I wasn't planning to wind up in-between today, Stanley, but nothing for it, it seems.
[she decides that this spooky child is probably not a demon or malevolent ghost, probably. at least to the extent of being polite. he seems too frightened to be a threat. not that any of this is likely real - this is a thursday adventure and no question about that - but she's hardly going to be cruel to a frightened dream child, either.]
[ demons can definitely be polite and frightened but this one at least is not aggressive. he'll start trying to get to his feet, knees cracking if it makes stan feel better that this dude is a huge mess with bad knees. ]
... Anders.
[ it's really just a name. and not even a real name, so. ]
[ sighs and takes off his italian stallion t-shirt and throws it away :\
anyway. he's not letting his guard down yet, but this kid seems pretty genuine, so he's not going to give him a hard time either. (and thankfully he's short enough that unless stan finds furries inherently threatening, he probably doesn't have to worry so much about coming off as such.) ]
Yeah, 'specially if you haven't got anyone else here with you.
[sweet free shirt, you don't get those very often in the void]
No. It isn't. [A good place to stay. He'll nod at Anders making a belated introduction, seemingly steadied by their ebbing suspicions. Stanley makes a face, peering out at the darkness. Is there something...no. Not as far as any of them can see.]
I don't know that I'm supposed to be here either. But...
[He frowns, cocking his head, as if lending an ear to something unseen. Then his brows pop up in shock, and he's glancing between all three with a renewed urgency. Panic, even.]
You can help. Yeah. That's why you're here — it's all gotten fucked up. And I'm — you have to help my friends. They're not here, they're outside. You have to, 'cause I can't.
[He steps closer, glancing behind himself again. No eavesdroppers or sudden shapes on the horizon, so we're all in the clear. He leans in, speaking at a hush over the clamshell he makes of his hands and the lit match, trying to dim their presence.]
Mike was writing a book. A history book. If you can find the pages of the manuscript, can you get them to him? His name is Mike Hanlon. He's black and a little taller than — [Stan stops short. Flinches, shakes his head, and changes tracks.] And if you get that to him first, then you can tell the rest of them to get out. Fast. You have to get them out of the Town House.
Can you please do that?
[He holds a hand out, pinky extended and fright drawing him near to tears.]
Pinky swear me. Please? [His lip quivers.] I don't have much time.
[There's soft sound. One drop of water. Nearby, but unseen.]
[she looks at anders. she looks at fidelio. she is genre savvy enough to know that you really shouldn't be making binding promises in this sort of situation. she's also familiar enough with the world and with failure to know that you also should never promise a child definitively to save them.]
We will try to find your friend Mike's book, Stanley. We will try to get them out.
[that's better than promising, right? but she's a bit of a soft touch anyway, even if she'll be judged, so she adds - ]
I don't know what a pinky swear is. [looks at his extended pinky.] Um. By my pinky, we shall try.
[ anders is frowning heavily at her for the record. it's like mage school 101 to not make any promises to anything in mysterious inbetween places no matter how terrified or plaintive or convincing the vision appears. it's not the kind of lesson you forget, often because you learn it upon pain of ignoble end on a Templar sword.
then again he's already possessed once, and he isn't heartless. a begging child asking for help for his friends isn't an unmoving sight to him. the child seems more Dreamer than Demon - he's not asking for a deal as much as aid, and shadowheart has already said they'll try. so. ]
I won't swear to anything. But if someone truly is in danger, we'll help.
[ he also feels like these promises often end badly, and seeing what fucking disasters the other thursday adventures seem to have been, he wouldn't have the highest hopes for success here even if that weren't the case.
but he's also not just going to leave the kid hanging. ]
...Yeah, I'm not gonna lie and promise somethin' that might be out of my control, but. Promise to try. That good enough?
[ he holds out his own pinky, ready to hook with his if he'll still take this downgraded promise. ]
[It's plain to tell he's not thrilled by the scale back, but it's what he can get isn't it? Stanley hooks his finger around Del's and shakes, nodding firmly.]
Promise to try. Okay. Thank you. And swear on all our pinkies, I guess. [He looks to Shadowheart and laughs a little. One sliver of relief.
Another droplet falls, sound quite close. It has a tinny quality to it, as if gathering on hollow metal — wop. Stanley releases Del's pinky and looks miserably down at the flame in his hand.]
...If nothing else, just tell them I'm sorry. Will you? I'm so terribly sorry. I would have come back if I weren't...
[wop.
There's water dripping off his bare elbows. A puddle at his feet. The light is dim as is, but Stanley's face is draining of colour, paling at the same slow drip as the water.]
Sometimes you just get used to it. The way life is supposed to be. You follow the rules. Go to school to get a job, get a job to make a family. Make a living, pay your taxes, have your birthday once a year and watch time suck the colour from your hair, one strand at a time. Your knees give out and your back aches. That's fine, because it makes sense.
[wop.]
I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand the thought of going back, and now they're... [He looks up to them again, and this time the tears fall for real.] Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
[The air seems to snap with the suddenness of the flip. Stan isn't a little boy anymore, but a grown man in a bathtub with the periwinkle blue curtain pulled to the side. There's fluorescent lights illuminating this 36 square foot anomaly of a cozy bathroom, a 3D cutout of reality sprung up in the middle of the stifling black abyss. There's women's toiletries and men's shaving cream on the vanity, and soft blue accents in the tiles and seashell themed decor. The water is pink, though.
That's on account of the razors. Gillette Platinum Plus, unpackaged on the lip of the tub while the man Stan became lays with his head cocked back and his lean body slumped deep in the water. His arms circle the porcelain bowl he'd died in, as if relaxing for a hot soak after a long day's work. The canals he'd dug into his wrists leak waning streams of red down the white tub, mixing with the bathwater into a swirling, translucent soup.
There's a knock on the door from the other side.]
Stanley?
[A woman's voice. The glass-cut knob rattles, and her voice pitches up slightly.]
Stanley...
[Then the whole thing disappears. They're wrapped in darkness once more.]
[ yeah! turns out anders was right! creepy children are never to be trusted! Rest in peace Stanley ... ]
It's ghosts.
[ the setting is unfamiliar in that modern way that much of heaven itself tends to be, but the image before them is not. the cramped infirmary at the Kinloch Hold had seen more than its fair share of mages young and old who were too terrified to face another day, who could not stand the idea of going on. Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
For all the stubborn refusal to listen to a demand in an in-between place, it's harder to ignore the last request of a man already slipped away. ]
[ well. that's definitely a jarring change of scenery while it lasts, and those last words echo in his head for a little longer than he'd like as he glances down at the pinky that was linked in stanley's just a moment ago — or maybe a long time ago.
[Once the vision disappears, it's not long for the rest of you either. You don't fall back asleep. It's a bit more like capping off a dream. A soft fade, and when you come to
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holyspirits) wrote2025-03-09 04:46 pm
no subject
[she decides that this spooky child is probably not a demon or malevolent ghost, probably. at least to the extent of being polite. he seems too frightened to be a threat. not that any of this is likely real - this is a thursday adventure and no question about that - but she's hardly going to be cruel to a frightened dream child, either.]
Is there something we can do for you?
no subject
... Anders.
[ it's really just a name. and not even a real name, so. ]
This doesn't feel like a good place to stay.
no subject
anyway. he's not letting his guard down yet, but this kid seems pretty genuine, so he's not going to give him a hard time either. (and thankfully he's short enough that unless stan finds furries inherently threatening, he probably doesn't have to worry so much about coming off as such.) ]
Yeah, 'specially if you haven't got anyone else here with you.
no subject
No. It isn't. [A good place to stay. He'll nod at Anders making a belated introduction, seemingly steadied by their ebbing suspicions. Stanley makes a face, peering out at the darkness. Is there something...no. Not as far as any of them can see.]
I don't know that I'm supposed to be here either. But...
[He frowns, cocking his head, as if lending an ear to something unseen. Then his brows pop up in shock, and he's glancing between all three with a renewed urgency. Panic, even.]
You can help. Yeah. That's why you're here — it's all gotten fucked up. And I'm — you have to help my friends. They're not here, they're outside. You have to, 'cause I can't.
[He steps closer, glancing behind himself again. No eavesdroppers or sudden shapes on the horizon, so we're all in the clear. He leans in, speaking at a hush over the clamshell he makes of his hands and the lit match, trying to dim their presence.]
Mike was writing a book. A history book. If you can find the pages of the manuscript, can you get them to him? His name is Mike Hanlon. He's black and a little taller than — [Stan stops short. Flinches, shakes his head, and changes tracks.] And if you get that to him first, then you can tell the rest of them to get out. Fast. You have to get them out of the Town House.
Can you please do that?
[He holds a hand out, pinky extended and fright drawing him near to tears.]
Pinky swear me. Please? [His lip quivers.] I don't have much time.
[There's soft sound. One drop of water. Nearby, but unseen.]
no subject
We will try to find your friend Mike's book, Stanley. We will try to get them out.
[that's better than promising, right? but she's a bit of a soft touch anyway, even if she'll be judged, so she adds - ]
I don't know what a pinky swear is. [looks at his extended pinky.] Um. By my pinky, we shall try.
no subject
then again he's already possessed once, and he isn't heartless. a begging child asking for help for his friends isn't an unmoving sight to him. the child seems more Dreamer than Demon - he's not asking for a deal as much as aid, and shadowheart has already said they'll try. so. ]
I won't swear to anything. But if someone truly is in danger, we'll help.
no subject
but he's also not just going to leave the kid hanging. ]
...Yeah, I'm not gonna lie and promise somethin' that might be out of my control, but. Promise to try. That good enough?
[ he holds out his own pinky, ready to hook with his if he'll still take this downgraded promise. ]
CW: suicide, wrist trauma
Promise to try. Okay. Thank you. And swear on all our pinkies, I guess. [He looks to Shadowheart and laughs a little. One sliver of relief.
Another droplet falls, sound quite close. It has a tinny quality to it, as if gathering on hollow metal — wop. Stanley releases Del's pinky and looks miserably down at the flame in his hand.]
...If nothing else, just tell them I'm sorry. Will you? I'm so terribly sorry. I would have come back if I weren't...
[wop.
There's water dripping off his bare elbows. A puddle at his feet. The light is dim as is, but Stanley's face is draining of colour, paling at the same slow drip as the water.]
Sometimes you just get used to it. The way life is supposed to be. You follow the rules. Go to school to get a job, get a job to make a family. Make a living, pay your taxes, have your birthday once a year and watch time suck the colour from your hair, one strand at a time. Your knees give out and your back aches. That's fine, because it makes sense.
[wop.]
I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand the thought of going back, and now they're... [He looks up to them again, and this time the tears fall for real.] Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
[The air seems to snap with the suddenness of the flip. Stan isn't a little boy anymore, but a grown man in a bathtub with the periwinkle blue curtain pulled to the side. There's fluorescent lights illuminating this 36 square foot anomaly of a cozy bathroom, a 3D cutout of reality sprung up in the middle of the stifling black abyss. There's women's toiletries and men's shaving cream on the vanity, and soft blue accents in the tiles and seashell themed decor. The water is pink, though.
That's on account of the razors. Gillette Platinum Plus, unpackaged on the lip of the tub while the man Stan became lays with his head cocked back and his lean body slumped deep in the water. His arms circle the porcelain bowl he'd died in, as if relaxing for a hot soak after a long day's work. The canals he'd dug into his wrists leak waning streams of red down the white tub, mixing with the bathwater into a swirling, translucent soup.
There's a knock on the door from the other side.]
Stanley?
[A woman's voice. The glass-cut knob rattles, and her voice pitches up slightly.]
Stanley...
[Then the whole thing disappears. They're wrapped in darkness once more.]
no subject
Oh no. It's ghosts, isn't it?
[rest in peace stanley i guess! nice to meet you and see your death!]
no subject
It's ghosts.
[ the setting is unfamiliar in that modern way that much of heaven itself tends to be, but the image before them is not. the cramped infirmary at the Kinloch Hold had seen more than its fair share of mages young and old who were too terrified to face another day, who could not stand the idea of going on. Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
For all the stubborn refusal to listen to a demand in an in-between place, it's harder to ignore the last request of a man already slipped away. ]
no subject
he slips his hands in his pockets and exhales. ]
Great.
no subject
you're at home in your bed. There's birdsong outside, family members moving and shaking, and a whole wide, chore-free day ahead of you.
What were you even dreaming about? Something about a tub?]