The Death Room
[Mello’s been making himself small for the past two months or so. He hasn’t seen many people he more or less recognizes, and wonders if they’re gone for good or if it was just a case of wrong place and time.
But that doesn’t matter because he’s hungry.
For a moment, he debates on wandering into the bar room, whether or not Near’s there (doubts it, though, Near’s usually there on Saturdays), he might locate a packet of blood. And he could always ask, but he hates being too dependent on others. So instead he aims for mindless wanderings, not caring that he looks almost like a corpse because, dear God, he hasn’t eaten in over a month.
As he goes, a room manages to catch his attention. He’s not sure why, because the bar isn’t even on this floor, but some part of him is curious to see whether or not this room is what he’s looking for. So, of course, he turns the knob and opens it.]
…a white room?
[And, of course, he has to enter. Something is compelling him to enter, and so he does. One step, then two, he goes. Finally, five in, he freezes.
The room has changed.
No longer is it walls of white, but a dark depressing laboratory of some sort. The place is brown and dark and there’s a small window at the top, showing it is night and there is the moon, full as ever and glowing and menacing. There are chains and blood stains everywhere, and it’s only by looking at his feet does he realize he’s been bound in some of those chains and leather bindings to a medical table. His jacket and shoes are gone, leaving only the vest and pants, and he realizes his left arm stings slightly and -sure enough - there’s some dried blood at the bend, as well as a healed syringe mark.]
…the hell?
[He doesn’t have time to wonder why, for some odd reason, the moon isn’t affecting him, because he hears a voice, undistinguishable, yell “KILL HIM!” and it’s all he can do not to scream because, standing before him, is a fucking werewolf.
A massive fucking werewolf.
Wait, what the hell, it didn’t even look like a werewolf, but for some odd reason his mind clicked on the fact that it was. It looked more of one of those ‘furry’ creatures Matt showed him at one point.
It was brownish-red in color, with one iris of a deranged teal and another of bloodthirsty scarlet, it’s muzzle was shorter than that any mutt he’s ever encountered, and its arms and legs are much too long and out of proportion.
The monster snarls and lunges.
And Mello wonders why the hell he’s too shocked to move or fight back.
It doesn’t take long. The brute knocks into him, raking claws and teeth over skin, ripping muscle and bone, and Jesus Christ it hurts.
But Mello does not scream.
He’s wearing a shell-shocked expression, mouth agape and panting, coughing up blood when those massive paws destroy his ribcage and lungs, and finally he flinches when that jaw encloses around his heart.]
Mha- please-
[The werewolf’s mouth clenches around his unbeating heart and yanks, pulling it clean from his chest along with blood and arteries and veins. The monster turns to him, eyes locking, and it seems to grin.
Then it bites down, and Mello’s heart is destroyed.
And a pile of ashes and faint fragments of bone is all that remains of the vampire.]
[ooc: As if this place needed more death, but here we go anyway. From the outside, the room looks plain and white and massive that lures you in by sending out mental waves of curiosity. However, the moment a character steps in, the scene changes to the setting of their death (or if it’s uncertain, it will turn completely black). If the character’s death has yet to be decided (or if certain future elements can change how they are destined to die), they are killed by a way they fear, or how they will die at the current point in time. Characters remain dead for twenty-five minutes, but while they are dead they can witness everything going on around them (even if they can’t respond). When the twenty-five minutes are up they’re free to get up and go, and the room will not affect them again.]
But that doesn’t matter because he’s hungry.
For a moment, he debates on wandering into the bar room, whether or not Near’s there (doubts it, though, Near’s usually there on Saturdays), he might locate a packet of blood. And he could always ask, but he hates being too dependent on others. So instead he aims for mindless wanderings, not caring that he looks almost like a corpse because, dear God, he hasn’t eaten in over a month.
As he goes, a room manages to catch his attention. He’s not sure why, because the bar isn’t even on this floor, but some part of him is curious to see whether or not this room is what he’s looking for. So, of course, he turns the knob and opens it.]
…a white room?
[And, of course, he has to enter. Something is compelling him to enter, and so he does. One step, then two, he goes. Finally, five in, he freezes.
The room has changed.
No longer is it walls of white, but a dark depressing laboratory of some sort. The place is brown and dark and there’s a small window at the top, showing it is night and there is the moon, full as ever and glowing and menacing. There are chains and blood stains everywhere, and it’s only by looking at his feet does he realize he’s been bound in some of those chains and leather bindings to a medical table. His jacket and shoes are gone, leaving only the vest and pants, and he realizes his left arm stings slightly and -sure enough - there’s some dried blood at the bend, as well as a healed syringe mark.]
…the hell?
[He doesn’t have time to wonder why, for some odd reason, the moon isn’t affecting him, because he hears a voice, undistinguishable, yell “KILL HIM!” and it’s all he can do not to scream because, standing before him, is a fucking werewolf.
A massive fucking werewolf.
Wait, what the hell, it didn’t even look like a werewolf, but for some odd reason his mind clicked on the fact that it was. It looked more of one of those ‘furry’ creatures Matt showed him at one point.
It was brownish-red in color, with one iris of a deranged teal and another of bloodthirsty scarlet, it’s muzzle was shorter than that any mutt he’s ever encountered, and its arms and legs are much too long and out of proportion.
The monster snarls and lunges.
And Mello wonders why the hell he’s too shocked to move or fight back.
It doesn’t take long. The brute knocks into him, raking claws and teeth over skin, ripping muscle and bone, and Jesus Christ it hurts.
But Mello does not scream.
He’s wearing a shell-shocked expression, mouth agape and panting, coughing up blood when those massive paws destroy his ribcage and lungs, and finally he flinches when that jaw encloses around his heart.]
Mha- please-
[The werewolf’s mouth clenches around his unbeating heart and yanks, pulling it clean from his chest along with blood and arteries and veins. The monster turns to him, eyes locking, and it seems to grin.
Then it bites down, and Mello’s heart is destroyed.
And a pile of ashes and faint fragments of bone is all that remains of the vampire.]
[ooc: As if this place needed more death, but here we go anyway. From the outside, the room looks plain and white and massive that lures you in by sending out mental waves of curiosity. However, the moment a character steps in, the scene changes to the setting of their death (or if it’s uncertain, it will turn completely black). If the character’s death has yet to be decided (or if certain future elements can change how they are destined to die), they are killed by a way they fear, or how they will die at the current point in time. Characters remain dead for twenty-five minutes, but while they are dead they can witness everything going on around them (even if they can’t respond). When the twenty-five minutes are up they’re free to get up and go, and the room will not affect them again.]