Little Bunny Foo Foo (Brook) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reaperrabbit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
citynet2023-10-17 12:07 pm
reaperrabbit) wrote in citynet2023-10-17 12:07 pm
Text; un: rabbit_ebrooks
[Normally, Brook would be perfectly happy to make a video post. It'd just be like his weekly recorded updates for his blog back home. Given the state he's in, though, he doesn't want to risk putting his face on camera. What if he looks as bad as he feels?
Why does he feel bad in the first place? Nothing makes any sense.]
ok, i know that for whatever reason, everyone's powers and shit have been weakened since they got here.
but has anybody else been feeling... weird?
like wobbly or your head hurting. or your legs not working right.
or like you have to lie down for a while until your eyes go back to normal.
idk, is this smth else that just happens here like weeds trying to eat you?
((OOC: Brook just hasn't realized that nerfing means he has to eat and sleep now, so he's been wandering around on little more than a Starbucks cake pop and no rest for days. That said, once people help him figure that out, he'll likely react to the thought of eating with disgust. This might hit a little close to disordered eating patterns, so please keep yourself safe if that's a trigger! Brook also has a permissions page with a long list of content warnings and an opt-out form, because I'm the Grim Reaper is a minefield of common triggers, and I don't want to suddenly spring anything unwanted on anyone.))
Why does he feel bad in the first place? Nothing makes any sense.]
ok, i know that for whatever reason, everyone's powers and shit have been weakened since they got here.
but has anybody else been feeling... weird?
like wobbly or your head hurting. or your legs not working right.
or like you have to lie down for a while until your eyes go back to normal.
idk, is this smth else that just happens here like weeds trying to eat you?
((OOC: Brook just hasn't realized that nerfing means he has to eat and sleep now, so he's been wandering around on little more than a Starbucks cake pop and no rest for days. That said, once people help him figure that out, he'll likely react to the thought of eating with disgust. This might hit a little close to disordered eating patterns, so please keep yourself safe if that's a trigger! Brook also has a permissions page with a long list of content warnings and an opt-out form, because I'm the Grim Reaper is a minefield of common triggers, and I don't want to suddenly spring anything unwanted on anyone.))
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With nothing definitive to say against Onni's assertion, Brook gives in and opens the water bottle. He has strength enough for that, at least.]
Fine.
[Though he stares down at it a moment longer, frowning and hesitant, in the end, he sighs and takes a gulp. Then a second. He lets those mouthfuls sit for a bit, testing whether that much will improve anything.]
I shouldn't need to eat anything at all.
[Since that cat's out of the bag, he might as well own it.]
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Good.
[He adds two bottles of water to a pot and puts it over his little fire, adding some beef bullion and a bay leaf, then starts matter-of-factly cutting vegetables with a kitchen knife he picked up at a store. It doesn't handle as well as his own knife from home, but it'll do in the meantime. Dropping the vegetables into the water, he lets them boil a little. The stew won't be the best ever without searing the meat first, but it'll do for someone starving.]
You shouldn't? You mean you don't eat at home?
[He glances up at that, eyeing the not-mage with a curious expression.]
I'm Onni, by the way. What's your name?
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[Since the water isn't killing him, he takes another delicate sip and then pulls his feet up onto the bench. He wraps his arms loosely around his legs and rests a cheek on his knees, like a little kid who doesn't care how to sit properly in company.
It's been a long time since anyone asked him his name. Even the people he's met recently, the ones who have, somehow, become his friends--they learned his name elsewhere, Brook thinks. At least, he doesn't remember introducing himself. In a way, that's how it's always been. Things happen around him, without his input, and he just goes with the flow.]
...It's Brook.
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[It's matter-of-fact, without much sympathy or anything. It's just the way it is, and Brook will have to adapt, as far as Onni's concerned. Adapt to survive, it's what's required from life, and a lesson that had been painful for Onni himself to learn.
He doesn't mind that Brook is sitting 'wrong' on the bench, either. It reminds him again of Lalli, of the way his cousin never quite sits on seats the way they're intended to be sat on. With the stubborn way Brook behaves and his lack of extreme emotions and general unfriendly demeanor, he reminds Onni more and more of his cousin.]
Brook. Good to meet you.
[He adds the meat to the stew, allowing it to cook, and then digs around in his pack to see if there's anything else inside he can give to the boy to tide him over. It's only recently he's been cooking for himself, but he has a few things in there. After a moment, he decides to bring out some rolls he'd found.]
These rolls might as well be cake for how sweet they are, so I don't know if they'll go with the stew, but here, take one.
[They're just regular dinner rolls, but Onni is used to the darkest rye bread. He gets up and hands over a roll to Brook.]
Try it.
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Which is sort of an oddly heavy reaction to have to a simple meal, isn't it? Hmm. The dinner rolls prompt no such consideration, only a faintly surprised blink. He's sharing more of his resources?
Bread should be fine, though. The doctor--Daan--suggested starting with that, too.]
...Okay.
[Brook settles the bottled water between his feet, takes the roll, and tears a small piece off of it. He chews it slowly, almost cautiously or experimentally, like this simple human staple is a foreign substance. Of course, after this long eating nothing but the occasional snack, it might as well be.]
...It's not cake. [He lets out a small sigh and picks off another piece.] But it's fine.
[He continues like that, pulling the roll apart bit by bit with his fingers to eat. It's unintentional, but at least he won't make himself sick by eating too fast after starving.]
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Do you not eat meat?
[It's said in the tone of someone who thinks that's kind of weird, but considering there's nothing off about Brook's demeanor when he gets the rolls, Onni's first thought is that he's vegetarian. That would be unfortunate, because he'd have to rethink the whole stew thing, but he's willing enough to do that, to get some food into the younger (looking) man.
Onni watches him try the bun, picking at it even though he must be starving and uncomfortable, trying it like he's never eaten bread before. It's good, Onni decides, because eating slow to start is a good idea anyway.]
Ah, good. We found something you like, then.
[He says it almost without thinking, and not realizing how paternal it sounds, because Brook reminds him so much of Lalli, eating only what he's interested in eating and cautious about new foods.]
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I keep saying, I don't eat anything. There's nothing in particular I don't eat, because I don't really eat at all. Just sweet things, when I feel like it.
[He gives the stew another dubious glance before continuing to pick at the bread.]
It's just that... I was... [He takes another breath and lets it out, shorter than those sighs of his.] I had a bad encounter with. Soup. A little while ago.
[I'm sorry, I can't make this stuff up. This is canon. Brook looks like he knows how ridiculous the confession is, but there's nothing he can do about it. It's the truth, in a manner of speaking.]
But whatever, it doesn't matter. If that's what I have to eat... then okay. [Grimly:] It's not like it'll kill me.
[The weirdly protective comment gets a look from him, but no comment. At this point, Brook doesn't feel like annoying or putting this guy--Onni--off. If he's so determined to help, even if Brook can't understand it, then what can he be, but... confusedly, warily grateful?]
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[Sounds fake. What kind of bad experience could you have with soup other than maybe food poisoning? For a few moments, he's quiet, thinking about that, his mind coming up with various examples of how one could have a bad experience with soup (eyeballs in the soup? soup thrown at you? drowning in soup?) but none of it makes sense.]
Well, this isn't soup, it's stew, it's much thicker.
[That should solve the problem, right?]
I'll make you something different next time.
[The stew is bubbling away nicely now, and he stirs it a few times, letting the water boil away to make it thicker, then adding a little flour to help it along from a small packet he got at a 'bulk store' a while back.]
For now, I had the ingredients for this, because I like it.
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For the record, it's much worse than he's thinking.]
...Sorry for taking your food.
[He doesn't know what to do with the insinuation of "next time," or the attempt to--what. Soothe him? The texture isn't the problem, not exactly, but Brook is not thinking about what the problem is anymore, thank you very much.]
I'll repay you for it. Any kind of work you need done, if I can do it, I will.
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Why would you pay me back? Or apologize? The food here is free for the taking, all I'm doing is cooking it for you.
[He shakes his head, turning his attention back to the stew and adding some salt and pepper to it, before letting it simmer. It gives time for Brook to eat more of his bun, as well, he thinks, because the boy is still picking at it.]
You don't need to do any of that.
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...But you had it. It's yours. You picked the ingredients for the food you like, and now you're giving it to me. And you helped me before, too.
[Even though Onni didn't need to do that. To Brook, the imbalance is clear. He continues frowning at Onni over his knees.]
I can't just... do nothing in return. It wouldn't be even.
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And?
[A pause, and he stirs the stew in the pot.]
This is just what people should do for other people! I'm not about to let someone starve. But if you want to do something for me, rest and start feeling better and eat that bun.
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He blinks, sits up a little more, and looks away. For some reason, he's kind of embarrassed.]
...Fine. I'll work on it.
[To show willing, he even takes a bite directly from the roll itself. Homf. A bun(ny) eating a bun. Is that cannibalism?]
But you should have some, too. Of the stew, I mean. Since I won't eat all that.
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Instead of trying to suss out what it was, he shifts a little on his feet, and looks back at the stew.]
Good.
[He can see, out of the corner of his eye, Brook taking a bite of the bun and chewing. Swallowing. It's good to see it, because somehow Onni can tell he's developed a vested interest in making sure this boy lives. Maybe it's because he's so stupid about normal things that keep humans alive, maybe it's because he reminds him a little of Lalli, but the fact is, he's interested now.]
Of course I will. We can share a meal together.
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Way, way back in time, he must have dined with his father or even his sister, his stubby child legs dangling from furniture built for bigger people. But even that was scheduled for him. It was part of his education, one more obligation to fulfill without thinking about it. "Quality time."
He doesn't think he'd know his father's face if shown a portrait. His recollection of the man is that threadbare. And of course, nobody wants to break bread with a Reaper.
Brook tucks his elbows in close to his body, behind his legs, managing to make himself even smaller as he chews his roll. He's still looking away when he speaks.]
Doesn't it bother you? I'm obviously not human.
[He may be stupid, but not stupid enough not to know he's let too many hints slip with Onni.]
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It's only when Brook asks his question that Onni looks up at him, pale eyes locked on his face. For a moment or two, he's quiet, thinking about that. There aren't really things that aren't human where he's from, other than trolls and beasts and giants, and kade of course, but Brook is obviously not one of them. Then there are the gods, and well, there's a chance Brook could be one of them, he supposes.
As for whether it bothers him...he's not sure. It's certainly different, and Onni has always been suspicious of things that are too different. But still, that's something he's had to get over a little bit in this place. Everyone here is different. And he knows he likes Brook, just like he likes Gebura.
But he does Brook the honour of genuinely thinking about it before snapping off an answer.]
Bother isn't the right word. I'm curious about what you actually are, but you didn't seem like the type to share that sort of thing right away.
[A shrug, and he continues to look at Brook, head tilted just a little.]
I thought you'd tell me when you're ready. I'm willing to listen. But so far, I don't see anything wrong with you.
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[Ah, so he knows his default costume is ridiculous, with his bared midriff and the suggestion of bunny ears. And, of course, the lack of shoes.]
It'd make my job harder if I stood out.
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[He looks back down at the stew, then back up at Brook, thoughtfully. For a few moments, he studies him.]
The outfit is stupid.
[A sage nod, and he stops stirring the stew, opting to let it simmer for a while longer while Brook finishes his roll.]
Your job?
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[But he's just grumbling. The outfit's neither here nor there. After a moment, he sighs again and turns back towards Onni.]
Do you have hell, where you're from?
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[Is it some kind of uniform? What kind of uniform is that, anyway? Who would dress people like this? It's so impractical!
That question catches his attention, and he looks at Brook again, brows furrowing as he tries to recall some details.]
No. We have an afterlife called Tuonela, but I've heard of hell. I think in an old world religion that's since died out, at least in my part of the world.
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Mm. Well, it's real where I'm from. When bad people die, that's where their souls go: to hell. Then the guy in charge of sins judges how bad they were and sentences them to some kind of eternal suffering forever.
I'm a Reaper. I work for him. I look for bad people in the living world, I kill them, and I send them to hell to be judged.
[This doesn't explain what Brook is, but it's useful context all the same. He watches Onni surreptitiously through his bangs, trying to gauge his reaction.]
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Ah.
[It takes a bit to process that. Not the fact that gods are real where Brook is from, because there's no doubt that the gods are real where he's from. And because the gods are localized where he's from, it doesn't even discount the existence of Onni's own gods.
He thinks about it. About Brook having that job, that he looks for bad people, kills them, and sends them to hell to be judged. His mouth presses into a thin line while he processes that Brook, who looks so innocent despite his generally bad attitude, has probably killed a lot of people. Onni himself has never killed anyone, and the thought is somewhat repugnant to him. But if it were something the gods required of him, he can't imagine saying no either.]
I see.
[A nod, and he looks up at Brook again.]
I can't say it's a job I'd want, but I suppose someone has to do it.
[Another pause, and he continues on, his voice even-toned.]
It's the job of mages, where I come from, to guide the souls of the dead to Tuonela, to ensure that they aren't taken by the Rash, that they make it to the afterlife. It doesn't seem so different.
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...No, I think that's pretty different.
[Guiding someone already dead to where they're supposed to be sounds like kindness and selflessness. Brook's work is with the living. He's not a psychopomp; he's a murderer. And nobody has to do it. If a bad enough sinner dies by any cause, natural or unnatural, their soul will end up in hell one way or another. They don't need Reapers to direct them. The only ones who benefit from what Brook does are Brook himself, Satan (if only for entertainment), and--
--As a rule, he doesn't call to mind the third soul who benefits. The less he thinks about her, the better.
He could say all of this to Onni, really make him understand the difference. But he's exhausted, his head aches dully, and, selfishly, he doesn't want Onni to stop being nice to him. He doesn't want this terse, sheltering presence to abandon him. To be a Reaper is to be selfishness incarnate.
So he lets Onni tell himself the story that makes sense to him without elaborating on the differences between them. He just chews his bread, swallows, and goes on.]
Satan--that's my boss--would probably do this stuff himself if he could. But he can't leave hell. So he makes Reapers by putting a dead human's soul in a human-like body, and gives them powers by stuffing a demon inside with them.
[Shrug.]
That's what I am. That's why I haven't had to eat or sleep in forever. I died more than a hundred years ago, why would I need to?
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He can sense that Brook wants to say something else, but doesn't, and he can only imagine it's further argument. Instead he just keeps explaining, not belabouring that point they'd disagreed on, and Onni is content to let it go, especially since the stew is very nearly ready.]
So you're inhabiting a body that's also possessed by a demon?
[These concepts are only barely familiar to Onni, from reading about Christianity, a long dead religion where he's from, though he's aware that several religions also had demons. All he knows is from books, though, he's never met a living practitioner of any of those religions.
At least it means he hasn't got that innate bias against Satan that most people aware of Christianity have.
What he does understand is that Brook died more than a hundred years ago and is now a Reaper, killing bad people for Satan, that he has a demon trapped in his body with him, and he doesn't know how to manage his now-human body. More than anything, he sounds like someone who needs help. And Onni finds himself still willing to give that help, regardless of the weird type of person Brook is, regardless of his macabre job.]
I suppose all of that makes sense. I think I understand it.
[With that, he pulls a pair of bowls out of his pack and scoops some of the stew into the two of them, crossing over to where Brook is sitting and sitting down beside him, holding the bowl out to him.]
Here. Eat this. Slowly.
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[Big words, little rabbit. We'll see what the City has in store for him and his rider from hell, in time.
For now, all Brook does is look up when Onni rises and brings him his bowl. Reluctantly, he takes it and lowers his knees from fully drawn up to a looser, cross-legged position. It's a less defensive image overall.
Of course, now he looks like a child bullied into eating his vegetables.]
Do I have to?
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