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@inmorganic
yo! uh... hey. my frickin... associate told me to start a tumblr blog to keep track of all my escapades (he's like, 23). i'm morgan gonzago. definitely not a hero or anything, but hit me up if anything demony happens.
might have evan, BLOODLET (...stupid ass name) or Audrey post on here every now and again. i dunno.
OOC belooow the cut:
evan is still gone, but his girlfriend is at my house crying over yarn, so if there are any women out there who can... help her that would be nice.
nothing hits quite like tragic doomed estranged sibling characters
i like when characters have weird inexplicable intimate bonds but i don't understand romantic or sexual attraction so it's just weird bullshit instead #myweirdbullshit #ilovemyweirdbullshit #secretthirdthing
i was gonna say that i miss evan, but he seems like he's having fun trapped in sitcom purgatory.
happy pride month.
sometimes two characters are codependently, toxically enmeshed, doomed to mutually define and haunt each other forever. and not fucking.
Open World RP(abusive partner)
TW: abuse, violence, mention of sex is possible depending on route of rp
Gray skies above, the simple morning chirps echoed out into the park. Just because spring has arrived and the lush trees painted the massive land. Didn't mean everything was so bright and cheery.
Especially for the young woman who had left the morning of her boyfriend's house. With a swollen lip and a bruised cheek, yet the women didn't cry nor flinch as people walked by.
The stares of a few caught her attention, seeing the way they either gasped out or the way they hurried along.
It wasn't, frankly, any of her business. Between the throbbing pain-with-teeth that had settled in the bottom of her head and the threat of the neighborhood watch calling her into the police (for sleeping, of all the damn things), Morgan had bigger fish to fry.
But there had to be some solidarity in suffering, in that thrashing, bird-in-a-cage moment of not knowing if this was it, the time he'd actually do it.
"You sure?" She wasn't about to cause a scene over this. Hell, if the roles were swapped, she wouldn't want the sympathies of some strung-out homeless woman either.
Sienna stares up with those dull, soul crushing eyes. She nods her head as she curls over her bag once again. All she could grab before she left.
Before it got worse. She knows she'll go back after a day or two, but she'll most likely will stay to the streets. Trying to figure out how to get cash for a day or two out. She left, everything behind.
It wasn't any of your business. That's what Morgan told herself, that apathy would keep her safe.
Maybe it would, if she ever tried it.
Drawing in a breath, avoiding Sienna's gaze in a way she hoped didn't look high-and-mighty, she offered the only olive branch she had to give.
"Hey, uh..." Smart. "I was... on a bench further in the park, someone's talking about calling the cops." She shifted her bag on her back.
"Could I..." Morgan silently weighed the cash tucked into her sneakers, chewing on her cheek until she tasted blood. "...buy you a coffee?"
Nightmares {Angst to Fluff RP}
(Sienna Lore! Tw: Death is mentioned, violence mentioned.) {This has been stuck in my head-}
Bright....way too bright...
It was the constant dream. The same one she's had, if it wasn't for the Hydra one's blended in. It was the very night in Genosha.
Genosha.
Genosha-the island for mutants. The very place at one point in time. She was tucked away from humans. She was free, her children were too. Just for a time she thought she could live a life as she wished and dreamed of.
Well, that was the plan then.
But life wasn't always as fair to her, gave her a false sense of security during those times.
Of course the Sentinels went after the island. Of course Sienna believed she had a chance to fall in love with Erik once again when she was younger- dancing with the fool, he tries to even convince her to rule the island with her, by his side. The offer was tempting.
But of course it came burning down when the first blast hit. And the party to celebrate the Island becoming a nation was burned to a crisp.
Sienna was always forced to relive the entire process again.
The battle for life or death. The battle of trying to save children to other mutants the best she could. Along with the idea of fighting one of this oversized machines.
Over and over the dream twisted and pulled on her mental state. Pulling her back to the panic, to the screams and fear. Hearing those she failed to rescue to seeing those bodies on the floor.
Sienna whines and whimpers for a second. She couldn't do this- she genuinely believed she couldn't help much.
But of course he pulled her along. Magento reminded her of one thing then, that all should of feared her. Just as he did.
Just as he did.
Probably was why she rushed forward. Probably why she had the courage that night to handle an Omega Sentinel, and probably why she was able to save other X Men from killing themselves from attempting that fight.
But pure rage flood through her. The idea of a sea witch facing the very thing that many would fear.
All she recalls others saying when she awoke was she was scary.
But the sight of a typhoon being launched at the Sentinel. Dragging it back towards the ocean as the weather changed. Her on its head as she beat and busted the mechanical inners- the damage from her rage was a sight to see. Her screech echoed out as she busted the thing to pieces, and if dragging it under to the depths wasn't enough. Having the magic to back it all.
Once she returned to the land and laid on the ground. Thankfully the others handled the lesser class ones. Thankfully it was only three. Thankfully they could handle the rest-
Sienna awoke from her dream with a gasp. A harsh one at that, sweat pooled down her forehead. Her curls a mess sticking to her shoulders.
She was petrified still. If she didn't have the mutation she had nor the magic. She more likely could of lost her girls. She more likely wouldn't be here sitting in the bed with the person she loves. Nor the home she was able to build.
An erie silence hit her as she glanced to the nightstand. Seeing a few photos from her time in the manor. Seeing old faces she hasn't seen in a while nor heard from for a while.
Her legs moved on her own as she shuffles out the bed. Pulling her black robe on as she sneaks out the master bedroom, down the steps as she shuffles into the kitchen.
Tea. Tea, that was on her mind.
She yawns a bit as she got the kettle going. A flick of her fingers as the sink poured water out and another flick as the water halted.
Sienna settled the kettle to the stove top. With a snap of her fingers she let the stove ignite to flames and she waited.
Softly she hums, swaying side to side as she recalls the song from that night. The song she sang for Erik- the one she confessed she was willing to try again.
Sienna didn't hear whoever enter the kitchen. She was softly singing, swaying side to side as she finds some cookies to snack on.
"...I'll burn it all for you.... internally bound to you..."
Sienna blinks as she finally noticed, bushing up as she smiles. "...Im sorry if I woke you.."
Morgan was no person to judge. Not when Sienna had been infinitely patient with her.
If it wasn't an outside threat, it was her own mind driving her up the walls of her dingy little flat, and it just happened to be that today. An oddly placed thought - THEY'RE COMING TO GET YOU - that stuck crooked in the grooves of her brain sent her asking around for a place to crash for the night.
"You didn't, don't worry about it." Morgan rarely slept a normal eight hours, rarely slept for that matter. But she tried to find something productive to do anyway, which currently included a notepad and a sharpie.
Sienna hums as she set a mug of tea by Morgan. She was quiet as her curls swirled behind her, the nightgown was flowy as she sat with her.
She had fidget a bit with the mug. Feeling her eyes shake as she closed them for a second. Hearing the manor creak and ease as it heard it's second owner awake- she just hopes her Val didn't wake up. He needed his sleep too.
"Mmm..." She hums a bit as she tilts her head back. Softly her eyes shook as she hums the melody of the waltz she knew. Letting her voice soften as she tried to remember more of that night.
More of the pain she ended up feeling. Especially as she was betrayed once again by someone she thought she could trust. But of course, she was just a silly woman in those dreams. Thinking someone would give the same as she gave them. Even now.
"...What are you drawing there?" She asked softly as she tilts her head towards Morgan to see her doodle.
Morgan scooched her seat over to grant room for Sienna to sit next to her, but still have space. She was still dressed in her day clothes - she really didn't have any night clothes - but she had taken off her jacket and changed into some christmassy pajama bottoms.
"Nothing." She answered, offhandedly. It was the truth, really. Since... The Incident, she hadn't really been able to draw as well as she used to. Skill regression was awful.
The paper was more stream of consciousness than anything; thick, shaky lines, forms and shapes that flowed together poorly. Lots of crosshatching. A little sketch of a beat up toy rabbit.
"What'cha singing?"
Sienna nods her head as she looks over. Big eyes shimmer with concern as she thinks. "That's fair, I do that at times myself."
Sienna stares back to the ceiling as she felt that pang of it. "An old song I wrote for someone....they don't deserve it. It's truly, a song I wrote being foolish. But I guess I fell back into that same pattern."
She glanced to Morgan for a second. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to dump on you..." She slowly slides back into herself. Sienna didn't wanna open up again and to be wrong
"I dumped myself on your porch last night. Don't worry about it." Every house that Morgan had ever lived in was made of glass.
She seemed to give up on the drawing for now, setting the Sharpie aside.
"Art isn't really... wasted, as long as you made it. Even if you made it for the wrong reasons."
Somewhere in her selfish mind, she wished she could make art for love instead of anger, but that thought was immediately squished. This is Sienna. Sienna is your friend, at least you think she is.
Don't be jealous of someone else's boulder, Sisyphus.
-
"I didn't wake you up, did I?"
Sienna shakes her head, eyes staring down the hall as she thinks. "No..... I'm more surprised I didn't wake anyone else up..."
It stung even. Sienna, had unknowingly set herself into the same cycle again. Begging for attention of someone, wishing someone would care just as much. Her mind had drifted as she stares off a bit. Moments like this- it reminded her why she almost took Magneto's hand that very day.
Almost.
Yet maybe she should of.
Her eyes blink as she stares back to Morgan. "Sorry. My minds a jumbled mess tonight." She forced a smile, wishing to dismiss the thought. She's got herself into this situation. She'll, handle it.
"How many people live in your house?" She replied with a tone that could've been in jest if she didn't sound so unsure about it.
"And like I said, don't worry about it." Her own mind was a jumbled mess most days; a junk drawer of unraveled cassettes and ripped up notebook paper; she really had no place to judge.
"As long as you're alright."
"The children..." Sienna whispers as she began to mentally count. She stares off once again as she was quiet.
"About ten of us... Mostly children...most are under ten or honestly under 3..."
Sienna eyes Morgan. She really felt comfortable with her and this was the only time she wasn't scared or shaking or questioning her own life. She was simply existing with her. "Thank you...."
Perish the thought.
"Ten people?" She replied quietly, tail-ended with amusement.
Morgan was a bit tone deaf when it came to the solemnity of a conversation, but she had dropped her voice to be a smidge quieter than it would be usually.
Ten people wouldn't be too far out of the realm of belief - Hell, she had probably had that many people in her flat a few months ago - but children? She couldn't stand the idea.
(YOU'VE LIVED IN A FOREST OF A THOUSAND CHILDREN WITH A THOUSAND FACES YOU CAN NEVER REMEMBER)
The quiet thank you went unheard. Or maybe it didn't. Who knows.
"Other than Evan, the only kid in my house is... Evan's freaky ass baby doll." She laughed, like the crackling of a fire, sudden and climbing and then silent.
Sienna nods her head as she thinks. "Evan is a nice kid." She looks off a bit as she twirls her finger. Letting the spoon in her tea turn and stir, she gently hums as she eased up.
The creak in the house echoed out. Her eyes trailed to the stairs as little Luci walks down. Her ginger blond locks swayed as she shuffles over to the pair and sat with them.
"...Luci..." Sienna whispers out as she rubs her back, letting the toddler curl up to her. Sienna grew quiet at the nightmare or the topic of her past. She didn't speak of it much to the kids.
"Thank you Morgan... I appreciate it a lot."
"When he's not a pain in the ass, yeah." In truth, she was spoiled to death to have Evan. A fairly normal (normal... adjacent), kind-hearted guy who wasn't a douchebag? Who hung out with her, not due to a lack of friends (she had met plenty of them), but because he just enjoyed her company? Checked up on her and made sure she got out of that flat once in a while, made sure she was still alive? (Robert Irelan, his body so decomposed by the time they found him that it took fifty years to identify his corpse-)
The creaking of floorboards snapping her out of her far away look, Morgan offered an off-handed wave to Luci when she arrived.
"You don't have to keep thanking me, I haven't done anything."
Nightmares {Angst to Fluff RP}
(Sienna Lore! Tw: Death is mentioned, violence mentioned.) {This has been stuck in my head-}
Bright....way too bright...
It was the constant dream. The same one she's had, if it wasn't for the Hydra one's blended in. It was the very night in Genosha.
Genosha.
Genosha-the island for mutants. The very place at one point in time. She was tucked away from humans. She was free, her children were too. Just for a time she thought she could live a life as she wished and dreamed of.
Well, that was the plan then.
But life wasn't always as fair to her, gave her a false sense of security during those times.
Of course the Sentinels went after the island. Of course Sienna believed she had a chance to fall in love with Erik once again when she was younger- dancing with the fool, he tries to even convince her to rule the island with her, by his side. The offer was tempting.
But of course it came burning down when the first blast hit. And the party to celebrate the Island becoming a nation was burned to a crisp.
Sienna was always forced to relive the entire process again.
The battle for life or death. The battle of trying to save children to other mutants the best she could. Along with the idea of fighting one of this oversized machines.
Over and over the dream twisted and pulled on her mental state. Pulling her back to the panic, to the screams and fear. Hearing those she failed to rescue to seeing those bodies on the floor.
Sienna whines and whimpers for a second. She couldn't do this- she genuinely believed she couldn't help much.
But of course he pulled her along. Magento reminded her of one thing then, that all should of feared her. Just as he did.
Just as he did.
Probably was why she rushed forward. Probably why she had the courage that night to handle an Omega Sentinel, and probably why she was able to save other X Men from killing themselves from attempting that fight.
But pure rage flood through her. The idea of a sea witch facing the very thing that many would fear.
All she recalls others saying when she awoke was she was scary.
But the sight of a typhoon being launched at the Sentinel. Dragging it back towards the ocean as the weather changed. Her on its head as she beat and busted the mechanical inners- the damage from her rage was a sight to see. Her screech echoed out as she busted the thing to pieces, and if dragging it under to the depths wasn't enough. Having the magic to back it all.
Once she returned to the land and laid on the ground. Thankfully the others handled the lesser class ones. Thankfully it was only three. Thankfully they could handle the rest-
Sienna awoke from her dream with a gasp. A harsh one at that, sweat pooled down her forehead. Her curls a mess sticking to her shoulders.
She was petrified still. If she didn't have the mutation she had nor the magic. She more likely could of lost her girls. She more likely wouldn't be here sitting in the bed with the person she loves. Nor the home she was able to build.
An erie silence hit her as she glanced to the nightstand. Seeing a few photos from her time in the manor. Seeing old faces she hasn't seen in a while nor heard from for a while.
Her legs moved on her own as she shuffles out the bed. Pulling her black robe on as she sneaks out the master bedroom, down the steps as she shuffles into the kitchen.
Tea. Tea, that was on her mind.
She yawns a bit as she got the kettle going. A flick of her fingers as the sink poured water out and another flick as the water halted.
Sienna settled the kettle to the stove top. With a snap of her fingers she let the stove ignite to flames and she waited.
Softly she hums, swaying side to side as she recalls the song from that night. The song she sang for Erik- the one she confessed she was willing to try again.
Sienna didn't hear whoever enter the kitchen. She was softly singing, swaying side to side as she finds some cookies to snack on.
"...I'll burn it all for you.... internally bound to you..."
Sienna blinks as she finally noticed, bushing up as she smiles. "...Im sorry if I woke you.."
Morgan was no person to judge. Not when Sienna had been infinitely patient with her.
If it wasn't an outside threat, it was her own mind driving her up the walls of her dingy little flat, and it just happened to be that today. An oddly placed thought - THEY'RE COMING TO GET YOU - that stuck crooked in the grooves of her brain sent her asking around for a place to crash for the night.
"You didn't, don't worry about it." Morgan rarely slept a normal eight hours, rarely slept for that matter. But she tried to find something productive to do anyway, which currently included a notepad and a sharpie.
Sienna hums as she set a mug of tea by Morgan. She was quiet as her curls swirled behind her, the nightgown was flowy as she sat with her.
She had fidget a bit with the mug. Feeling her eyes shake as she closed them for a second. Hearing the manor creak and ease as it heard it's second owner awake- she just hopes her Val didn't wake up. He needed his sleep too.
"Mmm..." She hums a bit as she tilts her head back. Softly her eyes shook as she hums the melody of the waltz she knew. Letting her voice soften as she tried to remember more of that night.
More of the pain she ended up feeling. Especially as she was betrayed once again by someone she thought she could trust. But of course, she was just a silly woman in those dreams. Thinking someone would give the same as she gave them. Even now.
"...What are you drawing there?" She asked softly as she tilts her head towards Morgan to see her doodle.
Morgan scooched her seat over to grant room for Sienna to sit next to her, but still have space. She was still dressed in her day clothes - she really didn't have any night clothes - but she had taken off her jacket and changed into some christmassy pajama bottoms.
"Nothing." She answered, offhandedly. It was the truth, really. Since... The Incident, she hadn't really been able to draw as well as she used to. Skill regression was awful.
The paper was more stream of consciousness than anything; thick, shaky lines, forms and shapes that flowed together poorly. Lots of crosshatching. A little sketch of a beat up toy rabbit.
"What'cha singing?"
Sienna nods her head as she looks over. Big eyes shimmer with concern as she thinks. "That's fair, I do that at times myself."
Sienna stares back to the ceiling as she felt that pang of it. "An old song I wrote for someone....they don't deserve it. It's truly, a song I wrote being foolish. But I guess I fell back into that same pattern."
She glanced to Morgan for a second. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to dump on you..." She slowly slides back into herself. Sienna didn't wanna open up again and to be wrong
"I dumped myself on your porch last night. Don't worry about it." Every house that Morgan had ever lived in was made of glass.
She seemed to give up on the drawing for now, setting the Sharpie aside.
"Art isn't really... wasted, as long as you made it. Even if you made it for the wrong reasons."
Somewhere in her selfish mind, she wished she could make art for love instead of anger, but that thought was immediately squished. This is Sienna. Sienna is your friend, at least you think she is.
Don't be jealous of someone else's boulder, Sisyphus.
-
"I didn't wake you up, did I?"
Sienna shakes her head, eyes staring down the hall as she thinks. "No..... I'm more surprised I didn't wake anyone else up..."
It stung even. Sienna, had unknowingly set herself into the same cycle again. Begging for attention of someone, wishing someone would care just as much. Her mind had drifted as she stares off a bit. Moments like this- it reminded her why she almost took Magneto's hand that very day.
Almost.
Yet maybe she should of.
Her eyes blink as she stares back to Morgan. "Sorry. My minds a jumbled mess tonight." She forced a smile, wishing to dismiss the thought. She's got herself into this situation. She'll, handle it.
"How many people live in your house?" She replied with a tone that could've been in jest if she didn't sound so unsure about it.
"And like I said, don't worry about it." Her own mind was a jumbled mess most days; a junk drawer of unraveled cassettes and ripped up notebook paper; she really had no place to judge.
"As long as you're alright."
"The children..." Sienna whispers as she began to mentally count. She stares off once again as she was quiet.
"About ten of us... Mostly children...most are under ten or honestly under 3..."
Sienna eyes Morgan. She really felt comfortable with her and this was the only time she wasn't scared or shaking or questioning her own life. She was simply existing with her. "Thank you...."
Perish the thought.
"Ten people?" She replied quietly, tail-ended with amusement.
Morgan was a bit tone deaf when it came to the solemnity of a conversation, but she had dropped her voice to be a smidge quieter than it would be usually.
Ten people wouldn't be too far out of the realm of belief - Hell, she had probably had that many people in her flat a few months ago - but children? She couldn't stand the idea.
(YOU'VE LIVED IN A FOREST OF A THOUSAND CHILDREN WITH A THOUSAND FACES YOU CAN NEVER REMEMBER)
The quiet thank you went unheard. Or maybe it didn't. Who knows.
"Other than Evan, the only kid in my house is... Evan's freaky ass baby doll." She laughed, like the crackling of a fire, sudden and climbing and then silent.
Sienna nods her head as she thinks. "Evan is a nice kid." She looks off a bit as she twirls her finger. Letting the spoon in her tea turn and stir, she gently hums as she eased up.
The creak in the house echoed out. Her eyes trailed to the stairs as little Luci walks down. Her ginger blond locks swayed as she shuffles over to the pair and sat with them.
"...Luci..." Sienna whispers out as she rubs her back, letting the toddler curl up to her. Sienna grew quiet at the nightmare or the topic of her past. She didn't speak of it much to the kids.
"Thank you Morgan... I appreciate it a lot."
"When he's not a pain in the ass, yeah." In truth, she was spoiled to death to have Evan. A fairly normal (normal... adjacent), kind-hearted guy who wasn't a douchebag? Who hung out with her, not due to a lack of friends (she had met plenty of them), but because he just enjoyed her company? Checked up on her and made sure she got out of that flat once in a while, made sure she was still alive? (Robert Irelan, his body so decomposed by the time they found him that they didn't even know who he was-)
The creaking of floorboards snapping her out of her far away look, Morgan offered an off-handed wave to Luci when she arrived.
"You don't have to keep thanking me, I haven't done anything."
(yet another) open rp! please feel free to interact, especially if we haven't before.
(deviltown au! morgan leaves her home to go across the country with her brother. morgan is twelve...ish. you mainly interact with her older brother.)
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It was a nice, respectable town. A great school district with a decent football team, lovely streets, lovely neighbors; the perfect place to raise a kid.
A church on every other street, perfectly trimmed lawns, and friendly neighbors made up a majority of the community, some would call it boring. You did not.
Especially not after they moved in. A gaggle of young adults, punks and stoners from out of state, took a singular unoccupied house, and some how, it fell into more disarray with them in it than it did without them.
To make matters worse, there was a child in there. Twelve years old. A middle schooler, living in a house that never slept, with no real adult supervision (their parents were nowhere in sight), full of young adults who were barely old enough to be out on their own.
Young adults who were rumoured to be Satanists.
You weren't the type to clutch your pearls, but maybe you could just go check on her.
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npt's! not quite a teenage morgan, but i was jonesing to do some nick lore. @whiteliesblacklips @ancient-siren @league-of-villainous-entities @smarterthantonystark
Charlie had never been the nosey type. If fact, her parents had always told her to stay out of anything that didn’t involve her.
But it got to a point, where she was on the brink of hitting the young man leaning against her car. The nice one her dad had got her for her birthday. The cute mint Nissan that still smelled like the dealership. And she was late. And her alarm hadn’t gone off and the hem of her dress and her socks in her perfectly white mary jane’s were wet from the sprinklers and there was a man on her car.
A man she had been arguing with for almost five minutes. A man nobody was going to deal with because it wasn’t any of their business and it didn’t involve them. A man that was trying to negotiate with her to take this child, who was probably going to get her little shoes on the back of Charlie’s seats, to school. A middle school on the other side of town from her high school.
“You have a car.” Charlie insisted for what must have been the seventh time, pointing at the little shitbox falling apart in the driveway. “And I’m late-“ she pulled at the handle of the door the man was propped against. “And it’s none of my business that your… kid- is late. Again.”
Geeve - formally Giovanni Benedict Bennett - didn't know when to quit.
"First of all, she's not my kid, let's get that out of the way." He didn't look anywhere near old enough to have a twelve year old. Frankly, it was offensive that she would even think that, but that wasn't the matter at hand.
The kid in question was just standing there with a mildly pissed off expression, scraggly bangs hanging half in her face.
"That thing can't go over thirty, I'll get run off the road!" He leaned against the door with his full weight, surprisingly more than expected, pleading with her. It was half of the truth; the other half being that his license was one wrong move away from being suspended. "Come on, man!"
Any other day, he would've dropped it and just let the kid stay home, but if Morgan missed another day of school, they'd have to go to juvenile court. Nick would slaughter him.
Charlie closed her eyes, exasperated as the faint sound of the high schools bell rang across the cloudless sky. “Oh my god.” She looked down at the child. “Oh my god! Ms. Briggs is going to kill me! Get off my car!”
She looked between the kid and the man on the car and then to the car itself. Her new baby. “It’s not my problem! It’s not my business.” Charlie’s arms were crossed, an unpleasant mirror of her mothers own stern expression, although sixteen-year-old Charlotte Schmidt wasn’t very good at pulling it off. “She’ll- she’ll get her dirty little shoes all over the seats!”
She almost regretted it as soon as she said it. The idea she was more concerned about her new car than the child that needed a ride to school that came from a bad house. Key word: almost.
It was a nice neighborhood. But that came with its own struggles, kids that didn’t know any better. That thought they were the cream of the crop that couldn’t spare a second glance at the unfortunate souls that blew in. That, despite what they would ever say, were far too influenced by their parents alcohol-induced rants about the ‘ratty, low-class’ new neighbors and their ‘dirty, delinquent’ kids.
'Dirty, delinquent' kids was how it started. How it ended up as 'orgy having satanists' was anyone's guess, an exaggeration to give people something to gossip about. Apparently, a religiously justifiable reason to not love thy neighbor.
"You're already late, what the Hell does it matter?" Geeve was grasping at straws here. He didn't work, hardly cleaned, and was already under scrutiny by the law more than the others; Nick had given him one job, a stupidly simple job, and he would be dead meat if he failed.
'Yo, Geeve! Get Morgan to school on time, wouldja?'
Morgan had offered twice to just walk, to which Geeve refused. One, because he couldn't guarantee she'd end up at school and two, because all it took was one nosy phone call...
"Look," He looked, left, right, leaning in conspiratorially, "I'll pay you back, I'll getchu anything you want; cash, booze, you name it." He hated begging like this.
"I-I don't care!" Charlie tried, leaning back to counter him. Her hand grabbing at her necklace as if the small cross could do literally anything in this situation. Maybe God could strike down the man on her car and she could go. "I don't want your money! You probably got it from a- a drug deal or something!"
She looked down at the kid. "What if I go back inside and call social services huh?" She held her chin unbefittingly high for a teenager. No one had bothered to call social services in this town. It wasn't their business. But Geeve had made it Charlie's business. She took a step back. "I will call them. Maybe they'll clean you out while they're at it."
She reached down and grabbed her school bag off the ground. Maybe he would give up if she left, get off her car. Maybe he would panic and take him and everyone else in that godforsaken house to go be someone else's business.
"You're probably involving her in some weird evil ritual." Charlie couldn't even tell a satanic ritual from something just slightly out of her ordinary if it hit her in the face and stole her impossibly white shoes. That didn't stop her from putting her ignorance where it didn't belong.
"So what if I did?" Money was money. To him, it didn't really matter where it came from, but apparently that mattered to her. Enough to threaten to call them in.
Morgan was a scroungy little thing. Obviously not from neglect, she seemed pretty well taken care of, but she had a scroungy demeanor, an little coyote face framed with frayed, ill-maintained waves. And a nasty RBF.
Geve was starting to feel the heat now. He tugged on the neckline of his tank top, face knotted up. It's not like they were doing anything wrong - other than the noise violations and the drugs - but the thought of anyone searching the house scared the daylights out of him. Even if they didn't find anything, he would get kicked out.
"We're not Satanists, you... white-shoed... jerk!" There was really no reason why he couldn't swear in front of Morgan, but his dad always said you shouldn't swear in front of kids. Or girls. "Just take her to school! I'll buy you a tank of gas!"
The whole town was convinced of it. The smoke coming from the wooded area behind the home, the hollering late nights, the ominous tattoos, for a small minded community where even two piercings were considered extreme, they might as well have Hail Satan painted on the front door in blood.
“I don’t want your money!” Charlie stated again back up the pristine concrete walk of the cute white house. “Just leave me alone!” She looked down at Morgan, unable to keep at least a bit of distaste from her face.
“Are you okay?” She took on that tone again. Her mother’s condescendingly caring tone. She would have offered to let Morgan in the house but the thought of her on the perfectly fluffed couches made Charlie cringe. What would her mother think? What would her father think? Talking with strange men, offering favors.
What would the neighbors think? Ms. Hampton would be all over in church on sunday, Charlie late for school, talking to those strange delinquent boys. So young to be caught up in something so awful. Thats what she would say and then Charlie would be disgraced forever and her mother would die from shame.
Thats what Charlie’s spiraling thoughts told her. No one would like her, she would never get that scholarship, she could never go to a football game again and she would probably be grounded forever and never be able to driver her pretty new mint car that still smelled like the dealership.
“Can you at least get off the car?” Charlie asked meekly. She probably wasn’t going to give a ride to Morgan and she hadn’t decided if she would call social services yet. But the idea that the pretty little car could get scratched tore her in half.
What did she want from him then? Geeve felt like he was being pretty reasonable here, even the most high brow jerks back home would've jumped at the mention of cash or booze. Then again, he had a reputation back home and he had that to fall back on. Here, he was just some punk.
Morgan didn't respond, just deadpanning in Charlie's general direction, like everyone here was pissing her off. Maybe they were. One could wonder how much God-given anger a tweenage girl could hold, and their guess wouldn't even scratch the surface of one Morgan Gonzago.
It's not like she was a dirty kid, not inherently, she just didn't look... clean, all clothes that didn't fit right and frazzled hair from regular bar soap and near constant humidity. Along with a reputation for maladaptive behavior, that made for an unsavoury, 'do-your-homework-or-you'll-end-up-like-her' kid.
"Just this once? Please? You're already late." He wasn't too proud to beg. Especially not when Nick-and-Nick's-kid-sister was involved.
She looked at him, completely baffled. "Oh my god." She couldn't believe his audacity. She obviously wasn't going to say yes I mean she'd get the seats dirty.
She took a step back. The farther she was the less she could be associated with them. But it was honestly completely unnecessary and inconvenient because they had to keep talking louder.
"If she messes up my car?" Charlie asked, assuming he'd offer money again. Dirty money she wanted nothing to do with. She knew what happened to people with dirty money. They ended up rolled over on the side of the road a mile out of town. She couldn't imagine the mess that would leave. And she was her parents only child, to no ones dismay.
"How are you going fix that? Without offering me your dirty cash?" She crossed her arms, looking up to meet Geve's eyes definitely. It seemed like threatening and asking nicely didn't work, so dissenting seemed the only applicable route to her. Well except pushing him but that could seriously scratch the car. And she wasn't going to go risk it. "Also she smells like cigarettes. It'll linger."
With the metal adornments all over his clothes, she'd be lucky if he hadn't scratched it already. Not that he was trying to, that was the last thing he wanted right now. Hell, for all of his confident demeanor and intentionally sleazy way of dress, he probably would've folded the moment she made eye contact with him.
It was a battle of determination versus desperation, laid out for the whole street to see. And Geeve was about to lose.
"She won't! Scout's honor!" He pleaded, his voice weak, army boots pressed into the ground to make him look taller. "And if she does, I'll fix it! With my own two hands!"
One of the people in the house had to be good with cars. For fuck's sake, there were eleven of them.
"And it's not her, it's just her jac- here give me your jacket-" Geeve moved off of the car, grabbing Morgan by the back of her jacket. She didn't like that.
"No!" She snapped, pulling away from him.
"Morgan!" He snapped back, mirroring her expression.
This is a child, Geeve. He takes a deep breath, smoothing his hair down under his bandana before turning away from the difficult little shit who was pulling her jacket back over her shoulders.
"I'll clean it out." He offers to Charlie. "If it lingers. Pinkie swear."
"I-" She frowned down at the girl. "If it won't become a- a- normal thing." She grabbed her keys and unlocked the back seat. "Maybe you can fix that car up in all your endless free time."
She gestured to Morgan to get in the back. It was a nice car. Light beige seats that still needed breaking in, nice real wood trim, a ribbon tied around the side of the wheel and a Pointer Sister's CD on the passenger seat. It smelled like roses, or at least, the closest rose-equivalent perfume you could get at the mall. The only thing you could point to as off was an old cinema ticket discarded under the driver's seat.
"Honestly." She rolled her eyes, throwing her backpack into the opposite seat. She couldn't believe she was doing this; she couldn't imagine what her nosey neighbors would say. Not to her of course, but to each other.
Her eyes drifted to his shoes and then back up to his face, her mouth drawn in a mix of 'seriously?' and 'Oh my God'. She wasn't unused to boys playing their height up, but it was always a bit pathetic.
It wasn't like he was very tall naturally, he needed every inch he could get.
"Really?" His face lit up. "I mean- of course not. Just this once. Pinkie swear," the liar lied, gently shoving Morgan along.
Morgan, who could walk on her own, shrugged Geeve off, who waved before - giddy as the devil - skipped back to the house with nothing but a 'thank you!' shouted over his shoulder.
She was in no rush to get to class, but she had some modicum of respect for Charlie who clearly did and slid into the back without much ado. People talked, Morgan knew that as much as anyone, and she doubted anyone wanted to be seen with her and Geeve longer than necessary.
another open rp to keep the horrors from descending (i need to write before i end up on the news). freaky unsettling unspeaking morgan au.
קקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקקק×
You were lost.
God only knows how you ended up in this desert- the only signs of civilization for miles the occasional grocery bag that tumble-weeded across the hot sands. The sun beat down like the scornful gaze of a mother, sweat tracing down your body as the heat built.
Every other step sent you sinking into the red sands, one shoe already lost to the dunes and the other doing little to protect your sensitive skin from the oppressive ground.
Peter stumbles through the desert with no memory of how he ended up here. He's pretty sure he's got a concussion to some degree and his mouth feels like the sand. He can feel each individual grain in his remaining shoe and it hurts like hell. He wants to get out of here, but—where is here?
Everything was painted in this hazy filter of heat and it wasn't really obvious if it was real heat waves or just the melting of his own mind.
It was just.... sand. Sand and dying grass that grew up in brambles and snagged on anything that brushed against it. Granules of sand rubbed together like shards of glass up against his skin.
The Thing (whoever- whatever it was) crept along the corners of the peripheral before disappearing again, like a vulture, shadows and smoke and mirrors. Never close enough to hear, only see, only wonder.
Wonder what would happen if you just collapsed in the sand right now.
Peter can't manage another step. He doesn't know what to do, how to get home, who the shadowy figure at the back of his sight is, anything at all other than he's just... done.
He falls to his knees, lungs heaving. The hairs on his neck and arms are standing straight up, but he can't hear the danger, can't see it, can't do anything about it, and he's just done. He hopes his family won't miss him too much... He just can't go any farther anymore.
The desert doesn't stop. It never does. Your presence changes nothing.
The Thing had its head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, veered around some sort of tall plant it was hidden behind. A cactus or a rock, it didn't really matter to blurring vision. Infinitely pale, it crept across the sands, letting - because it wouldn't be heard if it didn't want to be - its footfalls sizzle in the sand as it approached, still not close enough to be seen, but close enough to be felt, like there was a pocket around it where the universe became heavier.
Counter to its previous observation, this was not an animal. Just a boy.
Thirty seconds pass of it just watching him, observing his suffering, before reaching out from its place out of his sight, hands under his armpits as it dragged him off under the heat.
Peter instinctively tries to fight being dragged away, only for a moment.
"N... no..."
Then, he falls limp, eyes half-shut. His mind can't process much of what's happening. He's so tired...
The Thing didn't stop when Peter went silent, simply moving through the sands, it's footsteps wiped away by the trail his body made, which was additionally wiped away by the wind.
A rattlesnake dipped across the sands, looking at the Thing, who tilted its head in response, before the snake left.
ק×
Wherever he ended up, it was a lot cooler and much darker than where they were before. There was something soft underneath him- maybe a towel or a blanket - and someone was forcing water into his mouth without much caution.
Peter coughs and sputters, his eyes slowly opening. He pauses for a moment before they widen and he shoots straight up into a sitting position, muscles coiled as he stares at whoever's forcing the water into his mouth. "Where- when- what's going on?"
Whatever it was that was practically waterboarding him didn't stop when he woke up, as if bound and determined to make sure he never passes out in the desert again.
It didn't touch him though.
Peter chokes a little, having to swallow the water before he can try to speak again. "Who are you?"
The Thing (surprise, surprise) says nothing, but does move back, squatting in a position that couldn't be good for its knees with its head cocked forward like a curious dog.
Upon further inspection, they were definitely in a cave. Still warm, but at least protected from the sun with a light breeze. There were tapestries, rugs, and torn up carpets thrown about the place, almost... homey in nature. Like a nest.
The only thing recognizable about the thing was that pale mask in place of a face, a stark white with black features.
Peter scrambles back as soon as The Thing squats, pressing his back against the opposite cave wall and looking around, chest heaving. His eyes lock onto The Thing once more.
"Okay, do you talk? Because I've got some questions and I need some answers or- or-." He's not sure what the rest of his sentence is. Or I'll fight you, maybe? But he's not being hurt, at least for now.
It doesn't say anything, just watching, still as death. Like rigor mortis had taken it alive.
Spiders on its wrists, its hands moved, big theatrical movements as it signed something that could've been ASL or charades or gang signs or some weird combination of the three.
It paused, doing one more sign, before its hands dropped back down to its knees. If there was a face underneath the porcelain, it would look proud as a child painting on the walls.
Language barriers. Cute.
Peter stares at the hands as they move before blinking a few times. "If those were words I don't understand them." He isn't sure what to do now. "Uh... Can you write or something??"
It stopped, dropping its hands back to that odd holding position in front of its chest. That was unfortunate.
It scurried off, digging through a pile of hoarded junk in the corner, before returning with a legal pad, stained with what one could only hope was water, and a marker with an identifying features worn off.
It looked at him. Blinked. Scribbled on the page like it could come to life. Tore it off and handed it to him, wrinkling it in its grip.
'I SAVED YOU.' In a large, sprawling script. 'THANK.'
Peter slowly reads the writing, his brain working at a lower processing rate than usual on account of the passing out and nearly dying of dehydration. "Uh, thank you?" His sentence is almost like a question. "For saving me from the, uh, desert?"
The words were like an olive branch, or, based on its reaction, a bone to a dog. It did an odd little crawling spin, overly excited, like a beaten housepet receiving praise.
It moves to sign again, before shaking its hands out, trying to regulate the emotions, before grabbing the pad, scribbling out another message.
'YES.'
All caps, with a little doodle of what could very well be him.
Peter observes its behavior with a slightly confused expression. He reads the note.
"Cool, so it wasn't a hallucination. So... Who are you?" He looks around. "And where am I?"
More scribbling. They were crouched over the pad on hands and knees, almost reminiscent of a frog.
'MY HOME. HOME HOME.'
That was, notably, not an answer to the first question. But it would suffice.
"Your home? This is your home?" Peter looks around for a second before looking at them again. "You have a lovely home, then. But... Where is your home?"
The Thing seemed to think about this for a moment, scurrying off behind a curtain - really just a torn up towel used to block off the back of the cave. There's a clattering of motion before it re-emergered with various items in hand: a map, a beat up box of scented sidewalk chalk, and some electrical tape.
On the cave wall parallel to him, it spread the map out. A crumpled map of a nearby desert town from two years ago. The corners were thrown up with the tape.
It stood back, as if checking that it was level, before going back at the wall with the purple chalk. Tracing one of the minor highways far off the edge of the map, sprawling out far past the town. It pulled away from the line, 20 klicks west, drawing a little house in the middle of the cave wall.
The Thing tapped the house happily, turning away from the drawing, wiping the purple chalk dust off on its top and mask.
Peter watches as it does this, gaze following it precisely. He stares at the map for a moment, considering, before shakily standing up and dusting himself off.
"Well," he starts, voice still a bit hoarse, "that's... Something. I'm never letting SHIELD take me anywhere ever again if the result is getting lost in a desert and passing out." He looks around the cave once more. "So... Can I go?"
The Thing seemed to panic a bit at that - not really panic, but it was the only word that Peter could reach for to describe this... Situation - scribbling something down on the legal pad.
'TOO HOT. NOT SAFE.'
Then:
'LATER.' A little drawing of a sunset. 'COOLER. I'LL TAKE YOU.'
Frankly, he was lucky that it was out there to find him when it did. Usually, it wasn't out during daylight hours.
The Thing handed him the drawing, nodding solemnly.
Peter blinks at the legal pad.
"Uh... Okay."
He really wants to protest, to make a break for it and run as far and as fast as he can towards home, but he's not so sure that that'd be a good idea. Maybe he'll listen to this... creature.
"Do you know how long I've been here? People have to be looking for me by now."
It tilted its head, almost in a thinking gesture, like the concept of time boggled them. There weren't any (working) clocks in here, and the calendar was from 2015, so that very well could be the case.
Nonetheless, it seemed to puzzle over this (for his satisfaction, of course) before holding up two fingers.
One day in here, and (it assumed) one day out in the sands.
The idea of people coming seemed to make it antsy though, the Thing getting significantly more fidgety. One person, it enjoyed. Two people, it could tolerate, but more than that? People with guns and spotlights and loud noises and bad smell? Perish the thought.
Another page, another note.
'NO PEOPLE. NO MORE.'
"2 days..."
He blinks even more, tilting his head at the note quizzically.
"No people as in... As in they're all dead? Or as in no more people here? Because if you tell me they're all dead I'm going to break down here and now."
The Thing seemed to pause, looking down at him with its animal eyes, before holding its hands up in front of its face, almost... joyously?
It seemed to take slight amusement from his statement, the hand gesture taking the place of laughter as it wiggled.
Another note.
'NO MORE HERE. HOME. JUST TWO OF YOU.'
Peter slowly nods.
"Okay. So it's just us two... Could I ask what your name is?"
It seems to think about that or a moment. It didn't really call itself anything. It didn't need to; it knew who it was, but there were a few nicknames that the other people it had dragged in here had called it.
'ANYTHING. MISSY. FREAK. DEMON. ANGEL FACE. DUSTY. MATCHSTICKS. BUDDY.'
There were a few that seemed a lot more... tender than something given in passing, like someone else had been here someone had been close to this... thing once.
Peter blinks a few times, not quite understanding how it doesn't have a name.
"Okay, Dusty, nice to meet you. I'm Peter."
He sticks his hand out, as if expecting it to shake it.
The newly dubbed Dusty smiled - at least, it seemed like that's what it did under that mask - head tilting up, pleased as punch.
It took his name to memory, fingers tapping it out on its palm, dot dash dash dot.
Dusty eyed the extended hand curiously, with an air of caution - like it hadn't checked him over for weapons already - before reaching out and taking his first few fingers in a firm grip. Not a wholehearted handshake, but probably the closest thing that he would get.
Peter shakes the hand, then drops his own by his side.
"So... You've had other visitors, then?"
'A FEW.' It writes. He wasn't the first one that Dusty had rescued from the sands, and he certainly wouldn't be the last.
Dusty paused, drawing a little doodle of a man, before pointing to the back of the cave, where it was curtained off.
'SLEEPING.'
Peter furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck to look to the place Dusty's pointing.
"There's- there's another person back there?" His voice lilts up a bit with something like anxiety.
'SLEEPING.' It confirms, nodding without a care in the world, unfazed by his tone. 'ALWAYS SLEEPING.'
Then again, it was supposed to be asleep too. Peter was frankly quite lucky that it had been out there when it was; it usually operated in the twilight. Crepescular.
He tilts his head to one side, confused.
"Always sleeping? Are you sure they're... alive, back there?"
It paused, as if that possibility had never even struck them. Sure, it had seen him move, maybe even recently, but death was a constant threat.
Dusty took off, not very quickly, but still took off, disappearing behind the curtain with Peter in tow.
-
The back half of the cave was much cooler, shielded from the daylight. Less of a hang out spot like the front of the cave, more of a home. A shoddily crafted bed - barely big enough for one - was pushed up against the far wall, a handmade string instrument set carefully at the foot of it. There was a collection of blankets on the floor at the foot of the bed, presumably where Dusty itself slept.
Dusty skittered across the floor, like a leaf in the wind, hovering over the humanoid form on the bed, nothing but a dark blob back here.
Peter follows Dusty into the back half of the cave, beginning to squint so he can see better in the dim light. He stares at the dark blob for several seconds before speaking.
"How long has he been here? When's the last time he ate?" he whispers, head tilted with concern.
Hovered above the cadaver, Dusty seemed to radiate the same concerned energy. It moves to reach for the notebook, but it wasn't there.
It couldn't remember when he got here. It felt like forever.
Suddenly overtaken with the seed of concern, it places its hands on his face, almost reminiscent of its own mask, digging her fingers in and shaking him, the other hand patting at the back of his head.
Peter watches Dusty do this and his eyes widen a little bit.
"Maybe, uh, don't do that. We don't want to hurt him, right?" He reaches for the person's wrist, trying to check for a pulse.
The thought of hurting him - its only real friend in the world - made Dusty stop entirely. At least, it seemed like that was it.
Dusty's free hand shot forward, other still on the man's face, trying to keep Peter from touching the man, to minimize any damage he might suffice, before it pulled them back. He was trying to help. Not hurt. It knew this, but that knee-jerk reaction still lingered.
He had a pulse. And not a faint, fluttering one. A real one, a live and in the room one to match the words leaving his mouth as he squinted up through the gaps between Dusty's fingers.
"...Missy...? What the Hell are you doing?"
Peter pulls his hand back when Dusty tries to keep him from touching him. When the man speaks, he jumps back a little, eyes widening even further.
"Okay, yep, definitely alive!" He says it a bit loudly, clearly startled by what's happening.
Definitely alive.
The man pried Missy's - Dusty's - hand off of his face, his expression knotted up in confusion as he glanced at Peter, back at it.
"Who is that?"
Dusty, unfazed, seemed to completely ignore the statement, instead signing, hands flying.
"Of course I'm alive- you saw me two hours ago!" He didn't sound angry, just... exasperated. He glanced around the room, squinting for any indicator of the time, but found nothing but the sun peeking through the curtains. Maybe more than two hours.
Peter relaxes a little, taking a step forward and running a hand down his face.
"I'm Peter. Nice to meet you." He sticks a hand out as if he expects the man to shake it. "Who are you?"
"Pleasure's all mine. I'm... Tim." Unlike Dusty and it's lackluster attempt earlier, Tim actually gave him a proper handshake once he pushed himself out of bed, the impromptu frame groaning under his weight.
"D'you get lost?" That was really the only way anyone ended up out here. They got lost, and Dusty Saved them.
Peter nods, glancing nervously at the groaning bedframe. "Uh, yeah, I guess so. A couple days ago. Um... Did you? Is that why you're here?"
He seemed to think about this for a moment - weird, considering it wasn't that complex of a question - chewing on his lip.
"Something like that."
Frustratingly vague, but not in the same way Dusty's answers were vague - that was more natural, nature existing and not bothering to explain itself - this was more human, mirrored in his slow movements and awkward facial expressions.
Peter's eyebrows furrow a little bit, but he doesn't press for more information. Instead, he glances at Dusty, then at Tim.
"How long have you been here?"
Dusty seemed to lose interest in the conversation, no longer the center of attention, and did that odd crouched jog away from the two. Peter didn't leave its sight though; it couldn't risk him hurting its only human friend.
Tim shuffles in place, his back popping, before he responded.
"A few years now? It's hard to keep track." And then: "She won't keep you here that long, don't worry."
...she?
"Years?" Peter asks, expression becoming a little bit nervous. "I really hope not."
He glances back at Dusty. "...she?"
Tim smiled halfway, like Peter had said something funny but he couldn't fully commit to laughing, before it died on his face.
"There's a highway about three miles that way." He pointed in a non specific direction. "She can walk you there tonight and you can hitchhike your way home."
That's what had happened with everyone else that it... she... had rescued.
-
Nothing about Dusty read as feminine. Its pale mask was framed by dark, matted lengths of hair, the bottoms slightly smoother in an abandoned attempt to untangle it. There was a sliver of skin, the dark tan of a throat, but the rest was covered in the garbs of a post-apocalypse; scraps of different outfits held together by visible strings, like she was made of leaf litter, made out of nothing but the soil.
"Yeah. She." He responded after a moment, a softness in his eyes while he watched Dusty twiddle away in the corner.
Peter nods slowly, glancing in that non specific direction with a small bit of relief. "Great. My dad'll kill me if I take too long getting back."
He glances at Dusty next with slightly furrowed eyebrows. "Is she... Uh... A person, or...?"
"As far as I'm aware."
He almost said it like a joke, like this... woman he had been living with, miles from civilization, for God only knows how long was any joking matter.
She was certainly human-based, if nothing else.
another believer. open rp.
tw for cult/religious themes, potential mentions of stalking and manipulation.
There was a man outside your window. At least the shape of one.
Thunder pealed across the sky, the storm having blown in from nowhere, lightning as sudden as static charge, the only thing making him more than a pale faced shadow.
Rain pounded against the window in addition to his hands, flat palms, marked with paint, asking calmly for entry.
Sienna had a tough time that night. Her round belly was a big weight for her currently. She hated how much she couysleep right-
She panicked a bit as she noticed a face in the window. Then she noticed paint being smeared on the window. She was so quiet as she got out the bed- her partner was still up. She could always head to his office-
The man didn't move upon seeing Sienna. Nothing more than an infinitesimal head tilt. Like seeing if she was really there and not just a trick of the light.
Water crept between his fingers, dissipating the paint into rivulets of darkness, the color indiscernible in the night. His hair - nothing more than shadow - ran down his pale face in a similar fashion.
He patted the glass like one would do a small child, just hard enough to be heard against the torrent.
Sienna hated this, once she waddled to her feet. Her steps echoed out, a long heave out her mouth as she waddles out the room, down the hall of the manor. Her curls swirled around her as she almost stumbled-
She didn't like that, she didn't like the windows down the halls leading to the office. And that, face being there!
The man didn't follow. He could have - maybe even should have - but he didn't. The porch would provide sufficient cover until the storm passed.
Normally the rain wouldn't faze him, he was the forest's son after all, but he had lent his good waterproof coat to that... ingrate, leaving him in just this one.
He shook his head. He shouldn't call her that. It wasn't her fault.
...this porch would do. So long as that woman didn't return. He crouched down, trying to support his bad leg, before taking a seat on the ground.
He could wait.
Sienna whimpers as she went to find her fiance- to her demise was gone. She whines in pain, the sudden rush of it all made her panic too much. Spiking her heart rate as Sienna leans into the office.
"... please not right now .." her legs tugged up to her chest. Trying to ease the sparking labor pains she felt. Sienna whines, once again all alone. Once again thinking she'll give birth alone.
With some manic outside the manor walls. Sienna whines in pure pain, shaking as she sobs. Why was she alone again-
He thought he could wait.
The hail proved him wrong.
Tiny pellets, no bigger than marbles, pelted down, the wind blowing them straight onto the porch. Ice flew past, smacking off of his mask with loud clinks. His hands went to cover up his face, but only succeeded in getting bested by the artillery.
Running blind, he wasn't thinking beyond that animalistic 'find-shelter' instinct buzzing under his skin, a second layer of static. Not of consequences or of legality (not that that had ever fazed him before) when he crumpled the lock, forcing the door open.
\/\/\/
This wasn't going according to plan. Nothing was going according to plan. The Man In The Mask felt hot, the drenched clothes doing nothing to assist that. He could feel it burning behind his eyes - like static, like all of Hell had poured itself out, ever flowing, into his mind. Nothing was going to plan.
That wrath, handed to him by a god - his only reward for his loyalty - overrode all logic and sent him, feet before thought, deeper into the house, all heavy boot steps, silent because He Wanted them to be, and the rage of the rain.
Silent, he stalked forward, like there was nothing amiss about his presence, like he was no more than an extension of the storm, nothing more than a dark cloud with a flash of white.
Until he stood outside a room with color thrown across it, a warm yellow light. He didn't enter, didn't dare breach such a sacred feeling place. He just stood there with colors bleeding from the shattered TV in his mind.
Peculiar woman.
Sienna had to settle herself into the tub, filled it all on her own. Her hands shaking as she yelps and cries in pain. Her body was raked over with intense cramps that flutter up into her chest.
Labor was hard the first time with her twins. All alone, bleeding out almost as she had twin demons. Those two drained her of her life and she felt that same sensation all over again. Sienna whimpers in pain, muttering to herself even as she whines.
"it'll be okay... it'll be okay..." She stutters the words out as she felt the lights flicker. Her mind too occupied on the moment she didn't hear the front door break open, or how the manor came alive and creaked at the sudden intruder in the alive manor.
Sienna was scared. Her cries and yells echoed out, the house shook with each screech she let escape.
And her eyes shimmer as she couldn't stay calm. It hurt, it bloody hurt more then she recalls. And honestly, more traumatic then the last one.
Her face was white, the usually tan skin she had was drained of color. But the cries of two echoed out- she was supposed to just have one. She was supposed to have just one-!
Her hands cupped the two close to her. Unaware she had a peeping eye the entire time of her misfortunes. Sienna began to sob a bit, because this time around she thought she'll have someone by her side. But yet again, history repeats itself and she was utterly alone.
Utterly alone. The only real person in that mansion.
The Man in The Mask - The Mask, really, there was hardly a man behind it - stood silently, intrusively, in the doorway just... Watching, the atmosphere curdling around him like the very floorboards of the house knew something was very wrong.
The smell of Bodies - blood and sweat and amniotic fluid - permeated the entire room, crawling under his mask, clawing at his face, the sounds of screaming and sobbing all bleeding into his own static; the myriad from Hell sending him further into his own mind.
Peculiar women. And-
He blinked, head tilting, the tension running up his spine softening.
Babies. Those hadn't been there before.
Had she been pregnant when he saw her earlier? His mind didn't supply the memory.
Sienna was still as she held the twins. Her eyes shook with tears once again as she didn't understand.
Why, why, why, why, why, why-?!
Her eyes shook as she heard a creak. Her head snaps in the direction- unaware the man had entered the home. Her voice shook as she calls out. "Mi Luiz?"
She thought it was her partner, she thought it was the one she wanted. But her eyes shook with fear as she noticed the mask.
"....you're...not...him." her voice shook with each word. And she was defenseless, she didn't know what would happen. "..what do you want with us...?"
She sinks into the tub. Curling the yowling twins as she hides their looks, demon like children. Flutters of scales from her, yet stumps for horns on their foreheads. Demons.
"...just take anything...leave us alone..." The house finally creaked, sensing someone who wasn't allowed in the manor.
He said nothing, just watching her watching him with those infinitely black eyes of his.
He didn't want anything anymore - that was another thing stripped from him to make room for wrath. Wrath. That was the thing that brought him deep into this dreadfully normal home, even though it screeched and clawed at his mind.
The Mask made note of the fact that there was supposedly someone else in the house, someone who could sneak up on him. It didn't worry him though.
He stepped forward, silently, head cocked infinitesimally. There was no emotion in his eyes, no sympathy for the clearly suffering mother, nothing but a sickening sort of... curiosity?
A crooked finger reached, pointing towards a non-specific one of the twins.
They were so small...
Sienna flinched at this, a flash of horror and pure fear graced her face. She was shaking, she sinked deeper into the tub. The tuff of white and brown locks distinguished which twin was which, yet both took their fathers trait.
"...Leave us alone...don't take them... please..." Sienna sobs out into tears. "They're all I have here.... My children are all I have left in this world..."
It seems bittersweet. Yet Sienna felt that deeply, her children would always love her. Even if she herself felt her heart stomped on and broken, even if she felt foolish now being home alone once again. To give birth once again- a shrill scream left her, pain shook her body as Sienna whines in misery.
"...Just go away..." She sobs out. "What do you even, want?"
The shriek failed to pierce through the miasma of noise, noise, noise he was already suffering from; instead, it melted, joining that swinging rattle in his mind, only frustrating him further.
'HUSHUSHUSHUSHUSH'
He felt no pity. No mercy, no sympathy, nothing but a slight agitation towards her and her Noise. Stupid noisy women...
The depths of his mind spat up that she would stop if he answered her, so he tried to get what felt extremely obvious across to her. Arms braced over his head, shielding himself from the sky, before gesturing to his drenched clothes.
Sienna whines as she curls the babies closer. Her eyes shimmer as she read his mind, the thoughts he had made her feel sick. A dread hit her heart as she squeezed them closer.
"...There's clothes in the closet....there's whatever...just take it." She shakes a bit, her eyes rolled back a bit from the pain.
Her heart sank, Sienna was still bleeding out. Her curls swirled around as she let her eyes shut for once.
But the screech left her as she felt utter agony in her stomach. "Please.... please... I just...why-" her voice shook out, Sienna was curling the twins closer as she was drifting off. Not to sleep, but her life slipping.
...
When someone was dying (or died or had been dying or had been dead for A Very Long Time), the air around them started to curdle; a sticky, tacky ozone that slicked down hair and sat on shoulders like boulders. And no one really noticed unless they were Inclined. Like he was.
The Man wasn't interested in the clothes, he had really only wanted shelter, but now he was Intrigued, and for a man of his nature, it was a very bad thing to be.
He stepped forward - or, well, somehow he got from where he had been to where she was, some negative space loophole, who knows - hovering over her with his head cocked.
She was Dying. She was going to Die. Those children would Die. Die before they had even lived, taken from her like they'd been taken from him.
...
The Mask had entered this place with rage at the entire concept of femininity, and now he was protecting it.
With klutzy movements, he maneuvered about the bathroom, setting the tub to drain while trying to find some towels. He was no medicine man, more of a lizard in the hand of one, but this seemed appropriate to him.
He could save her. Like he wanted to save Her. Prove that it wasn't his fault, just that damned woman.
Sienna was still as she curls the children closer. Her heart sanked as she's only known misery and pain all her life; relationship after another hurt her more. And here she was once again willing to die for someone who still wasn't present.
The twins sob and cry, trying to wake up their still mother from her slumber. One child leans into her and bite her skin- blood trickled from the wound. No wonder she bled out, the twins were draining her life as well.
She eventually opens her eyes for a moment to see the 'man' above her. She was still confused, she didn't know what they wanted.
".... please let me go- I can't...do this anymore..." She whispers weakly. Letting her eyes shut once again as she let her head roll.
Don't Tell Him What To Do. Damn woman.
The towels were clean and soft, some were even monogramed, put on a shelf that was almost too high for the Mask to reach. He kicked the shelf.
He crumpled the towels, tossing them into the tub, stuffing them wherever he thought would help. Shoving clean white cloth wherever blood was pouring.
If she died, those kids would Die. Crushed like eggs, like a desert rose about to bloom. Those kids would Die and it would be His Fault because he's UnfitUnfitUnfit.
Her head fell back, and he started to panic, a low-level panic that boiled and brewed and crept. Death cold hands went up to pat her cheek, cautiously, like he could crumple her the same way he did the doorknob, and then more aggressive, borderline smacking her.
A yelp escaped her as Sienna was jolted awake. Her eyes looking around as she gently stares at the mask.
The twins chomp and nibble on her as they kept trying to feast on her. Sienna was bitterly quiet as she curls into the tub more.
She was shaking from the cold then the blood lost. She was oddly quiet as she looks around the room. She wants her husband-
The Mask stares at her for a moment, hard enough that you could almost see a ring of bilgewater brown in those voided eyes, as if checking that she's still alive.
She lives. Reaching out with a cold hand, he awkwardly pet the top of her head, like a cat that might attack at any moment. Once bitten, twice shy.
After a moment, he pulled his hand back, pointing to his ring finger, tapping it, head tilted in question. 'Where?'
It wasn't like he had been very quiet.
Her head slightly tilts her head back. Eyes dulled with pain, she looks away- why was this stranger more compassionate than the one she loves?
"thank you...." She calls out, she curls the babies closer to her. She felt like a burden in this moment.
The Mask made a face - well, he seemed like he did. His eyes scrunched up, heading moving forward like he was exasperated.
That's Not What He Asked. Damn Women.
He repeats the motion, this time pointing at her ring finger with a little more attitude than before.
'Where is he?'
Sienna noticed finally as a grimace look falls to her face. She looks down again as she didn't know what to respond with.
Honestly, she didn't know where he was either. She merely shrugs as she shakes a bit.
"I don't know...I guess work maybe...? Or with someone else..." She whispers out. Sienna hated this- she left her old marriage behind for this reason. And here she was in this twisted cruel cycle once again.
"...I'm sorry...you can leave...I'll manage...I think.." she whispers softly. She didn't want to be a burden anymore. Because that's all she's become once again and this time to a stranger.
Why was a stranger being nice and better then someone she loves...?
Men. Evil men. If it weren't for men like that, She wouldn't have left him. It's not his fault, not his fault, not his fault.
He wasn't going to leave, not yet at least. Leaning back to peer through a window, the hail had stopped but the rain continued. Even when it stopped, the ground would give way under every step; he might as well stay.
If he sensed her distress beyond the fact that she was scared of him, it didn't seem to faze him as he went through the closet unceremoniously, tearing through the contents. Some smudged away part of him appreciated the offer of dry clothes, but none of the ones offered would fit him regardless.
Just more towels, which he threw over her without really aiming, like it was such an effort for him to keep his landlady for the day alive. One landed haphazardly over one of the twins, and he, gentler than the wind, pulled it away from its face.
He would never Have This For Himself.
Sienna was quiet as she weakly drags a few towels over her and the twins. Her eyes shimmer for a second as she felt tired.
Her eyes shut slightly as she tucks the children closer. Her breathing eased finally as she didn't know what else to do.
This was just, heartbreaking to her.
She officially dozed off, fainting in the tub as she went limp. She didn't know what else to do now, she just let her body give in.
Keep her Warm. Keep her Alive. Prove that he was normal and good and that it wasn't his fault that the other one ran away.
With red, raw fingers, The Mask pet at the twins curiously, softer than a prayer to a god who wouldn't answer, before moving over to the sink counter to continue his raid.
another believer. open rp.
tw for cult/religious themes, potential mentions of stalking and manipulation.
There was a man outside your window. At least the shape of one.
Thunder pealed across the sky, the storm having blown in from nowhere, lightning as sudden as static charge, the only thing making him more than a pale faced shadow.
Rain pounded against the window in addition to his hands, flat palms, marked with paint, asking calmly for entry.
That was terrifying. Needlessly so. The man probably didn't actually exist. Most of the time people standing against the window didn't.
So Koi opened the window. He figured if he appeased the hallucination, it would go away.
"What?"
The Man stepped back, head tilted slightly to the side., as if he was struggling to put to words what he wanted. Paint runoff from his palms on the glass dripped from the window, splats of red falling against the windowsill.
After a moment, he cradled his hands over his head, shielding himself from the heavens, before gesturing to his soaked outfit.
Normally, the rain wouldn't have bothered him - he was a son of the forest after all - but he had lent his waterproof coat to that.... ungrateful woman, and she had left him in the cold.
Wickedwickedwicked woman.
The child stares, eyes following the red droplets before running back up to find the man's face. An odd face, if you asked the boy, but he thought that about a lot of things.
"I...don't think I'm 'possed to invite people inside. In case yur dead or som'thin."
His voice is lilting with a touch of the country to it.
"Yur not dead, are you?"
An odd face indeed. Paler than the moon, a lightning crack of white along his otherwise darkened demeanor.
The Man In The Mask drew up his shoulders slightly, like the idea of death itself repulsed him. He was Alive. Alive in a way that few people ever got to be, truly and really alive, and they would never understand, no one worldwide would carry the knowledge that he-
The Man shook his head.l, repeating the gesture with his hands over his head, now cocking the mask once more as if asking for entry.
He doens't want to, but he nods. Something compells him. He steps back from the window, eyes wide with fear. He didn't like the way the man smelled. Not dead, but something else. Something worse.
Something beyond death itself. The Man moves, like a dark cloud, like an impending fog, dark and heavy through the window, boots falling with a dull thud only because he wanted them to.
The Man in the Mask - was there a man in there? Maybe once. Maybe once. Correction. The Mask was drenched, petrichor clinging to every inch of him, gooseflesh rising in an approximation of humanity.
Hand to his chest, right side, he thanked them.
Koi moves away, one step at a time, until his back hits against the wall. Even then the balls of his feet push against the pale blue carpet as if he could force himself farther back. He'd been hoping the Masked being would vanish.
Maybe it still could.
Trembling, he reaches one hand slowly up, searching the wall for the light switch.
The Mask tenses in the light, like a deer on the highway, every movement laid bare. He stood in an odd hunched over manner, head pulled forward as the above head light, cast shadows on his sculpted face.
Certainly not vanishing.
Head cocked in an imitation of curiosity, he watched Koi. Didn't move towards him, hardly moved at all, hardly breathed, but just observed, a small puddle gathering at his feet.
He whimpers and brings his hands up to his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. If the thing won't vanish, then he'll just stop looking at it.
The Mask didn't seem to care. Didn't seem to have the capacity to care, nor the desire to go any further into this place than where he was.
All he needed was shelter from the storm. Just until the rain ceased, and then he could go find Her.
This was a bad idea. That was what she had told herself (WHAT HE HAD TOLD HER) a thousand times over, while she fussed over everything a woman could fuss over for half the day. That was what she told Evan when he was the only thing keeping her from changing her mind, and what she told Bridget while she practically dragged Morgan out into the street.
That was what she told herself when she finally knocked on Sienna's door.
It was just a movie. Just a movie.
-@inmorganic
Sienna opens up the door as she was dressed. A simple blue dress, her curls tucked behind her ears in barrette, and her shinning hoops to follow. She warmly smiles to Morgan as she beams. "Hiya darling- it's been a while.♡"
"It has."
A genius response. She was infamous for them, after all.
There was an obvious sort of effort put into Morgan's own appearance, but whether it was a good effort or not was anyone's guess. Her hair had that slight fray of heat to water to heat again, crappy bangs pinned aside with bobby pins. Hell, she had even taken that dingy jacket off.
"Sorry for the... delay. I've been kinda all over the place lately."
my 0wn p3rs0nal h3ll 1s mad3 up 0f 3ndl3ss r3runs 0f happy days and lav3rn3 and sh1rl3y...
s3nd h3lp...
I can’t kill myself because I’d miss smoking weed and listening to Bob Dylan while coloring.
This was my attempt at drawing devil dinosaur
better than anything i've drawn recently.
good job, uh... guy. 👍.
