Voices from Heaven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thespaceopera) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
thespaceopera) wrote in driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- ahsoka tano,
- coil lenn,
- margaret "peggy" carter,
- nami,
- natasha romanoff,
- nelkeila tarid,
- nyssa al ghul,
- octavia blake,
- one,
- phèdre nó delaunay de montrève,
- r. daneel olivaw,
- rapunzel,
- remy lebeau,
- riku,
- robin redbreast,
- rogue,
- santanico pandemonium,
- shawn hunter,
- sokka,
- stefan salvatore,
- steve rogers (ou),
- steven quartz universe,
- stiles stilinski,
- syeira,
- tadashi hamada,
- tekhetsio,
- the vision,
- vash the stampede,
- vima sunrider,
- wanda maximoff,
- wrath,
- yamanaka ino
...And also these.
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A bit unnerved, she moves out from under the bed, and looks to the boy again.]
What happened to the birds?
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They died. Crow killed them a really long time ago.
[he looks into her face for this one, very honestly.]
I mean, he's dead too, but he kind of keeps coming... back... [it's hard to explain.] ...They're not really birds, sorry. I just... Think it's easier that way.
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That puts the whole thing in perspective. She's lost people, to monsters that still haunt her after she put them down. This is just his way of keeping them, and she doesn't fault him for that.
She stands up and goes to the boy. Thinking of how she had never had anyone to really comfort her, or permission to mourn her losses, she puts an arm around his shoulders in a gentle hug. She doesn't intend to impose it upon him long, but she needs to comfort, to help.]
I'm sorry.
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it means a lot. he ducks his face, tensing up with trying not to get worked up about it, but...]
Thanks. I believe you.
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And considering the sensitive topic that she'd stumbled into here with her curious pursuit, she thinks perhaps she should ask before she does anything else.]
This place... is there anything you don't want me to touch or see?
[If he wants his privacy, she'll respect it.]
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...Actually, I think... You might be able to help with something.
[this time, he actually points towards the door with the X taped over it.]
The way out is in there, but it's... not good. [he shakes his head, looking very serious for such a young boy.] I don't like letting people in there, because it's... All of the things that no one is supposed to see, you know? All the bad things that only happen when you're tired and upset, I guess. And things just keep...
[he makes this... spinning motion, with his finger. is she following?]
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How can I help?
[There's no hesitation. She's fine with not good things. She can handle it. Probably.]
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Just go in. You probably won't ruin anything, and that's... more than I can think of most people.
[that's all. she could maybe just... exist without causing him harm.]
I can't go in with you, though. [he holds his wrist, behind his back.] I have to stay out here. Because you'll meet the real me in there, and I'm kind of fake.
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[She says it with confidence, certainty. She believes the innocent one is just as real as whoever is behind the door.
She parts from him, walking over to the door. She doesn't open it just yet though, looking back over her shoulder at the boy.]
Are you sure you want me to go? I could stay a little, if you want.
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but he straightens up a little.] No, I'm okay. I'm actually gonna take a nap.
[which isn't completely true, but he still heads towards the bed and appears to start getting under the covers, for all intents and purposes.]
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All right then, I'll let you rest. Sleep well, my friend.
[Then she reaches out for the door and opens it. She heads inside, sure she can take whatever comes.]
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[that's the last thing she hears from him before... well, what lies beyond the door is rather imposing. the bathroom, as it turns out to be, is eerily quiet, even though everything in it speaks louder than anything she could have found back in the bedroom.
because the bedroom was messy, yes, but it still seemed like it could be home to a semi-functional human being. this little space, lit with dirty fluorescents, immediately tells another story. this room is insecurity. it's the exhausted crash, it's subconscious loathing, it's every Bad Day they've ever had.
the walls and tile floor look grungy, peeling and chipping away at the edges. there are bottles and boxes of hair dye strewn all over the counter, opened and discarded in frustration. the mirror is cracked and there's a risk of stepping on broken glass if she's not careful. spots of the sink, especially around the drain, have been stained black. the shower curtain is only half-clinging to the pole, and the bath looks dirty and just as stained as the rest. there are gouge marks everywhere, deep and vicious.
and blood, of course. what's a room full of torment if you don't bleed a little?
it's scrawled in a strange vertical language on the walls. there's a red splatter on the mirror, and someone was dripping on the floor. the language becomes clear with distressingly little effort, because everyone knows what these say, and they secretly want to be read--Don't touch me. Go away. Stupid. Worthless. the pointed phrase I hate you is written over and over and over and over.
that's just the part that makes sense, though. some of it rambles, lots of shut up and go away and don't leave me alone scribbled in between longer, rambling sentences--things about 'them' and 'him' and disjointed rhymes about birds. the scratches gets worse near the sink. written above the mirror: why don't you fucking kill yourself. on the floor, tucked in a corner. you're sick you're sick you're sick and nobody likes you.
if she looks back, words have been carved forcefully into the back of the door, and then scratched out by what looks like claws:
I am so fucking tired.if she can still keep her head about her, Syeira may notice that some of it has been smeared away in spots, like someone's tried to clean some of it up. the word 'Tek' shows up in black in among the other horrible things an unusual number of times, but that's... probably high on the list of "things to notice" in here.
welcome to the back room. does she still think she can handle it?]
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And her way of doing so is to start trying to clean it up. She picks up the broken bits of mirror, seeing if she can fit them back into place. It won't mend the mirror, but it would be something. Less clutter on the floor. She checks to see if the water works, because she will try to use it to wipe out some of the self hate all over the walls.]
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the mirror, at least, can be mostly put back together. her own reflection looks back at her, cracked and splintered but otherwise the same. after a second of uneasy burbling in the pipes, the sink spews out vaguely rust-colored water... though that also clears into normal water, if it's allowed to run for a little bit.]
...she won't like you if she sees you, you know...
[...says a voice, echoing like every other sound. yet, she's the only person in the room.]
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And then there's a disembodied voice! Check that box. She glances around, pausing only a moment in her efforts.]
Why not?
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...sssstupid thought you could ask her she's too far she doesn't know...
[it seems it would get full marks in the "evil disembodied voice" department... the voice sounds male, maybe from someone young, but it's hard to tell more than that... especially when it starts a giggling, nerve-grating repetition...]
tell her, tell her, tell her, tell her, tell her, Tell her! Tell her! Tell her!
[which is when something suddenly thuds, the weight of a corpse, behind the shower curtain.]
Would you shut... the fuck up!
[oh. that voice belongs to Robin. a very irritated Robin. she can see one of his legs, now, fully clothed except for his not wearing any shoes. the shower's not running, but his pant-leg drips apathetically onto the tile floor as if it was.]
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And then suddenly there's a thud and a leg and a far more recognizable voice.]
Robin?
[She shoves the curtain away, very concerned. After all he's dressed and wet, and that is usually not normal.]
Are you all right?
[Need a hand? Because she's offering one.]
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now that the curtain's been pulled back, he looks... sort of like his regular self, if that regular self had taken a bad tumble and then just never bothered getting back up again. he's sprawled out, more of the same--wearing all of his clothes (save for his naked feet) and looking a little soggy. the dye in his hair is smearing against the wall behind his head, leaving dark stains.
what looks startlingly like blood is actually just more string. it runs from cracks in the walls around him, ties him up, looping and catching and tangling on his clothes, his legs, his wrists, his shoulders. it digs into his skin just enough to keep him pulled upright, just enough to keep him uncomfortable. he tilts his head back against the wall, trying to see who this is... and Syeira gets a good view of all the strings wrapped and pulling back on his pale neck.
he doesn't look good. his face is always perfect, but it's there in his tired eyes... and his horrible weight, and the sluggish way that he looks and shifts and talks.]
...Yeah, doing great.
[he waves his hand, lazily, from where it is strung against a wall. she'll have to forgive his sarcasm, he's not having a very good eternity.]
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Nope, not okay.
But this is not a girl who buckles under pressure. She nopes her way around to the broken mirror, and pries out one of the broken shards she'd put back. Then it's back to Robin in the tub.]
Hang on. I'll get you loose.
[The first thread she goes for is the one around his neck, far enough up the length so she doesn't risk nickimg him on accident.]
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[ha ha. he's so hilarious. he's also having some trouble holding his head up, his limbs weighted with a horrible exhaustion... his head lolls to the side, and a nonspecific whispering starts to edge back into the otherwise quiet room.
but she's got herself a piece of glass, and the thread she picks snaps easily. it leaves a red mark along his neck, but nothing permanent. it seems that the individual strings aren't much of a threat in themselves--but like most problems, they only start to feel out of control when there are too many to keep count.
Robin closes one eye, looking sluggishly up at her with the other one.]
Do you help everyone who looks like they've run into trouble... or what...?
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No.
[After dealing with the strings around his torso, she puts her free arm around him, so she can take his weight after she cuts through the strings holding up his arms. First one, then the other.]
Sometimes I'm the trouble they run into.
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Robin seems somewhat confused by the change. he moves his legs a little when they're free, but it's as though he doesn't know what to do with them. when his first arm sloughs away from the wall, he winds up grabbing numbly at her own arm for something to hold onto. he curls away from the wall, and it scares him a little.]
Why--are you helping me?
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[She holds him firmly, so he won't collapse. And when the last of the string is cut, she puts her other arm around him to help support. She's not superhumanly strong, but she can take his weight.]
Let's get you out of this tub. There's a bed in the next room.
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You're not. You don't know me.
[his frustration's melted away, but the only thing there to replace it is exhaustion, a slow sorrow. his eyes are down, he's not going to look at her on his own.]
The nightmares will come, if I sleep... He'll find me again...
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[It's fine. He doesn't have to help. He's been through a lot, clearly. She'll hold him up.
When he talks about someone coming in his nightmares, her attention sharpens, she stiffens only a little. Not a rejection, but an instinctive gearing up to fight. For him.
She keeps her voice calm though, and shifts her hold. She's going to scoop him up, bridel style, because that's the only way she can get him over the rim of that bathtub.]
Is there anything I can do to stop him?
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