2019.01.04: Walking in Nightmares pt.1
| Walking in Nightmares pt. 1 | |
|---|---|
| Aleksandr takes Frost into the Dream to try to solve her nightmares. | |
| IC Date | Friday, January 4 |
| Players | Aleksandr ST, Frost |
| Location | Small Cabin, The Dream |
| Spheres | Garou Gaian |
Frost is in her living room, her current apartment that is, sitting at her table with piles of textbooks everywhere. For some students it might be the nightmare itself, but she seems to be enjoying herself for some reason. The spines are unreadable, as often happens in dreams words don't always make sense and that seems to carry over here. But there's lots of pictures, and she seems to get along with those just fine. Bubo is here too, sporting a pair of stylish halfmoon glasses perched on his beak and also appears to be enjoying a good read, turning a page with one clawed foot. She gets up from the table, heading over towards the fridge, opening the freezer to pull out some ice cream. The spoon is just suddenly there, and she doesn't question it, walking back to the table to open it up.
Pictures. Reminders of the past. And there on the table when she sits again is that crumpled, but still intact one of her family she just found, that she rescued from their old burning him. A happier time, certainly, but it likely often brings pain to Frost now, just as often as it makes her smile. It’s a small change in the dream, and easy on given the current setting. And small changes are what is needed to shape things so early. Aleksandr himself, is nowhere in the dream yet, at least, unseen perhaps clouded somewhere, though Frost might think she catches glimpse of a silver wolf at the edge of her peripherals, watching. Though a turn of the head that way and nothing is there.
Frost starts to take a bite of ice cream as she sits, but then notices the picture on the table. She puts the carton aside, and the ice cream starts to melt, quicker than it should until its gotten to that warm frothy stage that nobody likes. All in the time it takes her to pick up the picture, and then the carton itself seems to melt away as though it was never there to begin with. She reaches to run her fingers over the faces there gently; her mother, her father, but when she gets to the baby there seems to be something muddling his face as though the image didn't come out in the developing.
The ice cream drips out of the container and puddles on it, then starts to drip onto the floor. There is a distinct sound of it. Drip. Drip. Drip. Making a mess on the carpet that will be impossible to clean. There is simply a sense of a void in the room, sound, especially, save for that drip. The bay’s indistinct face changes into a form she recognizes. Not that of the bay it should, but of her grown brother, the one she knew, briefly, twisted and evil. The picture comes alive in its frame, as the man slashes claws on the end of his hand, slashing her mother’s throat and then her fathers as they face away, a spot of blood replacing them. Then those claws dig into the throat of frost in the picture, but it feels real, like it is tearing once again into her real throat. She can feel it, the pain of that night, the want to scream and suddenly no sound escaping, the thought of choking on her own blood.
Frost drops the picture, her hand going to her throat as she coughs, sending a splatter of the red liquid across the table and her books. Bubo screetches at her, flapping his wings as he heads off deeper into the apartment and vanishes out of sight. She stumbles back from the picture, the chair falling over behind her as she tries to put some distance between her and the creature coming out of the photo. Tripping a little her other hand tries to catch her on the wall, but comes away with splinters in it as the apartment wall fades into the rotten wood of the cabin. The structure stays the same at first, still her apartment but the materials change, and as she stumbles to the front door and jerks it open she finds herself running into the living room of her old home rather than the building hallway.
There’s no one home. No one here, only the empty home, the broken furniture and despair. Everything as she remembers it from a few nights ago, forced back into her nightmares. It has taken the right turn and the wrong turn, all at once. And there down the hall, the small hallway of the cabin leading to her room and her parents is the silver wolf. Regal and beautiful in this form, staring and waiting. A oppression against the darkness, as if it cannot touch him, as if there is bastion there. Like some sort of light surrounds him. She can breathe again, the wounds seem to fade as if never there. As if she is whole again, as she can speak, as she once spoke. But the rest of the cabin is still soaked in the darkness. The wolf doesn’t move though, as if rooted in that spot. And flames rise up around her, as they lick at the walls. Her legs feeling heavy now.
Frost stumbles a bit as she crosses the threshold and the doorway goes dark behind her, catching her foot on a bit of chair in her path. She ends up on her chest, coughing at the lingering taste in her mouth as she looks around the room. She shrinks back as she sees where she is now, her hands going around her knees in reflex as she shudders. The wolf gets a confused look, her head shaking as she calls out, "Mom? Dad?" not understanding why it is there and they are not; not right away at least. Then the fire starts and she scrambles to her feet, scratches on her hands and chin from her landing.
She calls out and she hears them long before she sees them. “Evie?” It’s here mom’s voice that comes first. “Evie is that you? Help!” Then she notices it, the door to their room is closed. The room and the door seem to be on fire. “Evie, please!” Her mom calls out, not unlike she did that day, though the words different. The wolf tries to step forward, but cannot, and then it starts to growl, hackles raised. Too late. Bursting through the wall is a figure Frost recognizes, even in her nightmares. One of the Black Spiral Dancer. It picks up the silver wolf and tears him in half, blood covering its black, malformed and distorted body. Then she can hear others behind her. The rest of the pack that slew her family, she would probably recognize each one, except their faces are blurry, indistinct, like the picture was at first. They growl, they speak in the Garou tongue, and none of it sounds pleasant. Still, Frost’s mother screams for help in hat burning room. The silver wolf’s broken body fades into a puff of wispy smoke. And Frost, she seems so tired, so weak.
Frost screams, the unfamiliar sound tearing its way from her throat as she sees the beauty of the wolf destroyed. She tries to lunge in his direction, stumbling as she does, her legs becoming less and less cooperative. She can't help but look behind her, as the sound of the pack grows, and still she tries to get to her feet and the hallway. Sobbing as she struggles, something that bleeds over into the real world as she thrashes in frustration. It grows worse, as though the dream itself starts to try and hold her down; bits of furniture are suddenly in her way, the rotten floor creaks and breaks under her feet, leaving her crawling as she tries to get to that door.
And Frost is alone now against the pack. Her parents still screaming, now joined by her brothers crying. She thinks she hears one of the Black Spirals say, “So pretty. What shall we do with her?” Another answers. “I have ideas.” Like suddenly the Garou tongue is understandable. The fire fades though, and so do the voices, but the cabin and the pack is still there. And her legs are still weak. This is a different nightmare altogether, and yet so familiar, so the same. One starts to creep her way, and now, she sees it, her mother and Father held by the other two, silent, claws to their throats. The aby boy, her little brother held by one of them, as if to abscond with him. The last reaches her, and lifts her up. Takes Frost in his strong arms, and like her brother did, licks her across the face, but it isn’t her brothers, it’s the only Garou with a face, the one that took her voice, but he hasn’t done so, not yet. She knows it’s coming though and she feels so helpless, so weak, so terrified. Adrenaline pumps through her, but she can’t move. Then a tiny voice in her ear whispers. She may not recognize it in the dream, but it’s Aleksandr’s. “Fight. Like you can.” And then it fades. She can see the terror on her parent’s face, the knowledge that their lives are over. Her mother looks at her sadly, tears streaming. The other wolf, the one with the baby, that Spiral turns to leave.
Frost kicks at him as he goes to pick her up, but her leg catches underneath a chunk of table making it a futile gesture. Even though she knows they're there, expects them to be, seeing her parents is still somehow jarring and the fear slowly turns to anger. She struggles as she's picked up, and as she's licked she audibly gags in response. The voice startles her slightly, and the dream seems to get a bit of a hiccup to it, wavering as her focus slips, but then she's twisting in the Garou's arms and while she may not have claws she seems quite determined to gouge out one of its eyes with her fingernails. "He's not yours, you can't have him!" yelling all the while she tries to tear at the soft, vulnerable spot on its face.
“Fuckin’ bitch.” Those are the words loosed from wolfish maw of the Crinos form as she gouges his eye and he drops her, blood streaming from it, blinded briefly. The other two do not hesitate and both her mother and father die before her. Heads fall to the ground along with lifeless bodies. The wolf with her brother disappears outside and seems to be gone. The two others block the path to the doorway and close in on her. Far more than a match for her. Certain death awaits, that is all. She is sure of it. But even then, howls or a howl arises in the distance. The call of war. It’s a momentary distraction as both the Spirals look back, away from Frost, to the door. Almost fearful. And then the howl approaches closer and closer. This might be her chance, but what can she do? The one behind her still struggles with it’s eye, but he starts to blink and rise from the knees he briefly feel too, looking to murder.
Frost stumbles as she's released, a few steps forward into the edge of the table so she can grab on and regain her balance. She looks ill as she sees the broken and bloody bodies of her parents fall, having to cling to the table harder than before to keep herself from collapsing, but then among the howls from outside comes the soft cry of her brother. She looks between the two that block the exit, frustration making her whimper rather than fear, although its certainly a backnote in her voice. A choice is made and she turns, heading for the living room window instead, and broken or not she's going through it.
Even in the dream that is so much more real that one might expect. The pain as the glass cuts and shreds her skin and clothes. Leaving her half naked and bleeding as she crashes onto the grass outside. The cuts sear at her skin, the pain very real, but her legs seem a bit stronger, emboldened by the leap. The Spiral’s inside are nowhere in sight, yet. But the one who is taking her brother, he is in the distance, moving quickly away, almost only a dot on the horizon, but there. Her brother’s cries calling out to her. Maybe she can save him, but the task seems so daunting and painful as she lays there bleeding. Then there is a wat nose touching her face. The silver wolf appears again, nudging her on. Trying to push her forward. Then it is running too, towards her brother, chasing after him.
The nudging of the nose makes her push herself to her knees, and she blinks back more tears as she sees him in one piece again. The first few steps she takes after him are stumbling, and uses a few pushes of her hands to get her upright but then she's doing her best to run after them both. Covered in blood, sweat and tears, she runs determined to take him back here as she did in the waking world. Another pack of Garou seems to burst from the trees behind them, but they do not pursue, instead decending upon the house that seems to crumble into the ground as it fades into the distance.
And the silver wolf disappears again, fading into a wisp as Frost takes up the chase. Her determination seems to be rewarded as she faces off against her fears and she closes the distance impossibly quickly, the Spiral with her brother coming closer and closer, faster than seems possible. His cries much closer, much louder, calling to her. So close now, it seems certain like she will catch them, that she does not see the pack of indistinct Spiral’s now harrying her from behind. But she can feel them, hear their footsteps pursuing her, feel their hot breath on her back. And she rounds a corner, and the Garou and baby disappear into a dark, deep cave, and into darkness. One that seems to be permeated with fear, maybe made of it.
Frost doesn't seem to realize she's making sound, or is so unused to it that she isn't making attempts to stop it. Continuing to run after them she tries to quicken her pace, the feeling of being followed so closely making her heart race and her breathing follow suit. The well of adrenaline follows as she breaks past the gaping maw of the cave entrance, for once not stumbling in her footing despite the now very unfamiliar terrain she finds herself in. "You give him back!" comes the raspy yell, as though even in her dream her body is protesting her speaking out loud.
The silver wolf appears again, trying to divert the Spirals’ that chase her. But he only manages to make one peel off and chase him, not all. And she races forward, into the inky darkness of the cave, of fear. It threatens to overwhelm her. It’s so oppressive and heavy. She realizes then, that she is alone, that she can’t see, and her brother is nowhere in sight, nor is that faceless one who took him. Then it happens, the rest of them descend upon her, encircle her, the one who’s eye she gouged, menacing and moving in on her, as the others tow keep her trapped, with nowhere to go. She was so close though, can it possibly end here? Huge arms reach out to grab her, and they toss her to the ground, growling, angry, and her voice gives out, no longer able to scream. Her vocal chords no longer working. She can’t scream, not that it would do her any good.
Frost feels a spurt of hope as the wolf shows himself again, and through the muddy dream quality she knows who he is this time, more than just an ally, and warmth grows in her heart. Then the darkness. And the confusion of finding nothing in front of her, no Spiral, no Brother. The rest of its pack showing back up again makes her hesitate, and then those arms come again. She feels the breath knocked out of her as she's thrown, and this time only silence comes when she opens her mouth. It brings back up a horrible sense of helplessness, unable to call out for help or to put to words her anger as she rolls over onto her back to face them.
She was close. The dream changed, she almost rescued her brother, maybe, somehow. Maybe her parents could have been saved, but the night mare changed. It wasn’t all helplessness. But it’s simply not that easy and all too often, the darkness wins. But there was hope, hope that is extinguished now. As the one who the eye that has now healed stands over Frost and then kneels down, that huge Crinos form reaching down to clasp around Frost’s neck and choke her, leaving her without air. His claws digging into her throat, the voice she regained lost again as he pierces his vocal chords. No ability to scream. Not unlike the first time. And then she dies, quickly, violently as the Spiral tears out her throat. Everything disappears.
Frost bolts upright in the bed, hands reaching to claw at arms that are no longer there. Her mouth is open in a scream, though no voice is heard this time, only a long wretched exhale of air. It goes on until there's no more breath inside her, and the sound of her dragging it back into her lungs follows next. Her eyes fill with tears as she looks around her; of sadness and frustration and a decent chunk of anger as well. Her fist doubles up and she punches it against the wood underneath her, brusing her knuckles badly before she wraps her arms around her knees, burying her face in the fur of the blanket.
