domestxcas;  a question of a life lived. a  dependent  muse  blog  for grymmrp, as  penned  by  Ï. caution for themes & triggers of : death, delusion, depression.
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There are some things about the world of the living that can remain there. The queue is one of them. It's a bit funny really, that with all the seemingly infinite time and resources the afterlife has to offer, the Magistrate hasn't found a better way to manage a bunch of souls attempting to access a single resource. Instead, they do what every other bureaucracy in the world has ever done and ferry them into a single file line.
Normally, Rav wouldn't have anything to do with it, but long-term access to the Living world without Swan or the rest of the Magistrate looking over his shoulder and tsk-ing at the amount of time he takes to leisurely collect soul, it's too good to pass up. So Rav makes the trip, tramping through the streets of Near Vain, all the way up the steps of the magistrate's office. By the time they arrive, the line is already an interminable length. For a moment, they consider turning around. They're dead. Time is seemingly infinite. This is still a total waste of it.
For awhile, Rav is able to let their mind wander, filtering the buzz of people shifting and gossiping out as he stares up at the ceiling. Then, something new happens. Someone drops their letter and steps out of the line to fumble for it. They recognize Pigeon, her fluttering gray wings and nervous, moth-like energy. Rav watches with bland, distant interest as she gathers up her letter and attempts to step back into line.
They raise a dark eyebrow at her request. "Is that how you intend to capture the first soul to slip through magistrate's fingers in all eternity?" They ask, head tilting. Behind them is a snaking line of Grymm, most of them some form of irritable or impatient. Rav takes a step back anyway, not minding that it puts them into the space of the person behind them, causing the whole line to begin fumbling backwards. "That's why you're here isn't it? To hunt Psyche like all the rest of us?"
THEIR  QUESTION  IS  PENETRATING,  in  a  manner  only  reserved  for  those  with  consummate,  unvacillating  assessment.  pigeon  should  consider  herself  lucky  that  she's  crossing  wings  with  a  veteran,  magpie,  with  all  their  timeless,  eons-worth  of  expertise,  but  rav's  candidness  always  did  put  the  woman  at  unease.  more  so  than  her  usual  given.  a  mix  of  celebrity  cachet,  and  the  unspoken  truth  that  many  at  the  department  of  afterlife  affairs  cannot  read  enigmatic  magpie.  demerara  laced  with  bergamot.
maira  visibly  gulps,  wondering  how  to  answer  the  other  grymm,  if  there's  any  way  to  save  the  little  face  she  has  left  after  encroaching  him  with  her  request  in  the  first  place.  seeing  as  though  she's  mortified  herself  a  few  seconds  ago,  she  tiptoes  her  way  back  into  the  line,  ignoring  the  rows  of  annoyed  stares  just  behind  magpie,  willing  her  brain  to  come  up  with  something  that  has  a  semblance  of  confidence  ...
â  âżá”,  ᶊá”'˹  âżá”á”Â Â Êłá”á”ËĄËĄÊžÂ Â á”ʞ  ᶊâżá”á”âżá”ᶊá”âż...  though  it'd  be  nice  if  Psyche  would  be  cooperative...  á”Êłá”,  âżá”á”  á”Ê°á”á”  ᶊ  á”ËŁá”á”á¶á”  á”Ê°á”á”  á”á”  á”á”.  not  many  go  gently  into  á”Ê°á”á”  á”á”á”á”  âżá¶Šá”Ê°á”...  â
after  squeaking,  pigeon  frowns  a  little  and  waves  off  a  strange  throb  at  the  right  side  of  her  temple.  something  feels  amiss  yet  forgivable,  like  miscounted  change  a  cent  off,  a   mistaken tea order of  earl  grey  for  english  breakfast.  queasy  from  the  feeling  and  wanting  respite,  she  tries  to  brighten  up,  lift  up  her  wings  in  lieu  of  her  spirit.
â  well,  of  course,  Their  Eminence  has  tasked  us  with  such  an  important  mission,  after  all.  it'd  be...  wrong  for  us  grymm  to  turn  away  from  our  responsibilities.  i  think  it's  rather  sweet  that  we're  all  in  this  together...  shows  the  strength  of  our  community  here  at  the  department.  á”á”,  teamwork  makes  the  dream  work,  doesn't  it?  â
⊠setting: department of afterlife affairs, collections office, mission lobby.
⊠timeframe: quoth the raven.
⊠content warnings: references to anxiety.
FEATHERS  WHIP  UP  IN  A  FRENZY.  a  day-to-day  occurrence  for  many,  made  most  peculiar  by  the  sheer  frequency  and  volume,  bridging  the  gap  from  the  mundane  to  the  extreme  in  the  always  industrious  sector  of  the  department  of  afterlife  affairs.  maira  â pigeon  â  spits  out  fine  down  from  her  pursed  lips.  she  should  un-mind  the  limitless  line  snaking  around  and  around  the  collections  offices'  mission  lobby,  as  counting  the  heads  of  the  potential  contenders  in  the  hunt  will  most  likely  trigger  another  fit  of  labored,  exhausted  breaths,  and  she  doesn't  delight  in  inhaling  another  grymm's  filoplumes  ...
...  but  her  lungs  seize  up  in  panic  when  the  letter  plummets  from  her  sweat-slippery  fingers,  and  slides  a  good  distance  away  from  the  line.  there  is  no  grace  for  maira,  as  eyes  around  her  orbit  to  her  invitation  on  the  ground,  fluttering  and  threatening  to  depart  with  an  updraft,  to  her  creased  and  tormented  face.  the  woman  wrings  her  hands  and  after  a  spine-curving  sigh  to  the  ground,  quickly  paces  to  the  envelope,  snatches  it  up,  and  turnsâ
âto  see  her  spot  swallowed  up  by  the  tide  of  bodies.  color  drains  from  her  face,  the  only  tint  a  rouge  on  her  cheeks  painted by  surefire  embarrassment.  her  wings,  drab  gray  and  banded,  shackled  at  the  ends,  appear  hang  heavier  on  the  woman's  poor  back.  after  some  fretting  of  her  lips,  the  berry-rose  lipstick  smearing  on  her  teeth  during  the  fit,  maira  takes  a  plain  step  forward,  a  little  clack  on  her  heel,  a  weak  introduction  to  what  follows.
â  á”Êłá”,  hello...  i  don't  know  if  you  saw,  but  i  was  in  line  ÊČá”Ëąá”  á”  ˥ᶊá”á”ËĄá”  while  agoâŠÂ  in  front  of  you,  ᶊ á”ʰᶊâżá”,  and  if  you  could  see  it  in,  á”Êłá”,  á”Ê°á”  á”ᶊâżá”âżá”˹˹  á”ᶠ  ʞá”á”ÊłÂ Â Ê°á”á”Êłá”,  á¶-á¶á”á”ËĄá”  ʞá”á”âŠÂ  may  i  step  back  ᶊâż?  á”ËĄá”á”Ëąá”?  â
Daisies standing in the rain,
Hold their heads together,
But they never once complain
Of the drenching weather.
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ic writing prompts; â IN CHARACTER CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS â PROMPTS FOR COMFORTABLE INTIMACY â RANDOM IN-CHARACTER QUESTIONS â EMOJI ASKS â SEND đŹ
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NICKNAME(S) none substantial; people mainly got her name wrong or went with the classic "hey you" until she became a grymm. now it's "pidge" or "newbie" or "hatchling" or "hey you with the rat wings"
GENDER/PRONOUNS cis woman, she/her
SEXUALITY she is too anxious to even consider relationship, most likely demisexual
HEIGHT 165 cm; 5'5"
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES long brown hair, awkward smile, noticeable british (london) accent, band-aids on her fingers from accidentally nicking herself with her own soul sever
APPEARS (THE AGE AT TIME OF DEATH) forty-seven
BIRTHDAY she doesn't remember but thinks it's a winter birthday
PLACE OF BIRTH doesn't remember but thinks it's somewhere in posh london
NATIONALITY british anglo-indian
FAMILY INFORMATION doesn't remember but thinks she had probably a big family, recalls a lot of faceless people saying "we're family here"
LIKES redecorating her bardo, color-coding her reports, updating her food journal, visiting the near vane grand library, romcoms at the near vane cinema, people watching, being a grymm
DISLIKES bullying, her wings, pigeons in general, being underestimated, reaping souls, slimy things, having to do someone else's paperwork, her crippling desire to be liked
HOBBIES collecting wax seals from Their Eminence's official letters for scrapbooking, daydreaming, reading fantasy novels before "bed", yoga before breakfast, recently has been practicing flying in her bardo with mixed results
HABITS fidgets her hands behind her back when trying to assert herself, lip chewing whenever in pensive thought (almost always), adds a little curly tail at the end of her a's, leaves food out for the stray cats (there are none)
optionals.
EXTRAS n/a
CHARACTER TROPES butt-monkey, cowardly lion, extreme doormat...
CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS higashiyama kobeni (chainsaw man), luigi mario (nintendo's mario bros.), kenneth parcell (30 rock), ann perkins (parks and recreation), hal "otacon" emmerich (metal gear solid series)...
MEMES tba.
MORAL ALIGNMENT lawful good
ZODIAC/NATAL CHART she thinks she's either a sagittarius or a capricon.
MBTI tba.
ENNEAGRAM tba.
artwork credits.
Study of the sleeping wood pigeon (1873) by Ferdinand von Wright
