[OPEN] ❁ don't let it get the best of you, you'll make it out alive

[roseblooms]

WHO: Fawkes and YOU!
WHERE: All around Recolle during the nightmares/fog event!
WHEN: Various times in the month of October!
WHAT: Nightmares, fog encounters, and etc.
WARNINGS: Will be attached to the headers of various top-levels within!

Comments

NIGHTMARE - ARENA (cw: sadism, torture, bombs)

[roseblooms]

[You're standing outside, and though the air around you isn't dark or otherwise obscured, it's still somehow impossible to make out clearly what all is surrounding you here. It seems as though it's some kind of amphitheater, though, with a sort of clearing in the middle and some sort of barrier all around you in the distance; there are flashes of color and little hints of movement that suggest something is out there, but no matter how far you might walk toward it, it never comes any closer or gets any clearer.

The center of the clearing, however, is entirely in focus. There's a raised platform, round, raised up perhaps five feet off the ground — high enough that you'd have to jump or climb to scale it, but not so high that you can't see what's happening atop it from your vantage point on the ground.

Oddly, nothing seems to be happening on it. Fawkes is standing there, alone, seemingly paralyzed; the position he's in doesn't look comfortable at all to be holding himself still in, but rather like something he'd been transitioning through when someone abruptly told him to freeze.

As if on cue, a frightened voice in the distance rings out: don't move, Kurama!

In the moments that follow, Fawkes's gaze meets yours, and the whites of his eyes are visible even from this distance.

A few seconds later, a different voice chimes in — lower, silkier, and infinitely more dangerous: why not move? You're such a masochist; I'll bet deep down you want to feel it, don't you?

If you decide to approach, Fawkes's alarm and agitation will only increase — but really, what else is there for you to do right now, but that?]

[thesettingsun]

[The outside of the clearing is impossible to get any closer to - so there isn't anything to do but approach the center.

There's Fawkes, terrified of something that Shuji can't see. There are voices, one of which he dislikes instantly. There's a situation that Shuji doesn't understand, and even knowing that it's probably dangerous-

He still walks toward the center platform, because he can't just turn around and leave Fawkes like this. Even if he could physically leave this clearing, his conscience wouldn't let him.]

[roseblooms]

Don't — !

[He doesn't move much, but his head does, just a fraction of an inch, and his eyes turn in Shuji's direction now, locking on to the sight of his approach.]

Don't! It's dangerous! You can't see them —

[thesettingsun]

[Shuji stops in his tracks, because there's no faking that level of alarm, but-]

Then what should I do?

[Will standing around improve things? He guesses not.]

[originallutece]

[What else indeed? Rosalind moves slowly, step by step, her eyes trained on Fa--

No. On Kurama, because that's who he is now, isn't it? He's Kurama, and this is . . .

It was a competition, he'd said. To the death, he'd told her. There's flashes of color and movement all around them, and he's on a raised platform, and it would be easy to think this nothing more than a sports competition if it wasn't for the horror in Kurama's eyes.

How can she do anything but come closer? That's hers, that boy right there, and that silky hint of sadism only sets off her own possessiveness more. That's hers, her Fawkes, her Kurama, and she'll do whatever she has to in order to keep him safe.]

[roseblooms]

[Of all the people who might come wandering through one of his dreams, it's Rosalind who comes the closest to jarring him straight out of his nightmare before it ever has a chance to really begin. It's just that she's so far removed from the horrors that he associates with a moment like this, so utterly representative of feelings that are an anathema to a nightmare like this, that her very presence very nearly upends the whole thing, disrupting it beyond its ability to maintain itself.

And yet he's frightened for her, when he sees her there. He's terrified, actually, because he knows that look on her face, that glint in her eyes, and he's currently surrounded by bombs and she's drawing ever closer.]

Rosalind —

[originallutece]

Stay still.

[She hasn't the faintest idea how this works, but she can draw her own conclusions. Don't move, someone had screamed at him, so surely he's surrounded by the bombs. Surely they're in close range to him.

Which means they ought not to be near her. Rosalind stares up at the platform, then hoists herself up, mounting it with far more ease than she would in reality.]

And tell me what happens now. Tell me how to change this.

[doublesmall]

[of course chuuya approaches, because what the fuck is caution or hesitation in the face of something like this? there's that voice, but no figure for it to be coming from, nothing visible for him to go after, and so he steps closer instead, raising his own voice.]

Where the fuck is he, huh?

[roseblooms]

[The sound of Chuuya's voice draws a slight jolt of surprise out of Fawkes, but he's clearly conscious enough of the threat all around him to refrain from moving much and risking detonating one of the floating bombs in the air, even as he turns to look. So it's mostly a movement in his eyes, a slide of green irises over to the corners, as he catches sight of Chuuya and tries to slow his breathing down, lest his own jumpiness make him move when he knows it'd be deadly to.

Strange, that. It doesn't seem wrong for Chuuya to be here. It's like he fits in, somehow, like the dream can stretch easily to accommodate him, even though objectively Fawkes is vaguely aware that he doesn't belong.]

I don't know — be careful, I don't know where he is!

[Tsk, tsk. A little rat sticking its nose where it doesn't belong, comes that same voice, as if on cue. You shouldn't meddle with things that aren't yours.]

[doublesmall]

Yeah? I do a lot of things I shouldn't do. Hasn't stopped me yet.

[chuuya hums under his breath, there, glancing between fawkes (just making sure he's still okay) and the surrounding area, staying alert for any sign of movement.]

If you're so worried about your things, maybe you'd better do more to make sure nobody else ends up breaking them. Leaving them out like that's dangerous, you know...?

[he wouldn't, he hopes fawkes knows that much, but he can't kick someone's ass if they don't show up to begin with. if that doesn't lure him out, well. back to square one, he supposes.]

FOG - FORLORN (cw: parental maltreatment, terminal illness, thoughts/themes of suicide)

[roseblooms]

[One minute he's navigating through the fog, heading for home, and the next minute he's standing on a rooftop in what is clearly a city at night; the sky is clear, and the full moon overhead is huge and foreboding.

Strangely enough, there's a hospital bed joining him on the rooftop, still implausibly hooked up to machines with wires and tubes even though the places that those connections lead are nowhere to be found. It's simply there, and so is Fawkes, and he's holding something in his hands, and his shoulders are starting to sag as he listens to the person in the bed as she talks to him, too low to hear without getting closer.

If you do choose to draw nearer, you'll start to see that it's a middle-aged woman there in the bed, with pale, translucent skin and wisps escaping from the low ponytail she's got her hair tied back into. The sheets are pulled up over her knees, and she's got her chin lowered, staring at her hands where they're folded in her lap.

You're the one who did this, she says softly, as the formerly steady rise and fall of Fawkes's chest abruptly stills.

A moment passes, and nothing is said, and that seems to ignite the woman's ire; her head flies up, and her expression is twisted into an awful scowl as her red-rimmed eyes fix directly onto Fawkes.

You did this, you parasite! she shrieks. You mother-killing monster! You did this! You did it to me! I never asked for you!

He's biting his lip now, so hard that the skin is starting to turn white. The woman in the bed gestures violently to the object in his hands.

Use it! she snaps. Use it, you coward! Take responsibility!

He looks down at the shattered mirror face, at the jagged remants of glass raising their sharp edges toward the sky. He closes his eyes, and the moonlight shifts and refracts off the scattered edges, and when he opens his eyes again, the smooth solid face of the mirror is restored.

Do it, his mother hisses, and he nods, lowering himself slowly to one knee and setting the mirror down on the ground in front of him before extending one hand toward its face.

Overhead, the moonlight starts to look altogether too bright, and the reflecting face of the mirror starts to shine.]

[sotenbori]

Fawkes, stop.

[ this fog shit is getting out of hand, honestly. and the more people he can get to the better. he watches the scene horrified for a moment before fawkes starts reaching for the mirror and he doesn't know what the heck that's gonna do other than it's going to be bad. that much he's got. ]

She's tryin' ta hurt ya. Don't.

[roseblooms]

[The sound of a voice makes him stop short, looking up uncertainly with the bewilderment showing openly on his face.]

Majima...?

[I'm dying, his mother snaps, irritable at the delay. Stop wasting time! Use it, before it's too late!]

[sotenbori]

Whoever that old woman is, she ain't your mom.

[ majima walks closer to fawkes, carefully but surely. he's not about to let fawkes hurt himself thats for sure. ]

It's this fog, ya know?

[despirit]

[he doesn't know this man, he couldn't say what draws him in other than the desire for things to be better. that he can sense pain the way some people can detect a light, and when he steps in, he knows he's intruding, but his eyes seek nothing but Fawkes.]

You don't have to do this.

[he's close enough to reach out, put a hand on his shoulder.]

[roseblooms]

[It's strange, he thinks, because the feeling of the hand on his shoulder isn't unwelcome in the slightest. It's almost as though someone ought to be doing that, or something similar to it, even if he can't quite put his finger on why. But no — it's right that someone else should be here, himself and his mother and the moon, and someone —

Strange. Why is there supposed to be someone else here? What role do they play, what are they supposed to do?]

She'll die if I don't.

[That much, at least, is true. He knows it's true; whatever else she might be, he knows for certain that the woman in the bed isn't lying about that.]

[despirit]

And you'll die if you do. Everything has a time, you know.

[he speaks with the calmness of someone who's had to say this before, stepping up to be by the man's side.]

It's not easy. But what do you feel right now?

[evidentiary]

It's trying to trick you.

[ kyouko's voice is calm and steady despite the dream (the memory?), and as bluntly honest as she ever is. there's no judgement in that tone, and she says it because this is the nightmare itself, she thinks. if he looks over, her violet eyes are focused on him, and the mirror. ]

...You don't have to let it.

[roseblooms]

[He can't help but frown slightly at the sight of the girl joining him on the rooftop, mildly perplexed by this new development. It's right but it's wrong; yes, there ought to be someone up here with him, but it's not supposed to be a girl...maybe, and it puts this encounter just enough into the uncanny valley that he can't help but hesitate and try to make sense of it.]

It's not a trick. It's a trade.

[That's...right, isn't it? A trade. Yes, that's right, the mirror will let him fix this, take responsibility...

There's a trade to be made, somehow, and the responsibility is his to make it.]

But if I don't do it soon, it'll be too late.

[evidentiary]

An actual "trade" wouldn't be trying to hard to get you to make it, would it?

[ she doesn't know what using the mirror will do, or what it is meant to do. it is, she thinks, probably a piece of another lifetime - and one that makes no sense to her at all.

still. standing there quiet and unrelenting is impossible, because where else is she to go? so she keeps speaking. ]

What is the trade meant to do, then?

[doublesmall]

[hearing words like that makes something burn in chuuya's chest, makes him want to bite back even though it isn't his place because he knows well enough that sometimes, biological ties don't mean shit--

it's very much not his place, so he stops himself for now, but it's a damn near thing. he focuses instead on fawkes, on the mirror.]

Do what? Don't tell me you're thinking about doing something stupid, now.

[casual as he makes the words sound, he's still on edge and tense, positioned where he can see both of them.]

[roseblooms]

It's not stupid.

[Vaguely, he sort of realizes that he ought to say something clever and funny there, something like I've thought this out far too carefully for it to be stupid, but somehow there's a barrier between knowing what he ought to say and being able to actually reach it, and he ends up just feebly registering his halfhearted protest, instead, without any of the follow-up he wishes he could make.

His mother is watching the two of them now, though, cold and scrutinizing. It seems as though there's supposed to be someone else here in this dream, but it's malleable for who and how.]

It's to save her life.

[To take responsibility, something seems to echo, even though no one utters that sentence at all.]

[doublesmall]

Yeah? And what's it gonna do to you, huh?

[if there weren't some kind of risk, surely he'd already have done whatever it is he's thinking of doing, and saving people tends to be a pretty big kind of risk.

it's why he doesn't really consider himself the type to do it, honestly.]

And what makes it your job to save her in the first place, anyway?

[sakeplz]

[This is strange. He watches all of this happen and he recognizes the red head. The one from Team Brandywine. Jirou isn't sure what is happening but somehow this looks bad.

And that woman looks so ill...

Jirou moves closer and rests a hand on his shoulder.]

What does this do? This mirror? Do you know?

[Because this looks like another one of those fog traps.]

[roseblooms]

[He nods, slightly, the corner of his lip catching behind his teeth as he struggles to pull his focus away from the mirror and look up at Jirou instead. The muscles beneath Jirou's hand are tense, drawn taut; seems like Fawkes has been subconsciously steeling himself for an unpleasant inevitability and locking up his muscles because of it.]

I know. It's to save her life.