[ Well, this isn't quite what Penny was expecting. When she feels herself suddenly falling her instinct (if you can call programming that) is to kick on her boot thrusters and right herself - but before she can get that far she hits the ground with a pained little ouch!
As she pushes herself up she's already puzzling over what must have happened - did she slip somehow? Was there a glitch in her stabilizers? Does one of her sensors need calibration? - but once she's fully upright she realizes the answer is 'none of the above'. That she doesn't recognize the strange yellow hallways she finds herself in is just a concerning cherry on top of a cake already comprised entirely of concerning ingredients.
But the real concerning thing is that she's not alone here. Spotting another, seemingly equally confused person nearby is enough to make her stop worrying about where and how and get her on her feet in an instant. She hurries to Fiddleford's side, though she stops short of crowding into his personal space. ]
Excuse me! Are you alright? Do you need assistance?
[The answer to those questions is, respectably, a very emphatic no and a very emphatic yes. Fiddleford still takes a good long moment to think about it. He's taking a good long moment to think about anything right now, because a lot has just happened to him in a short period of time.
He's used to suddenly being somewhere and not knowing how he got there, but generally he leaves himself some kind of note about why there's a gap. It's not so sudden. It doesn't smell so moldy. He's standing with his back against one of the walls, and when she speaks to him he turns to look at her with eyes that are noticeably baggy and ringed with an unnatural blue tinge that is also visible on his hands.]
[ Oooh boy, this man does not look alright. Penny stays right where she is, a respectful distance outside of his personal space, and shakes her head. ]
I do not. I lost my balance, and before I realized what had happened I was here.
[ But more importantly: ]
Are you alright? You seem a little feverish.
[ Which is not strictly a lie, but Penny has learned that telling people she can literally see how hot are cold they are can be a little off-putting. ]
[He lifts one blue hand to his forehead and then lowers it again with an abortive grunt of annoyance. Right. As if he'd be able to tell when he can't tell how hot or cold anything is. He feels discombobulated enough that he'd believe it, though.]
I wouldn't know, ever since I washed up I haven't been able to judge heat right.
[It's apparent whenever he opens his mouth that his lower canine teeth are quickly becoming full-on fangs. This is a guy who shows his corruption real evidently, huh?]
[ The fangs also don't escape Penny's notice, though corruption only occurs to her as being one of several possibilities. Maybe he's actually a snake person. She doesn't know for sure, so she shouldn't judge.
The implications behind what he says next, at least, are easy for her to translate. ]
Oh, you must be a Coldblood! A good friend of mine is as well.
[ Though she's never really noticed any dramatic temperature differences in Ruby. Penny's pretty sure she mostly uses it to eat unreasonable amounts of ice cream without giving herself brain freeze. ]
I can understand why. I'm sorry that happened to you.
It doesn't feel right to have taken it from you without much regard, though. I wanted you to know. It still feels special, like it tells a story. Your story.
( The boy and the demon both have a connection with this man. Susurrus knows that on a level deep and sleepy, and up until recently he's not been involved in their affairs too much. But things are changing — opening up, over time. He feels these shifts, and he reaches out. Careful and shy like Peter, curious and alien like Paimon.
Like his namesake, Susurrus is a soft hiss, a hum, a buzz: wind quietly blowing through trees. He seeks Fiddleford on a level neither Peter nor even Paimon can reach, a place belonging only to Omens. It's there that he finds her, mental voice a soft hiss. )
['Soft' is definitely not the word for Hollyhock. Warm yes, soft no. She sounds, not to put too fine a point on it, like she'd offer you cookies in the same breath as telling you to get a haircut. Parental in the same way Fiddleford is, only she's also got all the common sense and steadiness he lacks.
Or rather, she's all the common sense he doesn't listen to and the steadiness he craves but can't maintain.]
Sure can. You need somethin', honey?
Edited (realized i left out an s oops) 2022-09-12 19:42 (UTC)
( Oh, she is warm. Inherently, Susurrus knows what Peter knows, and what Peter knows are tense evenings in a home with cold wooden floors, spent around a dinnertable in silence, or strained attempts at family conversation. A mother's hand that felt more like a claw: never particularly warm when she'd reach for him, and she so rarely did. There was little warmth, in that home. In that mother.
Susurrus is slightly taken aback by how to react to being called something so endearing as "honey". It feels like the meaning of the word itself: thick and comfortable. )
I can sssspeak now. Before, I could not.( .....Shyly, the soft static of him nudging closer— )
I thought I should make contact. With othersssss.
( ...He came to say hey but he has no idea where to go from there! Peter's Omen is awkward! )
[That's the one place Fiddleford and Peter really differ: he comes from a home that was small but full of love, and extending that to other people comes as easy as breathing. Everyone's a honey and Hollyhock feels the same way.]
Oh sure. Ain't no fun bein' by your lonesome.
[She also... well. She talks the way his family talked. The way he'd talk if he didn't consciously push the accent down, because nobody wants to listen to you talk about advanced quantum physics if you do it sounding like you're from the hills. It's come out more in Trench because he stops trying quite so hard when he's stressed, but he's still nowhere near 100% twang. Hollyhock is.]
You think this means somethin' about your boy, you gettin' a voice all sudden? Seems to me he does oughta learn to speak up more.
( He's grateful the other Omen pinpoints it immediately the way she does, gives it the right shape. It encourages him, and he's bobbing his head lightly. )
That issss exaaaactly it. I think it meanssss he issss changing.
( There are things he knows about Peter's spirit, given his connection to it, but there are still some confusions. ...Perhaps because how confused that spirit itself is. Peter's innermost self is an amalgamation of so many things: not only the whispers of other identities and the echoes of ghosts imprinted in deep, but also decisions that weren't truly decisions. How much of Peter's existence has truly been his own? What is him, and what is someone else's preplanned move on a chessboard? )
But in thissss placcce... changing may not be a dessssiiiiireable thing.
( While Peter isn't one to... Do Holiday Things, there is technically a part of him that reaches out to others. Not because the ancient demon king of Hell has much interest in holiday celebrations, but Paimon has learned that it's a time when many people Gift Things, and connection with others is of a special importance to his spirit. The energy is right for it, and so, towards the end of the month, he bestows little gifts to people.
Left on Fiddleford's doorstep, wrapped carefully in thin cloth, is an odd little candleholder "doll" in the likeness of a fish — meticulously hand-crafted with an assortment of random bits and bobbles collected over time. This one is... especially important; Paimon, with his... connection to fish, means it as a Gesture to reach out to the demonic entity that he believes dwells within the man.
Also set next to the doll, like a calling card, is a leaf — bearing Paimon's sigil delicately burned into it like filigree. )
[ When Fiddleford returns home on the evening of his birthday, he'll find a package and a note waiting on his front doorstep. The note reads:
Happy birthday, Fiddleford!
Birthdays can be a strange thing in a place like Trench. With luck, your first one here is more enjoyable than not. I'm afraid my usual choice of gifts are hard to access here, so I hope you'll like what I've come up with instead.
Sincerely, Stanford
Inside the package are three objects: a braided bracelet with a single darkblood gem; a flat, silver dollar-sized darkblood stone with a banjo carved into it; and a set of instructions. The flat stone can be attuned or attached to a specific item, and the bracelet can then be used to both summon that item to Fiddleford, and later return it to where it was summoned from. It just requires the stone to be within a few feet of the item being summoned.
It comes with a warning that while it theoretically works with any size item and any distance, it's unstable with objects greater than 3 cubic feet and hasn't been thoroughly tested more than half a day out from Trench's borders. ]
[He is not expecting it. Not in the simple 'oh, a nice surprise' sort of way, but in the active 'why would Ford Pines bother to remember my birthday' sort of way. It's personal, and thoughtful, and the banjo carved into the stone makes it clear that Ford has a good (and correct) idea of what he's most likely to use it for.
It is impossible to describe the way it makes him feel. Sort of sad, and sort of happy, and sort of angry all at once. Ford isn't supposed to care about him! He spent so long convincing himself that Ford didn't, not really, because that had made leaving so much easier. And yet here Ford has, again and again, demonstrated what could definitely be called real and genuine care. It's infuriating. It makes his heart ache and his head hurt. He has the strongest urge to throw the bracelet across the room. Instead he slips it onto his left wrist. Takes it off. Puts it on again. Paces a couple circles around his living room. Picks up the omni.
It's nearly midnight, because he spent most of today at Luna and Peter's party. Oddly enough he feels wide awake right now.]
You remembered my birthday.
[His tone and expression are both completely unreadable.]
[ Ford is expecting a call from Fiddleford. Not quite so immediately, but in a more general sense. Ford wouldn't say Fiddleford is someone that stands on propriety but he's a man of many peculiar quirks, one of which is his unfailing commitment to proper southern manners. Always bringing a gift for the host, making sure everyone is fed, not taking the Lord's name in vain, and, of course, always thanking people properly for gifts.
He's not expecting Fiddleford's weird, unreadable tone and expression, however. Ford can immediately tell he's missing something, but he has absolutely no idea what that something may be. ]
[He knows, vaguely, that it is bizarre to be having this kind of reaction to a birthday gift. But the circumstances are very particular, aren't they? Peculiar, because everything to do with Ford has to be.
He wants to say how dare you but that's definitely not correct. Neither is thank you, because while being polite gives him a useful script to follow when he might not otherwise know what to do, it doesn't feel right to just pretend this is a normal thank-you call. What winds up coming out is:]
You weren't supposed to. Why do you always have to make things five times as difficult as they ought to be?
[It takes a couple seconds for the rusty gears in his head to start turning. That conversation was a long time ago -- at least he thinks it was? But he can't imagine who else this might be other than 'pretends to be a computer' person.
The urge to say 'why don't you Goggle it' is so strong.]
It's a Japanese comic about a little girl and her dad. Real wholesome stuff.
I thought anime was all about weird bugs and tentacles — why add the debauchery to something so wholesome?
[ (It is possible it's a genuine mixup, here, between anime and hentai — and then again, it's also possible that he's bored and itching for an argument...) ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( late august )
As she pushes herself up she's already puzzling over what must have happened - did she slip somehow? Was there a glitch in her stabilizers? Does one of her sensors need calibration? - but once she's fully upright she realizes the answer is 'none of the above'. That she doesn't recognize the strange yellow hallways she finds herself in is just a concerning cherry on top of a cake already comprised entirely of concerning ingredients.
But the real concerning thing is that she's not alone here. Spotting another, seemingly equally confused person nearby is enough to make her stop worrying about where and how and get her on her feet in an instant. She hurries to Fiddleford's side, though she stops short of crowding into his personal space. ]
Excuse me! Are you alright? Do you need assistance?
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He's used to suddenly being somewhere and not knowing how he got there, but generally he leaves himself some kind of note about why there's a gap. It's not so sudden. It doesn't smell so moldy. He's standing with his back against one of the walls, and when she speaks to him he turns to look at her with eyes that are noticeably baggy and ringed with an unnatural blue tinge that is also visible on his hands.]
I, uh -- ah -- do you know where this is?
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I do not. I lost my balance, and before I realized what had happened I was here.
[ But more importantly: ]
Are you alright? You seem a little feverish.
[ Which is not strictly a lie, but Penny has learned that telling people she can literally see how hot are cold they are can be a little off-putting. ]
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[He lifts one blue hand to his forehead and then lowers it again with an abortive grunt of annoyance. Right. As if he'd be able to tell when he can't tell how hot or cold anything is. He feels discombobulated enough that he'd believe it, though.]
I wouldn't know, ever since I washed up I haven't been able to judge heat right.
[It's apparent whenever he opens his mouth that his lower canine teeth are quickly becoming full-on fangs. This is a guy who shows his corruption real evidently, huh?]
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The implications behind what he says next, at least, are easy for her to translate. ]
Oh, you must be a Coldblood! A good friend of mine is as well.
[ Though she's never really noticed any dramatic temperature differences in Ruby. Penny's pretty sure she mostly uses it to eat unreasonable amounts of ice cream without giving herself brain freeze. ]
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un: falcogrice
un: Hadron
Speaking.
Typing, I guess.
Most technically dictating to a pig made out of smoke and blood which is then typing for me.
Did you have a question?
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It’s about your ring. I don’t think I could have this.
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That's tricky, because I don't want it back.
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It doesn't feel right to have taken it from you without much regard, though. I wanted you to know. It still feels special, like it tells a story. Your story.
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Omen Speak
Like his namesake, Susurrus is a soft hiss, a hum, a buzz: wind quietly blowing through trees. He seeks Fiddleford on a level neither Peter nor even Paimon can reach, a place belonging only to Omens. It's there that he finds her, mental voice a soft hiss. )
Greetingssss. You can hear me?
PIG SNAKE PIG SNAKE PIG SNAKE
Or rather, she's all the common sense he doesn't listen to and the steadiness he craves but can't maintain.]
Sure can. You need somethin', honey?
oh NO I love her
Susurrus is slightly taken aback by how to react to being called something so endearing as "honey". It feels like the meaning of the word itself: thick and comfortable. )
I can sssspeak now. Before, I could not. ( .....Shyly, the soft static of him nudging closer— )
I thought I should make contact. With othersssss.
( ...He came to say hey but he has no idea where to go from there! Peter's Omen is awkward! )
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Oh sure. Ain't no fun bein' by your lonesome.
[She also... well. She talks the way his family talked. The way he'd talk if he didn't consciously push the accent down, because nobody wants to listen to you talk about advanced quantum physics if you do it sounding like you're from the hills. It's come out more in Trench because he stops trying quite so hard when he's stressed, but he's still nowhere near 100% twang. Hollyhock is.]
You think this means somethin' about your boy, you gettin' a voice all sudden? Seems to me he does oughta learn to speak up more.
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That issss exaaaactly it. I think it meanssss he issss changing.
( There are things he knows about Peter's spirit, given his connection to it, but there are still some confusions. ...Perhaps because how confused that spirit itself is. Peter's innermost self is an amalgamation of so many things: not only the whispers of other identities and the echoes of ghosts imprinted in deep, but also decisions that weren't truly decisions. How much of Peter's existence has truly been his own? What is him, and what is someone else's preplanned move on a chessboard? )
But in thissss placcce... changing may not be a dessssiiiiireable thing.
delivery — late December
Left on Fiddleford's doorstep, wrapped carefully in thin cloth, is an odd little candleholder "doll" in the likeness of a fish — meticulously hand-crafted with an assortment of random bits and bobbles collected over time. This one is... especially important; Paimon, with his... connection to fish, means it as a Gesture to reach out to the demonic entity that he believes dwells within the man.
Also set next to the doll, like a calling card, is a leaf — bearing Paimon's sigil delicately burned into it like filigree. )
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Happy birthday, Fiddleford!
Birthdays can be a strange thing in a place like Trench. With luck, your first one here is more enjoyable than not. I'm afraid my usual choice of gifts are hard to access here, so I hope you'll like what I've come up with instead.
Sincerely,
Stanford
Inside the package are three objects: a braided bracelet with a single darkblood gem; a flat, silver dollar-sized darkblood stone with a banjo carved into it; and a set of instructions. The flat stone can be attuned or attached to a specific item, and the bracelet can then be used to both summon that item to Fiddleford, and later return it to where it was summoned from. It just requires the stone to be within a few feet of the item being summoned.
It comes with a warning that while it theoretically works with any size item and any distance, it's unstable with objects greater than 3 cubic feet and hasn't been thoroughly tested more than half a day out from Trench's borders. ]
OOOOOH GET READY TO DIE
It is impossible to describe the way it makes him feel. Sort of sad, and sort of happy, and sort of angry all at once. Ford isn't supposed to care about him! He spent so long convincing himself that Ford didn't, not really, because that had made leaving so much easier. And yet here Ford has, again and again, demonstrated what could definitely be called real and genuine care. It's infuriating. It makes his heart ache and his head hurt. He has the strongest urge to throw the bracelet across the room. Instead he slips it onto his left wrist. Takes it off. Puts it on again. Paces a couple circles around his living room. Picks up the omni.
It's nearly midnight, because he spent most of today at Luna and Peter's party. Oddly enough he feels wide awake right now.]
You remembered my birthday.
[His tone and expression are both completely unreadable.]
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He's not expecting Fiddleford's weird, unreadable tone and expression, however. Ford can immediately tell he's missing something, but he has absolutely no idea what that something may be. ]
I... yes, I did?
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He wants to say how dare you but that's definitely not correct. Neither is thank you, because while being polite gives him a useful script to follow when he might not otherwise know what to do, it doesn't feel right to just pretend this is a normal thank-you call. What winds up coming out is:]
You weren't supposed to. Why do you always have to make things five times as difficult as they ought to be?
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text; un not set
1/2
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The urge to say 'why don't you Goggle it' is so strong.]
It's a Japanese comic about a little girl and her dad. Real wholesome stuff.
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[ (It is possible it's a genuine mixup, here, between anime and hentai — and then again, it's also possible that he's bored and itching for an argument...) ]
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In my experience it's mainly about giant robots. Occasionally normal sized robots.
There's nothing approaching debauchery in Clover Girl but there's also no robots so that may be why there's not an animated version.
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the real joke is Thistlebert is actually real and it's his fault I have this headcanon
the only place I see this happen IRL is sled dogs
sled dog owners, tennessee hog farmers, same thing basically
things you don't expect to find on the Iditarod trail: full-size hogs?
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