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tampered2006-11-21 12:04 pm
1st-dream-king.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-21 12:04 pm
Log: Complete ( Part 1 of 2 )
When; Nov. 19th ( Dream time)
Rating; R
Characters; Morpheus![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
1st_dream_king, Matthew astheravenflies, Vincent snarky_padre_v
Summary; Dream a little dream...
Part 2
Log;
Vincent was loathe to return to bed after the jarring nightmare with the Corinthian.
He had woken from that screaming then, realizing he had made a mess of his pants, hastily stripped them and put them in the hamper he had bought as part of his room decoration.
She had gone shopping with him for all this, Scarab. now she was below, suffering. Vincent felt a bit of a twinge at that, but over the years he had done humiliating and brutal things in his time with the Order. You either learned to adapt or you died. It was as simple as that.
He moved to his bed for a time and found some fresh clothes to change into, folded them at the foot.
He was not ready to venture out there, no matter how much his stomach was finally begging him for food.
He was sure the evidence of his new feelings for Henry would show were he to encounter that one, and he still felt he would not be able to look Alessa in the eye.
She would want him to continue to feel guilty, but he simply couldn't afford that.
Checking his messages he saw that Xulchibara had had one for him; he was being dressed down for his weakness. He apologized -seemed he was doing far too much of that these days- and wondered a little sadly that the god had not seen fit to at least give him the message directly. Indulgence for his sadness was unlikely to be forthcoming, but punishment for his weakness, he knew, would somehow turn equally sublime. His skin just wasn't wired any other way.
He yawned. Still tired somehow? Perhaps due to oversleep. Well. Let them think he was still doing penance- it might at least look better in the eyes of the others. He would try tomorrow to brave the underground and deliver his apolgoes to Scarab in person.
He took off his glasses, wrapped his bare legs in sheets, laid down again. .....
.....and dreamed.
---
" I still don't like leaving Daniel alone........*awk* What are we doing here, anyway?"
" We are here to observe, and to learn what we may, Matthew."
" But I thought ol' Cori paid this cocksucker a visit already?"
"He did, but that was a reflection, and I believe The Corinthian's own way of helping his friend."
"Ya?...Well, I still say it's pretty fucked up what this 'Xguy' does to his own people."
"As do I, Matthew...As do I."
" Hey...Hey, Morpheus, he's hitting R.E.M."
"Yes. Hush, now...."
---
Not this again.
He was dreaming of the church.
So far there was no sign of the slaughtered congregation- something that had, sadly really happened when Claudia had made her bid for power- and the church was silent.
He ran a hand over one of the mahogany benches-handcrafted, they were, by some crazy old Shaker upstate from Silent Hill.
Vincent knew because he had bought the things of this church; it was his. He had found the crazy woman whose paintings of the creation story graced the walls; he had paid for the beautifully wrought stained glass windows and the magnificent runner rugs.
His.
"Go home, Vincent," Claudia had warned him in the end, and he had told her, cockily, that this church WAS his home.
That had been his mistake, continued to be his mistake. It was God's church.
Everytime he acted on his own outbursts things got messy. "I must tell Alessa that," he muttered in his Sleep, and the floral arrangement she had made him which was, inexplicably resting on the altar all but Whispered agreement, yes.
There was a slight smudge on one of the flowers, and he took a hankerchief from his pocket to dust it off.
Not a smudge, a burnmark. as he watched, dumbfounded, the burnmark widened, and the wreath burst into flames.
FIRE PURIFIES ALL was writ in flaming letters across the back wall, and Vincent stepped back, shocked by this...
As he stepped back an odd sound assaulted his ears and he cringed as the worst headache he had ever felt threatened to tear his head apart.
A flurry of images too fast to be comprehended, let alone interpret, and as he dropped to his knees there on the runner, he found himself muttering various phrases, trying to make sense of it all, "An embryo, in crystal in the deepest keep of Heaven...a broken seal...the hands that held the blessed bayonet move against the head of the armies of the beast....twenty score men and seven thousand beasts....to command the space between the worlds gird thyself with Despair...."
He had no idea what any of it meant, but someone was coming towards him in a blaze of light, smiling.
It was that dratted boy, the one Xuchilbara wanted him to get.
The one he had written to and found inexplicably frightening.
"I can help you."
"I don't want your fuckin' help. You're with them.It's no wonder my Lord hates you..."
"You have worlds within you. if they were birthed your soul would be free of this darkness."
"I don't have worlds within me." Vincent tried to get up. in this dream he was arguing passionately with Daniel and he seemed to be winning.
He liked that.
"I'm only here to serve a greater force. What's so wrong about that? I'm not a villain. I'm... fighting the good fight. for once.
And I'm not selfish either!" he yelled at the immolated, still burning flowers, "If you only knew how much I'd do for him you'd know this is NOT about me."
Vincent felt smug. this WAS a good dream. He would show them all....
--
"It is........" A deep, mysterious voice commented from beyond and a bit to the right.
A dark, strange sort of echoing sound...A voice that had once inspired dreams, and commanded nightmares.
Reclined slightly, almost as though there to listen also listen to the priest's sermons sat a...man?
More a shadow, all twilight hues of blue, and inky black, save the alabaster hands, and what could be seen of his face from behind a touseled mop of black hair.
His eyes, however, were not so much black, as the absence of color; the absence of sunlight across a sleeping world.
And like the night sky, they too shifted with silver-spangled star fields, galaxies; deep wells of memory.
His clothing was rather mundane in comparison to those exotic eyes; a sensible, long coat, slacks, and boots partially covered by neatly folded pant cuffs. A midnight blue ( or was it black?) scarf wrapped his shoulders, and hung freely across the lapels of his coat, which oddly, had the same un-color of blue shadowed black.
The man regarded Vincent calmly, as he had watched and regarded the preceedings, but the raven which sat perched upon his shoulder cocked it's head at the priest and eyed him with scarcely contained dislike.
Where they, too, a part of this dream?
It could very well be that both the ghostly man, and the raven were simply figments of Vincent's subconscious as it processed information from outside sources, for despite the oddness of man and bird, there was an air about them.
A strange knowing that in looking away, they would be forgotten, or simply another thread in the woven fabric of this dreamscape.
The raven resettled it's wings and took in the golden prince, as Vincent stood up to him.
Not a bad likeness, all things considered....
".......And it is not."
One slender, white hand rose, and pointed at the fallen priest.
"A piece of this story, though the telling began long, long ago."
--
Vincent looked at the Shaper, and found he could not meet his eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked, and, deciding that was of less consequence than the other question he head, added, "Then what am I? Is this where I'm supposed to be? Does He know how I feel about it? Was He trying to break me??"
Vincent was surprized to find himself crying in relief.
So many times in his childhood the Order had gotten him high on the drug PTV to wring him of his visions, And after he had felt spent, ruined, devoid of hope. Was it any wonder a child raised in abuse and enforced madness would grow up to seek the sane, the sensible?
At times he had thought that somewhere out there at the edge of his dreaming there was some sort of light, a dark light sparkling. like the 'eye' of a sapphire stone...
"I thought I was lost," he continued, "And we all know that the lost can become trapped inside a dream, his body sleeping continuously until it dies...am I that body? Is this that dream? Oh God, please, say it isn't so...."
He knew what he wanted. He wanted Scarab's forgiveness. He had never spoken all that kindly to her and now he had changed her, and though he had never wanted it before, he wanted her touch upon his shoulder, to hear her say that he was alright.
His fear of the hatred of the others was eating him up alive.
--
" I am a memory. A ghost.....A point of view." The Former Dream answered, and the raven took flight from his shoulder.
Follow the black bird, Alice. This rabbit hole has further to go.
The raven winged it's way across a night sky, a pair of eyes, a saphhire moon hung in a darkling sky.
Stars looked down on a white world...The teeth of a nightmare.....The skin of a dead woman, whose hair was as black as her eyes were blood-darkened red.
Eyes, and hands, reaching, asking.......... or a snow covered field with a single tree that was frozen in it's bid to reach the heavens.
The raven landed again in a barren tree's twisting branches.
Below, the man stood, shrouded in a cloak that moved and billowed, though no wind blew..
A glint of blue light shone from his chest, but a fold of his cloak wiped it away...
Snow started to fall.
" The dream of this world is your dream, as you are it's."
The raven shook it's wings, and the snow fell like frozen tears...white petals landed in the blue ghosts' hair.
From the billows of the cloak that twisted without a breeze came the snow-white hand to point the way across a left path hidden in the difts.
A woman stood far away, her black hair blew in the lack of wind, her eyes wept blood that spangled the snow with traceries of ink.
The ink ran, and made words, but they were strange, and twisted things...she reached for Vincent, but the wind buffetted her, and she disappeared into the sparkling whiteness.
"The crysalis shatters, and the child spills forth....A secret kills it."
The man looks to his right, and the snow becomes a beacon; a blinding brightness of cold fire.
The fire turns crimson, and runs in liquid tongues across the virginal world, leaving dessicated ash in it's wake.
The flames reach for the stars and snuff them out, consuming them as points of brightness until the sky is void.
The flame roars a single note of anguished discord, and divides.
Flames, frame the night, and the snow is skin. White skin, with darkly lit eyes, and a leash made of barbwire.
"Fire, no matter how beautiful, will always burn."
--
Vincent wondered at that. "I suppose it would, yeah..." he muttered...not understanding the metaphor at all. Was this about Alessa, perhaps?
Surely it had nothing to do with him...
In the time he had gone where he was led, the church had burned down around them and Stood, as it stood now, a ruin.
The beautiful stained glass poked out of its frames like ruined eyesockets, the paintings slashed and torn, the benches weatherworn and splintered.
Such a fuckin' pity it all was... unless....
Was that a book? Down there, in a crack in the floorboards, half hidden under a swatch of torn, faded rug...it was.
And yet somehow he knew in spite of it there was no way he could carry away such a book with him now.
But it was there. He KNEW it was there.
Cradling it in his arms like a precious child, he admired the battered cover.
And wondered at the nature of his 'guest'. "I know you," he muttered- to Morpheus, presumably..."You were there. In that room...where the world becomes flesh..."
At once, he startled, as the strange noise he had heard in his loop nightmare began again.
The walls of the church faded away, replacing themselves with tunnels.
And Vincent knew it was time to run...
-
The man looked down from above, where the grave lay open to the night sky. His bare feet, smudged with the fresh turned earth.
The raven, perched as well on the lip of the hole, eyed Vincent, and though only a bird, truly seemed to be giving a nasty sort of smile.
"You better get movin', pal." quoth the raven.
Cold, and damp and smelling of bones and boken promises, the sheer sides of the six foot hole closed in on the priest.
Tears started, and the ghost of dreams looked up at the sky with a pensive expression, while the crimson tears fell from the walls of this earthen tomb.
Ashes to ashes...dust to dust
The dark man's T-shirt had the ghosts of remembered flames...as though they had once been bright, but faded long ago into shadows of thier former glory.
The redness was starting to stain his white feet, and he regarded the splattering blood as it flowed from some unseen source like a waterfall over the lip of the grave.
"I am older the worlds, older than madness." Morpheus replied to Vincent's earlier question, though the statement was directed at the rushing fluid that was gaining volume.
" And I have seen many a god's death." he said with a soft tone, that nevertheless carried steel in it's whispering corners.
Standing from his earlier crouch next to the open grave, the man wiped his hands on his black jeans, and held out one bone-white arm, which the raven hopped up to perch on with a bit of added wing lift, in order to be free of the rising tide, and the man turned to walk away.
He paused, however, and looked back over his shoulder, down toward Vincent and the rushing blood.
" I have even slain a few myself."
The blue-black ghost gave a single fractional duelists' nod toward the flow, the sky, the grave...and walked away.
-
"Wait! You can't just..." he was in a grave. It smelled of soured earth which crumbled away under his fingertips when he tried to climb out. he began to panic, the words dying on his lips You can't just leave me to DIE here...
Whatever was coming for him had caught up.
There was..... "No place left to run!" Vincent muttered and, just as suddenly, woke, intaking his breath with a startled gasp.
He had put his pants in the hamper before going to bed, and was clad in nothing but his button down shirt. It, and the bedsheets his legs were tangled in were damp with sweat. He was just about to attempt to Extract himself when he realized there was someone else in the room with him.
He shuddered, feeling the familiar tracery of pain/pleasure across his mark.
It was Xuchilbara.
((OOC: Prophetic References for Sandman, and Silent Hill muns:
'An embryo in crystal'- ( Angel Sanctuary) when Uriel judged the one for killing the other, that one's body was locked in a crystal and hidden in the deepest reach of Heaven.
'The blessed bayonet'- (Hellsing) Anderson's weapons of choice
'Twenty score men and seven thousand beasts'(Silent Hill)- refers to the army of the Crimson One should he be successful. (or how many will die if he fails...)
'Space between worlds..gird world with Despair'( Silent Hill/Sandman)- both references the Descent of the Holy Mother/21 Sacraments, (Joseph Schrieber-one of Walter's victims/the ghost in 302/Giver of Wisdom/Despair.) and Despair is of course one of the Endless.
'Worlds within'-Biblical reference from Corinthians, Chapter 1.
'The crysalis shatters, and the child spills forth....A secret kills it.'(Silent Hill)- Refers to Alessa, and Agloaphagotis in Vincent's possession.
'Soul free of darkness'- he doesn't know it but Vincent actually took to heart the advice that Rosiel gave him. Yep, should the shit hit the fan Vincent WOULD look for a way out...right ow he's in denial he'd even consider such though.
'You were there. In that room...where the world becomes flesh...' ( Silent Hill/Sandman) refers to the reflection of Silent Hill in the Dreaming, and the 100 year tithe.
))
Rating; R
Characters; Morpheus
1st_dream_king, Matthew astheravenflies, Vincent snarky_padre_v Summary; Dream a little dream...
Part 2
Log;
Vincent was loathe to return to bed after the jarring nightmare with the Corinthian.
He had woken from that screaming then, realizing he had made a mess of his pants, hastily stripped them and put them in the hamper he had bought as part of his room decoration.
She had gone shopping with him for all this, Scarab. now she was below, suffering. Vincent felt a bit of a twinge at that, but over the years he had done humiliating and brutal things in his time with the Order. You either learned to adapt or you died. It was as simple as that.
He moved to his bed for a time and found some fresh clothes to change into, folded them at the foot.
He was not ready to venture out there, no matter how much his stomach was finally begging him for food.
He was sure the evidence of his new feelings for Henry would show were he to encounter that one, and he still felt he would not be able to look Alessa in the eye.
She would want him to continue to feel guilty, but he simply couldn't afford that.
Checking his messages he saw that Xulchibara had had one for him; he was being dressed down for his weakness. He apologized -seemed he was doing far too much of that these days- and wondered a little sadly that the god had not seen fit to at least give him the message directly. Indulgence for his sadness was unlikely to be forthcoming, but punishment for his weakness, he knew, would somehow turn equally sublime. His skin just wasn't wired any other way.
He yawned. Still tired somehow? Perhaps due to oversleep. Well. Let them think he was still doing penance- it might at least look better in the eyes of the others. He would try tomorrow to brave the underground and deliver his apolgoes to Scarab in person.
He took off his glasses, wrapped his bare legs in sheets, laid down again. .....
.....and dreamed.
---
" I still don't like leaving Daniel alone........*awk* What are we doing here, anyway?"
" We are here to observe, and to learn what we may, Matthew."
" But I thought ol' Cori paid this cocksucker a visit already?"
"He did, but that was a reflection, and I believe The Corinthian's own way of helping his friend."
"Ya?...Well, I still say it's pretty fucked up what this 'Xguy' does to his own people."
"As do I, Matthew...As do I."
" Hey...Hey, Morpheus, he's hitting R.E.M."
"Yes. Hush, now...."
---
Not this again.
He was dreaming of the church.
So far there was no sign of the slaughtered congregation- something that had, sadly really happened when Claudia had made her bid for power- and the church was silent.
He ran a hand over one of the mahogany benches-handcrafted, they were, by some crazy old Shaker upstate from Silent Hill.
Vincent knew because he had bought the things of this church; it was his. He had found the crazy woman whose paintings of the creation story graced the walls; he had paid for the beautifully wrought stained glass windows and the magnificent runner rugs.
His.
"Go home, Vincent," Claudia had warned him in the end, and he had told her, cockily, that this church WAS his home.
That had been his mistake, continued to be his mistake. It was God's church.
Everytime he acted on his own outbursts things got messy. "I must tell Alessa that," he muttered in his Sleep, and the floral arrangement she had made him which was, inexplicably resting on the altar all but Whispered agreement, yes.
There was a slight smudge on one of the flowers, and he took a hankerchief from his pocket to dust it off.
Not a smudge, a burnmark. as he watched, dumbfounded, the burnmark widened, and the wreath burst into flames.
FIRE PURIFIES ALL was writ in flaming letters across the back wall, and Vincent stepped back, shocked by this...
As he stepped back an odd sound assaulted his ears and he cringed as the worst headache he had ever felt threatened to tear his head apart.
A flurry of images too fast to be comprehended, let alone interpret, and as he dropped to his knees there on the runner, he found himself muttering various phrases, trying to make sense of it all, "An embryo, in crystal in the deepest keep of Heaven...a broken seal...the hands that held the blessed bayonet move against the head of the armies of the beast....twenty score men and seven thousand beasts....to command the space between the worlds gird thyself with Despair...."
He had no idea what any of it meant, but someone was coming towards him in a blaze of light, smiling.
It was that dratted boy, the one Xuchilbara wanted him to get.
The one he had written to and found inexplicably frightening.
"I can help you."
"I don't want your fuckin' help. You're with them.It's no wonder my Lord hates you..."
"You have worlds within you. if they were birthed your soul would be free of this darkness."
"I don't have worlds within me." Vincent tried to get up. in this dream he was arguing passionately with Daniel and he seemed to be winning.
He liked that.
"I'm only here to serve a greater force. What's so wrong about that? I'm not a villain. I'm... fighting the good fight. for once.
And I'm not selfish either!" he yelled at the immolated, still burning flowers, "If you only knew how much I'd do for him you'd know this is NOT about me."
Vincent felt smug. this WAS a good dream. He would show them all....
--
"It is........" A deep, mysterious voice commented from beyond and a bit to the right.
A dark, strange sort of echoing sound...A voice that had once inspired dreams, and commanded nightmares.
Reclined slightly, almost as though there to listen also listen to the priest's sermons sat a...man?
More a shadow, all twilight hues of blue, and inky black, save the alabaster hands, and what could be seen of his face from behind a touseled mop of black hair.
His eyes, however, were not so much black, as the absence of color; the absence of sunlight across a sleeping world.
And like the night sky, they too shifted with silver-spangled star fields, galaxies; deep wells of memory.
His clothing was rather mundane in comparison to those exotic eyes; a sensible, long coat, slacks, and boots partially covered by neatly folded pant cuffs. A midnight blue ( or was it black?) scarf wrapped his shoulders, and hung freely across the lapels of his coat, which oddly, had the same un-color of blue shadowed black.
The man regarded Vincent calmly, as he had watched and regarded the preceedings, but the raven which sat perched upon his shoulder cocked it's head at the priest and eyed him with scarcely contained dislike.
Where they, too, a part of this dream?
It could very well be that both the ghostly man, and the raven were simply figments of Vincent's subconscious as it processed information from outside sources, for despite the oddness of man and bird, there was an air about them.
A strange knowing that in looking away, they would be forgotten, or simply another thread in the woven fabric of this dreamscape.
The raven resettled it's wings and took in the golden prince, as Vincent stood up to him.
Not a bad likeness, all things considered....
".......And it is not."
One slender, white hand rose, and pointed at the fallen priest.
"A piece of this story, though the telling began long, long ago."
--
Vincent looked at the Shaper, and found he could not meet his eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked, and, deciding that was of less consequence than the other question he head, added, "Then what am I? Is this where I'm supposed to be? Does He know how I feel about it? Was He trying to break me??"
Vincent was surprized to find himself crying in relief.
So many times in his childhood the Order had gotten him high on the drug PTV to wring him of his visions, And after he had felt spent, ruined, devoid of hope. Was it any wonder a child raised in abuse and enforced madness would grow up to seek the sane, the sensible?
At times he had thought that somewhere out there at the edge of his dreaming there was some sort of light, a dark light sparkling. like the 'eye' of a sapphire stone...
"I thought I was lost," he continued, "And we all know that the lost can become trapped inside a dream, his body sleeping continuously until it dies...am I that body? Is this that dream? Oh God, please, say it isn't so...."
He knew what he wanted. He wanted Scarab's forgiveness. He had never spoken all that kindly to her and now he had changed her, and though he had never wanted it before, he wanted her touch upon his shoulder, to hear her say that he was alright.
His fear of the hatred of the others was eating him up alive.
--
" I am a memory. A ghost.....A point of view." The Former Dream answered, and the raven took flight from his shoulder.
Follow the black bird, Alice. This rabbit hole has further to go.
The raven winged it's way across a night sky, a pair of eyes, a saphhire moon hung in a darkling sky.
Stars looked down on a white world...The teeth of a nightmare.....The skin of a dead woman, whose hair was as black as her eyes were blood-darkened red.
Eyes, and hands, reaching, asking.......... or a snow covered field with a single tree that was frozen in it's bid to reach the heavens.
The raven landed again in a barren tree's twisting branches.
Below, the man stood, shrouded in a cloak that moved and billowed, though no wind blew..
A glint of blue light shone from his chest, but a fold of his cloak wiped it away...
Snow started to fall.
" The dream of this world is your dream, as you are it's."
The raven shook it's wings, and the snow fell like frozen tears...white petals landed in the blue ghosts' hair.
From the billows of the cloak that twisted without a breeze came the snow-white hand to point the way across a left path hidden in the difts.
A woman stood far away, her black hair blew in the lack of wind, her eyes wept blood that spangled the snow with traceries of ink.
The ink ran, and made words, but they were strange, and twisted things...she reached for Vincent, but the wind buffetted her, and she disappeared into the sparkling whiteness.
"The crysalis shatters, and the child spills forth....A secret kills it."
The man looks to his right, and the snow becomes a beacon; a blinding brightness of cold fire.
The fire turns crimson, and runs in liquid tongues across the virginal world, leaving dessicated ash in it's wake.
The flames reach for the stars and snuff them out, consuming them as points of brightness until the sky is void.
The flame roars a single note of anguished discord, and divides.
Flames, frame the night, and the snow is skin. White skin, with darkly lit eyes, and a leash made of barbwire.
"Fire, no matter how beautiful, will always burn."
--
Vincent wondered at that. "I suppose it would, yeah..." he muttered...not understanding the metaphor at all. Was this about Alessa, perhaps?
Surely it had nothing to do with him...
In the time he had gone where he was led, the church had burned down around them and Stood, as it stood now, a ruin.
The beautiful stained glass poked out of its frames like ruined eyesockets, the paintings slashed and torn, the benches weatherworn and splintered.
Such a fuckin' pity it all was... unless....
Was that a book? Down there, in a crack in the floorboards, half hidden under a swatch of torn, faded rug...it was.
And yet somehow he knew in spite of it there was no way he could carry away such a book with him now.
But it was there. He KNEW it was there.
Cradling it in his arms like a precious child, he admired the battered cover.
And wondered at the nature of his 'guest'. "I know you," he muttered- to Morpheus, presumably..."You were there. In that room...where the world becomes flesh..."
At once, he startled, as the strange noise he had heard in his loop nightmare began again.
The walls of the church faded away, replacing themselves with tunnels.
And Vincent knew it was time to run...
-
The man looked down from above, where the grave lay open to the night sky. His bare feet, smudged with the fresh turned earth.
The raven, perched as well on the lip of the hole, eyed Vincent, and though only a bird, truly seemed to be giving a nasty sort of smile.
"You better get movin', pal." quoth the raven.
Cold, and damp and smelling of bones and boken promises, the sheer sides of the six foot hole closed in on the priest.
Tears started, and the ghost of dreams looked up at the sky with a pensive expression, while the crimson tears fell from the walls of this earthen tomb.
Ashes to ashes...dust to dust
The dark man's T-shirt had the ghosts of remembered flames...as though they had once been bright, but faded long ago into shadows of thier former glory.
The redness was starting to stain his white feet, and he regarded the splattering blood as it flowed from some unseen source like a waterfall over the lip of the grave.
"I am older the worlds, older than madness." Morpheus replied to Vincent's earlier question, though the statement was directed at the rushing fluid that was gaining volume.
" And I have seen many a god's death." he said with a soft tone, that nevertheless carried steel in it's whispering corners.
Standing from his earlier crouch next to the open grave, the man wiped his hands on his black jeans, and held out one bone-white arm, which the raven hopped up to perch on with a bit of added wing lift, in order to be free of the rising tide, and the man turned to walk away.
He paused, however, and looked back over his shoulder, down toward Vincent and the rushing blood.
" I have even slain a few myself."
The blue-black ghost gave a single fractional duelists' nod toward the flow, the sky, the grave...and walked away.
-
"Wait! You can't just..." he was in a grave. It smelled of soured earth which crumbled away under his fingertips when he tried to climb out. he began to panic, the words dying on his lips You can't just leave me to DIE here...
Whatever was coming for him had caught up.
There was..... "No place left to run!" Vincent muttered and, just as suddenly, woke, intaking his breath with a startled gasp.
He had put his pants in the hamper before going to bed, and was clad in nothing but his button down shirt. It, and the bedsheets his legs were tangled in were damp with sweat. He was just about to attempt to Extract himself when he realized there was someone else in the room with him.
He shuddered, feeling the familiar tracery of pain/pleasure across his mark.
It was Xuchilbara.
((OOC: Prophetic References for Sandman, and Silent Hill muns:
'An embryo in crystal'- ( Angel Sanctuary) when Uriel judged the one for killing the other, that one's body was locked in a crystal and hidden in the deepest reach of Heaven.
'The blessed bayonet'- (Hellsing) Anderson's weapons of choice
'Twenty score men and seven thousand beasts'(Silent Hill)- refers to the army of the Crimson One should he be successful. (or how many will die if he fails...)
'Space between worlds..gird world with Despair'( Silent Hill/Sandman)- both references the Descent of the Holy Mother/21 Sacraments, (Joseph Schrieber-one of Walter's victims/the ghost in 302/Giver of Wisdom/Despair.) and Despair is of course one of the Endless.
'Worlds within'-Biblical reference from Corinthians, Chapter 1.
'The crysalis shatters, and the child spills forth....A secret kills it.'(Silent Hill)- Refers to Alessa, and Agloaphagotis in Vincent's possession.
'Soul free of darkness'- he doesn't know it but Vincent actually took to heart the advice that Rosiel gave him. Yep, should the shit hit the fan Vincent WOULD look for a way out...right ow he's in denial he'd even consider such though.
'You were there. In that room...where the world becomes flesh...' ( Silent Hill/Sandman) refers to the reflection of Silent Hill in the Dreaming, and the 100 year tithe.
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