Carlisle Longinmouth ❧ ɹᴉǝH ʇɥƃᴉlq ǝɥʇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abheirrant) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2020-07-06 11:23 pm
abheirrant) wrote in redshiftlogs2020-07-06 11:23 pm
Entry tags:
Farm Livin' [open]
Who: Carlisle Longinmouth, farm animals, and anyone else who might wander into the area
What: With Anchor's #1 Ranch Hand gone, someone had to take care of the animals.
When: Late June/throughout July
Where: Agricultural Level, mostly near the barns/livestock and the adjacent forested area
Warnings: Will update as necessary!
As someone who had everything he ever knew either ruined, upended, or permanently changed for the worse within the near-year he's been aware of himself, Carlisle is glad to have some semblance of a routine back. True, it came at an awful cost, but in an effort to maintain his nerves — and therefore keep his more volatile, necrotic energies in check — he will take what victories he can get, however small they may be.
It started when he first moved into the barn. He's been there for well over a month now, and it took most of that time for the animals to adjust to his presence; with his head-to-toe outfit and fastidious nature, Carlisle is a far cry from their former farmhand, but he simply couldn't let Kieran's animals be without a caretaker. Given the man disappeared so soon after he'd been healed — and after Carlisle had begun to form the barest notion that they could be friends — the former clergyman is quick to blame himself for Kieran's vanishing. What's one more addition to his long list of sins? He has so much to atone for already, and a seemingly endless existence to do it. Who better to be responsible for Anchor's loss but him?
It's self-fulfilling prophecy, of course, but Carlisle is hesitant to label it as such. He felt a genuine bond with Reynir, who then disappeared. The same goes for Kieran, and now he's gone. Carlisle has yet to be proven wrong, shown that the misfortune he's said to breed with his very presence isn't a guarantee, but with only his own experiences to go on, he cannot say he believes otherwise. The only reason he remains in the colony at all is because of the insistence of a few individuals — that, and his own cowardice toward what lies in the wasteland outside of Anchor. The vast, open expanse is enough to have him reeling.
As it is, he told those same few individuals that he was moving from the housing quarters to the barn, slowly converting one of the sheds into a private home as the days went by. He claimed it was for the sake of the animals, and that it'd be a good exercise for him. By surrounding himself with living creatures who depended on him, he'd have to not only have to continue to live withing Anchor, but he would have to master his often destructive energies, keeping them in line lest he wanted their deaths on his hands. It was grim motivation, but motivation none the less. There was a heavier truth lying just beneath that reasoning: he felt that if any animals disappeared, no one would notice, whereas being in proximity of people put them at risk — those he would consider his friends included.
And so, he moved away from them, keeping his distance much as he did in life. It didn't do him any good then, either.
Well, that's not to say that living at the barn hasn't done him some good. Carlisle has indeed gotten a better hold on the necrotic magic that animates him, been able to practice wielding them in the safety of his solitude. He no longer rots everything he touches, can walk across the grasses of the fields without leaving a trail of dying, withered stalks behind him. Animals do not shift uncomfortably at his touch, and there some satisfaction in that. Each day, he feeds them, brushes them, goes about his prayer, watches over those who need him, works a little more on making the barn habitable. It's a routine, and one that often has him interacting less and less with people.
But just because he doesn't seek them out doesn't mean he's completely away from them. He actually has help on the farm some days: there's Pratt, who has shown him how to more or less manage the animals, and Ami, who comes by the brush the horses on a regular basis. Try as he might to fully isolate himself, Carlisle finds that he can't... and deep down, he isn't sure he wants to, no matter how he may seclude himself, both unconsciously or otherwise. Despite everything that's happened in his vicinity, everything he's done as the Blight Heir, Carlisle doesn't want to be alone. He's constantly trying to make amends for an endless guilt that festers in his gut. At least the animals don't judge him as harshly as he judges himself.
When dropping by the agricultural area, one might see Carlisle tending to the start of his garden: he's built up a bed of soil and surrounded it with rocks, hoping to deter the few chickens he has from plucking the new sprouts as they emerge. Acting as an additional deterrent is a tiny dragon, the blue-and-white wyrmling often nestled atop a pole in the center of the bed. Though barely bigger than a chicken himself, he does his best to act as a guard dog, keeping watch over the budding plants and hissing at anyone who would approach, letting loose a breath of chilling air.
When not there, Carlisle can be found over by the field as he tends to the cattle, letting them graze on the grasses to their hearts' content while he prepares their hay or (badly) fixes the fence. Sitting among the cattle is their protector: a hulking beast of an undead abomination. Its malformed body is no less than eight feet tall when sitting, closer to nine or ten when standing, making it out like a sore thumb among the cows and bulls; its rib cage has far too many ribs, and houses a vibrant, blue light that blazes like fire within its cavernous torso. Its frame is built of materials of all sorts, mismatched fragments of both human and animal bone, as well as a twisted branch or two making up its many limbs. The skull of a long-dead cow acts as its head, its eyes shining with the same blue light that burns in its chest. Most notable is a collar that hangs from the human-spine-turned-neck, a shiny bell dangling there for all to see.
And on rare occasion, Carlisle is outside the barn, etching into its walls an elaborate glyph. He accomplishes this with what appears to be a screw with a crude handle added to it. While it may not be a precision tool, it gets the job done, so long as he can work uninterrupted. No matter where one sees him, it's apparent he's attempting to adjust to his new life: in addition to his usual garb, Carlisle now tends to wear a pair of work gloves right on top of his normal ones, as well as a leather apron. With only one proper outfit that masks his emaciated frame, he's not eager to get stains on it.
Then again, he's not always eager for company, either. There are just some things he cannot avoid.
[ooc: alternatively, if none of these prompts are up your alley, hit me up on Discord or Plurk, and we can plot!]
What: With Anchor's #1 Ranch Hand gone, someone had to take care of the animals.
When: Late June/throughout July
Where: Agricultural Level, mostly near the barns/livestock and the adjacent forested area
Warnings: Will update as necessary!
As someone who had everything he ever knew either ruined, upended, or permanently changed for the worse within the near-year he's been aware of himself, Carlisle is glad to have some semblance of a routine back. True, it came at an awful cost, but in an effort to maintain his nerves — and therefore keep his more volatile, necrotic energies in check — he will take what victories he can get, however small they may be.
It started when he first moved into the barn. He's been there for well over a month now, and it took most of that time for the animals to adjust to his presence; with his head-to-toe outfit and fastidious nature, Carlisle is a far cry from their former farmhand, but he simply couldn't let Kieran's animals be without a caretaker. Given the man disappeared so soon after he'd been healed — and after Carlisle had begun to form the barest notion that they could be friends — the former clergyman is quick to blame himself for Kieran's vanishing. What's one more addition to his long list of sins? He has so much to atone for already, and a seemingly endless existence to do it. Who better to be responsible for Anchor's loss but him?
It's self-fulfilling prophecy, of course, but Carlisle is hesitant to label it as such. He felt a genuine bond with Reynir, who then disappeared. The same goes for Kieran, and now he's gone. Carlisle has yet to be proven wrong, shown that the misfortune he's said to breed with his very presence isn't a guarantee, but with only his own experiences to go on, he cannot say he believes otherwise. The only reason he remains in the colony at all is because of the insistence of a few individuals — that, and his own cowardice toward what lies in the wasteland outside of Anchor. The vast, open expanse is enough to have him reeling.
As it is, he told those same few individuals that he was moving from the housing quarters to the barn, slowly converting one of the sheds into a private home as the days went by. He claimed it was for the sake of the animals, and that it'd be a good exercise for him. By surrounding himself with living creatures who depended on him, he'd have to not only have to continue to live withing Anchor, but he would have to master his often destructive energies, keeping them in line lest he wanted their deaths on his hands. It was grim motivation, but motivation none the less. There was a heavier truth lying just beneath that reasoning: he felt that if any animals disappeared, no one would notice, whereas being in proximity of people put them at risk — those he would consider his friends included.
And so, he moved away from them, keeping his distance much as he did in life. It didn't do him any good then, either.
Well, that's not to say that living at the barn hasn't done him some good. Carlisle has indeed gotten a better hold on the necrotic magic that animates him, been able to practice wielding them in the safety of his solitude. He no longer rots everything he touches, can walk across the grasses of the fields without leaving a trail of dying, withered stalks behind him. Animals do not shift uncomfortably at his touch, and there some satisfaction in that. Each day, he feeds them, brushes them, goes about his prayer, watches over those who need him, works a little more on making the barn habitable. It's a routine, and one that often has him interacting less and less with people.
But just because he doesn't seek them out doesn't mean he's completely away from them. He actually has help on the farm some days: there's Pratt, who has shown him how to more or less manage the animals, and Ami, who comes by the brush the horses on a regular basis. Try as he might to fully isolate himself, Carlisle finds that he can't... and deep down, he isn't sure he wants to, no matter how he may seclude himself, both unconsciously or otherwise. Despite everything that's happened in his vicinity, everything he's done as the Blight Heir, Carlisle doesn't want to be alone. He's constantly trying to make amends for an endless guilt that festers in his gut. At least the animals don't judge him as harshly as he judges himself.
When dropping by the agricultural area, one might see Carlisle tending to the start of his garden: he's built up a bed of soil and surrounded it with rocks, hoping to deter the few chickens he has from plucking the new sprouts as they emerge. Acting as an additional deterrent is a tiny dragon, the blue-and-white wyrmling often nestled atop a pole in the center of the bed. Though barely bigger than a chicken himself, he does his best to act as a guard dog, keeping watch over the budding plants and hissing at anyone who would approach, letting loose a breath of chilling air.
When not there, Carlisle can be found over by the field as he tends to the cattle, letting them graze on the grasses to their hearts' content while he prepares their hay or (badly) fixes the fence. Sitting among the cattle is their protector: a hulking beast of an undead abomination. Its malformed body is no less than eight feet tall when sitting, closer to nine or ten when standing, making it out like a sore thumb among the cows and bulls; its rib cage has far too many ribs, and houses a vibrant, blue light that blazes like fire within its cavernous torso. Its frame is built of materials of all sorts, mismatched fragments of both human and animal bone, as well as a twisted branch or two making up its many limbs. The skull of a long-dead cow acts as its head, its eyes shining with the same blue light that burns in its chest. Most notable is a collar that hangs from the human-spine-turned-neck, a shiny bell dangling there for all to see.
And on rare occasion, Carlisle is outside the barn, etching into its walls an elaborate glyph. He accomplishes this with what appears to be a screw with a crude handle added to it. While it may not be a precision tool, it gets the job done, so long as he can work uninterrupted. No matter where one sees him, it's apparent he's attempting to adjust to his new life: in addition to his usual garb, Carlisle now tends to wear a pair of work gloves right on top of his normal ones, as well as a leather apron. With only one proper outfit that masks his emaciated frame, he's not eager to get stains on it.
Then again, he's not always eager for company, either. There are just some things he cannot avoid.
[ooc: alternatively, if none of these prompts are up your alley, hit me up on Discord or Plurk, and we can plot!]
no subject
[Yes, he knows it wobbles.]
I assume most of its instability is due to the fact that I have never built a fence before.
no subject
[She crouches down by one of the posts, giving it another experimentary wiggle.]
How deep do they go?
no subject
Not deep enough, apparently. I couldn't put them any deeper, or they'd be too short, and I hadn't yet found the proper tools for making more when I got here, and I haven't the slightest notion of how I would plane any wood I did manage to cut into planks...
[He trails off with another sigh as the chicken makes its way up to them. The obvious answer is that he ought to ask for help, but that requires him dealing with people, and his avoidance of said people is one of the main reasons he relocated to the barn in the first place.]
no subject
Did you think about asking for help from someone?
[She makes a wide gesture towards the wobbly posts.]
I would have helped you with it.
no subject
[That's not the point. He knows it, and he's sure she knows it. He rubs at the back of his neck.]
I did not want to ask anyone for help.
[Much more truthful.]
no subject
[She will politely refrain from saying that it was quite obvious that Carlisle had not figured it out. He probably knows that.]
And why wouldn't you?
no subject
... Of course she is. He might as well get this over with.]
I moved here not just to care for the animals in Mister Kieran's absence, but to avoid people.
no subject
Carlisle, we talked about this.
[Is this tiny young woman turning her scolding voice on for a revenant far taller than her and capable of killing everything within a radius of himself if he gets in a state? Yes.]
You can't just avoid everyone.
no subject
That's something he can't bear to think about.]
It's more easily done here than it was in the living quarters. Hardly anyone comes to this level, and those who do keep to the other side, near the orchards.
no subject
[He knows it, the jerk, and even though Poison knows very well why he hides himself away that doesn't mean she has to like it or let him just do it without having to have this argument with her multiple times.
She reaches out and grips his arm, just below the elbow.]
You're only hurting yourself.
no subject
What is my solitude when compared to what I could do? To others, to you?
no subject
Do you really think you're doing yourself any favours hiding up here?
[And then, because Poison is oftentimes both brave and stupid in equal measure, she steps up and puts her other arm around him, hugging herself against his chest.]
You're scared you're going to lose control, but you're never going to get to practice being in control if you're isolating yourself.
no subject
Carlisle is indeed scared of losing control, but he's almost more scared of losing people. Whether it's because of his untempered abilities or his affliction, the result is the same: he is at fault.
That thought makes him angry, bitter. He fights that too, knowing what those feelings lead to, knowing where they come from.]
I have be practicing, but—
[His eyes turn to the woods on his periphery, the dead patch of trees among the living greenery still a sore subject. The trunks are dried and withered, their branches twisted and bare; the grass around them is decayed, making a rough circle from where he lost control. He could have hurt Ami, or Pratt, or the hens, but he got lucky. His luck will eventually run out — he never has had much of it.
One thing is certain: Poison cannot be here for that.]
no subject
[She let go of him right away. He feels thin and barely-there in her arms but Carlisle has never truly scared her, never made her feel like he would hurt her, and she hugs him like she would hug a trusted friend.
For a moment, the young woman presses her forehead to the centre of his chest. She's small enough that she barely comes up that high as it is, but she closes her eyes for a moment then looks up at him with one of those small scowls on her face.]
Have you been practicing to control it, or practicing to stop it happening?
no subject
Control. I'm not sure there is a way to stop it from happening. That is what I'm most afraid of.
no subject
Well, that's better than I expected. [Honestly, she'd imagined he'd been trying to avoid it entirely.]
But do you think that's something you can do by yourself?