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soul_campaign2013-04-14 01:07 am
darkestshadeofyou) wrote in soul_campaign2013-04-14 01:07 am
Entry tags:
[Video] - Stuck in a Jam-Jar [May 19?]
((OOC At the top just to preempt anyone possibly not having read the cut -- This post its full of spoilers and violent things that happened in the canon. I really can't warn enough ;-;))
[This video starts out in a dark, dark room and only the light of the night time does any decent for any sort of outline sitting at the window. It's clearly a man in a white shirt, the pants are too dark to make out any definitive colour past a shade of blue. He's made a small modification to be able to sit at the window and it's not clear what it is he's seated on, but his blankets are there and his pillows. He's drug his mattress and his table to the window.]
I had a nightmare for the fourth time since being here. Are they common? Wasn't it something I heard at one time that said talking about your nightmares would make them go away? Unfortunately there'll be graphic content, you should stray away if you have stomachs not suited to violence.
It made me sick, too.
[He means this in the double standard for those who know, for those who don't can assume what they will while they don't know he is sick in other ways. His finger comes to his lip and he nibbles at the skin on the side of it. It's a wonder he hasn't chewed clear through it for all the times he's done it.]
I tried so hard to wake up from it, a nightmare so real it could be life if not for the characteristic surreal settings that dreams tend to bring us. There was a tall cinder building in England, a gated fence surrounded it and its tower. All of us were children, nameless, faceless children in the crowds, given nothing more than what would be afforded an orphanage. Maybe that was what it was, in fact, an orphanage. What a strange dream to have.
That orphanage went on forever, large halls of oak and laminate as so the children's shoes dare not make a mark in the halls. Not make a mark at all in the life of the building. A young man I could only imagine the dream's reel to set as my friend sat down next to me in a large library lined with books -- so many books
[He's reaching down to the blankets, pulling them further around him and a pillow against the window to lean his head on.]
We were studying for something that felt more ominous than one single child should ever have to go through. The gaunt features on the face of the young man -- the only one with another face -- were a disturbing sight. Something I don't think I'll forget even if the nightmare goes away. He was so sad looking, worried looking and I could only watch as he withered away in front of me day by day in a montage. The building was eating its children, devouring their youth and forcing them to go day to day into their young graves.
I watched it happen to the one with a face. I watched the realization that he'd never be enough for the place tormenting children and I watched him step onto our study table. His feet were on the books, barely able to stand for all the time he'd spent in study, in preparation for something we were supposed to become, to uphold some how.
[A sigh and he draws his knees up, tucking blankets around them as he continues to speak. As he does, his eyes turn from the window and onto the wall in front of him, never to the mirror he knows he's speaking in to.]
A man I couldn't see stood in the background, a dark, dark scene change behind the boy standing on our books. He watched as I did, only my eyes were glued to the husk of a child barely touching his teens and the rope he put around his neck. He looked down at me and told me goodbye. Tears. They fell down his face and for what I couldn't tell, because he was scared? Because he was scared of failing? Because he was afraid of both and neither seemed more overwhelming than the other. He bid me goodbye and that he was sorry - how could a boy of that age be sorry? For what viable reason would a child feel sorrow of that divide while in a minds eye falling prey to his own decision -- or maybe one made for him.
I sat in my chair, glued to it, the figure looming in the background in a white light flooding the room and masking him. He saw it all and did nothing. Nor did the other figure who's shadow fell upon the feet I endured not to watch with no avail.
[After he's done talking, he looks legitimately distant, he is distant. The memory isn't as disturbing as it is strong, not like he'd tried to portray.]
I wonder now and hope that it isn't a memory. What sort of monster would demand that children give their youth? Surely none that justice wouldn't find a way to pull free from his grasp the little ones whom might have survived it. Or left. I distinctly remember taking a small object as I was deciding to leave the house who was sucking dry the life of children around me.
An odd dream.
[He looks over, taking up the mirror and the vacant look in his face is one he's always wearing by this point.]
But if you've listened this far, perhaps you'll know how to answer my question about nightmares with my thanks that you've helped me perhaps banish them into the cruel depths of human negativity.
[This video starts out in a dark, dark room and only the light of the night time does any decent for any sort of outline sitting at the window. It's clearly a man in a white shirt, the pants are too dark to make out any definitive colour past a shade of blue. He's made a small modification to be able to sit at the window and it's not clear what it is he's seated on, but his blankets are there and his pillows. He's drug his mattress and his table to the window.]
I had a nightmare for the fourth time since being here. Are they common? Wasn't it something I heard at one time that said talking about your nightmares would make them go away? Unfortunately there'll be graphic content, you should stray away if you have stomachs not suited to violence.
It made me sick, too.
[He means this in the double standard for those who know, for those who don't can assume what they will while they don't know he is sick in other ways. His finger comes to his lip and he nibbles at the skin on the side of it. It's a wonder he hasn't chewed clear through it for all the times he's done it.]
I tried so hard to wake up from it, a nightmare so real it could be life if not for the characteristic surreal settings that dreams tend to bring us. There was a tall cinder building in England, a gated fence surrounded it and its tower. All of us were children, nameless, faceless children in the crowds, given nothing more than what would be afforded an orphanage. Maybe that was what it was, in fact, an orphanage. What a strange dream to have.
That orphanage went on forever, large halls of oak and laminate as so the children's shoes dare not make a mark in the halls. Not make a mark at all in the life of the building. A young man I could only imagine the dream's reel to set as my friend sat down next to me in a large library lined with books -- so many books
[He's reaching down to the blankets, pulling them further around him and a pillow against the window to lean his head on.]
We were studying for something that felt more ominous than one single child should ever have to go through. The gaunt features on the face of the young man -- the only one with another face -- were a disturbing sight. Something I don't think I'll forget even if the nightmare goes away. He was so sad looking, worried looking and I could only watch as he withered away in front of me day by day in a montage. The building was eating its children, devouring their youth and forcing them to go day to day into their young graves.
I watched it happen to the one with a face. I watched the realization that he'd never be enough for the place tormenting children and I watched him step onto our study table. His feet were on the books, barely able to stand for all the time he'd spent in study, in preparation for something we were supposed to become, to uphold some how.
[A sigh and he draws his knees up, tucking blankets around them as he continues to speak. As he does, his eyes turn from the window and onto the wall in front of him, never to the mirror he knows he's speaking in to.]
A man I couldn't see stood in the background, a dark, dark scene change behind the boy standing on our books. He watched as I did, only my eyes were glued to the husk of a child barely touching his teens and the rope he put around his neck. He looked down at me and told me goodbye. Tears. They fell down his face and for what I couldn't tell, because he was scared? Because he was scared of failing? Because he was afraid of both and neither seemed more overwhelming than the other. He bid me goodbye and that he was sorry - how could a boy of that age be sorry? For what viable reason would a child feel sorrow of that divide while in a minds eye falling prey to his own decision -- or maybe one made for him.
I sat in my chair, glued to it, the figure looming in the background in a white light flooding the room and masking him. He saw it all and did nothing. Nor did the other figure who's shadow fell upon the feet I endured not to watch with no avail.
[After he's done talking, he looks legitimately distant, he is distant. The memory isn't as disturbing as it is strong, not like he'd tried to portray.]
I wonder now and hope that it isn't a memory. What sort of monster would demand that children give their youth? Surely none that justice wouldn't find a way to pull free from his grasp the little ones whom might have survived it. Or left. I distinctly remember taking a small object as I was deciding to leave the house who was sucking dry the life of children around me.
An odd dream.
[He looks over, taking up the mirror and the vacant look in his face is one he's always wearing by this point.]
But if you've listened this far, perhaps you'll know how to answer my question about nightmares with my thanks that you've helped me perhaps banish them into the cruel depths of human negativity.
[Text | Private]
It's a rock, from Croatia. Not my home, the present!
[Text | Private]
[L knows about the mission, of course, the boards are more than plain. He's almost too exhausted to be angry with Matt, and at this point, damage control is necessary. He has to do something before others involve themselves with B, and before he spills more about the House on the public message boards.
And yes, he's fully aware that the rock in question might have his head as an intended target.].
[Text | Private]
Home is where I am.
[Another game for L to play.]
The door will be unlocked.
[Action]
Taser in his back pocket, dressed in clothing that resembles Light's more than L's, the detective makes his way across town.
Casualty Communal. Floor 13. Unit B. it really couldn't have been anything else, with Beyond's penchant for symbols and significance. Though the door is in fact unlocked, L slides a note under it, instead.]
[Action]
As it ended up, the bed was still by the window supported by the table and his blankets were at least neatly wrapped around it and pillows lovingly spread over it. In his bedroom area was little to nothing but a new shelf. On it was a teddy bear that he'd taken for himself to remind him of the unfortunates that had suffered and died at the hands of these eggs. A memento of the fun he'd had, looking back on it. A thankful moment that a resident took pity on him without knowing his penchant for darkness.
The paper brought a grin that the devil would shy from and Beyond steps forward to pluck it up between his fingers to read it. Furthermore he pouts when he has and sets it on the trophy shelf before climbing back onto the table and further into his blankets. Thinking better of it, he decides to stand again and plods bare foot in front of the door.
He's almost giddy, he's wanted this for so long. It was enough that L hadn't come on his own, but Beyond figured he wouldn't. No, no, but this time there's no one to send. No bitch woman he'll have to feed information to. He tries to calm down and his voice relates that calm.]
It's cruel that you've thought so little of me, Sir.
[Action]
Then the unmistakable shuffle of bare feet, the gait nightmarish in its similarity to L's own when he was without footwear, parked itself in front of the still-closed door.
He had intended to come without provocation. He had told Mello as much. And neither of them had thought that B would force his hand so quickly.
He turns the knob slowly, opening the door a mere crack, keeping his eye pointedly away from the sliver of space. It won't do to speak if their voices continue to be muffled; despite L's excellent hearing, he is only 70% sure that he caught B's message.]
Can you assure me that you are unarmed before I come in?
[He isn't presuming that he'll be invited inside. The moment Beyond posted to the network about A, it was a virtual guarantee that L would expect to enter.]
[Action]
But no.
How selfish.
He crouches down when the door opens, not sure what to expect either. It could be L, or it could be someone he'd sent. It didn't seem likely, but there was a small probability. He would be too aggravated and L would know that Beyond would take it out on others, not L.
He shifted to sit with his long legs together in front of him, arms around his shins and chin between his kneecaps.]
No.
I have weapons in here, but none of them are intended for you, Sir. You're being hmm, silly? Ridiculous? Ridiculous. I brought a rock home, I went on a mission. You know the name I'm using, yes? I don't like it. Mello is terrible at making names.
[He's anxiously looking at the door.]
I'm sitting down like they tell you to in the Asylum. Are you afraid I'm going to kill you, Sir? You're why I went on the mission. I'm protecting you.
[Action]
He consumed, he entertained, he gave and took and burned and drowned, and it was all for the sake of his own whims. In a world that had, for so long, consisted of four walls and a sickly glowing screen that had bleached his skin the color of bone, what else mattered but L?
His boundaries were not so constrained, now. His borders, previously so blandly similar regardless of the exotic location of his hundreds of cases, were glutted and expanded beyond comfort. Stretched thin, he listens as B describes his weapons, reassures and insults him in the same breath, and drops a morsel about Mello.
He remains in the hallway for the moment.]
Death is not far from my mind, but I believe it is not among your intentions to end my life. Not here, anyway.
[You would want to make it special. Intimate. The kind of case that fascinated me when I was sick but everyone ignored it because I was still so productive.]
If you want me to come inside, you'll need to step back from the door. I am not accustomed to touching, and I don't tolerate invasion of my personal space within an arm's length unless I initiate the breach. I assume that you already know this about me, and I therefore trust you not to take it personally.
[Action]
Death is never far from any of us, Sir.
[That's right. Not just your mind.
He's standing now and there's a distinct stop in his movement, one that has his head quirking and looking over his shoulder. A teenage-type exasperated sigh permeates the silence after L's "request".]
Don't flatter yourself. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd have been hurt by now, I don't have to touch you, there's so many ways. All I'd have to do is jam a knife under the doorway fast enough to catch your feet. Or set clear tacks on the floor. Even tie something to the doorknob to electrocute you when you opened it.
[He childishly stomps his feet along so that L could hear him, could tell he was moving away and then grabbed his blankets, pulling them around his body. As many times as L may have seen B in pictures, maybe even other ways that B had no thought on, he suddenly didn't want to be seen in his entirety. It gave him the upper hand that he desired desperately. Or at least made him feel as much.]
If you want, there's a butcher's block in the kitchen~ you could take a knife, but I could still best youuuu~.
[Action]
It doesn't shock him, though he confesses inwardly that electrocution might have been elegant. Not so different from a heart attack, which was, in the end, something L and B shared. Time, location and murderer differed, but the manners were identical.
He surveys the figure swathed in blankets, the distance comforting, but not by much.]
Thank you for offering, but I decline. You must know by now that I never wished death on you, and a knife is a risky implement.
[He doesn't comment on B's claim that he can best the slight detective; he might have had a chance at his surprisingly strong best, but as worn as he is by recent trials, scarcely even standing, scarcely even solid, he is not so confident.]
I'd ask if you are well, but you've demonstrated you're well enough to seek the wrong kind of public attention. If you truly want to protect me, mentioning your 'nightmare' on the networks and alluding to key individuals is hardly the way to put my mind at ease.
[Action]
You did. You had intended something worse than. I forgive you for now.
[Eyes, it turned simply to Beyond blinking out from further gathering of a quilt around him, the same one that had sat on the bed that sits now in front of the window where he's not so much hiding as observing. Watching L, the way he moves, the way he's dressed, method of speaking -- they'd given him a huge second chance, taking his scars. Taking all the things he'd done to himself and yet Beyond wanted nothing more than to have them back. Something to pull himself at least that much farther and prove here that he was better and never had been anything but a distant relative to perhaps the second best detective, bested by the best criminal.]
I've changed my mind. Kind of.
[Even if was just eyes, was eyes that smiled without the action from its master, he had a hard time with smiling even if he was a lot better from the practice.]
Your protection is a byproduct of someone else I want to keep safe. Protecting you is also something I'm sure you know I've said in context; no one but me decides.
[He all at once throws the blankets off and plods over -- Two feet of personal space, that was the polite amount and Beyond left three. Even still, he was sickeningly quick and still felt the rush of the morning's hunt ended.]
This Someone you may owe a great many lives and sleepless nights to, Sir. I have these feelings, still. Curiosities.. And however, who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do or say?
[He was excitable, it had become obvious. It didn't matter, not in the sanctity of his own home where all this was hidden; just them.]
[Action]
You give me more power in your mind than I ever had outside of it. You mustn't think in such absolute terms, Beyond... I know you to possess tremendous creativity, and you must be able to adjust your theory of mind to entertain other possibilities.
[If you weren't, I don't think I would have chosen you.
He feels Beyond's eyes on him, and with it comes a sense of exposure, vulnerability. His shields are all down, and it is not a happy realization when it turns out that Beyond actually can move pretty quickly to throw off those blankets and close the distance between them until only about an arm's length remained as a buffer between the fractured mirror images.]
You want to tell me about this "someone?" This person you went to Croatia with, who inspired you to reconsider?
[It takes a fair amount of willpower not to flinch and recoil from Beyond's palpable excitement, but the stoic detective manages it.]
[Action]
He wanted so much to reach forward, to touch it, to find out if it looked like it felt and yet still he managed to keep his hands to himself. He almost didn't hear the conversation, letting it run bit by bit until more about Matt is brought up.]
Mm? The woman I went with?
[He's said woman on purpose. Knowing that L would have checked in on him makes it only a fun little momentary prod that he knows.]
She's a pretty redhead, glasses, a little shorter than I myself. Inspired is a great term, Sir Almost perfect for the outlet. I can't figure out why it's illegal to take a life in the city and yet outside it it's murder. You're a murderer, too.
[Another step, only the slowest of movements and he's just passing L's shoulder into what could be a blind spot if L doesn't turn around. Turning around, though, may only make it worse on the predecessor.]
I'd never been told a thing in my life that I've ultimately listened to -- considered, of course, but not listened to. Are you jealous?
[He knew the answer.]
She's far from my brand of intelligent and she's hiding something not so expertly but most women do. You know how they are-- I know how they are. The pretty woman you sent to me, that was kind of you, Sir. I found my own this time. One thing vexes me concerns me --what happens if I feel dark and she's busy? What will you do then, Sir?
[Action]
The woman? Having access to the public mission records and boards, as everyone did, L couldn't immediately discern why Beyond might lie about the gender of the person he'd gone with. Did he mean to imply that there was a romantic element at work? Was he being blatantly misleading to send a message of another kind, intentionally demonstrating that he was bound by no rules to be honest with the man who had let him down, once upon a time?]
I am not a murderer, Beyond. I chase monsters and bring them to justice. More literally in this world than ever before.
[He keeps his stance and his gaze steady as Beyond circles him, creeping around like a shadow in his peripheral vision.
He doesn't answer the question about jealousy. To give Beyond any answer would be to give him ammo, something to twist into something sharp to wield with terrifying conviction.]
If you feel dark...
[Seek Light, of course... is that what you're getting at? Do you know about him already?]
You cannot rely on others to save you, no matter how kind they are. If you try to, you'll only succeed in driving them away. No one can shoulder responsibility for the life of another human being without unfavorable consequences.
[I would certainly know.]
Re: [Action]
[Then steps back and is all but a devil's smile. It's not something he accomplishes often and yet when he does it makes demons quake in their hooves.]
I'm not relying on others - I'm asking the great, worldly, knowledgeable man who knows. [He raises his finger as though he's made a point, and then points it to L as if he didn't know who he was mocking.] ...Just what he thinks I should do.
[Action]
Beyond... you saw Kishin eggs for yourself, didn't you? You're aware that they have killed humans, and would again? It is not murder when they are monsters, it is not murder when they mindlessly destroy and we are saving lives. They cannot stand trial any more than a rabid animal can.
[That devil's smile turns his stomach to rot, but he steels himself. He can stand this. He can weather it and come out of it, he is L.
He swallows.]
I think you should do as we all do in this city: kill Kishin eggs. See what you have been given as a second chance... and make it count. Don't throw it away.
[Action]
All I saw was a creature fighting back against two people they couldn't possibly have beaten once the lovely lady gave me permission to go all out. Has anyone gotten their side of it? Why they fight and murder or do we now, even being both from Wammy's embrace decide to hear one side of the story and fight half blind? That's not like you, Sir.
[He walks past L, backward and sits back down on his bed, patting the seat next to him and then shaking out the blanket to show there's no weapons and even lifts the mattress so he's got a good view. Then pats it again.]
Thanks to Wammy's -- I don't know how to be anything but what I am. Could I have chosen, maybe I'd be better off with the Kinshin.
[Action]
It's as I said.
[His voice is soft.]
It is like trying to reason with rabid animals. Either they don't understand, and their innocence is too dangerous to maintain, or they understand and persist, regardless.
[Beyond returns to the bed and pats the spot next to him, a silent invitation, perhaps. But the most insane thing Beyond has yet conceived might be the notion that L would join him on a bed. Even with apparent proof of no weapons, he doesn't want to be so near his unhinged successor. It makes his skin crawl like an allergic reaction.
He remains within paces of the door.]
Killing innocents at will did not work out for you well, before. I feel it's only kind to remind you of this before you imagine siding with creatures that would kill you without the barest hesitation.
[Action]
He lets him talk, smile turning to a childish pout when again he was being called a murderer. Laying on his side, Beyond pulled the blanket around him, huffing.]
You keep calling me a murderer, accusing me of killing people. I've never killed anyone in my life.
[Action]
I believe you're better at being what you are not than you can ever know, Beyond. At least, convincing yourself that you are something you are not.
[Action]
Ohhhhh...
You're angry I decided to forget. I'd never forget you. Or do you mean my denying being a murderer? I was an opportunist. Not a murderer. They helped me realize that in the ... hospital.
[Action]
I am not angry.
[Anger implies a certain level of caring, after all, and care is like fire with Beyond. A little can warm the spirit and soothe frostbite, but too much is dangerous.]
I don't believe it was your choice to arrive here, as many things in your life were not your choice. However, it is your choice to tell untruths that you know to be such. Your tedious use of semantics to excuse your actions based on technicalities is also your choice. Opportunists take advantage of situations that can benefit them... and my perception is that you benefited very little from the choices you made before those people died, Beyond.
[Action]
He lets his cheek rest on his kneecaps, staring at L.]
Then you're wrong. I benefitted greatly, it not only proved to me the idiocy of your staff, having to lead her through, but also substantiated a few things I'd thought about death. Don't be so full of yourself, not everything is all for you.
[Action]
He blinks slowly, the first time he's done so during this conversation.]
Killing something to learn from it... you substantiated something, though I wonder if you can understand it.
[Action]
[He lays out on the mattress, it's clear from the way he's turned his house upside down he's not feeling at home, he's not in his own skin here.]
[Action]
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