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snowblindrpg2018-04-22 02:04 am
snowblindmods) wrote in snowblindrpg2018-04-22 02:04 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- alfie solomons (peaky blinders),
- angel (borderlands),
- brian thomas (marble hornets),
- david bouchard (bon cop bad cop),
- john watson (bbc sherlock),
- joker (dc),
- junpei tenmyouji (zero escape),
- lilly desange (mama),
- nathan young (misfits),
- peter quill (mcu),
- rhys (borderlands),
- royce melborn (riyria revelations),
- sherlock holmes (bbc sherlock),
- stephen strange (mcu),
- tess (scion),
- vanitas (kingdom hearts),
- zack fair (final fantasy vii)
Event: Consolidation Theory, Part One and Two
Characters: red-marked characters
Location: ???
Date: Morning & Day 353
Summary: You wake up in a cell.
Warnings: general horror warnings; please note in subject lines for anything specific that comes up
Consolidation Theory OOC Post
Part Two OOC Post
Location: ???
Date: Morning & Day 353
Summary: You wake up in a cell.
Warnings: general horror warnings; please note in subject lines for anything specific that comes up
Consolidation Theory OOC Post
Part Two OOC Post
cw post traumatic flashback; panic; mental illness and self-blame
[The cells may be white walls and force fields instead of bars, smooth, gleaming floor instead of office carpet, but when Stephen awakes in this place it doesn't make any difference. His own breathing is deafening in his ears, and he stumbles as he fetches up against the force field like he doesn't quite understand how to work all his limbs. His arms -- his sight -- it isn't yet, but it's coming, he knows what's next, what happens after this part and it's not just his hands that shake but the whole of him. He can't catch his breath, and some far-distant, clinical part of his brain knows it's because he's hyperventilating, knows that's what brings black in at the corners of his vision.
Will they come for him first, before the others? America -- America with his cheerful voice and his smiling face and a scalpel in his steady hands --
He won't give in. Not to the panic, not to what they want from him. The lyrics are hardly audible, almost incomprehensible the way he wheezes them out between too-rapid breaths.]
Is this the real life
Is this just -- fantasy --
[God, oh gods, he has to get out.]
B - Going Quiet
[Later -- later when Stephen has perhaps talked to others, perhaps grounded himself in this time and place or perhaps only accepted what may come, he's quieter. He doesn't breathe so rapidly anymore, doesn't feel like his heart is going to jump out of his chest. The rush of adrenaline has come and gone, leaving him feeling hollowed out, his hands and feet still shaking as he sits tucked in the corner formed by the force field, gazing at what other cells he can see. There's shame in it, a sense of failure when he thinks of his earlier behavior and how completely he lost his head. His eyes are red-rimmed but his gaze is focused; present. When he sees movement or hears a voice nearby he shifts his attention to the other person.]
Hey.
[He says it calmly, at least, even if he halts, immediately at a loss for what follows. "It's okay"? It's clearly not. "Sorry for screaming Bohemian Rhapsody at you earlier"? Closer to the mark, but he'd rather not talk about that at all.]
cw post traumatic flashback; panic; mental illness and self-blame
[Peter hears Stephen and the hardly-audible beginning of Bohemian Rhapsody, the rapid breathing, and he knows, he gets it, gets exactly what's happening to him because he was there--once on the outside, and a fake-memory of being on the inside. He doesn't get the same visceral reaction that Stephen does, probably because it didn't actually happen--or maybe because being locked up in the cell happened more than once to him--but he's definitely afraid, doing his very best to ignore the fake-memories of when fake-Stephen had come for him too--but right now, there's something even more important than his own fear.
He has to help his friend.
Also it helps him to not think about how scared he is right now.]
Stephen?
Hey?
Uh...Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality?
cw's continue throughout thread; references to torture and lacerations likely
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[ Angel knows the voice from the speakers - she's heard it before in similar circumstances, and it's somehow more worrying than the whole yoinked-away-and-stuck-in-a-cell thing. Why this. ]
For the uninitiated, that was Robert Miller. The last time he helped us to fix something, he did so by pitting us against each other, subjecting us to various levels of injury, and generally acting like a giant effing douche.
[ She pauses for a moment. Did she sanitise that too much, maybe? Better for people to be prepared, after all. ]
Meaning... this is probably going to suck.
[ NAILED IT ]
2 -
[ After the newness of the situation fades, Angel falls silent. It isn't really like her to be so quiet, and anyone whose cell lets them see her might notice that she's looking incredibly anxious and uncomfortable.
Eventually - after plenty of internal angsting - she finally blurts out what's on her mind. ]
So, is anyone else creeped out by the way they've, um, re-dressed us? Or is that just me.
1
[Alfie pipes up dryly from a few cells down. He's hunched over in the back corner of his cell, and probably isn't visible to Angel.]
Why don't we call it what it is? Eh? It was torture.
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Aw, hell, no.
[Peter wakes up in confusion, but as reality settles and he realizes that A. he's not dreaming and someone actually has locked him up and B. someone's changed his clothes!? Without him noticing!?, there's a cold, abject fear settling in his gut that whatever this is, whatever this is for, is Not Going To Be a Good Thing.
At least he doesn't have his crimes labeled on his pant leg? They could at least get something that fit, though. He tugs at the sleeve, his arms are fit to bursting.
They look great, though.
So he does what comes naturally to any person when faced with being randomly kidnapped and thrown into what actually looks nicer than the space jail he's been to.]
Hey a-holes! I need to speak to your manager!
B.
[So he doesn't have his Zune and that's just terrible? As the hours go on, being stuck in here is just getting freakier and freakier. And so boooooooring. And terrifying. But boring.
What's taking so long?
He can't stand the anticipation, as he paces back and forth endlessly, noisily. He can't sleep, his thoughts are going a mile a minute, and his pacing takes on a more frantic tone.
Step-stomp-step-stomp-step-stomp-step.
Hey, it's a beat?
He starts drumming on the wall and basically beatboxing.
Sorry if you were trying to sleep.]
B
[ Royce can't see Peter from where he's at, but he can hear him, and after a few minutes of listening to this he's about to knock the barrier down through sheer force of will so that he can strangle the beatboxer. ]
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B-ish
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[It's the instructions over that speaker that cause Junpei to wake up. That's a little bit too familiar, even if he doesn't recognize the voice. ... But. Wait a minute. Wake up? He hadn't gone to sleep. So was he taken while he was conscious? Then.. why...
He could get up and start pounding the cell walls looking for a weak point. But it's probably useless. Instead he'll only move to sit, rubbing his eyes before addressing whoever might listen.]
If they actually want us to wait, it doesn't look like getting out of this one's gonna be as easy as last time. What's the last thing any of you guys remember?
[2]
[General annoyance at the whole situation had kept it out of mind for a while, but with his belongings gone, there's... a problem. It wouldn't be so bad if Junpei had only lost his bags-- the things he'd collected since arriving weren't that important to him. But with the change of clothes, it means what he'd brought with him in his pocket is--]
H-hey. Don't we lose stuff if nobody's watching it..?
[Maybe someone who's been in this town longer might know otherwise.]
[3] - Wildcard
[It's not like anyone can leave, so he'll always be right here to talk...]
2
[ ... ]
Hopefully I didn't just jinx it.
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Eventually, with one last hit to the barrier followed by a screech of frustration, she retreats to the back corner and sits facing the wall. She rejects this reality; bye, everyone.]
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Someone that screeches like that probably isn't... incredibly verbal, he thinks. He's got experience. ]
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cw: ptsd flashbacks, panic, noisy black callbacks
[ There have been many cells in Royce's lifetime - he's been locked up more than once and it's not a new experience to wake up in one. Before, he wouldn't have been bothered. But Norfinbury changed that.
When Royce wakes up, it takes a minute for things to sink in. It takes a while for him to figure out that he's trapped again, that this is familiar. Little cells, just waiting, waiting for someone to come and get them, a soft, echoing voice, a suit of armor telling him you have to learn how to rely on others as it picks up a pair of shears, as it readies a needle, as it takes fingers one by one by one by one --
Royce jams himself into the corner of his cell and bares his teeth and hisses, shoving his ruined, scarred hands into his stomach and curling up. They won't - they won't touch him, not again, he would rather die, he'll die first.
Harsh, terrified breathing is all that can be heard from his cell at first. ]
B.
[ But later, he manages to pull himself together enough to crawl to the front of his cage. He squints, trying to figure out who he can see, and then he says, in a rasping, tired voice: ]
I assume it's just the people covered in red lines that are here, right? [ If his voice shakes, he ignores it. ] The people who fell.
A
Royce.
[He knows he's panicking, and he knows why.]
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cw dissociation; fear of mental illness
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cw panic, mental illness, blood, likely seizure
No one will really recognize the scruffy man with the uneven haircut and the very beginnings of a beard. His head, eyes and hands are completely red. His behavior might provide a tip to his identity, though.
Once he wakes up, it only takes him a few seconds to notice the lack of familiar cloth over his face. His mask is gone?! He immediately shifts into panic mode, searching frantically around the cage for his mask, his hood, his stuff, anything he can hide himself with. He goes through the cell several times, trying his best to keep his face to the floor or facing the solid walls as he does so. This continues until he exhausts himself, but considering how malnourished he is and how all-encompassing and feral the panic is it doesn't that long for his body to give up.
B
Eventually he settles down to sit in a corner, hands covering his face. Peeking out through his fingers, of course, but otherwise doing his best to cover the incorrect face so others cannot see it.
C
Of course he can't just hide forever. This place was too stressful for his body to really take. After a few hours of containment, coughing starts to come from the otherwise silent cell. It starts off small but over several minutes it gets worse. Shortly after that he doubles over, still trying his best to cover his face as he spits blood onto the floor.
C
"Drink water while you can," he advises. "We might be here a while yet, and you're gonna want to keep as hydrated as you can with that poisoning."
C
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[There is just an explosion of angry québecois swearing, only interrupted by David's surprisingly persistent and untiring attempts to break through the force field, kicking, punching, tackling.
There's a lot of names for the voice on the radio, too, and none are particularly sfw.]
This is bullshit, this fucking bullshit town, I'm going to fix your fucking FACE...!
[Yeah, he will probably... keep this up for a while.]
Hey! Who is the asshole on the radio?
B.
[So he calms down eventually.
Which means he's only kicking the force field from time to time. But he'll also try something else because hey, energy is electricity, right?
He's gonna go and scoop up hands full of water from the bathroom and flicking them at different parts of the barrier.]
Come on, you son of a bitch...
A (cw: mentions of amputation, lobotomy)
[John's voice is, perhaps, eerily calm, to people not used to dealing with him in a crisis situation.]
It's David, right? [He recognizes the accent.] Mr. Miller works for Eve, the Administrator. I know it's difficult and sounds ridiculous, but you're going to want to calm down, David. Yelling at him isn't going to work. We've dealt with him before, and it doesn't move him. He'll likely come back and tell us what they'll be doing to use in a little while.
Until then, can you find any sort of gaps in your cage? Have you felt along all the edges, checked the floor? We'll want to keep busy, gather as much information while we're physically able to.
[Because John's memories of something like this are hazy, from an alternate future, but he remembers flashes. His arms and legs replaced by prosthetics, a rod through Sherlock's head.]
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cw definite noisy black callbacks, ptsd
Fear he expresses quietly at first as his heart rattles in his chest, pulse pounds in his head. He opens and shuts his mouth, touches the wrinkled scars clustered around his eye. Then his arm - hugs it. He can't. He can't be taken apart anymore, this body and mind just cannot take it.
The blissful silence doesn't last, friends. He starts screaming, and only screaming, for what's probably going to seem like an eternity to his neighbors. If there was any ever doubt of Dumpy's true parentage, it's going out the window with this shriek-fest. No man should have lungs with this capacity.
Sorry, folks. ]
cw definite noisy black callbacks, ptsd
He doesn't let himself sink down too far, struggles to keep his head up and when Rhys' cries fade to whimpers, the doctor speaks, calm and firm.]
This isn't the tower, Rhys. This isn't the cult. Can you tell me what you can see? What you can feel? Smell? You can do all of those things right now. Hold onto that.
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Oh shit.
[Nathan wakes up groggily, rubbing his face, but it barely takes a second to figure out that where they are isn't right. He can hear others talking, so as he makes his way to the front of the cell he calls out.]
Roll call! Who's all stuck in sci-fi Slaver's Bay waiting for the fucking cattle prong?
[Save us, Khaleesi.]
b.
Hey! Hey hey hey!
[After snapping his fingers, Nathan cups his hands around his mouth. This is totally useless, but Nathan, by trade, is totally useless 9/10 times, so this shouldn't come as too much of a surprise.]
Miller! Robert! Bobby! You remember me, yeah? We had a thing going--chemistry! Why don't we talk about this?
[And just, like, to be extra persuasive.]
I miss you, baby!
a
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[Yesterday it had seemed that Tess had reached the ultimate height in terror for her life when she woke up in a body bag and immediately had to run from a flying monster. Today, though, is an entirely new flavor of horror movie; the screaming, hyperventilation, and crying coming from so many of the other cells is somehow worse than if she had still been alone.
She hasn't cried herself, though, or screamed. She can't stop shaking; wants to curl up in a corner almost as much as she's driven to circle the cell over and over, checking and re-checking corners for some sign of anything.
Coming to the front of her cell again, she stares hard at whomever she spots across the way.]
This wasn't in the fucking guide.
[If she stays mad maybe it'll hide the tremor in her voice.]
B
[Sooner or later, Tess gets fed up. Gets desperate. One second she's circling the cell again, coming around to the back near the entrance to the little toilet stall. The next she's suddenly in full motion -- one, two, three rapid strides, barely enough to get a running start, but enough that when she slams shoulder-first into the force field she rebounds hard, stumbles, and falls to the floor. She stares at the force field, breathing hard -- and of course, nothing has changed. Only then does she comment.]
...Ow.
A
This isn't something that's happened before. It'll be all right, Tess. [He knows she's lost her memory, but...] We'll survive this. [For whatever that's worth.]
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cw: vomit (3rd prompt only)
[Enoch looks up at the sound of Miller's voice, searching for the source on instinct, while long-standing habit tells him he will find none anyway.]
Robert? Your version of "fixing" us had best not involve cutting off pieces again, of ourselves or one another! [A beat.] Please, please, we showed you there may be other ways!
[That last "please" in and of itself is almost silly enough, he ought to know better than to expect a response in situations like these, but after a few moments he gets up and starts pacing the cell.]
You're the first one to say so about us, that there's something wrong. Can you see them? The markings? Answer me, if you're trying to help us!
[He has to be able to say he tried...]
B
[Enoch's reaction is somewhat backwards, compared to the others who went through the tower's hell. It could be the fact that he was on the other side of the bars then. But his reaction is delayed, regardless of the reason. It's only when he hears someone singing Bohemian Rhapsody in defiance, when he hears Rhys screaming...
He opens his mouth to try to calm them, and it's the thought that he will only make it worse that undoes him. He folds, sagging against the energy barrier at the front of the cell with his head in both hands, hair grasped in his fingers, shivering in breathless sobs.]
Whatever you do- whatever you plan, if there's no guarantee it will cause anything but pain, do it to me instead...they've suffered enough...
C (daytime) (cw: vomit)
[The dizziness surrounding the static shapes made him think of the "evaluation" prior to the awful tower's events, prone as the environment is to evoke images of that place. He comes back from his battery of injections shaken and stumbling, trying to keep his balance while he fights the nausea tightening his throat.]
The...the things. Like the "evaluation".
[He then remembers, as he stumbles into a wall of his cell, a thought he'd had when Winter had shown up for the first time after.]
Like the...Lord, no. Shit! [Whether any of what he says is founded on anything reliable or not, Miller's earned himself that rarity.
Enoch launches himself to crash into the front of the cell, pounding on the energy "door".]
Robert, was the computer yours? No, none were willing, none were-
[He dry heaves, staggering back from the barrier. The stress and shock and immediate no of the idea, both of Miller being the potentially willing originator and of him being another victim, wrest away his usual otherwise perfect control of his gag reflex and he bolts for the bathroom. While he doesn't make it to the toilet before he loses his balance, he catches himself on the edge of the sink and retches over it.
Sure, the static things didn't behave exactly like the other things. And they were formless rather than humanoid. Enoch, however, is stressed and liable to think back on the tower at the moment.]
cw Noisy Black, PTSD, torture/surgery, vomiting.
Rhys rolls over with a groan of misery, not quite a sob, as it all comes rushing back. All the other times he's woken up like this, facing terrible things, come crashing in and for a minute, he just has to breathe, to remind himself that, for the moment at least, he is whole, he can breathe. For right now, he's okay, no matter what's about to follow.]
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
[He pushes himself up to his hands and knees, tail lashing wildly against the floor and force shield. He's going to try not to think about it, because if he thinks about it, then he remembers what if felt like those first few nights, and the memory of the table, of how it got there.
He doesn't need to go there. Back to the pain, of hands and instruments picking and pulling at things that should never see air...
Of laying on a concrete floor, trying to breathe around a broken wrist and a woman's laughter, the bite of a blade against his throat (Slicing through his scalp)
But that wasn't HERE and who came with the gun?
He has about five seconds to realize he's going to be sick, before he scrambles desperately for the toilet and starts dry-heaving.]
B.
[When there's nothing left to purge and he finally has his air back, Rhys crawls back out to lay down again, slowly returning to sanity. Laying becomes sitting, and eventually, he's focused on the outside again, On the familiar voices, faces, the layout of the cells (This shit again, please god no) and the discomfort of the jumpsuit riding up in the worst possible areas.
He's okay, though. For right now, he's okay. Hair and the front of his shirt still damp from rinsing his face, tail still thumping a discontent tattoo on the floor behind him, he nonetheless tries to focus on what's going on, on what he can do. One moment at a time.]
Is anyone hurt?
B
And this is probably better than harassing Peter, so... ]
Not yet. [ Royce's voice comes from a few cells down, raspy and exhausted. ]
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cw: suicide
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B; and cw self harm
cw self harm
cw self harm
cw self harm, blood
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B
Cw: child abuse
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[ Amid all the panicking and singing and screaming, Castiel is... almost eerily calm. This is as familiar to him as it is to anyone else who was present for those days in the tower, but the burden he was forced to bear then was much lesser than what was inflicted on most of the others. While that's no guarantee that it will be the same this time, it does mean his mind is clearer, and if he can keep it together better than the rest then he feels it is his duty to do so.
He kneels silently on the floor of his cell, gaze sweeping slowly back and forth across the room almost like a security camera. If anyone catches his gaze he'll stop, though, and nod to them. ]
Do you need to talk? Sometimes it can help, in stressful situations.
II ( cw: involuntary drugging, nausea, references to prior surgical horror )
[ Having strange fluids stabbed into his veins is... unexpected, but more pleasant than having dying flesh sewn onto his skin. This is nothing. This is tolerable.
He staggers more than slightly as he's ushered back into his cell, stumbling sideways and hitting the wall before easing himself down it carefully and resolutely assuming his previous kneeling position and attempting to go back to watching the others as he had before. It quickly becomes clear that something's off, though - his skin is clammy and sweat-slick, his eyes glazed over with fever, and he sways slowly back and forth, as if rocking with the motion of a boat on the water. ]
The room is - [ He stops, gags, swallows, and continues. ] The room is not slowly rotating for you as well, is it?
II (cw: noisy black references)
But people are coming back, now. Not Alfie, yet, but Castiel. They're not torn to pieces, but it's - terrifying. Castiel, someone Royce associates with a calm and even demeanor, sways, feverish. It's worrying. Royce crawls to the front of his cell and sits next to the barrier, watching Castiel. ]
No. It's not. You're swaying. [ He wouldn't reply, normally, but - he'll never forget what Castiel did for him in the last set of cells they were both in. ]
cw: nausea
cw: nausea
cw: nausea
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II
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Day 353 - cw: involuntary drugging, delusion, hallucination, PTSD
[John raises his voice to offer some information and reassurance, knowing that what he's seeing is not going to end well. At all. He knows what one of these things is.]
Everyone, this is Dr. Watson. If you've just seen you have a medical bracelet on your wrist, you'll see it lists out several drugs. I don't know what all of them are, but I do recognize anisomycin. It's an antibiotic. One that can be toxic to humans at certain doses. I'm not sure if the other drugs listed are meant to mitigate any immediate effects from the antibiotics. It's also been tested as a psychiatric drug... specifically for inhibiting memory. I think Mr. Miller's going to try to remove some of our memories. It might be similar to the fix Eve and Winter used to eliminate personalized anomalies that were following people some time ago.
Please be as calm as you can when you're taken from your cell and try to observe anything and everything along the way. We can compare when you're back and share what information we're able to gather.
B - After Drugging
[It's too much like the hospital after he'd been shot. Multiple IVs, swimming in and out of consciousness, unable to place where or when he is. John struggles weakly against the static, trying to fend it off until he's returned to his cell. He's laid down, at least, a small mercy when it feels like the entire room is spinning. And then there's a warm hand on his back.
John's using a lot of effort to shift and look up, but it's worth it. Mary's there, expression the picture of concern.
'What have they done to you, love?']
Mary.
[The word's a mumble before he rolls over fully pulls her in close. She's stuck in one of the white jumpsuits, as well, but John doesn't care.]
How did you get here?
['Same as you. I woke up in this room... what is going on, John?']
Dunno. Miller thinks there's something wrong. You remember the pit? We've got these lines. [John wraps his arms tight around her.] You were gone. Sherlock's here. We should let him know you made it back.
[John raises his voice.]
Does anyone else have someone else in their cell? Mary's in mine!
[One small problem, there's no one in the cell with John. He's talking to thin air as far as anyone else is concerned, and he's grasping at the air. That might only be obvious to those in his immediate vicinity, though.]
B
...Mary?
[He jumps down from the sink at once, hurrying to the front of his cell.]
Mycroft, shut up for once, I'm busy. John? Mary is here?
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A
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B cw character/child deaths, cw's continue throughout rest of thread
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event part two
He can be seen (and probably heard) climbing onto his sink rather awkwardly, struggling to keep balance, and jumping up and down vigorously.]
I know what I'm doing.
[He addresses this comment to the empty space just to his left, unaware that he's speaking to a hallucination, voice slightly clipped in irritation.]
I wish you'd stop questioning everything I do.
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Nobody said anything.
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Part Two - cw for mild gore and ptsd?
Which is why he's ended up sitting against the back wall of his cell ever since his return, hugging his knees and refusing to look at anything but the floor. Because if he looks anywhere else...
The people in the cells across from him... They're...
He can hear them talking just like anyone else, but that's the part that can't possibly be real. Whenever he looks over at them, there's no way they could still be alive. They've been horribly murdered. Torn or blown open, he's not sure which. He can't even tell who they were at this point. It's just blood and guts and bone and he needs to get that image out of his mind, but it's hard to, especially when he's seen this kind of thing before.
Maybe if he could sleep, this would be over when he woke up. Everything would go back to normal. Everyone would be okay.
Except...
He's too aware of the nausea. The dizziness. He doesn't feel sick beyond that, but touching a hand to his forehead, something still tells him it's too hot, and of course the only choice he has is to believe it.
So does that mean..?]
Angel.. fever...?
[... It can't be back. It can't. Those nightmares were too much. They lasted too long. If this is only day one...
It doesn't matter if the voices are real or imagined anymore. He needs them.]
Hey, guys?
I just--
Someone talk to me. I gotta know you're all still alive.
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Still here. Unfortunately.
[ It's Ven! Just without the emotions or the upbeat candor he was sporting on the network.
That's because he's back to normal. ]
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part 2 | cw panic attacks and post-traumatic flashbacks; delusions; parasites and body horror
Does anyone else have a bracelet that wasn't there before?!
[There's fear in Stephen's voice, barely held back. He's almost as much afraid of having another attack as he is of the more immediate questions of what will be done to them in the near future. ]
B - post-drugging
[The first time they come for Stephen, he panics and throws up as much of a resistance as he's capable of generating. It's too similar to before, being manhandled when he's unable to fight back, and he's taken out of his cell screaming and fighting.
The second time he just squints at the figures for a moment before dropping his painful gaze, muttering something as he allows himself to be strapped to the bed, neither resisting nor helping. He's similarly quiet when they bring him back, though at one point he sharply admonishes the static figures while they're still in the process of depositing him back on the floor, his eyes still shut desperately against them.]
Gently! For -- I said gently! You're going to let them out!
A
Yeah, with this kinda thing, we've probably all got one.
I'm more surprised they managed to take mine off.
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Part 2
1.
David decides it must be the latter. You want a reaction?
You're getting a reaction.]
Fuck you! Get in here, tabarnak de câlisse, I will put a fucking icicle through your throat, bind a rope to it and let the spiders drag you through town!
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Part 2 - cw: Flashbacks, drug use, torture, broken bones
Except he knows better than anyone what drugs can do to your head. He's trying to save his strength, to keep his mind about him, but when the sickness hits, and then the hallucinations, there isn't much he can do but feel it all fall out from under him.
There's been so many other times, other places, that slip into this particular situation so neatly.]
A:
[Laying on the floor, after being sick several times in the toilet, he's out of steam to move for a bit. It's okay, though, right? He doesn't have anywhere to go. He'll just...stay here for a bit and mumble incoherently to himself.]
M'not on the carpet, promise.
Don't know what I took. S'okay. I'm always better in the morning.
[He rolls over, his tail and everything else hanging limp and dead in a heap, before he starts to sing in an eerie, sing-song voice.]
Blue-bird, Blue-bird, in my window, blue-bird, blue-bird in my window, blue-bird, blue-bird in my window, oh, momma I'm so tired...
B:
[When he remembers this most times, there's a chair, and his long ponytail, and the glint of a knife at his throat, pinching at the skin. But maybe it's gone a step past it. He's on the floor now, and his wrist isn't broken anymore, but his face still hurts from all the bruises (is that how it happened?) and he's sick from days of dehydration and terror.
He thought he remembered this going differently, but apparently, he remembered wrong. It's all wrong, and now there are other people, and it's so wrong and all he can do is stumble to his feet, press his aching forehead to the force shield.]
Valentina! You didn't do this. You don't have the juice, you poisonous bitch! Who did you get to do it?
[He raises his arm, demanding an answer. His arm is okay. How is his wrist okay, when he remembers it hanging at a sick angle just an hour or two before? A sick giggle bubbles out.]
I can do this all night. I'm not giving in!
Part Two | cw: self-harm in prompt b
[This shouldn't be happening. He's been sick before--he's been high out of his mind, but if this is a trip, it's a fucking bad one. It isn't long before he's heaving into his toilet, and as he's bent over it, groaning with his head resting against the edge, the hallucinations start.
Nathan. Nathan, he killed me.]
Kelly?
[He runs a hand over his face. Those were the last words she said to him, before he woke up here the first time. Why is he thinking about that, now? Why is he thinking of her while he's feeling so sick, so pathetic, and so fucking afraid?
Nathan.
That one isn't Kelly. That one's...that's...
Nathan turns himself over on shaking limbs, and they're standing there. Kelly...and Jamie. Jamie, his baby brother. His throat catches just to see them. It feels like it's been a fucking eternity. His knees come together, and Nathan crawls backward, away from them. He wants it to be them, God, he just wants to reach out and touch them, but it can't be them. Of course it isn't. It's just their ghosts. That's what it always is.]
I'm so sorry. Fuck...fuck! I don't know what to do. How do I bring you back?
b.
[Ultimately, he's able to fall asleep, but that's when the night terrors set in, and Nathan wakes up screaming, hysteric. He claws at the walls, claws at the force field, claws at himself.]
She's in my head--my fucking head, that mental bitch! Get out, get out, you aren't me!
[He dreamed she was there, stealing their bodies again, murdering them all again, but this time, it wasn't enough to just to pretend to be him. Simon's strange friend was going to rip him inside out and crawl inside his skin. Nathan slams his head against the sink. His ears ring and pain blasts through his skull, but he grips the edges and prepares to give himself a further concussion.]
B
Hey. Nathan, right? Nathan? Just breathe. Listen to me and breathe. Nothing's in your head, we've been drugged. You've gotta sit down and breathe through it, let it pass.
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PART TWO - cw: hallucinations, delusions
When he comes back again later, he's more responsive. He's in the middle of a conversation with someone, soft and easy. ]
Alfie said he'd heard you. Earlier. Solomons, I mean. [ A beat. ] Have you seen Emily? [ Another pause. ] I can ask.
[ And to the nearest cell that he can, as he's passing by, or when he's thrown back into his own: ]
Have you seen Emily? Kaldwin. Little girl. Ten or so. Tifa said they were together but we haven't seen her here yet.
Event Part Two; cw: hallucinations
[David is speaking French, obviously to someone in his cell but he sounds considerably different than before. For those who do not understand French there's an upbeat, affectionate tone to his voice and the name Gabrielle falls from time to time.
For those who understand, they can listen in on him talking to his daughter. He's surprisingly open with the kid, telling her about the hardships of the city and no, it's different from the bad guys on the streets but it's fine, he'll figure it out. How is her ballet rehearsal going? And no, threatening to tell her mother that he let himself get kidnapped by an American City unless she gets a belly piercing is a) a cheap move and b) out of the question, and you do realize that's extortion, Gabrielle, and a criminal offense in Québec?
He promises to be home for her birthday.]
B.
So what do you want me to do? Huh?!
[Hallucinating again, but this time he's speaking English and he's back to his agitated, gruff self.]
Do you have a fucking plan, mon chum, because you could at least make yourself useful.
Yes, of course I am high, what you think I'm stupid? What are you, the, the fucking rational part of my brain because you can fuck off.
Yes, I tried that.
Yes, I tried that.
Martin, if you don't fuck off I will drown your imaginary face in the toilet.
B- cw: hallucinations
[STOP HELPING, RHYS.]
You know we're hallucinating, right?
[Rhys himself is quietly watching bloody footprints walk around his cell with a detached sort of interest. He knows they aren't really there, and yet they are. Pretty fucked up.]
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parts 1 & 2 - general CW: hallucinations, medical trauma, PTSD; see prompt-specific CWs
[Like many of the others, Diana doesn't take this exceptionally well. She has no history with torture towers, but this isn't the first time she's woken up in a cell with a faceless man telling her there's more in store. And the memories of that are foggy, but they sharpen as Diana comes to and assesses the situation, pitching her arm forward to touch the forcefield. The sleeve of the white jumpsuit comes into view as she does so, and a pit begins to widen in her stomach; these aren't her clothes. Someone undressed her. Someone...
She draws her arm back like a shot and pushes herself up off the floor, running her hands frantically over the jumpsuit and feeling more violated in it by the second. A hitch catches her breathing as she pulls her knees up to her chest and brushes her hands over her face, through her loose hair where braids and clips would usually be.
There, her fingers tighten into fists, and she bows her head to hide her face behind her knees, hoping her shaky breathing will chase away the images behind her eyes and the phantom hands on her body.]
part one - B: conversation
[While the consuming panic eventually ebbs, the knot of fear underlying it remains. Diana remains in a withdrawn posture, trying to obscure the shape of her body as much as possible. With her hair clips gone, all the hair that's normally braided back is now persistently falling into her face, which at least serves to somewhat hide her nervous expression when she bows her head.
What is more pressing is the absence of two other things: her Decision Game bracelet, and her bluebird music box. The lack of one is almost freeing. The lack of the other is devastating.
Her hand comes to touch her sternum where her music box usually rests. Saddened, she addresses whoever may be listening.] They really took everything. Even jewelry. I guess they were worried we could use it to break out...
part two - C: bracelet
[The faint sound of the slot in the wall opening up startles Diana, and she watches with apprehension as a small meal comes through it. She tries to get a glimpse of what might be pushing it through, but it happens too quickly to discern one way or the other.
She simply lets the food sit for a moment, worried that it may be some kind of experiment, but she is hungry and the call of warm oatmeal and fresh fruit is too strong.
So she reaches for it, and that's when she notices the bracelet that has appeared around her wrist. She recognises it immediately; she saw them every day at the hospital, after all. Just a quick glance is enough to tell her that her medical plan involves drugs she doesn't recognise, and that's enough to trigger a strong pang of revulsion--sick of having a marker around her wrist and scared of what it might mean, she tugs at it until it snaps off and then throws it to the floor.
It takes a moment for her to look away from it and into the cells of her fellow captives.] Does-- does anyone else recognize these drugs? [Maybe someone from further into the future...]
part two - D: hallucination
[Diana tries to resist as the buzzing static shapes take her, but she's not a fighter on a good day and the disorientation makes her too sluggish. Still, an anguished wail escapes her as she's dragged onto the bed and taken away.
She feels sick when she returns, and crumples to the floor of her cell immediately upon release. She feels like she might throw up, but maybe if she doesn't move, the room will stop spinning and her stomach will stop churning.
She feels a light touch on the back of her head. It's...nice. Comforting. And then, a familiar voice, asking if she's okay...
She turns her head slightly, though her vision swims too much to see her surroundings.] Sigma...?
[She doesn't see him. But she also doesn't see her cell. The clean, white surfaces look like the Healing Room; as she stares at the small piano that's materialised in her vision, she pulls something else out of the recesses of her bleary mind.] Another puzzle...?
b
[Nathan barks a bitter laugh.]
That's optimistic, love. I'm guessing the sick fucks were afraid we'd off ourselves. You know, fashion a shiv out of a bent piece of jewelry or hang ourselves with our shoelaces.
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D
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A: ongoing CW for PTSD, implued sexual/physical abuse
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Part Two cw ptsd, hallucinations, dead characters/children, cancer
He doesn't let anybody see the tears streaked on his face as he huddles quietly as the hours drag on further. He almost doesn't notice when Yondu sits next to him with a groan and a complaint of old bones ain't what they used to be.
If anyone passes him in the cells, they'll hear Peter muttering to himself.
You ain't a baby no more, what are you sittin' here cryin' for?]
Whatever, you're here just to make fun of me, too?
[Nah. You're scared, it reminds you of your momma. But you ain't gonna help nobody if you don't pull yourself together, boy.]
Shut up, you old doofus.
[You ain't gonna make me this time, son. Now I see there's two ways y'can go about this mess. One, you can feel sorry for yerself. Easier that way. Or two, you can do somethin' about it. I didn't teach you to give up, did I? You never gave up, not even when you came up with that ridiculous, 12% plan. I always did like that little critter you gave me...]
They're called trolls, and they're awesome.
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Instead he tries to listen in to other conversations and there is one that sounds one-sided enough to draw his interest. And because he knows that Peter has this language thing of his,]
That you, Cat Man? Got some company, too, eh?
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