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tampered2006-09-05 11:43 pm
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-09-05 11:43 pm
Log; Ongoing
When; Sept. 6, midnight?
Rating; PG (likely)
Characters; Scarab (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
noh_dancer), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare)
Summary; Having helped guide him to the library, Scarab calls in a minor debt.
Log;
It was late night, again, and he was alone with that grating tick, again, what harm could it do? The Corinthian accepted Scarab's offer, though it was more like a duty he owed her out of respect, and agreed to meet at one of the few places he'd seen serving alcoholic drinks that weren't mixed with liquor of questionable origins. It wasn't that he didn't like opening up to new ideas, the white-blond just didn't believe he should expose himself to such potential risks so soon. He didn't even wait for her inside the establishment, choosing to stand around outside like the 'hardcase' he was.
Actually he loitered on the sidewalk to enjoy a cigarette, one of the few in his slowly dwindling pack. He'd have to restock sometime later though he would be most meticulous about the brand if they didn't serve any earthly kinds.
Considering the absence of most laws in The City one might wonder why he didn't take his poisonous puffing inside where he could have an ashtray within arm's reach. Like Scarab seemed uncomfortable presenting her disfigured hand, The Corinthian was uncomfortable sucking down carcinogens that would have to escape through all three of his mouths. Holding smoke in one's normal mouth was distasteful enough, keeping the clouds in his teeth-eyes were just masochistic.
So he puffed away, waiting for her arrival, seeping gray from his lips and his glasses.
Rating; PG (likely)
Characters; Scarab (
noh_dancer), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare)Summary; Having helped guide him to the library, Scarab calls in a minor debt.
Log;
It was late night, again, and he was alone with that grating tick, again, what harm could it do? The Corinthian accepted Scarab's offer, though it was more like a duty he owed her out of respect, and agreed to meet at one of the few places he'd seen serving alcoholic drinks that weren't mixed with liquor of questionable origins. It wasn't that he didn't like opening up to new ideas, the white-blond just didn't believe he should expose himself to such potential risks so soon. He didn't even wait for her inside the establishment, choosing to stand around outside like the 'hardcase' he was.
Actually he loitered on the sidewalk to enjoy a cigarette, one of the few in his slowly dwindling pack. He'd have to restock sometime later though he would be most meticulous about the brand if they didn't serve any earthly kinds.
Considering the absence of most laws in The City one might wonder why he didn't take his poisonous puffing inside where he could have an ashtray within arm's reach. Like Scarab seemed uncomfortable presenting her disfigured hand, The Corinthian was uncomfortable sucking down carcinogens that would have to escape through all three of his mouths. Holding smoke in one's normal mouth was distasteful enough, keeping the clouds in his teeth-eyes were just masochistic.
So he puffed away, waiting for her arrival, seeping gray from his lips and his glasses.
no subject
"Not rare," hardly, "but the face of fear differs from person to person." The Corinthian nodded with a sip of fresh scotch. "It's more uncommon to sit around, drinking with the waking world," he held his glass close to the top rim and swirled it at Scarab with a smirk.
"It's a necessity," he replied, not at all countering her observation. "Someone has to do it," the nightmare took another sip.
"How bad are they, your dreams," the man asked, staring down at his glass again.
no subject
A dirty job, but someone's got to do it..
Scarab couldn't help looking away, not because of his grinning gaze, but rather that admitting to these things was something that made her feel irrationally weak.
Frederick was, after all, the only person who had seen her during such times.
"Bad..."
She should have left it at that, but perhaps it is a lesson in the evils of Sake that she felt a bit more chatty now than when they had first arrived.
"I see him. I see him, and a lot of the time I am beaten and broken, and I can't do anything to stop him."
She swallowed the acidic taste of remembered fear before continuing.
" Sometimes...A lot of the time...He holds out his hand to me, like he is trying to help me up..." She trailed off.
In truth it was the last part of the dream that unsettled her so badly. She had been given a rapid-study college education as part of her training, and so knew a little bit of psychology. The first part of the dream read like a text book case of Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder....the second part, the newer part, frightened her far more.
She took another fortifying sip from her cup and glanced back at him.
no subject
He took yet another sip before setting the glass down. While the white-blond was no psychologist he knew that every dream held truth and insight. Whatever she saw in that time, she saw for a reason beyond PTSD, particularly that second part. It wasn't his job, however, to decipher their meanings. Even if he understood them it wasn't in his job description to interfere, taking a mortal away from the realms of Desire, Despair... those were potentially lethal games.
"When I find my way out of here, I'll remember to help you with that," he nodded to Scarab then raised his glass to clink it against her clay. So he was a little inebriated, toasts were a friendly gesture regardless. Why the nightmare should want to help her with that, with undoing the things he was meant to be, or perhaps just mending their results, well he might be a bit too flush to answer properly.
"Your friends are probably better off though," he tossed a bit of that whiskey back, "you can heal whatever happens in the dreaming in the waking world, with time." And in most cases, but The Corinthian didn't feel like mentioning what happened to those who incurred His Lord's wrath.
no subject
" The Pyramid Head...One of the books I found the other day said he was something like the embodiement of Male aggression."
She took a long pull off her cigar and exhaled to cover a sigh.
As soon as he mentioned seeing what he could do about her nightmares, however, she looked up, and felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
" You can do that?", she asked, a little bit of doubt coloring her voice, but undeniably hopeful.
She was long overdue for a good night's sleep.
Well, I'll be damned. It seems he is a nice guy under all those teeth, She mused to herself, and happily toasted right along with him.
Scarab had always prided herself on her weight versus alchohol tolerance, and as such decided that since Alex was the one having to deal with quite a bit of change in the last 24 hours, that she would remain at least coherent enough to do something if he got too much worse.
As it was, he seemed a bit more on the chatty side himself, and she started to wonder what to do if he ended up too far gone to take care of himself.
( Of course, he would insist he was fine. She knew his type, being of the same type herself.)
Ah, well. Cross that bridge if I come to it.
She also wasn't sure what he meant by her friends being 'better off', but let it go for now.
no subject
"I can," he started to tell her, "I mean it should be within my power." He sounded unsure, either due to the fact that he really was unsure or because of the scotch, which he drank after their friendly toast.
Chatty wasn't the right word for it, maybe more inebriated but not quite uninhibited. Losing all inhibition would certainly spell bad news for The City, unless he were to get so shitfaced as to fall over and pass out before the night terrors could be unleashed. Whatever the case may be, his chattiness was only a symptom, a nice one at that as long as he didn't become a mean drunk.
"My Lord can undo dreams, he can do anything he fucking wants," The Corinthian smirked. "He can give you the best dream of your life before you die, or the curse of eternal waking. That's where I come in, I could just stop," and walk out of The Dreaming as he'd done before, "you wouldn't have them anymore."
The nightmare looked into his glass again, swirling the autumn liquor before emptying his third scotch. "He might be pissed as all hell, but I'd plead your case..... hn what's it matter, he's not even here," he gestured 'here' with a casual turn of his hand.
The glass seemed unbearably lonely to him, now that it had lost all its amber to his consumption. "I'm going for four," he announced to Scarab.
no subject
Here she was; complaining about a couple of bad dreams when he was homeless and now his entire world had been flipped around.
From the way he talked he was used to going pretty much where he pleased when he please, and now?
Well, now he was stuck here and sounding positively morose that his lord may either not know where he was, or worse: not care.
" Your really serious." she stated more to herself in amazement.
" Wow...Thanks, Alex."
She looked a little concerned when he ordered a fourth...the more he had, the more he seemed to become cynical, and sweet in kind.
Still, she wasn't one to judge, and so simply shrugged.
Taking a small sip of sake ( she was starting to feel it) she asked
" Wait...If your lord is king of dreams, does that mean he chooses who has good dreams an who has bad one?"
There goes that internal censor agian, slacking on the job.
She was honestly curious, though. If this 'Dream King' really had that much power, than maybe he would be willing to trade some of that influence? Who knows what a dream would want, but she was hoping she could save Alex from getting in trouble by just asking this king directly.
Maybe even see about bartering some nice dreams for Faye and Frederick? It certainly warranted consideration. Those two had saved her ass in more ways than one, and if she could pay them back in some small way, she was willing to give it a shot.
no subject
Now morose, that was an appropriate word, but why wouldn't he be unless he wanted the freedom to walk this... parallel waking world, and do exatly as the first. No, that wouldn't bode well for Scarab at all, or himself if she spoke true of her deadly skills.
"I'm a serious man," he remarked with his teeth eyes on the glass. Four, of course he could drink four. He was a nightmare, nightmares weren't supposed to get drunk, they didn't even need to eat or piss. Unless they wanted to.
Well life was too short to waste a good glass of liquor. He raised it to his lips.
"Good dreams and bad dreams, a lot of things determine that, but you could say He has that kind of power, if He wants to use it," The Corinthian explained, a little too much maybe, but what did it matter when that implied he was a bad dream, a good monster, but a bad dream nonetheless.
no subject
She wasn't stupid, but things like agreed-upon, and conceptual reality were a little difficult to quantify simply because thier very nature was meant to be contradictory to such things.
Scarab was, however, very perceptive. Her job, and often her life, dpended on her ability to read people.
Alex's book had been shut tight when they first met, but after a little time, and some meandering conversation she thought she had a pretty good guesstimation on the subject.
Alex Corinth was something both human, and not. Therefore his actions and reactions were both as well.
He talked about 'His Lord' with an undeniable sense of 'longing-to-please'. It colored his voice and subtle body language when he had mentioned that the Dream King may not know or care where Alex was at the moment.
Alex also felt his job to be a bit messy, but necessary as well. This told her that he took little joy in the act of hurting people, no matter how they seemed to need it.
He had also offerred to help her with her nightmares, which said he was a bit lonely because there was no one in this world or any other who dolled out kindnesses like that to total strangers without hoping to recieve kindness or favors in turn. Scarab was betting on the former since he must know there was little to nothing she could offer in return aside from a little company.
Finally there was the interest in Pyramid Head. Whether ALex saw the creature as rival, mystery, or possible kin she wasn't sure yet, but this little mystery was one she meant to solve before too long.
The last thing she needed was two horrors haunting her at night, be it Alex himself, or the image of some vital part of his anatomy hung on rebar.
" How long have you been wandering 'the dreaming' by yourself, Alex?" she asked, careful to keep her tone soft.
This was now skirting on 'personal' territory, but her internal censor was now obviously out to lunch, and she couldn't help a certain empathy toward a kindred spirit.
Scarab, and her fellow Noh operatives, had been 'walking statements'. They were in the public eye as pop culture icons, but also a reality that made more than a few powerful men wonder just who had been able to leave that elegant note of warning?
She had been part of a fraternal order so secret it was public.
An act of an act that was actually real.
Very Andy Kauffman.
Stories were powerful things. Stories to frighten even more so....but it made for a lonely existence, and after so long living as more weapon than person; Scarab was ready to start reconnecting to life.
Maybe she could help Alex do the same? Always good for the karma....
no subject
But truth be told, Scarab was quite perceptive of his feelings and motivations. There was a slight chance that producing a nightmare or a good dream within her would be the key to contacting Lord Shaper, that is if the Endless wanted to be contacted. Consider it a possible SOS, but only a minor possibility. No, he felt like helping her because she seemed like she could be trusted, and he thought he should. With power came responsibility, even the great Death was obligated to walk as a human being for one day, to understand what she did, why not the same for The Corinthian? Was it any different as an obligation to himself.
The Pyramid Head... was a different story, something he would not open to her now, maybe ever.
"Since Orpheus, but that's something else," he took a sip of his fourth glass. "I guess years," he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding an explanation of his predecessor that would no doubt come out wrong in several ways after three glasses of scotch. "You would know, maybe, the difference between being lonely and being alone," the white blond suggested in a mild tone, warmed by his drink.