"He's trouble with a good smile..."
• Behrdaulemause (phonetically bear-doll-a-moss)
• also referred to as "Monster" (by Evelys), "Midday" (by Scully), "Behr"
• soulless, always smiling, unrefined
• pictogram gives off no scent or light; flickers like a holograph
• ageless, spirit, male, poltergeist
• unpredictable, hallucinating, troublemaker, doesn't remember his previous life
• unstable, hyperactive, usually friendly
• seductive, sensual, physical, can be cannibalistic
• tall, ghostly, dangerous, intimidating
• intelligent, observant, calculating
• a predator, omnivorous, will pray to the gods for hours but doesn't believe in their power
• cannot tolerate others directly behind or in front of him, incapable of casting magic
• eyes are shiny and pearlescent without pupils, highly reflective
• devout pelt/DotD mask/default antlers
•
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Evelys
desire/possession/belongs to/adores/"Kitty"
Beravenon
firstborn/in awe of/adores
Berlioz
enjoys/curiosity/fond of
Cydae
fond of/doesn't know very well/would protect
Friiha
likes/finds very interesting/showing slight possessiveness towards
Allu
vicious attraction to/likes/curiosity
Gustiro
jealous of his antlers/finds very attractive(?)/desirable
Kestrel
interesting/"bird"/fond of
Scully, "Dear"
interesting/very fond of
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Emdeaur
plaything/experiment/challenge
Neiro
has an odd sense there is something 'wrong' with him/doesn't trust
Euriea
fond of the quiet company
Eli
very curious of
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♥
*Flings tracking net* Sounds
Sounds intresting <3
Murr~ Thank you. ♥
mraaaaawr
ohh this is very pleasing to
and such an interesting character. i wanna know more
Bam; ♥ Poli; Ee~ I'm
Poli; Ee~ I'm glad you like it. Berlioz is so..magnetic. And adorable. :3
Thank you~
Yessssss♥ I have been
-stalks for life-
Squeak~ :3
*tracks*
*tracks*
:3 ♥
Mi amor
Thank you, lovely~ ♥
B) ♥
By Leuvr ♥
Dat swag. ^
i cant say his name so from
beherdlederp
Tracky!~
RP for Narina ♥ : The
The stark sky opened up a light to the world that was unlike any other forest the ghost had ever seen. This light was impenetrable and one couldn't hide from it; it touched the tips of the leaves and reflected off the water, casted sparkles in the eyes of fawns and the glass idol statues that endlessly observed the pond in a stately, godly fashion.
Now the white never believed in the power of the gods, but was drawn to the statues nonetheless. Their cold glass figures never warmed in the sun or caught moss like the rocks or crying idol statues. Many believed the statues themselves held the gods' power, and their powerful scent could not be smelled by your nose, but rather a scent your soul picks up and gravitates towards, wanting the affection and inner peace that the gods brought to their disciples. The ghost believed in this not, but still prayed endlessly and obsessively guarded the statues, holding a thick white light over his pictogram, his holy name, illuminated by a sham: his fake belief in the gods.
On this morning there was light scattered everywhere through the forest in a way that could not be escaped or forgotten, and the stag stretched out to the left -- or the right, depending on your perspective -- of the idol statues, his head resting on the earth. The scent of other souls floated through the ghost, until he caught the presence of an unfamiliar creature. Yes, an older soul, with a name that sounded like the nothingness at the bottom of the pond. A name that carried the weight of a living thing and sounded like the absence of everything.
Behrdaulemause brought himself to his hooves and slowly approached the stranger, who was lazed out at a small tree. After sniffing the air extensively, feeling out the buck's weight in this world, he made a slow circle around him, in a way that was less predatory and more curious. The creature was almost all white with points of dark on his face and legs...he seemed tired. Monster didn't say a word at first, his lips involuntarily curling into a smile, revealing sharp canines behind a human visage. In fact, he said nothing at all for a good few moments, blinking heavily at the hart before abruptly sitting a few meters in front of him, sprawling his legs out and pressing his belly to the ground. Still he says nothing, keeping a steady gaze at the white and black buck and observing a pair of squirrels fighting in a tree behind him.
"Your soul sounds heavy, dear stag...have you tried absolving your sins to the twins?" His cryptic and strangely devout words were followed by intense blinking and the white's ears pivot towards the creature. If an animal didn't know any better, they'd think he was insane. Perhaps he's the only thing that doesn't think he is...
Forty-seventh little ant,
Scully is the rug of the endless forest. He lay in the sun warmed dust, legs tucked loosely under the white body and neck extended, chin dug into the flattened grass. Eyes follow nonchalantly the life's littlest things in front of his nose and it almost seems like he'd be detached from the rest of the world. Truthfully he is. For how long? A close witness would say something around 23 hours, but nobody can be sure. Sun warms his pelt yet it doesn't really feel like anything. Wind is tiny. Air smells like... whatever. It's not steps that wake him from his slumber. It's not the shadow that casts on it and shifts off then. It's nothing that drags him back into the moment. Scully is away, idle, afk. He has detached and whoozed to another reality that is, in fact, complete stillness and completely the color of the backs of eyelids on a cloudy day, when sun doesn't add its orange little hue to the mess. Yet his eyes are open, brilliant and fucking glazed.
It's the silence after the flow of words that snaps Scully to his wake. Oh. Oh. The buck shifts lazily, head tilting into the ground until cheek bites the dust. Man, it's pain to keep head up and proper when there's no actual burning need, so from the grass roots he stares back to hollow eyes. He can swear it's Scully himself who's staring back from those pearls.
"Hey handsome", he greets peering at his own figure reflecting from the stag's eyes. Lips curl in a lazy smirk as he keeps laying there, position looking actually very uncomfortable. Subconscious knocks the wall of skull, and the devout's earlier comments slither back into the awareness. The progress is slow, but it's there.
"What's my soul to you, what color. Is it there?" Scully murmurs and works to keep the swaying, slumbering focus on the way too fast blinker. There's just too much going on the stranger's face, it's making him dizzy. But he seems - in all his emptiness - quite delighted to gap his jaws at someone.
"Twins, as like, the slumberin' stones? Oh we're good, they don't see me. My sins are intact forever an' ever, like a cloak they shield me. I'm not for gods' eyes, are you?"
(Ohh my god I LOVE him and
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The white would shake his head gently, bemused at being called 'handsome', clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a sound he had only heard humans make and managed to replicate.
Realizing this stag didn't seem to have any malice in his heart, the ghost rolls onto his back -- a sign of submission and comfort -- and looks up at the empty sky, where there are no clouds and no sun, only light. Stark, white light.
"I don't think in colors, darling, but your soul has that weight to it as of one who has gone and come back again. Reincarnation? I'm not sure how that works but I do believe in it." He would wiggle against the dirt a little, scratching the spot between his shoulder blades that he can't ever reach to groom himself. Exhaling heavily, the poltergeist rolls onto his side and looks over at the buck. The creature looked perfectly like someone on heavy opiates, and considering the fact that poppies grow in abundance in the forest, Monster didn't put it past him. He abandons this thought, however, deeming it an inappropriate conversation topic.
"No, definitely not. I don't actually believe in them. Their idols are strange and beautiful, yes, but I don't think they have any say in our lives or what we become when we die. They observe the things that go on with minimal interest. As they should, considering how dull this place can be sometimes..."
A squirrel runs between the pair and up high into a tree, disappearing into the branches that seem to touch the sky themselves, as if the rodent ascended to heaven simply by climbing to it.
(I'm so happy you like it. I
Ah. He's so white. He's like the embodiment of midday sky, too bright and aching and not quite welcome in the vision of someone so vulnerable for light changes. And 'midday' rolls on his back like one of those paw-creatures, exposing his belly and peering to the high up canvas he had fallen from.
"Do you know alls, Midday? Because I don't, an' I have no memory of travel other than from that big slab in red grounds, to here. An' that's not a lot of steps." Another ear droops unneeded, another's pressed against the ground with the rest of the head's side. Scully explores the devout slowly, inch by inch, not really gathering information as much as just stretching his retinas. He's not the guy that uses his senses in means of finding pieces for a puzzle and working to make them fit each other. He'd definitely be the guy who leaves the puzzle after finding the four corner pieces.
Again Scully lets the ghost's words sink. It takes its time, there's no rushing with him. Not even a brown furred rodent bouncing from between the two wavers his attention, despite eyes moving a bit to the direction the animal zoomed. It's like he'd be blind to too quick movements, which he most likely was.
"Ah but you've but mind into it", he sneers. "You say you have no faith in their existence, yet claim they have minimal interest. Which is it, are you lyin' or lyin'?" The words are bold. Bold and shameless, yet they might tell there's more to the buck's head than just fog. As if to express how alive he actually is, Scully gathers his strength and pulls his head up. Sand grains drip, and a blade of grass sticks to the black cheek. The movement is dizzying and makes him lean his head against the young tree in a way he'd be able to peer at his companion.
"Don't worry, Midday, my friend. I don't mind a lie or truth." Lips keep their small curl.
Bright eyes shimmer in
Behr's ears flick involuntarily at watching the buck, interested in his accent and nickname he has given the ghost, 'Midday', but he asks no questions and lets it be. "Not lying at all, dear. I don't believe the gods are in this forest at all, but I cannot deny the existence of their statues. Their statues live on in the forest but have never contained the gods themselves, because they were fabricated from the imagination of the first deer in the forest." He comes to the realization that he may be rambling, and rubs his face against ground, rolling onto his belly. "But I digress. At any rate, the statues aren't smiting innocents or taking anyone to Nirvana so their importance is questionable."
Pearl orbs search the buck's face, over the dips in his spine and hind legs. "Where did you come from...?" He had meant to address him by name, but realized he didn't know it. "And what are you called, dearest?" The white offers a sharp-toothed smile and pivots his ears toward his companion. "My name is Behrdaulemause, but for the sake of simplicity, referred to as Behr. I would tell you where I'm from if I remembered it, but in fact I do not. I existed once before and now I exist here and that's all I can tell you." His ears fall back in a solemn way, as if the lost memories haunted him like a loved one that has died. Trying not to have this expression show much, he clicks his tongue and sighs heavily, rubbing his face on the grass.
He feels some kind of
The buck cozies himself against the tree and observes the white fur of another. Through the one-sided conversation the amber gaze shifts to the flickering pictogram. It's curious, how it zaps and wavers, but it makes him a little nauseous. It'd be a bummer to vomit all over.
"Who's the first deer? He sounds lonely", Scully regards the puniest detail with his eyes fixed on the stag rolling onto his belly again. Easier to maintain eye contact that way, though staring himself from the reflective pearls in sockets makes him feel a little lonely. But it's okay. He's not actually lonely.
Midday asks a question that doesn't bring at all more life to his face. Another question. White teeth bare just slightly in an unnerving smirk as Scully leans the top of his head against the tree and struggles to keep his eyes fixed in the conversation. It's more like the strangulation marks on his throat would offer something called company. Behraulehlehleh eh? No way, in million Nirvanas that the stag had mentioned, would Scully remember such string of syllables. Midday offers an option though, Behr, but the buck thinks his nickname is better. Lazy, distantly comfortable smile doesn't fall from his lips even when the ghost expresses slight signs of melancholy and Scully bows his head a little.
"Dear is fine. Makes me think you like me", he says. "For where I've been, I... 've been here. Time an' time again, till the end of my memory. Is it flawed? Can you see it, my mind, and tell what I'm missin'? Like you could see my soul an' say it's heavy, can you say how big the hole there is? You have eyes like colorless water, or ice, so you should see a lot more than little me can."
He shifts, smile withering and listless look taking its place. Maybe Midday is an otherwordly one, one that sees breath and hears silence. Maybe he can tell him how to fix his insides.
Tracking. cB
bloodygoddess; Thanks
-
He tucks his legs underneath him but otherwise doesn't move and doesn't blink, deep in thought of the question of the "first deer". "I do not know who the first deer was or what they looked like...I imagine now they are very old or perhaps they've died...maybe they're buried in the ruins. Sometimes it's hard to tell what happens to the dead because some dead choose to stay that way while others fight to come back."
The comment about his nickname brings an almost bashful smile to the ghost and he blinks, acknowledging the fact that he does, in fact, fancy the buck at the moment. Intelligent and with the smell of something pure that was hidden somewhere underneath the heaviness of his soul.
Behrdaulemause doesn't stand up but scoots closer to the buck, giving less than a meter's space between them. The poltergeist leans forward slightly, staring deep into the light that brands his soul, suspended between his small antlers. An old name, a heavy soul. A moment spans before Behr says the phonetic word of the buck's pictogram, knowing how sacred of a thing that was to do, but the word itself made the light of his soul glow momentarily before returning to its usual state.
Monster backs up a bit, sighing heavily, as if in frustration. "I can't tell what you were before but there was something living with that name before it was yours. As in, you became this after leaving a former world. An intelligent one, however. Another deer? A human? That part I'm not clear about...but the way your soul is heavy tells me there's more than what's here. Have you always been in the forest, Dear?" The stag tries not to interrogate the other creature too badly, but the interest of someone's past and one involving death and rebirth in a way only the ghost understood was intoxicatingly interesting. The stag's ears pivot forward towards the buck and stay pinned that way, eager to learn about him.
Scully has a distant feeling
The buck doesn't budge when the ghost scoots at him. He's actually quite delighted; not like he'd have the energy to close the distance himself, and being close is always nice. You know, he could lean his head something softer than a tree bark. The pronunciation of his pictogram has him closing his eyes in surprise, and a voiceless breath leaves his lips. It's a small, warm zap inside his rib cage and as quickly as it hits, it spreads all over and fades. The giddy after feeling keeps undulating and has Scully grinning a bit.
"Intimate", he regards amused before hearing Behr's following words. He listens with quiet interest that his features definitely don't give out. Former world, intelligence, there's more. Human. Such term is one of those that Scully feels he understands even without finding the knowledge from his head. It's behind a curtain, a vague awareness. He doesn't see the picture in his head, but he knows what it is. That it's a key part, something to remember...
"Ah. I woke up in midst the pond's mud, stuck and cold. That's my birth story in this life." He tilts his head with a small gesture, but it's enough to slip from the tree's support. He sways heavily and works to keep his head up again, this time with his own strength. Eyes shift back to the stag again, peering the pivoting ears.
"Are you like me? Is there a hole in your gut too, like mine, heavy to carry in its absence of somethin'? Drives you to think a lot, right, and wear yourself without success. That's what I find it. I just call it Empty, because it is."
The stag listens intently to
Behrdaulemause shakes his head and lowers his neck to the ground, stretching out on the earth, an antler just barely touching the tree Dear rests on, and he sighs heavily. The buck's next words catch him off guard and he wonders about them for a good few seconds, silently and blankly staring straight ahead, at the base of the tree and the buck's side, fur rhythmically moving to the inhale and exhale of lungs. "I don't know what or who I'm like, but yes. There's a lot of emptiness in this, in me...I do feel that emptiness is a part of me, maybe it's all of me. I don't think I'm made of the same things you or flesh-critters are made of. But I think that's because only the living get to feel things, get to experience love, hate, pain...I've had to learn how to feel them; ghosts, you know...like undead things without their former bodies, just the husk that pretends to be alive and shares vague similarities to the previous existence, but without a heart. Without any prognosis, no destination. Destined to do nothing, forever. Destined to 'be' nothing." The stag pauses and looks up at the buck, mostly for confirmation that his monologue hadn't put the creature to sleep or bored him into tuning the words out. "What do you think you're destined to be, Dear? Waking up next to that pond...perhaps you drowned in a former life. Are you afraid of the pond now? It's full of depth that no one can see the bottom and few attempt to swim in it." The white exhales heavily and flicks his tail against the ground. "It's what I would fear if I had a fear of death. Unfortunately I don't have the luxury of experiencing such feelings."
"Yeah. Like 'shrooms", Scully
Midday is a ghost. Scully knows what that is, at least the traditional description what others talk of. There's something wrong with the guy, clearly, something off and detached but Scully isn't one to judge at all. Midday might be in the wrong place at wrong time, shackled to the fate of always being more or less just air. Must be a bummer. Not like Scully's life would be more adventurous, mind. "Walk through trees an' all? Curious guy. If I were to touch you, would I sink through or find a good spot to rest my head?" Scully's voice already flows a bit smoother. Long silences always take their toll.
The buck watches the stark white leans forward and lays his throat to the earth as he musters up a reply. It's really odd to look at someone from higher perspective, because it's usually Scully who's splattered around the floor. Another ear flicks lazily towards the voice as he dizzies himself with the tines of red hued antlers.
The stag's words sink in slowly again. There's so much to listen to and without noticing he already skips a few parts, and the image painted in his head ends up disordered and lacking. But it's the general idea. Scully's cheeks dimple lightly when Midday checks him from though his talk. "Wonder who's your creator an' maker..." he hums and listens again.
"One like me hardly has a date with fate. An' I'm not afraid of a hole filled with water. If anything, it feels homey. The shallow water is like a bed to rest in, my shape pressed in it so I fit just fine."
A memory crosses his mind and exposes the white teeth in an unsettling grin.
"Someone told me I must've said something idiotic an' someone's tried to shut my throat 'cause of it. See, here's a mark of somethin' I don't remember. A clue? Is this an adventure or what, Midday..." he speaks as he lifts his chin quite unsteadily, and exposes the ugly purple marks on his throat. Holy twin gods that was a mistake, because fuck, sky drops and switches places with earth and the pain in his head strikes like a hammer. Scully doesn't let out a voice though, and just lops his head back to its original position with a slight furrow.
He chuckles softly and raises
The next thing the stag hears makes his ears pivot forward with quite obvious interest that he doesn't try to mask. "Nah, I can't walk through shit. This body is just something to hold the remnants of myself, but it's solid. Not much good for fighting, as it's light and lacks density, but definitely good enough for resting heads and the like." Monster smiles, but with a less crazed look in his eyes, if one were able to read the expression in his visage at all. He would scoot closer to the buck, albeit in an awkward fashion, tilting his head slightly as if inviting him to make a nest out of his side. "I'm not very warm, however. No blood, no heartbeat." Another smile sneaks across his face, this one completely imperceptible.
Behr tilts his head the other direction and squints his eyes a bit, trying to understand this connection with the pond being a bed. One can drown themselves in the pond. The pond-water corrupts magic. The bottom of the pond has never been seen or touched. This was nothing like a bed or a home, this should be terrifying to the living things, that something so mystical and strange is in the heart of their forest. He chooses to move on from that thought, though, and when the buck exposes his fragile, damaged neck, something very heavy strikes inside the stag's chest, where his heart would be if he had one. "That's awful that someone would do that to you, Dear..." He stops himself here because he happens to be fighting the urge to bite the smaller deer's neck, right across the furless grey marks. It's an ugly, dark predator thought and the stag shakes his head a bit, looking away from him. "Maybe something ate you in a former life? Predatory animals tend to go for the neck when bringing down hooved animals such as yourself." The stag remembers suddenly the body he's in and adds, "And as myself, I suppose. But I don't know why you'd be here all in one piece if something ate you previously. Perhaps you're right, that something did choke you to death. I don't understand why, though."
Perfect. Midday is a solid
The sympathy doesn't get registered. He doesn't get it, but he doesn't mind pity.
"I don't feel eaten. I don't feel done. 'S a fun thing to think you're dead, when still very much breathin'", he slurs and strokes the cold hide with the point of his chin. Scully closes his tired eyes and listens to the silence where a fly buzzes and someone drops an acorn from heights.
"Wonder where we're goin', Midday... Or are we destined to just be."
Quiet is beautiful. It warms the top of his curly head in form of sun rays and appears in the absence of headache. This is a good place to be.
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Maybe we can end it at this? Reallyreally loved this, thank you so much. ♥
Yes that's fine to end it
Again, thank you. ♥♥♥