"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Jack unscrews the cap to an old bottle of scotch with trembling hands and gives a generous pour to his glass. Oddly enough, a nervous sweat has broken out across the orange gourd that is his head from all the stress of his challenge. He takes a gulp of the scotch and lets out a gruff sigh at the taste. Cheap liquor tastes awful but he needs something to ease his nerves, he thinks as he pulls a crooked cigarette from a pack and rests it on the ridge of his carved teeth. He lights it with the tip of his finger and inhales deeply before releasing the smoke slowly. It eases out of the holes that form his eyes and mouth alike, dissipating into the air as quickly as it came.
His hands are still shaking a little when he carefully leans over cauldron to see what’s become of the scavengers all searching for him.
Oh. Fuck.
His glass falls to the floor with a crash when he sees some of them and he reaches for his phone to quickly type out a message to the henchmen group chat. He slings the phone back onto his side table without checking to see what autocorrect has made of his intended message – a rookie mistake, as we all know. Their phones buzz and chime at once. The eager little monsters check their phones quickly and giggle to one another as they slip from the safety of the shadows en masse.
‘kill them all’
They move in all shapes and sizes, too stupid and reckless to notice the traps and treats meant for their master. The songs and shrines and bodacious babes are trampled by thoughtless monsters. A few dumbly stop to devour the gifts left out for Jack. The creatures, in their frenzy, rush the players all searching to earn their fair share of the prize. Meanwhile, the Halloween spirit is too busy sweeping up the broken glass on his floor to notice what’s become of his game.
So Jack has messed up EVEN FURTHER and accidentally commanded them to attack. Choose however many of the monster you would like to encounter and describe them, as well as how your trick or treat faired against them. Try to relate the monsters to your character’s greatest fear, if you can. If you’d like to bow out of the competition at this point, you can be defeated by the little guys and receive your winnings now.
@[Briseis], for not responding to round two, will be harassed by ladybugs for two real-life weeks. Not just any ladybugs though! These little fellas wear teeny tiny wizard hats and yell, "YER A WIZARD, BRISEIS!"
Same rules as before. This round ends at 11:59pm CT on Saturday.
Jack O'Lantern
O! Ghostly friend, thy hair's on end! What fearful fate do you portend?
(A river. A mermaid. A hazel.)
(A bloodied shoreline. A sunset. A beacon.)
From nearby in the shadows she can hear the distinct sound of glass as it shatters.
She stops singing in that moment to listen. An eerie stillness settles in around the river - the water seems to quiet, and the wind doesn’t roll through the branches of the trees anymore. The fog is still everywhere, but the sunset has been eaten by a darkness that envelopes everything. Glass leans forward intently, straining her eyes as she peers out into the darkness to see if she can catch a glimpse of the shoreline from the safety of her rock, her island.
She doesn’t expect the frenzy that follows.
Because fractions of seconds after she leans forwards there are hundreds of simultaneous beeps that sound off from the darkness all around the river - and then they come.
Almost instantaneously they pour onto the shoreline, decimating the beautiful trails she’d made of the plucked pearls she left behind (a mistake, she knows now). Looking like everything and nothing all at once, they are impossible to describe. They begin almost as shadows, like the utter absence of light, and in random, amorphous shapes but then they flicker into and out of the shapes of things she’s only seen in her stolen memories. They can’t seem to settle on any one thing, and so they loop the images over, and over, and over again.
Some become ships, and others lighthouses. Some become beacons, while others collapse into tiny rivers that bleed down the shore. Some clatter into piles of bones, and others resemble spilled innards against rocks (a cacophony of horror). Some change into nothing at all, scrambling off into the opposite directions of their comrades, and others are too busy devouring pearls to take a true shape, and so they linger, scarfing pearls like delicacies, half shadow and half horse, or bone, or river, or hazel.
Then they reach the ‘X’ and one of them looks just like Him; Isami, no, Carnage, hiding his fangs behind a mask with a painted smile.
Then they reach the ‘X’ and one of them is Spyndle, with her swollen belly and eyes blind from the poison He brought.
Then they reach the ‘X’ and one of them is Cordis, silver and beautiful and sad.
They don’t stop, but they slow down momentarily to flicker in and out of these shapes and recreating memories along the ‘X’. Glassheart watches in horror as the vivsection unfolds before her eyes - how nameless children are ripped from their mother’s womb, how Cordis reaches inside herself to find the lightning and guide Spyndle out of the fog, how her torn apart pieces bring themselves back together as though the whole act was being rewound.
Glassheart stops watching and turns to flee. If she can swim to the opposite shore she can disappear into the woods there before these things are able to cross. But when she turns and squints into the blackness she can see them lurching forward on the other side, too. This time they flicker into the shapes of things that she’s actually known - of Loveliar, and Warden, and Sunday, and of course, Cordis.
Her mother, beautiful and covered in a frothy sweat, pulls her features into tight lines and says: “You should have kept running.”
Sunday, lovely and kind, with a smile on her face says: “I could never help you.”
Warden, with his large, innocent eyes looks at her coldly, and he snarls: “You don’t belong.”
Cordis, silver, and beautiful, and sad, says: “You’re not important.”
And finally, together they say: “Let the memories have you, they’re bigger than you are.”
And then they come for her, frenzied and manic, contorting their shapes from monsters to friends to memories and back again as they barrel into the river from both sides. There must be hundreds, and they come toward her on the rock from every angle. There is no escape. There cannot be. She watches them thrash, and lurch, and crawl toward her. Some are carried away by the rapids, some that look like Spyndle are drowning (and dramatically), but too many still are suddenly up against the sides of her rock and reaching for her with gnarled, hooked fingernails that don’t make sense when all she sees are their crying, wailing faces cycled on repeat.
“No,” she says, as one bony black hand grasps her ankle.
“Please,” she pleads, as another finds her wrist.
They grab her then, from everywhere, and hold her body taut against the rock in the middle of the river. She’s screaming, and thrashing, bruising against the firm grip of all of these monsters. Nothing helps. One shadow rises up and takes His form. She’s never seen him human before (Isami, no, Carnage) but she can tell by his snarl, and the cold, steely glint to his empty eyes that this is who stands before her ready for another river vivisection.
In the frenzy she’d forgotten her song, but she remembers it now. She starts to sing, and she stops thrashing against the bony hands, because she knows as she sings that if this is the river vivisection it still is not the end.
Cordis and Spyndle didn’t end.
Cordis and Spyndle would never end.
(A river. A mermaid. A hazel.)
(A bloodied shoreline. A sunset. A beacon.)
And there's a lesson waiting to be learned the firestarters always get the burns and the good guys never get the girl
She’s still getting used to her new form, dragging herself through the trees to go back to a good hiding spot; a redheaded ghost waiting to see if her treats can lure their quest-giver in.
There’s shadows, however. Shadows moving through the trees, seemingly wanting to hunt down something. Some of them move past her, perhaps another contestant is close or she’s not the target; two human-shaped (she only recognizes them as similar to her own new shape) figures stumble upon her treats and begin to devour them. Wait, but that’s not fair. ”Hey!” Waving her arms, she stumbles forward to chase them away. ”Go find your own food!”
They listen – look at each other, then look at the white, ghostly-looking woman who’s still getting used to her new legs. Too late, she recognizes them for what they are: parodies of her friends. One with antlers on her maroon-coloured hair, and dressed in a leopard-print tunic, nutmeg eyes looking at her as if she will be a better meal, perhaps. Ilma steps back, perplexed. ”Kag, don’t, I’m not food.” But apparently the word ‘not’, is not something that registers well with the henchman – or woman – as she threatens forward.
The other, however, seems to intervene. This one is male – how she recognizes these things she isn’t entirely sure – and his intense blue eyes give away the origin of his duplication, if it weren’t the firm jawline or the dark blonde hair on his head, and the overall feral look he has. He has no antlers – he has claws, and is already changing shape, a lion, with deep black eyes;
He doesn’t come for her, though. He defends her, but, somehow she knows he’s only doing that so he can eat his prey undisturbed. The henchmen hiss at one another, the Kagerus-lookalike, having found some kind of dagger, charging the lion-one, and someone is screaming, between the shrieks and hisses and kicks and screams – oh wait, that’s her.
Terrorized by the scene of her two best friends fighting, she completely forgets to run.
When it’s over, it’s the lion that’s left standing, but it’s not over for Ilma yet. He’s charging; she’s finally coming to her senses and runs – to be overtaken quickly. Only when she steps on the hem of her white dress, falling down, she turns around. Just in time to see teeth and claw, lashing out at her.
But suddenly she’s angry. ”CUT IT OUT!” Her grabby hands find a rock, hurling it at his face. ”I want the real Svedka back, and you better heal Kagerus, too!” More words, flowing from her, they seem to let the lion hesitate. And he’d better. She’s furious, finding more rocks and tree sticks and a skeleton head and a pumpkin, all of them fly in his direction.
And it seems that she’s become too much of a challenge for one fake-lion, at least, one that’s already been hurt. And it looks like the Kagerus is moving too.
But she’s still drawn to tears as she watches them fight until death, and shudders when she can’t do anything about it, and when one antler pierces the lion and a lion claw rips open the human Kagerus’ throat, she cries.
and shooting stars cannot fix the world
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
"One can never have enough socks" - Dumbledore "Unless one is a horse." - Revel
Every time he peeps out from behind his tree, he expects to see pumpkin-headed Jack admiring his fine creation. But alas, it is not to be. For instead of the wiley spirit, a creature of cloak and dagger is stumbling towards poor Linda. A frown creasing his wizardly brow, Revel peers from behind his tree, trying to determine what the fraught little guy is doing.
It soon becomes clear however, that his intentions are anything but good. With a mighty bellow, Revel leaps from his cover behind the trees to head off the cloaked reaper before he can tear gleefully into his masterful pumpkin lady. Erm, well, perhaps masterful is too strong a word, but damnit he’d worked hard on that! And like hell would he let some rotten creature steal her away from him just like that.
The irony of the fact that it is a monster dressed as death that threatens his Linda is entirely lost on him. Mostly this author just wanted to remind the reader of how stupendously clever she is.
Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, poor Revel is doing his best to defend Linda against a horde of monsters. Or rather, one monster. At the moment.
With a grunt, Revel skids to a halt and does his best impression of a world class reining horse by spinning about on his heel. Shouting what is mostly nonsense, he heaves his hind legs out, their weight slamming into the skeletal creature. The thing lets out a startled (and surprisingly high pitched) ‘Eeeeeeeee!’ as it sails almost gracefully through the air before crashing into a distant tree. Revel jerks head up to watch with a satisfied smirk as the reaper slides down the trunk and lands in a crumpled heap at it’s base.
With a snort, Revel turns, hunkering down in front of his lady pumpkin to protect her against whatever other baddies wanted their turn with her (get your head outta the gutter, you know that’s not what I meant).
It was a sound plan, one sure to work with steadfast Revel at its helm. Except that, what should troop through the trees next but a group of gnarly goblins? Now, that may not sound so bad, but these goblins have the misfortune to look like rats. Massive, hairless rats. And, unfortunately for Revel, he absolutely positively hates rats.
Jerking upright, his mouth drops open as he stares in wide-eyed horror at the cackling little creatures that are loping towards him through the eerie mist curling about the trees. Oh no. Nonononono. Hell to the fucking no. They could damned well have Linda. He ain’t that proud.
With a yelp, Revel leaps backwards in a bound that nearly sends poor Linda sprawling. Scrabbling against the damp leaves coating the ground, he bolts. But the gross little rat goblins don’t even stop to glance at Linda. They’ve already got their beady little rat eyes on him as they scamper after him with gleeful cackles.
And damnit they’re fast! Ratty little devils that climb into the trees and use the bare branches as a highway to chase him down. “Shitshitshitshitshit.” The refrain echoes in a distinctly unDumbledore-like way, staccato bursts that color each short breath he takes.
The first one that lands on his back nearly sends him through the canopy with a wild shriek. All of sudden he goes from fleeing for his ever-loving life to bucking bronco. That doesn’t seem to stop them however. Instead they dig their little rat claws into him, driving him nearly mindless with fear and disgust. The first one falls casualty to a wild careening that takes him into a tree he’s fairly sure popped up out of nowhere. The impact vibrates through him, shaking another loose, though it doesn’t waste time coming back for more. If anyone were to look at him now, they’d see nothing but an undulating mass of gargoyle horse. And probably either vomit, take off for the hills, or call hell and tell them to come take their weird looking demon back.
However, even in his wild state a panic, the loss of one clinging goblin stirs in him a desperate recognition of how to do away with the clingy bastards. Abruptly, his bucking turns into a disjointed lurch as he crashes from tree to tree.
He would be one hella bruise in the morning, but it would so be worth it to off these little cocksuckers. Finally, the giant, flashing red PANIC! PANIC! PANIC! begins to dissipate as the goblins start to drop like flies. After a few more crashing encounters with various trees, he finds he has managed to rid himself of all but one of the clingy rats. With a few more wild tosses of his head to loosen up the thing still clutching his neck, he slams into another tree, grunting as he hears a satisfying crunch of bones (or whatever the hell they’re filled with. Rotten apples and mushy carrots probably. Gross).
Finally, panting, he slows to a trot only to find he had brought himself full circle back to Linda. Who, miraculously, appears relatively intact. A little skewed and mussed perhaps, but still mostly recognizable as a... well, a makeshift lady pumpkin. Ribs heaving, Revel scowls at the thing as he shudders his skin, trying to rid himself of the feel of claws. Linda might have made it, but Revel looks rather worse for the wear. He’d lost his hat somewhere along the line, his fabulous not-fake beard is starting look a bit scraggly, and his lovely swirled coat is marked by scrapes and scratches, his muscles aching as bruises begin to form.
Damnit. He’s pretty sure this is all her fault. Or Jack’s. Whatever. He’d decide later.
I'm going to throw roses in the sea,
undo myself in waves higher than birds
remove paths that already walked in me like roots...
- - - -
Above the clatter of undead bones and the snap of undead teeth rises a different sound. Dark shadows move forth, destroying everything in their wake. They push their way through her docile audience, easily tracking down her sad song which hangs heavy like cemetery fog.
They come and she backs up, uncertain what the rules are to this strange game-- if there are any. One by one they unhinge their jaws and when North looks deep down into the ink-black of their throats, she only sees fire where a heart should be.
Part of her wonders what exactly they are- if they are memories, or ghosts, or all the unlived versions of herself-- but it doesn't really matter, does it-- all that matters is they're got her outnumbered and pinned to the ocean. And they look hungry.
Her throat tightens. Is this what fear is?
They inch closer and closer, dark shadows with sharp teeth. It begins to feel hard to breathe. North could probably fight them off, knows she may have to if she wants to survive... But that is not her way. That has never been her way. She takes a step back and the sea licks wantingly at her ankles. It becomes clear she has a choice to make: violence or death. And with the sudden clarity of her situation, that silver fire in her comes to life. She is not a warrior. Her body was not made to cut others down. And she would not even if she could.
She turns and plunges into the sea.
To her surprise, the water is warm as blood. At first she is blindfolded by silver. Her moon-kissed mane, still full of pearls and sea stars, shrouds her face. She kicks, both knowing and not knowing what she is doing, and as her body surges forward her mane is swept back from her eyes and that is when she realizes- something strange is happening. She is breathing. It is as instinctual as a beating heart. Nobody tells her how or what to do, she simply does it. She is breathing, and she is underwater, and the world has suddenly gotten much, much bigger.
Oh! What it means to have the ocean in your blood, salt in your veins. She becomes bigger than her body, bigger than her ghosts. She turns in the water gracefully, tugged gently by the tide. It ebbs in and out, in and out, and it feels as though she's cradled in the womb of the world and feeling its pulse. Her mind is shifting violently around an idea that she cannot quite put into words, an understanding that can only be felt, never shared.
"mother" she whispers silently, a chorus of bubbles.
(And when she laughs, another chorus of bubbles, it is because she knows not what she is anymore--)
With a graceful kick, her body rises to the surface and her head pops above the water to stare at the beasts on the shore. They're still hunting but their attention seems to have wandered- some of them have taken to gnawing at the more recently deceased bodies, others wander aimlessly among the skeletons. The air feels cold and dry and unfriendly against her cheek.
(but she does know she is angry--)
She opens her mouth to sing again, this time with all the salt in her veins, and immediately the demons scrabble towards her. As soon as they hit the water's edge they are knocked down by the waves. They come at her, again and again, and the sea batters them without a second thought. Any who breaks through the wall of water will be subject to her sharp-toothed mercy-- and when she searches herself for mercy, she finds nothing.
(and she does know, distantly, she is no longer herself.)
So the little wretch thought he could stop Decimate with a group of baddies, did he? Well, he could think again.
Decimate lined up to them with eager, glittering eyes. His wings spread out wide and lifted, arching with the power of a dragon-born demon. His chin lifted, gaze flipping to a bloodthirsty red as a long, forked, black tongue slid out of his wicked grin with a soft hiss.
"Come on, then."
They were all larger than him; he was just a child, after all. The first was a panther with feathered wings, blacker than the blackest shadows and bright fangs flashing. Decimate flashed right back, his lip curling confidently. His tongue licked across his new, sharp set of teeth. A low purring rumble settled in his throat, pleased with how things were going so far.
He hadn't truly fought a living creature until now, so he missed the subtle cue where the cat prepared to launch, flying at him like a giant, furry bullet. He ducked to the side, wings thrusting outward and teeth bared. An outraged scream ripped from his chest as claws sank into his left wing and flank, slicing him open and ripping his wing. Silver-white blood pooled to the surface, dribbled over from his wounds like a liquid metal. Like every child his age, he only accepted it as normal and moved on without question.
The moment he got his feet firmly under him, he was attacking right back with a small roar as the second beast moved to join in, a giant wolf of shadow. Decimate's teeth latched onto the panther-beast's shoulder with a lurch, front talons and back hooves kicking out in a flurry of violence as his back curled to make those hits land more solidly. He'd given his whole body to the attack, and his hip met the ground as he threw the beast over him to crash into the third creature with a cat-like ROWWL and then silence.
He didn't have time to see how well he'd succeeded, leaping to his feet to face off with the shadow wolf as it circled him with snarls he couldn't hear. Was it from another dimension? Perhaps they could be heard by his sister in the afterlife. It would be worth investigating if he'd had the time. For now, he only needed to find how to defeat it. How would he defeat Atria? It may not be possible without her, but he would find a way. He refused to depend on her to deal with his enemies for him in the afterlife. He could do this on his own.
Decimate circled with the wolf, keeping a set distance between them as they sized each other up. When the glance wouldn't take his sight away from the creature, he threw it towards the first and third beasts. The cat was thankfully still for now, sprawled across the blocky feet of the third that could only be described as some sort of gargoyle-faced ogre or giant. Was it made of stone? That would be problematic. And it was clearly making its way to join the fight, too, stepping over the cat more by the space in his gait rather than any care for it surviving.
The demon child split his attention between them, the shadow wolf and the gargoyle-ogre, circling warily with senses on full alert. Silver blood glimmered down his back left leg and sent a shiver of chill through him. He could do this. Somehow. He had no ideas about the wolf so far, but the other...
He turned and bolted straight at it, determination in his malicious ruby eyes. With all his strength, he bore down on his front legs, coiled his haunches, then threw himself into the air with wings spread. He'd aimed for the thing's large head, but with one wing nearly useless, air whistling through it rather than buoying him higher, he only made it to a massive shoulder. His claws dug in, scrambling for purchase and pushing himself up, then continued towards the head as quickly as he could. It was slow to react, only just then beginning to turn its head, and Decimate's eyes flashed with delight.
His next move was more of a test, a wild guess. The gargoyle thing was not made of stone, it turned out, but had a thick hide that had a similar appearance. Decimate dove for it's throat, ducking beneath its wide jaw and clawing with all his force at the terrible armor of skin. The surface beneath him shifted as it began to reach for him, and he dug harder, desperate to make any kind of progress. He must have made a scratch at least, because another few strikes and his talons sank in deeper. He smiled darkly, clutched a good grip and ripped away, once again throwing his whole body into it and dropping to the ground again.
The wolf had followed, and he immediately dropped the huge clump of skin he'd brought with him and dodged it as the shadows shot at him, running a few paces away and turning to see what his current results were.
The ogre was dropping to its knees, a thick hand covering its throat, and even Decimate was narrowing his eyes and thinking that had been too easy. He didn't have time to think about a catch, though, and took off running again to put distance between himself and that wolf that couldn't die. Or it could. Somehow. And Deci would find how. For now, though, he returned to his ultimate mission and resumed hunting for this Jack creature, a hell-hound at his back and following in his wake with silent howls.
((trigger warning, flashback to torture/rape that happened here.))
Given how badly Jack had bungled things so far, Dizzy was not actually anticipating this dream would edge toward nightmare, let alone how quickly it happened. In the way of dreams, the moment her dance ended, the scene changed again, a jarring shift that somehow made perfect sense and felt seamless.
The audience was no longer just a sea of jack-o-lanterns glowing eerily in the night. A great, hulking werewolf howled to a heavy silver full moon, caught sight of her and stalked closer with a menacing snarl. Answering howls rang out and echoed through the forest, and rustling in the trees made a shiver of fear race along her spine. More wolves crept out, stalking forward with a slinking gait, faintly-glowing eyes locked on her bare blue flesh stitched with black.
They all froze, though, soft whines in their throats, tails tucking nervously, ears laying back and heads ducking as they slunk back into the shadows. Turned out the wolves weren’t the scariest monsters in the forest, not tonight. A wave of fear crashed over her as a demonic roar answered the howling of the wolves, a little late but all the scarier for the delay. Shaking, Dizzy edged toward her patchwork Sally dress, wanting to be a bit less naked and exposed at least.
Before she could get that far, a creature stalked out of the darkness, cast in silhouette by the distant audience of jack-o-lanterns. A strange beast that looked like a demon with goat horns and cloven hooves stepped close enough for the moonlight to light up his face, and he leered at her, licking his lips and grinning a wicked, hungry grin. Snow fell in his wake, thick white clouds obscuring the moon and blanketing the earth with winter freeze. The demon stomped closer, rubbing clawed hands together and cackling with delight.
Krampus was taking his turn at a Christmas/Halloween crossover, and wasn’t Dizzy just the most delicious tribute? Someone had been a very naughty girl, and he was happy to get a taste of the sweet, intoxicating fear he could feel bubbling just below the surface.
Her body shook as fire swept around them both, and bile rose in her throat leaving an acrid taste in the back of her mouth. The fire didn’t burn her skin, didn’t smell of charred flesh and the sick scent of burnt hair, didn’t heat the air and suck the moisture from her open mouth and leave her choking on smoke, but it was enough to reach into her mind and coax out memories she’d been blocking out.
Fire wrapped around a four-legged body that pressed against her, seared her skin, made her bite back screams. His every touch made her burn, made her cry out, made her shake, clawed tears from eyes that hadn’t cried in almost a year. His, he called her, and she held on tight to the fact that he was wrong, even as he broke her body, even as he burned her and peeled the charred skin from her flesh, even as he claimed her with his body, branded her inside and out as belonging to him and no other.
He was wrong, but it didn’t stop him from leaving her a mangled mess of burned flesh, didn’t stop his legs from gripping her, his body from violating hers in every way. He seared away every sweet touch she’d ever felt, every soft kiss and loving nuzzle, chased them from her skin and replaced them with horror and agony. She thought she knew pain, and he taught her differently, and left her body dripping with reminders that her wicked little games of long ago had been only the beginning.
The demon’s grin spread as Dizzy curled in on herself, her knees giving out sending her crashing to the stage floor. Tears welled up in her dark eyes, spilling out and rolling down her cheeks in what felt like slow motion as she wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked, fighting to breathe, losing the battle to keep her body from shaking.
“Yessss,” he hissed, stalking up to her to run a clawed finger down her cheek, intercepting a tear as it fell. He brought it to his lips, tasting it with a forked tongue and moaning appreciation for the fear and the horror it contained. “More.” He reached deeper, sinking his claws into her soul and coaxing out fears buried deeper still.
“Mine,” her beautiful bone-plated man had crooned once upon a time, back when she'd been beautiful too. Back before she'd begun to fail them all, to break all the promises she’d ever made. He didn't call her Mine anymore. Her outside matched her inside now, tagged patchwork like her heart, scorched and twisted and broken like the depths of her soul she fought so hard to keep hidden. She was ugly, scarred, and all her youthful perfection burned away to reveal the truth.
There was nothing with loving about her. She was Disaster, without the beauty to gild her edges and tempt him to claim her anyway. “Mine,” she growled, trailing her tongue along the seam where skin met bone, so sensitive it always drove him wild, made him shiver with need, made endless black eyes spark with desire.
But not this time. This time when he looked at her, his perfect, wasted face twisted with horror and disgust. “Never,” he spat, pulling away from her ruined body. She reached for him, tried to take a taste of that delicious splash of starlight at the edge of his mouth, her favorite place to bite. He just sneered and stretched out of reach, breaking her heart as he turned away from her.
Who could ever love her now?
She sobbed, choking on her tears, rolling to her knees and holding herself as pain rolled through her, tearing her heart out her chest. Of course not. She'd never deserved him, never deserved to be loved the way he’d promised with his body, with his lips, with his eyes. It was all a pretty lie she'd told herself, but she knew better. She was Disaster.
She shook and looked up at the beast, the monster who had stripped comforting illusion from her eyes and shown her the truth. “Mine,” he hissed at her with a sharp, toothy grin, reaching for her face to steal another tear.
“Never,” she spat, launching herself to her feet. Ice had encroached upon the stage, freezing and cracking her striped pole, and she threw herself at it, snapping it off into a sharp-edged lance. With a primal scream, she hefted it and charged the monster, aiming for his vile black heart.
She might not be Dov’s, but she wasn’t Raelynx’s either, and she sure as fuck didn’t belong to this bastard. “Die!” she screamed, and thrust the makeshift lance through his goddamn chest.
Though her words had sound teasingly, Faolin’s thread to burn down Taiga had been serious. She could care less about the redwood forest. And its habitants, well yeah, she’d just shrug her shoulder and tell them that Taiga had been declared inhabitable years ago. Their leave is long overdue. As long as Jack comes out to play, all will be well.
But will he come?
The longer the silence stretches, the more impatient she becomes. All of her screams to move, to start pacing, or just to simply walk away from him. Jack is showing to be everything but a gentleman, leaving a lady waiting this long, so why should she even bother? Deep down, Faolin knows the answer, she simply wants to play.
However, what she not wants, is to be kept waiting any longer. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Jackie, you’ve had plenty of chances.” And she is not about to give him yet another one. Almost as if in slow motion she rises her left foreleg, her hoof already nudging the unstable hollowed out pumpkin with its dancing flame. Oh, but hey, is that Jack who she hears?
Delicate ears turn and twist around as her head slowly rises. She hears footsteps, dry leaves crinkling under foots, or hooves, or whatever libs carry him forward, but her eyes have yet to spot him. Anticipation rises, and as the excited – but also nervous – fluttering in her stomach continues, Faolin cannot say she does not enjoy the thrill. Was he really coming? And what would that mean for the contingency of their game?
Little does Faolin know that it isn’t Jack who is approaching, but instead a couple of his mini-me minions. They have, in fact, surrounded her, but a couple are closer than some of the others, but the sight of them is horrendous enough to make her scream.
What she sees isn’t makeup, or put on costumes, the creatures scrambling in her direction are zombies. Faolin might have dressed up as undead, she hasn’t taken the fun, colourful, and bold approach in the style of the day of the death for nothing. To her, that is what Halloween is, to make something scary and horrendous into something fun and flirty. That is what she’d signed up for, not these real creatures that are after her life.
She is on the move before the sound of her scream has died down. As she spins around – the first two zombies are approaching her up front – to bolt, she knocks over the lantern at her feet. The dry leaves don’t need more than the tiniest of flames to catch fire, but Faolin’s panic and fear causes her to not notice. All she is aware of, is that she has to run, far and hard, to get away from one of her greatest fears. However, if she had looked back, she would’ve seen how the two zombies – one equine like, and the other a walking dead pumpkin – had caught fire, and are now burning up as quickly as the dry leaves do.
With most of her attention behind her, and focussed on how to get away, she barely catches the snicker ahead of her in time. A strangled noise comes from her throat as she slides into a full spin, coming from a still speeding gallop. More..? Her heart is beating loudly, and for a moment all she can hear is the rushing of her own blood. Faolin stands frozen until just another zombie enters her view. It drags itself forward, and almost seems to be moving in slow motion, but it also is surprisingly fast. Faster than Faolin likes it to be. Skin droops of its face, as if it has melted of, and shows bone and muscles underneath. Its sharp teeth are rotten, but the horrendous smell does not come just from the open mouth and bared teeth. The whole creature’s body looks and smells like something that has been dead for ages.
I don’t want to die.
What feels like an eternity staring at the approaching zombie – and then she hasn’t even fully taken a look at those who appeared behind this first one – are in fact only a few moments. Thin, but strong legs spin her frame around, agile as ever, and without thinking twice Faolin kicks forward. Only then she sees the glow and bright yellowish light from the fire. Fuck, she mentally curses, but before she can even think of mocking herself, panic takes over. She has well cut off her only path to escape. Or hasn’t she?
The fire is spreading quickly, just as the zombies are fast approaching from behind, and she does not have a whole lot of time to ponder over her options. But still, the fire seems a much better alternative that the zombies. Yes, fire is her natural enemy, but there is nothing worse than the undead creatures stalking towards her from behind. The sea of flames in front of her are spreading quickly, jumping over it would not do her any good, she would land in the middle of the dancing flames. To the right! There, there the flames are not yet connected, not yet, but soon will.
By the time Faolin races through the little opening, there is no opening left. For a moment, the flames lick at her legs, try to get a hold on her, but fail. Oh yes, it hurts, even the shortest contact with the fire is enough to make her skin burn and blister, however, Faolin does not get caught on fire.
That she cannot say for the undead creatures following after her. As she races towards the forest – towards her safe, safe home – she can hear their dying cries behind her.
Otrera attempts to pick herself up from her recent display of clumsiness. It took a couple of tries, but what could she exactly do with just these rather stumpy and short legs of hers? Nothing! She was completely stuck and rather irritated at the turn of events. It didn’t even cross her mind that she might be stuck like this forever (hopefully not).
At least she has finally gotten herself back onto all four hooves. “I’m not going to be losing this game no matter what,” she tells herself out loud. It would be the last thing she would not let happen.
“Back to what I was doing before,” she reminds herself, setting her eyes in the direction of where she was going to be hiding and moved into that way as quickly as possible. So far it seemed that Jack hadn’t caught onto what she was doing. Everything looked perfectly normal to her. Well, except those shadows moving closer to me. “WAIT! WHAT!” She yells out loud, staring straight at the shadows coming closer to her.
The filly halts quickly, realizing that these were definitely not part of her plan. Two of them came forward slowly, but still moved with ease to get around without much trouble. She isn’t entirely sure what she is supposed to do. “I’m definitely not going to run away, Jack!” She is certain this is just a silly trick and part of the game. After all, Jack had just messed up and she had teased the poor old thing.
The shadows moved forward, and eventually reveal themselves. Her eyes open wide in shock at what she sees. They are definitely her twin older sisters! “Agapi and Agave, what the hell are you doing here?” She asks instantly, even moving closer towards the two.
Otrera was not pleased one bit by them being here. They would both ruin her fun and put a stop to her game! She was even sure Agave would try and win the game, making her lose. That was not going to make anything easier for her. She envied them for being able to shift into beautiful creatures.
At this point she is rather more annoyed (perhaps even fearful of what they are going to be doing and even telling their parents about how she snuck off). “Well, are you going to say something!?” She growls at them both. The girl waits for her sisters’ reply, but her demand is only met with a growl from both.
She then realizes these are not her sisters!
“What! Who are you?!?” She yelps out with fright and stumbles back from where she stops. Otrera quickly turns around and heads towards the direction she came from. It was her first instinct to run, but after that she isn’t even sure what to do. She is certain of a couple things—those two are definitely not her sister, they are something entirely monstrous, and they just might eat her!
The two monsters that look like her sisters let out another growl of discontentment. Otrera screams again. It only encourages them to move faster, and they are certainly not slow like they were before. They move more quickly, obviously encouraged by her fear. Otrera runs faster, almost stumbling with every step, but she manages to make her way back towards the pile of treats she had left for Jack. Her sister-like monsters are right behind her, growling with all that they have in them.
“OH GOD! OH GOD!” She can only manage to say. She can only think of running. What was she supposed to do!? She can’t do anything! “Help me! Help me!” She screams running past the pile of treats, heading towards the cavern. “Jack! Jack!” She cries out, tears begin filling her eyes.
She leaps into the darkness of the cave, huddling behind a pile of outcropped rocks. Otrera pushes herself against the wall, and squeezes between the outcrop rocks and the cavern wall as much as she can. It is her only hope that maybe they will not see her. Maybe she will disappear (she can only hope!).
But it is the sound of crunching and chewing that draws her to peak out behind the rocks she hides behind. In the distance she can see that the two sister monsters of hers have found a better interest than chasing her. The monsters are both indulging in the treats she had set out for Jack. “Well, at least it worked for someone,” she whispers very softly. She feels a big relief lift off her shoulders.
10-14-2018, 01:01 AM (This post was last modified: 10-14-2018, 09:01 AM by Zoryn.
Edit Reason: Copy and pasted wrong post by mistake. This is correct version. Edited with permission by Jassal.
)
In the dark, he stands leaning against a tree a ways off from the clearing where he'd set his bait. Watching, waiting. With only the sound of crickets around him, it isn't hard to tell when they come. They giggle and taunt from the dark like children, the sounds of whatever kind of feet crunching over brush and twigs. But this time, instead of toying around with him, he can tell their approach is more direct. Purposed. The beast inside him bares its fangs, and his lips form up into a similar grin. It isn't amusement on his shielded face, but a wicked form of anticipation. Still, he waits in silence.
The things come crashing into the clearing, one by one. Five, he counts so far. All a different shape. One is little more than a skeleton, but a mixture of things to the point it's impossible to tell what to call it. A thin layer of skin coats it, and its eyes glow red. It stands upright, with arms too long and claws tipping its fingers. The next is a hunched-over creature wearing a tattered cloak. It moves on toes and knuckles like some kind of primate, and its mouth is too large for its hideous face so that it hangs open and moans loud and wordlessly. The third is even more odd. Like its body had been sewn together with random pieces. It hobbles as it walks on uneven legs, its torso seems to be- no, it IS stuffed with straw. Its hands are straw too, but there are sharp, shiny things sticking out from its sleeves. Its head is a freaking pumpkin with a face that glows with light from within. It has a permanent glare and a jagged grin and can't seem to move in a straight line. Or stop laughing. He could almost join in. Was this some kind of joke?
The last two creatures look very similar to one another, walking on two legs. They wear gray robes and their colorless skin seems to sag from their bones. Their eyes are hooded and sunken in, high cheekbones and lips grinning. And they hum some haunting melody in tandem as they sway into view. A half circle, they'd formed, until the first three goons set eyes on the shrine. Hunchback flails its brawny arms and exclaims before it leaps to gathering some of the sweets and throwing them into its huge mouth. Skeletor cackles wildly as it dashes over to grab the jack-o-lantern Zor had picked out and places it over its own head, mimicking Thing 3. Mr. Happy rushes over at once to retaliate, but trips over a root and loses its head. Literally. The pumpkin rolls across the clearing and the rest of him scrambles to chase it. The creepy twins shake their heads at each other before the one closest kicks a foot out to stop the head from rolling. Their humming never ceases, and then finally Mr. Happy reunites with its strange body.
Zoryn remains in the shadows, staring blankly at the goons. He doesn't worry himself over the destruction of his shrine, only tries to make sense of the scene playing out before him, folding his arms across his chest. The movement catches the glowing gaze of the bag of bones, and it drops the jack-o-lantern to let it smash on the ground at the same time it raises a clawed, bony finger to point directly at him. The others all slowly turn to him, candy dripping from Thing 2's gaping mouth. Now, the humming stops. The crickets even fall silent. But the beast in his head growls from its cage, pacing back and forth, and he mentally croons to it. Unfolding his arms, his muscles flex.
Skeletor suddenly screeches, and Hunchback howls. Pumpkinhead belts out more laughter, and the creepy twins make no sound as they all charge at him. Following suit, Zor slings his cloak off, eager for action. His body is different than what he'd left the house with. He's more muscular and sleek now, perhaps even taller. His jaw has elongated, and his fingers have lengthened. With whatever magic the spirit had spilled, Zor now has fangs and claws for real, where before it had only been part of his costume. With the stretching of his face, the makeup the girls had worked so hard on had displaced. However, what now was his real skin was marked with true lines and spots of the jungle cat they had only tried to disguise him as. His ears are higher up on his head now, and not only pointed, but also sprouting fur. On the back of his head, his black hair had been shaved into the rosette pattern of the jaguar, and now the evidence of that same pattern carries down his neck and disappears into his shirt. He roars back at the goons he can only assume are of Jack's command, feeling out his new mouth and baring the larger canines he now has. All the better to taste them with.
Bright yellow-gold eyes widen as they select his first target. Feeling the raw strength within him just aching to be released, he increases his stride and snarls as he reaches Pumpkinhead. The goon laughs maniacally as it slashes at him with those.. knives? Adrenaline spiking, Zoryn knocks away its arms, contracting claws of his own as he rips into the sleeves at the thing's shoulders, tearing away the straw arms and letting them fall idly to the ground. Still, the creature laughs, which angers Zor and drives him farther. He dashes around Mr. Happy and slams his fists into his pumpkin head. It falls to the ground as well, but doesn't smash right away. With a bit of a crazed snarl, Zor moves quickly and raises a heavy booted foot. "NOO.." Something screams, just as he stomps down on it. Satisfied with the crunch and splatter of seed and flesh from its head.
He roars out again. This strength; raw, animalistic power flooding through his veins and thirsts for more.. Skeletor screeches at him like a banshee, the pitch high enough to hurt his ears. It distracts so that when the bony thing reaches him, it swipes its long arms at him, all amusement gone from before. He tries to dodge it, but it manages to slash claws over his left arm and back, tearing strips of his shirt away and revealing skin and flesh underneath. He hisses at once, in pain and in pleasure, and his eyes gleam up at the creature before him. "Killed your buddy, did I?" Zoryn taunts, chuckling as he spins away, not minding the blood that oozes slowly from fresh wounds. It stings, but it feels damn good, lighting a spark of something that had been repressed within him for a long while. "Mm.. Wanna be next?" Skeletor screeches and charges at his front, and from behind, Hunchback comes barreling through the brush. He gathers himself in that quick moment, throwing a punch and sending a kick behind all at the same time. His fist collides with a bony face, feeling somewhat of a crunch from the force of its jaw colliding with his knuckles. Perfect. But his foot, on the other end, winds up in Thing 2's wide-ass mouth. Fuck.
Good thing for heavy combat boots, Zoryn doesn't feel much except the heavy pressure of Hunchy's chomp. But there are spikes sticking out from the toes of his boots, and this is something he can use. Dropping quickly to the ground with a grunt, Zoryn rolls. As he does, he stiffens his captured leg and jerks free, feeling the catch of the spike on Hunchback's cheek from inside its mouth. Wicked satisfaction draws his lips into a savage grin as he looks back to see the thing gurgling on its blood, its mouth even wider now. Zor looks up in time to dart away from another swipe of claws from Skelly, leaping up to tackle the thing to the ground. It screeches again, that awful sound! Pinning the thing beneath him, he lets loose on it, punching and slashing. Again and again, he rains blows to its face, loving the feel of the impact, the pain of his knuckles connecting with bone over and over.. Blind with rage, he continues even after the screaming stops, the goon's blood and brain matter coating his face, his hands. He becomes so lost in the pleasure of it, he misses the other one barreling toward him once more. Nearly as heavy as he, the collision knocks the breath from Zor's chest as they crash to the ground, Hunchback's brawny arms reaching around his neck.
He struggles against it, but it all happens so fast, and soon there are stars in his vision. Parting his jaws, he bites down and latches onto flesh. Sweet blood fills his mouth, and he bites harder even as the creature howls and releases hold. He jerks his head side-to-side and rips away sinew from the creature's arm, spitting it to the ground beside him before whirling on the goon and grabbing onto its upper and lower jaws, roaring out to the skies as he pulls. Pulls until it breaks the thing's jaw apart and drops it to the ground. Panting and snarling, he rounds on the other two. The robed goons who now circle him. On his feet, blood coating his feline face, shirt ripped in places showing his muscled arms and bloody claws coiled at his sides. He watches them as they watch him. "Come on. Do something." He snarls. Their eyes begin to glow and their figures contort. Confusing him as they change shape. He doesn't wait, takes advantage of their vulnerable in-between state and dives at them. Snarling and shouting, slashing and tearing. He rips at the robes until he finds flesh and skin beneath. Until their blood, too, coats his hands. Their screams fill the night air around them, a mixture of sounds until finally they finish their shifting and the voices become something familiar. A clawed hand freezes in mid-air as he looks down in abject horror at what now lays beneath him.. The image of his girls. His sweet girls. Zynistra and Dizorien, their beautiful faces full of pain and terror, staring up at him. "Daddy, what have you done?" Zyn's sweet voice. "D-Daddy?" Zoe, missing all her sass.
No. NO. This isn't real. He left them at home. They were safe. He's killing monsters. Oh, no, this can't be real. And suddenly, the vision of a nightmare he'd never divulged to anyone played out before him. One he'd thought he'd forgotten. One night when he'd woken up sweating after dreaming he'd finally let the beast free from his mind. Fully let it out, and through him it created so much havoc and took control, it took more than he'd expected it would. But that was just a dream! It wasn't real! This can't be real either. Leaping up from what appeared to be the tattered and bloody remains of his twin girls, shakes his head and fails to speak.
It isn't until his little Zynnie's mouth edges into a smirk that his panic starts to fade. "You're going to lose, Daddy. Going to lose everything." The fear that grips his heart slowly releases as the voice flickers back to whatever tone of the creature's, a creepy mix of that and his daughter. It isn't real. The beast in his mind roars again, and he releases it aloud, just before he smashes the dying creatures' heads into dust like the others'. Ignoring the faces of his girls and satisfied when they return to their original forms. How DARE they use his babies against him?! Rising from the carnage around him, Zoryn roars out to the trees and sky above him.
"Come out now Jack! I've had enough! Surely you have more in you than that!"
