@noctvoid [sly] asked; nothing about the place makes sense. the ground beneath his boots is a patchwork of memory stitched together badly. one step lands on slate roof, slick with rain that does not fall. the next meets warped floorboards from a room he has not seen since he was a child, their varnish split with age, their smell warm and faintly sweet beneath the stronger stink of smoke. beyond that, there is a narrow parisian ledge hanging in empty dark, then the outline of a corridor that should belong to the cooper vault, then a crooked lamp-post leaning at an angle that ought to end in gravity but does not. everything bleeds into everything else. rooftops into hallways. moonlight into firelight. the past into something fouler. his tail flicks once behind him. somewhere above him, or below him, or maybe inside the walls themselves, something gives a long, rusted shriek. his spine locks. it is a sound he knows in the oldest part of himself. that scream of metal dragged across metal, old rage wound into every note of it. it reaches through years and skin and lands squarely in the place where grief and terror have always shared a room. for a second, he is young again in the worst possible way. his mouth goes dry. clockwerk. of course. who else could a nightmare wear so well? ❝ this is new. ❞ his heartbeat will not slow down. it hammers hard against his ribs, each pulse a bright little betrayal, but his voice holds. the old hatred between them hangs in the air like the taste of pennies and thunder. even now, after everything, after all the falls and fires and endings, clockwerk's presence drags a raw strip through the cooper line inside him. ❝ i don't know who built this little haunted scrapbook, ❞ he says, eyes fixed on the shape before him, ❝ but if you're as stuck here as i am, then we've got a problem. ❞ with that familiar slant of wit drawn tight over a much uglier truth, he adds, ❝ and for once, it might not be me. ❞
There is no vessel in existence that's fit to contain the full extent of his hatred for the Cooper clan. Alive or dead, awake or unconscious it festered like a a vile petulance, transferring from bone and feather to metal, to soul, to components both tangible and not, that wouldn't fade or degrade with the passage of time. Clockwerk, by his own admission was relentless in his quest to obliterate the thieving racoon lineage. And as in life, such a pursuit continued into other theatres, such as the realm of dreams. And... illusions.
No stable outline is given to the shifting landscape that surrounds them, which changed constantly, like a film wheel played on an endless loop. Sometimes, what constituted as the ground beneath his talons offered favourable conditions, such as an open rooftop, devoid of obstacles to cower behind. A place where he could stretch out his wings, donning the shape that became the last sight witnessed by every Cooper to fall dead before him. Whilst at other times, in his pursuit of ghosts, he's negotiating some interior or another, savouring, for the hundredth time, the unique thrill and satisfaction felt when this dream-space brought him back to Connor Cooper's abode, along with the Five. A pitiful sight that'll always he seared into the deepest recesses of his memory banks.
If only he'd gone for the child, rather than the book.
"ᴄᴏᴏᴘᴇʀ." Beak stays closed, but the usual, electronic tone carries against the distance keeping them apart. That could be crossed, with a few beats of his own wings, had he not cotton on to the deception being played out. "ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ, ɪꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟᴅ ɪɴᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜱɪᴅᴇ." Which was to say, he'd settle for watching the pesky racoon wither and collapse from hunger and thirst first than chime in with a idea about where exactly they've ended up together.
If this whole endeavour was ever real to begin with.
"ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱʜɪʀᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱɪʙɪʟɪᴛʏ." Hooking onto a particular character flaw, the owl singled in on it, using it to lambast his nemesis. " ʜᴀʀᴅʟʏ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱɪɴɢ.. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ʏᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡʜʏ ɪ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇꜱꜱ, ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ."
