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tampered2008-07-10 11:02 am
handsomejack.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2008-07-10 11:02 am
Log: Complete
When; Early Thursday Morning
Rating; R (For graphic imagry)
Characters; The Corinthian![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bitingnightmare and Captain Jack Harkness handsomejack.
Summary; Jack's nightmares are curious things indeed
Log;
Jack was asleep.
He'd slept more since he returned from saving the universe and reality, just generally tired from the emotional whiplash. Terror, joy, sorrow. Yes, sorrow.
Ianto had given him the packets left by Blue, including the letter and Jack realized that he'd returned just too late to see his friend off to war. It couldn't be helped, he knew this but still, it was hard.
Watching Godzilla's battle yesterday had been, well ... epic to be honest and Jack had stayed up on the roof he'd found for himself for quite some time after the chaos had eventually ended. Deciding against waking Ianto, who had been busy himself with the little aliens, Jack had cleaned up a little and eventually hit the shower and his own bed.
By himself.
Without Ianto's anchoring presence in the bed beside him, Jack knew he was courting nightmares. Well a nightmare anyway but it didn't stop him from closing his eyes and slipping off into sleep.
Curious.
Rather than a battlefield, his usual dreamscape, Jack found himself in a very old fashion, almost Victorian light nursery. He couldn't tell if he was small like a child or if everything around him was oversized to make his adult self seem child like.
Probably a bit of both.
Sitting in the middle of the room, Jack looked around at the dolls resting against the walls. One was Tosh, dressed in a sweet, ruffled little pink dress. She was sitting on the floor next to a teaset, her stocking covered legs with their cute little shoes straight out in front of her. Tosh would probably laugh if he described her but he never would, because where he could see flesh, her face, her hands ... she was a rotting corpse.
Over in another corner was a man, dressed just as neatly, like a doll and in a greater state of decay. Over in another corner, two clowns were placed as if they were playing with each other, chunks of rotting flesh painted with grotesque clown white, bright smiles slashes in blood across their lips.
In another corner, a pile of toy soilders lay. Only the 'toys' were actual soliders, broken and bloated in death, knocked over as carelessly as if by a child.
Jack sat quietly on the floor, his legs crossed. He was dressed in simple flanal pajama complete with little booties on his feet. That amused him, in a dark manner.
In his hand he held a building block. Made of wood, lovingly carved, he stared down at the sightless eye that had somehow been fitted into the block of wood. He was building with these blocks, which held eyes, lips, noses, mouths. All of organic origin, all harvested at the moment of death and woven into his play toys.
Rating; R (For graphic imagry)
Characters; The Corinthian
bitingnightmare and Captain Jack Harkness handsomejack.Summary; Jack's nightmares are curious things indeed
Log;
Jack was asleep.
He'd slept more since he returned from saving the universe and reality, just generally tired from the emotional whiplash. Terror, joy, sorrow. Yes, sorrow.
Ianto had given him the packets left by Blue, including the letter and Jack realized that he'd returned just too late to see his friend off to war. It couldn't be helped, he knew this but still, it was hard.
Watching Godzilla's battle yesterday had been, well ... epic to be honest and Jack had stayed up on the roof he'd found for himself for quite some time after the chaos had eventually ended. Deciding against waking Ianto, who had been busy himself with the little aliens, Jack had cleaned up a little and eventually hit the shower and his own bed.
By himself.
Without Ianto's anchoring presence in the bed beside him, Jack knew he was courting nightmares. Well a nightmare anyway but it didn't stop him from closing his eyes and slipping off into sleep.
Curious.
Rather than a battlefield, his usual dreamscape, Jack found himself in a very old fashion, almost Victorian light nursery. He couldn't tell if he was small like a child or if everything around him was oversized to make his adult self seem child like.
Probably a bit of both.
Sitting in the middle of the room, Jack looked around at the dolls resting against the walls. One was Tosh, dressed in a sweet, ruffled little pink dress. She was sitting on the floor next to a teaset, her stocking covered legs with their cute little shoes straight out in front of her. Tosh would probably laugh if he described her but he never would, because where he could see flesh, her face, her hands ... she was a rotting corpse.
Over in another corner was a man, dressed just as neatly, like a doll and in a greater state of decay. Over in another corner, two clowns were placed as if they were playing with each other, chunks of rotting flesh painted with grotesque clown white, bright smiles slashes in blood across their lips.
In another corner, a pile of toy soilders lay. Only the 'toys' were actual soliders, broken and bloated in death, knocked over as carelessly as if by a child.
Jack sat quietly on the floor, his legs crossed. He was dressed in simple flanal pajama complete with little booties on his feet. That amused him, in a dark manner.
In his hand he held a building block. Made of wood, lovingly carved, he stared down at the sightless eye that had somehow been fitted into the block of wood. He was building with these blocks, which held eyes, lips, noses, mouths. All of organic origin, all harvested at the moment of death and woven into his play toys.
no subject
Perhaps the brunette dressed in a padded gray jacket had the same problem as Jack himself. Either he'd become a child or he was the same size as the Captain. Either way, he'd come through the door, whether there was a door or not, and he watched Jack from a sliver of light that shadowed the features of his face. His feet were bare and grains of sand from that peninsula trickled from his toes.
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"Sure," he said eventually. After all, he'd always been told to share his toys.
"Here, you want to play with the tinker toys?"
Jack reached back and grabbed a little metal can, like the sort Tinker Toys and Lincoln Logs came in back in the 1940s. Tugging the lid off, he held out the little barrel with was full of dismembered bones, some with flesh still hanging off them.
"I can never figure out how to get them to fit together. I think maybe I lost some of the pieces."
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The boy didn't even wait for Jack's permission before he reached out to take the toys as if they were his own. It was Jack's dream, but this boy was faster. One step ahead. He didn't get very far though. The second his fingertips touched the little Japanese doll blood bloomed from a wound in her side, quickening the rot till she was nothing in a matter of seconds.
"....." The boy started to laugh. Hysterically.
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He reached for the rotting body but as his arms folded around her, she was gone and he was left with nothing but the blood on his pajamas.
Pajamas? No, it was my coat...
Suddenly, Jack's coat appeared, layered over his pajamas, blood soaked so that it moved with a grotesque sucking sound as he shifted.
Then, a hand. No ... not a hand, a gauntlet, a metal gauntlet appeared out of the folds of the coat and tried to scamper up his chest like some sort of broken spider.
Jack screamed and tried to scrambled back from it but he fell into the pile of broken solider bodies, the decaying corpses immediately trying to swarm over him like angry ants.
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It was horrible but there was worse.
From behind the figure with the gaping black holes came a small voice and with the small voice a small body appeared (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNQy9Y4-IwY&feature=related)
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[ooc: I have a .38 revolver taken apart all over my comp desk lol.]
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Though the little boy with the gas mask was slashed aside, a second child and then a third took his place. A little boy with a mop of brown curls, dressed in beige stood quietly off to one side. To the other stood a little girl, with long blond hair.
As if by an unspoken cue, they began to skip around the eyeless boy, singing.
Ring around the Cori
Pock full of gory
Ashes, Ashes we ALL fall down!
With that, their innocent forms shifted. The girl became a horried winged creature, a motled green with a mouth of razor teeth and mishappened limbs. The clear wings fluttered upwards as it hissed at the eyeless boy and slashed claw like fingers at him.
From the other side, the boy morphed into something that the mortal mind was not meant to comprehend. A shifting shape so grotesque that it defied even the things of nightmares and a scream came from it, a sound that could cut through the very fabric of the human coil.
Oh the ground, having struggled away from the piles of broken soliders, Jack curled in his blood soaked coat and tried to put his hands over his ears. Whether his was screaming to blot out the noise from the shadow creature, the fairie or the nightmare himself it was hard to tell. Tears tumbled down his face.
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He paid little mind to the ghosts from Jack's past, seeming almost sheeping that he had let his control go so awry. Of course that was expected, the Corinthian had been in a bad way since Boy Blue's departure and it was the unfortunate dreamer who had to deal with it. He wasn't the only nightmare who could control dreams though, and the one who embodied dream himself was the one the phantom feared most. Anymore and this dream could quickly become another strike against his professionalism, or lack there of.
"Get the fuck out." He caught the fairy by its claws, taking the cuts to his hand with ease before he forced the creature into his eyemouth, eating it in bits and pieces as nightmares with teeth for eyes were wont to do. There wasn't any pleasure in it, considering how it was only a dream.
Cori took a look at the thing and even if this was Jack's perception perhaps that thing would see what he truly was too, a piece of existence that mortal minds couldn't see, and truly such a sight was reserved only for the Endless, Creation, Gods, and the brief moments when a mind transcended reality. He was forcing it to retreat with his own god awful stare, as if it were nothing but Brute and Glob. THen he glanced to Jack.
Graphic imagry ahoy!
It was the removal of the terrible boy with the blank eyes, Jack's subconscious jumped and the blood soaked coat blinked out of existance as well, leaving behind Jack, in the flannel pajamas.
The sleeper's mind struggled to reassert control, spinning the room about the Corinthian, since of course it could not shift the Corinthian himself and the grotesque blocks and mishappened bits of skeleton that made up the tinker toys, fell back into Jack's lap. As he had when Dream found him that one day, Jack reached for the horrible little toys, as he had the blood soaked sand and he began to build.
He couldn't make the tinker toys work, didn't seem to have the parts, torsos and pelvises but he started to try to trap them with the bleeding blocks. Of course, it didn't work. After all, how could it?
Eventually, he looked up at the pale figure and tilted his head to the side.
"You know this won't help the pain, right?"
Picking up half a hand, Jack turned the torn bit of flesh and bone over and over, before he began to patiently dig in the pile.
"I always break my toys," he said wistfully. "I don't mean to, you know? It just happens. They break, they always break and I can't ever fix them."
Finding the other half of the hand, Jack held them together and looked puzzled, like a child trying to figure out how to glue his favorite toy solider back together. Eventually, Jack carefully set the little hand down so that the sides lay next to each other and then he looked back at Cori.
"The mirror only goes one way, Corinthian." He said calmly. "No matter how horrifying you make it, our pain won't reflect back on you to blot out your own."
Turning towards the toy box Jack crawled across the floor and peeked under it, into the dark.
"You're making me hear something," he said from his crouch. Whether it was truly the Corinthian or not, hard to tell. Jack's mind was a bit hard to track after all.
Reaching deep under the box, he groped around in the dark until he grabbed something and tugged it out.
His back to Cori, Jack tilted his head from side to side, looking at the object with confusion.
"I never looked under there before," he said curiously.
"PUT YOUR TOYS AWAY!"
Jack looked over his shoulder at the unseen voice.
"But I just found it?"
Suddenly there was a flash, something that perhaps Cori could tell was not Jack Harkness and the mortal psyche he was in undulated with a tortured sort of pain as the unseen voice bellowed.
"PUT IT AWAY!"
The pain was such that Jack couldn't even scream. You could be tortured and broken to that extent, where you couldn't even scream and Jack let the thing in his hands drop where it rolled back under the toy box. He couldn't see it and blocked most of it from Cori but it might have been possible for Cori to see the shadow of an infant's decapitated head before it disappeared under the toy box.
Then the flash was gone, the second voice was gone and Jack crept back to his gruesome toys like a chastised child, not looking back at the box. Picking up a leg bone, he began to rumage around through feet that would fit.
"He'd be so sad," Jack said, not looking at Cori as he drew the little blocks to him, only then did he look up at Cori with tear filled eyes. Tears that weren't for Cori or Jack himself. In fact, Jack didn't even seem to be aware of them.
"He loves you, Cori. He'd be so sad that you're in so much pain."
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Firstly, he ignored Jack's other statement. "Sometimes they're broken to begin with, and you're just the linch pin," said the nightmare, perhaps referring to both of them.
He was aware of what was happening around them, of the disembodied head and the flashes of pain, the burning shouts, and all of it meant nothing to him. It wasn't angry enough, not dark enough, not displeasurable enough to make him ignore everything else going on in his own mind. Sometimes he thought he couldn't tell the difference between a dreamer's thoughts and his own, but Jack was making it rather clear.
"You're not one to talk," said the Corinthian who knew better than to argue with the dream projection of a sleeper, but he had a stubborn streak.
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"You won't hear any, will you? Just lash, snarl, fight because that's what is expected, right?" He was holding two blocks, studying them thoughtfully for a moment.
In the next second, the dreamscape shifted around them both and Jack went from playing innocently on the floor, to being bound, naked on his knees. He wasn't held by rope but rather a type of wire that looked to be a combination of barbed and razor.
As he knelt there, shadowy images darted out of the corners of a dank room and poked at him. Each time, Jack tried to lunge towards the figure, snarling and throwing out curses in a language Cori might or might not recognize. Each lunge cost him a tightening of the wire into his own flesh. Slowly digging the barbs and the razor deeper and deeper into skin until the red wash of blood, blotted out the lines where the wire penetrated the skin.
Finally, exhausted and dying a slow death brought on by blood loss, Jack fell over onto his back and laughed up at the pristine pale Corinthian.
"Oh, that's rich!" He howled with mirth. "Object lesson much?"
Closing his eyes, the bound sleeper snarled and the dream scape spun again leaving them standing on some sort of space station. In the distance, gun shots could be heard along with people screaming, people dying and the mechanical repetition of the word Exterminate, Exterminate over and over.
Jack stood, dressed now in black leather pants, a white t-shirt and a black vest and he was holding two automatic machine guns. He looked younger than the Jack, Cori knew but the warm, loving smile he turned towards the Corinthian was the same he'd shown the nightmare in their brief past together.
"Do you expect me to argue for the hurt you're doing to others?" He asked, hands seamlessly checking the guns strapped around his chest. "I know better. There isn't anyone left here you give enough of a damn about."
"But you've got to remember, He's somewhere, out there. Fighting, seeing friends die, killing. War is absolute hell, worse than any battle. He's making the very memories you see here, for himself but he's trying to offset them by whatever part of him is holding on to his love for you."
The Exterminates were coming closer and Jack pulled back the safeties on the two guns.
"Stop breaking his heart, Cori."
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He watched Jack's subconscious mingle with his conscious, paralleling words with images in a fluid and more natural way. Without the Corinthian's attempt at forced manipulation. He did narrow his teeth briefly at the mirthy howl, but Cori didn't say much. Object lessons were his function after all, even if he shared that trait with some other less savory individuals.
"No," he replied regarding arguments and hurt, still firmly planted on his feet, his boyish features gone and replaced by his usual appearance of jeans and a t-shirt as Jack's nudity was replaced with leather and cotton. He watched how he wielded the guns effortlessly, how easily he'd metaphorically gotten over his earlier pain. But Cori couldn't even fathom getting over Blue's disappearance, not this soon.
"Dream on," said the phantom, coolly and casually, in that tone he used when he knew he was defeated but couldn't bare to admit it or open up just as Jack and every other dreamer did. He was a cheater after all, the one-way mirror. He could sneak into anyone's most secret and private place but refused to let anyone into his.
"I'll see you around, keep saving the world hero," Cori said half-heartedly with no sarcasm as he turned to walk away.
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The nightmare would work it out, eventually. Jack had at least learned not to over push, especially when Cori was in effect, backing off.
"Actually, I lose this one." He said thoughtfully, staring down the corridor. "My first death. The one that should have stuck."
Turning towards the retreating figure, Cori might have found his way blocked by a strange image.
A key lime pie (http://www.andreasrecipes.com/photos/Key_lime_pie.jpg)?
Seriously, Jack's way of holding on to his sanity was not without it's strange twists and turns.
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"You should've seen the first time I died," he remarked though he wasn't abut to show it to Jack. It was supposed to be his parting words when he noticed the pie materializing in his way. The nightmare was turning into a dream again, or rather his role in this dream was coming to a close. Maybe not.
"What do you want," he asked the pie.
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Cori wanted to bake the pie. So Jack could eat the pie.
...
Message gotten?
Okay, good.
SPLAT!
Right into the nightmare's face, across his hair, maybe even a bit down his shirt. Key lime pie was messy and a bit sticky.
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Briefly he turned to sneer at the Captain, cream and what not hanging from his face. It took only a wave of his hand to wipe the mess away, as it was only a dream pie, which didn't necessarily mean that it doesn't count. The Corinthian knew better than to dismiss dreams from reality. Whether he got the hint though remained to be seen. His sneer turned into narrowed eyeteeth, then he stepped forward again, into thin air.