Ark Awaits [open to multiple]

[deadeyedchild]

He is awake.

He doesn't have a body, and he remembers dying - again - he remembers slipping out, Tim unable to keep him there in spite of his hardened insistence that he wasn't going to let it happen, he remembers all of that, but he can't account for himself now. All he knows is he's awake.

Jay clings to that awareness as hard as he can. He doesn't know where he is, if it's a where at all, if he's alive or if this is just the suspension of afterlife, but he's still conscious, he's still him. Formless and adrift in the void. No arms to reach, no hands to grasp, but he tries, tries to stretch out fingers and hold onto something, even if it's just the continued knowledge of self, of me, Jay, I am Jay Merrick, and no one is going to miss me.

Even as an abstraction he can't escape his bent toward bleak self-deprecation.

There's something pulling at him - or maybe he's the one pulling, hauling himself into a defined space, someone else's space, still abstract, but not formless. He knows this sensation. A dream. He's dreaming. Or someone else is dreaming. He's just a stowaway.

Easier to hold a shape in a dream, though, and it doesn't take long before the memory of a body fills in the gaps, and there he is again, eyes that see, senses more or less intact - looking down at his arms, his hands, his legs and feet. Hand over his face and through his hair. All here. One piece.

He looks up, focus drawn naturally to the dreamer.


[Jay is free-falling through the dreaming, and if you want, he can get scooped up into your dream! The 21st is the current IG date at the time of post, but feel free to date your entry later as that changes. Will add a closing date at some point, when I have that figured out.]

Comments

[ofschrodinger]

Gotcha! The kitten hardly waits until the little dreamer fully forms before it's already pouncing on him. There's no reason to tear him apart when it already did that so perfectly such a short time ago, but it relishes the way it can dig its claws into the memories of memories of wounds here where it can be big. It can be anything in dreams, but more importantly, it can hide away from the others, hide him away where they can't see it playing with him and take him away. In the box, in the box, in the box you go, it sing-songs tunelessly to itself. Concept of body. Concept of cat. Concept of a dark little box into which it deposits a concept of Jay, slinking in on top of him and shutting the lid behind them.

[deadeyedchild]

The transition is dizzying, suddenly torn away from whatever dream was about to reel him in, plucked out of that corner of consciousness and dropped into a closed corner, where there's nowhere for him to run, nowhere to go. He can barely make out the creature sinking down over him before the lid closes, plunging him into darkness, but he doesn't need a good look to know what it is. He remembers it well enough, and from this vantage point, too. Fanfuckingtastic.

What did Daine say about these things - they are the Rift?

This one could barely keep itself from killing him when they last crossed paths, and now it's gotten its wish and kept him as a prize, or at least that's how he pieces it together, mind racing feverishly to conclusions as he scrambles back, trying to keep out of its reach, an impossible effort in this enclosure, and an impossible habit to break.

[ofschrodinger]

You're so wriggly! the kitten informs him, batting at him in the darkness, claws retracted. There will be plenty of time for claws later; for now it's more fun to let him scuttle around in the box.

Sometimes it thinks the chase may even be the best part, but then it remembers how much it loves the part that comes afterward.

[deadeyedchild]

The breath goes out of him when it hits him, knocking him across the full breadth of the box, slamming him into the opposite wall. He crumples against it, gasping - it isn't real, breath is as much as illusion as the shortness of it, but that doesn't matter, does it, not after an illusory gunshot wound tricked his entire body into giving up. He struggles to keep moving, to crawl around the oversized creature, to evade its heavily striking paws - what is he if not dogged in the face of something incomparably greater than him?

[ofschrodinger]

He's still moving! The kitten thumps around after him, pouncing and writhing in the little space with utter disregard for restraint or dignity. Its glowing eyes provide the only light, but it doesn't need even the illusion of sight to seek him out with its deceptively clumsy movements. It grabs at him, trying to grapple him to his chest for a good bite on the head.

[deadeyedchild]

He only narrowly avoids the snap of its jaws, riding momentum gained by its batting paw to dart between its legs, though this only brings him closer, trapped between fur and teeth. He spins around, raising his hands in wild, desperate panic. "Stop!" he cries. "Why are you doing this, wh - what do you want with me?!"

A probably stupid question, except he's asking the Rift, asking, essentially, why - why kill him only to trap him here? As though it has to have reason for its actions.

[ofschrodinger]

The kitten doesn't mind him asking questions if they're all going to be easy ones like that. I want to hurt you, silly! it mews, enjoying the way he slips out of reach again and again if only because it knows that there is only one way for this to end. It's so much more fun when toys fail to understand that there's no point in even trying to get away.

It hops toward him, fluffy little tail spiraling, front paws flailing like it can't decide if it's pouncing or just bouncing around for the hell of it.

[deadeyedchild]

Well YEAH he had that pretty well figured out.

"You already killed me," he half-cries, half-growls, stumbling and scrambling back to evade its paws again. "What more do you want?!"

Pointless to argue, to ask questions, and he knows that, knows this has an expiration date fast approaching, the slow pulse of dread filling his head, ringing in his ears, is too familiar for him to have any false hope.

[ofschrodinger]

I wanna do it again! says the kitten, again pleased at the simplicity of the question. It wriggles its behind but doesn't close the distance this time, just stays crouched, watching. Waiting. He's been so very obliging, it knows he'll try to escape his corner again and give it a chance to bop him back into place.

[deadeyedchild]

Christ. So he's - what is it, he was always shit at ancient history in high school, every kind of history, really - Prometheus? Doomed to die again and again? Something like that.

"Leave me alone!" he snarls, sounding more like Alex than ever pressing his hands to the box's wall, does his power still work here, and if he manages to turn something so big into a camera, will be scaled down, sized proportionately to his hand, freeing him? or will it be the size of the box, and is he creating it from the inside out? Crushed by its internal mechanisms is both preferable to and more poetic than death by shitty little metakitten. He'll take that risk.

[ofschrodinger]

He's not trying to dart out of his corner, not giving the kitten a chance to knock him back into place. It would pout about that, except he is trying to do something very, very naughty. Its ears perk up as the box starts to shape and reform and --

Nope. It solidifies just the way it is, just the way the kitten made it. No nonsense now, when it pounces again it's quick, too quick for a real kitten, and it allows itself the satisfaction of flattening him to the floor and holding him there, crouched atop him. You are wriggly and naughty, it informs him. I could eat you like this, it comments, But maybe it's more fun to take you apart. What do you think?

tw for suicide ideationnnn

[deadeyedchild]

For a moment he thinks it's working, and he's actually a little shocked, but all too predictably he's interrupted. The staggering weight and force of the kitten's paw hits him square in the back and presses him into the floor, knocking the breath right out of him. He gasps and struggles to writhe out from under it, a losing battle (the only kind he's ever fought), and succeeds only in twisting his head to the side, one cheek pressed to the floor, so he can stare upward in terror.

There's nothing he can say. No way out of this box. He's trapped here, indefinitely, and death is imminent, fucking again.

"I don't care," he rasps out, reckless and feeble. "Just so long as it's for fucking good this time."

[ofschrodinger]

The kitten kneads his back, almost gently at first before it starts to let its claws slip out to snag on his (metaphysical, imaginary) shirt, the sharp points pricking through the concept of his clothing to jab into the idea of his flesh. Of course it won't be, it purrs, pressing down harder, sinking its claws further in --

A sense of openness floods in as the walls of the box fall away and something larger quite suddenly takes shape behind the kitten. There you are! snaps a non-voice behind the kitten, which goes leaping off of Jay a moment too late to avoid a hearty swat to its rear. Do not dare create another mess! Do not dare!

[deadeyedchild]

He whimpers softly as it slowly pushes the air out of him, pain flaring out from where the points of its claws dig into him, oh god just let it happen quickly, just let it--

And then it's over, just like that; the pressure lifts and he curls up like a dying bug, gasping. There's another presence - another fucking cat, just what he needs, but maybe at least this one won't kill him. Or won't kill him repeatedly, at least.

He shifts and moans breathlessly, risking a glance up at the new angry pearly-eyed abomination.

[ofschrodinger]

The kitten spits and hisses, back arched, as the ginger cat quite calmly strolls over to stand over Jay, feet around him rather than on him. It's thoughtful that way. He's mine! You never let me play with any of the toys! protests the kitten, only for the ginger cat to calmly sit and begin washing one of its forepaws, the other one still planted next to Jay.

Multilayered deaths are impractical, says the ginger cat, paying no mind whatsoever to the man it has saved from its smaller counterpart. I won't have it.

[deadeyedchild]

Jay remains in the fetal position for a while, half-listening to the creatures argue over him (literally over him ha ha ha) and distantly considers trying to escape. The box is open, or... gone? Something. Space is sort of nebulous, there is no where here, and escape is probably impossible. He's in their domain now, whatever the fuck that is.

Still, he is nothing, honestly nothing, if not dogged. He made the last few years of his miserable life a nonstop parade of running headfirst into death and narrowly escaping from it against all odds, until, finally, it didn't work anymore. Trying counts for something, or that's what he tells himself.

He starts crawling, slow and pathetic, trying to drag himself out from under this new cat.

[ofschrodinger]

But I want to kill him! It's not fair, he's mine now and I can kill him as many times as I want!

The kitten's not actually approaching or trying to take Jay away, though. The ginger cat heaves a sigh and pauses its washing to casually nudge Jay back into position, claws sheathed. No, it says simply. He's stable as he is right now; it's entirely too much work to do more.

[deadeyedchild]

Oh nice. He yelps softly when it paws him back, just sort of rolling him around like a fucking toy, which is obviously what he is, even if this one doesn't want to chew on him.

Stable as he is now - what the fuck is that supposed to mean. He doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want that answer (how novel). He doesn't feel stable, he feels trapped and helpless and he's so fucking sick of that, he's so sick of this, being indefinitely extended for the apparent amusement of - these creatures. They are the Rift, that's what Daine had said.

"Just let me go," he says, soft and hoarse and desperate. "What do you want?"

[ofschrodinger]

It doesn't take its paw off him entirely, just sort of gently taps at him with the pads of its toes. It's not even looking at him, its white eyes still trained on the kitten. The ginger cat emits a drawn-out growl, and the kitten spits in reply.

You can't keep all of them, not always. I'll find one you're not watching, and I'll play with it all I want! says the kitten, all its fur standing on end.

The ginger cat hisses, but its demeanor is calm again as it bends to gently pick Jay up, carefully snaring the concept of clothing rather than the concept of flesh in its teeth. I'm going to adjust you -- it starts to say as it turns to trod off into the aether, and then it has to stop and think about what it means in terms the little being will understand. I will put you out of reach, for now, it says, which isn't quite what it means, but close enough, and the closest it will come to offering reassurance.

[deadeyedchild]

Jay chokes on a sharp inhale as the cat picks him up in its fucking mouth, it doesn't matter what kind of attitude it's operating under, he's still in its mouth. He hisses air back out through his teeth, twisting and wriggling through force of habit and a characteristic lack of concern for bodily wellbeing. He's already dead so fuck it.

"What do you want?!" he says again, desperation turning to anger. "What the fuck am I to you, why can't you just leave me alone?!"

Not that he's particularly upset about being removed from the kitten's purview, but he wouldn't exactly trust any of these creatures as far as he could throw them.

[ofschrodinger]

The cat huffs a sigh around him and very deliberately does not bite down. You are inconvenient, it replies, because he would not understand a real answer -- and because it does not owe him one. I do not want you at all, it admits testily.

It does not think to pretend to walk from one place to another, to maintain a comprehensible impression of space. They are in the presence of the kitten, and then they are not. They are alone in a void, and then they are not.

Where did you get that? asks the cat that has joined them.

[deadeyedchild]

Jay twists in the ginger's mouth, startled by the new 'voice', and looks at yet another cat that he hasn't seen before. "Oh, christ," he groans. "How many of you are there?"

Part of him recognizes that he actually stands to learn quite a lot from this experience, information he could potentially pass to others if he can make it into their dreams - information that might, perhaps, prove useful to people more capable than he.

But he's so fucking tired of looking for clues and searching for answers that he can barely even focus on that as a goal, not even as incentive for survival.

[ofschrodinger]

If you're going to ask questions, ask real ones, sighs the ginger cat. Really, must these little creatures be so impenetrably linguistic? I don't know what you're asking, and I don't think you do, either.

The new one chirrups. It can help with this! As many as there need to be, it says. Really, it's very simple. Give him here? Give him here.

The ginger cat seems to consider this, or maybe its mind is off on some other problem altogether, because it doesn't reply for a stretch of time that might be a moment or might be hours (it can't be bothered to know the difference). You have to put him where the kitten can't reach or he'll just be taken away again, it points out.

[deadeyedchild]

Oh good, let's pass him around like a goddamn party favor. Jay wriggles uncomfortably as the ginger one takes its sweet time deciding what to do with him, but there's not much room for him to move, what with all the teeth.

"Why am I not dead?" he says bluntly, frustrated. There, is that real enough for them?

[ofschrodinger]

If a cat without pupils could roll its eyes, the spotted cat surely would. Of course I won't let the kitten have him. Gimme.

The ginger cat heaves yet another sigh, the biggest one yet, and lowers its head to spit Jay out on the...void. You're mine! says the new cat, all but bouncing over to give him a fond little bonk. That's the answer, I'm not just saying that. You're alive because you're mine.

He's not alive, objects the long-suffering ginger.