songerein | [Open] ☆ 5th Page ☆ Owl Be Back

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[Open] ☆ 5th Page ☆ Owl Be Back

Who: Stolas and you!
Which: Open Log
Where: The little cabaret club in Reverein.
When: Back dated to when he puffed for his canon update three days later
What: Stolas returns back from disappearing to have a jolly ol' time back in Hell, only to puff right back in the middle of town looking like a cat chewed him up.
Warnings: Possible talk of death. And dad jokes

The day started out normal enough. Well, as 'normal' a dreamland could be after the most recent event that rocked Reverein that is. The town square was probable a buzz with native and dreamers alike as they went about to survey the damages the Stary Eater's chaos had brought. Though whatever powers were at play had another idea instore.

As if a new arrival was entering Reverein, though the timing was all wrong, a portal opened smack dab in the middle of The Square. Unceremoniously it dumped out one Ars Geotia out on his ass. The sudden drop got a shocked hoot from the massive owl as he crumpled to the cobblestone below and the gateway closed behind him, its job complete. Welp, not as graceful as the first time he arrived... Though Stolas had seen better days. The Goetic Prince had returned sporting injuries that he did not have when he disappear. He was covered in bandages with his left arm and right leg in a cast, making it impossible for him to stand. In fact, he was just laying there limp as a ragdoll as he stared up at the sky.

What the Hell was going on? Trying to make sense of what he had just experienced... It felt so real, going back home, no memory of this place... He would have chalked it all up to it being a vivid dream if his injuries didn't painfully throb. Yep... yep... it was real. It all happened. But why did this place send him away only to bring him back? Ugh... He would have to wait to address that later... First thing first, getting himself off the ground would be a good start.

Rolling over onto his side, Stolas called out for help. "E-excuse me, could you lend me a hand? Currently I have no leg to stand on."

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Aaand back to where this whole mess started. Safe and sound back in his bed. But as the imp retreated to fetch the bowl of water Alastor had requested, he watched him leave with concerned eyes. Something felt... off about Blitzø’s behavior. It was clear as day when he returned from his little side trip to Hell but... there had been signs from before his disappearance. Signs he ignored, chalking it up to stress. But this... this was different.

His brows knitted together, casting his face in doubt. "Say Alastor... do you spend much time with Blitz? He's been acting a bit odd. I'm starting to get worried that something is wrong."

"Can't say that I do," Alastor admitted. "Though our last run-in wasn't the most pleasant."

He ground up a few choice herbs before pouring the mixture into the teacup, steeping it with the hot water from the kettle. He held it out to Stolas.

"Drink all of this. I'll give you something stronger for when you want to sleep later, but right now I need you somewhat lucid. Are any of the bandages covering broken bones that would need to be reset if the bandages were removed?"

Alastor knew from experience that the concoction he'd just given the prince tasted absolutely horrible but it got the job done.

Edited 2023-06-18 14:04 (UTC)

"You? Having an unpleasant encounter with someone? I simply cannot imagine that." Oh the sarcasm was palpable as he shot the deer a flat stare. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Regardless, I think it's more than a rude encounter with the Radio Demon that's the root cause... I wish I knew why so I may be of some assistance. I know things have been difficult for him here with Loona gone."

Being there for him just wasn't enough. He could never replace a father's love for their child. That was something he knew first hand. Love, huh?... love..

The goetia was struck mute as he stared unfocused at the doorway. The sinner's voice fell on deaf ears for his mind was wandering somewhere else farway. It was the pungent smell of the outstretched elixir that pulled him back to the present, automaticly taking the offered drink.

"No, I have casts on my broken bones. The only bandage that is even remotely covering anything delicate would be the one that is being used as my sling for my broken arm." Stolas took a moment to gulp down the tea. Holy fucking Hell. Instant regret rattled him as he hacked and sputtered so hard that he thought his lungs would spat out. "What in the Hell did you just give me? Absolutely fowl."

"Oh, he was already in a foul mood when we had our encounter, believe me. I'm a narcissist, but for once I can't take the credit for someone else's strange behavior."

He wiped the mortar and pestle clean before he began preparing something else.

"That does make things easier, though there is a spell to encourage bone growth I can place on the cast. I can't instantly heal you -- I never focused enough on the healing aspects of voodoo to do anything that spectacular -- but you might be able to use your arm and leg much sooner."

The prince's sputtering did make him smirk with sadistic delight.

"Give it a moment and you'll be grateful for it. It should take the edge off the pain you're in. Like I said, I do need you somewhat lucid while I take care of the rest of this."

He mixed a few herbs in the mortar and pestle again before removing one glove to show the heavily-scarred flesh beneath it. He then cut a very precise wound in his palm and squeezed out several drops of blood into the bowl. Wrapping a small bandage around his hand, he left the glove off for now. He might need more blood depending on the other injuries.

Blitzø's boot steps preceded his return, and he was back and carrying a large bowl filled with water. "The thing took fuckin forever to fill up, fuck," he griped, trying to act nonchalant as he set the bowl down where it wouldn't spill everywhere.

Stolas again gave Alastor a level stare. That brief smirk the sinner sported after his couching feast was picked up by those keen eyes. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? Usually he is more than game for a little sadomasochism but this was not the he liked it. ~~Nor the person who he wanted said play from.~~ He was going to say something on the matter but was instantly distracted watching the deer work. His magic was so much more... primal? Far different from his own cosmic powers. It was fascinating to say the least.

"I've read about voodoo but never seen it practiced. Most humans don't know what they're doing an its just a bunch of hocus-pocus nonsense. I-" Stolas cuts himself off hearing the foot steps of Blitzø's return and his head snapped back to the doorway.

Man, he really want to ask him what was bothering him. Probably there was a long list of what had the imp in such a bad way. But with their current guest he thought it wise not to bring it up.

"Thank you Darling." Stolas flashed him a meek smile.

"Thank you, Blitzø. I can take things from here."

Alastor mixed the blood with the herbs with, of all things, a small paintbrush. He continued stirring it as he walked over to the cast on Stolas's leg. He began painting a series of symbols on it, murmuring prayers softly under his breath to ignite the darkened blood-based "paint" in green light. Some part of him wondered if Stolas recognized any of the ancient symbols.

Regardless, he still wasn't sure the loa could hear him in this world, so most of this was coming from himself. Still, if there was a loa willing to grant the power needed to further boost the healing process, well, there was no harm in making the request.

He repeated the process on Stolas's arm cast, using the last of his "paint" in the process. Alastor set the mortar and paintbrush aside, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a string of beads that Stolas and perhaps Blitzø would recognize as a rosary. Alastor closed his eyes and continued praying under his breath, the painted symbols glowing brightly before dimming and fading into the wrappings until they left no trace behind.

He wasn't about to get dismissed from the room like that, even if Alastor didn't mean it like that. He wasn't some man servant or shit. But biting his tongue, he instead gave Stolas a look, waiting to hear if Stolas wanted him to stick around or not.

Well... wasn't this fun. Stolas could cut the tension with a butter knife. What in the Seven Rings happened during their last encounter? As the Radio Demon set to work doing whatever voodoo he needed to do, Stolas turned his attention to Blitzø.

"Don't feel like you need to stay. I would understand of you don't want to see my wounds undressed." Ge reached out to place a gentle hand on Blitzø's shoulder. "But if you wish to stay, I won't stop you. The decision is yours."

Stolas gave Blitzø one last kind smile before glancing back to Alastor... Who was pulling our... a rosary? Before the goetia could protest the runes the sinner drew on his casts began to glow. An odd prickling itch tiptoed under his skin. The strange sensation shocked the owl cause him to flinch as he made an awkward hooting... moan? FFFFFF!!!? It only lasted for a split second but the damage was done. The imp knew that sound all too well.

Absolutely mortified, Stolas whipped his hand off from Blitzø’s shoulder and slapped it hard over his badly flushed beak. The little pupils in the demon's eyes glowed, darting between them frantically. Just... just kill him. Where was a Holy Artifact to finish him off?

Initially, Blitzø thought to take the chance to step out in the awkwardness and also make sure Via was too busy to walk in and see just how gnarly things had gotten.

The fucking moan, though... Blitzø barely managed to not laugh. But it was almost worse, what with the smirk he was giving the owl. "What, getting your masochism kicks from men besides me? And I wasn't invited? Tsk, tsk," he taunted, poking Stolas' forehead between all four eyes. "You're gonna scare off your doc."

Alastor pocketed the rosary, unphased by the moan of what clearly was pain and the torment of having two sources of itches he wouldn't be able to scratch. Clearly. Nothing else that could be, nope.

He cleaned the mortar, pestle, and paintbrush before looking over the bowl of water before once more starting to mix herbs from the jars in the mortar and pestle.

"You said you'd never seen anyone practice voodoo before, correct? Mine is a branch of it: Louisiana voodoo. A bit different from the Haitian voodoo practices you might have heard of." He kept grinding the dry herbs into powder before pouring the mix into the water. He then unwound the bandage on his hand to force the wound to reopen enough to drip several drops of blood into the mix, replacing the bandage once he was done. "Heavy emphasis on rootwork and asking the loa for assistance in both, but Louisiana voodoo also folds in quite a bit of Catholicism."

He dipped clean bandages into the water, allowing them to soak for a bit. Then he turned back to Stolas.

"Now that the bones are taken care of, time to see what's under those bandages!"

Very carefully, he started using a claw to cut through the bandages to see the injuries that lay beneath them.

Oh fucking course Blitzø had to make a comment about the accidental sound that squawked out. Honestly, he would have preferred the laughter over the sly smirk the imp was giving him.

"Maso-?! Blitz! That wasn- Its not what you- I- It tickled!" Stolas sputtered feeling royally embarrassed by the whole situation.

He was most grateful that Alastor either; didn't know or choose not to acknowledge his little slip up and changed the subject which the goetia gladly jumped on to. Anything to distract him from the burning humiliation that seared his cheeks. Turning to look back at Alastor, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"H-how fascinating. It wouldn't by chance be holy in any fashion, would it? I don't think I need to inform you that demonic energy and that of the angelic don't mix very well." Stolas lets out a nervous chuckle.

Which was cut off sharply as he flinched at the deer's touch. His wounds were still raw and sensitive. Stolas' eyes flickered nervously over to the imp who was still present to study the look on his face. This wasn't the first time Stolas had been banged up, but for some reason this time it felt different. Fighting off the lingering threads of his lucid dream, alone and broken in that empty sterile hospital room the owl tore his eyes away. The bandages fell away to expose a patch of disturbed feathers, bent and snapped quills poking out. The stab wound to his shoulder was deep, through and through, requiring several stitches to sow the hole right up.

The humor evaporated pretty instantly once the wounds were actually revealed, and a nasty guilt clawed into Blitzø's chest. He rubbed his temple, namely to hide his expression from Alastor, from whom Blitzø didn't particularly want to hear a comment on any of his feelings.

At least those thoughts were easier to lock onto than spiraling in guilt more. The imp took Stolas' hand and squeezed his fingers, speechless, letting his brain stew angrily instead on if that sinner says one fucking word about me I'm gonna make him eat his own teeth--

Alastor raised a bemused eyebrow. "I've been in Hell for ninety years, Your Highness. I should think by now I'd have learned a bit about that. But to answer your question, my magic is neither purely demonic nor purely holy. Which loa that deigns to answer any request for assistance will tip the balance, but overall my powers are as neutral as the void."

His eyes carefully studied the wounds, so focused on his task that he ignored the silent drama currently going on.

"Though interesting that you should bring up holy energy. I can practically taste a lingering tang of it from these. These were inflicted by a holy blade or at least one with holy steel incorporated into it, weren't they?" He leaned in close to study the cuts. "These aren't from a fight; too precise. Prince Stolas, what have you been up to?"

Stolas lifted his eyes to glance at Blitzø as he took his hand. The gesture made his heart squeeze in his chest. Was he worried about him? Was he worried? Angry? The Ars Goetia tried to decipher the muddy expression on the imp's face, giving his hand a gentle squeeze in response.

Then the sinner spoke again, and the owl's head turned back. What a keen eye the deer had, a little too keen if you asked him. Of course someone of his reputation could tell the difference in blade work. Awkwardly, Stolas chuckled.

"Yes well... That would be because there was an assassination attempt raised against me when I returned home. The imp my soon to be ex-wife was ever so kind to give me the V.I.P. treatment."

Eugh. Blitzø doesn't have a remark, looking at the wounds sourly. A literal mark of him fucking up, huh. And... he knew himself, he was only handling it even worse back home.

"She always seemed like such an unpleasant woman. I remember thinking when I saw your wedding announcement in the papers that I'd never seen a more miserable groom." He turned back to his herbs. "Were you not an Ars Goetia yourself, I would've been tempted to start planning a menu. I rather love bitter flavors, but I feel like hers would still need to be compensated for."

He'd seen Blitzø's reaction along with the prince's. Oh, my. This was certainly stirring up some drama, wasn't it? Payment enough for what he was doing, he supposed. Spiced things up a bit.

He finished griding dried herbs into a powder and poured them into the large bowl of water.

"Fortunate you visited a hospital or other medical facility before coming here. You'll still scar from the holy wounds, but they won't look as bad as if I were the only one to treat them. Probably won't even be noticeable without actively looking for them!"

His exposed claw had a few silver lines to it that had nothing to do with Hellish injures, giving some idea of what Stolas could have ended up with.

Alastor started pulling from his basket of goodies pure linen bandages, carefully sliding them into the bowl to not waste a drop of the water. He then stood over it and added a few more drops of his blood, triggering a faint spring green glow. Then he cleaned out the mortar and pestle again, his shadow retrieving a much smaller bowl of water that he added yet another concoction of herbs and blood to. This he dipped a pure linen cloth into it before leaning over Stolas and beginning to clean the smaller wounds first with the damp cloth. The stab wound would need something more than a quick cleaning.

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