[Man. First mission he goes on in what feels like ages, and of course something wild fucking happens. He really pretty sure this has absolutely nothing to do with him coming along, or the fact that he maybe strayed from the main objective a little to retrieve a souvenir from the Outlands, but it's an insult to injury at this point. When his finally feels like he can get up without his head splitting apart, Maverick pushing himself up onto his knees and looks around through squinted eyes. And feels himself go cold.
His eyes have landed on a little boy, same fluff of brushed out orange curls, same skinny little limbs, same too-pale complexion.]
This shit again? God, fucking… Hey! Ricky, it's me, you remember me?
[The younger version of himself shrinks away a little, blinking up through wide, almost glassy eyes...but eventually he nods, much to Maverick’s relief. Being a familiar face would make it a lot easier to get the kid to follow him around like a baby duck, the same way he used to follow Ramona around, back in the day.]
Good. Great, that's… Listen, we gotta --
[But he's cut off from whatever he was going to say, because when he reaches to put an arm on Ricky’s shoulder, there's a flash of fangs and the kid is latched onto him in a way that wasn't exactly expected, to say the least. Swearing loudly and feeling his chest tighten, Maverick tries wrenching his arm away. It didn't matter that the wound was opening more, he needed this thing off, he needed to get away.
Even as a child, Ricky is stronger than he is, thanks to vampiric strength and years of learning to utilize that strength, but eventually Maverick manages to get his foot between them. That Rex might be a weirdo, but he makes some damn fine boots made both to absorb impact and to propel him forth -- which he makes use of by smacking the kid right in the neck with his heel and its added magical force.
His arm is covered in blood, and he realizes that his rapidly thumping heart wasn't doing him any favors there, but for the time being the adrenaline is still good. It gets him to scramble back to his feet and get the fuck out of there. If only he had somewhere else to…go.]
[ b - baby boy, baby. ] (cw: blood)
[Ricky resists the urge to lick his lips clean, instead dragging himself up and spreading the mess further -- up, so it looks as if the blood might have been coming from his nose. Poor him, just a young boy wandering the misty area, injured and alone. Crying, of course. He'd gotten very good at crying in a way that was convincing. It was always an easy way to lure in prey, looking as he did.
That other version of him, weirdly human, had been meant to be a nice snack, but then he'd gone and worked up his appetite instead. Oh well. Someone else would come to “help”.]
[ c - caution to the fog. ]
[There’s a third Maverick, though this one doesn't seem intent on getting anywhere or doing anything in particular. He’s just keeping himself, humming, and conducting the smoke resting heavily around him so that they swirl into a little misty weasel. It zips around, making him laugh a little, but eventually he takes to looking around instead.]
Guess I don't need to wear it here, huh? [Speaking to the weasel, probably, since he glances over while tipping the brim of his beat up witch hat, pinned with ornamentation and draped with hanging lace.] No sun or nothing.
[When approached by someone he knows -- or rather, someone that knows Maverick -- this Maverick lights up and gives them an odd sort of salute in invitation. Even those he doesn't know get a wide, cheery…fangy grin.]
[ d - obligatory give me the d joke. ]
[This is just a wildcard prompt, plurk is goblinhood.]
ota, always cw: cursing
[Man. First mission he goes on in what feels like ages, and of course something wild fucking happens. He really pretty sure this has absolutely nothing to do with him coming along, or the fact that he maybe strayed from the main objective a little to retrieve a souvenir from the Outlands, but it's an insult to injury at this point. When his finally feels like he can get up without his head splitting apart, Maverick pushing himself up onto his knees and looks around through squinted eyes. And feels himself go cold.
His eyes have landed on a little boy, same fluff of brushed out orange curls, same skinny little limbs, same too-pale complexion.]
This shit again? God, fucking… Hey! Ricky, it's me, you remember me?
[The younger version of himself shrinks away a little, blinking up through wide, almost glassy eyes...but eventually he nods, much to Maverick’s relief. Being a familiar face would make it a lot easier to get the kid to follow him around like a baby duck, the same way he used to follow Ramona around, back in the day.]
Good. Great, that's… Listen, we gotta --
[But he's cut off from whatever he was going to say, because when he reaches to put an arm on Ricky’s shoulder, there's a flash of fangs and the kid is latched onto him in a way that wasn't exactly expected, to say the least. Swearing loudly and feeling his chest tighten, Maverick tries wrenching his arm away. It didn't matter that the wound was opening more, he needed this thing off, he needed to get away.
Even as a child, Ricky is stronger than he is, thanks to vampiric strength and years of learning to utilize that strength, but eventually Maverick manages to get his foot between them. That Rex might be a weirdo, but he makes some damn fine boots made both to absorb impact and to propel him forth -- which he makes use of by smacking the kid right in the neck with his heel and its added magical force.
His arm is covered in blood, and he realizes that his rapidly thumping heart wasn't doing him any favors there, but for the time being the adrenaline is still good. It gets him to scramble back to his feet and get the fuck out of there. If only he had somewhere else to…go.]
[ b - baby boy, baby. ] (cw: blood)
[Ricky resists the urge to lick his lips clean, instead dragging himself up and spreading the mess further -- up, so it looks as if the blood might have been coming from his nose. Poor him, just a young boy wandering the misty area, injured and alone. Crying, of course. He'd gotten very good at crying in a way that was convincing. It was always an easy way to lure in prey, looking as he did.
That other version of him, weirdly human, had been meant to be a nice snack, but then he'd gone and worked up his appetite instead. Oh well. Someone else would come to “help”.]
[ c - caution to the fog. ]
[There’s a third Maverick, though this one doesn't seem intent on getting anywhere or doing anything in particular. He’s just keeping himself, humming, and conducting the smoke resting heavily around him so that they swirl into a little misty weasel. It zips around, making him laugh a little, but eventually he takes to looking around instead.]
Guess I don't need to wear it here, huh? [Speaking to the weasel, probably, since he glances over while tipping the brim of his beat up witch hat, pinned with ornamentation and draped with hanging lace.] No sun or nothing.
[When approached by someone he knows -- or rather, someone that knows Maverick -- this Maverick lights up and gives them an odd sort of salute in invitation. Even those he doesn't know get a wide, cheery…fangy grin.]
[ d - obligatory give me the d joke. ]
[This is just a wildcard prompt, plurk is