flew away.

                           ɪ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ sʟᴇᴇᴘ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ ғʟᴇᴡ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

         ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ʀᴘ ʙʟᴏɢ ғᴏʀ (ᴀᴅᴜʟᴛ) 'ᴅᴀʟᴛᴏɴ ʟᴀᴍʙᴇʀᴛ’ ғʀᴏᴍ ɪɴsɪᴅɪᴏᴜs

            heavily head-canon based / oc + multimuse friendly /

                                         ‘    ────     again,    huh  ?     you’re    out    of       pills       or    what  ?   ‘               diana    asks,    shifts    her    head    slightly    askew    as      dyed    brows    furrow      in    a    concerned    mien.    hazel    orbs    locked    on    other’s    face       -       then    his    shoulder ;    girl    brushes    some      f u z z      off    of    him.                   ‘  wanna    nab    some    of    mine  ?    knocks    you    out    completely,    dude.      NO    DREAMS    OR    ANYTHING.   ‘                  a    smile,                  ‘  sure,    i    don’t    start    work    until    four.    got    anything    in    mind  ?   ‘             

@furtherlost·      /      continued  from  x

     fiction  was   far   more    believable   a   tale   than   truth   most   in      the   young   man’s    unfortunate    experience.  that  didn’t    mean       that  improvisation   came   any   easier    to   him.   how   could    he      ever    begin   to   explain    to   his    friend    of    so   many   years       that   it    was    imperative    that   dalton    remain    aware   during   his      time    adrift    in   slumber;   to       𝙡𝙚𝙩      𝙜𝙤      ---    to    fall     into    the      dark    could     only   unravel   such    unthinkable   horrors     that   he        dare    not   even     think   of,   (  let    alone   say    aloud .)

                          ᴛʜᴇ      ᴍᴀɴ      ᴡɪᴛʜ      ғɪʀᴇ     ᴏɴ   ʜɪs    ғᴀᴄᴇ    ᴡᴀɪᴛs.

     his    smile    softens    at   the  sweet,    gentle    gesture    and    lets      loose   a    tired   huff    of  laughter,    though   eyes    can’t   quite       meet    her    own.   (not  so   unusual   in  the   often   spaced out       man’s case ).   “ -------ah, yeah.”   dalton  sighs,   giving   a shrug. with      a   face    that     tried   to   express,     eh, what can you do?.      but    still,    he    shakes   her    head   at    the    offer    granted    and       returns    finger   to   his    mouth   absently, 

    “oh,  no----- it’s    all    ok.    they    give   me    these   bad       stomach   aches.    something    to   do    with   the    casing  they      use.”   he   shakes   his   other  hand   slightly,   a  waft  of  care-free       dismissal.     “    but    thanks.  ”

"I'm not sad---- just ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ."

Dalton   corrected   as   smile   ᴛᴡɪsᴛs   uncomfortably   into   a yawn   that   he   does   his  best   to   stifle.    He   brought   a   sleeve   up   to   his  mouth,   eyes   squinting   as   he pushed    back   his   body's   need   for   air;  sneaker   stamping   against   the   ground   as   if the   noise   would   shoo   the   offending   reaction   away   like   some     wild deer. "Bad dreams." He   explained,   already   feeling   one   hand   reaching   for   his  other   in   anxious   respite, nail     digging   away   absently  at   skin   as   he   shifts   in   his   seat. "It happens.       ----hey, you wanna go catch a movie?"

“    never    stand    in    line    for    a    movie    .    it’s    all    about    the    private    screenings    .    ”    /    @furtherlost·    (    sc    )

      “   Private     screenings?   ”  The   young   man’s   eye’s  widened   at            the   stranger’s   comment, amusement   clinging   to   his   lips               as    straw   dangles         precariously.      She’d   caught   him            mid-movement.                   “ Like   the   geeky   kind   or   the   sexy   kind?”                                                       ( An awkward pause, a fumbling and                                                          retracing of words spewed. )

              He   removed   the   straw   from   betwixt   teeth.                        “-------I’m joking----”

“ --------ɴᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ.”

                 The reply is exhaled deeply, lethargy engulfing the young man’s                  body as he flops back onto the bed. Hands quickly reach to tug                  at the skin on his face, fingers pinching at cheeks as he pulls                   idly in frustration. They cover his eyes, as if doing so would block                  out every problem the universe had to throw at him.

              “  ᴡʜʏ ᴅᴏᴇs ᴛʜɪs ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ?                                      I should have just said something.”

                It looks as though hands won’t suffice, he makes a reach for                  the pillow to snuff out the world. 

                   “ I’m never leaving my room again. And it’s your fault.”                             It wasn’t.

                                    SHE’S    JUST    ABOUT    TO    CUT    HIM    OFF    DURING    HIS    BEAUTIFULLY    EXECUTED    IMITATION       -       alas,    diana      sways      in    place ;    not    being    able    to    stand    up    straight    any    longer    she    situates    herself    onto    the    couch    instead.    dalton    mirrors.                      ‘  noo,    no.    i    never    said    that.   ‘                   she    definitely    said    that.                    ‘  i    know,    i    knooow,    but    wh───   …   why    are    they    here  ?    d’you  …    think    she’s    here    for     m e    ? ?  ‘                    bassist    proceeds    to    scan      BLURRED    ROOM      for    any    of    the    previously    mentioned      (    but    to    no    avail,    )     she    turns    her    head    back    to    her    best    friend.        mind    fuzzy,     face    hot.         she    didn’t    even    register    the    light    tap    of    a    bottle.                    ‘  whatever.    i    need    you    to    distract    me    from    searching    for    her    in    the    crowd.    okay  ?      don’t    break    eye-contact    with    me.   ‘  

Protests are met with an equally weighted smile of concern and amusement. Whilst he had certainly been doing his best to catch up on the quantity of alcohol consumed, nothing could quite compete with anxiety born of a broken heart.  Practically in-sync, the young man slouches back into the far too low couch, long legs bending awkwardly in support of the level. He felt his head spin, but was sure his world was far more grounded than Diana’s. (For once.)

“ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ sᴀʏ,” 

He begins his hypothesis, fingers curling around the lid of the bottle to unscrew it, taking an absent sip as she speaks. A grimace.

“Like——maybe? What does it matter though, she’s old news and her boyfriend is ugly.”  He heckles in words of support, “I mean—— like,——like, it’s a new chapter and stuff, right? She wasn’t any good for you anyway and even if she did show up to see you tonight, you are not to talk to her.”

He takes one more swig before closing the bottle and planting it by his feet, turning to face her- taking her red-hot cheeks between his hands.  “Listen—-listen, listen.  Listen to Dalton. You’ve got this. I’ve got you Not lettin’ you outta my sight.”  For a second, a mischievous grin flickers over flushed features as he looks into her eyes. He lowers his voice a little as he lets go.

“Wanna go trash his car after?”  A stupid idea. He didn’t even know where it had come from. But it looked like the liquor had inspired vengeance in him tonight. He retrieves the bottle again, regretting having put it down. Another longer drink, nose wrinkling in disgust as it burns on his tongue.

“Besides—-“ Dalton starts, half choking on the aftertaste. “—- does she know you’re even here? It’s like the party of the year. Everyone’s here. Just act like you didn’t even see her. Show her its no big deal. No—- show you its no big deal.” He adds as if sudden revelation.

"Oh ᴜʜʜʜ---- " thought is expelled through already opened mouth, the young man stopping in his motion as the pizza slice hangs inches from his maw. He decides to follow through, stuffing it on through as he peers into his cup.

" I'ᴍᴍᴍ ɢᴏᴏᴅ." Datlon reassures through occupied lips as he shoots his old man a greasy thumbs up. Digits are wiped against the knees of his jeans. After a rather incredulous look---- the photographer realises that perhaps Josh posed the question in a more metaphorical sense. He covers his mouth, swallowing hard before answering. He spared his father that courtesy at least.

"Like----now I'm thinking about it, right?  So I'm ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ of the implication of the question. If I answer one way or the other, I'm positing how I think of myself. And how I answer is determined on what I want others to think I think." Hand reaches for the cup in question, swashing around the contents. A gentle fizz. "I dunno. What do ʏᴏᴜ think my cup is?"

His grip around the duffel bag’s strap tightened just a little. Dalton’s face felt hot, a rush of blood darting marathons around his body and festering in the pink of his cheeks. ʜᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀʏ.

He had meant to leave in the night undisturbed, wait until his parents had been asleep before he slipped out through the door. The note penned for them lay ready on the kitchen counter for them when they finally rose. But it looked like Renai had other plans that night.

Be angry, be disappointed. Blow up at me--- like when me and Foster were fighting , like when I tracked mud through the house from the backyard, like I got caught ditching school. Be angry. Don’t look at me like ᴛʜᴀᴛ.

His mouth felt dry, brain scrambling to find the words to explain; doing his best to recall what had been scrawled already on the note but the shock of her there left the mind blank. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄʀʏ.

This was for her own good, for his father’s, for Foster’s, for Cali’s. None of them were safe with him there; they had already been through so much.

“ᴍᴏᴍ——“

Dalton began, shifting in place slightly, unsure of how to proceed. He felt his eyes prick with heat; sapphire hues threatening to spill over if the ocean was disturbed any more.

“I’m sorry. I have to——- I can’t be here.”

the lipstick demon/man with fire on his face is an evil entity that rules over the further. he haunts dalton trying to possess him when he’s a child. we don’t know too much about this demon other than he is malevolent, evil, and wants a human body to do harm to others in the world of the living.

"ɴᴏ, ɴᴏ, ɴᴏ, ɴᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ. ᴡᴀɪᴛ---! I've got this, I've got this. Hold on."

Giddy digits tremble as he tugs at the hem of his shirt, doing his best to concentrate. Why could he only do this kind of stuff when no one else was here?

“Well----” Dalton begins, considering the words of the other carefully as the wonderfully colorful pack of skittles rests betwixt digits. He pours a scoopful into his hand, an overwhelming amount of greens in the mix of it all. His nose wrinkled in unconscious disappointment. Where were they? ᴡɪʟʟ.

“You ever considered that  ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ  just happen to be the eyes of a bunch of assholes?”

  The bias bundle of sugar is poured back into his mouth, perhaps    ᴏᴠᴇʀᴇsᴛɪᴍᴀᴛɪɴɢ the capacity. He silently offers the packet to the older man.

black leather-bound journal flipped to the nearest blank page, mechanical pencil squeaking its graphite into chicken scratch notes. worse at night. it usually was. recurring door, NOT red door, unable to be entered. appears during wakened consciousness. does not respond to avoidance. they usually didn’t. an alarm, quieted by walls, started to beep. possible child, or child possession. distressed presence. evil using innocence as lure or young spirit unable to make sense of state? 

don’t bite your fingers, specs wanted to say, his own mangled beyond regrowth by the habit. a direction he could confidently point in. sound advice to yield sound results. he kept silent, until the guesswork began again. “well, it’s not going to get worse in here.” he could at least be certain of that. “not for some time, at least. what elise did to this place keeps us very safe. it’s a haven of sorts. basically one big bug repellant, if spirits seeking malice were bugs.” the analogy fell flat on his tongue, rising smile dissipating with it. 

just as he was so quick to assure, there came a clanging from deeper into the house. specs jumped a mile in his cushioned seat. 

“sorry,” the deep voice followed thereafter. “dropped a spoon.”

specs huffed, fussing at the collar of his pajama top. “listen, dalton, i know you’re scared. but we’re going to figure this out together, ok? tucker and elise and i will do whatever it takes, just like last time. and we’ll find you a more permeant solution.” he looked down to the notes. 

memory erasure not an option. 

That precise yet frantic scratching of pencil to paper was nostalgic in way that Dalton couldn’t quite place a finger on. But that had been the soundtrack stuck on repeat all weekend, needle scratching away at the young man’s brain for the last few days now.

It had been a gamble reaching out to the paranormal duo; he wasn’t even sure if the two men were real. Their words and deeds so distant in the back of his mind, they might as well have been a part of his imagination. The psychic had done an excellent job of repressing the child’s memory, but sometimes there were wounds far too deep to heal, and paths that could never be un-travelled.

Relief replaced any burden of anxiety on Dalton’s chest when they had recognised him by face after all this time. The young photographer almost rivalled Tucker’s own height now, standing maybe only an inch or two shorter; certainly towering over Specs. He had, however, expected them to look far older than they did. The writer didn’t look too far in age from Dalton himself—- but then again, his memory of everything was sketchy. Besides, there were other, far more pressing, issues at hand than cosmetics.

Cautious expression and tired blue hues soften at the older man’s attempt to reassure. It certainly worked. He had rest a whole lot easier in the men’s company, though hadn’t even supposed it was because of the house itself.

Approachable, down-to-earth, open-minded. That was all he needed right now.

Finally there someone to talk about this stuff with that wouldn’t think Dalton was was crazy. He didn’t dare bring it up with his own family, much rather sparing his mother’s anxiety.

And unlike his son, his father was blissfully unaware of any matters beyond the living. After the recent incident——- it was best Dalton stay away to keep things that way.                    But little boys who play with matches get their hands burned.                    (—— Specs didn’t need to know about that.)

“She did something to this place?” Dalton asks, removing his hand from his maw to muster a somewhat coherent sound. He let his eyes begin to roam the walls around them.

“I—- really appreciate you doing this. All of you. I’m sure you’ve got a lot going on right now and I promise— I’ll be out of your hair in no time. It’s just—-“

Before he had time to continue, the distant ruckus of metal and movement snuffed out trailing words. Less than the sound itself, Specs’ sudden movement mirrored a jump from the younger, who’s heart felt like it was going to burn right through his chest. Just Tucker. A relief-ridden laugh breathed its way awkwardly as Dalton shifted in his seat.

The desire. The curiosity. The stupidity. It had all been too tempting, and purely selfish. A want and need to explore had only brought back the bad with him. But with repetition came competence, and with competence rose challenges. Dalton didn’t even need to be asleep to astral project any more, with abandoning ship coming to him just as easily in slumber as it did half-way through a conversation.

Dalton’s hand now picked away at his other, a pinch to keep grounded. It was exhausting constantly checking himself; recent debarkation less of a choice and more of a habit. Another thing they didn’t need to know.

A sigh escapes him, paired with grateful and apologetic smile as Specs speaks. Scared didn’t even cover half of it.  

                          Falling deeper, further,  that face and those eyes.                                                       Is ⱧɆ there? Beyond the door?

           ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ, ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ʜᴏʀʀɪʙʟᴇ ᴄʟᴀᴡs…ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴇ. ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴇ.       The fire. The fire, the FIRE THE FIRE ₮ⱧɆ ₣łⱤɆ ₮Ⱨ-    “-ank you,”

  He responds, trying to relax back into the plush of the chair a bit more.

      “You guys sure know what you’re doing, huh? Have you uh, been doing this               all this time? Even after….y’know.”

Dalton’s euphemism regarding Elise’s condition was near ridiculous. You’d think after all they had been through, all he had seen, that he would be comfortable talking about death in some capacity.

“Real pros by now. I saw the van outside. You uh, gotta appreciate the graphic design.”