A small WMD (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
miniroth) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
childrenofbahamutlogs2024-12-01 06:45 pm
miniroth) wrote in childrenofbahamutlogs2024-12-01 06:45 pm
Entry tags:
In which there is messiness.
Who: Smallerroth, Angeal; maybe Olderroth and Genesis if they wish
What: Tending to the inconveniences of new limbs.
Where: At home!
When: First week of December.
Warnings: Blood, violence .. kind of, self harm, kind of, homebrew cosmetic surgery, topics of self harm likely. Body horror, gore.
The faerie festival was good for at least a couple things, one of which being the cup that kept refilling with strange, sweet drink that numbed the aches deep in his bones and down uncomfortable lines through his back. Most of the ache, he was pretty sure by its familiarity, meant he might finally be on his way to working to matching his future self's considerable height though that would still likely take a couple of years. But the pain down his back was of a different sort, and over the course of the last week more and more difficult to ignore.
He could, if he twisted carefully to look in a mirror, see the long distended shapes under his skin.
As they grew, and nerves and muscle with them, his habitual knitted turtleneck became unbearable, and then the jacket as well, unless he made ample use of the cup of pain-dulling nectar. Skin stretched to accommodate but didn't break, and waking in the morning to being able to move the things on his back, feel through the things growing under his skin, rub them against the inside of his back and the nauseating mix of sensations that caused as even the barest restless twitch lifted his skin away from muscle and fat in painful wrenches. It was like being skinned from the inside.
The nectar makes it bearable. For a while. But inspection morning and evening made nothing obvious about skin getting ready to split, and the urge to twitch the things he could feel, both under skin and wrapped over other, hidden skin was beginning to get maddening. Enough that a pair of stolen belts is used to keep them ratcheted tight and immobile one late morning, jacket carefully shrugged on, more faerie drink to dull how incredibly unpleasant that is, and slip quietly from the room he'd taken over as his own.
Ordinarily he'd have long since left the house in the relentless search for things to do. This time it's to pick his way delicately through, checking the most obvious places first in tracking down Angeal, the skinning knife he took with him when running trap lines still sheathed in one hand.
He would not be, if he knew the history Angeal had with his own changes. What he knows is that the SOLDIER has a very steady hand with a knife, and that his older self trusts him absolutely. Genesis he'd never seen wielding small sharp objects - swords certainly, but this required fine control that the redhead surely had, but ...what if he didn't? His elder also, might refuse, well aware of how uneasy the thought alone of handing someone a knife and asking them--
...It had to be enough.
What: Tending to the inconveniences of new limbs.
Where: At home!
When: First week of December.
Warnings: Blood, violence .. kind of, self harm, kind of, homebrew cosmetic surgery, topics of self harm likely. Body horror, gore.
The faerie festival was good for at least a couple things, one of which being the cup that kept refilling with strange, sweet drink that numbed the aches deep in his bones and down uncomfortable lines through his back. Most of the ache, he was pretty sure by its familiarity, meant he might finally be on his way to working to matching his future self's considerable height though that would still likely take a couple of years. But the pain down his back was of a different sort, and over the course of the last week more and more difficult to ignore.
He could, if he twisted carefully to look in a mirror, see the long distended shapes under his skin.
As they grew, and nerves and muscle with them, his habitual knitted turtleneck became unbearable, and then the jacket as well, unless he made ample use of the cup of pain-dulling nectar. Skin stretched to accommodate but didn't break, and waking in the morning to being able to move the things on his back, feel through the things growing under his skin, rub them against the inside of his back and the nauseating mix of sensations that caused as even the barest restless twitch lifted his skin away from muscle and fat in painful wrenches. It was like being skinned from the inside.
The nectar makes it bearable. For a while. But inspection morning and evening made nothing obvious about skin getting ready to split, and the urge to twitch the things he could feel, both under skin and wrapped over other, hidden skin was beginning to get maddening. Enough that a pair of stolen belts is used to keep them ratcheted tight and immobile one late morning, jacket carefully shrugged on, more faerie drink to dull how incredibly unpleasant that is, and slip quietly from the room he'd taken over as his own.
Ordinarily he'd have long since left the house in the relentless search for things to do. This time it's to pick his way delicately through, checking the most obvious places first in tracking down Angeal, the skinning knife he took with him when running trap lines still sheathed in one hand.
He would not be, if he knew the history Angeal had with his own changes. What he knows is that the SOLDIER has a very steady hand with a knife, and that his older self trusts him absolutely. Genesis he'd never seen wielding small sharp objects - swords certainly, but this required fine control that the redhead surely had, but ...what if he didn't? His elder also, might refuse, well aware of how uneasy the thought alone of handing someone a knife and asking them--
...It had to be enough.