Losing control - OTA

[onlyhomemade]

Who: Dominion!Gabriel and anyone I plotted with but OTA
Where: All over Wonderland
When: 19th - 24th/ the duration of the event
Rating: R for gore, violence, language etc.
Summary: Gabriel can honestly say he's only had one death but it's enough to set the event upon him and make his abilities drive him insane enough to start slaughtering anyone who happens to cross his path. Until the others find him and take him somewhere safe to keep watch until this is over.
The Story:

19th Through the mansion and to the bar.

[ Gabriel is already finding his patience is wearing thin. After Michael's visit he's more than a little agitated. The fact that his own brother is suffering and he can do nothing to help him because of his own afflictions, or the fact that the damn event, or whatever this is, seems to feel he needs to practically be inside Michael's head for a front-row seat to his hallucinations. As much as he wants to be there for his Twin he knows he can't and it's better for the both of them if he distances himself.

So he has, but now he's wandering trying to find solace, any peaceful, quiet place where he can sit and he can meditate and try to gain control. He's getting a headache from all the things he's occasionally blasted with, loud thoughts and the feelings of any near by. He grinds his teeth and seeks out the bar to drown himself. ]

20th-22nd Through the mansion and beyond

[Nothings working. He can't sleep even if he wanted to try and shut his mind off. He's weary of this game, angry, on edge. No amount of alcohol can stop this and he can't control it. He's tried everything. He's can't stand this anymore, it's getting worse, the silence between waves is less and less. Soon it's all running together and he can't turn it off. He's not even sure of what he's projecting himself, he's frustratingly aware that if he can hear them they may be able to hear him and know his secrets, his walls are down and there's nothing he can do about it. Every carefully crafted facet of his mind used to misdirect anyone inside it, or at least keep him from allowing any he makes connection with to get in. It's gone. All his defenses and power is worthless to the way he's out of control.

He needs to leave the mansion. He needs to get out and away from all of this.]

(Death toll - Pepper Pots (20th), Lana (21st), Ned (21st), Lilith and Bela harmed.)

End of 22nd into the 23rd Anywhere outside the mansion

[All rational thought is gone. All that consumes him is the rage and the need for blood. It makes him feel so relieved to tear humans apart. He's been caging it for so long now, that utter need and desire for slaughter. Only when he coves himself in their blood and hears their screams of terror and pain can he find peace. No more of their worthless thoughts and feelings. It grows quiet when they die by his hands. But it doesn't last so he has to keep killing, has to keep moving or he'll never sleep. Never regain himself again. It's all their fault. IT'S ALL THEIR FAULT. THEY MUST DIE.]

((ooc: Feel free to meet up with Gabriel, but be warned that if it's after the 22nd it's unlikely he will leave your character alive. If you would like a fight or angry encounter but survive you're more likely before the 22nd is up. I may make a post for him for anyone that wants to remain out of danger but wants to speak with him before he goes bat shit.

Around the end of the 23rd he'll be contained, so I'll make a closed thread for the folks I plotted with so we can take Gabe down and deal with him. You guys (IE this I plotted with) are welcome to jump on that any way you see fit or think is easiest. Interact with gabe or amongst yourselves :3 threadjack away as a mini log within a log.

If you need anything send a PM to this journal or find me on pluck at AceOfSwords))

Comments

TRYING TO KEEP. UP. WITH YOU.

[onlyhomemade]

[And the chase is on the moment the tall fellow goes running for his pathetic life away from him. It only spurs him on and a wicked grin twists up his features with a glint of excitement in his eyes. At first he kicks up speed on foot, but then he spreads his wings and with a powerful flap he's airborne. swooping after Ned. He dives low to knock him to the ground, landing on him as a Hawk would a field mouse, half surfing that lanky body as they slide to a stop. Wings give a flap before settling on his back and he keeps Ned pinned solidly to the ground under him. Now to decide where to start.]

AND I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN DO IIIIIIIIIIT (spoiler: I can't)

[wordvomit]

[The Pie Maker, who has never been exceptionally good at confrontation and does not plan to work on those social skills any time soon, is running.

He has never been exceptionally good at running either, prone to short bursts of energy that are better suited to sprints for dear life, and as his sneakers pound the soft earth and his heart pounds (albeit faster) in his ears, Ned barely hears the archangel's wings beat off the ground before something - or someone - slams into him.

In this moment, Ned can empathize with Digby's sudden, immediate pain in being hit by a truck, although his sharpness digs into him instead of snuffing out his life. The wind pushed out of his lungs with a suddenness that leaves him reeling, Ned barely has time to cross his arms over his face as he slides across the grass and eats turf, nose cracking against something hard and he can taste blood filling his mouth.

For a long moment he lies prone, pinned by the bulk of a creature no taller than him but considerably more muscular, certain that one (or several) of his ribs are broken.

Ned coughs.]

Why?

[onlyhomemade]

Why? [Gabriel snarls through gritted teeth, twisting his fingers into the hair at the back of Ned's head and holding him tight. His other hand digs in at the cuff of one shoulder, pressing in with bruising force and threatening to break skin. He leans in real close to whisper into one ear.]

Because I can.

[ His weight shifts and he slams a knee down against his lower back, feeling the spine crunch under the pressure. He waits to let any chorus of pain echo around them, drinking in the sound of his scream.]

And it's what every single one of you deserves.

[He presses his fingers in with every intention of separating his arm from his shoulder, ripping and tearing past cloth and muscle and tendon to painfully sever the limb from his trunk. He'll use the long, sharp primaries of his wing to finish it, cleanly cutting through the last of the sinew and flesh before taking away his prize. He'll toss the thing like a bone picked clean and sink his bloody digits between his ribs.]

[wordvomit]

[On a good day, the Pie Maker has a low threshold for physical pain.

It is not that he was coddled, or pandered to, or handled gently as a child. No stranger to emotional trauma or psychological abuse, Young Ned protected himself at all costs for fear that opening up would be a nail in the coffin he had built for himself since he was nine years old, watching his mother as she was lowered into the ground. Not particularly athletic, the few times he stood up for himself or others ended up in uneven fistfights and altercations, nursing a bloodied lip and a wounded ego that slowly learned to armor itself. His scrapes healed given time, but they were always superficial.

What is not superficial is the sudden, excruciating explosion of heat in his lower back which disappears almost as soon as it strikes him, tearing out a strangled scream that rends his throat hoarse. The sickening crunch of vertebrae would turn his stomach if his stomach wasn't likely being punctured by the very same shards of bone. Were his head not held aloft from the ground by forceful fingers he would be burying it in the only clean smell left, green and spattered with red beneath his face.

Those fingers clutch his shoulder, clawing in deep and the choked sobs of the Pie Maker are lost in the sound of tearing sinew as his left arm howls louder than he ever could, the shock still sinking in while his vision blurs.]

Please-

[Ned doesn't even know what he's asking for, a soft thud in his periphery registering as the red beneath him thickens. The flesh-colored lump has a plain, black sleeve decorating it, soaked dark with liquid.

His arm. His own arm.]

[onlyhomemade]

[By now words are beyond him and he's too busy chuckling with dark amusement at the pain and torment. His fingers curl against bone and flesh to grip and tear apart Ned's ribcage, leaving his innards open to the elements and his bones in sharp pieces scattered around in pools of red. His fun is only dulled by the sudden and excruciating back-lash. Where once he could focus on the torture of the man under him, now he was getting his shock and intense searing agony. He snarls and batters the man's skull on the ground under him in an attempt to make it stop.

Once.

Twice.

Three times before letting him go and stepping back off of his body. Another voice nearby catches his attention, pulse racing with the lust for blood and violence. He spreads his wings like the angel of death and with a strong flap he's left Ned's body to bleed out.]

[wordvomit]

[What began as a heart-pounding venture across the grounds toward a destination that now seems so very, very far away, has turned into nothing more than a pathetic attempt to escape something inevitable. Processing his circumstances comes no easier than breathing, which is even more of a challenge when the icy-hot jerk below him snaps the right half of his rib cage open, spilling his insides onto the grass.

Ned is beyond thought, twitching in shock. It almost comes as a relief when his head is beaten into the ground, starbursts exploding in his skull like the final fanfare of the 1812 Overture.

He doesn't notice when Gabriel finally steps away to wreak carnage elsewhere.

Dead eyes stare across the blades of grass, and it is quiet.]