songerein | The Informant

Entry tags:

alastor

The Informant | Closed

Who: Tobias and Alastor
Which: Closed Log
Where: The forest/Alastor's place
What: Tobias has questions, and ironically the radio demon seems likely to keep his mouth shut.
Warnings: Probably talk of PTSD and war in here. Also hunting, and cannibalism is likely to show up.

Tobias has questions. A lot of questions, actually. He needs information about this place, and the weird demon (alien?) seemed willing enough to provide it. So why not try him? ... A bunch of reasons, up to and including "demons aren't real", "if they are real you shouldn't make a deal with them", and "if you're going to give a present to a demon, what do you even bring?". But eventually Tobias settles on a course of action. He waits until he can see Alastor go off to do... something.

And then he goes off to execute his plan.

He morphs in the woods to Hork-Bajir, setting off for where he'd seen deer. It doesn't take long for him to take one down, considering that he jumps on it from the tops of the trees and brings down a wrist blade into its neck. The head severs from the neck cleanly, and the rest of the herd scatters.

Tobias drags it back to Alastor's place, sets it nearby, and demorphs. There's no cameras here (he's pretty sure) so he's safe. ... He thinks. But either way he's done it, and he perches on a tree nearby to wait for Alastor to come back. ... It's a good thing he already ate, since that deer would make him very hungry.

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[Alastor watches with keen interest, not even flinching at some of the more disturbing changes.]

[Once the transformation was complete, Alastor gives an intrigued "hmm". He stands up and walks over, examining the creature. Taller than a human. Had Alastor been a little shorter than his own seven feet, the creature would've been especially intimidating. Despite his cervine features, he eyeballs the creature with the cool efficiency of a hunter gauging potential prey.]

They'd almost have to be. The positions of some of these blades are very inefficient for a predatory species without significant intelligence guiding those blades. However, they'd be extremely useful in tearing through thick vegetation along with making it difficult for a predator to make an easy kill.

[He runs a claw along one of the blades on the creature's neck.]

For example, the long neck should be a vulnerable spot. A predator would normally just need to lock its jaws around the neck until it suffocated, but blades here create a significant risk to the predator attempting that.

[He does his best not to flinch when he's touched - he's not used to it. But he stays still for Alastor's benefit.]

<Right, exactly. I've heard the stories of their species... they're almost all either dead or infected. The ones that are free are a very small number, and they're not even on their native planet anymore.>

[He eyes Alastor carefully - he looks different now that he's not hyperfixated on the details.]

<The enemy's taken a lot from a lot of people.>

"Quite unfortunate," Alastor mused, folding his hands neatly behind his back. "In Hell, souls are commonly traded as easily as coins which is enough of a horror. I can't fathom not just being a slave in body but also mind.

"At least when one first trades their soul to someone, it's by their own poor choices. I take it this poor species is enslaved cradle-to-grave regardless of their own decisions."

He shook his head.

"No no no no, I certainly wouldn't want to see that here!"

<Pretty much. They're very loyal and form tight family and tribe connections... but now they're used as shock troops for our enemy. ... I helped guide some of the free ones to a safe place out in the wilds, but they're obviously very scared of the idea of getting infected again.>

Sell their soul? He wasn't sure that he had one, but the idea of selling it - well. He could only think of a few people he'd risk eternal torture for.

<... They named their first child after me, too. The first free Hork-Bajir in generations.>

Oh, Tobias. The stories Alastor could tell you.

"Congratulations to you and them," Alastor said.

He stopped his inspection of what he now knew as "Hork-Bajir". He retook his seat.

"I admit I'm curious how this technology that lets you do this works, but I don't imagine I'd be able to properly understand it. Still, there is a question I might be able to understand the answer to: I can see why you'd use this form to move the deer, but why remain in your hawk form when entering my home? I don't imagine it's very comfortable for a bird to be anywhere he can't see the sky. So either you're that paranoid about me seeing your true face or there's more to you than even this."

<To be fair, I don't know how it works either. Not in any sort of way that's useful for understanding it, at least. ... As for the forms... hawk is my natural form.>

Now, at least. His human form just feels... wrong, nowadays.

<I spend most of my days hunting and watching people. I'm the one who scouts out places before missions. It's not like I go to school or anything.>

Not anymore. And it's not like he learned much there anyway.

"I don't need the specifics of what happened, but if I may offer a bit of advice? If you're trying to obscure what you are, asking someone where the library calls into question if you were always a bird based on the amount of things that would have to go right for such a thing to be true."

He started ticking things off on his fingers.

"You can read, can speak telepathically, and somehow managed to obtain access to technology allowing for metamorphizing into other creatures. The first is theoretically possible -- I've reported on quite a few tales of hyperintelligent birds during my time so perhaps you were originally someone's pet that they taught to read -- but telepathy? Quite an odd development but very fortunate for a hyperintelligent hawk. And to top that off, you just so happen to come upon something that granted you transmogriphication abilities?"

He raised a brow.

"One item is chance. Two is coincidence. Three is...well, traditionally the phrase is 'enemy action', but I don't think that applies in this case. Regardless, it's highly suspect. Again, I'm not asking for your tragic tale, but I'd be satisfied in having confirmation that I'm right. Or at the very least confirmation that should any more people like you show up, they're not likely to have any ill will towards Reverein if this secret war you've been plucked out of has made you too paranoid to do so."

He narrowed his eyes over his pleasant smile.

"I quite like this town, you understand. After ninety years of eternal torment, this idyllic little place is as close to Heaven as I'll ever get. If nothing else about me, you can trust that I've no ill will towards the people here and do what I can to protect them."

Tobias had seen him hunting the redcaps after all.

<I don't think that they're going to have an issue with the town. To be... hm. Perfectly honest, there's only one of our number who might be as paranoid. But we don't have any ill will towards the place - just a healthy suspicion towards an unknown situation.>

At least it's a healthy suspicion to him.

"Then we'll have no issues!" Alastor said cheerily. "A little bit of paranoia never hurts!"

Alastor's smile was bright, chipper.

<That's what I think, at least.>

He's honestly glad this place is pretty peaceful. Quite honestly the amount of stress they've been under for literal years has frayed him at the edges. He's not how he used to be, and while he's glad he's not... paranoia eats at you.

But he lets go of the morph, quickly returning to his hawk form. At least Alastor doesn't seem grossed out.

<You're taking all of this pretty well, considering. Demon or no.>

"Spend ninety years in Hell, and you learn to take things as they come," Alastor said breezily. "I won't say that transformation of yours isn't unsettling, but it's honestly not the worst one I've ever seen. Besides, Hell isn't exactly a pleasant place to be. Picture the mundanity of everyday life coupled with there being no limit on any depravity you can think of and a thousand more you can't."

He glanced at his claws.

"For example, you can't walk five feet down a sidewalk without having to step over some sort of bodily fluid at least once."

<And I can think of a lot of them. ... But I know how gross it can be to wade through that kind of stuff. The aftermath of a battle can be... messy.>

He's just glad that morphing cures wounds - not that he's going to let that information slip. It's too useful.

He goes quiet for a few long moments before...

<... Can I ask you a... personal question? And even if you say yes, you don't have to answer if you don't want to.>

"Honestly, it's not just blood and viscera, but I'll refrain from giving you nightmares. Though I would caution you not to casually stroll into my dreams if you can avoid it."

He rested his chin in his hand, motioning languidly with his free hand.

"I certainly can't stop you, but I won't guarantee an answer."

<Of course.>

There's no way to really ask this other than being straightforward.

<... Have you ever been tortured? And if you have... how do you deal with it... after?>

There was a heavy moment of realization. Good Creator Above, this hawk sounded like a child and he'd been tortured...?

"Multiple times," Alastor said. "My last ninety years could be considered that -- it isn't called 'Eternal Torment' for nothing -- but my living existence had some dark moments I'd rather not go into detail about. And that isn't even getting into what the old frayed wires come up with when my mind decides to drift."

He hesitated on answering the question.

<That's fair. You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. ... But yeah. It's... I don't know what to do. The other person from my world - she knows some of how bad it got but... I don't want her to have to find out how bad it really was.>

She knows enough to be worried. She knows Tobias has issues with it, that he came out of it... somehow broken. She knows that it left him with complicated feelings about his captor.

But he's never told her exactly what he saw, how badly it rattled him. How much even his old memories could still affect him. That life was before they met. The boy who lived it is gone. In his place is a predator, someone who has to kill to survive.

... But he doesn't know how to deal with it. He has no one to ask - no one he can trust to answer without worrying about him. Maybe a demon won't care, but... maybe he at least knows something that can help.

Alastor was a dangerous monster, an unrepentant killer. He took great pleasure in crushing those who would take advantage of those of fairer means.

However, he wasn't without feeling. He'd taken children under his proverbial wing here in Reverein. He'd made friends with adults of similar mindset even if others found his methodology to be gruesome at times.

Still, it never failed to disgust him just how many worlds would treat their children so shoddily. Child soldiers seemed to be disturbingly popular in the multiverse.

"I'm afraid I can't give you an answer. Not because I don't want to but because I have no solid answer." He straightened up and rested his hands in his lap. "I deal with it by not dealing with it."

<... O... oh.>

He was hoping for an answer - he's not sure what to do without one. He looks away, trying to not stare the demon down and also to try to gather his thoughts.

<I guess it wouldn't make sense to ask you if you know who could answer, because you probably would have asked them. It's just... if people can stumble into nightmares here, I don't want her to have to run into mine.>

He just wants her to be safe, to be as okay as possible. He knows she's not okay, but there's differing levels of okay...

"Honestly, if I did know someone in that position, I wouldn't have asked them. Admitting you need help is a second, far more permanent death sentence in Hell. Besides, any of the therapists and psychiatrists you might find down there are typically not good people. No, the best 'mental health' treatment down there is to either bury yourself in some vice that will alter your mental state to where whatever haunts you can't touch you or find distractions to keep your mind too busy to ruminate. Neither, I admit, is an optimal option.

"But I can offer you this suggestion in trying to avoid having nightmares someone might stumble into: Wear yourself out before you sleep. If your body and brain are exhausted enough, your mind won't have the energy to torment you during your rest. No dreams means no dreamwalkers stumbling in. However, I can't guarantee your friend won't notice."

<I'm not into vices.> He answers quickly, maybe... too quickly. His uncle... he doesn't want to end up like that guy. Gross and drunk and uncaring... no. He'd rather not.

<Wearing myself out I can do. It's not hard when I can't really go to the store to get dinner and have to catch my own. ... But she deserves better than my dreams.>

He's never had good dreams. They've only gotten worse as things have gone on, and it feels like he's trapped in them sometimes. No, Rachel should have something nicer than that. He closes his eyes for a few moments before opening them again. <I... I just want her to be happy.>

Alastor tapped his claws thoughtfully.

"Wearing yourself out isn't a guarantee. Sometimes your mind might recharge just enough energy to torment you. All it does is reduce the chance.

"But it might be possible to brew something to deepen your sleep. Nothing mind-altering, I assure you. Things like valerian root, lavendar, and chamomile. I had a rather mild blend to help myself sleep periodically when I was alive. Working the night shift for years did not help with insomnia when I moved to day shift."

That and his particularly bloody hobby kept him up some nights.

"I'd need to ensure they're not poisonous to avians. Plus I could test out a stronger brew on myself to make sure there aren't any adverse reactions. I've had enough of my dreams broadcast to everyone that they typically recognize when it's a dream of mine and leave right away. Nobody wants to see Hell."

<... I'd appreciate that. I don't know much about herbs or teas or stuff like that. Every so often I get an urge for things that I know aren't suitable for birds... I usually morph for that stuff.>

He wants a cheeseburger every once in a while. Sue him.

<Just don't get yourself hurt on my account.>

"Lucky for you, not only am I incredibly familiar with rootwork but it's incredibly hard to permanently kill a demon. Even if I manage to poison myself, I'll just be sick for a few hours at worst before I shake it off. I just need to ensure I'm not poisoning you."

His grin widened.

"Perhaps if you're feeling adventurous when you 'morph', you'd like to try some jambalaya! Nothing untoward in the ingredients, I assure you, but it's got a spicy kick right out of Hell!"

After a chuckle at the thought, he grinned at Tobias.

"Regardless, in exchange for figuring out and brewing this tea for you, I've one thing to ask of you in return: When you're out hunting, keep an eye out and make note of places where noctaere, red hats, or any of the other nasty little creatures may be setting up nests. It'd be quite helpful in keeping them away from the town and the people we care about. I keep an eye out when I do my own regular hunting, but I can't cover as wide a range as you can with those wings of yours."

<I'll keep that in mind.> He isn't sure what 'rootwork' is, but maybe some kind of magic? <But yeah, never tried that. Usually the spiciest thing I had growing up was really garlicky noodles with tomato sauce or something like that.>

Please don't kill him with spice, Alastor.

But the request has him chuckling mentally. He was already planning on doing that - checking for other predators is only natural for him. <I'll let you know what I find. Between the two of us, we should be able to clear out a lot.>

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The Informant | Closed

Gmail, where the hell did you send this tag?!

To the Shadow Realm, clearly

Just gonna swap this back to the original format LOL

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WHERE DID THIS TAG GO?! DAMMIT

It happens!

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