percival "poor lil meow meow" de rolo iii (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whitestonelives) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2022-02-14 10:48 am
whitestonelives) wrote in ximilialog2022-02-14 10:48 am
Entry tags:
open | haunted by the ghost of you
CHARACTERS: Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III (please just call him Percy) and you!
LOCATION: On the station, all around.
DATE: midway through February
CONTENT: Percy has some lingering trauma to work out. In the absence of something to shoot at or Vox Machina to talk to, he works it out by locking himself in the science lab.
WARNINGS: grief, some PTSD symptoms, mentions of family massacre, mentions of horror and undead, guns, mentions of demonic possession, spoilers for Critical Role campaign one if you’re watching TLOVM
[one: the fighter still remains || laboratory/tech storage]
[My entire family died when monsters attacked our home, Percy had said to Welford Branson, and it had been perhaps the first time, the very first time, he had ever said it out loud where other orbers could hear. Even saying it, it had perhaps been obvious just how much it hurt to still talk about. I know how that sits on a heart. I’m sorry that you know too.
Now, after the orb, that smug fucking thing, has been taken to the north wing, Percy goes to the infirmary to get dutifully checked up on, then, the second he can, slips away to the laboratory and starts working, casting new ammunition of different kinds and creating new bombs and taking apart some of the weapons in tech storage, drawing up plans based on them. If you happen to need the science lab for whatever reason for the next, oh, 24 hours? Percy is right there and he will not leave.
Someone…may need to coax him back out of the lab.]
[two: i am the only son || training room]
Bang.
The sound echoes around the training room. At the shooting range, where the targets have been set up, Percy is standing some distance away from the target, wearing a mask reminiscent of a plague doctor’s that conveniently keeps his face hidden. But anyone can see the bits of black smoke curling off his form, clinging to his ankles, and the white-knuckled grip he’s got on his gun.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Click.
Percy lets loose a frustrated, wordless scream. He backs up to reload Animus, taking his mask off as he does so, and some of the black smoke is leaking out his mouth as well. But no matter how angry he gets, the smoke isn’t getting any worse, any bigger—it’s only the remnants of Orthax in his soul, not the monster itself. There’s no real power here, just a man who lost his family and, apparently, hasn’t quite been able to deal with it just yet.
Interrupt him, and his eyes flick up from his gun. “What do you want?” he asks, hiding that hurt he talked about to Welford under a layer of irritation.
[three: wild card]
[If the above prompts don’t catch your interest, leave a starter set anywhere else on the station below! or hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
mollymauktealeaf and I’ll write a closed starter based on what we hash out.]
LOCATION: On the station, all around.
DATE: midway through February
CONTENT: Percy has some lingering trauma to work out. In the absence of something to shoot at or Vox Machina to talk to, he works it out by locking himself in the science lab.
WARNINGS: grief, some PTSD symptoms, mentions of family massacre, mentions of horror and undead, guns, mentions of demonic possession, spoilers for Critical Role campaign one if you’re watching TLOVM
[one: the fighter still remains || laboratory/tech storage]
[My entire family died when monsters attacked our home, Percy had said to Welford Branson, and it had been perhaps the first time, the very first time, he had ever said it out loud where other orbers could hear. Even saying it, it had perhaps been obvious just how much it hurt to still talk about. I know how that sits on a heart. I’m sorry that you know too.
Now, after the orb, that smug fucking thing, has been taken to the north wing, Percy goes to the infirmary to get dutifully checked up on, then, the second he can, slips away to the laboratory and starts working, casting new ammunition of different kinds and creating new bombs and taking apart some of the weapons in tech storage, drawing up plans based on them. If you happen to need the science lab for whatever reason for the next, oh, 24 hours? Percy is right there and he will not leave.
Someone…may need to coax him back out of the lab.]
[two: i am the only son || training room]
Bang.
The sound echoes around the training room. At the shooting range, where the targets have been set up, Percy is standing some distance away from the target, wearing a mask reminiscent of a plague doctor’s that conveniently keeps his face hidden. But anyone can see the bits of black smoke curling off his form, clinging to his ankles, and the white-knuckled grip he’s got on his gun.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Click.
Percy lets loose a frustrated, wordless scream. He backs up to reload Animus, taking his mask off as he does so, and some of the black smoke is leaking out his mouth as well. But no matter how angry he gets, the smoke isn’t getting any worse, any bigger—it’s only the remnants of Orthax in his soul, not the monster itself. There’s no real power here, just a man who lost his family and, apparently, hasn’t quite been able to deal with it just yet.
Interrupt him, and his eyes flick up from his gun. “What do you want?” he asks, hiding that hurt he talked about to Welford under a layer of irritation.
[three: wild card]
[If the above prompts don’t catch your interest, leave a starter set anywhere else on the station below! or hit me up at