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
Warsman peered into the gloom, suddenly and unexpectedly thrown. Part of him wanted to laugh at how patently ridiculous it was, nonsense words and sounds strung together like a children's poem- but the other part of him bristled in the face of his own confusion. Was it supposed to mean something? Was it a threat?
He stood there for a few moments longer, breathing heavily, before settling on an solution. There was no mistaking body language, and his opponent looked ready to strike.
"Don't come any closer, Wolf!" he snapped, in a voice that had sounded so much more commanding in his head. He dug his heels into the floor, between the tendrils. "I won't let you- I won't--"
no subject
The part of Shirogane that was controlling his actions saw nothing wrong with this. "Do your worst! I won't let you, either!" Not that he was sure what the other was going to be doing...but the part of his brain that was still in some hazy dream had seen things like this before, and that part of him knew that this meant only one thing--a fight. He rushed at Warsman, clearly intending to throw a punch.