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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.))

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[Onni supposes he can see an imbalance, but the problem they seem to be having is that he doesn't care and Brook does? Onni can't quite sort out why Brook seems to care so much. It's the simplest thing, picking out things from a store that has everything he could imagine, and then putting those ingredients together to simmer for a bit. Maybe he could see a problem if he'd hunted the cow himself and scavenged the vegetables and bought the flour and bullion. But even then, he probably wouldn't care.]

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.

Edited 2023-10-21 19:35 (UTC)

[At that, the frown falls away, leaving Brook staring. It's as though no one has ever said that to him in his entire life, has ever expressed the idea that people should help other people. Onni says it like it's a given. That it could be, to anyone over the age of five, seems like a magical concept.

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.

[Onni can see Brook staring at him, like he has two heads or something. Onni looks himself over, making sure he hasn't spilled something on himself or something to elicit that kind of reaction, but everything is in order and he assumes it must be because of something he said. He's not sure which part, but something he said.

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.

[The unexpected hominess of the invitation hits him like a haymaker. Not just in recent memory, not just after becoming a Reaper, but never, ever can he remember being asked to share a meal with anyone.

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.]

Edited (Icon got messed up I think) 2023-10-22 16:54 (UTC)

[Whether Onni is aware of Brook's reaction or not is unclear, because he keeps his eyes on the stew, stirring and poking at vegetables to try to make sure he cooks it the exact right amount of time. Of course, that attention to the stew is probably because he's giving Brook some privacy to process. It's something he knows he needs when presented with something new and unexpected, and so it only seems fair to give the younger man the same consideration.

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.

You're not supposed to. I'm made to look like anyone else. ...Stupid outfit aside.

[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.

I see.

[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?

Not like I got to pick my clothes.

[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?

You don't?

[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.

[Satan designs and crafts all his Reapers' clothes himself! We love to see a boss help employees develop their own personal styles.]

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.]

[Well, Satan apparently has very weird taste!]

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.

[Brook lifts his head slightly, giving Onni a long, dubious look.]

...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?

[Onni glances up at Brook when he gives him that dubious look and says it's pretty different. He supposes it is. There's no active killing in what Onni does, except when there is, though that killing is of corrupt things that are suffering anyhow, not simply sinners. He wonders, for a moment, what constitutes a sinner where Brook is from, according to his god. That concept isn't such a big thing where Onni is from, sinning.

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.

Yeah. I have way more control over my demon than other Reapers, though. It's not something you'll ever have to worry about.

[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?

I see.

[He takes that at face value, choosing to believe Brook for the moment, and trying his best not to worry about the demon ever getting control of his new friend. Of course, that's something that's going to haunt the edges of his mind, though, because Onni is given to worrying about pretty much anything that can be worried about.

It's a relief when Brook takes the bowl from him, but then he's asking if he has to, and Onni sighs gruffly.]

Yes. You have to. This is all I have right now, and it'll be good for you. You'll feel better afterward.

[Providing he doesn't make himself sick. Thankfully, Brook hasn't seemed to be given to eating quickly yet, and he's already had most of the bun Onni had given him. Speaking of that...he pulls out another bun and presses it against the edge of Brook's bowl.]

Try ripping that up and dipping it in the stew. It tastes good. And I'll eat too, at the same time.

Ugh, don't give me more food. I don't know if I have room for all this as it is...

[He is, after all, very small. And after a hundred years of putting little more than the occasional eclair in his stomach, the sensation of filling it must be strange and uncomfortable.

Still, for all Brook's grousing, he's accustomed to following orders, wherever they come from. Onni's are no different. He takes the second bun as instructed and dips what's left of the first in the stew, starts to nibble at the soaked edge, and pulls it away from his mouth with a small start.]

--It's hot.

[Duh.]

Then don't finish it!

[It's as simple as that. Onni doesn't like to waste food, but this is a special case. Just like it had been with all the times he'd tried to make food Lalli would like and finish. Thankfully, Brook seems as accustomed to following orders as Lalli is, and Onni watches while the smaller man dips the bread in the stew and then tries to take a bite.

He doesn't laugh when Brook says it's hot, but one corner of his mouth quirks up.]

I did just simmer it for twenty minutes or so.

[Onni doesn't comment further, just takes a roll of his own and tears a piece of it off, dipping it in his own stew and taking a bite after blowing on it for just a moment. The sweetness of the bread is interesting with the stew and he takes another bite, feeling the hunger that had been clawing around in his belly settling a little as he eats.]

Blow on it first if it's too hot.

Yeah, yeah. I remember that.

[Whether or not he remembered before Onni reminded him, who can say? What matters is that he heeds the advice, dipping the bread again, blowing on the stew, and taking a more careful bite. He manages like that for a while, eating slowly and methodically, frowning over each mouthful as if assessing whether or not he's still fine with it. Eventually, he even tries the other bits floating in the stew. Carrot makes the grade, apparently; onion does not. Meat gets the most unsure reaction. The jury's still out on that one.

It'll have to continue its deliberations some other time. The bread and stew sate his unfamiliar hunger quickly, leaving his shrunken stomach warm and full. That, for some reason, makes it harder to keep his head up. Brook catches himself nodding and forcibly blinks his eyes back open, unable to dredge up a name for the feeling.

We, of course, might call it sleepy.]

Mmmfh. I'm done. You eat the rest.

[Brook offers the remainder of his meal back to Onni. In total, he got down one and a half dinner rolls and at least some of the stew, so, success? Take the W, Onni.]

[Onni watches Brook eat the stew, except whenever his head lifts and he might be looking in Onni's direction, in which situation he becomes very focused on his own stew, not wanting to put Brook off his meal by staring. It feels very important to make sure that Brook eats, and Onni finds himself mildly uncomfortable for just a moment with how quickly he's become attached to this boy.

Brook tries the bread and gravy in the stew, and then Onni finds himself pleased when Brook tries the vegetables as well. After a while, Brook finally finishes, looking groggy and sleepy, and hands the bowl back to Onni. Having finished his own stew, Onni takes his spoon and digs into the rest of Brook's, eating thoughtfully while he watches him.]

You're tired.

[He says it very matter-of-factly, with his mouth full, looking at Brook's sleepy face.]

After I finish this, I'll put the fire out and we can find a bed for you to sleep in. I'll keep watch.

[Brook squints at him through his exhaustion for a heartbeat or two, then lets out a long sigh.]

I'm getting the picture that there's no arguing with you.

[In the meantime, he pulls his knees back up, folds his arms on top of them, and rests his cheek on his forearms.]

Someone said they've just been using the benches to sleep on. I could do that. You don't have to bother.

[He already knows Onni will shoot that idea down, but it had to be said.]

[Brook's assertion that there's no arguing with Onni has him smirking just slightly, the barest crook up of one side of his mouth. After what feels like a lifetime of experience at raising two very obstinate children, he's not one to be trifled with in that aspect of things. And Brook reminds him too much of Lalli not to fall in that category, at least so far. Stubborn, unwilling sometimes to do what's best for him.]

Not really.

[A shrug, and he watches as Brook folds himself back up on the bench and rests his cheek on his knees. For a moment, he just looks, feeling the unexplainable urge to protect this person.]

If there's beds, why would you sleep on a bench. If you're not comfortable going into the apartments, you can use my bedroll.

[Another shrug, and he's ignoring that he himself is sleeping outdoors on a bedroll instead of in one of the apartments.]

If it's your first time sleeping in a long time, you might as well be comfortable.

[After considering that for a moment, Brook concedes.]

Can't argue with that.

[He closes his eyes, apparently not uncomfortable huddled up in a ball like he is.]

When you're done, then. Don't hurry. Looks like neither of us has anywhere to be.

No. There's not much urgency to this place, is there?

[Onni doesn't hurry, but he doesn't dilly dally while eating the stew either. He finishes it relatively quickly, then starts packing up his supplies while Brook apparently naps on the bench.

For a moment, once he's packed up, he's tempted to just go pick Brook up and carry him to a bed, because he looks so small and like he's sleeping. But he resists the urge because it's unlikely Brook would like something like that. Brook's theme seems to be that of a rabbit, and he's got the same skittish energy as a rabbit. It's another thing that reminds him of Lalli. He can remember his Aunt Tuulikki fawning over Lalli, her soft voice calling him 'mommy's little bunny' after she hadn't seen him in some time.

Shaking off the memory, he heads over to the bench and leans over.]

Brook. It's time to go get some sleep.

Mnnnnh.

[He isn't quite asleep, worn out as he is. It's not so easy to pick the knack of snoozing back up, after one hundred years of doing without. He's just been dozing a little, not drifting all the way off. When Onni comes back after packing up, he doesn't need any more prompting than that to stir and unfold his scrawny limbs.]

Yeah, all right. Fine. Let's go find a room to squat in.

[Up he comes, as bleary and cranky as a toddler.]

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Text; un: rabbit_ebrooks

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