ACT NOW! [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

Has this ever happened to you?

All you're trying to do is have an uneventful night's sleep, but you find yourself in a sprawling labyrinth of interconnected rooms, each one a transplant from a bland, suburban home. You search and search for an exit, but just can't seem to find one! And even if you could - where did you park your car?

Oh, no! You're trapped in another dream event!

No matter what you do, everything just seems to turn out wrong. Open a cabinet - tupperware avalanche! Attempt to pour yourself a drink - disaster! No bowl of cheetos is safe from your sudden, embarrassing clumsiness! It's as if you can't do any simple task without it going horribly awry! What a mess!

That's right, dreamers: you're stuck in the desaturated Before Times of every terrible infomercial you've ever seen, and life is a sisyphean struggle.



[OOC: Standard dream party rules apply: all are welcome regardless of their membership in the game, and characters can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Backtag forever.]

Comments

[deadeyedchild]

Jay freezes up when he realizes he's actually made contact, terrified - he just attacked this guy, he's fucking bleeding real bad, for a second he's paralyzed like he should actually be concerned instead of running the fuck away. By the time he realizes he should be moving HABIT is licking the blood off his fingers and he's paralyzed for different reasons.

And then it's too late; used up all your chances on that one, again - then he's up against the wall, some inches off the ground, feet dangling uselessly, pinioned by the knife, oh god, oh god, his luck has to have run out by now, right? This is it. In a basement, again. Because he wouldn't run, again.

[nastyhabits]

HABIT laughs, a vicious flashin' of reddened teeth and madness. Got his fish all tacked up on the wall. Ready and waitin' for the fun.

And what fun it'll be. HABIT don't just do fun. He makes art. He makes fuckin' magic.

"Ya gave it a good run, pal," he says, claspin' a hand to his chest. "And I say it with a heavy heart - gotta know when the fight's over for ya." He tightens Ev's grip on the blade's handle, all ready to wrench it out and get to fuckin' work. Can't wait to skin this fucker. Maybe start with trimmin' those fingers, who knows? HABIT's not picky. Just gotta pull that sticker right on out and -

It's sunk into cement.

And it won't - fuckin' - come - out.

"The fuck," he growls, amusement droppin' 'way in the shift of a heartbeat. "Get outta there, you little bitch."

[deadeyedchild]

What the fuck. What the fuck?

Jay's eyes flutter back open after a moment as he realizes what's happening. He risks a glance toward the knife, then at HABIT, who is frustrated, which is not comforting in the slightest. But he's not having any luck getting the knife out, which is something.

He doesn't dare say anything. Doesn't try to move. He just hangs there, limp, watching warily, waiting for whatever comes next. What else can he do? Watch and wait. That's his thing, remember?

[nastyhabits]

"Mother fuckin' - mother - MOTHER FUCKIN' SHIT."

HABIT explodes. He slams both hands 'gainst the wall and pitches forward 'till he's but an inch from his little fish, Evan's face locked and dead and hard.

"Okay." The word is quiet, dropped dry and wriggling. "Okay. So. Bad news is - no sticker."

He jerks forward then back again, swingin' both hands up to clasp in front of him, bouncin' right back from that little fuckin' setback.

"Good news." Grin's back, just ever so pissed and cold and so not fuckin' amused. "Means I gotta get creative." Accompanyin' expressive finger-wagglin', just for good measure.

[deadeyedchild]

Jesus Christ. A breath coughs out of him, frantic and scared - he'd hoped, stupid, but he had, that maybe this would be it, HABIT would just give up on him. No such fucking luck of course.

"Please-" he rasps out, useless, he knows it is, but he can't help it. "Please, don't."

He doesn't want to die again. It was slow and painful and lonely before. He feels certain enough that this will be worse.

[nastyhabits]

Aww, ain't it cute when they beg. HABIT fuckin' loves it when they beg. People are so fuckin' fond of their little patterns. All the same in the end, at the very fuckin' core. They're all just meat when ya get down to it. All of 'em. Sad. Squishy.

"That's stage three, bucko," he comments idly, searchin' the basement for somethin' sharp, or maybe just blunt. He could start shit up the old-fashioned way, but he don't wanna get these pretty little hands dirty. Yet. "Bargainin'. Which, while fun I grant you, is about the least fuckin' interestin' way to go about doin' it."

Startin' to wonder if this squirt here is worth the effort. Maybe he don't really deserve death the fun way. Maybe he should just cut him open here, lay him out and bleed him out slow over minutes instead of slow over days, weeks, months, or, hell, maybe try 'n set a new record.

Nahhhh.

HABIT finds a pipe. He hefts it, swings it, nods. That'll do. And strides right on back over the fly he got trapped in a jar.