Post by Angel DuMourne on Dec 17, 2020 6:40:58 GMT -5
Voices surrounded Angel, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t see past the spotlight shining a small circle around her.
“This one…” said one voice.
“Perfect…” another murmured. Angel couldn’t move her head.
“He’ll like this one…” She panicked. She couldn’t move, why couldn’t she move?
The only thing she could do was scream. So she did. She screamed until her voice broke, and even when no sound would emerge, it didn’t stop her from trying.
~~~
Angel jerks hard in her sleep then comes awake, sitting bolt upright, swinging her fist straight and true. It meets only air, and her voice once again will not make a sound. Her breath is labored, and her body shakes with fear of the nightmare. She clutches at her head, forcing the screaming bit of memory back into a small space in the back of her brain and shutting the door firmly on it.
Welcome back. The voice says, from somewhere in the room. A dark chuckle accompanies it. There, in the chair. She sits, beautiful and terrible and dark as the abyss.
Angel is too tired to even give it much attention, but she does roll her eyes in its general direction. Candlelight illuminates the room in a soft glow, and she slowly looks up and around. She is in a rather nice bedroom, with signs of both feminine and masculine touches. How long she has been there is a mystery to her. It was dark when she arrived and dark now. A tray and a note sit on the bedside table. She picks up the paper and reads the scribbled writing.
Eat the sandwich. Drink the water. Clean up, and come to the sitting room.
Angel does all that is asked of her, greedily consuming the food and drink, scrubbing her hair and body until she is almost raw, but clean, and finally, standing outside the sitting room door, afraid to open it. She gathers herself with a breath and pushes the door slowly open. The houses master sits in the chair before her. Her heart almost stops again, just seeing him. He IS real. After they share a drink, which burns her throat and makes her lightheaded almost the moment it hits her tongue, he asks for an explanation. She began with her name.
After that, she gets brave, tapping the glass with her finger in the ‘one more’ gesture that patrons of the drink know too well. He gives her a look that is between amusement and approving and pours a double. She nods her thanks, in the given way, and downs that as well. He is a good host, for it is a good drink. The words flow now, rushing out in a hopeless stream of consciousness. Sitting is difficult, so she stands to pace.
“Eight years ago, my brother Alexander died. The manner of 'Xander's death landed me in years of therapy, counseling, treatments, medicinal drugs, and finally…an institution.”
Angel pauses, biting her lower lip, her eyes distant, completely unaware of how little-girl-lost she looked. The shame for her mind’s weakness was, however, apparent on her face. How much to tell, how much of the truth was enough to turn him to her side?
Lie. Lie, Angel!
“Not to him!” She says passionately, speaking the words aloud to the demon flitting in and out of her peripheral vision. It was panicking now that the time had come. Its bravado was gone. It wanted to live, so it wanted her to lie. Raenius raised an eyebrow as Angel shakes her head to clear the voice, although the presence remains.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is this. I got myself out, I survived that place because I had to find you, Raenius. It has to be you. We are the same, that’s why you can help me rid myself of the demon inside me.”
Angel pauses in movement and speech, emotions churning inside her heart. Raenius stands as well, and Angel notes the comparison of size. She might as well be a mouse standing in front of a mountain. She knows the words that will come from his lips based on the look in his eyes, and she shakes her head.
“Don’t. Don’t you tell me no. I have been beaten, robbed, almost raped by a goddamned truck driver trying to get to you. I have faced starvation and illness and insomnia and pain for you. I bled for you. I have screamed for you. I fought like hell to find you so I could beg you to either kill me or help me with this god forsaken hallucination! You help people. You helped Joker, Dragon, Chassie, Dirge, You even helped Kathryn, hell you married her! Help me.”
Her voice is low and shaking and determined. He turns to look at her. There is fear in her eyes. Fear of him and this situation she is in. Fear so intense she can scarcely breathe. But underneath that, he can see…something more. something unbreakable. He narrows his eyes as he studies her, and shakes his head in thought.
"Morning Star did a number on you, didn’t they, ‘Resident Evil’?” Angel said, her back already to him as she starts to leave the room. She can see now it was hopeless.
He clenches his fists, nails once more finding purchase in his flesh as memories and feelings long buried begin to rise from the dead.
“This one…” said one voice.
“Perfect…” another murmured. Angel couldn’t move her head.
“He’ll like this one…” She panicked. She couldn’t move, why couldn’t she move?
The only thing she could do was scream. So she did. She screamed until her voice broke, and even when no sound would emerge, it didn’t stop her from trying.
~~~
Angel jerks hard in her sleep then comes awake, sitting bolt upright, swinging her fist straight and true. It meets only air, and her voice once again will not make a sound. Her breath is labored, and her body shakes with fear of the nightmare. She clutches at her head, forcing the screaming bit of memory back into a small space in the back of her brain and shutting the door firmly on it.
Welcome back. The voice says, from somewhere in the room. A dark chuckle accompanies it. There, in the chair. She sits, beautiful and terrible and dark as the abyss.
Angel is too tired to even give it much attention, but she does roll her eyes in its general direction. Candlelight illuminates the room in a soft glow, and she slowly looks up and around. She is in a rather nice bedroom, with signs of both feminine and masculine touches. How long she has been there is a mystery to her. It was dark when she arrived and dark now. A tray and a note sit on the bedside table. She picks up the paper and reads the scribbled writing.
Eat the sandwich. Drink the water. Clean up, and come to the sitting room.
Angel does all that is asked of her, greedily consuming the food and drink, scrubbing her hair and body until she is almost raw, but clean, and finally, standing outside the sitting room door, afraid to open it. She gathers herself with a breath and pushes the door slowly open. The houses master sits in the chair before her. Her heart almost stops again, just seeing him. He IS real. After they share a drink, which burns her throat and makes her lightheaded almost the moment it hits her tongue, he asks for an explanation. She began with her name.
“‘My name…’ she says, barely louder than a whisper, ‘Is Angel...’
After that, she gets brave, tapping the glass with her finger in the ‘one more’ gesture that patrons of the drink know too well. He gives her a look that is between amusement and approving and pours a double. She nods her thanks, in the given way, and downs that as well. He is a good host, for it is a good drink. The words flow now, rushing out in a hopeless stream of consciousness. Sitting is difficult, so she stands to pace.
“Eight years ago, my brother Alexander died. The manner of 'Xander's death landed me in years of therapy, counseling, treatments, medicinal drugs, and finally…an institution.”
Angel pauses, biting her lower lip, her eyes distant, completely unaware of how little-girl-lost she looked. The shame for her mind’s weakness was, however, apparent on her face. How much to tell, how much of the truth was enough to turn him to her side?
Lie. Lie, Angel!
“Not to him!” She says passionately, speaking the words aloud to the demon flitting in and out of her peripheral vision. It was panicking now that the time had come. Its bravado was gone. It wanted to live, so it wanted her to lie. Raenius raised an eyebrow as Angel shakes her head to clear the voice, although the presence remains.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is this. I got myself out, I survived that place because I had to find you, Raenius. It has to be you. We are the same, that’s why you can help me rid myself of the demon inside me.”
Angel pauses in movement and speech, emotions churning inside her heart. Raenius stands as well, and Angel notes the comparison of size. She might as well be a mouse standing in front of a mountain. She knows the words that will come from his lips based on the look in his eyes, and she shakes her head.
“Don’t. Don’t you tell me no. I have been beaten, robbed, almost raped by a goddamned truck driver trying to get to you. I have faced starvation and illness and insomnia and pain for you. I bled for you. I have screamed for you. I fought like hell to find you so I could beg you to either kill me or help me with this god forsaken hallucination! You help people. You helped Joker, Dragon, Chassie, Dirge, You even helped Kathryn, hell you married her! Help me.”
Her voice is low and shaking and determined. He turns to look at her. There is fear in her eyes. Fear of him and this situation she is in. Fear so intense she can scarcely breathe. But underneath that, he can see…something more. something unbreakable. He narrows his eyes as he studies her, and shakes his head in thought.
"Morning Star did a number on you, didn’t they, ‘Resident Evil’?” Angel said, her back already to him as she starts to leave the room. She can see now it was hopeless.
He clenches his fists, nails once more finding purchase in his flesh as memories and feelings long buried begin to rise from the dead.