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sheep_game2023-06-07 10:16 am
crittersheep) wrote in sheep_game2023-06-07 10:16 am
🌑︎ 🌑︎
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.]
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.]
no subject
there's a single footstep.
the monster has found him.
panic spikes in his chest.]
no subject
Y-Yuber...?
[ not him stammering in this goddamn child's body ugh ]
no subject
doesn't he know those sounds? that can't be Charon's monster, can it? that deliberate tread, that brush of heavy cloth, the oppressive atmosphere. isn't it one of his?
traumerei, traumerei, traumerei
are the shadows tricking him, or is it true...?]
no subject
he should run. he can't; he could never escape his grasp, not even at his peak strength. even knowing that this is a dream, he feels the blood draining from his face, skin turning cold despite the candle's warmth.
under his breath: ]
Charon of Lily, I'm going to throttle you.
no subject
it doesn't...help in the moment, though. his heart is still hammering, panic making his breath come short and his knees weak. with every breath and blink, the scene pulses, flashes sickening in his vision: red to black, black to red, red to black. he could flee; he came out here for another purpose, not to find the monster. or he could charge towards it; try to juke around it in the dark, somehow. if he makes it past it and back to the safety of his room then it can't get him.
does he break and run at last, before the monster crosses the threshold of light? or does he only wait? or...?
(the steps are steady. the hall is very long.)]
no subject
squeezing his eyes shut, fists clenched, he paints a picture in his mind. this fear is his, but this is still Charon of Lily's psyche. and judging by the last time — Charon's psyche is malleable.
six beds, crashing down from the sky. even blind, the encounter should be vivid in Charon's memory. if he can cause a distraction, then there's still a chance. he'll run if the summoning works. ]
no subject
the steps do pause; there's a sound of tearing flesh and breaking wood.]
no subject
no subject
this one has Charon's mom in it, equally spiked]
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CHARON OF LILY PLEASE LEARN TO AIM
alright what's Traumerei doing. surely he didn't hear the unfortunate yelp from that far away r-right ]
no subject
CRASH.
rrrrip.
that third bed had Charon's little brother in it, the redheaded boy Yas faced in his first dream.
three to go, but how many will help him and how many will hinder?]
no subject
however. the bone spears have given him an idea. he can't defeat Traumerei, but perhaps... something else can. something that doesn't play by his world's rules.
squinting into darkness toward "Traumerei", he pictures Shadow Fiend. a flower, crying. softly, he begins to chant. ]
Oh boy, this is a tough one. Well... The life of an adventurer can be pretty dangerous! Sometimes that means running into dangerous people who want to kill you, for reasons. When that happens... I try to avoid it, but I'd kill someone if it was a choice between their life and mine. I've done it before.
And... While I can't really feel bad about killing people anymore, I also don't really feel good about it. So I'd rather not do it unless it's the only option left.
[ the words aren't true to him. they can never be; not for Traumerei. but that shouldn't matter here. that shouldn't matter to Charon. he should remember the words, too. and he should know the result. ]
no subject
Blood Fiend may realize those noises had an echo.
he should look down, in this moment before it starts to hurt.
he probably doesn't want to.]
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he looks down. cat reflexes are a bitch. ]
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"Interesting you say that with such confidence."
"Would you disagree?"
"Your team did not prove it in blood, did they?"
well. he's proving it now. the spike juts up from the floor at a sharp angle and through him; very hard to lift himself off of with his life's blood sheeting down his torso, he'll find.]
no subject
he gasps pitifully as the spike impales him through the chest, vision flashing red as he drops the candle. both hands instinctively reach for the spike's tip, knuckles white. this pain isn't his, but it's—
it's similar to that time in the mist. the beast's howl of pain, then subsequent cackle ring in his ears — I curse you! I curse you pathetic prey! — as his memories blend with Charon's. turbulent. out of control.
it's infuriating. he'd tear the real Charon apart right now, if he could.
maybe he can, actually. deep down, he knows that this isn't Charon's fault. that this is the exact loss of self he'd tried so hard to avoid.
who cares?
there's something else he wants to test. even in this pathetic child form, he's still combat-trained enough to remain lucid through the blinding agony. that punishment proved a critical fact: sheep laws work here. and considering the previous dream... if an image is strong enough, Charon doesn't need to recognize it.
fists clenched atop the spike, he channels Rose's Enhance, reaching for his own rage. he yanks on it, hard, attempting to drown out his pain and fear.
where's Traumerei now? that other sound of flesh being pierced — he hadn't imagined it, had he? ]
no subject
his power works perfectly well, too--the rage can strangely clear his head as he wills it to, though it doesn't slow down the slow fade of his body's strength.
what is he going to do?]
cw self harm
in spite of his fading strength, his eyes are alight with triumph. for once in his life, he can hurt Traumerei. bring his old master down with him.
so he will.
once again, he paints an image within his mind. this time, it's a lighthouse. not his, but the pasture's. it's easy to imagine; he'd studied the alien building meticulously since its arrival. Charon may have lost his vision, but to his feline eyes, its beams shine so brightly in the dark that they're almost blinding.
at the same time, he begins a new chant. ]
WHO WOULD YOU MOURN?
... One who lived and died solely at the whims of another, unable to see past the misguided loyalty ingrained in their blood.
[ the words come out raspy, jagged; every breath feels like another stab to the chest. he tastes blood. and yet, the words are layered with a steel conviction; one that was absent the first time. this was his truth. a truth he'd watched Charon suffer for.
it's Traumerei's turn.
Cry for me, master. I want to see it. ]
Re: cw self harm
if the lighthouse appears, it's not in the hallway itself. if Traumerei has started to weep, he can't hear it yet. the hallway has fallen shockingly silent in the wake of his words but for his rasping breaths.
however. the squares of grey light around all of the closed curtains have suddenly grown much, much brighter...]
Re: cw self harm
not much he can do except wait.
don't you dare take this away from him, Charon of Lily. ]
Re: cw self harm
shatter.
the curtains blast out, torn from their rods, to be thrown against the opposite wall of the hall. light pours in like a weapon, like a wave.
yes, he does see Lo Po Bia Traumerei, speared through the chest, involuntary tears streaming down his face and off his mask. yes, he does see other figures crowded in the dark around Traumerei, red-haired and otherwise, cowering from the light.
blink. they are Charon's relatives, ruined and broken and dead.
blink. they are whatever family and allies Blood Fiend has loved and lost in his thousands of years of life, in much the same shape.
blink. blink. back and forth. back and forth.
the monster is dead...for now.
he is feeling very faint.]
Re: cw self harm
Blood Fiend is no stranger to corpses. a childhood of survival battles, followed by a lifetime of war make the sight more common than not. all this tells him is that Charon has regrets.
there's only one figure there for him. Wangwang, the foolish puppy that had been unable to overcome his instincts until the very end. "One who lived and died solely at the whims of another, unable to see past the misguided loyalty ingrained in their blood." and he'd died a long time ago, by Blood Fiend's — no, ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇'s — own hand.
a dull ache tugs at his chest at the sight, but nothing more. it's nothing compared to the still-muted agony of the spear, or the pounding in his head. the game had already pulled this stunt on him; it hadn't worked then, either.
Traumerei, on the other hand...
he should feel victorious. his sworn enemy, defeated. broken. it's everything he'd wanted, for as long as he can remember.
it feels empty. this isn't real. it never was.
he shivers. the Enhance slips from his grasp. ]
Re: cw self harm
he dies, and it stops hurting.
the dream does not dissolve into Death's halls. the dream does not dissolve into the ghosts of a thousand screaming sheep. the dream does not dissolve into nothingness and unmaking. it's just not that simple, he can almost hear Charon say.
instead, he sees velvet darkness filled with stars, and a vision of what might look like an impossible set of balancing scales, a cold silver thing that has not two cups to weigh and measure but hundreds of every shape and size. it hangs below him, vast as a world, its component parts gently drifting and spinning around and through themselves, ever-shifting. glittering red sand flows between them, fluid as shinsu and viscous as blood.
this vision doesn't explain itself or its incongruity with the rest of the dream, and maybe he's seen more miraculous things in the Tower, but the beauty of it may hold him for a moment, just the same.
and then he'll wake.]