who: Helena and others! what: March catchall log when: All month where: Across campus warnings: Potential gore, body horror, psychological horror in dreamscapes.
[ ♫♫♫ --- the forest changes under his feet - scent first, from the damp underbrush into something more hazy. brighter, while the air grows warmer, closer to actual spring - unseasonably warm, but the transition is slow and easy. curls around the hands, the legs, until it reaches him fully. the crunch of twigs and leaves under his feet - is it louder? did his body always feel like this? are things more intense, that he just didn't pay mind to? boggling the mind, distractions upon distractions until...
he breaks the tree line, and the sky above him is blue, vast. the sun shines down gently, and the woods he walked through are not the same - they've altered into types he hasn't seen before, and the field that stretches before him is vast, dotted with wildflowers, tall grass. it feels alive - it feels open, free. the breeze blows, and in the distance, past the fence, there's a figure dressed in what could be white, or light blue. far off, but reachable, hair blowing in the breeze, still for now.
thoughts that aren't his own, impressions instead of feelings. calm, to explore, to run as far as his legs can take him. to exist and fill his lungs with the air, as if one could fill themselves so much they became part of the earth.
[ He feels lighter, breathing easier, as if something knotted tight in his chest is finally loosening. Around him, the world comes into sharper focus — not visually, but the sensations and sounds and scents that his body perceives are somehow more distinct than anything he recalls, tugging at his attention all at once. What could have been overwhelming, sensory overload, is pleasant instead. The breeze brushes against his cheeks and flutters through his hair in a caress, soothing away the thoughts that led him through the forest, any qualms about his new surroundings. The air is fresh and invigorating; it's a warm, welcoming place.
It feels good and right to be here. Invited to drink in the picturesque view, Alice lets his steps slow, moving onward through the grass whispering against his legs. He's spotted the figure in the distance, gradually not so far away as he draws closer.
Anything can happen, but for now, they're both here to appreciate nature, to savor freedom given form, and he won't disturb the peace. ]
[it's Helena, he'll notice as he draws near. one hand raised up in the sky, and the twittering of birdsong will reach his ears. something small is moving on her hand, palm sized - it's a bird, fluttering its wings but not yet departing. the two stand there as a breeze comes, rustles the grass and clothes, hair, the distant, distant sound of water.
spring is here, everything says. spring, full of life and wonder, where things become. the impression of something untouched, left to form of its own accord. happiness, calm, smooth marble under the fingertips. easy morning, without forgetting something. a day off? or just a day one looked forward to.
the fence he will reach is wooden, but the gate can be pushed open, for the lock hasn't been set, and her voice might reach him.]
...Papa said you have to go. You have to fly now.
[but it's warm enough that she's not objecting to her friend's reluctance to depart. just waiting, patiently, for it to make up its mind.]
[ Recognition is a reminder, the coalescing realization that Helena Adams was there, in the forest, and now they're both here. It seems a shame to spoil the tranquility by overthinking any of it — the clear blue sky overhead and the meadow all around them promise some needed respite, away from the waking world. A light nudge opens the gate quietly.
On Helena's side of the fence, Alice hesitates. He would hate to startle her or her friend! The little chirping bird will spread its wings when it's ready to accept their parting. It must be attached to its human companion, secure in trusting her, to perch in her palm like that.
No doubt Helena Adams can hear his footfalls anyway, no matter how carefully he attempts to walk through the grass. ]
[she can, but she's not startled - she turns with a smile on her face, bringing her hand down where the bird still perches. it twitters, but not in a way that seems scared - just curious as to who this may be coming to see them. its eyes are bright, and she smiles in a way that belies no cares at all.]
Have you come to see them off? Maybe they were waiting for you this entire time.
the dirt of the forest floor grows harder, firmer. feet moving to the clack against wooden boards, it growing darker - no, that's just the curtains that have been shut against the light. the faint scent of leaf rot fading down, the sensation of dust in the throat, needing to cough or sneeze. the world closes in, the air gone stagnant - tick tick tick on the clock. his clothes, more noticeable, every movement. what's close, what's not. what's leaking into his senses, corroding, consuming, while his movements feel heavier and slower.
prickling on his skin. bitter aftertaste. faded flowers.
there's a door before him, and he can smell the fresh paint on it. the doorknob creaks too loudly. the metal is too cold. it's his choice, but there's only the floor under him, and the door.]
[Shin chokes into his scarf, burying mouth and nose into it against the dust and sudden sharpness of scent, but that doesn't help when it carries it's own, thick and strong, his own breath and sweat, bitter laundry powder. Hunching his shoulders and burying his ears into it on top of the hair usually covering them only helps so much, he's used to too-loud noises but he can hear his beanie move against his hair as he pulls it down to cover them and he can't not notice it. He chooses clothes more for comfort than anything else, and he is so, so aware of them.
It's a sensory cacophony, and he spends a long time in front of the door just grappling with it. This... is someone doing this? Why can't he turn it off!? He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, cringing at the cold, cold doorknob as he turns it.]
[as soon as he shuts his eyes and breathes, his senses reorient. the world is no longer too much, but realigned - things are a little stronger, but not so much as to undo him. just a fraction more, thrown into a new focus, and the door opens with a creak of the normal volume.
the room he walks into is large, more than enough for a single person, but something in the air feels like it hasn't been opened in days, that something's been there but hasn't moved an inch. sunlight comes through the window, illuminating rich carpet, furnishings that look comfortable enough to easily sink into, a fireplace with wood to be lit. books on shelves, small curiosities, an hourglass that flows...both directions, leading to a net zero. if he squints, the edges have a digital haze, an endless stream of sand with the faintest of sounds. outside, the world looks peaceful, beautiful - a river flows nearby in the forest landscape, so close that if one could have opened the window, they could have jumped right in. but there is no latch to open - none of the windows have it.
lying on the couch, sprawled out as though she simply collapsed from tiredness and went to nap, is Helena, cane propped up to the side and in the same white dress he would have seen in Narumi's heart. still, the necklace is there too, faintly glowing on her chest. it's too still. inlaid in amber.
blink, and lines upon lines of code cross his vision. blink, and they are gone.]
[Shin... cautiously unfolds, removing his other hand from his ear. His gaze sweeps across the surroundings he's never seen before, lingering unnervedly on the hourglass before he spots Helena lying on the couch.]
...!
[He's starting towards her immediately. That's a familiar outfit... Shin tries not to think about if his body is collapsed somewhere on the forest floor. If he can just quickly wake her up and get out back the way he came...]
Hele- a- na?
[A stutter, in his voice and in the world, outstretched fingers curling as he comes to a halt, swallowing thickly. What was that...?]
[he's rewarded with her stirring, making a small noise of discontent before her eyes open and her face registers the voice.]
...Shin?
[still groggy, she sits up slow, taking off her glasses to rub her face. however long she's been sleeping, she's still tired - or maybe it's something in this place. it's difficult to tell.]
How did you get in here? Magic?
[the world is settled, for now. but there's no telling what will happen next.]
the woods seem endless, and the path is long gone. nothing else seems to breathe here, but there's a pressure to go on, a steadiness like a heartbeat in footsteps. only one's own breath, only the security of one's own clothes and hands. move, move, until you cannot anymore. the air is warmer here, with the murmur of voices that can almost be discerned if you strained, if you got a bit closer.
vaguely sweet scent, like baking, like someone else. the stickiness of tree sap on your hands. dryness in the mouth, in the throat. it all seems strong, significant. clinging as spiderwebs do, to the eyelashes and hair.
and when she gets through the trees at a point, towards a brighter light -
she's fallen out of a bush, lying on her back under a large greenhouse roof. it's a decently sized space, big enough for many plants, a fountain, but nothing is blooming even if it's green with leaves. the fountain's not running, the water clear but utterly still. dusty bricks, moss growing over the cracks, and the air feels heavy.
there is, however, a door that seems attached to a much bigger building. a house, and quite a large one by what can be determined through the wavy glass.]
[ Everything's vivid. It should be too much, but to Nanami it's all fascinating. This is a world more real than any she's experienced, in a strange way. She presses on, following all of here senses along with her heart.
And when she thinks she's reached the end-- suddenly she's at a new beginning, sprawled on the ground in a muggy room. She sits up slowly, rubbing her forehead as she tries to get her bearings. She's got her cat hoodie pulled up over her head; it just feels right to for some reason. (To protect from precipitation? A feeling of unease that the safety of a hood can somehow help?)
This place feels abandoned, but is it? She slowly gets back on her feet, and then carefully wanders the greenhouse. The plants seem relaxing, at least... she could stay here.
But something urges her onwards, some instinct. She turns to the door, and carefully - as if she might disturb some great predator if she moves too quickly or loudly - turns the knob, and opens it. ]
[there is no predator, even as the door opens with a rusted shriek. just a darkened house, with a lightswitch close by. the overwhelming feeling is that it echoes, too big for a single person - an older style, built for a family and staff and the rest. dark woods and peeling paint, cold stone and flickering lights.
no one's been here for a long, long time. her steps leave footprints in the dust on the floor. not even mice want to live here - the air is no longer muggy, but it fills her with different emotions, ghosts that whisper across the mind. sorrow, fear, resentment. apathy, acceptance. empty wooden boxes, empty glass bottles. the vague trappings without any substance.
tick tock. something still works, but it's not in this room. not in an abandoned cellar whose light is just about to fizzle out. and when it does...
something takes Nanami's wrist in the darkness, and tugs so that she might stumble forward into a ladder.]
[ She simply stares at the interior of the dark room for a while, too haunted to carry on. Her heart's seized with a lonely nostalgia - the echoes in her mind, the emotions of the room, resonating with her own past, with a quiet home in which she spent as much time as possible at her console.
The sound of the passing of time helps her out of her stupor eventually. She carefully moves forward--
stumbles into the ladder at the touch and whirls around. ] H-hello? [ Is someone there? ]
[no response. only her own voice fading away, or the creak of wood if too much weight is placed on it. up, up! from the darkness, lest something swallow her whole, and leave her to become as empty as the shelves as the bottles. all the darkness offers is the past, the past that wants to cling like spiderwebs do, and an isolation.
the door back can't be found. there is only one path, right now. linear progress, to give her a better view of things.]
it's cold, he'll note as he goes into the forest. even his body is susceptible to it, as he moves on. still, there is the sense that he should, pressing him onwards, compelling footsteps even as they seem to be louder. a heartbeat in his ears that's not his own, fine mist that creeps over the forest floor, his breath visible before him.
sensory input at heightened levels. the flex of his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest. a bird's wings in flight, flapping - the faintly chemical scent that invades the woods. not the decay of life, but something different, and it cannot be placed in what he knows. it's much, it's too much, but it cannot be stopped. and then, the scent of burned wood and ash.
it's a husk of a place, ruined by fire, an explosion, stone reduced to rubble and metal twisted, wood blackened by it. what could have been a small building, gutted and destroyed by fire. broken machinery, what might have been very fine tools.
and something lying under a blanket on a table. still, quiet.
[ Ranger shivers as he takes in the scene, but not just from the cold. It's the setting of one's nightmares, an eerie forest with an indiscernible chemical scent mixed in with that of ash and fire. It overwhelms his senses, puts every bit of his mind and body on edge, and he finds that unease only grows worse as he reaches a small clearing of a sort.
It's a mess. Ranger draws in a breath, looking about before slipping behind a tree as he considers the best course of action here. There's stories about places like this, and not one of them suggests to him that approaching an unknown figure is a good idea. He peers out from behind it after a few seconds, narrowing his eyes as he tries to get a better look at whatever might be hiding beneath it... A person? An object? It seems still enough, yet... ]
[the worn, dirty blanket remains still, the vague suggestion of a person under there if he's had much exposure to it. nothing moves, save the wind - the breeze is sharper here, against any exposed skin.
papers rustle on the floor, damaged by fire and water, what would have been fastidious notes gone to ruin. no use for machines or tools if the entire place is empty, cold, long left to rot in its own burns.
somewhere, the crow flies, comes to settle on the edge of the building, in the hole that would let clouded light in. so far, Ranger is alone. not even the impression of another heartbeat.]
[ There's a part of him that screams at him that thinks to leave now. It might be better to risk the dangers of the forest than to proceed here, but he has the distinct sense that he'll get no where if he does that. For the moment, he can see nothing that will bring immediate harm, and all signs seem to point toward the building before him.
Ranger braces himself before slipping out of his hiding place. He keeps his footsteps light as he moves toward the building, making a conscious effort to avoid making any noise that might draw attention. He turns his head to the left and right, straining his senses as he tries to remain aware enough to catch any anomalies. He thinks better of disturbing the body beneath the blanket, if that is in fact what it is, instead focusing his attention on recovering the items on the items left inside. It doesn't seem like much more than ruined notes, but perhaps he'll find one or two that are still readable? ]
[the notes are the only thing worth salvaging, the instruments damaged and warped beyond use. most of the files are stained, crumbling, half gone, but Ranger can make out some information off a few scattered pages:]
3. Self-protection [Inclination] The perfect "control group"
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...we conducted pharmaceutical interventions in stages with a more reasonable dosage on No. 0-0-3...making incorrect judgements in extreme situations.
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In conventional cases, once a control group has been "broken," it would rapidly assimilate into the experimental group....ultimately...instability and insufficiency of the medicine, or No. 0-0-3's inherent characteristics, that led to such results.
[ the air is thick — almost cloyingly so, although it's ultimately just humidity and fog that clings at the throat. it's hard to discern where the ocean, the sky, and the sand meets. the sounds give clues at least, as the salty waves that cling to the thicker air itself crash against the heap of rock alongside the shore. moreso than would be natural, almost as if a path is cut off somewhere between the land and the ocean, where something else might be.
dito sits at the edge of where the fog teeters into the waves itself. he really, really hates this environment more than anything. it feels heavy in his throat, breathing the air. it's disgusting, and he hates the sticky, salty air clinging to his skin and clothes.
he tosses another stone across the water, watching it skip — bounding leap by leap, until it eventually loses momentum and sinks. it really had to chance to begin with, but it's fun to see how far it can get before it drowns.
idly, he knows this isn't real. but if it isn't, then why does the sensation of someone else being around feel so real, to the point that he's actively bothered by it?
nobody else should be here, but there's always someone invading his space somehow. he can never get any peace. he tosses up a hand in a dismissive wave, not even bothering to look at who it is. ]
If you've got shit to drop off, just leave it there.
[ if five heard him speak like that, he'd probably be in trouble. but she's not here, so he can say whatever he wants to these random individuals.
gut them even, if he wants.
but he deals with business, and five is always ordering a plethora of unnecessary possessions; so dito can't exactly be doing that kind of thing. even though he wants to. very, very badly. one of his hands moves down to passively graze its fingers over the dagger at his side, almost like he's considering causing a scene for once.
[of the people she wants to hear from when stumbling into a beach, his name would be near the bottom of the list. things had bent, changed, altered in a manner that hadn't been thought to be questioned, and to press on forward. now she's thinking that she should have turned around, and tried her luck in another direction, or fought the change. at least bears can be generally counted on to leave one alone, or whatever else can be found. the hunters kill her quickly, when they choose to be kind.
but this place is fine enough, outside of the one singular entity she would rather not witness, even if the air rests on her body and her clothes feel disgusting - maybe she can climb down into the water, and try to cleanse some of the blood of. it fills her senses, coppery, and at this point she can't tell whose blood it is that covers her. someone else? another death? oh, what does it matter? it stains her clothes and her skin, and at some point it will all be reset. at some point, she'll wake up again.
there's no verbal reply. instead, Dito will hear steps with that particular tap attached between the waves cresting, Helena considering if she could safely make it down to where the waves hit the rocks without slipping and dying again. probably not. she's not wholly approaching him, but she's not turning around and leaving just yet - even if the air feels suffocating, the sound of the waves is worth committing to memory.]
[ he articulates at the lack of response, almost as if he doesn't even register her being there. but he does, unfortunately, note that someone else is here.
he lies back abruptly, arms stretched outward.
he immediately wonders if he should've done it harder. bash his own head against the rocks hard enough to cancel all of this out.
but it won't stop it, and he's all too aware of that. he can't die that easily, and he won't die easily. he simply must deal with all of this, which means his only hope of any reprieve is centered within wiping out everything else around him. he won't die so easily, but everything else will.
he wants it all to die. the blood, the guts, the screams —
ahh, he really should be getting up to slit this person in two. they shouldn't be here, he thinks.
but he doesn't feel like it right now. even if that third tap drives him insane, because it's all too familiar in his dream. a familiarity that shouldn't be present in a dream from something so drenched in his past.
he makes a retching sound, sticking his tongue out before turning over onto his side to see if he's further hallucinating shit or if there's actually anyone there. ]
— Not you.
[ although it's as soon as the words escape his lips that his eyes widen slightly, noting the other drenched in blood.
[it looks as if she's been on the losing end of several fights, or that she'd pulled herself out of a deeply ugly situation. the kind of blood that only comes from murder, though she's made the attempt to try and wipe off what's on her face, even though it only smears more. blood and gunpowder, she's used to it. this is a stop on the side of the metaphorical road, waiting for the next hour to click over, details hazy but filling themselves in. if this is a dream, then he shouldn't be here.
no, that's still his voice. fortunately, she doesn't think she can die if she's already dead, which removes some of the bite from his bark. how many times does this make? Helena's long since stopped counting in full.]
Hello to you too, Dito.
[the words are as dry as could be expected. why on earth has he wormed his way in here? is this just another phase to a long familiar nightmare, changed over time? and where the hell are they, anyway - the only sea she remembers, there weren't cliffs like these.]
There's nothing to drop off. I'm only passing time.
[until, until -
things will reset. until the game wants to resume.]
[ he blinks, still lying down and viewing helena from an upside-down angle, lips set in a thin line as he raises a brow. why she's covered in blood, he's admittedly a little too curious about. it's a good look on her, though.
he uses his elbows at this point to push himself back up into a sitting position, twisting around to look at helena more properly as he settles an arm on one of his now propped up knees. some dormant feeling makes him think he should be way more excited about this, and a corner of his mouth does lift slightly at the sight, but his eyes are entirely dead right now — pupils blown, the works. ]
You're really not supposed to be here.
[ he says it in a droning way, like he doesn't care either way. because he really doesn't.
— but then there's a light scoff from him. ]
Although you've got a knack for showing up where you shouldn't.
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alice.
---
the forest changes under his feet - scent first, from the damp underbrush into something more hazy. brighter, while the air grows warmer, closer to actual spring - unseasonably warm, but the transition is slow and easy. curls around the hands, the legs, until it reaches him fully. the crunch of twigs and leaves under his feet - is it louder? did his body always feel like this? are things more intense, that he just didn't pay mind to? boggling the mind, distractions upon distractions until...
he breaks the tree line, and the sky above him is blue, vast. the sun shines down gently, and the woods he walked through are not the same - they've altered into types he hasn't seen before, and the field that stretches before him is vast, dotted with wildflowers, tall grass. it feels alive - it feels open, free. the breeze blows, and in the distance, past the fence, there's a figure dressed in what could be white, or light blue. far off, but reachable, hair blowing in the breeze, still for now.
thoughts that aren't his own, impressions instead of feelings. calm, to explore, to run as far as his legs can take him. to exist and fill his lungs with the air, as if one could fill themselves so much they became part of the earth.
the world is so, so wide. anything can happen.]
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It feels good and right to be here. Invited to drink in the picturesque view, Alice lets his steps slow, moving onward through the grass whispering against his legs. He's spotted the figure in the distance, gradually not so far away as he draws closer.
Anything can happen, but for now, they're both here to appreciate nature, to savor freedom given form, and he won't disturb the peace. ]
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spring is here, everything says. spring, full of life and wonder, where things become. the impression of something untouched, left to form of its own accord. happiness, calm, smooth marble under the fingertips. easy morning, without forgetting something. a day off? or just a day one looked forward to.
the fence he will reach is wooden, but the gate can be pushed open, for the lock hasn't been set, and her voice might reach him.]
...Papa said you have to go. You have to fly now.
[but it's warm enough that she's not objecting to her friend's reluctance to depart. just waiting, patiently, for it to make up its mind.]
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On Helena's side of the fence, Alice hesitates. He would hate to startle her or her friend! The little chirping bird will spread its wings when it's ready to accept their parting. It must be attached to its human companion, secure in trusting her, to perch in her palm like that.
No doubt Helena Adams can hear his footfalls anyway, no matter how carefully he attempts to walk through the grass. ]
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Have you come to see them off? Maybe they were waiting for you this entire time.
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shin.
the dirt of the forest floor grows harder, firmer. feet moving to the clack against wooden boards, it growing darker - no, that's just the curtains that have been shut against the light. the faint scent of leaf rot fading down, the sensation of dust in the throat, needing to cough or sneeze. the world closes in, the air gone stagnant - tick tick tick on the clock. his clothes, more noticeable, every movement. what's close, what's not. what's leaking into his senses, corroding, consuming, while his movements feel heavier and slower.
prickling on his skin. bitter aftertaste. faded flowers.
there's a door before him, and he can smell the fresh paint on it. the doorknob creaks too loudly. the metal is too cold. it's his choice, but there's only the floor under him, and the door.]
yessss
It's a sensory cacophony, and he spends a long time in front of the door just grappling with it. This... is someone doing this? Why can't he turn it off!? He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, cringing at the cold, cold doorknob as he turns it.]
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the room he walks into is large, more than enough for a single person, but something in the air feels like it hasn't been opened in days, that something's been there but hasn't moved an inch. sunlight comes through the window, illuminating rich carpet, furnishings that look comfortable enough to easily sink into, a fireplace with wood to be lit. books on shelves, small curiosities, an hourglass that flows...both directions, leading to a net zero. if he squints, the edges have a digital haze, an endless stream of sand with the faintest of sounds. outside, the world looks peaceful, beautiful - a river flows nearby in the forest landscape, so close that if one could have opened the window, they could have jumped right in. but there is no latch to open - none of the windows have it.
lying on the couch, sprawled out as though she simply collapsed from tiredness and went to nap, is Helena, cane propped up to the side and in the same white dress he would have seen in Narumi's heart. still, the necklace is there too, faintly glowing on her chest. it's too still. inlaid in amber.
blink, and lines upon lines of code cross his vision. blink, and they are gone.]
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...!
[He's starting towards her immediately. That's a familiar outfit... Shin tries not to think about if his body is collapsed somewhere on the forest floor. If he can just quickly wake her up and get out back the way he came...]
Hele- a- na?
[A stutter, in his voice and in the world, outstretched fingers curling as he comes to a halt, swallowing thickly. What was that...?]
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...Shin?
[still groggy, she sits up slow, taking off her glasses to rub her face. however long she's been sleeping, she's still tired - or maybe it's something in this place. it's difficult to tell.]
How did you get in here? Magic?
[the world is settled, for now. but there's no telling what will happen next.]
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nanami.
the woods seem endless, and the path is long gone. nothing else seems to breathe here, but there's a pressure to go on, a steadiness like a heartbeat in footsteps. only one's own breath, only the security of one's own clothes and hands. move, move, until you cannot anymore. the air is warmer here, with the murmur of voices that can almost be discerned if you strained, if you got a bit closer.
vaguely sweet scent, like baking, like someone else. the stickiness of tree sap on your hands. dryness in the mouth, in the throat. it all seems strong, significant. clinging as spiderwebs do, to the eyelashes and hair.
and when she gets through the trees at a point, towards a brighter light -
she's fallen out of a bush, lying on her back under a large greenhouse roof. it's a decently sized space, big enough for many plants, a fountain, but nothing is blooming even if it's green with leaves. the fountain's not running, the water clear but utterly still. dusty bricks, moss growing over the cracks, and the air feels heavy.
there is, however, a door that seems attached to a much bigger building. a house, and quite a large one by what can be determined through the wavy glass.]
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And when she thinks she's reached the end-- suddenly she's at a new beginning, sprawled on the ground in a muggy room. She sits up slowly, rubbing her forehead as she tries to get her bearings. She's got her cat hoodie pulled up over her head; it just feels right to for some reason. (To protect from precipitation? A feeling of unease that the safety of a hood can somehow help?)
This place feels abandoned, but is it? She slowly gets back on her feet, and then carefully wanders the greenhouse. The plants seem relaxing, at least... she could stay here.
But something urges her onwards, some instinct. She turns to the door, and carefully - as if she might disturb some great predator if she moves too quickly or loudly - turns the knob, and opens it. ]
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no one's been here for a long, long time. her steps leave footprints in the dust on the floor. not even mice want to live here - the air is no longer muggy, but it fills her with different emotions, ghosts that whisper across the mind. sorrow, fear, resentment. apathy, acceptance. empty wooden boxes, empty glass bottles. the vague trappings without any substance.
tick tock. something still works, but it's not in this room. not in an abandoned cellar whose light is just about to fizzle out. and when it does...
something takes Nanami's wrist in the darkness, and tugs so that she might stumble forward into a ladder.]
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The sound of the passing of time helps her out of her stupor eventually. She carefully moves forward--
stumbles into the ladder at the touch and whirls around. ] H-hello? [ Is someone there? ]
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the door back can't be found. there is only one path, right now. linear progress, to give her a better view of things.]
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ranger.
it's cold, he'll note as he goes into the forest. even his body is susceptible to it, as he moves on. still, there is the sense that he should, pressing him onwards, compelling footsteps even as they seem to be louder. a heartbeat in his ears that's not his own, fine mist that creeps over the forest floor, his breath visible before him.
sensory input at heightened levels. the flex of his fingers, the rise and fall of his chest. a bird's wings in flight, flapping - the faintly chemical scent that invades the woods. not the decay of life, but something different, and it cannot be placed in what he knows. it's much, it's too much, but it cannot be stopped. and then, the scent of burned wood and ash.
it's a husk of a place, ruined by fire, an explosion, stone reduced to rubble and metal twisted, wood blackened by it. what could have been a small building, gutted and destroyed by fire. broken machinery, what might have been very fine tools.
and something lying under a blanket on a table. still, quiet.
the crow shrieks.]
Re: ranger.
It's a mess. Ranger draws in a breath, looking about before slipping behind a tree as he considers the best course of action here. There's stories about places like this, and not one of them suggests to him that approaching an unknown figure is a good idea. He peers out from behind it after a few seconds, narrowing his eyes as he tries to get a better look at whatever might be hiding beneath it... A person? An object? It seems still enough, yet... ]
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papers rustle on the floor, damaged by fire and water, what would have been fastidious notes gone to ruin. no use for machines or tools if the entire place is empty, cold, long left to rot in its own burns.
somewhere, the crow flies, comes to settle on the edge of the building, in the hole that would let clouded light in. so far, Ranger is alone. not even the impression of another heartbeat.]
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Ranger braces himself before slipping out of his hiding place. He keeps his footsteps light as he moves toward the building, making a conscious effort to avoid making any noise that might draw attention. He turns his head to the left and right, straining his senses as he tries to remain aware enough to catch any anomalies. He thinks better of disturbing the body beneath the blanket, if that is in fact what it is, instead focusing his attention on recovering the items on the items left inside. It doesn't seem like much more than ruined notes, but perhaps he'll find one or two that are still readable? ]
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3. Self-protection
[Inclination]
The perfect "control group"
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...we conducted pharmaceutical interventions in stages with a more reasonable dosage on No. 0-0-3...making incorrect judgements in extreme situations.
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In conventional cases, once a control group has been "broken," it would rapidly assimilate into the experimental group....ultimately...instability and insufficiency of the medicine, or No. 0-0-3's inherent characteristics, that led to such results.
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finally
dito sits at the edge of where the fog teeters into the waves itself. he really, really hates this environment more than anything. it feels heavy in his throat, breathing the air. it's disgusting, and he hates the sticky, salty air clinging to his skin and clothes.
he tosses another stone across the water, watching it skip — bounding leap by leap, until it eventually loses momentum and sinks. it really had to chance to begin with, but it's fun to see how far it can get before it drowns.
idly, he knows this isn't real. but if it isn't, then why does the sensation of someone else being around feel so real, to the point that he's actively bothered by it?
nobody else should be here, but there's always someone invading his space somehow. he can never get any peace. he tosses up a hand in a dismissive wave, not even bothering to look at who it is. ]
If you've got shit to drop off, just leave it there.
[ if five heard him speak like that, he'd probably be in trouble. but she's not here, so he can say whatever he wants to these random individuals.
gut them even, if he wants.
but he deals with business, and five is always ordering a plethora of unnecessary possessions; so dito can't exactly be doing that kind of thing. even though he wants to. very, very badly. one of his hands moves down to passively graze its fingers over the dagger at his side, almost like he's considering causing a scene for once.
oh, he wishes. ]
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but this place is fine enough, outside of the one singular entity she would rather not witness, even if the air rests on her body and her clothes feel disgusting - maybe she can climb down into the water, and try to cleanse some of the blood of. it fills her senses, coppery, and at this point she can't tell whose blood it is that covers her. someone else? another death? oh, what does it matter? it stains her clothes and her skin, and at some point it will all be reset. at some point, she'll wake up again.
there's no verbal reply. instead, Dito will hear steps with that particular tap attached between the waves cresting, Helena considering if she could safely make it down to where the waves hit the rocks without slipping and dying again. probably not. she's not wholly approaching him, but she's not turning around and leaving just yet - even if the air feels suffocating, the sound of the waves is worth committing to memory.]
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[ he articulates at the lack of response, almost as if he doesn't even register her being there. but he does, unfortunately, note that someone else is here.
he lies back abruptly, arms stretched outward.
he immediately wonders if he should've done it harder. bash his own head against the rocks hard enough to cancel all of this out.
but it won't stop it, and he's all too aware of that. he can't die that easily, and he won't die easily. he simply must deal with all of this, which means his only hope of any reprieve is centered within wiping out everything else around him. he won't die so easily, but everything else will.
he wants it all to die. the blood, the guts, the screams —
ahh, he really should be getting up to slit this person in two. they shouldn't be here, he thinks.
but he doesn't feel like it right now. even if that third tap drives him insane, because it's all too familiar in his dream. a familiarity that shouldn't be present in a dream from something so drenched in his past.
he makes a retching sound, sticking his tongue out before turning over onto his side to see if he's further hallucinating shit or if there's actually anyone there. ]
— Not you.
[ although it's as soon as the words escape his lips that his eyes widen slightly, noting the other drenched in blood.
that's new. ]
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no, that's still his voice. fortunately, she doesn't think she can die if she's already dead, which removes some of the bite from his bark. how many times does this make? Helena's long since stopped counting in full.]
Hello to you too, Dito.
[the words are as dry as could be expected. why on earth has he wormed his way in here? is this just another phase to a long familiar nightmare, changed over time? and where the hell are they, anyway - the only sea she remembers, there weren't cliffs like these.]
There's nothing to drop off. I'm only passing time.
[until, until -
things will reset. until the game wants to resume.]
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he uses his elbows at this point to push himself back up into a sitting position, twisting around to look at helena more properly as he settles an arm on one of his now propped up knees. some dormant feeling makes him think he should be way more excited about this, and a corner of his mouth does lift slightly at the sight, but his eyes are entirely dead right now — pupils blown, the works. ]
You're really not supposed to be here.
[ he says it in a droning way, like he doesn't care either way. because he really doesn't.
— but then there's a light scoff from him. ]
Although you've got a knack for showing up where you shouldn't.
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1/2 christ
2/2
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