Wirt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singloversing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2015-10-09 01:40 am
singloversing) wrote in entrancelogs2015-10-09 01:40 am
Entry tags:
You came to me in seamless sleep, slipped right in | Closed
Who: Wirt [singloversing] and Bill Cipher [improvident]
Where: Wirt's Dreams/Mindscape
When: 10/7
Rating: PG-13 because Bill is unpleasant and also dream horror corpses.
Summary: Ever since Bill took Wirt's body for a joyride, Wirt's been having some pretty terrible nightmares that are getting increasingly worse the more he tells people about what happened to him. Gee, I wonder who's fault that is?
The Story:
[Far in the distance, there is a train whistling.
Wirt is digging in a hole that is already very, very deep, and his heart is pounding. When he looks up, the opening to the world above is tiny, like a full moon in a dark sky.
He can't see, but he knows he has to keep going. Keep digging. Keep moving forward, even though forward is down and not at all productive. The digging is mindless now, and he has no idea how long he's been at it, but when he looks down he seizes up.
There are faces looking back at him. They stare, unblinking, half buried in what Wirt was so sure was dirt a moment ago. How long has he been digging through bodies? How long have they been staring at him? And how long has that train whistle, so quiet in his dreams normally, been growing steadily louder?
Suddenly, he's aware that his shovel feels strange in his hand, and when looking at it reveals it's become (or maybe always was) a long forearm. He drops it in a hurry when the hand tries to grab for his wrist, but more arms pull themselves up and out of the fleshy pile below him, reaching, reaching for him--! The ground shifts under his feet (and comes with a pang of anxiety oh no he's stepping on them).
That train whistle is getting closer and closer and closer, and then Wirt is starting to sink. He tries to pull himself up and away, scrambling, but there are so many hands and they're all pulling him and then suddenly can't breathe anymore as if someone's squeezing their hands around his lungs. He sinks faster and faster and somehow there's nothing below his feet anymore as he sinks through this mass of living human parts, and when his head is pulled down it feels distinctly like he's sinking under wa--]
[Wirt wakes with a start, gasping for air.
There's cold sweat against his face (or it should be cold - it occurs to him that he can't really feel it) but even more notably he seems to be laying on his back in the middle of a path in the woods. Wirt sits up slowly, warily, and looks around. Everything around him has the distinct nostalgic feel of the Unknown - that old New England forest in autumn, untouched by modernity. It's...comforting, in a weird way he wasn't expecting.]
Did I go back...? [The question makes him pause though.] Wait. No, I can't have. I wouldn't remember...right?
[He looks down at himself and sees he's not in his cape but in his pajamas. Carefully, he stands up, barefoot on the path.]
Am I--? I-I must still be dreaming...
[He sounds a little alarmed by this thought. He feels too conscious of what's happening around him, but there's no mistaking what this is. Something catches his eye though, and that something sends a chill through him.
A number of the trees nearest to him have triangles painfully carved into the bark, as if someone took a knife to them. As if someone's left his mark.]
singloversing] and Bill Cipher [improvident]Where: Wirt's Dreams/Mindscape
When: 10/7
Rating: PG-13 because Bill is unpleasant and also dream horror corpses.
Summary: Ever since Bill took Wirt's body for a joyride, Wirt's been having some pretty terrible nightmares that are getting increasingly worse the more he tells people about what happened to him. Gee, I wonder who's fault that is?
The Story:
[Far in the distance, there is a train whistling.
Wirt is digging in a hole that is already very, very deep, and his heart is pounding. When he looks up, the opening to the world above is tiny, like a full moon in a dark sky.
He can't see, but he knows he has to keep going. Keep digging. Keep moving forward, even though forward is down and not at all productive. The digging is mindless now, and he has no idea how long he's been at it, but when he looks down he seizes up.
There are faces looking back at him. They stare, unblinking, half buried in what Wirt was so sure was dirt a moment ago. How long has he been digging through bodies? How long have they been staring at him? And how long has that train whistle, so quiet in his dreams normally, been growing steadily louder?
Suddenly, he's aware that his shovel feels strange in his hand, and when looking at it reveals it's become (or maybe always was) a long forearm. He drops it in a hurry when the hand tries to grab for his wrist, but more arms pull themselves up and out of the fleshy pile below him, reaching, reaching for him--! The ground shifts under his feet (and comes with a pang of anxiety oh no he's stepping on them).
That train whistle is getting closer and closer and closer, and then Wirt is starting to sink. He tries to pull himself up and away, scrambling, but there are so many hands and they're all pulling him and then suddenly can't breathe anymore as if someone's squeezing their hands around his lungs. He sinks faster and faster and somehow there's nothing below his feet anymore as he sinks through this mass of living human parts, and when his head is pulled down it feels distinctly like he's sinking under wa--]
[Wirt wakes with a start, gasping for air.
There's cold sweat against his face (or it should be cold - it occurs to him that he can't really feel it) but even more notably he seems to be laying on his back in the middle of a path in the woods. Wirt sits up slowly, warily, and looks around. Everything around him has the distinct nostalgic feel of the Unknown - that old New England forest in autumn, untouched by modernity. It's...comforting, in a weird way he wasn't expecting.]
Did I go back...? [The question makes him pause though.] Wait. No, I can't have. I wouldn't remember...right?
[He looks down at himself and sees he's not in his cape but in his pajamas. Carefully, he stands up, barefoot on the path.]
Am I--? I-I must still be dreaming...
[He sounds a little alarmed by this thought. He feels too conscious of what's happening around him, but there's no mistaking what this is. Something catches his eye though, and that something sends a chill through him.
A number of the trees nearest to him have triangles painfully carved into the bark, as if someone took a knife to them. As if someone's left his mark.]