Mayfield Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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welcome_rpg2012-07-05 12:36 am
mayfield_mods) wrote in welcome_rpg2012-07-05 12:36 am
Entry tags:
welcome to mayfield: day 4
[This carnival seems to be getting less and less maintained by the day. Your nerves aren't the only thing fallen apart: what were previously holes in the sky have expanded to cracks. What parts of the sky that haven't fallen into that strange, warping nothingness are full of brown smog-like clouds.
The carnival itself has become filthy, with trash and grease spots littered everywhere. The walls of the tents, wooden stands, and houses seem to be slightly melted, for lack of a better term. The holes of corrupted nothingness aren't confined to the sky anymore: pockets of nothing litter the carnival, shifting tears in the fabric of reality that hurt your eyes to look at.
A faint buzzing noise fills the air, making it difficult to concentrate. If you listen long enough, it starts to sound like voices. For your own sake, it's probably best not to listen to what they have to say.
You're also not alone here anymore, for those of you operating under the assumption that you ever really were. If you've been missing the friendly drones of Mayfield, fear no more, because scattered throughout the carnival are a few drone families seeing the sights, riding the rides and playing the games. Curiously, unlike the drones back home, these ones don't seem to notice you at all, acting as if you're not even there.
Also curiously: their features are warped nearly beyond recognition. Some are missing limbs or facial features; others appear to have had those features scrambled by Picasso's paintbrush, with mouths on their scalps or teeth on their fingers. Still other drones appear to be fused together at the wrist, or waist, or face. None of them seem to be any more aware of their deformity than they are of you.
...and yet, somehow, you can't shake the feeling that when you're not looking at them, they're looking at you.
New here? That's alright; your missing friends have had plenty of time to get acquainted, and they'll be happy to show you around. Just watch your step, because some of these old rides need some maintenance...]
OOC: If your character damages or affects the carnival or town in a noticeable and normally permanent way, please comment here.
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Ah, infidelity already my dear wife? I see how it is. I lose a leg and suddenly I'm useless. [ This is about as amused as Garviel ever sounds, gallows humor his only sort. He continues to crawl towards the tunnel, a huge cannon-like gun held in his right fist. ]
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[But she'll be helping you up anyway. It'll be quicker if you have some kind of support. She'll try to keep up a good pace to match up with Abel.]
So you know. Curious why we're going on this trek into Mordor if ya don't mind me asking.
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he's keeping his senses primed. perhaps he can play the cold-hearted man he once was -- even to himself -- but under layers of bitter grief and possessive, protective rage is still a desire to fulfill her promise. he can't convince his heart to give up, even if the rest of him has. if anything should happen... Abel will protect them without a second thought.
it doesn't mean he has to be pleased with the thought of others clouding his attempt to find that twisted woman in here...]
You should be turning back. This isn't a game.
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I consider this more reconaissance. The last one, to 501, cost me a leg. Still, we need to know as much as possible about this place, and Mayfield hides clues in unlikely, if horrific locales.
And any physically manifest foe will probably be something I can harm. It is only when the town breaks the laws of reality on a fundamental level that I suffer like this. The more mundane opponents, such as the bears, follow certain rules.
Still, I wish I understood -why- the town is able to do what it does. It feels almost like the noospheric simulations of the Mechanicus.
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Life is a game. And I'mma play it as much as I want.
[That's it on Haruko's end. That's all. If she has any deeper thoughts on the matter she's keeping them locked up and out of sight.]
So you going to answer when I asked why you're going or not?
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considering the entire nature of this town breaks the rules that all of them are used to, he's potentially walking into a death trap, and injured. he's a liability to himself and the woman he apparently cares for.
he pays him no further mind than that. and, seemingly, the time for talking is over... since he won't be answering Haruko, either. he won't give either of them reason to keep interest in following him if he can help it.]
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I do not think he desires our help or our presence.
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Abel might also catch the faint echoes of hard-woven boots close by behind him, falling in tune with every step he's taking himself. One can still glimpse daylight coming from the outside if one was to turn around from where they are. He's not being stopped either, just openly and wordlessly followed - by a sober presence that he shouldn't have any trouble identifying at all.]
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though he may seem ignorant and unobservant at the best of times, the truth is that his senses are sharp. -sharp.- his powers of observation may normally be dulled and rendered ineffective, to a degree, going through the day to day by willful choice... but it didn't mean they did not exist. it's in times like these that every one of them comes back to wakefulness as if he hadn't stopped using them at all.
he waits until he's made it far enough from his two followers, leaving only the third, before ceasing the steady pace he'd been making deeper into the tunnel. he stands, stock still... he can pinpoint exactly where she is -- wouldn't have to look. and he doesn't.
she doesn't belong here. ...he can't go any further with her behind him, either. he doesn't want her here... he doesn't want to watch her be taken too-- can't. not again. not ever again. please don't follow, Ciel-- you were supposed to be safe, you--]
...
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He's a hypocrite. She wanted to see him down here about just as much as he wanted to see her. She can understand if his nerves were shot - she already knew thanks to the ring she gave to Cain before all this started.
But still.
If her coming would stop him, then of course she'll show without question. It's not like she was gambling on her presence alone taking effect. Don't keep going, don't act like you've nothing left to lose--!
She'll halt her step and stop when he does. His back might still be to her, but she's going to keep looking forward - straight at him, if he's to turn at all and meet her unwavering gaze. Again, being unable to talk will be a headache. A big disadvantage too at that; she can't afford to be fumbling with a pen if anything happens here, but hopefully. Hopefully, it'll be fine.
Somehow, so...
Let's try turning back while we still can.]
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it was the fact there WAS still something-- somethingS-- to lose that had him moving now. moving forward -- the only 'forward' he could find. this was it... this was the only way he could find. the only path he deduced might not end in that horrible way Charles had predicted and left in his head to grow like weeds... he can't ignore it...
and he can't face it, either, like the coward he is. he simply...
...can't.
...
there's no change in his posture, save for a slight lowering of his head before he breaks the silence. his voice is low, and somewhere too close to empty. but it isn't; and it won't be. much as he might like to retreat to the place he had gone the last time his family had been taken from him... that's somewhere he can't quite go, again.]
You don't... belong here.
[here; following him. did she know--? she has the uncanny ability to collect information like a sponge... he can't say he'd be surprised, even if be prays that's not the case. the boy...
...
no one should see his little brother that way. no one should-- ever see.]
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She resumes her pace before stopping a feet or two away behind him. A hand is placed on his shoulder. There's no push or pull; just a still motion, though it doesn't fail to convey its own weight nevertheless. He's already stopped, yes, but...
If she doesn't belong here, neither does he.]
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...
his head tilts some minuscule degree toward that hand on his shoulder, but he doesn't recognize the gesture more than this. she wants to drag him back to the place where he has to acknowledge his brother is dead again, gone again and you SWORE you'd protect him-- and in all likelihood, everyone else in this wretched freak show would die, too cold, and still. empty. they'd all be empty and everything would be so deathly quiet all over again. there's nothing he can do.
...nothing he can do.]
...Go back, Ciel.
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The hand slips. Not to pull away, but to take hold of the hem of his sleeve along with his wrist with a faint tug back. He doesn't need to turn around and see to picture her softly shaking her head behind him. ...No, she's not getting out of here by herself. They don't have the luxury of time, but if he insists on being stubborn, then she can only do the same in kind. Her options are that much more limited when she needs both her hands to communicate anything, but for now, actions are speaking louder than words.]
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...and what is he supposed to do now?
step further in? lead her into this darkness? she had already lost something to the carnival; she know the dangers -- potentially, for both of them -- could be much more real than those normally for their ability to ignore regeneration. if he finds what he's looking for...
with HER at his side...
...
the sense of being cornered is strong. the sense of being utterly afraid -- of losing her; of having to go back; of acknowledging Cain had really-- ah. ...of everything... -- leaks into age-old coping mechanisms.
anger... frustration, edged with a desperate touch that inches into his eyes. wrath... the fear becomes vengeful hate... it promises to burn the feeling of being so frightened away, and to make sure he never has to look that fear in the eye again. just... destroy them all, and yourself with it. then you never have to worry about any of this again.
there is that manic intensity in his eyes as he jerks his wrist free, snapping around toward her and grabbing a handful of her shirt at the collar, giving her a shake enough to near lift her off her feet. that murderous hate might not be directed toward her -- but everything underlying is. why did you come here--? couldn't you simply leave him be?! didn't he tell you to stay safe? hasn't enough been lost already--?!
you--
are not supposed to...]
I said to get OUT of here! Before it's too late. Now!
[he'll find traces of that woman in this tunnel. he'll find her. he'll bide his time if be has to... he'll wait -- he can be very patient, after all. and when he gets to her -- when the chips finally fall in his favor...
...he will rip her apart. he'll tear them all apart for this. no one who had so much as a whisper of guilt in this will be allowed to live for the offense. but he already knows... he knows, none of it is true or real at all. he can't even fool himself.
not anymore.]
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Yet there's no resistance whatsoever at his sudden turning outburst. If he so much as attempted the least bit seriously to get her off her feet, he'll manage to shake and lift her like a rag doll no problem. She's really not that heavy. That burning mess flaring behind his blue eyes is also met with the collected coolness of hers. ...To no one's surprise either, no doubt.
He really is not fooling anyone at all.
Honestly, even his murderous intent lacks edge. It's fueled by desperation and loss of purpose, no matter how much he tells himself he came down here for some actual justified reason. They're factors she's only too familiar with as well, and even then there's an efficient and inefficient way of channeling hopelessness into a false drive that'll keep one moving no matter what. ...He falls into the latter. With such hollow hatred and anger - toppled by fear seeping in like acid that threatened even now to corrode and collapse the tough show that he's attempting to put on, how can he hope to scare or intimidate her with any of this at all?
No, she's not going anywhere. Her hands are empty and no magic circuit in her body is active. If he wants to use more force, then so be it. This isn't a taunt or a challenge for him to try. There just really isn't anything going on right now that she needs to 'defend' against - not from him, at least. And even if he does, he should also already know that any warning or threat, verbal or physical, won't convince her any more effectively to go back - and leave him behind.
So lowering her eyelids slightly without moving her head or breaking eye contact, she gives a tiny shake of her head.
No.
Cain still left her with many questions, but she'd like to think that she can say at least this much with confidence: if the boy had a say in this now, he wouldn't want his brother to snap futilely and destroy himself.
So she's not going to let him.
That's... all.]
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Cain wasn't supposed to be here.
none of this was ever supposed to happen. but it had.
--so what is he supposed to do...?
the manic edge of desperation grows with that sensation of being lost -- floundering. being cornered, trapped... pinned against a rock and a hard place. she will follow him if he goes down this road. it's halting his feet, barring his way. but he absolutely can't turn back now under any circumstance.
so-- what do you want of him, Ciel--? can't you see this isn't the way it's meant to be? he has to fix it. he HAS to fix it, and if he can't protect anything or anyone -- if all he can do is fail those he loves like history is repeating itself all over again, then--
he can fall back on the one thing he was always good at, instead. he can make it all disappear. all the things that go bump in the night... all the things that will take away his precious people -- he'll...
...he should just...]
...
[there's a clenching of his jaw. hurt her--? no. he'd never so much as touch upon the thought, no matter how frustrating and threatening he finds her presence to be right now. so, he shoves her back instead, turning right around and carrying off in the direction he'd been traveling before he'd acknowledged her at all. his bravado is false and they both know it; he doesn't want to put her in danger. the mere thought has his chest tight after what's already happened in this terrible hellhole.
but he doesn't know what else to do. if he doesn't move forward and burn it away... then there's really no option left but to accept it. and that's one thing he absolutely refuses to do.]
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She can understand the self-loathing that results from failure. Mistakes happen. Sometimes, they're caused by negligence that could be avoided. Other times, they're unavoidable no matter how hard you tried planning otherwise - a cruel twist of fate, as it may be deplored. Things also break. Sometimes, they can be fixed. Other times, you just can't no matter how much you want to and how resourceful you are. Rarity and frailness are among what makes some of the things encountered in life so priceless. 'Mistake' and 'break' may sound so simple, but in both cases, the circumstances of how things came to be can be extremely complicated. There are so many ways to err and destroy, so reversely, why would there be only one way to correct, fix, and recreate? Firmly believing in 'that's the only way' is just stubborn and foolish refusal to look at the other possibilities, which admittedly may take some reminiscing back or speculating ahead to plan out. Still, there's never only one option. People just pick the ones they relate most to according to their temperament and commit themselves to it, again, based on personality and experience. She knows a decent deal about that too, let's say.
It's based on such that she reasoned: he can't go ahead and make himself disappear along with whatever else he can take with him because there's something he needs to know that he must do. She's got a clear message in mind, and before she drags him out of here, she'll make sure that he comes to know and fully understand it first. That's why...
She didn't act before because there was nothing to react to. Now however, he's the one threatening what she came down to accomplish. Under the blink of an eye, two Black Keys will zoom past him, one from each side of the water bank to land half a dozen feet ahead of him. They make a literal line, for a thin white border will draw itself before it gives a dull flicker in the air ahead of him. She's not going to stop at a mere barrier to block his way though, no. They've already made deeper progress inside the tunnel than she would've liked. There's no catching any glimmer of the daylight outside if they turned around now, she's lost track of the outside breeze and air current even if she focused. So in addition to that with one hand outstretched, Abel will find something span out below his feet while the air grows oppressive and his limbs suddenly gain weight - enough to make even raising an arm difficult, never mind taking a step that'd now be a big chore.
She's not using the holy charms and falling on the sacraments of the Church this time. There's not enough light down here to capture his shadow anyway. No, this is a full-blown thaumaturgical binding spell designed to neutralize another completely. A normal human subjected to the current amount of power she's exerting will definitely start to experience difficulty breathing, chancing passing out within the next few minutes even if they're perfectly healthy. ...Ah, there are good odds that he'd be able to break out of it. She's not giving her all, but it ought to be enough to let him know that she's dead serious about this and doesn't intend to follow him like a dog. (After all, she's not the one who's lost.) She's not there to keep him company and face whatever that's here by his side. She's there to take him back, up and out.]
no subject
...
the oppressive -push- downward, weight, would definitely have a 'normal' man beginning to falter if not completely caving entirely. he gets the message behind this display of 'force,' because of it.
but she knows, already. doesnt she?
she knows he isn't the 'average'.
he tilts half-way to look at her over his shoulder. nothing in his posture has changed; his breathing remains steady and even, body relaxed and showing no signs of retaliation or strain. the only true alteration is something in blue eyes... something detached and-- strange. strange...]
...You're going to stop me?
[make herself his enemy? is this what Ciel truly wants...?
...are these the lengths she would go...]
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In response to his foreboding inquiry, and of course she hasn't missed the change in his eyes, she simply sets on walking forward towards him with clear intent and purpose in her steps. She'll be retrieving a folded piece of paper from her left sleeve on the way, not bothering to nod at his question because the answer to that is already blatantly obvious. He just needs to read what she has, and yes, she's got something written up in advance. ...A number of things, actually. She couldn't picture it playing out exactly like this, but it wasn't hard to predict the type of things she would want to say no matter how he reacted to her intervention.
(What a notion. Don't they both know too, that all's going on here is him making an enemy out of himself?)
If he doesn't react towards her approach, she'll stop at a distance of two feet or so in front of him and hold out the folded note for him to take. Her expression is steely. Would he allow that much, or is this going to become even more difficult than it already is?]
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...
she's eerily on the mark. one can't make themselves an enemy of the world without first making an enemy of themselves... right?
even if Abel couldn't ever truly become that person, ever again.
he watches her in favor of regarding the extended note in her hand. those blue eyes with all the intensity of someone who had replaced the smiling priest were... not right. there is an old, still-familiar guard up in him making a great show of keeping that emptiness glossing over everything underneath. but...
...but.
a hasty wall built over something cannot hold what lies on the other side away, back... cannot hide it. there is something terrible seeping through the cracks... something deep. a centuries-old bleed. something that had never left the dark places he had retreated to once upon a time, after he had lost it all -- everyone he loved. 'family.' everything.
he can't stand to watch history repeat itself. no-- it's more like he has yet to learn how to move past losing it all the first time around. he is trapped -- stuck in that part of himself, that part of his past, unable to let go...
he reaches out for the note in her fingers, but instead of taking it -- his fingers close over hers, crushing the piece of paper and forcing her hand into a fist over it. there's a single step forward... it doesn't take much to bridge the distance between them, and he's tilting his face slightly downward to lean lips by her ear. the words are quiet... but in this eerily silent tunnel -- with her astute sense of hearing -- he knows she won't miss it.]
...This is end of the line. Playing games with you was... nice, Ciel.
[pretending they could be something simple -- 'man' and a 'woman,' if just for a little while...
...]
But that's all it will ever be. It's time to wake up.
[all he'll ever be is a monster, and monsters belong with each other. trying to follow him here -- stop him... it's as wasted an effort as there could be. he isn't an innocent victim, or some... gentle soul misguided and needing her protection before he takes himself somewhere unpleasant and scary.
he's no better than them. they deserve to destroy each other.
...but she...
Ciel is better than that... and he will never let someone he loves follow him down to dark places ever again. there is no saving his soul. there's only losing yours in the pursuit.]
no subject
Her frame slightly stiffens, the only sign of any change in her demeanor. ...Oh, she can hear him loud and clear.
Yet all she could feel was the growing sense of mild exasperation. He's still deluded and trapping himself, and without being able to react quickly by saying anything, she can't reach him. The budding frustration is entirely drawn from the unfortunate circumstances of both their current situations. But.
This isn't about games. (She knew just as well as him that these small indulgences were never meant to last outside of when they happened.) He's got no right to alienate himself with his ridiculous concept of what constitutes a 'monster' either. (She got used to being referred to as one back home also - a claim no one within the Burial Agency would ever seek contesting, much less refute.) This isn't about bonds, either. It's likely that they knew each other far better than most other friends and acquaintances they've made through this town, but she's not so weak-hearted and sentimental to let one relationship get both of them killed when there's so much she can still do, even if he's already given up.
No. This is about taking responsibility for what SHOULD matter to him and the one person here that is supposedly dearest to him. Ciel's used to cleaning up messes and picking up the pieces after all manners of people following all sorts of events, true, but this is one case she will not take it upon herself to touch.
Yes, Cain's dead.
But he will come back.
For however long this hellhole is going to last, once it ends, the boy is going to wake back up in his room. When that happens, he'll need someone by his side to help him regain his footing and watch over his recovery.
That can only be one person.
It's why when that time comes, she's not going to have to be the one to tell him that the one who should have waited for him isn't well enough to be there. Because the idiot was so tormented by his own nightmares that he's lost sight of his own promise that never grew invalid no matter how worse things got. ...Ah, it's not to say that she'd hold it against him for falling back into old and unhealthy habits. Who's she to talk, when she's kept avoiding her phantoms just as much? She's simply lucky that she's got no direct, constant, and personal reminder of her misdoings to bless and curse her every step, but this isn't about her anyway. It's about him.
He's the one who needs to wake up.
He's scrunched up her fist and the piece of paper with it, but not a beat after his comment, he'll find the hand that he's clutched close opening itself up. Having clipped the paper between her fingers so that it doesn't fall, she has no qualms this time resorting to her full strength to break open his hold - or at least, legitimately try to with all she's got. He's inhuman, yes, but so is she, when she packs sufficient strength in one arm to lift twice her own weight with ease. He might overpower her anyway, but she should have enough to pry open his hold by a bit, if nothing else.
She won't strike the first blow. She's not eager to take this further either, but if this escalates...
Then the ends will have to justify the means, today. (They often did in her line of work, anyway.)]
no subject
he doesn't fight her. should she wish to open her hand, then he won't stop her. but he'll make no moves to collect the paper inside, either. he has no intention in humoring her, this time.
there's nothing she could say to deter him. Cain is... gone. and soon-- maybe even she would be suffering a similar fate. words won't change that reality -- and long as that's the case...
...he instead withdraws from her, fingers uncurling from hers as he steps back. there's nothing more he can say.
if she continues to stand in his way, then... he'll do what he has to in order to ensure that's no longer possible.]
This is the last time I'll ask.
[turn away. just turn away. please. please, don't do this. he can't go with you and he can't watch you and Esther and Charles and-- everyone he cares for just-- disappear, it's--]
...Go back, Ciel.
no subject
It reaffirms his humanity, but in doing so, he also just ends up trapping himself further inside the paradox that he's made out of his own existence. Enough has also happened for her to know that even if she's to unfold the crumbled page herself and hold it out in front of him, he'll ignore it. Reading is a choice. Hearing isn't. She can only be reminded once more, of how bad a time this is for her to be unable to speak.
The note is tucked away. She lacks the idealism to keep trying. With that, she's no means of getting through the walls that he's encased himself within. Even if she succeeds in dragging him out of here by force somehow, it's highly likely that she would just be taking an empty body devoid of purpose and will. She'd need to stay by him until all this ends, something that'll likely become even more trying than trying to hold back the grim helplessness seeping through her now.
The lowered hand forms a fist inside the sleeve of her robe, out of sight. Her chest heaves slightly, along with her shoulders. She can't even thank him for his consideration, realizing full well that there were a million chances he could've snapped during the few short minutes that have just passed - but didn't. So without further ado, she'll start to walk too, sauntering past him even after he's stepped back without rush or urgency in her steps.
She stops a few feet away at exactly where the barrier she's erected still stands. When she turns around again, she's got one Black Key in hand, and looking back at him with unwavering eyes, draws one single line on the ground to clearly mark the limit. The Key is then dispelled, and the air around them -- not coagulate per se, but is definitely changing, thickening. The message couldn't be clearer even if she was to shout it out loud: she's not going back, and she doesn't intend on letting him pass. She's painfully aware that it may only result in the worst possible outcome for all of them, but this is nevertheless one thing that she will firmly stand by. Her stance may look open, but her focus is sharp and keenly wired. He's not going to be able to make one move without her noticing, and he damn well knows that she'll follow it up to the best of her ability and give it her all to stop him. He may have some aces up his sleeves yet, but he won't be the only one in that regard either.]
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