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[carrionhead-blog]

samsonfrisk‌:

“Honestly, I don’t mind, and I know she won’t. She’s barely around as it is, so she won’t be upset.” His smile widened, happy that Baltasar was agreeing to visit. He liked the guy, and it wasn’t because he looked like Lukas. He had a comforting presence of his own, and Samson liked being around him, despite their less than chipper conversation topics. He could see them becoming good friends, and he was excited they would have the chance to do just that. “It’s definitely fine. I look forward to seeing you at the bakery in the future.” He laughed.

He nodded along when Baltasar talked about his childhood and cars, understanding in a way others might not. While his own issues with cars and public transport stemmed more from claustrophobia, he could see where the boy was coming from. He didn’t know about his past, but having had traumatic things happen in his own childhood he could understand how it could stem from a less than happy youth. “It’s okay, I understand. I… honestly still get startled pretty easily, especially from loud sounds.” Like yelling, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“That’s alright, I only really use my phone to contact people, but I’m still trying to get used to having one.” The last one he had he threw over a bridge, and that was when he was seventeen, but that was probably a story for another day. Or never. “You won’t overstay your welcome, don’t worry. I’m enjoying your company now, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy your company then.” He smiled reassuringly before heading up the walkway to the next delivery. They were further in the residential area now, and the bustle of the town was far behind them.

“You’d think being away from that would’ve made it easier. But anything can make me remember. A hand on my shoulder, someone staring too long, dropping a plate on the floor. The littlest, most insignificant thing and I’m back in there with… with her. “ He smiled without joy, eyes sad even when the corners of his mouth turned up. “Trapped.”

The appropriate response when someone tells you they like spending time with you would be something along the lines of ‘Yes, thank you, I do as well’. Instead, he was too unsettled by this feeling bubbling from his chest brought on by Samson’s admission to answer with anything other than a nervous little laugh. How strange to laugh because he was happy and not because the idea his presence was wanted anywhere sounded like a joke. Baltasar was wrong to think his face couldn’t get any redder, already too late to hide the small grin growing on his face with his hand but doing it anyway. “Sorry.”

He still maintained people usually were just good for avoiding, but he could live with being wrong this once, and, as they were finishing up,  wondered how many others would prove him wrong as well.

flip a coin, take a chance

[carrionhead-blog]

ozheik‌:

Quackert waddled up to him practically tattling on the other with his wings flapping dramatically at his sides. Much like a Chicken Little with the sky falling. Oz glanced to the new person and then back to the baby duckling. “It ok.” Oz points to the peace offering as if Quackert could even understand him. He thought back to the dictionary and tried to think of the word in English. He was pulling up a blank to instead murmured the words in Mermish. “we share.” Much like a parent would scold their selfish child. Quackert let out a quack and turned the envious judgement gaze back on the other. 

“Sorry..Quackert.. mad..all the..time.” Oz explained with a softening gaze. He really didn’t want enemies this close to the lake, especially ones that had seen his duckling.  He grinned widely when Baltasar took his offering and he plopped down beside them on the ground. Quackert still fussed as he leaped to settle on Oz’s knee. He processes Balt’s question with a glance from the fish and turned towards the lake thoughtfully. The swift turn caused the flaxen locks to follow which exposed the gills on the side of his own neck.

Then he nodded happily, “I fish. You fish?” He asked and grabbed onto the fish from earlier that he thought Baltasar wanted to steal. Without warning he took a bite out of the fish and chewed the small frigid bones in his mouth. He placed it between his legs as Quackert started to peck at it. “Sorry.. Ah… me is Oz. You is?” He gave up telling people his whole name, and lived with the fact no one would likely call him his actual name. 

His ears were capable of picking up the odd fisherman’s muttered words, their meaning was lost to him. It seemed to be a chiding of some sort directed at unrepentant little beast. “ Baltasar did not want to be on bad terms with anyone, even if they were a duck, so he considered a better apology. The duck, Quackert, might not understand, and if he did might not care if his attitude right now meant anything, but the thought is what counts, right? “Oh no, it’s my fault. He’s smart for being wary of, uh, well” he let guilt and a sheepish smile show on his face, “Strangers walking out of the woods. Should’ve thought a little more about how that looked. I’m sorry,”

“Oh!” The fish almost slipped from his hands when the stranger revealed the gashes on his skin. They weren’t cuts like he’d thought at first, they were a part of him. Gills. His heart skipped a beat. Was this stranger some kind of aquatic shifter? He supposed it wasn’t so different to have those from when he partially shifted and grew claws or sharper teeth. “Y-your neck, that’s gills, right? They let you breathe in the lake? Do you, um, if it were something you wanted to do, could you change more when you’re in the water?” It was a long shot, awkwardly worded, and a little rude to boot. He knew this person could be just about anything, but the possibility of finding more of his kind always led him to impulsive choices.

“Ah, sorry, not really.” Baltasar felt he was letting him down with his answer, Fishing appeared to be important to Oz, judging from the reaction.  He gestured for the forest. “Got better luck catching stuff out there, and, uh, can’t swim.” It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to reveal about himself when they were so close to the shore, but he didn’t sense hostility coming off his new acquaintance. Baltasar followed Oz’s example and sniffed the fish before biting a chunk off it. Raw fish was far from being a strange meal to him. “Baltasar,” He answered and wondered if it would give Oz trouble. “Or, um, B-Balt, if you’d like.”

[carrionhead-blog]

willowxwispxrp‌:

Underneath all the self centered agony and panic and frothy tipped waves of sorrow Willow was feeling, there was also an undertoe of pride. Thoughts of Baltasar slipped so easily underneath most of her waking thoughts, and in this moment there was a wash of awe. It hadn’t been that long since he’d gotten here, broken and shaking and begging her for rules to keep him together. Did he realize how strong he was. He had literally and figuratively lifted her up just now. That he was capable of that, that he could bear his own scars and give time and effort to helping her through hers…he had made leaps and bounds that he probably didn’t even recognize. Maybe one day he would. Realize how much he was made of, the differences he had the capability of making in those around him. This was about so much more than tea, he put so much more than a warm cup of jasmine in her hands. She clutched the mug with careful affection, made it a surrogate for the gratitude she wanted to lay down on the man himself.

In a different world, Baltasar would be right. There would be a promise of some level of time for Rowan to heal and come back to himself. But you couldn’t be sure of such things in Ashbourne. And in the meantime it left her still incomplete, a raw open wound, one lung half a breath behind the other. It was like there was a filter in her mind that wanted to take every comforting thing he offered and respond with the most hopeless, the darkest counter offers. Willow took a sip of her tea, and the scalding heat of that first swallow helped her quiet that voice just a little. “I might stop by the magic shop…see if there’s a potion or spellwork that might help him reconnect with his memories.

Had…had he just offered to go with her the next time she ventured into the bleeding clusterfuck that was her parent’s house? Willow’s eyes widened and she turned to look at Baltasar, to see in his eyes how much he meant it, as nervous as she could tell it made him. Eyes scanned the freckles on his face, patterns that were becoming as familiar to her as the dappling of stars in the night sky. For a second she thought she could have kissed him. But that thought was one that should be buried and not acted on for a plethora of reasons. So instead the girl swallowed, took another sip of tea. “It’s okay that you weren’t there at the hospital. It was so busy…loud and chaotic. My friends Percy and Aria were there, I wasn’t alone…and then my parents showed up and it was…awful. I like having this with you. The quiet after the storm. You’re…you’re good at helping me picking through the debris in the aftermath and figuring out what I can salvage. That matters. This…this part matters just as much and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have with me right now.”  She meant the words so much she almost trembled with them.

“He’s going home with my parents tomorrow. I don’t know…I don’t know if you’d want to go to the house with me. There’s real uncomfortable tension between my parents and I right now.  If you wanted to come with me I would be grateful. But if you’d rather wait here and be here for the aftermath I’d be just as grateful for that, Balt. I’m always grateful for you no matter what you’re doing.”

Baltasar was aware he couldn’t guarantee anything he’d just said, and he felt Willow knew that too. Too many variables, blanks they couldn’t fill, the answers to Rowan’s mystery hiding within and alongside the boy himself. They could , yes, but built on this rickety foundation there was no telling when it’d give way and plunge them both into despair, their high hopes only serving to make the fall greater. He wouldn’t blame her if she rebutted him, pointed out the weak spots and flaws in his reasoning. But that wasn’t Willow. She’d stand firm until the day her brother recovered, however long that may take. “That’s a good idea.” Baltasar nodded, a little stiffly. No way he was staying behind again, even if the smell of the shop made him gag. “We’ll have to try everything we can.”

It was not okay that he wasn’t there. She’d continue to say otherwise so he didn’t push it, sipped his tea. Familiar names for relatively unfamiliar faces. Not for their lack of visiting, rather because Baltasar rarely looked either of them in the eye. Aria most of all. He didn’t doubt she had a good heart, being a friend of Willow’s and being there to support her all through the elder Forsyths’ presence. Witch did not equal awful, did not equal the idea he’d formed in his head of what they were like. Lucía was not the rule, she hadn’t even been a real one. His fear was latched on tight to him, was the thing, deeply ingrained into everything he was. Willow’s voice shook, making him think she was close to tears again until he realized it was from the sincerity behind it. She never said a word she didn’t mean completely.

“I do want to go. I will.” He said with finality, then bit his lip, for a moment afraid his tone might cause problems. “The tension wouldn’t be something I’m not used to.” It was all I knew, once. “Your parents? Their problems with you are their problems with me now.” Baltasar did not anger easy, and he’d yet to face them directly, but he’d heard enough to come very close to something almost like hate. “I can’t just sit and stay and wait for the worst to pass. It’s not fair to you, or right on my part. I’ll be at your side when we go to that house, when we come back here, the time after, and whenever, wherever else you need.” He looked down at his tea (half empty) and back at her. “Please.”

Little Hiccups

[carrionhead-blog]

samsonfrisk‌:

“That… yeah. You’re right.” He couldn’t disagree, a sad tone to his voice again. Neither of them deserved to have the abuse they suffered in their past. No one did. People made things up to be afraid of every day, but the truth was, there were real monsters in the world. Monsters who hurt children like Samson and Baltasar had been. It was an ugly truth that made his stomach churn, and he felt sorrow for the childhoods they had lost.

“Well, I’m glad you found me. I mean it, my door is always open. And I mean that pretty literally, I’m pretty much always at the bakery, so please stop by if you ever need someone to talk to.” He smiled then, a warm smile that pulled from a place he hadn’t realized he could still access. Trust. It was a weird feeling, but he knew, somehow he could trust Baltasar, and he wanted to offer that same trust to the boy. “I think some ‘wolves could understand the shifting, but not many seem to have the same… awareness?” He shrugged, looking up to count the numbers on the houses and turning down the walkway to the next delivery. Two more boxes down, one of which was from Baltasar’s pile, four more to go.

He began to head towards the more suburban neighborhood, double checking the address before tucking the notepad back into his back pocket. He couldn’t help the laugh at Baltasar’s observation, nodding and throwing him a quick smile. “Yeah, she always tries to get me to use the old moped she has in the shed. It’s a death trap if you ask me, any vehicle that makes it to this town is.” He made a show of shuddering, his distaste for vehicles in general pretty clear. He had never been a fan of them beforehand, but being in a place where the only wheeled transportation was of the found variety? He had no reason to change his mind. His face flushed at the boy’s slip up of a compliment, and he couldn’t help the smile that remained on his face.

“I’d like that, Baltasar. If, ah… if you have a phone, we can trade numbers. Otherwise, like I said, you can come by the bakery any time. I’m pretty much there from sunrise to sunset.”

“Oh, I can’t just, barge in while you’re working again. I’ll get in your way if you’re busy, or your boss, she might get mad?” It was near impossible to come up with reasons to refuse when Samson smiled like that. They were half-assed excuses at best, more to remind himself and the growing hope in his chest that the other shoe could drop anytime now. An effort to soften the blow of when the world would inevitably remind him he was a ruined thing, his pieces bent and jagged from his past and hammered together into an ugly, unlovable shape. Despite knowing this, he still dared to think someone might actually look forward to his company the same way he did theirs. “But, if you say it’s fine then, it’s fine.”  A part of him said he would regret trusting him,  Baltasar ignored it, and kept hoping.

“Anything on wheels is, really.” His face scrunched in similar exaggerated dislike. “That there’s so few of them around here is a relief.” On the a handful of times the witch took him with her out of the shop it’d taken every ounce of his will not to run away from the streets whenever they got too close to them and their noise. In those moments the cars and buses terrified him more than the witch’s cold glares as he clinged to her and tried hiding behind her. At least, he supposed, it was his hand she held and not the end of a leash. “A-as a child I didn’t, well, couldn’t, go out much.” He shrugged. Samson would understand. “I thought they sounded just like monsters. It’s silly now, it was just motorcycles and cars and all that, but back then I could only think how small I was, and how big the thing outside must be if it’s so loud. Never did get over that.”

Baltasar was fairly sure his cheeks could singe hair at this point. Next time he wanted to say anything he should try burying his head in the ground instead. “Ah, um, sure. Of course. I’m afraid you’ll see me coming in more than using it, though. Sorry.” He told himself he wasn’t entirely comfortable using his phone just yet, never having owned something that wouldn’t be used against him eventually before, and not because he already thought he’d miss talking face to face with his new friend. Certainly not. “I-I won’t keep you for too long. Wouldn’t want to overstay my invitation.”

flip a coin, take a chance

[carrionhead-blog]

augustxknight‌:

Baltasar knew immediately which of the small fluttering creatures he’d marked as his real target and August watched with some amusement as the shifter pulled the smaller creature’s wings from its thorax and popped it into his maw like a child would a piece of candy. Prior to Ashbourne, August was certain he’d never met a shifter, but this Baltasar was curious, August had not thought the species would be so - compelling - in their way. He’d assumed they were simply mortals, like any other, but with the ability to transform into a gene pool of animals. That was still true, but it was a bit more simple than the truth of the situation. 

Baltasar seemed to straddle the line between man and beast, not quite either but something else entirely. There was a certainty about his actions now that had been lacking slightly, it was in the way he watched August perform his magic, the way he snatched the moth-man in between his claws. The witch supposed he had earned the shifter’s trust, and this was the reward, and no small part of him was glad, because Baltasar had earned something as well. His respect. 

A jar appeared in his hand, conjured somewhat out of thin air and he easily herded the remaining three moths into the bell jar. “This will do, for now. Should you ever wish to visit them, I’ll hang onto them. They’ll enjoy their lives as insects for a time, maybe even forget they were ever human. Such is the size of their brain now.” He smiled, “then I’ll feed them to a spider.” August offered, “how does that sound?” The sight of the half-shifted canidae hadn’t disturbed him, in fact, the witch found it oddly compelling. He was fond of obscurities. 

No matter how much he had learned to expect it, nothing like disgust at his form crossed August’s face. The witch had gotten more than a glimpse of what the animal, when given the chance, looked like when allowed to poke its head into the surface. And yet, August didn’t turn away, didn’t even bat an eye. Surely Baltasar’s appearance during his half-shift didn’t come close to the most revolting sight August had stumbled upon. Still, it was relieving, not having to worry about what another person might think for once. August was still mostly a stranger and a witch at that but, maybe, he could afford to let his guard down a little.

“Ah, they’ve already forgotten, I think. A shift, uh, change like that, with no warning, no time to prepare, especially into something so small… the pain alone is jarring enough.” He flicked the jar, causing one of the insects crawling for the top to fall back to the bottom, its legs kicking the air, “And against their will? Even if you changed them back, they’d never be the same.“ In the same way the wrinkles in crumpled paper remained even after it was flattened again. Every shift scarred his mind some more, drifted him further away from any humanity. “They’ve broken.” And it’s just what they deserve. “I hope your spider agrees to that too,” his mouth formed a half smile, “it might have better taste than me.”

Baltasar, oddly enough,  kept his head up, instead of bowing it like he usually did and looking exclusively at the floor. “I, um, suppose I should thank you again.”

[carrionhead-blog]

[carrionhead-blog]

ozheik‌:

@carrionhead

Oz had waded back into the lake to continue to fish. His way was a bit.. more savage than any other normal person. The merman waited until the opportune moment to smash his face into the lake and catch the fin of the fish by his teeth. The fish jerked around smacking him in the face, as he stood up fully. After the scales had retracted into human flesh. Not thinking much about it he approached the shore and blinked at Quackert who seemed to be judging something. 

Not something, but someone it would seem. A person that hadn’t came quite close enough to the water, but he had just laid out a fish for Quackert there. Now it would seem his fish was being.. stolen? Oz arched a brow and plopped the flopping fish into his hands. He rushed forward to shore. “Hallo? Dat is..fish mine.” How peculiar. He went from people refusing his fish, and now there seemed to be .. a fan from somewhere. 

The last thing he wanted to do was startle the other and lifted the live fish still in his hands out towards the figure as a peace offering.

The lake fascinated him. Chances of seeing an ocean or another large body of water in his life nowadays were realistically none and optimistically very, very slim, Baltasar had to be content there was a lake here at all. The surroundings, much like lake’s surface, were still and quiet on most days, peaceful. Not a bad place to rest after a shift. He didn’t dare go for a swim yet, though. Too dangerous, He had a feeling he’d drown all by himself before any aquatic demon thing had a chance to drag him down to the depths with it.

Today something was making ripples in the water. Baltasar approached against his better judgement, curious and ready to flee at the first hint of danger.  It was, a person? Or person shaped at least. They carried a suffocating fish in their mouth, with which he assumed was also the way they used to catch it. He was too occupied being puzzled by the sight to notice the little duckling by his feet. The duck had no problem announcing his presence with a squawk and a look that oozed disdain. An apology left Baltasar’s lips under the weight of the duck’s withering gaze.

Another fish laid close to the duck, Baltasar crouched to examine it. Seemed normal enough, considering where it had been taken from. He jumped back to his feet and prepared to run as soon as he heard the person hurriedly leave the water but he froze at the sound of the other’s voice. They sounded like they had just learned the language, still figuring out what tones meant what and the order they should be said in. Much like his early English after the witch decided he should learn it alongside Spanish, “Ah, um, hi. Y-yours? No problem.”

Baltasar eyed the offered fish warily  and with a dash of suspicion. Maybe the stranger took his scrutiny of the fish as want for one? Well, he wasn’t gonna refuse and risk the other’s anger. Besides, he hadn’t had fish in a while. “T-thanks.” The fish struggles grew weaker by the second. “Wh-, um,” Almost asked a stranger what he was. Probably not the best thing to say to a stranger. “Who’re you? Did you just, catch these like,” he used his hand to mimic jaws snapping shut. “Like that?”

[carrionhead-blog]

willowxwispxrp‌:

She thought about it all the time. Holding his hand, running fingers through his hair, wrapping him up in her affection, arms wound tight. Baltasar was a mystery, he was a spooled thread of potential and surprise. No one knew how far he might stretch out if he let himself unravel, but Willow was quite certain he’d go farther than he imagined, that he was capable of so much more than he gave himself credit for. After all, he was surprising her yet again in this present moment, reaching out to give her the touch she was trying so hard not to ask for, not to need. Willow did not get sad often, she did not usually linger in the passing flutters of reactive negative emotions she might feel in a day. So when moments like this came, where she had no choice but to fall backwards down a well… she sank so far down that she feared she may never be able to push her way back up. Touch was grounding, it let her get the sorrow and the fear up and out of her…in broken sobs, in tears cascading down her cheeks…instead of getting dragged down into it all in a quiet catatonic manner that fucked her up for days. Baltasar was a rope and pulley system, he was lifting her up. She dared to thread her fingers through his, squeeze his hand. She dared to lean her head down on top of his, feel the smooth softness of his hair, close her eyes and breathe him in. This was a gift he was giving her, this comfort, and it might be costing him, so she wasn’t going to take it for granted.

He was promising her that he’d be there for her if she wanted him to be and of course she wanted him to be. Of course she wanted him. Was there still some part of him that questioned that he was a permanent, necessary, and cherished fixture in her life? She got the strangest urge to press a kiss to his cheek, but instead she offered him a cry weary “Okay,” as he shifted and wiped away her tears. She felt sluggish and weak now, but it seemed she had cried herself dry for the moment. Baltasar helped her up, and she had to lean against him for a moment to collect herself, remember what it felt like to be upright and in control of her knees, her forehead pressed to his chest for just a moment. His hands were given a final squeeze before she finally took a deep breath and released him, though she immediately missed the warmth of his palms against her own. She let him guide her to the couch and sat, the motion stiff, like she worried too swift a movement might lead to a fresh onslaught of tears. Some people felt most vulnerable before the cry…but for Willow it was the afterwards where she felt most delicate.

Tea…yes…tea was definitely still a good idea. While Baltasar moved to go procure a cup, Willow pulled her favorite couch blanket around her frame, fingers picking at loose knitted threads along the edges. “It feels like…a mean prank,” she mused, voice hollow and weakly contemplative. “Like…like when you’re a kid and you think you’re trading in one 5 dollar bill for 5 one dollar bills and that’s a good thing…you look at more paper pieces of money and you think that means you have more currency to work with. And then the rug gets pulled out from under you and you realize you’ve got exactly what you started with.  That’s how this feels. I went from him being gone but not really gone and not knowing how to live around that….to him being here but not really here. I still don’t know how to live around that. I’m angry. I think that’s what I am the most just….just really freaking angry.”

His mind couldn’t help but wander, briefly, to the one time touch like this didn’t make him sick. The arms that held him then were his only reprieve from the pain and fear of the moment. He could only hope it did the same for Willow even if she was dealing with a different kind of hurt, It relieved him to hear her agree to leave the floor, though his heart clenched again when she stumbled like she might fall back down. Baltasar waited for a wave of nausea that never came as Willow used him for support. He’d gritted his teeth, prepared to force himself not to stiffen, or worse, push her away. It still was a little too much, having her so close, all the points of contact, that discomfort was a long ways from leaving him yet, but this was improvement. Even if it may just be an exception for this one person. He squeezed her hand in return. “Be right back.”

It didn’t take long to have two steaming mugs of jasmine tea in his hands, Willow spoke, more to herself than him it seemed, sounding dreadfully tired. She’d need a good rest after this. A mean prank, it sounded about right. He wasn’t in the habit of voicing his thoughts, at all, but Baltasar was of the opinion their captivity was the work of some twisted power with an even more twisted sense of humor. What was all of this if not a show, a spectacle  like the one he’d been a part of, just on a darker, bigger scale for a much more sadistic audience? The return of the lost ones was a shitty joke, their loved ones’ joy turning to grief at the blank stare in their eyes the punchline. He tapped her shoulder to get her attention and offered the tea, putting a small cushion on her lap to avoid any burns in case some of it spilled.

“I’m sorry.” Baltasar said first, and sat carefully next to her. Not touching, but close enough for Willow to reach him if she wanted. Anger remained a complicated emotion to him. He understood. “He’s, more here, than he was before, right? You know for sure he’s back now.” Sort of. “It’s a solid place to start. You, oh, um, we, can learn what to do from there. There’s still, lots of questions, but the main one’s been answered. Rowan’s alive. He can get the all help and time he needs to get better.” He wished he was better at this. His actions flowed better than words, not by much, but enough. “W-will you see him again soon? Because I, um, this time I’ll go. I’m sorry I didn’t before. I should have. I’ll wait outside the room, or the hospital in case, um, in case that’s the problem or you want me to or something but…” He gripped his mug tighter, the heat of it close to burning his hands. “But, this, there’s no reason for you to go through this alone. You’ve… you’ve done so much for me, Willow. Let me carry this with you.”

Little Hiccups

[carrionhead-blog]

samsonfrisk‌:

“It’s okay.” He said, his voice soft as he looked at Baltasar with another bout of sad recognition washing over him. He knew that flinch. He knew what kind of memories were attached to it. Perhaps they had more in common than either of them actually realized. “It’s not something I particularly like to talk about but… it was a part of my life and I have accepted that.” He shrugged, “You have nothing to be sorry about.” He smiled, reassuring.

His suspicions were confirmed with Baltasar’s next words, and he slowed down his pace almost to a stop, a sad look on his face. It wasn’t something he would wish on anyone, to live like he had lived. And yet, here was someone who knew. “I… It’s not annoying. You’re the only other person I’ve spoken to about it who can relate…” He trailed off, a tone in his voice that was hard to discern. “If you ever want someone to talk to, I ah… well, as you can see, I understand.” He shrugged, offering an uncertain smile, “ It’s not something I’d ever want to have in common with someone, but… it’s also something not many people actually understand.”

He looked down then, pulling his notepad out to double check the next address on the list before he continued the walk. He felt bad that the kid was basically trapped now, stuck in this sad and awkward conversation with him. But they were at least knocking out the deliveries pretty quickly. Perhaps there was a benefit to having another set of hands? He just hoped that the kid wouldn’t be scared off entirely afterward. “Well, thank you for helping me today. It’s actually a bit nice not to have to worry about all the boxes on my own.”

“It shouldn’t have been. Part of your life.” He sighed, holding all the boxes (not many by now)  steady in one hand and rubbing his forehead like he was trying to wipe away traces of the past. He could almost hear her voice, the witch’s, in the back of his mind. An echo of the dead woman that still bounced around inside his head whenever anything came too close to being like her. “...For either of us.”

Baltasar wondered how selfish it’d be to ask Samson for that. To ask him to carve out his pain from where it was trying to heal, scratch at the scabs until they were wounds again bleeding memories of times best forgotten, just to compare it to his own. “I, um, was hoping to find that. Besides another shifter.” He held up his hand. “I-I don’t mean I was specifically hoping you, uh, you know, had that kind of life. No, not at all.  It’s… hard enough, already, dealing with, with what we are. Maybe the wolves could get it,” And he was also maybe still too nervous around them to go looking for one like he had Samson. “Maybe, but not the same way as us, don’t think.”

“Don’t mention it. She would’ve made you drive that thing otherwise, yeah?” Even with the vehicle, it’d have been quite a bit of work for just one person. Their time together would be over with the last delivery, Baltasar supposed the question of meeting again fell on him since it had been his idea to seek the other out. “So, when we’re finished here, um, could I- I mean, you, uh, is it okay if I saw you again? To… talk?” After stumbling through that with all the grace of a bird crashing into a window, Baltasar’s face burned. “D-doesn’t have to be about that, necessarily I, um, you’re nice. And pretty. P-pretty nice to talk to and all that.” Make it several windows, all broken by the same stupid bird.

flip a coin, take a chance

[carrionhead-blog]

willowxwispxrp‌:

Willow focused on listening. There was a rustiness in Balt’s voice, not immediately clear, but you could hear it in the pause between words. The squeak and protest and slow whine of a soul that was not used to being shared, being heard. “That must have been really scary and confusing,” she murmured softly. She made a few starter assumptions based on what he said, though she left room for him to correct her down the line when he trusted her enough to fill in the blanks himself. But it sounded like he hadn’t grown up with much in the way of family, no one to guide him and explain what was happening. “I totally get why your head went there too. When I was little anyone canine I saw was a werewolf, even if I was walking past a person who had just turned into a poodle.” Her parents and Rowan had corrected her of course, expanded her understanding of the world. How unfair that Baltasar had not had the same. 

He wasn’t a picky eater. Yeah, she got the feeling he tried not to make waves ever, that he wasn’t picky about anything because it might make someone upset. She supposed that was why she wanted him to come home with her so badly. So that he could be in an environment where he could breathe and learn that it was okay for him to be picky and make rules and set boundaries sometimes. Baby steps though, for now she focused on getting food into him. The waitress stopped by and Willow ordered 2 bowls of tomato soup and 2 grilled cheese sandwiches.

Rules, he wanted rules, structure. “First thing is first,” she answered kindly, fingers steepled below her chin as she eyed him with a softness. “People upset each other sometimes. But 90 percent of the time the upset is short lived, they work it out. I am especially bad at staying cross with people. But I promise you there’s gonna be no need for walking on eggshells with me, Baltasar. I’m  not going to kick you out if you forget to put the toilet seat down or drink out of my favorite coffee mug. I have six favorite coffee mugs.”  She supposed she had to at least give him something, a tiny list of reasonable things he would probably never be interested in doing in her home anyway. “This is going to be our home now, so I want you to take your time but consider the fact that you get to add to this list, you get to make up rules too…but my basics are this; No crazy parties or super loud social engagements after like 2am. Marijuana is okay but I don’t want any other drugs in the house. Liquor is fine as long as you clean up after yourself. Sundays are kinda my day off from the world, if that makes sense? I like to stay in, stick to my pajamas, have dinner for breakfast, eat dessert first, watch movies…so if it’s possible I like to not have to work around guests on a Sunday. But if for some reason you really need to have company over just give me a heads up so I can set up camp upstairs. And that’s…honestly all I can think of, Balt.”

“I-I managed.” Nerves returned after Willow’s comment, not that he was ever not nervous about something at any given moment. He was sure she was coming up with ideas about him and his background. A shifter who couldn’t read, apparently had no family or life to miss beyond the forest, There were a hundred possibilities, more if you were creative and a little mean. He just didn’t want her looking at him different, after she found out. Willow ordered their food, some kind of cheese and tomato soup. After the waitress left, he began to relax in the cozy environment they were in. The murmur of conversation coming from other tables didn’t bother him half as much as he thought it would. Soothing almost, as he studied the view outside the window, blinking like it took effort to open his eyes after they closed. Not eating or sleeping well in days was starting to catch up with him. He could probably pass out on this chair if he blinked too long. Baltasar couldn’t wait to lie down in a bed.

First things first, he heard, and all signs of drowsiness disappeared. Baltasar sat with his back straight, at attention, determined not to miss a thing she said. For a roof over his head in this cursed place there was little he wouldn’t up with. Her efforts to set his mind at rest from anxious thoughts didn’t go unappreciated, but really, the only way he’d feel at ease anywhere was having rules laid out clearly for him to know for certain he wasn’t doing anything wrong. The idea he would be the one setting boundaries was so ludicrous he could almost laugh. The house even wasn’t his to begin with. He nodded, expecting her to continue, when she stated she was done. “Oh, that’s… but that’s just the basics right? Are you sure that’s all? Cause, if it is then, if you’re sure, um, then it’s no problem.”

Compared to the witch’s strict schedule and conditions, this was like having no rules to follow at all. It wasn’t like he was expecting an hour long explanation of how things worked at Willow’s, but it still felt like too few. Maybe when they actually got there she’d bring up some things she’d forgotten. He hoped. “Sundays… We were pretty busy on Sundays. It was the day to prepare everything for the rest of the week. Only really rested on the occassional slow day. Gonna feel, strange, not having much to do anymore.” It could’ve been just his hunger and empty stomach making the smell of food so much more prominent than the others and distracting him from watching his mouth. “Won’t miss, uh, doing most of it but, yeah. I guess I can try and learn how to sit still now.”

A Period of Adjustment

[carrionhead-blog]

samsonfrisk‌:

And it was then that he noticed it. The stiffness and the uncertainty in the boy’s wavering voice. It caused him to look, to actually look, at the person beside him. He was uncomfortable, unsure, a strange sadness that enveloping the other shifter that made him frown. He shook his head, not wanting there to be this misunderstanding, this lie about his past, especially if it was making that achingly familiar face look like that.

“Miss them? No, not at all.” He tried to think about his words, to figure out the best way to explain this, but they were already coming out, “My sister, perhaps, but the rest of my family was cruel and I wouldn’t want to waste the energy missing them. I have enough memories ingrained in my skin to ever truly forget them.” He grimaced, realizing how harsh it sounded but not knowing how to fix it. Well, if Baltasar had wanted to get to know him, he was definitely getting his wish. He took a breath, finally reeling himself back in. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Baltasar, that’s probably far more than you wanted to know.” He pulled out another smile, uncertain himself, apologetic. He hoped he hadn’t ruined a possible friendship, but he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Perhaps a different subject would be a good idea.” They were nearing the next house, one of those townhouses built into another one, sharing a porch, and luckily both had boxes of baked goods to be delivered. “Is there somewhere you’re working right now?” He ventured, hoping it would be a safer territory to discuss. He looked in the bag for the correct boxes, glad when he realized he had both there, and headed up the walkway to quickly take care of the deliveries.

Baltasar flinched. Samson’s anger was not directed at him, but the tone, so familiar in its harshness, brought to mind moments in his life when someone else spoke to him that way. Eyes widened at Samson in the same way a frightened animal’s might when it looked up at a raised hand expecting a blow. The pain never came, so he relaxed again. Slightly. “No, I’m sorry.” Because what else could he say? “I-I didn’t, um, think before I said that. Heard family and assumed, thought… Maybe they were...” He took a deep breath to keep himself from rambling. “Sorry, sorry.”

He returned Samson’s way of apology with a half hearted smile one of his own. He probably said more than he’d planned, but Baltasar didn’t hold it against him. Carrying the animal was enough weight on its own, without the added baggage of less than ideal beginnings that were impossible to forget or get rid of the consequences of living it. Sometimes it spilled out like that, overflowed. Baltasar understood. From him, though, there was no way to sympathize without it coming off as weird. He opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, considered his words once more, and tried again. “You’re not, um, you’ve probably heard this before and if it’s annoying just ignore it but, you’re not the only one who’s lived, ah, something like that.” He stared forward as he continued. “We may have more in common than just shifting. Who would’ve thought, huh.”

“Oh, um, just the odd thing here and there. Mostly helping a, um, friend out. Tidying up and cleaning is the most tedious part of owning a place, I try to do what I can.�� Baltasar lagged behind Samson the closer they got to the house from the walkway. Like before, he used Samson’s height to his advantage to avoid having to come into contact with the house’s residents aside from one or two curious glances.

flip a coin, take a chance

[carrionhead-blog]

samsonfrisk‌:

“Well, aside from myself and my sister. I don’t know if she’s a shifter at all, honestly, she hadn’t shown signs yet, but she might be…” He trailed off, voice a little tight, and he shook his head. He missed her, a lot. And he hadn’t even said goodbye. He still hadn’t been really talking to her or his mother when he killed his father and ran away, but that didn’t mean he cared about her any less. His brothers could be dead for all he cared, but he hoped Evie was at least doing okay without him there to silently watch over her. 

He was a little surprised to hear that the boy shifted often, the idea almost impossible for him to comprehend. When he shifted that first time, the pain had been so horrible he was surprised he had been able to fight. Grief was a funny thing, though, and he’d been beaten down long enough that he was able to push through it. Even now, on the few occasions he lost control and partially shifted, the difference in mass and the claws tearing through his fingers were enough to want to further keep it in. His father was someone who liked to shift, said the pain made him stronger. He and the twins would go off on their hunting trips and spend days prowling the woods as wolves or tracking dogs, throwing their weight around. It had been strange to Samson then, and it was strange to him now. But Baltasar seemed very different from the men in his family so he couldn’t find it in him to judge. Besides, he seemed just as reluctant to talk about his life outside of Ashbourne as Samson was.

“That’s the one, thank you.” He smiled, taking the box before knocking on the door of the household. It was a quick interaction, the man paying and signing off, and then Samson was leading the way back down the walkway and to the road. “Next one is a bit further away.” He smiled, “I hope you don’t mind that this might take a bit, the deliveries are a bit scatted.”

It was getting awkward, Samson was upset and he had made it awkward. If he apologized for insisting on family talk it would just get more awkward, if he stayed quiet and pretended not to notice then that stretch of silence would make their time together exponentially more awkward until one of them finally combusted from the sheer awkwardness of the situation. He should have never left the house. He was only good for staying in bed under every blanket and pillow in the house and forgetting about ‘going out, meeting people’ because it was so obvious not a single bone in his body could handle the bare minimum of that. They were both shifters, but the similarities ended there. Samson had a life, a family he lost when the town took him, and Baltasar should’ve shut up sooner instead of poking and prodding at the sore spots of someone’s past. He had plenty of those himself, he of all people had to know better. “I’m sorry. You must miss them. We can, uh, talk about something else?” Chopped, awkward sentence. He tried.

Baltasar let out a breath he only just realized he’d been holding. By some form of grace, he actually managed to pick out the right box. Next time he might not get so lucky, but he could worry about that when it came to it. Samson raised his hand to knock at the same time Baltasar sidestepped behind him a little too quickly to make his sudden interest in the plants the Gordons grew outside their house believable. The door opened, Baltasar peeked from behind Samson to see a man answer, sign, and take his delivery. The two of them were back on the road within minutes.

“That’s alright.” As long as that meant more time with this smile- person. Person. Samson. Yes, that’s’ what he meant, it was perfectly alright. “I like being outside. And uh, also been needing to get to know more of the town. These parts of it, anyways.” The graveyard and woods were about as removed a place could get from the social areas of Ashbourne. Not that that meant they were at all peaceful and quiet. They were plenty lively, only they buzzed with a completely different kind of energy.

flip a coin, take a chance

[carrionhead-blog]

augustxknight‌:

August watched with increasing interest as Baltasar demonstrated the truths that had apparently been lurking at the core of the shifter’s being. Balt approached the first of the men, eager to thrash the man for his actions, he watched as the canidae shifter showed some of his true self, recounted the tale of how the human had come to earn his punishment. It was a satisfactory display, but as Balt began his transformation, August couldn’t bring himself to pull his eyes away. The change of bent bones, of flesh to fur, of partially turning into one thing while holding onto a piece of another - that all might have disturbed some, but the witch was only intrigued. Had this been lurking underneath all along? 

Interesting. 

The witch smiled, eyes wide as he popped the man’s eyeball into his mouth, comparable to that of a grape, or an olive. The site was morbid, so of course August couldn’t help the smirk that pulled up at the corner of his mouth. While he was ready to put these miserable sobs out of his misery, the witch didn’t get much enjoyment out of the act of torture. It was a tool, like so many other things. What was awaiting these folks? Well, he was glad that Baltasar asked. 

“I’ll have to transform them all at once,” his eyes were quick around the room, Baltasar really only seemed to have eyes for one, but the others were guilty by association. “But moths? Moths I can do.” Insects, in general, were a preference when it came to transformation, but moths he was acutely aware of. He used to trap them when he was a child, for study, for this exact purpose - as it turned out. To transform something into something else, you needed an intimate knowledge and understanding of the properties that made up both experiences. Little bit of science, some math, and a lot of magic. 

August’s incantation began as old latin, his tongue curved easily around the spell as the transformation circle he’d drawn at their feet began to glow an infernal red. There was a crack after he’d finished the first verse as the first of the human’s bones began to crack. Baltasar was apparently familiar with the pain that came with a shift, so August was certain he would appreciate this. More cracks followed, bones broke against bone as they shortened and shrunk, skin tore upon itself to allow room for wings to take their place. Where once there was four humans, half stuck into the ground, August finished the spell and conjured four moths to hover between his hands. 

“As requested,” August said easily, the demonstration of magic was… more than the witch had planned to exude. But he was fine, he’d performed much greater feats of magic without losing himself. “But uh, I’m not sure which is which anymore.” He puzzle as he tried to examine them, “I think this one is missing an eye.”

Baltasar’s crooked body moved back to August’s side from the mess he’d made of the trapped man to better observe the witch’s power.  Although the words were unknown to him, just like most of the intricacies behind magic, he still listened with great curiosity. Lucía may have learned and spoken such languages to put on a convincing act, but she lacked any ability to spark any magic with them. She was forced to use smoke and mirrors to support her lies. August had no need of theatrics. When he spoke the world listened, and obeyed.

The man and his friends slowly disappeared, their bodies bending and breaking into something entirely new. Baltasar knew the process intimately, He wasn’t sure whether magic could have eased the transformation somewhat and August still chose to make them suffer in a way similar to his own shifts. Whichever it was, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thoroughly pleased by the spectacle. Baltasar had no problem letting it show either. A grin more suited for someone watching a movie’s heartfelt conclusion of a movie rather than anything that had happened inside the crypt.

He studied August’s face for any hint of exhaustion first, concerned for his well-being after the spell. Baltasar found nothing to worry about, so he turned his sight to the fluttering insects he held. “This one,” he said, and picked the moth by the wings between clawed thumb and index finger. He gave it a little shake, more amused than cruel. “You won’t be missed. Bye.” After pulling the wings off, being careful not to damage them, he repeated what he’d done with the eye. Their task was done. “These others, maybe you can find some use for them. I’m- ah, sorry. Give… give me a moment” The reality of his current appearance finally hit him. Baltasar put some distance between him and August as he changed back to full human. “Sorry,” he said, walking back into the light. “But yeah. Pin them, drown them, they deserve it. I already got the one I wanted,”

[carrionhead-blog]

samsonfrisk‌:

“Definitely better than outside.” He nodded in agreement, turning down a small side street. “I mean, I was definitely confused at first, but that’s mainly because I don’t expect anyone to be looking for me. Or well, I hope they won’t.” He chuckled, shrugging, “I have had some run-ins with some supernaturals since I’ve been on my own, and outside of Ashbourne that’s not really a good thing.”

He double checked the address in the notepad, counting the numbers on the sides of the buildings as they neared the correct house. He paused to look at Baltasar when the boy apologized, giving him a confused smile, unsure as to why he was saying sorry. “It’s okay, I ah… I just recognized the scent honestly. My family were all Canidae shifters, so it was just… familiar?” He shifted a little awkwardly, not really wanting to get into the ‘why’ of his own lack of scent. But the guy had come looking for a person to relate to, and honestly… well, Samson wanted to be able to give that.

“I’m not surprised. I don’t exactly shift if I can help it. I’ve only ever shifted once, honestly. It’s a bit too much for me to handle. I’m an Ursidae shifter, so it’s… a lot.” He turned his gaze away, unsure of how that news would go over. It was the first time he had ever said it out loud to someone, and his stomach twisted a bit as they reached the gate of the correct house. He pushed through, looking quickly through the bag to find the right box, finally stopping when he realized he wasn’t holding it. “I think you have the box for this one.” He glanced at the boxes in the boy’s arms before giving him a small smile, his face red from the nerves of talking about a part of his life he honestly tried to ignore.

“All of them?” He asked, softly, carefully, afraid Samson would correct himself. Baltasar felt a twinge in his chest, the one that came with all the feelings he tried so hard to ignore, only this time it was also accompanied by a tinge of jealousy. Knowing now they’d been Canidae like him, he couldn’t stop it. What would it have been like, growing up with no witch or knife and having all his questions answered? How would he be different? Baltasar ached for the life that’d been robbed from him for almost exactly five seconds before picturing all the hurt being shoved into a chest, locking it, and storing it in the innermost parts of his mind to be examined later. Maybe never. Aside from stiffening a bit and blinking in surprise, Baltasar’s expression betrayed close to nothing of what went on in his head.

Oh. Ohhh. Baltasar nearly choked on his own spit when he realized the man next to him could change his stick thin limbs and skinny frame into none other than an entire bear. His own shifts were painful enough, as much as he was used to them. For Samson the pain had to be unimaginable. “That’s, uh, wow. It is, a lot. Don’t blame you.” Baltasar winced sympathetically at the thought of it. “I’m used to it. The pain. Built up a tolerance from, uh, my… job. That I had. Outside.” That was about the least concerning way he could explain it. “A-anyways. Now it’s like a habit.” Arguably a bad one. “Some of it sticks with me I think, like the dog smell.” He tried to joke but Samson didn’t seem too thrilled about the topic, so Baltasar shut his mouth.

First stop of the day. “Right. Okay.” It was Baltasar’s turn to go red in the face as he searched for the correct box. He was still a long ways from being fully literate, and the last thing he wanted was for Samson to find out this way, or find out at all. The hasty scribbles that in Baltasar’s eyes barely passed as words did him no favors. He finally decided on the one that he thought resembled most what ‘Gordon’ sounded like, and held it out to Samson. “Is, is it this one?”

flip a coin, take a chance

[carrionhead-blog]

augustxknight‌:

The tomb was sealed, a trap slammed shut. He could feel the smirk that bubbled on his face, merciless, wicked. This was the moment he had been waiting for, fucking idiots. Tonight they would learn the repercussions of angering a witch. August could practically feel Baltasar’s anxiousness beside him, though the shifter’s desire for vengeance was undeniable, the witch still had to doubt his conviction to the task at hand. “Agreed, I promise Balt, you’ll be pleased with the outcome.” August did not make promises he didn’t intend on keeping.

With a word, the door slid open, slowly, the heavy sound of stone against door grated around them as the distant, muffled sound of screaming laid over them. “C’mon,” August said, easily he pushed forward into the dimly lit crypt, once through the entrance the sounds of screaming intensified as they reverberated across the walls all around them. The tomb had been spelled, their screams would not leave the four stone walls that surrounded them.

With some satisfaction, August examined the scene before them, various parts of their bodies had been absorbed by the earthen floor and walls. The entire right side of one woman was in the far wall, the lower half of another was before them, immediately beside someone August could only assume had been their date, also half in the floor. A transformation circle had been drawn on the ground, for these violent intruders, their horrors were only beginning. “Let me know if you’d like access to the rest of their bodies, or if there’s anything I can do to.. assist you further.” He had a finale planned, but what did Baltasar intend to do now?

Sharper than the edge of his knife and ten times more dangerous, August’s grin left no room to doubt the man’s promise. Baltasar’s body felt liquid, pliable. He could shift right now, easily, savor the recognition and confusion in his offender’s eyes when a creature he probably thought he’d never see again walked in with company and violence in mind. Tempting, but not entirely what he wanted. The animal didn’t argue, and, for the time being, quieted. The witch’s presence served to keep Baltasar’s confidence from wavering as they stepped into the dark tomb, moving forward towards the screams.

Compared to the expectations regarding the way in which the intruders’ would be caught in a trap set by August himself, what he saw inside the crypt was somewhat tame. Less blood than he’d pictured, certainly. Sensitive humans might’ve found the sight of several of their own sunk halfway, or midway in that woman’s case, through the ground rather unsettling and felt compelled to assist them. Unfortunately for this sad group, a furious witch and a vengeful shifter did not share one ounce of that compassion.

August spoke as if through a filter, words like ‘assist’ and ‘body’ standing out somewhat but most of it lost to him. A person screamed, the person was there and screamed. A man with half his body and most of his arm swallowed by the floor. Baltasar wasted no time and moved right up to him, crouching down with one arm rested on his knee so they’d more or less see each other eye to eye. His vision tunneled. The man’s mouth moved, Baltasar clamped it shut before any sound came out of it. “Don’t bother. It’s too late to change my mind.” His hands twitched. “You don’t look like you remember me. Much less what you did, why you’re here, so let me help.” The bones of his fingers cracked like dry wood breaking, they deformed and formed again into something between a canine paw and a human hand with a sickening sound. Baltasar was used to the pain and he didn’t think August would care if he saw, but the man tried frantically to shake off the grotesque hand that silenced him. “Listen. One night, you and your friends had a little party in the graveyard. Some mutt looked for a place to spend the night close by. It was too tired and hungry to be afraid of all of you. Maybe it offended you that this miserable animal didn’t cower in fear from the sight of drunk and loud you, and you simply couldn’t let that stand, could you?.” Blunt claws dug into the man’s reddening face. “It was too weak to get away from you in time, and you laughed before kicking it and beating it with bottles. One of them broke and cut your hand. You screamed. The mutt limped back to the woods, where it changed its appearance. Ring a bell yet?”

Finally, some recognition, however little of it, flashed in the man’s eyes. He smiled like the other had told a bad joke. “I’d feel bad if you turned out to be the wrong guy though. I doubt it, since my hearing’s pretty good, but I have to be sure, you see. Now, excuse me...” Baltasar removed his hand from the man’s mouth and quickly drove his clawed fingers into the man’s eye socket. He shrieked and near convulsed as Baltasar plucked out his eye. Blood poured from the wound. “I see, I was right. Thank you.” Baltasar muffled him again with the hand that wasn’t currently holding an eyeball. Baltasar had an impulse. He popped the eye into his mouth, biting off the bloody trail that hung off it, and chewed. It was gross of course. It burst like rotten fruit between his teeth and tasted no better. The half blinded man whimpered, crying red tears from one side of his face. “Finishing you up would leave a mess, and, believe me, we’re done cleaning up after you. Maybe…”

He turned to August as if suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone in the crypt. Bloodied and partly shifted, Baltasar tilted his head almost doggishly. “Can you, turn him into something smaller? Is that possible with your magic? Like… an insect maybe. Moths. Those aren’t so bad.“

[carrionhead-blog]

samsonfrisk‌:

“First stop is…” He pulled out the notepad where he tracked deliveries, giving it a quick once over, “The Gorton household. It’s a little ways away from the town square.” He tucked the pad away again, giving Baltasar a reassuring smile before turning to face forward once more. He had been like that once, flinching away from anyone who came too close, eyes darting to watch for the next person to approach. He didn’t miss it, and if he could be of any reassurance to someone going through that, he would. “I’m definitely still getting surprised, almost every day. It’s insane that there’s a town where people can just… exist as who, and what, they are. I’ve never witnessed anything like that before. Of course, that’s not always a good thing here, but I’ll take the good with the bad.”

“You’re no bother, don’t worry.” He tilted his head to face Baltasar, eyebrows raising a little in surprise. So he had been right. “Well, I’m ah… I’m real.” He laughed slightly, looking away and off towards the ground up ahead, “It’s not weird. It’s kind of natural to want to seek people out when they share something that big. You’re actually the first shifter I’ve really met outside of my own family, so I’m glad you sought me out.” He tried to ignore how it made him both happy and worried. He knew not every shifter was like his family, but it was still hard to break the association. “You’re a Canidae shifter, right?” He chanced, wondering if his observations and hunch were correct.

“Yeah,” he tapped his fingers on the side of the boxes, the one way he found to fidget without dropping everything he carried. “Hard to be prejudiced in a town where half the people in it are more than willing to bite your head off if you’re being, uh, unpleasant, and the other half is probably capable of doing worse. Still better than the outside, so, not gonna complain either.”

“Sorry, um, wasn’t sure how’d it come off for a first impression. Just walking up and asking that.” He laughed softly to release some nerves. Although Baltasar’s default state of overthinking was not about to change with some pretty boy’s words, it didn’t mean he couldn’t smile at the effort. This was going better than expected, But, he supposed his expectations were rather low, his worst case scenarios ranged from one them spontaneously combusting or Samson yelling go away, I want nothing to do with you, that sort of thing. So until either of those or something happened, he could almost call this a success. Baltasar jerked his head up sharply and looked at Samson with eyes full of something like wonder. A family, real one, of people just like him. Baltasar never gave much thought to his own. Unless he felt like telling himself that he didn’t feel anything, that he wasn’t sad not knowing what became of them for the rest of the day it wasn’t very helpful. He had a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but they didn’t leave his mouth. “T-that so? You’re the first one I’ve met, period.”

Their destination loomed closer. “Oh, um, that’s right.” He gave a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I must reek of it, huh? Sorry.” Baltasar was unable to go a day without shifting. He’d tried. His body had become too used to the constant changes that he felt restless until he gave in and changed. Of course some kind of smell would stick to him. “And, uh, I’m sorry, but I can’t tell what you are. ”

flip a coin, take a chance

[carrionhead-blog]

willowxwispxrp‌:

“I don’t know,” she whispered. And it was the truth. She didn’t know if she was okay, or if she wanted to talk about it. Willow moved wearily towards the kitchen. Tea…first and foremost she needed tea. But she only made it halfway before she broke down. Her hand tried to grip the back of the couch for stability but her knees went wobbly, they gave out, and the next thing she knew she was on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled up to her chin. “So…I’m…apparently…doing this…this…is a thing…that’s happening,” she managed to choke out between sobs. “Can you…tea? Can you make me tea…I just need to…to do something with my hands … so I can think, and breathe.”

Head between the knees, wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when you were anxious, when you were falling to pieces? She tried it, tears making tiny rivulets down her cheeks. It was like every second of worry she’d had about Rowan’s absence needed to be pushed back. To make room for the new worry, the new fears, the sharp new pain. She cried until she simply couldn’t anymore, batteries all out of juice. And she felt so outside of her own body that she wasn’t even sure where Balt was. He could have been in the kitchen making the tea. He could have been right next to her. But her eyes were shut so tightly and her head was so full of panic that she couldn’t sense him.

“He didn’t know who I was,” she whispered. This time her words came out slow, defeated, heavy like lead. “The Doctor’s think he’s got PTSD. He’s not talking, he doesn’t remember how to eat, how to drink….physically he’s…he’s okay…but everything else is just…broken. He’s broken. And I don’t know how to help him.”

When she fell, Baltasar was at her side in an instant. Every ragged breath, every stutter and tremble in her voice sent needles into his chest, pricking his heart. Just what did she see in that hospital to do this to her, her, of all people? One arm went around her, his other hand over one of hers, and rested his head on her shoulder. Usually, this closeness was unthinkable with anyone else, the lightest touch repulsed him to the point of feeling physically ill. She wasn’t just ‘anyone’ though, she was Willow, his friend, crying her eyes out like her world was in pieces. And, from the look of it, maybe it was To comfort her any way he could felt as natural as breathing. He would stay there, for as long as she needed.

The sobs quieted after some time, Baltasar didn’t keep track, and her body stopped shaking. He didn’t move when she told him about Rowan’s condition. So, half of him was still lost. His body made it back, sure, but without the mind his return was about as comforting as finding his corpse on her doorstep one morning. On second thought, his dead body would’ve probably been better than this. Losing someone hurts, mourning them hurts even worse, but in the end, acceptance of their death always came with healing.

“Hey, Willow, please look at me?” He used his sleeve to wipe any tears left on her face with the same gentleness of his words. “We don’t know what happened to him, or what he saw. Maybe he’s not sure either.  You know this place better than me. It takes you, messes with you, leaves you doubting what’s real and what isn’t. Something in him was damaged during the time he was missing. But it doesn’t mean he’s broken. It’s just… no one can be the same right away after something like that. He needs time, he needs you, because if anyone can help him find his way back from whatever corner of his brain he decided to curl up and hide in it’s you. And, I, um, I’ll be there too, if you let me.”

Baltasar took one of Willow’s hands into both of his own and began to stand. “Come on, try to get up. Floor’s fine and all but, I’d rather you sat here.” He gestured for the couch with a tilt of his head. “I’m gonna go now and make you that tea, okay?”

Little Hiccups