corvidly: (♦ 12)
Mᴏʀɢᴀɴ Bʟᴀᴋᴇ; ʀᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴛᴇᴍ ([personal profile] corvidly) wrote in [community profile] herbgarden2015-10-19 10:03 pm
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Open Post: Morgan Blake (OC)

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asanctuary: (∫ divination)

that thread we talked about for so long (do you want content warnings bc this is a giant cw)

[personal profile] asanctuary 2015-11-04 09:54 pm (UTC)(link)
There isn't anything noticeably spectacular about today. The sky is bright and crisp with minimal clouds, dead leaves rustling across streets where the groundspeople can't quite get to them. It's warm enough that Moritz is wearing a polo and pants and not really regretting the decision to leave the light sweater home for the day, even in early-November. Moritz's backpack has its usual pens and pencils, a miniature stapler and a Mellow Yellow bottle, currently emptied of its 2:1 ratio of soda-to-vodka.

The student shuttle is typical, both in amount of bodies cramped into it and amount of exhaust hissing and sighing out of it at every change in speed. Moritz's routine trip home is made even easier when he doesn't bother bringing his truck onto campus and instead takes the shuttle to his dorm - today his mind is buzzing too loudly to allow for driving. He's glad he took the bus, even if today the people pressing in on every side make him sick - with alternating adoration and loneliness.

When he steps down to the sidewalk at his stop, his head swims for just a minute, and it could just as easily be the post-adrenaline endorphins as it could be the booze. Moritz made the decision last night, and it had been the most clear his head had felt while he was alone in weeks. All day it's lingered over him, acting as both stimulant and sedative. Right now he feels a crushing freedom, a fascination that blinds him to his fears without actually getting rid of them. Anything for the distraction.

He doubles back to the crosswalk, breath hitching at the thought of dying by getting hit by a car - so selfish, he could never, ever, so loud and traumatic for the driver and everyone around and onlookers and-- - and he stares at the ground, his shoes, the streetlamp, anything else while he waits to cross. There's not much of a crowd here, it's not so much like the school hallways and certainly not like the bus, but he still has to mumble a pitchy apology to someone he bumps with his backpack.

The signal across the street is a red palm warning them back, and he pulls at the left strap of his bag while he waits. If the foot traffic goes as smoothly as it usually does, then in just over an hour:

Moritz should be dead.
trashgoblin: (oh no oh no)

here you go my friend

[personal profile] trashgoblin 2016-09-09 05:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Fun fact about the southern, shitty-soiled but still forested region of New Jersey known as the Pine Barrens: it contains carnivorous plants! Which are definitely fun to drop ants into, even if your partner tells you you're both 'workin' with a time crunch' and that you need to 'pick your warded silver cross back up and get off the fuckin' ground'. It's still fun to nudge at the native orchids that spill across the edges of the path you're trudging along. And once you're at a point where there aren't clear paths anymore, admiring the region-specific, tiny versions of pitch pines that barely lean over you is just so relaxing. Even the ground is noticeable - strangely sandy, considering you're not too close to a beach.

Oh! And the Jersey Devil. That guy too. Gal? It's hard to say. Ginny had been primed with shitty old-fashioned drawings of it, and lots of descriptions of an American two-legged dragon with the head of a goat and bat's wings, but what she actually sees when they finally catch a glimpse through the trees is:

"It's an ugly green flamingo!"

"Would you mind keepin' it the fuck down while we're right behind it?"

Maybe it was Morgan's way of getting revenge when he let Ginny trip right over an exposed pitch pine root, once they'd finished capturing the damn thing.


"I understand the cat carrier for like, getting it out of the woods."

There's a pause. Ginny can hear her own heavy breath ringing against the trees. Morgan, slightly ahead of her, is panting as well. Maybe that's why it takes him an extra few seconds to answer. "But?"

"Is it gonna be enough to keep it from destroying your car? And what's the catch and release like for these guys? We're not just relocating it to a different forest?" Ginny hits her foot on an overlarge rock in the path and swears, catching herself. The carrier swings ominously from her hand, but the creature inside is quiet. It's got enough tranquilizers to - well, to knock out a Jersey devil. "Or is Rhode Island really hurting for more tourists?"

She's always liked making Morgan make that weird half-laugh snort. "Nah, I think they got all the people in that state that they could need. We're just gonna..." His hand gestures. Ginny is less than shocked to see that he's managed to find time to light a cigarette. "...magically declaw it. So to speak."

"We're using your car as an exorcism room?"

"It's not an exorcism without a demon to be kickin' out."

"Operating room, then? I still feel like the fact that we're gonna spread this guy out on the backseat of your car and chant with sage is more important than anything else, here."

Morgan snorts. He also finally stops short, long enough for Ginny to catch up and for him to take over the carrier's handle for the next couple hundred yards. It's rough on the shoulder, carrying that thing, but it's impossible for them both to hang onto the sole handle at the same time. "Sage isn't gonna help us here. But don't worry." He walks next to her, tilted a little comically to the opposite side, clearly to compensate for the devil sitting in that cat carrier. "I've got enough rue and juniper for this guy."


Bringing it back into the woods - and therefore, back up the slight rolling hills they'd just brought it down - had seemed a moderately daunting task before the 'declawing'.

Afterwards, it felt something near to impossible.

"I think my arm is gonna fall off."

"Better than havin' your face ripped off by it when it wakes up."

Which was probably the only impetus that would have ever worked, to have Ginny moving as fast as she is, so soon after dragging herself back into the woods a second time.

By now, they're both hauling ass back to Morgan's car, knowing that whatever yarrow root nonsense he'd given it was only going to pacify it so much. And that its soothing effects would probably be useless against the familiar-smelling humans that it knew had fucked with it before. It might have been magically chilled out from attacking random travelers, but there are limits to this kind of thing.

Ginny wipes some sweat off her forehead and, coincidentally, rubs some dirt onto it. She'd sigh dramatically if she had the air for it. "We gotta only have like, half a mile to go, right?"

"Pretty sure." Morgan sounds like he's more interested in watching his footing than in discussing whether or not they're done suffering. "Hard to tell when all the trees look the same."

The groan Ginny lets out is worth the wasted oxygen. It echoes pleasantly off the trees.

Up ahead, the Raven swoops in. Silent as usual, but with the sort of forceful presence that Ginny's always found makes the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Ugh. She's so busy frowning up at the bird that Ginny doesn't see the rock under her heel, and instead it displaces itself as she walks forward. Her foot slides, her ankle rolls, and she and the empty carrier make a hell of a racket as they hit the trail.

"Ow," both covers it and doesn't quite reach what her elbow is feeling.

"Jesus." There's a fumbling, presumably Morgan putting out his third stress-cigarette of the day's healthy walk, and then hands are edging near Ginny without quite touching. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Ginny sits up with a lot of spine-popping that has little to do with her fall and more to do with the morning's wrestling with a cryptid. "I hurt my arm more than my ankle, I'm fine."

"Lemme carry that for now."

"Carry what? The carrier? I wouldn't say no if you wanted to sling me over your shoulder for the rest of the way." Ginny gives him her best doe-eyes and exaggerates a limp with the ankle she harmlessly rolled just moments ago.

Morgan looks her over with the air of a practiced shopper knowing that the store owner is bullshitting him. "Didn't you fall on the other ankle?"

"--Shit, did I? You might be right." Ginny gets her usual stride back within the next hundred yards. The grin doesn't fade until they come to their next sharp drop-off, though.

Ginny has gone hiking for fun, before, but never with such a pressing time crunch. She'd never before had cause to notice how surprisingly tiring it was to go quickly down a hill. The sheer effort of not letting the walk become a run become a tumble, when gravity is helpfully pushing at your back, is surprisingly difficult.

"Haha, loser, you've got the carrier to deal with down that shit." Ginny is already taking the rockiest, most alarming-looking version of the path down. There's a steep incline of dirt that sheers off abruptly on one side to rocks, which creates an even steeper - if arguably more direct - way to reach the next level of flatter ground. Ginny is hobbling slowly down those, perhaps a bit too geriatric in her motions to really warrant teasing anyone else.

This path might end up aching more in her thighs later, but it's worth it to hear Morgan's sigh. Still, this is probably the last time Ginny's going to have the energy to play plucky and annoying. This outing has been...a lot.

She pauses on a boulder taller than her waist, trying to wipe sweat off her forehead with her handkerchief and mostly just succeeding in spreading it around a bit more evenly. As she stands there, Ginny feels the shift. It's a scent, but not one she can describe - like hot summer air, the only way she can talk about it is to name it after what it signifies: potential. A challenge is about to be failed. It's abrupt enough to overtake her nose. Ginny sneezes. "Hey, Morgan, maybe be careful with that--" And then she turns around, nearly falling off said boulder in the process, because there was just the scatter-scrape sound of a lot of pebbles all moving in threatening unison.

Also the choked-off sound of someone swearing in surprise and then quickly realizing they actually needed the oxygen to deal with said surprise. Ginny turns just in time to see that a sizable chunk of the dirt path has crumbled into its sheer cliff face.

And, of course, it was the section that Morgan was just stepping on.