ᴠɪᴅᴀʀ ᵍ̵ᵃ̶ᵉ̴ˡ̷ᶦ̴ᵒ̷ᵇ̵ᵃ̶ᵘ̸ᵈ̸ᵘ̷ᶦ̴ⁿ̸ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reckoner) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
spellbinders2018-01-02 07:11 pm
reckoner) wrote in spellbinders2018-01-02 07:11 pm
[spiders in my head]
Who: Gaelio Bauduin, a very bad time, you...? like. it could be you. i'm sorry if it's you.
Where: Around Shehui (see prompts)
When: Day 187
Open/Closed: Open!
About??: warnings for uh. . . tl;dr and a VERY BAD TIME. Including bloody imagery! McGillis Fareeddropped disappeared. This is a problem for Gaelio Bauduin. AND MAYBE YOU, SUCKER.
[ A - OUT AND ABOUT ]
[ Four days ago, his telepathic nudge rebounded, making certain what he has spent every hour since struggling against: McGillis Fareed had been released. The pain of it a guarantee, but with Qri missing, he had room to suspect Shehui. Julieta had torn her signet from her chest. Having assisted through that, it's unlikely that McGillis would had replicated the experience -- this not the successful experimentation of Ein and his A-V. But, if Shehui had take notice...
But, the monitors were unreceptive and unhelpful. Four days, and he sleeps less and less, three of them in the throes of migraines born of sending nudge after word after demand, each and every firing back. He takes more shifts here and there, the first at the bakery, knowing for which he'd signed up.
So you might have seen him there, a terse employee. You might have seen him storming through the halls, approaching the apartment that once bore that name, along with Yusuke and Carmilla. You might have been in that apartment and questioned. Severe, but restrained, not yet on the brink.
Maybe, instead, having a slight existential crisis in a supermarket, staring at a shelf for fifteen minutes without moving. Or, with twitching jerks of his chin back over his shoulder, convinced of someone in the periphery. Someone who might, indeed, flicker, until he looks.
Still, nothing too alarming. But... ]
[ B - HADAN ]
[ But by the evening of the fourth day, flowers cover more and more of the city. The bakery's closed in mourning. Hadan, explained a citizen. We bid farewell to the lost. Thick, redolent petals. Throbbing skull, straining eyes, conversation cycling through his head, a broken and jarring loop.
Fate had a hand in bringing us here, or we would not be here. That the two of us were chosen for it...
At a corner, he leans a dizzy moment against a post, hand braced in woven stems. ]
The machinations of a parasitic witch, after all.
[ Beneath his breath. His fingers beginning to fist.
You might reassess when and where you want to kill me.
Tighter, white-knuckled. But they had stepped past the constraints of her Fate, seizing their own, or hadn't they? What else if both kept trapped, regardless of the rest, if speech exposed, if he only killed his enemies, but
My enemy, the facts of our births assuring it, but... my only friend. All that I know of friendship.
But he isn't here. Truce dissipated, fleeting steps toward understanding stopped against a precipice, no path forward.
Is it possible we're meant to understand something in this world before we'll be able to return to our own?
What had McGillis understood? Leaving him behind once more, to stew in incomprehension. Perhaps they had gotten it wrong. Perhaps losing his resolution yet again had been a misstep. But whether he was meant to understand him or meant to kill him, one anomaly remains: he can do neither without him. ]
Then why --
[ Gaelio wrenches the flowers from the post, swinging out and back, ]
-- am I still here?!
[ slamming his fist into the side of a building. Pain ricochets up his arm. He looks down, dully, as blood seeps from his knuckles, around the petals clenched.
It's only then he notices he almost hit someone in the process. ]
...Sorry.
[ He doesn't sound it, but in that moment, he doesn't sound much of anything. ]
[ C - GHOSTS ]
[ Close to midnight, less likely any would walk through this park. The night's close to temperate in this regulated climate, the snow gone with the season. Gaelio sits against a tree trunk, directly across from a bench.
The bench is empty, unless you step close enough for the illusion to catch. He does not intend for it to catch, but he's sloppy with the spread in the moment, with control. Evidenced enough by how the two figures that materialize keep shifting.
A serious young man, slight and uniformed. Or, without arms, without legs, protrusions down his spine. Sometimes his eyes glow red. An imperious woman. Or, weeping and bloodied, dying.
Gaelio sits, stares. To his left a piling of flowers, some taken from the buildings in fits and starts, some purchased. To his right, a rather stereotypical bottle, as though a drunken hobo in a park -- but it's wine and it hasn't been uncorked. In his lap, his hand is a pulpy mess, blood still dripping. He might have lashed out against the inanimate a few more times.
The woman speaks: We were both losers, weren't we? If we hadn't been, he wouldn't have...
But her voice fails, gurgling blood. ]
Rest Carta. Please, I --
[ The young man interjects, eyes red, buzzing through his head, around him: If you weren't going to kill him, you should have let me die.
That shuts him up, as if struck. When he puts his head in his hand, he leaves red streaks on his cheek, in his hair. ]
I know. I know. I know. Ein... What should I do?
[ A haggard question, meant for the dead, but on hearing someone (y..ou?) approach, chin snapping up and eyes fixing, it's as though he asks you. ]
Where: Around Shehui (see prompts)
When: Day 187
Open/Closed: Open!
About??: warnings for uh. . . tl;dr and a VERY BAD TIME. Including bloody imagery! McGillis Fareed
[ A - OUT AND ABOUT ]
[ Four days ago, his telepathic nudge rebounded, making certain what he has spent every hour since struggling against: McGillis Fareed had been released. The pain of it a guarantee, but with Qri missing, he had room to suspect Shehui. Julieta had torn her signet from her chest. Having assisted through that, it's unlikely that McGillis would had replicated the experience -- this not the successful experimentation of Ein and his A-V. But, if Shehui had take notice...
But, the monitors were unreceptive and unhelpful. Four days, and he sleeps less and less, three of them in the throes of migraines born of sending nudge after word after demand, each and every firing back. He takes more shifts here and there, the first at the bakery, knowing for which he'd signed up.
So you might have seen him there, a terse employee. You might have seen him storming through the halls, approaching the apartment that once bore that name, along with Yusuke and Carmilla. You might have been in that apartment and questioned. Severe, but restrained, not yet on the brink.
Maybe, instead, having a slight existential crisis in a supermarket, staring at a shelf for fifteen minutes without moving. Or, with twitching jerks of his chin back over his shoulder, convinced of someone in the periphery. Someone who might, indeed, flicker, until he looks.
Still, nothing too alarming. But... ]
[ B - HADAN ]
[ But by the evening of the fourth day, flowers cover more and more of the city. The bakery's closed in mourning. Hadan, explained a citizen. We bid farewell to the lost. Thick, redolent petals. Throbbing skull, straining eyes, conversation cycling through his head, a broken and jarring loop.
Fate had a hand in bringing us here, or we would not be here. That the two of us were chosen for it...
At a corner, he leans a dizzy moment against a post, hand braced in woven stems. ]
The machinations of a parasitic witch, after all.
[ Beneath his breath. His fingers beginning to fist.
You might reassess when and where you want to kill me.
Tighter, white-knuckled. But they had stepped past the constraints of her Fate, seizing their own, or hadn't they? What else if both kept trapped, regardless of the rest, if speech exposed, if he only killed his enemies, but
My enemy, the facts of our births assuring it, but... my only friend. All that I know of friendship.
But he isn't here. Truce dissipated, fleeting steps toward understanding stopped against a precipice, no path forward.
Is it possible we're meant to understand something in this world before we'll be able to return to our own?
What had McGillis understood? Leaving him behind once more, to stew in incomprehension. Perhaps they had gotten it wrong. Perhaps losing his resolution yet again had been a misstep. But whether he was meant to understand him or meant to kill him, one anomaly remains: he can do neither without him. ]
Then why --
[ Gaelio wrenches the flowers from the post, swinging out and back, ]
-- am I still here?!
[ slamming his fist into the side of a building. Pain ricochets up his arm. He looks down, dully, as blood seeps from his knuckles, around the petals clenched.
It's only then he notices he almost hit someone in the process. ]
...Sorry.
[ He doesn't sound it, but in that moment, he doesn't sound much of anything. ]
[ C - GHOSTS ]
[ Close to midnight, less likely any would walk through this park. The night's close to temperate in this regulated climate, the snow gone with the season. Gaelio sits against a tree trunk, directly across from a bench.
The bench is empty, unless you step close enough for the illusion to catch. He does not intend for it to catch, but he's sloppy with the spread in the moment, with control. Evidenced enough by how the two figures that materialize keep shifting.
A serious young man, slight and uniformed. Or, without arms, without legs, protrusions down his spine. Sometimes his eyes glow red. An imperious woman. Or, weeping and bloodied, dying.
Gaelio sits, stares. To his left a piling of flowers, some taken from the buildings in fits and starts, some purchased. To his right, a rather stereotypical bottle, as though a drunken hobo in a park -- but it's wine and it hasn't been uncorked. In his lap, his hand is a pulpy mess, blood still dripping. He might have lashed out against the inanimate a few more times.
The woman speaks: We were both losers, weren't we? If we hadn't been, he wouldn't have...
But her voice fails, gurgling blood. ]
Rest Carta. Please, I --
[ The young man interjects, eyes red, buzzing through his head, around him: If you weren't going to kill him, you should have let me die.
That shuts him up, as if struck. When he puts his head in his hand, he leaves red streaks on his cheek, in his hair. ]
I know. I know. I know. Ein... What should I do?
[ A haggard question, meant for the dead, but on hearing someone (y..ou?) approach, chin snapping up and eyes fixing, it's as though he asks you. ]