Rhys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sleight_of_fate) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
snowblindrpg2018-06-03 05:49 pm
sleight_of_fate) wrote in snowblindrpg2018-06-03 05:49 pm
[network] @hexappeal, morning 367; A million point of light [open] [cw:blood, desecration, cursing]
Okay, so Watson and a couple others asked for this. I recorded it on night 361, but it didn't happen quite the way I planned.
Ginger, I did finish the funeral. I'm pretty sure Andromeda's spirit is gone, if it makes you feel better...it went well except for the. Well. The stabbing part. You might not want to watch this...sorry, honey.
For anyone else who thinks they might get anything out of it, or just wants to see me get stabbed, this is the whole uncut video. The whole thing happened about the same as the high school. Same creepy feeling, same tool, wound in the same area.
And yeah. I didn't die, for what it's worth.
[Rhys's tablet flicks on to show his face, covered with now-healing scratches and a rainbow of purple-gray-yellow bruises on his good eye and cheek that are in the last stages of healing. His bad eye is covered with a makeshift cloth patch, and without his hat the crisscross of older stitched scars are visible around his brow, but he appears to be...cautiously okay, as he peers into the camera and then holds it up to pan it around the inside of the church. Red and black stained carpet, red and black stained glass, red and black drapings cover the place, except for the solemn, draped figure of Andromeda crucified to the wall. She's been thoughtfully covered with her own patterned sundress.]
Hey, folks. Hey, Ginger. Like I promised, I'm at the church, and I'm setting up to do a funeral for Andromeda. I can't get her down, so unfortunately it's going to have to be here, but I don't want to leave her here without saying a few words, so that's what I'm going to do.
[His voice is quiet, tired, and respectful, as he turns to Andromeda's still figure, and starts setting out his gear: filling a cup with water, lighting a candle and laying out chalk and charcoal along with folded paper flowers and origami stars.]
Sorry, sweetheart. We'll try and figure out something to get you out of this place, but for now this is the best we can do.
This is Night 361, by the way.. still a little before dusk, just after lockdown.
[He wants to be gone in the morning. Rhys starts drawing a pattern on the floor in front of the crucified figure's feet, a complex circle and swirls, before he sits back in front of the candle and scented water. He's clothed for this rite, as is appropriate. This is solemn and respectful, though he has taken off his coats and hat to reveal the heavy swirl of tribal thorn tattoos covering his arms. The camera is clear with only the occasional blip of static.]
Andromeda, we are here tonight, some in spirit and some in flesh, to help you on your way. To set you free from this dark place and let your soul be free to walk where it may, maybe among the stars you loved.
[He takes a tiny bottle full of thick brown liquid, and drops a small drip in the chalk circle.]
Let the darkness be gone from here and leave you at rest. May light shine on you.
[He takes a deep breath, steadying himself as though faltering. Pauses for just a moment. The static gets a little heavier, the sound whining in and out much like it did at the high school, but the recording stays stable for the moment.]
May there be green grass and soft earth beneath your feet. May the wind carry you on your way. May the fire guide you in the darkness. May the water cleanse the pain-
[The static is eating all the words now, warpng and ripping the screen. Rhys stops with a small, startled sound, and his hand drops to his side. The blood takes a minute to appear through his fingers, nearly black against his pale fingers and light gray t-shirt. Cut to him half-propped on the floor. When he speaks again, it's breathless and pained, hard with anger.]
May the water cleanse the pain and sorrow from you.
[The candle flickers and goes out, and Rhys crawls to his bag a few feet away, clearly set out for this reason. He hurriedly pulls off his already ruined shirt to press a fistful of rags against the heavily bleeding stab wound low in his side.]
May you be reborn, healed and radiant in the light of stars.
[That's all he's got in him. He lays his head down for a minute, muttering curses before he lifts his head again, looking for the light of the tablet.]
-fuckers.
I get-
-back-
-fucking Mason jar for each of you fuckers-
[With he ritual stopped the distortion fades, but it takes Rhys a few more minutes to get himself up and reach the tablet, though by the furious lashing of his tail he's still very much alive. When he reaches the communicator, he stares at it with a pale, shocked, furious, and utterly defeated face, then shuts it off, ending the video.
This was not what he had planned, at all, and he's bitterly disappointed with the outcome. Again.]
Ginger, I did finish the funeral. I'm pretty sure Andromeda's spirit is gone, if it makes you feel better...it went well except for the. Well. The stabbing part. You might not want to watch this...sorry, honey.
For anyone else who thinks they might get anything out of it, or just wants to see me get stabbed, this is the whole uncut video. The whole thing happened about the same as the high school. Same creepy feeling, same tool, wound in the same area.
And yeah. I didn't die, for what it's worth.
[Rhys's tablet flicks on to show his face, covered with now-healing scratches and a rainbow of purple-gray-yellow bruises on his good eye and cheek that are in the last stages of healing. His bad eye is covered with a makeshift cloth patch, and without his hat the crisscross of older stitched scars are visible around his brow, but he appears to be...cautiously okay, as he peers into the camera and then holds it up to pan it around the inside of the church. Red and black stained carpet, red and black stained glass, red and black drapings cover the place, except for the solemn, draped figure of Andromeda crucified to the wall. She's been thoughtfully covered with her own patterned sundress.]
Hey, folks. Hey, Ginger. Like I promised, I'm at the church, and I'm setting up to do a funeral for Andromeda. I can't get her down, so unfortunately it's going to have to be here, but I don't want to leave her here without saying a few words, so that's what I'm going to do.
[His voice is quiet, tired, and respectful, as he turns to Andromeda's still figure, and starts setting out his gear: filling a cup with water, lighting a candle and laying out chalk and charcoal along with folded paper flowers and origami stars.]
Sorry, sweetheart. We'll try and figure out something to get you out of this place, but for now this is the best we can do.
This is Night 361, by the way.. still a little before dusk, just after lockdown.
[He wants to be gone in the morning. Rhys starts drawing a pattern on the floor in front of the crucified figure's feet, a complex circle and swirls, before he sits back in front of the candle and scented water. He's clothed for this rite, as is appropriate. This is solemn and respectful, though he has taken off his coats and hat to reveal the heavy swirl of tribal thorn tattoos covering his arms. The camera is clear with only the occasional blip of static.]
Andromeda, we are here tonight, some in spirit and some in flesh, to help you on your way. To set you free from this dark place and let your soul be free to walk where it may, maybe among the stars you loved.
[He takes a tiny bottle full of thick brown liquid, and drops a small drip in the chalk circle.]
Let the darkness be gone from here and leave you at rest. May light shine on you.
[He takes a deep breath, steadying himself as though faltering. Pauses for just a moment. The static gets a little heavier, the sound whining in and out much like it did at the high school, but the recording stays stable for the moment.]
May there be green grass and soft earth beneath your feet. May the wind carry you on your way. May the fire guide you in the darkness. May the water cleanse the pain-
[The static is eating all the words now, warpng and ripping the screen. Rhys stops with a small, startled sound, and his hand drops to his side. The blood takes a minute to appear through his fingers, nearly black against his pale fingers and light gray t-shirt. Cut to him half-propped on the floor. When he speaks again, it's breathless and pained, hard with anger.]
May the water cleanse the pain and sorrow from you.
[The candle flickers and goes out, and Rhys crawls to his bag a few feet away, clearly set out for this reason. He hurriedly pulls off his already ruined shirt to press a fistful of rags against the heavily bleeding stab wound low in his side.]
May you be reborn, healed and radiant in the light of stars.
[That's all he's got in him. He lays his head down for a minute, muttering curses before he lifts his head again, looking for the light of the tablet.]
-fuckers.
I get-
-back-
-fucking Mason jar for each of you fuckers-
[With he ritual stopped the distortion fades, but it takes Rhys a few more minutes to get himself up and reach the tablet, though by the furious lashing of his tail he's still very much alive. When he reaches the communicator, he stares at it with a pale, shocked, furious, and utterly defeated face, then shuts it off, ending the video.
This was not what he had planned, at all, and he's bitterly disappointed with the outcome. Again.]
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