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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 13:35:30 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
Perhaps some level of sleep deprivation was catching up to him, as he stared at her confused for a moment, before his eyebrows shot up in realization; he looked down to the wine cask and hefted it again, before chuckling, raising a hand and shaking his head.
"O-oh! No, no... This--?" He asked, tapping the partially-open lid.
"--I uh... Stole it?", though his features scrunched up as though he'd caught a foul smell.
"I mean, not really. Borrowed, more like." Lekalis offered a kiddish smile as he drummed his fingers on the barrel,
"I uh... intended to drop it off." He explained, looking down at it, then Tilly again,
"Think I'll accompany you... If you don't mind?" Lekalis' smile widened scandalously,
"Know of any particularly romantic... isolated spots here at the harbor?"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 1, 2018 16:30:51 GMT -8
"Really?" Tilly gave a little laugh and moved to rap her fingers all along the edge of the cask, childishly relishing the patter of her nails against the wood of the cask. "You don't look half like a thief... where'd you 'borrow' it from?"
Her smile widened and she dipped her head, jesting with a measure of coyness that served more to amuse herself than to entice,
"I could go and find some spot; see if you can track me like you did before? So we know it isn't luck."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 17:25:54 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Think you must've rubbed off on me..." He swooned whimsically, rolling his head back and away, looking up to the cloudy sky as he approached the Schwarz' house, his head setting its sights back on his Beloved. With some effort, he brought his hand around to lightly pinch her finger tips in his hand; giving her a fond smile, winking salaciously as he moved his thumb to caress her thumb.
"... Sounds good, my Love." He murmured with a hum, making to break away from her as his words came to a close.
"Don't hurt yourself. And try to avoid any precariously large doors... I think my back's a touch skewed from the last one." He japed with a nod, arcing his back forward with a sigh before taking a few more steps to the Schwarz domain.
"I'll see you soon..?"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 1, 2018 19:34:04 GMT -8
"See you soon." Tilly's hand trailed after his as they parted, and for a moment she seemed like to follow after him after all-- if only she weren't so dead tired, if it weren't the early morning... barring other preexisting circumstances.
Instead, Tilly pulled up the collar on her coat so that it would resemble the high collar of Lekalis's as she flashed a smile.
"I was a lord, y'know."
But her steps lead her away, and she smoothed down her collar soon enough, as she departed with a wave.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 19:58:18 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Bite me, Big-hat." He sneered back childishly as he chuckled to himself and saw to approaching the door he'd left what felt like weeks ago... The wine in his arms started to get heavy, it was a weakness that worried him. It had been awhile since he had fought anyone, anything, really... Roderick had been the last and he'd scored a stroke on his thigh.
The man was skilled, no doubt, but he was a man... Predictable. If there was one thing that was taught through blood, sweat, and tears; it was that the Darkest Dungeons were unpredictable and dangerous like none could imagine.
The Ex-Lord's face became stormy as he approached that door, and all the boisterous merriment failed to rouse even a hint of a smile as he paused at the frame of the door.
Such merriment was a waste of time, especially over such a savage defeat.
But it was necessary, he supposed. As he looked down to the ever so slightly drained cask of wine; the stained line being felled just a hair's bredth in lieu of the gift he'd shared with Florence... It brought a smile to him. He shouldn't let himself be so dominated by sour moods; merriment, however wasteful, was as necessary as breathing.
He sighed, as he slipped into the building and glanced about briefly; setting down the cask just barely within.
In truth, the Ex-Lords pent more time trying to be hidden than setting down the cask; he beat a swift retreat and slipped out of the home, looking back to where Tilly'd been...
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 1, 2018 20:29:43 GMT -8
Tilly tread along a path just beyond the line of sand, picking out perfectly cakey patches of mud to stomp her boots in in order to leave behind some sort of easy trail...
Not that she didn't trust in her Only's prowess as a tracker, certainly, but she had no interest in waking up past noon with a face pink from the sun should his abilities not be quite up to par.
She yawned; her limbs were heavy now that sleep caught up to her, now that Celeste was meant to be looked after... though there were certainly more issues that could keep her awake.
So she thought on the air of the ocean, as she crossed the beach to sit down in the sand, some ten yards or so away from the water. The breeze smelled awfully strong, clear, though it had been some time since she had seen the beach.
She laid back, resting her satchel behind her head to serve as a makeshift pillow as she extended her legs in front of her. She laced her fingers across her belly and let her eyes closed, allowing herself to doze as she listened to the ocean and braced for nightmares at least more pleasant than the ones before she found herself with the most slight of curses...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 21:21:01 GMT -8
/dream state/
/Tilly/
No sooner had Tilly's eyes shut, that they were opened again; an impossibly white light suddenly blinding one eye, overwhelming her, before it moved to her other eye. Her lids remained open, in her control, as the world seemed deathly still.
There was a foggy burble of disconnected voices... Strict, curt words that received some satisfactory reply.
Then it was quiet.
The world around Tilly would seem uncomfortably real; a coin that looked too genuine, a painted eye's gaze, a corpse with eyes wide and cheeks flush... The waters were tinged with a slight maroon hue, soft rolling waves hissed across the ashen sands that Tilly'd set herself upon not but moments prior to slumber.
Watching the waves made a curious difference apparent in the ashy grains; there were slight rises and falls patterned throughout. Not unlike the ocean, but infinitely more regimented. Specific bulges, perhaps a meter or two in length, half that in width, each rising perhaps an inch or two at its peak, each set equally apart from the last, perhaps a foots length being generous.
The pattern covered the beach.
Beyond the beach, the buildings, the paths and docks, all seemed foggy and repulsive. Grey and disgusting; children's toys of such low consequence, a primordial disinterest stirred in her gut like bile.
Farther out, deeper within, the maroon hued waters held a wondrous sanguine glow at bay. The distant red seemed to pulse tantalizingly every odd second... or minute... hour? Day, week, year? Time seemed pitifully mundane.
A soft landslide of sand hissed and broke the silence; the patterned rise beside Tilly stirred, as though something was struggling to free itself,
"...Help"
A voice whispered, it called out with stiff neutrality, as the stirring swell of sand seemed to try to free itself one last time, before settling again...
\dream state\
==
/Lekalis/
He owed it to his Betrothed; no matter the state, she'd a fair and fast stride he'd forever be envious of... Part of him wondered if he'd ever be able to match her. Even when the weight of a child is heavy upon her, he still doubted his own capacity to come close to beating her... Not that he considered himself slow, by any means, he assured himself as he stepped on towards where he'd last left her.
The punctual heel of Tilly's boots, as he'd used earlier, still clove a signature mark in the mud. Honestly, if he hadn't tracked so many scouts in similar heeled boots, he would've passed it off as some vacant effigy of a stone impressed there in the brown mud.
Lekalis ran a thumb across his jaw and sighed, shaking his head;
"You can't've gotten too far..." He more hoped than predicted, as he began to follow Tilly's trail...
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 1, 2018 21:55:51 GMT -8
Tilly squinted, as though focusing her sight in the face of such blinding light could sharpen her hearing as she made to catch the foggy voices, like trying to hold slipping sand between her fingers.
Sitting up, rubbing her eyes, she looked about at the dead, grey world she woke up in. For a moment she concerned herself over whether she had hidden herself too well; the sky was grey-- which wasn't atypical, admittedly, but when she had slept the sun had yet to rise, and now it seemed to be near noon.
Her gaze was drawn to the pulsing red within the water, like a heart.
The shifting of sand caused her attention to snap away, as she reached inside her coat for a dagger.
"...Lekalis?" Tilly tried; the sound of her voice surprised her, and it carried a small quiver in her tone. One hand gripped the dagger, while the other stirred the sand in front of her, making to dig some of it away.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 22:13:52 GMT -8
/dream state/
/Tilly/
The sand slid aside, clumped, wet and with a soft sucking sound as though it were damp; though it felt and seemed dry for all intents and purposes. Only this active stirring caused it to act in such a curious way.
Within the sands was nothing; indeed, as Tilly's dagger carved the sand away, it began to fall inwards. Not but two strokes in and entire swell buckled, and caved into darker, earthier tones.
The swell gave way to a shallow hole; perhaps three feet down, and dim.
Within this hole was a shut box, of the same width and length of the hole, fitted snuggly to the walls of sand. Its structure was made of grey, metal, with corners and edges that glinted in some unseen light. There was a window with a shutter which had a grip, jutting out; not unlike the sheathes for the windows in the Sanitorium's doors. At the upper right corner was a red string, which now spied, almost seemed to glow as it bled out and up of the hole, resting in the grey sands.
It only now seemed apparent, but similar strings wept out from each swell.
At the foot of the long, closed, box were two ports which were clamped tightly about two glowing, sinewy roots; one rubescent, the other, viridian. Both pulsed with to a soft, whistling beat, like air from a bellow.
They had long since dug through the sand, it seemed, and wormed their way into the respective ports.
The maroon waters stilled,
The ground beneath Tilly's knees, closest to the hole, began to give way... Yet a pyramidion shadow began to grow over Tilly, shadowing her efforts on the swell.
\dream state\
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 1, 2018 22:25:27 GMT -8
"Hello?" Tilly leaned into the hole, worriedly, holding the dagger close to her.
It was silly: it seemed there was no one there after all. Elsewise, it was the box itself calling for help.
What strange machinations. The urge to get up and flee somewhere else, somewhere more populated, swelled in her chest.
She tensed. Her wits were about her, and she spied the shadow grow as she leaned in to grasp at the box. The sand giving way beneath her, if she were to be ambushed, it would not be done while she had trapped herself within a hole.
It could have been anyone friendly behind her, she reasoned, anything innocuous. But she would rather be a living fool than to die unaware.
With a little gasp, abandoning the box, she pushed herself up off her knees, onto her feet, and scrambled away from the shadow behind her.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 22:39:46 GMT -8
/dream state/
/Tilly/
The sand sloughed, like dead, rotted flesh at Tilly's motions; her scrambling sending a clod of the clumped grainules into the hole, before her next step found itself on a similarly loose clod.
Both her, and the damning clump of sand fell into the hole. The back of her hat touched the other side of the hole, and caused more sand to fall inwards, no frightful amount, but a small rain of minerals to be sure.
Her back was set to the bottom of the hole, as she faced the mouth of it; a familiar silhouette stooped over the chasm. Red robes, clad tightly around a sharp diamond frame, an ivory mask with a gem of diamond shape, and red hue set at its core.
The silhouette watched on as she descended deeper, and deeper. The shape ever watching as it looked farther, and farther away.
What had been three feet felt like miles upon miles now; the closeness of the sand gave way to a pressing Dark. The rectangular opening of the hole above, and the box below were all that seemed exist now. There were no walls, only perpetual falling given implication by the long roots which trailed out from the box, and rushing air through Tilly's hair and coat.
The box was within reaching distance, and the mouth above seemed to grow closer, then farther, then closer again. Yet the roots always grew longer...
\dream state\
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 1, 2018 23:10:12 GMT -8
Had she picked some sort of sinkhole to nap on?
No, she kept falling. There was no logic to glue the sand together.
On instinct, as Tilly fell back, she hurled a dagger at the Figure, aiming for the center of its gem, bright red like a target; though there wasn't a moment where she expected it to do any damage.
She only hoped it'd be enough to keep the thing from lunging at her while she was trapped in that hole, or from stirring about her insides as it had down before.
She screwed her eyes shut, bracing for the coming fall while feeling unsure if she'd ever find one. She reached out to hug the box, pulling it close to her chest. Her newly freed hand searched along the box for something to grasp, some means to pry the lid open.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 23:26:56 GMT -8
/dream state/
/Tilly/
The dagger flew through the infinitely deep hole; perhaps a gauge, for once, for how far she'd fallen and a point of reference to boot. The dagger flew up, unaffected by the cyclic nature of Tilly's own falling, farther, and farther... T'ill it seemed to vanish completely in the distance of the rectangular hole she'd entered thru.
The box, however, held close now; was larger than Tilly, and about three feet deep, as her arms failed to wrap wholly around it. The box stopped just above Ex-Graverobber's brow, her nose readily pointing at the handled shutter.
The edges of the box felt sealed; there were no typical hammered bindings, no texture. The rectangular box felt utterly alien in make, the metal so smooth it was felt oiled, though it was dry... sapping even, to her fingertips.
The only grip Tilly would find on the box would be the grip on the shutter; lest she try and touch the roots.
\dream state\
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 1, 2018 23:34:06 GMT -8
So that didn't work. But Tilly supposed she hadn't died yet, which was a start.
On the other hand, there was nothing showing that it wasn't imminent.
The blood rushed in her ears as she frantically thought of what to do next-- anything to try.
To free one hand, she grasped the box solely by its viridian cord with one hand, and with the other, she braced it against the wall at her back while she dug her heel into the opposing wall, in some effort to slow her descent.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 1, 2018 23:54:13 GMT -8
/dream state/
/Tilly/
Her attempt on the viridian cord immediately skewed the reality she stood in; the dark suddenly gave way to visions of a lab... identifiable only by the subtlest clues to the note-ridden tables and contraptions similar to East's lab, beneath the Sanitorium. Though... there were marked differences.
First, it was cleaner to such a degree that the cobblestone tilings look immaculately white... Indeed; there was, with what could only be, truly divine purity and whiteness all around. The walls, the floors... All seemingly, impossibly, clean and opalline in hue.
Next, the facilities... metal bound, with men and women shuffling about in white coats, white masks; corvine in appearance. Though, they seemed more uniform than practical, in the way the noses seemed to be unburdened by herbs or the like.
Last, of course... Was the presence of the box, and Tilly atop it. Least, so one would presume.
However, a dawning realization came as the room seemed cast aglow in a green filter, and her vision was boxed... rectangular. A window.
And she was submerged entirely in a greenish substance; some liquid by feel, yet there was no pressure of drowning. Simply... Existing.
One of the beaked doctors swept infront of the window, hogging most of Tilly's vision.
"Corpse..." Its first word, muffled. A man's voice, foggy, seemingly caught in a hailstorm.
"... failed... inter-... Still via-... -ording... -ust f-... -ty-six. Inform the co-" The beaked doctor sighed and brought up a hand which cast a blinding light into one eye, then the other...
... When the light subsided, the sound of the ocean came back, the grim clamour of the Hamlet. The phantom silhouette of the doctor seemed to still be looming infront of her, and the faintest sound of shifting leathers could be heard before something small, made of glass, was broken and a soft hiss pulled Tilly back into the real world...
\end of dream state\
==
/Lekalis/
In due time, The Ex-Lord found himself at the brief reprieve nearest the harbor; a particular hatted line of patched cloth and tall boots that looked, admittedly, more like a shadow of a scrapped beam of a ship, with the odd barnacled nail jutting out of it.
It was far from the romantic descriptor he'd thought to describe his Only, but it was ever fitting.
There was more effort in slowing himself down, than speeding up through the goopish sand of the harbor. It seemed like all manner of runoff had coalesced here. Though, thankfully, the water was close and was slowly working on the flotsam.
Even from afar, however, Lekalis noted a less than pleasant air about her; the way her knees looked slightly bent, her core tight. The closer he got, the more worried he became. There were a plethora of reasons for her to have poor sleep, he supposed... To say tensions were high would be a gross understatement.
His hands clenched, then relaxed as he neared and took a knee; without hesitation, he reached down and cupped Tilly's cheek,
"Tilly..?" Lekalis greeted, his head tilting to one shoulder, as his hand moved from Tilly's cheek to her shoulder and shook it gently.
"... We must speak of your choice in locale." He insisted with a chuckle wrought with fret.
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