Roleplay Excerpt #1 — Guzma
"It's alright," the hauntingly acquainted voice said, elegant yet faintly poisonous in its words. "You can relax."
Relax... Right. ... No, wait. Something was wrong. Everything was so dark and it was hard to breath. It was familiar. In a wrong sort of way. But what was it? Where...
"Guzma, why are you so tense?" she asked, what felt like a hand curling around his shoulder. "Everything will be just fine, I promise. ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵗᵘʳⁿ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ."
... A stupor threatened to shut his eyes though a deep part of him screamed not to be lulled into that false sense of security. Eyes blinked and slowly shifted to glance ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʰᶦˢ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳ. ... Sparkling, cold, harsh...
Adrenaline suddenly coursed through his veins and he tried to bolt forward away from the tendril that quickly snared tighter. Alas, it was like he was fighting through mud as many more ropes of crystal bound his hands, his feet, his throat. His protests were silenced, replaced by sputtering choking as hundreds of translucent tendrils of various sizes began constricting and forcing unnatural movements. Larger ones bound his torso and smaller ones his arms and legs. Smaller still began to creep between fingers and force them to move as if someone had grabbed them fully in their mitts. More invaded, pulling at ears, his eyes, his mouth and tongue. His hisses were muffled audibly, his vision warped by glass, and his attempts at speech grew quieter still.
At last, a shadow loomed over, blotting out the hazy ambient light coming from nowhere specific. He knew what was coming and he struggled even more harshly yet he could not move, he could not speak or beg or plead or threaten. Dark eyes, frantic in movement as they desperately sought a way out, could only watch as the shadow grew to swallow him.
Then there was a building pressure around his head, a crown of glass tautening as pinpricks sharp yet numbing wormed their way inside. The voice once again attempted to sooth with such sickeningly sweet reassurances as the vice consumed his-
Guzma shot up straight from the bed in a panic, barely keeping his mouth shut to keep himself from howling his displeasures. A cold sweat drenched his skin and night clothing and his shallow breaths matched the rapid beating of his heart. His hand grasped for his chest and his eyes darted wildly around the room, around him, above him. ... Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing but dread and fright at a ghost that only existed in night terror.
It took several long minutes for the man to finally slow his breaths and calm his pulse. His grip on his front loosened gradually and he shut his eyes as he took in a particularly deep inhale. He held it for a few moments before slowly releasing it and he shuffled to the edge of the bed in a tired slouch. Guzma rubbed his eyes with a muffled groan, getting up to meander to the bathroom for water. A slow drink and a splash on his face later, the man merely stared into the mirror, seeing a worn face staring back.
... The nightmares had gotten worse again since funny motherfuckers had brought up that fucking parasite. It was happening at least every other night now if not more often... Ugh... It twinged something fierce those bastards would get satisfaction from his misery. Bet they would be chortling with rotten glee right now.
... Guzma sighed, wiping his face off as he checked the time. Only an hour or so past midnight. ... Fuck. He doubted he was going to get any more rest either. The Alolan grumbled under his breath, throwing on a fresh set of clothing. He might as well get some fresh air and win some cash if he were to be awake right now.
He was soon out on the streets, hood up over his head. The covering somewhat eased his nerves from the... Horrid vision he just experienced. ... Probably would not have helped against the real thing, but it eased his fear just a bit. The man stopped by the canal, leaning against the railing for a few moments to just... Quiet his pesky thoughts.
Should he be doing something else? Should he be calling someone, maybe...? ... No. No, no. He was not about to do that. It was late. People were probably asleep as normal folks did. ... And... No, he did not want to share this fuckery with anyone right now. They did not need to know... Or worry. Nor see how incredibly fucked he actually was in the head. ... Maybe they already knew. Not like he could help himself in trying to keep it under wraps… Even as those wraps dissolved under his grip.
Guzma shoved himself off the railing, marching directly to a battle zone with little hesitation on his mug. He pulled out a ball, setting his sights on the first person he saw with a nasty smile.
“Hey there, motherfucker! Ya fancy seein’ what destruction in human form looks like tonight!?”
At least the night would be productive for him if nothing else… Though it was not like he could escape his phantoms forever. There would always be the next night, after all.
Written by Firerad Fieritis.
