tampered | Log: Ongoing

Log: Ongoing

When; Sunday - Late Night / Early Monday morning
Rating; R for violent and disturbing images.
Characters; The Corinthian

bitingnightmare and Captain Jack Harkness

handsomejack
Summary; A nightmare
Log;

Jack rarely slept.

In fact when he wanted to sleep, he often had to make a production out of it to get his body and his mind to wind down to a point where he could rest. After he finished his conversation with Anita, he'd gone to take a long hot shower, head on the bathroom tiles for quite some time.

A warm glass of milk followed the shower and then he'd headed into his room, locking the door behind him. Stripping out of his clothes, he crawled into the simple bed and stretched out in the dark. Sometimes Jack wondered if it was possible to forget how to sleep but eventually he felt himself begin to drift away.

It was tempting to fight his way back to consciousness but in the distance, he heard the whistle of a steam engine and he turned towards it. Eyes closed, Jack Harkness fell asleep.

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[In the war to end all wars, there's little room for who's right and who's wrong. The winner gains ownership of the land, the loser packs up and goes home, harboring an anger that won't return for another twenty years. The Corinthian waits, uniformed and indistinguishable from the other men in the car. It doesn't matter if they're alive or dead. He's not either to begin with.]

[It always started out the same (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkbfwzYgkCk). This particular nightmare. The rock of the rail car, the heat of the wind coming through the open slats, the smell of alcohol as the men burned the rest of it out in their sweat and their laughter as the train traveled along, carrying them from furlow to their next battle.

Then between one breath and the next ... the silence came. The fall of rose petals from dead mouths as a head lolled lifeless upon a healthy body. The train lurched and Jack fell back against the slats. His head spun as he looked around at the train car full of dead bodies, his men ... dead, between one breath and the next.

The scene jumped then. The darkness of the night and Estelle's dead body in his arms (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_brTEl24YkQ&feature=related).

Eventually, the sun beat down upon his shoulders as he sat on his heels, watching a young girl skip away with the enemy (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzKz9pFb1_k&feature=related) and he tried to ignore her anguished mother's cries.

The team was going to hate him. He already hated himself.]

[He watches from death to death, down to the roses like the flowers Faye despised falling to the ground. He reflects the anger, the shame, and guilt. The Corinthian senses guilt the most, like ever man who felt he was his own worst enemy. In many cases, this is true.]

Jack.

[His voice is no more comforting than the flutter of faerie wings, and for a moment it might seem like one of them is ivory white.]

[Would probably be the first to admit that he was his own worst enemy. Head down, alone in a wood that no longer existed, he hears the voice and looks up, blue eyes haunted.]

Cori?

[Does he know, hard to tell how his mind works anymore but he did issue the invitation.]

The next one will start soon...

[He's a malignant race, barely humanoid with teeth eyes that still glowed. It's only after Jack acknowledges him that his skin changes, smoothing to resemble the more familiar nightmare. His body is unclothed at first, then the roses dress him in his uniform, a German soldier in his handsome darkest blues and grays.]

I'll walk you through it.

[His American accent is replaced by his original British one.]

[It always starts out the same. The woods give way to a small gray room. Jack is still on his knees, now soaking wet, hands bound behind his back, the chain up linked to a collar at his neck. A voice screams a name that Cori would not recognize. It's pitch is one of pure agony, begging and pleading in between screams of near inhuman pitch and cadence.

Jack is younger, maybe not even out of his teens as he remains on his knees, trying to duck away from a hand that touches his hair, strokes the back of his neck, as a voice whispers and cajoles to him.]

It's in your power to stop his suffering, just tell us...

The screams, that name, they never stop, begging/pleading/begging

Just tells us and it will all be over...

That name, again and again ... so inhuman

[The hand strokes his bare body, coaxing along with the softness of the voice, Jack wants to be sick on the floor but he screams at the faceless voice to come at him ... torture him ... but the voice laughs and the other voice screams all the louder, begging.]

.....

[The scene surprises the Corinthian, and he can't watch it. It begs to stir the space between his legs just as numerous other sorts of similar images have in the past. He feels the teeth of his predecessor here, and he can't watch it without participating in it. It's in his nature, in his function to do so, but he'd been invited.]

Stop.

[His teeth eyes rasp, drawing the unseen voice into his fingertips. This is his field of expertise, and there are other nightmares here, but he is the black mirror. He pulls the dampness of the room away with just a gesture. The metal binding Jack rusts away. They're still in the room, but the nightmare is attempting to take control.]

[An unnamed face in Jack's conscience screams against the nightmare taking control, as if he demands his due, though Jack himself is in no position to fight against Cori's control over this venue and simply remains on his knees, head bowed and breath held.

Gradually the voices fade, drawn away by The Corinthian's power in this domain. The chains fall away and Jack feels himself tumble forward, catching himself on his forearms as he remains curled against the hard concrete of the floor.]

It's not ... supposed to go like this.

[Spoken in whispered confusion. He knew this nightmare/memory well, it never ended like this. It never ended at all.]

[He steels himself and maybe for just a split second, if Jack will even remember the incident, there's a glimpse of the Corinthian's incorporeal form. It changes in ever situation, but there's always a single theme: dream rot.]

Learn your place.

[The teeth in his eyes growl, phantom of the Dreaming. When it's gone, his corporeal form is normal again, and he turns to Jack and offers the man... the boy, his hand.]

Come on. Get up.

[He pulls a blanket from the walls themselves. At first it looks like a wave of color, then fabric weaves itself around Jack's shoulders.]

[Voices howl but fade beneath the command. Jack's blue eyes, so often laughing and full of life, look at Cori with confusion but he takes the hand, quite biddable in this landscape, where in consciousness he can be so damn impossible.

Nothing said as he pulls the blanket around shoulders that while show the breadth of their future framework, have not yet reached the full musculature of their potential.

Standing now Jack looks at Cori, blinks in confusion but then seems to accept that the nightmare has a right to be there and he tugs the blanket even tighter around himself, eyes cast aside.]

He was my best friend. They tortured him, instead of me, because he was the weaker of us. He died screaming my name ... I never said a word.

[Out of the walls come a table and two chairs, gray and not quite concrete, not quite wood. This is Jack's dream, ultimately, so he keeps to the original environment despite their harsh memories.]

You've known a lot of people like that.

[His voice is softer, a question that he knows is just as valid as a statement.]

[Almost without thought, Jack moves to one of the chairs, taking it slowly and keeping the blanket around his shoulders as he nods in response to The Corinthian's question/statement.]

The captors who know their business are good at spotting it. I can take the physical abuse, shrug it off and keep going. In the past they always knew it was a waste of their time ... and so focused on someone I cared about. Just like the faeries.

Smart really.

[He can't help but mentally draw a parallel between Harkness and Constantine. It brings a faint smile to Cori's face.]

It's efficient, to a point.

[The remark isn't meant to be callous, only factual. He takes a seat opposite Jack.]

Do you want clothes?

[Shakes his head and simply pulls the blanket more securely around himself.]

Believe me, you stopped things before they got ... unpleasant.

I don't have to see it to really know.

[Rubbing the back of his neck a moment.]

[Simply nods and lets go of the memory. It seems to skitter from his fingers like sand.]

I have good memories, Cori. I do.

[Said a little wistfully.]

But they never seem to be able to hold up when I'm asleep. When I'm awake, I can remember them, combat the nightmares you can see and live my life. But asleep, it's like this is your domain and I have no say in it. No matter how hard I try.

I'm sure you do, Jack. You're not a complete suicide.

[He pulls a packet of old fashioned cigarettes from the WWI era, lighting one with matches. He offers another to Jack.]

You don't open much in your daily life, do you?

[Takes the cigarette. He used to smoke back in WWII, sees no harm in doing so now and the blanket gapes a little as he takes the matches and lights up.]

Open much?

You don't talk about your dark moments to other people.

[Streaming smoke through his eyes.]

I'm sure you have your reasons, but it's why they all get wrapped up in your dreams. I have them, I know.

[As the first comment worked well as a statement, Jack merely gave a small nod of acknowledgment that Cori was right, drawing in a deep lungful of the harsh cigarette.]

Makes sense. And in such a straight forward and simple way...

[Jack gives a little chuff and looks up at The Corinthian.]

Probably why I never thought of it.

[Crosses his arms, watching the smoke rise from the cherry on his cigarette.]

But I don't want this in my daily life, Cori. I've seen what it can do to people...how it can make them shut down, become bitter and brittle.

I don't want to be bitter and brittle. I want to think the best of people ... hell, despite it all I want to think the best of the world, the universe, Time.

[ooc: And here is where I must crash. Continue tomorrow?]

It's pretty easy to overlook.

[A smirk as he taps ash onto the floor. Dreams and nightmares aren't meant to be completely understood anyway.]

This makes up a part of who you are, whether you want it to or not, Jack. How that affects the best of people is beyond me.

[Averting his gaze briefly.]

Even the best of people have shadows, the best of worlds.

[ooc: Sounds good to me!]

But ... there's so much beauty out there, Cori. So much life and hope. I've never been able to understand the ones who have turned away from it for the sake of a little pain.

[Looks down at his hands and shakes his head.]

I want to do the right thing ... but sometimes I just get it all so utterly wrong.

There's nothing to understand, they either do or they don't. That's the beauty of being a dreamer. There's no code you have to follow, you don't have real rules.

[Flicking his cigarette on the ground, then he reaches out to grip Jack's hand, firmly.]

You're built to make mistakes, Jack.

[Turns his hand slightly, gripping Cori's as if he was drowning.]

But why do other people always have to pay for my mistakes? Why does that have to be the balance for dreams?

[Brushes his face with his other hand, the blanket falling open a bit but really, it doesn't matter right now.]

All these memories, all these nightmares, Cori it like living a lesson over and over because I just can't seem to grasp the concept.

I'm not in a position to solve that for you, Jack.

[The grip doesn't hurt, because it's a dream after all. He looks him in the eye coolly.]

Do you know what people of a different disposition dream of?

People who don't mourn their blackness, and only indulge in it.

Do you want to see?

[A part of Jack reared back from the offer, shouting an emphatic negative.]

Yes. I need to see it, don't I?

Look at me.

[He doesn't tell Jack that he would be violating rules by showing him the dreams of another without permission, neither does he tell Jack that these dreams are his own, from the time of his predecessor. They are different men, but they are the same creation.]

Listen.

[The concrete room changes shape to resemble a motel. They're still sitting at a chair and table, but now they aren't alone. There's a boy named Davy, about to meet his end. (http://www.comicoo.com/Sandman/Sandman10/html/image24.htm) They can't see his attacker, they view the dream from the knife-wielder's eyes, though they're seated.]

[Blue eyes come obediently to Cori's face. Jack is infinitely more submissive in the landscape of his own dreams.

There is a part of Jack Harkness that stands coldly behind the mask of a killer's eyes, watching with the disinterest of a true sociopath. In fact, there is a rush of dark, animalistic response to the scene, as instinctive as Cori's reaction to Jack's nightmare of the torture had been.

There is a part of Jack Harkness, this killer speaks to.

Caught in Cori's eyes, however, Jack begins to scream. A sound that is without voice, paralyzed by shame, fear and confusion and though he wants to look away, to throw himself from the table to the floor, cower in the corner away from the nightmare, Jack is frozen in place.]

[A half empty bottle of wine breaks in two, and no one wants to know what either end is going to be used for. He stops the nightmare before the bloodletting can really start, because he knows it's going to stir his darker desires. The scene is frozen, like Jack's voice. Everything animated is suspended, besides the two.]

Jack.

[He rubs the back of his palm, to draw his attention away from the scene that burns away like film on a reel till they're in the concrete room again.]

Jack.

[As the image fades, snippets of other images try to take it's place. They're not even half formed as if half the film has been stripped until only the vaguest forms remain.

Vague, in this sense is a good thing, as there are screams ... blood, the sensation of something too horrible for the human mind to wrap around and so it's been buried.

Two years missing]

No.

[It's little more than a whimper and Jack looks up at Cori imploringly.]

Make it stop or let me wake up ....

Please.

[The only time and the only place The Corinthian would see Jack beg.]

[He senses a name not to be mentioned in Jack's presence. And then there's the briefest frown on the Corinthian's face. He releases Jack's hand to run his fingers through the captain's dark hair.]

Wake up.

[The nightmare is no longer there, and neither is the furniture nor the chair. Waking a dreamer by force can cause a minor shock to the system, like someone breaching the surface of water for air. He knows Jack can take it.

He'll remember seeing him as a younger man.]

[Turning his head briefly towards the touch, perhaps the only comfort he's known in a dream for decades, Jack lunges away from the fading room and rockets towards wakefulness.

He comes to consciousness with a deep gasp, almost like the lung clearing bellow when he comes back from death and Jack sits up in his bed.

Soaked in a cold sweat that leaves him trembling in the dark night air, Jack curled forward till his forehead touched his knees. He felt moisture on his face and was unable to tell if it was sweat or tears. Not important probably, Jack grabbed his hair and tugged till he could feel the nip of pain, like pinching yourself to be sure you're awake.]

[He's awake and this is no dream, though many others would beg to differ on the nature of the City. The Corinthian isn't there, no bogeyman in the shadows or serial killers under the bed. Just the sound of Jack's own breathing.]

[ooc: Jack Jack ;-;]

[ooc: *Nodnods* And I didn't even make anything up to whump on him. Everything in there is canon across both TW and DW. It really is a testament to the writers and JB's portrayal that the character isn't a giant emo bunny ah lah Angel.]

[ooc: Last night we all got a taste of the pterodactyl incident on youtube XD]

[ooc: Myfwynne! Yes, that scene totally rocked in the last episode. 51st Century pheromones and Jack wanting a pet petrodactyl!]

[ooc: And chocolate @D@]

[ooc: *Nodnods* Ianto often has the best ideas! Ianto is actually the character I first fell in love with in TW and I still adore him. My Jack!muse is just a mouthy brat who demands most of me attention. :D]

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Log: Ongoing

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