snowblindrpg | [log] Noisy Black Part Three

[Davesprite is downright exhausted after everything, woozy with his sense of balance still untrained and helped no better by the intermittent feeding schedule. He can't even stay sat down with whatever it is that's been skittering around the floor; with his eyes sewn shut, he can't see the lumps. His aching back is too much a target for him to leave it in their range.]

[He's fallen, too, into disorientation. With no sight to rely on and only the occasional snatches of conversation to pull his attention from his own head, he's left to the stark awareness of every prophet symbol in Norfinbury that the clear lenses implanted over his eyes has given him.]

[This, ultimately, is what calls his attention.]

The eyes... the eyes are spelling... They're telling me a message. Guys, they're speaking to me. There's letters—

[It takes a while, each symbol coming to mind one by one in pattern. He speaks the letters as they form, guessing words until the full is clear. But in the end:]

"We remember. We're sorry."

[A little later, a new one:]

Something from someone else? "Can't touch door... In from outside? ... Or you—how?"

[And one after whatever else may come:]

There's one that just says "Bye buddy."

Edited 2017-07-28 03:55 (UTC)

[ Sylar has been wavering in and out of coherence all day, but he's lucky enough to vaguely know what's going on when Davesprite starts talking. The words seem to help him focus, too- where they are and what was going on. He at least had a general idea.

He can barely move now- everything hurts from the few times he forgot he'd had his limbs chopped off and tried to move them around only to jolt his wounds. but he shuffles to the edge of the bars nonetheless. His voice is weak as he starts and he has to put some effort in to carry far enough to reach Davesprite. ]

I knew- knew they were normal in other parts of the building. Knew it.

[ He frowns at the last message. ]

"By" as in "goodbye"? That's- it has to be for me. Vanitas.

...did they find the door?

[ When did that happen? How out of it had he been? ]

B-Y-E.

[Confirmation. The words sit there in his mind, points of focus, staring but speaking by their conglomeration. He can feel them there above, could walk to him if just the bars would open and his balance would hold out.]

[He thinks hard on the door.]

Earlier, Enoch—he said—

[He's so tired, but he pushes against it. It's too important.]

Trapdoor. Under... under the... table? I don't know what table. It's not looking at me.

[No, is all he can think of with the 'bye' confirmation. He's not even sure why that is, but something about the sentiment he just immediately shuts down. He'll think on it later, when he's not so exhausted. The door is more important. ]

There was a table down. Down a couple flights. Where Vanitas cut my arms off, I was on a table.

[ Although a lot of that is feeling like some sort of weird dream now, it's the only one he can remember. ]

[Table. Arms cut off? But that and down help focus him more. Down. He had gone down, too, where Kid took him, and...]

[The memory shakes through him. He had struggled in the elevator until Kid grabbed his throat, then had tried to anyway as he dragged him to the table and strapped him in to keep him there for what was done to him. He could see then, still, more than the constant weight of the eyes. Even as his breath catches and hitches on the on it, he drinks in the remembered details, what things he could see before Kid took his sight.]

Operation table. It's down—it must—first? Basement? It's down but there are eyes below us, different floors, different than the eyes above. A trap door at the bottom where they took us.

That's it, then. Where the door is.

[ As far as he's concerned, that's all there is to that.

-wait a minute. ]

They're asking us how? How should we know?

I don't know. I can't walk. I can't see without eyes.

[He has his own eyes still, there behind his sewn lids, but those aren't what he means. If there's no eyes in the basement, how can he navigate it?]

[ Sylar just makes an overdramatic sigh, because seriously. They're all pretty messed up here.

-and imprisoned. That, too. ]

From outside.

[Stephen's voice is low, gravelly, and exhausted. He can't sit or lay down for long without being tormented by the things on the floor, can't stay upright without the weight of his arms dragging down on his neck. Half the time he doesn't know where he is or how either of these things is true, but at the moment a few key words get through, reminding him of....]

The planet kid, uh...Star-Guy. He's coming, he can open the door. That's...there's a door, he can open the door.

[Stephen's voice, and Stephen is so easy to focus on when he's looking at him always. When did he get so many eyes? No, no,that's right, it was—torture—the other day. Eyes on him, eyes on the Cat, on others. His head has turned Stephen's way, like it means anything when neither can see each other.]

Who?

[Star-Guy? He doesn't remember. It's familiar, but it doesn't want to click. People coming here, though. He thinks more, pushes at the exhaustion.]

Bucky and Steph are bringing eyes. Can they open it?

Not with their eyes.

[Scoff. That's...that was a weird thing for Davesprite to say. Who cares about eyes? Stephen's not sure he even has eyes anymore and clearly he's still managing.]

Star-Kid. Planet-Lord. The dumbass. Those...other two. [Whatever.] If there's a door they can open it from outside, they just have to find it.

[The words stick in his head, and he turns them around and around a couple times before the memory finally plays.]

DJ Star-Lord. That's who fucking Rickrolled me!

[It sounds ridiculous even to him, and it's enough for weak laughter. That's right. There's been music now and then, and earlier he had thought he was in the maze again, others come to join in as Beyoncé finally sang Bohemian Rhapsody for him. Had he been half-asleep? It sounds so stupid now.]

[But how had the music...]

Network. Network.

[He's been leaning awkward and heavy on the bars so long that it takes effort to bend his stiff legs and lower down without simply collapsing to the floor. The bars press uncomfortably, but his back is still worse. The static buzzes in his ears, and he feels something come to prod painfully at the lower edges of his back. Strangely, it helps his focus. Pain means a wound, a wound means move, means get away from danger. The danger here is being stuck. He pats around for his tablet under the cloak. It had been by his feet. It was... there. His fingers close over the edge.]

I'll tell them.

He Rickrolled you? That's kind of a dick move.

[What the hell, Planet-Kid. It's a good thing Davesprite has keyed into the important part of this conversation because Stephen was still working on coming to that realization.]

You're calling him now?

I thought that meme was dead.

[It's 2009, come on. And didn't the world end?]

[He nudges his tablet past the edge of his cloak, and manages to unlock it without too much issue.]

Ow.

[Would be nice if whatever is on the floor stopped poking him.]

Going to—I'm going to try to.

[And Stephen may hear as he starts hissing voice commands to his tablet. It is a lot harder when focus is this difficult, but he has the motivation to try anyway.]

Memes never die, Davesprite, they just fade away.

[But Davesprite's doing something else now. Stephen's attention wanders; at some point while Davesprite is otherwise occupied he hisses and stomps at something.]

[Another message comes through. He feels it there in his mind, and while last night he had clawed back the focus to think more about the messages, now it's about the most he can manage to find the words among the fuzz of static in his ears and sense of pain in his body.]

Everyone, rip off carpet if you can.

[He repeats it more than once. Some of the older messages from last night slip in, but the message, being told about the carpet, becomes almost like a mantra.]

[Sometime after this, whether or not anyone has actually pulled at the carpet (and one House tries his eye app, he can feel the eyes there regardless, lurking underneath), something else catches his attention.]

There's one at the top...

[A distracted murmur. But in time, a clarifying message comes to his senses. He lets it form itself out fully before he speaks.]

"Sense giant eye? Top floor. There's a computer. Can't exit to see it."

[He's been deep in a delirium for... he's not sure. Beckett has by this point lost all sense of time, and most capacity for rational thought. But now and then something flashes into lucidity. He semi-wakes enough to raise his head. Connections float up from the hot murk of his mind, and he voices one, cracking through a dry throat.]

Eye... no. Bottom. Below. Under the sea. Protocols... protocols.

[The sea? He knows the rest is wrong—it's there, high above—and while Watson mentioned something about Beckett's dream to him before, his mind's too much a mess to follow point A to point B. The wrongness puzzles itself out to him in misplaced justifications.]

We're not... we're not in the ocean. This isn't the Land of Light and Rain. There is no sea. It's above.

Yes, yes we are. Under... with the constellations. I saw...

[He'd been dreaming. Is he still dreaming?]

Andromeda said... the eye said... protocols. Important.

[A note of frustration enters his voice. It's too hard to follow this. When did Andromeda get involved?]

What protocols?

I don't... don't know... but the eye, under the city...

[He's struggling to make the connection too. But he feels the attempt itself is important.]

{Rhys is still slipping in and out of waking, torn between delusion and reality - neither of which are very pleasant- but something to do, some sort of task to focus on is better than thinking listlessly about why he's here. What he did. What he is.

He rolls over listlessly, and with the Eyes carved into both his palms and the soles of his feet, Davesprite can see what he's doing as he crawls slowly to the edge of his cage and starts to pull and rip at the carpet around where the bars are welded into the floor, looking for a loose or cut spot weak enough for him to begin tearing in earnest.

And if he's singing Bad Religion to himself while he works at it, well...so be it.]

[log] Noisy Black Part Three - Mingle [closed]

night 263; (cw: eye horror + related blindness, mild reference to other surgery)

cw: brain stuff, limb stuff

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cw: recollection of unwanted surgery + restraints (no surgery details)

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morning 264;

later the same morning

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Re: morning 264;