Trisphee - [ In A Corner ]

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A selection from a roleplay that I'm especially proud of. I'm hoping to write a story for this universe in the near future.

Books littered the floor. More sat neglected on shelves. The room smelled of dust and, of course, himself. He forgets, sometimes, how much time his scent has had to permeate every inch of his quarters. It's stale, but not quite dirty, not yet. It would be, in a few days time, if he didn't behave. But even if he sat for a week, he wouldn't be bothered. Their punishment wouldn't work. That didn't keep him from noticing.

He'd been cleaned up the night before, several of them were, from what he'd understood. They had to be presentable, ready to offer themselves to scrutinizing eyes, hands, mouths — stop, stop that, don't think about it, think of anything else — his damned arm was itching again. Though he was covered with a thin, comfortable sweater, his arms were folded behind his back, tied into place with a far too elegant strip of fabric. It pulled his sleeves just slightly too tight, making the hidden tubing above the crook of his elbow press and rub whenever he moved the wrong way. Or at all.

This, too, was punishment. Needing to request help to do anything for himself. Maybe if he hadn't fought against the new line — too new, the itch wouldn't go away, and his shoulders were getting sore — maybe then he would have been given more privacy. Never away from the cameras, oh no, but cameras could hardly leap from the walls and stop him, could they?

His door opened.

His number was called. He didn't look up. They always used a number, at least for him, he hardly knew about the others. But this was good, oh yes. They didn't know his name, and he wasn't about to tell them. They couldn't take it away. Another call, closer. It was his, and so was his mind, they weren't taking it away, oh no, not yet, no matter how-

Pinstriped pants and black heels strolled into his view. "You look a wreck-" Obviously, what else could be expected? "-They were supposed to put you in something decent. I knew someone was gonna ask for you." Don't look up, don't react, but it was hard and his heart was hammering. She still heard it, they always could, but she moved away. Don't panic. It wasn't as if he hadn't done this before. Breathe, fighting now would make it worse.

"Get up then! We can still fix you up if you hurry." If there's no struggling, no shouting, no shoving. "You want to make a good impression, don't you?" Those long legs stopped before him again, and this time, he did look up, up from his spot on the only rug covering the cold floor. Her smile was tight, an arm now filled with stiff pieces of clothing. "I'll let you do it yourself, if you make it quick." He stared up at her, stared and watched, for ages, for an eternity, but she was perfect stone. His gut knotted as he gave a jerk of a nod.

Ten minutes later had him on his feet, watching an unfamiliar man in a glassless mirror. His hair was cut short, shorter than he'd liked, but it was still just long enough for its neglect to show in kinks. He looked older, god, so much older than he remembered, though it wasn't just that. It was like he'd been sick for so long — he supposed he still was, in a way. Thinning. Yellowing. But still strong, even he had to admit that. Maybe it showed better now, with less weight to cover it. Then again, really, how could he not be when all there was to do was either sit or move?

His gaze drifted down. The suit was stuffy and didn't fit him quite right. Cheap, but old and in good condition. His arm still itched terribly under his sleeves, but the cause of it didn't show. It was simple, all in all, just a safe, boring gray. He couldn't stand the tie, she'd tried to make him, but that had ended with him pinned to the floor with an ache at the back of his head. It left his neck and collar exposed. Almost like freckles, small scars were scattered across the visible skin, only standing out from the real ones by the fact that they were lighter.

Movement in the reflection, his attention shifted instantly. The woman stood by the door, toying with a long strip of fabric between her hands. "Finished?" She started towards him, and his stomach gave a jerk. No, no, no, his shoulders still ached, he was already bruised, it wasn't enough time to himself. He spun around, to argue or fight he didn't know, and it hardly mattered.

He was escorted out of his room with his arms bound much too tightly. His fingers tingled, and so did the side of his head. Somehow, though, the woman had been able to spare his clothes, and it took little more than some straightening and dusting to tidy him back up. He'd never understand how they could always pull that off.

Past heavy doors, across the empty yard — empty, but surrounded by impossibly tall hedges, even out here it felt like just another room — and into the front building. He knew the way well, it had only taken one trip to be etched into his mind. Breathe, keep calm, what was that bitch muttering now? It didn't matter. He was led into one of the few private rooms.

His first impression was that the one awaiting him looked just like the rest of them. It was odd, then, that his first real thought was that something seemed different. He didn't know what different was. He'd seen different, and it had been bad, very bad, but this was a different different. She was talking again; he didn't hear. The door shut behind him. Keeping at his tallest, his arms useless, his feet apart just enough to assure his stance was steady, his eyes alight, and his heart nevertheless banging at his ribs, he watched, and he waited.

damn, i think this snippet may just bother me until i can get more out of you. i really wan to know who this boy is and why he is where he is and /what/ he is being made to do(it sounds like some form of fashion prison but too much like a sensationalized insane asylum)

Ahahaha, no, not even close. This one is more violent than that. xD

I've been feeling like my skills are rusty.

The day hadn't yet begun. His breath froze upon leaving his lungs, the white puffs glowing beneath yellow tinted street lamps. Kier hated being up this early. It only brought back memories of panics and highs and hangovers. Months now since he'd last woken in his own filth, with bottled companions and an ache down to his very core for something he couldn't even fathom. Weeks since he'd last dared to think that was all behind him.

Days since he'd run out of things left to be done.

Stuffing his hands beneath his arms, Kier scanned a familiar scene. Cramped houses were giving way to weed filled lots. Not long ago, a sparse few days perhaps, they would have been coated in frost. It might have even been lovely, as far as parasites went. Now they only looked pathetic. Struggling to survive when they had already been ravaged. The road curved, and Kier followed. Just ahead, railroad tracks crossed his path, looking more neglected than he remembered.

Still, he was brought back to crashing metal, shattered glass, fear and hope forced together into a nauseating mess. To horrified, furious, pitying eyes, and the easy lies that came after. He wasn't in his right mind then, but now, now he could appreciate it.

This was poetic. A death he could be proud of.

Kier huffed and shifted his weight from one side to the other, peering down the tracks. He checked his watch. More than enough time. Stepping to the center of the railway, he walked.

Had this been a different time, he would have felt light, a strange sense of relief cementing his choice. This was different. Even now, a voice told him that it wouldn't work. Why should it? When had anything gone right for him?

He thought of late nights and butterflies.

Bruises and gunshots.

Shivering, Kier tightened his arms around himself. Thoughts like that were worse than the sudden collapses of insecurities, when it would flood every inch of his mind in an instant, impossible to pull apart. Impossible to inspect every detail of just how wrong it was. How wrong he had been.

A whistle howled in the distance.

Eyes turned up to the sky. Clear now, with only a soft dusting of clouds. The sun spilt its color across a dull horizon, reaching and stretching over all in sight. It was just what Kier had hoped to see before there was nothing but screeching breaks in his ears and rattling gravel beneath his feet. The seconds dragged on, his nerves coiling tighter and tighter. He only had to resist the urge to run for the length of a breath.

The cracking of bones, impossible pressure and pain, black and silence teased his consciousness.

A wet thud marked his body being thrown off into the grass, broken. Kier was still in it.

When he opened his eyes, when he could open his eyes, he knew he had to act quickly. He was too battered to tell one injury from another. He kept to what was important. Sections of his spine ground together when he righted his hips, making himself lie flat in the grass. His arm was broken, the shoulder aching and tight, and for a moment he wasn't sure which was worse. A deep breath — fuck, did that hurt — and he settled on the former. He let out a stream of breathless swears as he pulled and held the limb straight. There would be no binding it. He had to hope his body was as efficient as he feared.

Cold, shivering, he knew he had to move. Holding his arm together, he focused on his legs. Cracked, certainly, but he didn't believe broken. That could be the adrenaline, though. He glanced down at his arm and, slowly, hesitantly, took his hand from it. It felt fragile, aching, shattered, and he couldn't feel a couple of his fingers... but it held. It would have to do.

He forced himself to sit, despite the effort it took, the increasing dull in his senses. More likely than not, 'help' had already been called and would start swarming at any moment. He needed time, but he wouldn't have it. Of course he wouldn't. Bracing himself for the pain, he stood.

His leg nearly gave out beneath him when the coughing started. Blood, and before long vomit, splattered the ground at his feet. His head swam with its need for oxygen, but he held out, knowing it would come easier when he wasn't drowning in his own fluids.

The first full breath sent ice straight to his bones.

The second made him aware of the pain in his abdomen. It would have to wait.

Whoever had been on that blasted train would be on their way. Worse, he could hear sirens echoing through the trees. Burying the worst of the pain, he staggered away. He needed somewhere to hide, somewhere to recover, yet even as he thought he had nowhere left for that, his feet carried him back to familiar streets and houses. Windows were dark, but would not remain so.

There, just a bit farther. Kier's old home looked as empty as he'd left it, and with a sliver of luck — he deserved that much, didn't he? — it actually would be. Panting, light-headed, he headed for the door. His fingers slipped against the metal of the knob, refusing to function as he wished. He went for the next best thing. Cradling his useless arm, he rammed a shoulder against the door. It slammed open on the first try, sending him stumbling inside. Unable to catch himself, he fell, landing not with the hard thud of wood he'd expected, but onto cold, wet grass.

Morsmordre

Can I look around and clap? O.O

Yiss. Do all the looking and clapping you want.

I've been poking around my files, and I found an excerpt I've always liked but never posted.

The Laws Of Nature

The Great Law was simple. Everyone raised in the academy, or that had spent even a month within its walls, knew it.

All truths come in threes.

In accordance with the Great Law, true success required only three things.

Power.

Wit.

And luck.

It was luck that provided opportunities in the first place, or so he had come to believe. By any other definition, he was utterly lacking. It was always in his hands that survival was no longer a guarantee. Yet there was no question that the Basilisk found success in his deeds more often than failure.

From what his surveillance could tell, there were only a few times of day when the security was unbalanced. Unbalanced meant vulnerable. These were times that the manifest took care to guard their youths when they were the most exposed. He understood the sentiment, the instinct of it, but he also knew how short sighted it was. The only danger to their children were the latents. Then, if the people here listened to any kind of sense, there would be no reason for the struggles of their people. No reason for him to pinpoint their weaknesses and take what they were guarding. It was, he would think at odd times, his luck that left him unnoticed when he sat out in the trees, small and colored bright like the summer birds, and watched the yards, through doorways, and into windows. His luck that the manifest took little notice when their children would gather together to watch the strange little lizard or mouse or mantis that wasn’t afraid of their grabby hands or loud voices.

It took nearly a month of watching, of waiting, for the Basilisk to strike.

Power was one thing he knew he had no short supply of. It was the strength of his legs when he cut through the yards, large and dark and quick as any beast could hope to be. It was the belief in his own plans, driving him into the building — it was no struggle to stand and push the bar of the door with heavy paws — and through the halls without hesitation, using his ears and his nose, all finely tuned and impossibly sensitive in this form, to guide him away from risks. More, it was his own will, the burn in his lungs and in his heart that told him, no matter what happened, no matter who crossed his path, he will survive and he will return home, now so many miles away.

The power of the Basilisk was what took down the only guards he encountered with quick rushes, the brunt of his weight against their backs or legs or stomachs, sending them to the ground or against the walls. And when the impact didn’t snap their heads into something solid enough to knock them out, it was the power behind his paws that overcame the weakness of their throats to silence them.

It was no concern if his attacks were caught on camera. If the security was to come, they would have to be quick, far quicker than him. It was only when he reached a bleak and strangely silent hall that he stopped sniffing the air and the floor as he paced in front of the only three doors along these walls. It was with ease that the great beast twisted and shifted himself into a new skin, rapidly shrinking, his fur turning into feathers and muzzle hardening into a beak. A stretch of his wings was all he needed before fluttering up to the top of the security camera, squawking and stretching out until the weight of a large, spotted cat snapped it from the ceiling, sending both crashing to the ground. He shook himself as he stood, nudging the useless plastic and metal with his nose, then taking it between his jaws and biting down suddenly, wrecking what remained of the device.

His ears and nose twitched as he checked for any other guards before approaching the door he needed. It was a man, not a beast, that pulled a small device from his pocket and snapped it onto the keypad beside the door. He stood still as the seconds ticked by, his eyes stuck on the small screen that buzzed with numbers and letters. A click had him retrieving the device and allowing himself into the room which was, miraculously, empty of all but towering electronics and countless written files. His time was running out, he was certain that his luck never held out for this long, but this couldn’t be rushed. It was an older, but well maintained computer that he picked out in the back of the room, its system already on, to plug into. While the signal tried to boot itself up, he searched through the files for anything that looked promising. His information had said to look for Project Cypress, but despite how questionable his wit might have been to some, he wasn’t about to leave anything that looked just as promising if he could help it.

The longer he sat, the more uncomfortable he became, until the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Not all of the files had sent, but the ones he’d been ordered to retrieve had been among the first, and it would have to do well enough. The screen turned dark, his plug tossed onto the floor in front of one of the shelving units. He rummaged quickly through the papers, spilling and spreading them until the floor around him was covered and some similar looking ones piled together. He cast a glance to the door, muttering under his breath as the Basilisk once more became the beast he had been, the small device snapped up and crushed in his jaws as the door was thrown open and the security rushed in.

I've been playing a lot of Sans lately, so I'm just gonna drop a few snippets here. Turn that thang back around now if you can't handle this level of nerd.

Random Brother Moment That Means Absolutely Nothing

In Which Sans Moves A Couch And Realizes He's In Love

"so, for the sake of total honesty," Sans said as he rubbed his hands together, "my bro might not like it because, uh... i broke a window once... and the wall." Still, it couldn't be said that the skeleton was anything but confident as he turned towards the sofa, widened his stance, and pulled at his magic.

He felt it spark and gather with his intentions, and when he raised a pale hand, a large, thick bone materialized seemingly from the floor. A turn of his hand and a push of his will forced the bone to smack against the side of the couch, pushing it in front of the door without breaking its wooden frame. Somehow.

Another wave and twist of his wrist had two more equally oversized bones form between the sofa and the wall, shoving it again, closer to the kitchen. There was enough room behind and in front of it for any of them to get around the sofa, which was exactly what he was going for.

Considering the entire rearrangement took less than a minute, it was well worth the energy. At least, it was to him.

As his magic, and the last evidence of the huge bones, dissipated, Sans let out a sigh. He rolled a shoulder before the lights of his eyes eagerly found Minn's face.

There was something... beautiful in the way she would look at him, those rare occasions that he decided to use his magic for something other than getting them from place to place. In some ways, it made Sans feel like how his brother must, when he's in the midst of impressing a potential friend. When he only saw kindness and admiration shone in his direction, whether it was truly there or not.

With Minn, there was no doubt that it was real.

She was always impressed, whether it was something admittedly lazy like this, or something so small he hardly even thought about it. Small like that night beneath the stars. That night that he'd been so nervous, so scared that he would ruin this new, wonderful thing happening between them. That night when they had sat together, the cool ground padded by that silly blanket Sans hadn't even known they'd owned, the thermos in his hand freshly heated and still tingling with magic, and Minn sitting so close that, every now and then, he could have sworn he felt her fur brushing against his arm. She had looked at him then — though he would have never acknowledged that he was watching — as if simply stirring a drink had been the most interesting, the most impressive thing that she had seen in ages.

For the most part, the fact that he was a capable magic user wasn't even any sort of secret. Certainly he was as happy to not discuss his work for the king as he was to let people go on without knowing such work ever needed to be done. But there were still moments like this, chores he was too lazy to do the proper way or tricks he liked to play.

More than anything, there was his brother, Papyrus.

Papyrus, who was a prime example of the best that monsterkind had to offer. Someone who was strong, powerful, but always kind. A monster that could completely stop an attack from hitting mere millimeters from your face just because he was worried you wouldn't be able to take it. A monster that, like him, could see more in a person than they even knew they let show.

His sweet, perfectly imperfect brother was the greatest proof of Sans' own magic. The brother that Sans had taught and trained, right up until the day that Undyne took over for him. And without a doubt, she would have said the same thing that Sans already knew. Papyrus was more than capable before he ever set foot in her yard.

And Minn, Minn only had to say a single word, a single whispered 'wow', and Sans felt like he did when he and his brother were children. When he would guide Papyrus through the motions, the feeling of drawing on his magic. When Papyrus would look at him with stars in his eyes. Stars that, even only in memory, burned brighter than those they'd seen since arriving on the surface.

A single word. Brighter than the stars ever looked in that clear sky as they watched two ridiculous little monsters dance around one another on their first real date. Warmer than cocoa shared between them, the taste sticking to the backs of his teeth. More brilliant than the warm light of the moon, shining against her dark, unruly tufts of hair. As memorable as the first bone his brother had ever created, as the painted sky when they took their first steps out from under the mountain, as flailing together while music would 'do do do-do' right over the sound of their laughter.

He loved her.

"c'mon now," Sans said to her then, tingling fingers settled against her back. "let's get that fluffy butt of yours resting. you should be able to see just fine lying there, yeah?"

This Old House Is Almost Like Home. (Is That A Bad Thing?)

"uhh... yes and no?" he answered, sounding a bit unsure of it himself. He looked down at the opened bag and his less than neatly folded clothes. At the little bit of lint sitting in the corner of the drawer. A drawer that didn't smell of sour apples like his other one had.

Sans listened to the quiet sound of Minn taking a brush to her hair, and of his own rough fingertip as it slid along the top of a wooden panel. "don't get me wrong. i love this place. it's the first one me and papyrus ever had that was actually ours."

Sans truly did love this house. He loved the time spent here with his brother, when they were free to do as they pleased.

But it was also the place that saw the darkest times of his life.

"i remember, when my brother started getting interested in the royal guard. he admired those silly canines right off the bat, running around with their weapons and their armor. before he even thought of going straight to undyne himself, he had me help him train."

He turned just enough to look back at Minn, a bony hand lingering on the dresser, his fingers hooked just inside the drawer. The other, he waved vaguely as he went on, "not that i minded. i'm his brother, y'know. i helped him get a handle on his magic in the first place. just... you know how he is when he has his sockets set on something. it's his number one priority. so it became mine, too. and somehow, helping him train and shooting the breeze with the guard every day at grillby's got me work as a sentry."

Sans' eyes turned to the far side of the room then, at a stain on the wall just over his mattress. Remembering how it had been, the things that were never truly a secret but that he and the king were all too happy letting their people never acknowledge... The lights of his eyes seemed duller in his dark sockets.

There was a bitter breeze winding its way through the woods. Towering trees, black and bare shadows that huddled together in these parts of the forest, groaned under the cold touch of the wind. They leaned and swayed, following after the child.

The child that ran, dirt caked on their clothes and sweat souring their skin. They wouldn't cry, they were too brave for that, but not brave enough to keep their legs from carrying them away.

Away from the beaten path. Away from that ancient stone door.

Away from the shadow that followed them.

All it took was one look back, one glance at the empty eyes watching them just a few yards back - always a few yards, it was always there, always closer than the last time they'd looked, a face as pale as the snow itself that was nothing but black eyes and gleaming teeth - their worn shoes slipped, sending them tumbling down. That was the end, that figure, that monster, would catch them this time -

Sans watched the human fall, and watched as their head cracked against a rock that jut up out of the snow. He watched as their blood seeped over the snow. Their life trembled, then flickered. For as brave as the child had been, bravery didn't equate to determination.

"... and... well, things are different when you're on the other side of it. when monsters actually depend on you. it's not all looking cool and keeping your puzzles calibrated."

Dropping another thinger from an UT rp. Not Sans this time, but a character introduction + first interaction that I had a lot of time to work on and am very satisfied with.

Under The Spotlight For One Last Pas De Deux

There was something beautiful about the wilderness. It was a certain thrill, a certain danger, that never existed quite the same way in the place he called home. Of course, "home", the town that was quickly growing into a full blown city as the years passed, hadn't very well been his home for very long. It was the sixth home he'd had in his short life, and the fifth that he could actually remember. It was one of two that he actually liked, yet "like" wasn't enough to keep him walking down the same street, to the building he'd passed so many times in his day to day life. To the interview that, if everything went well, would set him down the path he'd follow for the rest of his life.

Safety. Security. Predictability. A life's plan, laid before him.

But it was dull.

Dull, unlike the dirt and stones that ground against the neat, black shoes he'd put on that morning. Bits of dirt and mud and probably things a little less pleasant speckled the sides of those shoes and the bottom edge of his jeans.

"Now you're grown," his music sang through his earbud, and Kier sang right along with it. "So grown!"

"Now, I must say more than ever"

"Come on, Eileen!"

The white wire hung down from his ears, crossed over his chest and the strap of his bag, and wrapped under his arm and around his side to where his phone sat snug in his back pocket. Even on the mountain and in the shade of the trees, it was too warm for long sleeves and his vest.

He'd wanted to make a good impression.

"Toora loora," he sang to himself, to the bushes, to the fresh and vibrant air that stung his nose ever so slightly with each breath. "Toora loo rye ay—" The trees were quickly becoming more and more sparse, light that had only been peeking through the canopy now overtaking the area. "—We can sing just like our fathers—" He was alone here, where people were afraid to go. Here, on the mountain that had taken them.

The mountain that would take him.

"Come on, Eileen!"

Pebbles became stones, which gave way to rocks, and finally, the steep planes the mountain was known for. Narrow paths, dark crevices, and sharp drops that could take any wayward hiker by surprise.

"Oh, I swear."

And there, there was just the sort of place he'd been looking for.

"What he means—"

A gaping chasm, the dark maw of the mountain itself, laid bare among the cracks and caves. Laid waiting, for someone like him.

"At this moment—"

The ground crumbled at the edges as he approached, crumbled just at the toes of his once tidy shoes with their perfectly knotted laces.

"—You mean everything—"

A single step, and there was nothing but darkness.

Darkness, the whistle of air, and finally, finally pain.

There were flowers. Blood. A sharp pain in his chest, and a rattle in his throat when he tried to breathe. He couldn't. There was no air, no light, no warmth, no hope, all of this and the one thing he'd wanted wasn't there to greet him, foolish as he'd been to dream otherwise. That very morning, he'd been about to start his life, to start creating the legacy that would follow him. He hadn't felt anything then. Not excitement. Not regret. Not apprehension.

Nothing like the burning ice that had overtaken his body.

❤ Continue
xDo Not

"—I don't need you to worry for me, 'cause I'm alright—"

Pain.

"—I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home—"

The scent of flowers... and something older.

"—I don't care what you say anymore—"

Something rotten.

"—this is my life—"

Kier shifted in the bed of flowers, enough to bring a hand to his face. The movement tugged at his chest and his shoulder, sending a wave of pain through his ribs and down his spine. The cord of his earbuds was tangled around his arm, his music playing not from them, but the phone that had been flung from his pocket and into the flowerbed.

"—Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone—"

Kier opened his eyes, and at first all he saw was yellow. Small blurs that swayed with each breath he took. He turned his head just enough to see the shapes with his better eye, but even that was enough movement to make him hiss in pain.

"—I never said you had to offer me a second chance," his music sang as he reached up, carefully, to brush his fingertips over the back of his neck. There, where his hair had fallen away and exposed him, was reddened skin and pin prick blisters. The light streaming down from above and allowing him to see at all was more than enough to tell him what had happened. Or, what had happened to his skin, at least.

"I never said I was a victim of circumstance."

Slowly, Kier sat up. The flowers he had landed on were flattened, wilted, dying. But farther, towards the edges of where the sunlight could reach, were others that were bright and in bloom. Delicate, golden plants that seemed to tremble with his every movement. He found his phone among them and shut it off.

Without it, the cavern was silent.

He sniffed, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Dark gloves came away with a darker spot of red smeared across the fabric. More had stained the flowers where he'd laid. What had caught his attention, however, wasn't the blood or the throbbing pain he felt in each of his joints, with every movement, with every breath and blink. What caught his attention were towering pillars covered in vines, and a path before him.

Gathering up his bag, Kier stood on shaking legs and made his way into the Ruins.

With each step he took, the corridor darkened, darkened until mere shadows had overtaken any features that the stone walls once held. His steps echoed against the black, steps that had him gravitating closer and closer to the walls until he walked with his fingertips against the hard, cold rock. The path twisted, and there ahead of him stood a massive doorway, the strangely purple-toned features thrown into sharp relief by the light filling the room just past it. Light that hadn't spilled out into the corridor he'd followed.

Kier paused, there in that dark hall, mismatched eyes stuck on the doorway. Stuck on the unnatural way the light was held back from him, as if caught in a bubble that had yet to pop. His gaze followed those tall, oddly colored columns to the arch that connected them both, adorned with an emblem of simple shapes and... wings? Too many details were lost to the shadows for him to be certain. He took a breath that burned in his lungs and pressed forward.

Distantly, there was the scrape of metal.

Creeeak...

Click.

That rich, warm purple wasn't kept to only the door. Each and every last brick that made up the room was the same. Though he turned to look all around, there was nothing to suggest where the light was coming from. It was like the room was just... lit. As if there didn't need to be a window, or a lamp, or any such thing. And yet, there were shadows still, beneath fiery red leaves that were scattered across the floor, fluttering just under delicate leaves of ivy, and stretched between the steps that curved up towards another door. The smell of decay was far less noticeable here than it had been among the flowers, and under the smell of foliage that did remain was something older.

Creeeak...

Like a stone overturned after too many years trapped in the dirt. Like a book that had spent too long left upon the shelf. Like the dust that clung to the ceiling fan's blades after a long, long winter.

Click.

This wasn't the sort of place Kier should have been. It was like a temple for some religion he'd never heard of before, let alone followed.

Creeeak...

Holy ground that he tainted with his mere existence.

Click.

An existence he shouldn't have in the first place. Not after the fall he'd taken. Not after that pain. Not after the cold that had crept oh so slowly through each of his fingers, each of his arms, and, perhaps, would have crept through his legs just the same, if he'd been able to feel them at all.

Steps against stone.

He could still feel that cold. The throbbing throughout his skull. The wet, and the warmth that he could only feel against his face. The pressure inside his chest, the drowning, the flutter of his heart. And when that flutter had stopped...

Movement, beyond the stairs and through the door above.

Kier looked up from that place he'd been standing in awe, in horror, in emotions he could never even begin to express. From his place between two wide, curving staircases and before a pile of leaves as warm as the very sunset itself.

He looked up and watched as the inhuman figure emerged from the shadowed doorway.

Watched as piercing eyes met his own from high above.

It was a being more beast than man. Tall, far taller than he, even if he had been standing beside it. Horns, sharp and curved like hooks, sprouted from its... from his head. No, there was no doubting that the creature before him now was male. Though the features of his face were almost delicate, the shoulders were wide, strong, and the chest well defined. This, Kier was certain, was what artists had imagined when they'd painted ancient stories. When they brought to life creatures born from gods and myths. When they described terrible, beautiful things like the great horned centaurs of Cyprus.

The myth before him trembled, but not in anything he could remotely call fear. Not with that expression.

Not with those cold, unwavering eyes.

It was... anticipation, perhaps.

Intensity.

Judgment.

And Kier, Kier couldn't bring himself to move. Not so long as that gaze was on him. Not while frost crept into the room, turning everything as cold as those eyes. As cold as the mottled fur that covered every inch of the myth-beast's skin. Soft greys at his front which, whether a trick of the light or not, seemed almost lavender in color. Inky black covered his hair, his tail, and splashed across his legs and hindquarters. And bringing the two together, a cool slate that was far too easy to miss amongst the rest of his coloration.

There was silence and the fog of his breath in front of his face.

Then, a pressure, a pain, worse than the instant he'd met the ground and flattened the flowers. Something alive, something writhing inside of his chest that pulsed, that pressed, that burst from his very body when he'd never known it to exist in the first place.

When it left, an emptiness remained. And where that emptiness laid, crying out for what had been taken from him, the cold crept in. Cold crept in between the cracks of his ribs — ribs that had been shattered, that had pierced the very organs that struggled to keep him alive — and turned to ice, breaking them apart all over again. An agony that had the human collapsing to his knees under the weight of it, under the gaze of mythos itself.

But no bones broke. No blood spilled from him, and his heart beat all the same. He wasn't dead. He hadn't died, not even when everything he knew told him he should have. And now, now he opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd shut to see what had been ripped from him.

A light. No... a heart, floated just in front of him, glowing a brilliant blue. Blue like the petals of hyacinth. Like sweet blueberries.

Like the sea.

Not just blue, however. It was mottled with dark patches, and specks that were nearly black. It... whatever it was, it was lovely. Just like the creature before him, swimming in his sapphire light.

The creature that he stared up at once more.

Extra warning for gross rapey things. And also for being Harry Potter RP nonsense.

Causaria

It was dinner time when Gabriel found himself tucked away in one of the restrooms. A pause to breathe and splash his face with cold water was needed after being shouted at by some particularly irritated boys while heading down the stairs. He'd nearly broken his neck, forgetting about one of those trip steps.

The bathroom door swung open, then closed as a familiar voice called, "Carnet!"

Green eyes slid up towards the mirror and past his own reflection at the trio that had apparently decided to follow him. "Rosen," he greeted blandly, nodding to the brown haired Slytherin.

"It's not nice, walking off in the middle of a conversation."

"I don't remember much conversation happening, Rosen."

"Now that you mention it—" Rosen looked to the boy at his left, a fair skinned Ravenclaw by the name of Binner, then to the one on his right, another dark haired Slytherin named Erwood. Each of them cast a spell, one to lock the door and the other to silence the room. "—I do remember you ignoring us. Bit rude, innit?"

"Conversation," Gabriel said as he turned around, the single word drawn out as if Rosen was particularly dense, "implies that all parties wish to be involved, which I certainly did not, and still do not."

"Y'know, Carnet," Rosen said with an easy smile that nearly made Gabriel shudder. "You've got some mouth on you." With a glance at Erwood, the two approached the Hufflepuff with Rosen a few steps ahead of the other. "I'm starting to see why Snape keeps sneaking off with you."

Gabriel didn't notice when he took a step away from the pair. "Don't be ridiculous. He doesn't sneak off for anything with me."

"I've been wondering," Rosen went on, as if Gabriel hadn't spoken at all, "what you can do with that thing, other than yap everyone's bloody ears off."

"I'm not interested-"

"Come off it," Erwood interrupted, a strange sneer on his face. "Everyone knows you're easy."

"With a thing for Slytherins, no less," Rosen added all too smugly. He moved that much closer to the Hufflepuff as he listed off on his fingers, "Meads. Boyle. Etienne. Snape. Oh, and let's not forget that Ioannou girl you're always hanging off of. You know she's not really interested, don't you?"

It was then that Gabriel realized how badly he'd been cornered, herded away from the sinks and half behind where the toilet stalls ended. "This isn't a game, Rosen. I suggest you and your lot leave it now."

He only heard Erwood's snicker before he was hit by a spell. Thick ropes wound themselves around his legs, and with so little space between him and the end of Rosen's wand, the force of it knocked Gabriel hard against the wall. His knees buckled, but with his arms still free, he caught himself before his face met the floor. He looked up and froze at the way the boys stared down at him. Even Binner, who hadn't moved away from the door, was looking on with the same interest as the Slytherins.

"No," Rosen said, the single word punctuated by the zip of his fly. "It really isn't, Carnet, so you'd best do as you're told."

Gabriel's blood ran cold as he watched Rosen's hands move, as he took in the watchful eye of Erwood while their 'leader' was occupied, as he saw the nervous excitement that made it difficult for Binner to keep still. When Rosen, standing too close and breathing too hard, pulled out his cock, Gabriel had to turn his face away as he sat up on his knees to keep himself from knocking his nose against the engorged member.

When he reached for his collar, Erwood was quick to stop him with a sharp shout and a drawn wand.

Rosen grinned, easily catching on to what the other Slytherin had spotted. "Don't think we haven't caught that trick of yours. How many years have we been in this school together? It's clever, but you Hufflepuffs aren't very subtle."

Gabriel swallowed and shut his eyes, but that only made it easier to feel the warm body so close to him. "Look at that," he heard Binner say from across the room, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw a mix of surprise and... pride in the Slytherins' expressions. Binner, he noted distantly, seemed to be the newest member of their little group. Rosen and Erwood acted like old friends, the way they moved and spoke, always seeming to be on the same page. Binner was a year under the pair, but his round face made him look even younger. He couldn't remember if the Slytherins were in his own year or the one under. He should have, it should have been obvious. It wasn't.

"Practically begging for it," Erwood agreed with the Ravenclaw. Gabriel took short, rapid breaths, and though his eyes darted away from Rosen, he didn't let the boy out of his sight.

"Get on with it," Rosen snapped, giving himself a single firm pump before he grabbed a fistful of Gabriel's hair. "You're testing my patience."

Worried, Gabriel decided as he took a shuddering breath. Rosen, for all of his bolstering, was starting to lose his nerve with every moment that he hesitated and kept the group in the restroom. They weren't off in some obscure wing of the castle, and dinner wouldn't last forever. This had been an impulse, and the thrill would wear off fast without more to keep him happy.

When that hand tugged at his hair, he let out a hiss of pain and braced his palm against the boy's hip. Then the other, close enough that his fingers grazed the stitching of his fly. His sleeves slid down on pale arms. Rosen praised his sudden compliance.

A twist of his wrist, and Gabriel pulled his wand from his sleeve.

He fired off the first spell that came to mind.

The blast of steam that erupted from his wand seared the side of his face, but that was nothing compared to Rosen's screaming.

Rosen fell back in a heap, his pants soaked and his skin red and blistered.

"What the fuck!" Erwood shouted, but when he moved towards the crumpled Slytherin, Gabriel turned his wand at him.

"Araneum Implicitum!" A net of spider's silk burst from the tip of his wand, enveloping Erwood entirely, and with a flick of his wrist, the net flew towards the bathroom wall, slamming the Slytherin against it and pinning him there in a tangle of sticky webbing.

As Binner fumbled for the door, Gabriel freed himself from the ropes around his legs. He kicked them aside and scrambled to his feet, only to find the Ravenclaw had already fled.

He didn't dare to look at the howling Rosen as he ran from the bathroom as well.

Gabriel didn't know if he was going to cry or scream or vomit, but hasty strides took him down the corridor with a certainty his pounding heart didn't share.

He nearly hexed Flavia when the girl spotted him and ran to his side. "Gabe- Gabriel! What happened to your face!?"

"Go to your dorm, Flavia."

The doors of the Great Hall came into view.

His hold on his wand tightened.

"No, wait a second! What-"

When the girl grabbed at his arm, he spun around, yanking it out of her hold. "Go!"

The force behind the shout startled the both of them, and from where they stood, with only slabs of wood separating them from the dining student body, Gabriel could hear the usual cacophony of chatter.

Flavia's wide eyes stared at him for a beat, her resolve wavered, and she ran.

Think