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video — b.dearborn (cw for blood church/ritual/self injury)
( the feed opens to Ben's face, neutral and blanched in the perpetual nighttime light — or, is that truly why? you wouldn't be mistaken in thinking it were one of those funny street performers that pose as statues to surprise the general public. his skin is dull, his complexion stony; his eyes don't shine, though they still seem lively...enough. )
It's— Christ, is it really that late? ( peering down at his wrist watch before the camera, he reels a moment. ) It's just shy of eleven. I've been visiting the church periodically for the past couple weeks, studying the structure and what goes on inside. We've all seen some new faces around — except, well, difficult to see their faces I suppose. They're not Sleepers, or Deerington natives.
Some of them, not the Plague-masked Doctors, come here to perform a ritual. They seem battle ready, whoever they are, for whatever reason. They don't talk to anyone, but they'll tell you they come to this place to— ( Ben pauses, the giggling of dry paper being flipped through fills the void of sound, to read from a book of notes— ) —'pay tribute to the blood of the old and new,' which tracks along with what's happening here. They forfeit their own blood in some sort of ritual.
An associate and myself decided to perform a sacrifice, to see what would come of us. We had an intense experience of mental clarity and feeling... ( this part takes Ben a moment to consider, eyes narrowing and rolling up to seek the right phrase ) ...secure. Interestingly enough, a young witch here was correct in her theories — their incense is, as far as I can tell, intended for protection.
But I'm curious if others might have experienced the same. I can report that I'm undergoing some sort of change here as many others are, but I have a gut feeling about this. Some have changed into unrecognizable creatures, but I haven't experienced such a thing, and neither has my friend. Might be correlation, causation, or...nothing at all.
I am— by no means suggesting running into this church and spilling your blood. ( he shakes a free hand, stained in ruddy incense dust, palm wrapped from aforementioned blood ritual, proof's in the pudding, right? ) I can't promise there won't be harsh effects in the end. Still can't determine if the sacrificing of blood affects the blood waves that keep cropping up.
But if you've done as we have, and the 'hunters' do — I'd like to discuss what we've experienced from it.
It's— Christ, is it really that late? ( peering down at his wrist watch before the camera, he reels a moment. ) It's just shy of eleven. I've been visiting the church periodically for the past couple weeks, studying the structure and what goes on inside. We've all seen some new faces around — except, well, difficult to see their faces I suppose. They're not Sleepers, or Deerington natives.
Some of them, not the Plague-masked Doctors, come here to perform a ritual. They seem battle ready, whoever they are, for whatever reason. They don't talk to anyone, but they'll tell you they come to this place to— ( Ben pauses, the giggling of dry paper being flipped through fills the void of sound, to read from a book of notes— ) —'pay tribute to the blood of the old and new,' which tracks along with what's happening here. They forfeit their own blood in some sort of ritual.
An associate and myself decided to perform a sacrifice, to see what would come of us. We had an intense experience of mental clarity and feeling... ( this part takes Ben a moment to consider, eyes narrowing and rolling up to seek the right phrase ) ...secure. Interestingly enough, a young witch here was correct in her theories — their incense is, as far as I can tell, intended for protection.
But I'm curious if others might have experienced the same. I can report that I'm undergoing some sort of change here as many others are, but I have a gut feeling about this. Some have changed into unrecognizable creatures, but I haven't experienced such a thing, and neither has my friend. Might be correlation, causation, or...nothing at all.
I am— by no means suggesting running into this church and spilling your blood. ( he shakes a free hand, stained in ruddy incense dust, palm wrapped from aforementioned blood ritual, proof's in the pudding, right? ) I can't promise there won't be harsh effects in the end. Still can't determine if the sacrificing of blood affects the blood waves that keep cropping up.
But if you've done as we have, and the 'hunters' do — I'd like to discuss what we've experienced from it.
video; un: thom
Seems like, uh. A bit of a bad omen to me.
no subject
Well, considering it is their ritual they perform, they seem dedicated to spilling their own blood for the cause.
But that is quite the...predicament? ( what is that all about, exactly? )
no subject
That's a nice way of putting it, I guess. Socially paralyzing is probably more accurate though.
[ a beat, and he tips his head to the side, considering. ] Not that I'm really all that interested in, uh, socializing with people performing blood rituals in a big creepy church. No offense, but I just don't think that's really my scene.
no subject
but if contact with another seems out of the question... )
The hunters did not interact with us. We drew our own blood; it seems like a personal, isolated sort of ritual. I'm sure you wouldn't have to make contact with anyone. But certainly don't go risking yourself on my account. As I said, since I cannot verify the safety or result of these blood rituals these strangers perform in the church, I'm not making official recommendations. I want to know if anyone's experience in doing so has had different effects, is all.
God knows, maybe you're better off not partaking at all. ( pardon Ben for seeming flippant in his head shake and his eyeroll; nothing in this place makes sense, and few of these changes stick around for long enough to study thoroughly before it all goes changing again. Ben's a classic, stubborn earth sign; he really hates things changing up without notice. )
Is this...predicament an effect you've always lived with, or one that Deerington bestowed on you? ( it's his concern that guides him to ask, in a way that doesn't feel like prying. )
no subject
No this is... this is a Deerington special. I used to be able to heal people, before I woke up here. Now I get to worry constantly about accidentally hurting them instead.
no subject
Happens to a lot of us that come here. ( Ben had zero powers, Ben continues to have zero powers, but— ) My guardian angel is stuck as a dove...which has been something of an improvement. ( long story? you betcha! )
I'm sorry to hear how yours has changed, though...I couldn't possibly imagine. ( going from healing to harming? that's just a cruel joke, Deerington, shame on you. )
no subject
[ thom shakes his head a bit to move past it. it's not really any of his business in the first place, and apparently this guy likes the current situation more, so there's really no reason to press.
not like he could do anything to help even if ben wanted it, anyway. ]
It's... it's not easy. Sometimes I wake up hoping it was all some sort of terrible dream, but no luck there so far.
no subject
but they now make less of a nuisance of themselves around guests when they can't speak, or manhandle other people. )
I think we all wake up here each time hoping our experiences are now all locked behind the wall of memory, wanting to find we're back in our own beds, to see this has all been the dream that it supposedly is.
I come from a long line of studying religion, a few in particular, and themes of immeasurable hardship with unknown purpose is so rampant, it's nearly cliché. It's also not often the most comforting notion.
But I try to hope that it's meant for something...and if not, I figure out what it means for me, what I can derive from the experience.
( a very self-conscious scoff. ) It's hardly good advice, though.
no subject
I'm not really a fan of that whole theme of struggle for the sake of struggle, honestly. It seems like an easy way to be cruel to people unnecessarily. "Characters Building" experiences only ever seem to happen to people who are already at a disadvantage from the beginning.
[ alright, so much for not being obvious there, thom. he flashes his own sliding, self-conscious version of a smile ben's way. ]
I don't know, there's definitely something to be said for creating your own narrative, I think.
text / un: kendrick (1/2)
video / un: kendrick (2/2, about half an hour later)
Same as you. Clear-headedness and protection.
[ this kind of thing is, actually, the founding principle of sean's island as far as he knows, but epona has never acknowledged their offerings in such a crystalline way. it's a little disconcerting, but it is nice, especially as the blood he gave to the masked doctor had left him exhausted.
plus, free incense. free incense is always good in deerington. ]
Blood for old gods is nothing new for me, but. It just never felt exactly like this back home.
no subject
it's plenty of time for Ben to get home first, before seeing such a follow up arrive in the form of a video call.
looks like Ben just missed him. )
You— ( yes, somehow? Ben does seem surprised by this development from his network post. if it appears something more like an irate parent than an unknown neighbor responding, well...
he reigns it in. )
Is...that so. ( might explain the easy, almost blasé attitude toward an impulse blood sacrifice. ) Explain to me about blood for old gods where ever 'home' is to you? ( at least he doesn't seem catty now! wary, but genuinely intrigued. )
no subject
It's a bit of a story. [ wrapping up his hand buys him enough time to figure out how to put it succinctly. ]
I'm from an island called Thisby, just off the Isle of Man, [ he explains, because exactly nobody has ever known where thisby was even if they hail from an earth not unlike sean's own. ] We've the Catholics like anywhere else in Britain but even most of the Catholics believe in the older gods. We race the capaill uisce every year and the men who fall, we usually think of as tributes to Epona.
[ of course there are probably places in the british isles where epona doesn't demand blood sacrifices -- places without water horses, that's for sure. ]
no subject
his expression is a blankness not of a lack of understanding, but from an incredulousness. )
Going somewhat off topic here, ( 'somewhat' being 'away from the blood church Sean is currently at right now' and all that goes with it, ) but — does 'capaill uisce' mean...what I think it means? ( that isn't some euphemism, or the name of some biker gang, or anything of that sort, right? Ben hinges just off the edge of fascinated, anticipatory, a patient man that senses buzz-words that light his eyes up. )
no subject
If you think it's Manx for 'water horse,' then it does. [ since he's already in the church, sean sets about packing incense into his bag to bring back to his house and neighborhood. ] They live in the seas around the island. Thisby's the only place in the world where the capaill are native.
[ and as such it's illegal to export them. not that it always stops the more enterprising americans and mainlanders who come to see the races. ] You've heard of them?
no subject
( can you blame the trepidation there? )
More familiar with the names hippocampus and kelpie, alas. But they're real, for you? ( as is an island called Thisby; this all feels like a Narnia-slash-Atlantis situation, a place hidden from the modern world where aspects of fantasy reign as much living and breathing as Ben does in the world. he scribbles the details down onto paper, adamant to not forget this new fascination. like, real water horses? Ben has travelled to northern countries for plenty of odd cryptids between spirits and black dogs, but even in having heard rumors, he's still never set eyes on a kelpie...and honestly, he hopes to keep it that way, given the horror stories. )
no subject
[ he finishes packing the incense and makes his way to sit in one of the pews, not quite inclined to take his chances with the outdoors just yet. deerington in october takes some working up to. ]
You can come meet mine, if you like.
no subject
shame you have to miss this double take, though; Ben nearly sprains something with the sheer surprise. ) Meet—?
You have a water horse here in Deerington? ( how does this surprise the man that lives next door to Newt Scamander? it's been a long day, maybe, considering it all blends together in this unending sense of nighttime. )
voice / un: kendrick (1/2, again)
[ and it's been the biggest blessing of sean's life, if he's honest. that part he doesn't say aloud, because he's still not entirely sure how to explain his capall. ]
Hold on.
video / un: kendrick (2/2, another half-hour-ish later)
instead, he walks down into the yard and around the front of the single-stall stable he'd built when he first arrived. it looks like an ordinary stable except for the ways it isn't: the bars on the windows and the hinges on the doors are pure iron, and there are red ribbons tied into the latches, fluttering faintly. ]
This is Corr. [ sean says something in manx, tar noal myr shoh, and then there's his horse, all eighteen blood-red hands of him, snorting fiercely and with his razor-sharp teeth bared.
he probably looks terrifying, but sean just says, ] Oh, sure, it's always drama with you.
un: deadpool; video
[ It's hard to remember everything correctly, the amount of time since then and the fact that Wade had been losing his goddamn mind at the time. ] And lots of blood. I'm talking Syfy B-Movie horror amounts of blood.
[ Wade's about as useful as nipples on a breastplate. But there was an attempt, right. ]
I'm loving that you've embraced the cult aesthetic, though. Leave the kid in robes alone if you see him.
no subject
Ben almost appears weary for the guy coming through the other end of the connection. ) I read briefly about it, while compiling information for another associate at FEAR. I was rather dreading October rolling around for a second go.
( but he hasn't died this month, so it's already doing better than August. )
'Kid in robes'? Can I use a lifeline? ( he just really outed himself for being a casual gameshow nerd. listen — stays at motels in America between exorcisms in the deep south meant Ben could enjoy few things, but by God, catching Millionaire at ambiguous one in the afternoon on local access was one of them. )
no subject
Diarmuid, he hangs out at the church a lot. Kinda short, pale, Irish, lots of hair, dresses like a monk. He doesn't need to think he needs to go bleeding or joining any cults.
[ Wade's just seemingly got an IV of pop-culture dripping into his brain somehow. Maybe for a similar reason, hotels in weird places while on odd jobs. Either way, he's not gonna judge the guy. For that anyway. ]
video; un: the oa
There is... something wrong here. Wrong with him.
Finally, she makes an appearance, frowning, watching closely. Watching him closely. OA might be usually interested in the workings of Deerington— discovering more of its story in her bid to leave—
but she's not. Not today. It's Ben she's interested in. ]
Ben— [ She fixes him with a hard look— not unkind; serious perhaps. Concerned. ] What's happening to you?
no subject
her expression isn't what he expects, though, and it's visible on his stony complexion, eyes round and brows ticked upward. from the expression on her face, he feels ready for a meaty discussion, thinks they're about to embark on some brainstorming behind the intent of the Hunters, their patron, the source of all the blood—
but none of that is on the itinerary now, apparently, based on what OA launches right out of the gate with. Ben blinks, responsive with his unexpected surprise, jarred right off of his anticipated train of thought. 'oh,' his initial beat of silence conveys, before his brain finally sends enough signal down to his mouth. )
Me? I'm— ( still settled on the topic of the sacrifice, a very human brain inside Ben Dearborn's skull reconciled to believe this might be about the after-effects of the ritual — thankfully, as OA's words echo in his ears, it occurs to him. realization loosens his expression. 'oh,' once more, with feeling. )
Suppose you mean my dry skin from hell? ( Ben lifts his free hand, equally marblesque, matte and porous as he draws a finger thoughtfully against the side of his jaw. Ben isn't a funny man, hasn't the charisma or energy. he doesn't seem amused, but he also seems unbalanced in addressing it. ) I've been told I'm a bit dry, personality-wise, but I think Deerington has a terrible sense of humor. ( which is to say, he hasn't a goddamn clue; the nonverbal cue, subtle but there in the way his eyes flick around, suggests that that part is starting to, slowly, frighten him. )
no subject
Her expression remains unchanged, brow furrowed and eyes staring relentlessly at him as he raises his hand and draws a line across his jaw. It's— is it—? Stone—? It's hard to really tell across the feed— lighting and camera quality can only offer so much for her to go on without her seeing it in person. She has it in her mind to get up and head over so she can look at it more closely— but then, what can she do from there? She doesn't mind mysteries, but this is pressing, dangerous.
Finally, she relents: her expression softening, less critical. She notices how his eyes move— there's... fear. She understands fear well, as quiet and contained as he seems to keep it. OA inhales: ]
When did this start?
no subject
not that he was using humor to avoid the topic, but even in that truth, he feels a little ashamed for trying in the face of her critical concern. she's right to be, is why. he drops his hand down and by God, doesn't he feel like a demure child again back in school, under the pressure of rigid nuns and their stern eyes. she isn't any of those things, thankfully, and it's hardly as if Ben was easily cowed by that temperament anyway.
when he looks back up at her, her expression is more similar to...something else from home. someone else. someone he writes letters to every week, that sit in his desk drawer, never going anywhere. )
Almost a week — not fully. ( fortunately, not so immediately after the blood ritual they'd done earlier in the month, that Ben suspects that to be the reason. Will hasn't experienced any changes himself. it can't be linked.
so...there is no obvious link. in Ben's mind, that's even worse than knowing. the nervousness in it illuminates through his dull complexion too well. ) Thought it was lack of sunlight at first, change in season...but I don't believe that's the case anymore.
I don't know what it is. ( some of the most terrifying words Ben Dearborn can possibly utter: 'I don't know.' )
no subject
[ OA looks quietly horrified, sitting back in her seat. Is he—? She's still for a few moments, just staring at him.
It's short-lived, kick-starting that strong need to help, to solve it, solve this. A problem she must find answers to.
She's reminded of Evelyn, trapped in her body— the thought of Ben falling to the same fate is wholly frightening. Her face lights up for a moment, as if struck by an idea — could she heal him? How she and Homer used the Movements?
... But she doesn't have Homer, she doesn't even have anyone here in Deerington she's taught the Movements to yet, either. She doesn't know if would work without another person. She's... never tried. OA's face sinks into a loss. ]
I'm sorry, Ben. I— [ She swallows, lips pursing. ] I don't know what I can do to help. There has to be something—
[ Her stubbornness prevails, even despite the uncertainty of what can be done. ]
no subject
this is possibly the first time in years that someone has said something to Ben that has left him appearing as if — nearly ashamed. eyes blink and tick down from OA's face, introspective, conflicted. it's the first time that someone makes him think...that this change has something to do with himself, not the dreamscape malleable and unpredictable around him.
Ben is so used to treating the surrounding as the culprit here, that he hadn't been given a reason to consider what might be wrong with himself.
but dulled and like a shadow — makes him think of home, the life he had traversed. all the motions made from rote memory, water traveling through creases, in the same repetitive direction, over and over.
is this his fault? )
I'm fine, I'm sure. ( he doesn't know how convincing it will be, but he sculpts his words with earnesty. he feels all right, so far...he thinks. ) I'm think the ritual here at the church has kept me protected so far. I don't think it's been the cause.
( it isn't that he doesn't want her help; he just doesn't want OA running herself into circles with concern, if the problem is something in him. in the back of his mind, it seems rude to let that happen.
but he doesn't have anything else for his argument, being as there...isn't one. man of theories and plans and fussing over details, and he curiously lacks any debate here suddenly. )