SOMETHING DEAD THAT DOESN'T KNOW IT'S DEAD.
» THE CITY — INTRODUCTORY NOTES
Now that Halloween is just around the corner, the city is starting to come alive with seasonal cheer. You start to spot decorations scattered around the city: plastic skeletons sitting on benches, jack-o-lanterns decorating front stoops, and even a few places in the park near City Hall where the trees themselves have been decorated. It's clear that the autumn season is in full swing and the city is making the most of it.
From the morning of October 19, you also start to notice flyers hung up around the city that advertise the local university's homecoming Halloween party. They're cheerfully decorated much the same as the newsletter that was delivered to residents earlier in the month, and they're hung from light poles, pinned to bulletin boards, and occasionally fluttering on front stoops of apartment buildings. There might even be one taped to your door when you open it in the morning.
The flyer announces that the Halloween party will begin on October 22 and will run through October 31. It runs every night from sunset to midnight, and residents are encouraged to attend in costume! If they have their own costume, perhaps found at the Halloween Superstore, that's perfect—if they don't have a costume, though, one will be provided to them by the party organizers. Doesn't that just sound like fun? And the flyers really are everywhere, and that makes it hard not to take notice—but once you take notice, you really can't stop noticing.
Indeed, once you read one of the flyers, you just can't help but read the flyer every time you encounter another one. And every time you read one, you find yourself feeling a little more curious about the party being advertised. Will it be anything like the Halloween I know? you may think. Or, I don't even know what Halloween is, I wonder what it'll be like. It's not quite enough to compel you to pay a visit to the address on the flyer, which is one of the dorm buildings on the university campus, but it's definitely enough to get you thinking about Halloween. Maybe you ought to go find a costume…
But Halloween parties and costumes are not all you're thinking about. It's easy enough to write off at first, as tricks of the light or a figment of your imagination: flickers of shadow at the corner of your eye, cold spots in your apartment, creaking footsteps in your empty living room. There's nothing there when you turn your head to look, nothing there when you flick on the lightswitch to see if someone's in your house—but somehow, that doesn't reassure you.
By the evening of October 21, every resident in the city has been visited by some sort of entity haunting their house, and every resident of the city has been left a gift: a dorm room key, each differently numbered. You may find the key in your pocket, or on your bedside table, or in your favorite coffee mug.
Should you decide to attend the party, it will be up to you to decide: Is this just the City getting in the spirit of the season? Or is it something more… malevolent?
The flyers will be strewn about the city in various locations beginning on October 19. Characters who read them will find themselves feeling oddly compelled to go check out the advertised Halloween party, which will run from October 22 to October 31 between sunset and midnight. For the most part this will just feel like a sense of curiosity about the party, and astute characters may be able to pick up on the fact that they're being emotionally manipulated a bit.
Characters who choose to go can wear a costume of their choosing from the Halloween Superstore, or the City will provide one if they don't have a costume of their own yet. (Read on for more information about how characters can get their hands on a costume!)
Lastly, every character will find a dorm room key somewhere on their person before the party starts on October 22. This key may or may not correspond to a room in the dorm where the party is being held—of course, characters are not obligated to use the key, but they may want to know what's hiding behind those closed doors.
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ALL THESE GHOSTS COME STREAMING DOWN.
» THE CITY — GETTING THE PARTY STARTED
On the morning of October 22, every device in the city starts to buzz.
The screen illuminates, displaying a white page not unlike the orientation survey that welcomed you into the city. Unlike the orientation survey, though, there are no questions—only a single phrase in bold, dark text. THE GOOD OF THE MANY, it says, with a single "OK" button below.
For a minute, nothing else happens. You try to turn the device off, but the screen stays lit; you try to reboot the device, but the screen stays lit. It seems that the only way to get rid of the screen is to press the button.
…Have you done this before? Or are you having déjà vu?
At sunset that same day, the Halloween party will open for the first time. The party's entrance is located on the ground level of a large three-story dorm building in the western half of the university campus. The double doors into the building are fully decorated with folded-paper bats and ghosts, cotton batting pulled apart to make spiderwebs, and a cut-out sign that says "HAUNTED HOUSE" in bright red, dripping-blood letters. The decor looks almost… corny, hokey in a way that can't possibly be threatening. Right?
But the decorated double doors aren't the only way that residents may enter the party. Of course, the organizers would prefer that you use the front doors, but if you'd prefer not to, they have other ways of getting you inside.
After the party begins on October 22, any door in the city that you walk through has the potential to become a door into the first level of the dorm building. You may exit your apartment and find yourself standing in the darkened lobby; you may walk out of the bathroom and run right into a handful of cotton spiderwebbing. Unfortunately, there's nothing to indicate whether or not a door might lead to the party until you're through it—and once you're through it, there's no turning around. The only way out, as they say, is deeper in.
Were you wearing a costume in preparation for the party? Fantastic, you'll keep that costume on! But if you weren't wearing a costume, don't worry—the party's organizers have you covered. You look down and find that no matter what you were wearing before, you are now wearing a costume of some kind. Maybe it's one you would have chosen for yourself, or maybe it's totally not to your taste. If you truly hate it, you can try to take it off… although you may not find it easy to remove.
Once the party begins on October 22, as stated above, any door in the city has the potential to become a door that leads directly to the first level of the haunted house. Characters will not be able to tell by any means whether a door is pointed there or not; only once they're fully through the door will they realize that they're actually standing in the lobby of the decorated dorm building and not in whatever room they intended to enter. Once characters are inside, there's unfortunately no way to get out, not without making their way through the haunted house itself.
Whether a character enters the haunted house via the main double doors or through another door somewhere else in the city, they'll need to come in costume. (Their own canon clothes do not count!) If they're already wearing a costume, they can keep it on arrival; however, those who enter the haunted house costumeless will be assigned a costume at random by the city. The actual costume is up to the player's choice. It may end up being something that suits the character, or it may end up being something totally embarrassing—that's completely up to the player.
Regardless, characters will have a difficult (but not impossible) time removing the costume until they have exited the haunted house. This includes both physical difficulty (feeling as though the costume is fused to their skin, feeling physical resistance to undoing zippers/buttons, etc.) and mental difficulty (an overwhelming sense of dread or vulnerability). Characters are able to overcome both of these difficulties to remove the costume if they're dedicated enough; the clothes they were originally wearing may be still on under the costume or might be awaiting them at home when they return.
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THEY GO TO GROUND AND ROT.
» THE HAUNTED HOUSE — LEVEL 1
CONTENT WARNINGS: One image containing fake spiders, mention of spidery feelings; mention of zombies (but no images)
The ground floor of the dorm is decorated much how one might expect a haunted house at a university to be decorated. The entrance to the haunted house proper is through a tunnel of cotton spiderwebs filled with little plastic spiders, so narrow that it forces you to hunch down and squish together to get through. Although it feels claustrophobic, and you may imagine the sensation of little spider legs crawling over your body, once you make it through the tunnel it becomes clear that the spiders never actually moved. Whew!
The tunnel lets out into the first-floor dorm, a long (too long?) stretch of hallway with doors leading to rooms on either side. Some of the doors are closed and locked, but many are open, allowing you a glimpse as you pass. As you walk down the hallway, you make sure to peer into each of the rooms. Some of the doors lead to total blackness; others lead to rooms decorated like an elaborate Victorian haunted mansion, and yet others even lead to perfectly normal dorm rooms, like someone forgot to get around to decorating. And sometimes—not every time, but often enough—when you peer into one of the rooms, there's something peering back.
Most of the frights you get on the first floor come in the form of animatronics, realistic-looking ones that jump out at you as you pass and give you a fright. There's a man with a bloody knife, or a zombie with flesh hanging from its teeth, or a clown with sharp, venomous-looking fangs—they leap out of the doorways with a startling quickness, but never come close enough to touch. They just brandish their weapons, then retreat back into the room they came from as if satisfied with the scare they've given.
There are also a handful of real scare actors on the first floor as well, perhaps even some faces you recognize. They lurk in the darkened rooms and leap out with growls or shrieks, then chase you a few meters down the hall before leaving you to run away. Just like the animatronics, though, they never get close enough to touch or harm you—they just want to get your blood racing.
The rest of the scares come from paintings that abruptly change form to show a ghost's face, or candles that swoop down across your path and then move back up. And behind it all are the spooky sounds of groans and screams and tearful begging, a solemn soundtrack to your trip through the haunted house.
Oddly, you never do see a speaker. And even more oddly still, none of the rooms on the first floor match the number of the key you're holding…
The first level of the haunted house consists of fairly cheap scares, mostly relying on animatronics, voiceover tracks, and tricks of the light or optical illusions to deliver scares to the residents. Players should feel free to use their imaginations to come up with potential scares or animatronics—think something moderately more scary than Haunted Mansion but less than Halloween Horror Nights. The animatronics may feature enemies or monsters from characters' home worlds, or may be simply generic creatures you would find at a Halloween store.
In addition, the first level is also populated by characters working as scare actors. These characters may be those who attended Robby and Tsuruno's house party, or may simply be characters with a sense of humor who enjoy making other characters jump and shriek a little. Either way, these scares are harmless and non-contact. The scare actors won't harm anyone going through the haunted house, even if they do a little chasing down the hall.
Although the hallway looks oddly long and is perhaps a bit more winding than it ought to be, there doesn't seem to be anything particularly odd about the dorm building itself. Characters may, however, find that the trip through the haunted house feels shorter when they're accompanied by another.
For characters who don't wish to venture up the stairs to the second level, there is a well-hidden emergency exit tucked out of sight behind the staircase that leads upward. This is the opt-out for players who don't wish to engage with the events in the second and third levels of the dorm.
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WE WILL NOT REMAIN UNSCATHED.
» THE HAUNTED HOUSE — LEVEL 2
CONTENT WARNINGS: Generally spooky images including some ghostly ones; mention of hanging. Prompts include violence (such as mutilation) potentially leading to serious injury or death. As always, please warn appropriately!
It's once you reach the second level that you realize something has shifted.
The metal door at the end of the hallway swings shut behind you, and you immediately realize it's far too dark and far too cold. Even with your eyes wide, you can barely make out the shapes of the decorations around you; they are lit mostly by the flickering orange of electric candles and the glow of the emergency exit sign above your head. Your breath condenses into steam as you exhale, and although you rub your hands together, you can't quite seem to gain any warmth. You feel a little bit dizzy and off-kilter, and from the distance you can hear the sound of a voice murmuring in quiet, urgent tones, interrupted by brief bouts of sobbing. You try the door behind you, but it doesn't give: you are stuck here, and must make it out.
The hallway is decorated, but even the same decorations that felt corny downstairs now give this floor an air of discomfort and desperation. As you make your way down the hall, you notice that many more of the doors on this level are open, and in the sickly, dim light cast by the fake candles, you're able to catch glimpses of what's inside: shadowy figures moving in the blackness. These are creatures that seem made of the dark itself, congealed into something more or less resembling a person. There's one sitting at the desk like a good student, its too-long fingernails rasping over the surface as it scratches something into the wood. There's one sitting on the windowsill, its too-long limbs hanging out into the night. There's one hanging from the ceiling, its feet at eye level, swaying slightly in an unfelt breeze. There's one standing dead in the middle of the room and staring straight at you, its eyes two embers in its featureless head.
You lock eyes briefly and the creature starts to move: this ghost is coming after you, and this one means it. There's no animatronic rigging to stop it and pull it back into the darkness of the room, and it's no scare actor that will stop after a few meters of pursuit—no, its hands reach for you, for your hair, your throat, fingers clutching and grasping. You turn and run, but it pursues, and that voice you heard murmuring earlier is now a fever pitch of syllables behind you, half-whispered, half-screamed in a language you can't understand. The noise of it draws more ghosts out from their rooms, and they follow as you sprint down the too long, twisting length of the hallway. You can see the glow of the exit sign at the end lf the hallway, drawing closer as you madly dash for it—
And then you trip. Or maybe you're pushed, you're not sure. You hit the carpet hard and then the ghost is on you, its hands scrabbling at your throat, fingers prodding at your eyes. Of course you fight back—if you don't, you're going to die—but as you fumble blindly for something with which to beat the ghost off, you realize that this ghost has weight to it, that the fingers trying to tear out your throat aren't incorporeal and ghostly but rather the fingers of a pair of very human hands. As you blink, eyes straining in the darkness, the features of the ghost begin to resolve into those of a person.
And it is a person. It's a person you may even know, a friend of yours, a fellow resident of the City. Not a mannequin facsimile, but someone real, someone who fights you with everything in them as you struggle to break free.
Your grasping hand grips something firm, maybe a flashlight or a fire extinguisher, and you swing it as hard as you can at their head. You don't want to, this is your friend, but what choice do you have? After all—it's either them or you.
Once characters enter the second level of the haunted house, those attuned to energy flow will immediately be able to recognize this as a place full of negative ghostly energy. Characters may sneak extremely carefully and quietly through the hallways, avoiding every single ghost; they may be pursued by ghosts, but ultimately make it to the exit, beyond which the ghosts will not pursue; or they may be caught by a ghost (or "ghost") and be forced to fight for their lives.
Not all of the "ghosts" on the second level are truly ghosts. Players may opt to have their characters participate in the event as the considerably more deadly "scare actors" of the second level. Only they won't be acting: to these characters, anyone who passes by in the second-floor hallway (the "partygoer") is an absolute threat that must be dealt with immediately. Scare actor characters will be possessed by an irrepressible need to hunt down and attempt to injure or kill any partygoer or other scare actor they encounter, and can only be stopped by either death (of either the partygoer or the scare actor) or being knocked out and removed from the hallway.
These characters may also be those who attended Robby and Tsuruno's Halloween house party and ended up getting a little too in-character in a negative way (see their plotting post for more information). However, characters do not have to attend the house party in order to participate in this mechanic. Any character who enters the haunted house can become a second-floor ghost if the player so desires.
Either the scare actor or partygoer may be seriously injured or even die. If this happens to the partygoer, the haze of bloodlust will immediately lift from the scare actor and reveal to them what they've done. (If the scare actor is knocked out or dead, obviously this realization will take place after they've returned or regained consciousness.) Killing and death as a part of the October event is not subject to murder or death consequences.
If a character chooses to sneak through the second floor and avoid the ghosts, and does so by entering any of the decorated dorm rooms, they may find shorthand messages scratched into the desks, closets, or doors. These messages might just be names, familiar ones belonging to people from home, or might say things like HELP ME or ITERATION 4█ or LOOK BEHIND THE APOCALYPSES. Characters may also find small, non-magical, recognizable personal effects belonging to people from their home worlds, tucked into drawers or kicked under the bed or in some otherwise unobtrusive location, easily overlooked.
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WHEN YOU HAVE NOTHING TO SAY, SET SOMETHING ON FIRE.
» THE HAUNTED HOUSE — LEVEL 3 AND CONCLUSION
After the second level of the haunted house, the only way to go is up… assuming you survived, that is. Exhausted and battered, you make your way up the stairs—perhaps alone, perhaps with a friend, or perhaps dragging the unconscious body of your assailant-friend—and let yourself into the third-floor common area.
This is where the Halloween party is taking place! Congratulations, you made it! There's a bass-heavy soundtrack throbbing in the background, and the room is decorated once again in the cheesy Halloween decor of the entryway. A large casket full of ice holds beers and sodas, and a table in the middle of the room bears all sorts of spooky snacks: peeled-grape "eyeballs," candy corn "teeth," sour gummy worms in brownie dirt, and any other kind of snack one might imagine.
If you made it through the haunted house with a friend, you will find a letterman jacket in your favorite colors, with your name embroidered on the back, hanging on a peg on the far wall of the room. You can take it with you now, or when you go home, or you can leave it on the peg forever—it's your choice, but it is a symbol of having survived the haunted house, so it might be nice to have. Don't you think?
You may have to do this again, you realize. Now that the doors in the city occasionally open straight into the haunted house, there's no telling how many times you'll have to survive this before the Halloween party draws to its close. Maybe you do need a beer after all…
Oh, and you still don't know what dorm room that key goes to. Maybe you had better just hang onto it for now.
The topmost floor of the dorm building, the third floor, is where the "party" part of the Halloween party is taking place! The food and drink is abundant and, of course, free. There's just about any type of drink or Halloween-themed snack imaginable, so characters can help themselves. When they're through partying, there's an outside staircase that leads directly from the common room back down to ground level.
Characters who survive the haunted house in a group of two or more will find that that there is a custom-made letterman jacket with their name on the back, perfectly their size, hanging on a coat rack on the far side of the room. While wearing this jacket, characters will be less susceptible to the scares in the haunted house, and the ghosts of the second floor will not pursue them as intently (although it has no effect on scare actor characters). To any characters who are particularly sensitive to this sort of thing, the jackets do have a moderate protective effect against various negative status effects, so to speak; this effect does not diminish after the event is over. Characters can only get one jacket, their first time through the haunted house; subsequent trips through will not result in additional jackets.
The dorm room key is not a usable item during the October 2023 event, but will become usable in November and December, so characters are advised to not lose them.
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WILDCARD.
The city is by no means small, and there are plenty of things for you to see. There's no rush in exploring, so feel free to take your time looking around and peering into various nooks and crannies and alleyways—and don't worry, you're not very likely to find anything peering back.
If none of the above prompts appeal, feel free to check out the Locations and Maps pages and write your own freestyle prompt using one or many of the available locations.
This month's event headers come from "Landscape with Fruit Rot and Millipede," a poem by Richard Siken.
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citylogs2023-10-19 09:00 pm
no subject
A few nights now, yes.
[ Again that twist of guilt on how he's used this place the times he's been brought here. Not once has he come here on purpose, but he's spilled out into the entrance more times than he perhaps should have. Idly he wonders how Lestat would react - he's got a good idea how Louis would, shocked, perhaps appalled? - but doesn't reveal his actions. He's too on edge as it is, he doesn't want to argue, not tonight. ]
Do you want to get out of here?
[ He can feel the mood shifting around them, the spirits that linger, no longer recognising him as a creature of pursuit, but prey. If they're not careful they will have a true fight on their hands to get to the party above. ]
no subject
He puts a hand onto Armand's shoulder. ]
Let's go. You should get your letterman when we go upstairs. It helps to protect you, apparently; at the very least it makes it easier to sneak through these levels without being noticed.
no subject
[ He's escaped of course, but definitely did not stick around for the party so he's obiviously missed a key component here. Not that it really matters - he's rarely needed to pass through unnoticed - perhaps now on the last night he can claim a 'prize' at least.
Armand doesn't bother to shrug Lestat off, just moves with him - the sooner they leave, the better - he has a terrible feeling...
Which is almost immediately realised.
The air around them changes and once more he's reminded of the hunt, but this time they are being hunted and the compulsion shifts to pour anxiety over their shoulders - it's almost enough to take his breath away, if he had any - and he shoots Lestat a wild look. He must feel it too, surely? ]
Lestat-- run.
no subject
His heartbeat has quickened before Armand speaks, but when he does and Lestat realises that he can feel it too, that something as old and as resolute as Armand knows they are not safe here, that they cannot beat this with sheer confidence alone...
Well, he does as he's told. He runs.
But where will they run to, in a corridor so tight and so small? ]
To the stairs, up to the third floor!
[ He shouts as they move, but there are hands emerging from every door, faces turning toward them to grimace, and the sound of approaching footsteps behind them. ]
no subject
He makes a noise of alarm as one finally makes contact, knocking him off balance with alarming strength and Armand whips round to defend himself, lashing out with clawed hands, but he's disturbed by the sudden strength of the shades. He can feel them gathering in numbers, circling him now he's a target and he looks wildly around for Lestat as he blocks another blow, tearing at the things before him. ]
Lestat--!
[ His next words for Lestat to flee, to watch his back as he does so, are lost in a cry of rage and pain, as a shade to his right swipes faster than he can dodge and cuts gouges across his bicep.]
no subject
He smells the blood before he sees it, and he shakes his vision clear to watch as the things pile in on Armand's form, grouping like so many flies on the corpse of something long dead, desperate to weave in and take a piece of flesh for themselves.
He grabs the nearest thing to him by the back of the neck with a fierce snarl, claws digging in before he kicks it away and grabs for the next one-- body after body being thrown hard against the wall or the floor or into an empty doorway-- desperate to carve a path for himself through the throng so that he can get to Armand, following the scent of his blood.
When he sees him, he reaches out a hand for Armand to take - just one touch and he can pull him back and get them both out of here before the surge overwhelms them both again. ]
no subject
Armand's heart is already pounding from the efforts of defending himself, but it begins to truly race as this deluge of creatures echo a time and memory he would rather forget. He tries not the panic, focuses on fighting back - he's so much stronger now - no fresh faced fledgling here, he's destroyed covens. But that was with all his strength, with a full belly and the command of his powers. He feel's this weakness, this fatigue and surely whatever force that's brought them here knows what he can do, engineered it so and surpassed it..
That really does send him into a spiral and he shoves the nearest being off him with a growl, looking for Lestat once more and seeing his pale hand thrust into the circle of creatures around him. Armand's heart swells for a split second and he snatches for that dear limb, desperate suddenly to not be alone, to not be cornered so.
Unfortunately though, it's all the opening the shades need and suddenly they are on him, hands in his hair, arms around his waist, dragging him back, restraining him as much as they tear at his skin, intent on wrestling him to the floor to devour it seems.
Armand struggles furiously against them, fangs bared, limbs breaking under his fists, but it's not enough and truly, all he can see is that pale face and fall of blonde hair and suddenly he is again Amadeo being torn from his master. ]
No! Dear god, not again!
[ His mother tongue, anguished as the words are torn from him, as he curses and squirms. Please no, please don't leave me again! His mind calls out, even as tears flood his vision and he fights on. ]
no subject
Armand! [ He shouts uselessly, tearing at the backs of the spectres as even more emerge from the hallway doors. Lestat is fully aware that he's leaving his back as a complete blind side as he tries to gain sight of Armand again, and just as he thinks of skirting a circle around the throng, one of the doors closest to him opens to reveal what can only be described as a mass of hands... A black, roiling thing stands in the doorway like a maw, pale fingers stretched into claws reaching for him, and he takes his eyes from what he can see of Armand for a second-- and then he's gone.
The things grab onto his arm, tearing at his hair, and he snarls like a beast, gnashing his teeth at them as though he had any chance in the world of scaring them off. He can't understand how they're so strong, where before they've been so easy to overcome. It's almost as if they're siphoning his power, or increasing theirs to match it. With a drop of dread Lestat wonders if he's got in over his head.
When their grip tightens, he tries to see Armand with his eyes, but the monsters in the hall are too many and too much... so he reaches out with his mind instead, trying to at least get a response from Armand, some knowledge that he's alright despite the fight. ]
Armand!!
tw: restraint, major injury, past trauma/torture, panic attack, blood
It's cold comfort, however, when he's being forced to the floor, bare knees making painful contact as they finally managed to restrain his arms and press him flat. Splayed out, Armand thrashes, panicked at being so prone again, unable to defend himself he kicks out viciously, but his heart stops dead in his chest when he feels claws on his back.
The beatings, the lashings, anything to make him submit to the coven - it had started like this hadn't it? - he goes perfectly still in response, the fight leaving him for a breathless moment as fear grips him, but the reality turns out to be almost worse. The costume, the ridiculous wings that he couldn't shrug off himself, well he feels several shades grip them now, more hands holding his body down and then they are pulling, tearing and Armand shrieks in pain - agony, like few things he's ever felt - approaching only the flames of that fire in it's intensity, clawing down his back.
The scent of blood blooms around him, stronger now and he feels it, running down his skin, flooding between his shoulder blades and pain, and pain and pain. He's senseless with it, cant even form a thought to call out to Lestat again, only room for prayers, begging for mercy from a god that's not answered in a very long time.
The second wing gives way under their terrible hands and Armand's hoarse from his cries, but he feels the circle around him go lax with a kind of victory and he knows, suddenly, that if he doesn't move now, they will kill him like they've done everyone else that enters this place and is over powered and well - he fears that far more than anything. The floor is slick with his own blood below him now, but Armand moves, all his speed, every ounce of his shadow craft, pushed into a fervent escape to the dorm rooms ahead. He slips - quite literally - under their reach, crashing through the half open door and throwing his weight back against it, engaging the lock with his mind.
He's blind with tears, marble skin torn to shreds, but he has just enough presence of mind to force the image of the room he's in, out to Lestat, before dissolving into gasping sobs. ]
no subject
Lestat feels a mixture of fear and fury amalgamate in his chest, leaving him dizzy with it at he still tries to wrench himself free of the hands trying to claw him back into darkness. The worst part of it all, is that as he looks down the corridor he can spot an easy path to the stairs and knows that if he goes limp and then yanks his arm he'd be more than capable of getting there unscathed.
But he can't. He can't leave Armand. Not again. Not here, not like this.
He hears Armand's voice go hoarse, he smells the waft of blood into the air so much more powerfully, and the urgency in him ticks up another level. Then he sees the sight of the room from Armand's mind, and he knows exactly what this is. A cry for help. A cry to him. That alone seems to be what he needed to find enough strength to pull free, tearing his shirt in the process so that the fishnet strips away and leaves behind only the cropped t-shirt. They claw at his bare arms, his hair, try to yank him backward into their hold; they break his skin and spill his blood but Lestat wades through them like they are water, like they are nothing but an inconvenience.
And he tries, God, he tries so hard not to think of them as people, as friends, as citizens... because none of that matters now, not when Armand is crying out to him and showing him his hiding place and pleading for him with none of the ruthless coven leader and all of the scared child whisked away from life as he knows it.
In a shower of gore and smoke, Lestat finally enters the room where Armand hides, and though the thick scent of vampire blood stains the air, Lestat reels in the throb of thirst he feels enough to spot Armand, and immediately rushes to his side. ]
no subject
If he were mortal, he'd be light headed by now, well on his way to collapse, each breath too short, too shallow, interrupted only by sobs and his own broken noises. He falls to a crouch, drawn in on himself and biting back a pained cry as the movement pulls at his torn back.
It's quieter here at least, the shades barred from the room by some miracle, though he can here them howling and clawing at the door. Armand squeezes his eyes shut, presses his hands tighter against the noise outside and tries to remember what he should do, how he should weather this and it's there, it's Daniel, on his knees in front of him, years ago now - the first time - panicked for a moment, but then talking to him, talking him through the physiological response.
"Hey-- Hey. Armand? C'mon, you've gotta breathe-- I know you don't, but just-- Look, follow me- Hey, focus on me, on how I'm breathing, okay?"
Slow, steady, held in the middle, out, repeat. He'd always paid so much attention to Daniel's humanity, all of his functions, it felt so simple to focus in that moment, even as his body fought him, to do as bid. Each time after, it was easier, but Daniel had always been there then and now he's not--
Armand swallows hard against the thought, desperately clings to the vision, to the pattern of breath "You've got this, boss that's it.." trying to let the tension leave him with each exhale, to quell the panic...And, he does. He breathes through it, disjointed, clumsy, but he replays the memory over and over, following it dutifully and eventually he's in tentative control of his own lungs once more.
Slowly, Armand shifts to stand, only the stumble sideways and back - legs weak feeling - to land sitting on the narrow bed behind him. He flails out a hand as he does so, fingers catching on something silky soft and it's only then does he have the awareness to truly take in his surroundings. It's a plain room, comprised of the bed he's sitting on, a desk and chair directly beside it, some shelves, a closet. But it's as if a whirlwind has passed through. There are items scattered around and writing across the walls, the surfaces, messages that make little sense to him...until he looks at the desk.
Sitting right on the edge is a small bear with golden fur, wearing a faded tee shirt that reads 'I <3 Coney Island' and a pair of silver rimmed spectacles perched on his head. The glasses are human sized, comically large looking on the bears head and Armand's entire body gives a lurch in recognition. "Guess I won't be needing these anymore. Hold onto them, wont you, Bearson?" Tentatively, he reaches out, lifting the bear as if it will break, fearing covering it in his own blood, but unable to leave it there for a moment longer. It's real, familiar in his arms and fresh tears flood his eyes as he carefully turns it in his hands.
Desperate for a reason, an answer, Armand casts about, scanning the room, the writing, but it's there right next to where the bear was sitting - impossible to miss, to not recognise that practiced, dear hand - written in black permanent marker:
Armand, where are you...Do I still please you?
And it's as if it's the first time it's occurred to him - have they been taken wholesale from their own worlds? Is this an echo, is Daniel there, new born and seemingly abandoned? Dear god, please say it isn't the case. Armand clutches the bear to his chest then, folding in on himself as he cries harder, heart in a vice at the thought of Daniel alone, doubting, his firstborn, his beloved.
This place, this hell, they've all been lured, made like docile lambs - even him - and the frustration, the longing all pours out of him, second only to the pain of his wounds as he bleeds all over the little bed.
He barely hears Lestat, barely registers that he's no longer alone, but Lestat has always been impossible to ignore and Armand covers his mouth to quiet his sobs, trying to contain himself before his kin, but it's futile. ]
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Armand, [ He urges as he comes close, a hand falling into his hair, combing the strands flat almost absently as his eyes rake the tatters of his robe and the telltale sickly sweet stench of a wet, hot, sticky wound oozing ichor. ] Armand, let me look at you. Mon dieu, what did they do to you? They were so strong, I couldn't-
[ Lestat presses a cool palm to Armand's cheek, turning his face a little to investigate the damage, then raises himself so that he can peer over his shoulder at the tatters left of the skin on his back. It looks like something has ruptured out of him, torn straight from his spine, and its enough to have Lestat putting his free hand to his mouth. ]
My god.. Armand...
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A wave of fresh tears crest his cheeks and Armand reaches out weakly around the bear in his arms, grasping onto the hem of Lestat's letterman like he's in need of an anchor, like he fears the other Vampire might be a vision sent to taunt him on top of Daniel's words..
He's distantly aware that he's shivering and hunger is beginning to push through the emotional static in his mind, his body sending out warning signs that he's only just starting to notice. Oh. He's...well, he can't die, but if he were mortal he would be and even for a vampire, the damage is significant and he's not fed today, nor the day before. He's not equipped to weather this portion of his injuries and Armand feels himself sway, clutching onto Lestat tighter, though his grip feels as weak as a child's.
He's trying to make sense of Lestat's words, to respond around sobs, even as they begin to settle from his presence. ]
The wings. They...took them.
[ He can't articulate what they actually did, just the thought of it making his shoulders flinch and pulls miserably at the wounds again.
'I fear for him it is too late'
Curious that his masters words should haunt him now as blood continues to run from his body. A failed fledgling, who in turn, failed his own...how hideous a thing he is. ]
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A thought lingers around the rage: his ears had disappeared when they'd left the building, and perhaps if he got Armand up to the top floor and out, then perhaps he'd feel some relief, the loss softened by the strange reset of being away from this cursed house... but in this state, as Armand shudders and cries and clings to him like a child to it's mother, Lestat can't help but think he might not make it that far.
He knows what he has to do. Oh, it would be all too easy to refuse him now like Armand had refused him, blackened and burnt as he had been... but Lestat has never been able to hold a grudge like Armand can. And the thought of leaving him here in this state knocks him sick.
But when he'd been with Louis, when he'd tried to fix the stab wound near his heart, he'd watched himself how slowly the skin had knitted back together. It hadn't worked like it normally does - an obvious product of their weakened abilities here - so that Lestat knows there's little to no point emptying a vein onto these twin wounds on his back and hoping it will work fast enough that Armand won't bleed out in his arms.
There's only one thing for it.
He lifts his hand, pressing it to Armand's face, his wrist to his mouth. His mind is racing, images flashing behind his eyes - Akasha's mouth, Claudia's mouth, Louis' mouth, his blood pouring down his chest, watching it spread in a halo around him as he lay on the carpet, the feeling of being drained entirely - but he pushes it down and simply says: ]
Drink.
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His thoughts whirl, perception tilted. Hadn't Lestat spoken of love, brothers they would be, but this - this is far beyond that isn't it?
Still, his mouth itches with thirst, instincts screaming to bite, to feed and recover his strength in the face of his wounds, but the urge is beyond even that. The intimacy, connection to another being like himself - his greatest joy with his master, with his darling boy - such relief from the isolation and despair he feels, it's what finally pushes him to accept.
Wordlessly, Armand let's his hand fall away from Lestat's jacket, pressing those trembling fingers instead to the back of his larger hand - impossible to drop the bear in his arms - steadying it as he bites. Marble skin gives way to his sharp little fangs and he maintains eye contact - studying Lestat's expression, still searching for the lie, the untruth, even as blood pools into his mouth - only then letting his eyes slip closed as he gives a desperate little moan.
The blood, the blood - so much like his masters - ancient, electric, Akasha's influence still lingering, but under it all there's Lestat, darling Lestat. he draws on the wound, encouragingly, enough for a gulp, two, but it's already healing and Armand's brow pinches in despair, lapping at the wound before it's gone once more and he's looking up at Lestat, completely dazed. Mouth stained red. ]
Lestat, please--
[ Is he even allowed more? Had Lestat meant only this much, can he bite again? But oh, won't he hold him, won't he let Armand have his throat, a moment, just one more draught to ease the ache. It's a delirious train of thought, muddled by blood now as much as the physical pain he feels and he'll do anything for relief. ]
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The first contact of Armand's fangs in his skin makes his heart speed up, and for a second it's almost as though he's instinctively reacting with fear, his body remembering how it feels to be penetrated like this and afraid of the locking embrace that follows; no escape, no relief, just sensation and the transference of power, changing him, moulding him into what she needs… He sees her in his mind's eye, though it's blurred and slightly vague, tinted around the edges by the blush of his own blood. But he doesn't pull away. He calms his heart and he stays resolute; he can't run from thoughts of her forever, can't allow this place to use her memory against him in that way, can't let thoughts of what he's been through make him into a victim, like he was when Armand shared with him that stunning vision of what could have been... He wanted to enjoy that fantasy, not shudder where he stood like a boy in far over his head.
The vision becomes even more hazy and ultimately fades as Lestat's wrist heals. He surveys Armand's face, smells the air; he's barely taken on any colour, he still looks like he's about to faint. It isn't enough, it's not nearly enough, and Lestat has been wasting time offering him such a tiny series of veins as the ones in his wrist when he should be giving him more, something bound to fix him, something that will have him alright again, now, right now, not let him die slow and return changed, to keep Armand the way he is, exactly how he is-- but God, will his blood change him? Will it make him something else? Will it make him colder and harder, as it had with Lestat? Will it make him even harder to get close to?
With a bead of blood-sweat running down his temple, Lestat realises he only has the option to take that risk.
Lestat takes the back of Armand's head in his palm, tilting his chin. He can tell Armand wants it, and in some way perhaps he knows he wants it too, so he closes his eyes and says it again. ]
Drink.
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Even frantic as he feels, Armand still carefully tucks the bear in his arms into the cross over of his robe - careful of the glasses - if something happens, if they need to flee, he refuses to be parted from it. Both arms now free, he slips them around Lestat's neck, drawing them together and all but falling into his lap as he leans in.
He kisses his cheek, his jaw - butterfly kisses, like thanks, like tribute - tenderness that, in his right mind, Armand would perhaps flinch from, but it does not make it any less wanted. He tucks his face against Lestat's throat, presses his lips there to feel the drum of his pulse, feels that uncertainty in him again and absently pets his lions main of hair, curling his fingers into it gently, before finally, he punctures Lestat's flesh.
The rush of blood is immediate and Armand feels his own veins pull tight, hungry to be fed, blood flooding his mouth almost faster than he can swallow. It's rapture, heady bliss, but it brings with it, finally, sweet clarity. His mouth is gentle on the wound as he drinks, heavy in Lestat's arms and sighs deeply as acuity returns to him.
He's still heart sore, still terrified that Daniel could be back in their world, alone, still misses him desperately, but he can feel Lestat's heart, he thoughts, feels cradled by it. Finally a reprieve from the loneliness of the past two months, the connection and intimacy that can only be known with another vampire, here once more. ]
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And then the kisses move toward his neck, hands twisting in his hair, and Lestat couldn't breathe even if he wanted to... He hasn't been in this position since her, and as he blinks up at the ceiling she really is all he can think about - her dark hair, her large eyes, her bleached skin, her smile as she looked at him, always like she knew so much more than he did - before Armand sinks his teeth into his throat, and his mind goes blank.
Violin music streams in through the darkness. The sight of the shrine opens up as though illuminated by flame; the crypt of the mother and the father as it had been when Lestat had first seen it. The music picks up in tempo and the scene seems to wane, shuddering slightly before morphing into the place she'd taken him to, and then all scenery disappears to be replaced by her narrow frame clad in black silk, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her cold hand around his wrist. "Come" she says to him, and then a staggering jolt of fear and inadequacy, of knowing that you have no choice but to accept, or become nothing more than a hurdle standing in the way of the would-be Queen of Heaven. Her eyes burn pure fire, it's a demand not a request, and with the sensation of falling, the experience of slipping into the swoon, he approaches. He submits.
It's nothing like what he said to his mother, nothing like the thoughts he wrenches into his head when he thinks of her; this is something more true, more earnest, so much that even he isn't aware of the miniscule part of him that remembers this fear. Only the blood remembers. ]
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Caught up in the swoon as he is, Armand still runs his hands though Lestat's hair, soothing, encouraging... He can feel each gulp of powerful blood work to restore him. The wounds will take much longer to heal - he must rest - but the bleeding has stopped and the skin is beginning it's slow crawl to knit back together. It's strange, to feel a process that usually takes moments, be drawn out - it makes him want to squirm, but it's not the only reason.
He's craved this embrace for weeks now, but it's not quite the same, not quite enough. Even with Lestat's lion heart pulling against his own, protesting the draw of blood from the source, he wants what only another Vampire can give him, what he's denied Lestat for so long.
Armand uses the hand in Lestat's hair to gently cradle his head, encouraging him to Armand's own throat and murmurs through the connection, while on the outside his moans softly with want. ]
...Drink, Lestat.
[ It's not a command, not an order, it's a plea - just as he'd made so many years ago in Paris, as he'd done in New Orleans, weeping for Lestat to rise from his hibernation - have of me anything. ]
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"Drink, my prince."
The swoon lingers in him still. Akasha's hand reaches to him and takes his wrist in her palm. She is the same size as him, no small woman, no tiny creature he can control; she is power and she is intention, she means to have what she wants and she will force any that refuse her to bend. Lestat adores the fire in her, is entranced by her gentle beauty and her smile, but his heart feels timid and bird-like in his chest. He's afraid of her, and for a man who doesn't allow himself to be afraid of anything, the realisation is like a lead weight in him.
He struggles against the memory, against her hold as she cradles his head and guides him to her throat.
"Drink, Lestat."
The voice is different now. Male, accent more rounded, softer spoken. Armand. Armand is here, so why can he only see her? Awareness comes back to him in slivers of recognition. He hears the plea in Armand's voice, he feels the pressure in his veins, blood being pulled from him by an insistent body and a wanting soul. This isn't Akasha forcing him to become enslaved to her, this is Armand wanting to share with Lestat something they'd never experienced together before, to bring them both closer in the blood; brothers in eternity, love in a fellow child of darkness.
He doesn't let her entrance him. He won't let her force his heart to speed, force his body to reject this offering, or cause another rift between himself and those who he loves. She'd preyed on his lonliness once before, but never again will Lestat allow himself to be the victim.
What's more, this is Armand, and despite his ire and their insistence to make the others life difficult, he loves him and he always will.
Lestat looks the vision of Akasha in the eye, and bids it a bitter farewell before he opens his mouth against Armand's throat and bites down. ]
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The visions come unbidden as they always do and Armand tries not to fight it, tries not to flinch away. He knows that there's probably too much of him on show for Lestat - always the worry with this - but what's visible now, is love.
What else could be pulled from him in response to Lestat's fear and vulnerability? Wanting to gentle him as much as Armand does?
It's the mortal years in Daniel's arms, it's the fights but also the laughter, the safety, the understanding, the acceptance. Armand found a home in a boy, in flesh and blood and made him eternal and it's them both wound tight in one coffin, hunting together, training Daniel's mind, simple mortal intimacies and then this - the blood, the bite - sharing each other every night before Armand woke up in that accursed station.
It's everything Armand is now, but it's also his deep love for Lestat, his unflinching need to be at that concert, to be by his side no matter what happened, no matter how frightened he was or how protective he was of Daniel.
He shudders at being so bare, so open to Lestat's regard, but still he drinks, is consumed in return and lets the perfection of it sooth his frayed nerves and the deep wrought physical wounds marring his body. ]
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Love in the arms of another. Safety in someone else for a creature often forced so brutally to be alone. The knowledge that you don't deserve such bliss, but digging your claws in regardless. The joy of sharing life with someone, of sharing the gift, of having a companion to wake up to.
The pain of waking up to find him not there.
Lestat can't imagine what kind of thing he might be were he stuck in this place alone, without Armand and without Louis to see him for who he is, to know him. He finally understands every outburst, every clumsy attempt at reconciliation, every sour look and every cold front he's experienced at Armand's hand. He didn't understand, how could he; and even now that he's seen and felt the gaping maw open in Armand's chest, he still doesn't have words to describe it that don't fall short.
Lestat falls, pushing Armand back into the bed with his weight, head tucked close to the flesh of his throat as still he swallows the ichor of life flooding through him and back out again. His hands brace his narrow little shoulders, bird boned, vicious like a jungle cat, delicate like porcelain, strong as marble. A wet tear dribbles off his nose and stains the sheets below them a pale red colour. ]
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Armand finally pulls from the wound with a gasp, head falling back against the sheets as breaths heave through him. He's still cradled by the swoon, still hazy and shivering, staring at the ceiling above, unseeing, and clinging to Lestat's shoulders like he might be swept away.
His injuries are glossy with new skin, barely sealed and sensitive, but a miracle of the blood regardless. He lays there, let's Lestat drink, shudders through each draught and savours it - commits this embrace to memory for the days ahead and let's himself drift. ]
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And then Armand draws back, the pressure shifting but not releasing entirely, but some clarity returning to him as his focus moves to the bite and away from being bitten.
How long he stays like that is anyone's guess; a few minutes, an hour, a day... Time slows to syrup as Lestat drinks in languid gulps, savouring the taste with every tense of his muscles, every pulse of Armand's heart against his body. When he finally draws back, it's only because he can't suffocate the urge to pet Armand's hair like he'd seen those pale mortal hands do, brush his curls from his forehead and cup his cheek with his larger hand, hold him. Just hold him.
He does exactly that, and brings their lips together in a bloodstained press of mouths, there and then gone, but full of meaning. Perhaps it's thanks, or perhaps it's simply because he wanted to do it. ]
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Blood, there's blood still on both their tongues and Armand chases the presence, licking insistently into Lestat's mouth and kissing with a passion that twists warm through his limbs. Words are too clumsy, minds too vulnerable, but this? In the physical he can show himself, can kiss Lestat like he's always dreamed about - see? Steal the unnecessary breath from his lungs, cling to his broader frame, press up into his marble body and be held, be desired - just for even one moment more.
I want you, I never stopped, you will never be mine, but I can be yours for this moment, for a while longer, if I don't let you go.
It's desperate and crass and a great many things, but Armand is still raw to his bones in the wake of the swoon and for once, Lestat is here, he's still here. ]
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