Vertigo [Active/Open]
Characters: Trucy Wright, Machi Tobaye, ~Open~
Setting: Outside Basement Tunnels
Time: Early Night 16
Summary: Trucy is finally released from her captivity, but finds a very different world waiting for her.
Warnings: Hellhound!Trucy. Here thar be angsting. And confusion. And longop. And a Machi.
For hours, everything felt the same.
She could feel the biting texture of the rough floor under her bare palms, nipping and cutting into the soft flesh with every drag and pull the girl made to move herself further and further from the locked doors of the space that had been her personal hell for she didn't know how long. There was nothing but darkness and haze spread before her eyes, roaming uselessly in their sockets against the better judgment that told her she could have closed them and found nothing different than had they remained open. A static rush pounded in her head, the frantic running of her own blood behind the membrane of her eardrum and the pressing silence of everything else providing a far-from-melodious soundtrack to her escape.
Though, it was hardly an escape, all things considered.
They decided they'd had enough of playing with her, those horrific things in white, and dumped her back into the hall beyond, leaving her to claw and scrape the length of the path on her own if she wished to find freedom. With every movement, the ill-placed joints of her body crackled and groaned, clashing together in ripples under her skin and drawing anguish from the magician's raw throat. The sound reverberated achingly in her ears, though as she drew closer and closer to the tunnel opening, over stairs and across more floor, pushing past whatever was blocking the way, the echo lessened, giving her the only signal she'd pulled herself from the depths of the demon's belly to emerge alive on the other side.
The first thing she noticed was cold.
It was cold cold cold, and quiet. In the distance, there was a vibration of sound, but nothing in her immediate area, wherever she was now. Without the darkness of the tunnels to mask things, the reality of her situation stared Trucy in the face. All around her was nothing but a storm, blurry and shredded at the edges, with no color or size or orientation. There was no 'up', no 'down', no relation but the smooth and cold feel of the floor under her cut fingers. She forced herself to try and stand, one side pressed heavily into the wall of whatever room she'd emerged into.
A tingling pain spread along her awkwardly bent shoulders as she did so, roaming down the jagged contours of her back and legs, the weak and slightly atrophied muscles still forming giving a burning protest to the action. She remained upright against the resistance of her body, loose fingers spidering along the wall slowly as she moved along, tensed and ever aware that despite her release, the house was not safe. All around was the stink of monster, of ghost, of danger. Of things unlike and different and wrong. She was alone and the house was not safe.
Alone. She didn't like the weight of that word, that pressing against her subconscious. Accustomed to it though she was, having been without contact from anything but a Phantasm in what had to have been forever, the word was bitter and nasty and left her feeling the pressure of isolation. Alone was sickness, was unhealth, was death. It was burnt and broken and left her longing for the taste of the cure.
Her jaw swiveled open, the bones grinding together and breath passing over the pointed tips of teeth forcing themselves from her gums, and from within came a quiet, desperate sound. It grew in pitch after a few moments, overflowing, as much a howl as it was a scream, demanding the fog beyond produce something more satisfying than the rush of vertigo and disorentation.
Help, help, help...
Setting: Outside Basement Tunnels
Time: Early Night 16
Summary: Trucy is finally released from her captivity, but finds a very different world waiting for her.
Warnings: Hellhound!Trucy. Here thar be angsting. And confusion. And longop. And a Machi.
For hours, everything felt the same.
She could feel the biting texture of the rough floor under her bare palms, nipping and cutting into the soft flesh with every drag and pull the girl made to move herself further and further from the locked doors of the space that had been her personal hell for she didn't know how long. There was nothing but darkness and haze spread before her eyes, roaming uselessly in their sockets against the better judgment that told her she could have closed them and found nothing different than had they remained open. A static rush pounded in her head, the frantic running of her own blood behind the membrane of her eardrum and the pressing silence of everything else providing a far-from-melodious soundtrack to her escape.
Though, it was hardly an escape, all things considered.
They decided they'd had enough of playing with her, those horrific things in white, and dumped her back into the hall beyond, leaving her to claw and scrape the length of the path on her own if she wished to find freedom. With every movement, the ill-placed joints of her body crackled and groaned, clashing together in ripples under her skin and drawing anguish from the magician's raw throat. The sound reverberated achingly in her ears, though as she drew closer and closer to the tunnel opening, over stairs and across more floor, pushing past whatever was blocking the way, the echo lessened, giving her the only signal she'd pulled herself from the depths of the demon's belly to emerge alive on the other side.
The first thing she noticed was cold.
It was cold cold cold, and quiet. In the distance, there was a vibration of sound, but nothing in her immediate area, wherever she was now. Without the darkness of the tunnels to mask things, the reality of her situation stared Trucy in the face. All around her was nothing but a storm, blurry and shredded at the edges, with no color or size or orientation. There was no 'up', no 'down', no relation but the smooth and cold feel of the floor under her cut fingers. She forced herself to try and stand, one side pressed heavily into the wall of whatever room she'd emerged into.
A tingling pain spread along her awkwardly bent shoulders as she did so, roaming down the jagged contours of her back and legs, the weak and slightly atrophied muscles still forming giving a burning protest to the action. She remained upright against the resistance of her body, loose fingers spidering along the wall slowly as she moved along, tensed and ever aware that despite her release, the house was not safe. All around was the stink of monster, of ghost, of danger. Of things unlike and different and wrong. She was alone and the house was not safe.
Alone. She didn't like the weight of that word, that pressing against her subconscious. Accustomed to it though she was, having been without contact from anything but a Phantasm in what had to have been forever, the word was bitter and nasty and left her feeling the pressure of isolation. Alone was sickness, was unhealth, was death. It was burnt and broken and left her longing for the taste of the cure.
Her jaw swiveled open, the bones grinding together and breath passing over the pointed tips of teeth forcing themselves from her gums, and from within came a quiet, desperate sound. It grew in pitch after a few moments, overflowing, as much a howl as it was a scream, demanding the fog beyond produce something more satisfying than the rush of vertigo and disorentation.
Help, help, help...