[Dream] Week 14, Day 1, midnight | Victorious Cupid
It’s familiar for a moment, a hill with a single cross and a stark tree perched as if in warning. But … something is missing you realize with a frown as you approach; it’s quiet, it’s…
Ah. There’s no boy crying at his father’s grave.
It’s snowing, but it’s not unlike being caught inside the apex of a snowglobe, and eye in a storm.
You smile as you brush a bit of the snow off the gravestone; there’s no name, no date, no need.
“Good evening, Allen Walker. ♥”
You tense - it’s fear, dread, but mostly it’s something raw and tight in your throat that makes you grit your teeth. But you keep your shoulders steady, refuse to turn around. “Good evening, Earl.” Light tone, deceiving so, the kind to go with a polite smile over a cup of tea. “It’s been a while.”
“Nostalgic, isn’t it? ♥”
“Quite.” Now you can smile, a little more easily. “This isn’t a place for you anymore. You can’t hurt me here.”
“No. ♥” You can feel a grin from the creature so wide it’s a maw even if you can’t see it. “But I don’t need to. ♥
“You do it yourself very well indeed. Brother.”
Should have seen it coming, should have known, but personal revulsion is set aside as you brace and turn -
Too late.
Strangely, you only feel a little nostalgic to look down and see the broadsword coming through your chest now, but there’s no blood - just black blade, white cross. Burns perpendicular against the other scar there that aches again.
Huh. Again.
You’d feel stupid except you’re just tired; knees buckle for a moment and you sag, gagging. Breath is hot in your ear for a moment as he leans close, forcing you to still stand with the blade piercing your chest
“I have some friends for you. Your beloved akuma. ♥”
A twist. Coughing as liquid fills your lungs.
“Or have you forgotten them? ♥”
Move, why can’t you move.
“Forgotten your love? ♥”
A hand reaches around and covers your eyes; gouges at the left. You bite your lip so hard to keep silent, can’t taste the blood as your mouth is already full of it.
“Your eyes of hatred, let me see them. ♥”
And he pulls the sword free.
You fight it, but your visions fades and, knees buckling, you fall.
Killed, crossed, half dead, in love.
Rushing lights. Grinning skulls. Shackled sorrow. Emaciated ghosts of souls long corrupted begging, always begging, always crying and wanting to be loved. Reaching out in the dark, reaching to kill, twist, beg, hurt, revenge, cry for understanding.
There’s a familiar shifting sensation in your left eye, a clarity and focus, and intense sorrow both your own and not, and the dark is alit with their suffering. It’s the oldest familiarity you know, screams and cries and haunted specters in the night, chained to machines of war and writhing, glowing in violet rage and sadness and trudging played puppets of destruction. Toys of the devil.
Eyes in the dark always watching, but you're always looking back.
(Stop him. Stop this thing.) You can see me, right? You can hear me, right? Even though I’ve turned into this form-
PLEASE LOVE ME. PLEASE LOVE ME. You exist for our sake, don’t you?
It’s déjà vu and the word falls from your lips with a relieved smile; this as much you know.
“Yes.”
The thing that my heart was longing for helplessly all this time… was the akuma.
I’m no longer human. I’m an Exorcist.
So please let me return to the battlefield. To the---
But the strange peace you feel, the relief of knowing this constant dance, this much you can do - your throat goes dry for a moment as the whirling and howling around you coalesces. Merges and joins but becomes corrupt, the suffering expanding and then collapsing rapidly into a single, small nova of a million Damned hearts crying - and you're crying as well, just staring as tears well in response.
Bile rises in your throat and you stagger, pressing wrist to mouth to fight the sensation. It's horrible, but so sad.
But it has a form now, one beyond the howling maelstrom floating and chained above it. Smiling visage, pot-bellied and ball-jointed bastardization of an infant angel. It cocks its head at you for a moment, curious, before smiling.
Giggles.
Crouches in front of you and smiles sweetly, goggling with lifeless eyes as it chews on an index finger.
“I want to play.”
But you barely hear it, falling to your knees and retching.
He splays the wicked.
Spill love. Love. Kill us with love.
“Need a hand?”
Confused and prostrate, you blink for a moment, surprisingly (why surprisingly?) lucid as you realize there’s a white glove in front of you, blending into a world of white and black around you. “Ah - thank you,” you reply automatically, taking the hand. He pulls you to your feet, but as you regain your footing your mouth runs dry, grip on his hand going limp.
“Allen, you needn’t look like that.” He’s smiling, congenial, but letting your hand go to tuck his hands back into the pockets of his trench coat; skin tinted light gray, scars from a crown of thorns adorning his forehead. “It’s just a dream.”
You dust your hand off a little harshly against your thigh, frowning. “I’m not so sure about that. Not with you.”
“So distrusting.” He seems at ease and slightly amused, tilting his head a bit. “But the audience is ready and the band’s about to play. It’s time for you to put on a show, isn’t it? The two puppets of destruction.”
No comprehension but yes, not trusting. “What?”
He looks sympathetic. “Don’t worry, it’s not so bad.
“After all, every puppet needs his puppetmaster.”
And he smiles like it’s a wonderful thing indeed - then pushes you suddenly.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be a grand show.”
Gasping as wind whistles in your ears like a scream, falling back into darkness, you grasp for the only light you see, the leering moon overhead always watching -
But like that light, you fade.
And if we die like this right now I'd say that I'm not running.
And if we die like this right now, god save the heart.
And if we die like this right now, I'd say that I'm not loving.
And if we die like this right now...
[Allen’s eyes snap open and he sits up in a cold sweat, glancing about wildly for a moment - but there’s nothing. Just the dark of his bedroom. Except he can still hear the whistling from that dream -
No. Not his dream. The Hitomi?]
-!
[Alarmed, he picks it up suddenly and fiddles for a moment. Why was it doing that-?]
[Abruptly, though, it goes silent and he just... looks at it with a bit of a sour expression. The heck.]
[Timothy is fast asleep, and he actually doesn’t see the dream as it happens. But his own dreams of growing up to be over seven feet tall and have everyone look up to him (literally) are interrupted by the sound of the whistling coming from the Hitomi. It’s annoying, and he rolls over to kick sleepily at Allen. When he speaks, it’s obvious that he’s only half-awake, if that.]
Turn it off, ‘s loud…
[hng, kicked by sleepy little snot. Actually, it doesn't seem to be that uncommon of an occurence... He nudges Timothy (not unkindly, but...yes.).]
Don't kick people! It already stopped.
[But he stops suddenly as well, going quiet and his expression dropping. From the dark there's a faint sound - a light, tittering giggle. A child wanting to play that just found its toys.]
It still-
[But he stops mid-sentence as he hears the laugh. That sound didn’t come from the Hitomi.]
....Allen?
[Dre is sleeping soundly until some shrill shrieking noise pierces his ear like the reverberating squeak of steel]
Nngh…w-what the…?
[He shifts, fumbles a little, then wakes, rubbing at his eyes before covering his ears]
Ow, geez! What is-
[He stops when he sees the other people awake]
….Mr. Allen? [The words are too soft to really be heard, muted by shock and confusion.]
[There's no time to explain, because even if he can't see it yet for some reason he can sense it, and despite there not being akuma in Kannagara, how could there be,Allen isn't going to question it, and he whirls in panic towards the two of them, white tendrils of Crown Clown already wrapping around his shoulders.]
Get down-!
[There's a whirring sound like a machine gun warming up, and then an explosion of purple and gunfire.
The transmission ends.]
[ooc: It’s implied anyone who sees even lower level akuma souls other than Allen finds it like hell on earth. Allen’s used to it. Allen reacting badly/nauseus to the sight of one when he’s used to it.. Yes. We apologize for sudden urges most people might have to vomit at experiencing similar. Even he did in canon. :|
Also, he's probably not going to be replying for a long time. Kinda distracted for... almost this entire "week." |D; Audio emergencies that he can do with his earpiece, probably.
Also, we'll be action threading the rest of this in the open log o/]