overjoyed_logs | [OPEN] The air is silk, shadows form a grin

[Terror crushes you. It comes in roiling blackred waves that suck you under, drag you down, like a tiny boat caught up in the grip of a terrible storm, battered against an unrelenting cliff, a stone-faced god that doesn't hear your pleas for cessation. It's like hands around your lungs nails digging in metal bands that snap down tight and almost, you can't breathe. Can't think.

The ground is slick beneath your palms, your breathing comes in ragged gasps, face wet with the overspill of tears and maybe something else. You open your eyes.

It's carnage in here. The air is heavy with rending screams, with howls and grunts and bestial moans, with sobbing and shouts and the wet ugly sound of tearing ripping flesh. The room, it's full of mutated shapes, huge hulking things with bodies twisted and bent out of all proportion, things that where meant to be just like you until something went horribly wrong. Canon fodder, now. Cannon fodder for the children who leap and tear and maim, dagger-teeth sinking into flesh, tiny hands that yank and snap at bone, that punch through to the slippery organs underneath, spilling them steaming onto the white tiled floor. The stink of blood and viscera, it fills you up and clogs your lungs and terror pounds the inside of your skull until you're sure it will break apart but--

--but. You take a step back, and the intensity of feeling seems to lessen as you find yourself looking down on one small boy, scruffy blond hair obscuring his eyes, his face wet with tears and dirt and blood. The cruel metal collar glints around his neck like a macabre slipped halo. He's on the ground, feet kicking back, hands scrabbling against the red-slick surface, trying to back away, to escape, to cram himself into some hidden corner and curl up tight, as though this could make it all stop. His voice, when it comes, is stuttering and small and filled with the hard angles of terror.]

I'm s-scared...I hate this...this is wrong...it's all w-wrong...this isn't it, I d-don't belong here, I'm s-scared, make it stop, make it stop, m-make it stop!

[But there's something there, someone, the staccato click of heels on tiles and suddenly the shadow falls, his breath goes still and his face turns sharp with a new kind of horror, something sick and lurching like the moment before one begins to fall. From he darkness behind him a woman emerges, beautiful and tall, cascading blond hair and red painted lips and a face filled with vicious thunder. She leans down, and her black-gloved hands wrap around his shoulders, pull him against her chest. She leans in closer than close, lips poised against his ear, words whispered just for him and yet somehow they find themselves to you. The venom in them-- it's deadly--]

What are you doing? Get up, you pathetic dog, you worthless mutt.

[He lets out a high-pitched sound of desolation as she yanks him up with her six-fingered hands, pushes him forward, back towards the screaming tearing writhing mass ahead of him.]

Get to your feet now, you piece of trash. Stand up and fight!

[And then there's the pointed click-click-click of heels as she moves away, as one of the distorted terrible once-human beasts begins to descend on him.]

[ At some point there's someone else beside him, a little older of about fifteen, blond hair cut a little more neatly, grey eyes glazed over as if half-asleep. When did he get there? No one's noticed, amidst all the chaos that's happening. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, as if he's failed to grasp the severity of the situation that they've landed themselves in. ]

You don't belong here... that's right... why are you here? This place shouldn't exist... get behind me. Now.

[ He sighs, and his half-lidded eyes flash gold before he suddenly slumps backwards. If Giovanni's behind him, he might be able to catch him - but it doesn't matter either way, as black-red vines suddenly burst forth from every inch of his arms and chest, golden thorns ripping through clothes to swarm upon the monster that has come for them. The plants force their way in through mouth and nose, digging into flesh and growing even more thorns once they feel blood, eviscerating the monster from within. Each blow he receives only births a new vine, ready to shred and c̨o̥̠͎n͍̹ͅs̟͕͟um̷͖e͍̳̣͎. ]

[Sudden and unexpected, the appearance of someone else, someone who shouldn't be here, who doesn't belong but--

--but. The command comes, and Giovanni moves to obey it, ducks behind the older body with movements quick and almost desperate. And then the person who shouldn't be here begins to fall. Giovanni doesn't catch him, instead he scuttles back, trips, lands on ass and palms against the blood-slicked ground and when the vines begin to twist and writhe he lets out a startled sound of terror, curls in on himself with arms over his head and body shaking because he doesn't know what this is. What it means.

Moreso than ever before, he's afraid.]

[ The monsters eventually die, their guts torn to shreds inside their own body. Only when they stop moving do the vines retreat, slithering back to their owner and assuming their previous position beneath his skin. Red runs down his arms and chest, all his own - for the vines had absorbed what they had torn out.

He turns, pain searing his skin where the plants had grown, but manages to ignore them by force of will alone. ]

They're gone now.

[ It's quiet, without all the screaming. ]

[They're gone, and yet his fear remains, body still shaking beneath the weight of it, arms curled tight around himself and head ducked low as though the defensive position could somehow protect him from the perceived threat. he doesn't look up, doesn't uncoil, but when the silence begins to seep through his bones he at least finds the courage to ask an unsteady question--]

W-who're you? What're you doing h-here?

[ He isn't sure of it himself, but the dream fills it in for him and the answer comes, albeit quietly: ]

There are bad people here. [ So he killed them. ] I came to help you.

[ Obviously. Why else? He can't conceive of anything else. Perhaps he can bring this boy back to his mother, who ran an orphanage. That's right, it sounds reasonable. ]

[There's a sniffling then, a tremulous breath, and though he remains locked tight around himself, the mop of blond hair raises as he slowly looks up. There's something in his voice beyond the unsteadiness of it. Shock, perhaps. Disbelief mixed with a bonedeep wariness that says there must be some mistake-- there is no help for him.]

You came...you came to h-help me?

[ In a corrupt world, only the children may be innocent. To cleanse and rebirth it anew, that was the mission of the restless gods. ]

I did. The bad people hurt you, didn't they?

[ Well, they're all dead now. He extends one hand, red streaks on his pale skin. ]

Come with me?

[And they did hurt him, didn't they? Hurt him right down to the core of himself, more fiercely than simple physical pain, something that reaches right in behind his ribs and clamps down tight on what makes him himself, threatens to rip it right out of him.

But already, even now, it's a complicated thing. And though he warily reaches out one small shaking hand to clasp the one extended to him, there's uncertainty there. Concern.]

B-but...but Mother will be a-angry.

[ That in lies the crux of the problem, the wrong of the world - something so damned that it needs to die. ]

If she's a mean Mother, then she's no Mother.

[ His own Mother was never like that. A Mother should bring happiness. ]

She's the o-only one I've got.

[Words whispered quietly as he nonetheless pulls himself to his feet, moves to stand close to the other body, almost pressed against his side.]

[ A few vines appear from Julius' arms, almost in welcome. ]

You can come with me. My Mother can be your Mother. She takes a lot of children.

[ To their deaths, but that's not something he knows. ]

[There's a wariness in him at the sight of the vines, a small step back, uncertain. What he'd seen, what this boy had done to the failed experiments-- it's still there, fresh and raw in his mind. He wants proximity, that much is certain in from the needy look of him, the restlessness, but can this person be trusted? He still seems unsure.]

I-is she nice? She doesn't...doesn't make you do this?

[This being the carnage that had been going on around them until Julius stepped in. This is the name-calling and derision he experiences on a daily basis.]

[ They are quite creepy, red-black vines with golden thorns that shift into leaves at a single thought - only he does not think it mostly so, because no one at Magnolia Compass ever commented on it as being strange. ]

Mother does not like bad people. She is nice to us and keeps us away from the bad people. She wants us to be good children.

[ Bad people are here, so he killed them. It's reasonable. ]

[He contemplates this a moment, mouth an unsteady downturned line of concern.]

W-what if she thinks I'm a bad child? My M-Mother thinks so.

[How does one define badness, after all? For himself, he isn't sure. Only knows that this place isn't what he wants, isn't where he belongs, but doesn't that make him bad? That unbelonging, his pathetic weakness.

A moment's delay as he shifts from foot to foot, and then warily, he points to the ominous vines.]

Are you going to...to h-hurt me with those?

[ Julius tilts his head, a little confused - but answers are easy to give. ]

Bad people hurt other people. Good people take care of those around them. That's what my Mother says.

[ The vines curl back a little, wrapping themselves back around his arms. ]

No.

Edited 2017-03-22 05:41 (UTC)

...I'm s-supposed to hurt people.

[A little nervous, then, because if he does such things, does that make him bad? Not that he's ever been particularly capable of it, flawed as he is. A failure. It feels as though he's bad for not wanting to hurt others, his own Mother's anger and overt displeasure with him always occurring because of this fact. But then she's the bad one, isn't she? For doing this to them.

It's a complicated thing.

Slowly, with great trepidation, he moves in towards Julius again. Tries to slip his small hand into the other boy's. Speaks in a quiet, faltering voice.]

...I don't w-want to, though. I hate it. I d-don't belong here.

[ Then it is settled. ]

If you do not belong here with the bad people, then you are probably not one.

[ He takes Giovanni's hand, grey eyes not quite lucid, as if still in a trance or hypnotized. ]

You can come with me.

[His small, cool hand grips tightly now that they've established the other boy isn't a threat, all ready to believe in rescue, wanting it too desperately not to take the opportunity when offered.

Still. There's one thing preying on his mind--]

And what about H-Heine? And Lily? And...and Arthur and all the o-others?

[ Those sound like the names of his friends. ]

I can only take you with me, right now... if they don't belong here, my Mother could send for them to come too.

[ Maybe. Julius knows she's always taking more children, but he doesn't know the truth behind it. ]

Edited 2017-03-27 16:58 (UTC)

[There's something in him, at that. A visible hesitation, the unsteady downwards curl of his lips and there's a moment when his grip on the other boy's hand loosens, when it seems as though he'll refuse. But then he thinks of Mother, of the misshapen atrocities she's made and which they are forced, again and again, to fight. Thinks of all the things he lacks but which Heine and Lily have. They can look after themselves. He cannot. Still, he can't just turn his back on them without asking, just once--]

Do you p-promise your Mother will come for them? I can't leave them here...I n-need to save them, too.

[Even as some part of him knows that Lily is too far gone for that, that the violence in her is too big too bright too unstable for her to make it outside of this place.]

Of course.

[ Rachel would be too busy, but he would come. He was her shining boy, after all - the most powerful, the one with the greatest destiny.

If they did manage to rescue Lily, Rachel would have other plans for her. But that is not something known to both of them at this time. ]

When you get stronger, you can come with me too.

[And just like that his grip on the other boy's hand tightens again, becomes more resolute. It's enough for him, the promise, and his own big wide fear makes him aware of an immediacy in his need for escape.]

All right.

[Even if he doesn't necessarily believe he'll ever be anything more than a fragile, broken thing.]

We s-should go. Before She comes back.

[And then quietly, as an after thought--]

I'm G-Giovanni.

My name is Julius.

[ He turns at the sound of metal scraping in the distance. ][ The two of them run out of the facility, Julius using his vines to break down doors and any barriers in their way. Soon, they would be free... or as free as they could in a world of ultimately dreams. ]

[ Never in her life has Angel seen so much carnage, especially not this up-close. Blood sprays across her face as yet another child rips through the flesh of lumbering men. Monsters she thinks, but doesn't know who she means.

She takes a few steps back, trying to distance herself from the violence in front of her, and in the process nearly trips on the boy behind her. He seems to be the only other one not partaking in this.

When she kneels down in front of him, Giovanni will be faced with a girl close to his age bracket. Even for a thirteen year old she's small, limbs thin and lacking muscle, skin chalky and pale. In an attempt to ground them both she grips his shoulders, pressing blood into the white fabric. ]

Hey- Hey!!

[ Her head snaps in the direction of the distinct clicking sound, some new form of terror welling up inside her, that whatever is coming is coming is worse than children or lumbering men combined. This is the true monster.

And...It's a woman. A woman she recognizes and it's not with the same kind of familiarity she's been feeling up until now. This is somehow different, she really really recognizes this woman, even though in this moment she can't place from where. What she does know for certain is that all she brings with her is pain.

She's frozen with the fear and shock as Giovanni is pulled away from her, but as the woman retreats she snaps back into the moment, reaching for his hand before he is consumed by the fray. ]

[There's something in his face as his concealed eyes fall on the visage of the pale girl with limbs as slender and seemingly insubstantial as his own. Something like shock and confusion and maybe the vaguest trace of fear. She's no-one he knows, no-one he recognises, there's no collar bolted down through flesh and muscle into bone and as such his fear swells and roils, another creation, maybe, something better than him, better than them, something intended to replace them?

It's the constant fear that they all know, these lost children. That the time will come when they take the place of the lumbering beasts they're made to destroy, that they'll become old news, the ones now destined to be torn apart by other, improved hands.

But there's little time for that fear to take root when the terrible presence of Mother draws near, all other thoughts eclipsed by her and her inimical unyeilding proximity. And so when she retreats and he's shoved forward towards the unsteady brilliant carnage before him and that hand reaches out, fingers grasping, he doesn't stop any longer to wonder why she's here or what her presence might mean.

Instead he lets out a pitiable cry, grabs for the outstretched hand. Any port in a storm. And this-- it's a storm like no other.

When his voice comes, it's small and filled with a bone-jarring terror--

P-Please!

Edited 2017-03-28 12:43 (UTC)

[ She misses his hand, but catches him by the wrist, pulling them both back with all her weight, a move that will likely result in both of them tumbling back to the ground. Angel rolls back on to her knees, the cotton hospital gown she's wearing now thoroughly covered in blood, her palms slipping a little on the floor as she tries to get upright.

They have to get out of here, the presence of that woman alone tells her this, but the carnage certainly adds to the urgency.

She pulls the boy up beside her best she can. ]

What- whats your name?

[And tumble back he does, with a small and startled cry, small and whipthin as he is. He twists before he hits the ground, goes down on hands and knees, skids a little in the stickyslick blood as it further stains the white of his own hospital-issue clothes. There's a thudding in his head, in his blood, heart like a jackhammer behind his ribs, but then she's reaching for him and he'll allow himself to be unsteadily pulled up beside her.

There's a desire in him to reach and cling, but he holds back from it-- that level of weakness, it's exactly why She abhors him, after all. His face tilts up to take in the girl before him, and though he casts a wary glance back at the carnage still raging just a few feet from where they stand, his attention is largely hers.]

G-Giovanni. We should...we should h-hide, before they see us. Before S-She comes back!

Edited 2017-04-03 11:51 (UTC)

[ Giovanni, a name that sounds familiar but in this dream state Angel isn't sure from where, she must have heard someone else here call him that, whenever she arrived, whenever that was.

Angel nods, frantic in her agreement, her eyes darting around for somewhere to go. As she looks, she informs him: ]

My name's Angel.

Angel...

[There's the brief flash of blood red eyes as his hair parts at the movement of his head, chin tilting up to look at her. It seems significant somehow, a name like that in a place like this, and this time he does move to clutch at her hand, keep hold of her. As though he suspects she might disappear.

But the screaming moaning gnashing sounds that echo out from just a short distance away soon intrude on his awareness and he tugs at her then, trying to encourage her back towards a shadowy alcove, as though hiding there could really protect them from the madness of this place.]

Over h-here!

[The dream begins with the creaking of a door, light shining through onto stone tiles and the careful clack-clacking of footsteps as a man enters the small, cool cell, at the far wall of which is Giovanni, tightly bound from head to toe and sitting as still as stone. The man is tall, almost regal, face split open on a jaunty smile (full of the razorblade points of teeth) and in his hands he carries a tray of faintly steaming soup. With care, he places it to one side as he reaches down to remove the gag that silences his prisoner, though once removed Giovanni continues to say nothing at all, doesn't seem to react in the slightest.

Instead, it's the man who begins to speak.]

Time for supper! You do eat, right? Of course, it isn't really necessary for things like you, but engaging in these kinds of human activities can be important. Especially for artificial life-forms such as yourself. Here--

[He's crouching down, balanced on the balls of his feet as he reaches for the tray, dips the spoon into the soup.]

Say 'ah'

[He raises it to Giovanni's lips, presses it there, but the Dog doesn't respond at all and as such it spills down over his face. Giovanni's expression-- it's one of complete indifference.]

Oops! Sorry about that.

You're keeping me alive, just to play silly games like this?

[Giovanni's voice, it's quiet and dry yet almost (almost) bored. The man, however, only smiles.]

Oh, don't be like that. I'm just happy to have someone new to talk to. And it's not as if you possess any information it'd be worth torturing you for. I already know what She's thinking. She wants to come outside. She's looking for a new hunting ground.

[Giovanni says nothing, the bored flat look remains, and yet the man continues.]

It seems She's done all She can down there. Build, break, build, break. Now that I think of it, I suppose she builds things only in order to destroy them. Even those soldiers. Maybe she started this fight just so She could get rid of her old experiments. One day she'll swallow this city whole. She'll tear it to pieces, cover up the remains, and then walk away in search of something new. She won't even spare a glance at her past successes. Like you.

[A slight twinge in Giovanni's expression, small but discernible.]

Don't you think that's sad, Giovanni? I may have been a fellow researcher of hers, but I don't plan on walking down that path. I can build a new place for you.

[Again, he dips the spoon down into the soup. Lifts it.]

Now be a good boy. Say ah.

[Giovanni sighs, a slow and soft and put-upon sound, but this time he does as he's told. Silence descends upon them as the man feeds his prisoner, and once he's done he reaches for a cloth placed on the tray, wipes his face with care. He stands then, tray held in his hands, turns and exits the room without another word.

Leaves Giovanni alone. Still bound. Still entirely devoid of discernible emotion.]

Edited 2017-03-16 17:12 (UTC)

The cell wasn't locked. Well, in all likelihood it had been meant to be, but the guy who'd left with the tray hadn't really seemed to be concerned with making sure the locked had latched. Which, when Ryner looked inside, made sense.

This guy was in a really bad way, and having been held in a fairly similar fashion himself, Ryner's main mission was to free him and get them both the hell out of here before the guy could return.

There would be obvious surveillance and they'd have to move fast, but Ryner was nothing if not Good At That.

The lack of reaction to him slipping into the cell was less than a good sign, but he tried not to let it bother him. Being caged like this messed with your head, made you think you were...well. There was no point dwelling on memories. They could deal with that when they were safe.

"Don't say anything."

His voice was barely a whisper, and he did his best to free the guy quickly. It worked, for the most part, but some of these restraints seemed to be weirdly enforced with blue radioactivity? Was that even possible? Of course it was, but he had to wonder at why someone would go to these lengths to ensure this guy was kept here.

"I'm Ryner, and we're getting you the fuck out of here."

Nothing else to say about all this, really. Time was a-wasting.

Edited 2017-03-17 05:57 (UTC)

Don't say anything, the voice says, and Giovanni doesn't. Feels no need to, because whatever happens now, whatever this is, what is there for him to say? It's all out of his hands (as always, passed from one meaningless point to another, moved along by something bigger brighter better than himself-- the one true staple of his existence) and as such he gives himself over to it with a flat kind of acceptance.

He doesn't even attempt to move as whoever now stands in the room with him fumbles with straps and buckles and latches, tugs and pulls at the restraints that close him up inside of himself even more firmly than in their absence. Eventually, though, they all fall away, the blindfold slipping from his eyes, and he blinks once, twice, in the unaccustomed light, eyes slowly refocusing after minutes hours days of enforced darkness. He stands there in suit trousers and torn shirt, bullet-holes riddeled through the fabric (though where the wounds ought to be, there's not a single mark on him, flesh unmarred beneath the dried stains of blood).

He looks at his 'savior' with an impassive face, filled with animal blankness.

"And where, exactly, do you propose we go? What do you want with me?"

There's no urgency in his tone, no desperation to be away from there. If anything, he sounds almost bored.

"Want with you? Not a thing. I just can't stand to see people tortured like this."

He stopped, then, to look the guy over. It wasn't as if they had a ton of time for him to make sure he was all right, but still, those bullet holes in the guy's clothes bothered him. He didn't see any open wounds and the guy appeared to be fine, if completely bored with the whole situation.

Well, nothing for it now. They needed to move.

"You hurt?"

He turned back to the door. Hadn't heard anyone approaching yet, but it definitely wouldn't be long.

"I haven't thought that far ahead, but anywhere that isn't here would be good. If you can walk, come on."

Tortured like this. He's not sure he'd call it torture, unless one considers drawn out hours of boredom and forced stillness torture, or having to listen to that man speak, play ridiculous games with him as though he has nothing better to do with his time. Giovanni sighs, expression remaining cut loose from emotion, and slowly he shakes his head.

"I'm not hurt, now," not hurt now because all the wounds he'd received have already healed, even if he can still feel the ghosts of the man's fingers as they'd crushed his skull, pushed their way inside, the pain of it sharp and breathtaking. Nothing sticks for long. Not for something like him.

He takes a few fluid steps towards the stranger now standing before him, his would-be rescuer, rolls his shoulders in a helpless kind of shrug.

"I doubt he's about to let me go, just like that. I can't fight him," because he'd tried, hadn't he? And what had happened? The man said 'sit' and he'd sunk down to his knees without meaning to, his body no longer his own under Zollner's command.

It seems a hopeless thing, trying to walk out of here, in the wake of his monumental failure.

Eh, well, Ryner thought being held against your will and talked to...that way was more than a little unpleasant. Maybe not torture in the strongest sense of the word, but..something, at least.

"Good."

He wanted to ask, since it was obvious this guy had been hurt and healed, somehow. Ryner'd considered that he might just have been given tattered clothes, but it didn't seem to be that way, so...well. Nothing to gain by focusing on that now.

"Yeah, probably won't be too happy about it. But I can fight him. Might not win, but I can try."

He did realize how ridiculous that sounded, but he'd hate himself forever if he didn't at least make the attempt to help this guy. Nobody deserved treatment like he'd heard him endure.

"Pretty sure if we can get out of whatever building this is we'll have a shot. I'm pretty fast."

Just a testament to the kind of treatment he's accustomed to enduring, perhaps, that the words themselves leave little impression on him-- he's had worse, after all, throughout all the seconds minutes days years down there in that bright-lit blood-scented place, with Mother and all her cutting criticisms. Her obvious disapproval of him. What Zollner has done to him, it's an irritation at best in the face of all that.

The man keeps talking, and Giovanni observes him assessingly, red eyes running him up and down and all the way through, as though trying to discern some quality in him that might make this 'escape' a possibility. He won't refuse his help - why look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that - but it's clear from his demeanor that he remains skeptical.

"We're in the Mayor's chambers, in the central building. But you must have noticed that when you came inside," and the man he'd seen, Zollner Neubauten, is of course the mayor, among other things. Which brings Giovanni to his next question.

"You know what he is, I suppose? Or perhaps you don't. It seems not many do," and then, as an afterthought, the edges of his words tipped in darkness, "I wasn't aware myself. If I'd been informed, things might have gone differently."

Why Mother hadn't briefed him on this one essential fact, that Neubauten is like him, only better stronger faster and in possession of a Spine that can control his own, is a source of delicate pain for him. As though perhaps she'd wanted to be rid of him.

He saw that skepticism, and couldn't say he blamed the guy for it. It was hard for him to trust himself in this, really. But Ryner had always had a very strong tendency to simply act when he felt someone was being abused or mistreated, plan or no plan. And here, he had no plan whatsoever.

"What he is? No, I'm afraid I don't. Doesn't really matter at the moment, if we need to get past him to get out of here we'll figure something out."

And no, he hadn't known that they were in the Mayor's chambers, but he supposed it made some sort of sense. Maybe. Or maybe not, but it also didn't seem too important at the moment. Ryner wasn't normally given to hopeless optimism, but he did believe in finding a way to make things work.

"If you could tell me, that'd help."

He sensed the pain in the guy. It was really well hidden, but Ryner knew firsthand how it felt to carry it all the time. Hopefully distracting him might help.

"Doesn't really matter. Hahah," his words, they're bitter-edged and cutting. Because oh does it matter. It matters far more than he'd initially known, not just a renegade researcher, no, but something infinitely larger than that, something more. He should have been told. He should.

But no matter. He rolls his tight-packed shoulders, ridding some of the remaining ache in him from being bound and forced into stillness for so long, before he begins to cross the distance to the door. If they're really going to attempt this, then may as well get it overwith.

He doesn't turn as he responds, the words carrying easily enough in the small space of this prison cell.

"Zollner Neubauten, Mayor of this festering city, renegade researcher from the Below, in possession of one of the Kerberos Spines," this time he does turn, just slightly, a glance back over his shoulder, "should he give a command, I'll be compelled to obey it whether I want to or not."

[This dream is of a meadow. A meadow that seems to stretch on and on into infinity, the grass reaching high and interspersed with tall and twisting wildflowers, petals filled with a soft and fragile beauty as they reach their heads up to the glimmering light. Overhead, the sky is the purest cobalt blue, the sun's rays are warm and bright and there's a hazy quality to the air, soft and blurry-edged. It's a tranquil scene, filled with chest-expanding peace.

From somewhere amidst the tall grass and the bright array of flowers comes the sound of children, laughing.

If you search, perhaps you'll find them. Three children sitting together in a hollowed-out alcove of green, little hands threading daisy chains, holding them up to the verdantly-defused light. One of them - the boy with silver-white hair - turns to the other two. Smiles big.]

I told you, didn't I? I said you'd get to see real flowers. And here we are.

[OPEN] The air is silk, shadows form a grin

CW: blood, gore, violence, Angelika

why is his mom like this

nobody knows ;;

i'm screaming

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

finally i am here! \o/

<3!!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

CW: restraints?

no need to match me, ever! i just can't code with a screen reader xD

I can match you, it's fine! though I'll stick with present tense because I prefer it

no worries, I'm just so used to past tense it feels weird to use present xD

no subject

no subject

no subject

Yikes, I'm so late, gomen

you're fine! <3

bittersweet