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childrenofbahamutlogs2024-12-23 08:09 pm
worthallthis) wrote in childrenofbahamutlogs2024-12-23 08:09 pm
Entry tags:
December Catch-All [OTA]
WHO: Bucky aka the Asset AKA Ivan and YOU
WHAT: Somebody hates the cold a lot
WHERE: Around the town, out in the woods, by the lake
WHEN: Month of October
WARNINGS: Likely more PTSD things, standard transformation body horror, general grouchiness
Bucky-slash-Ivan is now sporting several horns growing around his face, curling back and away from it like a mane, with what will eventually become leathery sails starting to grow between them but which right now is just raw, bare, itchy skin. He has a tail, long and with more branching sails starting to grow out of it, equally raw and itchy, but curiously, there are no obvious signs of wings yet. His previously titanium metal arm is now entirely brass, and the utilitarian plates seem to be tooled more fancifully now, more art deco than industrial.
I. Regular Routine
Now regularly going by Ivan with the whole town, the former asset has mostly settled into a routine that he can work with. Mostly.
Mornings he has a patrol and then either firewood collecting or work in the bakery. Afternoons he has a patrol and patching roofs, weatherproofing windows, or guarding anyone making a trip to the next town over or into the woods. Evenings he has a patrol and checks his snares, sometimes parking himself out in the woods with a fire pit to roast whatever he caught.
Occasionally someone will invite him to lunch or dinner. He always goes, but he will not go without a specific invitation, so better be persistent. He sits, he eats, he tries to help with whatever meal prep anyone will let him do, and he doesn't talk much at all unless asked direct questions. His social skills are still not great, but he doesn't seem to mind spending time with people in general.
II. Attempting the Market
As the days get colder, the snares result in fewer and fewer catches, and he can't subsist on free meals alone, so he ventures into the marketplace yet again. It takes him several days of repeated attempts before he manages to buy something, and then several more days of repeated attempts before he does more than slam down a coin and bolt.
Most of his problem is choosing. There are so many options. Fruit? Meat? Bread? Eggs? Which store or farmer's stall does he choose for each? Which of the fruits? Which cut of meat? People can find him hovering between stalls, looking around in indecision paralysis. Give him some pointers, maybe, or just talk to him until he unlocks?
III. Experimentation
Ivan is saving his bullets. He still has some, because he has been saving them, and keeps them for actually dangerous situations, even though he keeps his guns on his person at all times. But he knows he might never get any new ammunition, so even saving bullets is not sustainable.
So he has been experimenting. He has a pad and a leather thong he's stitched together, and he can be found out in the woods using it as a homemade sling, lobbing rocks at trees, birds, and rarely a person who's startled him who he didn't see coming.
The person gets a slightly panicked, "Sorry, sorry, are you okay."
It's likely he didn't even hit anyone. His aim, stellar with a gun or a knife, is not so great with a sling yet.
IV. Desert Dragons in Winter
The colder it gets, the more Ivan hunches into himself. His clothes are layered, but they're thin and patchy, cast-offs and things he's scrounged up. He doesn't have a proper coat, and the cloak he does have-- which looks suspiciously like a blanket, in fact, and definitely does not have a hood-- is drafty and not tailored properly. He can't fit a hat over his fringe of horns. His boots don't properly fit around his clawed feet, so they're unlaced at all times which doesn't keep heat in, and said claws shred socks whenever he dares to try and put them on.
It doesn't help that the pieces of him that are a dragon are meant for the desert, with large, flexible scales and leathery membranes designed to radiate heat rather than keep it in.
So he's cold all the time and he hates it. It reminds him of cryo. It reminds him of a bunker. It reminds him of the former normal that he definitely does not want anymore.
He still does all his outdoor activities, of course, because when he's found something that works for him he's going to keep doing it, but he's going to look surly and shiver the whole time, the brass plates of his metal arm rattling under his sleeve. Someone help this man. Or at least provide him a cloak that isn't a blanket with a few holes punched in it to make a tie and shoes that actually fit.
WHAT: Somebody hates the cold a lot
WHERE: Around the town, out in the woods, by the lake
WHEN: Month of October
WARNINGS: Likely more PTSD things, standard transformation body horror, general grouchiness
Bucky-slash-Ivan is now sporting several horns growing around his face, curling back and away from it like a mane, with what will eventually become leathery sails starting to grow between them but which right now is just raw, bare, itchy skin. He has a tail, long and with more branching sails starting to grow out of it, equally raw and itchy, but curiously, there are no obvious signs of wings yet. His previously titanium metal arm is now entirely brass, and the utilitarian plates seem to be tooled more fancifully now, more art deco than industrial.
I. Regular Routine
Now regularly going by Ivan with the whole town, the former asset has mostly settled into a routine that he can work with. Mostly.
Mornings he has a patrol and then either firewood collecting or work in the bakery. Afternoons he has a patrol and patching roofs, weatherproofing windows, or guarding anyone making a trip to the next town over or into the woods. Evenings he has a patrol and checks his snares, sometimes parking himself out in the woods with a fire pit to roast whatever he caught.
Occasionally someone will invite him to lunch or dinner. He always goes, but he will not go without a specific invitation, so better be persistent. He sits, he eats, he tries to help with whatever meal prep anyone will let him do, and he doesn't talk much at all unless asked direct questions. His social skills are still not great, but he doesn't seem to mind spending time with people in general.
II. Attempting the Market
As the days get colder, the snares result in fewer and fewer catches, and he can't subsist on free meals alone, so he ventures into the marketplace yet again. It takes him several days of repeated attempts before he manages to buy something, and then several more days of repeated attempts before he does more than slam down a coin and bolt.
Most of his problem is choosing. There are so many options. Fruit? Meat? Bread? Eggs? Which store or farmer's stall does he choose for each? Which of the fruits? Which cut of meat? People can find him hovering between stalls, looking around in indecision paralysis. Give him some pointers, maybe, or just talk to him until he unlocks?
III. Experimentation
Ivan is saving his bullets. He still has some, because he has been saving them, and keeps them for actually dangerous situations, even though he keeps his guns on his person at all times. But he knows he might never get any new ammunition, so even saving bullets is not sustainable.
So he has been experimenting. He has a pad and a leather thong he's stitched together, and he can be found out in the woods using it as a homemade sling, lobbing rocks at trees, birds, and rarely a person who's startled him who he didn't see coming.
The person gets a slightly panicked, "Sorry, sorry, are you okay."
It's likely he didn't even hit anyone. His aim, stellar with a gun or a knife, is not so great with a sling yet.
IV. Desert Dragons in Winter
The colder it gets, the more Ivan hunches into himself. His clothes are layered, but they're thin and patchy, cast-offs and things he's scrounged up. He doesn't have a proper coat, and the cloak he does have-- which looks suspiciously like a blanket, in fact, and definitely does not have a hood-- is drafty and not tailored properly. He can't fit a hat over his fringe of horns. His boots don't properly fit around his clawed feet, so they're unlaced at all times which doesn't keep heat in, and said claws shred socks whenever he dares to try and put them on.
It doesn't help that the pieces of him that are a dragon are meant for the desert, with large, flexible scales and leathery membranes designed to radiate heat rather than keep it in.
So he's cold all the time and he hates it. It reminds him of cryo. It reminds him of a bunker. It reminds him of the former normal that he definitely does not want anymore.
He still does all his outdoor activities, of course, because when he's found something that works for him he's going to keep doing it, but he's going to look surly and shiver the whole time, the brass plates of his metal arm rattling under his sleeve. Someone help this man. Or at least provide him a cloak that isn't a blanket with a few holes punched in it to make a tie and shoes that actually fit.
no subject
It may be needed. It probably will be needed, eventually. He needs to re-learn how to aim with this new, stupid weapon.
no subject
Oh, Ivan has absolutely stabbed someone with that non-bread knife of his. Definitely. One more thing not to think about too much!
"Huh. When I hear sharpshooting, I think bow, not slingshot. Even a kid can use a slingshot."
On the other hand, this conversation might have had a whole lot more screaming if arrows had been involved.
no subject
So was hitting an actual person. One who has been nice to him, and everything. "There was not supposed to be anyone out here," he adds, with the air of trying to apologize. Again.
no subject
He still sounds grouchy about it, in a resigned sort of way. He's trying not to breathe too deeply or make any sudden movements, but he does manage to heave himself to sit more or less upright.
"Look, it's fiiiine, Avan shredded me pretty good when I snuck up on him the other day and we're still friends."