terriblepurpose | Deer Country Contact

[Maintaining his composure is a matter of careful practice. Paul knows he's a hypocrite to have qualms about the shedding of blood for a cause, when his is so often spilled. Knowing this doesn't change it.

He is especially careful when he accepts the vial, conscious of its precious cost.]

I know some anatomy myself, if you ever want a study partner. [Falco has seen it in action, if only in a terrible nightmare of memory.] I don't know nearly as much about blood. What's the most interesting thing about it?

[ a daring and frightening memory that would lead to one of the more horrifying moments of falco's life— and that was saying something. with it past them though, and no physical scar to ever mark him of it (the same can't be said about mentally, but,), the boy is quick to focus on the presence now with him regardless of the time some months back without him. it just made him all the more certain of how much he was loved, and how much he wouldn't bare to lose him again.

plus, he's earned a study partner of the highest degree. ]

Well— [ something more akin to pride splits his lips apart in an uncontained grin, so proud and absolutely happy about this finding (despite, again, how he found out): ] This one heals. Vileblood is poisonous, but when you put this on a wound, it closes, [ he offers a rolled-up sleeve to gesture to an arm that, considering his age and former occupation, should be thoroughly nicked, scraped and bruised. he is none of those, nowhere. ] like I do.

[ he doesn't know if that's a reason or even a possible theory to consider— but the fact had been that it worked and was far from harmful. and if he could quell the look of worry there, too: ]

—And don't worry, I took it out the safe way.

[Around Falco, Paul is first and foremost in his role as friend and protector, but that doesn't mean that the other aspects of himself are completely gone. He holds the vial up to the light with objective interest, especially after the reassurance of Falco's closed arm and promise of safe practices.

Even he can admit he's sometimes overprotective. He's seen what Falco can endure, and he's training with a healer. He can accept the offered mollification, with a rueful little smile of acknowledgment at Falco's efforts.]

A blood shift? [He speculates.] I'd guess that your blood is stronger than most's, and easier to replace. I should bring you more milk, though. For keeping your strength up.

[Which is the only reason, and not the way Falco's eyes brighten when he sees it. He lowers the vial, an absent line of thought emerging like a trailing strand of web, one he can brush aside for now.]

Have you helped many people with this yet? I bet they were very grateful.

I've helped some!

[ the reason was horrible, but the result of it lead to . . . this discovery. that by no means tries to replace the error and the problem, but— he's hopeful in resolving it. or at least, getting close to a solution. the praise almost feels like too much to accept— stronger than most? does that alone earn more milk? he's a whole shade of deep green, here, humbled and flustered.

regardless, falco reaches over to squeeze paul's fingers over the vial he holds. they were limited to the month he farmed them before his blood went acidic and hazardous. they were always checked before being labeled too, all of the ones with healing properties have a + on them. regular vileblood is separated by a -. ]

This one's for you. [ a healer in a pinch, if paul is ever harmed, facing someone harmed and was without a healer. ] And you can always come back for more, if you want. I'm going to check every month in case there's more.

[ it sadly doesn't help with pollution, but at least it helps in death and injury. ]

[Paul folds his hand over Falco's around the vial, squeezing back, though with a measure of caution for the glass in his hand. The flush of green almost quirks his smile towards amusement, but he keeps it in check.

He doesn't know when he went from seeing Falco's openness as a vulnerability to seeing it as a strength of its own, precisely. He does know that he looks at it now and never wants to do anything to curb it, no matter how slightly.]

If Paleblood ever turns out to be useful for more than jewelry and visions, I'll be sure to return the favor. [He shrugs, fluidly, with another quick squeeze.] Or, more likely, I'll keep looking for things that can help you.

[He disentangles them to slip the vial into a pocket, into one of the specially stitched slots he's added for exactly this purpose.]

Thank you for this. I'll be careful with it. [] And I'll try not to need it for myself. I promise.

I'd hope you wouldn't, but . . . [ it's not realistic to say that he'll never need it. it's truthful hoping, but falco has always tried to be prepared for the worst, even if he wanted the best. it was dangerous to think, and more of an opening toward tragedy and failure. ] We never know.

[ but falco appreciates the try greatly, which meant that paul was promising to practice self-preservation. he's not one to really talk when his emotions are high, but— he knows he tries his best in that regard, too. ]

Actually, um, [ it's just a thought, and maybe that meant he should study up more on each blood type other than what transfuses well with what, ] can Paleblood be used for . . . Insight? Do you know?

[The question gives Paul pause, enough so that he presumes to take a seat on the couch instead of answering right away, leaning forward on his elbows and giving Falco a once over. Finally, he tips his head in acknowledgment.]

The stones can be. [Like the one of Paul's Falco already has, stitched into a falcon doll.] Are you trying to find something out?

[There are divinations he can do, and resources he can tap if they prove insufficient, but he should ask before he starts making presumptions.]

[ Paul was more than free to take his seat. making sure he’s close enough to tend to Confetti, Falco shifts his own sitting position onto the floor, where he has an ample enough reach. his fingers graze the ball the egg is playing with to cause a reaction, just a small little back and forth slide; Confetti playfully paps his tiny feather-paws after it. ]

How to talk to ghosts. [ ghosts? monsters? the silence was many things, and didn’t stick to one category of being. ] Or— parasites.

[ Falco’s inquiry doesn’t come with empty hands; he’s already tried what was within his knowledge and reach, but he hasn’t given up. ]

I haven’t had luck by myself.

Edited 2022-06-18 18:51 (UTC)

[Moments like this are sometimes disorienting in a way Paul has yet to fully articulate to himself. He leans over his knees watching a boy play with a little animal, asking earnest questions in trust that he might have answers to provide, and it's like a memory mirrored, nostalgia from someone else's point of view.

The specific content of this question doesn't help. Paul knits his fingers together and makes a soft, non-committal sound in the back of his throat, closer to assent than denial.]

I've done something like that before. [It didn't go well.] I could try to do it again. And there are people I know I can ask.

[Ghost and parasite in conjunction make him think revenant, but he can't assume, whatever prescient sparks buzz in the fluid of his spine.]

[ the reply makes the boy breathe out an exhale he was withholding. it wasn't exactly bad news, but it wasn't the best of news, either. one should be cautious. ]

—But, there's safety involved, right? [ and if he hadn't been clear— ] Like, in numbers? Or wards?

[ falco too, has had a one-time botched exorcism too many. if anyone was going to do anything related to "the thing", it wasn't going to be without the correct precautions. not ever again. ]

[Paul smiles as reassuringly as he knows how to, which is exceptionally so. (He doesn't know it's one of those rare expressions that bring out his resemblance to his father, and Falco has no context to recognize it either.)]

Of course.

[He holds out a hand palm up, then half-curls his fingers like a wall of stakes around its empty center.]

The Pale Sanctuary is one of the safest places to explore things like that in Trench. I have a whole room warded there, and even if you're by yourself, you're never far from help. We wouldn't be, if you're asking for mine.

Alone, I mean.

[ it was probably a strange thing to be smiling to, all this possible ghost-parasite-communication. it’s not that that’s comforted falco, though; it’s obviously the security he feels in the offer. it makes his shoulders visibly relax, and allows him to roll the all he’d partially forgotten about back and forth from confetti’s reach. he’s grown to comfortable harmlessly chewing on it. ]

I’d feel better with that— with you, and the Sanctuary.

[ with confetti finally catching up, falco eyes a spot, and rolls the ball to paul’s shoe. ]

If you’ll have me.

[Paul catches the ball beneath his toes, rolling it back and forth lightly underneath them as he looks between the boy and his little creature. The subtle alchemy of togetherness has worked its magic again; Falco is readily upset, but willing to be soothed, which isn't the same thing as being easy to soothe.

So this is an accomplishment. It's one he's as proud of, in that still funny domestic way, as considering the right kind of toy for Confetti. He nudges the ball back to him with a loosening in his own shoulders above it.]

I'll always have you. That's what I'm here for.

[It's becoming more and more a part of him, this new and different purpose. That's what I'm here for, and the more he can say it, the more he can believe it, too.]

Now let's not worry about that until I have things ready for you, all right? Tell me...tell me a story about something Confetti did.

[ that's an easy and prompt choice to make if one wanted falco to steer into a broadening smile, reaching for the ovoid babe to fit into the space his legs leave when crossed. while bouncing confetti on his lap and being given an elated babble, falco starts his story: of a recent incident in the grass while playing a harmless game of "fly confetti" (with no actual throwing involved! only safe steering in his arms).

the creature had nuzzled close to his face when brought back down, and falco had cuddled it like he would any little thing he dearly loved. he was given a kiss, a little avian touch of the beak to his cheek complete with a clicking sound to imitate a smack— and he got dizzy.

so dizzy that is was both a little scary and a touch funny. if that's what it's like getting drunk, falco doesn't ever want to drink. like, ever. ]

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we can wrappy, with a little bow on top!