Sweet dreams are made of these...

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for A-M characters )

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

A Abigail Hobbs Aiya/Gray Nightingale Adrasteius Anor'thalion Ahsoka Tano Alex Russo Allen Walker Anders Anthony Crowley Asteffiel Axel

B - D Belthazar Spellscry Beverly Crusher Bran Stark Caesar Zeppeli Cayde-6 Cheese Sandwich Clay Terran Coil Cole Davesprite Duke Pantarei

E - I Elecman.exe Elena Gilbert Elize Lutus Felix Harrowgate Fenris Finrod Haruka Tenoh/Sailor Uranus Imperator Furiosa Isabela Issac Lahey

J - M Jade Harley James Barnes/Jim James Barnes/Winter Joseph Joestar Katara Katniss Everdeen/Nova Kirito/Kazuto Kirigaya Kurt Wagner Leanne Loki Maladict(a) Max Caulfield Megaman Mordin Solus

Comments

[mortalcoil]

[Coil has never been much of a food fan. meals are not easy for him. kitchens cause him strife. so, it isn't until the shift in the space that he feels less rooted to the spot.

this room is alarmingly unfamiliar, of course, but all of the new changes are of things that he has personal experience with. he knows how to deal with these things. it's practically a page out of his childhood, really. so, once he's sure that all the moving parts of the room don't actually seem primed and ready to do much moving, he begins a careful, quiet pace across the tile.

he flips the scalpel between his fingers once. when did that get here?

moving toward the shrouded body, he keeps an eye on the girl as he goes. just to see if she stays just as unfocused as she seems.]

[versusnurture]

[She doesn't. Because of course she doesn't - even when drugged, she's always more alert than she acts. Her eyes go sharp as he crosses the room, scalpel-sharp, but she doesn't move towards him or away. Just watches, as still as a painting where only the eyes move.]

[When he gets there, if he chooses to pull back the crisp white sheet, he'll find the body of a girl - Abigail's age, height, weight, shockingly similar in appearance in every way - cleaned of blood but with holes pressed all through her torso, as if she's been mounted on antlers.]

[mortalcoil]

[and he watches her right back--one sharp grey eye against two--all the way up to the body. he waits there for several seconds to judge whether or not she's about to move, before he finally breaks the gaze long enough to look.

of course he pulls back the sheet. you can't tell anything about a body until you get up close.

he keeps an ear and part of his attention in the direction of the living girl, but... the corpse soon takes up the rest of his focus. the wounds are fascinating. he glances over to look for bruising, trying to judge which wounds were made before and after death. he even brings up a hand to press a fingertip at the edge of one injury--not even giving it a thought before he dares to touch a dead body that has nothing to do with him.]

[versusnurture]

[All wounds were postmortem. In fact, it appears very much as if she was thrust onto the rack while still alive: the wounds are jagged-edged, as though the skin and muscle were torn from a struggle. An expert might realize, from the unusual pallor of her skin, that she died of exsanguination.]

[Her skin is still flexible enough, her corpse fresh enough, that when he presses down lightly the flesh gives - doesn't break away, but allows slight entrance into the wound. When his finger brushes the place where skin gives way to muscle, there's a sudden flash of memory.]

[A circle of girls in a dark room, sitting on folding chairs. They all have pale skin, long dark hair, red lips, blue eyes, a circle of midwestern Snow Whites, staring. They are all in their late teens. They stare accusingly, stare stare stare, and they all say the same thing, one after another:]

He should have killed you, so he wouldn't have killed me.

[mortalcoil]

[he curls his fingers into his hand--automatic defensive fists as he quickly steps away.

too familiar. all at once, it's too much.

it's suddenly hard for him not to see a different face there... though, not all that different, really. he'd had so many dreams like this, with her pale eyes staring into him.

she hadn't said those exact words, but they're close enough to count.]

[versusnurture]

[He steps away - but, unfortunately, it's not quickly enough. He's touched the girl - Marissa, the information will drop into his brain like a hot knife through butter - and so the memory continues, shifting from one moment to the next, more a collage than a linear progression.]

[First, a triptych of murders, all set up the same. On the left, a thin balding man with pale eyes and the same exsanguinated lips, his chest riddled with bullet holes and a haunted grin resting on his lips. In the middle, a man with dark hair, tired eyes, and smudged glasses. On the right, a man with light hair slicked back; he wears an expensive suit and excellent shoes, and he looks so content, as though he's never been sad in his life. When you blink, in the moment before you open your eyes, his silhouette is replaced by another.]

[In perfectly synchronized movement, they all slit the throat of the same girl who exists in triplicate. The only difference in her is her expression as she dies: shuddering tears of grief on the left, wide-eyed fear in the middle, and smug satisfaction on the right.]

[A voice whispers in Coil's ear: Which one is real?]

[And then, directly behind him, the sound of a door opening, and abruptly he's in an attic wallpapered in antlers, and the man from the middle of the triptych is grabbing his shoulders and shaking him.]

[mortalcoil]

[he doesn't know where he is-- or if he really is anywhere at all. reality has lost some of its meaning, even without the added false familiarity of the dark-haired girl.

whether he currently has capacity over his own limbs or not, he fights as soon as he's grabbed and shaken. he's striking out with everything he has, even if it's only in his head.]

[versusnurture]

[The second Coil strikes out, the man falls back. It's clear all of a sudden that he's ill, very ill; there's saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth and dribbling down to rest in the stubble on his chin, and he's trembling rapidly, hyperventilating. After a moment of this, he points an accusing finger and mouths something at Coil--]

See?

[And then Abigail materializes behind him, hooked onto a rack of antlers, her wound patterns the same as Marissa's. She looks the same otherwise, sober and a little sad and tired but otherwise not terribly distressed. Her voice is calm.]

You need to run. Right now.

[mortalcoil]

[he wants to run.

not perhaps out of overwhelming fear, but more of a need for action--keep moving to survive. like a shark needing water pushing through its gills. slow down for too long and it's all over.

but he can't just run off yet. he doesn't know if he's still really in that kitchen room, or if he's anywhere at all, but he at least tries to follow a different instinct. she's stuck and bleeding, and he knows what comes next. he wasn't forgiven for it the first time, so he can't turn his back now.

he walks towards her instead of running away.]

[versusnurture]

[Her eyes widen. It's so obvious, so obvious that she isn't expecting this. So obvious, too, that neither was Will - because he pops out of existence in an instant, the shock on his face a comical mirror of Abigail's own.]

No. No, no--

[She shakes her head, the only part of her not impaled, the only thing she can move.]

No, no, no, you need to go, please don't save me, please don't, I don't deserve to be saved!