for... different reasons than Peter would ordinarily be. )
You don't have... a Luna? ( Is a Luna something most people seek out? Why would he have one, and others wouldn't? Peter glances around again, eyes finding the shops and stalls selling a wide variety of items, down the Boardwalk. It seems like people are buying all kinds of stuff. )
You can find one there. People find things there.
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I don't have a special person like that, no, but you do. Think about her. Pretty blue eyes, blond hair, a witch that cares about you. She knows you, and you know her. So you should be trying to find her, Peter.
Think. Try to remember her!
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( Fern )
( "Dude?" It's a strange word. But not nearly as strange as what the boy (flower) says next. Peter repeats that too, though awkwardly, stumbling over the word that feels unnatural to voice aloud. )
Deer—ngton.
( What is that? Judging by the blank look on his face, he absolutely does not remember Deerington. )
Is that... the dark place? ( Peter turns his head slowly to look at the ocean, and just as slowly lifts his hand, fingers gesturing to it. He remembers coming from there, though he has no real awareness of what happened within. It was... cold, and wet, and impossibly dark. It wasn't bad. It was... simply existing.
Was that Deerington? )
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No - look - maybe you should sit down until your head's clearer. Okay?
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( Booker )
Peter's ready to follow — falling right along behind the man, with a sort of weird, blind trust that's some mix of childlike and mechanical. He wasn't outwardly seeking guidance, but now that he's getting it, he's latching onto it hard, trailing obediently along after Booker.
He finally blinks at the question, feeling out the shape of the words quietly to himself for a moment. Feeling alright? He... knows what it means to feel something, doesn't he? How is he feeling?
"My head hurts." A pause, as he considers a little further. He doesn't sound upset about it. "I don't know who I am."
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At least Booker knows for now, the kid's safe with him. It's unnerving, the earnest sort of way he trails behind Booker like a duckling. Booker is not a good mother duck. He's the worst sort of duck. Like one of those ducks that misguidedly doesn't fly south for the winter.
But for now, he feels like he has a handle on this, as tenuous as that handle is.
Headache, par for course of what Booker has seen around here, and the 'I don't know who I am' wouldn't be as alarming if the kid really didn't seem so bewildered by popsciles and general existence.
"You remember anything, before you came here?"
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( Isabella Swan )
( Where before he was all out of it and probably in danger of dropping his ice cream, now his grasp on the thing is.... just as intense as the rest of him. His hands wrap around it, tightly, securely, fingers curving inwards. His demon gremlin hands aren't letting go of it any time soon, now.
He looks back up at her; the fact she phrases things like a question.... helps. It means he has to really think about how to answer, put it into a certain form. )
Didn't you? ( There's still no real recognition in him, but he does seem to be thinking about it, at least. And he's... kind of capable of having a conversation, even if it's weird and follows a bizarre train of thought. He's.... trying.... )
You're.... a girl. ( A calm nod as he provides this insightful knowledge. ) You cooked? You're mine? I think you're mine.
( What exactly he means by that.. is uncertain... It's probably mostly like a little kid would be. A little... demon kid. )
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[Then she trails off, gnawing at her lower lip.] I...think I did. I don't know, my head is all...fuzzy and confused. You know? Things make sense for a moment and then just go...fuzzy again. [The comment makes her laugh, but she swallows it back, turns it into a cough. He sounds so serious about it, she feels bad laughing.] I'm...pretty sure I cooked, though. Yeah. Pancakes, maybe.
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( Varian )
( He's S T A R I N G as the boy licks the ice cream — and fortunately, that single, quick echo of a lick is enough to satisfy him. He licked it! And he's full now, (but thanks)! )
Mmmmm. Hmmmmmm..... Mmmmmm.
( He's just making.. weird little humming noises now. Pleased sounds, as he looks the boy over again with a fresh intensity, almost as though waiting for something to.. happen. Some change, after what just transpired. It leads his eyes to re-find the space where a leg should be, and he's staring there now. )
Will...... it come.... back?
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Yeah, 'course it will. [The sarcasm is so strong.] I'm like a lizard, it'll just grow back one day.
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( Ruby Rose )
( Having her under his arm like that actually helps a lot. Her shorter stature gives him something to lean again, and he does, tilting his body weight against her, blinking out across the beach for a moment. Adjusting is... strange. Adjusting to this weight and height and all of the spaces of a body. And within him, so much is swirling: boy and Other and everything else. )
Oh.
( He blinks again, this time down at her, eyes wide and searching. )
Who? Who is it?
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Well she's-
[She falters and pauses briefly but she's not sure it's really her place to explain Luna.]
You know what? I'm going to leave that as a surprise. But trust me, she's one of the best and most important people in your life.
She really brightens it up.
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( Diarmuid )
( It would, probably, be justified for the boy to throw more wet sand at him, but he finds himself not even too worried by the fact in the here and now. He's more concerned with... this, with understanding, or trying to. His other hand carefully moves up to join the first, and this time he touches the tip of the boy's nose. Oh. That's what it feels like! )
Peter.
( It's said softly, but there's something assured about it. Like he thinks he knows, as he answers the other boy's question. His eyes widen slightly, as though he's seeing him all over again. )
You're Peter. Yes.... I know you.
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Um... Peter makes a face at that. Really, he couldn't... remember enough to tell if that felt right or not. If there is a sixth sense of wrongness, it is only smothered by the fact that the man's memories are all mixed up. It's very confounding, but Peter supposes that's just what happens when you've awoken on a shore.]
I do seem to remember... it being rather biblical. The name 'Peter', I mean. And I am a monk...! I — I think, anyway.
[Peter stares calmly as Paimon bops him on the nose with a finger.
This is normal. Surely. As is the way his cheeks are being smooshed a bit in Paimon's hands.]
If... I'm Peter, though... Who are you?
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cw: just a little dose of possession horror, as a treat / epileptic associations
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( Will Byers )
( Truly, he doesn't even know what he's saying — the word comes out of him like it's this body speaking without his consent, saying something of its own accord. His grip stays tight, fingers latched on.
But something pauses when there's the most gentle pressure against his head. A touch, and this..... feels familiar somehow. His eyes blink against the tiny grains of sand sticking to his eyelashes, and he slowly turns his head to see who's there. A... person? Person. With big brown eyes and hair that's the same colour, and a kind voice. Peter stares up at the other boy: there's no recognition in his eyes for Will, but his mind still insists, whispers, Grandma. There's... a sense of comfort, one that's quickly linked to this boy. He found him, and somehow he thinks he was supposed to. )
You're... here. I found you.
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So Will smiles, hesitantly, still unsure if he's doing the right thing. There's a tug of remembrance somewhere in his chest, and he wants to follow it, wants to unravel the memories that are dancing somewhere out of his reach. But for the moment he just nods, petting awkwardly at the older boy's hair.] Yeah, I'm here. I'm right here, see? We're...we both made it. [He recalls, vaguely, that this hadn't been a guarantee, that it had been in question for a while.]
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( Alec Lightwood )
A name is truly a powerful thing. Peter (or whomever he is) can't remember as much in his confused state, but the knowledge is still there in him, somewhere. To be given a name... It means something very important to the ancient, deep part of him. The part that sits there in him like an old stone well, and something lurks within.
And maybe some part of him is slowly coming out, even if it's at a crawling pace, something creeping up from that deep, dark well. Some part of him, fueled by the context of given names and.....what the boy (Alec Lightwood) says soon after that.
I wish I could help you...
His dark eyes flutter and widen; it feels like something's.... clicked inside of him. Some little bird, or an insect, wings flashing fast. I wish; that phrase. It's the most important thing of all, for the ancient demon king of wishes and secrets. Countless people over countless time have come to him with their wishes, their desires, presenting offerings as exchange.
This young man has given him no offering, certainly hasn't summoned him, but Paimon is strangely compelled by those words all the same.
"You can," he says, and his voice is weirdly a little clearer all of a sudden, more sure of itself. (Even... a little firm?)
His eyes slowly drop back down to the fabric in Alec Lightwood's hands. "You can help me find cloth, too. Like this."
The demon king wants to find nice new clothes too, it seems... and Alec Lightwood clearly has an eye for it.
the beach; hopefully this is okay!
You'll... catch a cold doing that.
[His voice sounds much too disused, but he can't think about that right now.]
Who knows what's in that sand.
Definitely! I am always down for more Lucifer in Peter's life ♡
Only a voice is sounding through the calm sounds of the water lapping against the shoreline, and the body lying there stiffens a little in awareness. Slowly, his head turns to the side, dark eyes fluttering. There's sand caked in his eyelashes and against his mouth, and he gives a soft moan. )
Dad?
( He barely even sees who's approached him, just hears a man's voice, and some instinctive part of him reacts to it. He doesn't even remember what "dad" means. )
Re: Definitely! I am always down for more Lucifer in Peter's life ♡
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( Maul )
( The Energy within the other being speaks to him. It's a language that differs from his own, but he doesn't try to decipher it; he just lets its feeling wash over, into him. He can make understanding of it that way, listening to what and how the energy speaks to him in its own way. Discordance into a shape. Like beams of light shuddering and aimless until they managed to come together to form something; oh, he knows that sensation very well.
The being, the one with the golden eyes, is found. Slowly and steadily regaining, returning, becoming stronger. He isn't afraid, isn't wandering aimless. And this makes the being that looks like a boy feel comforted. He, too, will follow this path. He, too, will slowly regain himself, he thinks. Perhaps this other being can serve as a sort of guide for that.
The question is mirrored back to him, and he tips his head a little, eyes sparkling. )
Lost. But becoming found.
( He keeps moving his fingers through the sand, liking the feel of it. Soft, but if he presses hard enough, it hurts a little, too. )
Do you remember your name?
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He nods at the question and writes some letters in the damp sand beside him. D-A-R-T-H M-A-U-L. He might not remember much about himself but the name comes easily enough. The title of Darth came through blood, sweat, and tears, so he's not going to be quick to forget it, even with the memories of his mind still feeling slippery. And his proper name, Maul, that held great meaning for the Nightbrothers of Dathomir, so he has a good sense of who he is right now.
'I remember your name too.' He writes next. But he doesn't write it down in the sand. He knows names are a peculiar thing for the demon, a source of power when one knows to call him Paimon. He knows the boy has a name too but Maul cannot recall what it is right now. That's less important as the two will fuse together, two starting to become one.]
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