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❛ hey, what's your take on dogs? ❜ / @scrtchbrn
“ DOGS? ” HER TONE is almost exasperated, a sigh emitting from fleshy form. how kind of her, to take something more acceptable while among the living. “ nicky, did you bring home a dog? don't let agatha see, she may want that thing thrown out. ” a beat of silence, “ though, considering her track record, it may not make it very long anyhow. ”
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The Lamb goes humming ahead of him, hopping onto fallen logs, then down into the brush again, their bell chiming with each movement. They lift their hands to brush the leaves and brambles as they pass. The Crown has granted them a peculiar attunement to the world around them. They think it was the Crown, at least; they don't remember this thrumming alertness when they were a true lamb. Now, when the pads of their fingers contact the leaf of a tree, they feel for a thrilling instant the life of the tree itself and its intimate greenness.
Their companion comes toiling along. He still isn't used to his new body yet. The Lamb knows they were lucky; they awoke as themself, or a version of themself. They're almost sorry for the operation that joined Nicky to the flesh he inhabits now: they hadn't done it before, not unguided that way, and it was half an experiment, seeing what they could accomplish without book and altar. But the joy of having Nicky supersedes any sorrow, any twinge of regret. They love having Nicky with them, a face and a voice and a spirit to share their world, differently from the ones who follow and praise their name. Nicky isn't a follower; he's just Nicky.
@scrtchbrn : i have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me.
Atop a tree stump, the Lamb's ears prick to the sound of Nick's mumble. They jump down again and dig a hoof into the earth, once, twice, allowing themself to indulge their nerves, before they ask sweetly, teasingly, "Is it fleas?" They squint their golden eyes with comic pleasure. "I'll pick them off of you."
The gentle chime of a bell announces the slow lean the Lamb takes over the body of @scrtchbrn. There had been a lot of screaming and bleeding at first. The grass around them is sticky with drying blood, and clouds of insects have begun to gather, with a loud, droning buzz of wings.
"Are you ready to get up now?" they ask, warmly, sweetly. There's no reason to move on quickly--there hasn't been anything more intrusive than the flies, and a few birds that passed by overhead--but they're excited: normally they travel alone, and it'll be good to have someone to watch their back, and to see what they see. Their followers hate new things, hate the beautiful and horrible sights out here; they crave the safety and comfort of home. The Lamb's never found anyone who sees it as they do, that home becomes safe and comfortable only after tasting the thrill of the danger outside.
They reach down and pick up one slack hand--not cold anymore! "Here, I'll help you."
“i am weak. i am fragile. i am mortal.” / @scrtchbrn
GENTLE HANDS COME to cup the sides of his face, chestnut hues scanning the features before her. this body, the one stolen by nicky to live once more. part of her is still a little bitter, looking into eyes she does not recognize. how could he do such a thing? abandon her in such a way, after decades together. had the home she created not been enough? was the afterlife she doomed him to so unbearable that he simply had to get away? he knows the importance of the sacred balance. was seeking out agatha so important that he would disrespect it in this way? apparently so.
how had he even managed such a thing? as far as death knew, nicholas possessed no magical ability. she had not seen it herself. was it just delayed? ( "i am weak. i am fragile. i am mortal." ) a solemn nod in response, “ mortal once more. ” she's quick to add on the other part, an important distinction to be made. “ my dear boy... ” what was he now anyway? how does one begin to identify when thrown into an entirely new form? how does one begin to explain gender ideologies to a seven year old? was he even seven anymore? what has become of the soul within? a multitude of questions swirl around within death's skull, nestled comfortably behind flesh covered features.
“ what have you done? ” thumb swipes gently across the body's cheek, a tender gesture. brows furrow, a frown settling upon her face. this was meant to be a reunion, something happy. death is a mixture of hurt & relieved all at once. she won't lash out, won't scold him for his actions. what good would it do anyway? finally, she resigns, letting go of any anger that resides within & pulling this new form into an embrace. quiet forgiveness.
“ it’s a burden that’s constantly there, constantly looming, constantly wearing me down. ” { from nicky to agatha } / @scrtchbrn
SHE NEARLY ASKS what nicky is speaking about, what could possibly be wearing upon him. though, the witch was smart enough to have an idea. it had to be tied to his death, right? something related to the afterlife, whatever he may have experienced or seen. it may even be the time he spent with rio, all those years by her side. how could anyone not be burdened by such a thing?
“ my dear... ” a hand raises, softly cupping her child's cheek. there's a hint of sadness within her eyes. “ i promise, i will never let such a thing happen to you again. tell me what's wrong. ”
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@scrtchbrn gets:
"Enjoy the now, baby. It's the only thing that's certain"
“ NIIIIICKY... ” LILTING IS their tone as they begin their search for @scrtchbrn. chestnut hues scan one room before moving onto the next. “ are you hiding, mijo? from little ol' me? ” their tone is teasing, lighthearted. playful, even. “ i thought you liked when i came to visit. i haven't been gone long enough for that to change, have i? ” / sc.
