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GRAVEYARD 2.0
GRAVEYARD Well, that sucked. But no matter what your death was like—whether it was something peaceful or traumatic, you'll find yourself waking in a completely white room on the floor. Small and empty, there isn't anything else there besides an open door to walk through. But before you do that, you'll probably notice that whatever injuries you may have had, including whatever may have been the death blow, are now gone. That's exciting. Stepping out of the room, it seems that you're in a large... house? with three different floors. Everything from floor, ceiling to furniture is completely white, except for the drawings that are plastered to the walls in each room. These are all colorful, drawn in colored pencils and crayon, and resemble a child's drawing. The other notable thing are the windows. While they're present all around the building, looking out of them only shows TV static. Besides that, everything is furnished with the absolute bare minimum of each room. The first floor is all typical common areas one would find in a house. There's a kitchen, living room area, laundry room, dining room, and a main hallway where the stairs are. There are also helpful drawings in these rooms that show the rooms much more lavishly decorated than they actually are. There's a door that appears to be the way to exit the building, it's locked. The second floor consists of nothing but twenty bedrooms. Each room has one queen sized bed, an empty dresser, and an attached bathroom with only a sink, toilet, and shower. Like the first floor, each bedroom has drawn pictures that show it looking much more lavish than it actually does. Thanks for nothing, artist! The third floor only has two rooms. One appears to be a home office with nothing but a desk and two chairs, one behind it and one in front of it. While there's blank pieces of paper and crayons on the desk, the note that was previously there is gone. The other room is much larger, and it's completely empty save for the many drawings lining its walls— in fact, the walls are covered in them, much more than in any other room. On closer inspection, though, it seems like these aren't actually drawings? The papers seem to be showing scenes from the living area. Everything from inside the hotel to the areas beyond the bridge are visible here. However, when curfew hits on Thursday nights, they revert to being normal drawings! Except for the fact that they're all drawings of stick figures being murdered in various ways. Well. At least there's plenty of things to draw with, if you get bored. Also, a handy link to the previous post. |
NAVIGATION locations ₓ˚. statuses *+:｡ ic profiles :ₓo ic rules ･ﾟﾟ･｡ audience requests murder proposals ｡✧o private conversations ･ﾟo｡ curfew ･ﾟ✧ memories |
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Mm, this is perhaps a touch. awkward.
-- But not something that scares him. It's a fact that Chiron cannot help but notice, even as every part of of his body freezes up in front of his eyes, a muscle spasm traveling up all four of his legs.
Because there is something eerily familiar in how the voices denounce him, that only leaves him melancholy, but not fearful.
... Except that doesn't solve this current problem, does it? He watches as his legs begin to pace in place uncertainly, hooves disturbing the earth underneath it, and that gives way to another realization -- that his body moved because he bid it so, and if that's the case, then--
The crowd will be screaming for a while longer; both hands awkwardly reach down, gently patting at his bangs before gripping the head proper, and he's gonna uh... see if he can just put his head back on!
It's fine? It's fine!]
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Because when he brings his head up to where it was severed from his neck, it only takes a moment or so. He'll feel the sensation of his skin knitting itself back together, and then of scales forming over where he'd been cut - spreading up his neck to his chin, and down his neck to about level with his shoulders.
Somehow, instinctively, he knows - it won't be so easy for the man across from him to sever his head from his body again. That soldier is trembling badly, now, and nearly fumbles his sword; he takes a few terrified steps back, all color draining from his face.]
How...?
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-- But now there is the question of what to do about the man with his sword, as pitiful a weapon as it is in this situation. Even stuck in this (dream? reality? memory?), Chiron is not overcome with a need to attack, and so he tries to raise his hands instead, that probably still have some faint traces of blood on them]
Please... I do not mean you any harm.
[As he talks, his eyes will tick around. Is there perhaps a way to escape? He'd rather not go a'murdering a bunch of humans, for some reason]
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[The soldier swings his sword at him wildly, but he's shaking too hard for it to connect.
...and unfortunatlely, while Chiron isn't particularly in the mood to mcmurder some unsuspecting humans - these humans sure are in the mood to mcmurder him. He'll hear a battle cry from somewhere behind him, shortly before he'll feel something sharp pierce his, uh, horse ass.
That'll be a spear, which gets ripped out quickly by the infantryman at his back, who, in a shaking voice, barks out orders - ]
Snap his legs!
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It hurts a lot.
And as Chiron quickly stumbles back with a wince, trying to put distance between himself and the crowd, he can feel some dark emotion unearthed in his chest - an alien sort of fury that is oddly impersonal.
It's not that he's truly angry.
But he is not moved to pity, either, for these foolish humans who dare attack him.
Without even realizing it, there is a golden bow in his hand and an arrow drawn, facing the one who gave the order]
If you do not retreat, you will die.
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Because just as with his decapitation, the area that was stabbed heals over too quickly to be natural. It scales over, to be precise - much sturdier than before. These soldiers are welcome to try and stab him all they like.
They won't be able to pierce that particular spot in his body.
But they don't seem inclined to back down, even in the face of that golden bow. One snarls, another readies his sword -
And then there's a shout.]
Cease!
[The soldiers step aside. Further up the battlefield - because, suddenly, it all comes into focus; it is a battlefield - there is a man in a general's garb, and he looks smug. He steps aside, and Chiron will see the form of a red-haired man, prone on the ground, spears stabbed into the ground to keep him in place.
But then his vision shifts. It flickers, it glitches - and instead of long red tresses, there's brown locks of hair, a flash of a gold-trimmed white jacket, and then shocking blue eyes as a young woman looks up at him.
Her mouth moves silently.]
Surrender, or we'll kill her here and now!
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The memory of that soft plush he carried with him for weeks is long since dead, and so there is a beat of silence, of incredulousness, as this young woman is brought forth as if she means something to Chiron.
-- And yet.
His heart has the nerve to seize up in his chest the longer he stares at her, and an icy feeling of dread makes it very hard to breathe.
--M̶̨̞̥̭̖̘͚̝̭͇̫̒̊̿a̴̛̛̛͎̤̣̜̪͙̭̲͍͕̦͌͛͗́̿͘s̵͙͔̮͍̦̥̮̀t̴̤͎̻̀͂͋̍͐̋͐̃͋͐̒̕͘ę̵̪̳̬͙͕͕̫̈͐͆̎͑̓̄̆̑͊̊͗̆̈́r̴̨̞̰̤͔̞̮̳̺̪̈́̀͆͂͋̚
The bow wavers
... drops
and his face is torn into a frustrated grimace as he glares down his opponents]
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When he comes to a stop in front of Chiron, he uses the flat of his sword to tilt his chin up.]
Just what manner of beast are you? Why won't you stay dead?
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He says nothing.
Doesn't move, doesn't even seem to breathe, only stares in quiet passiveness that somehow manages to be openly defiant.
He promised to surrender, but he still has his pride.]
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And then, with a tch - he raises the hand that isn't holding his sword.
Another soldier steps out from the crowd, carrying a sharp, wicked-looking blade. He comes to stand at the side of the soldiers keeping the brown-haired woman down, and he's eyeing her neck.]
I asked you a question.
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A ç̴̡̜̞̗̤̮͔̫͇͖͉̟̈́̍͠ͅě̷͚̻̖͈͙̹̭̩̈́̋͐̀ń̴̗̫͕͈̭̼̻̓̽́̿̓̈́̾̿̀̿͘̕͘͝t̶̹̖̻̩̤̪̗̗͉̙̖̻͓̊̀̒̏͘à̵̧̨̫̝̱͉͕̘̬̫͈̥̠̅̈́̒̋̔̊̑̈́͆̚̕͜͜͠ư̶͙͖̣̺͖̫̋̈̑̌̈͆̓̐̃͑͒̒͂̕r̴̨̧̛̟͙͈͓͓̗̝͙͊̇͐͂̒̀̒͑̀͘͝--]
I do not know.
[Even as he speaks, it is calm and mannered for reasons Chiron cannot explain.
But he doesn't lie.
He doesn't know]
Kill me, if you think you can, but I suspect it will go as well as it has so far.
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[The general sneers, and lowers his hand with a sharp, cutting motion.
In the same instant, the soldier brings his sword down on that brown-haired woman's neck.]
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He's going to die, isn't he (she)?
She's (he's) going to die.
...
And even if Chiron did not have evidence that his body could take the punishment, that his skin and bone and muscle would scale over and stitch itself up anew, his reaction would be the same:
The arrows begin to fly, furious, and no longer restrained.
If they do not get out of his way, he'll simply kill them all.]
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The soldiers die, too.
And they make every effort to kill Chiron - but he doesn't die. He can't die. Where he's hurt, his wounds heal over, and then the swords and spears and arrows simply bounce off his hide.
But the man (woman?)'s blood flows, and it stains the ground. It's too late. It's far, far too late.
Chiron finds himself surrounded by corpses, and all their eyes stare up at him accusingly.]
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Not because they are dead -- oh no, they died for their crimes, and that ancient, callous emotion inside of him has not completely diminished.
But he does not enjoy killing. It brings him no satisfaction. And staring down at the corpses, he cannot shake off the feeling that if nothing else, he should be better than this.
... His shoulders slump as he walks over to the girl, gently kneeling. The urge to kiss her lifeless hand is great.
But he doesn't.
Instead he will stand after a moment, chest heavy, and look around his surroundings. What-- what does he do? They're dead. He's alive. He's still here despite it all.
What does he do?]
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The corpses around him rot, until they're skeletons. The skeletons around him crumble to dust.
Time passes. He'll feel the passage of time keenly - seconds tick into minutes tick into hours tick into days, then weeks, then years. Decades.
Centuries.
People are born. People die. People change, people grow.
But Chiron never does.]
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The details trickle in as he waits -- of a life where eternity was sweeter with people to spend it with.
Of loved ones who were equally long-lived, and so Chiron never felt the weight of time like he does now.
The loneliness would choke a mortal. But he isn't one. He has no choice but to live, and so he finds himself a quiet corner as the world turns without him, and wonders how long he should pass through life a ghost with no purpose.]
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...but then, suddenly, the scenery changes around him. He's in the woods, and up ahead - there's the sound of people talking, the crackling of a fire, and the smell of food. If he gets up to follow it, he'll find what appears to be a group gathered around a fire.
Yona looks solid enough, but the others - they're faint, ghostly forms, flickering between the image of people that Chiron has known and fought alongside, and the people that Yona actually travels with.
She looks up sharply.]
...who's there?
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But his heart rate spikes when he sees her: someone he knows, who is real -- more real than the ghostly figures who stare back at him in silence.]
... Yona?
[Glancing at her with some measure of hope]
Do you... recognize me?
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When she gets to Chiron, she reaches for his hands.]
Chiron, I don't... understand. What's happening?
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I do not know.
[Voice tinged with fatigue, but he will still offer her hands a quiet squeeze]
I-- I think I have been here for a while? Eons, it has felt.
[Seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years, so many years--]
There was a battle, but the soldiers... they could not kill me no matter how hard they tried. It is as if I were unable to die.
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[She should know this, but unfortunately...
...that's something she forgot.]
Let's stick together, okay?
[Back at the campfire, the phantoms are doling out food to each other. Looks like they're about to have a nice meal...]
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I was hoping you could tell me.
[Though as his eyes drag themselves back up to the scene before them, of the phantoms surrounding the campfire:]
... Truth be told, it reminded me of when I was... immortal.
[What a specific memory to regain in Yona's world. Ha. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and then nods at the phantoms]
Do you recognize any of them?
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[Yet, anyway.
Yona turns back to the phantoms, too. There's herself, thanking a pretty boy wearing a blue cloak for the meal. There's a man in dark clothing that her gaze seems to almost pass over, and then a very colorful collection of three other men - one in white robes, one with a very strange mask that has a bunch of floof attached to it, and one with long green hair.]
...they're my friends. Yoon, Kija, Shin-ah, and Jae-ha. [She doesn't name Hak. She just looks sort of troubled as she tries to focus on him.] We've been together for a long time.