CHAPTER 4: THE QUIET THAT COMES AFTER

– POV: CASPER –

(ROLEPLAYERS: VEN, TEA)

(ADAPTATION: TEA)

It's almost dusk by the time Lyre wakes up.

“... Casper? Are you there?” Lyre says quietly, from another room. Then, he clears his throat. “Uhm. Good morning!”

"Ah— yes—!" Answers Casper, a bit quickly. He makes his way over to Lyre in a matter of seconds; he wants to show that he's true to his word. "Good morning! T— technically,"

Lyre's head whips around to look in Casper's direction. Eyes wide, round. Like he's stunned. Or maybe, just surprised.

Maybe, even relieved.

… That's a big assumption, though.

"Did you sleep well?" Casper smiles, pleasantly. If not a bit… strangely.

"Yes— yes, technically," Lyre laughs, a little."I mean, I just woke up. So morning, to me," He says with a light shrug.

"Ah, well. What really is morning, anyways," Casper says, waving a hand around. "Time is an illusion of man, or something like that. Blah blah blah, I can probably spin bullshit about that some other time,"

It's about now, when he hears Lyre's stomach rumble.

"I— ! Should go foraging or hunting or something," Lyre murmurs, pushing the blanket off. Face flushing in embarrassment. "Before I start getting hunger pains." He sighs, pulling himself to his feet, brushing himself off.

Casper's lips press into a not-quite-frown.

"Hunger pains?" Caper echoes, floating a little closer to him. "Do you get those often?”

"Unfortunately," Lyre says, placing a hand over his gut for a moment with a frown of his own.

"Oh, Lyre."

Lyre sighs, heavily, and then starts to walk over to a sword that's hung up on the wall. One with an enchanted sheen.

"This kind of hungry means I can't just go berry-picking or whatever," Lyre says quietly. "I have to hunt something down." He twirls the sword by the handle experimentally, like he's held the weapon many, many times before.

"... Are you going to stay here?" Lyre asks, turning to look back at Casper. There's some sort of distance to his eyes that wasn't there before. A silent kind of resolve.

"Oh!" Casper says plainly. He blinks. "Oh, ah— hm. I'd say whatever's most convenient to you?"

Now Lyre smiles lightly, lowering the sword to a neutral position at his side. The blade still shimmers faintly. He shifts his grip on the hilt experimentally once more.

"You can come with," Lyre says simply, "So long as you're tolerant, of, uh," he hesitates, "Blood. And whatnot." He grins nervously.

Casper clicks his tongue. "Blood doesn't faze me, no."

"Also, don't make too much noise." Lyre raises a finger and presses it to his mouth for a moment for emphasis, the smile turning a little bit playful. "You'll scare stuff off otherwise. I know you're literally a ghost, but I just wanted to say."

"Ah, yeah. I figured as much— please do tell me to shut the hell up if I somehow don't get the memo, though," Casper jokes. Then, feels like he needs to clarify: "But I understand.”

"Great!" Lyre turns and starts walking towards the door, and then pauses. He grimaces, seeming to remember something unpleasant, and slips his shoes off ... ? Well. The action reveals very obviously soft-padded feet, like a cat's. Lyre glances down and then to Casper.

"... Uhm. Voidfolk genes. I always do this when I go hunting because my, uh, feet— are built for quiet. Voidfolk, we're, uh. We're ambushers." Lyre shrugs. "I don't like the feel of not wearing shoes, but ... this helps me not make noise, so I deal."

"Ohhh," Casper drawls, and his tone suggests a touch of intrigue.

Lyre moves to stand on his tiptoes instead of on the flats of his feet and seems to do so with ease, remaining perfectly upright— it also makes him just a bit taller.

"Let's go. Yeah?” Lyre says, somewhat expectant.

"Ah, of course. After you,” Caspers says, stepping to the side.

"Will do!"

And with that, Lyre slips— alarmingly silently out the door and into the slowly darkening forest.

—

The forest is getting darker by the moment.

Lyre raises his head, ears perking up, listening carefully to their surroundings. Eventually, he will hear the distant rustle of something.

Lyre lowers his head, and sets off in the direction of the sound. He seems to remember that Casper is there around halfway through his slinking, murmuring—

“I heard something. We've got to be quiet.”

"Oh, alright," Casper says quietly. He hadn't spoken, up until now. Seems he took the memo rather well. "You, uh. You got it.”

Instead of replying, Lyre just nods, pupils dilated in the dusky light. He slips away into the darkness again, completely silent, head low.

Then, he spots it. The grip on his sword tightens.

There's a deer in a clearing just through the undergrowth. It doesn't seem to have noticed anyone, or anything is there as it walks. Lyre begins to move— the underbrush barely disturbed by his motions, no sound made at all as he moves slowly, slowly, carefully. Each motion is deliberate. Methodical. Calculated.

And there's a point where Casper just... stops following him. Lets him do what he needs to do. Get down to business, if you will. He figures it'd be better for him, this way— no distractions.

So, he watches. Quietly. Distantly. Removed. Like a ghost such as himself often does.

Lyre circles around the clearing until he's behind the deer. And then he crouches down. He prepares for the next step in complete silence.

One heartbeat. It's silent. Still.

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Two heartbeats. Everything is happening at once.

Lyre bursts out of the undergrowth in an arcing leap, glowing eyes practically leaving a blazing trail through the air as he full-body tackles the deer, straight to the ground, using his strength and somewhat-greater weight to his advantage.

The ensuing struggle is rough. The pair rolls across the forest floor for a few seconds, but ultimately, the Voidfolk hybrid overpowers. With Lyre pinning the deer down with his entire body— and a clawed hand— and the creature flailing about, it's a sight.

A stray hoof strikes him in the face. A crack is heard. Purpleish-red blood drips down his face. Lyre winces, but does not falter.

Raising the sword, he slashes it across the deer's throat in one quick, rather violent motion with an unreadable, hardened expression. Blood sprays. His own blood drip, drip, drips onto the deer's now-still body, as more crimson pools on the ground.

Lyre isn't even breathing heavily. Just staring down, expressionlessly, at the body of the deer. At the blank eyes of its corpse. He doesn't sit back. He remains hunched over it for a few long moments.

. . .

The ghost considers the events that transpired carefully; where one would expect horror, perhaps, even disgust— all Casper can describe "feeling" right now, is, well.

Understanding.

He understands, what happens here. It's not pretty, certainly not— Hell, he, himself, winces at the audible crack. But he knows why it happened.

Lyre needs to eat.

There's not much more to it, than that.

Casper watches Lyre intently. He'd say something, but he quickly figures it'd be better if Lyre did that himself. So, he gives him time.

After a few moments, Lyre lets out a long breath, relaxes— and then promptly un-relaxes, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth, rearing back and dropping the sword rather dramatically before covering his face with both hands.

He stays like that for a little bit.

Then, hesitantly, he removes his hands from his face, looks down at the deer again with wider eyes than before, and then scans the undergrowth, seemingly, looking for Casper.

His eyes eventually land on the ghost's pale form.

And for a few moments he just peers. Dares, to make momentary eye contact. Casper wonders why he makes himself do that.

Lyre looks away soon after. But then he speaks up, knowing that Casper will hear him.

"... It broke my nose, but I'll be okay," Lyre calls, his speech a little muddled by the affliction. "I hope you're okay, too?" His expression is still a little pained from that broken nose. It's kind of obvious.

"It broke your nose?" Casper echoes. He's not surprised— he heard that crack. And yet, he can't help the rush of concern that follows, “Oh, fuck— are you okay? How're you gonna treat that?" Casper makes the easy assumption that Lyre doesn't have any potions on him.

Like many, many other things.

Casper floats closer to him. "God, you're bleeding,” He murmurs, as Lyre properly comes into view. He frowns. "Does it hurt?"

It's a stupid question, he knows.

"You think I haven't gotten hurt hunting before?" Lyre questions with a faint, pained smile. He is bleeding. His face is streaked with reddish-purple blood, spilling from his nose, but it's hard to tell with the spray that coats his front, too.

"Oh, I'm sure you have," Casper says, and he'd roll his eyes if he wasn't actively worried about him. He doubts Lyre would be able to tell, though— no pupils.

Lyre laughs quietly at his remark. "... Yes, it does hurt. But I can re-align it ..."

Breathing in, Lyre reaches up and grimaces in pain as he adjusts his nose back into position. It looks painful. No crack this time, at least. Lyre grits his teeth, hard— but doesn't make a sound.

"... I'll make a splint for it when we get back to the cabin," Lyre says simply. He reaches down and picks up the sword, and then the deer, hauling the latter over his shoulders.

"Yeah, sounds good," Casper says, watching Lyre as he— oh wow he really did just haul that thing onto his shoulders like it's weightless. Okay. Okay.

Lyre starts to walk back in the direction of the cabin, having eased back onto the flats of his feet, no longer needing to be deathly silent. His tail drags along the ground behind him.

"I have, really!" Oh, so he hasn't let that go. Lyre's retort to Casper is light, his voice still stuffy from the broken nose, but a bit less. "I've gotten far worse, trust me."

"Oh, you don't need to prove it, Lyre. I just bloody watched," Casper snarks, floating after him. "I believe you." Is said with a smile.

… Or maybe a smirk.

"Was this one of the better experiences or nah,"

Lyre stifles a huff. Silent for a bit before he replies:

"Yeah, this was one of the better ones— could have done with one less broken nose, though," Lyre says nonchalantly. "I've had some really rough struggles. This, uh, luckily wasn't one of them." He laughs quietly.

The pale light of the cabin can be seen in the distance, now.

"Ah, well. What can you do," Casper says. "So what, did it just, like—" He vaguely gestures around. “Think I saw it kick you? It was pretty dark, do correct me if I'm wrong,”

"Hoofed me in the face, yeah," Lyre says with a sigh. "Kicked me. Whatever you wanna call it— I'm, uh," He hesitates. "I don't tend to be the most careful when I'm focusing like that, so it slipped my mind."

The light gets closer, and closer, and soon, the cabin is visible.

Casper frowns, lightly. "Awe, well. Try to be more careful next time, maybe," Riiiight. Because he knew soooo much about hunting. "But hey, what do I know,"

He shrugs, turning to face the approaching light of Lyre's cabin. All in all, not an awful experience— which is easy to say, seeing as he's not the one who ate shit.

Twisting to look back at Casper, Lyre's eyes narrow, an accomplishment for someone with an already-scrunched-up face. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it, and then frowns— pouts.

"... Yeah, okay— whatever," Lyre says, muttering and looking away. "We're almost at the cabin." He raises his head.

"Mm," Casper hums, and he lets him have this one. "Looks like it,"

Lyre nods, and then they're at the cabin's door soon enough. He pushes it open and walks inside with everything in tow.

—

Slipping into the cabin, Lyre wastes no time in squirreling away to the kitchen. He moves rather quickly through the living area, as to minimalize blood dripping onto the floor to be cleaned up later. All-in-all, kind of speeding around the cabin, in a flurry, clearly having his mind set to the tasks at hand.

Casper, in contrast, strolls in rather calmly. He lets Lyre do his running around— he needs to. So, the ghost stands off to the side, in the "living area", of sorts.

… He peers at the shelves on the wall. He's seen this, before, yes— but something catches his attention.

The deer. He's carved deer— a handful of them, in fact. Intentionally, meticulously. Some sloppier than others, some eerily refined.

Casper thinks there's some sort of metaphor to be found, there.

"Casper, are you— are you, uh, still there?" Lyre calls from the other room. "Don't come over here. I'm gonna, uh—" He hesitates. "Knife. Deer," He says, awkwardly, skirting around the subject of cutting it up.

"I'm still here," Casper says simply, eyes still focused on the wood carvings. The deer wood carvings. "You go do that. Don't worry."

Lyre is shaping up to be... an interesting man. It sounds a little naive— especially considering Lyre lived in the forest— but the ghost genuinely doesn't think he'd have expected this side, to him.

Lyre, was... pathetic. Emotional, it looked like. Anxious, to an extent. Insecure. Lonely. Kind.

But what he didn't expect, was for Lyre to be efficient as a hunter.

It's downright fascinating, to him— and he doesn't know why, it's this big of a deal. And honestly, it's not the hunt that catches his eye—

It's the quiet that comes after.

Casper shakes his head softly, turning away from the shelving.