i. woods somewhere

[mike is no stranger to this. the horror of suddenly being somewhere else, somwehere scarier and shittier, though he can't say he welcomes it. it's a moment of absolutely fuck this, a moment where panicking, he thinks he's back in that facsimile of a fucking room, whether it be by the design of cultists (did they finally fuck off? i...) he can't remember.) of the pthumerians or of his own making doesn't matter.

(whiskey foxtrot ta--)

nope.

he hadn't been drinking. had he? his mind's been an unreliable narrator at times, so there's always the possibility. it's the overwhelm of possibilities that threatens to pull him into a black pit (or whadda ya say - up the steps of an old lighthouse?)

(eleven, this is eleven.

even if you find the light ʇɥɓıl ǝɥʇ puıɟ ɹǝʌǝu ll,noʎ)


b̸̡̗̟͈̺̺̝͙̀͠û̶̗̭̦̲̹̦̆͜r̵̛̻̹̳̹͛́͌̌̐̈̎n̸̪͊͛͑̔ ̸̨̢͓̲̹̬̳̳̜̤̆̏͘̕m̷̙̱̤͗̔͌̿̑̕é̵͍͕̰̟̘͍͓͚̳̍̀̎̈́̔͑͜ ̸̺̭͈̅̋̐͜ǎ̶̟̳̙̭̜́͌̽͗̈́̂͂͘͝l̴̨̹̹͙̥̩̳͙͆͂͜͝ĭ̸̧̛̺͚͔͓͚͙̘̪̄͘v̸̤͉̂̅̕͘̚ę̴̛͉̲͉̰̩̆͂͆̒̐̂̕

nope.

what matters is the sickening wave that crashes over him before he realizes he's possibly not anywhere he's ever been before.

delmira, his omen is gone. gone in a way that's almost tangible. there's the feeling of utter disconnect. ah, yeah. that's a feeling he can settle into: dissociation.

the gifts of his darkblood flicker without his notice, and though he's still bereft of clothes, there's now a baseball cap perched atop his head that he'll feel later, when he can feel anything.

no tape recorder this time to capture his observations as he stumbles out of the woods and into wherever this is pretending to be. is he still in the room? is he out of the room? was he ever out of the room? so he's just speaking into empty air as he goes, feet eventually bloody with the effort.]

The nudity isn't real, it's clearly a metaphor. The endless walking is classic dream trope, even though the pain in my feet is...

[he stops in his tracks. he'd felt pain in his feet at the lighthouse, too. in the early, early days of trench...

...had it all been a figment? all of it?

(twelve, this is twelve

you have lost your mind)]


ii. boarding house
[he'd found pants and shoes, but his darkblood has manifested a shirt for him, perhaps complying a bit maliciously to his request by producing the pattern. if he had uttered 'oh, blow it out your ass' at least thrice in the past four hours, mostly to himself ...the result isn't exactly a coincidence.

you know what? he does welcome it. the alcohol, at least. even if it isn't real, it tastes real. (even if you leave this room, you can never---)


---nope. a shake of his head and another swallow of whatever's in the glass as long as it isn't bourbon. this had started before in another boarding house (it was an inn his thoughts pickily fixate on words), in a place not so dissimilar to this one, and that's not lost on him at all. (an inn is a boarding house is a hote---)

---that's another nope of an intrusive thought, and it makes him trust every door in it less and less. so he sits at a table stink-eyeing every door in the place, side-eyeing every scorch mark he sees - which while they are not many, they are enough to make him unable to sit still any longer.

he gets up and exits the main, very red door, re-enters it and re-exits a total of three times before standing just outside the door, giving it the finger and remaining outside, drink in hand and the slow realization that if he wants another he will need to go back inside.]



iii. summertide: lock & key

[rules have been explained, and he stares at the shackle as if it's some unspeakable horror for a moment (and for that brief moment it is), stiffening in panic before he shakes it off and makes an irritated face. mike huffs a bitter laugh, his eyes locking onto the spectacle of naked fencers in the distance.]

So, at least three circles of hell overlapping. [he's over-analyzing it now, of course.] The naked fencing's a nice touch. I don't remember an absurdity circle, but I'm not complaining.

[mike has been no stranger to drink since his arrival, and the drinks here seem to have changed his mood somewhat. the panic ebbs after that initial spike - especially once he realizes the person he's shackled to is alive and all limbs are accounted for. this, he can roll with. sure. fine. whatever.]

I missed the part about how much blood? Unless you feel like going on a long walk for a key that could be up someone's ass for all I know.

[it's so much easier to be glib when he's convinced this isn't real.]

iv. wildcard
hit me with whatever eisdamme