entrancelogs | lunatic of a god or a god of a lunatic? [open]

Who: Tim Wright and you
Where: Nevereverland
When: October 21st - October 25th
Rating: PG-13 for dark imagery, hallucinations, kid violence, depressive thoughts, suicide ideation, aaaaaand emetophobia
Summary: Tim's about eight years old with a lot of problems and a false, Lost One memory.
The Story:

dead man's peak; i just want to be better than your head's only medicine

Miracles like this are too good for things like him. Tim already knows it for a fact. He tried drinking from the spring, the waters that are meant to be capable of healing even the most unknowable and strange of malaises, but it never worked. It still doesn't work. He's still sick, still weak, still a burden on everyone and everything else.

But sometimes it's enough to take the edge off. To keep him from losing his dinner because of an upset stomach or a poorly-timed panic attack that takes the strength from his knees and causes him to hack up blood, and then whatever meager meal he managed to force down that day. Only problem is that with the adults being...who they are, where they are, he knows they might take that opportunity to snatch him up, drag him away. Say that they know best for him, even if they don't, they really don't. He knows what he deserves, and it's this, it's all of this. Kids who call him weak, kids who say he's useless, kids who know he's nothing but a burden. But at least this way he doesn't hurt anyone else.

He just has to make sure no one sees him as he sprints inelegantly up to the spring and starts to gulp down the water greedily, eyes darting furtively about in case anyone tries to sneak up behind him.

lost one encampment; i only want what i can't have

[He just gets in the way. He knows it. He's a kid with a lot of problems, and nothing anyone does is gonna make that better. And it's bad enough that sometimes he seizes, has fits, blacks out so hard that he forgets what he's done for weeks on end. He's been here for...for years, hasn't he? Years and years. Maybe decades. But he doesn't feel or look any older.

He tries to sleep as far away from the others as he can, even if it scares him, because he knows he's not very fun to be around. He knows no one gets a good night's sleep when he's nearby. It's just that things had to change with the influx of adults, of people who might steal them away, and now he's regretting it. Because this is what happens, and it's what's happening now.

It starts with a loud, panicked cry, and it only worsens from there. Tim's yelp soon lapses into loud, hoarse coughing, a harsh and sickening sound as he coughs wetly, blood spattering across the ground and his hands. Then comes the retching. Then comes the dry heaves, the shaking, the trembling panic as his brain intones that this is it, he's reached the end, he's going to die nothing is going to save him.

That's when he starts to see It. It wisps into his vision, impossibly thin, head tilted to one side at an angle that somehow approximates scornful curiosity. It shivers on the spot, as if he's looking at it through shimmering waves of heat or through water, but it doesn't matter. It's here, and even if everyone will say It's not real, he knows It is.

Tim chokes back a sob. This is when it gets to its worst. He buries his head in his hands and waits for first of the Lost Ones to wake up and kick him out. Again.]

anywhere; what good comes of something when i'm just the ghost of nothing

Maybe you see him first. Maybe you just hear him screaming. Because he is, in fact, screaming, screaming very loudly with his hands gripping his temples, fisted into his hair. He's curled on the ground with tear tracks on his face, his shouts mostly wordless, but sometimes made up of strange and improbable litanies:

"You're not real, you're not real!"

"Why'd you bring me here?"

"Stop it, stop it, please! I'll do whatever you say, please!"

But around him, beside him, behind him, there's only - well, there's nothing. There's nothing at all. He looks about on the edge of some kind of terrible, insurmountable panic, and there's no definable trigger. But of course, that's not what the little boy is seeing.

He sees something tall and dark, blending almost imperceptibly with the jagged spikes of the tree trunks but for the white patch of its ivory-smooth face. He'd swear it's laughing at him, mocking him, taunting him. He'd swear it is. Only it must not be, because there's really nothing there.

But that won't stop him from howling in such obvious pain.

attack; a downward spiral just a pirouette

[He's no good in a fight. He knows this. But he also knows someone's been following him for the better part of an hour now, and it's definitely not the thing he's used to seeing ghosting quietly behind him. It's something more tangible, something that breaks twigs underfoot with a menacing proximity.

He's no good at this. No good at confronting the things in his dreams, let alone things in real life. But if what everyone's saying is true, then...then he's gotta try, right? He's gotta try. He's gotta try. He's gotta try, or they'll take him back.

He stops, bends down until he can claw up a suitably heavy-looking branch. He brandishes it, inelegantly, trying to muster any kind of firmness to his voice as he speaks:]

C-come out! I know you're there!

wildcard; getting worse 'till there's nothing left

[Don't see something you can work with? No problem! Hit me with whatever you want! I'll match any format. If you got any questions, hit me over at arrpee!]

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'Cause it hurts.

[He manages to sound vaguely petulant at that, even as he can't quite look at her. He knows if he looks up, he'll see It, and another spike of pain will spear him in the temples.]

Y-you can just...you can feel it.

[Chloe reaches out to touch Tim, then stops mid-air. What if he freaks and pulls away again? It takes her a little more than a second to decide what to do next. She can't think of any other way to try and steady him. Eventually, Chloe rests her hands on Tim's thin arms and holds him gently. At least she's more prepared now if he does decide to move away.]

Well, then maybe we could get away from this place-- from him. So he can't hurt you anymore.

[He flinches again, even if it's a gentle touch, well-intentioned. He can't - he can't deal with that, not like this, not now, not ever, can't just let it happen 'cause it makes his skin crawl. He weasels away again.]

Doesn't matter. He...follows me. Always watches.

[No eyes.]

[Chloe sighs and withdraws her hands reluctantly. She's running out of ideas on how to make Tim feel better.]

Tim...

[She starts, then pauses again. What else can I say?]

Why-- why don't you just tell him to stop following you?

[It sounds stupid even in Chloe's head. But she really is running out of things to say.]

[He shoots at her his very best withering look, which is impressive considering he's something like eight or nine years old.]

Doesn't listen. Just watches.

[Reason doesn't do anything to It. Nothing changes It. It might as well be a force of nature with how It looms there, constant, always, and he can never escape. Even if she knows now - now she can turn around and tell everyone how stupid he is, and everyone can laugh at him!

He knows what promises mean. Pinky promises or not, saying those words, "I promise," is just an invitation for disappointment.]

[She eyes Tim for a while, still unsure of what to say.

What would William do? The question suddenly pops in Chloe's mind. What did her dad use to do when Chloe would get scared of the monsters under her bed?

He'd stay with me. He'd never leave me alone.

Chloe sighs then takes a deep breath, choosing her next words carefully.]

Okay, well... uhm... I-- I can just stay with you if you want... You know... Just so you're not alone while... it is here...

[Her dad would hug her too and keep her close, but Chloe's pretty sure Tim doesn't want that so she just folds her hands on her lap and keeps them away from him.]

[His eyes narrow, a subtle challenge. Stay with you, she says. Like it's a promise? No. He knows how promises like that go. He knows that I'll stay here doesn't mean anything, that I'll be right back is just a hollow lie. No one ever stays. No one ever stays.]

Liar.

[He huffs the word out so it's barely more than a whisper, gaze dropping flatly to the ground. Regrets saying it the moment he does, but - but how can she be telling the truth? She probably thinks he's just a dumb weakling like everyone else. And even if she doesn't, he can't risk her pretending otherwise to get him to let his guard down.

He knows what happens then.]

[Chloe just barely catches the whisper. But she does anyway. Hurt flashes through her face and her little hands curl up into fists on her lap.]

I am not a liar.

[She says this forcefully, all hints of gentleness gone. She's not a liar. She's not the liar. Chloe wasn't the one who made promises to be best friends forever then up and leave for the city the day after. No. That wasn't her. That was Max. Stupid Max Caulfield. Who went to Seattle and left her to deal with all this mess by herself.]

I am not a liar.

[She says this again, this time a little more angrily.]

I-- I don't leave people when I tell them I won't. I-- I'm not like that.

[Chloe mutters angrily.]

I'm not that person.

[He must've struck a chord, and he flinches at the words. Shuffles back slightly, 'cause she might not be talking to him directly but she might as well be. It's his fault again, for making her feel this way.]

Doesn't matter.

[He mumbles the words into the crook of an elbow as he draws his knees up tight to his chest, arms wrapped around the tops.]

No one who stays who says they're gonna.

[It does matter, Chloe thinks furiously. It does matter because she's no liar. And Chloe's determined to prove Tim wrong. So she stubbornly takes a seat right next to him.]

Well, I'm staying. So-- I guess you just have to deal with it.

[She crosses her arms and looks away from Tim, still angry at him for calling her a liar.]

Fine.

[He snaps the word out like a gauntlet thrown, a challenge that she prove she's gonna stay at all. If she wants to, she can try. Doubts she's gonna, and then she'll prove him right by wandering away or seeing how awful and boring he is. And then she'll know exactly why he said it.]

[Chloe stays put, arms crossed and still looking away from Tim. Instead, she stares into the darkness, observing the different silhouettes in the distance, all the while thinking I'm not a liar. I'm not a liar.

And I'll prove it to him.

Her legs begin to feel numb and her fingers frozen because of the cold but Chloe makes no attempt to move. She remains still, rooted in her spot, determined to prove that she's no liar.

The seconds stretch to minutes and Chloe's eyes begin to get tired from staring at the numerous shadows. Her eyes slowly feel heavy; for a while, Chloe tries to blink away the exhaustion but after a minute or so, she finally succumbs to sleep while on the ground, arms still crossed. She still hasn't moved.

Barely an hour has passed however, Chloe jolts up awake. She can hear someone-- or something-- moving around in the woods. But she can't see what it is, not from here. She turns to Tim, wondering if he heard it too, or if he had fallen asleep just like her.]

Tim...?

[Despite his best efforts, despite the nagging pull of a nightmare around the edges of his mind, he's fallen asleep. Jerking awake at the slightest sound is ordinarily more than typical for him, but at the moment too many periods of sleepless nights have finally caught up to him.

He doesn't budge. He curls where he is, and sleeps onward.]

[Not wanting to wake Tim up because he seems to be so tired as it is, Chloe quietly gets up. Making sure she still has her slingshot, she moves deeper in to the woods, searching for whatever was making such a noise.]

lunatic of a god or a god of a lunatic? [open]

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