01-12-2016, 02:41 AM
I LOVE your writing! That was a really sad moment, thanks for letting me share in it, even if May was standing there awkwardly. :3
Ehawee : Into the Spirit's World
01-12-2016, 02:41 AM
I LOVE your writing! That was a really sad moment, thanks for letting me share in it, even if May was standing there awkwardly. :3
01-12-2016, 03:29 AM
May always stand there awkwardly ;) Thank you ! I'm sorry she ignored you so badly, seeing you brought more shame to her gesture <3. Still love her !
A NEW HOME
Day 11 : The last bulb of light burn. Darkness fall.
Day 12 : Fire replaces electricity. Torches on the walls, fireplaces along the floor.
Day 23 : The endless flames during the night managed to melt few wires.
Day 30 : There are electricity sparks in the walls and ceiling, like million of stars in the skies. Lovely !
Day 37 : Electrics devices start to make odds scary sounds.
Day 42 : Turrets begin to flinch and follow invisible enemy with their captors. She takes a shield, after all.
Day 48 : Waters drops from the ceiling. There is rain inside. Inside a cave. Not sure why, but it make a shower. Roar would be happy. It's good.
Day 53 : There is something about the door… don't open as well as used to, or open on it own. Oh well. There is two of them, anyway.
Day 67 : The critters manage to pass through the gates of the cave. Damn doors. The plants allow the girl to close the access before they got upstair. The basement fell.
Day 73 : The fridges stopped working a while ago, never noticed until now. She begins to "borrow" her food from May and Alaric on a daily basis. A bad smell of spoiled meat takes the whole settlement. It starts to agitate the Rex, growling and grunting more and more every day.
Day 86 : The construction of the alternative house, as asked by Lyall, struggles. Making house is harder than expected, and the idea of moving cause troubles in her surroundings.
Day 91 : Two Rex got in a fight for leadership. Apparently, the girl is not considered much for that position. One died. Others fed on him.
Day 98 : The new leadership starts to terrorize the others dino (and her) by attacking them to install fear among the beasts (and her). In their fight, their claws break the electrical grid and the turrets start to twitches and act oddly.
Day 103 : It's raining inside, once again, but with metal drops. She barely haves time to jump over Desmond to leans her shield to him while bullets are crashing the room's walls and put her armor at hardworking. She can't hear anything else than the screams and shrieks of dying or terrorized animals echoing in the bunker. Machines are exploding in loud sounds, walls and floors are collapsing while a girl is trembling and bleeding in fear.
Day 104 : The turrets run out of ammunition.
She stirred in her bed, pushing back the sheets with few kicks, opening wide eyes to the ceiling, whose black color mingles with the surrounding darkness. The room is stripped of any supplies: a bed, and that's it. There is nothing, not yet, at least. Just her weapons leaning against the wall, in abusive numbers. Of all the bunker, there was almost nothing, beyond the survivors, that she found needed to keep with her. Uprooted, she dragged only small objects now spread out in her bed like children's treasures. The arm chip of Seth with a forever extinguished light, the wolf's plushy offered by Lyall when she first woke up on that island, one of the letters of a dead and forgotten Nathalius... There was also this old crumpled letter, bent and half torn by the time she had read and reread it, in times of doubt.
I'm proud of you and what you've become.
She straightened the top of her body, ridding her forehead of the sweat that her nightmares had accumulated. Her sweater stuck to her skin as well as her locks of hair, between her dry lips, a frail breath escaping irregularly. The whirring of machines softened her fears, lulled by the familiar sounds of silent turrets and centipedes...? who were walking around ...? on the ceilings...? of the corridors. The small, half-stifled sound of one of them made her eyes open wide, bringing her mind back to reality. She pulled faintly over the fabric of her shirt to resume her breath, her head bowed forward as she groped for the soldier's letter to hide it out of sight under the mattress that had sheltered her night. It was not by regret or guilt, just... Aah. The certainty that he would yell at her in his hoarse and broken voice, if he were here in flesh and blood rather than ink and paper. She could see him shout out his anger and his disappointment, with those eyes of his, eyes of a betrayed father who would massacre her heart again. She already heard each of his arguments as if he were there, as she pushed herself out of bed, her bare feet against the cold metal of the ground, and strolled through narrow corridors as her thoughts trailed off.
"I know I was a daughter to you, but you never been a father to me. An uncle, perhaps... an uncle I don't know very well. An uncle I know better with what I imagined of him that what he truly was. A built-up uncle. I know you don't agree. But I'm in a dead end. Nicki is dead, like you wished. But it's not just Nicki, it's everyone. You too. So please, spares me your scoldings, I am where my heart want to be, where there is warmth, where it somehow feel like home. I can't live on my own, nor with Roar, we always fight. It doesn't feel half the same at May's, and even there you would cringe. I just... don't feel it right. They are bloodthirsty... They are my bloodthirsty phamily, I care deeply about them but I don't wish to become like it as well. Desmond will understand, maybe he'll punch a wall or two, but he will. It's just until he wakes up. Until then, I just have to keep going, be safe, strong, keep my spirit untouched and unstained. That's all that matters. So now, please, if you don't mind... shush."
By the end of her silent talk with Spirits, she was standing by the side of her father, leaning quietly in a bed he did not know of, a needle piercing his skin allowing food and water to pass through his system. She kept her gaze locked on him, letting a slight smile be born on her lips. He never looked so well. Right now, she could believe he'd wake up, at some point. She wasn't alone anymore to look on him. With soothing thoughts, she slowly sat on the floor by his bedside, leaning her head against it as she closed her eyes in a faint relieved sigh.
‒ If you knew how much I wish that you don't wake up while you're here... she'd chuckles softly over the muffled growling of the beasts roaming on Maelstrom's island.
Day 104 : The Phantom's base fell.
10-01-2017, 05:03 AM
They had abandoned their battle of snowballs in a blink of their eyes. Earlier scoffing and trying to avoid the projectiles sometimes punctuated by old rifle cartridges emptied on the training ground, they now sported a serious face, strained by worries and blurred by the tears that threatened to climb their eyes. Side by side, a gas mask dangling at the tips of their fingers, the coolness of winter had been replaced by the irritating odours of narcotic bombs. He was awake. But not quite.
How many grenades? How many darts? How many narcotics? Tea. Tea. Tea. Always Tea. Each time, the indescribable fear that it would have been a narcotic of too much, that his eyes closed to plunge back into his long sleep. Pushing him too far. Every time, Tea. Again. Again. The same disappointment, then the same guilt in face of the disappointment she felt. How can you hate a man who does not even remember his mistakes? Tea, Tea, Tea... Is it only another manipulation of his, or is he genuine ? Would they prefers have Tea than none of the both at all ? She strove hard not to look at their faces, the two of them. Their expressions, slightly modulated. Their voice. Their gaze, sometimes strict, sometimes loving. Too painful. Too similar. Tea, Tea... The man who plunged Desmond into a coma. Who had destroyed him.
‒ I would do anything in the world to bring him back, Ehawee... For you, I would... I am so sorry. Sorry that I can't understand your pain... I sit here, being looked at as a monster, and I don't even know why...
‒ Eha. I'll prob him. That's the only thing left I can think about. Just tell me I can. I'll do it.
Lyall's voice reached her like a cold wind. Her arms closed against her, anguish lifted her chest and choked at the bottom of her throat. They were watching her, both of them. Her choice. Everything has always been her choice. That family of her were not the ones to impose. Another blow. Maybe he will never wake up again. Maybe it will kill him. Maybe, maybe, maybe... Maybe it will not work, either. A groan fall painfully from her throat as tears roll down her cheeks, stumbling on her own words, on the decision to come, before she sprang to the bed where Tea sat. Her arms encircled him, her nose hid against the skin of his shoulder, half-seated on his legs to force him into her embrace.
‒ Don't say a word, she commanded with a broken voice, half-sobbed.
Do not waste it. Let her believe just a little that you are the other one. That you are her father, and not her uncle. Eliminate this surprised look from your face and shut up. Put your arms around her too, tighten a little too, but above all, do not say anything. Your voice would spoil it. Your voice would spoil everything. Let her cry in your smell, let her feel how you breathe, how you are awake, for once. Let her believe, even while lying to herself, that it is not you. It's just that huge presentiment that he won't even be him again, you know ? Theses stories she knows, theses times he passed years without waking... She's afraid, she trembled, she just want to feel his embrace, his protectives arms, his look on her once more before waiting the years it would take before their next meeting. You can cry. This is particularly egocentric. She knows it and her heart is burning out of guilt. Your tears pass from your cheeks to her hair, and hers to your neck. Her body trembles more and more, her sobs choking in her throat.
‒ I'm sorry... he whispered.
‒ I s-said n-not a word...!
You spoiled it. Your embrace becomes more and more your own. Theses littles starts that you are the only one to do, theses muscles that she is not aware of. You always been a little more nervous than he was, a little less quiet, a little less calm, even your true you. Now, you spokes. Now, she can't lie to herself anymore. She clenches her fists against the skin of your back and all the scars that Desmond told her the story. You look for that hand of hers, tighten your fingers around it quietly, trying to comfort her even if your eyes are as drowned as her own. In contact with your hand, her heart cracks. Tea... The man who destroyed him. The man she hated for a whole year. She always cared too much to hate properly. Her embrace tightens around, a sob climbs up, a sob for you. She inspires a good blow and, without letting go, without leaving you, while keeping her face hidden in your shoulder, her voice rushes towards the Russian. At her words, your body shakes with violence and crushes on her, as you have done so many times before. She supports you and takes all your weight on her shoulders, caressing the back of your head to comfort you in your unconsciousness. She is still crying. Is it by guilt or by lack of conviction? After a while, your body is agitating itself again. You awake with a start, the heart pumped by the discharge. Of your eyes wide open, she sees nothing: she stared at your shoulder and wept already before hearing your words.
‒ Damn it... It d-didn't work...
‒ P-put a shirt on, she ordered with a weak voice.
Hey, Des… We'll look on Tea. We'll protect him. So you can awake once more, when you want to... We'll... We'll wait, okay ? So, please, come back to us...
In the cold winter that had strayed to Maelström Island, the three silhouettes stood motionless, protected from wind and precipitation by the reddish roof of the Tomb of the Unawakened. The smallest of them tried to regain some composure, inspiring and expiring deeply to clean her breaths of tremolos, her eyes of tears and her body of tremblings. She held her arms crossed against her chest, trying to comfort herself, perhaps, to acquire a little warmth, perhaps, that winter did not allow her. She barely dared to raise her eyes to the rickety silhouette of Desmond, of Tea, whose stupefied gaze was leaning upon the body contained in the glass tomb under their feet. There was nothing else but the silhouette of the Russian who still seemed to be master of his emotions, hidden under his helmet which he dared not withdraw.
‒ Logan ? That's... Einarr, a pained expression shaken Tea's voice. He is the worst and best thing that have happened to me. He's alive... And James... He betrayed? He is a broken man, he's been through too much with no help... Sadly, I am not surprised. Oh, how we've fallen... We are all monsters, I know that now, without a doubt.
At the same moment as her elder brother, Ehawee shook her head in disapproval. Both of them murmured, with the same conviction, that they were all monsters. Every soul and every spirit that inhabited this island and its predecessors, that island and those we do not know of, that island and every island possessed by those who make the deer fly beyond the fake sky. Even the most innocent newborn, a monster. Everyone, no matter what lies they tried to convince themselves to doze off at nightfall. But that was not enough. She wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. With his eyes turned aside to his brother-in-arms asleep, the man had only ears for his memories, words only for those who were no longer and would never be again. And he spoke. For a long time. And they stood silent. For a long time. Listening respectfully stories about people they didn't always know until the cold of winter crept inside their bones.
‒ To those who have fallen, may they rest in peace... They will forever be in our memory, and so we shall cherish fond memories dearly.
Three pints of liquor rose and shattered each other, before being drunk without enthusiasm. There was no celebration. There was only a vague uneasiness. We drink a small sip and place the rest on the table. We had the vague feeling that something is wrong, but we don't admit it. We observe our father, our brother, the one who made us who we are, the one who has carved us into what we have become, then we get our eyes astray on him as if we were seeing him for the last time. Then he drinks his beer, spiced with a purple well-known ingredient that we do not see, what we wished so much to see, that we would have ripped off his hands, if we saw… But he drinks it, with a brief hesitation. And we had never been so right.
He was ready for everything to bring him back, he said. He even made his own funerals…
‒ Shoot me and she get an arrow through the eye! To think I mistaken you for my sister... I will rip you apart!
Time had stopped. It could have been carried away in a vast maelstrom, but no. Suddenly, she could smell the slightest flakes fall on her face. She could feel the smell of Lyall's rifle pointing at Desmond, she could sense the cold from the metal of the arrow close to her eye, the slightest imperfection that she perceived. There was an eternity between each of her breaths, an eternity all busy at losing herself in the mad eyes of a father who had forgotten everything. Again. Greg, Desmond... the story only repeated itself. Yet, this time, she did not manage to be afraid. Not of him. Not quite. A heartbeat, the first for an eternity, waved her. With it, she saw the hand of her father twitching as he stared into her eyes.
‒ Why can't I do it...? he spoke with a broken tone under his breath before shouting loudly. I don't even know WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE, so why, WHY is it so hard to DRIVE THIS ARROW INTO YOUR HEAD !?
Her fear disallowed her to smile, but her gaze softened. This is why she chose you. This is why your blood run in her veins. Even without your memories, even without knowing who she is, your heart do not forget. She moved softly, with trembling gestures, her hand toward his own, passing the tips of her fingers along his skin and climbing his arm slowly. The arrow remained unmoved, still dangling at her eye.
‒ You're... kind of... my father... a frail breath escaped her lips, and at hearing them, he winced in pain.
Her fingers closed against his arm, and she slowly pulled him to her. The arrow moved aside as he fell into her embrace. She could feel his arms surround her and held her tightly, she could feel the tears escaping his eyes hidden to her throat, that fell coldly against her frozen skin. Laying both on the snow ground of the Maelstrom island, they remained unmoving, grabbing tightly at each other as she took a good breath of his scent, of his self. He can remember. Deep inside of him, he already does. Just a little more time... just the rights words, the right strength, and he'll be back. He'll be.
‒ Why?... Why don't I want to let go...?
‒ It looks like you likes me...
They remained as it for a while, the snowflakes falling without sound. An eternity or two, between the swell of her lungs that was breathing simultaneously with his own. And then his stance twitched. He became tensed, a little more agitated. She attempted to grab him tighter back, to soothe him with soft gestures and low whispers, but he burst out in new shouts. As the arrow he held passed through the shield that Lyall's hand became, as the arrow passed through his own throat, it passed through her heart as well.
‒ Tera... Walter... Harry.. My family is.. DEAD! THEY ARE DEAD, GONE, LIKE THE WIND!
‒ STOP IT! I'M THE WIND! I'M HERE! THE WIND IS HERE!
And all hopes was lost. The snowfall became blood and tears as the winter settled in the shredded heart of a girl made, once again, an orphan.
‒ I... l-lo...ve y-you...
‒ I love you too...
‒ Roar...? What are you doing out th-...
A new gust of wind shook her, and her heart became ice. She stood there motionless, still soaking from the fresh blood of Desmond, her eyes widening in an exhausted expression as she stared at the body of her lover laying on the ground, lifeless. Blood. Blood everywhere. The world lost it last remaining shades as her eyes went blank, as her heart closed itself coldly. Too much. Too much. It's not, it can't, it's...
10-01-2017, 05:21 AM
Powerful read, and as always engaging and well written.
INTO THE SPIRIT'S WORLD
They are all dead, what else keep me here? Spirits will follow me wherever I go, since they are in me as I am in each of them. I do not have to worry about the stones and the names, about the walls and the places. Memories aren't about the ground, they are about the heart, just like home is wherever I stand and feel at ease. I will forever hold my family in my blood. Theses phantoms with their tortured mind and soul, their split spirits and their lust for blood and shadows stay in my veins and flow by my heart at every beating. I will not forget and will love each of them dearly and make, just as Tea did, this twisted love my own madness.
But the dead do not need the living, and living shouldn't need the deads. If there is a thing I've learnt from theses longs months in that abandoned bunker at looking over the sleepers, is that staying with the deads slowly transform you into one. You get destroyed little by little, until you wish nothing else than share their lifeless dreams. I shall remind you, fondly, all of you that I lost in my way, all of you that I can feel in my own soul and that keep my heart warmth in this long winter, but I have to make a step. Always one more. Even when I cannot do it anymore. I've been lucky. When the cold froze me in place, I've been embraced by three men I hold dear to and they moved my feet, one by one, against my frozen will. And I moved forward. They will be the only two I'll truly miss. I hope they could come with us, but I won't be egoist.
Lyall, James, Alaric... They followed my capricious search for Spirit's approval when I was hardly able to move on anymore. They embraced me when I needed it the most, staying by my side at my every fight, might they be with words, tears or gunpowder. We faced the Devourer together, and we succeeded it. We fought for living. We didn't give up. We'll never do, won't we ? Spirits are with us, my elder brothers, my friends, my... I do not know when we'll come back, or if we will, and this idea is frightening. But the Spirits spoke by Zetunde, that night at the docks. And I do trust Spirits with all I got, all my soul and all my heart, and somehow, I trust him even more.
Until the Spirits bring us together once more,
I see some bad things having happened or coming in fruition. I see a strong woman with a lot of insight being led down a path of self-destruction.
"We are here today to welcome new members in our family. They have proved themselves worthy of our trust, fought with us, bled with us. They shall now murder the being they once were, sacrifice their life unto ours since the life they lived previously only reigns second to their new reincarnation as phantoms. Are you ready to die ?"
I am also seeing that something that you deem as unfair has happened to you. Something didn't work out, you blame someone else and yourself but in reality there was nothing that could have done.
"He is angry at me. He killed her. Because of me, he awoke in front of her, without having time to make his thoughts about it. Maybe he'll wake up as the man who attacked us, maybe he'll just never do... (...) I won't leave his side. I won't let Tea win."
I look into your soul and I see constant worry, constant fear. Am I not good enough ? Am I not smart enough ? Self-blame.
"I'm not enough to wake you up. You are angry at me. I lost you. You're sick for how many months, now ?... You look in so much pain, and there is nothing we can do. That sweat, that fever, that suffering... How can I be enough? What do I need to do, to be enough ?"
I am seeing a long journey ahead of you, going away in a quest for knowledge, moving somewhere new. But in a way, this is your idea of how you can run away from your problems.
"Teach me again, Alaric. Teach me again, again and again, until you get bored of me or until I stumbles face to you on a battleground that I hope I'll never see." " I am where my heart wishes to be, where there is warmth, where it somehow feel like home, even if it's in the belly of our deepest enemies."
Her heart was at the end of her lips, threatening to spread over the entire platform at any times. Suddenly, she became aware of the world under her feet, highly unstable, and of every oscillation of the sea. The ashes fluttered around, clustering on their shoulders and through their hair like old snow which she felt the tiniest of weights. The offerings illuminated the terminal with their diffuse light, of which she stood resolutely distant. Her body lay from left to right, losing balance under the breath of the Earth, this mythical bird on which the island was laid. Every stroke of wind that reached her returned her straight, so that she stood, not by her own choice or her own strength, but by the wish of the spirits, by the incessant breath of the wind, which made sure that it little protege stood proud and strong.
- Stand with me, Eha, murmured Alaric, half turning towards her, his hand trembling slightly above the tactile terminal.
She inspired all the winds of the world to swell with a courage that she did not have and then, without letting go of his sweater with her fingers clenched, took a step to land at his side. Her eyes widened with fear at the sight of the images, of the holograms, of the funny drawings without charcoal nor paint that changed under her eyes untiringly. She had not the heart to marvel: the man passed from one to the other so quickly that they were nothing but a vast tornado of disturbing and incomprehensible images. She could have appreciated the dance of the spirits of the machines, feeling privileged, but the fear that gripped her heart deprived her of all pleasure.
They could be back tomorrow. In 50 years. At 50 years. They could never be back. They could never go anywhere, they could get lost in the Spirit World. As the man made his final choice, the spirits awoke and surrounded them in the form of a bright flaming light, borrowing its tones from all their offerings. They danced and deprived them of their sight. They could be back tomorrow. In 50 years. At 50 years. Never. With a growing fear, she turned to him and surrounded him as he did the same, passing his arms tightly to pull her into his embrace as he holds about her fully.
Few seconds later, the light had disappeared, and so did they.
I see a new path, a new beginning happening very soon. It corresponds to the card about travelling as well. This trip will be a turning point for you. It will be what makes you into your future self. A confident, strong woman with no anxieties or worries...
Thank you everyone ! This is the end of this thread, and of that character in that marvellous lore. There is countless time when writing was pissing me off, but your words and your reading kept me going. Today, I can go back and read all theses lovely stuffs, and I shall cherish that fondly! Six, seven ? How many months...? Of stories into theses pages. 'Ah...! That make a lot of writing at my office, that. *Cough.*
I wanna say a very, very special thanks to the characters who moulded her. As you may have guessed, her principal characteristic was the way she was influenced by everyone - mostly men, as figure of authority - in her every thoughts and choice. Greg, the one who supported me when I was barely able to write an emote completely without stumbling in my English, I will never thank you enough, because you were that diving board that throw me right into all this stuff. To Xepher, Heimdall and James who shown me with their amazing descriptive roleplay more words than I can count, who taught me more than they could never know. To Bjarke and all the Harii, for that taste of primitive roleplay that I needed the most to keep the story straight and coherent. To Desmond, Charlotte and Seth, that unexpected turn in her life that I never saw coming, and all the tears it made me lost. To Alaric, lastly, who brushed my inexisting PVP skills with his mighty patience, and gave to that low-populated pre-wipe period more colours and amazing roleplay than I could have wish for.
And to Ordrak, my dear English teacher, to who I owe more than he admits I do. Maybe. MAYBE I knew how to speak English before meeting you, but I know no one who patiently explained to me all theses words I didn't know, with such clear explanations. Five hours a day. Since so many months. Guys, my grammar can thanks him, and your eyes too !
Until the next thread <3
It's been an absolute pleasure to work and play with you, since the very beginning. It has certainly evolved to a friendship, that I did not foresee when we had our first encounter. It was definitely hard to understand your every sentence at start, but you did pull through and look where you are today!
I love you for your daily pokes and your eagerness to persuade me to start writing my story. (Sorry, I've been slacking occasionally) Thank you for an amazing chapter.
I hope we cross paths in-game sometime again!
Shark out! (L)
You can ask me about everything
Greg's Story: Here
"Garlic bread memes are the first internet fad that, for me, really brings to light the level of degeneracy that society is facing"
10-01-2017, 11:20 AM
Noisette, thank you so much for the great RP moments. You have stayed true to your character through and through. That alone deserves all the admiration and respect.
|Users browsing this thread:|