stranglingfruit | what matters most is how you bring joy to life

At least Jon could be fairly confident that any out of the ordinary Murmur subjected him to would probably not be detrimental to his health, or life threatening. The angel was very invested in keeping Jon alive, after all. Who else would bury a city in a fit of rage over such a thing?

A thoughtful hum. "Come, let us walk. I will think on your request."

The aurora was always nice, but would it be surprising? Maybe not at the moment. So instead he'd consider what else he could show Jon that he thinks Jon might find interesting. There were many wonders in all the worlds, but not everyone found the same things as fascinating as the angel did.

Even if all they do tonight is take a meandering walk with no destination in mind, Jon will be content. Time spent in the angel’s company is never wasted, never boring, and never something Jon tires of experiencing.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Jon sets off with Murmur in whichever direction he chooses. He has the utmost trust that he will enjoy however they end up spending tonight.

That may indeed be all they do. Though Murmur had that faint, buzzing impression that he often got when things were about to go awry that told him tonight might be more interesting than that. Whether they liked it or not. Certainly he could warn Jon, but that went against his rule of not tampering, instead he'd simply keep his senses alert for any imminent danger.

There was no apparent threat, and the snow truly was quite lovely. Murmur particularly enjoyed listening to it softly landing on tree branches above them the further they moved away from crowds. It was peaceful, and snow always had that unique quality of making everything just a little more still and quiet.

He would wait. Sipping his drink, and enjoying the time quietly spent in his beloved's presence.

At this point, Jon has been removed from the perils of his world long enough to not be in constant danger, and it has possibly dulled his finely tuned sense of hyper-vigilance for it by a slight amount. He will mentally chide himself later for growing too comfortable, too relaxed, perhaps even too dependent on Murmur to keep him safe - after the immediate panic of the new ordeal has passed.

The silent peace of the forest is suddenly and violently shattered by the sound of a substantial weight crashing down from a high distance through trees, snapping branches, ending in a loud thud and a very human-like scream of pain. It’s not far away from them, by the sound of it, and it’s alarming enough to make Jon physically jump - and lose his grasp on his rather tasty beverage. Which, admittedly, is not very important, in light of whatever has now been introduced to their immediate environment.

“Good lord,” he whispers, eyes suddenly wide with fear, “what was that?”

To be quite fair to Jon, even Beholding's Avatar couldn't expect to have the same level of constant awareness of an angel. A being so utterly alien so as to have never been human, to utterly lack the kind of mind that, by necessity, knows how to filter out excess noise so as to not be in a constant state of overwhelm.

So much so that when the crashing sounded followed by a scream sounded through the trees Murmur appeared not only unsurprised, but completely calm about the whole thing. He merely sipped his own drink, canting his head very faintly to the side as he listened.

"It sounded like someone falling from a height through the trees and hitting the ground," He mused, both completely confident and completely unconcerned. Most would likely find the casual way in which he observed that to be unnerving, furthermore the distinct fact that Murmur appeared not in the least bit driven to go investigate. After all, what business was this of his? It was almost callous in a way, how coldly indifferent he was toward a potential loss of life outside of his very small sphere of select individuals.

If they were not among Navi's crew, then they were none of his business unless otherwise requested.

Jon knows Murmur well enough by now to not find his reaction (or lack thereof) out of the ordinary. He simply wasn’t given to excessive displays of emotion.

Jon, on the other hand, continues to stand there, mouth agape and frozen to the spot in total shock. Someone meant a person, and Jon assumes that means some shade of trouble.

Exactly which shade is the question.

“Can you tell if - if they survived the fall?”

Nor was he given to excessive displays of concern for anyone outside his very select sphere. Those he cared about he cared for deeply, those he didn't, well... He simply didn't.

What shade of trouble indeed? Murmur lifted his nose, again scenting the air as he contemplated the question.

"There is quite a lot of blood... but I have not felt a soul evacuate the area. They live, for now."

Again that was utterly unconcerned. Whether or not this individual lived or died was of no consequence to him. As far as he was concerned everything was precisely as it was intended to be. Now Jon on the other hand, was absolutely free to make an executive decision here, and Murmur would go with him. He simply wouldn't volunteer on his own.

Jon is perhaps not as much of a monster as he believes himself to be, because he’s already begun heading in the direction of the loud crashing sound before Murmur finishes speaking. He’s no hero, he … doesn’t even really know how to help someone bleeding out - he just knows he wants to help.

If he can. So that starts with finding the injured party. Jon takes off at a sprint, because what is thinking through your decisions before acting on them? He sort of assumes Murmur will follow along.

Were they going? Very well. Still enjoying his drink, a shame about Jon's, he moved to trudge along behind the man while he went searching for the source of the crashing. He would advise against racing through the trees willy-nilly but Jon's a grown adult and can do as he pleases.

Murmur, for his part, remains too unconcerned to bother with rushing. He'll be there precisely when he so feels it appropriate. Just a leisurely stroll through the woods for him, following in Jon's snowy tracks.

What Jon finds when he reaches the site of the mystery crash landing is not quite a bloodbath, but blood is certainly present, and in a significant amount. Said vital fluid appears to have previously belonged to a person currently struggling to right himself and not having much success - a young man of slender build and shaggy brown hair. He’s dressed in freshly ripped clothes - a tan button-up jacket with black trousers and shoes - with one black-gloved hand pressed to the dark stain of blood covering his midsection and the other clutching a fistful of shattered black and red plastic that used to hold the shape of a gun, one resembling something from a sci-fi film. He kneels on the snow-covered ground, trapped between attempting to breathe and suppressing cries of excruciating pain as he continues his futile attempts at climbing to his feet.

Jon skids to a stop when the sight before him comes into view, with a panicked shout of his trademark good lord escaping from behind the hands clapped over his mouth in horror. The other man - boy, really, he can’t be much more than a teenager - snaps his head up in alarm at the interruption and levels a feral scowl at the intruder in front of him.

“Don’t. Come. Near me,” he growls through clenched teeth, arm extended out in front of him with the shattered plastic grasped in his shaking hand pointed at Jon. He is cornered, frenzied, searching in desperation for an escape.

It just hurts too much to move.

Edited 2025-05-08 02:40 (UTC)

This young man was certainly having a no good, very bad day.

It was widely known that Murmur was more than a little protective over Jon. That said, despite what some may have been led to believe, he wasn't a complete lunatic about it. Not until he had good reason to be, at any rate. The boy, brandishing a weapon at Jon was cause for some alarm, but he was also wildly unsteady and the weapon appeared damaged. Murmur wasn't going to take the risk that it was completely disabled, however, and decided to intervene.

In perhaps one of the most humiliating ways for the terrified kid at present. He threw a snowball. Hard and with vicious accuracy, but no more deadly than a snowball to a hand could be.

"I would advise against that." Murmur called as he approached the fiasco, a little to the side from the direction Jon had come. After hearing him speak Murmur was able to adjust his own language to suit, Japanese not being an unknown to him made it significantly easier.

The snowball connects, and with a sharp cry of equal parts pain and alarm, the boy drops the mangled remains of his weapon. Careless, he mentally scolds himself, he should’ve been paying attention -

His attention snaps to Murmur, tense and furious. Flight isn’t an option in his current state, so fight it is. He raises the hand not currently pressed against his stomach to his face, as if grasping at something over his eyes, and screams, his voice harsh, commanding, desperate:

“TO ME, LOKI!”

A flicker of blue flame circles around his head briefly before stuttering out. The boy collapses to the ground in an unmoving heap.

Edited 2025-05-09 16:42 (UTC)

The snowball had the intended effect of disarming the boy, though Murmur did have to admit to mild irritation at his continued insistence on trying to fight. Why humans must be so insistent on causing problems for themselves he'll never understand.

But, fortunately, it didn't last. The power swelled, and died, as expected. Leaving them a dying heap of bloody mess to deal with. Or rather leaving Jon a dying heap of bloody mess to deal with, because Murmur wasn't getting involved until he was directly asked.

Instead he just hummed a faint sound of disapproval, and sipped his drink. Somehow his has survived this ordeal.

Jon has survived the ordeal largely by remaining rooted to the spot in abject terror. He is not a skilled physical fighter by any stretch of the imagination, and if the now-unconscious boy had been in any shape to cause actual damage, Jon would have made an easy target. He doesn’t entirely understand what he just witnessed, but that’s less important now. This newcomer clearly needs help; it’s not hard to guess he’s likely lost a lot of blood and in desperate need of medical attention.

But Jon is no doctor. After giving Murmur an incredulous stare that he imagines the angel either won’t notice or won’t care about, he rushes forward in a panic and kneels on the ground next to boy. Surely he can at least check for a pulse, right? Even someone with no medical skill can do that. Hesitantly, Jon reaches out to loosen the black and white striped tie around the boy’s neck and gently presses two fingers to his neck, searching for a sign of life.

His skin is pale and clammy, and his pulse is irregular when Jon is able to find it, but it’s there. It might not be too late.

Jon shakes his head and violently shoves away the memory of an open door and the beckoning darkness within while another boy walks toward it, helpless to resist.

“We have to help him.”

Not exactly asking, but the expectation for Murmur to pitch in is the same.

The boy is certainly in desperate need of medical attention, Jon is certainly right about that. However that "we" remains a load-bearing we at the moment, as Murmur remains utterly impassive as he watches the goings on with a level of disconnect Jon has rarely been privy to. This one was not of their flock, not yet, and therefore firmly out of his purview.

Thus, if Jon expected motivation on the angel's part, it was going to take more than implied requests. He didn't want to get involved in this, after all. To him it wasn't any of his business, but Jon was upset and he could tell Jon was going to only grow more upset if Murmur didn't give him a nudge on the necessary course of action.

He can't get involved on his own, but he can get roped in.

"What would you like me to do? Move him, heal him? Navi is an option."

He remained, perhaps frustratingly, calm about the whole ordeal.

Jon isn’t thinking about the whole “can’t get involved, human free will” nonsense that binds Celestials’ action or lack thereof. He turns around with an incredulous stare, like he must be hallucinating or losing his mind entirely.

“What sort of question is that?”

Of course Jon wasn't, the mortals always forgot that part at those key moments when a Celestial's hands were most bound. Murmur was already bending the rules by offering at all, hell being there was teetering on the edge. He wasn't willing to risk Falling again on behalf of some stranger whose circumstances were wholly unknown to him. Granted, that did raise the question of what would he be willing to risk a Fall for?

Meeting Jon's incredulous gaze, he hesitated. There was one thing he could think of... though he wasn't certain Jon would much enjoy what became of that. He felt a knot twist, a sensation he was largely unfamiliar with... anxiety? Before he allowed himself to ruminate on it too long he moved, forgoing the reminder that a direct request was necessary.

"Of course. How silly of me."

The young man didn't have much time, and Jon wasn't in the mental state to handle arguing about celestial nonsense. Murmur didn't know what would come of this, all he knew was that he'd not actively defied his commands before. It terrified him.

Swiftly he knelt by the boy, feeling that knot grow into something cold and heavy that he ignored as he placed his hand on his chest, a warm healing light enveloping the young man. Murmur was not a skilled healer by any means, and it drained him rapidly to do so. Even still, it was better than letting him bleed to death. He could at least stabilize him before they returned to Navi, they would be much better suited to mend his injuries.

In the back of his mind he was dimly aware of a searing pain though his currently invisible wings. It wasn't like the Fall, which burned worse than death, but it wasn't terribly far off either.

He felt it would be best not to mention this to Jon.

Edited 2025-06-15 22:01 (UTC)

The boy on the ground groans quietly as Murmur works his healing magic, but otherwise doesn’t stir or regain consciousness. The rise and fall of his chest settles into a more regular rhythm, a sign his breathing has stabilized. Jon sighs deeply, relief audible.

“Thank you,” he says, with a curtness of tone that also means finally, and he checks the boy’s pulse again, just to be sure. It seems better than before, but Jon still isn’t a medical professional. This boy isn’t completely healed, and he appears to have lost a lot of blood.

“We should get him back to the ship.”

Murmur didn't much care for that tone, and didn't look Jon's way. He didn't understand, couldn't understand, perhaps. His wings burned, like fire ants chewing through his feathers.

He ignored it.

"Lead the way." Murmur muttered, moving to lift the boy. He was light, as all humans were to him, but long limbs still made him somewhat awkward to wrestle. Still, far easier for him to lift than for Jon who probably didn't spend much time hauling bodies around.

what matters most is how you bring joy to life

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