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Post by Nathalia on Feb 24, 2011 18:29:02 GMT -5
(( You guys can either keep it going, or join Jo and the others in the mirror shoppe, your call. 
Either way, awesome work with a group dynamic that ought never to be together. <4))
The Ghost continued to point at Rosewood, every now and then, some of the blood pouring from it actually appeared on the ground...some of it drizzling onto Farran's own face!
After about an hour of walking, it suddenly turned to the Swan and whispered.
"He killed me..."))~Nathalia |
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Post by Kari Muffin on Feb 24, 2011 19:47:33 GMT -5
It was a long walk. A long, frustrating and painful walk. Every time he looked back he saw that thing. He was starting to think he preferred the massive silent monster that had taken a piece of his skull. At least it had left fairly quickly.
And then Farran asked him what was wrong, of course. He had been doing a piss poor job of hiding his anxiety at this point. He watched as the thing left blood on the ground. What could he say in response to Farran that wouldn't sound crazy?
He didn't care at this point really.
"I keep swearing that I see a Villa cat who is mostly beheaded and is still somehow bleeding." He said with a small shrug before deciding to turn away. As he did so the creature suddenly turned to him. He froze, expecting the world to end in a moment.
It whispered three simple little words.
"Okay." He took a deep breath. Feeling more than a little bit ill. Good to know the ghost was murdered horribly. Good to know that it was talking to him for no particular reason. He looked at the others trying to compose some rational thought. "I think I need to stop and rest... for a bit. Or something I... oh suits."
(( OOC: Well, I would rather not deal with four characters in one post again, but if you ladies want that we can move over to that thread instead. <3 I'm posting this here for now because Rosewood is happily falling apart. ))
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Post by Lucca on Feb 24, 2011 21:02:25 GMT -5
Rosewood certainly seemed very tense, and Ark didn't like it. But he didn't do much except try to keep quiet and stand near Rosewood's side as they walked, like a guard dog. He concentrated on listening for their footsteps and trying to time them so they were in sync. Farran seemed to insist on walking on a different beat than anyone else, which really did not surprise the Coyote. Now that the weird trees were gone, it was more just...empty cities.
He tensed a bit as it looked like their might be some infighting, and nosed Rosewood's hand to get him to calm down. But it seemed he needn't have bothered, as usual. He kept up the pace. And then...he frowned and turned to the Swan. That sounded...well, it sounded more like his sister's dreams than anything else. The really horrible ones that she woke from scream-crying in the middle of the night. But Rosewood was not sleeping...so what did that mean? Ark frowned and offered his shoulder, wincing a bit as his paw decided to painfully remind him that it was twisted earlier.
"We can rest for a bit, if you think it would be safe..." He looked around at the rest of the group for confirmation. He had no idea how they might go about finding Piers's brother, anyway...
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Post by Callypso on Feb 25, 2011 13:08:47 GMT -5
It was a very long walk. Some places on his bandages were beginning to be tinged with pink, a sign that the bleeding hadn’t completely stopped on his lift arm. He wasn’t a doctor but, well… that couldn’t be good, could it? Farran felt torn between hating the stupid monster for not sewing him up and being angry with himself for not letting the thing get near him once it had started “communicating”. It took only a moment for him to decide it was the monster’s fault for attacking them – never mind that he had thrown his broom handle at the thing first.
Arkady? Are there any pain relievers in that first aid kit of yours?
If he was feeling achy and battered, who knew how the swan felt? He’d basically been operated on without anesthesia or anything. Farran shuddered, a motion that irritated the stitches in his head, and he gritted his teeth to subdue the flutter of nerves. Why did everything have to hurt?
The ragtag group had walked for a while before Rosewood tiredly looked back at Farran. It was unmistakable – he was definitely flinching when he looked at the cat. He frowned – his injuries couldn’t look that bad, could they?
He stopped abruptly in shock, almost causing Arkady to stumble into him from behind.
Sorry… he said distractedly, as he stared at Rosewood. I’m sorry, what did you just say? Blots of hot wetness suddenly dripped onto Farran’s face. With a trembling paw, the Villa used the forearm of his scalpel-wielding limb to dab at the moisture. It came away speckled red. Blood.
Farran began to shake as he recalled his father’s death so many years ago. He wasn’t supposed to have been at the duel – none of his siblings were. His mother hadn’t wanted them to see. Farran, however, had been confident that his father would win, so there wasn’t any harm to clambering up a tree overlooking the courtyard to watch his father shame his opponent.
It hadn’t ended well.
There had been so much blood. His mother’s wailing grief as she leaped from her spot from the sidelines to weep at her husband’s body, tearing at her hair. Farran had fallen from the tree out of shock, spraining his wrist. The next thing he remembered, his uncle and neighbor were pulling his screaming body away, as he fought to get to a figure that was disappearing in the crowd.
But no… it couldn’t be… Could it?
D-D-D-Dad??
((I'm okay with hanging out in this thread a little bit longer, but I wouldn't mind joining the other group, either. I don't want Kari to be overwhelmed!))
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Post by Kari Muffin on Feb 26, 2011 1:00:06 GMT -5
He honestly didn't expect anyone to take him seriously, especially Farran, but it had apparently rung a bell. So what... what the ghost was saying? His stomach churned. When Arkady spoke he jumped slightly. Right safe. No, it probably wasn't safe was it? Considering there were supposed to be racists running around, and Piers had been trying to escape to the Lowlands, the streets had still been painfully empty. He took a shaky deep breath as he struggled to compose himself. They should keep moving. And then Farran said something. Why was he... asking about his Dad? Did he want to turn around? He really just wanted to edge away and curl up somewhere and cry. Why was he still here? Why was anyone capable of looking at him with a straight face. He wiped the tears that were starting to form out of the corner of his eyes as he turned around to see Farran covered in blood. He took a few steps back, backing into a wall. He gave a startled honk, nearly dropping the binding he was holding. Had to keep it together. Had to keep it together. "There has to be a logical explanation for this."Ghosts didn't exist. He would accept Jokers--that was actually remotely possible--but Ghosts? No. No. ( rolled a 15 for composure, man my dice are weird.) |
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Post by Lucca on Feb 26, 2011 22:19:28 GMT -5
Arkady stopped as the rest of the group did, ears going back. Rosewood was so upset he didn't even really seem coherant. But Farran was suddenly talking about his dad and...Arkady felt his knees get a bit weak. He'd never known his own father, since he'd died giving birth to him and his siblings. So the word was loaded with connotations that the Coyote could barely deal with on a normal day, and this was certainly not a normal day.
All annoyances at the Feline's stupidity pushed aside, Ark took a hesitant step towards him, about to offer what comfort he could. He could tell from the look in Farran's eyes that he wasn't calling out his father because he expected him to be there. But halfway there his paw twinged and he went down, face first on the road. He blinked back a few tears, tail drooping, and looked up at Rosewood as he made a loud, startled noise. Arkady made himself get back up and walked over to Rosewood, limping a bit.
He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just leaned on Rosewood's leg, lending silent support. His Tove hovered behind him, all but forgotten.
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Post by Callypso on Feb 28, 2011 13:16:52 GMT -5
A strange noise, an odd mixture of a cough, gasp and croak emanated quietly from the Villa’s mouth. His words were stuck in his throat, mouth suddenly dry. He was imagining things, right? There wasn’t anything on his face. There wasn’t any on his paws. It was his blood, right? The stitches must have ripped his skin in the fight or something. Except that this blood had trickled, drip-dropped from some place that couldn’t have been his skull. It was on his muzzle even. His body spasmed.
This was one of those stress situations. Maybe he was just hyperventilating. He certainly felt like he was hyperventilating. It was hard to breathe and his chest felt tight. Maybe the swan was just yanking his chain. But there was the blood. The blood. And how could Rosewood know anything about his father?
Arkady attempting to walk over to him and painful fall onto the ground stirred away some of Farran’s shocked reverie. After a few tries at clearing his throat, he managed to turn his head toward Rosewood, though his eyes remained glassy and unfocused.
I- I don’t know if… He fumbled, unable to get past the horror of it all. Could it really be his father? It could have been a coincidence... But the injuries were similar... Why was he here? Had he known that Farran had left his apartment to hunt down his killer? Was he mad because he hadn’t found him yet?
My father… was murdered. I-i-it was a duel. He lost. Seven. Seven years ago.
Tears were silently streaming down his face, though the feline kept staring ahead, unblinking as his body shook. Why was this happening?!
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Post by carcinoGeneticist on Feb 28, 2011 19:15:22 GMT -5
It was difficult for the woman to keep up with the group, mentally. She was still feeling woozy from the loss of blood and trauma she had previously experienced, and it gave the world around her a hazy, almost fuzzy quality. She was quiet, doing her absolute best to keep up with the group physically was taking almost all of the concentration she had.
But now they were stopped, talking about some visions the Psychiatrist was having. She grimaced slightly, flopping back onto her haunches and rubbing at her face with the backs of her hands, wincing as she accidentally irritated her wounds.
She was going to sleep at the clinic tonight, and as soon as she got there she was going to restitch herself. If the monster had done it... She wanted to make sure nothing was there that wasn't supposed to be.
Belatedly, her brain caught up with the group's conversation. What the hell were they going on about -- ghosts? By the love of the Suits, this was just getting to be too damn much. "Perhaps we've all been drugged, and what Dr. Rosewood is actually seeing is his own personal desire to kill Farran played out?[/b]" she asked, one ear flipping back grumpily. "Please, can we just... keep moving? I don't feel safe outside.[/b]"
Her voice wavered, sounding surprisingly frightened and vulnerable. That vulnerability was echoed in her eyes, and she quickly glanced at the ground, fur and feathers bristling. The presence of a ghost or - or whatever it was... Suits, it was just too much.
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Post by Nathalia on Feb 28, 2011 19:33:35 GMT -5
((The "ghost" for lack of a better term, gives Rosewood as doleful and mournful a stare as it can manage with so little face, before going limp in mid air, hanging loosely, as though from an invisible noose.
"He killed me. Can't forgive- He killed me." It whispered, the hand that had been tightly clenched around something finally fell loose, a small book dropping with a thud onto Farran's head, before falling to the ground.
The journal, which upon closer inspection, it seems to be, is spattered and stained with old blood.
The handwriting is such that Farran might recognize as his fathers...disjointed and a bit scrawly; the work of a man whose mind is on other things.
The first few pages speak happily of his wife, family, and passions.
Some speak of a friend; a very dear friend and rival whom he loves and loathes.
One who drove him to strive harder, play better, and engage in a battle of wills as well as talent.
A friend he loved more than many things in his life, and though he strove to disengage himself from it...perhaps more than things he ought to.
This friend happened to be a Villa Canine, German Shepherd, of a name Rosewood may recognize, Cort Jameston, Rogers's Uncle.
The dead thing hanging over his son's head continues to bleed...but if Farran glances upward...he'll catch one glimpse of him, before the apparition vanishes entirely with a small faint "Please-".))
~Nathalia
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Post by Kari Muffin on Feb 28, 2011 21:35:20 GMT -5
Rosewood wished that Xenon's words were correct. They weren't in the slightest. He gasped slightly when Arkady leaned up against his leg. Suits. This... he carefully gave the boy a pat on the head and mutter a thanks and an apology.
This wasn't a hallucination though.
His eyes widened when the thing continued to whisper, and the book was actually real. With wide eyes the swan remained pressed against the building.
"This isn't a shared hallucination, I'm afraid this is something supernatural and terrifying." He stated rather flatly.
Rosewood just felt entirely to ill to cope with any of it. He did know the name, though he had only heard it in passing. This was entirely too much. He whimpered. What was he supposed to do? There wasn't anything in written history that was supposed to guide his actions. He still had to deliver the message of a dead man to someone he didn't know. He had promised that, and he had to do it.
He pushed himself away from the building and prepared to walk. Even if it was only a little ways, he just needed to walk a bit to clear his head. His pounding aching head.
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rolled a 15 for composure, man my dice are weird.)
