sweat, ache, hands shake, heart begins to palpitate

[beochaoineadh]

WHO: Ronan Lynch
WHERE: Temba
WHAT: Event-related stuff!
WHEN: Mid/End of October
WARNINGS: Blanket warning for spooky creepiness in the vein of physical corruption / mild body horror / strange thinking. Will put other warnings on threads that need them. Ronan is The Spiral for this event.
NOTE: I am not having a great time IRL, so for anything heavy let's chat first! Discord is safeaslife#0150 or ping me on plurk @ safeaslife.


I. (Closed to Kavinsky)

[Ronan knows that things are weird; it doesn't take much awareness to pick up on the way everything is wrong, and the way that unlike dreams it stays like that. And here, he doesn't have Orphan Girl to look out for him, to twist things into something he can handle. The hunger for fear is a strange feeling, like a vibration in his bones. He still looks human when he sees himself in the mirror, but he knows better. His body feels like branches, slender and sharp-angled, and everything inside of him feels black. Twice his nose bleeds black, but he wipes it away and pretends not to notice. It's darker than black-- the difference between a color, and something Else.

He doesn't worry about finding Kavinsky, because he hasn't put together how bad this is, yet. It's not that he's resistant to it per se, so much as that there are specific problems he's facing, things bigger than what it means to worry about wanting to gorge yourself on fear. He thinks that all he has to do is find Kavinsky and that things will be -- some definition of okay, at the least. But when he sees him on the streets, it feels like his heart stops. There's a part of him that only sees the red. He should have kept better track of him, he should have-- his mind repeats things he should have done differently, better. But even if there's nothing wrong with the words, they still feel wrong. Almost like lies.]

Kavinsky! What happened? -- Are you alright?

[He moves in closer, unable to help himself. He needs to see how bad it is, hoping that it's something he can fix, that he can put him back together. He doesn't hate being like this so much if he's not alone with it. This could have been okay, the two of them vs. everyone else. But seeing the blood on his shirt hits him in all the wrong ways, even if he doesn't quite know the shape of what that is. He wants a name, but that can wait, because he wants to make sure Kainsky's okay more.]


II. Lost In the Corn Maze (Spiral Hellscape)

[Placeholder]


III. Nightwashing

[Placeholder]


IV. Wildcard

[Hit me up with something else!]

Comments

ii (though I'm doing a mashup of a cornfield maze and a funhouse mirror maze)

[demjiin]

Kaz was not running, and the ground was too soft and strewn with corn husks for him to use his cane so he carried it. His limp was more pronounced as he walked now. Every few of those limping steps in the cornfield there were large plate glass mirrors. At present, they only showed a reflection of the cornfield or of Kaz as he passed them. Kaz was wary of them because he had learned that the shifting landscape was always indicative of something bad was about to happen.

[burnyoudown]

[The blood was the least of his concerns at this point. The wound on his forearm was all but healed, a single jagged line running up his arm where his waxy skin had melted back together. It wasn't quite perfect though, but it was enough to have stopped the bleeding. He'd still left a bloodstain on the chest of his white shirt though, large enough to be a worry.

There was still a handprint on his right wrist, where the wax of his skin had molded to the shape of fingers. He could have smoothed it out, he could have gotten rid of it, but that arm was broken and touching it was agony. His forearm was bruised and swollen, though at least there wasn't any bone poking through his skin. The adrenaline had worn off and the pain was-- intense felt like an understatement. He hadn't had a broken bone in years. He'd forgotten how much it hurt.

Both of his hands were weak still, nearly ruined, and he felt more like a miserable mess than he had in a long time. He was almost tempted to shy away when he saw Ronan, but he couldn't bring himself to. He headed towards him instead, stopping an awkward few feet away. Where did he start? How did he explain he'd brought a gun to a knife fight and still gotten his ass kicked? It was humiliating.]

No, I'm not fucking alright.

[He wasn't angry, not with Ronan. That black feeling was still there, the urge to hurt and frighten, but he held it back.]

I fucked up.

[beochaoineadh]

[The blood is just what grabs Ronan's attention first- it's vivid and angry and evidence of conflict and injury. The way that it soaks the white fabric of K's shirt makes it seem like he was the one injured and not the other way around, and that gets under his skin, makes him want to touch and soothe, even if he doesn't quite know how.

He gets close, bridging the last few feet between them, but he doesn't touch immediately, either. His blue eyes skimming over the other boy's skin, taking in the state of his arms and the bruises and trying to assess where he could touch the other boy without causing him further pain. He's almost glad that the Hellscape they're in at the moment is some sort of building or city, just because it means he can get him inside somewhere. Not that it'll make things better, but it at least gives the sense of protection.

He wishes there was a store, that he could just take him back to the theater, that he had gauze and bandages, but that will have to wait for the moment. So he just curls one arm around K's shoulder, nudges his body into Ronan's side.]

C'mon. Let's get inside, alright?

[He wants to see how bad it is, and he knows that there's something vulnerable in asking for that, so he wants someplace quiet before he tries. But there's something fierce in his eyes, protective and angry in a way that isn't aimed at Kavinsky, but at whomever or whatever dared to put their hands on him. Something left marks on the boy that he thinks he might have feelings for, and it flares that dark feeling he's been doing his best to ignore.]

[burnyoudown]

[He all but melted into Ronan's side, tucking his face against his shoulder for a moment. There was a quiet sniffle, but fuck he wasn't going to cry in the middle of the street where anyone could wander along and see them. He didn't know what hurt worse; the humiliation of losing, the humiliation of being known and apparently not seeming that special, or the pain of his injuries.

Lifting his head again, he nodded.]

Yeah.

[He wanted to go home, he wanted to cuddle Jack and bury his face in his fur, but neither of those things was an option right now. Not just because they were in some kind of hellscape, but because you couldn't cuddle with a broken arm. Especially one without a cast. Ronan was a solid, grounding force though, even if Kavinsky was half afraid he'd fuck with him, too. Not scared exactly, just worried. He didn't know if he could handle any more right now.]