Eleven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bearshermark) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2021-06-03 10:05 pm
bearshermark) wrote in westwhere2021-06-03 10:05 pm
I called out
WHO: Eleven and OPEN to anyone around the Tree, chained to the Tree, or otherwise in search of one tree-hugger.
WHEN: May 31-June 10th-ish
WHERE: The Tree
WHAT: Tree simping/vibing
WARNINGS: tba?
It's simple curiosity that leads Eleven out to the tree when he hears of it. He doesn't expect more than a worn, old pine tree sticky with sap. But the moment he sees it, with wide-stretching branches held tidily up from its trunk and twining beneath the weight of a trim canopy, his breath catches.
Caught up in staring for several heartbeats, he becomes aware of a cold aura that the tree itself seems responsible for. Moreover, he senses the beginning stirs of life, entwined with another feeling that takes him too long to place: death.
Cold forgotten, his heart tumbles through his chest, tripping up his feet in his haste to reach the trunk of the tree. His marked hand touches first, palm thrust forward, fingers embedding into deep grooves in the rough bark. The whole of his awareness and focus narrows to the tree beneath his hand, seeking a connection that fails to immediately manifest.
A.
He wouldn't give up.
Over the next several days, Eleven spent considerably more time at the tree than the farmhouse. There was some connection to be made there, he was sure- it was just a matter of forging it. An effort well-worth his time if any of his suspicions or hopes came to fruition.
He spent hours circling the tree, prodding around its roots to extract visible shards of embedded glass with gloved hands, and occasionally stopped to examine an oddly shaped fallen leaf with focused intent. Sat between its roots and leaned back against the trunk to simply rest and attempt to feel for something else through the cold wafting from the bark.
Eleven spoke to it when he thought he was alone- voice soft with apologies, reassurance, or quiet concerns. Then near the end of the day, bent himself in prayer for lengthy spans of minutes, still and silent, willing his mind open to the brush of another consciousness until the sun began to set.
B.
Of course he's heard of the trials of Anurr and how he'd had to chain himself to this very tree for three days and three nights (or something?) and while he isn't surprised that Anurr's most fervent supporters have elected to follow in his footsteps, it does surprise him to discover slightly more familiar faces in the mornings he comes to visit.
Eleven crouches near them, tentatively reaching out to try and wake them if they don't appear to be conscious and anxiously hovering when/if they are.
"Hey, are you all right? Do you need help?"
C.
His persistence pays off.
Pressed fully into the trunk, Eleven knows when he's found it- a subtle feeling, but one that's reaching for the energy he's poured into the tree. The back of his hand shines with a soft glow just before he loses time and external awareness between one breath and the next.
He exists in a quiet, floating awareness, attached to a sense of aged perception. Understanding slowly permeates his mind quite without words, in the same manner his own questions reach out. It isn't much, but it's enough and he's grateful up until something within the tree pulls at him and leaves him cold.
Eleven starts back to reality with a sharp gasp and shivering breathlessness, cold and fatigue plaguing him with quaking arms and unsteady footsteps as he moves to peel himself away.
[ooc: action or prose is fine!]
WHEN: May 31-June 10th-ish
WHERE: The Tree
WHAT: Tree simping/vibing
WARNINGS: tba?
It's simple curiosity that leads Eleven out to the tree when he hears of it. He doesn't expect more than a worn, old pine tree sticky with sap. But the moment he sees it, with wide-stretching branches held tidily up from its trunk and twining beneath the weight of a trim canopy, his breath catches.
Caught up in staring for several heartbeats, he becomes aware of a cold aura that the tree itself seems responsible for. Moreover, he senses the beginning stirs of life, entwined with another feeling that takes him too long to place: death.
Cold forgotten, his heart tumbles through his chest, tripping up his feet in his haste to reach the trunk of the tree. His marked hand touches first, palm thrust forward, fingers embedding into deep grooves in the rough bark. The whole of his awareness and focus narrows to the tree beneath his hand, seeking a connection that fails to immediately manifest.
A.
He wouldn't give up.
Over the next several days, Eleven spent considerably more time at the tree than the farmhouse. There was some connection to be made there, he was sure- it was just a matter of forging it. An effort well-worth his time if any of his suspicions or hopes came to fruition.
He spent hours circling the tree, prodding around its roots to extract visible shards of embedded glass with gloved hands, and occasionally stopped to examine an oddly shaped fallen leaf with focused intent. Sat between its roots and leaned back against the trunk to simply rest and attempt to feel for something else through the cold wafting from the bark.
Eleven spoke to it when he thought he was alone- voice soft with apologies, reassurance, or quiet concerns. Then near the end of the day, bent himself in prayer for lengthy spans of minutes, still and silent, willing his mind open to the brush of another consciousness until the sun began to set.
B.
Of course he's heard of the trials of Anurr and how he'd had to chain himself to this very tree for three days and three nights (or something?) and while he isn't surprised that Anurr's most fervent supporters have elected to follow in his footsteps, it does surprise him to discover slightly more familiar faces in the mornings he comes to visit.
Eleven crouches near them, tentatively reaching out to try and wake them if they don't appear to be conscious and anxiously hovering when/if they are.
"Hey, are you all right? Do you need help?"
C.
His persistence pays off.
Pressed fully into the trunk, Eleven knows when he's found it- a subtle feeling, but one that's reaching for the energy he's poured into the tree. The back of his hand shines with a soft glow just before he loses time and external awareness between one breath and the next.
He exists in a quiet, floating awareness, attached to a sense of aged perception. Understanding slowly permeates his mind quite without words, in the same manner his own questions reach out. It isn't much, but it's enough and he's grateful up until something within the tree pulls at him and leaves him cold.
Eleven starts back to reality with a sharp gasp and shivering breathlessness, cold and fatigue plaguing him with quaking arms and unsteady footsteps as he moves to peel himself away.
[ooc: action or prose is fine!]