Vyng Vang Zoombah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spiritwalks) wrote2021-09-29 02:35 pm
spiritwalks) wrote2021-09-29 02:35 pm
September-October Catch-All
Who: Vyng spiritwalks and YOU
What: Catch-All for September + October. See comments for prompts.
When: Various
Where: Various
Note: Style veers wildly between prose and brackets. Just choose whatever style feels good when responding, and I'll match it ♥
Content Warnings: Listed in subject lines when applicable
spiritwalks and YOUWhat: Catch-All for September + October. See comments for prompts.
When: Various
Where: Various
Note: Style veers wildly between prose and brackets. Just choose whatever style feels good when responding, and I'll match it ♥
Content Warnings: Listed in subject lines when applicable
Growing Pains [September]
No wonder his Blessed Day falls in September.
It takes Vyng time to settle on a suitable offering: His charm bracelet. Crocodile teeth, bits of vine, and all sorts of tiny tokens — from past adventures with his family — once dangled from his wrist. But that life is behind him now.
Letting the trinket go feels like twisting a knife into his stomach. So many memories. Of his little Billie. The hardships they endured together. Rub-a-dub-dub bathtime songs. And the cuddles he'll never have again.
That sharp pang is all the confirmation Vyng needs to know he chose well.
Reverently, he places the bracelet to rest in its freshly-dug grave. With each handful of dirt he scoops onto it, he silently says goodbye. After he's finished packing the soil in place, Vyng fishes a sewing needle from his pocket. The subsequent pin-prick of his finger makes him purse his lips for reasons he can't quite explain, but the blood is still offered willingly. Rusty red intermingles with the dirt beneath his hands.
What emerges from the soil makes Vyng's breath hitch: A single, orange poppy.
River of Regret [September] (cw: animal corpses, vague emeto mention)
But nothing prepares Vyng for what he soon discovers: A cramped graveyard of bloated, half-eaten bodies. Polar bears. Elk. Owls. Crocodiles. Crushed humming birds. Too many decomposing creatures for anyone to willingly count. All friends who deserved so much better.
It's too much.
His eyes water, his throat constricts, and Vyng hunches over the side of the canoe. Retching.
Bloodsport [September]
[Rain pounds against Vyng's face, wavy hair whipping behind him as he jogs through different parts of town. The weather is terrible for it...but the conditions are good for keeping his mind focused on the present.
The Blood Moon is making his muscles taut, his insides coil, and his blood sing with sheer possibility. He's already burned through several ways of gaining control of himself: Meditating in front of his tent, shadow boxing on the beach, and even random one-night tussles in the sack with a local or two. Nothing quite gives him peace. Even when he's calm, there's that niggling sense more unspent energy will come roaring back if he lets his guard down.
His coping strategies only keeps a lid on an otherwise boiling pot.
And as luck would have it—]
Oof!
[He's collided right into you. Vyng stumbles backward, disoriented for just a moment by his own carelessness.
What will you do? Fight him? Commiserate? Or maybe just yell at him for being an absolute ding-dong who doesn't pay attention. That's fine too.]
B. Wildcard: ((Open to other combat, arena-based, or otherwise bloodsport-related (mis)adventures. Hit me up at
Boardwalk
Even after his terrifying high-seas disaster with Shiro, there's something comforting about wading back into the water. This is the vessel by which new life enters Trench, after all. For plenty of unfortunate sailors, it's also a massive grave. And regardless of name or status, the few things Mariana can guarantee are contradictions, unpredictability, and impermanence.
Like so many things in life, the ocean is an uncertain place. And in that uncertainty, Vyng is strangely assured.
As he wades further from land, some of the wool hanging from his body bubbles toward the surface. Mouth clenched to avoid swallowing anything, he plunges himself under. The wind overhead is drowned by the distorted sound of waves vibrating through his very bones. Vyng folds his legs beneath himself, and he sinks toward the sandbar beneath him.
He doesn't dare try to connect with the Pthumerian Ocean. Not yet. He's still finding his equilibrium in this world. But Vyng tries to center himself all the same. In and out, the gills on the druid's neck flare with each breath he takes. Even as his senses become fuzzier from the water's disorienting effects, Vyng's heartbeat slows into a steady rhythm. He slips into a relaxed, meditative state.
But to passersby, it probably looks like some weirdo just dunked himself under the water. And...just isn't coming back up for air.
B. Fire Chat [Anytime in September]:
Cozy bonfires dot the beach at night, while a warm cinnamon scent wafts through the air. One fire, however, is sitting away from the majority of people. For those overwhelmed by crowds, it's a calm refuge — peaceful, quiet, and the perfect distance for letting people's chatter fade under the gentle rush of rolling tides.
Anyone who sits here might be hoping to collect their thoughts and simply observe their surroundings. They would be forgiven for thinking they were alone. Until...
"Hey."
It's the fire.
"Mind tossing in a little more incense, please?"
The fire is talking.
C. Doggy Style [Anytime in September or early October]:
Some people on the boardwalk are treated to an odd sight: A white, pony-sized wolf bowing and prancing around Vyng, who's also on all fours and woofing with delight.
They both suddenly freeze, as if at a standstill. But the silence is broken when the wolf tackles Vyng — who laughs and wraps his lanky arms around the creature, burying his face in the wolf's soft, fluffy fur. Despite her wild nature, the wolf seems happy with this arrangement. She playfully and gently nips him like he's a pup, nuzzles him for pets, and fiercely wags her tail.
As soon as somebody approaches, though, the wolf's ears perk up, alert. Her bright blue eyes focus on the Sleeper up ahead, wordlessly directing Vyng to look into that direction as well.
"Heyo, neighbor!" he calls, waving in greeting.
D. Wildcard: ((Feel free to toss in your own boardwalk scenario! Or plot with me on Plurk or Discord.))
Training - Farther Shores [Early October]
Regardless, this sudden rash of productivity is brought to you by: an ever-present sense of fragility and inadequacy, with a healthy dose of "oh shit, it's October".
As far as Vyng is concerned, there's no other choice. It's time to hit the fundamentals.
A. is for Attack:
[...Which starts off with him pulling out a bottle of water. He turns to his companion, shaking the container a little to emphasize what he's about to say next:]
Alright, pal. Alls you gotta do is hold still. Keep this bottle on your head, and I'll try knocking it off.
[What could go wrong?]
B. is for Breathe:
[Of course, it's not just your body that needs honing. Your mind does too. Vyng sits cross-legged on the black sand, eyes closed and hands resting on his knees. An incense stick is perched in the sand. Lending a warm, earthy scent to the ocean are are wisps of smoke curling from the stick's smoldering tip.
Ever since the bloodsport bullshit in September, he's been offering to teach other people the benefits of meditation and mindfulness. Vyng has plenty of experience, after all. Under his tutelage, even the squirmiest of 9-year-old halflings have learned to focus and breathe through tumultuous thoughts.
Granted, Vyng's way of communicating a lesson can sometimes be...strange. For now, though, he gently guides his companion on a journey of peace and calm:]
Focus on the warmth of the sand beneath your feet. Feel the heat travel through your body. Listen to your heart beat against your ribs.
[Deep breath in — one, two, three, four. Hold it for two seconds, aaaand let it out through your mouth. Nice and slow, just like Vyng showed earlier. Soothingly, he continues:]
The air is cold in your lungs.
Are your nipples erect?
[A beat, his eyes still closed.]
That's a rhetorical question. Don't answer that, please.
C. is for...Charades played backwards?
[By now, you've practiced your fighting forms. You've centered your mind. Now? The real work begins.
Vyng looks at his training companion with a grave expression.]
We want to be ready for whatever happens next, right? Which means we need to learn to adapt to any situation. So...
[Vyng lets out a slow breath...and drops into a low crouch to the ground.]
Name an animal. Any animal.
D. is for DIY: ((Have another training-related idea? Go nuts! Or plot with me on Plurk or Discord.))
Emotional Support - Sanguine Station [Early October!]
[In the dimly-lit tavern, Vyng pats his table-companion's hand. Does he know why this other Sleeper suddenly got weepy? No, not really. Still, he didn't hesitate in finding a warm place to sit down and help them regain their bearings.
And here they sit. Kind of awkwardly, but hey. Everyone at this table is trying their best.
Vyng hands over a hankerchief.]
What's going on, huh? Do you want to talk about it?