[Open + Closed] If I Had A Nickel For Every Time My Soul Got Transformed...

[crushed_pearls]

Who: Erin Peters and YOU, but also Phil and Cassandra de Rolo
When: January 21st Onward
Where: Locations
Summary: Fallout of some regains, trying to bounce back still, So Many Animal People On This Ship
Warnings: Lost bullshit, Erin's eyes in a jar, violent transformation. For reference all prompts after 1 feature the post-transformation Erin.


1. Well One Of Us Is Going To Have To Change (Closed To Phil; Sundries)

Avoiding asking Friday why she gets so much fucking mail is getting increasingly difficult for Erin. The curled-up scrap of the Contract with Stone is unexpected but very welcome; at last, she can haul her own sunfish, or at least not spend power like water to do so. The jar with her FUCKING EYES IN IT is disgusting but Erin had given them to Colors for Hedgespinning; maybe she could do the same? Or, preferably, Ossie or Giles or Okie might do the same, as Erin doesn't want these curst fucking things anywhere near her...

The grooming kit arrests her attention, though. Erin knows these tools. She used them often, once Gabby had warmed up to her. They're even etched with a little 'GG' encircled by feathers and thorns. God, it's been so long; Gabby was decades ago, and yet, and yet -

Searing pain, down Erin's shoulders. She lurches, dropping the grooming kit back into its package, crying out in shock. That sound rapidly becomes a scream of absolute fucking agony as raven's wings tear their way out of the meat of her shoulders and shred the back of her dress and coat into tatters. Feathers lace their way into Erin's tempestuous hair, joining the storm, and little scales - like a bird's - grow into place around her wrists and ankles.

"Mother fucker," Erin half-yells, half-sobs. And then, in a louder voice, a call for help: "PHIL!"

There's blood everywhere now. It's gonna be a whole fucking event, isn't it?

2. The Retired Villain's Club (Closed to Cassandra; Cabin 134 & the Hoard)

Love can you come to my cabin at your convenience? I have something I want to show you and talk about. Difficult conversation probably. There is no rush whatsoever.

3. Acceptable Levels of Hypocrisy (Around)

Sometimes you need to resort to weird measures to get around your problems. The issue: Erin has not been eating properly and she knows it. The solution: Erin is now eating in the weirdest goddamn places. Catch her with cups (not bowls) of various foods while perched on the statue in The Promenade, nibbling her way through an improbable amount of carbs while whittling in the Lounge, carefully eating garlic bread with a fork in The Library, or even indulging her endless need for sugar in the shallow reaches of The Infinite Tommy Bahama. Can't be on people for self-care if she's not caring for herself, damnit.

4. A Castle Made Of Clouds (Tauva)

Every few days you might catch Erin at Tauva with her doll's castle, now fully-manned by wooden figurines with operational siege weapons (powered by rubber bands), poking and prodding at it with her stylus and sometimes jotting down notes in braille. If she has reason to suspect you're into building, y'know, buildings, or have experience with interior design, you might have received a text requesting a consultation on a project; if not, well, she's got a doll castle in the smoking lounge, fuck's up with that?

Comments

2!

[not_the_last]

The reply text is quick, just I'll be there shortly, and within about ten minutes Cassandra is tapping at the door to Erin's cabin.

one of us is going to have to change

[goodweather]

Halfway across the ship, Phil thinks the worst, though he can hardly be blamed. A scream like that cuts through two decks for an owl. In a moment he's on his feet; he hikes Bad Penny onto his hip and sprints.

The direction of the sound brings him into Sundries, and he crashes in, a hand on the hilt until he sees that the issue is not that she's getting stabbed to death or something, despite all the blood. No. It's a very, very violent way to say that he's not alone in being winged the way he is anymore.

"Oh, fuck, Erin," he says sharply. Those are fresh. Tender, probably. A gift as unwanted as his. He shouldn't touch those, but he's going to look, see if there's anything still actively torn and bleeding. "Shit. I--there's probably opioids in the infirmary. Are there still open wounds?"

3.

[decrypter]

She's brought a cup of fruit to Erin, a halfway point between trying to get the older woman to mind her own health and her sweet tooth. Even if one probably won't die from ill diet on an eternity cruise, some dignity needs to be maintained, and a fruit won't kill her.

"I've brought a double offering of food and a bit of news you might be interested in."

The more they hang out, the more a slight bit of dramatics creeps into her style of speech.

Re: 2!

[crushed_pearls]

Through the cabin door: "I need you to not freak out, okay? There's gonna be a big obvious thing when I open the door and it's not why I invited you here but just. Don't. Freak out about it. Okay love?"

[crushed_pearls]

Erin can't answer at first; every effort to make a noise with her mouth that isn't a shaky breath just ends in a pained sound, with her body trembling. Eventually something inside her goes 'fuck it'; she braces herself against the counter in Sundries before pulling away what's left of her coat and top, facing as away from Phil as she possibly can.

The sight is...odd, medically. It may perhaps remind Phil of a buck losing its velvet. The wings are wet with blood and scraps of skin stick to their feathers, and yet beneath them Erin's skin is shiny and new, unblemished except for the splattered gore and scraps of cloth. If someone couldn't see the results of the wounds that aren't there, one might think Erin was simply born like this.

"N-no opiods," Erin manages. She tries to flex the wings and winces, hissing sharply; all attempts to move them stop instantly. "S-sorry for y-yelling..."

[crushed_pearls]

"Bribed by my own roommate. How dare you resort to my own tactics." Erin takes the fruit cup with a little laugh and immediately takes out an orange slice to chew on. Mmmm, not having fucking scurvy, one of her favorite flavors. "I do eat more than sugar even when I'm eating sugar, y'know. 'm just glad I didn't get a craving for eyeballs with the new feathers, that woulda been...somewhat unneighborly of me."

[decrypter]

"Well, if you did, it's not as though they're doing me more use than they'd do something else as nutrition. I'd hope you'd at least ask first."

Only she and Erin can make that sort of joke, and she's glad it will be understood for the humor it is. One builds up a whole collection of comments after enough time.

"However, I'd like it if we could stick to grapes for the time being."

[crushed_pearls]

"Ah grapes, the eyeballs of fruit." Nom nom nom nom. Erin scoots aside the pile of clothes (thick sweaters, destined to be picked apart for some purpose later) she's been looting aside and sits up straight. Her wings flex and settle, trying to get comfortable and not sure how. "So - news you say?"

[decrypter]

"It's small, but you'll understand why I call it news, since I did receive permission to share. And you have permission to share, and so forth."

Just so it doesn't feel like a secret - more of a sharing.

"SecUnit has chosen what it would like to be called. Its name is Security."

And the way she says it, it's not simply a job title or a purpose, it is their mutual friend's chosen name, and she'll abide by it. Not a designation or an alias. By now, most of her thoughts have the new name, and the ones that do not are swiftly corrected.

Re: 2!

[not_the_last]

A pause.

Through the door: "I'll do my best. Is it something dangerous?"

[crushed_pearls]

"Uh. Only in the sense that I need to once again master turning my body and walking through doors."

There's a heavy sigh...

And then Erin opens the door, revealing her newly winged form. With her current lack of access to a tailor she's resorted to having this conversation in a tank top with most of the entire back cut away.

Her wings flutter nervously.

"This uh. Isn't. Shapeshifting."

[crushed_pearls]

"Security," Erin murmurs. "...Beautiful. And hardly small, I should think. Our friend has been struggling to be reborn for awhile now, and it's amazing to see its fight rewarded."

There's a long, fruit-eating pause.

Then: "It does remember that I sent others to ask it about its chosen designation before, right? I hear permission to share but what y'want, y'see, is an explicit request to spread this upon the ship as the dark gospel of my ascension."

[not_the_last]

Cassandra stands very still, taking in the wings, the delicate scales on the wrists, the look on Erin's face.

She is, as promised, doing her best to not freak out.

Two questions in her mind are fighting for precedence, and until she settles which one she's going to ask first, she's going to have to settle for a faint "... I see."

[decrypter]

Hands folding on her lap, Helena's calm, laughing at Erin's last sentence.

"I asked, and Security said that it was ready to use the name freely. Take that as you wish - what you choose to do with this information is entirely your own, as long as you're prepared for people to ask you who Security is."

A pause, while fondness creeps into her tone.

"I'm truly happy for it. Choosing what feels right."

The right name means everything. Erin will understand.

[goodweather]

Phil purses his lip. This is… going to be complicated.

“I don’t think yelling is the biggest issue here,” he grumbles, coming around to her front and under, pushing up for her to lean on, taking one of her arms around his shoulders. “I’m getting you to the infirmary either way, even if it’s just to clean up. What’s your opinion on Tylenol?”

[crushed_pearls]

"F-fine enough - f-fuck." Erin's not quite dead weight but her efforts to walk could be going a lot better. Still, she's moving, and that's not nothing. She has enough presence of mind to scoop up the remains of the shredded clothes, which she clutches to her chest.

It's more modesty than none.

"Ffucking hurt last time too, god..."

[crushed_pearls]

"...It came in Sundries. Not unknown for my people, my soul...changed again. Similar to. When I changed it myself, just an addition instead of a replacement."

Shaky breath. "Not sure what to make of it."

[not_the_last]

It doesn't sound like this was something voluntary, which neatly eliminates one of the two questions.

"An addition. Is this effect ..." She hesitates on reversible for a moment, and decides instead on "... permanent?"

[crushed_pearls]

"Without access to the Deep Hedge or someone who can flay my soul? Probably." The wings droop. "...Bad look on me?"

She's trying to joke. She's almost succeeding.

[goodweather]

Phil raises a brow. “Last time?”

All this stupid magic nonsense, he has half a mind to think that maybe she got rid of those wings the same way she got rid of her eyes, but he really has no idea and doesn’t feel like speculating all that much. Most of his brain space is being taken up by lugging Erin plus a couple dozen extra pounds of muscle, bone, and wet feathers to the elevators.

[crushed_pearls]

Erin groans, only partly in pain. "Year, y-year and a half after...after Liz stopped, f-flayed my master's touch off me. Got the m-music in its place. Hurt. So much."

[not_the_last]

"What? No," and while the momentary bewilderment is real, she leans on putting it into her voice, to emphasize it. "Erin, no, I wasn't thinking any such thing, I'm worried about how it feels. To you."

[crushed_pearls]

The relief is visible and immediate. Erin steps aside to let Cass into the room, remembering her manners.

"It's...on a physical level I'm in fucking agony, love. Which reminds me..."

Tylenol bottle out of her pocket. Erin shakes two into her mouth and swallows them dry.

"But as far as violent rebirths go this has been my least violent. As for being a fucking raven...good question. They're complicated stories. Teachers and scavengers, spies and ill omens and gods of war. So. Yeah."

[not_the_last]

Luckily, Cassandra has had painkiller pills explained to her recently.

The word raven makes her pause, and look back at Erin's wings. Oh yes.

"In my world, they're associated with the goddess of death and fate. The Matron of Ravens, she's called."

[crushed_pearls]

"Mmm. Similar, on mine. The eyes of Odin Allfather, who is glad of war and god of chieftains. But...I dunno, love. It's a lot."

Deep breath. "So. The thing I called you here for."