[This is not the strangest thing that has happened to him. He has very little recollection of his life right now, but he's more than certain of it. But after a moment, he elects to stop the 'stranger's hands, gently taking them in his own so he's able to focus a bit easier.]
... Not knowing must be a little frightening. Or mayhaps concerning, at least, but β
[Diarmuid may be having issues with standing and remembering and, well, a lot of things. But he's certainly cognizant of something not quite right here. After a moment of scrutiny (of which he's squinting at the other, nose wrinkled) - ]
( He lets the gestures of his hands be ceased, lets Peter hold them instead. He doesn't mind that; he keeps them there, not pulling back. He likes the contact, and the hands holding his own are gentle. )
........
( There's a lengthy pause in which he's just staring for several moments longer than is the norm, and thenβ )
Yes. But you and I... we're the same. The exact same. Even though youβ
( He flinches suddenly, a shudder that ripples through him like a convulsion, and settles oddly. )
βhave scary things. But it's okay. I buried it. And now we're the same.
[The same, are they...? Well they do seem to share the same sort of hair. And they're both around the same age, and the same gangliness. But... Ah. He's quickly pulled from his thoughts by the other's words, brows raising.]
( He seems hesitant as he slowly looks over his shoulder in the direction of the offending, buried.... Thing. After a moment, he lifts his arm to point at a small lump of sand sticking up; something is beneath it. )
There was a bag. There was something..... alive. Inside it. But I made it dead.
( He thinks, anyway. He buried it, snuffed out its life, surely.... that thrumming brightness. )
His mind catches up with him, and his eyes flash wide and worried as his hands move up to grip Paimon's shoulders; Peter looks terribly worried! For good reason!!]
( He jumps slightly, surprised by the sudden shift in the boy before him. Abruptly, Peter's energy has changed into something frenzied, worried. Panicked.
His mouth opens and his dark eyes widen, frightened, but thenβ he can only answer the truth. It's some rule deep within him, the way he functions. He could manipulate the answer, trick Peter if he remembered how, but he doesn't yet. Like an obedient child, he gets to his feet, and tugs on the sleeve of Peter's robe to have him follow. )
There. ( He points to the lump of sand, beneath which is messily buried the bag, but he tenses away from it, a little nervous. Is Peter going to uncover it? )
There is something bad inside. Something that.... hurts.
[That certainly does not dispel any concerns he has. Instead he reaches over, grips the other boy's arm.]
Just because something hurts, it does not mean we must bury it away. [But more importantly, if it's a rabbit with very sharp, bitey teeth, it's not something to be buried, either!! Still β he knows the other is nervous, so he says with confidence:] I will not let it harm you. I assure you. I promise you!
[And then he begins to quickly dig. He's fortunate to find that it's not very deep in the earth, but the back is heavy and far too still, and it makes his stomach twist. Hands scrabble to lift the flap, and β ]
.....
It is a rock?
[He stares at it for a moment, his memories just on the verge of breaking through. For Paimon, of course, there is a familiar holiness that illuminates the area around them, all from the stone. To Diarmuid, it looks like regular stone, but the humming of power is indisputable to one who is more than human.]
cw: just a little dose of possession horror, as a treat / epileptic associations
( Peter says he won't let it harm him β promises that he won't β and despite the anxiety rising up in him, Paimon accepts this as truth immediately. He lingers nearby, watching, fretful but trusting, as Peter starts to quickly dig up the item.
Whatever's inside must be very important to him, with how desperately he works to uncover it. Paimon's tongue gives a few nervous clicks, eyes wide as Peter opens up the bag to reveal what's inside.
And it shines, still. He hadn't stopped its glow after all. The thing that's almost fully demon by this point balks, and changes, set into a bit of a panic by the sight of it, by the swell of power coming from it.
Its eyes swell up with black all over again; its mouth twists into a snarl. Like before, when it had hissed at the boy β only this time, its entire body seems to revolt. Or rather, the force trapped up under the body it lives in, causing its shell to shudder and convulse. Its limbs snap at odd angles; its head is thrust backwards so suddenly and severely that the movement makes its back bend inwards. The gesture should have it falling backwards onto the ground, but β .....instead, it's levitating slightly off of the sand.
All the while, the creature makes an awful gagging sound, something not human but its true voice strained too tightly through the vocal chords of one. )
Which is not quite the actual wording of his thoughts in that moment, but that is an adequate comparison as he looks at Paimon with wide, panicked eyes. The first thing that hits him is: my name is Diarmuid, I am from KilmannΓ‘n, and this is a holy relic. The second thought that his him is: this friend is convulsing at the very reveal of the rock's image.
He quickly closes the bag and latches it, before he crawls over to - ]
Peter!
[He puts his hands on the figure's shoulders, trying to steady him.]
I've covered it β it's hidden away again! I'm sorry!
( Sometimes, one's best friend possesses an item that can send one into an unholy fit. It happens!
It's difficult to say how much is the rock genuinely affecting the demon and how much is its own panic sending it into fits β perhaps some mixture of both. If he were to more calmly analyse the thing (from a safe distance, as touching it is.... absolutely not a good idea for him), he would maybe start remembering that he'd seen such an item before, been almost in awe of it β and of the monk's power to possess such a thing.
As it is, Paimon can't make much sense of anything in the here and now, mind still a scrambled, strange heap of half-memories and confusions. So it's Default Fit Mode, even after the rock's ethereal energy is stifled again, the strange being continuing to give throaty rasps and wheezing sounds.
Suddenly there are hands upon his shoulders, and the monk is saying a name β Peter. His body gives another violent jolt; he gasps loudly. The boy underneath it all is suddenly drawn to the surface, and at once the demon's life subdues in him, leaving Peter instead: crumpling against Diarmuid, fingers grasping into the material of his robes. He's confused, slightly panicked, but immediately recognises the other boy as a place of safety, and he holds tightly onto him. )
[Note to self: easiest way to knock Paimon back and bring his dearest Peter back is apparently to shock him with holy energies. Who knew? But as Diarmuid grips Peter's arms firmly, eyes round and full of worry, he can see β and remember β the proper teenaged man underneath the possession.]
Of course I'm here! Why wouldn't I be? You would all be very disappointed without my charming nature!
[He offers a dorky little smile, though his worry is still steeped, so he gives Peter a big warm hug and hopes he won't fall into another strange, Peter-certified fit.]
( This is all still very confusing, but Peter's breathing out something that's almost a laugh, shaky around the edges, and lets himself be held by the other boy. Not only that, his arms are wrapping around Diarmuid in return, pressed warm and flush to the person he knows is safe. )
I missed you. ( He knows it's true, mumbled against sand-coated curls, breathing in the smell of the ocean and something more familiar under that. Diarmuid's... not only 'friend'. He's family; Peter knows this deep down, remembers it, even if he can still remember so very little else.
But something still... unsettles him. The item is covered now, but... it's still very close. Peter gives a soft shudder, just a little one, and slowly unlatches from the other boy just enough to look down at the bag in his hands. He doesn't explicitly remember what just happened with Paimon β but some knowledge of the experience is there in him, and he's frowning, hazily, feeling a bit as though he's in a dream. But he needs to warn Diarmuidβ )
I think there's something... dangerous. In there. I think it could... hurt you.
[Something soft and sad carries across his face, a flicker of sadness that had been pulled from memories that feel terribly recent and terribly distant all at once. He pulls the bag into his lap and it's dark leather material is a stark constrast to a pale torso covered in moles and raised scars (courtesy of the aches and pangs of Deerington as it carved into him over the years), but he does not move to open the satchel or any such thing.]
This... It's a little strange, but it's β a holy relic, blessed by God's hand. The rock used to kill Saint Matthias. My brothers and I were... tasked with pilgrimaging it safely to the pope.
[This terrible thing is a great source of pain for him, a pain that draws his face to look older, somehow. He is nothing if not devoted, but some part of him does wonder if he should attempt to cast it into the ocean once more.]
( A....holy relic? That's right, Diarmuid's... he's a monk, he's... of God. Peter's slowly remembering these details about his dear friend. Diarmuid had prayed with, for, him once. It had been... comforting, despite Peter's uncertainties regarding spirituality, God.
But the other thing in him flinches from Diarmuid's words, still shaken by what had happened. It doesn't quite understand its own relationship with God; Paimon isn't quite a Biblical entity, but the lines of everything are strange and blurred, and perhaps somewhere along his ancient lifetime, what is known as "God" has been his enemy, too. The rock... the relic, frightens him.
Peter takes a little step back from that pained expression on his friend's face, almost involuntarily. )
We don't like it. ( The demon's still present, even if it hides in him now. It dares to move to the surface again, though not fully; Paimon and Peter speak together for a moment, aligned by their discomfort of the item. ) It hurts you.... It hurts us.... Must you keep it?
( Guys... You can't just ask Diarmuid to get rid of his very important holy relic just because you don't like it... )
...Your God is not even here. ( He, they, add β snapping the words a little more harshly than Peter would ever mean. )
[Diarmuid startles back a bit, clutching the bag closer, almost protectively. His eyes follow Peter's, and confusion is quickly replaced by both memories and defensiveness β on Peter's behalf, because he doesn't quite realize it's, in a sense, both of them in tandem.]
You β You shouldn't interrupt Peter when he's speaking. I do not want to speak with you; I want to speak with Peter, so release him. [He stands up in full, holding the satchel close, this time more as a defensive gesture; if he needs to, he will send Paimon away if he lashes out. In fact-] Why must I keep it? Why would I ever rid myself of it, after what you tried to do?
Do you forget that it had helped protect me when you wanted to spill my blood for sacrifice?
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reddosmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
countryclub2021-08-09 05:25 pm
no subject
... Not knowing must be a little frightening. Or mayhaps concerning, at least, but β
[Diarmuid may be having issues with standing and remembering and, well, a lot of things. But he's certainly cognizant of something not quite right here. After a moment of scrutiny (of which he's squinting at the other, nose wrinkled) - ]
Are you... just repeating my words?
no subject
........
( There's a lengthy pause in which he's just staring for several moments longer than is the norm, and thenβ )
Yes. But you and I... we're the same. The exact same. Even though youβ
( He flinches suddenly, a shudder that ripples through him like a convulsion, and settles oddly. )
βhave scary things. But it's okay. I buried it. And now we're the same.
no subject
Scary things?
What do you mean?
no subject
There was a bag. There was something..... alive. Inside it. But I made it dead.
( He thinks, anyway. He buried it, snuffed out its life, surely.... that thrumming brightness. )
no subject
[ONE MOMENT.
SOMETHING ALIVE IN A BAG?!
His mind catches up with him, and his eyes flash wide and worried as his hands move up to grip Paimon's shoulders; Peter looks terribly worried! For good reason!!]
Where?! Where is this bag? When did you bury it?!
[PLEASE DO NOT TELL HIM YOU BURIED HIS RABBIT.]
no subject
His mouth opens and his dark eyes widen, frightened, but thenβ he can only answer the truth. It's some rule deep within him, the way he functions. He could manipulate the answer, trick Peter if he remembered how, but he doesn't yet. Like an obedient child, he gets to his feet, and tugs on the sleeve of Peter's robe to have him follow. )
There. ( He points to the lump of sand, beneath which is messily buried the bag, but he tenses away from it, a little nervous. Is Peter going to uncover it? )
There is something bad inside. Something that.... hurts.
no subject
Just because something hurts, it does not mean we must bury it away. [But more importantly, if it's a rabbit with very sharp, bitey teeth, it's not something to be buried, either!! Still β he knows the other is nervous, so he says with confidence:] I will not let it harm you. I assure you. I promise you!
[And then he begins to quickly dig. He's fortunate to find that it's not very deep in the earth, but the back is heavy and far too still, and it makes his stomach twist. Hands scrabble to lift the flap, and β ]
.....
It is a rock?
[He stares at it for a moment, his memories just on the verge of breaking through. For Paimon, of course, there is a familiar holiness that illuminates the area around them, all from the stone. To Diarmuid, it looks like regular stone, but the humming of power is indisputable to one who is more than human.]
cw: just a little dose of possession horror, as a treat / epileptic associations
Whatever's inside must be very important to him, with how desperately he works to uncover it. Paimon's tongue gives a few nervous clicks, eyes wide as Peter opens up the bag to reveal what's inside.
And it shines, still. He hadn't stopped its glow after all. The thing that's almost fully demon by this point balks, and changes, set into a bit of a panic by the sight of it, by the swell of power coming from it.
Its eyes swell up with black all over again; its mouth twists into a snarl. Like before, when it had hissed at the boy β only this time, its entire body seems to revolt. Or rather, the force trapped up under the body it lives in, causing its shell to shudder and convulse. Its limbs snap at odd angles; its head is thrust backwards so suddenly and severely that the movement makes its back bend inwards. The gesture should have it falling backwards onto the ground, but β .....instead, it's levitating slightly off of the sand.
All the while, the creature makes an awful gagging sound, something not human but its true voice strained too tightly through the vocal chords of one. )
no subject
Which is not quite the actual wording of his thoughts in that moment, but that is an adequate comparison as he looks at Paimon with wide, panicked eyes. The first thing that hits him is: my name is Diarmuid, I am from KilmannΓ‘n, and this is a holy relic. The second thought that his him is: this friend is convulsing at the very reveal of the rock's image.
He quickly closes the bag and latches it, before he crawls over to - ]
Peter!
[He puts his hands on the figure's shoulders, trying to steady him.]
I've covered it β it's hidden away again! I'm sorry!
no subject
It's difficult to say how much is the rock genuinely affecting the demon and how much is its own panic sending it into fits β perhaps some mixture of both. If he were to more calmly analyse the thing (from a safe distance, as touching it is.... absolutely not a good idea for him), he would maybe start remembering that he'd seen such an item before, been almost in awe of it β and of the monk's power to possess such a thing.
As it is, Paimon can't make much sense of anything in the here and now, mind still a scrambled, strange heap of half-memories and confusions. So it's Default Fit Mode, even after the rock's ethereal energy is stifled again, the strange being continuing to give throaty rasps and wheezing sounds.
Suddenly there are hands upon his shoulders, and the monk is saying a name β Peter. His body gives another violent jolt; he gasps loudly. The boy underneath it all is suddenly drawn to the surface, and at once the demon's life subdues in him, leaving Peter instead: crumpling against Diarmuid, fingers grasping into the material of his robes. He's confused, slightly panicked, but immediately recognises the other boy as a place of safety, and he holds tightly onto him. )
Diarmuidβ You're hereβ
no subject
Of course I'm here! Why wouldn't I be? You would all be very disappointed without my charming nature!
[He offers a dorky little smile, though his worry is still steeped, so he gives Peter a big warm hug and hopes he won't fall into another strange, Peter-certified fit.]
no subject
I missed you. ( He knows it's true, mumbled against sand-coated curls, breathing in the smell of the ocean and something more familiar under that. Diarmuid's... not only 'friend'. He's family; Peter knows this deep down, remembers it, even if he can still remember so very little else.
But something still... unsettles him. The item is covered now, but... it's still very close. Peter gives a soft shudder, just a little one, and slowly unlatches from the other boy just enough to look down at the bag in his hands. He doesn't explicitly remember what just happened with Paimon β but some knowledge of the experience is there in him, and he's frowning, hazily, feeling a bit as though he's in a dream. But he needs to warn Diarmuidβ )
I think there's something... dangerous. In there. I think it could... hurt you.
no subject
[Something soft and sad carries across his face, a flicker of sadness that had been pulled from memories that feel terribly recent and terribly distant all at once. He pulls the bag into his lap and it's dark leather material is a stark constrast to a pale torso covered in moles and raised scars (courtesy of the aches and pangs of Deerington as it carved into him over the years), but he does not move to open the satchel or any such thing.]
This... It's a little strange, but it's β a holy relic, blessed by God's hand. The rock used to kill Saint Matthias. My brothers and I were... tasked with pilgrimaging it safely to the pope.
[This terrible thing is a great source of pain for him, a pain that draws his face to look older, somehow. He is nothing if not devoted, but some part of him does wonder if he should attempt to cast it into the ocean once more.]
no subject
But the other thing in him flinches from Diarmuid's words, still shaken by what had happened. It doesn't quite understand its own relationship with God; Paimon isn't quite a Biblical entity, but the lines of everything are strange and blurred, and perhaps somewhere along his ancient lifetime, what is known as "God" has been his enemy, too. The rock... the relic, frightens him.
Peter takes a little step back from that pained expression on his friend's face, almost involuntarily. )
We don't like it. ( The demon's still present, even if it hides in him now. It dares to move to the surface again, though not fully; Paimon and Peter speak together for a moment, aligned by their discomfort of the item. ) It hurts you.... It hurts us.... Must you keep it?
( Guys... You can't just ask Diarmuid to get rid of his very important holy relic just because you don't like it... )
...Your God is not even here. ( He, they, add β snapping the words a little more harshly than Peter would ever mean. )
no subject
You β You shouldn't interrupt Peter when he's speaking. I do not want to speak with you; I want to speak with Peter, so release him. [He stands up in full, holding the satchel close, this time more as a defensive gesture; if he needs to, he will send Paimon away if he lashes out. In fact-] Why must I keep it? Why would I ever rid myself of it, after what you tried to do?
Do you forget that it had helped protect me when you wanted to spill my blood for sacrifice?
no subject