recolle | (open) the faint floating fragrance of cyclamen / sobs on your silent lips

(open) the faint floating fragrance of cyclamen / sobs on your silent lips

WHO: Koutarou + you
WHERE: Streets and also dreamland; Plus everywhere and outside Lemon Leaf, at university grounds, and in some park or other
WHEN: October month
WHAT: Dreams and memories comes to haunt. Also some in-between stuff with painting, sketching, and coffee. Watch out for the flying paint.
WARNINGS: Mental hospitals and illness, strangulation, ink monsters, fire, bomb sounds. Honestly, no dream or fog prompt is safe from some dark stuff, but the monster and fire/bomb prompts are the mildest. The last three prompts are in themselves free of those things, but they’re not dream or a fog scenes. The worst those gets is some flying paint.
NOTES: I put the dream/fog stuff under one cut and the other stuff under another, second cut, if you want to skip reading the things with trigger warnings.

Hospital Dreams || W: Mental illness and hospital
[ Nightmares are not always dreams of only fear. They’re also dreams of sorrow, sometimes. They’re equally great horrors.

This dream is in a hospital. It’s old, sterile, and stuffy. There are white metal beds with patients cuffed to the bars that are really meant to stop them from rolling out, and patients in wheelchairs or wandering around. Some patients strains against their bonds, some lay staring, mumbling. It’s an eerie, unpleasant place. The patients are all wearing similar drab clothing, so does the doctors and nurses, while the visitors are wearing equally old-fashioned, but more varying, clothing, both western and Japanese. It’s not just an old hospital from early in the last century, it’s a mental hospital. The patients are crying, and so are the staff, and the visitors.

So is Koutarou for that matter, curled up on a visitor’s chair in a room with at least half a dozen occupied beds. Beside a bed where a thin, sickly-looking woman is trying to sleep. He’s holding her frail hand in his, and she’s too weak to properly hold his in return. Once in a while, she starts shouting, loud, foul curses, terrible insults. He simply takes it all, lets her shout and crush his hand with a sudden, unnatural strength. ]

Domestic Dreams || W: Strangulation
[ The dream starts out nice. It’s nighttime, and it’s dark outside the window. He sits at a low desk, cross-legged on the floor, and he’s wearing a worn, patched-up yukata. He sits in the warm light coming from a lonely oil lamp, writing an article, though he can’t read or even recall, what he writes. A teapot sits on the table, a cup with a crack at the edge beside it, and the steam rising from it is slow and thin, as it it’s starting to chill.

There is the soft rustling of fabric, and Chieko, his most precious person and his beloved wife, enters the room with a sketchbook in one hand, and a cup in the other. She kneels on the worn old tatami, leans against his back and reaches past him to put down her cup on the table. She presses a kiss to his cheek as she does, and he turns his head to return it with a soft smile, before he fills her cup with tea, and offers it back to her. She puts it on the floor, reaches past him again to take a brush and ink, and turns, to sit behind him, her smaller back against his, and she opens up her sketchbook on a new page. Behind the page and in front of the next, she places a few stained newspaper pages, and she uncaps the lid to the ink horn and paints, crisp, clean black lines on white paper.

That’s the end of the quiet, domestic bliss.

Because the person on the page in front of her twists, leaves the page like fingers, creeping up her chest and toward her throat, her cry is what alerts him, because her back feels just as relaxed as before against his back, and she’s not moving, when he turns around to see what is wrong. The tea cup on the floor topples over when he turns in haste, catching her against his chest, and he tries to pry the hands from her throat.

It’s not going very well. ]

Fire Street || W: Fire and bomb sounds
[ As you wander down the foggy street, you can suddenly hear a strange, whistling sound from above. Then there is the heavy smell of smoke, and the mist starts to mix with dark clouds. The sound of a fire growing, grasping at the houses, stretching across the pavement.

Koutarou appears out of the smoke and fog, tears streaming down his face and he’s coughing from inhaling smoke. The fire is following him, is creeping closer to anyone else also on the street nearby. He grabs that person by their clothes, and pulls them along, trying to escape the fire. ]

Don’t just stand around, run!

Monster Street || W: Ink Monsters and ink blood
[ The loud sound of gunshots echoing between the building.

A great, slithering snake drops from above, lands with a person made out of shadows landing right by it. The person controls the creature, manipulating it with strings. Ink drips from the creature’s sharp teeth, and glowing words swirl around it.

But the creature and the monochrome Beast Master are not the only things that dropped down from the building. So did its prey. Which is a bad-off, dripping-with-ink Koutarou. He pushes himself up from the ground, while avoiding a beam of colored light, and the sound of gunshots echoed again, a flash of light coming from the rifle in Koutarou’s hand. ]

Fucking hell--! [ And then he spots another person. ] Shit.

Outside Lemon Leaf || W: None
[ For all the terrible that’s taking place in the dreams, he’s not only shaken up. He actually felt just a little relief. Just a little, just a tiny, tiny fraction, but---considering he ran off for the forest last month to hear her voice, even hearing just a little.. Even if it was in a dream…

He thinks about it a lot, particularly when he sits on the stone steps leading up to his atelier, a bit of food and coffee, bought from a close by convenience store. And he sits there a lot, recently. Sometimes sketching, sometimes not. ]

Random Painting || W: None
[ There’s no way that the return of blue paint is not going to be something that overjoys Koutarou. It’s been sort of overshadowed by certain...things. Dreams, you know. But he’s still going to bring with him all sorts of blue shades of paint buckets and pens and pencils and ink and all those stuff, and go outside to paint and paint and paints some more. It doesn’t really matter where he is doing it. His clothes are bound to end up pretty darn blue after a while. But whatever, he’s just happy. ]

Hand Painting || W: ~~Flying Paint~~ None
[ The painting isn’t, however, limited to things with pens and pencils and brushes. At a few points, he drags out a big roll of paper and several hues of blue paints. The corners are weighted down with some big stones, and since he unrolls more paper once in a while - and rolls up the dried areas - he keeps moving. And he uses his bare hands to paint. This results in his clothes, face, hair and some of the ground stained in blue. There are some some footprints on some places, too, because he’s not wearing his shoes despite the season. Because he’s still very excited, some of the paint might also go flying but he’s only in a park near his atelier or at campus somewhere in the vicinity of the Kaneda Building so as long as nobody gets hit by it, no big deal. Right? ]

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Togusa hesitates when he finds himself in an older, more traditional Japanese house. The scene before him, he recognizes both of the people in it. Koutarou, and now, he can see her. Chieko. The woman that Koutarou remembers spending his life with, and then losing. He can't help but hang back and watch them, seeing the quiet love between them, so palpable it's like another presence in the room. She starts to draw, yet another shared love with them, then.

How could Togusa have ever denied that these memories were real?

He starts to back away, looking for another way out, a polite way to excuse himself, when Chieko lets out a cry. His attention is sharply drawn back to the room, and he is horrified at what he sees. Her own drawing is attacking her?

"Koutarou!" Togusa lunges forwards, reaching for the figure coming out of the paper. He doesn't need to know what he's facing, he only needs to know that his friend is in danger.

Dreams can go wrong in the weirdest ways. Though he’ll be thankful that it was only a dream once he wakes up, that’s nothing he knows or would even hope for at the moment.

Although there’s something that feels wrong with Togusa being in this house, like he’s terribly out of place, that’s something that only barely registers. Instead Koutarou’s head snaps up as he continues to pry the hands from her throat. “Hitori..!” Both his voice and his expression are scared and pleading. Then he quickly turns his gaze back to the woman pressed against him. “Chieko---” The inky hands won’t stop..!

Even Togusa knows he isn't supposed to be here, like the whole setting doesn't belong with him. But if he's here? He'll act.

Togusa tries to grasp the arms of the figure: can he even get a hold of it, or will it run through his fingers like liquid? There is the same shared fear in his eyes, what he's trying to do is impossible. But maybe he can reassure his friend at the same time. "Take Chieko, get her out of here!" He tries to instruct.

Chieko is a brash and straightforward woman, particularly for the era, and she's stronger than a lot of women in their time, but she's not strong enough to escape the grip, nor is her husband strong enough. She does have a mouth on her though, and unlike Koutarou, she swears a fair degree at times. Even before her illness. Despite the fingers grasping at her she spits out curses at it. She completely ignores Togusa.

Koutarou does not. "I would if I could," he whimpers, but first of all he must become able to do that. The creature is solid in the middle, but the edges, the most of it, is hard to grasp, floating and not solid enough. It's not solid enough to get a good grip on, or to push it away.

The creature even feels wrong, as Togusa's hands can't get a grip on it. Every time he thinks he feels something solid, it slides away from him. He tries again, more frantically, hands swiping at the creature, then crying out when it still doesn't work.

When he's in the middle of a fight, sometimes Togusa doesn't even know how ideas come to him, he just takes his instinct and acts on it. For a second, he focuses on the paper that the creature is coming out of. Before he can stop himself, he grabs for the paper, and tries to pull that away from Chieko. Either it'll work, and draw it away, or maybe it'll drag the damn thing the rest of the way into this world.

It’s more like a Taint than anything else; a creature made out of dirty ink, corrupted souls, and twisted feelings. Though neither of them would know that, Togusa because Taints are completely unfamiliar to him, and Koutarou still only remembers one type. Dreams does whatever they want though so it shouldn't be impossible to stop this thing without special weapons.

And it seems as if it's possible to get hold of the paper at least, and the creature spews inky swirls through its mouth, and its fingers have a little harder time to hold on as tightly. Togusa's idea does help. There's ink everywhere, making the floor a bit slippery.

Since Koutarou was a wood carver in his previous life, there are tools for it scattered about the worn old home, even in this room. With one arm tightly wrapped around Chieko's waist so the creature can't drag her away from him, he reaches behind him toward the table and finds a detail knife with a very small blade. He tries to cut at one of the creature's wrists.

For a second, Togusa almost can't believe that it's working, but then his resolve doubles down, and he yanks with his whole body, nearly walking backwards with the effort. The edges of the paper crumple under his hands, and, again, he isn't sure if it will help or not.

He gasps in extra horror as the ink falls from the creature, not like blood, but like it is leaving some of itself behind, sloughing it off. Togusa's foot slides, but he regains his balance, refusing to leave his grip on the only thing that has worked so far. A monster made of a drawing. It makes no sense, but it also the most frightening idea to them both. How do you destroy an idea?

Togusa's gun rests at the small of his back, because of course it does. The gun that was so precious to the other-Togusa has already started to become synonymous with this one, as well. But he dares not draw it yet. He has to pull the monster away first.

The knife has little effect though Koutarou's hand seems to disappear among the fluid darkness it is mostly made out of. The blade is too small to do any real damage to it. Not to mention that Chieko's pulling hands have no effect.

But the monster screeches angrily at its source being pulled further from its target, and that must bother their neighbors. Why a thought like that passes through Koutarou's mind is a mystery and a frustration, because it's not the least helpful. You think the strangest and most irrelevant things...

Togusa can see it, they need to be doing more damage, but if Togusa lets go, then there will be nothing able to hold this thing back. "K- Koutarou!" He has to be the one to do it.

Togusa starts to lower himself, almost taking a knee on the ground, both to make this transfer easier, and to give himself more grip on the slippery floor. One hand releases, just for a second, but in that second, he can feel the creature's determination double down. It lunges, trying as hard as it can to get to Chieko. He cannot allow this.

The gun. Togusa draws it from his belt, but he puts it on the ground. He takes his eyes off the monster to look at Koutarou. He is sorry, this goes against his friend's nature, but it's the only way he can think to solve this.

The gun slides across the floor to Koutarou's feet, aided in its path by the inky ichor dotting the ground. Togusa has resumed gripping the paper and pulling as much as he can, but keeping himself low, trying to give Koutarou as much of a target as possible.

I trust you.

Koutarou turns his gaze to Togusa, his worried and frightened expression not disappearing. Rather, it increases and mixes with confusion, as he watches his best friend’s actions, and the creature’s increased efforts.

He doesn’t exactly enjoy fighting, he never did, he hates it. But he’s desperate to protect Chieko from this monster, and he knows that he has a skill with firearms, now. So Koutarou lets go of the carving knife’s wooden handle, and reaches for the gun on the floor. HE has no choice, if he wants to protect the one most precious to him. But where is he supposed to shoot? It only takes a moment for him to decide, and he aims the gun, which rests so comfortably in his hand that is is uncomfortable, to its head. He barely feels the recoil when he pulls the trigger.

The room is filled with sound: the gunshot, the sudden shriek of the creature, Togusa's own startled yell when he falls backwards. The ink explodes off of the monster and splashes across the floor, and the tension of it rushing towards Chieko is gone. Togusa breathes hard, shooting a look towards Koutarou that is nothing but sorrow. I'm sorry.

But he hesitantly looks to see what is left of the creature. He drops the paper to the floor, and steps up. He longs to just tear the paper to shreds, but he is ready to act again if it looks like this thing is reforming itself.

"Chieko-san? Are you all right, also?"

After the creature explodes and becomes everywhere instead of concentrated right where they are, Koutarou puts the gun back on the floor in haste. He doesn’t want to hold it longer than he has to. He sends Togusa a tight smile for a brief second, an attempt to show that it’s fine.

And he pulls Chieko closer, and she leans into him, rubbing her sore throat and coughing. ”Y-yes, thank you.” She is still upset, though already calmer than Koutarou, she is also confused over the stranger that’s in her home.

Togusa is quick to follow up, scoop the gun back up and put it back out of sight. He knows how uncomfortable Koutarou is around guns, but it was worth it to save her.

But. Wait. When the danger passes, the details of the situation start to slip into Togusa's mind. The things he didn't have time to worry about are here now. He puts a hand to his head, and when he looks back up at Koutarou again, it is with confusion. "Koutarou?"

He glances around, and he knows the same thing that Chieko does, very slowly says it out loud. "I'm- not supposed to be here, am I?"

[There are explosions, smoke is filling the air, and he can already feel the heat of the fire against his skin. So, honestly? Koutarou doesn't have to tell him twice before he's running alongside him, trying to escape from what promises to be a pretty grisly death if they don't haul ass. Though, that doesn't mean he can't find the time to ask—]

—What's going on?!

[So much is happening. So much.]

[ He hates fire. Though not for logical reasons like being scared of getting burnt. He can guess the source of the whistling sounds, but there’s only so much one can pause to think about in a situation like this.

He does shake his head, but it’s only a small, quick motion because he doesn’t want to risk tripping on anything on the sidewalk. ]

I have no idea!! It just suddenly--started burning..!

-Madness. Confusion. Despair. All of them seemed to hang over his head like a great sword of damocles, threatening to take his head with them at any moment. At first, Kasen wasn't even certain he was in someone else's dream. He'd had similar ones like this, after all, watching as the last of what he thought was his humanity curled into nothingness, becoming void. It wasn't until the shouting caught his attention that he finally recognized Koutarou.

Kasen, dressed as a patient, was slow to approach, lethargic in his movements, like crawling through a sea of taffy. But he did approach, and tried to speak, but nothing came out. Just tired mumbling. He had no right to interrupt anyways, did he?-

[ Koutarou is too focused on Chieko to notice Kasen. His gaze is turned down, stuck somewhere below her ear, and he’s listening to every insult thrown at him. When she tears her hand from his, he loses balance and has to catch himself so he doesn’t fall off the chair.

And that’s when he notices Kasen. He looks at him with unblinking surprise, but then averts his gaze, and he awkwardly adjusts his worn yukata. ]

-The overwhelming sense was that he'd just witnessed something he shouldn't have. As if his very presence was a deep violation of his friend's privacy. And the guilt that formed almost outweighed his own lingering darkness. But even so... He also couldn't just leave the situation as it was.

Once again, he tried to speak, tried to get some words out of his mumbling.-

I... I'm sorry... -Pathetic. That meant nothing in a situation like this. Even he knew that.-

[ He looks to Chieko, but she has turned her head away and has reverted to mumbling to herself as she stares at the barred window.

He shakes his head. ]

No...

[ He doesn’t need to be sorry. It’s Koutarou’s fault that she fell ill in the first place.. At least that’s what the other Koutarou was suspecting, so why shouldn’t he suspect the same? ]

Can... anything be done? -Of course Kasen could do nothing. He didn't know why he was even asking. He was just as much sick as all the others, wasn't he? At least in this version of reality...-

I don't think so...

[ Again, he shakes his head with a small motion. What is there to be done, anyway? She could rest and listen to the doctors, but beyond that.. He has no idea.

It finally dawns on him that Kasen isn't actually supposed to be here. ]

Um... Kaneda-san, why are you here...?

I... don't actually know. -He was dressed in the same style as the patients. Was he one of them? Had he finally stopped coping with his fragile sense of humanity and committed himself?-

That's... I don't think you should be here...

[ He's so out of place here, he's from Recollé, not from a century ago. But the second half of that is a thought that only barely registers. ]

Maybe not here, witnessing this... But being here doesn't feel out of place, right now... -Kasen lifted a hand to rub at his temple.-

[ He's torn between worry for his friend and worry for his wife, but in the end he gets off the chair. ]

Maybe you should sit down a while..

[ He'll stay between Kasen and Chieko though, because he doesn't want either of them to get hurt if she gets angry. ]

No no, I'm fine, really. Well... physically, at least. I think. -His voice seemed less and less sure the further he got along that statement.-

I think I'm here in the state I'm in... because that is where my mind put me.

[ The sudden grip on his hand and calm breath he can feel against his fingers calms Koutarou down considerably, and makes his voice a little firmer. ]

Kaneda-san. Sit.

[ You’re talking weird stuff, Kasen. ]

-And sit he did, though his reservations were still pretty clear.-

Are you sure this isn't a bad time?

[ He’s quiet a few moments, and glances over his shoulder. ]

Chie-san is sleeping right now, so…

[ He doubts it will last for very long, but the more she gets to rest, the better for her health, right? ]

... I feel like anything I could ask is nosy prying into your other self's private life. -Kasen sighed, unsure of what to do with himself now that he was there.-

To be fair there are a lot of questions I’d like to ask myself, too...

[ There are still so many things that he doesn’t know about his...past life? He supposes. ]

Do you even know why you're here? What her affliction may be?

[ He bites his lip and is quiet for several moments. ]

....I do..

-...-

Is it treatable?

[ That question earns a much longer silence. He draws in an uneasy breath. ]

I don’t know.

...

I can't say I will ever know that this is like. And as an artist, I feel like that's almost a failure on my part. What good is empathy at a time like this?

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(open) the faint floating fragrance of cyclamen / sobs on your silent lips

Domestic Dreams

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fire street

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hospital dream

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