synflux | closed.

As if that would hold me.

[A laughable thing. He even lets his shoulders rise up and down, but no laugh comes.]

Mm. [Now he folds his arms, thoughts fumbling into a line, unsure what to say. In his world, something like this happens every other day. A typical thing. A familiar thing.] Do you regret it?

[ What a question, but it's not unexpected. He glances back over at Vergilius, head tilted to one side, but there's no hesitation in the way he answers, firm and unyielding. ]

No. If I could, I'd do it all over again.

[ No questions asked, even if it meant going another decade through the Fortress. Even now, he can feel old anger starting to simmer low in his veins, a memory of the raging fire that had burned a hole through him as a youth. ]

I got lucky but....so many others didn't.

[ So many others still aren't. ]

Mm. Good. If anything, you stand by your convictions.

[If it could fix anything ELSE about his DAMN PERSONALITY - okay, but now isn't the time.]

[He falls silent, glancing away.]

....It's hard, isn't it? That helplessness. You rage and rage, and it never ends. But...you have to keep going.

[ Now can ALWAYS be the time—just kidding, they can wait five minutes. Or five days? Who's to say.

Things are, understandably, a little strained between the two of them, but Wriothesley remembers what Ishmael had said and curbs both his tongue and the urge to let things drop right here and walk away. It certainly would be easy enough....but he hasn't gotten to where he is in life by always taking the easy route. ]

Speaking from experience?

[ He will make an attempt to understand Verg this once. ]

Of course I am.

[He thinks that should be that. He shouldn't share more. This man wouldn't want to understand, anyways...]

[But the scene suddenly lurches, shifts, darkening into a familiar scene. A laboratory...or what's left of it. There are smashed glass cases, dead bodies of scientists strewn about like trash. The whole area smells of death, vivid red blood coating almost every surface. There are children....or rather, things that could have once have been children, much more monstrous now and grotesque, laying dead in the cases, on the floor. One, clearly stabbed through and burned, has a small ribbon tied over its leg.]

[There are strange red shards of what seems to be a gemstone strewn here and there, shattered on the floor. And an even stranger thing - a metal box, thrumming in the middle of this disaster of viscera.]

[Vergilius balks, looking pale - but he looks different now, with a bloody cape and a crown of thorns.]

[In the air burns a vivid aura of sheer wrath.]

[It's coming from Vergilius.]

The...the lab...

[He almost looks blind, now - his red gaze fixes on Wriothesley, as his enemy, now, holding his gladius aloft.]

Get out of my way.

[ Why doesn't Verg give him a try?

Not that there's any time to before they're whisked away again, and this time it's Wriothesley's turn to frown as all his senses go on the alert, eyes and ears and nose busy trying to make sense of the wreckage that surrounds them. More than a wreckage, it's a slaughter, though of what he still isn't sure. (Or maybe he doesn't want to be sure? His stomach lurches at the sight of that small ribbon, and he looks away quickly with a grimace.)

There's little time to study the remains too, a commanding voice and imposing figure grabbing his attention. Vergilius....but different? The dress is different but the threatening tone of voice, well, that's still the same. Some things never change.

Wriothesley tenses, eying that blade and quickly stepping to one side. Whatever it is he's supposed to in this dream can go piss off; he has no intention of dying again if he can help it. ]

Sure, sure. [ With his hands raised for effect. ] What happened here? Are you looking for someone?

[ Please don't let that someone....be him..... ]

[Wriothesley steps aside. Vergilius grunts, his cape buffeting as if in an unseen wind. It's not a normal cape. It's simply blood, flowing everlasting over his shoulders, down to the floor.]

[He won't answer him. It seems he's moving to go, but then - something creaks in the far corner. One of the tubes, still intact, is opening. Vergilius pauses - and then runs over, hurriedly, desperately.]

[A young woman pulls herself out, intact, expressionless.]

[The blood-soaked man breathes out her name.]

Lapis.

[She looks at him with no recognition.]

Lapis? I'm not Lapis. My name is Charon.

[....And just like that, his expression falls. The bloody getup starts to fade, thorn crown wilting, leaving nothing but a broken, sullen man. He grimaces, pained, before turning his back completely on her. He makes his way to the desks - there's still anger in his eyes, a brutal viciousness that seems like it could cast the world alight in fire and not regret a thing.]

[Charon wanders up to Wriothesley, looking him up and down blankly.]

Charon is hungry.

Edited 2024-07-06 13:29 (UTC)

[ That's....blood. Okay. Cool. Got it. Dreams are weird but sometimes the reality they're based on is even weirder.

Silently, cautiously, Wriothesley follows behind, hands still carefully held out in front of him. Not that he'll be able to do much in the event something happens, whether that be a monster springing out from the shadows or Vergilius suddenly turning on him. He's just a guy and Vergilius....well, between the fearful warnings he's heard from Ishmael and the heavy aura that radiates off him, Wriothesley thinks he's seen enough to get the gist.

What he hasn't seen before though unfolds in front of him in the next few minutes. A young woman pulling herself out from one of the tubes. Vergilius showing more concern and panic than Wriothesley's ever seen before. The briefest of exchanges that seems to suck all the light out of the former. And then suddenly he's being pulled to center stage as the young woman - Charon - ambles her way to him and announces her hunger without any preamble.

Oh. He blinks, surprised by the attention, before starting to pat through his clothes. ]

Hungry, huh? Let's see....

[ What is he even wearing in this dream? Would dream him thought to have packed anything on his person? Actually, if this is all a dream, can't he just—

He fishes out a wrapped hard candy, offering it out to her. ]

Looks like this is all I got. Sorry. Maybe we can stop by somewhere for a meal once we get out of this place. How does that sound?

[ The question is directed at Charon but his gaze is fixed firmly on Vergilius. ]

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