Gil Ryanson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breakaleginhalf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-03-07 08:03 pm
breakaleginhalf) wrote in come_sailaway2023-03-07 08:03 pm
Fable the First: Fuck this shit I'm out
WHO: New beastie boy Gil!
WHAT: Memory share event!
WHEN: throughout March
WHERE; Everywhere while he gets his settle on, also memories in Arcadia
WARNINGS: Memories may include: Body horror (potential for mutilation, dismemberment, disembowelment, decapitation); cannibalism; cruel/unusual torture leading to death; forcible sedation; mind control/manipulation/commands to murder; Faeries but like, old school Gaelic horror stories. Please let me know if there's anything you'd like to hard opt out of!
I. Where's the beef (OTA, everywhere)
Alright, well. That was a stupid-ass safety drill. And Gil can't say he's fond of Friday either, with the whole No Face thing, but at least he's free and can do what the fuck he wants.
So at least step one is easy: work out what the fuck this place is. Cruise ship? Easy. Specifics? What the fuck. Also he's never been on a cruise ship before so it's very... new.
It's pretty easy to find him: he's the new guy, what's there to say. He's short, he's jacked to the shithouse, he's got a black buzz cut, he has thick scars covering every inch of his visible body in his singlet and cargo shorts and bare feet (some thick and ropy, wrapping around limbs and his neck like the pieces got melted back together, some are small, narrow and deep, and yet others are just shallow and superficial, and everything in-between), he has bare feet as he wanders the decks.
(For those with special eyes, though, he looks a bit different: the same height but a monstrous beast, his knuckles nearly dragging on the floor, arms almost half as broad again; thick, dark fur where the scars glint through like streaks of silver and flesh, the fur short but deliberately clipped down to the same length around his neck and chest, where there was clearly a mane at some point; his face is more like that of a bear or hyena, with jutting fangs and huge, bat-like ears; and his bare feet are now cloven hooves, oil-slick black and almost serrated at their tips.)
II. Thks fr th Mmrs (CW: ALL OF THE WARNINGS ABOVE)
If you're unlucky enough to fall into one of Gil's memory slips, it immediately and intensely feels...
Wrong.
There's a brilliant force of emotion in the air, like the buzz of an audience anticipating a stellar performance, made tangible in the air, like breathing through glitter, a sparkling hit of energy and life that feels like wading face-first into a dream. Or maybe the best high of your life, where everything is surreal, beautiful and overstimulating and intense.
And in every one there's a huge behemoth, black as sin, eyes like burning embers - sometimes it's like a wolf, all teeth and hunched shoulders, prowling - sometimes it's almost a bear, claws and thick fur and a roar that burns through to the soul with unbridled fear - sometimes it's no longer a human, disproportionate, foul and fury.
And in all of them, there's blood.
WHAT: Memory share event!
WHEN: throughout March
WHERE; Everywhere while he gets his settle on, also memories in Arcadia
WARNINGS: Memories may include: Body horror (potential for mutilation, dismemberment, disembowelment, decapitation); cannibalism; cruel/unusual torture leading to death; forcible sedation; mind control/manipulation/commands to murder; Faeries but like, old school Gaelic horror stories. Please let me know if there's anything you'd like to hard opt out of!
I. Where's the beef (OTA, everywhere)
Alright, well. That was a stupid-ass safety drill. And Gil can't say he's fond of Friday either, with the whole No Face thing, but at least he's free and can do what the fuck he wants.
So at least step one is easy: work out what the fuck this place is. Cruise ship? Easy. Specifics? What the fuck. Also he's never been on a cruise ship before so it's very... new.
It's pretty easy to find him: he's the new guy, what's there to say. He's short, he's jacked to the shithouse, he's got a black buzz cut, he has thick scars covering every inch of his visible body in his singlet and cargo shorts and bare feet (some thick and ropy, wrapping around limbs and his neck like the pieces got melted back together, some are small, narrow and deep, and yet others are just shallow and superficial, and everything in-between), he has bare feet as he wanders the decks.
(For those with special eyes, though, he looks a bit different: the same height but a monstrous beast, his knuckles nearly dragging on the floor, arms almost half as broad again; thick, dark fur where the scars glint through like streaks of silver and flesh, the fur short but deliberately clipped down to the same length around his neck and chest, where there was clearly a mane at some point; his face is more like that of a bear or hyena, with jutting fangs and huge, bat-like ears; and his bare feet are now cloven hooves, oil-slick black and almost serrated at their tips.)
II. Thks fr th Mmrs (CW: ALL OF THE WARNINGS ABOVE)
If you're unlucky enough to fall into one of Gil's memory slips, it immediately and intensely feels...
Wrong.
There's a brilliant force of emotion in the air, like the buzz of an audience anticipating a stellar performance, made tangible in the air, like breathing through glitter, a sparkling hit of energy and life that feels like wading face-first into a dream. Or maybe the best high of your life, where everything is surreal, beautiful and overstimulating and intense.
And in every one there's a huge behemoth, black as sin, eyes like burning embers - sometimes it's like a wolf, all teeth and hunched shoulders, prowling - sometimes it's almost a bear, claws and thick fur and a roar that burns through to the soul with unbridled fear - sometimes it's no longer a human, disproportionate, foul and fury.
And in all of them, there's blood.
no subject
He tries to run, but it's far, far too late. Before he can so much as turn around, he finds himself slammed to the ground with the wind knocked out of him, wheezing as he's pressed beneath the weight of that giant paw.
CW messy dismemberment
But frankly Crichton has bigger concerns: like the way the Beast's muzzle creases, dark fur and pale scars gleaming in the half-light to reveal teeth like a crate of knives - the canine are longer than Crichton's forearm - and with no hesitation it snaps shut like a trap on his arm.
Teeth pierce through his arm with sickening roughness, from his shoulder to his hand and the pain is immediate and overwhelming - and with a short twist of its head that seems completely thoughtless, it wrenches and Crichton's arm is torn from both its socket and the flesh surrounding it.
Re: CW messy dismemberment
His pained screaming starts low and climbs the scale until he can barely push the sound out at all. His arm! His fucking arm!! There's nothing that can save him from feeling every excruciating moment of bone bopping and flesh ripping. One last jerk in the beast's jaws and he's forever imprinted with the sight of his own arm flying away from his body.
"O-oh, G-God..." He murmurs with numb lips. His face is a bloodless white, all of it is draining from that wound in his arm now. The world is darkening at the edges of his vision and his breath comes in short, ragged gasps. He can feel reality going soft all around him, fuzzy as he slips away into a semi-conscious state.
RIP Crichton
And when that's down, he turns back to Crichton again, and now the man's own blood is glistening horribly around the mouth of the creature, as its tongue (a shockingly soft pink, out of place in the horrible scene) flicks out to lap up the mess around its mouth as it pads closer again.
There's no pomp or circumstance around it, no dumb showboating this time. Just a long track of saliva that drips hotly onto Crichton's chest, as the Beast bends down and bites his head and empty shoulder off.
rest in pieces
Now, the beast turns to him with massive jaws opening wide. A tongue so pink just doesn't look like it should belong in a mouth like that. Ew... he's drooling. Why that's the thing that comes to mind while he watches his own demise open wide before him he doesn't know... and he won't get time to contemplate it before...
CHOMP
---
At 6:00am the next morning, Crichton comes awake--comes alive--in his bed with a full-throated scream. It's the scream he was too weak to make as he faced those jaws closing around him. Now, it won't stop. Who and what the hell was that?!