{ LAIR } The Dungeons (p. 20!)

[chiickadee]

"That doesn't mean a thing," Ami said across the way. She was always a glass half empty sort of person. "We're only trainees."

It was no secret that being a hunter was a dangerous job. There was a reason Deus Ex had not one, but two graveyards for both hunters and people who didn't even reach the hunter status. Death wasn't a friend, but it certainly did as it pleased on the island, plucking off individuals as it saw fit.

So if a handful of trainees died at the hands of horsemen? They'd get a plaque in the graveyard, and everyone would move on.

Somewhere in Ami's subconscious she wondered if people even noticed she was gone. Sasha, sure. She had a boyfriend, lots of friends. Otto was always hanging around Ceres and Eva. Ami? Ami was a loner. She had Tori to room with, but recently she'd been staying nights over in her old room to try and fix the damage. Tori was smart- she mightly simply assume Ami had moved back into her old room. Her disappearance would be a delayed reaction. Wilson might notice, but Ami doubted it. They weren't particularly on speaking terms any more, just small, awkward nods and gestures during missions. Kat, maybe. They'd never had any particularly bonding moment, just a work relationship. Marcus, perhaps, but he had a new house and a soon-to-be wife to concern himself with. It wasn't the time to make reckless decisions to go out and save a hunter that had been nothing but trouble to him.

Madeline. Ami's heart steeled up. Poor Madeline, left alone like that. The girl was bright though, and entertaining. A cheery personality that Ami so sorely lacked. No, the sun would make new friends. It would be easy.

As far as Ami was concerned, the five of them were already as good as dead. Trainees were replaceable. Disposable.

"If we are indeed in the horseman's lair," she said quietly, "A rescue for some trainees would be..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, trying to find the perfect word for it. "Asinine."  

[Bittiface]

"Yer probably right." Otto said bluntly, laying himself down on his back, letting the cold, damp ground calm his nerves. "There ain't no way Deus is gunna waste the manpower for a small handful of trainees."

He let in a shaky breath, staring up at the dark ceiling.  

[Ravvlet]

Wash shook his head, grimacing in the dark. What had happened to them all, to become so jaded?

"Leave us here? You clearly haven't met Jerry." Although honestly, the image of the bright young man fumbling down here in the dark with his bazooka wasn't as comforting as it should be. He'd had a few close calls with the weapon as it was- one day, someone was going to get more than just an eye put out. The image had him grinning in spite of the situation, but the constant push of the darkness quickly quashed his humor.

He rubbed his good eye, still feeling groggy and strangely drained. "Kind of sad that the monsters rode in for the rescue of their own, but y'all don't think ours would do the same." He shook his head again, moving further back into his cell, away from the bars. He took a seat with his back against one of the gritty and damp walls.

"Don't matter none to us right now, anyway." He tried to get comfortable, an activity that involved a lot of bumping and scraping. Finally, he settled his head back against the stone, closing his eyes. "Nice to meet you...Otto? I'm Wash. And you too miss...Ami? Rin? Interesting place here. Never been in a cave before - if that's what this is. Any idea where this might be? No one's exploded yet, have they?" The last was meant as a joke...sort of. Gallows humor.

"See, always got somethin' to be thankful for." He felt like this jovial attitude was more Sally's than his own, but he'd talk about anything to ignore the fear that had settled deep in his gut. No, talking was good, warm - human. It was a relief, to hear the voices in the dark.  

[Bittiface]

"Monsters ain't got rules and regulations like we do." Otto spat back, the fear in his voice becoming more prominent. Heck, if Caelius had any say he'd prefer to blast the place to the ground and kill them all off, save any information from leaking.

The small blonde scoffed lightly at Wash's polite greeting. Otto couldn't see how Wash could be so positive. Everyone else was dead quiet because they all knew, right? Otto just preferred to be more realistic. Pretending anyone would save him was not worth his hope. Still, he tried to keep his mouth shut. Just because he was jaded didn't mean he should squash anyone else's ******** it's dark in here.

"I dunno.. I ain't sayin' I'm givin up. I sure as Hell don't wanna be here, or die here. Just.. dunno what to do." He trailed off quietly, his body shaking more and more the longer he was in his cell.

Too dark.. too dark...

It was getting harder and harder to pretend he was brave.  

[chiickadee]

Ami pulled herself against the jail's wall, leaning against it. Her head was still pounding, her brain threatening to break out by knocking on the sides of her skull.

For whatever reason, Donne's holy sonnets came to her. That I might in this holy discontent, Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vain. That's what they were trying to do. Mourn themselves with encouragement. Tell themselves "it was going to be okay." That they would "try to break out." Reach for a hope that didn't exist.

"I helped destroy their ******** world," Ami said, in reference to the horsemen, "They're not going to let us just walk right out of here," Ami spat back. "You can delude yourselves with false expectations for rescue- I'm not waiting for something that will never come." Knowing her division leads- one of which she'd never even spoken or seen beyond glimpses? She wasn't putting her chips on him.  

[bipolar bee]

There once was a time when Sasha would have tried her best to keep everyone positive. High hopes and all that - but she knew Ami was right. In the greater scheme of things, there was no way that Deus would send a rescue mission in for five little strays.

Five little trainee strays.

"I ... Jerry's probably worried sick," she mumbled softly in response to Wash's comment, pressing her fingers to her swollen eye. "I hope he doesn't do anything idiotic." There was a part of her that hoped perhaps the doctor would head some sort of rescue mission, but deep down Sasha knew that it likely would never happen.

"At least we aren't alone. We've got each other, for whatever good it does us, and that's something at least."

No control. No control, nothing she could do except sit here in the dark with her comrades and wait for death - or worse.  

[Saliru]

"Sorry... think I blacked out for a second there," she grumbled from her pile of weak human flesh before sighing a exaggerated little sigh of frustration, "I feel so tired but I'm still not ******** keen to just accept this. Is anyone's phone working? Try to text someone."

There was a vague grunting sound of exertion as Rin rolled around trying to find her own phone to check. Grabbing it she promptly attempted to send Rep a garbled mess of words and curses.

Text to Rep

********

For once in Rin's life; she was simply too tired for spaces or punctuation. She pressed enter and... message error.

"Oh. And hey uh... Wash, right? Otto?... Ami... and ...uh... Sasha... so there's five of us then?"
 

[Ravvlet]

Wash sighed, blowing out harshly. "Come on now," he intoned softly. "We ain't dead yet." Sure, he was scared, petrified, but honestly so far nothing too terrible had happened. They were in a hole somewhere in the dark, mostly unharmed. But the others had seen them be taken - right? Their words compounded his already present doubts. He had to ignore it, though. Had to quash the fear. Had to stay positive to stay sane.

Hope springs eternal.

"Now Miss Sasha, Jerry's got friends, they'll surely be lookin' out for him. He's a good man." Wash smiled a little sadly - he'd miss his friend, if they never got out of here. It was strange - minutes ago, he'd thought he'd crossed over, and had very nearly quietly accepted his death. But that was different, somehow. He didn't want to lie here in the dark, dying by inches. Wash had to believe that they would be ok. They had to get out of here.

At least they had each other- she was right. This would have been much harder alone... But he wouldn't have wished this fate on any of the others, even if he didn't really know any of them.

He was a bit more hopeful when the other hunter- he assumed Rin - suggested texting. At her question, he replied, "Yeah, suppose so. Seemed like they just kinda grabbed whoever was nearest." That was both good and bad. Good, because there was no reason to keep them - bad, because they were disposable.

Well, they could sit in the cool darkness and talk about their eventual demise, but that seemed overly grim. "So," he began hesitantly, "Anyone got a watch? Least we can do is keep the time."  

[Saliru]

"I'm more keen to just fight our way out of this dump. Five of us means ten very capable minds here," Rin frowned slightly at Wash's words; there was no specific hunters needed? That's problematic. Were they bait then? As far as she knew they were all trainees so there wasn't much from them in the way of information. They were either bait to draw out something bigger or... purely entertainment. Either option wouldn't do.

"What does everyone have to work with? I've just got... my scarf, jacket, a worthless phone... and a pocket knife."


I know you aren't but... just hang in there, okay?


Rin rolled over to try and belly crawl towards what she was certain to be the door, "Is there a guard? Anyone know?"

OOC

Because I was asked/IMed about it; Zoo had told me that we could talk with our weapons; just can't summon um. I'm not just taking liberties, I swear XD

 

[Bittiface]

Otto lifted himself off the ground again into a sitting position, the constant darkness rattling his nerves. If it hadn't been for the comfort of the other hunter's chatter, he'd have lost it. Even though Ami was Miss Sourpuss Galore. Wasn't as if Otto was known for being much better in his time either.

Otto shook his head about the watch or having any kind of useful tool, even if no one could see him do it. "Drum sticks?" He didn't eve know if they were taken anyway. He lifted his knees to his chest once more, the cold of the dank cell no longer of any comfort. In fact it was making him feel ill.

Why wasn't this dream over yet?  

[Ravvlet]

"Don't think they need a guard, what with us all being locked down here nice and tight." He tapped at the metal bars with his toe, and they reverberated softly.

"I've got - oh." He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a stylized alligator keychain. He squeezed it, and the tiny LED inside lit a small halo along the floor. He used it to rove around the cramped room, searching for the other's faces behind their cell bars. The blue light made everything look washed out, somehow less real.

"This little light o' mine, I'm gonna let it shine," he rumbled serenely. Just seeing that little circle of brightness, a physical reminder that Sally was with him, was reassuring. She was still silent, and he could sense her discomfort faintly in the back of his mind. If they wanted to summon their weapons, they'd probably have to wait until they got out of the room. Sort of a problem, given they'd probably need them if they had any hope of busting out of the cells.

He liked the young woman's sentiment, though. It was nice to know at least one of them hadn't given up, not without a fight.  

[Zoobey]

There was a rusty screech, though that easily could have just been anything: one of the prisoners perhaps rattling against their cage or shuffling. A second later, a bright source of light, brighter than any weapon.

Someone was standing outside the cages, in the corridor that separated all the cages from each other. They placed what seemed like a candle at the very center of the room, revealing the expanse itself. Six cages, in two rows, facing each other. A single pathway in between, where she stood.

Medea, from the Four Clans. From the destruction and wreckage of the island. In her other hand was a basket, and she unfolded it now, revealing simple contents. Bread. Apples. A bottle of water. One of each was placed right in front of each cage, an offering for each Hunter, where they could easily reach it. She smiled. "A prize for later. Guests should be treated accordingly, and it would be a pity to let you starve before everything else." A thoughtful pause. "This is too a path, and so is the path of hope. You may choose to starve, noone will stop you, or you may choose to continue to hope, that perhaps someone will rescue you. It is not impossible, this too is a very viable path, humans are resilient creatures after all."

The light flickered slightly as Medea moved steadily, opening Wash's cage first. She stepped inside, walking right towards the weakened Hunter. He was out immediately, body slumping onto the ground. "Do not misjudge our actions, however, we are not like your kind. We do not meddle and experiment, and make you look on our level. A mortal cannot become a god. All humans are cattle, and you are no exception. The sooner you accept this fate, the easier this will be for all of us." She stepped out, moving towards Otto's cage next, unafraid of any resistance. In here, she was a indeed a god. He was given the same treatment, falling almost lifeless.

"Now," And then she was in Rin's cage, closing on on the trainee, "Reveal to me your path. Fight for them, struggle, and continue to hope." The trainee also fell like a rock, cast into a deep sleep. "I wish to you the most pleasant of dreams."

Sasha and Ami were last. They fell before they could even think of struggling.

OOC: ALL HUNTERS

TRANCE: STAGE 1:

- You are now in trance: stage 1. At this point all you will relive are memories of your past. Past encounters, hopes, dreams. Past failures. They come in fragments and snippets now, everything that made your Hunter what they are now.

- This should be posted as a solo. After your solo, your Hunter WAKES UP again. They can reflect on what happened, their weapon is also conscious now, and they can talk and speculate with other Hunters. After they wake up, Medea is gone, but the candle still remains in the center for lighting (it cannot be reached) and the food is there, unpoisoned. All Hunters can take the food as well.

Ravvlet

Drifter Jet Enduro

chimarii

Byrr

pinchmonster

 

[Ravvlet]

Voices in the dark.

Wash watched Medea approach, the silhouette of her body moving in the light of the dancing flame hypnotizing. Her lips moved, but the sound was gone, a distant murmur. He was tired, so tired. His arm fell to the ground and something clattered from his fingertips. His little light went out. She was getting further away, somehow, even as she grew larger in his vision - lidded eyes wrinkled, confused, before they finally shut. He had slumped over to lay prone on the floor of his cell. He curled his body around the tiny object dangling from his hand, and slept. The horsewoman's words were lost to him, buried beneath another, more familiar voice.

It was gruff, deep, utterly masculine - gravely around the edges in the way that a short life of hard work could bring. It brought with it other sensations; the uncomfortable itch of new flannel pajamas, the stale smell of cheap cigars, his mother's gardenias, peeping over the windowsill in full bloom - tiny petals curved around their centers. Hugging themselves tight, like each blossom held some sweet secret close to its heart. Crickets sang their soft song as an overture to a chorus of frogs. It was summertime out on the Becker lawn, and just after dark. He and his siblings were gathered on the old, threadbare couch, picking at the seams with obvious impatience as their father prepared to read them scripture.

This night was different, somehow. Wash didn't know why, but he hadn't fidgeted alongside the twins this evening, instead sitting with his hands folded in his lap - quiet; attentive. He watched his father adjust a worn pair of horn-rimmed glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he searched for tonight's passage. His obedience was not remarked upon, but rather expected. He had always been his father's favorite; quiet and introspective where the twins were rambunctious and outspoken. They shared a look, then, the elder Washington Becker favoring the younger with a brief but warm smile.

Wash smiled right back, glancing down at his bare, wiggling toes even as he grinned. He'd do almost anything to make his daddy look at him with that sense of unspoken approval.

The click-clack of sewing needles from the other room. A sign that it was almost their bedtime, and Washington Becker Sr. had best get on with it. His father sighed, and began, a deep resounding bass.

"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."

His brother and sister finally fell quiet. Something about that voice, the care with which he intoned every word, demanded their attention. Despite their proclivity, his father somehow always managed to skip passages that dwelt on sinning and damnation. He chose his reading material, carefully editing, presenting them with a world filled with hope, love, happiness. An elder Wash would one day wonder why he bothered. After all, it often seemed like it was more natural for things to turn out poorly - for people to be cruel. But still, he read to them these verses, as if he could change the world through his goodwill alone. As if his faith could truly move mountains.

"If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing."

His vision faded to static, like a bad TV signal, but that gravelly voice persisted. Wash opened his eyes, and he was kneeling at the foot of his bed at Deus. There was a small wooden cross on the wall, a couple of sticks crudely tied together with grass. It was his first night on the island and he was scared, scared of what he'd done - what he'd left behind. Had he made the right decision? Would something terrible happen at home in his absence, or because of it? What was this place, and what was his purpose?

So he prayed. As he gazed upon the homemade crucifix, his father's words came back to him. They reassured him, in that moment of doubt. He didn't need to know the future, and no man truly could. He didn't even know if he truly believed in the cause of the people who had taken him in - but he knew his own heart.

In his heart, he knew he had left for love, not in spite of it.

"If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing."

He lay in his bunk again, shaking. Crying. He could see the dead, empty eyes of Julie staring back at him, every time he drifted off to sleep. Crying not from fear, or disgust, but guilt - guilt that he was more worried about sharing the same fate, guilt that he and the others hadn't arrived sooner. Guilt that he hadn't known her better. That he didn't know why she loved those bright colors, or about her penchant for baking, or what had made her put her life at risk, that she might die in such a horrifying fashion. At what price she had sold her freedom.

What would become of him, if he'd died in her place? If Washington Becker Jr. passed away, would it have been worth it in the end? Did she feel regret, in her final moments? Would he?

His father's voice, in the dark. A baby's laughter. Daniel. He finally fell into a restless sleep. He could keep going, knowing that his baby boy was out there. Knowing that he gave his own life, to ensure another's. If he could make this world just a little bit safer, take away just one of the shadows in the dark- he'd give the world.

 "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs."

A phone call. Wash, jittery with excitement. It had been a long time since he last spoke to his father- there had been an argument. He didn't remember what, something petty probably. Something about his mother, her hobbies. It wasn't right, he had said. Wasn't good, made them all look like fools - and he knew immediately that that wasn't what he'd meant to say, even though he'd felt it. For the first time, Wash saw his father's face crumble in disappointment. Wash had been too ashamed to call since.

Until today. When he heard the reassuring rumble of his father on the line, he stumbled, almost didn't say anything, almost hung up, but then-

"Son? Son, it's so good of you to call."

He'd smiled then, that wide, childish grin he'd forgotten in his years away from home. He found himself searching for his toes, as he told his father the good news. They were expecting a baby boy. He was going to be a grandfather. He felt as if he could almost see that warm, small smile again on that aging face, as his father said words that had meant the world to him.

"Oh, son. I only hope he's as good a boy as you've always been to us."


"Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

The images came faster now, and in no particular order - Amphi, smiling, hand on his arm, he almost forgetting why she was here or what was to come. Jerry, glasses askew, firing into shadows at abandon while Wash knelt in front of him, protecting his friend from the creatures that seemed to crawl into their heads and play with their every doubt. Jerry, Sasha at his side, with Rin and Rep and Robert and Jude and everyone else who'd made it out to the music club, to sing and blush and applaud at their fellow's talents. Al and Syd and Sasha, fighting the monsters in the Antartic - and later the strangely muddled memories of penguins swimming and fighting and flying underwater, carefree even as the shadow of a whale eclipsed their antics. Of Madison, and his blind conviction that she too had chosen to do the right thing, despite the consequences.

The letter he wrote to Denise, secured in a little notebook on his desk, edges curling from frequent handling. Ink fading here and there beneath the stains of tears.

And over all that, his father's voice.

 "Love never fails."

It was dark, so dark. Wash was alone, floating in a formless void save that rumbling bass.

"But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away."

Sound, images, sensation - it all folded away in the wake of his soothing utterance.

"For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

Wash blinked. He was sitting on that threadbare couch again, but he was taller; the perspective was different. His good eye saw fine, but- he raised his hand to his left eye and found it swollen shut. He wore the is same dusty pair of jeans, knees caked in sand that he'd passed out in. His coat, with its strange gold embroidery was there too, scarf trailing over it and the t-shirt underneath. In the palm of his hand he cupped something - a tiny alligator keychain.

His eyes slowly travelled to that worn, old armchair, scared at what he might - or might not - find.

The elder Washington Becker's hair had long since faded to grey, and he'd exchanged his black horn rimmed glasses for big, brown bifocals. But that leather-elbowed smoking jacket was the same, flannel pajamas peeking from underneath. Their eyes met, and his mouth curved into a tiny cresent, deep laugh lines casting long shadows on his rugged features as the crinkles around his eyes contracted with the effort of that one expression. That quiet, proud joy.

He closed the bible in his lap, pages rustling ever so gently and together they recited that final verse, Wash's own voice choked with emotion.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love."

Voices in the dark. The candle had slipped down now, further - many minutes had passed. He could feel Sally now, concious; aware. Wash simply lay there. Watching as the flame flickered and reflected off a pair of old yellowing bifocals. Waiting.

"But the greatest of these - is love."  

[Bittiface]

The screeching of rusty metal nearly made Otto scream; instead causing him to inhale sharply and stand up. Was that just one of the other hunters? An answer came soon enough. While seeing Medea again was not what he wanted, the light was. A candle helped illuminate the dark room. He could see the others now, some of them looking worse for wear.
He didn't feel nearly as frightened now that he could see again.

The offered food was met with a solid glare. It made him hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat yet since he got up that morning, but taking anything from a Horsemen felt wrong. Luckily for him, he didn't have to dwell.
Medea spoke, and soon approached Wash. Otto focused less on what she was saying, and more on the fact her mere presence toppled the older trainee. Her words, while fuzzy to the once again terrified Otto, sounded less like an offer and more of a scare tactic. He didn't want to make any deals with this race of creatures. He wanted nothing to do with them at all.

The small blonde's heartbeat started speeding up, his eyes wide and focused on the approaching Lost Clans priestess. He backed up one step at a time, stiffly and rigidly. All at once, as she steadily came closer, Otto's body failed him. His mind went black, and he collapsed to the ground instantly. It was almost like his life, his soul, had just been sucked from his body. He now lay there motionless, still.

~~~

A young boy of about age 6, maybe 7, lay in bed wide awake. Under his pillow was a small bag with a baby tooth. Wide blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, alight with a soft blue light from his nightlight. He wanted to meet the tooth fairy. His parents promised him that if he kept his lost tooth under his pillow, when he awoke, it would be replaced with a dollar.
The young boy, Otto, couldn't sleep. He was much too excited. What did the tooth fairy look like?

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Otto gasped, thinking it must be the tooth fairy coming for him on a magic motorcycle. He grinned, an incisor missing from his smile. The small boy leapt out of bed and scuttled to the big window in his bedroom. The curtains were wide open, allowing him to look out into the view of his town. Vast fields of farms, trees and other houses lined the horizon. Storm clouds and lighting crept closer from far away, the rumble of thunder and wind getting stronger.
Otto frowned, backing away from the window. One loud crack sent him squealing back to his bed. Grabbing his teddy bear, his held it close, staring in morbid, fearful curiosity out at the window. The winds became stronger, the old house beginning to quake under pressure. The lights flickered, the walls moaned. Lightning crashed, thunder roared. Otto shook, clutching his bear in hopes it would keep him safe.

Another strong wind blew through, and with it, the lights went out.

Otto's room became pitch black, save for the occasional flashed of lightning. His breathing became erratic, his eyes now focused on one dark corner of his bedroom. With every flash of lightning, something seemed amiss in that one corner. Something changed. Something crawled. The longer Otto focused, the more something seemed to be in that room with him.

One more crack of thunder, and something cold grabbed the back of his neck.

Otto screamed, a shrill, loud and terrified scream. He leapt out of bed and booked it out of his room, down the stairs and into his parents bedroom. "MAMA! PAPA!!!" He wailed, in full blown tears and sobs as he crawled onto their bed. "Something's in my room!!"
A groan from his father, a scoff from his mother. "Otto, it's just a thunder storm. Go back to bed." She scorned, tired from a rather trying funeral she had directed during the day.
"No, it's not! I felt it! It grabbed me! Mama, please let me sleep here." He cried, pushing at her shoulder, the grip on his bear still strong. His father huffed and got up, pulling the small boy into is arms. "Otto, how many times do we have to do this?" He scolded, taking Otto back to his bedroom. "But Pa---"
"No buts! I'm sick and tired of you waking us up in the middle of the night over nothing." He set the young boy down into his own bed, hurriedly tucking him in and storming back out. "Goodnight, Otto!" he yelled, shutting the door firmly behind him. Otto cried for him to come back. Cried and wailed, hid under his covers and sobbed. No one was going to save him from the monster except his teddy bear.

~~~

Otto, age 8, had stacked up the brownie points with his Grandpa. A whole summer of gardening chores and mowing the lawn had landed him in the good books. He'd always had a soft spot for his Grandfather, and he for Otto. It was a particularly busy summer for his parents, so to keep out of the way, Otto stayed him Grandpa at his house some miles away from home.
It was now late August. He'd soon be going home. But not without a present. Grandpa Graves never said why they were going to town, simply telling Otto he needed his help with something before taking him back home. They stopped at a music store, leading his grandson inside with a knowing smile.
"Why are we here?" Otto asked curiously, looking in awe at the instruments displayed. "Well, I said I'd treat you to something if you were a good boy this summer." He replied, looking down at the small blonde with a smile.
Otto stared back a moment before gasping. "I can get something here!?" He asked loudly, already shaking with excitement. His grandfather laughed and nodded. "Anything you want. Grandpa's treat. I'll even talk your parents into getting you lessons." He winked and began browsing the shop himself.

Otto nearly hyperventilated, hesitantly approaching every display with awe and wonder. A guitar? Maybe a bass? One after another, Otto explored, until he stopped at one display. A brilliant display of bright orange drums, sparkling in the spot light.

"Drums? Ooooh, I should have known. Your parents are going to haaaaate me." His grandfather laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischievous delight. Otto grinned happily, eager to bring home the toy that would give his hard working parents headaches for life.

~~~

Age 14. While most kids his age were in school, Otto was once again condemned to homeschooling. He'd been home schooled most of his childhood, but when grade 9 came along, his parents attempted to put him in an out of town High School. Only a month or two in, and he'd been suspended twice, and now expelled. He'd been so socially awkward around anyone not his family, he ended up butting heads with both students and teachers. Especially teachers. It was nothing new. His bad attitude had been getting steadily worse since he was 12.

He did come out of it with one good thing. A girlfriend. Kimberly Smith. Otto had very few friends growing up, outside of his cousins. How he managed to get a girlfriend was pure luck. Both of them butted heads with their parents for various reasons, and they both enjoyed similar things. Almost all his time was spent with her. Any time she wasn't at school or being kept under lock and key by her parents, they were together.
There was very little to do in his town. She lived the next town over. It also had very little for teenagers to do. They would hang out and talk, play video games, or interact as a couple in ways only possible when no one was home to catch them.

By the time he was 16, they were near inseparable. But their constant disappearances into the city for days on end, and other general behaviours of two very bored and in love teenagers. Constant pressure had been building between Kimberly and her parents, as was with Otto and his. Each side insisting their relationship was ruining them. Kim's parents had high hopes of their child becoming a doctor, but her time spent with otto had her unfocused and missing school. Otto's parents insisted his constant absence from home was de-railing him from his home-studies and their ambition to train him to take over the family business.
Kim insisted they ignore them. After all, they loved each other, right?

The fairy tale ended one January evening. Kim was under more pressure than ever, and during a rather quiet night with Otto, she broke the news. She wanted to end their relationship and focus on her studies. Keeping her parents happy, and ensuring her future.
Otto protested, tried to get her to reconsider. Begged her they could make it work. They could see each other a little less. He could try and help her when she studied. Eventually he got angry, yelling and degrading her choice.
"I don't need you anyway! You love your parents more than me! What did they ever do for you?"
He piled on more and more harsh words until she cried too, slapping the distraught boy across the face an ending it indefinitely.

He'd over done it. If he had been civil, they could have at least remained friends. But he'd destroyed that bridge, and his pride wouldn't let him apologize or even talk to her again.

The closest he'd ever let someone get to his soft side, the best friend he'd ever had. He'd just pushed her so far away that it left a gaping hole inside.

~~~

The Trance continued. Memories of his new life at Deus flickered like candlelight. Some of it was vicious and horrifying, others warm and welcoming. His first month there had been difficult. He was abrasive as ever to almost all he encountered.
Otto was thankful though. He felt lucky. Despite his attitude, he'd made friends in Eva and Reine. While the latter seemed to have vanished, Eva remained. She was always perky, willing to sped time with him. In some ways she reminded him of Kim. In other ways she was more like a big sister that he never had.

There was also Bix and Dakota. He'd butted heads with both. He'd broken Dakota's nose, lashed out at Bix on numerous occasions. Slowly but surely, he'd been loosening up. Allowing people into his closed up heart. If he'd had more time, maybe he could be better friends with them. Have real guy friends for once in his life.

Clerise also flickered in his mind. She was one of few people he'd never fought with. Her upbeat and loud personality over-shone his grouchy demeanour. Her coddling of him was on a similar level to Eva's. His more treasured memory being the time they'd done gymnastics in the training field together. While he played it off as an indifferent activity to kill time, he'd really enjoyed himself.

Others flashed in his mind. Ceres, who he bickered with about as much as he did with Gale. While he insisted he hated so many people, there wasn't an ounce of hate in his heart. He was just shy, lonely. Forever building up walls so he didn't have to expose the fragile core inside.

Deus had been a home to him. A home he missed, almost as much as he missed his grandfather, who'd died when Otto was almost 10. That loss hd made Otto die inside, becoming bitter and reclusive.
Slowly, he'd been letting others in. Slowly he'd been allowing it.

Otto wanted to go home. He didn't want to be all alone anymore.  

[bipolar bee]

Sasha watched in horror as her friends and colleagues fell to the ground before her - until there was nobody left until Ami - and then there was only blissful darkness, a silence that spread into eternity.

And then the memories came.

------

"You do not try hard enough. Sometimes I think you enjoy seeing your papa upset. You cannot put the brushes away wet, Sasha. You cannot put the brushes away wet, because the paint will dry and it will ruin the bristles. Like this one."

He holds up a battered, wooden-handled brush. The bristles are glued together with dry paint.

"And now your papa must buy a new brush."

He reaches out, delivers a sharp slap against her cheek.

"Are you listening, Sasha?"

Of course she is. She's always listened to every word he's ever spoken; they're valuable, each harshly rasped word more precious than the last. Sometimes she wants to scream at him - when he's in a furious rage, leaning in close. His breath is hot on her cheeks, his spittle reeks of alcohol as it dots her face.

She wants to scream at him right now. She wants to explain her story, her reasons for not rinsing out the brush - but she doesn't. She tucks them away. Deal with them later. Now isn't the time, she'll only upset him more. So what if she forgot to rinse out the brush because she saw Nannygoat breaking out of the pen. That would only be her fault too - and another slap against her already stinging cheek. Nothing she does is ever good enough, no matter how hard she tries - nothing brings a smile to his face any longer.

She's almost given up hope that she'll ever see a smile again.

------

"Papa, put your weight on me. I'll help you."

He lashes out at her, papery yellowed skin and liver spots. Nothing remains of the stronger man she remembers from her younger years. He's skin and bones and sunken flesh. One thing has remained unchanged - his constant looks of disapproval. Those remain the same.

She spends hours a day caring for him. An hour in the morning brushing his hair, his teeth - but only if he asks.

He always asks.

Play him some music. Sing him a song. Make his breakfast - scotch on the rocks these days, or cheap store-bought wine - before tending to her chores outside. Feed the goat, milk the goat. Tend to the chickens. Water the garden. Check on her papa - if he's sleeping, prepare her own breakfast.

She doesn't eat much. The house is a stifling mixture of death and liquor. Booze and urine. He won't allow her to help him bathe, and he doesn't have the wherewithall to care for himself. He's stopped caring at this point - and every blatant offer of assistance is brutally declined.

"You can't even take care of yourself, stupid girl. Why would I let you help me? Bring me the bottle, I can pour my own. Get out of my sight. I don't need your help, idiot. I don't need your pity. Fool."

Box it up. File it away. Don't let him see the pain he causes. It will only upset him more - and that's the last thing she wants to do.

------

They're watching her from the corner. They know she knows, but she's too leaded down with chilling fear to scream, to shriek, to call for help. They're persistant - hovering around her papa's sleeping form. He's been restless lately. She wants to tell him about the shadows that hang over him like angry dark clouds. He's been mostly unresponsive these days - sleep has taken him deep into the realm of dreams, and she spends most of her time watching him.

Watching them.

They're persistant, shimmering in a strange half-opaque reality. She's struck out at one with a broom - it does nothing, merely shifts and rumbles before once more hovering near her papa's chair. She's too afraid to sleep, too terrified to leave his side. It's a terrifying existance that draws on and on. A tug-of-war, a game. Chilly, constant whispers tickle up her spine - it's hard to focus on anything - not even her music helps.

Exhaustion is a thick, weighty shroud.

She sleeps propped up in a chair. Unlike her usual time of rest, she does not sleep fretlessly. She is tortured by dreams of gaping maws, toothy grins and claws that slash and tear. She is plagued by visions of moving mists that take on humanoid shapes as they blot out her vision.

She wakes up screaming. The screams rouse her papa.

He is furious she's woken him. Anything nearby becomes a perpetual missile - glasses, books, pens, notepads. A mug clips her shoulder. She lets out a cry - this infuriates him more.

He calls her selfish. He calls her lazy. He calls her worthless, ugly, stupid.

She wants to tell him about the monsters. She wants to tell him that she's been looking out for him. She yearns and aches to explain her fear. More than anything, she desires contact - a fatherly hug, a gentle kiss to her temple - anything to show that he cares. These gestures never come - only more pain as a glass snifter catches her on the hip. There is nothing left to do but leave. She stops near the garden to retrieve her flute from its hiding spot near the watering can. She doesn't keep it in the house anymore for fear that he might sell it.

She runs. She runs. She runs.

The music doesn't help. Not this time. She does what she's always done. Fold up the hurt and the pain. Tuck it away. Save it for another time. Forget it, if she can.

She can't. She can never forget, no matter how desperately she tries.

She yearns to scream at the sky, the cheerful blue sky with the white patchy clouds. She doesn't.

She aches to fall to the ground, to cry and sob until she no longer can. She doesn't.

She dreams of escape. She prays to God for guidance, for help, to remind herself that she's never truly alone no matter how desperately alone she feels - that He is always there, watching over her.

It feels like she's trying to convince herself.

She sleeps beneath the stars that night with nothing but the flower-scented summer breeze to warm her.

Her papa dies four days later, alone.

So much regret. So much choking, sour regret. She should have been there in his final moments. She should have done more for him. She hadn't done enough, and now he's dead - he's dead on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit, in a pool of his own urine. Was he frightened when he took those final bile-soaked breaths? Could he feel himself dying? Did he think of her in those last moments?

She'll never know.

------

Sasha regained consciousness, rolling to her side with a soft, choked groan. The room was still illuminated, and she eyed the food with disinterest. She was never going to get out of here. There was nothing left for her to do but sit and patienly wait for whatever the horsemen had planned for her - and for the others. There was no point in sitting and thinking of ways to escape.

There was no point in anything.

Sasha burst into tears.