Война Машина | Warsman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mouthbreathing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
aungier2013-07-18 07:28 pm
mouthbreathing) wrote in aungier2013-07-18 07:28 pm
Entry tags:
"All that we see or seem..." - November 4th, 1888
Date: November 4th, 1888
Time: 12:30 AM
Location: Second floor hallway
Characters: Warsman and ultimately Robin Mask, but also open to everyone! [OPEN/CLOSED]
Summary: Warsman reacts less than positively to the fungus' spores and finds himself overwhelmed by paranoia in the hallway, taking it out (aggressively) on those around him- including the one person he trusts more than anyone.
Warnings: Event-related horror, violence.
In the hallway, Warsman staggered.
The fear beat against his skull in a brass knuckle one-two, and in between the thuds he could feel his own heart kicking at his throat like a frightened horse. His head had been a dreamy hurricane of stranger's faces and jeering voices only a few minutes before but now he wasn't sure if he'd even opened his eyes at all. What time was it, even? Deep down, he knew he was at Aungier House- he knew he was in the hallway- he knew he was by his bedroom--
But there were so many shadows, so many dark gaps in his vision for things to hide in while he was distracted, and he'd seen so many things in his dreams... he'd spent so many years wrestling (boxing) that it seemed inconceivable to imagine a world like the one he found himself in now that wasn't about to turn on him. More alarmingly, he felt slow and stupid, as though he'd been drugged, and that thought only frightened him all the more; he hadn't had a sensible thought since he'd awoken. If he'd awoken.
He fell drunkenly against a wall with tendrils at his back, but his senses were almost totally self-absorbed. All he could hear was the harsh, shallow sound of his own breathing, that metal ko... ho... sigh that seemed to haunt him day and night and that now commanded his full attention in its inhumanity. But if all he could hear was himself, didn't that mean that just about anything could creep up on him? And with the state he was in, he was perfectly, painfully vulnerable.
Something flickered in the corner of his vision. Warsman's eyes flared a searing red through the darkness and he rounded on it fiercely, fists raised. "Show yourself-!" His voice cracked like old china.
Time: 12:30 AM
Location: Second floor hallway
Characters: Warsman and ultimately Robin Mask, but also open to everyone! [OPEN/
Summary: Warsman reacts less than positively to the fungus' spores and finds himself overwhelmed by paranoia in the hallway, taking it out (aggressively) on those around him- including the one person he trusts more than anyone.
Warnings: Event-related horror, violence.
In the hallway, Warsman staggered.
The fear beat against his skull in a brass knuckle one-two, and in between the thuds he could feel his own heart kicking at his throat like a frightened horse. His head had been a dreamy hurricane of stranger's faces and jeering voices only a few minutes before but now he wasn't sure if he'd even opened his eyes at all. What time was it, even? Deep down, he knew he was at Aungier House- he knew he was in the hallway- he knew he was by his bedroom--
But there were so many shadows, so many dark gaps in his vision for things to hide in while he was distracted, and he'd seen so many things in his dreams... he'd spent so many years wrestling (boxing) that it seemed inconceivable to imagine a world like the one he found himself in now that wasn't about to turn on him. More alarmingly, he felt slow and stupid, as though he'd been drugged, and that thought only frightened him all the more; he hadn't had a sensible thought since he'd awoken. If he'd awoken.
He fell drunkenly against a wall with tendrils at his back, but his senses were almost totally self-absorbed. All he could hear was the harsh, shallow sound of his own breathing, that metal ko... ho... sigh that seemed to haunt him day and night and that now commanded his full attention in its inhumanity. But if all he could hear was himself, didn't that mean that just about anything could creep up on him? And with the state he was in, he was perfectly, painfully vulnerable.
Something flickered in the corner of his vision. Warsman's eyes flared a searing red through the darkness and he rounded on it fiercely, fists raised. "Show yourself-!" His voice cracked like old china.
no subject
Robin gave a short, horrified gasp and shoved the door open the rest of the way, scraping the floor's new thin, fleshy layer of fungi back in the process. Like skin peeling back to reveal dark, visceral muscle and beneath that the bone and... no, he had to focus. The sweat that had started to bead at the back of his neck rolled down his spine. Hysteria would serve no purpose but to disturb him further.
He took a breath and tried again. "What in God's name-"
No, I'm dreaming.
Russian. It was only now that his eyes moved back to his companion and he realised that his steps were unsteady, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. Robin took a tentative step forward, holding up both hands. "Warsman, this is real. I'm real."
Who was he trying to convince here? Warsman? More likely, himself.
no subject
He'd stepped forward. Warsman sucked in a breath, frozen by his own indecision. He could stand and fight- he could run- or he could trust the gentle peace offering in those upturned palms and back down now.
He wasn't in any place to trust.
A drunken mirror, he took a great, uneven couple of steps towards Robin. "Y-you're not-" Warsman shook his head, still clasped in one hand, as though he might be able to rattle the words into order. "You're not right! You're lying!" Now both fists were engaged, raised ready to strike the second we was close enough to take a swing. With the wriggling set of his vision he was more likely to miss than to hit, but he couldn't just stand by while some creature misused Robin's shape.