ɹOɹƎԀWƎ / ƎH┴

        DAMIEN  could  feel  the  breath  catch  in  his  throat  &&  his  gaze  settled  on  the  ground  at  his  feet.    He  thought  he’d  gotten  away.    He  thought  he’d  accomplished  it,  but  he  was  wrong.    He  was  so,  so  wrong.    Dorian  had  little  trouble  finding  his  hiding  place  &&  hauling  him  away  from  it.    It  was  public  &&  he  was  graceful  as  always,  but  they  had  returned,  were  returning  to  his  place  of  imprisonment.

   What  was  he  to  do?    It  was  probably  his  only  &&  last  chance  he  would  ever  get.    Getting  away  again  would  be  …  impossible  now.    He  could  feel  his  heart  fall  in  his  chest,  a  shuddering  realization  falling  over  him.    Dorian  meant  it.    Dorian  meant  every  word.    Any  pain  he  may  have  felt  prior  to  this,  whatever  that  may  have  been  in  any  way,  would  be  doubled,  maybe  even  tripled.  

            ❛  Please  …  I  made  a  mistake.    I  know  that,  I’m  sorry.  ❜

A   GREAT    MANY    VIOLENT    THOUGHTS     had  crossed  dorian’s  mind  since  he  had  awoken    ALONE    that  morning.    the  space  in  his  bed  normally  occupied  by  his  spouse  having  been  left  vacant  at  some  point  during  the  night.    absence  doth  sharpen  love,    after  all,    &&    damien  had  chosen  to  whet  that  knife.

finding  him  had  taken  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon,    but  no  longer.    without  transportation,    damien’s  world  was  small    &&    there  were  only  so  many  places  to  hide.    the  local  cabaret  was  not  dorian’s  first  assumption,    but  he  found  him  all  the  same,    it  was  far  too  public  to  cause  a  scene.

so  they  were  returning  home  now.    he  whispered  the  promise  like  a  lover’s  prayer,    accompanied  by  a  kiss.    those  who  crossed  them  in  the  street  must  have  thought  the  former  mayor  shy    (  why  else  would  he  be  trembling?  )

.           ❛❛  No.    You  made  a  choice.  ❜❜      he  smiles.    a  warm  hand  traces  damien’s  knuckles  in  a  soothing  gesture.    life  is  ours  to  choose,    is  it  not?           ❛❛  Your  judgement,    however,    is  questionable.  ❜❜      were  you  truly  so  naive  enough  to  think  i  would  let  you  go  so  easily?

i   lost   the  fucking  meme   //   @priscnblues

A  LOW  BREATH  EXPUNGED  FROM  ROTTEN  LUNGS;    dark  eyes  glance  towards  prisoner  over  the  frames  of  his  glasses.    fingers  thrum  on  wooden  desk,    threatening  to  leave  welts  in  the  material.    orson  --    yancy  just  has  to  make  a  nuisance  of  himself,    didn’t  he.

anger  rises  in  the  back  of  his  throat,    cold  in  his  chest,    &&    he  smothers  it,    like  breaking  a  part  a  snowball  in  his  hand.

     the thing that stands before him behaves in ways he has never before seen, shifting and changing before his very eyes. this place is eccentric, but this is stirring up a distress he had not anticipated earlier. he catches it looking to abyss and moves to do the same. hands wring at the watering can handle, mirroring what would typically be a cane instead. implications that pieces of him are missing do not fall upon him lightly, but it is also not the first time these ideas have crossed his mind. he feels fragmented. he does not yet want to believe it, though.

     “ perhaps … but i am grateful that any of me made it out of there. i imagine it is no easy feat - especially with what it did to marcus. ” he looks to the pit once more, searching as if there is any chance of finding what it is he is now looking for. he knows even if some part of him is still in there, the price to get it back would be heavy.

    “ celine … ” mention of his sister is a slap to the face, expression reflecting just that as he turns back to the entity beside him. trying to recall the last time they were together makes him lightheaded. there was a party, where mark died. he remembers seeing her turn up there, worried for everyone … but memories of the cabin creep in sooner than he would have liked. though it felt like ages of chopping down trees and sleeping, the memories of it are so unclear. he remembers, though, before the end of it her and marcus together - at least, he thinks so.

    “ i don’t know - wait - how do you know who my sister is? who the hell are you? ” his expression quickly sours, a foot stepping back in preparation for getting out of this situation. as if his legs have ever been very useful in getting him out of trouble.

SKITTISH,    TRAPPED,    ALONE.    Dark  is  unsurprised  by  the  way  Damien’s  eyes  flick  over  him,    refusing  to  take  in  detail  before  flitting  back  to  the  depths  below  their  feet.    marc  should  not  have  left  him  here,    by  himself.    but  it  was  not  the  FIRST  time  marc  had  made  the  decision  to  abandon  his  friends  to  make  their  own  decisions.

it  faired  about  as  well  as  one  might  assume.

.           ❛❛       What  it  did  to  MARK,     ❜❜            he  echoes,    voice  quiet,    but  resounding  in  the  otherwise  silence.    the  entity  squints  slightly,    exhaling  through  long  DEAD  lungs.    what  did  it  do  to  marcus?    do  you  remember?

damien  is  moving  backwards,    the  tension  tangible  to  the  beast  that  lurks  before  him.    like  a  rabbit  who  just  discovered  a  snake  in  its  den.    his  lips  twitch  upward,    an  allusion  to  the  smile  he  does  not  allow  come  to  his  features.    there  is  no  where  to  go,    damien.    nowhere  but  down.

unprompted  @powcrhour

INITIALLY,    there  is  no  outward  reaction  from  his  primary  form.    a  ringing  static  pierces  the  air  as  his  form  disposition  grows    &&    splits  off  behind  him.    the  soul(s)  inside  him  grazing  the  cracked  edges  of  his  putrefied  shell.    with  the  slow  deliberation  of  a  coiled  snake,    he  turns  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  creature.    his  neck  cracks  audibly  with  the  movement.    

    filling his days with mostly menial tasks has become almost a comfort to damien at this point. it isn't the constant stream of work he was previously used to subjecting himself to, but it worked to distract himself. well, it worked most of the time. he still had his days, where even admiring the flowers he cared for wasn't enough to distract from the reality - of which he barely understands.

   " wh - " an almost familiar voice catches his attention, startling damien enough to nearly drop the watering can in his hand. he manages to get his grip, eyes glancing around to find himself seemingly alone. he relaxes, only to be frightened once more as the figure appears beside him.

   he stares wide-eyed at him as the other speaks, unsure what exactly he is even looking at. finally, he peels his gaze away, dark eyes trailing to the emptiness. he takes a deep breath, nodding.

   " i am. i think that some part of me misses it ... and the rest feels it would be easier. "

THE  ENTITY﹐    DARK ﹐     STANDS  WITHIN  A  SABLE  MIST.   it  sucks  the  color  from  the  earth  beneath  his  feet,  the  very  air  around  him.    he  considers  the  former  mayor  --    the  former  man  for  a  moment,    black,    reflective  eyes  trailing  his  gaze  to  the  pit  that  surrounds  their  home.    it  flickers,    breaking  through  the  facade.    the  manor  remains  broken,    no  matter  what  the  actor  attempts  to  build  around  it,    the  cracks  are  not  so  easily  patched.

.           ❛❛       You  miss  yourself,    whatever  HE  left,    when  he  brought  you  here .     ❜❜              dark  supposes,    his  hauteur  disinterred  by  his  tone.    the  monochrome  figure  raised  his  eyebrows  in  a  receptive  gesture  to  man’s  asservation.    his  form  evanescing   between  one  step  &&  the  next,    flashing  red  for  an  instant  before  reappearing  on  the  precipice  of  nothing.  

.           ❛❛       I  wonder  how  much  of  YOURSELF  is  down  there.     ❜❜              he  muses,    unaffected.    a  brief  pause  fills  the  cool  air  as  he  straightens  again,    looking  back  over  damien.

“I hear those words that you are saying but I’m really not wanting to listen to them.”

@lifetaking·

damien wonders if it’s possible for the brain to freeze. no, not the kind when you drink something cold. all muscles seize up when they chill too deeply, and the brain is– a muscle? it feels as though it should be one, anyway. it’s like his mind is stirring from some kind of hibernation, from a TERRIBLY LONG SLEEP. it’s a disorienting process.

but there’s familiar things here. that VOICE is what’s most jarring. as his vision adjusts, and as the distance between them is closed, there’s things he picks up from the build, the appearance, of the man(?) before him. these ideas, they slot in, slowly but surely. his brows knit together, then relax. his eyes widen.

he takes one more step, then two. ❝ marcus? ❞ his expression is one of uncertainty. perhaps grief? confusion, as well, much of that. ❝ marcus, it’s–! is it really you? ❞ but how could it be?

❝ but you died. ❞ that night. the party.       i’m still not exactly sure as to what we’re supposed to      be celebrating here. i mean, it’s good to have the gang      back together. but, out of the blue like this, seems–      anyway. now’s not the time to become CONSPIRATORIAL.  

the memories are washing over him like he’s an abandoned sandcastle at high tide. ❝ you DIED, marcus! and we– we… ❞

the  wall  above  him  fractures  ;    a  spider  web  of  blinding  white  cutting  through  the  red  &&  blue  ...    it  drips  ,    fizzes  like  static  .    how  long  has  he  watched  this  man  ,    with  nothing  better  to  do  than  study  him  as  he  ran  through  his  walls  .    &&  damien  ,    the  one  that  he  spent  time  watching  the  least  .    it  certainly  makes  it  interesting  ,    he  knows  they  mayor  .    as  well  as  damien  knows  himself  .

he’ll  give  him  what  he  wants  to  believe  .    motivation  .    the  bowl  is  shattering  ...    anger  is  so  much  more  tender  of  an  embrace  than  the  cold  ,    unforgiving  hands  of  grief  .    he  watches  now  ,    studies  damien’s  eyes  ...    how  ,    after  all  of  this  ,    are  you  still  grieving  ?

the  shadows  speak  ,    his  sister’s  voice  .    

                           death  doesn’t  mean  the  same  thing  here  .                            mark  isn’t  the  only  one  who  can  use  this  place                              to  his    a d v a n t a g e  .

he  laughs  .

there are rules. he’d roll his eyes if he had a death wish , or even the humor to do so - how many times has he heard it ? how badly does he hate it ? the doggish part of him ( the part that knows he has nowhere to hide , he aught to tuck tail and beg  not solitary , not solitary , not solitary ) wants to grovel , spew apologies , punish himself for such indiscretions. 

the part of yancy with a brain and soul keeps sitting , eyes focused on murderslaughters abdomen. he wonders if he gutted him , would anything spill out ? 

fear grips yancy colder at the thought - intrusive as it might’ve been , he meant it. 

“ … right , “ he drawls , running a shaking hand over weary eyes. “ i’m sorry - i’m sorry - i … i don’t know what i was thinking. “ thinking he wouldn’t be caught. the warden knows he can get out , but he’s never figured out how. “ … ‘jus rip off the band-aid. what’s it gonna cost me , chief ? “ 

the  warden  stares  at  the  child    prisoner  with  morbid  fixation  .    if  he  could  read  yancy’s  thoughts  there  was  little  indication  on  his  face  ...    though  the  breeze  grew  noticeably  colder  ...    it’s  starting  to  get  dark  out  .    they  really  should  go  back  inside  .

he  hasn’t  figured  out  how  james  always  manages  to  elude  him  ,    passing  through  corridors  of  steel  ,    concrete  ...    iron  bars  .    with  his  father’s  nonsense  staining  monochrome  with  red  ,    music  ,    literature  ...    it  really  was  just  a  matter  of  time  .    but  as  all  things  do  ,    time  exists  in  cycles  ...    his  own  form  shutters  as  yancy’s  fingers  slip  across  to  hide  him  from  prying  eyes  .