Alex Kralie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosswood) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-09-07 04:12 pm
rosswood) wrote in entrancelogs2016-09-07 04:12 pm
that's me, that's me; the boy with the broken halo [closed]
Who: Alex Kralie, Bill Cipher, and mirror!Raleigh
Where: Fourth floor hallway
When: Sept 7th
Rating: PG-13 or R for possession, violence, and a character death.
Summary: Alex takes some inadvisable action. Bill possess a mirror to have a bit of fun. Things can only go uphill from here!
He still has the gun, loaded and safety off, clasped in one hand. The thought has been held in his mind for days, for days. He'd considered it two nights ago. Three nights ago? Nights ago. He considered it nights ago. The smearing of the tally marks on his wrists have made the passage of time impossible to track, the dark circles hung beneath both eyes burning with an aching familiarity.
He will find it. He will find the thing haunting the corners of his memories and he will end it. It's still here, he knows it. He knows it's here because it must be, because if it isn't, if it isn't, then the only thing that's gone wrong is -
Him.
He will die. He already knows this. This is an inevitability that he came to conclude back when the entire mess started. But he's not the source. He's not. It's Jay's fault, it's Tim's fault, and perhaps he spread it unwittingly, but this was never intentional, this was never something he just made happen autoschediastically and without undue intent, he had the best intentions at heart, he did, he did, but it was Jay who splashed every private sighting of the thing online and it was Tim who created its foothold in their world in the first place, it had to be, and -
And he is done with this. He is done. He'll find it and put an end to it, and himself if necessary. He's already made up a list of things. He's written apologies, brief and cursory and impersonal: to Jane, to Max, to River. To Shepard. The gun he's decided to leave to her. She'll probably be able to make the most use of it. More so than any of the few others he can call his friends.
He moves down the hallway, footfalls swift and certain. He knows it's here, the thing he's searching for, hunting for. The thing with one eye, angular and sharp and golden. It had been a good disguise, but the thing was too eerily reminiscent of what he hated, what he still hates, for it to be anything but the thing he is searching for.
He cocks the gun with a quiet click of aligning pins and locking edges.
He will find the thing calling itself "Bill Cipher," and he will destroy it utterly.
Where: Fourth floor hallway
When: Sept 7th
Rating: PG-13 or R for possession, violence, and a character death.
Summary: Alex takes some inadvisable action. Bill possess a mirror to have a bit of fun. Things can only go uphill from here!
He still has the gun, loaded and safety off, clasped in one hand. The thought has been held in his mind for days, for days. He'd considered it two nights ago. Three nights ago? Nights ago. He considered it nights ago. The smearing of the tally marks on his wrists have made the passage of time impossible to track, the dark circles hung beneath both eyes burning with an aching familiarity.
He will find it. He will find the thing haunting the corners of his memories and he will end it. It's still here, he knows it. He knows it's here because it must be, because if it isn't, if it isn't, then the only thing that's gone wrong is -
Him.
He will die. He already knows this. This is an inevitability that he came to conclude back when the entire mess started. But he's not the source. He's not. It's Jay's fault, it's Tim's fault, and perhaps he spread it unwittingly, but this was never intentional, this was never something he just made happen autoschediastically and without undue intent, he had the best intentions at heart, he did, he did, but it was Jay who splashed every private sighting of the thing online and it was Tim who created its foothold in their world in the first place, it had to be, and -
And he is done with this. He is done. He'll find it and put an end to it, and himself if necessary. He's already made up a list of things. He's written apologies, brief and cursory and impersonal: to Jane, to Max, to River. To Shepard. The gun he's decided to leave to her. She'll probably be able to make the most use of it. More so than any of the few others he can call his friends.
He moves down the hallway, footfalls swift and certain. He knows it's here, the thing he's searching for, hunting for. The thing with one eye, angular and sharp and golden. It had been a good disguise, but the thing was too eerily reminiscent of what he hated, what he still hates, for it to be anything but the thing he is searching for.
He cocks the gun with a quiet click of aligning pins and locking edges.
He will find the thing calling itself "Bill Cipher," and he will destroy it utterly.
no subject
Bill held a hand aloft his face and tsked softly when it came back stained with blood.
"Huh. Would ya LOOKIT that. Seems you MIRROR MEATSACKS just aren't UP TO SNUFF with the REAL THING when it comes to BODY POSSESSION. Yet ANOTHER thing you all can feel INSECURE ABOUT!"
He cackled to his seemingly empty surroundings. It was hard to tell if the body duplicates hung around to watch after he nabbed their bodies for his own as some of his past victims had, but Bill still felt a thrill of pleasure at the rage such a statement would incite in them.
This whole week had been nothing but a thrill, truly, and after how raw the last event had rubbed him physically, mentally and... in some disgusting fashion emotionally it felt fantastic to be back on his game. Back to--
Heh. "Normal."
It's tempting to just waltz back into the party with his bleeding sockets, smear his face where it doesn't belong and show the fools what it really means to give in to reckless abandon-- a pity theatrics would have to wait. Far more pressing was it to find the Queen. Rumor was, she was seen down here among the commonfolk. Forget the portal, if there was ever a chance to seize power, with an army of mirrors at his side and a vessel already in tow, this was it.
The demon pauses midway through wiping his face. Something doesn't seem right.
Out of the Mindscape his omniscience might be difficult to access, but it wasn't impossible. One did not forget they knew everything, they merely forgot what they were looking for until they remembered to look for it; like dwelling on a memory not yet lived. Bill nearly recognizes this one, in all its infinite possibilities. Many of which began with something as innocuous as approaching footsteps...
Is that some now he hears?
Bill turns to the darkened hallway as a final trickle of blood leaks into his teeth and grins.
no subject
He'd dismiss the other person at the edge of the hall as inconsequential, only there's something supremely not-right about it. The way it talks aloud. The inflection of its speech. The way its grin stretches, and keeps stretching, and it's extremely unnerving to look at and -
Alex shifts on the spot, grip tightening on his gun, his expression hard.
"What's wrong with you?" he says, the query flat, a challenging glint springing into his eyes. If this is something wrong -
It if it something wrong, he will deal with it. As he always does.
no subject
"OH we'll be here for AGES if we get into ALL THAT."
He knows without a doubt what reality he is facing now. The demon finishes his turn around, facing- a yup, there's the gun- the armed young adult before him. Even in the lack of light, the yellow hue of his eyes is unmistakable.
"Sure you aren't just ASKING that about YOURSELF? I can think of PLENTY WRONG with YOU, A̡Ĺ͢EX̢͜͢ ͠ ̢͞K̸͡R̴͏ÁL̸̷̡I͜È͢.̷̢"
He shouldn't be able to shift his voice with such mortal vocal chords; Bill imposes his will on the idea anyway. Alex will hear it if he believes it can happen and boy is fear is a great tool for making people believe!
no subject
The voice sounds distorted, deeper, somehow multiplied a thousandfold, as if spoken by a legion. It sounds wrong, an affront to reality.
"So you found yourself a puppet," he says dully, eyes flicking up and down the span of it with diffuse interest. He recognizes the face only vaguely, but it doesn't tug enough at his memories for him to devote any undue interest to recalling who he might be. "You'll have to give him my condolences. I'm not responsible for collateral damage."
Yes he is. He absolutely is.
He raises the gun without fanfare.
no subject
In ordinary circumstance, Bill would happily let the boy take the shot; relish in that blossom of sensation or see how far he could goad the man whose sanity is already halfway around the bend. If Kralie believed in his voice, perhaps his fragile psyche will mistake his position and take a shot slightly to the left. Bill has to count on this being one of those timelines.
"BIG TALK for the guy who MISSES being one."
Bill won't be able to do much past this, however. The second the gunman gives him an opening, he'll have to make a dash for cover. He inches to the side.
"Never could ADJUST to having your STRINGS CUT, could you?"
Leans to pick up a bottle left behind by an earlier guest.
"But I must say I LIKE this new YOU. Willing to OFF a COMPLETE STRANGER all for ME! I've GOTTA hear what brought THIS on!"
no subject
He's not a puppet. He's not. He won't and can't and will never be. He's the antibody. He's the one protecting everyone. He's the one who will keep them all safe.
"You're an abomination," his tone is a flat pronouncement of an unshakeable truth. "You shouldn't be here. You're a tumor, and I'm going to cut you out."
More poetic than is typical for him, but he always did want his last words to be poetic. Something appropriately heroic.
no subject
The bullet misses but by the gods was it close. Bill dives for the open hallway he came from and wastes no time in shattering the glass bottle in his hand, spilling the shards behind him and unflinching into his own skin.
If he's lucky he'll make the corner before Alex gets another shot in. Even if the boy loses sight, however, Bill's ever continuing monologue would ensure he wouldn't be off track for long; the length of the hallway casting a subtle echo to the demon's mirthful voice.
"IT'S NOT LIKE THAT WILL FIX IT. YOU THINK REMOVING SOMETHING THAT DOESN'T BELONG MEANS YOU WILL SECURE A SPOT FOR YOURSELF TO?"
no subject
He charges after with ruthless abandon, air sharp with the sting of cordite, the rattling click of a discarded shell rolling across the floor. He's got the advantage of distance. He's got the advantage. He can - he will do this, despite the thing's guileless taunts and jabs.
He'll make it work. He must. He must.
"You think I plan to fit into the world I'm making? You think I'd pretend that I'm meant to live through this?"
no subject
Alex has the advantage to distance, but Bill has the advantage when it comes to direction. He came from this initial hallway, and he knows every twist and turn to take to make it count.
"NO OTHER POINT IN DOING IT, RIGHT? SELFLESSNESS is just DENIAL in DISGUISE! SAY you DO MANAGE to make the MOST of your SHORT LIFE-SPAN; how WOULD you KNOW things would STAY the WAY YOU INTENDED? What HAPPINESS would it BRING you, REALLY?"
Bill feels a burn in his lungs, stupid bodies and their desire for breathe! He needs a distraction. Get something out of a closet perhaps? Sucker another individual into taking his place? A human freaking out after shooting another incorrectly ought to buy him at least a few seconds! Too bad no one else is around. He dashes down the hallway, throwing open doors in rapid succession in the hopes of eventually throwing Alex off target.
no subject
He's doing this because he has to, because no one else is bothering, because he's the only one with any damn sense. The rest of the world is content to let this shit slide, to let it impact everything around it with the inexorable crushing weight of some eldritch thing intent on mass destruction. He's the only one who's doing anything about it. He's the only one who can. He's done this before. He'll do it again.
He says none of those things.
"Eat a dick!"
He settles for something short and sweet instead. He fires off two shots that ricochet wildly off the doors being flung open at random, and hisses out a string of obscenities between clenched teeth.
"And come out where I can see you!"
no subject
This.. isn't good. Despite his apparent talent for running like a madman, deep down this body's speed only truly came from Bill's attempts at mentally rejecting any of the stimuli that came with it. He couldn't do this for much longer, if he fell behind he would be shot, and if he collapsed, he'd be flung from this body entirely. As usual, Time was a bigoted busybody that had no intentions of giving him a chance-! That no, good, BOMBASTIC, FAT--
That's when he sees it. Something glinting in a pile of confetti and other assorted debris of party debris from one of the nearby dances. Bill snatches and pockets the object, hello opportunity~, giving the path behind him one last glance as he resumes one more round of door throwing .
no subject
He fumbles with it briefly, trying to reload it while Bill is still...running? Hiding? Whatever he's doing. He jerks up to scan the surroundings with choppy, imprecise irregularity as he attempts to load more bullets into the gun without losing his advantage simultaneously.
"You gonna come out," he growls, drawing the words out with a hiss redolent of a latent threat, "or am I gonna have to come and find you."
no subject
Bill is all too eager to answer, though he doesn't show himself. Not yet.
"Oh, but I'M ALREADY HERE. I think YOU'RE the ONE WHO NEEDS TO COME ON OUT, SHIVERS."
Of the hallway- it would appear. The trouble is, from the sound alone, Bill appeared to be speaking from both the right and left directions at the same time.
Yes, the spare communicator he found certainly did its job. Turned onto the same frequency they have already been using, its difficult to discern just which audio belonged to the speaker and which was parroting it back. Bill's tracker could only pick one, right or left- but which room was his target truly in? Could Alex really trust his ears when his target so perfectly distorted his voice before..?
no subject
Right?
It won't make a difference.
It won't.
He kicks open one door, raking the empty room briefly with his glare before moving onto the next. The bullets slide into the chamber with a satisfying press and click. A muscle twitches in his cheek.
"All right," he says, snapping the words out with a hard bite to the consonants, "I'm here. You done playing games, or are you gonna sit there and wait for me to find you?"
His foot slams into the next door and kicks it open.
Nothing.
no subject
"BUT WHERE WOULD THE FUN IN THAT BE?"
In an effort to prevent the other from turning, Bill continues to grip one hand at the base of the neck and carefully attempts to edge Kralie back into the opposite room he just kicked open.
"In FACT, I'D go as FAR as to say YOU'RE LATE."
no subject
The last bolt cracks as he kicks it viciously open, and glimpses something - something suspiciously boxy and broadcasting a live signal and goddamnit, that little triangular bastard tricked him, and before he can spin around with a roar of frustration, something jolts into the flesh of his side.
Agony lances up his spine, to his fingertips, to his teeth that are clenched too tightly, to his eyes stretched wide in shock and horror, spreading in a steady and inexorable inflorescence. It curves upwards, excruciatingly slow.
"You - "
His throat works soundlessly, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows and tries to twist around, do something, anything.
He is too cold and too hot and this is the third time now, the third time something sharp and edged made its home in his organs that have been sliced open thrice too many now, and it is exactly what he deserves and he needs to move and so he does.
He tears himself out of the grip in an explosive burst of kinetic energy, and he staggers forward two steps before one hand shoots out to brace itself on the wall, the other groping at the place where the sharp-edged thing sunk deeply, too deeply. The red seeping out from his shirt is dark, dark and aching, almost black as it stains his fingers and soaks his clothing.
"Fuck," he whispers.
The gun slips from nerveless fingers and clatters to the floor.
no subject
"HO, MAN! Talk about some PRIME PUNCTURING. Sometimes I FORGET you're all just big MEAT CUCUMBERS."
When the gun drops Bill makes to move forward, intent on dragging the body towards a room once more. First he grabs Alex's head to make sure the other hasn't drifted off.
"ohhhh no, DON'T YOU DARE SHUT THOSE EYES. You're looking at ME right now, KRAWLIE, you got that? Not your CREEPY friend with the WEIGHT-COMPLEX."
no subject
"Sh-shut up," he rasps, vaguely, trying to spit blood at the thing that's killed him to no avail. "Shut up. Y-you're not - you'll never be it. You're not even close."
That's the one thing he can hold over him. The proverbial fuck you of glassy eyes and still body and pointing finger. At least, at least that thing won't be what claims him. At least it's just this - this asshole who's too creepy for his own good. But it's better. It's better than letting that thing have its way with him.
It's better.
no subject
It matters little if Alex is listening, Bill himself only seemed to hear what he wanted to hear. The demon lowers his voice, straining his vocal chords to a barely hissed whisper, somehow still loud despite the lowered frequency.
"UNLIKE OTHERS I don't really FOLLOW RULES. I don't give a HOOT about KARMA, FATE or DESTINY."
How many timelines does this kid ultimately die in failure? End up getting swallowed up by whatever dark forces laid claim to him? As if Bill would ever let things happen the way they were intended! His fingers grip tighter, jerking Alex's head back until the glossed over pupils align with his own.
"So get this THROUGH your THICK SKULL: YOUR TORMENTOR, was never even in the same LEAGUE as me. HOWEVER this was SUPPOSED to END..."
Maybe the demon just got a kick out of thwarting plans,
Maybe this was the best way to show the Operator who was boss,
Or maybe Bill was just a fucking sadist. Regardless...
"You DIED to ME."
Show's over, director.
no subject
Still, though. Still. He manages a twisted smirk, copper-tasting and bloody.
"Y-you wish," he whispers, the words inaudible but for the hush of the sh.
Maybe this is the way It takes him.
Maybe this is how it happens.
It's a hell of a painful way to go.
But that's okay. It's okay. He doesn't mind it, so much. Better to die like this, here, or elsewhere, than to die at the hands of that faceless thing.
It's better like this.