[Were you aware that Wolfwood, resident Priest and Undertaker, is in, a mood? No? Well congratulations, you now know. For his efforts to burn away his restless energy the last few days have only worked for so long, and even the fading bruises on his face from his fight with Flamebringer aren't enough to keep him from feeling pissy. He's awake again, sure, but still contending with the entire month of time he lost out on. Even though it wasn't his fault, that doesn't mean it feels good. It's all around bad vibes, man.

He's trying his best to not think about it. Maybe if he can find ways to preoccupy himself...such as tending to the Church, which is a thing he's pretty much always doing anyway. There's a lot of cleaning up to do right now given that there's just candy fucking everywhere (none of it will go to waste, as he's gathering it up in containers for another prompt), despite knowing it'll probably replenish itself faster than he can grab it. Thank you, Mr. Bonejangles.

And you know what else makes that difficult? It's not just the pigeons that roost in the Church anymore. Oh no.

There is a pigeon the size of a minivan sitting atop the spire now, folded up like a massive feathery loaf, blinking his eyes out of sync with one another as he stares down at Wolfwood standing in front of the doors with a container of candy under each arm.]

...you ain't budgin', are you?

[The Pigeonking answers.

COO.]

[After he's dealt with the Pigeons, Wolfwood decides to spend his time doing something more productive with the candy he's collected. Namely: placing it in individual candy buckets provided by Mr. Bonejangles upon request and sneaking it to the doors of those he believes would appreciate them the most. His partners are not children, but they are the sole exceptions here who also receive a bucket too.

Though, let's be honest: does anyone need MORE candy. You can just walk outside and grab it. But this is keeping him from going insane, let him live. He's easy to catch doing this if you want, because he has his Dachie with him- who he's finally named Bartholomew, or "Mewmew" for short as Ain's been calling him- who has been DESPERATELY trying to climb into the candy buckets to steal some sweets. So, you know, that's gonna cost him some time.

If you're wondering what that shuffling is behind your door...yeah. Candy crimes are afoot.]

[You're too late.

There's an eerie calm over this side of the Grove, the suggestion that something chaotic just took place and now the world is taking a breath in the wake of it. The sound of someone's heavy breathing is all that permeates the air through the forest's edge.

Standing just on the cusp of the treeline is Wolfwood, holding his Punisher with a grip so tight his knuckles are white with the strain. He has it propped up against his shoulder, the long side thrust into the dead grass. It's smoking, humming with recently expended energy. From behind, it's hard to tell what's really...going on with him, until you get closer and begin to catch the acrid smell of blood and flesh burning.

Just a few feet away lays a crumpled form. A human body, very much no longer alive, with the chest cavity caved outward in a way that suggests something blasted clean through. The flesh all along the opening is burnt, the blood vessels cauterized instantly on impact. It's actually a small miracle the body wasn't vaporized outright.

It's recognizable to anyone who knows him as being Wolfwood himself laying there, blasted apart by his own cross.

And...Wolfwood, too, turns to look at you over his shoulder, blood splattered all across the left side of his face and clothing.]

...