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[crittersheep]

WHO: all
WHERE: all
WHEN: Day 9, evening into night

[the sun goes down; the two moons rise.

it all looks...quite different. the laundromat lengthens and transforms the silhouette of Woolietown in the distance. the lighthouse beacon comes to life for the first time, throwing strong, brilliant light and stark shadows across the meadow and into the barns. the lazy river encircles the pasture in a glittering band, the bobbing shapes of the pool toys a little bit eerie until they drift into full view.

perhaps some of you are winding down. perhaps some of you are just gearing up for a wild adventure in the shadows. perhaps some of you, regardless of if you sleep or stay up, find your dreams and nightmares crawling out beyond the bounds of your own head tonight, drawing others in...

the night is full of possibilities.]

Comments

[endsjustified]

[pauses, frowning and covered in dust and sand from the effort, and knocks a sequence back. Rescue coming, it means, whether the grave's occupant knows it or not.

then Styx will briefly only hear silence. Charon needs to rise, brush off his coat as he walks back to the edge of the courtyard, frown a little harder down at the grave like he could open it by judgement alone, and then close his eyes and concentrate.

will the dream let him cast a spell...?]

[ohlord]

[i mean there's all kinds of fucked up abilities on Gunsmoke, so sure. why not?]

[endsjustified]

[all right. well. this shouldn't outright kill the occupant if he targets the gravestone and there's a lot of earth to diffuse it, hopefully.

it takes a little bit, the channels of attunement in his body narrowly-opened and sluggish, but the glitter of magic rises around his feet from the sand at last, pale violet ghosts of the grains forming a flickering circle of light. an equally pale sunburst symbol lights over him, and

the courtyard goes dark, but for him and the grave,

and a wolf steps out of the blackness to his side, larger than a man.

it doesn't look like Death, or the beasts of the mist. it looks fully alien, fang-mawed and tiger-striped. blue lightning crackles in the spikes jutting up from its back and broad shoulders, gathering in a single massive bolt -- and releases.

tl;dr if you can't shove a big rock out of the way just obliterate it]

[ohlord]

[dang, you just blasted all of Vash's--i mean, the gravedigger's hard work!

at least the stone's no longer in the way but nothing seems to be moving in the dirt and sand and crumbled rock.

the grave's deeper than one would think.]

[endsjustified]

[the gravedigger's work is only relevant if the one they buried stays dead.

the wolf and the dark fade, though the crackle of ozone lingers in the air a little. Charon exhales shakily, getting control of himself, and moves to look down into the opened grave.]

[ohlord]

[tis a pile of dirt and sand and rocks.

oh and a pale, bloodied hand clutching onto a metal buckle, but it's kinda just laying there not moving.]

[endsjustified]

[mutters something under his breath -- this is the rude comment Rubato hears in the waking world -- and reaches in to try and dig out, like. you know. their head. so they can breathe if they're still alive]

[ohlord]

[well, gosh golly, it's hard to say if this is "alive", but you do manage to uncover a deathly pale face of, of course, Styx

right before any touch of his skin seems to cause a terrible liquid to expel from your lungs. or guts, spilling from your lips. actually, it's hard to tell where it's coming from, it's thick and dark, almost black and your body's burning and melting and you know there's no way you're going to survive this, it hurts, it's beyond painful, but probably worse is you're sure there's a pair of people screaming but for two very different reasons as you kneel, fall back and over--





the desert sun's bright in the blue sky overhead and you're laying near a desecrated grave soaked in blood.]

[endsjustified]

[when he can think for himself again he just...

barks a laugh out at the sky, still tasting the ruin in his throat, his head ringing furiously from the assault. he feels sick and hollow. he's never let that alone stop him before.]

Do better than that.

[and he'll push himself wearily back to his feet, to look into the grave again.]

[ohlord]

[hey, so.

the grave's empty.

and there's a hot metal tube pressed against the back of your skull. the almost pained groan from behind probably gives away that Styx is still in terrible shape and desperately trying to do anything other than pull the trigger.]

[endsjustified]

[he goes still, but not in fear, exactly.]

And what do you think this will do?

[ohlord]

S'not... me... doin' it.

[110% lost control of this nightmare, now it's just All The Things Nicholas D. Wolfwood Is Terrified Of And Hates Himself For Hour. thanks for letting him out?]

[endsjustified]

I see.

[he just turns to face him and try to grab his wrist in a first grip, then. he's not even attempting to get away from being shot if Styx(?) shoots him.]

[ohlord]

[unfortunate he's janky but quick, angling down to shoot out kneecaps.

like you're nothing more than in the way.

even the sounds of the children go quiet at the sound of gunfire.

at least until one kid thinks it's a great idea to peer out the door, declaring, "I heard Ń̴̢͙̩̤̟̫̘̤̙̈̑i̸̛̛̯̊͋̐̄̑͂͝c̶̢̥̩̺̝͚̪̘͊̈́͒̈͐͘ǫ̴̛͕̯͕̪̟̱͕̬̼̗̭̭̘̞̘͔̐̆̊̔́̈́̓̓̓̕'s voice!"

"Stop sayin' stuff like that to scare the younger kids--!"

"No, I mean for real this time--!"

and Styx's face goes even paler if that's possible.]

[endsjustified]

[FUCK YOU HE SUFFERED WORSE THAN THIS TWO DAYS AGO. he makes a rough muted noise of pain much as he did then, but uses the distraction of the kids to grab for Styx's wrist again, as he collapses forward into him. his eyes are glittering with fury.]

[ohlord]

[WELL THANK FUCK FOR THAT BECAUSE THIS IS HOW HE'S BEEN SUFFERING EVERY NIGHTMARE except in fact gun wrist being grabbed doesn't stop the limb from twitching, twisting almost unnaturally to angle toward the doors of the church.

there's a more wild look in his eyes, trapped and terrified because someone has to die and he knows the right answer but also--also...]

[endsjustified]

[he has no illusions about his strength against Styx's.

however, having a hold on Styx's arm -- and probably on his shoulder, he's grabbing at him with adrenaline-spiked viciousness -- still allows him to shove himself bodily between the gun and its intended targets.

if he were in less pain he'd be thinking about how hard Yuber would laugh at him for this.]

[ohlord]

[dunno who that is but probably pretty hard because you get in the way right as the trigger's pulled and--BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM aren't you so glad your guts took the bullets instead of the kids who go screaming and crying back inside?

thankfully the click click click of an empty gun seems to also have Styx suddenly going limp like a puppet cut from its strings.

except he's immediately tossing down the gun and trying. to stop the bleeding.]

[endsjustified]

[yeah, he'd laugh pretty hard.

this is why Charon doesn't like to practice anything like altruism normally. fucking ow. he is pretty sure he is dying again. he hopes dying in a dream doesn't kill him in real life, because he's going to feel really stupid if that happens.

with whatever strength he's got left, he's going to grab Styx's collar, the rough cloth of his glove rasping against Styx's throat, dragging his face close. there's nothing tragic about the picture Charon makes gut-shot, not really; that deep cold fury is still in his eyes, etched in the lines of his face, transcending pain.]

You.

[ohlord]

[aaand he's just letting himself get manhandled, really, mostly because he's not even sure what Charon's gonna do but once again, his hands are covered in blood and he didn't even want to and why is this happening he's so tired--]

--why didn't you turn the gun on me, idiot?!

[endsjustified]

[it's wild how much Charon can still make his words drip with disdain when his mouth is literally dripping blood and his body is bullet-shattered, actually]

Because. If I let you kill yourself again. How am I to remind you you're alive.

[ohlord]

Not by letting me kill you!

[but then he would have killed the kids and THIS IS WHY. HE HATES THIS SO FUCKING MUCH.]

[endsjustified]

Bold of you to assume...you could ever be my true end, Styx of Lily.

[he could possibly wake them by physical violence here, he gauges, in the cold metronomic area of his mind that never stops ticking on, ticking on, ticking on, even when the rest of him is forced into shutdown or panic, that will only stop the day he really dies. he rather wants to enact some physical violence on his teammate. he is very tired and very done and in an immense amount more pain than he bargained for tonight.

it's what a fighter might do, or a certain kind of hero. he is neither. that's not his way.]

I assure you. That proving myself to you. Won't involve that. No matter how many times...you might play it in your head, self-defeating. I suggest...you take it to heart, in the real world.

Your wielders are a world away. You are only a tool...if you keep letting yourself be used like one.

[he's laboring to get the words out, and by the end they're probably growing hard to hear. he tries to make them land like blows, anyway.]