AUTUMN MELODY ☆ unhappiness

[wormwood.]

( done for the October cdc prompt of "bat" !! )

It had been a few days since Wormwood had first made his training dummies, and while they hadn't been perfect at first – mainly due to his horrible anger fueled stuffing of hay – he had fixed them up afterwards, and then stored them away for when he wanted to train. He thought that he had put them somewhere safe, just a bit into the swampland in a hollow tree hideaway he had made for precious things, but evidently he had been wrong. The reason he had found out that he was wrong was because, the time had finally come that he had felt like he wanted to train. He had been wound up all day, unable to destress or stop fidgeting thanks to Roy being kidnapped, and he had already done all of his usual tasks, running through the entire list without a single release that made him feel like his head wasn't about to explode and take out several passersby. It was beyond annoying, and Wormwood honestly contemplated just going home and screaming into a pillow until his lungs couldn't take it anymore, or perhaps charging into the Pitt like a dumbass to try and save Roy all on his own. He wrote off both options, one because it wouldn't be useful to anyone, and probably wouldn't actually help, and two because it was a stupid idea, and he knew that all it would accomplish was him getting snatched up as well, just as when Beck had been captured trying to rescue Sam. He liked to think he had a bit more finesse than Beck, but Beck also had certain ghostly advantages that Wormwood didn't, and yet he still got caught, so Worm doubted that he had a chance in hell – mind you, he wasn't aware that Beck had sort of just charged into the middle of the Pitt camp without a plan.

Wanting to focus his jittering energy into something productive, Worm had decided that it was time to break his training dummies out and try some fighting with his one good eye, since at the very least he could pretend that the dummies were pittians that he was ripping to shreds for hurting his son. So, with a new task in mind, the chaser had made his way into the swampland that surrounded their main little town, hopping from log to log and carefully weaving his way all the way to his stashing tree, a rather inconspicuous tree with gnarled large roots that revealed a hollow underneath, perfect for storing things that he didn't want to keep in his house. He hadn't wanted to keep the dummies inside of his house because of the strong scent of hay that they still carried, a scent that made Worm sneeze pretty frequently when he wasn't training with them. So, he had decided that the tree was as good as any place, and had stuffed several of the fabric and hay creations underneath it before moving on with his day, figuring he could return for them whenever he wanted. However, it seemed as though he was in for the surprise of his life. His first warning sign really should have been the strong scant of hay that permeated the storing tree when he approached it, strong enough to make his nose wrinkle a bit. After all, if the hay was secured beneath the fabric "skin" of the dummy, then why did it stink up the place so much? However, he ignored the warning sign, reaching his paws beneath the gnarled roots of the tree and yanking out... dummy guts, along with an entire cloud of bats.

It seemed as though the bats, attracted by the scent of the dummies, had decided to go rummaging through them to see if they could get any food out of it, and they were decidedly unhappy to have their searching interrupted. As Worm yanked the mass of hay and fabric from underneath the tree, four or five bats came spewing put from beneath as well, shrieking in his face and startling him back onto his ass, wincing when he felt swamp muck wet his fur. He snarled unhappily at the bats, waving his paws at them in aggravation and watching as they flew off, before he finally thought to look down at his dummies, heart sinking when he saw the state of disrepair that they were in. The bats had completely shredded the fabric that made up their outsides, and hay was laying everywhere beneath the tree, the only thing in Worm's grasp being the mangled remains of a sack that had been used for a body. Letting out an angry shout, Worm tossed the sack aside and searched desperately beneath the tree, to see if absolutely any of his dummies were still intact. Unluckily for him, not a single one had been spared from the bats' thorough searching. Sitting back on one of the nearby logs, Worm stared down at what remained of his hard work, without a single training dummy to show for it, before shouting in frustration, "Ugh! Stupid fucking bats, ruining my work! I'm gonna have to remake all of these!" Was he complaining to anyone in particular? Not really. It was mainly just a way to vent his anger out into the world without imploding in on himself.

[glow=black,2,300]THE FREEDOM OF FALLING[/glow]

[cortexx]

The most interesting thing about this swamp, and the surface in general, was how loud it was. Even when she swam with the sirens, the sea muffled things, nothing but the sound of slowly moving water and the occasional deeply ominous and ominously beautiful whale call. But up here, there was so much noise - people talking, birds singing, the hustle and bustle of a lived in town. It still felt quiet, though, which was odd - like everything was muffled. Not like it was under the sea, but still. There was something wrong with the place, she thought. Something sick with the land itself.

The screams of anger - or anguish, perhaps? - pierced that muffled bustle quite proficiently, however, making her sensitive ears twitch in confusion. That wasn't a word, but it was still so emotional. Who could have made the sound, she wondered, beginning to trek towards the source. It sounded close, so hey, maybe she could help someone. She was an excellent listener, after all.

The scene, as laid out before her: one of the few people she actually knew in this clan, frustratedly glaring at some ruined clothing or something - scraps of fabric and hay - with words on his lips, probably what she had heard earlier. So they were words. Explained the power behind them, she supposed - but she didn't know what he said.

Echo approached, cautiously, standing before the much larger mammal and cocking her head, a silent question of what was going on - all the words she knew were far, far away from her, and even if they weren't, she didn't know if they would have been the right ones.

tags - "speech"

[wormwood.]

The first person to arrive on this – rather embarrassing – scene, was Echo, one of the newer members of the group. Ever silent, without another voice to "echo" back at him, Worm noticed the way that she wandered over, tilting her head in a silent question to him. He supposed he must've been quite the sight, sitting there pouting in frustration thanks to his "toys" being destroyed. He would've blushed, or been further embarrassed, but he could just feel his frustration beginning to diminish, so he just shook it off, rumbling softly to Echo as he shifted and nudged one of the destroyed dummies with one of his wings, his one good eye glaring angrily down at it, "Hey there, Echo. This is a bit of an embarrassment... a bunch of bats destroyed the training dummies that I made a few days ago, and I'm pretty damn frustrated over it, since it took a lot of work in order to make sure that they would actually function correctly..." He shoved one of the many scattered pieces of fabric aside before slowly getting to his paws, moving over to the gnarled roots of the tree and beginning to pull out the last of the hay that was still shoved beneath. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the stench of bats that clung to the hay thanks to them infesting it, and he pawed it all into a big pile, one that would be easier to collect later.

Turning to look back at Echo, he glanced down sheepishly before questioning as he picked up one of the pieces of fabric in his mouth, "I don't mean to bug you, but would you mind helping me pick up some of the bigger pieces of fabric? I can reuse them later if I need to... either that or I can give them to Feza. I know she'll always find something to do with everything at her disposal... oh, I guess you haven't met Feza yet, have you?" He made small talk as he continued to gather up the different little shreds of the fabric, adding it onto the large pile of hay he had already accumulated. It was sort of crazy to think that there was someone in the group that hadn't met Feza yet, considering her reputation for being a big and loud party maker. It was honestly surprising that Echo hadn't yet simply stumbled upon one of Feza's many events, although she probably should have considered herself lucky that she hadn't. Of course, maybe the reason that she hadn't yet was because Feza had seemed rather... subdued lately. He hoped in the back of his mind that it wasn't because of him, but a small part of him knew that it probably was. After all, he hadn't exactly been the kindest person in the entire world to her, even though he only regretted some of what he had said to her.

[glow=black,2,300]THE FREEDOM OF FALLING[/glow]

[arcy]

[align=center]

[glow=#000,1,400]all you've ever done is been a noose to hang on to — ｡+ﾟ.[/glow]

[div style="width: 480px; height: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13px;"]Crowley had ... mixed feelings about bats. They had such weird wings! Can you imagine? And to think, that demons were always imagined with those sorts of wings! Disgusting. On the other, they were so great at causing low-level chaos, can you even imagine?
.. Crowley can't actually tell if these are his genuine feelings on bats. He hasn't actually thought about it. He's sticking with it, though, because it seems like a distinctly demonic thing to do.
"Eugh," Crowley voices, wrinkling his nose. It's largely unknown where he'd just appeared from -- well, a tree, but he was trying to seem sneaky. He'd been drawn by the scream, of course, and arrived in time to hear the explanation.  "Lotta damage for something so small," He remarks, regarding the pile. He makes to assist, reaching a clawed paw out towards a piece of fabric, before immediately rethinking it. He draws the line at helping someone because they asked -- he had a reputation to think of. Imagine if hell came to drag him back, kicking and screaming, and learned he'd been helping people.* With a look of mild panic, he still grabs it, and immediately shoves it into his mud.
Embarrassing.
*in this sense, it's less of a reputation thing, and more of a self-preservation thing.
"D -- dunno what they found so fascinating about .. hay, anyways," Crowley promptly attempts distraction. He doesn't know anything about bats -- why would he? .. Well, except that he did, and did, in fact, know why. Listen. It's fine.

[cortexx]

"Hey there," Echo said, in a voice that wasn't hers, staring at him curiously. He was, seemingly, having a very bad day, so she was watching his face for that anger, that anguish that pushed him to scream. Perhaps anguish was too harsh a word - but she did study his face, watched the creases, the one good eye dart around occasionally, and watched his frustration, his indignance, and perhaps a little bit of his shame. So fascinating. Frankly, she liked watching people's faces. There was so much she had to figure out on her own, because she couldn't quite ask, so she spent a lot of time paying more attention with her eyes than most might. Even if she didn't learn anything, it kept her mind sharp. Though, she did want to see if his reactions were consistent, as before - he always flinched when he heard himself speak back to him (a situation so confusing even the sentence is a mess), so she wondered if he would do it again. Perhaps landfolk had the same sort of fear of their voice being stolen?

The questions began, as Wormwood talked.

Bats? Training dummies? Questions began to rattle around in her brain, wild and free. What were bats, and what were training dummies? Her talent for analysis only took her so far, but it at least took her far enough to understand that bats were an animal (probably - might also be swamp spirits), and that training dummies were some sort of fabric-hay construct used for... well, for training. But for training what? And why were they in a tree? Why did bats like it, swamp spirit or otherwise? And why were they in a tree?

Rattle, rattle, rattling around in her head, gumballs loose and free to bounce in a broken gumball machine. Sometimes the inability to ask questions got so frustrating that it hurt. Not her head, not where the questions rattled about, but in her throat. It felt like a limb had been lost and her brain was trying to use it, trying to feel anything, but to no avail. Phantom pain, the phenomenon was called - but she didn't know that. Sometimes she wished she could scream, as Worm did, and let it all out. She wondered if bats wanted to scream too, and if that's why they tore up the dummies. Perhaps they were voiceless, like her, and just needed to vent. The spirit theory was sounding more and more accurate by the second.

Wormwood, or Caldera as she liked to call him, was rambling about something, about someone. She half paid attention, instead picking up fabrics, as he had asked. Feza, was the person he was talking about. Someone who could repair things. That didn't track in her mind, though - Feza sounded like a way more energetic name than just a simple repairperson. Sewing fabrics together... no, that was too fun a name for that, surely. It sounded like fizz, or fez (fezes were wonderful hats, she learned on one expedition), fiesta, frizzle, frazzle. It sounded like the popping of a balloon, not the agile motion of needle through thread. Rattle, rattle, rattle - more questions joined the fray. Her throat hurt, distractingly. She didn't notice Crowley, not even his little blunder with the fabric. A scream built up in her throat, and she thought of Wormwood's scream, and opened her mouth:

"Haven't met Feza yet," she replied, simply, when her mouth was free. She couldn't scream, no. Some people's screams were never heard. You could only hope they didn't end up like bats did, tearing up some fabrics just to let something out, she thought miserably.

tags - "speech"

[wormwood.]

While Echo seemed to be quiet, thoughtful, contemplating her next words carefully, another person appeared on the scene, none other than Crowley. It seemed as though Worm and Crowley had been bumping into each other a lot lately, not that the unknowing angel particularly minded. Despite the fact that Crowley liked to hold himself as if he was the biggest baddest demon in the world – a title that Worm was sure that Crowley would actually wholeheartedly refuse if he was ever offered, although he'd come up with a wholly unconvincing excuse as to why – he was actually a pretty nice guy. He usually showed up to the events happening around the group with curiosity in his eyes and a snarky comment saved up for when he got to speak, and Worm found him pretty amusing. He found it even more amusing when Crowlry began to help him out, starting to gather a few bits of fabric in his paws before hastily seeming to realize what he was doing and stowing it quickly away in the mud. Wormwood would've been annoyed if it weren't for the fact that it was just so funny seeing Crowley trying to seem like he didn't want to help. Shifting his wings upon his back, Wormwood quickly bit down on the inside of his cheek just so that he wouldn't and up laughing directly in Crowley's face, not wanting to insult the other male by implying perhaps he wasn't the best demon. Ignoring Crowley's overwhelming feelings of denial, Wormwood rumbled softly as he shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know what they found so fascinating. Perhaps they smelled some enticing bugs in the hay or something like that. Doesn't matter much anyways, just means that I'll have to find another place to stash the dummies next time."

After a few moments, it seemed as though Echo had finally fought through all of the many clustered questions that had been holding up her mind for the last several seconds, and finally she uttered only a few words, not the ones that Worm had necessarily been expecting. "Haven't met Feza yet." This wasn't something that Wormwood had felt particularly often around the group ever since he had joined. Feza was just such a... commanding and excitable presence that it was nearly impossible to miss her, something that often caused her a lot of trouble, specifically with Worm himself. Sighing a bit as he thought of the brightly colored female – whom he noted had been avoiding him lately, not that he could blame her. She was probably just frightened of him, particularly after everything that had happened when he had been a hellhound – Worm seemed to contemplate his next words carefully before he rumbled back at Echo, trying not to seem too weird about her using his own voice at him, "Feza is definitely a very... interesting character. I can't say that she's my favorite person in the entire world, but she's not a bad person, really. She's a chaser alongside me, and trust me... when you meet her, you'll definitely know that you have. And she'll certainly give you a lot of words to sample from when you want to speak." He wanted to mention that Echo probably wouldn't be a fan if she wasn't that fond of loud people, but he didn't want to say anything that specifically badmouthed Feza, since he still didn't want her thinking that he hated her. Sure, she wasn't here now, but there was nothing saying Echo knew the social cues of not echoing something unpleasant she had heard back to the other chaser. Along with that, there was nothing to say that Feza wouldn't be arriving on the scene shortly as well, since she had a habit of being in the same place as him, just as much as he had a habit of being in the same place as her.

[glow=black,2,300]THE FREEDOM OF FALLING[/glow]