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goneawayworld2020-10-10 06:59 pm
piper90npcs) wrote in goneawayworld2020-10-10 06:59 pm
Creepy and Eerie
Who: Saturday
What: Learning secrets and mysteries
Where: Dreaming
When:
Warnings/Notes: Violence is to be expected.
Sleep comes to Saturday, as usual. Dreams, though. Dreams are usually a little different. For example, its doubtful that her usual dreams contain this bone-chilling atmosphere, the thick fog surrounding her, yet never quite touching her, succeeding in obscuring everything but the wrought iron gates that open in front of her with an eerie creak.
There's a gust of wind from behind her and the mists part, unveiling a dark, dismal graveyard. Weather-worn statues and crooked, moss-covered headstones spread out as far as even the elven eye can see. There's several paths, but the clearest leads to the sole place where the light from the large, full moon touches without being obscured by clouds or dead, leafless trees. Within that circle of light are two hills with tall, ancient houses on top of each.
An impatient voice raps out from just on the other side of the gate. Harsh, with a trace of an odd, almost British accent. "Come on, come on! Don't take all night! You're letting all of the atmosphere out!"
A much deeper, but stammering voice rings out from the other side of the entrance. "Sh-she's not going to come in like that, b-brother. And I wouldn't mind a l-little less chill. But the gate is a little heavy, miss..."
What: Learning secrets and mysteries
Where: Dreaming
When:
Warnings/Notes: Violence is to be expected.
Sleep comes to Saturday, as usual. Dreams, though. Dreams are usually a little different. For example, its doubtful that her usual dreams contain this bone-chilling atmosphere, the thick fog surrounding her, yet never quite touching her, succeeding in obscuring everything but the wrought iron gates that open in front of her with an eerie creak.
There's a gust of wind from behind her and the mists part, unveiling a dark, dismal graveyard. Weather-worn statues and crooked, moss-covered headstones spread out as far as even the elven eye can see. There's several paths, but the clearest leads to the sole place where the light from the large, full moon touches without being obscured by clouds or dead, leafless trees. Within that circle of light are two hills with tall, ancient houses on top of each.
An impatient voice raps out from just on the other side of the gate. Harsh, with a trace of an odd, almost British accent. "Come on, come on! Don't take all night! You're letting all of the atmosphere out!"
A much deeper, but stammering voice rings out from the other side of the entrance. "Sh-she's not going to come in like that, b-brother. And I wouldn't mind a l-little less chill. But the gate is a little heavy, miss..."
no subject
She is here, standing, cool wind drying her skin. Smell of leaf-rot and grave-dirt, newly churned. The taste of winter in the air. An owl hoots somewhere, perhaps because she thinks it should. The gate creaks, and her hands in her pockets press against warm flesh. This is what she feels and tastes and hears and smells, and therefore, it's real.
She throws her shoulders back and grins wide. Armor up.
"I don't mind the cold," she calls cheerily, and steps through the gate.
no subject
The other side closes more gently. The other man, mumbling an apology, is... If you looked up 'clumsy oaf' in the dictionary, he might fit the description. Large, bulky, with thinning black hair swept up into a similar, but shorter, horned style as the other man, his beard is much shorter and his black clothes seem even more old-fashioned. "W-we weren't sure that you'd be coming." Like his voice, he seems nervous, flinching at every sudden moment from the other man.
The thin man cuts his hand through the air, shooting an irritated look at his brother. "Brother, quiet yourself. They always come... eventually. Their dreams demand it." He sighs, hand to his forehead, and clicks his tongue. "Really, I do wonder sometimes... Anyway. Saturday, that's what you like to be called, yes? Rather plain, isn't it? Oh, who cares?"
"She probably does."
"If she had a say in things, she wouldn't be there now, would she? If you know so much about her, are you going to make the choice for her? Hmm? Has my brother mastered the secret of telepathy?" The thin man snorts derisively, like an animal, and turns his back on the two of them, starting to march down towards the two houses. After a moment, he stops and looks back irritably. "Well? I didn't walk all this way for my health!"
no subject
"Sorry to be late, Mr. - am I gonna get any names, here? Since you know one 'a mine, and all. If I'd known I had an appointment, I'da cut that last chase scene short."
She's pretty sure the dream before this had involved something like that.
The dynamic between them is something she notes. The roles are obvious - maybe too much so? Something to keep in mind.
"I do appreciate you taking the time. Just it seems I musta misplaced or not gotten my briefing materials." But you know, what else is new?
no subject
Abel looks up and gives a tiny little wave with his fingers. There is absolutely no sense of irony on either of their expressions at the naming, just a shy, nervous little smile at Saturday from Abel and something that could be a grin from Cain if it didn't quite look so much like it'd been carved into his face with a knife. "W-we could also be Laurel and Hardy, but ever since-"
"Anyway," cuts in Cain, turning and walking back to the house, as if he doesn't care if she follows. "You wanted something cleared up. You came here. And now you've got your choice."
Abel steps up and offers her a little bow, gesturing for her to follow Cain so he can take up the rear. "We don't mean you any harm, Miss Saturday. Not this time. B-but you do need to pick between a mystery and a secret. You can't have both, j-just the one."
no subject
But she listens carefully to what he says next. The names she catches vaguely as some kind of religious reference, something from the bible about brothers who hate each other or something, but it doesn't strike her as significant. People call themselves all kinds of things, for all kinds of reasons.
"A mystery or a secret, huh? What's the catch?" There usually is one.
no subject
Cain laughs, clapping his hands. Apparently he's not as interested in ditching them as he seems, loitering against one of the headstones. "Yeah! And a secret between three people is only a secret if two of them are dead!"
Abel gives an apologetic little nod. "You m-might be able to g-get some use out of it, but..." He licks his lips and swallows, eyes darting to Cain and his wolflike not-smile. "Th-the stories in my brother's House of Mysteries, are, you know. Mysteries. S-so you can work them over with other people if you need to."
He spreads his hands. They're heavily calloused, like a farmer's hands, but as well-padded as the rest of him. The smile he gives is still a little nervous, but it's got a hint of that knife-edged sharpness that Cain's has. "Y-you can always g-go straight home, but it'd be a shame."
no subject
She hasn't missed their murderer's grins. Spirits, dreams, passions, gods - scheming bloody bastards, the lot of them.
no subject
Abel shakes his head. "W-we just tell stories. Whatever t-truth you g-get out of them, th-that's for you. O-of course, th-that doesn't mean that w-we can't tell something... pointed. L-like if I were to tell a story about a d-dragon president who-"
And suddenly Cain is there, clamping a hand over his brother's mouth and looming over the larger man with his other hand twisted like talons. "Abel," he growls. "You're always ruining secrets! You can't just tell people things or they lose all their power!" With a disgusted noise, he shoves his brother into the dirt and stomps off in a little circle, fuming, then jabs a finger towards Saturday. "You're not going to stay asleep forever, girlie! We've got no reason to lie. We exist in your dreams, and those always have a glimmer of truth somewhere, buried deep."
no subject
He'd lasted all of ten hours, twenty-three minutes, eight seconds, but that only means he'd never had the chance to realize his full potential.
"All right. Mystery, if you please."
no subject
The House is old, rickety, but somehow possessing an aura of respect. Its old-fashioned design somehow looks homier than Abel's taller house looking more like a lonely tower than a livable home. Cain opens the door, beaming with pride at the long creak that follows, and bows grandly. "Come in, come in. Don't mind the bats, they've already had a bite to drink. Come up to the fire, kick up your feet, and prepare yourself for a scream of a time."
The insides look like something that the Addams Family would find distinctly charming, with ancient furniture, cobwebs, and things floating in bottles that probably don't warrant a closer look. Not if Saturday doesn't want them looking back.
no subject
"Hell of aesthetic, Mr. Cain." It feels more right then just using his name. She folds her coat - of course that's here, in her dreams, it's so much a part of her character - over her arm and takes a seat. The upholstery cradles her with wonderfully articulated moan, and she snickers again.
no subject
"A little bit of aesthetic is mandatory when dealing with the Houses. Insisted on, really. Honestly, I wouldn't mind something a little more modern now and then, but if wishes were horses... Ahem." Cain clears his throat and sips his tea, pinkie sticking out as he does so. "Normally, we'd have a bit of back and forth, I'd come up with a pun, but you're short on time. So, any questions before we start? Or can I squeeze this in before you wake up?"
no subject
She sips the tea and waits. It's good tea, dry and tart and fresh.
"An' have you thought about showing the house like uh, there was this horror movie in a hotel? It was pretty modern. And the one with the lady and her baby. Maybe it just needs some inspiration for modern and spooky like as a concept."
no subject
He settles back, closing his eyes. The fire casts eerie shadows through the room, the glow reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. The shadows seem to dance, twining through the room, touching more of the accessories than the light. Somehow this only highlights them. The wind blows outside, rattling the shutters, and the sound of Abel outside, clanking a ladder against the side of his brother's House and muttering about the gargoyles leaks through the walls. There's a sickening crack, a short, sharp scream, and a wet thump. A slow, contented smile creeps across Cain's face and, before Saturday can stand or say anything, he starts to speak. "Our tale concerns two brothers, named Frank and Joe Addams, working to terraform a distant world with their parents after they took leave of the great colony ship Jannat..."
As he speaks, the room fades around Saturday, transporting her to a far distant galaxy, observing the life of the two brothers as they set out to make a world livable for their kind. The strange atmosphere fills her lungs, the gravel crunches beneath her feet, and the breeze tousels her hair. It's not magic. Not illusion. Not even a dream. Cain is simply that good at telling his tales.
She can see Frank and Joe, as physically different as they are in personality, but with a love for each other that transcends any brotherly relationship that came before or after. The Platonic ideal of a sibling friendship. Frank, the eldest son, the botanist, and Joe, the younger son, raising the livestock and cloning other suitable beasts for the world that their parents and their great terraforming machines are crafting for them, for the Jannat and its captain, the aged and wise Captain Adonai.
It was only the two of them for the longest time, as their parents ranged across the globe, smoothing out landscapes and nullifying radioactive storms. After some time, they began to act as if there was a third there with them, an imaginary friend for the two to go on adventures with, talk to when they were busy with chores. It wasn't unusual to see them trading tales about the witty conversations they'd had with this nonperson afterwards, to the bemusement of their parents. Especially once they started to go as far as to leave a place at the table for the Belle, as they called her. Psychotherapy doesn't help and their telepathic machinery reveals no fifth intelligence around.
Finally, their mother and father give up convincing them otherwise and began to take one of the two with them, trading off now and then, hoping that constant exposure to more than just their one sibling and the loneliness of their duties would alleviate their need for such childish fantasies. Probably predictably, this failed, as the brother who was left behind inevitably claimed that Belle spent the entire time with them.
The friendship began to sour as a rivalry for the attentions, and soon the affections, of the non-existent woman began. The concerned parents sent off message after message to Captain Adonai, begging for his advice in this matter. Meanwhile, a clear winner in the brothers, the younger Joe, began to show. Frank, in a rage, once confided in his father how disgusted he was to see his Belle hanging off of Joe's arm after he'd put down one of his beasts to grace their dinner table.
Desperate to get some normalcy, the mother and father agreed to encourage this rivalry, but try to redirect it somewhat. Instead of this Belle, they would convince the brothers to set her aside, to work towards impressing the Captain when he came for a first-ever visit to their world. It seemed to work, as they set aside talk of their Belle. But if they'd been a fly on the wall of the cloning vats, they would've heard a different story. They'd give offerings to Captain Adonai, yes, but Belle would choose the true winner. And that decision would decide who would wed her.
Months passed, then the fateful day arrived. Captain Adonai descended from the sky in his personal yacht, the air making thundering noises as the hypersonic vehicle approached. Greetings made, he went to inspect their work, greatly impressed with both the genetic chimeras Joe had created for this new world and the way Joe had managed to make Old Earth plants thrive in this new frontier. When it came time for dinner, he settled in with the Addams family. Joe was happy, practically vibrating with joy. Belle had, it seemed, already made her choice, for Frank had seen how she'd clung to his younger brother's arm as he put down the moobeast for their evening meal. Captain Adonai praising so heavily was simply another knife in his pride, especially as he barely mentioned Frank's own offerings to the table, a humble salad, mashed potatoes, and roasted asparagus. How could the flavors of Old Earth, which Adonai could taste at any point, stand against the soft, delicate flavors of Joe's creations?
Adonai spent the night, then returned to his ship the next day, seeking a proper reward for the generosity of the family. Frank and Joe had a meeting in the fields. It took every bit of self control Frank had to concede defeat to his younger brother, who smiled and clapped his shoulder. He hoped they could still be friends, he said. Frank nodded, eyes downcast. Joe, disappointed at the lack of response, sighed and turned around, then commented about telling the good news to Belle.
He made it three steps. Frank's eyes, fixated on a large stone, went red with rage and he dashed forward, scooping the weighty rock up and dashing it against the back of Joe's head. He rolled his brother over, watching the terror and pain in his eyes as he brought up the rock, crushing the innocent brother's head without hesitation. He breathed heavily, then stood, looking around for witnesses. None had seen. He nodded. There were ways to make it look an accident... Or disappear it entirely.
The beasts were not particular about their food.
His scheme fell apart, however, as Captain Adonai returned with the sound of thunder. He had his prize for the brothers, thanking them for their hard work. A computer that would make their dreams come true. However, he couldn't contact Joe on his comms. When asked, Frank denied knowledge of his brother's location. After all, was he his brother's keeper?
He hadn't counted on the Captain's yacht having scientific instruments as powerful as it did. That it could detect the blood in the fields. Horrified, his own mother and father turned on him, and Captain Adonai took him to be exiled, as the death penalty no longer existed in their society, no matter how monstrous the crime. So that others would know his crime, and so they would know not to harm him any more than his own guilt could, he was branded.
"It was with a heavy heart that Captain Adonai took off to the sky again, his prisoner shrieking in rage in defiance at the back of the yacht. But, if he'd bothered to check his sensors as he left the planet, he would have found something verrry interesting. Even though he was leaving with the third member of that world, there were still three readings of intelligent life. And, if he'd inspected the scene of the crime more closely, he would have noticed that the bloody footprints walking from where Joe's body fell weren't of a man at all." He smiled, then drained his cup, glancing at the time. "Oh, dear. Normally, we'd have more niceties, but you need to go. If you wake up before leaving here, I'll have wasted my breath entirely." He stands, striding towards the door and flinging it open for her. "We'll meet again, maybe. Don't you worry. But for now, you need to make your way to the gate. As for my dear brother..."
He smiles that same smile, the one that looks like it was carved into his cheeks, and picks up a length of rope. One end terminates in a noose. "I'm afraid he's fallen and can't say goodbye. I'll just tell him that you couldn't afford to... hang around."
no subject
"So," she says, suddenly certain. "You and your brother - was her name Belle, too?"
The answer doesn't really matter, so she waves a little in farewell, and sets off at a jog for the gates. She's got information, and it needs to get back to the others.