[closed] I could be bounded in a nutshell & count myself as a king of infinite space, were it not...

[johnny_truant]

[[ooc: This post is Jazzy Approved for Zagreus visitations: we have a standing agreement that Johnny has a little hallucinatory Zagreus running around in his subconscious, just giving a face and a voice to Johnny's preexisting issues.]]



It's hard to say Johnny's dreams are getting worse when they've always been terrible. Sleep has been an enemy for a long time, and it's no different now. What's changed are the circumstances. More and more he dreams communally, or finds himself an active participant in someone else's nightshow. More and more, the poison left in his head manifests into the predator that put it there, sneering at him from the dark, whispering lessons into his ear.

Tonight Johnny sits in a circle of blood, at the center of an endless room, its walls too distant to be perceived; infinity frightens him, dizzies him, and he curls over himself, wanting to be found.

Zagreus stalks around him outside the lines, as if unable to cross. "You can't hide there forever," he says.

"You're not welcome here," Johnny retorts, a tired refrain.

"That old chestnut." Zagreus chuckles and stops, his feet coming as close as they can to the bloody threshold. He leans over, precariously balanced, until he's close enough to curl his fingers into Johnny’s hair. "It's always you who welcomes me, Truant."

Johnny holds himself stiffly, corpselike, incapable of movement, positioned like a stone. Not tonight. Not tonight.

His fingers sink into the hard wood, crack it apart beneath his enemy's feet. Zagreus staggers back, forced to release him. Johnny experiments, twisting the floor harder, pushing the invader away. Wishful thinking though it may be, this action is not insignifcant: a symbolic resistance against a symbolic entity, and Johnny knows, somewhere, that his power is about establishing domain.

Zagreus waits and watches him hungrily on the outskirts and Johnny turns his attention away. To break the floor is not enough. He wants to be elsewhere.

He slips aside, trading the blood circle for one made of stones, piled neatly, only ankle high. He steps out of it gingerly. The walls are no longer distant, but invisible: made from glass. Sunlight pours through it. This is better. His muscles relax. His guard lets down, just enough.

"Should have stayed put," whispers the voice, so close behind him now. Johnny wants to run, or better, to shatter the whole enclosure, but Zagreus' hands are in his hair and on his throat, holding him back. Johnny struggles with an adrenaline burst of violence, but he's always been shit at defending himself from his own demons. "Should have stayed there in the dark, Johnny dear."

Comments

[johnny_truant]

Johnny's much too aware of how much doubt's been planted -- in fact, that's the problem. He didn't need that doubt. Doubt has a way of growing, overtaking and strangling him, rewriting his beliefs and his securities. He doesn't need any more fucking doubt.

And what's so, so much worse, is the doubt that Johnny plants for himself: the realization that, this is still a dream, and the influence left by Zagreus is still there, and even beneath that influence lies Johnny himself, Johnny who is better than anyone at gaslighting himself. What makes him think Topher is telling the truth? What makes him think Topher is even real? His powers are so close to Zagreus' -- and what's to stop Zagreus from creating this trustworthy spectre who spins such fabulous, realistic yarns about someone he trusts? Of course, of course he would do this, find any excuse to drive them apart. Of course he would do it to himself. Johnny has never allowed himself to be comfortable.

"Fuck you," he snarls. "Get the fuck out of my head."

The crack becomes a fracture; the floor separates violently, a jagged gap crawling toward Topher. Johnny may hate this power but he'll use it if he has to.

[brink]

Topher may not be able to follow his train of thought, but given how bad Johnny is at containing his emotions, he can follow some of the underlying emotions.

When the floor starts cracking, Topher calmly stands up. The chair disappears, and Topher walks towards the crack, observing it with calm detachment. "Is this your power, then? You can do this while awake, too?" he asks. It seems weirdly specific if he's able to manipulate the dreamspace in other ways.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny pulls back, almost affronted that Topher isn't perturbed by his little show. This only convinces more than Topher's a product of his self-sabotaging subconscious. The complete lack of surprise. The lack of caution. Johnny can't surprise a reflection of himelf.

Johnny grits his teeth and ups the ante, rendng the floor further apart, such that Topher will either have to step back or fall into the crevice. The glass walls crack threateningly. Johnny doesn't bother answering the question.

[brink]

Well, Topher doesn't move. If he were awake and this was happening, he might even be running in the opposite direction, possibly cursing in a flustered and defensive way. But this is his domain. The only people who could take him down in here are either on his side or thinks he's dead. And even if he was trapped in someone's head, he's got allies to rescue him.

And then the crevice reaches him, the ground coming apart underneath his feet. But his feet stay exactly where they were, now seemingly standing on thin air. Topher's expression hasn't changed from casual interest.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny lets loose a strained roar of frustration, slamming both hands to the floor, trying to do anything to shake this asshole's balance, but he knows now it's useless. This isn't a fight; it's him railing against a shadow he can't touch.

So he tries something different. He gets up and he runs. Shatters the glass around him, cuts through the woods outside the room -- woods, why not? -- no idea where he's going, no matter he can manipulate now, just trees and distance.

[brink]

Of course, after Johnny's been running even just a little while, he'll find himself right back where he started, the ground fully healed and Topher seemingly not having moved.

"You know what, you seem busy. How about I get out of your hair?" he suggests, then narrows his eyes a bit. "Or head, more accurately."

[johnny_truant]

Johnny staggers to a halt and crashes down again, gasping for breath. No. No no no. This is bad, this is the kind of trap that gets set in the worst of his nightmares. He doesn't take Topher at his word, too ready to believe he's being toyed with again, a mouse caught under a cat's paw.

"Goddammit!" he yells, his voice raw with fear and anger. "Let me go! I want to wake up!"

[brink]

"Well, that's not really under my control, but, yanno, good luck with that," he answers insincerely. And then he's gone. If Johnny's aware of that sort of thing, he'll feel that Topher's not just out of sight, but his presence is gone. Whether Johnny will wake up or if he'll just once again succumb to Zagreus's nightmare, well, that's up to his mind.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny does wake up. Maybe it's self-induced, or a bodily reaction to the loss of contact, but in the next instant he's staring up at his ceiling, sweatsoaked, heart pounding. Again.

He sits up, rolls out of bed, moves on shaky legs to the kitchen, where he drinks two straight glasses of water, pausing to cough violently in between. He collapses partway, leaning his arms on the counter, resting his head. Images of Gabriel's eyes, looking dark and cold and so, so wrong, flash past, and he pushes himself back up, as though rejecting the countertop itself.

"Fuck," he mutters.

He could go to Gabriel right now. Ask him about Topher, about being an angel, about everything. Did Topher mention the TARDIS? Doesn't even make sense. Feels more like a particularly grim nightmare, all jumbled nonsense, the more he thinks about it.

No. He doesn't want to ask. If it was just lies in his head, then why repeat them? Why let Gabe know he's inventing such dark shit in his dreams?

If it was true...

There had to be a reason. Gabriel would have a good reason.

This is stupid. He pushes the thoughts away as best he can. Goes to the window and lights himself a cigarette -- takes him four tries to light it, his hands are trembling so bad. He sits and smokes. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.