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Dec. 27th, 2006 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teetheyesMorpheus is leaving, My Lord is here.
((ooc: oh ho another omake, considering Death and Desire's arrival))
I dreamt of train stations and fluorescent lights.
Cigarettes and water, the arms of a man.
Another man.
The city was a jewel of the east, its facets generated by electricity, economics, and a minor dose of ethics. Hong Kong, with her countless pedestrians that crawled the asphalt regardless of the hour. The hour now was 2am, 2am at a train station, 2am in a bathroom, 4 hours of isolation.
Dustin couldn’t run anymore, he was ill and the Corinthian knew it. They’d locked the door and barred it with everything they could find in the supply closet. It wasn’t enough to keep the others locked out, but if they could be overlooked, forgotten for the night… They’d fallen asleep together on the tiles, arms around each other, draped in cold sweat, his pale skin against the other’s olive bronze. He could remember the last words Dustin said to him in their solitude:
“You weren’t always just a man, were you Ian.”
“No, I wasn’t. How’d you know.”
“Your eyes, they’re bluer than blue.”
Dark blue eyes opened to the sound of pounding against the door; someone’s fist, then someone’s foot. Tears dropped into dark brown hair, only a few, nothing more. The former nightmare felt the arms around his waist tighten. The other man was awake though his eyes were still closed. He caught the hint of a grimace on Dustin’s lips. Cori kissed the man’s temple; his tan skin was cold.
“It’s over,” Dustin said quietly. He could hear the angry growls of Cantonese beyond the door. They were here to eradicate the family line, destroy the women and their eggs, destroy the men and their seed. It didn’t matter that the man was a cocksucker.
“Not yet,” Cori countered, running his fingertips down the other’s arm. He pulled his hand away to unsheathe the knife tucked in his boot.
“They have guns.”
“So?” The white haired man flipped the blade from its butterfly handles. “And it’s not for me, it’s for you,” he turned the edge on his own fingers and offered the knife to Dustin.
He took the weapon gingerly. There was no point in wielding it, they’d be shot first. The blood and beat in his heart paused when a bullet took out the deadbolt in the door. He reached out to touch the Corinthian’s face and kissed him. It tasted bittersweet.
They touched for only a moment (but they touched deeply) then the former major arcana pulled them both to their feet. He caught a glimpse of himself in the stained length of mirror above the row of sinks. He was the same man since he was born, unchanged since he was created, but his teeth had been pulled for a set of human eyes, a finite existence. It was going to end here, without nightmares.
He swore he saw the rasping jaws in his face, the immaculate white clothes instead of his dirty jeans and shirt, coming to laugh at him, eager to take his eyes, eager to take Dustin’s eyes. Who had been in the Corinthian’s place in his absence?
Another crash snapped the wooden handle barring the door in half. The white-blonde thought quickly. He pulled the remaining handle from the door, allowing the armed group to enter. He was quick to disarm the first man, used his gun to shoot the second man. A third slipped through the fight in the doorway but Dustin had enough strength in him to bury the blade between the man’s ribs and drag it across his belly. ‘Ian’ twisted the first’s wrist quickly, pressed the gun barrel to his jaw and fired. Blood hit the tiles, avoiding his white hair and face entirely. Still, there were more Triads coming.
Two bullets hit the Corinthian, in the thigh and the crook of his neck. He dropped to his knees, the pain excruciating, blood real blood flowed freely. Another two shots sounded off, and then there was silence. That surprised him. The remaining men tucked their guns away, barrels still smoking. They turned to leave, ignoring the pale woman in black wedging between them to enter the bathroom.
“You…” Cori said breathlessly.
She offered a sweet smile framed by raven black hair. “I’m not here for you, Corinthian,” said the second eldest as she walked past him to the corpse of a young man in his mid twenties. A young man with dark brown hair, olive bronze skin, and a bullet hole in his forehead.
Dustin appeared bewildered at first, stepping away from what had been his physical self. “What happened, where the hell’s Ian,” he demanded of the woman.
I’m right here.
“Ian’s not coming with us, sorry Hai,” she shook her head.
“…Only my mother ever called me that,” he replied.
“Come with me, you might just find her,” the lady offered Dustin her pale hand. He accepted. “You two sit tight, I’ll be back,” she said to the other men on the floor; the second had survived his gunshot wound.
Dustin glanced over his shoulder briefly as the woman led him out the bathroom. He stared at the white-blonde, stared into his old blue eyes, stared through them.
“Wait,” said the former nightmare. They didn’t. They were gone.
Just like that.
Cori palmed his thigh, his shoulder. The blood had disappeared, leaving clean rips in his clothes, wounds healed.
Are you ready to return, Corinthian, the voice asked, a soft but bottomless void in the din of the crime scene.
Cori bristled at the sound. True to his prompt arrival, it had been a full year since Dream exiled him to the waking world, to learn. He got to his feet again; saw that gaunt white face and the white shock of hair pulled into a short wrapped tail in the mirror. Matthew was not with him, for the better. He squeezed his hands into tight fists.
Dream tilted his head slightly, only a hint of sorrow in his expression. It is your choice, to come back to the Dreaming or to stay in the waking world.
“In which case if I choose the latter I’d be going with your sister,” he countered coolly.
Correct, the Endless nodded once.
He considered the choices laid out before him. For one year he had lived a mortal’s existence, lived with the very people he plagued, and for what? To learn self-control? Compassion? He’d gained some kind of understanding of both, whether it was for the better or not….
“I’m coming back,” he stated, his decision firm.
Very well. If you require a moment—
“I don’t.” He pulled his blue gaze away from the open eyes of Dustin’s corpse.
As you say. Dream held his hand out to the Corinthian.
He pressed his fingertips to the mirror, then they dipped through the glass. Dream’s flesh felt ethereal, as if grabbing night mist, but that mist pulled him through the membrane between worlds with the strength of a man who was more than a god. He pulled until the nightmare stepped out of the mirrored walls of his citadel, his home in the Dreaming. ‘Home.’
He emerged alone, the halls empty, the place silent save for the low hum of the television set he kept.
“Heh, thanks,” the nightmare said bitterly. The Dream King knew his sleeping habits, lovely.
Cori didn’t want to look at himself, didn’t have to. He felt like breaking the citadel completely but all he did was sit at the edge of his bed. Something warm trickled from his eye, not a tear, hardly. A small tongue slithered out to lick the blood from his eyeteeth. He remembered; his eyes were bluer than blue.
((ooc: oh ho another omake, considering Death and Desire's arrival))
I dreamt of train stations and fluorescent lights.
Cigarettes and water, the arms of a man.
Another man.
The city was a jewel of the east, its facets generated by electricity, economics, and a minor dose of ethics. Hong Kong, with her countless pedestrians that crawled the asphalt regardless of the hour. The hour now was 2am, 2am at a train station, 2am in a bathroom, 4 hours of isolation.
Dustin couldn’t run anymore, he was ill and the Corinthian knew it. They’d locked the door and barred it with everything they could find in the supply closet. It wasn’t enough to keep the others locked out, but if they could be overlooked, forgotten for the night… They’d fallen asleep together on the tiles, arms around each other, draped in cold sweat, his pale skin against the other’s olive bronze. He could remember the last words Dustin said to him in their solitude:
“You weren’t always just a man, were you Ian.”
“No, I wasn’t. How’d you know.”
“Your eyes, they’re bluer than blue.”
Dark blue eyes opened to the sound of pounding against the door; someone’s fist, then someone’s foot. Tears dropped into dark brown hair, only a few, nothing more. The former nightmare felt the arms around his waist tighten. The other man was awake though his eyes were still closed. He caught the hint of a grimace on Dustin’s lips. Cori kissed the man’s temple; his tan skin was cold.
“It’s over,” Dustin said quietly. He could hear the angry growls of Cantonese beyond the door. They were here to eradicate the family line, destroy the women and their eggs, destroy the men and their seed. It didn’t matter that the man was a cocksucker.
“Not yet,” Cori countered, running his fingertips down the other’s arm. He pulled his hand away to unsheathe the knife tucked in his boot.
“They have guns.”
“So?” The white haired man flipped the blade from its butterfly handles. “And it’s not for me, it’s for you,” he turned the edge on his own fingers and offered the knife to Dustin.
He took the weapon gingerly. There was no point in wielding it, they’d be shot first. The blood and beat in his heart paused when a bullet took out the deadbolt in the door. He reached out to touch the Corinthian’s face and kissed him. It tasted bittersweet.
They touched for only a moment (but they touched deeply) then the former major arcana pulled them both to their feet. He caught a glimpse of himself in the stained length of mirror above the row of sinks. He was the same man since he was born, unchanged since he was created, but his teeth had been pulled for a set of human eyes, a finite existence. It was going to end here, without nightmares.
He swore he saw the rasping jaws in his face, the immaculate white clothes instead of his dirty jeans and shirt, coming to laugh at him, eager to take his eyes, eager to take Dustin’s eyes. Who had been in the Corinthian’s place in his absence?
Another crash snapped the wooden handle barring the door in half. The white-blonde thought quickly. He pulled the remaining handle from the door, allowing the armed group to enter. He was quick to disarm the first man, used his gun to shoot the second man. A third slipped through the fight in the doorway but Dustin had enough strength in him to bury the blade between the man’s ribs and drag it across his belly. ‘Ian’ twisted the first’s wrist quickly, pressed the gun barrel to his jaw and fired. Blood hit the tiles, avoiding his white hair and face entirely. Still, there were more Triads coming.
Two bullets hit the Corinthian, in the thigh and the crook of his neck. He dropped to his knees, the pain excruciating, blood real blood flowed freely. Another two shots sounded off, and then there was silence. That surprised him. The remaining men tucked their guns away, barrels still smoking. They turned to leave, ignoring the pale woman in black wedging between them to enter the bathroom.
“You…” Cori said breathlessly.
She offered a sweet smile framed by raven black hair. “I’m not here for you, Corinthian,” said the second eldest as she walked past him to the corpse of a young man in his mid twenties. A young man with dark brown hair, olive bronze skin, and a bullet hole in his forehead.
Dustin appeared bewildered at first, stepping away from what had been his physical self. “What happened, where the hell’s Ian,” he demanded of the woman.
I’m right here.
“Ian’s not coming with us, sorry Hai,” she shook her head.
“…Only my mother ever called me that,” he replied.
“Come with me, you might just find her,” the lady offered Dustin her pale hand. He accepted. “You two sit tight, I’ll be back,” she said to the other men on the floor; the second had survived his gunshot wound.
Dustin glanced over his shoulder briefly as the woman led him out the bathroom. He stared at the white-blonde, stared into his old blue eyes, stared through them.
“Wait,” said the former nightmare. They didn’t. They were gone.
Just like that.
Cori palmed his thigh, his shoulder. The blood had disappeared, leaving clean rips in his clothes, wounds healed.
Are you ready to return, Corinthian, the voice asked, a soft but bottomless void in the din of the crime scene.
Cori bristled at the sound. True to his prompt arrival, it had been a full year since Dream exiled him to the waking world, to learn. He got to his feet again; saw that gaunt white face and the white shock of hair pulled into a short wrapped tail in the mirror. Matthew was not with him, for the better. He squeezed his hands into tight fists.
Dream tilted his head slightly, only a hint of sorrow in his expression. It is your choice, to come back to the Dreaming or to stay in the waking world.
“In which case if I choose the latter I’d be going with your sister,” he countered coolly.
Correct, the Endless nodded once.
He considered the choices laid out before him. For one year he had lived a mortal’s existence, lived with the very people he plagued, and for what? To learn self-control? Compassion? He’d gained some kind of understanding of both, whether it was for the better or not….
“I’m coming back,” he stated, his decision firm.
Very well. If you require a moment—
“I don’t.” He pulled his blue gaze away from the open eyes of Dustin’s corpse.
As you say. Dream held his hand out to the Corinthian.
He pressed his fingertips to the mirror, then they dipped through the glass. Dream’s flesh felt ethereal, as if grabbing night mist, but that mist pulled him through the membrane between worlds with the strength of a man who was more than a god. He pulled until the nightmare stepped out of the mirrored walls of his citadel, his home in the Dreaming. ‘Home.’
He emerged alone, the halls empty, the place silent save for the low hum of the television set he kept.
“Heh, thanks,” the nightmare said bitterly. The Dream King knew his sleeping habits, lovely.
Cori didn’t want to look at himself, didn’t have to. He felt like breaking the citadel completely but all he did was sit at the edge of his bed. Something warm trickled from his eye, not a tear, hardly. A small tongue slithered out to lick the blood from his eyeteeth. He remembered; his eyes were bluer than blue.
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private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 11:16 am (UTC)private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 11:26 am (UTC)You're going to let that go, because there's nothing you can do.
private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 11:29 am (UTC)private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 11:37 am (UTC)I'm losing my touch. Or perhaps I'm simply catering to too many courtesies. See, I forgot myself entirely - there is no need to accommodate the sensibilities of worthless trash, now is there...?
Creations who won't do anything...well... they might as well spare us the inconvenience and not be there at all ~
♥Re: private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 11:40 am (UTC)private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 11:49 am (UTC)You're not worth my bother. Like this, you're not worth anyone's bother.
private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 11:52 am (UTC)private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 12:03 pm (UTC)private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 05:12 pm (UTC)private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 05:22 pm (UTC)private :: warded :: cursed
Date: 2006-12-28 05:22 pm (UTC)