The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-12-20 10:11 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2014-12-20 10:11 pm
Entry tags:
Can I get an amen? For all the bleeding and the prayin?
Who| Initiate and Open
What| Milling about the arena
Where| spaceport upper levels
When| Week 0 to the end of week 1
WARNINGS| body horror (missing horns), violence against aliens? talk of death. Language.
NOTES| Explanation of how the chucklevoodoo/Fear power works can be found here.
What| Milling about the arena
Where| spaceport upper levels
When| Week 0 to the end of week 1
WARNINGS| body horror (missing horns), violence against aliens? talk of death. Language.
NOTES| Explanation of how the chucklevoodoo/Fear power works can be found here.
Xenomorphs
The doors snap shut ever so fast. He starts each time. Even though it feels long now as though it's been since he was Avoxed, the flinching ain't yet all gone. Especially when Terezi or whoever else gets caught on the other side of where they's meaning to be, and he has to reach on through with the holy chucklevoodoo, tell them to meet him wherever all else, quietly keep the fear up and around both himself and them so they ain't got to face no beasts unexpected.
On the flip side is Terezi, her seer visions showing him them most feared dead ends, allowing him to find by default what's best. They avoid the worst of threats that way. It won't last forever though. Her fear builds and he knows almost before she does that his death is coming swift and there ain't being no ways what to claim avoidance of it.
As though he can somehow prove her visions wrong, when all ever the Xenomorphs come, he wastes no time in dispatching them. It's almost a relief, in the oddest sense. That Alternian part of him is still there, for all it's been broken and buried. That Alternian part of him wants the cull what no other part will give, except for when it ain't being neither tribute, capitolite, or otherwise being a person. When it's the Xenomorphs, he can let his own snarl out and tear the beasts to pieces. There's no holding back because the fuckers is strong. It just so happens, he's stronger, and so he grins at them as they circle, growl rumbling over his breath, proving, that for all he looks it without his horns, in the dark of space, he ain't human.
Star Watching
When all strifes get to end, when he finds himself with all broken bodies around, his eyes turn to the windows. Grand and expansive, he takes in the sight of the stars, the dark abyss of space. This was to be his future, when he was old and damn near ready to plough into the motherfucking rot bliss, to become old and damn near decrepit. The result of total Alternian war, of thousands on thousands of his kind put to waste and the Empress's command that no more would an adult troll grace the gruff of Alternian soil.
He looks at the stars and decides they're beautiful. Beautiful just as they are sad. He can imagine himself growing cold out here. He can imagine it right the motherfuck now.
It's an incredible sight, them all feeling so close and distant at the same time, but... "Ain't worth it."
Chucklevoodoo
His energy leaves him fast with the ache in his skull, rooted up in his missing horns. It has him drifting, either sleeping by the wall, or otherwise losing himself in some sense in the swath of fears, nightmares and daymares, what mill about him. In those latter times, he navigates the world on two planes, eyes all a-flash as he seeks and searches out them what he knows, just seeing if there are things what need be said, or simply to see if they're alive.
Then there were them other times, when he grew too tired to carry on, and too tired to hold the fear in. So used, is he, to simply letting it all roll out of him. And so it does. It creates a miasma thick in the air of voodoo. It infects those motherfucking unfortunates what stumble to near. It digs in, hungry for them dreams, and leaving mares in the wake. It makes every corner one worthy of double-take, every movement worthy of twitch and flinch.
In his presence, paranoia runs high.
Zero Gravity
He was... he was almost dreaming pleasant. He's had a good dream just once before in his life, even as he fretted about, waiting for his voodoo to take over the dreamscape. The crowning of Enjolras. He saw Sigma in the form of his younger self. He'd danced with Terezi and talked of a place after death, a waiting bit before the Carnival where those dead could go into bubbles of dreams.
He felt, on some level, almost certain he'd just about reached past the minefield of endless daymares, horrors unspeakable and terrors unceasing. His finger tips had just grazed the edges, touching upon it, before, suddenly, he was ripped away.
And when he awoke, he found the ground far as well.
He makes an exclamatory noise, flailing helplessly in the air. No gravity. No motherfucking gravity. This was ridiculous. How was he supposed to get anywhere, he couldn't just swim, there was no traction.
"NO. No. YOU KNOW THE FUCK WHAT? Fuck this. FUCK SPACE. This is stupid." He huffs and tries as best as he can to reach some solid surface-- a wall, a ceiling, a floor even, anything he can propel himself off.
The doors snap shut ever so fast. He starts each time. Even though it feels long now as though it's been since he was Avoxed, the flinching ain't yet all gone. Especially when Terezi or whoever else gets caught on the other side of where they's meaning to be, and he has to reach on through with the holy chucklevoodoo, tell them to meet him wherever all else, quietly keep the fear up and around both himself and them so they ain't got to face no beasts unexpected.
On the flip side is Terezi, her seer visions showing him them most feared dead ends, allowing him to find by default what's best. They avoid the worst of threats that way. It won't last forever though. Her fear builds and he knows almost before she does that his death is coming swift and there ain't being no ways what to claim avoidance of it.
As though he can somehow prove her visions wrong, when all ever the Xenomorphs come, he wastes no time in dispatching them. It's almost a relief, in the oddest sense. That Alternian part of him is still there, for all it's been broken and buried. That Alternian part of him wants the cull what no other part will give, except for when it ain't being neither tribute, capitolite, or otherwise being a person. When it's the Xenomorphs, he can let his own snarl out and tear the beasts to pieces. There's no holding back because the fuckers is strong. It just so happens, he's stronger, and so he grins at them as they circle, growl rumbling over his breath, proving, that for all he looks it without his horns, in the dark of space, he ain't human.
Star Watching
When all strifes get to end, when he finds himself with all broken bodies around, his eyes turn to the windows. Grand and expansive, he takes in the sight of the stars, the dark abyss of space. This was to be his future, when he was old and damn near ready to plough into the motherfucking rot bliss, to become old and damn near decrepit. The result of total Alternian war, of thousands on thousands of his kind put to waste and the Empress's command that no more would an adult troll grace the gruff of Alternian soil.
He looks at the stars and decides they're beautiful. Beautiful just as they are sad. He can imagine himself growing cold out here. He can imagine it right the motherfuck now.
It's an incredible sight, them all feeling so close and distant at the same time, but... "Ain't worth it."
Chucklevoodoo
His energy leaves him fast with the ache in his skull, rooted up in his missing horns. It has him drifting, either sleeping by the wall, or otherwise losing himself in some sense in the swath of fears, nightmares and daymares, what mill about him. In those latter times, he navigates the world on two planes, eyes all a-flash as he seeks and searches out them what he knows, just seeing if there are things what need be said, or simply to see if they're alive.
Then there were them other times, when he grew too tired to carry on, and too tired to hold the fear in. So used, is he, to simply letting it all roll out of him. And so it does. It creates a miasma thick in the air of voodoo. It infects those motherfucking unfortunates what stumble to near. It digs in, hungry for them dreams, and leaving mares in the wake. It makes every corner one worthy of double-take, every movement worthy of twitch and flinch.
In his presence, paranoia runs high.
Zero Gravity
He was... he was almost dreaming pleasant. He's had a good dream just once before in his life, even as he fretted about, waiting for his voodoo to take over the dreamscape. The crowning of Enjolras. He saw Sigma in the form of his younger self. He'd danced with Terezi and talked of a place after death, a waiting bit before the Carnival where those dead could go into bubbles of dreams.
He felt, on some level, almost certain he'd just about reached past the minefield of endless daymares, horrors unspeakable and terrors unceasing. His finger tips had just grazed the edges, touching upon it, before, suddenly, he was ripped away.
And when he awoke, he found the ground far as well.
He makes an exclamatory noise, flailing helplessly in the air. No gravity. No motherfucking gravity. This was ridiculous. How was he supposed to get anywhere, he couldn't just swim, there was no traction.
"NO. No. YOU KNOW THE FUCK WHAT? Fuck this. FUCK SPACE. This is stupid." He huffs and tries as best as he can to reach some solid surface-- a wall, a ceiling, a floor even, anything he can propel himself off.
no subject
"Have you ever had a dream where the phone or your alarm ringing was incorporated into the narrative despite that being a real sound outside of it? It was like that." Only with Initiate's consciousness. In his nightmares. That was rather unpleasant, and he's not sure if it triggered the dream or if he was having the dream regardless and Initiate's presence warped it. After all, what little he knows about the Troll bleeds fear around the edges, a history he's never asked about and a future they've both only seen in a book but both dripping with it.
It's unsettling, and worries him for his friend.
no subject
He wasn't a hundred percent sure he did 'get' it. He got the concept, but there was something else going on with it too he wasn't getting and whatever that was he wasn't getting was causing the look on Albert's face. He'd calmed down some, but there was still fear in it.
Nightmares weren't a new thing for his partner and, often times, the cause wasn't the same twice in a row, but Jet had enough practice to know what to do no matter the cause. Unfortunately, he couldn't get him any water right this second, so he settled with step two. Gently, his arms curled around broad shoulders as he drew his husband close to his chest and curled around him, one hand coming to rest on the back of Albert's head protectively. Just as he did when Albert first had a nightmare with Jet around.
"Get to sleep. And, if you're still talking to Initiate, tell him to get to sleep too."