Alex Kralie (
rosswood) wrote in
entrancelogs2016-07-22 06:26 pm
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one man who thought he knew a way to always get through [open]
Who: Alex Kralie and you
Where: The gardens, the kitchen, and then the fourth floor
When: July 22nd
Rating: PG-13 (guns, mental health and trauma, panic attacks and dissociation, self-harm, Alex's foulmouth)
Summary: Alex returns from his canon update, four years older and filled with self-righteous frustration. Also he has a gun now. Prose or brackets, I'll match either!
The Story:
gardens; playing tricks on the mind, thought that he'd won this time
Where: The gardens, the kitchen, and then the fourth floor
When: July 22nd
Rating: PG-13 (guns, mental health and trauma, panic attacks and dissociation, self-harm, Alex's foulmouth)
Summary: Alex returns from his canon update, four years older and filled with self-righteous frustration. Also he has a gun now. Prose or brackets, I'll match either!
The Story:
gardens; playing tricks on the mind, thought that he'd won this time
The breath is choked in his throat from the arm that looped itself around his neck, squeezing and squeezing even though he clawed at it. He aimed for the eyes, but his fingertips touched only smooth plastic. He managed to utter one final strangled shout, and when he breathes in again, he's somewhere else.kitchen; he’s roaming corridors and lies in wait for us all
Green grass, a temperature easily more bearable than Alabama's ungodly heat, hills and flowers in full bloom. If this is what dying feels like, consider Alex underwhelmed. One hand automatically reaches for his neck, fingertips scraping about a week's worth of stubble, the bruises clustered around his throat where that masked bastard nearly asphyxiated him by crushing his windpipe. It still throbs, like the rest of him, but he doesn't grimace, or flinch, or groan. His jaw sets. He's stomached worse, far worse, and will likely suffer more for what he's had to do.
And all thanks to Jay goddamn Merrick.
His grip tightens on the gun in his hand. Two bullets went streaking out in his shock at being beset upon from behind, but neither scored hits on their intended targets. At least if anyone was dragged here with him, he'll be prepared. He'll be...
Memories that were formerly prickling behind his eyelids abruptly come spilling back. Wonderland. Of course.
So he's back again.
And he's alone.
The rustle of footsteps through grass sparks a flurry of panic rising in his chest, and he spins around to train the piece on whoever's approaching. Sorry, whoever you are. Instinct's a bitch, and his nerves are shot to hell thanks to almost dying just now.
He's been living on the road for longer than he cares to admit. He's been eating out of gas stations, fast food joints, going long stretches of time without anything but the plasticy water bottles cooking in the trunk of his car for god only knows how long, and he's tired of it. Now that he's starting to remember the way the place is set up, the first place he heads is the kitchen to make himself a goddamn sandwich.fourth floor; but now you're just empty
He sets the gun on the counter with a quiet click. Then he thinks better of it, and keeps it tucked in his waistband.
He eats ravenously, with little regard for the mess he's making or who he might be offending with his nonexistent table manners. He hasn't eaten genuine food for weeks and maybe months, shut up. He's had no time for it, between Jay being a total moron and Jessica getting involved and Tim being the way he is and Amy being -
The sandwich abruptly starts to taste like ash in his mouth. He...Amy is...look, okay. Okay. He did what he had to, okay, she was getting into shit and she had no idea and it's not like he wanted to do it, but she's - and he had to - and -
Alex braces both hands across the countertop, eyes screwed shut behind his glasses as he tries to get a fucking grip on himself and not panic because he's not panicking all right, he's not, he's definitely not, he's just - he's fine. He's fine, he's fine, it's all fine, just breathe like a regular human beingeven if he's not, not anymoreand act like you aren't some kind of hollowed-out fucking shell. Act like a person.
Instinctively, he gropes for the soothing side of himself (it's got to be himself, right, that voice that hums that it'll be fine, even if it hurts to hear any of those words slamming into his head, distorted and twisted and humming with a sense of wrongness he can't place), but it's gone. It's gone, and he's alone again. Alone and - fuck. Fucking shit hell goddamnit.
He's ended up on the floor somehow, back pressed against one of the cupboards, the handles digging into his back but that's fine, it's all right, and fingertips sunk into the flesh of his arms and - and that's fine too. They're scoring long red streaks down his forearms and a few of the scratches have drawn blood, but it's cool, it's fine, he's got this under control if he could just think through the grayed-out slowness of his own thoughts and turn back to his lunch, or dinner, or whatever's become of the sandwich lying abandoned on the counter, and stop freaking panicking over nothing.
Room forty-four, fourth floor. Bile curdles in his throat. It's like a sick joke, after all that shit that masked freak has pulled. Today is your last birthday.
He stands outside his room, still looking as haggard and exhausted and beaten and worn-out as he feels. He stands there for a really long time, momentarily lost in himself or not-himself or whatever alternatives to himself he can grasp at, really, he'll take anything, anything that means he doesn't have to live in his own insufferable head for five fucking minutes.
When he comes back to himself, his lip curls in a sneer. He flicks his middle finger up at the 44 symbol on his door, slow and deliberate.
Yeah. Fuck you, totheark.
no subject
or Elenain some way. This seems like it has that possibility, but it's not like he can say he has any idea what Alex is talking about.He wonders if his own ability to compel might protect him from it, but it's not a chance he really wants to take either.
"So what the hell does it want? Just to screw with your head... Is that why you're so..."
He waves a vague hand in Alex's direction. Paranoid, messy, it's hard to say what Damon means.
no subject
His jaw sets as he weighs how much he's willing to discuss openly.
"I don't know," he says at last, trying not to feel sullen as he snaps it out. "I don't know what it wants. I just know that it showing up is never good. Not for anyone. It gets in your head and it spreads."
no subject
"Okay." He lifts up his hands in acquiescence. "Obviously, I don't want freaky mind shit to spread so no more questions."
He's really no detective. "You might want a drink or something though. You're back in Wonderland."
For whatever that's worth.
no subject
He almost denies the offer of something to drink, but - hell, he's not the one on meds. He's not the one on anything. He's the one who can afford it. So after a moment's consideration, he blows out a long breath and nods.
"That actually doesn't sound too bad." He sounds almost...surprised to admit it out loud.
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"That the first time you've thought something didn't sound bad in awhile?" Because that's the way it sounds to him. He's almost always carrying alcohol on him, but he's not today so he just pops into a random, untaken room where there's a closet, flipping over the mirrors along the way, because-
He doesn't like the mirrors.
He pulls out a bottle of bourbon.
"Could've gone to a bar instead, but you don't really seem like the bar type of guy."
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"Not really," he agrees tiredly. "Too many people. Too much talking. I'd just rather drink."
Damon's flipping of the mirrors isn't lost on him, and oh right, that's one more thing he has to deal with. The mirrors. And his mirror in particular, a right asshole, unsurprisingly.
"Not fond of our neighbors?" he says wryly.
no subject
"Yeah. I'm the same." Despite the fact that he has a reputation for being a party-er, Damon actually hates almost all people. He tends to prefer time to himself. When he goes to the bar, it's because misery loves company, and it's better than being left with his own thoughts, alone.
He sets the bottle and the glasses on top of the table and then sinks down into the chair across from Alex.
The truth is he has a stalker on the mirror side (and he hasn't told anyone about that). "Don't like to have an audience." He fills up the glasses, downing his bourbon like it's water and he's dying (ha) of thirst. "...are you?"
no subject
"Hell no. Mine's a creep, and the others aren't much better." He takes another swig, slower this time. He hasn't been able to drink like this in four years. His tolerance probably needs some time to adjust.
And then...right. He has a life here. Weird how that's difficult to remember easily. "Good for info, I guess. Dunno if you heard, but there's a spy on our side. One of us giving info to Her Majesty herself."
no subject
"...a creep how? Haven't seen a sign of mine yet. Really, really hoping I never do," he says, because he would hate him. Well, Damon Salvatore hates himself so any version of himself would qualify but the one behind the mirror is his most hated. It's the human version, weak, naive.
He leans back in the seat until the seat rests against the wall, tilted back. He lifts an eyebrow then, shaking his head as something heavy rests over his shoulders. A spy on this side too? "No, didn't hear about it, but that's just... fantastic." The sarcasm drips from his voice. As if he didn't have reason enough to be careful at every turn. "Doesn't she already have spies behind every reflection? The hell's she trying to find anyway..."
no subject
Now that he's here, the memories are cropping up and up with disturbing alacrity.
"Yeah. There was the thing with the mirrors flipped around, we could see 'em and they couldn't see us." It feels like forever ago. For him it was, but for everyone else - it was just, what? A month ago? Less? "Found my way into Queenie's room. And she says, she's got one of the Real Things spying on the rest of us. No idea why or how, but I'm sure as hell not gonna wait to find out."
That sounds like a decent use of his time and energy. Uproot the spy and expose them to everyone. Ensure they never find anything out regarding one Alex Kralie.
no subject
She knows where to hit, how hard.
"Heard about that." He turns to look at him, narrowing his gaze when he says he got the information from the Queen herself. "Why would she tell you?"
He can't really put together the motivations of this woman behind the mirrors who calls herself Queen. It doesn't really matter either. If there is a real spy walking among them, they need to out them and deal with them one way or another. Damon fills up Alex's glass and fills up more of his own, taking a long drink from what's inside.
"You want help?"
no subject
But Damon's also new enough that he's safely off the suspects list. Alex swirls his drink around a little bit before taking another sip and shrugging tiredly.
"Yeah, actually. Some people've kept their eyes out, but no one's really actively looking, you know?"
no subject
He's used to being the bad guy. It's anything else he doesn't know.
"No one wants to take that time, that chance. I have a way of making people tell the truth."
Granted, some people could be immune to it, but compulsion is really handy that way.
no subject
"One of your vampire mojo tricks?" He lifts one eyebrow, one part curiously and one part warily. Could he coax the truth out of Alex, if he so desired? He probably could. Maybe Alex has a strong mind, or maybe it's been too torn to shreds by the thing he doesn't want to think about. He doesn't want to entertain the possibilities there.
no subject
"Compulsion. We can make people do whatever we want them to including tell the whole truth and nothing but," he says, and then after a moment, thinking of how Klaus is here, how other powerful vampires are here. "There's a way to stop it if you're interested."
Vervain takes all the power out of compulsion.
no subject
"I'd be interested, yeah," he says, maybe too quickly. "No offense to you personally or anything but - I've kinda had it to here with people who make me do stuff I don't wanna do."
Or things making him do stuff he doesn't wanna do, he adds privately. Especially things.
no subject
"You need vervain. You ingest it or you wear it. The closets give them out no problem."
It's just a regular herb after all.
No one would know it had such deep abilities to protect a person from compulsion. It also isn't super tasty to dip into the blood of someone on vervain but he's developed a tolerance to the taste of it over time, because Katherine did once upon a time.
no subject
He hums his acknowledgment, expression thoughtful. "How long does it last? Do I chow down on it once and I'm good to go, or do I wear a crown of the stuff, or what?"
no subject
It'll just keep him from being compelled, which is the biggest reason to take vervain in the first place. Compulsion is powerful. It can force people to tell the truth. It can make them forget. It can make them feel a certain way about something, anything.
"...never seen anyone wear a crown of it before."
He smirks at the visual.
no subject
"Well, uh. Thanks for the heads-up." He acknowledges the tip with a vague toast in Damon's direction before taking another swig from his glass.
"How many of you guys are there here?" It occurs to him belatedly that he's got no clue. "I know about Angel, but he's not exactly the same type, or whatever. Not from the same place."
no subject
He smirks as he lifts his own glass up and then nods, taking a deep drink from the glass, before he shrugs at the question mostly because he doesn't know.
"Not sure. There's at least two others. Not like I know everyone from my world. Some people I met for the first time here, and they had an annoyingly in depth knowledge of me from my former Wonderland self."
no subject
"At least I'm the only one from my home here. And only like, one person remembers me from before. But that's bad enough."
And it's even worse that he got confirmation that It had been here too. For how long or for whatever purpose, he can't say. But he knows that if it can show up here once, it can show up here again. And that's assuming it's not ghosting around in his brain already.
no subject
"I don't like anyone knowing more about me than I know about them." It's a weapon that can be used against him, and he doesn't reveal parts of himself easily, not to anyone. And he can't control what his former self did, and he doesn't like not having that control over his image, over who knows what and how much they know of it.
Yeah, he's going to need a bigger drink.
"So you were here before too?"
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He'd said that Alex said he hadn't gotten out. Guess he'd been right after all, huh.
"Doesn't sit right," he adds, with another swig of his drink.
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He shifts where he is sitting but then he nods, glancing over at Alex.
"No, it doesn't. Not like there's any changing it."
But it doesn't sit right.
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