Food- decent food, at least- wasnât the easiest thing to come by in the fog. Not the hardest thing to find either, but still a pleasant surprise when it happened, and happened without too much fuss. The requirements of their flesh were far-gone memories. Only sense memory remained, but⊠that didnât stop it from becoming a bit of a hot commodity among those who missed it. Taste and scent were both massive parts of the human experience, after all, and to lose that which engaged them the best? It could become uncomfortable after too long.
It was good sensory input, to eat, regardless of necessity. A wealth of stimulation. Who wouldnât indulge sometimes?
The food looked fine, smelled great, valerian and honey. Almost a citrus-y taste to it as well, but just faint enough to be pleasant. It was a fun little bonus, that cats sometimes loved the scent of valerian even more than catnip.
Fast forward a bit though, and that citrus taste could be attributed to a different family that tasted somewhat sweet.Â
Nightshades. Though, this one specifically was Atropa belladonna. Just enough of it to induce the delirium, dizziness, and plenty of other fun effects. Hallucinations, uncoordinated movement, light sensitivity, blurry vision. Combined with valerian- a perfectly edible, innocent plant⊠which had some of the best natural sleep aid abilities⊠Nyaniel was rendered just out of it enough to be stalkable, capturable, by a man who didnât especially want to risk losing his chance. Even if he had to wait quite a while for the worst of the high to pass after dragging him off, heâd happily sacrifice time to get his desired effect. He had all the time he could want, here.
A touch over twenty four hours later, Dwightâs laying on the floor of this structure he found out in the fog, unclaimed, and a little sticky in location. He was able to relocate it by trying the same direction numerous times, and he got some chalk to mark it as well. Gave himself something to tether his mindâs connection to it.Â
It had worked out great. So much for the Entity playing favorites.
Currently, heâs on his back, legs propped up in the air as he rests them crossed against a table. Thereâs a book in his hands, and heâs lazily dragging his eyes over the page⊠until Nyaniel stirs.
Brown eyes meet grey-green. Dwight would have left the mask and robes on, but the nightshadeâs full swing symptoms made even the slightest stuffiness unbearable, and there was only so much whining he could tolerate.
âWhen you can control yourself, the gag will be removed.â His voice is low, blunt, and unamused. Thereâs a bag on the table his legs are up against.
Nyaniel groaned and tried to roll over. His head felt full of fog like he trying to surface from underwater as something was trying to drag him back down.
The weight of his robes were gone leaving him in his tactical pants and a black t shirt. It felt revealing and he wanted to cover himself back up. A blanket would do- he wasnât in bed.
Facts started to filter back into his brain. His name. Being a serial killer. The Fog. The basics of his reality.
His eyes opened to see his favorite âSurvivorâ. Honestly, this just proved more to him that Dwight was anything but a Survivor.
He sleepily slow blinked at Dwight as he waited to be ungagged.
