#Tqmalevolentlewis

[tragicquartet]

Any sense of body horror aside a voice sounds out from within Mallews confines, 'first time?'

The voice at first strikes him as yet another of the many strange beings that came to haunt him, but after a moment (and some contemplation of his most recent round of awful wretching), he lifts his head, staring about in a state of dazed confusion.

His senses, obfuscated by pain and exhaustion, take some time to finally track down and react to the presence, recognizing it as...something else.

"...y-yea," he manages to blurt out, focusing on the presence as his senses swim, finishing his thought before returning his attention to the expulsions of his flesh and blood, "any advice you care to give, stranger?"

[tragicquartet]

Spring. What an odd feeling that word made, rattling around in his head. Spring. Spring was here again. And it had been here for a while, now. The distant rustling of fallen leaves and the icy crunch of snow had long given way to the soft, dew-strewn swish of healthy, growing grass. The smell of crisp, bitter wind had long since passed, the breeze now heavy with weight of oncoming rain and the scent of blossoming flowers. Flowers. What an odd thing it was to be sitting here, in his garden, seeing flowers. There weren't many, but there were enough. Enough to make the little floral wire fences he'd made by hand, the little cordoned off attempts at flowerbeds, the garden tiles he'd set into the dry, ashen soil almost have a purpose. Almost. After all, he didn't physically go out into the garden much, and he didn't touch the flowers now, either. He was so afraid to touch, disturb any of it now that it seemed almost stable, almost "real," in a sense. He was worried he'd ruin it. He'd planted flowers, and not all of them had died. Most of them had, yes, but a few had survived in this place, in his garden, in his presence. That was nice. Mallew reclined back in his chair, his teacup gently clinking on the iron garden table he'd installed not too long ago. He wondered if the cashier at the hardware store on the edge of town was starting to recognize him now. He'd been in a few times now in the last few months, but only towards the edge of night, when he felt most safe. Say what one will of him, but Mallew knew what he was, at the end of the day, and what he could and couldn't do... And he wasn't planning on pushing his luck being amongst people again. Still, he had found himself outside more, and he watched over his modest, patchy garden with something resembling contentment. His cats darted between the small plots and sparce flowerbeds, chasing after bugs and the shifting shadows of the windswept trees overhead, Mallew letting out a low sigh. He looked down at his hands, then closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his body against the metal and wood. The last few months had been strange: he had gotten a better sense of time, although it still slipped from him often. He was good at tracking weeks now, and feeding and tending to the cats and the garden had helped him with that on a daily basis. He was sleeping more regularly now, although he still remained more nocturnal than anything else. He was beginning to prefer his bed over his coffin, and he felt the need to eat and drink more and more... As revolting as that was to him. His brow furrowed as he leaned against his chair, feeling it push back against him, tilt slightly back with his weight. His physical form had been getting heavier, oddly: floating didn't come as easily now, nor did phasing through things. His claws were not as pronounced anymore either, and it had taken time for him to get used to how that changed how he touched and interacted with things. He'd caught a few glimpses of himself in the mirror from time to time, always startling at the sight, not exactly recognizing himself right away with all the small, yet present changes that had happened to him. He had dreaded it when it began, but now... He let out a deep sigh, a few wisps of magenta flame escaping from the corner of his eyes, accompanies now by a few sizzling drops of black ectoplasm, which he swept away lazily with one hand. He was changing. Against his will. His form and his behavior were running away from him, pushing him further and further towards an endpoint he didn't know, and which each twisting turn, each new development taking more and more out of him, filling him with deeper and deeper fear, dread, and disgust... He had almost accepted it, at this point. And that was what scared him the most.

[tragicquartet]

I dont know man, thats why im asking you, why the feathers???? what do they mean???

The question doesn't seem to register at first, the ghoul lifting his head only for it to again slump down, a low groan escaping him, followed by a quiet, near inaudible noise...

It was a sob, barely strong enough to be made with what energy he had left, with what scorched vocal chords his mishmashed form could muster, followed immediately by a small series of quickly-evaporating, ectoplasmic tears.

It seemed the question (and its lack of answer) was causing him a deep, emotional fear:

"...no...no sé"

[tragicquartet]

Feathers huh?

Mallew can only muster a weak nod as he sits, slumped in a chair in the kitchen, not even realizing he's speaking to a stranger and not one of his underlings.

His back pressed against the wall, claws gripping the sides of the chair to prevent himself from collapsing/falling from his seat, head dangling down, his body wavering from side-to-side...both physically as if he were dizzy, and in a strange, overlaying effect, similar to the effect one might use to make a 2d image appear 3d.

His voice is low, gasping, and monotone, as if he lacks the energy to put any intonation into it, eeking out a question between deep, clearly pained breaths:

"...por...por qué...pl-plumas?"

[tragicquartet]

The voice is familiar, and the language even more so. 

Mallew’s memories of his living days had long since decayed, faded and frayed at the edges, morphing together, becoming less and less specific, more and more a wild, blinding array of associations, half-remembered faces, and long-felt hurt, betrayal...

But even so, somewhere in there he still heard and knew every word, spoken in a tongue so natural to him that it flowed out effortlessly, water spattering with each word, his tone almost whistful, yet drenched in every corner by a pervasive, easily-heard exhaustion:

“Está bien, mamá: ya voy.”

Turning on his heels, shoes now slopped in mud and dragging more with him as he strode, he turned his attention once more to the sky and-

Dropped to the ground, the wet splat of the collision and the near total loss of movement once he hit the earth an indication that something had gone quite horribly wrong. 

The only movement was a series of small, weak convulsions, and the only sound a series of low grunts, a sharp gasp following each. 

Quickly, one of his cats was by his side, a few curious Deadbeats wandering out onto the patio, Mallew struggling, thoughts both rational an irrational rattling around in his mind.

Maybe he really had caught a cold, or, perhaps...

It was something worse.

[tragicquartet]

As the rain poured down, Mallew stood still. 

The wind howled through the tall, gnarled trees, his flowerbeds soaked, soil heavy with torrential amounts of water, his mansion door creaking ominously, blowing back forth in the wind behind him, as if beckoning him to return inside...

He didn’t.

Instead, he stepped further out. 

As the first pellets of cold rain met with his form, he flinched, reflexively, expecting the usual pain that came from contact with water, but, pushing past that fear, that all too well-known pain...

He stepped farther out. 

And then farther, again. 

And again. 

Before long, he was beyond the garden edge, the ghoul standing alone, the distant beckoning of his underlings, the soft mewls of his cats trying to draw him back into the mansion, his home, now so far away...

He stayed where he was. 

Tilting his head up into the rain, Mallew let the water cascade down, rolling down his face and off his broad shoulders, sliding off of him without a single hint of pain.

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring up towards the black, thundering sky, the gentle fizzle and pop of his fiery irises meeting with the cold rain rattling, loud and clear, in his head. 

Before, a single drop of water could corrode, harm, and disrupt his form, hurting as much to him as it would if pure acid had been poured onto bare skin, but now...

He stood.

Staring at the sky, watching the lightning flow overhead, all through his fizzling, flickering eyes, his form heavy and damp with water that now clung to it, so casually and without pain, as if it had always been this way.

He shuddered, feeling a cold dread seep in against him, clinging to his body like so much rain.

Just what, exactly, was he turning into?

[tragicquartet]

Mallew? Mihijo? Please, let me know your alright. Let me take care you.

He's not going to resist that offer: he can tell he's not well, and, perhaps for the first time in his afterlife, he's scared enough by recent events, by all these unexplained changes to accept without much fuss.

He shakes his head, muttering a jumble of words between small gulps and looks of pain and discomfort:

"...n-not...alright...help?"

He's not going to fight it anymore: he needs someone's help...and, if he was being honest with himself, there weren't more capable hands than Micool's to trust in.

[tragicquartet]

WHOS MAKING MY BABY BOY SON CRY

I'LL KILL YOU

-HUGS MALLEW AND HOLDS HIM-

Although there was no answer as to who (or what) Mallew's assailant was, the hug was indeed certain, as was his response.

"HRK-!" Mallew gasped at the sudden contact, the sudden pressure, a glob of gold-streaked ectoplasm dribbling down his face as the hug pushed against him, the ghoul instinctively pushing the one embracing him weakly away, fearful both of this sudden embrace, and for their own safety in response to him dribbling ectoplasm, a substance he knew was both boiling hot and not pleasant to be in contact with.

Upon feeling himself be held, however, and the feeling of familiarity that came with it, he recognized the person that was giving it...

He gave in, immediately slumping into the celestial entity's embrace, groaning, low, montone, and matter-of-factly:

"Micool...madre..."

It was all the comfort he needed to finally slump forward against the mun, accept the embrace and let himself be supported for a time: he was in good hands, after all.

[tragicquartet]

-QUICKLY DRAGS MALLEW BACK INSIDE-

While the gesture was meant with good intentions, things quickly didn't pan out as such.

The sudden movement seemed to only worsen Mallew's condition, the ghoul's convulsions worsening still in the anon's grasp until a sudden, violent gasp and then a low, painful cough shakes through him.

Quickly lost in the downpouring rain is a glob of thick black ectoplasm that drains out of his mouth, another quickly following as he's brought through the threshold of his own home.

His underlings are quick to get to work...although what their goal is just yet isn't so clear.

Is he sick? Is he shaking because he's cold? Is there something wrong with his legs? Is that why he fell? Why didn't he just float back up?

The panic in the home is palpable, lesser spirits flying over with blankets, pillows, sitting him as upright as best they could, others grabbing for food and water, unsure if it would even help, and the house's many feline residents approaching, one even leaping up onto his chest, sitting still and watching him with intent eyes...

Well, at least he's out of the rain.

[tragicquartet]

((There's so many giggles and her heart shaped pupils looked like they softly beat along with her own rhythm. Arms squeezed the ghost and she sneaked in a peck every so often while he attacked every square inch of her face. "Hi there love! It's so good to see you too! I've missed you so so so muuuuuch!"))

Even as she greets him, kisses him and expresses her happiness to see him, his grip doesn’t let go.

It’s hard to tell at first, but as he finally lets up on the smooches, finally tucks his head down against her’s, adjusting her in his grasp to tuck her head, almost protectively, into the crook of his neck, perhaps she can begin to feel it, pick up on it.

He’s colder than before.

Heavier, too. 

He isn’t floating as far off the ground.

The thud of his anchor in his chest is slower, murkier, almost muffled. 

Something’s different. 

And even he isn’t sure if it’s good or not. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he purrs, finally breaking his silence, lifting up one of his hands to run through her hair, still holding her oddly protectively, supportive but also cautious, as if he’s expecting a fight at any moment. 

A fight with what, however, isn’t clear.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, love: you’re even more beautiful that I remember.”

He gives her another kiss, this time on top of her head, letting out a small, pleased hum. There may not be a place in this world where creature such as himself could truly belong...but here, curled up in Dana’s arms, holding her close, seemed to be a good place to be.

[tragicquartet]

Aggressive reminder for you to eat and drink water -shotgun click-

You hear that?

That’s the sound of Mallew knowing that was meant for him and him casualllllllly phasing through the floor, back down to the kitchen for a snack and a drink before he gets in even more trouble. 

Damn, it’s scary how well she knows him. 

[tragicquartet]

@spook-wolf

The words dig into him, making his discomfort even worse. 

He had been hoping in vain that his words would be enough to shake her off the trail of his mental and physical distress, but apparently not.

“...”

He considered running away, but reason quickly caught up to him: like it or not, Micool was a much more powerful being than he was, and, like it or not, she cared deeply for him. 

He’d finally learned that, after years and years: there was no avoiding this embodiment of space, nor her maternal protection of him. 

Still, the fact that he couldn’t step away from her gaze, from her scrutiny in the moment scared him almost as much as what was tearing at him already. 

“It’s, um...n-not a lie, really just...you know me, I doubt people caring about me sometimes, and, y’know, I don’t think people should sometimes, b-but that’s not my choice...”

He was dancing around the topic, eyes glancing away from the mun, his mind tugging at the corners of the conversation, poking for holes, ways to retreat, escape...

How could he explain to her that he was in pain, that something was wrong? Wrong in a way he’d never experienced before? 

That it scared him?

That he felt weak and helpless before it?

“...a-and as for taking care of myself it’s...”

He shook his head, trying to not to look panicked, afraid, ashamed, whatever it was he was feeling. He felt oddly guilty, revolted by his own body, his own existence (more than usual, at least). 

He forced the words out, taking a deep breath afterwards, enough though he needed no air: 

“...different, now. I, um...started eating again, recently? Or, a-at least, I think it’s recently, I’m losing track of time again, I think...like, I...I’m actually hungry? I, uh, don’t know how that started and, um...”

He couldn’t hold back the panic anymore, a shudder running through him, his voice cracking he barely eked out the words in a whisper: 

“...I hate it.” 

[tragicquartet]

MALLEW!!! (MUN IS HERE TO SEE HER BOY!)

The voice cuts through the cold air, and it takes Mallew several long seconds to register it. 

In his current state he was...deprived of many things. A sense of time, his own senses, a true understanding of reality amongst the many things that had slipped away in the...how long had it been, really?

Time was, yet again, lost on him, as was his own sense of spatial awareness, but, tripping over himself in snow, bolting towards the source of the noise, there was no doubting his enthusiasm, his willingness to push away the fog over his heart, body, and mind to see her. 

“DANA?!” 

He didn’t wait for an answer: his arms were around her in an instant, lifting her into the air and into his embrace, a flurry of kisses given to every square inch of her face he could reach, tears in the form of a light, smoky trail of ectoplasm rolling down his face as he pulled her in close, almost mistaking reality for dream.

“Mi amor, mi amor...” 

[tragicquartet]

"That's one way to do it" she snorts, her hand running through his hair. Twirling little bits of it and giving a few good scritches here and there. At some point as does lean down to give a small kiss to his forehead, short, sweet and familial. "You've been worrying me you know, hiding away all this time. Take care of yourself Mallew, you've got people who love you"

Accepting the celestial entity’s affection seems to come as second nature to him, contrary to years of his usual behavior. 

Gently leaning into her scritches and even permitting the gentle kiss without a hint of resistance, the ghost listens to her words in quiet calm...

Only to be unsettled by them, intentionally or not. 

The idea that he’s been worrying her, that she acknowledges and knows that he’s been hiding away immediately causes discomfort in him, the spirit visibly curling in on himself slightly in uncomfortableness as he replies slowly, each syllable oddly monotone, clearly controlled and restrained, as if attempting to conceal some sort of emotion: 

“I’m trying, and I know.”

He offers a smile. 

It doesn’t reach his eyes. 

[tragicquartet]

((There goes a deep blush. This mun was ecstatic having her love return however she could tell something felt off. While she enjoyed this closeness and the way she held her the mun heard that weak heartbeat. Slow too. "Hey love." The mun shifted to a point she could look at his magenta irises. "How have you been since I last saw you? Anything happen?"))

Answering her took some time, the ghost fumbling with his words, speaking in a soft, quiet tone that seemed welcoming, almost subdued for him, and although the reason may not have been outwardly obvious at first, he knew exactly why it was so off...

He was about to lie.

“I’ve been...”

Bad

“...fine. A bit-”

Nauseous. 

“...tired. I’ve been-”

Starving.

“...sleeping, a lot. Mostly just-”

Getting worse.

“...existing. Trying to-”

Become a complete shut-in. 

“...keep myself safe.”

I haven’t been able to.

“It’s been-”

PAINFUL.

“Weird, different, I guess.”

Is this all that’s left for me?

“How have you been?”

Help...but I don’t know if you can.

The thoughts in his head, rebutting each of his spoken words, were making him even more woozy than he already was, the fact that he had immediately jumped to lying to Dana already making him sick to his stomach, but what other option did he have?

Just tell her that he’d spent the last...however the fuck long it had been continuously denying his urges, succeeding in doing so but getting fleshier, colder, less energetic, less violent and less vibrant? He couldn’t even explain most of these changes, or even if he knew their full scope.

He was hungry, now. 

Thirsty from time to time, too. He didn’t have organs, his body didn’t even DO anything with these things, but he felt the need to take them in, anyway.

It hurt when he moved his locket into and out of his body now, like he had tissue and muscle in there, something resisting its free movement. He got tired so easily, too: he was sleeping on a daily schedule now, something unheard of for a creature like him, usually devoid of any semblance of circadian rhythm, of any need to close his eyes other than to let his mind run wild, drift off from reality for a while...

Now his form needed it, his body needed it. 

It was revolting, sickening, and he didn’t know how to stop it. Could he stop it? Would it be a good idea to stop it? What was all of this? A curse? Had he fucked up something inside of himself and somehow broken his form?

It was all unknown to him, and that, above all else, was driving him up a wall: when were the changes going to stop? Would they stop? What was he becoming? Something worse? And if he changed too much...

Would he even be himself, anymore?

[tragicquartet]

A hug? From Mallew? That's rare but the space being isn't going to turn it down. She's running full throttle into his arms to tackle him into a bear hug.

The impact of the mun tackling into him is enough to send his light, semi-spectral body reeling back, but, thankfully, not cause him any pain.

He holds the celestial entity close, gently patting her back a few times as he sits there, cozy and comfy for a time. 

He’s not been in the best shape, honestly, neither mentally or physically...but, if anything, it seems he’s ready to mend old wounds, bridge old gaps, and, perhaps, finally, let some happiness into his heart without much of a fight. 

It was kind of nice, he admitted.