vatheon | 13 ♐ When you can't cover up mirrors

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13 ♐ When you can't cover up mirrors

Who: Darkleer, along with Disciple, the Grand Highblood, and anyone else who tries to pay him a visit
When: Throughout the week
Where: Darkleer's room
Status: Open to a few
Style: Whatever
Warning: Some descriptions of gore spoken by a douchebag nightmare

Ever since Monday night, Darkleer hadn't left his room. He hadn't let others come, either. It probably didn't help that he had barricaded the door, left Summoner outside to be cared for by Dural and the robots. He... He couldn't trust himself with his unconscious matesprit. He couldn't trust himself with the boys, either, or anyone else he knew.

How could he?

Not when, at night, a vision of himself covered in blood and toying with gory trophies whispered to himself about how easy it would be to kill them all, how good it would feel. Not when, in the morning, Darkleer couldn't stop obsessing over it, driving his thoughts around in circles. Sometimes, speaking with others helped. It almost felt as if the other stopped talking to him, stopped toying with his own much longer hair, but Darkleer was half sure that was just in his head.

Sometimes he feels guilty, thinking of the boys, but...

He couldn't be trusted.

So in his room he stayed, trying to ignore thoughts that had mocked him for a very, very long time.

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The first night of the true aspect of the curse had hit, and Disciple thought she had it under control. Seeing the faerie melt was a little unsettling. Even more so was the dark shape that arose from the puddle it had formed. It stuck to the shadows the first night, and relied mostly on parlor tricks to frighten her, she dealt with it the best way she could.

Tonight had been different. The shadowed form showed more of itself to her this night, and she did not like what she saw; Herself. More accurately, she saw herself as she was when she was brought to the bubble. A feral creature, little more then violent instinct. It was even worse though, it seemed to be the very thing she was terrified the most. The dark instinct that lived inside her that had nearly gotten Kanaya killed.

It spoke and knew everything about her. If she did not seek help then it might drive her to succumb to becoming exactly what was tormenting her. Talking to Kanaya was out of the question, she still felt too much guilt over what she had done. Signless, she did not want to see this part of herself at any cost. One troll had seen her in that state before and actually helped her out of it.

So it was that she found herself rapidly approaching Darkleer's hive, harried by the shadow version of herself. Taunted by its words, driving her fear instinct into overdrive. She swiftly arrives at her destination nearly crashing into the door. She turned around to see her advancing attacker, but area was empty. It was gone, for a bit, it would be back.

There is a frantic pounding on the hive's front door.

Edited 2012-11-04 11:39 (UTC)

Dirk has been having plenty of trouble with the curse himself. He, however, hasn't taken to locking himself away- or, well, not completely, since he rarely leaves his room and his projects on a regular basis. But he's been attempting to distract himself, mostly with robotics work. When that had stopped being a solution, and the Miles had started distracting him to the point where he fixed the same bolt five times, he had left his room to walk around the bubble.

That hadn't worked either, though, and so he finally had attempted to distract himself in a different way- carrying out some of his plans for Darkleer. There's only one way to accomplish that, of course, and that's sneaking into his house, especially since he doubts Equius would want him in here during a curse like this. So he finds a window and pries it open.

Only to find that distracted by the curse as he was, he'd apparently picked the wrong window, because his intended target is right there.

What a shame that they are both gone. They came to it so easily, didn't they? They didn't suspect anything at all. Even to the last second, my hands just giving a little twist and the skin separates so easily. The way their spine gave that little snap before I pulled-

"Shut up." Darkleer's voice isn't as strong and confident as he wishes it was, as it normally is. It shakes in its quietness as he paces in circles about his room. Matching him step for step opposite is... him. Hair shorter, like he wore it in his Executor sweeps, and blood of so many different colors staining his person. Blues, indigos, brilliant human red and orange, god there was orange and yellow...

He doesn't want to think about the trophies hanging from his belt.

His initial plan had been to simply lock himself away in his room, but a troll body could only hold out for so long. It needed food if nothing else, and a quick check from the robots showed that he was completely alone in the house.

His nightmare toyed with a bloodied necklace of beads that was on his belt. Gamzee only gave one little surprised gurgle-

Darkleer violently shoved aside the blockade of his own design and threw open the door, darting through it before slamming it shut. Cracks in the walls appeared from the force of it. For one tense moment, he simply stood there and stared at it, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

That was when he realized there was pounding on his front door.

Full of nerves, he cautiously went down the hall. What if it was just his mirror double, toying with him again? He- It did that. Threw things around, made messes, banged on doors and walls... Peering around the hallway towards the front door, he tasted bile on the back of his throat.

"Who is it?"

By Friday, Darkleer is... better. In a manner of speaking. His own personal apparition, blood and all, still haunts him, but it's... not quite as intense. There are no more constant whispers of how he's slaughtered all of his loved ones, no more purrs of how much he enjoyed it. The silence feels like a wait, and Darkleer doesn't know what he's waiting for.

So when his window is suddenly pushed open, he jerks from his spot a this desk. His eyes- normally very nice ones- are bloodshot and his pupils are nothing but thin slivers of black. It doesn't look as if he's bathed for quite some time. His hair is a tangled mess. He's a split second from pulling out his bow and firing before he actually realizes who it is.

"...Mister Strider."

Disciple had been harassed in a very similar fashion. The voice... Her voice taunting her about those she had killed, the spilling of their blood. Once it started in on finishing off Kanaya is when she knew she needed help.

"Please, oh please... be here."

She had been pounding for only a little while when she heard movement coming from inside the Hive. It sounded like a slamming of a door, then muffled footsteps. Then she finally heard Darkleer's voice, and she audibly sighs with relief. She did not really stop to notice the tension present on the other side of the door.

"Oh, by the light, thank you! Darkleer, It is Disciple. I really need help! Please."

In her relief she had not noticed the dark outline approaching her from the nearby shadows. It was drawing closer.

Cautiously, he approaches the door. He's torn- he wants to help, he wants to do something, but he's going to ruin everything. How can he help when he was the one to ruin her life with his own hands? When he's such a loose fuse who will snap at any moment?

"I might hurt you." There's no 'might' about it. "What if I kill you?"

A whisper startles her as she is listening to Darkleer. It comes from inches away, in her own tattered, husky voice.

"Kill you... like he should have. Come here to die, mewling kitten? You seek refuge with the very man who killed your beloved? Pathetic."

Frightened, she lashes out where the voice originated from, but her claws strike naught but air. Another damned trick it was playing on her. This thing would not get out of her head. Shakily she responds to the troll on the other side of the door.

"It does not matter, I trust you, please let me in."

...She trusts him?

In his shock, he actually fumbles open the door. There's no glasses to hide his eyes this time- they're completely bare, both physically and emotionally. He's tired and worn down, frightened, miserable. His long hair, usually so impeccably brushed, is a tangled mess.

There is also an enormous longbow- his legendary weapon Archermedes- resting in his hands as he looks over her head to try and find what is vexing her.

It's been a while since Dirk's messed up in such an awkwardly spectacular fashion, but he'd blame the curse if anyone asks. Before anyone can ask, though, he'll just play it off, take it in stride, so to speak.

That's why he finishes entering and takes a seat on the windowsill casually. He doesn't go any closer than that, unwilling to show off his own curse, but he doesn't leave, either. He even closes the window behind him. "Yo."

It's not hard to notice just how frazzled Darkleer is. If he were a nicer kind of person, Dirk might not comment on it. Unfortunately, Dirk has never been the kind of guy to let a moment of weakness go by unobserved. "You look like shit."

If Darkleer were to be asked, he would say that is a rather Alternian way of thinking when it comes to weaknesses. It's almost reassuring, although that isn't quite the right word. More... familiar. He knows what to do in the face of this.

What he does is straighten his back and take his glasses out of his sylladex so they can return to their proper place on his face. Even if he doesn't look like he's in control, he can act like it. It's outright soldier-like how he holds himself, expression wiped clean.

"I've been too busy for proper maintenance of myself."

As he looks he may catch a faint glimpse of a shadow shifting and melting into the ambient darkness. He might even recognize the shape of the creature, it would certainly seem familiar somehow. Just as quickly it is gone, still as the rest of the foggy night.

She quickly darts inside the hive, taking care to find a way to shut and lock it behind her. Not that locks have helped against the damned thing so far. Quite the little trick the scientists cooked up this time. She had stopped bothering wondering why, they seemed as fickle as wrigglers, nearly omnipotent wrigglers.

It is only after the door is closed does she turn and see the state that the blueblood was in. He seemed to be going though his own personal torment. She hoped it was not as bad as her own, but judging from how he looked, she was not overly optimistic.

Disciple was currently echoing Darkleer's exhausted look. The worst of it was her hair, she prided herself on her hair, but currently it was frayed and unkempt. She wanted to hug him for being here, a monetary safe port in the storm, but judging from the way he was carrying himself, she hesitates.

"T-thank you..." It comes out haggard.

For a moment, Darkleer's fingers tighten painfully around Archermedes. If it was any other bow, it would have broken. Taking a deep breath, he lets her shut the door. It takes a few moments for him to force himself to calm down enough so that he can dismiss his weapon back into its specibus.

If she hadn't locked it, he would have.

He does his best to avoid looking into Disciple's eyes, not wanting to give too much of himself away. "I... am not sure how much safer you are here." A thick swallow. His throat hurts doing it. "I'm dangerous. Right now."

Mostly Alternian. The average Alternian wouldn't see a person's weakness and be interested in strengthening them to live despite it, the way Dirk wants to. Sure, it's a quadrant thing for trolls, but he's not a troll, so he will officially not give a fuck about what you are and aren't supposed to do for trolls.

"Too busy, or too distracted? I doubt it's escaped your notice, but there's a curse." A resort to sarcasm isn't necessarily his best response, but Darkleer probably wouldn't appreciate or recognize any more ironic statements.

Wow, Dirk, so culturally insensitive! Rude.

There's no way he could possibly miss the curse, and he knows that Dirk recognizes this. Darkleer still won't admit it so easily, however. "The network has been fairly busy with something. When that happens, repeatedly, then one knows that the coral is giving off an effect once again." His hand longs to straighten out his hair, but Darkleer keeps it down. "Is there a reason you were breaking into my room, Mister Strider?"

"Being alone is much worse, I think..." Disciple was not sure what Darkleer had going on that had him so spooked. She was not really certain how this curse was affecting everyone else in the bubble. She had the luck of getting chased by a nightmare version of herself. The part of herself she hated, that was visceral and angry. The part of herself that took over when she let her anger get the better of her.

He was dangerous right now? She was not sure what exactly he meant by that, but she felt just as dangerous right now. If that thing keeps whispering in her ear about letting go, and giving in... She shudders. Last time she had given in, Kanaya had been almost killed. When the voice was inside she could do a much better job of ignoring it, but now that it has been given physical form, she was terrified of what it might be capable of.

"I am dangerous as well, but I think I will chance it here. If I... lose myself... I know you can help me." The greenblood fixes Darkleer with a smile laden with apprehension. Even if she regresses, he can stop her, like he had once already. At least that is what she was hoping.

Lose herself...? Oh. He remembers. Too tired to watch his reactions, Darkleer reaches up to lightly touch the scars that run over one part of his face, over his eye. When Dualscar had accidentally drowned Signless, when she had lost her love. Was the fear that was being driven into her so powerful that it would drive her into that feral mode again? Or...

"If I lose myself-" Close enough as Disciple is, she should be able to hear what he hears: a sudden loud metallic crash, like a door being slammed off its hinges. It makes Darkleer give a harsh jerk of surprise before he folds into himself, eyes squeezing tight. He knows nothing will be there when he goes to check. This is already a game that has been played on him a few times before already when his nightmare had grown tired of simply talking to him. This is almost the preferable action, really.

"There... there isn't anyone stopping me."

He is allowed to dislike troll culture after it killed off most of his race.

"Oh, you know. It's a hobby. Ninja shit and all that." Technically, not a lie. "Either way, I'm here now. Unless you want to kick me out..." Here, he takes a moment to look Darkleer over, movements exaggerated to be obvious despite the shades hiding where his gaze is actually focused. "But I don't think you'll do that, will you."

"Unfortunately, you would be wrong."

If there's one thing Darkleer likes, it's his peace and quiet, and this owuldn't be the first time he's had to boot someone away from his person. Dirk, you may be a Prince, but you aren't one he recognizes. Darkleer moves to the door and holds it open. "You might find more things to occupy your time downstairs. There isn't much to do in my room, I'm afraid."

"On the contrary. There's plenty to do here."

Dirk doesn't get up from his seat at the windowsill. Darkleer will have to try something more than that to get him out. Robots, maybe. Or very persuasive words. But Dirk's never met a challenge he backed away from so easily, and he's not about to start here. Darkleer seems remarkably stubborn, though, so he won't pull his punches.

"What are you seeing that's got you so eager to get me out, then?"

One by one, his fingers clench and relax in the fists that are at his sides. He's never much liked those who are good with emotions. He wears these glasses for a reason. For now, he keeps his expression stoic as ever. If he has to physically remove him, he will.

"I am currently seeing an insolent adolescent who refuses to listen to polite requests of others," Darkleer replies frigidly.

This isn't being good at emotions. It's being skilled at identifying emotions. Someone good at them would probably not risk constantly alienating their friends the way Dirk does. That, in fact, is a trait Darkleer and Dirk hold in common.

Dirk wouldn't mind being physically removed, honestly. He'd just also never let Darkleer forget it. In the meantime, he sits straighter. "I'm flattered, but I'm not that scary. Try again."

"No, but you are currently that aggravating." Any other time, he would humor the boy. Right now is not any other time. Grinding his teeth together, he draws his brows together and hopes it looks intimidating enough.

"I suspect you have realized that I am in no mood to chatter, Mister Strider. Now, can you leave on your own or must I assist you with this task?"

Darkleer may notice her visibly jump, her eyes darting around for the source of the loud crashing. At first she was certain her shadow self had broken through a door, but that was not really something it had done before. It had broken stuff before, but not to the magnitude of what that had sounded like. That is when she notices his reaction to it, with her realization dawning just in time to hear the resignation in his words.

"Then... I will." She says shakily at first. The prospect was a little daunting, but she had come here for a reason, he was her friend and it sure as the dark was not going to be a one-way street. She takes a step towards him, summoning up whatever calm determination she could muster.

"I will stop you if it comes to that then, Darkleer. I may not look like much, but I am wiry and quick, and when it comes down to it I will do what I need to bring you back, because that is what friends do." It does not quite come off as bold and cocksure as she was hoping, but she meant every word.

Not wanting her to have too happy a moment, the whisper forms next to her, though the damned thing could be invisible when it did not want to be seen. Darkleer might even be able to hear it with as close as he is. "Cute. He is just going to kill you, like he did to Him. You know that, right? Except yours will not be as quick." With that her gaze drops, as she holds back from lashing out at the air where the sounds originated. She was not even sure how much of it was in her head. Going crazy and slashing at the air would not solve anything, just like it had not earlier.

The idea almost seems laughable, her stopping him. Could she really? Was all that quickness enough? When she had gone wild over her beloved's death, he had caught her simply enough. What if it happened again? Out of all the people in Vatheon, she was perhaps one of those he found to be the most important. He had given everything away for her to just get a chance to live. If she died, if she was killed by his hand when he had been unable to carry it through the first time they met...

So lost in his own scared and worried thoughts, he almost doesn't catch those quiet words. Darkleer jerks his head up at them, eyes wide at the affirmation of what he had been tearing himself up over. For a second, his tongue does nothing but flounder in his own mouth, heavy and clumsy. "I- I don't want to, not you, most of all not you. I just-" Another impatient crash, and his fingers nearly tear through his hair. The words are locked in his throat, choking him.

Unlikely as it may seem, she was determined. Even if she could not stop him outright physically, she would find a way if it came to it. As terrified as she was, just being around the blueblood was centering; something to focus on other then the savage thing that was hounding her, whispering those dark thoughts.

'Most of all not you.' Those words feed into her resolve, lending her strength she did not feel she could have at the moment. "Then you will not. You are too strong to give in like that. I know you are." She takes a step towards Darkleer, trying to reassure him.

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13 ♐ When you can't cover up mirrors

Tuesday night, I will say.

Probably around Friday?

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