#selfmenticide

[whatstillbleeds]

cont from here | @selfmenticide

traveling for church matters was almost a second nature at this point for hilliard; sometimes monsignor sullivan would send him to attend congregations held by the ministry, for example, and the young priest would accept without hesitation. always taking flights very late at night, or so early in the morning that not even the most fanatical religious maniac could stand it… any religious fanatical maniac except hilliard, of course, who seemed to make those trips with a smile and few complaints; silently thankful not to have to travel any given day at three in the afternoon, having to fight the urge to tear his hair out with his hands in the face of the dreaded “waiting mode”, which plagued him from start to finish, rendering him incapable of doing anything other than wait.

he expected this trip to be uneventful, and he was relaxed about everything for once: fable was in the care of a trusted friend who often looked after her for him, and since this friend had a studio in the city, fable loved strolling through the large parks and socializing with every living soul that crossed her path. everything in the church had been taken care of before this trip and monsignor sullivan didn't even nag him about something before leaving. hilliard didn’t have much to worry about ( beyond a double faith that gnawed at his soul day in and day out ), so his plan was to finish the book he’d started reading last week and, if he had time to spare, start making a list of the things he needed for his new apartment.

unfortunately, god ( or the devil ) had other plans for him. not even an elephant crammed into the cockpit of the plane at over nine thousand meters above ground would have made hilliard feel as harassed and tormented as what he had been forced to witness right beside him: the three faces of a demon ( lust? ), the horrors he could hear and feel, and the idiotic look that had come over his pale face the moment he first laid eyes on his unwanted flight companion. and while at first hilliard had tried to convince himself that what was happening was the result of his lack of sleep ( and sanity ), he soon accepted that this was part of his punishment. after all, hilliard morello had been born on a stormy day, had silently wished for the death of those close to him, and in trying to atone, had fallen back into the devil’s lap. this whole plane thing was just proof that he would never find peace.

and there, his stomach churning once they had landed, the lamb of god blurted out those words without thinking, in an effort to lighten the burden on his own mind, which was being crushed by the images he had seen ( he didn’t know if he feared it, but it seemed sensible to be unsettled when the thing living under your bed takes on a life of its own, barges onto your flight, and speaks like a chain-smoker ). ❝  haha… ha. i'm- who are…? ❞ but the words die on his lips; the demon and its voice—like nails scraping against a chalkboard—are faster than hilliard and his faint hesitation. he feels dizzy, almost drunk, crazy.

the cigarettes bring a little color back to his face, though it doesn’t make much of a difference—he still looks like a walking corpse—but they’re enough of a distraction for the young man to ignore, if only for a brief moment, the three faces that could devour him right now.

the walk out of the airport is silent, but the priest stays by that nightmare’s side, momentarily desensitized to his appearance, only to be struck by a hellish dizziness when he looks at him seconds later. they haven’t even passed through the glass doors yet when hilliard already has the cigarette between his lips. in the background, he can hear a security guard telling him that smoking isn’t allowed inside the building, but his words are drowned out as the doors close behind them.

the smoke calms him, if only enough to say to the creature beside him, ❝ so… this isn’t a nightmare, is it? you’re—you’re real, or i’m already dead. either that or i’m nuts, ❞ a laughf full of smoke escapes him, a nervous one. electrified by adrenaline, fear and the morbid curiosity luring hilliard to stay close.

[gauntletrun]

" what have we got here ? " nathaniel mused with a small smile as knotted black brows looked upon the rather . . . colorful animatronic that had been poised in the ' small tots ' section of the pizzeria . it looked expensive , definitely not something his cheapskate boss would throw all his coins into , but damn was it impressive . there is hesitance in the night guard's action , but with the little guys being the only thing he had to go off of , sundrop couldn't be that scary , right ?

(WHATEVER GO NIGHT GUARD NATE! INTERACT WITH SUNDROP! / selfmenticide)

In a typical fashion, Sundrop had been powered down for the evening. It was that awkward time of night just before his security protocol was active where his circuits and hardware finally had a moment of rest. Wrangling kids all day was no easy task, surely, so he would do his best to enjoy the lull in time. He had approximately 30 minutes before he was back onto his feet again.

Though, despite being "powered down", there was a shred of awareness active in his robotic husk. It was for security measures, something of a motion detector, which would call him to life once again if a humanoid shape was passing through his daycare after hours. It was meant for small children who may have gotten lost in the pizzeria, but neglectful parenting aside, that was not who awoke Sunnydrop this evening. Rather, a black haired nightguard with an inquisitive look on his face and a question which was assumed to be left unanswered.

The nightguards gentle words sprung Sunnydrop to life, he awoke with a robotic gasp. His hands flailed into the air and the rays of simulated light which sat upon his head spun like clockwork. He felt as close as a robot could feel to panic, jumping back from Nate dramatically. That was not a lost child, no, not at all, but an adult man. In his fright, Sunny couldn't help but assume the worst, that this was an intruder. He wasted no time, he was trained for this after all.

" Security alert! Security alert!!!! " He wailed through the empty pizzeria, his shrill voice cutting through the silence like a jagged blade. " There's some sort of.. INTRUDER in the daycare! "

He points at Nate with conviction, no, he was not about to let this criminal get away with his... crimes. Not after what happened with the last guy.

Hopefully this one would not leave his serrated hand in the ball pit. Yuck.

@selfmenticide

[whatstillbleeds]

cont. from here | @selfmenticide

the first thing that crosses hilliard's mind is to ask himself, “ is there even anything i can do for you? ”. his mind is racing, the image unfolding before his eyes burning itself into his retinas, becoming part of the collection of nightmares that asmodeus has so kindly been gifting him ever since the day they met. it is also because of this steady, drop-by-drop addition to his torment that hilliard initially decides to be a total jerk and point out the obvious: there really is a lot of blood, and he can already imagine himself hours later scrubbing the black stain off the church’s mahogany floors. god forbid that monsignor sullivan should ever catch even a glimpse of what was now taking place in the sanctuary; hilliard knows his old heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

but that problem seems distant compared to all of this. his tired, green eyes scan the beast’s features, and that sarcastic smile loses some of its edge. watching it fall to its knees bathes him in a mixture of remorse and excitement that trickles down his throat with drops of pity. ❝ first of all, come on… i’m not like you, ❞ his tone remains slightly condescending. ❝ the church is neutral ground for anyone in need of shelter. who am i to take that privilege away from anyone? ❞

one of his hands—delicate, pale, and soft; like slightly trembling, very cold porcelain—reaches out to briefly touch the cheek of one of the demon’s heads. the priest is surprised to find that his stomach isn’t churning as it usually does. has he been cured of his fear? ❝ perhaps you want me to hear your confession? ❞ unbelieving of his own words, he almost laughs at the end of the sentence. ❝ talk to me, asmodeus. you know i’m not good at guessing what beings like you want from me ❞.

[gauntletrun]

" the damage is pretty severe . " gabriel grumbled , black irises and unfocused pupils looking upon the beyond serrated limb attached to his now . . . previous boss . his tone had always sounded so annoyed , so flippant , and even now that doesn't subside . gloved hands grab and pull , disregarding any pain he brought akande . this wasn't good . " you've always had to act so high and mighty . . . look where it got you , akande . " the name is hissed , his free hand coming to pull his mask up his face as he can inspect , and just maybe figure out some way to repair the damage his currently defunct boss had done .

(oh yeah FUCKING yeah reaper HATES vendetaa OF COURSE he was gonna find akande GET OUT OF MY FACE! / selfmenticide)

Akande could feel only the suggestion of touch as rubble and grime was brushed aside from his limp body, the clump of rock and deep voice which called to him inaudible in comparison to the shrill ring which tore through his head. He did not have the strength to open his eyes, and a bright pain begun to bloom all over his body, but despite it all, the most unbearable of pains was the shame which settled unto him much like the dust which now danced upon his dark skin. It was an insult to Akande's character- everything he had built, all of sacrifice, and pain, just ripped out of his... now one, arm. If it were stray dogs sniffing at his body in this moment, he was ready to let them take the remains. It took the muddled mention of his name to bring him to any sort of consciousness, the ghostly hiss slinking into the air. Perhaps Vendetta had come down to gloat, she seemed like the prideful type, or maybe even O'Dorian came down to pick up some spare parts. The possibilities flickered in Akande's mind like electric sparks as his brain struggled to come back to life, It took all of his strength to just crack open an eye. But through the blur which clouded his vision, he saw a face he had not yet considered. It was Reaper. Or, no- not Reaper, but Gabriel.

His mask had long been removed, the typical grim facade cast aside leaving only his scarred face contorted into some semblance of worry. It was extremely unusual, almost humorous, and if Akande had more a mind Gabriel surely would have been lectured. But for now, the dark eyes which stared down at him brought.. comfort. A feeling Akande would not normally bask in. He could muster a " Reyes. " his deep and smooth tone worn into a heave. He wanted Gabriel to hear him- to hear all about what Vendetta had done to him. His dismay, his anger, his shame- but his body would not yet allow it. What his body did allow, however, was a reaching arm. His muscular hand slowly drifting above the rubble to grasp on to Gabriel desperately. " Why.. " He tried, his lungs seizing in protest " Did you come here? " It was the only thing he could think to ask. This was out of character for Gabriel, despite his loyalty to Talon. He was not the empathetic type.

@selfmenticide

[gauntletrun]

Perhaps

it was pure nativity, or Emre had gained the characteristic of boldness with his new found bloodlust, but Akande felt he was rather brash mentioning his recent demise right to his face. He adjusts his jaw is such a way to show his dismay- his firm, and only, hand remaining steady on his hip. " Surely, you are not questioning my abilities, Emre? You must know better. "

But, he is quick to drop it, Emre was about to make it back up to him anyways. Akande loosens his intense gaze on the other to look around at the destruction. Geez, that kid really did a number on these people, Akande was thoroughly impressed.. and intrigued. A yes man was what he originally wanted, a lethal yes man, well, that's what he needed. It seems following him was a good idea, after all.

" I live because I am strong, and wise. It seems you only possess one of those traits. " He looks back to Emre, something darker lurking behind his eyes, and he tilts his head. Vendetta must have them drinking the kool-aid- who knows what sort of story she has been spinning about Akande's fall.. and sending Talon all over the world so carelessly? The thought just boiled his blood, but he was quick to quell himself.. In the end, the weakest of warriors will boast of their successes, and the true gladiators will sit behind them.. waiting to strike. " But I am here to observe your skill, and you have impressed me. "

Despite the destruction, Emre's dismay was undeniable, it was written all over his bloodstained face. His sweet bright eyes shining through the crimson- It was like the kid didn't even know what he'd done. This was already out of character from the Emre he once knew, was he sick? corrupted? Possessed? Akande's curiosity had been thoroughly peaked.

" And yet, you don't seem impressed with yourself. What is wrong, Emre? Destruction like this, it is a demonstration of true power. " He softens his tone in hopes of wearing Emre down. " You should be proud. "

@selfmenticide

[whatstillbleeds]

cont from here. | @selfmenticide

hilliard felt his spine melt and his insides churn in a way the body reserved only for panic attacks.

any questions about what the hell the nightmare was doing taking his hand died on his lips in a choked scream. and as he watched the end of the cigarette scorch the skin beneath it with a hiss, filling his mind with half-uttered prayers, hilliard felt utterly and completely unable to move. stiff as a rag doll, his arm fell to his side as the entity finished its show, and with his mouth half-open in a grimace of disbelief, morello blinked a couple of times, trying to snap out of his stupor.

❝ well… for a starter, i can guess you’re pretty fucking rude— ❞ he seems surprised that the first sounds he produces aren’t screams of horror, but his lips turn into a pale, almost invisible line afterward. the wheeled suitcase he’s carrying, as black as his clothes, his hair, and his stupid soul, is instinctively placed at his feet, as if he were trying to create a barrier between them. he doesn’t find the question amusing, studying the faces as if his eyes were only just getting used to what they provoke in his mind, almost like trying to look at a very bright light—only in this case, the light isn’t a light, but the door that leads to each and every one of his most real nightmares. damn it. ❝ i can sense—i can sense you’re not a mere demon… i’ve seen lesser ones, they’re not like you, so—shit, i don’t know... greed—? ❞ apprehensive, unable to resist playing the damned game that has been presented to him, the priest speaks with a choked voice. ❝ one of the princes of hell, yes... maybe lu- oh god ❞.

he seems to know the name perfectly well, but feels unable to say it. ❝ i don’t have time for this. ❞ the watch on his right wrist marks the ‘it’s way too early to be experiencing such horror’ o'clock.

[whatstillbleeds]

cont. from here | @selfmenticide

he sighed—maybe it just wasn't his day.

that day, the visions of twisted figures and little devils perched on monsignor sullivan’s shoulders during mass had caused hilliard to spill some of the consecrated wine at the feet of one of the lovely old ladies who joined them every sunday. the young priest’s face wavered between the pallor brought on by the horrors and the blush of shame. recalling the situation there, standing on the church grounds’ lawn, with the twilight sky above him and the cold numbing his own cheeks, had made him shut his eyes tightly, pitying his own misfortune and praying that the nicotine would take away his desire for the earth to swallow him.

when hilliard opened his eyes, the figure in front of him startled him, and the first thing he did was let out a cry of surprise. but once his eyes adjusted, the priest instantly recognized that the figure, while having a ‘human’ appearance, could be anything but that word. to the priest’s eyes, his façade seemed like a thin film covering the man’s true form, and if he narrowed his eyes, the protruding lower canines were hard to miss on that kind face.

with the cigar hanging from the corner of her mouth and having listened intently to every single word he said, hilliard couldn’t help but open her mouth a little, thinking to herself ("he's cute”) and immediately wanting to strangle himself for thinking it. ❝ ... oh, right! morello, it’s father morello or—or you can just call me hilliard, because that’s my name, uhm- ❞a nervous laugh catches in his throat as he holds deok-su’s hand with cold, thin fingers and all the firmness he can muster ❝ hilliard morello—the pleasure is totally mine. nice cane, by the way... ❞

as they talked, the sky gradually lost its color until it turned into a mass of darkness and thick, grey clouds. when he lets go of his hand, hilliard goes about lighting his cigarette, illuminating his pale, smooth face with the glow of the lighter’s flame. a thoughtful, audible ‘hmmm ’ escapes him, his eyes half-closed as he gazes at the clouds, exhaling the smoke and taking care not to blow it in his companion's direction.❝ no, you're good. i'm not offended by the question oranything ❞ he gestured with his free hand, playing it down. ❝ at least you had the tact to ask me ❞.

the priest begins to shift his weight from one leg to the other, restlessly, tapping his cigarette. ❝ there are people who would agree with what you say, though no one has been as kind as you to say so. in my book, i like to believe that god is a little more forgiving towards his followers and won’t make a big deal of one of his sheep relieving a bit of stress in this way. it’s not my worst sin either...❞ there isn’t a hint of sarcasm in what he’s saying, but from the smile on his face, you could tell he’s a bit embarrassed to say it.

when he looks up, there is a renewed curiosity in his eyes. ❝ ok, my turn ❞ when did they start playing 100 questions? ❝ are you human? and- have you come for me? ❞ wow, he was also a cheater! but his words showed no sign of judging his strange guest at all.

actually, if you stopped to think about it, hilliard seemed happy to be able to talk to someone who, until now, hadn’t treated him like a weirdo.

[whatstillbleeds]

cont from here | @selfmenticide

sometimes julian asked the kind of questions he knew would have him backed up against a wall if he'd heard them out of the blue. perhaps out of an inner desire to see how others tended to respond. did everyone felt a hot knife in the chest when facing them?— but more likely because julian, being the annoying pain in the neck he could be at times, spoke too fast, and his brain often couldn’t keep up with his lips.

in short, he went too far with them. he pushed the captain up against that figurative wall, and now he could see the twisted, nervous results in their body language and the way the words escaped their mouth like crackles.

julian took his hands off the notebook where he seemed to be writing just minutes before, when he had asked them the question. now he looked a little more worried, but kept the sincere and calm smile ❝ captain… ❞ he said, ❝ i don’t believe i asked a question deserving of an apology ❞.

his lips twisted when the question was thrown back at him, resting his head in his hand and his elbow on the desk as if they had to recover from the initial blow ❝ oof— ok, i understand. you look as if i’ve put a knife between your ribs, and i know how you must be feeling… ❞ the robust desk that separated him from the captain got tapped by his long fingers, the mind of the doctor ticking like a watch.

finally when he spoke, julian's voice came out sincere and a little defeated ❝ i guess it’s only fair that i answer your question: yes, i do. i might know shame too well… it might be the reason why i asked you on the first place: i would recognize the eyes of a person that carries a heavy burden anywhere, because first gaze i see every day is my own...❞

he went silent, thinking about maybe giving them some time to clear their mind before continuing ❝ if you don't feel up to having me nagging you the rest of the day we can stop, you've had a rough day & i wouldn't mind having a drink— do you need new clothes? ❞.