Sunday, December 30, 2012

7.2; Because I have no one else to tell


It feels…stupid, I guess, to be writing. I guess it’s just like…who else have I got to tell, right? I don’t know whether or not Curtis has just lost it, or if he’s finally making sense, or if I just don’t know how to grieve. Plus, part of me thinks it’s stupid that I’m not over this already. People die. A lot of people die.
So why should one in particular shake my whole world? Why can’t I make this empty feeling go away completely? Ignoring it just…isn’t working.
Obviously, Curtis is the same way. He’s got his head stuck in this space of hating not knowing who he is – which I argue, maybe that’s for the better, because he’s a decent guy now. I was like, “What if you don’t like the guy you used to be?” and he was just, “I still need to know who that was.”
And then he started reading the blog again. I mean, this one. Not my posts, he promised, but his own, and Blair’s, and that’s when he got this idea stuck in his head.
He doesn’t have a lot of hope for finding Clara, but he wants to investigate Ambrose Bierce. The two most important people to Blair, and all we know about them are the things we’ve read online. Ambrose Bierce vanished, back in 1913. It’s dumb to think a couple of proxy Hunters might be able to solve a case that’s now, literally, a century old…but, one of us is an Archivist. I think this is their forte.
Of course, the hitch is, we’d need better access to information.
So, anyone know any good, ‘safe’ libraries?

Dispute Against Madness

Monday, December 24, 2012

6.2; I don't know why I blog


So, it turns out that just because we hadn’t seen a Martyr in a while, doesn’t mean they weren’t still tracking us. We’ve just been ‘lucky’ in that pre-hostel, we were moving around too much…and then once we were stuck in there, maybe they just didn’t want to get caught up with all the rest of the Fear activity. Or maybe they thought Daisy Chain would do their job for them. I don’t know, and it really doesn’t matter.
Curtis has trouble directing Windmill, now, but the horse is smart enough to know how to evade an Archivist. There were three of them tailing us, and we only just stopped running now. We’re hungry, exhausted, and hiding out – I’m not going to describe where, I don’t even know who reads this anymore.
We were discussing putting an end to this blogging business. It’s been stupid – we don’t even know what’s compelled us to start writing about these things in the first place. I know there’s a popular theory that the Rake is the one behind this compulsion, and if that’s true that’s the LAST freaking thing we need.
So, we’re stuck here, we’re starving, we have no way of keeping warm aside from huddling together, and Windmill is restless. We could die.
Merry fucking Christmas.

Dispute Against Madness

Saturday, December 22, 2012

The World Goes On.


Alyssa was genuinely concerned that the world would come to an end yesterday, at the whim of the PRE known as ‘The Quiet’.
Needless to say, it did not come to pass, much to my relief.
Alyssa voiced concerns over it, though.
“I kind of wonder whether or not it’s for the better, or worse. The world not ending, I mean. At least The Quiet would have been quick…and non-existence sounds kind of peaceful. Better than some of the alternatives.”
“Alternatives such as?”
“You know. Heaven, Hell, Limbo. Reincarnation to do all this shit again a second time around – ugh, no thank you, I’ve dealt with enough in this one lifetime… I don’t want a second lifetime worth of shit…”
“…Where do you think Blair went?”
She went quiet, then, and I regretted asking.
Strange, though, that I don’t remember concepts such as ‘Heaven’ or ‘Hell’ so well, anymore; were those not things taught to us as children?
I suppose, actually, it makes sense, for all the random facts that are in my head, those that are easily grasped by those who are prepubescent still escape me.
It’s embarrassing, and…difficult to think about.
I have been so caught up in this world of PREs that I had forgotten how it bothered me, to be out of touch with the rest of the world.
I suppose PREs have become my reality; maybe that’s the most pitiable part of all.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

5.2; Lay down and die


We’re run off our feet and I think Curtis is half-dead. No, not half dead. Just…exhausted.
So much happened in the past couple days. It was almost too much to wrap our heads around, but I’ve spent the last hour doing exactly that. We’re in one of those truck-stop coffee joints that’s open 24/7, and the wi-fi isn’t free, but it’s there.
And it’s better than the hostel.
We were put under lockdown. Greyskins were hanging around outside, sealing us in, and the Choir was eating away at our defenses. No one was getting even twenty minutes of rest before they’d be woken up by the shrieking.
My senses were going insane. Utterly insane. Because the worst of it was, they weren’t only proxies of the Choir.
Ruby had put a Mark in them, confirming what Curtis and I’ve been dancing around for ages. The Fears are making teams, and we’re not even on a side. We’re the ball.
None of us were sure what to do. All I knew for sure was, I wasn’t going to be stuck inside like a scared little girl. Curtis agreed.
The shocker was Sheryl. At the time, I thought it was her human strength coming through. Just that sheer determination to save her daughter, like I first saw when I found her online. So we went. We put ourselves on the front lines.
There was Ruby. Wicked smiles and lusty looks that had that mixed message of ‘You want me’ and ‘You should hate yourself if you want me, you sick fuck.’ She called me ‘one of Sheryl’s’, and that made her lash out.
She called me Darcey. Yelled that ‘Darcey isn’t like you’ and lunged at her.
I fought too. Didn’t turn out to matter.
The Red Cap in Ruby seeped out of her, and flowed into Sheryl, instead.
I don’t know if it was on purpose. I don’t know if there was still something left of the Red Cap in Sheryl, and that’s what drew it into her. Maybe she did it consciously. Maybe not.
Either way, I don’t care.
The Marked Greyskins all turned to her, at her command instead, now. Monster or not, she had the sense to tell them to lay down and die.
Curtis and I took off, then. Got on Windmill’s back and just went as fucking far away as we could get.
We’ll probably never see Sheryl again. Doubt we’ll see any of the people at the hostel, either. I just hope they can forgive us for the trouble we brought.
Not that I’d forgive us, in their shoes. But, fuck. I realized just now, as I was typing this, why it was taking us so long to leave to begin with.
Leaving that place was like abandoning Blair’s grave. I feel sick at the prospect of never going back…because that’s where Blair died.
S/he’s with us a little. Ashes in lockets and that bullshit about those we love never leaving our hearts.
But being at that hostel was the very last thing that made Blair feel still alive.
And now we can never go back.

Dispute Against Madness

Saturday, December 15, 2012

There Is A Consensus.


Typing is a little more difficult, now, but it’s proof of what happened today – we are breaking out of here, while we still have any grasp of reality, and now that we’re a great deal more certain that Daisy Chain cannot come for us again.
All that remains is for Ivory to finish patching us up, and we may stay here for another day to recover.
That’s as long as we’re giving ourselves.
When Daisy Chain came for us, she started with Alyssa; she must have waited for me to wake, which I did at the crack of dawn, and I left the room only for a moment.
When I returned, she was about to impale her straight through the stomach.
She succeeded, and she didn’t. Alyssa is in surgery, and according to Ivory, my interference kept her from being irreparably damaged.
My eye is another matter.
I have poor vision, in my remaining eye, so I worry about my ability to even type, much less do anything of value.
I will need new glasses. Is it odd for me to be concerned about my old ones being shattered?
I keep re-reading, as I type. Checking for errors.
I must seem remarkably blasé.
Alyssa nearly died and I lost an eye.
The pain of both those things was…beyond anything I could describe. When Blair died, I thought absolutely everything had been stripped away from me, and it felt as though someone had literally shoved hooks through my flesh and muscle and pulled until it all tore off.
The events that nearly happened this morning felt like they had then whipped the bones raw, until the marrow nearly seeped out.
Watching both those things happen was a bit like seeing it all in slow motion.
I saw the optic nerve tear.
I saw the blood.
I was sure I was about to die.
I blacked out, then, but I did not faint. I am not sure how I fought Daisy Chain off of me, or how I wrestled her outside.
When I became aware of what was going on, again, I was watching an echo. I thought it was my own imaginings, of what Alyssa had described.
Windmill, pounding his sharp hooves into her face, again and again, until there was nothing left but a caved-in mass where her face once was, and twitching limbs.
I had assistance, in rending Daisy Chain’s body to pieces. We burned every piece, starting with what was left of her head.
There is a consensus; what happened, truly happened. Too many of us in the hostel agree, and the effects have not gone away.
I suppose I should just be grateful that I haven’t lost anything more.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Utterly Trapped.


PRE07, The Choir.
Daisy Chain is not dead.
Alyssa did not fight her.
There are proxies of The Choir, known as ‘Greyskins’, following newcomers to the hostel.
We’re being more trapped by the day, and while I can’t be certain what Alyssa is hearing, I fear it may drive her out of her mind.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

4.2; Victory?


We’ve made one attempt to leave, and only one attempt. We’re not gone, so that probably tells you enough of what you need to know. Beyond that, though, it was more of a disaster than I can even start on. Or, it might not have been a disaster, but I don’t feel victorious, so…
Here’s the short version:
Daisy Chain has been lurking around outside for who knows how freaking long. For whatever reason, she and Ruby Tuesday are just getting along famously.
Others arrived at the hostel, and we were taking that as our out. Curtis went to find Sal to give him whatever money we could scrounge up (weak payment, but we’ve been nothing but destructive to this place, and these people) and I went outside to get Windmill ready.
It’s pretty damn cold, now, and honestly, I saw her breath before I heard her. She had a rope around my neck and was dragging me back, the way she did to Blair, giggling like this innocent little school girl. Windmill reared up, but that freaking horse still doesn’t like me. He didn’t do much but put a scare into her.
I grappled with the rope, managed to get it away from my neck by slicing through it (and yeah, I took a good bit of my skin out with it, but I had priorities) and went at her. Knocked that stupid hat off her bald head, bowled her over, and I tried to saw through her head. It was stupid, in hindsight.
She was physically stronger, had those ropes, and at one point she wrenched open my jaw and shoved roots down my throat. She like, actually managed to crack it – I don’t know how it didn’t break. She was tearing at my hair, too, gripping it and bashing my head back, throwing my curls away.
I think that’s about when Curtis came outside and ripped her off me. She stumbled back, and here’s where the bitch got really stupid: she went for Windmill.
I think she thought she could climb up on his back and take off with Blair’s horse, escape and leave us hanging.
He bucked her off, and stomped those blades hooves into her face. Again…and again…and again.
He didn’t stop until there was nothing left but a caved in mass. Whatever she was leaking, for her head, it didn’t look like blood or brain. I don’t even want to think about what it was.
I don’t even want to think that she’s really dead.
I mean, if she were actually dead, I wouldn’t be hearing her voice whispering at me right now, would I?
I can’t rest easy. She might be dead. I think she’s dead. But I’m hearing her, right now.
And every time Curtis speaks, it’s like…I hear him telling me that I hallucinated it, and that Daisy isn’t actually dead. Sometimes I think his lips move differently than what his words are…
I’m confused. Maybe I’m concussed, it would make sense.

Dispute Against Madness

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Strong Feelings.


PRE03, The Archangel; masquerades as someone who has passed, typically appears to Its victim wearing the guise of a deceased loved one.
I was a fool to have made assumptions regarding Blair’s presence at my window, in my room, in my dreams.
If I had fallen prey to It, no doubt Blair would have wept as hard as Alyssa was, in the aftermath…
I meant, were xe alive.
But xe isn’t.
I have to come to terms with that.
Really, I’ve had to come to terms with many things.
Alyssa was silent, when I came to, and though we were both aware of each other and the fact that we were wide awake, neither of us seemed willing to speak first.
Eventually, she did – she’s stronger than I am in that way, as well as many others.
“There’s no part of you that wishes I hadn’t walked in, is there?”
At first, I didn’t realize what she was asking, but lucky for me, it isn’t so hard to read between the lines with Alyssa, once you get to know her.
“No. I would never want to leave you like that.”
“But leaving me in some other way, that might be fine?” She was looking for reasons to be upset, I think, but like I said, I was understanding why, now.
“Blair didn’t leave us. Blair did what xe could to save us. I suppose…we should have expected The Archangel sooner, given the way Blair died. As a martyr.”
There was a pause, and the air felt so thick with things we needed to say that I might have stopped breathing.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, too,” Alyssa spoke as though the words hurt, leaving her. “After all this time on my own, I finally open myself up to loving people again, and…this shitstorm is the result.”
“Do you love me?” I questioned, and I wasn’t as surprised as I probably should have been.
“I feel a lot for you,” she confessed. “I don’t know if it’s love. Why, do you love me?”
I had to think, for a moment, but she didn’t seem aggravated by the wait.
“I think that summarizes how I feel well,” I felt almost sheepish, not being able to put the sentiment into better words.
“Weird,” she was leaning forward, her head in her hands, fingers laced through her hair. She was laughing a little. “I thought you were, y’know…”
“I don’t think I have a preference, for the most part,” I shrugged. “I love Blair, and it doesn’t matter, and as for you…”
“Maybe I’m an exception, and not necessarily the rule,” she lifted her head, and had this odd little smile on her face. She had her hand on her locket – I realized, after a moment, that I’d been toying with mine. “D’you think Blair loved us, too?”
“Xe died for us,” it was odd; I could finally say it without feeling like the words were sticking in my throat, trying to strangle me. “I think xe did, yes.”
“I’m not sure what that would have made us, if Blair hadn’t died,” Alyssa had a faraway look to her, but brought herself out of it. “I know, uh, normally after not-exactly-love confessions, that’s usually a good time to…you know. But, I can’t…”
“I respect that,” I assured her. “I wouldn’t ask for that. That’s not all this is, anyway…is it?”
“Not with me, I guess,” she shook her head. “Not with us…”
“And that’s alright.”
She came over to the bed, and took my hand. We sat in silence, for a little while.
We’re going to figure out what to do, from here, but after we’ve had some time to collect our wits and make it up to Sal and the others running the hostel. We owe them a great deal, for housing us for so long.
We’ve put them in enough danger.

3.2; S/he wouldn't want this


Curtis is a freaking idiot.
I’m going to tell my side of the story while he’s still unconscious, before he gets a chance to grab computer time. He’s fine, now, he’s off the IV at last – losing that much blood apparently fucked him up good, considering they needed to like, replace all the blood in Sheryl, and I thought it was taking a fucking long time but apparently that’s normal and
Fuck it I’m just…rambling, now. I don’t even know what to think. It was like watching the Incredible Hulk happen live in front of you.
Curtis didn’t tell me he’d been seeing Blair at night – okay, I probably would have questioned it too, because I swear I see hir sometimes too, and I’m not even high off morphine or whatever they’re pumping into him.
But I’m not stupid enough not to look into it. First thought was Archangel.
And no fuck, the Vision has been assaulting us with these nightly dreams with Blair in them for a reason.
I’ve been cooling off for a couple days, then I head into Curtis’s room, and
There’s Blair. Straddling Curtis’s lap, and s/he looks towards me with this expression that’s half ‘Come and get me’ and half ‘You’ll never get me’. It was less than a blink away from literally wrapping Curtis in an embrace, and Curtis was just staring up at Blair, resigned, willing. I freaked.
It’s not like
I mean, they were both fully clothed, so I don’t think anything happened
Can Fears even have sex? Like, actually? I don’t think it works like that
I just
I had my knife out, and I just charged It. Knocked It away from Curtis, and I kind of like…climbed over him, like I was going to defend him that way.
Then it turned out, I didn’t have to.
Curtis ripped out the IV, and his face just…changed. His expression was entirely different, and I’d seen him like that before, so I wasn’t stupid enough to stay where I was.
What he did to Blair the Archangel was more than I thought anyone could do to a Fear. He almost ripped it apart. It didn’t do anything, not ultimately, not really. But he fought it back, completely deadpan and vicious, and I just
I just sat there, like a stupid, helpless little girl.
The Archangel fled. Curtis sort of came back to himself, and didn’t remember a thing. The whole room was entirely trashed, and we’re going to have to pay for that.
He just lay in my lap, we were both on the floor. It’d taken a lot out of him, I guess, and he kept muttering stuff like, “I won’t forget, I can’t,” and, “Blair wouldn’t want this,” and, “I’m sorry.”
We were like that for hours. I couldn’t even move until the sun came up and someone came in to check on us.
He’ll probably be conscious soon…
We can’t stay here much longer. The first out we can take, we will. Just have to wait for Ruby and her Marked to break the perimeter… She lets people in, but she’s a lot more vigilant about letting us back out.

Dispute Against Madness

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

I Must Be Over-Medicated.


I have been numb for too long.
Too silent, too still; I have seen how it’s worn on Alyssa, how it pushed her to be stronger than she had to be while I continuously fell apart.
She wasn’t allowed the weakness that she allowed me, and she broke, for a moment, with Ivory.
I can’t even be jealous – I only regret that it came to that. I should have been there for her.
But, because she was pushed, and pushed again, with no reprieve, Alyssa snapped.
“You can’t put this all on me! You can’t keep going freaking mute, like you think avoiding it will help!
They probably could hear her yelling at me throughout the entire hostel.
“I just can’t talk about Blair,” I tried to reply – it took ages to find my voice.
“Oh, you can’t? I’m so sorry, that was so inconsiderate of me! You can’t talk about Blair!” I could tell, the fact that she didn’t have anything in her hands to break was only infuriating her more. “You can’t talk about Blair – maybe if you just avoid the subject forever, you’ll forget that xe’s gone!
She slipped; she’d pronounced it ‘she’. We had always been careful, when saying that aloud, to make it sound different.
I don’t know why that bothered me so much.
Well – that’s a lie, I do know.
Regardless, I responded poorly; I snapped at her.
“Maybe I’d rather forget!”
She slapped me.
I deserved it.
Alyssa stormed out – not before getting the last word, yelling through the door, “For a guy who said he’s so fucking sick of his amnesia, you sure as hell aren’t trying to remember the good things.”
I couldn’t follow her; I’m still on that IV.
I didn’t think it wise, anyway, and I deserve to be alone.
At the very least… I don’t deserve this situation. I honestly don’t know for certain whether or not I’m dreaming – as I type this, I know that parts of reality must be incorrect.
Blair cannot be smiling at me from where xe stands, outside the window.
I must be hallucinating.

Friday, November 23, 2012

2.2; Inspiring?


With Ruby lurking around outside (yes, still, the persistent bitch) I’ve gotten so freaking paranoid that I keep thinking everyone’s got a Mark in them. I’ve been ignoring it, mostly – people are in and out of here so quick that it hasn’t become an issue, yet. Until earlier today, I mean.
There was this girl. I think she arrived a few days ago, kept to herself for the most part as far as Curtis and I are concerned. I think she most interaction I had with her was a nod as we passed each other, just because we could recognize that neither of us were regular travelers. I think she was one of the ones helping reinforce windows yesterday? I don’t know, I can’t really remember. She mostly hangs around a couple other Runners, doesn’t really freaking matter.
What matters is, I walked in on her this morning in a corner, wiping blood off her face. That’s when I clue in.
Something’s been off since she walked in the place, and that red scarf she’s got makes it so goddamn obvious I should have my eyes gouged out for not noticing it earlier.
She begged me not to say anything and told me that she’s like me. Running from the Red Cap – which is stupid, I realize. Running from the Red Cap is like running from yourself…once you’re Marked, the shame never goes away.
But, she told me she’d heard of me, heard that I was fighting my nature, and that I was an inspiration.
That’s the biggest, ugliest joke I’ve ever heard.
She left the hostel about an hour ago. I’ve been replaying it in my head, and I still can’t tell whether or not she was lying. Still, if she wasn’t, and anyone else out there thinks I’m ‘inspiring’?
Go cash your reality check, you need it bad.

Dispute Against Madness

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

1.2; Lockets full of ash


We’ve been so busy trying to repay the owners of this hostel for allowing us to stay and having Curtis recover from the operation that we haven’t had much time to write about what’s been going on. Most of it’s been ‘going on’ around Curtis, and it’s sent him right back into that half-comatose state that makes me want to hit him.
He was put on lockdown for bed rest, and I was picking up the slack wherever I could. Avoiding Ivory like the plague, because I’m still not 100% sure on how the Mark spreads, and if she has it I’m not going to be blamed for it. I flat-out fucking refuse. So I was taking care of Windmill, practically rebuilding some rooms of this place, taking care of Curtis, then I’d sleep. That was going on for about five days straight.
Then a few nights ago, I woke up after another Blair-nightmare, and at the foot of my bed there was this dark, stained cloth all folded up.
I unfolded it, and inside was a pile of ash.
I’m not stupid, I knew full fucking well they were Blair’s freaking ashes. One of Blair’s bloody shirts.
I grabbed it, ran to Curtis’s room, and he had a bundle just like it, on his chest, and his face was bleeding like something had raked claws down his cheeks. He’d been awake, when the Hound came, and it had mauled his face. Like Blair’s.
He was just frozen, there…staring blankly at me, when I was calling in the doctor and patching him up best I could. After that, I decided, no more of this separate room bullshit. He’s trusted me enough in the past, knowing what kind of taint I have inside me, and he’s never treated me any differently. And I can control myself around him.
Today, I went out and got us these cheap lockets – maybe it’s stupid, or cheesy, but I don’t care. I won’t let some stupid goddamn mutt get the better of us, and I don’t feel right if Blair’s not with me. I’m pretty sure Curtis was the same.
I filled the lockets up with the ash, sealed them shut (welding them might have been carrying it a little far, considering it’s cheap metal, but it’s not like I torched them exactly. I was careful) and put one on me, one on Curtis. He still hasn’t spoken a word for two days, but I can tell he’s going to keep it. He’s just lying back right now with his hand around the locked part…
Maybe it’s the Vision still fucking with my head, or maybe it’s because nothing too horrible has happened since the Red Cap removal surgery, but… I feel like something worse is on its way, and I just want us to be strong enough to handle it. Blair makes us stronger.

Dispute Against Madness

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

A Bit Of Hope.


I’ve recovered, mostly, from the operation in which Ivory used my blood, along with one of the men running this hostel, to replace the Red Cap inside of Sheryl.
Unnervingly, it wasn’t quite so difficult as expected.
It seemed almost eager to vacate Its Vessel and inhabit the Zephyr Doll, instead, which I tried to voice concern over, but I found it difficult to do so I was falling unconscious at the time.
Alyssa has been fussing over me just short of obsessively; I’ll admit, it’s actually rather nice to have the positive attention, for a change.
The pain isn’t less.
I don’t feel as though it ever will be, and the torment doesn’t stop – the reminders of Blair brought to us by the Black Dog are infrequent, but jarring, and the dreams continue to plague us both nightly.
Even without those things, I know I tend to see Blair no matter where I go, or what I do. The oddest of things remind me of xim, and I often can’t find a connection between the trigger, and the impact.
Nonetheless, I think having Alyssa and Windmill as steady parts of my life is starting to ease the numbness, and the success of the surgery – while concerning – has given me a little bit of hope.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

10.1; I can't lose him


I don’t want to talk about today.
I’ll write about it, because I need to occupy my brain before
It’s worse. It got worse. I’m stupid I’m so, so stupid and I don’t know what to do fuck, I’m dangerous I shouldn’t be around people and I’ve known that for years, how could I have fucked it up so bad, I just
I didn’t want to hurt Curtis, I was scared for him. The fuck-up doctor Ivory agreed to do the procedure, and now they’re just prepping everything. Naturally, since I’ve felt the need to break her face for the past few weeks anyway, I was like, “If you’re seriously going through with this I’m finding out more about this surgery,” and Curtis may be a bit better but he’s still so annoyingly detached about everything which makes me wonder if he’d even care what I did
I found Ivory. I got…aggressive. I needed to know that she wouldn’t fuck mess it up like she did with Blair, because I’ll be damned if I lose them both. Losing her was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, worse than all the Fear shit before, and if Curtis is gone too, I’ll break. I know I’ll break.
I already broke.
I was trying to ask her questions about how she was gonna go about this, and I might have cornered her, slammed my fist to the wall, because she was like, “You have every right to be mad, and I won’t stop you from yelling at me, but you’re bleeding,” and there were tears in her eyes, and my hand had splintered the wall. There was blood.
And then so much more blood. I just
I slipped.
What the fuck can I say to Curtis…
What if I lose him too?

Dispute Against Madness

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

9.1; Suck the poison out


In order for them to take the Red Cap out of Sheryl completely and leave her alive – which I personally don’t think is necessary but I’m through freaking arguing about it – they need to transfuse as much blood into her as possible, while they’re vacuuming the sex sludge out.
Curtis has O+, so he’s giving Sheryl some of his blood. I lost my cool, a little bit.
I asked if he felt sorry for her, and he gave me this look, like, “I can’t feel anything and you know that,” and I threw one of Windmill’s horseshoes at his head. He dodged, so it wasn’t a big deal, but I broke another window.
I can’t be around when they do the procedure (blood, Cap exposure, all that bullshit) and Ivory’s the one doing the procedure…I think the bitch-face who wants us thrown out, John, is also providing blood…
And I’m supposed to be fixing the window, right now.
Instead I’m talking to the Internet like it will be any fucking help to me.
I bet Blair would have given Sheryl blood, too
Fuck this I’m going for a walk. I don’t want to think about all the shit that could go wrong. Curtis would make a fucking terrible Scarlet-Marked.
Ha maybe we could be on the run together from our Marks in this sexually tense celibate relationship, where periodically we’d snap and fuck each other’s brains out until we both came screaming Blair’s name.
That’s the Mark talking… Fuck I wish I were an alcoholic.

Dispute Against Madness

Saturday, November 3, 2012

A Violent Explanation.


Alyssa has been fixating more fiercely than normal, for her, and I fear the result has alienated Sheryl entirely.
I learned late that, in trying to conduct an experiment based on something recommended to her, Alyssa had stabbed Sheryl, leaving hardly a mark when the Red Cap repaired Its host (or ‘Blood Vessel’, I believe is the term).
“He’ll explain,” Alyssa didn’t let go of my arm; she had seized me upon coming to get me from my room, and seemed unwilling to let go.
Rather than question her, I thought it best to just cooperate.
“Well?” Sheryl had a touch of panic, to her, as though she had reached the end of her rope. “What’s the Red Cap?!”
From her tone, I can tell it was a question she’d asked several times.
“The PRE known as the Red Cap is, from what I understand, a sentient ooze that is similar in color to blood, though thicker and capable of spreading amongst humans like a disease. A host body, or Vessel, contains the Red Cap in place of blood, essentially becoming a hollow body; the Red Cap’s consciousness steadily overtakes that of the original person’s, until what most humans know as a ‘soul’ is extinguished. The phenomenon has much in common with mythological demons and vampires, and like an STI, the Red Cap is spread through Vessels through sexual contact.”
“It also repairs the body It’s in,” Alyssa indicated Sheryl with the point of her knife. “If I can cut you open and suction the fucker out of you, pour it into something else…”
“She would die, Alyssa. She would be left empty – if the Red Cap is inside her, she’ll be hollow, there won’t be anything left to keep her organs alive.”
“Priorities.”
Sheryl was growing steadily more pale…and Alyssa was no better, twin trails of blood starting to drip over her mouth and down her chin.
She let go of me, but I offered her my sleeve; better she bleed into that than all over the floor, I thought.
“We’ve got no choice,” she snapped; her voice was muffled by my shirt. “Either we let you die, or you kill us all.”
As horrified as Sheryl appeared, lost to panic, she seemed to recognize that Alyssa spoke the truth.
I took Alyssa back to her room and I’m giving her time to calm herself down. We’re going to continue discussing our options.

8.1; Stuck


Curtis and I had a long talk today about whether or not we should be even trying to help Sheryl. We didn’t make much progress on finding her daughter, before, and now I’m not sure that we should bother. From that girl’s tumblr, she was at least a Scarlet-Marked, if not a Vessel too – I wouldn’t let her anywhere near her mother. I should be trying to do something, shouldn’t I? Just because you can’t kill a Vessel doesn’t mean I should do nothing.
When I said we could try draining the Red Cap out of her system, he was like, “Wouldn’t it just need somewhere else to go?” and then said something about me being the probable next choice for a Vessel. I don’t think it works like that – if I were a Vessel, I’d have the Cap inside me already. That’s how I got the Mark, after all, and if I’d been a Vessel I just would have Red Capped out. So, in that case…it’d just go right back in Sheryl and repair her body. It’d be useless.
Then she’d probably kill us, and when I said that, Curtis went totally silent again. He hasn’t spoken a word since this afternoon when we took a break from reinforcing locks and he said one of us should go check on Windmill.
That horse hates me. He likes Curtis better. It’s really irritating and I’m trying not to let it get to me but I swear to fucking god it’s starting to make me so crazy that I just can’t I almost want to but I won’t, he’s Blair’s horse and for fuck’s sake what am I even thinking
It’s building up in me, again. I almost had to be physically restrained about an hour ago, or else I might have tried to hit on the next person to walk by my room. When it gets like this and there are so many other people around, it’s like I can’t control it…this stupid impulse takes over and I can’t do a goddamn thing to make it stop.
And the dreams are making it so much worse
Seeing Blair straddling Curtis like that is just plain fucking hot
Even if I were normal, and even if Blair was still alive, how could I not feel
I hate those dreams, more than anything. I would give literally anything to make them stop. Leave me the fuck alone, Miss Cleo – I can’t take another night of your lies.
Also, I know Blair didn’t become your Scion, no matter what you show me. S/he wouldn’t do that. S/he was too strong for that, and you knew it.

Dispute Against Madness

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Recent Events.


I feel it’s time I said the things I have kept to myself, for fear of making things worse; a foolish idea, really, because losing Blair is the worst that could have happened to us.
Every night, She comes to me with taunts, showing me the past and – I assume – the future, as it may have been had Blair survived.
I watch him endure, every night, the most mind-breaking of torture, Her glimpses of ‘what may have been’ sharp and cruel contrasts.
In the interest of full disclosure (Blair had no secrets but one) I will confess, some of the things She chooses to show me are not chaste. Images of Blair pressing me down to the mattress, Alyssa behind xim, her hands sliding over his shoulders – and then it flashes back to the torture, jarring, and I’m allowed to wake.
Every night for the first few days, She asks if I wish to know for certain whether or not Blair gave in to her and became a Scion; then, She let me see with certainty that xe did not.
I cannot say this comes as a comfort.
If Blair had become a Scion, maybe xe would not have died.
Alongside the sleepless nights, I – like Alyssa – am being continuously left tokens, things that belonged to Blair or that remind me of xim. Sometimes, instead, I am brought stems, and I know they must belong to Daisy Chain; I’ve burned every single one.
We compared, and Alyssa is not being brought those; instead, she keeps finding little tears or strips of red cloth.
I have been neglecting Windmill’s care; this morning I made sure to rectify this, but the horse nearly kicked me.
With bladed hooves, that would have no doubt been lethal. I managed to move faster than I thought myself capable of.
Windmill huffs and snorts, paws at the ground, continuously restless – I am sure that he knows Blair is gone.
Lastly, on the front of the hostel, it appears as though it’s becoming a busier place, whether it’s due to people dropping in for a night or two or because we can feel the presence of PREs and/or their proxies just outside.
With all these scraps and tokens being brought to Alyssa and to myself, she believes the PRE known as the ‘Black Dog’ – the PRE who tormented Blair for years – has set its’ sights on the two of us, to begin with.
Ruby Tuesday is always lurking out there, it seems, and we are all aware that she has designs on this place…just as we are all aware that she has taken Sheryl’s presence as some sort of personal offence (Sheryl has yet to entirely recover, incidentally).
Daisy Chain ran off, but we are certain she will return. We would run, but we haven’t the first clue where to go, and I have been running myself ragged in an attempt to make up for my extended period of uselessness; as it is, I still feel I’m drifting.
Besides, I can’t bear the thought of running from her; I would much rather take her head off her shoulders and string it up using those goddamn stems.

Monday, October 29, 2012

My Silence.


I apologize for my prolonged silence.
Words have been difficult to muster.
I
I’ve especially had difficulty speaking to Alyssa, or looking her in the eye, after all that happened; knowing the feelings she was developing for Blair, knowing that she knew about mine, and I am entirely certain that we are both still wishing that we’d been the one to die in Blair’s stead.
I can’t look her in the face now, either, also knowing how ashamed we both are.
I had not left this room in days; a very predictable target. The door and windows have already been breached repeatedly, items belonging to Blair being left at the foot of my bed – including things we burned with xim.
It should have come as no surprise that Daisy Chain managed to find a way inside.
I knew it was her despite never having seen her before. Stiff, taut skin that looked wooden to the touch – and felt that way, nearly, it was akin to touching a marionette – and without a single hair on her body.
No eyelashes, no eyebrows, and when she removed her hat, there wasn’t a single hair on her head. When she removed her long coat, there wasn’t a hair anywhere else, either.
Her smile. Lips painted a too-bright shade of pink, green pasted on her eyelids.
She had a string of stems, tied together into a thin, breakable rope; it should have been breakable, I should rectify that statement. She looped it around my neck and pulled me forward, with a girlish giggle that made my stomach turn.
“You’ve waited a long time for a lady’s touch, haven’t you?” her voice was too high. It sounded forced. “Or for It to touch you. I went and ruined that, didn’t I?”
I couldn’t speak to her.
“You don’t belong here. You belong on our side. So what if you left the Archive? You’re still a Proxy. You’re just like me, and Ruby.”
She kissed me. I couldn’t even pull away. I didn’t have the strength.
“Ruby wouldn’t mind meeting you, too!” she giggled, and it sounded like a screech. “Would you like that? Boys like you don’t get chances like this, do they?”
The door burst open.
What happened next is…unclear to me. Alyssa is still bleeding from the nose, and the window has been destroyed; she tells me that I fought Daisy Chain off, and when she turned on Alyssa, I grabbed her and threw her out the window.
I followed, it seems, but Daisy Chain fled. I had to go back to the front doors and request that John let me back in.
I’ve given my word that I will repair the window and help fortify the hostel.
Now that Daisy Chain has found us, I don’t know what good it will do.

7.1; She's in my dreams now


I’ve been running around this hostel like crazy, trying to keep myself distracted and keep from being angry and the whole fucking time, Curtis was useless. He’d just sit, stare at nothing, drift – he’d do things if I physically forced him, but for the most part, he might as well have been chained to the bed. Then there’s Sheryl – I can’t even care that she’s still got some of ‘herself’ alive, in there, she’s still a piece of the thing that turned me into this.
I’m getting edgier every day and I can’t fucking bear it. I thought I caught the doctor looking at me, yesterday, and I nearly shoved my tongue down her throat. I was this close to giving into the temptation just out of spite. I know on every other level that it’s not her fault that Blair is dead and that if we’d been faster to find hir, or if we had forced Blair into making a different decision – that was hir sacrifice, s/he chose that horrific death just to spare us and…
The Vision has been coming to me. I know it’s Her… I’ve memorized everything Blair ever said about Her in hir posts, and there’s no doubt that it’s her. When I sleep, she doesn’t do anything other than show me the things Daisy Chain did, and I wish to go it was all just a regular nightmare because…it’s made me vomit three times, now, and Blair lived it.
The part I don’t know for sure whether or not is true is
Hold on. Hear something in Curtis’s room

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

6.1; Sheryl had a seizure


Sheryl just had a seizure. She was leaving for something or other, stopped by to check in Curtis and me, and she just went rigid and shaky. I didn’t even recognize what was going on until she fell over and Curtis finally did something. He got everything out of the way, protected her head, did whatever else that I wasn’t even really noticing. The first thing he’s said in days was, “Alcoholics sometimes experience seizures when going through withdrawal.”
And he hasn’t spoken since, again. We got Sheryl set up with Ivory and let her keep that Doll with her, even though it disgusts us both. I mean, I can’t tell so much, anymore, what Curtis thinks…but we both can tell it’s twisted. And it doesn’t take someone new to see what’s going on with Sheryl.
She’s not Marked, she’s a Vessel. That fucking mucus is inside her, repairing its Vessel to attract more so it can spread, either through a Mark or by getting inside other Vessels.
We can’t trust her now. I mean, the most I was able to trust her before was actually going to sleep around her, I still haven’t even told her my name. But it’s because of her that I bled, I’m positive, and if she thinks I’m going to be one of hers she can go to hell.
Blair’s funeral is tonight. Sal managed to figure out how we could cremate hir without smuggling us into a crematorium; I get the feeling he’s had to do this kind of thing before.
I don’t know if I’m still angry. On the one hand I almost snapped Curtis’s neck today for being so fucking still and silent like he’s gone all numb and he’s avoiding the pain when I have to deal with it, we can’t all just fucking shut down because what am I supposed to do without him now if he doesn’t fucking pull himself together? How the FUCK am I expected to figure out where to go next and deal with KNOWING that Blair’s body has been touched and things taken off her body like the scarf and then someone RIPPED IT like, actually tore through the scarf and it’s starting to unravel and I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FIX IT and what the fuck was the fucking point of that to begin with?! I know what that scarf meant, I know who it was a gift from and Blair TREASURED it and now some FUCKER has torn it apart and left me the scraps like they’re taunting me
I had to stop typing. I just nearly broke through a window… I didn’t, I’ll point out, but it woke me up to the fact that I had to just cool down for a second. Talked at Curtis, since he doesn’t talk back. Just about…anything. Like, weather, and this hostel, and…just, nothing really personal. I can’t get into personal right now. I blow up.
I’ve got to be stronger than this – I don’t even know how I’m going to deal with saying goodbye for good.

Dispute Against Madness