Gender: Male
Age: 103
Sign:
Cancer
Signup Date:
September 01, 2020
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09/02/2020 03:59 PM
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( you always said i'd forget, but what about now? )
The Record Keeps Spinnin' But I Keep On Listenin'
During those turbulent nights, the swathe of emotions that befell him during the twilight cascades often toyed with the epicenter of his psyche. The abrupt shifting of thoughts, dreams—the like were all components for the Entity's delectable feast. It garnered a certain affection towards the torment that involved Frank's untimely descent into a crazed kaleidoscopic surrealism. He never had the words for those moments; it was almost as though he took an unspoken vow to withhold himself from the others, as much as growing concerns among FJSJ had towards Frank. In one particular instance, all metaphysical cylinders fired at a rate the dream demon couldn't keep up with. A loss of control tensed the body within its chaos; bandaged fingertips gripped the autumnal arrangement as if he'd given himself to an otherworldly being above.
There was nothing the others could do but sit there and witness his struggle, for interference would lead to an untimely “demise”. Julie found that out the hard way, propelling Frank into a series of convulsions. Impulsive, unsightly and rage-inducing. A seething anger overcame him into a public outburst. The crimson spark bled as the veins burst from the seams, and he was soon out of commission despite the Entity's mysterious restoration: the gift of Sight.
In the midst of navigating the links that tapered off from each “moment”, a voice continued to ring in the depths of his mind. The first encounter, so tried and true to his convictions. The embodiment of witchcraft—and he tried to hypnotize the apothecary who brewed his benediction. The scintillating slash; a bloodspatter later, and a fear that could be tasted beneath the denim. Intrusive by nature, unwelcome extremities continued to encroach. It's a clandestine experience—fully aware, but without a care. The cries of protest; the angered groveling and a jettison of the kicks left much of their squabbles afoot.
You're no different than the punks I f***ed around with back then. The game's been played. Get in their head, rob and run 'til someone's dead.
I always told myself I'd never be caught dead in the arms of someone like you. Maybe I'm tired. I don't remember right now, but it feels... nice.
Tossing and turning, he found himself face-first in the autumnal bedding. Breathing continued to escalate, but he's too far gone for the moment. Was it the 'lean? No, couldn't be. But again, he was lulled into its clutches—the depths of his mind. Everything melted away; there's an ease as he strikes from behind. The wooden creaking never let up, and neither did he. Fingertips gripped with an unsightly stare into the mirror. The reflection that refracted between the artificial lights; heaving and huffing between their erotic delight. The tantalizing curdling that came with each twist, the two tossed and turned like animals in the mist. While not a predator, there's etchings in the skin, only to be washed away by sweat and loving sin. The perspiration continued to build; their shameless ties gave freedom from the rumbling in the night. And even the frightening calls that weighted through the cracks, he slapped her ass with disregard for things they attract.
I'll give you a night ye' won't forget. Break ya' down, and your back—we'll go over before ten. Every shot you take is another victory for me, so talk that sh*t again and we'll see who comes out the den.
—sometimes I'll think back, and I'll wonder, 'Why are we here, again?' You're constantly in my head; I'm feigning, like an addiction. I can't say I'm dead, but I'm at a loss from how we tread.
Do you remember me, sh*the—Frank? Is that you, or the other half talking?
Sometimes it gets into my head, and I forget about the past. I don't know what it is about you, but I hope this all lasts. If not for me, then for you; there's a pain to see through.
No one's stuck around like this, all they wanted was the prize.
Nah. It's different, babe. I get lost when I look into your eyes, but I'm still the same. There's no surprise.
He struggled to keep himself together. It was almost as if the power adapted a sentience once more. The murderous aura flared like a scene from a comic book with a rippling gust to boot. They knew what they had to do, even if it meant sharing the turmoil through-and-through. One by one they came to a stand, clasping shaky hands around his cuffs with Joe keeping the legs tied. That hideous growling amalgamated into incomprehensible mumbling, forcing Suzie to shove a sock in his mouth. And again, the mind took hold, transporting him back to a recent event to unfold.
The storm seemed to quell; the show sped up, pushing past the exposition. He found himself seated; the crackling inferno kept a tame presence. Occasionally he'd shift the embers, and a stifling breath escaped his being. Was I back at Ormond? Sometimes I can't remember. It's all just a blur, but for the moment, I think I'm a'ight. It didn't take long for him to ease back into the couch, stiff as can be, but warm to the touch as he continued to nestle. A moment of silence ensued, and he assumed—for now, he was the only one around. The realms were a reprieve at times, free to traverse but a safe haven for those who've adapted. There were never cases of a survivor to mysteriously wander in, but he was in a dream.
From behind the dilapidated shelving, a thin silouhette stepped out from behind, gracing his closed presence with a straddle that's sublime. A gentle caress—it almost felt natural. Second nature to be had, he accompanied her grace with affirmations of his own. Digits coursed just beneath the skirt; a dirty affection that was mutually accepted. All the trauma and misconduct aside, the two found comfort in ways that'd clearly crossed the line, but he was soon to ease up. Quick on the jump, with something of an endearing tell. The way she bit her lip gave credence to so much more. A silent staring; an admiration for something indescribable. “Love” was never used. The word was forbidden. They always made sure to stop before it started, conscientious of the fact they'd be forced into an obligation neither could offer.
For the moment, but it didn't stop them from dancing. The careful two-step, a beat without a misstep. They mastered their loving turmoil. Not to be unrequited, but appreciated from afar.
I don't know why I keep doing this to myself, heh. I've spent so much time running, I forgot what it meant to stop and breathe.
And with you, it's been so hectic. I don't know how you do it.
Do what? I don't get it. I'm just bein' me.
There's been plenty of days where I've sat around and had this feeling in my stomach. Never could explain it. Always kept it to myself. It only seems to calm when you come creepin' around.
Oh... you know. That thing you do. You never put up a front. It's always been raw, 'hn.
Huh? What 'thing'?
The 'thing', stupid! Do you know what I'm talking about?
No I don't f***ing know! Or I wouldn't be askin'.
Jeez, you're thick. And I'm not just talkin' about downstairs.
What're you after then? How am I 'supposed to know? I barely know a thing but a last name basis. 'Karlsson', was it?
I could say the same for you, Frankie~ You're more of a guy through action, and I kinda' like that. Always have. Why don't you come and find out? Tell me then, who are you?
Tell me yours in full. 3, 2, 1—
—Frank Morrison, what's it to ye'?
It's Nea. The nickname I preferred over this. It gets too personal, but we'll forget about it. Don't worry.
Never. Not in a million trials.
A million opportunities to take the animal from its cage? I like those odds.
When ye' put it like that—can't say this place is as sh*t as it's been.
He stopped for a second, still perplexed by her intentions. Perhaps the feeling's mutual, but lips curled from the moment she assumed the bit disposition. They eased themselves in just as the fire crackled with another molten spark.
They'd create plasma of their own; a supercharged diffusion offset by atoms from bone. She knew she wanted it, and for him, he felt the same. They got into the other's head but the game was worth the wait. And they never figured out what to call 'It', but it's the feeling they chased. They wanted to believe in something better.
After numerous attempts to stop him, a stabbing or two, and restraints, his body laid still. An eerie calmness overcame his sleeping cadaver, and the crimson spark seemed to fade away for the time being. Their collective efforts left everyone out of breath, but a sigh of relief chimed in that things would be all right. Sometimes Julie would question what exactly is going on in his head, but he'd always say he “”forgot”. The less everyone knows, the better it is. He couldn't say he bullsh*tted either—the episodes come in spurts. Whether he's able to recall the times was a completely different story, but for what it's worth, the memory of Her—Nea, at least, was something worth keeping. He wasn't sure if he ever admitted to 'em, but it didn't matter. The lucid moment was nice, concluding his episode with a ten.
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09/02/2020 03:41 PM
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( 1st prompt i wrote with frankxnea in mind / introduction. )
Life Comes At'cha Quick / Bewitched Beginnings
You had a dream; an aspiration to climb to heights no rookie could dream to reach. It was always hard fought, never given. You couldn't imagine a day where the struggles 'ceased. The days blurred together for as long as you can remember. Even the recollection came abruptly. Interspersed with fragments of the past; the Entity's clutches were quick to subdue the highlights of your life — the sparse, but redeeming reprieve the others have forsaken. With each passing season, the pieces whittle away into an insidious amalgamation, often overtaking the conscious in place of new, “appropriate” memories.
With every sacrifice, comes a tether that links the past, but for every failure, a piece of yourself is once again — lost.
On some days, you could almost feel normalcy. The mental dissonance dissipated, your mind could breathe amidst the chaos. It's not something you were used to, and every iteration of peace led to a panic that toppled the mad man over. Crumpling the frozen foliage; the cardinal leaves rustled with a ferocity unlike no other. The humanization that a person still existed beneath the veneer of a murderous masquerade left many to speculate his true intentions... Under the oppressing fog, the atmosphere encouraged a different type of entertainment. A brand of torture for all personalities to indulge themselves in. From snuff to a forced rallying, the torture never ceased between realms. Carefully crafted and demonstrated through meticulousness and a strict adherence to the unspoken “rules”, the others never got into trouble.
But he was different. Defiant by nature and opposed to the Entity's esoteric practices, he never saw eye-to-eye. The monster behind the mask always had something slick to say; he never skipped a beat with his air of confidence among his peers, which garnered a sign of respect that continued to hold true during FJSJ's “tough times”. Deep down the confidence brewed from anger — the recollection of everything that was taken away from him; his freedoms and virtues, the relics of the past and the accomplishment that became short-sighted. He scoffed at the mention of sports, tearing through the newspaper articles that littered the Ormond Lodge before tossing the scraps to the everlasting inferno that dimly lit the place of respite.
Deep down the conniptions within became difficult to cope with. The narcotics and sparse 'lean did little to deter his internal frenzy, occasionally forcing him into a trial that left the others floored as to how he gained his sinister strength. This clearly wasn't a product of the Self, but rather, the Entity's augment. A harbinger of speed, coupled with the oppressive strikes behind his battered blade, there wasn't a single person in his path that didn't feel his frustration with every swing. Its intricacies weren't enough to kill from the stabbing itself, but instead its uncanny way of hemorrhaging the wounds inflicted. Fear could be tasted, plastered across the faces of lone souls without aces. They tried to make it out, only to fall 'til they faded without an exit.
But then came an unfortunate soul, laced in sin and problems at the ready. She gave him quite a go; entangled with mischief — the survivalist's game. Admittedly it was the first time he was forced to result to his deepest, darkest impulses. A necessary evil overcame him, and the proverbial gloves struck a chord from a mutual calling. There was something about the way she called that drew him towards a deep desire that blundered his manic disposition. Though they tussled, it was clear he had the upper hand physically. Every inch of heated dominance led to a challenge. In an effort to quell, to subdue and to escape, the unthinkable happened. What started as an act of torture quickly developed into a sinful horror. The unspeakable that even the Entity never anticipated for brewed an anger that manifested through their actions. The salacious calls, the unbridled exchange that were clearly telling — he's just human, after all.
And with every iteration, every exchange, every insertion, he found himself wondering — why? The big question. What started as a quarrel became a slow burn to the extreme. Subtle acts that influenced the way the game was played in favour of Her.
I've never felt like that before. I had my f***in' world rocked, and I 'dunno what to do about it. Guess the next time I see Her, I'll give her a different kind of pipe. I think for a moment, I actually felt somethin'. Can't really explain it to myself. My head's always in a haze, must'a be the syrup sippin' the crew takes part in. Sh*t, what was her name again? Don't even know how we got that personal. I'm just 'Dirtbag, douchebag degenerate,' popped a f***in' case like that p**sy, and she ain't flinch. I'm thinkin' about this too much. Yeah, f*** it. It's whatever. I'm GOOD!
I don't even know how long it's been, but I don't find myself with the same thrill off of the others as I have with Her. It's kinda' like the circus thing that sh*thead, lard ass bitch boy be on about. Everything's spinnin', and I 'dunno what to f***in' think anymore. I just know there's somethin' there I like — a little too much. Even if I ain't 'supposed to, I don't care. It's the greatest 'F*** You, pay me' to the Entity. That's how it's 'gonna be.
Ugh, not this again. Not like thi—whaddaya' mean, Frankie!? YOU encouraged this! Nearly brought that bitch's tag-alongs to the brink of death, and ya' liked it. WHY FIGHT THIS OFF!? WHY NOT US!? WHY—it. Ain't. F***in'. Like. That... This sh*t in me belongs to ME! YOU are the soldier, I'm the captain. Ya' call me Captain Morrison, I'll be your director. Now go and run along, stay the f*** off of my song. I keep these thoughts to myself, so the rest ain't have to help. That's how it's 'gonna be. That's how it's always been. Even if it kills me, and I don't live to see past my mid 20's.
...You can only handle so much punishment, Frankie Boy. Everyone has their limits, even YOU! And I need this body to stay in-tact. We're two halves of the same whole; get rid of me and there's nothing you could do on your own. Wanna wager, tough guy? The system taught me a lot about lookin' out for myself. Somethin' you magical quacks couldn't hold a f***in' lighter to even if ya' tried. Always had it easy. That's what makes ya' sound tough. I'll never bend to 'em.
The maelstrom of noises gained traction with each iteration of punishment, stifling his entirety, but the mind managed to stay in-tact. It wasn't out of good faith, or the hope for something—or someone, in a way he didn't even know how he managed to overcome the Entity's self-imposed adversity. He just knew he needed to be present for himself in the best way he could. Managing with the scraps of a fabricated solstice, he clawed his way out of the mental sh*thole to force out a breath.
He's never bring it to the forefront. Whether it'd be his peers, the meetings, or Her. The precedent was simply for entertainment; that's the calling they established. That's the unspoken pride neither of them would consciously break. She held herself with a stride unprecedented, calling with a swagger so enticing he couldn't help but entertain. On the rare occasion, there'd be nights where the hoodie came off. The tearing of his undershirt beckoned an excitement for someone that wasn't a fat slob. He played ball, after all. Chased the fastest of denizens, and evoked a deep bloodlust all within the same body. Outlines were traced, and he reciprocated all the way through. There's a definite sexual tension heightened by the Entity's anger. A mutual excitement fueled their endeavors, and provided a satisfying F*** You to the “rules”. Etchings of the skin developed into a claw, breaking the surface while begging for it all. A sweet nothing or two, striking a chord to reinstate She's the only one to receive it. The push and pull that struck a sensual balance; they read the chemistry.
There were a handful of occasions, however, that fell victim to breaking the contract. It was never clear as to who started it. The rare, but affectionate hold. Misplaced comfort circumvented their guard, and they'd find themselves in a hold that couldn't be written off as “an out”. They'd continue to disregard it, but several iterations later gave telling signs—something's amiss. Feelings were played with, and perhaps the silver lining begged the question if there was more between them than meets the voyeur's eye.
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09/02/2020 03:35 PM
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( you took everything away from me, but i don't care. )
The Tumultuous Shot / This Ain't Over
The crowd wouldn't let up. It's the fourth quarter and time's runnin' out for the one, the only—Frank Morrison to make the game-deciding shot. He couldn't help but be distracted after receiving the heart-crushing news from Julie about certain events that took place a few days prior to the finals.
She darted for him after class ended with a pained look in her eyes. Clothes appeared to be rugged, and he noticed quickly at the stretching done towards her fitted shirt along the bottom seam. There's a look in her eyes that rang of fear; a trauma deeply embedded while his brow piqued with aggressive curiosity. “Hey, what happened? What's with the clothes? The stretc—“
Quick to hush him, the trembling that emitted from her entirety led to a head shake. “T-That f***in' ref, Frank—t-that motherf***er t-touched...—“ In that moment, his eyes narrowed. While he wasn't quite the murderous one yet, he knew he had to do something, and she felt his anger. In a last ditch effort to console him, she continued to recite that 'it wasn't worth the fight' and he had a 'championship game to deal with.' On principle alone, he knew he couldn't leave that situation unchecked, but he nodded in agreement. Reluctantly, knowing the day would come where that unspoken word wouldn't be honored.
The night of the game had an air of dread to it, though no one else but himself could feel it. A careful eye was kept on Julie from afar, who sat at the top of the bleachers, seventh section. The others couldn't make it, and Joe was still going through community service gigs for his delinquent crap since last semester. While the game was played, something set him off during the final clock. He practiced specifically on the 3-point shots, knowing his unique method for landing the bucket swish came with valuable tact. He was praised for his accuracy, even while being pressured by two defenders who were clearly taller.
In the moment, he took the shot; the crowd went silent as the ball veered at a heave towards the rim, swirling around the loop before sinking in, much to the opposing team's surprise. Having been just beyond the two-point line, it wasn't an easy shot to land. His peers went wild, and the camaraderie could be felt all throughout the gymnasium just before a whistle was blown.
It was that damned referee that called fowl play on Morrison's behalf, citing that during the shot his elbow knocked the opposing defender in such a way that it was bars for being considered “roughhousing”. Frank exclaimed that no such thing happened, but the opposing team didn't honor his words. The score was 57-55, but the do-over would be led at the penalty line to decide if the game could be swung around. Thirty seconds on the clock, the game would follow after the free-throw was cast.
IN GOES THE BUCKET, but something was amiss. There's a smirk to the ref's face while he muttered something to the opposing coach. Don't worry about it. That punk deserves the loss. Tell your boys to do what's needed. I run things here. No one's 'gonna question it if some foster pest gets shafted. Frank grabbed the ball and did what he normally does—the fancy technical footwork drove the ball forward past the initial defense before the two boys that sought to lock him out of a shot were surpassed. This time, however, their aggression was much more forward than before, even going as far as to swipe downward—a violent motion that no sensible referee would allow.
It wasn't called on Frank's behalf though, despite him gesturing for a challenge. The pick-up was ignored, and his teammates were confused. It was almost unbelievable to him, and admittedly, he took a moment before coming to a full stand. Frustrated and angered, he shoved his teammate off who offered a hand. 57-57, turned to 57-58 all in a solmen heartbeat. Gritting his teeth, he turned towards the ref who caught his eye as he noticed the creepy stares he kept giving Julie. Tensions rose as he pushed through the crowd that stormed the mat, approaching the sleazy faculty member with disregard for his position. In the distance, Julie stood up to motion over towards Frank, “Don't do this, Frank! I told you it's not worth it!” But he couldn't hear her. In another light, perhaps he didn't care either. He wanted to get even.
Without a moment's notice, he swung on the ref with everything he had. The nervous dripping fueled by a fire that left several teachers speechless, he staggered him back while a counter hit was thrown. Was it the adrenaline? The boy hadn't moved back an inch and staved off the pain. “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID YOU PIECE OF SH*T! I NEVER LIKED YOU FROM THE START!”
The allegations alongside his swings made for the perfect concoction while the ref continued to smile from the ground. In a bloody daze, and a loose tooth, he shrugged off Frank's callouts with utter disregard for how he was feeling. He was quick to lower his voice as the victorious team continued to celebrate amidst their peers, though he gave Frank a piece of advice he'd never forget. “Lissen 'ere kid, what goes on in the locker 'rhoom stays in the locker 'rhoom. You should'a seen the look on her face when I got my hands on the prize. No one's 'gonna care about you throwaways. None of ya'. Better learn while ya' can—life ain't all about that effort sh*t. I just don't like you. You're a punk. And I hate punks. It's that simp—“ He clocked out soon after, but it was convenient. The authorities stormed the gym and brought Frank to the ground in an instant, leaving him winded. There wasn't much to say after that, and the concussion from the fall left him in a very confused state.
Beaten, broken and without a hand, the thoughts raced that teetered on retribution. He wasn't sure what to think at that point, or why he did what he did. Pricks like that ref deserved whatever they got, and if it wouldn't happen soon, he'd be the one to score the first hit. Prior to his venture into crime; the uncaring instrument that garnered the lives of many mechanical souls, he looked out for the people he knew. He couldn't stand the look on Julie's face, the way he went unpunished, though he never found out what became of the man during his final year of grade school.
At least, that's what he could recall. It's not something Julie cares to speak about, and the others have no recollection. The fragmented passage that harkoned its retelling was simply another ploy on the Entiity's part. It is believed that there's a sliver of care on the platonic level, but he'd be damned if thinking about it didn't piss him off. It could be argued he threw his own life away at the expense of revenge, but to him, getting back at a piece of sh*t, by a would-be piece of sh*t seemed fitting. That's when the contempt for the school system and other “assisted” options developed. He's just another failure in the eyes of his overseers, but it'd be all right. He got by just like the rest of 'em. And through an old, but shady contact, he'd be bailed from the injustice system in exchange for some “work”.
The days of playing ball were over; pick up the knife and celebrate. You've been liberated from your prison you fought so hard to keep afloat in. Forever.
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09/02/2020 03:27 PM
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( feral frenzy has its problems. )
Feral Frenzy? What's That?
Learning to get a grasp on his “gift” from the Entity came with a strange learning curve. He wasn't exactly certain on how to provoke it, nor was he fully informed on what exactly it was. The whispers were very unclear; coalescing the sensation for the thrill to kill. Intentions laced with the veneer of a perfect storm enveloped the senses, egging the mind on to evoke something quite sinister. It didn't come without mixed results that were often attributed to inexperience and a poor, “intrinsic” understanding he was frequently berated for by the Voices.
For starters, the first iteration of grasping his newfound power granted some desirable effects. His musculature hit an all-time peak, further enhancing his natural affinity towards athleticism; hazel eyes were occluded in a crimson tinge to signify the seething frenzy that dwelled within, alongside a perception that spoke clearly to catching those damned survivors out. The mental blips coveted an estranged symbol reminiscent of The One In Charge, if for a moment, but it never stopped him from pursuing 'em. With his newfound power came a few... “mistakes”.
There was the incident in the Pale Rose wherein he mercilessly stabbed away at a grovelling Meg Thomas, hoping to drop her like his brethren—The Shape only to find out that his power didn't quite work the same way. She looked sickly at first with a proclivity to hemorrhaging from the wounds. While his blade wasn't the sharpest, his tenacity to see his targets through garnered him the reputation of being a troublesome thing. That being said, the lot of 'em never lived long enough to tell the tale, frequently finding themselves ground-ridden at the expense of an inexperienced misfit who tried his damnedest to save face. It was nothing more than a poor excuse to paint the town RED despite the Entity's mild entertainment. It was clearly displeased at his performance.
The next iteration brought more unintended side effects. He wasn't sure if the syrup-sipping, mixtape-tottin' killer would succumb to the lean-induced headaches, but it certainly felt like there was a delay. The internal clock skipped a beat, five-fold. He couldn't tell left from right and much of his lethality became... a joke, frankly. Frankie? Feeble, and wasted potential. He scoffed at those days, feeling something akin to a joke for a school play.
In other cases, he adapted the supernatural, calling to different trinkets that emanated with an evil power. The faint, blackened aura that emitted from the makeshift pins that were clearly self-inspired shed a new light on how to screw with someone. He donned the pins before going to work, and boy did somethin' click. Between the crippling bloodspatter, the disjointed movements and staggering breaths, the amount of trouble he caused grew insurmountably (and universally) encumbering. The groups couldn't go a session without bitching, much to his surprise. “The Entity heard y'all pansies, and f***ed with my standings! It's the LEAST I can do for each and every one of you. Now then, let's get to it—...!”
The impulse to “act” continued to grow however, citing an intrusion of sorts on the mental state Frank and the rest of FJSJ were forced to endure. The pounding headaches and internal, subconscious fighting brought on a lot more than he bargained for; he still hadn't picked up the manifestation on command. It was frustrating, and as much as he tinkered around with other means, he could never quite close the gap between control and the onset convulsions that occurred after a long trial. It's almost as if he was losing control by the day, playing directly into the hands of the Entity with complete disregard for the self.
At that very moment, during a low point—arguably his lowest while in the realm, he sparked a conversation. To take control would be to chastise the other half; ascertaining agency meant the belittlement of the unwelcome. With toxic vitriol, he beckoned for the other half to try him. Anything. Anywhere, and in that brief moment of clarity, he took back what was rightfully his. An abdication of power—the lacking control, gone. It was quick to remind him, for if he fell, he'd hit the ground harder than any one he's ever seen. The chariot doesn't bode well without its rider, and riding the high of Feral Frenzy came with great responsibility.
With that, it didn't mean he couldn't have fun with it. There were certainly moments during his unsolicited times with the woman who sought to rock his world in ways neither had ever imagined, the forwardness made for some entertaining times. It also served as a means to keep track of anyone who would be nearby—including those nosy killers. The scummy ones at least, but the two mutually understood why it was necessary for the night.
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09/02/2020 02:33 PM
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( f.j.s.j. au / the 13th nightmare )
The 14th Nightmare / Punishment
Frank awoke to a pounding headache as he scrambled along the damp terrain. Droplets cascaded off the damp bark he clung to in an effort to stabilize himself as he wiped away the mixture of perspiration and dew. Several blurry blinks led to the realization he definitely wasn't in Ormond anymore—far from it. “...Damnit,” he said to himself, “I 'dunno why I forgot my f***in' mask. Someone must'a been playin' me, damned survivors.” In a fit of anger, he struck the damp bark with his fist, etching the bandages that washed with an earthy flavour amidst his trek.
He trudged endlessly while making an effort to take note of his surroundings. There seems to be an ancient design of sorts; a mysterious alignment of stones that depicts an archaic ruin, while in the center a Babylonian structure has taken shape. It's quite dilapidated even though there has been an effort from someone to keep things afloat. Who could've placed any level of care in the aforementioned realm? Certainly not the Entity; it merely crafts. It's an architect of sorts who plays God with its denizens. “This ain't no f***in' birthright, that's for sure. And why is it so cold!? I don't ever remember feelin' like this,” he muttered to himself, looking off towards the distance. He heard something—it's running. The sound was akin to flowing water, but there weren't any rivers 'round these parts? In-fact, he never recalled any body of water within the realms. He slowly approached beyond the field, taking brisk momentum to ease towards the rocks that housed one of those elusive generators.
The closer he approached, the louder the flowing sound could be heard. It didn't take him long to turn around the corner before noticing a strange apparatus. There's a face in the center spouting what looks to be “water”, although he'd make a conscious effort to ignore that fact. Everything's laced, no matter how pure. “What the f*** is this? I don't ever remember seein' this in my trials. Did the Entity screw somethin' up or am I not used to the realm yet? Sh*t... I can't remember.” He continued to trudge, holding the left side of his head with a wincing groan. Through the foliage and thick mist that sweltered between the breaks in architecture, a faint set of silhouettes could be heard, emanating a mixture of red and yellow. How?
“GET AWAY FROM ME YOU STUPID BITCH! I'M ON YOUR SIDE!”
The loud, brazen voice echoed across the realm; there was no mistaking that Suzie was pissing about somewhere. While he didn't make out the entirety of her statement, the sound was definitely familiar. “...Suzie? That you? What's going on!?” He called out, but to no avail there wasn't an answer. In a haste, he rushed towards the colossal building, veering the corner as he saw Suzie lose her balance before turning towards him. “I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS! WHY IS THAT BITCH ATTACKING M—AHHH!” She desperately tried to reach out while he went for the hold, but her frazzled momentum only sought to pull him downward by mistake. He yelled in response, confused by what took place before taking a moment to waft another smell.
While the two tumbled, she was fortunate to have herself positioned last second to land on him. He wasn't confident in her ability to redistribute the pressure, and the impact left him winded for a minute. The crunching of debris and a cracked shoulder didn't bode well for the situation, and between their incessant noise—something's certainly awry. Forcing himself to a stand, he quickly helped Suzie up before taking a moment to brush her shoulders. “...You good? Ya' look kinda... er... don't take it the wrong way, but you're sickly. I 'dunno how else to put it. What the f*** happened?” Lifting her chin, he attempted to scrape off the estranged mucus across her cheek. Perhaps she was fortunate enough not to incur the wrath of whoever is running the show, but there's markings to prove otherwise.
“I...I don't know. I just... kinda' woke up with a headache... here... in this place, and it hasn't felt the same since... Why are you here? There's only supposed be one of us up, acting separately... I don't get it, Frank. This doesn't make sense to me—why are we being attacked? I thought that... lady, whatever she is swore the oath...? This can't be over a snarky comment we made about everyone, right...? The Entity wouldn't allow for that.” She attempted to wipe her face; the tears and conniptions swelled with agonizing perplexity while the two attempted to rationalize the situation. He didn't have a choice, as much as he was also confused by everything up to that point. They still looked to him for guidance—even if he wasn't on good terms with everyone. There has to be a plan for this. Think, sh*thead! What the hell would I do in this situation with my back against the wall? And for Them... Guess it's a new type-a-game to be played.
“I ain't 'gonna sweat the sh*t I don't have an answer for, 'Suz, but what I do know is if you're here, it's very likely Joey and Julie are 'round here too. We ain't alone either, but we can't sit around f***ing about like high school kids.” “...Y-Yeah, I guess you're right. Something doesn't feel good though. She spat something out at me, and I've been feeling nauseous ever since. You think those fountain things have a way to help ease the symptoms?”
“...Fountains? I think I saw one of 'em earlier. Never gave it any thought it'd be of use. I'm so used to seein' sh*t booby-trapped, I can't help but be wary. Doesn't look like we have much of a choice with it. We'll head for the fountain directly after, but be quick.”
“Okay. Gimmie a moment!”
After making the needed preparations, he checked for any disturbances around the foyer and throughout the descending pathways. Nothing. Nothing at all. It was eerily quiet for a trial, even for his liking. The woman she spoke of—I don't recall 'em. Maybe the Entity's f***in' with me, but I'm pretty sure I don't recognize the details. Must've been a quiet one. They're always the ones to watch out for. Damn, oh well. It'll be an awkward reunion, that's for sure. Ascending the staircase, he gestured for Suzie to follow while taking extra caution to properly evaluate their surroundings. It was almost instinctual, something he couldn't explain but had a sixth sense for as the trial went on.
Chaos Theory – Frank Morrison Teachable
You've developed a bond with the Entity, affording you with the gift of aura-reading when in stillness. While standing still, reveal the auras of survivors and the killer within a 28 / 32 / 36 meter range. The duration lasts for as long as you remain crouching. This perk will not activate if you are suffering from a status effect that is not a Hex, or while injured.
“What's that in the distance? The aura ain't clear, but I know something's amiss. Watch out.”
“It's this way, 'Suz. Come. No one's around.” He gestured for her once more while leading her to the rockfaces that housed that mysterious apparatus. He gulped down, nervous about the gesture she so brazenly wanted to try. He anticipated for the worst, but gave her the right-of-way anyway. “Don't say I didn't warn ya'.” The makeshift “cleansing” came with a wash; the particulates seemed to come off effortlessly, and with a few gulps, it was almost as if she underwent an estranged purification. A clear, bloodless face aside from the scarring, and she shifted her head. “What!? Is there something wrong!?”
“Nah, it's not that. I'm so used to seein' y'all in your masks—throws me off sometimes. Don't read into that sh*t. I'm just glad you're ok, OKAY!?” With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head before looking back towards the fountain. In an instant, the purified water underwent a shift with a coat of scarlet, viscous stream blew through the funnel. Was that blood!? What the f***... “...Not 'gonna lie, that's kinda' creepy, even for me. Whatever the f*** ya' had, it's probably swimmin' around in that cesspool. Smells awful too.” Giving a small smile, the tension was cut for a moment with light humor. The two bumped fists before coming to an abrupt stop. He sensed that something was off from the moment he lifted his head, eyes veered behind him from the shadows before calling out to Suzie, “DUCK! NOW!”
He forced her head down beneath the embezzled shrine before pushing away. The brunt of that monster's fluids seemed to leave the two unscathed. I don't get it. I've been able to sense things, now I can't? She must have somethin' that's preventing detection. Has to be. It's just like that fella' with the kitchen knife. Always a step ahead, and she shares a similar benefit. Her surprise attack left the two in a staggered position, forcing them to split off. “WE'LL MEET UP LATER, DON'T WORRY! JUST SURVIVE! IT'S LIKE THE 'CRAP YA' PUT UP WITH FROM THOSE STUPID BULLIES AT THE HOUSE! DON'T GIVE UP!” He grit his teeth while beckoning for the assailant's attention. She maintained a poised stride, but a speed that was menacingly agile. Was it the bloodlust, or her need to facilitate the Entity's bidding? It hadn't donned on him until that moment, where her head assumed the normal position that he got a clearer look.
“Y-You're that chick. The one who sat far off from everyone else, hissing away whenever I'd pass by. That was You. I f***in' knew ya' had somethin' nasty in store for the others. Never expected it'd be Us.”
She stopped for a second, as if she was listening. A grim smile surfaced for affirmation with clandestine footsteps picking up past the rubble. Their forced journey towards the next section involved multiple loops—with pallets that were already used. His hyperfocus from the remnants of Feral Frenzy honed in, and he effortlessly vaulted off from the double-pallet setup just as she attempted to swing with her elusive lantern. Sharpened at the edges, the maniacal cage wasn't something he'd want to be struck by.
Athleticism – Frank Morrison Teachable
You were once a star on the basketball court, able to bob-and-weave instinctively throughout the enemy team. With your swift movements, you're quick to push through difficult situations. While in a chase, your vault speed is increased by 30% / 45% / 60%. This effect has a cooldown of 45 / 30 / 15 seconds. You are not Exhausted while using this perk.
“Keep up! I don't slow down for anyone who tries me.”
“Phew! Got lucky there. 'Gonna have to do more than that to catch me, sucka'.” Her pestilence continued to be strewn throughout out of rage before taking a tactical retreat. He stopped behind one of the stone columns to take a breather, stretching his legs against the stone to ease his newfound mortality. He had to take account for the things he took for granted while being under the Entity's care—he wasn't pleased with it, either. A breath escaped him, and just as he turned his head over from the pillar, a sound passed through the forest's entirety. Industrial, but dreadful; the loud “pang” resonated in a way that could only be heard through the heart. Taking a moment of stillness, he felt out the reverberations, but still couldn't sense Joe or Julie. How big is this f***ing forest that I can't see them!? Am I limited to something? F***, man. I mean, I guess they'll be all right. Joey's tough, and Julie wouldn't take sh*t from 'em either. That's what he thought, at least, 'til the situation began to escalate.
A different chase was had, and Joe had been beaten to the ground with disregard for his life-tethered self, caught in the midst of pestilence and disease that laid all over him. The sickly feeling returned, forcing him to vomit profusely and without warning. The illness seemed perpetual; it didn't matter how long its duration lasted. They'd never get ill enough to suddenly “kill over”.
As for Julie, she found herself in a bit of a predicament that hinged on the edge of Frank's aura-reading. It was probably a miscalculation on her part, bu the Plague managed to catch her out during the vault. There was some time though. The Entity's essence blocked off the pathways most convenient to the Plague, forcing her to take the scenic route. From there, Frank caught sight of what went on and rushed towards the infamous shack. A deep-seated anger swelled from within, one filled with determination and a selfless act of retribution to ensure the preservation of his friends. She wouldn't get away with the pick-up so easily.
Sacrificial Lamb – Frank Morrison Teachable
A burning desire, fueled by Machiavellian beliefs sparks a fire inside you that instills the belief that you can do anything in the moment. Your resolve to follow through provides a surprising riposte that throws your teammate's assailant off-guard. When ever a survivor is picked up within a 4 meter radius, a skill check will pop up. Upon succeeding, throw yourself at the killer in an effort to free the captured survivor. In doing so, your violent efforts will leave you in a dying state. This perk may only be used once per trial.
“...I don't care if I go down, you ain't takin' them away! Ya' look out for everyone you know, no matter what the hell happens!”
In the middle of seeing Julie being picked up, he crept with his knife withdrawn. The blunt but dully serrated edge likely wouldn't leave a lasting impact, but if, for the moment, he could muster the strength to get her off her shoulder, that's all he needed to carry himself through. The Plague's turn towards the stairs became the opportune moment, throwing himself at her back with the knife drawn forward; a powerful thrust punctured the emaciated flesh, stifling the lung. A loud groan emerged from her form as Julie was flung back, and the two glanced toward each other.
“...W-Why are you doing this again!? Don't you care about getting out for once in your f***ing life, Frank!?” She called out to him. It was almost as if the moment came to a slow crawl amid the flight downwards.
“I'm leadin' this sh*t, 'J. If I have to take the fall for what happens, I already accepted that the day we stepped in this mess. You'll figure things out. You always do, but as for me? F*** knows where I'll be, haha.”
“You better come back. I'll f***ing kill you the next time I see you, DO YOU HEAR ME, MORIS!? YOU PROMISED US!”
He did. It was some time ago, perhaps around... three years or so? He always said if things got rough, he'd be there. He was often viewed as an uncaring, self-serving criminal who had nothing better to do than stir trouble, but deep down he took his responsibilities as the appointed leader of FJSJ quite seriously. The Legion wouldn't be possible otherwise. With that, his dazed self came with an onset headache that wouldn't be quelled. He wasn't carried either, but dragged by the hoodie in one mighty hoist onto that enfeebling hook. The skewering send tremors throughout his spine; an arching pain that resonated deeply through flesh and bone. His grip softened, dropping the knife in the process he'd likely never get back—if that. The Voices began to resurface while the Plague stared on, spewing a sickening pestilence laced in murky blood all across his being. Humiliation was an understatement, but he bit the bullet.
The downpour of grotesque entrails and the vicegrip of the Entity's calling continued to close in; tendrils and the like coalesced his cheeks with a frightening delight of their own, seething at the tips as twilight embers began to flare up. He knew he didn't have much time, and the yelling upstairs didn't help either. Every dog has their day, after all. I signed up for my warrant, so I can't complain. I just wonder where the f*** I'll end up at. Maybe I'll see a familiar face again, heh. The tension came to a resounding halt as the tips drilled through his body, piercing through the body in ritualistic fashion before quickly encasing the corpse in an otherworldly cocoon that was never elaborated on. Everything fell to darkness, and his consciousness faded all in one swoop. Even if he wanted to explain it, the feeling hadn't stayed long enough for Frank to understand.
What happens now? And how the f*** am I still able to process thought if I'm “dead”? What am I made out of, some type of putty or somethin'? It could all be a dream, and I just lived the closest thing to a reality there was. Oddly enough, it never felt lonely. Not once. Being wrapped up in the chaos served for a great distraction, so I ain't thought about it when it's all over. I don't want to think about it.
An Unexpected Epilogue – Side B
“Who's this guy? Never seen him before. He looks pretty beat.”
“And he smells. That's never good. Looks wet. Think it's because of that lady with the lantern? Smells similar.”
“Probably, but who cares? Not like anyone gets rejected here, but I ain't touchin' that motherf***er with a ten foot pole. Nuh-uh, no sir. Not f***in' with it.”
“Eh, yeah. He'll wake up eventually, or someone else will be curious enough to get him settled.”
He emitted several coughs with the loudest of rings in his head. The headache from before seemed to linger, and he could barely open his eyes to the shadows that danced around what appeared to be a campfire of sorts. Even more questions were raised the more he thought about it, but he didn't have the strength to sit up. I don't know what just happened, but I don't f***in' like it. Glossed eyes veered around, moving his head ever so slightly to get a feel for his surroundings. Taking a still motion, he couldn't evoke the aura-reading either. Was it negated in the space of assumed respite?
The others continued to ignore him. He never got a full head count on how many people were around, but the space seemed light on occupants. Perhaps the others were in a trial? Different pocket dimensions housing certain groups of survivors? He never gave it much thought, not unto the unthinkable happened. “Hey, sh*thead. Wake up.” Beneath his muffled groans, his vision was still blurry. He could barely form a proper sentence and someone has the nerve to talk sh*t at a time like this?
“Who the f*** is that!? Who said that sh*t, f***.. This damn headache is a killer.”
“What's wrong, did you forget my face already?” A sly smile came across painted lips; the silhouette he was sure to find familiar veered a tad closer, and without fear. It's almost as if they understood what happened, and never once questioned his place in the Realm. Warm to the touch, the one distinguishing feature was the hair. Blue, with a white half.
He chuckled, relieved for the moment he'd come across Her in another fateful encounter. Though it wasn't what he was expecting, and she probably felt the same. “I never expected to be on the same side, much less the same space—across the fence. Don't expect much 'outta me for right now. I'm beat, heh.”
“Time has no place here, you know that. I was never waiting, but it's a pleasant surprise.”
“Heh, yeah. Help me up and I'll tell ya' all about it. You won't believe what the f*** the gang and I went through. I'll tell ya' somethin' else, too.”
“Oh? What's that 'supposed to mean?”
“It's our secret, remember? Come and find out.”
An air of mischief, but a mutual fascination, there's a story to tell between the two. The incognito street artist takes to a fabricated stage; the larceny mastermind who sought to tear the streets apart. They weren't worlds apart, that's certain—but there's a different side to every persona. Without the Entity's grip, he may be able to manage something meaningful that didn't involve killing.
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