cherry valley forever
Doug Jones
Noah Kahan
romaâ
titsay
untitled
ojovivo
Product Placement
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
todays bird
Misplaced Lens Cap
⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
oozey mess
sheepfilms
ellievsbear
tannertan36
@theartofmadeline
seen from Germany
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
@convict-transmissions
>>CONNECTING...
>>CONNECTION TO [AT-5 SHIP-1] FAILED
>>SIGNAL LOCATED
>>CONNECTING...
>>CONNECTED.
...Hello? Can anyone hear me?
Is there anyone out there, please! Are... are you real?
Please... I... I don't wanna be down here anymore, I...
I just wanna live.
#TRANSMISSION RECEIVED - Anon asks
#BLOODY ECHOES - Other Simon blogs
#THROUGH THE VOID - MarkCU blogs
#FULL OF GRACE - PHM Blogs
#IT SPEAKS - Eel/Blood Ocean blogs
#LIGHTBRINGER - @/l1l-l1ght
(vv Mod talk please read!!!!! vv)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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OOC:
Sorry for the slow posts/replies everyone, there's a heatwave where I live and I don't do well with heat so I've been a little sick the past few days, I hope to pick up the pace again once the weather cools down some!
Heatwave came back... đ
Yeahhh it's currently almost 100 degrees F where I live, which might not seem like much to some but is throwing-up-and-migraines weather for me... so replies are delayed again, sorry people đ
(New thread bc the other was getting laggy lol)
[Aster sighs, like they'd expected this.]
I'm not planning to kill you, if that's what you're thinking. I just-
[They mutter something in a foreign tongue, although it sounds like it's probably a curse.]
I've been alone for millennia. Hearing your voice is one thing, but it...would be nice to actually see you.
You don't have to say yes. But...think about it. Please.
( @4d-4str4 )
(CONT. FROM)
[Simon mumbles something that sounds vaguely like 'millennia?', frowning and repeating the word to himself, like it's taking him a second to remember what it means. He doesn't even address Aster's reassurance - how would they kill something that's already dead, anyway? - but the last part is what gets him. 'Think about it', like Simon has time to sit and wait for his sluggish brain to make a decision. Like he's ever thought about anything in his life. Even being down here was a spur-of-the-moment agreement to the deal. They'd offered him freedom and he'd barely listened to the terms before saying yes. What's one more deal with the Devil?]
Please.
[He whispers before he can think better of it, his chest aching with something more than just broken ribs. He's still so tired. Tired, tired, tired. How long has it been? How many days, weeks, years since he saw another face that wasn't fleshy and distorted and empty?]
...Alright.
[That's the only warning given before a burst of light illuminates the sub. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving a figure standing in its place. Their black hair flows in waves just below their shoulders, and their blue eyes glint in the dim light of the ship. Patches of their skin are oddly dark, dusted with what looks like...stars? It looks like the night sky brushed over their fair complexion, remnants of itself lingering on their skin.]
[Their lip curls as they glance down, seeing the blood on the floor. However, their disgust dissipates as they catch sight of Simon. A faint smile ghosts their features.]
Hello, Simon.
[Simon's breath hitches at the flash of light - it's over so fast, he barely has time for that bone-deep dread to settle in, but it's still startling - scrambling back from it as much as he can when every muscle protests the movement. He ends up with his ass back on the floor and his spine slamming against the console behind him, blood splattered up his already-messy forearms from his frantic movement backwards, and his head thunks gently against the metal at his back as he looks up at Aster, his lips parting slightly in shock, and his glazed, hysterical eyes wide with fear.] Uh.
[Aster's brow furrows as their gaze trails over Simon. They probably should've given him some warning, in hindsight.]
Forgive me, I didn't mean to- There's no need to be scared, really.
[They spare a glance at themself, at their not-quite-human appearance. Their next words could almost be a joke, if it weren't for the concern lacing them.]
Is my figure that unsettling? This is the most human I could look, Simon.
[His wide-eyed look loses a little of its instinctual, blind terror as he takes Aster in, but still he just stares, words failing him. How the fuck did his brain conjure something like this? Their skin is painted with stars, for fuck's sake. He barely remembers what those look like, blurry memories of the weak, flickering lights winking out one by one that punctuated his childhood, nothing but hazy, fleeting images as an adult. The fear in his gaze slowly drains, replaced by pure shock, his thoughts still buffering like an ancient machine.]
I...
[Aster frowns, taking a small step closer. Had they broken him? Surely not...right?]
Are...you alright? Don't tell me this form is still too eldritch for you to comprehend.
[They grimace, taking in the cramped sub.]
Mi asrynix...How long have you been in this...what's the word...shit-hole?
[Simon twitches as the step forward - not quite a flinch, just a little jolt, a tensing of his muscles that's there and gone again as his eyes lock onto Aster's instead of the starry patches of skin. They asked a question, right, he can do that, he can answer questions, except... how long has it been? His oxygen's still on one light, but he knows it's been more than thirty minutes.]
I- I don't- don' know...
[He answers through a dry throat, his eyes glazing over a little as his gaze wanders again and catches on the scribbles that were once a map, still taped to the wall. No, he couldn't do all that in thirty minutes, it has to have been longer, surely. He doesn't know why the oxygen would still be on one if it's been longer, though. He's probably already suffocated, and this is just his brain's last hoorah before he dies. He's probably already dead, and this is just Hell. Maybe he died on Filament, and this is his punishment. Maybe he was born in sin, and the world above the ocean was just purgatory, before judgement was cast. He doesn't know anymore.]
Forever. C'ple hours. Dunno...
Of course you don't know...
[Aster pinches the bridge of their nose, muttering something about mortals and their terrible sense of time. Like theirs is any better. They follow Simon's gaze to the makeshift map on the wall, their head tilting, though they don't comment on it.]
Well, we can probably rule out "forever" as one of the options. Forgive my assumption, but I believe I'm much older than you are, and I certainly haven't been around forever.
[Simon feels a spark of anger in his ribs at Aster's muttering, but he's too tired for it to catch and turn into a flame, smothered by the heavy haze that crowds in around him. It would be disconcerting, if he was coherent enough to care - anger has always come easily to him, before - but he just grunts instead of arguing, even though he's not sure he believes Aster, the blurry, scribbled lines of the map dancing in his vision. Oh. Is the room spinning again? He can't tell.]
Mn. M'kay. Not f'rever, then. Years? I... it's... it all... blurs t'gether.
...I understand the feeling.
[Aster paces in a small circle, their gaze flitting over the console, the camera, the map, before landing back on Simon.]
Why are you down here in the first place? To map out the ocean? Surely your kind isn't dull enough to send one person alone - you're fragile little beings.
[They falter, realizing how that might come across.]
No offense, I mean. We can't all be immortal, can we?
[Simon lets out a little noise that sounds almost like a hoarse huff of a laugh, tired and bitter, but it quickly turns into a cough and he hisses in pain instead, bringing his legs back up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.]
If dull's what y'wanna call it, sure.
[He mutters, eyes catching on the slight glint of the pendant hanging from his wrist, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares at it.]
Think they jus' wanted me t'suffer.
[His voice drops a little, once again mumbling to himself more than Aster, his tone shifting like he's imitating someone.]
'S'just some pictures, Convict. Don' be a pussy, Convict. Jus' a sample, an' then you're free...' tch.
Convict...?
[That's the word that manages to catch Aster's attention, somehow. They could guess it wasn't just some normal nickname.]
You're...You weren't free?
[Much to their own surprise, a hint of pity seeps into their tone. The concern, they expected, but to feel pity on someone they hardly knew? A voice echoes in their mind, a wisp of a memory. You're getting soft, Aster. Why do you give a damn about them?]
[They try to push that thought to the back of their mind. Now isn't the time.]
What, y'think I chose t'be down here?
[Simon growls, but there isn't much heat behind it.]
I... yeah, okay, I took th'fuckin' deal. Din't tell me there'd be fuckin'-
[His voice cracks wetly, and he stops, his head hanging low. He's vaguely aware that he's not making much sense, but he's so lightheaded he feels sick, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees It looking back at him on the red of his eyelids.]
I didn't know I'd... I-I jus'... they didn't ev'n tell me 'bout the camera... I-I didn't know!
[The camera? What camera? What about it???]
[Despite the questions swirling through Aster's thoughts, they ignore them. Gingerly, they kneel on the floor near Simon - not right next to him, they have a feeling that wouldn't be the best choice. Blood seeps into their pants, staining the fabric, but they pay it no mind.]
Hey...just take a deep breath, alright? It'll...
[It'll what? Be okay? They can't promise that, not to a man submerged in a blood ocean. They trail off, refraining from saying something that might make the situation worse.]
[His breath hitches as Aster moves, seemingly just an instinctual reaction to them getting closer more than any real fear, and against his will, he tries to do as he's told, only for the breath to crackle wetly in his lungs and trigger another round of hacking coughs, his ribs screaming in pain.]
Guhh.
[He lets out a ragged, grunting sound of pain when it's over, his teeth freshly stained with blood that dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and he returns to his shallow, panting breaths, glaring angrily at the floor. The pain in his chest makes the whispering kick up a notch, enough that he can start to decipher words, little taunts that make him jerk his head away from the direction of them harshly - not that it does anything. He might be hearing it in his left ear, but they're in his brain, claws digging little grooves in the gray matter, scraping away at his thoughts. He disregards the being- hallucination- whatever in front of him for a moment, mumbling to himself like that'll make them go away.]
S-Stop it. What? N-No, no- shuddup.
[His quiet mumbles bring a slight furrow to Aster's brow, their lips twitching into a frown.]
[Gods, are all humans in this realm this messed up?]
Simon? Are you alright...?
[When that doesn't get them a response, they make what is perhaps their riskiest decision yet. Ever so slowly, knowing this may end badly, they reach out, their fingers brushing Simon's knee.]
[Simon shows no sign of having heard them, but he definitely notices when their hand makes contact, because he makes a noise like a cross between a yelp and a grunt, and flinches backwards only to slam his shoulders back into the console close behind him, his leg instinctively kicking out, missing Aster by a hair's breadth. His head snaps back to face them, making eye contact again, his pupils visibly mismatched in size even as his eyes widen with fear, but at least the muttering in his left ear eases off again, replaced by the sound of his own heartbeat and his harsh, shallow breathing. He's visibly startled, yes, but he looks more present again, at least, even if it's made him more terrified as he comes to terms with the fact that Aster touched him. None of the other hallucinations have been tangible.] I-I- you- I- th'fuck...
[Aster tenses, immediately drawing their hand back with what sounded like a muttered curse, despite it not being any English one Simon knew of.]
Sorry, I- Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.
[They seem to debate what to do next, their eyes flitting over Simon's form.]
I understand you don't believe me...you probably don't even think I'm real...but I want to help you, Simon. If you'll let me. I- No one deserves a fate like this.
[He shudders at their words, pulling his leg back towards himself, and shakes his head slowly, his bloodstained mouth twisting into a grimace.]
Can't, th'won't- It's not g'nna let go.
[He sounds resigned, tired, like he wants to hope, but it's just a statement of fact that he's repeating, told to him over and over again until he believes it mindlessly. It Saw him, there's no going back from that, he knows. He knows it like he knows the ache in his bones is fatal, like he knows he's running on borrowed time.]
It...?
[Aster frowns, a thousand questions rising in their mind. What is it? What does he mean it 'won't let go'? Only one manages to make it out of them.]
Who? Who are you referring to, Simon? The "eel"? Or...something else?
[They didn't know if the answer they'd get would be coherent, but one could hope.]
[...Right?]
[Simon makes a small, broken noise, like a sob, and curls a little tighter into himself.]
I-I don't- I- It- It's... everything. [His voice shifts, just barely, almost imperceptible. He still sounds tired and upset, but slowly his tone becomes calmer, and then almost airy, awed. His eyes are cast low, staring at the floor, but they glint red in the meagre light, dull and distant.] I-It Sees... It thinks, and we are... It's the answer.
It's the...
[Aster stares at Simon for what feels like an eternity, their mind racing, trying to decipher what he meant. Until abruptly, they stand, pacing the short length of the sub with more than a few muttered curses.]
I- mi asrynix...If It knows-
[They groan, bracing a hand against the wall above the camera. Their voice is barely a whisper when they speak next.]
I must leave. It cannot know I was here.
[They spare a glance over their shoulder at Simon, something unreadable crossing their expression.]
Come with me. Please. I'm not sure what It's caused you to believe, but...It's not the answer, Simon. It never was.
[Simon doesn't flinch this time at their abrupt movements, his mind visibly somewhere else, that distant, foggy place he keeps disappearing into when he thinks too hard. He murmurs quietly, too quiet to be understood, and the blood moves outside, ever-shifting currents that would be keeping him on edge if he could hear them. He hums vaguely at the sound of his own name, and his hands twitch slightly, making the raw skin of his forearms look like it's slowly shifting, but that's about it in terms of actual acknowledgement, the rest of his words seemingly aimed at himself more than anything.]
Knows, Sees, It knows... I know... It Sees, n'we are... behind me, She's... I know, I know...
Lirythos aidonast vin...
[Aster's gaze lingers on Simon for a heartbeat, two, three. A small part of them considers leaving him there - he's probably too far gone anyways. But does he deserve this?]
...I'm sorry, Simon.
[With a flick of their hand, the ground jolts beneath them, and the pair are plunged into a void.]
[The darkness lasts for a second and an eternity before it fades, and senses slowly return. The two are on a circular platform, patterns and scripts carved into the cold stone. Trees surround them, branches reaching for the glittering night sky. A warm glow lights the clearing they're in, a small cottage sitting a short ways away. Two things are evident: it's more peaceful than the SM-13, and it's nowhere Simon's been before.]
[Simon goes from zero to a hundred in that moment in the void - even if he were more aware of himself, he doubts he'd be embarrassed at the way he cries out, a hoarse almost-scream, because frankly he's been through a lot of insane shit in the past few hours-days-weeks and being teleported by some kind of star-being-thing is pretty high on said list of insane shit. He keeps screaming for however long it takes for his surroundings to solidify around him, and then he stops with a round of hacking coughs and quick, terrified breathing. There are trees, he notices first, surrounding him, their leaves whispering and their branches casting shadows that reach out to him and yes he's the Butcher, yes he's a soldier, yes he's a grown man, but he's never been more terrified of the shadows before, shadows cast by trees. Trees, as in multiple, as in a Grove - and suddenly, in Simon's dazed and wrecked and ruined mind, there comes the sudden, searingly bright feeling that he's being judged. His prayers are well-worn, instinctual, but he slurs through the words anyway, his head ringing and his throat ripped to further shreds by his screams.]
P-Please, please oh F-Father please, M-Mater nostra quae n't-terra es, ben'dicta sit putredo t-tua...
[...Well that certainly didn't go as they'd hoped.]
Simon? Simon!
[Aster kneels beside him, hands hovering as their mind makes a futile attempt to think of anything that could help.]
[Sedate him, a small part of them chimes. Maybe being unconscious will let things sort themselves out.]
[Despite knowing how this ended last time, they rest their hands on his shoulders in a desperate attempt to get Simon to focus on them.]
Simon? I need you to calm down, alright? Just look at me, please.
I wanna live-! [Simon pleads, visceral and quiet and strained, flinching at the touch but without the energy or care to pull away from it, his eyes wide and scared as he stares at Aster. There's a wetness welling up in his eyes, the liquid tinted red like blood but unmistakably tears, and he looks far younger than a rough, ragged man of his years and sins should be able to, the Butcher faced with what he sees as Judgement at his End, and still begging for his life.]
[this is @lil4c-dot-mp3 , the old thread was getting kinda long so I hope this is ok?]
Hey, woah there, buddy. Youâre okay, youâre gonna be just fine.
*The voice rolls you back onto your side. Your vision is too messed up to see them very well, but with your eyes open you can see that the voice and touch do have a body to go with them.*
Alright, I have to do some things thatâll hurt for a second, but then when Iâm done youâll feel better. But I want you to stay still, alright?
(CONT. FROM)
[The only thought Simon can form for a moment is 'fuck, everything hurts', and he can hear words buzzing in his ears, but he can't decipher the meaning behind them. Someone's still touching him, rolling him over, more hands sticking to the tacky blood that coats his body and peeling away with a sensation that makes him shudder, and the touch burns, even gentle as it is. He can hear that the someone is saying something - or is it still in his head? Can he even tell the difference? - but still the voice is muffled, and all he processes is 'hurt' and 'stay still', words that even with his brain being mush - slightly less so, now, somehow, but still mush - he registers as bad.] Plea- ghhk, please- [His almost instinctual begging starts up again, hindered by his hoarse throat, and he almost chokes on the words, stretching an arm out past the pain to claw at the floor of the sub, or ocean, or wherever he is, eyes screwing up in pain as he tries to squint past the blurriness. Fuck, he wants to live. He doesn't want to hurt anymore, but without the screaming voices in his head, somehow, he finds he still wants to live.]
*The ground is neither metal nor congealed blood, but something crumbly, almost like dirt. There's springy bits sprouting up, almost like some kind of dry plant life, if that were still possible. The stranger speaks again.*
I know, I know. Shh....
*Their hand rubs up and down your back at some attempt to soothe as they begin the painful work of putting you back together. Your bones shift to knit themselves back together. There's a burning in your veins, in your lungs, in your skin, as somehow the worst of the radiation is being drained from your body, drawn up into their hand, and your half-decayed organs begin to reconstruct themselves. You hear the stranger is speaking, distantly, but you can't understand what they're saying, and barely register that it's their voice at all. It hurts.*
*Like your journey here, the ordeal seemed longer than it was. The stranger takes their hand off of you. You're still sore all over, but maybe it hurts less. Your skin doesn't quite burn. Your head might be clearer if you weren't somehow so much more tired than you were before, and a little nauseous from it all. At least, you know for certain now that breathing is miles easier. The stranger sighs.*
Okay, I'm done now. You did a good job.
Ngh- fuck-
[Simon's hand hits something that feels like dirt, and immediately his mind conjures images of the Last Tree, as he'd seen it before Filament, barely clinging on to its few remaining leaves. His logical brain immediately rejects the idea, but the blindly hopeful, delirious part of him wonders if he'd blacked out, if he was home, being soothed as he breathed his last in the roots of Eden's most sacred idol. For a moment, he lets himself hope that the faint voice is one of his Brothers, sending him off with soft words, but then he revolts against that comfort. They'd betrayed him. He knew he would never return to the Tree when he surrendered, and he knows that's still true. But everything hurts, and Brother or not, he can't move more than letting out a few choked groans of pain and weak twitching, so he lets the voice drone on, lets his blurry, unseeing eyes slip closed. It burns. Everything aches. Time slides away from him, unimportant, and when the pain starts to ease, Simon just assumes that's him finally dying, and all he can do is sob pathetically about it. He's so tired.]
Ple-hease...
I know. I know. Youâre okay now, shh.
*The stranger begins to run their hand over your sticky hair, almost like a parent, as you sob.*
I know youâre tired. You can sleep, youâll be okay.
*The pain lessens, slowly. The rushing sound begins to seem more like the rustling of leaves from far, far back in your memory.*
[If this is what his brain chooses to give him in his last moments, he'll take it, but it's a cruel, cruel hallucination. He can hear leaves shifting in the false wind of the ventilation system, can practically feel his mother's hand in his hair. The voice tells him he can sleep, and he wants to, but still something stubbornly clings onto awareness, still refusing to give up, to fall asleep for what he's sure will be his last time. He's so tired, and still he suffers. He wants to let go so badly, but his hand still digs into the dirt like he's trying to pull himself out of his own grave, a sacrificial lamb that refuses to die. But he can't fight the exhaustion that tugs at his limbs, and he ends up just making nonsensical noises of protest as the darkness crowds in, like a physical weight around him.]
Mng- plea- hngk...
Shhh, thatâs it. Youâre okay. Youâre okay.
*The stranger continues like this until the exhaustion finally drowns you, and then even for a few minutes after you fall still and silent.*
*In the midst of your rest, you sometimes feel these half-dreamt sensations: something cool on your face, quiet voices whispering, something soft against your body. You canât seem to wake up to meet any of them, and instead sink deeper into your sleep.*
*When you do awake, you know before you open your eyes that you are in a different place than when you fell asleep. Youâre somewhere comfortable. Opening your eyes, you see that youâre in a bed with a white duvet. The air in the room is cool, but the sheets are warm from you lying in them. Your body is still sore, but managably so. You feel clean, the blood is gone. Youâre wearing different clothes.*
*The lights in the room are dim. It doesnât look like any room on a space station youâve seen before. The walls are gray, but not metal. Venetian blinds cover a glowing window, through the cracks of those blinds is where most of the light in the room is coming from. Next to the bed, on your right side, is a small table where your knife sheath sits next to a lamp and a picture of a baby you donât recognize. The right hand wall has two wooden doors. Thereâs a cabinet with some kind of device on top of it in front of the bed.*
*Itâs quiet.*
[Simon stares at the ceiling of the room he wakes up in for a long time, his brain numb with disbelief. The idea of still being alive is so foreign to him that he doesn't dare consider it as a possibility, but he doesn't know how else he'd be able to open his eyes and not see the inside of the sub right now, so he simply doesn't think on it, instead letting his mind wander to less important things. He dwells on foggy memories from before he woke, distant, dreamlike sensations, and lets his eyes trace the lines of light coming through the blinds. His throat is dry and sore, but not so much that he wants to cough again, and nothing is uncomfortable enough to make him want to move, so he doesn't. The only thing he can properly process is the now-familiar whispers in his ears, so quiet he can barely even hear them, but there all the same, and weirdly, it's the only thing that keeps him grounded, the only thing that still makes sense. Maybe his surroundings are just a trick dreamed up by the Eel or the Light for some convoluted plan that he can't fathom, but he finds himself not really caring about that possibility. He'll let it trick him, if that's the case. Anything's better than the sub.]
*Youâre not sure how long you lay there before someone knocks on the door. Whatever you do, they take as an invitation inside.*
*The door opens slowly, and you see the intruder by degrees: first an eye, then a face, then a body. Itâs Lilac, who you havenât really seen since the submarine. She stands just far enough inside the door to shut it behind her. Sheâs holding a cup in one of her hands. She speaks quietly, and somewhat nervously, like she expects you to be angry with her for what she did.*
Hi⌠do you want some water?
[He doesn't respond to the knock, but when the door opens, he lets his eyes lazily trail across the ceiling, staring at Lilac with that same blank, empty look from the submarine. His eyes still glint reddish despite their dark brown hue, but he doesn't look angry, or upset. He doesn't look much of anything, because he doesn't feel much of anything, just that dull ache in his chest. It's not real, he reminds himself faintly. It's not real. But he can pretend. He nods in reply, barely a twitch of his head, the movement jerky and small like he's not fully in control of his own body.]
*Lilac walks to you and hands you the cup, still nervous. Itâs filled up a little less than halfway.*
I can get more if you want more, weâre not, like, rationing or anything, my mom just didnât want you to drink a whole lot at once in case you, uh, felt sick or something.
*The water is cold and it tastes weird.*
How⌠how much do you, uh, remember?
[To take the water, Simon first has to sit up, and it takes him a long minute to remember how all his muscles work, and he only just about manages it, feeling like every part of him that makes him Simon is about three steps to the left of his actual body. Hazard of being dead or hallucinating, he supposes, his thoughts sluggish and hazy, and it's only once he's been staring at the cup of water for a few seconds that he realises that he's been asked a question.]
Ev'rythin'.
[He mumbles, his voice still sore and hoarse, dry from disuse. He doesn't drink the water, though, just kind of watches it, faintly wondering when it will turn red and thick. It's not quite a lie - he remembers quite a lot, too well, chaos and Knowledge and big teeth and bigger Eyes sharp and painful in his memory - but the inbetweens are foggier than he'd like. He figures it doesn't matter much, though, considering none of this is real.]
*Lilac looks a little more guilty when you say that. She wasnât sure what she hoped your answer would be to that, in all honesty.*
Iâm sorry. I kidnapped you.
You... huh?
[Simon blinks, and his eyes burn from staring at the water, so he closes them and lets his head hang a little. What does the Eel want him to say? How is he supposed to respond to that? Those thoughts feel a little too dangerous, so Simon decides he doesn't care.]
Okay.
[He mutters dully, forcing his eyes open again as red dances on the back of his eyelids, making a little spike of adrenaline run through him.]
*The full acceptance seems to surprise Lilac. She really thought you would be more upset, more scared. She isnât stupid, she can guess that your dazed demeanor isnât good, but she doesnât know what to do about it, so she just decides to keep talking and hope something brought you the rest of the way to reality on your own.*
âŚUh, okay.
Youâve been out for, like, a day and a half, which is pretty normal. Not a whole lot happened here, I mean I was busy with researchâ
*A thought comes to her mind.*
âWait, how do you feel? Does anything hurt? I can get you ibuprofen or something.
Okay.
[He says again, a little quieter. The cup of water is cool against his fingers. This hallucination, false reality, whatever it is, is weird, but he knows without a doubt that all the things that happened in that sub - the radiation alone was lethal. He knows that. It was probably more than those on Filament got dosed with, even, by the end, you don't just bounce back from that - and really, the Eel needs to get a grip, because how is he supposed to believe it when it starts spouting made-up words.]
Hn. No.
[He grunts, instead of "what the fuck is Ibuprofen", and his fingers twitch seemingly involuntarily around the cup. He still hasn't drank from it - drinking the blood is bad, he thinks, or maybe Knows, he's not really sure what facts he figured out himself and which ones just kind of... appeared in his brain.]
*Lilac finds it kind of weird that you just stare at the water, but she isnât going to force you to drink. The water is, crucially, not blood, and probably better for you than the water youâre used to, but you canât be expected to know that.*
Okay, cool, so while you were out I did some researchâ and I actually know what Eden Station is now, which I did not know before. The COI, too. I know ev- well, not everything there is to know, but pretty much everything available to me, Iâve got the bold strokes down andâŚ
*Something seems to occur to Lilac mid-sentence.*
âŚOh, you probably donât think this is real, do you?
[Simon huffs bitterly. At least the Eel recognises how unbelievable this weird fantasy hallucination thing is. He wonders again if the water will turn red when She gives up on tricking him, and he's thirsty, yes, but he still doesn't think he should drink anything She gives him.]
S'not.
[He mutters. The head injuries and everything might've made him hazy, even if the hallucination makes him feel like that's not the case, but he's not stupid.]
âŚI mean, it is real, butâŚ.
*Lilac thinks for a minute, unsure what to do.*
Is there any way I can prove it to you?
*She bites her nails, glancing to the door, considering finding someone to help.*
[He snorts, his head twitching in a jerky shake that makes his neck ache slightly. Whether it's a denial of Lilac's first sentence or an answer to her question is unclear, but after a moment he does clarify, finally taking his eyes off of the water to stare dully at Lilac herself instead.]
I don' know what y'want from me.
[He mumbles, his voice low and empty, almost sad. He's tired of being messed with. Whatever this trick-hallucination is for, he'll do it. He just wants this to be over.]
[this is @lil4c-dot-mp3 , the old thread was getting kinda long so I hope this is ok?]
Hey, woah there, buddy. Youâre okay, youâre gonna be just fine.
*The voice rolls you back onto your side. Your vision is too messed up to see them very well, but with your eyes open you can see that the voice and touch do have a body to go with them.*
Alright, I have to do some things thatâll hurt for a second, but then when Iâm done youâll feel better. But I want you to stay still, alright?
(CONT. FROM)
[The only thought Simon can form for a moment is 'fuck, everything hurts', and he can hear words buzzing in his ears, but he can't decipher the meaning behind them. Someone's still touching him, rolling him over, more hands sticking to the tacky blood that coats his body and peeling away with a sensation that makes him shudder, and the touch burns, even gentle as it is. He can hear that the someone is saying something - or is it still in his head? Can he even tell the difference? - but still the voice is muffled, and all he processes is 'hurt' and 'stay still', words that even with his brain being mush - slightly less so, now, somehow, but still mush - he registers as bad.] Plea- ghhk, please- [His almost instinctual begging starts up again, hindered by his hoarse throat, and he almost chokes on the words, stretching an arm out past the pain to claw at the floor of the sub, or ocean, or wherever he is, eyes screwing up in pain as he tries to squint past the blurriness. Fuck, he wants to live. He doesn't want to hurt anymore, but without the screaming voices in his head, somehow, he finds he still wants to live.]
*The ground is neither metal nor congealed blood, but something crumbly, almost like dirt. There's springy bits sprouting up, almost like some kind of dry plant life, if that were still possible. The stranger speaks again.*
I know, I know. Shh....
*Their hand rubs up and down your back at some attempt to soothe as they begin the painful work of putting you back together. Your bones shift to knit themselves back together. There's a burning in your veins, in your lungs, in your skin, as somehow the worst of the radiation is being drained from your body, drawn up into their hand, and your half-decayed organs begin to reconstruct themselves. You hear the stranger is speaking, distantly, but you can't understand what they're saying, and barely register that it's their voice at all. It hurts.*
*Like your journey here, the ordeal seemed longer than it was. The stranger takes their hand off of you. You're still sore all over, but maybe it hurts less. Your skin doesn't quite burn. Your head might be clearer if you weren't somehow so much more tired than you were before, and a little nauseous from it all. At least, you know for certain now that breathing is miles easier. The stranger sighs.*
Okay, I'm done now. You did a good job.
Ngh- fuck-
[Simon's hand hits something that feels like dirt, and immediately his mind conjures images of the Last Tree, as he'd seen it before Filament, barely clinging on to its few remaining leaves. His logical brain immediately rejects the idea, but the blindly hopeful, delirious part of him wonders if he'd blacked out, if he was home, being soothed as he breathed his last in the roots of Eden's most sacred idol. For a moment, he lets himself hope that the faint voice is one of his Brothers, sending him off with soft words, but then he revolts against that comfort. They'd betrayed him. He knew he would never return to the Tree when he surrendered, and he knows that's still true. But everything hurts, and Brother or not, he can't move more than letting out a few choked groans of pain and weak twitching, so he lets the voice drone on, lets his blurry, unseeing eyes slip closed. It burns. Everything aches. Time slides away from him, unimportant, and when the pain starts to ease, Simon just assumes that's him finally dying, and all he can do is sob pathetically about it. He's so tired.]
Ple-hease...
I know. I know. Youâre okay now, shh.
*The stranger begins to run their hand over your sticky hair, almost like a parent, as you sob.*
I know youâre tired. You can sleep, youâll be okay.
*The pain lessens, slowly. The rushing sound begins to seem more like the rustling of leaves from far, far back in your memory.*
[If this is what his brain chooses to give him in his last moments, he'll take it, but it's a cruel, cruel hallucination. He can hear leaves shifting in the false wind of the ventilation system, can practically feel his mother's hand in his hair. The voice tells him he can sleep, and he wants to, but still something stubbornly clings onto awareness, still refusing to give up, to fall asleep for what he's sure will be his last time. He's so tired, and still he suffers. He wants to let go so badly, but his hand still digs into the dirt like he's trying to pull himself out of his own grave, a sacrificial lamb that refuses to die. But he can't fight the exhaustion that tugs at his limbs, and he ends up just making nonsensical noises of protest as the darkness crowds in, like a physical weight around him.]
Mng- plea- hngk...
Shhh, thatâs it. Youâre okay. Youâre okay.
*The stranger continues like this until the exhaustion finally drowns you, and then even for a few minutes after you fall still and silent.*
*In the midst of your rest, you sometimes feel these half-dreamt sensations: something cool on your face, quiet voices whispering, something soft against your body. You canât seem to wake up to meet any of them, and instead sink deeper into your sleep.*
*When you do awake, you know before you open your eyes that you are in a different place than when you fell asleep. Youâre somewhere comfortable. Opening your eyes, you see that youâre in a bed with a white duvet. The air in the room is cool, but the sheets are warm from you lying in them. Your body is still sore, but managably so. You feel clean, the blood is gone. Youâre wearing different clothes.*
*The lights in the room are dim. It doesnât look like any room on a space station youâve seen before. The walls are gray, but not metal. Venetian blinds cover a glowing window, through the cracks of those blinds is where most of the light in the room is coming from. Next to the bed, on your right side, is a small table where your knife sheath sits next to a lamp and a picture of a baby you donât recognize. The right hand wall has two wooden doors. Thereâs a cabinet with some kind of device on top of it in front of the bed.*
*Itâs quiet.*
[Simon stares at the ceiling of the room he wakes up in for a long time, his brain numb with disbelief. The idea of still being alive is so foreign to him that he doesn't dare consider it as a possibility, but he doesn't know how else he'd be able to open his eyes and not see the inside of the sub right now, so he simply doesn't think on it, instead letting his mind wander to less important things. He dwells on foggy memories from before he woke, distant, dreamlike sensations, and lets his eyes trace the lines of light coming through the blinds. His throat is dry and sore, but not so much that he wants to cough again, and nothing is uncomfortable enough to make him want to move, so he doesn't. The only thing he can properly process is the now-familiar whispers in his ears, so quiet he can barely even hear them, but there all the same, and weirdly, it's the only thing that keeps him grounded, the only thing that still makes sense. Maybe his surroundings are just a trick dreamed up by the Eel or the Light for some convoluted plan that he can't fathom, but he finds himself not really caring about that possibility. He'll let it trick him, if that's the case. Anything's better than the sub.]
*Youâre not sure how long you lay there before someone knocks on the door. Whatever you do, they take as an invitation inside.*
*The door opens slowly, and you see the intruder by degrees: first an eye, then a face, then a body. Itâs Lilac, who you havenât really seen since the submarine. She stands just far enough inside the door to shut it behind her. Sheâs holding a cup in one of her hands. She speaks quietly, and somewhat nervously, like she expects you to be angry with her for what she did.*
Hi⌠do you want some water?
[He doesn't respond to the knock, but when the door opens, he lets his eyes lazily trail across the ceiling, staring at Lilac with that same blank, empty look from the submarine. His eyes still glint reddish despite their dark brown hue, but he doesn't look angry, or upset. He doesn't look much of anything, because he doesn't feel much of anything, just that dull ache in his chest. It's not real, he reminds himself faintly. It's not real. But he can pretend. He nods in reply, barely a twitch of his head, the movement jerky and small like he's not fully in control of his own body.]
*Lilac walks to you and hands you the cup, still nervous. Itâs filled up a little less than halfway.*
I can get more if you want more, weâre not, like, rationing or anything, my mom just didnât want you to drink a whole lot at once in case you, uh, felt sick or something.
*The water is cold and it tastes weird.*
How⌠how much do you, uh, remember?
[To take the water, Simon first has to sit up, and it takes him a long minute to remember how all his muscles work, and he only just about manages it, feeling like every part of him that makes him Simon is about three steps to the left of his actual body. Hazard of being dead or hallucinating, he supposes, his thoughts sluggish and hazy, and it's only once he's been staring at the cup of water for a few seconds that he realises that he's been asked a question.]
Ev'rythin'.
[He mumbles, his voice still sore and hoarse, dry from disuse. He doesn't drink the water, though, just kind of watches it, faintly wondering when it will turn red and thick. It's not quite a lie - he remembers quite a lot, too well, chaos and Knowledge and big teeth and bigger Eyes sharp and painful in his memory - but the inbetweens are foggier than he'd like. He figures it doesn't matter much, though, considering none of this is real.]
*Lilac looks a little more guilty when you say that. She wasnât sure what she hoped your answer would be to that, in all honesty.*
Iâm sorry. I kidnapped you.
You... huh?
[Simon blinks, and his eyes burn from staring at the water, so he closes them and lets his head hang a little. What does the Eel want him to say? How is he supposed to respond to that? Those thoughts feel a little too dangerous, so Simon decides he doesn't care.]
Okay.
[He mutters dully, forcing his eyes open again as red dances on the back of his eyelids, making a little spike of adrenaline run through him.]
*The full acceptance seems to surprise Lilac. She really thought you would be more upset, more scared. She isnât stupid, she can guess that your dazed demeanor isnât good, but she doesnât know what to do about it, so she just decides to keep talking and hope something brought you the rest of the way to reality on your own.*
âŚUh, okay.
Youâve been out for, like, a day and a half, which is pretty normal. Not a whole lot happened here, I mean I was busy with researchâ
*A thought comes to her mind.*
âWait, how do you feel? Does anything hurt? I can get you ibuprofen or something.
Okay.
[He says again, a little quieter. The cup of water is cool against his fingers. This hallucination, false reality, whatever it is, is weird, but he knows without a doubt that all the things that happened in that sub - the radiation alone was lethal. He knows that. It was probably more than those on Filament got dosed with, even, by the end, you don't just bounce back from that - and really, the Eel needs to get a grip, because how is he supposed to believe it when it starts spouting made-up words.]
Hn. No.
[He grunts, instead of "what the fuck is Ibuprofen", and his fingers twitch seemingly involuntarily around the cup. He still hasn't drank from it - drinking the blood is bad, he thinks, or maybe Knows, he's not really sure what facts he figured out himself and which ones just kind of... appeared in his brain.]
*Lilac finds it kind of weird that you just stare at the water, but she isnât going to force you to drink. The water is, crucially, not blood, and probably better for you than the water youâre used to, but you canât be expected to know that.*
Okay, cool, so while you were out I did some researchâ and I actually know what Eden Station is now, which I did not know before. The COI, too. I know ev- well, not everything there is to know, but pretty much everything available to me, Iâve got the bold strokes down andâŚ
*Something seems to occur to Lilac mid-sentence.*
âŚOh, you probably donât think this is real, do you?
[Simon huffs bitterly. At least the Eel recognises how unbelievable this weird fantasy hallucination thing is. He wonders again if the water will turn red when She gives up on tricking him, and he's thirsty, yes, but he still doesn't think he should drink anything She gives him.]
S'not.
[He mutters. The head injuries and everything might've made him hazy, even if the hallucination makes him feel like that's not the case, but he's not stupid.]
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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(New thread bc the other was getting laggy lol)
[Aster sighs, like they'd expected this.]
I'm not planning to kill you, if that's what you're thinking. I just-
[They mutter something in a foreign tongue, although it sounds like it's probably a curse.]
I've been alone for millennia. Hearing your voice is one thing, but it...would be nice to actually see you.
You don't have to say yes. But...think about it. Please.
( @4d-4str4 )
(CONT. FROM)
[Simon mumbles something that sounds vaguely like 'millennia?', frowning and repeating the word to himself, like it's taking him a second to remember what it means. He doesn't even address Aster's reassurance - how would they kill something that's already dead, anyway? - but the last part is what gets him. 'Think about it', like Simon has time to sit and wait for his sluggish brain to make a decision. Like he's ever thought about anything in his life. Even being down here was a spur-of-the-moment agreement to the deal. They'd offered him freedom and he'd barely listened to the terms before saying yes. What's one more deal with the Devil?]
Please.
[He whispers before he can think better of it, his chest aching with something more than just broken ribs. He's still so tired. Tired, tired, tired. How long has it been? How many days, weeks, years since he saw another face that wasn't fleshy and distorted and empty?]
...Alright.
[That's the only warning given before a burst of light illuminates the sub. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving a figure standing in its place. Their black hair flows in waves just below their shoulders, and their blue eyes glint in the dim light of the ship. Patches of their skin are oddly dark, dusted with what looks like...stars? It looks like the night sky brushed over their fair complexion, remnants of itself lingering on their skin.]
[Their lip curls as they glance down, seeing the blood on the floor. However, their disgust dissipates as they catch sight of Simon. A faint smile ghosts their features.]
Hello, Simon.
[Simon's breath hitches at the flash of light - it's over so fast, he barely has time for that bone-deep dread to settle in, but it's still startling - scrambling back from it as much as he can when every muscle protests the movement. He ends up with his ass back on the floor and his spine slamming against the console behind him, blood splattered up his already-messy forearms from his frantic movement backwards, and his head thunks gently against the metal at his back as he looks up at Aster, his lips parting slightly in shock, and his glazed, hysterical eyes wide with fear.] Uh.
[Aster's brow furrows as their gaze trails over Simon. They probably should've given him some warning, in hindsight.]
Forgive me, I didn't mean to- There's no need to be scared, really.
[They spare a glance at themself, at their not-quite-human appearance. Their next words could almost be a joke, if it weren't for the concern lacing them.]
Is my figure that unsettling? This is the most human I could look, Simon.
[His wide-eyed look loses a little of its instinctual, blind terror as he takes Aster in, but still he just stares, words failing him. How the fuck did his brain conjure something like this? Their skin is painted with stars, for fuck's sake. He barely remembers what those look like, blurry memories of the weak, flickering lights winking out one by one that punctuated his childhood, nothing but hazy, fleeting images as an adult. The fear in his gaze slowly drains, replaced by pure shock, his thoughts still buffering like an ancient machine.]
I...
[Aster frowns, taking a small step closer. Had they broken him? Surely not...right?]
Are...you alright? Don't tell me this form is still too eldritch for you to comprehend.
[They grimace, taking in the cramped sub.]
Mi asrynix...How long have you been in this...what's the word...shit-hole?
[Simon twitches as the step forward - not quite a flinch, just a little jolt, a tensing of his muscles that's there and gone again as his eyes lock onto Aster's instead of the starry patches of skin. They asked a question, right, he can do that, he can answer questions, except... how long has it been? His oxygen's still on one light, but he knows it's been more than thirty minutes.]
I- I don't- don' know...
[He answers through a dry throat, his eyes glazing over a little as his gaze wanders again and catches on the scribbles that were once a map, still taped to the wall. No, he couldn't do all that in thirty minutes, it has to have been longer, surely. He doesn't know why the oxygen would still be on one if it's been longer, though. He's probably already suffocated, and this is just his brain's last hoorah before he dies. He's probably already dead, and this is just Hell. Maybe he died on Filament, and this is his punishment. Maybe he was born in sin, and the world above the ocean was just purgatory, before judgement was cast. He doesn't know anymore.]
Forever. C'ple hours. Dunno...
Of course you don't know...
[Aster pinches the bridge of their nose, muttering something about mortals and their terrible sense of time. Like theirs is any better. They follow Simon's gaze to the makeshift map on the wall, their head tilting, though they don't comment on it.]
Well, we can probably rule out "forever" as one of the options. Forgive my assumption, but I believe I'm much older than you are, and I certainly haven't been around forever.
[Simon feels a spark of anger in his ribs at Aster's muttering, but he's too tired for it to catch and turn into a flame, smothered by the heavy haze that crowds in around him. It would be disconcerting, if he was coherent enough to care - anger has always come easily to him, before - but he just grunts instead of arguing, even though he's not sure he believes Aster, the blurry, scribbled lines of the map dancing in his vision. Oh. Is the room spinning again? He can't tell.]
Mn. M'kay. Not f'rever, then. Years? I... it's... it all... blurs t'gether.
...I understand the feeling.
[Aster paces in a small circle, their gaze flitting over the console, the camera, the map, before landing back on Simon.]
Why are you down here in the first place? To map out the ocean? Surely your kind isn't dull enough to send one person alone - you're fragile little beings.
[They falter, realizing how that might come across.]
No offense, I mean. We can't all be immortal, can we?
[Simon lets out a little noise that sounds almost like a hoarse huff of a laugh, tired and bitter, but it quickly turns into a cough and he hisses in pain instead, bringing his legs back up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.]
If dull's what y'wanna call it, sure.
[He mutters, eyes catching on the slight glint of the pendant hanging from his wrist, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares at it.]
Think they jus' wanted me t'suffer.
[His voice drops a little, once again mumbling to himself more than Aster, his tone shifting like he's imitating someone.]
'S'just some pictures, Convict. Don' be a pussy, Convict. Jus' a sample, an' then you're free...' tch.
Convict...?
[That's the word that manages to catch Aster's attention, somehow. They could guess it wasn't just some normal nickname.]
You're...You weren't free?
[Much to their own surprise, a hint of pity seeps into their tone. The concern, they expected, but to feel pity on someone they hardly knew? A voice echoes in their mind, a wisp of a memory. You're getting soft, Aster. Why do you give a damn about them?]
[They try to push that thought to the back of their mind. Now isn't the time.]
What, y'think I chose t'be down here?
[Simon growls, but there isn't much heat behind it.]
I... yeah, okay, I took th'fuckin' deal. Din't tell me there'd be fuckin'-
[His voice cracks wetly, and he stops, his head hanging low. He's vaguely aware that he's not making much sense, but he's so lightheaded he feels sick, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees It looking back at him on the red of his eyelids.]
I didn't know I'd... I-I jus'... they didn't ev'n tell me 'bout the camera... I-I didn't know!
[The camera? What camera? What about it???]
[Despite the questions swirling through Aster's thoughts, they ignore them. Gingerly, they kneel on the floor near Simon - not right next to him, they have a feeling that wouldn't be the best choice. Blood seeps into their pants, staining the fabric, but they pay it no mind.]
Hey...just take a deep breath, alright? It'll...
[It'll what? Be okay? They can't promise that, not to a man submerged in a blood ocean. They trail off, refraining from saying something that might make the situation worse.]
[His breath hitches as Aster moves, seemingly just an instinctual reaction to them getting closer more than any real fear, and against his will, he tries to do as he's told, only for the breath to crackle wetly in his lungs and trigger another round of hacking coughs, his ribs screaming in pain.]
Guhh.
[He lets out a ragged, grunting sound of pain when it's over, his teeth freshly stained with blood that dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and he returns to his shallow, panting breaths, glaring angrily at the floor. The pain in his chest makes the whispering kick up a notch, enough that he can start to decipher words, little taunts that make him jerk his head away from the direction of them harshly - not that it does anything. He might be hearing it in his left ear, but they're in his brain, claws digging little grooves in the gray matter, scraping away at his thoughts. He disregards the being- hallucination- whatever in front of him for a moment, mumbling to himself like that'll make them go away.]
S-Stop it. What? N-No, no- shuddup.
[His quiet mumbles bring a slight furrow to Aster's brow, their lips twitching into a frown.]
[Gods, are all humans in this realm this messed up?]
Simon? Are you alright...?
[When that doesn't get them a response, they make what is perhaps their riskiest decision yet. Ever so slowly, knowing this may end badly, they reach out, their fingers brushing Simon's knee.]
[Simon shows no sign of having heard them, but he definitely notices when their hand makes contact, because he makes a noise like a cross between a yelp and a grunt, and flinches backwards only to slam his shoulders back into the console close behind him, his leg instinctively kicking out, missing Aster by a hair's breadth. His head snaps back to face them, making eye contact again, his pupils visibly mismatched in size even as his eyes widen with fear, but at least the muttering in his left ear eases off again, replaced by the sound of his own heartbeat and his harsh, shallow breathing. He's visibly startled, yes, but he looks more present again, at least, even if it's made him more terrified as he comes to terms with the fact that Aster touched him. None of the other hallucinations have been tangible.] I-I- you- I- th'fuck...
[Aster tenses, immediately drawing their hand back with what sounded like a muttered curse, despite it not being any English one Simon knew of.]
Sorry, I- Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.
[They seem to debate what to do next, their eyes flitting over Simon's form.]
I understand you don't believe me...you probably don't even think I'm real...but I want to help you, Simon. If you'll let me. I- No one deserves a fate like this.
[He shudders at their words, pulling his leg back towards himself, and shakes his head slowly, his bloodstained mouth twisting into a grimace.]
Can't, th'won't- It's not g'nna let go.
[He sounds resigned, tired, like he wants to hope, but it's just a statement of fact that he's repeating, told to him over and over again until he believes it mindlessly. It Saw him, there's no going back from that, he knows. He knows it like he knows the ache in his bones is fatal, like he knows he's running on borrowed time.]
It...?
[Aster frowns, a thousand questions rising in their mind. What is it? What does he mean it 'won't let go'? Only one manages to make it out of them.]
Who? Who are you referring to, Simon? The "eel"? Or...something else?
[They didn't know if the answer they'd get would be coherent, but one could hope.]
[...Right?]
[Simon makes a small, broken noise, like a sob, and curls a little tighter into himself.]
I-I don't- I- It- It's... everything. [His voice shifts, just barely, almost imperceptible. He still sounds tired and upset, but slowly his tone becomes calmer, and then almost airy, awed. His eyes are cast low, staring at the floor, but they glint red in the meagre light, dull and distant.] I-It Sees... It thinks, and we are... It's the answer.
It's the...
[Aster stares at Simon for what feels like an eternity, their mind racing, trying to decipher what he meant. Until abruptly, they stand, pacing the short length of the sub with more than a few muttered curses.]
I- mi asrynix...If It knows-
[They groan, bracing a hand against the wall above the camera. Their voice is barely a whisper when they speak next.]
I must leave. It cannot know I was here.
[They spare a glance over their shoulder at Simon, something unreadable crossing their expression.]
Come with me. Please. I'm not sure what It's caused you to believe, but...It's not the answer, Simon. It never was.
[Simon doesn't flinch this time at their abrupt movements, his mind visibly somewhere else, that distant, foggy place he keeps disappearing into when he thinks too hard. He murmurs quietly, too quiet to be understood, and the blood moves outside, ever-shifting currents that would be keeping him on edge if he could hear them. He hums vaguely at the sound of his own name, and his hands twitch slightly, making the raw skin of his forearms look like it's slowly shifting, but that's about it in terms of actual acknowledgement, the rest of his words seemingly aimed at himself more than anything.]
Knows, Sees, It knows... I know... It Sees, n'we are... behind me, She's... I know, I know...
Lirythos aidonast vin...
[Aster's gaze lingers on Simon for a heartbeat, two, three. A small part of them considers leaving him there - he's probably too far gone anyways. But does he deserve this?]
...I'm sorry, Simon.
[With a flick of their hand, the ground jolts beneath them, and the pair are plunged into a void.]
[The darkness lasts for a second and an eternity before it fades, and senses slowly return. The two are on a circular platform, patterns and scripts carved into the cold stone. Trees surround them, branches reaching for the glittering night sky. A warm glow lights the clearing they're in, a small cottage sitting a short ways away. Two things are evident: it's more peaceful than the SM-13, and it's nowhere Simon's been before.]
[Simon goes from zero to a hundred in that moment in the void - even if he were more aware of himself, he doubts he'd be embarrassed at the way he cries out, a hoarse almost-scream, because frankly he's been through a lot of insane shit in the past few hours-days-weeks and being teleported by some kind of star-being-thing is pretty high on said list of insane shit. He keeps screaming for however long it takes for his surroundings to solidify around him, and then he stops with a round of hacking coughs and quick, terrified breathing. There are trees, he notices first, surrounding him, their leaves whispering and their branches casting shadows that reach out to him and yes he's the Butcher, yes he's a soldier, yes he's a grown man, but he's never been more terrified of the shadows before, shadows cast by trees. Trees, as in multiple, as in a Grove - and suddenly, in Simon's dazed and wrecked and ruined mind, there comes the sudden, searingly bright feeling that he's being judged. His prayers are well-worn, instinctual, but he slurs through the words anyway, his head ringing and his throat ripped to further shreds by his screams.]
P-Please, please oh F-Father please, M-Mater nostra quae n't-terra es, ben'dicta sit putredo t-tua...
[this is @lil4c-dot-mp3 , the old thread was getting kinda long so I hope this is ok?]
Hey, woah there, buddy. Youâre okay, youâre gonna be just fine.
*The voice rolls you back onto your side. Your vision is too messed up to see them very well, but with your eyes open you can see that the voice and touch do have a body to go with them.*
Alright, I have to do some things thatâll hurt for a second, but then when Iâm done youâll feel better. But I want you to stay still, alright?
(CONT. FROM)
[The only thought Simon can form for a moment is 'fuck, everything hurts', and he can hear words buzzing in his ears, but he can't decipher the meaning behind them. Someone's still touching him, rolling him over, more hands sticking to the tacky blood that coats his body and peeling away with a sensation that makes him shudder, and the touch burns, even gentle as it is. He can hear that the someone is saying something - or is it still in his head? Can he even tell the difference? - but still the voice is muffled, and all he processes is 'hurt' and 'stay still', words that even with his brain being mush - slightly less so, now, somehow, but still mush - he registers as bad.] Plea- ghhk, please- [His almost instinctual begging starts up again, hindered by his hoarse throat, and he almost chokes on the words, stretching an arm out past the pain to claw at the floor of the sub, or ocean, or wherever he is, eyes screwing up in pain as he tries to squint past the blurriness. Fuck, he wants to live. He doesn't want to hurt anymore, but without the screaming voices in his head, somehow, he finds he still wants to live.]
*The ground is neither metal nor congealed blood, but something crumbly, almost like dirt. There's springy bits sprouting up, almost like some kind of dry plant life, if that were still possible. The stranger speaks again.*
I know, I know. Shh....
*Their hand rubs up and down your back at some attempt to soothe as they begin the painful work of putting you back together. Your bones shift to knit themselves back together. There's a burning in your veins, in your lungs, in your skin, as somehow the worst of the radiation is being drained from your body, drawn up into their hand, and your half-decayed organs begin to reconstruct themselves. You hear the stranger is speaking, distantly, but you can't understand what they're saying, and barely register that it's their voice at all. It hurts.*
*Like your journey here, the ordeal seemed longer than it was. The stranger takes their hand off of you. You're still sore all over, but maybe it hurts less. Your skin doesn't quite burn. Your head might be clearer if you weren't somehow so much more tired than you were before, and a little nauseous from it all. At least, you know for certain now that breathing is miles easier. The stranger sighs.*
Okay, I'm done now. You did a good job.
Ngh- fuck-
[Simon's hand hits something that feels like dirt, and immediately his mind conjures images of the Last Tree, as he'd seen it before Filament, barely clinging on to its few remaining leaves. His logical brain immediately rejects the idea, but the blindly hopeful, delirious part of him wonders if he'd blacked out, if he was home, being soothed as he breathed his last in the roots of Eden's most sacred idol. For a moment, he lets himself hope that the faint voice is one of his Brothers, sending him off with soft words, but then he revolts against that comfort. They'd betrayed him. He knew he would never return to the Tree when he surrendered, and he knows that's still true. But everything hurts, and Brother or not, he can't move more than letting out a few choked groans of pain and weak twitching, so he lets the voice drone on, lets his blurry, unseeing eyes slip closed. It burns. Everything aches. Time slides away from him, unimportant, and when the pain starts to ease, Simon just assumes that's him finally dying, and all he can do is sob pathetically about it. He's so tired.]
Ple-hease...
I know. I know. Youâre okay now, shh.
*The stranger begins to run their hand over your sticky hair, almost like a parent, as you sob.*
I know youâre tired. You can sleep, youâll be okay.
*The pain lessens, slowly. The rushing sound begins to seem more like the rustling of leaves from far, far back in your memory.*
[If this is what his brain chooses to give him in his last moments, he'll take it, but it's a cruel, cruel hallucination. He can hear leaves shifting in the false wind of the ventilation system, can practically feel his mother's hand in his hair. The voice tells him he can sleep, and he wants to, but still something stubbornly clings onto awareness, still refusing to give up, to fall asleep for what he's sure will be his last time. He's so tired, and still he suffers. He wants to let go so badly, but his hand still digs into the dirt like he's trying to pull himself out of his own grave, a sacrificial lamb that refuses to die. But he can't fight the exhaustion that tugs at his limbs, and he ends up just making nonsensical noises of protest as the darkness crowds in, like a physical weight around him.]
Mng- plea- hngk...
Shhh, thatâs it. Youâre okay. Youâre okay.
*The stranger continues like this until the exhaustion finally drowns you, and then even for a few minutes after you fall still and silent.*
*In the midst of your rest, you sometimes feel these half-dreamt sensations: something cool on your face, quiet voices whispering, something soft against your body. You canât seem to wake up to meet any of them, and instead sink deeper into your sleep.*
*When you do awake, you know before you open your eyes that you are in a different place than when you fell asleep. Youâre somewhere comfortable. Opening your eyes, you see that youâre in a bed with a white duvet. The air in the room is cool, but the sheets are warm from you lying in them. Your body is still sore, but managably so. You feel clean, the blood is gone. Youâre wearing different clothes.*
*The lights in the room are dim. It doesnât look like any room on a space station youâve seen before. The walls are gray, but not metal. Venetian blinds cover a glowing window, through the cracks of those blinds is where most of the light in the room is coming from. Next to the bed, on your right side, is a small table where your knife sheath sits next to a lamp and a picture of a baby you donât recognize. The right hand wall has two wooden doors. Thereâs a cabinet with some kind of device on top of it in front of the bed.*
*Itâs quiet.*
[Simon stares at the ceiling of the room he wakes up in for a long time, his brain numb with disbelief. The idea of still being alive is so foreign to him that he doesn't dare consider it as a possibility, but he doesn't know how else he'd be able to open his eyes and not see the inside of the sub right now, so he simply doesn't think on it, instead letting his mind wander to less important things. He dwells on foggy memories from before he woke, distant, dreamlike sensations, and lets his eyes trace the lines of light coming through the blinds. His throat is dry and sore, but not so much that he wants to cough again, and nothing is uncomfortable enough to make him want to move, so he doesn't. The only thing he can properly process is the now-familiar whispers in his ears, so quiet he can barely even hear them, but there all the same, and weirdly, it's the only thing that keeps him grounded, the only thing that still makes sense. Maybe his surroundings are just a trick dreamed up by the Eel or the Light for some convoluted plan that he can't fathom, but he finds himself not really caring about that possibility. He'll let it trick him, if that's the case. Anything's better than the sub.]
*Youâre not sure how long you lay there before someone knocks on the door. Whatever you do, they take as an invitation inside.*
*The door opens slowly, and you see the intruder by degrees: first an eye, then a face, then a body. Itâs Lilac, who you havenât really seen since the submarine. She stands just far enough inside the door to shut it behind her. Sheâs holding a cup in one of her hands. She speaks quietly, and somewhat nervously, like she expects you to be angry with her for what she did.*
Hi⌠do you want some water?
[He doesn't respond to the knock, but when the door opens, he lets his eyes lazily trail across the ceiling, staring at Lilac with that same blank, empty look from the submarine. His eyes still glint reddish despite their dark brown hue, but he doesn't look angry, or upset. He doesn't look much of anything, because he doesn't feel much of anything, just that dull ache in his chest. It's not real, he reminds himself faintly. It's not real. But he can pretend. He nods in reply, barely a twitch of his head, the movement jerky and small like he's not fully in control of his own body.]
*Lilac walks to you and hands you the cup, still nervous. Itâs filled up a little less than halfway.*
I can get more if you want more, weâre not, like, rationing or anything, my mom just didnât want you to drink a whole lot at once in case you, uh, felt sick or something.
*The water is cold and it tastes weird.*
How⌠how much do you, uh, remember?
[To take the water, Simon first has to sit up, and it takes him a long minute to remember how all his muscles work, and he only just about manages it, feeling like every part of him that makes him Simon is about three steps to the left of his actual body. Hazard of being dead or hallucinating, he supposes, his thoughts sluggish and hazy, and it's only once he's been staring at the cup of water for a few seconds that he realises that he's been asked a question.]
Ev'rythin'.
[He mumbles, his voice still sore and hoarse, dry from disuse. He doesn't drink the water, though, just kind of watches it, faintly wondering when it will turn red and thick. It's not quite a lie - he remembers quite a lot, too well, chaos and Knowledge and big teeth and bigger Eyes sharp and painful in his memory - but the inbetweens are foggier than he'd like. He figures it doesn't matter much, though, considering none of this is real.]
*Lilac looks a little more guilty when you say that. She wasnât sure what she hoped your answer would be to that, in all honesty.*
Iâm sorry. I kidnapped you.
You... huh?
[Simon blinks, and his eyes burn from staring at the water, so he closes them and lets his head hang a little. What does the Eel want him to say? How is he supposed to respond to that? Those thoughts feel a little too dangerous, so Simon decides he doesn't care.]
Okay.
[He mutters dully, forcing his eyes open again as red dances on the back of his eyelids, making a little spike of adrenaline run through him.]
*The full acceptance seems to surprise Lilac. She really thought you would be more upset, more scared. She isnât stupid, she can guess that your dazed demeanor isnât good, but she doesnât know what to do about it, so she just decides to keep talking and hope something brought you the rest of the way to reality on your own.*
âŚUh, okay.
Youâve been out for, like, a day and a half, which is pretty normal. Not a whole lot happened here, I mean I was busy with researchâ
*A thought comes to her mind.*
âWait, how do you feel? Does anything hurt? I can get you ibuprofen or something.
Okay.
[He says again, a little quieter. The cup of water is cool against his fingers. This hallucination, false reality, whatever it is, is weird, but he knows without a doubt that all the things that happened in that sub - the radiation alone was lethal. He knows that. It was probably more than those on Filament got dosed with, even, by the end, you don't just bounce back from that - and really, the Eel needs to get a grip, because how is he supposed to believe it when it starts spouting made-up words.]
Hn. No.
[He grunts, instead of "what the fuck is Ibuprofen", and his fingers twitch seemingly involuntarily around the cup. He still hasn't drank from it - drinking the blood is bad, he thinks, or maybe Knows, he's not really sure what facts he figured out himself and which ones just kind of... appeared in his brain.]
(New thread bc the other was getting laggy lol)
[Aster sighs, like they'd expected this.]
I'm not planning to kill you, if that's what you're thinking. I just-
[They mutter something in a foreign tongue, although it sounds like it's probably a curse.]
I've been alone for millennia. Hearing your voice is one thing, but it...would be nice to actually see you.
You don't have to say yes. But...think about it. Please.
( @4d-4str4 )
(CONT. FROM)
[Simon mumbles something that sounds vaguely like 'millennia?', frowning and repeating the word to himself, like it's taking him a second to remember what it means. He doesn't even address Aster's reassurance - how would they kill something that's already dead, anyway? - but the last part is what gets him. 'Think about it', like Simon has time to sit and wait for his sluggish brain to make a decision. Like he's ever thought about anything in his life. Even being down here was a spur-of-the-moment agreement to the deal. They'd offered him freedom and he'd barely listened to the terms before saying yes. What's one more deal with the Devil?]
Please.
[He whispers before he can think better of it, his chest aching with something more than just broken ribs. He's still so tired. Tired, tired, tired. How long has it been? How many days, weeks, years since he saw another face that wasn't fleshy and distorted and empty?]
...Alright.
[That's the only warning given before a burst of light illuminates the sub. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving a figure standing in its place. Their black hair flows in waves just below their shoulders, and their blue eyes glint in the dim light of the ship. Patches of their skin are oddly dark, dusted with what looks like...stars? It looks like the night sky brushed over their fair complexion, remnants of itself lingering on their skin.]
[Their lip curls as they glance down, seeing the blood on the floor. However, their disgust dissipates as they catch sight of Simon. A faint smile ghosts their features.]
Hello, Simon.
[Simon's breath hitches at the flash of light - it's over so fast, he barely has time for that bone-deep dread to settle in, but it's still startling - scrambling back from it as much as he can when every muscle protests the movement. He ends up with his ass back on the floor and his spine slamming against the console behind him, blood splattered up his already-messy forearms from his frantic movement backwards, and his head thunks gently against the metal at his back as he looks up at Aster, his lips parting slightly in shock, and his glazed, hysterical eyes wide with fear.] Uh.
[Aster's brow furrows as their gaze trails over Simon. They probably should've given him some warning, in hindsight.]
Forgive me, I didn't mean to- There's no need to be scared, really.
[They spare a glance at themself, at their not-quite-human appearance. Their next words could almost be a joke, if it weren't for the concern lacing them.]
Is my figure that unsettling? This is the most human I could look, Simon.
[His wide-eyed look loses a little of its instinctual, blind terror as he takes Aster in, but still he just stares, words failing him. How the fuck did his brain conjure something like this? Their skin is painted with stars, for fuck's sake. He barely remembers what those look like, blurry memories of the weak, flickering lights winking out one by one that punctuated his childhood, nothing but hazy, fleeting images as an adult. The fear in his gaze slowly drains, replaced by pure shock, his thoughts still buffering like an ancient machine.]
I...
[Aster frowns, taking a small step closer. Had they broken him? Surely not...right?]
Are...you alright? Don't tell me this form is still too eldritch for you to comprehend.
[They grimace, taking in the cramped sub.]
Mi asrynix...How long have you been in this...what's the word...shit-hole?
[Simon twitches as the step forward - not quite a flinch, just a little jolt, a tensing of his muscles that's there and gone again as his eyes lock onto Aster's instead of the starry patches of skin. They asked a question, right, he can do that, he can answer questions, except... how long has it been? His oxygen's still on one light, but he knows it's been more than thirty minutes.]
I- I don't- don' know...
[He answers through a dry throat, his eyes glazing over a little as his gaze wanders again and catches on the scribbles that were once a map, still taped to the wall. No, he couldn't do all that in thirty minutes, it has to have been longer, surely. He doesn't know why the oxygen would still be on one if it's been longer, though. He's probably already suffocated, and this is just his brain's last hoorah before he dies. He's probably already dead, and this is just Hell. Maybe he died on Filament, and this is his punishment. Maybe he was born in sin, and the world above the ocean was just purgatory, before judgement was cast. He doesn't know anymore.]
Forever. C'ple hours. Dunno...
Of course you don't know...
[Aster pinches the bridge of their nose, muttering something about mortals and their terrible sense of time. Like theirs is any better. They follow Simon's gaze to the makeshift map on the wall, their head tilting, though they don't comment on it.]
Well, we can probably rule out "forever" as one of the options. Forgive my assumption, but I believe I'm much older than you are, and I certainly haven't been around forever.
[Simon feels a spark of anger in his ribs at Aster's muttering, but he's too tired for it to catch and turn into a flame, smothered by the heavy haze that crowds in around him. It would be disconcerting, if he was coherent enough to care - anger has always come easily to him, before - but he just grunts instead of arguing, even though he's not sure he believes Aster, the blurry, scribbled lines of the map dancing in his vision. Oh. Is the room spinning again? He can't tell.]
Mn. M'kay. Not f'rever, then. Years? I... it's... it all... blurs t'gether.
...I understand the feeling.
[Aster paces in a small circle, their gaze flitting over the console, the camera, the map, before landing back on Simon.]
Why are you down here in the first place? To map out the ocean? Surely your kind isn't dull enough to send one person alone - you're fragile little beings.
[They falter, realizing how that might come across.]
No offense, I mean. We can't all be immortal, can we?
[Simon lets out a little noise that sounds almost like a hoarse huff of a laugh, tired and bitter, but it quickly turns into a cough and he hisses in pain instead, bringing his legs back up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.]
If dull's what y'wanna call it, sure.
[He mutters, eyes catching on the slight glint of the pendant hanging from his wrist, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares at it.]
Think they jus' wanted me t'suffer.
[His voice drops a little, once again mumbling to himself more than Aster, his tone shifting like he's imitating someone.]
'S'just some pictures, Convict. Don' be a pussy, Convict. Jus' a sample, an' then you're free...' tch.
Convict...?
[That's the word that manages to catch Aster's attention, somehow. They could guess it wasn't just some normal nickname.]
You're...You weren't free?
[Much to their own surprise, a hint of pity seeps into their tone. The concern, they expected, but to feel pity on someone they hardly knew? A voice echoes in their mind, a wisp of a memory. You're getting soft, Aster. Why do you give a damn about them?]
[They try to push that thought to the back of their mind. Now isn't the time.]
What, y'think I chose t'be down here?
[Simon growls, but there isn't much heat behind it.]
I... yeah, okay, I took th'fuckin' deal. Din't tell me there'd be fuckin'-
[His voice cracks wetly, and he stops, his head hanging low. He's vaguely aware that he's not making much sense, but he's so lightheaded he feels sick, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees It looking back at him on the red of his eyelids.]
I didn't know I'd... I-I jus'... they didn't ev'n tell me 'bout the camera... I-I didn't know!
[The camera? What camera? What about it???]
[Despite the questions swirling through Aster's thoughts, they ignore them. Gingerly, they kneel on the floor near Simon - not right next to him, they have a feeling that wouldn't be the best choice. Blood seeps into their pants, staining the fabric, but they pay it no mind.]
Hey...just take a deep breath, alright? It'll...
[It'll what? Be okay? They can't promise that, not to a man submerged in a blood ocean. They trail off, refraining from saying something that might make the situation worse.]
[His breath hitches as Aster moves, seemingly just an instinctual reaction to them getting closer more than any real fear, and against his will, he tries to do as he's told, only for the breath to crackle wetly in his lungs and trigger another round of hacking coughs, his ribs screaming in pain.]
Guhh.
[He lets out a ragged, grunting sound of pain when it's over, his teeth freshly stained with blood that dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and he returns to his shallow, panting breaths, glaring angrily at the floor. The pain in his chest makes the whispering kick up a notch, enough that he can start to decipher words, little taunts that make him jerk his head away from the direction of them harshly - not that it does anything. He might be hearing it in his left ear, but they're in his brain, claws digging little grooves in the gray matter, scraping away at his thoughts. He disregards the being- hallucination- whatever in front of him for a moment, mumbling to himself like that'll make them go away.]
S-Stop it. What? N-No, no- shuddup.
[His quiet mumbles bring a slight furrow to Aster's brow, their lips twitching into a frown.]
[Gods, are all humans in this realm this messed up?]
Simon? Are you alright...?
[When that doesn't get them a response, they make what is perhaps their riskiest decision yet. Ever so slowly, knowing this may end badly, they reach out, their fingers brushing Simon's knee.]
[Simon shows no sign of having heard them, but he definitely notices when their hand makes contact, because he makes a noise like a cross between a yelp and a grunt, and flinches backwards only to slam his shoulders back into the console close behind him, his leg instinctively kicking out, missing Aster by a hair's breadth. His head snaps back to face them, making eye contact again, his pupils visibly mismatched in size even as his eyes widen with fear, but at least the muttering in his left ear eases off again, replaced by the sound of his own heartbeat and his harsh, shallow breathing. He's visibly startled, yes, but he looks more present again, at least, even if it's made him more terrified as he comes to terms with the fact that Aster touched him. None of the other hallucinations have been tangible.] I-I- you- I- th'fuck...
[Aster tenses, immediately drawing their hand back with what sounded like a muttered curse, despite it not being any English one Simon knew of.]
Sorry, I- Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.
[They seem to debate what to do next, their eyes flitting over Simon's form.]
I understand you don't believe me...you probably don't even think I'm real...but I want to help you, Simon. If you'll let me. I- No one deserves a fate like this.
[He shudders at their words, pulling his leg back towards himself, and shakes his head slowly, his bloodstained mouth twisting into a grimace.]
Can't, th'won't- It's not g'nna let go.
[He sounds resigned, tired, like he wants to hope, but it's just a statement of fact that he's repeating, told to him over and over again until he believes it mindlessly. It Saw him, there's no going back from that, he knows. He knows it like he knows the ache in his bones is fatal, like he knows he's running on borrowed time.]
It...?
[Aster frowns, a thousand questions rising in their mind. What is it? What does he mean it 'won't let go'? Only one manages to make it out of them.]
Who? Who are you referring to, Simon? The "eel"? Or...something else?
[They didn't know if the answer they'd get would be coherent, but one could hope.]
[...Right?]
[Simon makes a small, broken noise, like a sob, and curls a little tighter into himself.]
I-I don't- I- It- It's... everything. [His voice shifts, just barely, almost imperceptible. He still sounds tired and upset, but slowly his tone becomes calmer, and then almost airy, awed. His eyes are cast low, staring at the floor, but they glint red in the meagre light, dull and distant.] I-It Sees... It thinks, and we are... It's the answer.
It's the...
[Aster stares at Simon for what feels like an eternity, their mind racing, trying to decipher what he meant. Until abruptly, they stand, pacing the short length of the sub with more than a few muttered curses.]
I- mi asrynix...If It knows-
[They groan, bracing a hand against the wall above the camera. Their voice is barely a whisper when they speak next.]
I must leave. It cannot know I was here.
[They spare a glance over their shoulder at Simon, something unreadable crossing their expression.]
Come with me. Please. I'm not sure what It's caused you to believe, but...It's not the answer, Simon. It never was.
[Simon doesn't flinch this time at their abrupt movements, his mind visibly somewhere else, that distant, foggy place he keeps disappearing into when he thinks too hard. He murmurs quietly, too quiet to be understood, and the blood moves outside, ever-shifting currents that would be keeping him on edge if he could hear them. He hums vaguely at the sound of his own name, and his hands twitch slightly, making the raw skin of his forearms look like it's slowly shifting, but that's about it in terms of actual acknowledgement, the rest of his words seemingly aimed at himself more than anything.]
Knows, Sees, It knows... I know... It Sees, n'we are... behind me, She's... I know, I know...
[this is @lil4c-dot-mp3 , the old thread was getting kinda long so I hope this is ok?]
Hey, woah there, buddy. Youâre okay, youâre gonna be just fine.
*The voice rolls you back onto your side. Your vision is too messed up to see them very well, but with your eyes open you can see that the voice and touch do have a body to go with them.*
Alright, I have to do some things thatâll hurt for a second, but then when Iâm done youâll feel better. But I want you to stay still, alright?
(CONT. FROM)
[The only thought Simon can form for a moment is 'fuck, everything hurts', and he can hear words buzzing in his ears, but he can't decipher the meaning behind them. Someone's still touching him, rolling him over, more hands sticking to the tacky blood that coats his body and peeling away with a sensation that makes him shudder, and the touch burns, even gentle as it is. He can hear that the someone is saying something - or is it still in his head? Can he even tell the difference? - but still the voice is muffled, and all he processes is 'hurt' and 'stay still', words that even with his brain being mush - slightly less so, now, somehow, but still mush - he registers as bad.] Plea- ghhk, please- [His almost instinctual begging starts up again, hindered by his hoarse throat, and he almost chokes on the words, stretching an arm out past the pain to claw at the floor of the sub, or ocean, or wherever he is, eyes screwing up in pain as he tries to squint past the blurriness. Fuck, he wants to live. He doesn't want to hurt anymore, but without the screaming voices in his head, somehow, he finds he still wants to live.]
*The ground is neither metal nor congealed blood, but something crumbly, almost like dirt. There's springy bits sprouting up, almost like some kind of dry plant life, if that were still possible. The stranger speaks again.*
I know, I know. Shh....
*Their hand rubs up and down your back at some attempt to soothe as they begin the painful work of putting you back together. Your bones shift to knit themselves back together. There's a burning in your veins, in your lungs, in your skin, as somehow the worst of the radiation is being drained from your body, drawn up into their hand, and your half-decayed organs begin to reconstruct themselves. You hear the stranger is speaking, distantly, but you can't understand what they're saying, and barely register that it's their voice at all. It hurts.*
*Like your journey here, the ordeal seemed longer than it was. The stranger takes their hand off of you. You're still sore all over, but maybe it hurts less. Your skin doesn't quite burn. Your head might be clearer if you weren't somehow so much more tired than you were before, and a little nauseous from it all. At least, you know for certain now that breathing is miles easier. The stranger sighs.*
Okay, I'm done now. You did a good job.
Ngh- fuck-
[Simon's hand hits something that feels like dirt, and immediately his mind conjures images of the Last Tree, as he'd seen it before Filament, barely clinging on to its few remaining leaves. His logical brain immediately rejects the idea, but the blindly hopeful, delirious part of him wonders if he'd blacked out, if he was home, being soothed as he breathed his last in the roots of Eden's most sacred idol. For a moment, he lets himself hope that the faint voice is one of his Brothers, sending him off with soft words, but then he revolts against that comfort. They'd betrayed him. He knew he would never return to the Tree when he surrendered, and he knows that's still true. But everything hurts, and Brother or not, he can't move more than letting out a few choked groans of pain and weak twitching, so he lets the voice drone on, lets his blurry, unseeing eyes slip closed. It burns. Everything aches. Time slides away from him, unimportant, and when the pain starts to ease, Simon just assumes that's him finally dying, and all he can do is sob pathetically about it. He's so tired.]
Ple-hease...
I know. I know. Youâre okay now, shh.
*The stranger begins to run their hand over your sticky hair, almost like a parent, as you sob.*
I know youâre tired. You can sleep, youâll be okay.
*The pain lessens, slowly. The rushing sound begins to seem more like the rustling of leaves from far, far back in your memory.*
[If this is what his brain chooses to give him in his last moments, he'll take it, but it's a cruel, cruel hallucination. He can hear leaves shifting in the false wind of the ventilation system, can practically feel his mother's hand in his hair. The voice tells him he can sleep, and he wants to, but still something stubbornly clings onto awareness, still refusing to give up, to fall asleep for what he's sure will be his last time. He's so tired, and still he suffers. He wants to let go so badly, but his hand still digs into the dirt like he's trying to pull himself out of his own grave, a sacrificial lamb that refuses to die. But he can't fight the exhaustion that tugs at his limbs, and he ends up just making nonsensical noises of protest as the darkness crowds in, like a physical weight around him.]
Mng- plea- hngk...
Shhh, thatâs it. Youâre okay. Youâre okay.
*The stranger continues like this until the exhaustion finally drowns you, and then even for a few minutes after you fall still and silent.*
*In the midst of your rest, you sometimes feel these half-dreamt sensations: something cool on your face, quiet voices whispering, something soft against your body. You canât seem to wake up to meet any of them, and instead sink deeper into your sleep.*
*When you do awake, you know before you open your eyes that you are in a different place than when you fell asleep. Youâre somewhere comfortable. Opening your eyes, you see that youâre in a bed with a white duvet. The air in the room is cool, but the sheets are warm from you lying in them. Your body is still sore, but managably so. You feel clean, the blood is gone. Youâre wearing different clothes.*
*The lights in the room are dim. It doesnât look like any room on a space station youâve seen before. The walls are gray, but not metal. Venetian blinds cover a glowing window, through the cracks of those blinds is where most of the light in the room is coming from. Next to the bed, on your right side, is a small table where your knife sheath sits next to a lamp and a picture of a baby you donât recognize. The right hand wall has two wooden doors. Thereâs a cabinet with some kind of device on top of it in front of the bed.*
*Itâs quiet.*
[Simon stares at the ceiling of the room he wakes up in for a long time, his brain numb with disbelief. The idea of still being alive is so foreign to him that he doesn't dare consider it as a possibility, but he doesn't know how else he'd be able to open his eyes and not see the inside of the sub right now, so he simply doesn't think on it, instead letting his mind wander to less important things. He dwells on foggy memories from before he woke, distant, dreamlike sensations, and lets his eyes trace the lines of light coming through the blinds. His throat is dry and sore, but not so much that he wants to cough again, and nothing is uncomfortable enough to make him want to move, so he doesn't. The only thing he can properly process is the now-familiar whispers in his ears, so quiet he can barely even hear them, but there all the same, and weirdly, it's the only thing that keeps him grounded, the only thing that still makes sense. Maybe his surroundings are just a trick dreamed up by the Eel or the Light for some convoluted plan that he can't fathom, but he finds himself not really caring about that possibility. He'll let it trick him, if that's the case. Anything's better than the sub.]
*Youâre not sure how long you lay there before someone knocks on the door. Whatever you do, they take as an invitation inside.*
*The door opens slowly, and you see the intruder by degrees: first an eye, then a face, then a body. Itâs Lilac, who you havenât really seen since the submarine. She stands just far enough inside the door to shut it behind her. Sheâs holding a cup in one of her hands. She speaks quietly, and somewhat nervously, like she expects you to be angry with her for what she did.*
Hi⌠do you want some water?
[He doesn't respond to the knock, but when the door opens, he lets his eyes lazily trail across the ceiling, staring at Lilac with that same blank, empty look from the submarine. His eyes still glint reddish despite their dark brown hue, but he doesn't look angry, or upset. He doesn't look much of anything, because he doesn't feel much of anything, just that dull ache in his chest. It's not real, he reminds himself faintly. It's not real. But he can pretend. He nods in reply, barely a twitch of his head, the movement jerky and small like he's not fully in control of his own body.]
*Lilac walks to you and hands you the cup, still nervous. Itâs filled up a little less than halfway.*
I can get more if you want more, weâre not, like, rationing or anything, my mom just didnât want you to drink a whole lot at once in case you, uh, felt sick or something.
*The water is cold and it tastes weird.*
How⌠how much do you, uh, remember?
[To take the water, Simon first has to sit up, and it takes him a long minute to remember how all his muscles work, and he only just about manages it, feeling like every part of him that makes him Simon is about three steps to the left of his actual body. Hazard of being dead or hallucinating, he supposes, his thoughts sluggish and hazy, and it's only once he's been staring at the cup of water for a few seconds that he realises that he's been asked a question.]
Ev'rythin'.
[He mumbles, his voice still sore and hoarse, dry from disuse. He doesn't drink the water, though, just kind of watches it, faintly wondering when it will turn red and thick. It's not quite a lie - he remembers quite a lot, too well, chaos and Knowledge and big teeth and bigger Eyes sharp and painful in his memory - but the inbetweens are foggier than he'd like. He figures it doesn't matter much, though, considering none of this is real.]
*Lilac looks a little more guilty when you say that. She wasnât sure what she hoped your answer would be to that, in all honesty.*
Iâm sorry. I kidnapped you.
You... huh?
[Simon blinks, and his eyes burn from staring at the water, so he closes them and lets his head hang a little. What does the Eel want him to say? How is he supposed to respond to that? Those thoughts feel a little too dangerous, so Simon decides he doesn't care.]
Okay.
[He mutters dully, forcing his eyes open again as red dances on the back of his eyelids, making a little spike of adrenaline run through him.]
*gives Simon a little kiss on the head, as well as a weighted blanket*
Mwah ^3^
You my son now :>
[Simon flinches a little at the invisible sensation, and startles fully as the fabric drapes itself over his shoulders, shoving himself away from it with a terrified noise and watching it drag in the thin layer of blood on the floor of the sub with wide, uncomprehending eyes. The blanket stays over him, just about, but he doesn't move to pull it further around him or push it fully away, instead staring up at the radio.] Wh- What...? My- I'm- the fuck??
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(New thread bc the other was getting laggy lol)
[Aster sighs, like they'd expected this.]
I'm not planning to kill you, if that's what you're thinking. I just-
[They mutter something in a foreign tongue, although it sounds like it's probably a curse.]
I've been alone for millennia. Hearing your voice is one thing, but it...would be nice to actually see you.
You don't have to say yes. But...think about it. Please.
( @4d-4str4 )
(CONT. FROM)
[Simon mumbles something that sounds vaguely like 'millennia?', frowning and repeating the word to himself, like it's taking him a second to remember what it means. He doesn't even address Aster's reassurance - how would they kill something that's already dead, anyway? - but the last part is what gets him. 'Think about it', like Simon has time to sit and wait for his sluggish brain to make a decision. Like he's ever thought about anything in his life. Even being down here was a spur-of-the-moment agreement to the deal. They'd offered him freedom and he'd barely listened to the terms before saying yes. What's one more deal with the Devil?]
Please.
[He whispers before he can think better of it, his chest aching with something more than just broken ribs. He's still so tired. Tired, tired, tired. How long has it been? How many days, weeks, years since he saw another face that wasn't fleshy and distorted and empty?]
...Alright.
[That's the only warning given before a burst of light illuminates the sub. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving a figure standing in its place. Their black hair flows in waves just below their shoulders, and their blue eyes glint in the dim light of the ship. Patches of their skin are oddly dark, dusted with what looks like...stars? It looks like the night sky brushed over their fair complexion, remnants of itself lingering on their skin.]
[Their lip curls as they glance down, seeing the blood on the floor. However, their disgust dissipates as they catch sight of Simon. A faint smile ghosts their features.]
Hello, Simon.
[Simon's breath hitches at the flash of light - it's over so fast, he barely has time for that bone-deep dread to settle in, but it's still startling - scrambling back from it as much as he can when every muscle protests the movement. He ends up with his ass back on the floor and his spine slamming against the console behind him, blood splattered up his already-messy forearms from his frantic movement backwards, and his head thunks gently against the metal at his back as he looks up at Aster, his lips parting slightly in shock, and his glazed, hysterical eyes wide with fear.] Uh.
[Aster's brow furrows as their gaze trails over Simon. They probably should've given him some warning, in hindsight.]
Forgive me, I didn't mean to- There's no need to be scared, really.
[They spare a glance at themself, at their not-quite-human appearance. Their next words could almost be a joke, if it weren't for the concern lacing them.]
Is my figure that unsettling? This is the most human I could look, Simon.
[His wide-eyed look loses a little of its instinctual, blind terror as he takes Aster in, but still he just stares, words failing him. How the fuck did his brain conjure something like this? Their skin is painted with stars, for fuck's sake. He barely remembers what those look like, blurry memories of the weak, flickering lights winking out one by one that punctuated his childhood, nothing but hazy, fleeting images as an adult. The fear in his gaze slowly drains, replaced by pure shock, his thoughts still buffering like an ancient machine.]
I...
[Aster frowns, taking a small step closer. Had they broken him? Surely not...right?]
Are...you alright? Don't tell me this form is still too eldritch for you to comprehend.
[They grimace, taking in the cramped sub.]
Mi asrynix...How long have you been in this...what's the word...shit-hole?
[Simon twitches as the step forward - not quite a flinch, just a little jolt, a tensing of his muscles that's there and gone again as his eyes lock onto Aster's instead of the starry patches of skin. They asked a question, right, he can do that, he can answer questions, except... how long has it been? His oxygen's still on one light, but he knows it's been more than thirty minutes.]
I- I don't- don' know...
[He answers through a dry throat, his eyes glazing over a little as his gaze wanders again and catches on the scribbles that were once a map, still taped to the wall. No, he couldn't do all that in thirty minutes, it has to have been longer, surely. He doesn't know why the oxygen would still be on one if it's been longer, though. He's probably already suffocated, and this is just his brain's last hoorah before he dies. He's probably already dead, and this is just Hell. Maybe he died on Filament, and this is his punishment. Maybe he was born in sin, and the world above the ocean was just purgatory, before judgement was cast. He doesn't know anymore.]
Forever. C'ple hours. Dunno...
Of course you don't know...
[Aster pinches the bridge of their nose, muttering something about mortals and their terrible sense of time. Like theirs is any better. They follow Simon's gaze to the makeshift map on the wall, their head tilting, though they don't comment on it.]
Well, we can probably rule out "forever" as one of the options. Forgive my assumption, but I believe I'm much older than you are, and I certainly haven't been around forever.
[Simon feels a spark of anger in his ribs at Aster's muttering, but he's too tired for it to catch and turn into a flame, smothered by the heavy haze that crowds in around him. It would be disconcerting, if he was coherent enough to care - anger has always come easily to him, before - but he just grunts instead of arguing, even though he's not sure he believes Aster, the blurry, scribbled lines of the map dancing in his vision. Oh. Is the room spinning again? He can't tell.]
Mn. M'kay. Not f'rever, then. Years? I... it's... it all... blurs t'gether.
...I understand the feeling.
[Aster paces in a small circle, their gaze flitting over the console, the camera, the map, before landing back on Simon.]
Why are you down here in the first place? To map out the ocean? Surely your kind isn't dull enough to send one person alone - you're fragile little beings.
[They falter, realizing how that might come across.]
No offense, I mean. We can't all be immortal, can we?
[Simon lets out a little noise that sounds almost like a hoarse huff of a laugh, tired and bitter, but it quickly turns into a cough and he hisses in pain instead, bringing his legs back up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.]
If dull's what y'wanna call it, sure.
[He mutters, eyes catching on the slight glint of the pendant hanging from his wrist, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares at it.]
Think they jus' wanted me t'suffer.
[His voice drops a little, once again mumbling to himself more than Aster, his tone shifting like he's imitating someone.]
'S'just some pictures, Convict. Don' be a pussy, Convict. Jus' a sample, an' then you're free...' tch.
Convict...?
[That's the word that manages to catch Aster's attention, somehow. They could guess it wasn't just some normal nickname.]
You're...You weren't free?
[Much to their own surprise, a hint of pity seeps into their tone. The concern, they expected, but to feel pity on someone they hardly knew? A voice echoes in their mind, a wisp of a memory. You're getting soft, Aster. Why do you give a damn about them?]
[They try to push that thought to the back of their mind. Now isn't the time.]
What, y'think I chose t'be down here?
[Simon growls, but there isn't much heat behind it.]
I... yeah, okay, I took th'fuckin' deal. Din't tell me there'd be fuckin'-
[His voice cracks wetly, and he stops, his head hanging low. He's vaguely aware that he's not making much sense, but he's so lightheaded he feels sick, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees It looking back at him on the red of his eyelids.]
I didn't know I'd... I-I jus'... they didn't ev'n tell me 'bout the camera... I-I didn't know!
[The camera? What camera? What about it???]
[Despite the questions swirling through Aster's thoughts, they ignore them. Gingerly, they kneel on the floor near Simon - not right next to him, they have a feeling that wouldn't be the best choice. Blood seeps into their pants, staining the fabric, but they pay it no mind.]
Hey...just take a deep breath, alright? It'll...
[It'll what? Be okay? They can't promise that, not to a man submerged in a blood ocean. They trail off, refraining from saying something that might make the situation worse.]
[His breath hitches as Aster moves, seemingly just an instinctual reaction to them getting closer more than any real fear, and against his will, he tries to do as he's told, only for the breath to crackle wetly in his lungs and trigger another round of hacking coughs, his ribs screaming in pain.]
Guhh.
[He lets out a ragged, grunting sound of pain when it's over, his teeth freshly stained with blood that dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and he returns to his shallow, panting breaths, glaring angrily at the floor. The pain in his chest makes the whispering kick up a notch, enough that he can start to decipher words, little taunts that make him jerk his head away from the direction of them harshly - not that it does anything. He might be hearing it in his left ear, but they're in his brain, claws digging little grooves in the gray matter, scraping away at his thoughts. He disregards the being- hallucination- whatever in front of him for a moment, mumbling to himself like that'll make them go away.]
S-Stop it. What? N-No, no- shuddup.
[His quiet mumbles bring a slight furrow to Aster's brow, their lips twitching into a frown.]
[Gods, are all humans in this realm this messed up?]
Simon? Are you alright...?
[When that doesn't get them a response, they make what is perhaps their riskiest decision yet. Ever so slowly, knowing this may end badly, they reach out, their fingers brushing Simon's knee.]
[Simon shows no sign of having heard them, but he definitely notices when their hand makes contact, because he makes a noise like a cross between a yelp and a grunt, and flinches backwards only to slam his shoulders back into the console close behind him, his leg instinctively kicking out, missing Aster by a hair's breadth. His head snaps back to face them, making eye contact again, his pupils visibly mismatched in size even as his eyes widen with fear, but at least the muttering in his left ear eases off again, replaced by the sound of his own heartbeat and his harsh, shallow breathing. He's visibly startled, yes, but he looks more present again, at least, even if it's made him more terrified as he comes to terms with the fact that Aster touched him. None of the other hallucinations have been tangible.] I-I- you- I- th'fuck...
[Aster tenses, immediately drawing their hand back with what sounded like a muttered curse, despite it not being any English one Simon knew of.]
Sorry, I- Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.
[They seem to debate what to do next, their eyes flitting over Simon's form.]
I understand you don't believe me...you probably don't even think I'm real...but I want to help you, Simon. If you'll let me. I- No one deserves a fate like this.
[He shudders at their words, pulling his leg back towards himself, and shakes his head slowly, his bloodstained mouth twisting into a grimace.]
Can't, th'won't- It's not g'nna let go.
[He sounds resigned, tired, like he wants to hope, but it's just a statement of fact that he's repeating, told to him over and over again until he believes it mindlessly. It Saw him, there's no going back from that, he knows. He knows it like he knows the ache in his bones is fatal, like he knows he's running on borrowed time.]
It...?
[Aster frowns, a thousand questions rising in their mind. What is it? What does he mean it 'won't let go'? Only one manages to make it out of them.]
Who? Who are you referring to, Simon? The "eel"? Or...something else?
[They didn't know if the answer they'd get would be coherent, but one could hope.]
[...Right?]
[Simon makes a small, broken noise, like a sob, and curls a little tighter into himself.]
I-I don't- I- It- It's... everything. [His voice shifts, just barely, almost imperceptible. He still sounds tired and upset, but slowly his tone becomes calmer, and then almost airy, awed. His eyes are cast low, staring at the floor, but they glint red in the meagre light, dull and distant.] I-It Sees... It thinks, and we are... It's the answer.
*gives simon a large flask of clean non-contaminated fresh water because he deserves it*
[Simon blinks, and there's more water in front of him. He's given up questioning the things that just seem to appear, and so he slowly takes the flask, sniffing it carefully before taking a sip. It tastes strange, non-metallic and clean, but he drinks it quickly, chugging it all in one go and groaning softly to himself as he does.]
...thanks.
[He mumbles hoarsely, turning the flask over in bloodied hands.]
[Click.]
<< When the photo finally shows up on the screen, a massive eye is staring back at Simon. >>
Âť DooOO00o0o no0OotttT woOorrrRryyYy, littlleEeEe calllffFff....
<< The harmonizing voice returns on the speaker >>
Âť Mo0ttThhheErrR wiiiILlll prOotttEecCcttTt yooO0oouuUuuU....
<< The gentle bump against the sub returns, this time on the opposite side, where the camera isn't. Seems the beast's picture shy. >>
<< The voice it has kind of reminded Simon of his actual mom... and it didn't seem to be trying to eat him yet. Moreso just nudging the sub along with it's likely massive body. >>
â đŠ¸đ
(OOC: went off anon to use a picture)
Nonononono-
[Simon scrambles to his feet, only for the sub to be bumped again, and no matter how gentle it is, he's dizzy and injured and so he stumbles and slams back into the floor almost immediately, letting out a quiet groan that almost sounds like a sob. Whether the creature wants to hurt him or not, his nervous system certainly doesn't care, adrenaline pumping through his already wrecked body as he shakes on the bloodsoaked metal floor of the sub.]
Fuck-
[this is @lil4c-dot-mp3 , the old thread was getting kinda long so I hope this is ok?]
Hey, woah there, buddy. Youâre okay, youâre gonna be just fine.
*The voice rolls you back onto your side. Your vision is too messed up to see them very well, but with your eyes open you can see that the voice and touch do have a body to go with them.*
Alright, I have to do some things thatâll hurt for a second, but then when Iâm done youâll feel better. But I want you to stay still, alright?
(CONT. FROM)
[The only thought Simon can form for a moment is 'fuck, everything hurts', and he can hear words buzzing in his ears, but he can't decipher the meaning behind them. Someone's still touching him, rolling him over, more hands sticking to the tacky blood that coats his body and peeling away with a sensation that makes him shudder, and the touch burns, even gentle as it is. He can hear that the someone is saying something - or is it still in his head? Can he even tell the difference? - but still the voice is muffled, and all he processes is 'hurt' and 'stay still', words that even with his brain being mush - slightly less so, now, somehow, but still mush - he registers as bad.] Plea- ghhk, please- [His almost instinctual begging starts up again, hindered by his hoarse throat, and he almost chokes on the words, stretching an arm out past the pain to claw at the floor of the sub, or ocean, or wherever he is, eyes screwing up in pain as he tries to squint past the blurriness. Fuck, he wants to live. He doesn't want to hurt anymore, but without the screaming voices in his head, somehow, he finds he still wants to live.]
*The ground is neither metal nor congealed blood, but something crumbly, almost like dirt. There's springy bits sprouting up, almost like some kind of dry plant life, if that were still possible. The stranger speaks again.*
I know, I know. Shh....
*Their hand rubs up and down your back at some attempt to soothe as they begin the painful work of putting you back together. Your bones shift to knit themselves back together. There's a burning in your veins, in your lungs, in your skin, as somehow the worst of the radiation is being drained from your body, drawn up into their hand, and your half-decayed organs begin to reconstruct themselves. You hear the stranger is speaking, distantly, but you can't understand what they're saying, and barely register that it's their voice at all. It hurts.*
*Like your journey here, the ordeal seemed longer than it was. The stranger takes their hand off of you. You're still sore all over, but maybe it hurts less. Your skin doesn't quite burn. Your head might be clearer if you weren't somehow so much more tired than you were before, and a little nauseous from it all. At least, you know for certain now that breathing is miles easier. The stranger sighs.*
Okay, I'm done now. You did a good job.
Ngh- fuck-
[Simon's hand hits something that feels like dirt, and immediately his mind conjures images of the Last Tree, as he'd seen it before Filament, barely clinging on to its few remaining leaves. His logical brain immediately rejects the idea, but the blindly hopeful, delirious part of him wonders if he'd blacked out, if he was home, being soothed as he breathed his last in the roots of Eden's most sacred idol. For a moment, he lets himself hope that the faint voice is one of his Brothers, sending him off with soft words, but then he revolts against that comfort. They'd betrayed him. He knew he would never return to the Tree when he surrendered, and he knows that's still true. But everything hurts, and Brother or not, he can't move more than letting out a few choked groans of pain and weak twitching, so he lets the voice drone on, lets his blurry, unseeing eyes slip closed. It burns. Everything aches. Time slides away from him, unimportant, and when the pain starts to ease, Simon just assumes that's him finally dying, and all he can do is sob pathetically about it. He's so tired.]
Ple-hease...
I know. I know. Youâre okay now, shh.
*The stranger begins to run their hand over your sticky hair, almost like a parent, as you sob.*
I know youâre tired. You can sleep, youâll be okay.
*The pain lessens, slowly. The rushing sound begins to seem more like the rustling of leaves from far, far back in your memory.*
[If this is what his brain chooses to give him in his last moments, he'll take it, but it's a cruel, cruel hallucination. He can hear leaves shifting in the false wind of the ventilation system, can practically feel his mother's hand in his hair. The voice tells him he can sleep, and he wants to, but still something stubbornly clings onto awareness, still refusing to give up, to fall asleep for what he's sure will be his last time. He's so tired, and still he suffers. He wants to let go so badly, but his hand still digs into the dirt like he's trying to pull himself out of his own grave, a sacrificial lamb that refuses to die. But he can't fight the exhaustion that tugs at his limbs, and he ends up just making nonsensical noises of protest as the darkness crowds in, like a physical weight around him.]
Mng- plea- hngk...
Shhh, thatâs it. Youâre okay. Youâre okay.
*The stranger continues like this until the exhaustion finally drowns you, and then even for a few minutes after you fall still and silent.*
*In the midst of your rest, you sometimes feel these half-dreamt sensations: something cool on your face, quiet voices whispering, something soft against your body. You canât seem to wake up to meet any of them, and instead sink deeper into your sleep.*
*When you do awake, you know before you open your eyes that you are in a different place than when you fell asleep. Youâre somewhere comfortable. Opening your eyes, you see that youâre in a bed with a white duvet. The air in the room is cool, but the sheets are warm from you lying in them. Your body is still sore, but managably so. You feel clean, the blood is gone. Youâre wearing different clothes.*
*The lights in the room are dim. It doesnât look like any room on a space station youâve seen before. The walls are gray, but not metal. Venetian blinds cover a glowing window, through the cracks of those blinds is where most of the light in the room is coming from. Next to the bed, on your right side, is a small table where your knife sheath sits next to a lamp and a picture of a baby you donât recognize. The right hand wall has two wooden doors. Thereâs a cabinet with some kind of device on top of it in front of the bed.*
*Itâs quiet.*
[Simon stares at the ceiling of the room he wakes up in for a long time, his brain numb with disbelief. The idea of still being alive is so foreign to him that he doesn't dare consider it as a possibility, but he doesn't know how else he'd be able to open his eyes and not see the inside of the sub right now, so he simply doesn't think on it, instead letting his mind wander to less important things. He dwells on foggy memories from before he woke, distant, dreamlike sensations, and lets his eyes trace the lines of light coming through the blinds. His throat is dry and sore, but not so much that he wants to cough again, and nothing is uncomfortable enough to make him want to move, so he doesn't. The only thing he can properly process is the now-familiar whispers in his ears, so quiet he can barely even hear them, but there all the same, and weirdly, it's the only thing that keeps him grounded, the only thing that still makes sense. Maybe his surroundings are just a trick dreamed up by the Eel or the Light for some convoluted plan that he can't fathom, but he finds himself not really caring about that possibility. He'll let it trick him, if that's the case. Anything's better than the sub.]
*Youâre not sure how long you lay there before someone knocks on the door. Whatever you do, they take as an invitation inside.*
*The door opens slowly, and you see the intruder by degrees: first an eye, then a face, then a body. Itâs Lilac, who you havenât really seen since the submarine. She stands just far enough inside the door to shut it behind her. Sheâs holding a cup in one of her hands. She speaks quietly, and somewhat nervously, like she expects you to be angry with her for what she did.*
Hi⌠do you want some water?
[He doesn't respond to the knock, but when the door opens, he lets his eyes lazily trail across the ceiling, staring at Lilac with that same blank, empty look from the submarine. His eyes still glint reddish despite their dark brown hue, but he doesn't look angry, or upset. He doesn't look much of anything, because he doesn't feel much of anything, just that dull ache in his chest. It's not real, he reminds himself faintly. It's not real. But he can pretend. He nods in reply, barely a twitch of his head, the movement jerky and small like he's not fully in control of his own body.]
*Lilac walks to you and hands you the cup, still nervous. Itâs filled up a little less than halfway.*
I can get more if you want more, weâre not, like, rationing or anything, my mom just didnât want you to drink a whole lot at once in case you, uh, felt sick or something.
*The water is cold and it tastes weird.*
How⌠how much do you, uh, remember?
[To take the water, Simon first has to sit up, and it takes him a long minute to remember how all his muscles work, and he only just about manages it, feeling like every part of him that makes him Simon is about three steps to the left of his actual body. Hazard of being dead or hallucinating, he supposes, his thoughts sluggish and hazy, and it's only once he's been staring at the cup of water for a few seconds that he realises that he's been asked a question.]
Ev'rythin'.
[He mumbles, his voice still sore and hoarse, dry from disuse. He doesn't drink the water, though, just kind of watches it, faintly wondering when it will turn red and thick. It's not quite a lie - he remembers quite a lot, too well, chaos and Knowledge and big teeth and bigger Eyes sharp and painful in his memory - but the inbetweens are foggier than he'd like. He figures it doesn't matter much, though, considering none of this is real.]
[this is @lil4c-dot-mp3 , the old thread was getting kinda long so I hope this is ok?]
Hey, woah there, buddy. Youâre okay, youâre gonna be just fine.
*The voice rolls you back onto your side. Your vision is too messed up to see them very well, but with your eyes open you can see that the voice and touch do have a body to go with them.*
Alright, I have to do some things thatâll hurt for a second, but then when Iâm done youâll feel better. But I want you to stay still, alright?
(CONT. FROM)
[The only thought Simon can form for a moment is 'fuck, everything hurts', and he can hear words buzzing in his ears, but he can't decipher the meaning behind them. Someone's still touching him, rolling him over, more hands sticking to the tacky blood that coats his body and peeling away with a sensation that makes him shudder, and the touch burns, even gentle as it is. He can hear that the someone is saying something - or is it still in his head? Can he even tell the difference? - but still the voice is muffled, and all he processes is 'hurt' and 'stay still', words that even with his brain being mush - slightly less so, now, somehow, but still mush - he registers as bad.] Plea- ghhk, please- [His almost instinctual begging starts up again, hindered by his hoarse throat, and he almost chokes on the words, stretching an arm out past the pain to claw at the floor of the sub, or ocean, or wherever he is, eyes screwing up in pain as he tries to squint past the blurriness. Fuck, he wants to live. He doesn't want to hurt anymore, but without the screaming voices in his head, somehow, he finds he still wants to live.]
*The ground is neither metal nor congealed blood, but something crumbly, almost like dirt. There's springy bits sprouting up, almost like some kind of dry plant life, if that were still possible. The stranger speaks again.*
I know, I know. Shh....
*Their hand rubs up and down your back at some attempt to soothe as they begin the painful work of putting you back together. Your bones shift to knit themselves back together. There's a burning in your veins, in your lungs, in your skin, as somehow the worst of the radiation is being drained from your body, drawn up into their hand, and your half-decayed organs begin to reconstruct themselves. You hear the stranger is speaking, distantly, but you can't understand what they're saying, and barely register that it's their voice at all. It hurts.*
*Like your journey here, the ordeal seemed longer than it was. The stranger takes their hand off of you. You're still sore all over, but maybe it hurts less. Your skin doesn't quite burn. Your head might be clearer if you weren't somehow so much more tired than you were before, and a little nauseous from it all. At least, you know for certain now that breathing is miles easier. The stranger sighs.*
Okay, I'm done now. You did a good job.
Ngh- fuck-
[Simon's hand hits something that feels like dirt, and immediately his mind conjures images of the Last Tree, as he'd seen it before Filament, barely clinging on to its few remaining leaves. His logical brain immediately rejects the idea, but the blindly hopeful, delirious part of him wonders if he'd blacked out, if he was home, being soothed as he breathed his last in the roots of Eden's most sacred idol. For a moment, he lets himself hope that the faint voice is one of his Brothers, sending him off with soft words, but then he revolts against that comfort. They'd betrayed him. He knew he would never return to the Tree when he surrendered, and he knows that's still true. But everything hurts, and Brother or not, he can't move more than letting out a few choked groans of pain and weak twitching, so he lets the voice drone on, lets his blurry, unseeing eyes slip closed. It burns. Everything aches. Time slides away from him, unimportant, and when the pain starts to ease, Simon just assumes that's him finally dying, and all he can do is sob pathetically about it. He's so tired.]
Ple-hease...
I know. I know. Youâre okay now, shh.
*The stranger begins to run their hand over your sticky hair, almost like a parent, as you sob.*
I know youâre tired. You can sleep, youâll be okay.
*The pain lessens, slowly. The rushing sound begins to seem more like the rustling of leaves from far, far back in your memory.*
[If this is what his brain chooses to give him in his last moments, he'll take it, but it's a cruel, cruel hallucination. He can hear leaves shifting in the false wind of the ventilation system, can practically feel his mother's hand in his hair. The voice tells him he can sleep, and he wants to, but still something stubbornly clings onto awareness, still refusing to give up, to fall asleep for what he's sure will be his last time. He's so tired, and still he suffers. He wants to let go so badly, but his hand still digs into the dirt like he's trying to pull himself out of his own grave, a sacrificial lamb that refuses to die. But he can't fight the exhaustion that tugs at his limbs, and he ends up just making nonsensical noises of protest as the darkness crowds in, like a physical weight around him.]
Mng- plea- hngk...
Shhh, thatâs it. Youâre okay. Youâre okay.
*The stranger continues like this until the exhaustion finally drowns you, and then even for a few minutes after you fall still and silent.*
*In the midst of your rest, you sometimes feel these half-dreamt sensations: something cool on your face, quiet voices whispering, something soft against your body. You canât seem to wake up to meet any of them, and instead sink deeper into your sleep.*
*When you do awake, you know before you open your eyes that you are in a different place than when you fell asleep. Youâre somewhere comfortable. Opening your eyes, you see that youâre in a bed with a white duvet. The air in the room is cool, but the sheets are warm from you lying in them. Your body is still sore, but managably so. You feel clean, the blood is gone. Youâre wearing different clothes.*
*The lights in the room are dim. It doesnât look like any room on a space station youâve seen before. The walls are gray, but not metal. Venetian blinds cover a glowing window, through the cracks of those blinds is where most of the light in the room is coming from. Next to the bed, on your right side, is a small table where your knife sheath sits next to a lamp and a picture of a baby you donât recognize. The right hand wall has two wooden doors. Thereâs a cabinet with some kind of device on top of it in front of the bed.*
*Itâs quiet.*
[Simon stares at the ceiling of the room he wakes up in for a long time, his brain numb with disbelief. The idea of still being alive is so foreign to him that he doesn't dare consider it as a possibility, but he doesn't know how else he'd be able to open his eyes and not see the inside of the sub right now, so he simply doesn't think on it, instead letting his mind wander to less important things. He dwells on foggy memories from before he woke, distant, dreamlike sensations, and lets his eyes trace the lines of light coming through the blinds. His throat is dry and sore, but not so much that he wants to cough again, and nothing is uncomfortable enough to make him want to move, so he doesn't. The only thing he can properly process is the now-familiar whispers in his ears, so quiet he can barely even hear them, but there all the same, and weirdly, it's the only thing that keeps him grounded, the only thing that still makes sense. Maybe his surroundings are just a trick dreamed up by the Eel or the Light for some convoluted plan that he can't fathom, but he finds himself not really caring about that possibility. He'll let it trick him, if that's the case. Anything's better than the sub.]
*Youâre not sure how long you lay there before someone knocks on the door. Whatever you do, they take as an invitation inside.*
*The door opens slowly, and you see the intruder by degrees: first an eye, then a face, then a body. Itâs Lilac, who you havenât really seen since the submarine. She stands just far enough inside the door to shut it behind her. Sheâs holding a cup in one of her hands. She speaks quietly, and somewhat nervously, like she expects you to be angry with her for what she did.*
Hi⌠do you want some water?
[He doesn't respond to the knock, but when the door opens, he lets his eyes lazily trail across the ceiling, staring at Lilac with that same blank, empty look from the submarine. His eyes still glint reddish despite their dark brown hue, but he doesn't look angry, or upset. He doesn't look much of anything, because he doesn't feel much of anything, just that dull ache in his chest. It's not real, he reminds himself faintly. It's not real. But he can pretend. He nods in reply, barely a twitch of his head, the movement jerky and small like he's not fully in control of his own body.]
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[Aster sighs, like they'd expected this.]
I'm not planning to kill you, if that's what you're thinking. I just-
[They mutter something in a foreign tongue, although it sounds like it's probably a curse.]
I've been alone for millennia. Hearing your voice is one thing, but it...would be nice to actually see you.
You don't have to say yes. But...think about it. Please.
( @4d-4str4 )
(CONT. FROM)
[Simon mumbles something that sounds vaguely like 'millennia?', frowning and repeating the word to himself, like it's taking him a second to remember what it means. He doesn't even address Aster's reassurance - how would they kill something that's already dead, anyway? - but the last part is what gets him. 'Think about it', like Simon has time to sit and wait for his sluggish brain to make a decision. Like he's ever thought about anything in his life. Even being down here was a spur-of-the-moment agreement to the deal. They'd offered him freedom and he'd barely listened to the terms before saying yes. What's one more deal with the Devil?]
Please.
[He whispers before he can think better of it, his chest aching with something more than just broken ribs. He's still so tired. Tired, tired, tired. How long has it been? How many days, weeks, years since he saw another face that wasn't fleshy and distorted and empty?]
...Alright.
[That's the only warning given before a burst of light illuminates the sub. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving a figure standing in its place. Their black hair flows in waves just below their shoulders, and their blue eyes glint in the dim light of the ship. Patches of their skin are oddly dark, dusted with what looks like...stars? It looks like the night sky brushed over their fair complexion, remnants of itself lingering on their skin.]
[Their lip curls as they glance down, seeing the blood on the floor. However, their disgust dissipates as they catch sight of Simon. A faint smile ghosts their features.]
Hello, Simon.
[Simon's breath hitches at the flash of light - it's over so fast, he barely has time for that bone-deep dread to settle in, but it's still startling - scrambling back from it as much as he can when every muscle protests the movement. He ends up with his ass back on the floor and his spine slamming against the console behind him, blood splattered up his already-messy forearms from his frantic movement backwards, and his head thunks gently against the metal at his back as he looks up at Aster, his lips parting slightly in shock, and his glazed, hysterical eyes wide with fear.] Uh.
[Aster's brow furrows as their gaze trails over Simon. They probably should've given him some warning, in hindsight.]
Forgive me, I didn't mean to- There's no need to be scared, really.
[They spare a glance at themself, at their not-quite-human appearance. Their next words could almost be a joke, if it weren't for the concern lacing them.]
Is my figure that unsettling? This is the most human I could look, Simon.
[His wide-eyed look loses a little of its instinctual, blind terror as he takes Aster in, but still he just stares, words failing him. How the fuck did his brain conjure something like this? Their skin is painted with stars, for fuck's sake. He barely remembers what those look like, blurry memories of the weak, flickering lights winking out one by one that punctuated his childhood, nothing but hazy, fleeting images as an adult. The fear in his gaze slowly drains, replaced by pure shock, his thoughts still buffering like an ancient machine.]
I...
[Aster frowns, taking a small step closer. Had they broken him? Surely not...right?]
Are...you alright? Don't tell me this form is still too eldritch for you to comprehend.
[They grimace, taking in the cramped sub.]
Mi asrynix...How long have you been in this...what's the word...shit-hole?
[Simon twitches as the step forward - not quite a flinch, just a little jolt, a tensing of his muscles that's there and gone again as his eyes lock onto Aster's instead of the starry patches of skin. They asked a question, right, he can do that, he can answer questions, except... how long has it been? His oxygen's still on one light, but he knows it's been more than thirty minutes.]
I- I don't- don' know...
[He answers through a dry throat, his eyes glazing over a little as his gaze wanders again and catches on the scribbles that were once a map, still taped to the wall. No, he couldn't do all that in thirty minutes, it has to have been longer, surely. He doesn't know why the oxygen would still be on one if it's been longer, though. He's probably already suffocated, and this is just his brain's last hoorah before he dies. He's probably already dead, and this is just Hell. Maybe he died on Filament, and this is his punishment. Maybe he was born in sin, and the world above the ocean was just purgatory, before judgement was cast. He doesn't know anymore.]
Forever. C'ple hours. Dunno...
Of course you don't know...
[Aster pinches the bridge of their nose, muttering something about mortals and their terrible sense of time. Like theirs is any better. They follow Simon's gaze to the makeshift map on the wall, their head tilting, though they don't comment on it.]
Well, we can probably rule out "forever" as one of the options. Forgive my assumption, but I believe I'm much older than you are, and I certainly haven't been around forever.
[Simon feels a spark of anger in his ribs at Aster's muttering, but he's too tired for it to catch and turn into a flame, smothered by the heavy haze that crowds in around him. It would be disconcerting, if he was coherent enough to care - anger has always come easily to him, before - but he just grunts instead of arguing, even though he's not sure he believes Aster, the blurry, scribbled lines of the map dancing in his vision. Oh. Is the room spinning again? He can't tell.]
Mn. M'kay. Not f'rever, then. Years? I... it's... it all... blurs t'gether.
...I understand the feeling.
[Aster paces in a small circle, their gaze flitting over the console, the camera, the map, before landing back on Simon.]
Why are you down here in the first place? To map out the ocean? Surely your kind isn't dull enough to send one person alone - you're fragile little beings.
[They falter, realizing how that might come across.]
No offense, I mean. We can't all be immortal, can we?
[Simon lets out a little noise that sounds almost like a hoarse huff of a laugh, tired and bitter, but it quickly turns into a cough and he hisses in pain instead, bringing his legs back up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.]
If dull's what y'wanna call it, sure.
[He mutters, eyes catching on the slight glint of the pendant hanging from his wrist, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares at it.]
Think they jus' wanted me t'suffer.
[His voice drops a little, once again mumbling to himself more than Aster, his tone shifting like he's imitating someone.]
'S'just some pictures, Convict. Don' be a pussy, Convict. Jus' a sample, an' then you're free...' tch.
Convict...?
[That's the word that manages to catch Aster's attention, somehow. They could guess it wasn't just some normal nickname.]
You're...You weren't free?
[Much to their own surprise, a hint of pity seeps into their tone. The concern, they expected, but to feel pity on someone they hardly knew? A voice echoes in their mind, a wisp of a memory. You're getting soft, Aster. Why do you give a damn about them?]
[They try to push that thought to the back of their mind. Now isn't the time.]
What, y'think I chose t'be down here?
[Simon growls, but there isn't much heat behind it.]
I... yeah, okay, I took th'fuckin' deal. Din't tell me there'd be fuckin'-
[His voice cracks wetly, and he stops, his head hanging low. He's vaguely aware that he's not making much sense, but he's so lightheaded he feels sick, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees It looking back at him on the red of his eyelids.]
I didn't know I'd... I-I jus'... they didn't ev'n tell me 'bout the camera... I-I didn't know!
[The camera? What camera? What about it???]
[Despite the questions swirling through Aster's thoughts, they ignore them. Gingerly, they kneel on the floor near Simon - not right next to him, they have a feeling that wouldn't be the best choice. Blood seeps into their pants, staining the fabric, but they pay it no mind.]
Hey...just take a deep breath, alright? It'll...
[It'll what? Be okay? They can't promise that, not to a man submerged in a blood ocean. They trail off, refraining from saying something that might make the situation worse.]
[His breath hitches as Aster moves, seemingly just an instinctual reaction to them getting closer more than any real fear, and against his will, he tries to do as he's told, only for the breath to crackle wetly in his lungs and trigger another round of hacking coughs, his ribs screaming in pain.]
Guhh.
[He lets out a ragged, grunting sound of pain when it's over, his teeth freshly stained with blood that dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and he returns to his shallow, panting breaths, glaring angrily at the floor. The pain in his chest makes the whispering kick up a notch, enough that he can start to decipher words, little taunts that make him jerk his head away from the direction of them harshly - not that it does anything. He might be hearing it in his left ear, but they're in his brain, claws digging little grooves in the gray matter, scraping away at his thoughts. He disregards the being- hallucination- whatever in front of him for a moment, mumbling to himself like that'll make them go away.]
S-Stop it. What? N-No, no- shuddup.
[His quiet mumbles bring a slight furrow to Aster's brow, their lips twitching into a frown.]
[Gods, are all humans in this realm this messed up?]
Simon? Are you alright...?
[When that doesn't get them a response, they make what is perhaps their riskiest decision yet. Ever so slowly, knowing this may end badly, they reach out, their fingers brushing Simon's knee.]
[Simon shows no sign of having heard them, but he definitely notices when their hand makes contact, because he makes a noise like a cross between a yelp and a grunt, and flinches backwards only to slam his shoulders back into the console close behind him, his leg instinctively kicking out, missing Aster by a hair's breadth. His head snaps back to face them, making eye contact again, his pupils visibly mismatched in size even as his eyes widen with fear, but at least the muttering in his left ear eases off again, replaced by the sound of his own heartbeat and his harsh, shallow breathing. He's visibly startled, yes, but he looks more present again, at least, even if it's made him more terrified as he comes to terms with the fact that Aster touched him. None of the other hallucinations have been tangible.] I-I- you- I- th'fuck...
[Aster tenses, immediately drawing their hand back with what sounded like a muttered curse, despite it not being any English one Simon knew of.]
Sorry, I- Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you.
[They seem to debate what to do next, their eyes flitting over Simon's form.]
I understand you don't believe me...you probably don't even think I'm real...but I want to help you, Simon. If you'll let me. I- No one deserves a fate like this.
[He shudders at their words, pulling his leg back towards himself, and shakes his head slowly, his bloodstained mouth twisting into a grimace.]
Can't, th'won't- It's not g'nna let go.
[He sounds resigned, tired, like he wants to hope, but it's just a statement of fact that he's repeating, told to him over and over again until he believes it mindlessly. It Saw him, there's no going back from that, he knows. He knows it like he knows the ache in his bones is fatal, like he knows he's running on borrowed time.]
<< A noise crackles from the radio... >>
<< It was definitely speaking his language, but it sounded... strange. >>
Âť Heelllooooo? Hellloo0oo0OoO??
Âť Whatttt arrReeE yyo0ooouuUu?
<< A surprisingly gentle bump to the sub happens, with odd vocalizations and clicks coming from outside. >>
â đŠ¸đ
[Simon tenses at the sound of the radio turning on again, the one he knows is broken - not that it ever stops the voices from coming through. He tries to curl up tighter where he sits on the floor, tries to block out the sound of words he's not even processing the meaning of, but then something bumps against the sub and he lets out a wordless, terrified noise, tipping over onto his side and scrambling away from the point of impact.]
Ffffuck- fuck, please n-no, please-
