logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: WE ALL STILL DIE (PART TWO)

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: WE ALL STILL DIE (PART TWO)

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: june 16-18.
content: spirits are sacrificed, and revelry turns to catastrophe
warnings: gore, violence, psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.

this tree it will die without leaves

The music fades away as a soft-furred forest spirit with a powerful warble of a voice and the body of a large moth calls everyone to attention. The other spirits usher everyone, with masks on faces and instruments in hands, to gather up at the harbor.

For a spirit, the speaker is eloquent enough - it mimes and dances, peppering movements with melodic speech in the spirits' language, as it demonstrates the rising of the sun that might once have happened here. As it bows, three spirits walk forward and stand side by side. One is only a few feet high, lumpy and pale purplish, wearing a paper crown. The second is black and birdlike, with an elegant floral mask and a pink ribbon tacked to its chest. The third is vaguely human-shaped but for the long, thick hair (?) that cascades from its head and covers its face, and for the long, slender-fingered hands that rest tucked against its chest and sweep downward to its knees. These three are soon joined by spirits with long, scythe-like claws that stand at attention. The warbling moth spirit begins a chant, which the other spirits soon join in, and as the volume reaches a roar of demand and triumph and fervor, the three clawed spirits move quickly and precisely, slicing open the bellies of the three sacrificial volunteers. Their bodies shrink backward and begin to slowly dissipate as if melting, but buckets and bowls are quickly passed forward and much of the gore and meat is collected, and passed one by one through the crowd of spectators, spirit and Beaconite alike - and all are offered a share.

Many of you have eaten spirit flesh before, haven't you? Some have even done so recently. Surely, this is something you all want, isn't it? After a full year here, the spirits have learned so much about their current neighbors who gather around the fire. Some even offer the bowls while shrinking away in what might be fear, while others cackle and chirp and insist on sharing all this fresh food with their friends.

Meanwhile, the changes you may have begun to notice the day before manifest more strongly now. A hunger that won't abate for anything and anyone. A unique manic euphoria, difficult to diminish and hard, if not impossible, to shake that draws one into the music and demands everyone participate in the festivities. Lastly, a violent tenacity to lash out at anything that acts to get in the way of the celebration.

The compulsion starts as a gentle longing and escalates to an incapacitating urge to run without a care through the dark woods, to hunt, to forget all responsibilities. The spirits begin to dance and play their music in unison now, and they march south and east, away from the harbor and toward the village, and it is infectiously fun. In the distance, another band plays an enthralling tune which can just be heard through the miles of forest, and the spirits gather so that they - and you - may join them and bring everyone together to celebrate.

You will come along, won't you? You'll bring all your friends, too. For those who join in, the grandest celebration awaits over the next few days. You are free to pursue your instincts, to lash out, to consume. To dance until your feet are raw and madness overtakes you. To join the parade, and all it entails.

The few that did not partake in any of the festivities at all will find themselves clear of mind. They can do their best to try and keep those under the compulsion from falling to their instincts, though it could provoke violent, miserable results. Once the maddened party joins the parade, trying to pull them out would be incredibly ill-advised. The spirits in the parade and the characters under the influence of its thrall will not tolerate any interruption of the celebration. The parade will chase them down, slice them open, tear their flesh from their limbs. This is a party for light and life! Anyone not with the parade is against it. Death surely will suit them better instead.

ooc notes:

SPIRIT INTERACTIONS: As mentioned previously, anyone who posts top-levels under the SPIRITS header means you are open to spirits doing a bit of threadjacking. We will not be consistently maintaining long threads with spirits, but they will be able to come and go from threads between characters. Please bear in mind that serious injury or death is a potential result of these interactions and so posting a toplevel to this header means you accept this risk.

POTENTIAL DEATH: This event couldn't have come at a better time, as the death mechanic has thankfully been restored. If your character dies in this event, please report it here! And remember, as it was just restored, there might be a few quirks to the system...

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Attempting resistance: June 16

This isn't right.

It hits him abruptly as one song finishes, in the beat before the next one starts. A moment of abrupt clarity - his eyes widen and he stops in his tracks.

Where is he?

On the edge of town. There's the graveyard - he sees the gate and headstones out of the corner of his eye. Spirits hop along the fence, laughing, and then they all start up with their instruments again, a chaotic frenzy of melodies that eventually coalesce into some unknown tune.

Whatever brought this clarity, he can't stand out too obviously - that seems like a risk. Instead he keeps his head and watches - and at an opportune moment he grabs the arm of whoever is nearest and tugs them aside behind a dense patch of brush. With a snap of his fingers, the noise of the party cuts out abruptly, and he searches the face of whoever he's got.

"What's happening?"

One of them: June 17-18

Resistance didn't last long. Blood pounds in his ears as the music dominates all sense. Never has he felt so alive! Funny that it should take dying to realize that this is what he should have been doing all along. Why try so hard to save doomed people in a doomed, far-off world? He would much rather enjoy what he has here and now. Long limbs flail madly to the music, and he's covered in dirt and bits of trees from periodically falling, but he just doesn't care. Someone bumps into him and he laughs, takes them by the arm and goes to spin them in the dance. It's fun!

Maybe you try to pull away, though. His fingers tighten and he actually growls as he jerks you closer, suddenly staring you down, copper eyes just visible through the holes in his mask. "Where are you going?" he demands, the deep baritone of his voice rumbling in his chest at the question.

Or maybe you're off trying to hide and mistakenly move, revealing the light from your lantern for one horrible second. His dance partner is forgotten as he fixates on the movement like something predatory, then quickly stalks in your direction. He's awfully fast with those long legs, and you quickly realize - he makes no footsteps. When he shoves aside a branch, you don't even hear the snap. Will you continue to run, or will you fight back?

Wildcard

Have an idea? Throw 'em at me, or message me on plurk at

tinylongwing. As indicated here, Rosi will initially try to resist, but he's too involved and fails to break free - and he's not very happy about anyone who's not enjoying themselves.

EUPHORIA.

( she'd avoided the worst of the celebrating. Carmilla isn't really a celebrator. still, the mask making had been something to do. it made her think, rather wistfully, of a time she used to do such frivolous things, as make a pretty mask to swing around for hours at some luxurious ball. she ignored the burn at the edge of her subconscious, a deep set hunger in the pit of her stomach, and went back to haunting the Landmark as she usually did.

problem being, as much as she tried to ignore the festivities... somehow they start to creep up on her. a song floats through her head, enough that even someone as sour as she is finds herself humming it. the clawing at her gut gets worse, though the lilting lightness that spreads over her is more compelling.

Carmilla so rarely has opportunity to be happy. some part of her knows it is foreign, and yet she leans into it anyway. she ties the silly mask she made and heads toward the music. it might be at the landmark bar, or perhaps the nightclub. truthfully, it could be anywhere, even a place without music. she'll dance anyway. not feverishly, but distantly, lazily. playfully.

and when she spots someone she knows, or even someone she doesn't, she reaches out with both hands to draw them closer. ) Mmm, c'mon. You should dance with me. ( what can it hurt? she's probably just a little toasted, don't worry about it, just dance. )

HUNGER.

( it would have been better if she could have just clung to the euphoria.

instead, the hunger starts to spike. it's never a good thing for a vampire to be excessively hungry. Carmilla is a good 300+ now, she hasn't lost control to her hunger in awhile. safe to say, whatever is coursing through her now is stronger than years of carefully manufactured self control.

it drags her, kicking and screaming, out of the playful dancing and coquettish flirting. now she feels nothing but the hunger eating its way through her. and while there is rampant spirit consumption going on, her preferred snack doesn't fight its way back up after a few days.

some unfortunate soul gets too close, and she grapples to their arm with a painful vice. the mask is a little crooked on her pale face. )

I'm so hungry, ( she whispers, grip tightening. there's some battle inside of her, though it's quite distant and impossible to track through the mostly covered expression. still, maybe there's some other snack that can distract her? )

VIOLENCE.

( the euphoria passes, and so does the hunger. the stain of blood on her might indicate why. and from there, she's lost. whether she wants it or not, she is one with the dance. with the music. with the parade.

trying to stop her is quite ill advised. she's a great deal stronger than she looks, and insistent on stumbling toward the dance. still, if someone tries, she doesn't immediately lash out. ) Come with me, ( she invites instead, a catlike smile pulling across her face as she tries to drag her unfortunate company along with her. ) We could dance forever.

WILDCARD.
( none of these work? have a different idea? wildcard me, or chat with me via pm or

meowed for a personalized starter! )

[ these types of celebrations aren't all that unusual to megara. it's actually the first time since she's arrived that she's felt sort of comfortable in her surroundings, or at least not in any immediate danger. a mask is even crafted, though she perches it on top of her hair instead of wearing it properly.

carmilla approaches her on her way back to the landmark, which actually isn't all that unusual either. they both live there, for one, and they'd worked together reinforcing the support before the flood and even explored the orphanage together. none of that makes them especially close, but they're...friendly, that's a good enough word for it. what is unusual is her movement and the fact that she's asking her to dance this far out from where the celebration is still happening. ]

You're asking a little late, aren't you?

[Ardyn falls quickly to the madness. The hunger and the violent urges are all too intense and most of the man is lost to the Starscourge.

Throughout the forest and the town he hunts, not as the Chancellor but as a vast, dark, limitless hunger.

Shadows swirl around him and only the vaguest outline of a human figure remains. He leaps from tree to tree, building to building, searching for prey that can he devour, whose essence he can add to his own power. Or maybe he can create more daemons...

All he knows is he's a disease and like any disease he needs to spread.]

((ooc: Ardyn plotting post))

WELL I'M LOOKING ON THE BRIGHT SIDE NOW, TRYING TO FIGURE OUT SOMEHOW

[ the sacrifice is something unexpected, and ordinarily elektra might take it as a cue to stop celebrating and leave, especially when the corpses are divided up and offered around to those who have been participating. having already experienced the unfortunate side effects of consuming spirit flesh, she waves off the spirit and turns to the person beside her, oddly blasé over what they've just witnessed. ]

Well, that was gratuitous. Let's get back to the party, hm?

[ it's bizarre even if you don't know her well, and even stranger if you do, because while elektra's sense of humor skews towards sardonic and she doesn't hesitate to use violence when necessary, she doesn't exactly take joy in the slaughter of innocents, even spirits. she'll take the wrist of whoever's nearby, trying to pull them back to the dance floor, an oddly manic grin curving her lips. ]

JESUS CHRIST YOU'RE SO DAMN COLD, DON'T YOU KNOW YOU'VE LOST CONTROL?

[ even without partaking in the offered spirit meat, elektra's finding herself eager to keep participating in the celebrations long past the point where she should have tired and gone home to rest. blisters have long since started forming on her feet, beginning to ooze blood from wounds that aren't given a chance to heal, and dirt and strands of tangled hair stick to her face with sweat. her mask hangs askew, dark eyes glaring intensely at those who try to leave. ]

What are you doing? Get back.

[ attempts at getting her to leave will be met with violence, shoves and slaps that eventually escalate to punches, kicks, and clawing as she's met with more resistance. blood eventually marks her skin; whether it's her own or someone else's is difficult to determine.

at some points in the night she seems to snap out of it, going completely still and looking around at fear. the moments never last long and get fewer and father between, but she appears lucid enough to try to sneak to the edges at those times, panic edging into her expression and physicality even as she continues to try to blend in.

it's probably best to catch her in one of those moments, if you're trying to get her to stop. ]

FORGET ABOUT THE THINGS YOU THINK I KNOW

[ if you'd like to do something outside of what i've outlined, would like your own starter, or have your own idea, i can be reached on plurk at vdova, or you can post your own thing and i'll roll with it. elektra will not be seriously harming anyone unless i get permission and i'm not looking to have her kill anyone outside of spirits. her plotting comment is here; she's going to attempt resisting as she starts to realize what's happening but eventually succumb as she was forcefed spirits while kidnapped. ]

Edited 2020-06-22 21:22 (UTC)

[The expression he wears as she calls out him is a cold one, slightly distant - but all is hidden behind his own mask, now scratched and darkened with mud and the blood of spirits who tried to pick a fight the first time he tried to pull away. They lost, but the smell of blood and the rush of violence drew him back anyway.

Now he's caught in a state between panic, of wanting to escape and never finding a moment to do so; and being swept along with the euphoric tide of celebration when it overcomes him. He tenses, and quickly comes up with an excuse.]

Saw someone run off that way earlier. I'm going out to drag them back.

[His voice comes low and gravelly - rough from yelling and singing along without stopping for water. He needs to get away, to fix this, and as he takes another step back he pleads inside his head that she'll accept the lie and let him go.]

[ she stares for a moment or two, trying to see past the mask and read his body language to see if what he's saying can be trusted. somewhere in the part of her mind that's still rational says that he's been honest since they've known each other, but that doesn't necessarily equate to trust. ]

I'll come with you. Two's better than one, isn't it?

[No. Definitely not better. Not for his purposes anyway - normally he'd gladly agree that two people are better than one when venturing off into the forest, but normally they're not all suffering from delusions of becoming voracious denizens of this world's darkness. He shifts his weight, then glances over his shoulder as if worried he's losing track of someone.]

No. I have this. I'll get them back myself.

[Maybe if he just leaves right now, just turns and strides off into the woods, she'll accept and leave him be in favor of staying to dance. Worth trying, as he does just that.]

[ if these were normal circumstances, she'd probably let that go, but something about the tone and his denial has her that much more suspicious. a memory sticks out in her mind, when they'd explored the landmark's sudden darkness and he'd let her go with him without question. why wouldn't he want backup for somewhere that much more dangerous?

he turns to retreat for the woods and she follows a few steps before reaching out and grabbing his wrist, planting her feet. ]

Ah-

[The gasp of surprise is quickly cut off as he wheels and whips his arm, trying to throw her sideways to the ground and use the angle she's balanced at against her. He has a lot of weight and speed behind his movement, more than she might have anticipated - for although he's clumsy at moments, he knows how to fight.

It's a reaction he regrets already, but he's just not feeling like thinking ahead today.]

I said leave me alone.

[ elektra stumbles a little, but catches herself before she falls, straightening and stepping back from where his arm would have struck, just barely. she immediately lunges toward him when she regains her balance, aiming to take his legs out from underneath him. ]

No you didn't. And there's no one out there.

[He does not have the patience for someone who's going to take his exact words so literally, but it isn't like that matters - any chance of debate is clearly over now. She's faster than he is, and the strike at his legs topples him, sending him crashing down onto the forest floor. He's still plenty quick though and rolls away before she can follow up, then stands and rips the branch off a nearby tree to extend his own formidably-long reach and swings it at her like a club.]

Back off, or I'll smash that mask right into your skull!

Yeah, they was dancin' and singin' and movin' to the groove

This is bad, this is...this is exactly the sort of situation where in the confusion the Doctor or Anji would haul him away, direct him to either stop this or confront those who are encouraging it to happen. But now Fitz is mostly on his own, with his own choices and foibles and a tacky garden centre mask, and a spirit is shoving a bowl into his hands with a nervous, questioning coo and Christ. He's eaten weirder, more alien things, yeah? No, this is worse, this is grotesque, this is...

...exactly what the gnawing in his gut has been craving, apparently, as he shovels some of the contents from the bowl to his mouth before passing it back to the spirit. Cultural immersion, Sam had been on about that, and when in Rome has long been his philosophy so this is fine, this is good. He'll laugh off any odd looks from his fellow Beaconites, give a twirl, and pick his guitar up.

"C'mon!" he calls as he strums, the notes a little discordant. "We've all needed a party, yeah? Get on with it!"

Lay down the boogie and play that funky music til... (cw: some reckless self-harm)

Eventually even Fitz's long-maintained callouses can't hold up to the constant beating and there's blood on the makeshift guitar strings. One snaps, and he curses.

"Stupid fucking piece of-" It's a snarl, and he nearly takes his sudden fury out on the instrument but somehow saves himself from smashing it to bits. No, no, a craftsman never blames his tools so he improvises, finds a stick to beat on the hubcap to create a metallic clang.

Maybe it's not musical, but it is loud.

( friendly. friendly-ish. considering Carmilla is a huge brat most of the time, being friendly-ish is still some kind of accomplishment. that said, she doesn't seem anything less than delighted to spot Meg now, simpering close and reaching for her arms, fingers traveling down to find her hands, and trying to entice her closer. )

I do things on my own time, ( Carmilla promises in a her signature drawl. if Meg doesn't beat her away, Carmilla will wind arms around her waist and try to pull her into the steps. ) You don't need to hear the music, you just gotta feel it. Don't you feel it?

( Carmilla is clearly feeling something, as she can find a tempo out of thin air and follows it surprisingly well. the music in her head doesn't seem to be particularly faced paced. )

( Matthew has been doing all he can to keep a (metaphorical) eye on Elektra. problem is, she's not the only one that has been slowly losing their grip after the disturbingly bloody showing by the spirits. the worry he'd been feeling before is edging into downright panic. the last he saw of her, she had seemed a little distant, and a lot callous, but nothing like this.

much like the time she'd been racked with hallucinations, Matt isn't sure he can get through to her. but he doesn't have it in him not to try.

Elektra doesn't even seem to know he exists when he catches her by the elbow. the angry rebuke about letting her go and leaving her be hopefully confirms that she doesn't realize who is approaching her just yet. Matt doesn't want to think about what might happen if the afflicted lose all sense of themselves in the siren song of the parade. )

It's me, sweetheart. Let's get out of here. I'm tired. ( he is, bone tired. that's not really why he wants to go, but, Matt hopes that transferring the onus to him will leave her more willing to bend. usually he doesn't attempt to manipulate Elektra, mostly because it never seems to work. but for once, it seems like the best call. )

[ matthew has, fortunately, caught her on the fringes of one of the moments where she's started realizing something is very, very wrong. the grab of her elbow and the calm, measured tone he uses to speak to her in spite of the worry creeping in at the edges is enough for her stop dancing, even as her body keeps swaying in tune to the music. ]

I don't want to go. [ but it's distant, as if she's still in a trance, and even as she speaks them she doesn't really feel them. she starts to become aware of things as they become clearer - the pain in her feet, the blood and dirt streaking her clothes, the pained expression in those still dancing. she looks at the area they've wound up and realizes she has no idea how they got there, and her breathing and heart beat start to increase in speed as she tries to contain her own panic. ]

Matthew, where are we?

Edited 2020-06-29 02:23 (UTC)

[ she dodges, lunging to grab her own weapon from the nearest spot on the ground. it's thicker and heavier than she'd usually prefer for fighting, but beggars can't be choosers and if he's willing to fight dirty, so is she. ]

Try it and I'll cut your legs off at the knees.

[ meg is a little taken aback by the sudden closeness, enough to not protest it or pull away, mostly just wondering why she's doing what she's doing. based on what she knows about the girl she's not all that shy about affection, but there's something off about how she's speaking and the way she's moving. ]

Yeah, you struck me as that kind of girl. [ the kind who plays by her own rules, that is. ] Did you happen to have a little of whatever the spirits were offering us?

( she doesn't pull away, and yet somehow he can tell half of her is still with the music. still in the trance that is so desperately calling to her. a song he can't here, and a beat he can't follow. still, she doesn't shirk off the touch, even finds a way to focus herself past the noise and really hear him.

Matt is far from an optimist but he feels a half heartbeat more hopeful that maybe he can pull her out of this, that she manages to answer at all. )

I know, Elektra. Do it for me. Please. ( while she's not like to fold on her own accord, she has shown herself all too willing to bend for him when he needs it. when he asks. he hopes it's still enough of a pull, now. speaking of pulls, he tries to draw her closer, as if proximity and slow steps away from the madness might help her snap free of its control. )

A bit off from the hotel. ( the parade has been wandering awhile, winding through Beacon like a snake and dragging up new members with every stop. still, they're close enough to relative safety that he hopes he can get them both there and shut the door until whatever this is ends. )

[ it doesn't take much convincing, in spite of still being partially under the influence of the music and spirits. enough so that she can't remember what lead her there and doesn't recognize anything around her, except the man trying to get her to leave. he pulls her closer and she clutches tight to him, a slight tremble in her that she doesn't know to will out. she can only remember bits and pieces of the night, none of which account for the dirt and blood streaking her skin and clothes or the wounds on her feet.

how long has she been out here? what has she done? ]

I don't remember getting here. [ but he can tell her. he was with her all along, wasn't he? and however he'd reacted to what she's capable of in the past, he's been her anchor, especially in this place. he'd come to find her when she was taken, he'd killed for her when he'd refused to kill anything. he can get them out, tell her what she can't recall.

there's movement out of the corner of her eye that stands out from the rest of the crowd's dancing, and she can feel eyes on the two of them. she draws closer and her voice drops slightly as she suppresses the slight shakiness back into swaying to the rhythm, her hand tightening around his as she tries to get him to move with her. ]

They don't want us to leave.

Edited (i got new icons c:) 2020-07-01 15:46 (UTC)

With a stick? Love to see you try. Calm.

[Though that last word might sound like it was directed at her, he taps his free hand to his chest as he says it and instantly stops making sound. There's no crunch of twigs under his feet. No whistle of wind as he snaps the makeshift bat through the air toward her chest, quick and heavy, looking to break a rib or a collarbone. Sure, she can still see him, it's not like it's a perfect advantage, but he knows from experience how disorienting his enemies often find it when they lose all the sound cues they're expecting to hear - including the crack of their own broken bones.]

[ bold of him to assume that's all she's got on her. although he's right, she's not going to be able to do much cutting up with an oversized branch. no need for her to reveal what else she's got just yet, though; she'll have to see what she's up against first. they've spent enough time together for her to know how he moves. he's still off balance enough for her to use, but clearly too quick for her to rely on that, and now there's this new factor of absolute silence to deal with.

he swings at her chest and she dodges just in time for it to avoid hitting her there, though it does end up striking her in the side of her abdomen, surely hard enough to bruise. she yelps and there's no sound, no sound from anywhere. it's disorienting, but maybe she can use it. she tries swinging at his kneecaps with the branch - it's not quite cutting, but its something. ]

[If he was thinking in terms of pure practical deadliness, he'd break out a gun himself. But the urge that takes him is not to make a quick, clean kill but to destroy with bludgeoning and brutality. Less finesse, more raw destruction.

So he doesn't even really try to dodge as he charges forward, trying to rush her despite any damage he might take in the process. The branch crashes harder than expected against his knee - she's strong, which he knows, but it's still a shock - and he's thrown off-course, staggering sideways into a trunk. He can feel the trunk crack and shudder slightly under his weight, although of course it does so noiselessly.

He uses it as a sort of backboard to shove off of, as he comes at her once again, this time swinging the club downward like an axe at her head, ignoring the pain in his leg as he moves. There's no time to look at that right now. He's still standing and that's good enough.]

[ she brings her arms up to block the blow, which ends up cracking the stick she's been using in half and bending her wrist with just enough force to sprain it. she shouts in pain (or tries to, she can feel the force of the scream as it leaves her throat but still can't hear anything) and lunges out of the way, pain shooting through her wrist again as she uses her hands to brace her fall.

with her good hand, she reaches into a pocket and pulls out a butterfly knife - it's not her sai, but it travels easier for times such as this, when she wouldn't expect to need those. ]

( yes, the way she's acting is ... pretty weird. Carmilla is more often detached and standoffish than anything else. she has had no time or interest to be particularly flirty or forward these days. and beyond that, it seems to take an eternity for her to process anything Meg is saying.

she tilts her head at the question as she tries to remember what that even means. her thoughts are so scattered, so far away — all she feels is the music, the celebration. what the spirits offered seems so immaterial and unimportant compared to the delightful thrall of the parade. the cat mask she's wearing makes it especially more uncanny, as the gesture is distinctly cat-like. )

The flesh chunks? No. ( Meg can't see the nose wrinkle, but it is under the mask somewhere. ) I just feel so good. Don't you feel good? Don't you want to feel good? ( it's whispered like a promise, like if Megara only agrees she'll bring her there. like feeling good was a switch and Carmilla could just reach over and flick it on. )

[Well, that thing's pretty, isn't it? It glints brightly in the light of their lanterns and even though it's small, he knows better than to underestimate what someone can do with a tool like that, especially when they're trained to use it well.

He staggers to a stop when he sees it, tumbling backward into the twigs on the ground that again fail to crack audibly under his weight, and for a second he's caught between lunging at her again, because knife be damned, he wants to beat her head in - or backing away, which is what he ultimately chooses as he scrambles back onto his feet, now wielding the branch defensively in case she seizes the fall as an opportunity.

This isn't right, why are they fighting? What the hell is going on? He shakes his head and taps his chest, and when he takes another step backward the leaves crackle under his heel.]

Hey. Put it down.

[It's as much a request as it is a warning, because he shifts the branch to his left hand while his right lowers to the holster at his hip. Brings to mind the usual cliche, he realizes - she brought a knife, and he could make this a gun fight, but he really doesn't want to. This is fucked up and he just wants to leave.]

[ the crack of the branches break through the trance, enough that elektra halts in her tracks in the middle of stalking towards him, blade out and aimed towards him. her heartbeat pounds in her ears as she tries to catch her breath, tries to sort out her thoughts - there's still a significant part of her that wants to lunge at him and make good on her threat before she cuts him to ribbons, but the part of her that's still herself is starting to grow louder as she starts to regain control, to remember who she's fighting and realize she can't remember why it started.

she closes the knife up, but keeps it in hand. just in case. ]

Why did we start this?

[ look, she's from anicent greece, she's not exactly a prude about uninhibited affection from strangers, but there's something distinctly off about how she's behaving. she's noticed it among other citizens of beacon, the loose, dangerously carefree way they're moving and how they never seem to tire in spite of showing clear signs of exhaustion. carmilla looks a little less like she's sleepwalking than most, but her delayed response to meg's question is more telling than anything else that something's very, very off. ]

Sure, I'd like to feel good, but I'd probably feel better with an hour or two of sleep. [ she winds a hand behind her back to catch carmilla's wrist and tries to untangle herself, hand still carefully holding on as she steps away. ] Let's get back to the hotel; you've got a room there, right?

[Fuzzily, he knows why. He remembers what happened, he knows they've been affected somehow - the music, the dance, the masks, the food? - and he knows he can't fight it for too much longer. Part of him still itches to crash this branch through her skull but instead he recoils from his own thoughts and drops it as he staggers backward.

He needs to get out of here before he hurts her, or before she catches him with that knife.]

Dunno. But we shouldn't continue. I don't want to hurt you.

It's something to do with that celebration. The masks, or the... ( he doesn't really want to put words to it, but he can still smell the rancid copper of blood and flesh that had been passed around like hors d'oeuvres, even though that was a good day ago. he knows Elektra didn't consume any after the spirit display, but that doesn't mean she's safe from whatever is happening.

because she'd been forced to consume it before. Matt hates the implication of that, that there's something inside her now that can pull her away from him, no matter how much either of them try to fight it. but feeding into that panic won't help either of them now. he'll worry about it later. he'll worry about it when she's safe.

she's not the only one aware of attention in their direction. his fingers tense, slightly, as he pays in mind just how close the celebration seems to be getting. and despite everything, despite the bruises on bare feet and blood in the air, Elektra still falls into step with music that neither of them can hope to shut out. even as she holds him closer and whispers in his ear, a part of her is still with the celebration. )

They'll forget us once we're gone. We just have to leave before they catch up. ( Matt has no idea what might happen when they do. he doesn't want to find out, either. ) Who cares what they want. It's what you want, sweetheart.

[ being forcefed spirit flesh and the side effects that had come from it aren't something she's ever likely to forget, but it's not until he brings up (or fails to bring up) the idea that consuming it, even well before it had been offered, is behind her being so lost to him and the rest of the world that it strikes her that this is what's responsible. her panic increases to full fledged as her trembling hand grips his tighter, tight enough that it must be painful. this is exactly what she'd feared when she'd seen the green glow in her reflection, when she'd gotten sick. she doesn't know what's happening exactly, all she knows is she can't trust her own mind anymore.

her eyes start brimming with fearful tears, and she doesn't feel safe speaking out loud with so much attention on them. she nods against his throat instead, knowing he'll feel it, trusting that he can get her away.

he's done it before, multiple times, and she's done it for him. even if he doesn't remember all of those instances, this is nothing they can't handle. ]

[ she's not going to be able to fight it off, either. the fact that she hasn't put the knife away speaks to that, and she knows just how easy it would be to unsheathe it and stick it somewhere vital or painful and there's still a voice in her head telling her she should, that he'd do it without questioning. but then there's visible evidence that he is, and it's enough to make her step back a few feet herself, though she still clutches it tightly, if only because having something to hold onto is helping her stay in the moment. ]

I don't, either. [ to hurt him or have her hurt him, and the throbbing of her wrist suddenly has her full attention. she looks up at him, remembering suddenly - ] Your knee - can you walk?

Yeah. Think so.

[He tests it to be sure by putting his weight on it and shit that hurts worse than he expected, yielding a hiss through his teeth at the resulting pain. But he gives it a second try, more slowly, and he can at least stand on it.]

Enough to get away from all this.

[Which he needs to act on fast. The pain brings clarity, and he steps back again, half worried that if he instead turns his back and walks off quickly she might relapse and sink that blade into his back. But the faster he gets out of here the less likely he'll be lured back in by that music himself, he suspects. No time to waste.]

You should too.

( that's probably a mix of vampirism granted endurance and just being so lazy that she had to be well rested before this talking. still, nobody can party forever, not even a three hundred year old vampire. she's showing some bodily signs of weariness, the sluggish way she moves and responds, the delays between listening and responding.

Carmilla doesn't fight Megara trying to unwind herself, though there's something about her lazy posture that changes. from accommodating and inviting to tense and petulant. )

I don't want to go back there. What are we going to do, lay in the dark and think about how everyone's dead and we're likely next? I don't want to think about that.

( there's something embedded in that, the implication she has been doing that up until this point. the anger cuts through her tone like a whip, sudden and unexpected. but it delays back just as easily, as Carmilla tugs at the hand where they're still connected, trying to lure Megara back. )

Stay with me. Dance with me.

Good.

[ the pain's helping her own voice grow stronger, override the parade's effects on her mind. that's what had started this, wasn't it? they don't want anyone to leave the celebration.

he brings up that she should leave, and she knows he's right. but it's not just her that she has to worry about. ]

I'm not here alone. I need to find him first.

[ matthew had coasting by on the bare minimum of participation before. if this is how she'd reacted to rosi trying to leave, she's terrified of what someone might try doing to him. ]

[ all right, there's definitely something deeper there that meg's not really equipped to deal with at the moment, for a myriad of reasons. but she still wants to help. the girl clearly needs it, and not just in this situation. ]

Okay, so we don't have to sleep. There's a bar there, right? I could go for a drink instead, what about you?

[ she couldn't. but it seems like a better alternative to dancing, if only because she's not the only one who seems to have a vested interest in keeping the citizens there and participating in that, and they all seem to have that faraway look in their eyes. ]

Edited 2020-07-09 23:52 (UTC)

[That's good, she has a distraction.

In another situation, he might be more concerned for her, and for Matt who he knows is the "him". Right now, he just wants out before he's called back by the music, before he turns on her or anyone else. He nods as he continues to back away, staggering a little thanks to his wounded knee.]

Good luck. I hope you both make it out.

[He's far enough now, it's probably safe - so finally he turns to see where he's going, and holds his lantern out to make his way out through the woods, to envelop himself in silence and hope he's broken the spell of the march.]

( it does hurt, a little. Matthew has never been particularly afraid of a little pain. bruises, the tense ache in his bones, he's always seen physical pain as a quiet reminder that he's alive. his relationship with Elektra has always come marked with a little pain, though never more than the other could tolerate. it was a part of them, just the same as the catty banter and occasional whining. with anyone else, it might feel a little wrong.

with them, for better or worse, it's always felt like they understood each other. even the ugly, vicious parts.

she clings to him with a trust he can't find. Matt is far from confident they can get out of this. he's scared of what will happen if he tries to take her, and yet he can't risk what might happen if he doesn't. she's already shaking with exhaustion, hurt by... he doesn't even know, exactly, to be honest. he can't leave her here, and he isn't sure they're safe to leave.

it's a fools errand, a fight he's destined to lose. but he's fought those before and made it out on one piece, somehow. maybe there's a chance that can happen here, too.

he holds her with one arm, catching her hand in his and falling into halfhearted steps. not with the parade, slowly swanning away from it. maybe they won't notice them pulling apart if they follow the intention of the parade itself. he rubs her back, gingerly, trying to keep her calm even as they two step out of here... hopefully. )

( usually, a drink is a great distraction for Carmilla. drinking happens to be a hobby of hers, and not just because she's on a liquid diet. alcohol is great, and she's a fan. but right now, it's not really appealing. well... a drink of alcohol isn't appealing. something about a drink does seem to register, but Carmilla is not falling in step with the well meaning grecian babe to head for the bar.

a black-tinged fingertip reaches out to trail Megara's throat, cat mask tilting as eyes hidden behind the mark focus there. ) A drink? ( she repeats, her voice heady and breathy all at once. her mask distinctly does not cover her mouth, so the way her tongue darts across her lower lip is extremely obvious. )

You don't really want that. It'll hurt. It'll hurt, and you'll hate me after. ( now that Megara mentions it, she is hungry. to the point it hurts. it's not the only hurt she's nursing — her feet, her body, her heart, her everything. dancing had dulled it, and now it's fettering back to the surface. maybe she needs to feed, maybe that's the problem. she barely feeds in Beacon, and most of the time it doesn't bother her. she doesn't need blood as often as humans need food.

right about now, though, her lack of consistent diet is probably a problem. )

[ she'd expected rejection, or maybe more attempts to lure her back to the parade, but definitely not the fingertip trailing down her throat, a nail carving deep enough into her skin that it's just shy of painful. there's something pointed about the contact, setting off enough alarms for megara to try unwinding carmilla's arm from around her waist, hopefully without calling attention to the fact that she's trying to get away. ]

What, you're worried about a hangover? [ it's spoke way bolder than she actually feels. she's got the feeling that the woman isn't going to take her trying to get away too well. ]

( Carmilla hates being a vampire. any joy and excitement in her undeath died a good few centuries ago. she hates that deep dark inside of her, there's parasitic hunger that truthfully can never be completely silenced. she's gained a lot of self control in her centuries, enough that she hasn't been blind to hunger and attacked someone on accident in a good hundred years. that time after being freed from internment had been pretty ugly, but that was awhile ago.

she'll be annoyed that the parade managed to get under her skin, into her head, enough that she turns into the part of herself she's much happier to suppress. the kind that will take what she wants from girls that don't have any way of fighting back. the ugly little monster that will hurt people the way she was hurt, just so she's not the only one hurting anymore. maybe something even worse, the monster that will take as she likes without a second thought to whether it makes someone else suffer or not. she laughs, though at what Megara said or just some distant demon in her head, hard to say. )

You were going to hate me anyway, weren't you? ( humans despised vampires, it was just their nature. it's fine, she gets it — she hates herself more than any human could. if the conclusion is unavoidable, then truly what is the point of starving and suffering? she should feed, feel full for once. take and thrive instead of hide and heel.

so she does. she sinks fangs into the lovely line of Megara's neck, absolutely thoughtless to how it will hurt her. the vangs are wickedly sharp, made for exactly this. it's quite an unusual sensation, the bright mark of pain and then the pull of blood seeping away. Carmilla expects a fight, and holds tight to prevent it. it's easier without the struggle, the chance of tearing or worse. )

What -

[ meg doesn't have time to get the question out before carmilla's fangs sink deep into her throat, and it's too much of a shock for her to react the way she knows she should right away. it's painful but there's something strangely alluring about it. pleasure isn't really the word but she feels almost giddy as her blood gets drained, and carmilla seems much calmer and less eager to fight.

it doesn't last long. carmilla's arms holding her tighter are the thing to snap her out of it, and the other woman is stronger but megara is far from weak. she manages to jerk her arm loose and shove her back, and she shouts in pain as her fangs tear away.

a hand is clasped to her throat and blood streams from the wound, staining and sticking her palm and the space between her fingers. she pants wildly to catch her breath and stares at carmilla in shock and fear. and some anger. ]

What the hell was that?!

( something about the odd wooziness, the sharp and sudden absence of blood does almost feel nice. or lightheaded in the way a rollercoaster can send a thrill of the unknown to a brain that couldn't quite comprehend what was really happening.

she is stronger, and probably could prevent Megara from pulling free if she wanted. or had her normal reaction speed, instead of the sluggish state she's currently in. she could hold on and leech every last drop of her, leaving nothing left but the pretty husk of her body. and god, it's tempting. what's really there to stop her? why does she keep fighting it? isn't this what she really is, the ugly truth she tries to avoid?

instead, Megara pulls free and pushes back, tearing away and leaving far more of a hole in her neck than there would have been if Carmilla pulled back on her own. she instantly misses the heat and the taste, though she'd been greedy enough that the blood drips from her mouth without the barrier of skin and her lips sealed to Megara's neck to keep it contained. she sighs, wiping at her mouth and sucking at the fingers like her fingers are stained with chocolate sauce, and not someone else's blood. )

A drink. ( she laughs, at a joke that's not funny, that's not even there. ) Just go. Or I'll do it again. ( she sounds distantly like she doesn't want to this time, for what it counts... like a voice in a storm, drowned out by the noise. then again, she's still licking her fingers like a kitten that got into the cream, so... it can't be that convincing. )

[ her actions certainly aren't, but meg can pick up on the tone of her voice, as distant as it is. that and how she'd been acting before is more telling than her biting into her throat, but it's a little hard to reconcile the two when she's still bleeding.

she tells her to go and, with lack of any clue of what else to do and no desire to get bitten again, she just nods, looking her over a final time before she starts running to the landmark as fast as she can. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT LOG: WE ALL STILL DIE (PART TWO)

SPIRITS

Rosinante | OTA

no subject

euphoric hunger

Ardyn Izunia | OTA

elektra natchios | OTA

lost control

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Fitz Kreiner | OTA

no subject

LOST CONTROL

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

you're a monster wtf at that icon

oh there is SO much more where that came from

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

https://media.tenor.com/images/2c128f38c572917d8781e587f6aa2dce/tenor.gif

im dying at that screenshot

it's good for so many occasions

TW: VAMPIRISM, BLOOD

TW: VAMPIRISM, BLOOD, DISNEY CHARACTERS SWEARING

no subject

no subject