Step on the Glass, Staple Your Tongue [Semi-Open]

[hearthebell]

Who: L, Myr, Niles, and open to other CR
When: The night of the new moons
Where: Sleeping! In bed.
What: Dreamwalking. L's brain isn't a super friendly place following Niles' attack and feigned death, so with the new moons' amped-up effects on Witches, he's prone to nocturnal wandering. He's seeking more peaceful pastures and eventually stumbling upon one very significant and tantalizing discovery.
Warnings: Dream-violence? Will update as threads progress.



[Light as a feather, stiff as a board.

There are no safeguards, tonight, aside from his Bonded sleeping next to him. No harness or net or springy cushions protect against a nasty fall, and if the nightmares of the past several weeks are any kind of prophetic pattern, L will wish sorely for protection once he finally shakes the heavy burden of the insomniac. It should be rest and a reprieve; instead, it's only been a different kind of struggle.

The line between waking and dreams used to be more ambiguous as the shadows behind his eyes melted into color and images. These days, the second he can run his tongue smoothly over the roof of his mouth without pain, or he glances at a hand with long and familiar (if slightly translucent) fingers, L knows that he's securely under; unfortunately, that's where the "secure" part ends, lately, because what used to be solid ice beneath his bare feet is unstable, split, and streaked in red. Massive ridges and fins briefly surface through the breaks, lightning periodically cracks a starless sky, and getting away becomes, again, the primary objective. Stranded on his patch of ice that seems to grow smaller every night he makes it here in the first place, there's no option but to step off the edge into the restless, chilled water.

He sinks quickly. While the facsimile of fingers grace his hands, his brain is learning the slow and painful lesson of remembering not to count on their presence in any meaningful or material way. Water slips through them faster than any sieve, but the real danger in this dream isn't drowning. It's the shapes and shadows closer to the surface, tearing up the ice, shredding the other life in this lake to the point where there's almost more blood than water. He tastes the iron and the scales as he draws a deep, trusting lungful, and when he exhales and opens his eyes, he's either a guest, or an intruder.

It all depends on the dreamer.]

Comments

is other CR

[blankpieces]

[In Near's dreams, he isn't a monster. At least not physically. He sits as he always has, in a darkened room where he can't tell where the walls begin and end. He is the singular focus, a pool of light just big enough for him and the object in front of him to stand out.

He stares back at his reflection in an old TV monitor, some late 80s vintage model with antennae skewed on the top. It's a much clearer reflection than it has any right to be, given the surface it's on, but dreams don't pay as much attention to those sorts of restrictions. Near looks at himself free of scales and thinks perhaps there's something wrong, something missing. He reaches a hand out to touch the device and it comes alive with static, causing him to pull back. His reflection is gone.

Only when he can no longer see himself does he take the chance to look around the darkened room, but with nothing else to see his eyes soon return to the white noise. Will the screen clear up at any point? Is there something he's supposed to be seeing? Should he adjust the antennae?

He gets up on his knees, but that simple movement isn't as easy as it should be. His legs aren't cooperating beneath him. Still he keeps trying and after a couple attempts is able to raise himself high enough to take one of the antennae in his hands. When he moves it, however, nothing changes. The boy lets out a noise of frustration, and it leaves his lips in a hiss.]

[hearthebell]

[L hasn't spoken to Near since just after Mello's departure, and truly, perhaps that's for the best. He's well-aware that his similarities with Near have a tendency to encroach on comfort, causing more abrasion than harmony no matter how amiable the intentions might be on either side. Perhaps it was better for both of them to be allowed space to breathe, and space for the individuality that their close association with one another didn't always permit back home, even long after L's death.

In short... Near may not have heard of L's altercation with Niles, the resulting maiming, and Niles' (apparent) later death. Or some version may have traveled to him through the grapevine, if he was particularly keen on what news the guard let slip and spread or gossip had reached the toy shop. He tries to make no assumptions as he approaches the diminutive, white-haired figure in the dark room. He's easy to spot, fairly illuminated as though under his own spotlight with an older television, static and serpentine specters in the glass.

L is a lucid dreamer; there are moments of forgetfulness, of course, as one's mind shifts and melds depending on the demands of any specific dream, but a measure of control is prerequisite for traveling this way. Loss of control would be dangerous; it could equate to loss of self, and all sorts of troubling implications for the mind and body and the vital connection between the two of them. For now, though... L should determine if this is in fact Near's dream, and not merely someone else's containing him. After that... determining the level of awareness he has would be useful, since L intends to stay for a bit of time, take a breather from his own more turbulent night visions.]

Eli?

[He uses the name Near has chosen in Aefenglom. The first small test, and also the one that gently announces his presence in this most private of places.]

[blankpieces]

Eli? [Near's thoughts echo in the darkness, his mind opened now that L has stepped into it.] Ah. That's me.

[He straightens up the best he can where he's sitting, peering at the other man around the edge of the television.] This is my room, L. [He says of the dark nothing surrounding them.] It was never yours.

[The static on the television is slowly becoming audible. Near gives the top of the box a firm tap with his fist but that does little to clear it. If anything it only makes it worse. He doesn't try again. Even if it already appears to be broken he wouldn't want to mess it up further. It has to be important in some way.

L's presence is more bothersome. Even though he's still standing a distance away it feels as though Near's personal space has been broken into. Somewhere past this darkness is a line of caution tape that his former mentor has lifted and stepped under. Ignored. He knows far less of what the other man has been up to lately than he should, but L isn't a case to be studied. What he gets up to isn't Near's concern anymore.]

What do you want? [A thought again, unspoken as Near stares at static.]

[hearthebell]

[Near's answer is startling, if only because it seems so very prescient under these circumstances. L could be a creation of Near's dream, after all, rather than an intruder in it... but this is Aefenglom, and their very first encounter rather set the precedent for more like it. Paradoxically, it would almost be more logical to expect the more fantastical option. Often true, here, and probably a headache for both detectives' similar thought processes to grow accustomed to.]

I never wanted it.

[Mello would hear it as an insult, almost certainly, even a slap in the face. Near might hear reassurance, instead, that there is nothing here to be defended or fought for.]

I'm on the move, and I won't stay long...

[Promising a swift end to his presence, is becoming an established pattern in their rapport. Regardless of his sentiment's sincerity, however, he rather must stay for at least a little while, like something hunted taking breathless pause in an available refuge.]

Your television's not cooperating.

[Superfluous observation, with an implied offer for something L's not even certain he can do, yet.]

[blankpieces]

[It's not that Near recognizes L as an intruder in his dreamscape - or even that he's in a dream to begin with. Sometimes his dreams are lucid, but most of the time that's unclear to him. He says what he does to L on a general level. This is a space he recognizes as his own, whether it has the familiarity of the SPK headquarters or not, and his mentor doesn't belong. He should be free of that influence in this place.

So he's left uncomfortable, with only a vague notion of why.

He taps at the screen, and with each tap the static shuts off for a brief moment.]

The image isn't clear. [He mutters this out loud, possibly to himself, possibly to L, possibly it doesn't matter. The light around him dims slightly, flickers like a bulb about to go out. There is a scurrying sound in the darkness, something small running around just out of sight.]

I don't want to miss the show.

[He's not sure what show he's supposed to be watching, but the television has to be here for a reason.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[Niles' dreams are not unilaterally horrifying, but unsettling and stressful is the best he can really hope for. Tonight he stands in a library. It's lit by wall mounted lanterns, and there's an oppressive, labyrinthine, endless feel to it. The shelves are all far too tall, and the books are stacked and shoved onto the shelves at cockeyed angles, leaving gaps where he can peer through to the adjacent aisles. There's sounds of quills on paper, unintelligible quiet murmuring of unseen scholars. The titles on the books shift and change, never when you're directly looking at them, but letters morph and warp in his periphery.

Under his left arm he carries a book. Encyclopedia Magica: L Volume IV. Leo needs this book. He'd asked for it hours ago, but which way was his study? What section of the castle library was he even in? Was Leo in his study, or was his lord pouring over a scribe's table somewhere in the back. He tries to read the spines of the books around him, orient himself, but nothing here is alphabetized. He's on edge and frustrated. The whispering begins to sound sinister to him, but then he glimpses the tail end of a cape passing by through the gaps in the books. Relief washes over him breifly and he sprints to the end of his aisle, turning rapidly down the next only to find it empty.]

Lord Leo I've brought...Milord?

[It happens again, and again. Sometimes he gets to see the back of Leo's head before the prince vanishes, and no amount of calling after him gets him to turn around or stop. The urge to just shove over an entire shelf and clear his line of sight is growing. But then, who would the books and shelves fall onto and crush if not his elusive master?]

[hearthebell]

[Strangely, of the scapes L's traveled through this evening, this is one of the least troubling ones, at least initially. He's at home among the winding, endless shelves; the books are comforting, the musty smell is one that speaks to his own memories of a new academic environment and the safety and seclusion that came with it. Even if it's not the neatest library he's ever seen, with books slanted and askew in the towering shelves, he could feel at home here. Especially comparatively; especially lately.

He hears a voice, skin-crawlingly familiar, among the whispers. He chooses a different path as it gets closer, for the moment, preferring to remain unseen. This could be someone else dreaming of that voice, after all, or...

...or.

His eyes narrow as he peers through the gaps in the books, watches the figure's fruitless pursuit. It shouldn't be possible but he mouths two words under his breath. Premature; still delicious.

Found you.]

[hearthebell]

[L studies Near for a few moments, in this place that isn't is, where he isn't welcome and shouldn't be and still lingers. Fear of what's outside, as well as a desire to alleviate the palpable frustration in this room keep him here... as well as, by now, the morbid curiosity of what Near expects to see on that television.]

It would be a shame if you missed it. If you wanted, I could try to take a look.

[A hesitant step closer, because spooking his successor isn't his goal.]

I'll see what I can do, and then be on my way?

[An offer, a promise. A bargain.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[Niles' right ear flicks back. One of the whispers? For just a second, had felt like a threat. Less ambient somehow. Being on his right side means he has to do a full pivot to try and look in that direction, and when he does the room goes quiet. At the far end of a long, crooked aisle is Leo, standing, waiting. Niles runs, the clack of hooves for some reason suddenly breaking the silence.

But when he finally comes close to the figure, it's just a massive chess piece, a familiar one. A pawn, black marble with gold accents. It's more humanoid that a standard pawn, but still recognizable, a kind of angled silhouette. He feels a harsh pang of longing, one of the few kinds of pain even he detested. This was a figure from the chess set he'd bought Leo for his last birthday. Would he ever lose at chess to his prince again? Had he permanently lost his chance to ever win against him?]

[hearthebell]

[L's feet are nimble on the floor, now, following along as he learns the book-lined corridors and where they're likely to go. Much like a discerning conversation, he can learn someone through their dreams, with their fears and frustrations on ever-clearer display in unexpected ways that always start to make sense, given time.

Because it's a dream, and because he's a Witch? The memory of fingers pales, in comparison to the power he's starting to hold here. There must be more chess pieces; each board comes with 32, after all.

Another piece, alabaster white with silver accents, glides along the floor in a long line, then turns ninety degrees to traverse a shorter one in a very distinctive, very significant letter's shape. The end of the journey brings the Knight directly behind the pawn, and the horse turns so that the humanoid rider grasps a fistful of the the pawn's hair, and begins methodically sawing at his neck. Detached, nearly tranquil; it's a necessary procedure, after all, one that brings him no joy but must be done.]

[blankpieces]

[For a moment, Near leans in closer and wraps his arms around the television as though L might try and take it from him. Then he seems to think better, embarrassed by those actions, and moves away - though he doesn't go far. His legs are still being unresponsive.]

What would you fix that I can't? [A thought again, hollow and breathless.]

[The scurrying sound has stopped, but in the darkness some distance behind and above Near, a single rectangular monitor screen appears. It hangs from nothing in the air, but comes to life with a single image of a fancy black letter L on a white background. Near doesn't seem to notice it.

At the other man's approach, the screen on the smaller television begins flickering rapidly.]

Don't break it.

hello friend

[prayerwheel]

[ Azura's dreams vary wildly, but considering everything that's been going on, the one she's having tonight is a bit darker.

He'll find himself in attendance of a fun party, how nice. It's in a grand ballroom that has no ceiling, showing the night sky above. There's festive music being played live, though in no recognizable language, that the crowd is clapping and dancing to. In the middle of the crowd is the lady in question, dancing in a more ritualistic way.

Specifically, Azura is dancing with a man and a woman who both have white hair and no face. ]

<3

[hearthebell]

[Still wandering, L hasn't yet encountered Niles in a dream tonight. But he certainly thinks of the chimera; it's impossible not to associate him with Azura, considering the central focus on their mutual acquaintance when they'd spoken previously.

He looks very shabby for the setting, wearing clothes that align closest with his self-concept. A plain white t-shirt with long sleeves that is slightly too small, and a pair of baggy, faded blue jeans that are slightly too big and slide down a bit on his bony hips. His feet are bare on the ballroom's cool, hard floor, in some danger of being stepped on for the moment, but not if he makes an effort to get closer to the perimeter.

Or closer to the dreamer, herself. He makes that his goal, trying to glimpse the faces of the white-haired man and woman Azura's dancing with.]

[hearthebell]

[L's doesn't proceed a step closer while Near is hugging the machine protectively. Best to handle this delicately, even if he has no intention of taking or conquering. Near might never have been intimidated openly by the shadow he cast, but there was no denying that it was a formidable one, ever-present in the halls of his childhood as that overhead screen is present now. Mello may have pined, after L's death, but for the one who actually ascended to take his place, might it have been a bit of a relief, that the record was set and the legacy was someone else's to carry forward on his own terms?]

I won't know until I've seen.

[His voice is quiet, even gentle.]

Maybe nothing, and if that's the case, I swear I won't touch it. If I can, though... I want to leave something better than I found it.

[Perhaps just to prove that it's possible.]

[prayerwheel]

[ Lucky for him, none of the people in this dream have shoes on. None of them. Including Azura and her dance partners. She never wears shoes. Small world.

Well, they literally don't have faces, just blank skin where a face should be. Dream logic. Based on body type and other parts of his appearance, the man is probably Niles, but he's not a chimera at the moment, nor does he have an eyepatch. Normal human features. The woman has wavy hair and pointed ears. It's Corrin, if he's met her at all.

Azura catches a glimpse of a person in the crowd who's not wearing party attire and slows down her footwork. When she gets closer, she comes to a stop. ]

You aren't dressed for this, you know. You stand out like a sore thumb.

[cyclopticsadist]

[The pawn too is still and blank, but molten gold runs from the forming crack. He stares, mesmerized by the gorgeous brutality unfolding in front of him. When the pawn's head is finally severed, the trunk of the piece falls to the ground with an echoing crash. Niles jumps at the noise, but doesn't otherwise move, eye wide and alarmed fixed intently on the gold dripping onto the floor from the decapitated chunk of marble still held aloft by the knight. And then the rider swings his arm, tossing the solid stone head right at Niles' chest.

He tries to catch it, but his own right arm fails to react properly. It's motion is delayed and it jerks strangely when it finally does respond. The solid hunk of stone hits him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Reflexively he drops the book he's carrying, his left arm making up for what his right failed to do and catching it, cradling the heavy object against his smarting ribs.

The encyclopedia hits the floor on its spine. The covers part and across the floor an assortment of slender pale fingers roll, leaving overlapping trails of silver blood in their wake.]

[blankpieces]

[Near drags his only half-responsive body away from the device by scooting backwards on his hands and elbows. L will need room to work. As much as he hates the idea of turning something of his over to the other man, there's also a part of him that's curious to see what his mentor will do. He's never been able to see him in action, after all.

The monitor continues to flicker as L comes closer, finally fixing on a pattern where it blinks on and off like a caution light. It's not until the man is right in front of it that it will shut off completely, showing nothing but an empty blackness much like that surrounding them.

Then that darkness is replaced by a pair of bright red snake-like eyes. Above them, more monitors appear in a dome-like formation - inches apart from each other and suspended by nothing. All of them light up with the same image as the first one, until they're surrounded by the initial.

From the little television, the red eyes become a part of a serpentine head that presses itself free of the confines of the box. A large adder in monochrome scales the same colors as those visible on Near outside of this dream pulls itself free and looms over L's head.]

[hearthebell]

[As L watches, overlarge eyes stretch wider, grow even rounder in his pale face. Because those look familiar; those are familiar, in a way that makes the ghostly facsimiles on his hands ache with recollection and fondness for what was lost. It comes back to him, periodically, in dreams: the notion that his self-concept and the reality of his physical form no longer align accurately, and there are reminders, adjustments, moments where his mind coaxes him toward accepting that those fingers have long since been eaten, or destroyed, or at the very least decayed down to bone.

To see them again challenges that. It's the only logical reaction to want them, now. There are more pieces; he can use this. The grinding of heavy marble is audible past the shelves, growing ever closer. There's a tall and imperious Bishop making its way toward Niles, eyes gleaming past the unevenly-placed books, full of judgment and pious contempt. The scepter in his hands glows at the tip, hot and dangerous, as he approaches.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[Niles' snarls feral panic and rage surging within him. Without the use of his right arm, lobbing the pawn's head at the bishop would be difficult, but even with improvised weapons his aim is pretty good. He crouches, hooves grippy on the tile below him, then heaves, using his body to provide the launching power and letting his arm do the finer trajectory work.

After the fact, Niles' tail lashes back and forth across the aisle to help him rebalance. His stinger knocks books off the shelf, which topple and lead his attention back to the floor. The fingers. They were causing this somehow, he needed them, he needed to destroy them. The hot glow from the bishop's spear is matched by the fury in Niles' eye. He turns, leaning down and scooping up as many fingers as he can hold in his one cooperating hand. That'll have to be enough, because the scrape of marble on stone is still bearing down on him.

From his hunched position over the scattered digits he leaps up and to the left. The initial jump gives him enough height to plant a hoof on the solid slab of oak that was the third shelf, and from there it's easy to vault over the knight and sprint away from all of them, silver droplets leaving an inconsistent but bright and obvious trail.]

[hearthebell]

[The two of them have a shared objective; that much is clear. All L has to do is note the way Niles' gaze also goes to the incriminating digits, evidence marking him guilty, pieces of an enemy that were slowly unraveling the life and sanity of the one who has to exist without them, now. It just became a contest, in other words, and L is determined not to lose.

Niles is able to grab four of the digits, leaving six behind. The bishop gives furious chase, turning and following the trail left behind, and L is able to step around to pick through the remaining six. On the shelf to his left, responding to the notion for its necessity, is a jar of the sort of parchment paste used to bind books, and he works quickly and carefully to reattach what was taken from him. They are a perfect fit, neatly replacing his ghost fingers. He's misisng a left ring finger, a right thumb, middle, and pinky, but the illusory specters pick up the slack, and he's able to wrap them all around the knight's sword, taking it, dragging it along through the trail of blood Niles left in his wake.

Meanwhile, while the bishop pursues Niles up ahead, the chimera will find his way blocked by a great stone tower, a rook, cornering him. He'll have to vault over another shelf, if he can manage it with his current levels of stamina (and perhaps they're flagging; that feeling of struggling to move as though through heavy water might be setting in). Otherwise, facing the bishop might be his only option, and the sound of that sword dragging along the tiled floor is a slower, but extremely steady approach.]

[hearthebell]

[Near's apparent difficulty moving is far from reassuring; that being said, it's not truly surprising. Dreams have a way of trying to reconcile, with varying and volatile degrees of success, the reality of the physical world with the way one sees or remembers themselves. It's true for L; the way the pale light cast off by the screens in the dark room shine through his own translucent fingers are evidence enough of the fact that coming to terms with what is lost, and changed, is a process. But that's not what matters, now; what matters is that he is being granted access, in spite of Near's obvious reluctance.

He is careful to note the shifts and changes in the patterns of lights, though he hasn't seen an indication yet of what they might mean. He expects a certain logic even in the symbolism contained by Near's dreams, which might be what subconsciously slows his steps, makes him react as though it's a caution light. Still, he progresses, and when the screen is finally wholly dark, he crouches to get a better look... and finds himself peering directly into a pair of crimson eyes, fairly glowing offset against the blackness that frames them. He pulls back, startled but moving with deliberate control and steadiness as the snake emerges, huge, surrounded as they are by the letter "L" in cloister black.

The breed of snake bears similar coloration and form to Near's naga form. Fighting it might be necessary, but it could also cause the kind of damage he promised not to. Defense, then. Positioned between Near and the snake, L raises his hands, fingers nearly invisible as the pale light shines through them, but he's able to create a glowing shield in a smaller dome shape to shelter him and his pale-haired successor.

Misunderstood monster, or malevolent force? L glances back at Near, the dreamer, the one who might recognize or revile this serpent. Hell, maybe this is the show.]

[blankpieces]

[The snake rears back, hissing and ready to strike. When it lashes out, it makes solid contact with the shield and then... shatters into a fine dust. This dust turns into mist, coating the floor around them.

The screens forming the dome above them change colors. At first it's just the blank space behind the letters that alternates in hues, but soon each one switches completely and begins playing short, repeating clips of scenes from Near's life. There a couple scenes of Mello - young and angry, older and scarred. One screen is just a reflection of another - a television monitor showing an aerial view of a bright red car in the middle of a street surrounded by police forces. A body lays slumped against the open driver's side door, red and black stripes under a vest. A dimly lit room where several suited individuals are collapsing of heart attacks while one points a gun to his own head. A familiar figure, Matsuda, angrily pointing a gun at someone out of sight while tears stream down his face...

Each one shows only a few moments before repeating. Just enough. On the floor, Near makes a wordless but upset-sounding noise and struggles to do... anything.]

Turn those off!

[He has nothing to say about the snake, if he saw it at all.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[The rook shouldn't be any harder to jump than the knight. Easier even, without the added range of a weapon, but his feet feel like they're lodged in tar. His heart rate skyrockets as his body slows and it nearly stops all together when he hears a piece moving in his blindspot. He hops as high as he can under the circumstances, the twitchiness of his arm migrating to the rest of his body under duress. It causes him to trip and tumble to the ground, but as he does his breath evens out.

The pawn encroaching from a slanted side corridor is one of his. It's sliding out into occupy the space at the intersection, if he can just get behind it. Once he manages to scramble around its side he hunches down behind it, trying to take shelter. It acted as a shield, but certainly not camouflage, his own grey and white tail in stark contrast where it curls around to the outside corridor. Poison would do nothing to stone, but his tail was a decent bludgeoning weapon regardless of venom. He squeezes the fingers in his hand, panting heavily, eye darting at the scene over the pawn's shoulder, trying to take stock of any more changing variables.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[By now, the feeling of Myr's dreams should be abundantly familiar to his Bonded, though the setting might be unfamiliar; it is not a sun-drenched memory of Hasmal Circle nor the wild and shifting planes of the Fade. There is no background storyline of adventure, no fluttering busyness as Myr practices at those skills requiring his sight.

There is no more than a great oak in a landscape made dark and indistinct by the logic of dreams. Candles ring it as a scant bastion against the surrounding gloom; offerings lie scattered among its world-gripping roots. Ribbons and written prayers, marigolds and bones--here a discarded sword hilt, there a pile of whited phalanges, it is a heaping-up of little oddments of piety with meanings hidden in each one.

Myr sits with his back to the painted trunk, legs stretched out before him and head canted back to gaze up at the foliage. There are birds there--there might be birds there, in intimations of feather or song--among other things with eyes that shine and wink in the darkness.

A song braids around the edges of hearing, shifting between voices as if a soft and unseen choir passed it amongst themselves. Now it's in a man's burred tenor like and unlike Myr's own; now it's in a boy's quavering soprano that sinks sometimes to an uncertain hum where the singer's forgotten the words. One twitching ear belies Myr's still detachment, shows he's listening to the music despite his impression of utter absence from his own dream.

It's been a long two months.]

[hearthebell]

[L doesn't realize where he is, at first, even if much about the atmosphere welcomes him with ease and familiarity. The darkness is new for this dreamer, and L makes his way toward the painted oak tree, stepping carefully past the relics and trinkets toward one who seems to be here seeking nothing but peace.

L could be here to partake in that peace, or to destroy it. It remains to be seen, but all pretense of weighing and considering it carefully melts away when he's reached Myr's side. At that point, there's only the overwhelming desire to sink to his knees beside his Bonded, hands intact, tongue undamaged and able.]

Now that I can speak to you... I'm struggling to think of something to say.

[The lack of any of their usual safeguards would probably be a good place to start. This is reckless, and dangerous; it also couldn't wait.]

I won't spoil the song, if you'd just prefer to listen.