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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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