Don't Fuck with the Forest Spirits || OTA

[evulsed]

characters: Vanitas (evulsed) + OTA
location: mostly The Church, the Invincible + the Boathouse
date/time: July 19 and the days following
content: just waking-up-after-being-dismembered things
warnings: violence

Comments

[darkeyed]

<sub>[There's an upside and a downside to living like a restless spirit in this place; he gets to know the lay of the land in his wanderings, but he's also away from the square during Vanitas' initial return, too far to hear the screams, only returning in time to catch murmurs of "the church."

Again with the church. Everything comes back to the goddamn church, doesn't it? Their mystery friend who fled from the hatch is only lucky they haven't bumped into M.K. so far, as he'd be just as tempted to strangle them for putting them on this wild goose chase as anything.

The weather-beaten door creaks open to admit him. What fun and games are on the agenda today?]</sub>

[evulsed]

[ There are probably plenty of people that come in and out of the church. Vanitas doesn't spend his time here— he spends his time in the town, or in his room, or down along the coast looking out at the enigmatic shape of the lighthouse. But now, his nerves are so frayed that some part of him is too afraid to leave just yet. Self preservation, he wants to tell himself, as if by staying just a little longer with other people around it might stop what got him from banging down the door of the church and getting him again.

He knows for a fact where the other people are that spend their time in this church, so when the door opens again a shock of terror lances right through his body. Vanitas turn sharply toward the sound— but so do half a dozen Unversed.

Without waiting to see who or what it is, all six of them rush at the intruder, launching themselves through the air with claws extended to attack. ]

[darkeyed]

<sub>[It's so sudden he doesn't have time to make sense of what he's seeing--there are things in the shifting shadows created by the church's many flickering candles. Child-sized, but that's the closest resemblance to children the misshapen creatures have as they lunge like a pack of starving dogs.

His muscle memory doesn't need to know what he's seeing to tell apart an attack. He's too far in to turn back and use the door for cover; not enough time. He moves with the purest reflex, darting to the side instead, putting space between himself and the nearest of the pack. That's all he can think of them as--a pack. A swarm. Monsters. Spirits?]</sub>

What the hell are you?

_{[He should be afraid of monsters like any sensible person who only grew up with the human kind, but the twinge of it is drowned out by an indignant surprise. They're ugly. Much uglier than the spirits in the bar.]}