NOT DEAD YET.

A new.... or rather lost soul is returning to the beach - @brinnygetsstabbed

As ever, Cladaí Folmh is quiet. The waves beat rhythmically on a rocky shore, the moon hangs full in the pitch-dark sky, and the houses on the hill flicker with faraway light, as if remembering a time when the living stoked their hearths.

In her little house on the strand road, Saibhe is resting peacefully— until her killer-sharp hearing catches the sound of footsteps on flagstone and shale grit. Slowly, she heaves herself up, drawing her spear to her side and gently rowing herself outside. Who’s there?

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;drowned-lament

Tired eyes look out to the sea. It’s such a mocking thing, but in the same way it’s beautiful. Brin wonders if she could swim back to her old life, if she tried hard enough. The bitter chill of the wind says otherwise.

Sighing, the girl sits down leaning back on a dry rock, staring to the sky and that lamplike moon.

“... It felt good, killing him.” She finally says, tone unsure, “I felt like a god, fire all around me... I can’t-” She pauses, struggling with words, “Why do I want to do it again?” She can’t possibly know that Saibhe will have an answer, but she hopes. That’s all she has left, is hope.

But it refused.

... How long has it been?

Brin hurts with fresh wounds, half of her face barely bandaged up. She’d pissed him off again. Somehow, someway, she did something wrong. Whatever that was, she couldn’t remember. Lately memory has been failing her. Lately it’s just pain.

She’s so tired, but her eyes won’t close.

The survivor stares up at the ceiling, tucked away in the corner of the room. She’d destroyed the chalk drawings on the wall, smeared them away in a fit of frantic terror and rage. She couldn’t bear being seen by them. Being looked down upon by images of the white mask. She just wanted to be alone.

At least, that’s what she thought she wanted. Suddenly, though, she’s exhausted, she feels her soul being dragged down by the weight of all her pain. Her suffering now has tangible weight. Dull blue eyes fall closed, and the girl’s breathing slows to nearly nothing.

... And then she opens her eyes again.

What used to be a heavy, crushing sensation is now weightless, like she’s floating in water. The world around her is entirely black, Brin can’t see a thing. Despite that, she knows she isn’t alone.

Go to sleep.

A thought that isn’t her own is imposed on her brain, a wispy sound of a thousand distant voices beckons her to rest.

You’re safe now.

It feels true. Brin lets out a long sigh, slowly floating further down into the darkness. She should sleep. She deserves rest, after everything. She deserves to feel safe, right?

A twist of anger wakes her up, widening her eyes to stare into the darkness. Into the void of nothing. She can’t sleep yet. She doesn’t want to sleep, she doesn’t want her monster to win. Not after everything. No, she’ll get her rest, right after she takes back her freedom. Brin glares, twisting her body, trying to stand up. Trying to claw her way out of the void. It can’t have her. Not yet.

Suddenly, the darkness gets just as angry as she is. That weight returns, tugging at her very soul. It’s exhausting to fight. But she refused. A roar, a scream of determination rips from her lungs. And the void roars back. It feels like the world it shattering, breaking apart and it’ll drag her down-

Blue eyes snap open with a gasp. She’s back in the basement, darkness fading away from the edges of her vision. The hot throb of pain wakes her further from her slumber. She feels anger kick around in her soul.

She’s not done here yet. Soon, she will be. But only after he’s dead.

#Moments from the Fog;; oneshots/shorts #[regained memories]#// so Brin canonically refused the void.

Going down in a blaze of glory.

Brin’s words keep on jabbing at him like knives. Each sentence sends a new pulse to his brain, and his skull is already splitting from pain. The anger blinds him more than the damage to his eyes and all he can focus on is the need to stab her. To carve that confidence out of the annoying brat. All that time he had her fear him, beg him to let her out. And now she didn’t even run. A sour disappointment. All that repulsion was now visible on his unmasked face.

“I’m so much better than that mere copycat. I’ve had him under my shoe since the day we met. I’ve taken all from him and he could do nothing about it. He didn’t even care about you” he spat a mix of new knowledge and some repeated words. “You can’t get rid of me. Even if you burn me here, I’ll always stay at the back of your mind. A whisper, a snap of a twig. You’ll always be afraid because you’re just a pathetic bug crawling around in the dark.”

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[blaze of glory]

Brin scowls. Jed did leave her behind, but that’s okay. He’ll be visited by karma soon enough. She trusts in this. She has faith in her own wrath to make the Ghostfaces pay.

“The dark?” She echoes, grinning, “Oh I’ve been to the dark. I looked the void in the face and told it No. I wasn’t done, not until I made you suffer. Not until I watched you burn.” She rises to her feet again, stepping to the stairs, which are practically all burnt, and tearing one of the steps off, tossing it at Ghost, “But now I think I have a better idea. Maybe I can give it an offering. Something to take, since I denied it my own soul.” She looks around at the burning room, smiling, beaming with joy, “Maybe we can go there together. So I can watch you burn for eternity. Only you get to bear the brunt of the monster you made, how poetic.” Her tone is a giddy hum, basking in the light, “No one will remember you. No one will stop and mourn you. You’ll be forgotten.”

Brin doesn’t mind being forgotten. It’s probably better if she is.

With a manic smile, Brinley hoists the axe up, looming over the killer, “Yeah. I think killing you for the rest of time will be fun.”

A new.... or rather lost soul is returning to the beach - @brinnygetsstabbed

As ever, Cladaí Folmh is quiet. The waves beat rhythmically on a rocky shore, the moon hangs full in the pitch-dark sky, and the houses on the hill flicker with faraway light, as if remembering a time when the living stoked their hearths.

In her little house on the strand road, Saibhe is resting peacefully— until her killer-sharp hearing catches the sound of footsteps on flagstone and shale grit. Slowly, she heaves herself up, drawing her spear to her side and gently rowing herself outside. Who’s there?

It’s still so weird being out, weird to walk more than ten steps in one direction. She feels... Tense, like she’s being hunted. She knows she’s not, she knows he’s dead.

But what he did is still written on her face.

The beach is nice; Brin doesn’t immediately see the killer rowing in the air towards her, and when she does? She hardly bats an eye, her exhaustion already soul-deep. Nothing changes in her expression, other than a glimmer of hope in her dull eyes. Seeing someone new is good.

“... hi.” The girl says, toeing at the sand, “I’m... I’m Brinley. Do uh... Do you remember me?”

Saibhe feels something twist in her gut as the survivor makes eye contact with her. Brinley. Of course she remembers. Seeing her here again brings a rush of things, all at once: confusion, dread, hope.

Broken lips quirk up into a smile, showing the barest hint of long, thin teeth below. “Hi. I remember, yes, you…” There are more scars now, aren’t there? That cut across her mouth has something glinting in it now. “I-it’s nice to s— You… you escaped again?”

God it’s so nice to be remembered. Brin feels the echo of a smile on her face, knowing at the very least she wasn’t forgotten.

“... I burned him to death. I burned it all down.” Saying it out loud makes it feel real, and it brings so many emotions bubbling up to the kid’s head, “I’m out. For good.” Brin sighs, eyes falling to the ground, glossing over already, “... I guess I just needed to be somewhere calm for a bit.”

She’s still angry. Brin still feels the burn of wrath in her chest. Why? He’s dead. The monster is buried under smoldering rubble. She won, so why is she still so upset? She doesn’t really know what to do with it.

Saibhe gasps, eye wide. She killed him… There’s equal parts horror and glee in hearing that. Horror, because a child should never have to take a life, even here— Glee because she deserved to.

“God… So you’re free.” Saibhe manages to at least keep her composure (the mask helps), nodding slowly. “That’s wonderful news, I’m s… -s— I’m so happy, so happy for you,” she continues, letting herself drift to the ground so the survivor doesn’t have to look up at her and gently— if allowed— reaching out to rest a hand on Brin’s shoulder. “Be here a— As long as you want, dear. This place won’t see Trial for a bit yet. If I can help with anything, I’m here, a-as well.”

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;drowned-lament

Nodding, Brin stiffens at the touch, soon sighing to let the anxiety wash away, “... Uhm, thanks. Me too.” She is happy that it’s over. She knows she is, but all she can feel is the burning desire to do it again. To kill again, to be a god again. It’s more bitter than sweet.

The kid fidgets with her hands, despite how unpleasant it is- the scarred and rough texture always invades any sensation, even now, with bandages covering them.

“... I’m gonna go sit at the shore, if uhm... You wanna follow.” Brin offers, putting her hands in her sweater pockets, “I could use some good company.”

A new.... or rather lost soul is returning to the beach - @brinnygetsstabbed

As ever, Cladaí Folmh is quiet. The waves beat rhythmically on a rocky shore, the moon hangs full in the pitch-dark sky, and the houses on the hill flicker with faraway light, as if remembering a time when the living stoked their hearths.

In her little house on the strand road, Saibhe is resting peacefully— until her killer-sharp hearing catches the sound of footsteps on flagstone and shale grit. Slowly, she heaves herself up, drawing her spear to her side and gently rowing herself outside. Who’s there?

It’s still so weird being out, weird to walk more than ten steps in one direction. She feels... Tense, like she’s being hunted. She knows she’s not, she knows he’s dead.

But what he did is still written on her face.

The beach is nice; Brin doesn’t immediately see the killer rowing in the air towards her, and when she does? She hardly bats an eye, her exhaustion already soul-deep. Nothing changes in her expression, other than a glimmer of hope in her dull eyes. Seeing someone new is good.

“... hi.” The girl says, toeing at the sand, “I’m... I’m Brinley. Do uh... Do you remember me?”

Saibhe feels something twist in her gut as the survivor makes eye contact with her. Brinley. Of course she remembers. Seeing her here again brings a rush of things, all at once: confusion, dread, hope.

Broken lips quirk up into a smile, showing the barest hint of long, thin teeth below. “Hi. I remember, yes, you…” There are more scars now, aren’t there? That cut across her mouth has something glinting in it now. “I-it’s nice to s— You… you escaped again?”

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;drowned-lament #// bebe still needs time

God it’s so nice to be remembered. Brin feels the echo of a smile on her face, knowing at the very least she wasn’t forgotten.

“... I burned him to death. I burned it all down.” Saying it out loud makes it feel real, and it brings so many emotions bubbling up to the kid’s head, “I’m out. For good.” Brin sighs, eyes falling to the ground, glossing over already, “... I guess I just needed to be somewhere calm for a bit.”

She’s still angry. Brin still feels the burn of wrath in her chest. Why? He’s dead. The monster is buried under smoldering rubble. She won, so why is she still so upset? She doesn’t really know what to do with it.

A new.... or rather lost soul is returning to the beach - @brinnygetsstabbed

As ever, Cladaí Folmh is quiet. The waves beat rhythmically on a rocky shore, the moon hangs full in the pitch-dark sky, and the houses on the hill flicker with faraway light, as if remembering a time when the living stoked their hearths.

In her little house on the strand road, Saibhe is resting peacefully— until her killer-sharp hearing catches the sound of footsteps on flagstone and shale grit. Slowly, she heaves herself up, drawing her spear to her side and gently rowing herself outside. Who’s there?

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;drowned-lament

It’s still so weird being out, weird to walk more than ten steps in one direction. She feels... Tense, like she’s being hunted. She knows she’s not, she knows he’s dead.

But what he did is still written on her face.

The beach is nice; Brin doesn’t immediately see the killer rowing in the air towards her, and when she does? She hardly bats an eye, her exhaustion already soul-deep. Nothing changes in her expression, other than a glimmer of hope in her dull eyes. Seeing someone new is good.

“... hi.” The girl says, toeing at the sand, “I’m... I’m Brinley. Do uh... Do you remember me?”

Going down in a blaze of glory.

Ghost remained on the ground, slowly giving up in his attempt to escape. He could feel the heat on his body even through the thick fabrics. The amount of smoke was suffocating even when positioned so close to the ground. He could hear furniture collapse up on the first floor and the roar of the fire before him. Even if all he could see was a large bright spot, he was still able to figure out that the stairs had been broken beyond use. He was stuck with his personal demon now.

Turning Brin into a killer was on his mind for a while now. Ghost wanted to see how far he could push her to remove the survivor’s whole personality. To change her into something she was not. To see how desperate she would be for escape. He was meant to provide her with a survivor to kill. But it seemed that he took that spot instead. Not only was Brin ready to kill, her anger and pain turned into need for torture. She became who she despised, but Ghost still had no way of knowing if she’d transfer that onto an innocent victim. After all, he was far from innocent. And her bubbling rage was something to be expected. But not something he wanted to experience.

Brin’s taunts managed.to wriggle beneath his thick skin. There was one statement that made Ghost worry. His ability to come back to life. He had no Entity. He felt his connection weakening for so long now. Would the gods gift him with another opportunity to live or would they take his life permanently? They had replacements far more willing to serve than he was… The fear was further triggered when he couldn’t call for his blade. It didn’t materialise with the shroud and it wasn’t appearing as he wished. Was he reduced to mere prey?

And now the final piece of his identity was being ripped away with his skin. Grabbing hold of Brin’s wrist, he tried to prevent her from doing so. But between the pull on the axe and the pull on the mask, he felt like he was split in two. Broken beyond repair. And the mask came off, remaining in the survivor’s hand.

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[blaze of glory]

Brinley’s smile never once faltered, her sadistic glee filled the room as much as the smoke did- but oddly enough, she didn’t seem to be affected by it. Maybe she was just refusing to be affected by it. Either way, she was far from suffocating.

“Pathetic.” She grumbles again, taking in the scene of the gravely wounded killer before her. She holds the mask in her hand, looking at it with disgust, then grabbing it with both hands and bending it until it snapped, the melted plastic had hardened to a point that made it brittle under the pressure. What was left was tossed aside, Ghost’s one protection to his ego destroyed.

“You wanna know something funny?” The girl asks, kneeling down in front of him, a foot away just so he couldn’t reach to hit her, “All of you Ghostfaces are the same.” She says it like a statement, wanting it to dig under his skin, “All of you have the same tricks. All of you are just soooo charming, until you’re not. You think you’re better than them? That’s fucking rich.” She barks out a flat laugh, “You’re worth less than the scum under my shoe. Shit, even my own dipshit killer is better than you. And I bet he’d be pissin’ himself if he were stuck in your position.” She suddenly snaps forward, gripping Ghost’s jaw so he looks her in the eyes; seeing her wrath reflected in the flames, “I’m sure they’d all love to take a stab at you though. They’d all smell how worthless you are. One of them would cut you up and eat you.” She’s met too many Ghostfaces down here, “You’re not the greatest Ghostface. You’re barely even a good killer. You’re just a stupid, disgusting man, and now you’re gonna die. And I’m gonna watch and make sure you do.”

Going down in a blaze of glory.

Pain became a motivator to follow Brin’s orders. Being brought to his knees was humiliating, but he couldn’t risk losing a whole arm just for not following the pressure. He’d wait till the metal head was out of his arm to try and escape again. Running into the fire sounded more pleasing then allowing the survivor to toy with him like that.

That moment when she focused on the chain was used to try and dislodge the weapon out of flesh. Each movement caused more and more white spots to dance in front of his eyes, but he tried to ignore his body’s plea to leave the axe where it was. The pain made him weak and even his kick at Brin brought no effect. She still managed to shackle him, and he was still not free of the thing in his arm. He could barely reach it properly.

There was a crack and a held back cry which came out in the form of a chocked moan. The kick had managed to break one of his already weakened ribs. The fall onto the stairs was surprisingly not enough to cause such harm, but Brin was. Oh, the irony of it all. It forced him to laugh out loud.

“Does this make you feel better?” he rasped out. “I’ll make sure to drag you back when we return. I’ll take each limb from your filthy body, leave you to wriggle around like a worthless worm.”

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[blaze of glory]#Young and scorned;; triggering content #;;gore

All of Ghost’s attempts at getting the axe out were so funny. Brin laughed at him, she barked out a cruel cackle, so entertained by the pathetic scene before her. Hearing one of his ribs crack, even through the blaze beside them, was music to her ears.

Brinley felt like a god. She is a god, down here. This is her personal hell, and she’s sitting on a throne of her own mangled bones. This is her glorious exit from the Fog, once and for all. A final, closing act.

Ghost’s words make her snicker even more, a scarred hand grabbing the long handle of the axe, yanking it roughly to the side, “What was that? Threatening me when I’ve got you chained up?” She asks, tilting her head, “Do you wanna know what I did, when you weren’t here?” She doesn’t let him speak, “I got stronger. Every day, every waking minute I had a chance, I prepared for this day. From the very start.” She yanks again, “Your fate was sealed the moment you dragged me here.” Brinley grins, manic and wicked, “You have no Entity to bring you back. No one to resurrect you from the ashes of my fire. You’re all alone, stuck with the very monster you created.”

The survivor reaches for the melted mask, hooking her fingers under it and pulling, “Does it hurt? I bet it hurts.” She keeps pulling, slowly peeling warped plastic from boiled flesh, “It’ll only get worse from here.”

Going down in a blaze of glory.

Their roles may have been reversed but Ghost felt no fear. He just needed to pass her, rotate their positions, and get to the stairs before they were fully consumed by the flames. Even now he knew that using them was risky. They were falling apart even before Brin set them on fire. One wrong move could see him tumbling down with the burning timber.

His focus was taken away by the sudden swing. He could only tell the movement, not what was in her hands or how she used the weapon. Ghost could only guess that it was the axe, and he had managed to jump out of the way. One more dodge had him feeling the sharp metal barely scrape against the material stretched over his ribs. And then he was on the other side, ready to dash for the burning stairs.

Sharp pain forced him to stay in his spot. The killer didn’t move his head to look at the chunk of metal buried deep in his shoulder. His focus was dragged away to the sensation of the shattered bone and torn nerves drilling into his brain and choking him.

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[blaze of glory]#;;tw gore

He’s not getting out. Brin refuses to let the little rat escape, not after everything he’s done. Everything he put her through. She’s fucking earned this, and she’ll kill him even if it means death herself.

She roars, swinging the axe wildly in attempts to hit him after he dodges that first attack, the survivor feeling nothing but rage when she misses again. It’s remedied quickly, as the feeling of the axehead hitting flesh and breaking bone- the sound of it- was immensely satisfying.

Brinley quickly changes her hold on the weapon, pressing down on Ghost’s shoulder like the axe is a lever, forcing him down as much as she can, “Tch, look at you. How did I not cut you down sooner? So many times I could have taken your blade and slit your throat like that. Bled you out like the useless fucking thing you are.” She spits her words at him, tone acidic, “Didn’t you hear me? You’re not getting out. Ever. You’re weak, you’re pathetic. All of you cowards in cloaks are the same. Just vile men.” She chuckles darkly, “I’m god down here, you understand? You’re fucking nothing. I’ll burn you to death a thousand times over.”

Brin suddenly gets an idea, blue eyes scanning the fire-lit room for- aha. Such a familiar thing, this heavy metal chain and shackle. Brin grabs it, dragging it over to where her tormenter lies on the ground, clamping the thing around one of his ankles, yanking the key out of the lock and tossing it into the fire across the room.

"You’re lucky I’m not just hacking your legs off.” She comments, kicking Ghost hard in the ribs, “... Don’t worry, though. I’ve got so much more planned for you.”

Going down in a blaze of glory.

The sound of metal scraping the floor made him realize the mistake he made. He just armed her with a weapon, one he could not block with a simple knife. This knowledge combined with highly blurred sight forced him to crawl deeper into the basement, away from the door and the spotlight. He needed a moment to clear his mind, the pain making that task difficult.

For a while, only white chalked faces observed him from each wall around, before their artist slowly made their way down into the basement. He couldn’t see anything other than the darkness, tongues of flame, and Brin’s shape between the two. Old wood made for an easy meal for the fire, the flames slowly consuming their only way of escape and blinding him in their brightness.

“Even now…you still crawl back into your hole” he chuckled, his voice returning to that raspy, unpleasant one she knew so well. But he was already weakened, slowly staggering to his feet, one hand resting on the wall.

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[blaze of glory]

There’s so much light in Brin’s blue eyes. She feels feral, the violent need to bite and scratch and maim is overwhelming. So is this what killers feel in Trials? She has to admit, she’s fond of the rush.

The walls are decorated with white faces, crude images of chalk that mirror and mock the pathetic killer, and his attempts to cut Brin down with words.

“Ah, but you’re exactly right.” She says, holding her hands out to gesture at the space, “This is my place. And soon it’ll be your tomb.” She laughs, cackling as she hoists the axe up, holding it with both hands like the Huntress, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. How much I’ve endured at the hands of your kind just to finally be able to kill you.” The fire crackles and blazes behind her, embers already beginning to float around the room, “Mercy won’t find you here. And no one will come to save you.”

She parrots the words Ghost has said to her so many times, raising the axe, then swinging it down, aiming to knock him down again. A good cut to the shoulder should do it.

Going down in a blaze of glory.

Not expecting Brin to attack, he confidently walked back into the house with an axe in one hand and a stack of wood in the other. He felt her plotting something, but would’ve never guessed the timid survivor would do such a thing. Instinct took over and whilst the items he held before clattered as they fell, he tried to conjure his mask and shroud for protection. It was the first time he broke his theatrical act of separating Matt from Ghost, and the two combined before Brin’s eyes.

The hot oil burned into flesh, the killer not fast enough to protect himself. He screamed out of pain, feeling the skin of his face stick to the plastic as his hands desperately tries to ease the burning. He couldn’t even see what came next. All he knew was he was suddenly falling before his body collided with the bottom of the staircase pushing all air out of his lungs. It removed any sound, any movement, even any thought out of him. But he wasn’t dead. This was the Entity’s realm and he was no prey to die so soon.

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #Young and scorned;; triggering content #;;burns #[blaze of glory]

Oh how his screams fuel her. Brin’s grin is a loathingly gleeful one, wide across her face, bordering on a vicious snarl. She picks up the axe, admiring it, then turning to the counter to grab the bottle of oil, pouring it behind her as she walks down the stairs. The fire is eager to follow, so much so that she just has to toss the rest of the bottle down the stairs past herself, splattering fire on the ground.

“Does it hurt?” She mocks the killer, freed from her warped perception of Ghost and Matt being two people. This man is just a single, stupid coward, “I bet it hurts. But you don’t know pain.” Each step on the wooden stairs causes a loud thud, “Not yet, anyway.”

The hatch to the basement is yanked closed, the fire on the stairs burning at the wood. The fire upstairs? Who knows how bad it is. Brinley is only focused on one thing, and it’s to tear Ghost apart.

Going down in a blaze of glory.

“Of course” he says with a soft smile and starts tending to the frying meal. He didn’t add anything else, allowing the silence to fall between them. And when the chips were ready, he rested them to dry off and placed them in the freezer (even though it wasn’t fully functional).

“I will go and finish with the logs. You know how long these take to chill. And it will warm up in here if I bring more wood” he explained and left for the front door and out the house without waiting for Brin to say anything.

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[blaze of glory]#// f i n a l l y

Finally. Brin listens to the hot oil bubble and burn, and in a single instance when she has her chance, a feeling of peace washes over her. She’s suddenly happy, walking towards the stove, kicking the flames up as high as she can, turning on the other burners as well.

A glance is given outside, waiting for him to return. The survivor wraps her hand around the handle of the pan, waiting. The peace turns to a giddy and sadistic excitement. Revenge tastes so sweet.

She stands still, hiding her expression with a mask of placid compliance, for ‘Matt’ to walk in front of the open hole down to the basement. Then, without warning, she yanks the pan of oil off the stove, throwing it at the man. A line of liquid fire follows as the stuff spills everywhere.

With no regard for her own safety, Brin roars with rage, lunging forward to push Ghost down the stairs.

Going down in a blaze of glory.

“Of course” he responded happy to oblige. Perhaps the killer was mistaken when he considered something was wrong. Maybe it was just the gala affecting Brinley, or it might have been due to the survivor seeing her friends.

But he didn’t budge from his spot just focusing on the oil and waiting for it to heat up. That didn’t take too long, but it dragged out as Matt didn’t give her much of a break asking if she’d like to play chess after they’ve eaten. He knew that Brinley hates chess. Ghost was the reason for that hate.

“Ah, sorry. You said last time you don’t like to play that game. My bad.” He pretended to be apologetic whilst he threw the first fry into the oil. Noticing that it was hissing and bubbling, he added the whole batch.

“I guess we can do something else. Maybe you could paint some more whilst I try and clean around?”

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[blaze of glory]

This is torment. This is torture, genuinely. Brin knows he knows that he’s fucking with her, even subtly. And this time, it’s enraging. Still, she maintains her docile demeanor, staying as passive as possible. “Hmm... No thank you, I think I just need to eat then rest. The Gala was stressful, honestly.” She says, tone gloomy. She wants to kill so badly. Is this how they feel? The killers? No, surely not. Their desires are sadistic, Brin only wants revenge. And, maybe, yeah, to let herself be sadistic for once. She deserves it, at the very least.

And who better than to tear this jackass apart?

Going down in a blaze of glory.

“I was surprised when you decided to go” he continued. “It didn’t feel like something you’d enjoy. But I didn’t want to stop you. And I wasn’t sure if it was your decision from the start. I didn’t want to stir where I wasn’t welcomed.”

As if that wasn’t what he constantly did. Stir in people’s lives, observe what was private, and abuse his victims weaknesses. It was the only thing that gave him the thrill in this boring mundane life. If the Entity didn’t want him torturing others, it would’ve never sent him into the fog in the first place. And there was nothing else he could do with his free time.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any eggs. I would’ve fried some to go with the chips.”

Wow, he’s just spoonfeeding her lies now. Brin slowly alters her demeanor, deflating a bit after he stops talking about the gala.

She’s getting tired of waiting. Playing the long con isn’t helping, it isn’t cathartic anymore. The longer she goes without kicking his ribs in the more her anger grows. There’s a fire burning in her eyes and it’s directed outward to everything in this house. Everything in this god-forsaken shack of misery.

“It’s fine, we’ll just have eggs later.” She somewhat flatly brushes off the comment, looking at the peeler.

I wonder if it could peel his skin off…

Maybe she should try it out later, if she’s got the chance. Maybe not, though, given… Well, her plan. One day, though, she’ll have something to look forward to.

Something was most certainly wrong with Brin now. Matt bit into his lip wondering how he should go about this. It would be amusing to see a new side to her, but also this was a dangerous path. What if she was on the verge of breaking? She would end up in the void too soon. Jed only got his mail, he didn’t even get a chance to respond to it.

With a sigh, he pushed off the counter and proceeded to pour oil into a deep pan. Then, he set it on the cooker’s flames allowing it to gain the right temperature. He didn’t have on of those special pans that had a…sieve? Was that what it was called? It didn’t matter. He always just used a mix of a wooden spoon and a fork to pick the chips out.

“Would you like some tea whilst we wait?”

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #[Blaze of glory]#///ARRGGGG

God waiting was fucking agonizing. Brinley watched keenly as oil filled the pan, feeling almost sadistically giddy that she was nearing the end of this torment. All this time, all this pain, finally she was going to get her deserved revenge. The fire of the stove reflecting in her eyes was just a glimpse of the rage within.

As for tea, “Mm, no thanks.” Her tone is shockingly calm, given how unbearably angry she is, “Could you go get more wood for the fire?” Her gaze flicks to the fireplace, “I wanna sit by it to eat..”

Going down in a blaze of glory.

“I was surprised when you decided to go” he continued. “It didn’t feel like something you’d enjoy. But I didn’t want to stop you. And I wasn’t sure if it was your decision from the start. I didn’t want to stir where I wasn’t welcomed.”

As if that wasn’t what he constantly did. Stir in people’s lives, observe what was private, and abuse his victims weaknesses. It was the only thing that gave him the thrill in this boring mundane life. If the Entity didn’t want him torturing others, it would’ve never sent him into the fog in the first place. And there was nothing else he could do with his free time.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any eggs. I would’ve fried some to go with the chips.”

#Scribbles on the wall;; rp #;;the-inquisitive-journalist #;;ghost #//Brin goin a little murdery there huh #// :)

Wow, he’s just spoonfeeding her lies now. Brin slowly alters her demeanor, deflating a bit after he stops talking about the gala.

She’s getting tired of waiting. Playing the long con isn’t helping, it isn’t cathartic anymore. The longer she goes without kicking his ribs in the more her anger grows. There’s a fire burning in her eyes and it’s directed outward to everything in this house. Everything in this god-forsaken shack of misery.

“It’s fine, we’ll just have eggs later.” She somewhat flatly brushes off the comment, looking at the peeler.

I wonder if it could peel his skin off...

Maybe she should try it out later, if she’s got the chance. Maybe not, though, given... Well, her plan. One day, though, she’ll have something to look forward to.

Going down in a blaze of glory.

Having quite a lot of time until he could move on to the next step, Matt leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. His eyes were now focusing on Brin, as he had noticed something was wrong with the girl. Soon after that, his gaze dropped to the ground, and he moved his head slightly to the side, acting like he felt awkward about the sudden eye contact.

“Will you be going to another one next year?” he asked. “Although, you didn’t seem to have enjoyed the last two. So maybe you should stay with me for the next one?”