[Dream] Week 6, Day 1, early morning
Warnings: Creepy D.Gray-Man stuff.
A slow, sluggish blink as he realizes he’s standing among the remains of a ruined, waterlogged city. A stare up - was that the moon…?
A sharper blink as things seemed to clarify. The moon was black. Is this an apocalypse? It’s very quiet… It feels very familiar but in a confusing, different sense. He’s seen this before, though not close like this.
A step forward and it’s a bit hard to move for some reason, but a more open patch of water in the lake calls to him and he kneels at the edge to peer in.
“Lenalee?” he asks the water, blinking at the distant figure, seemingly in another world. Wait, this feels... wrong. This feels reversed. But the girl looks so familiar even with her long hair there’s a strong feeling of recognition.
She’s also naked. That’s strange, it doesn’t seem to trouble him like it should. But she looks upset, she screams, so he reaches a hand to the water’s surface. Need to get to-
It’s sticky and there’s a figure leering at him, cartoonishly simple and dressed in a formal, white jacket with a long string tie bundled neatly at its neck.
Now with his gut twisting in dawning horror at a very familiar sight, Allen remembers.
This is a Maestro, a devil, a saint.
“Sure, why not now,” the figure says with a lightness and cheer that is sickening and grabs his left hand - his weapon, his Innocence - and yanks.
He’s pulled down into and through the water (sticky, heavy, but he can breath - why’s that?) before he can fight it. But he does fight it, gritting his teeth against a confusing swirl of dark water and mocking grins all around him.
And then he’s biting a shoulder.
Her shoulder.
He should be horrified, disgusted. He actually is, but he also likes the taste of blood and bites harder, not caring about how she tears at his gray vest (it’s rather fun, actually), but it’s a distant feeling, like a puppet. This isn’t him in control. It isn’t, it isn’t, it’s that thing.
It’s sickening. It feels like violation. This is not him, not his body, but it is. He fights it with every fiber of his being but there’s blood and her struggling naked as they grapple and sink further into the water, back towards the red side. That’s the way now~.
Blood is good. Blood is coppery, warm, slick. Tastes like fear. Her struggling is fun. Exciting. Let’s play like this, then, if you two insist~.
If he had control of his own body he’d be screaming and does so mentally and fights it suddenly, hard, with rage and horror.
That thing is NOT. HIM.
[Allen jolts awake with the residual emotions running hard, eyes snapping wide open.
This time he remembers and this time his mouth is very, very dry as about a million implications set in.]
A slow, sluggish blink as he realizes he’s standing among the remains of a ruined, waterlogged city. A stare up - was that the moon…?
A sharper blink as things seemed to clarify. The moon was black. Is this an apocalypse? It’s very quiet… It feels very familiar but in a confusing, different sense. He’s seen this before, though not close like this.
A step forward and it’s a bit hard to move for some reason, but a more open patch of water in the lake calls to him and he kneels at the edge to peer in.
“Lenalee?” he asks the water, blinking at the distant figure, seemingly in another world. Wait, this feels... wrong. This feels reversed. But the girl looks so familiar even with her long hair there’s a strong feeling of recognition.
She’s also naked. That’s strange, it doesn’t seem to trouble him like it should. But she looks upset, she screams, so he reaches a hand to the water’s surface. Need to get to-
It’s sticky and there’s a figure leering at him, cartoonishly simple and dressed in a formal, white jacket with a long string tie bundled neatly at its neck.
Now with his gut twisting in dawning horror at a very familiar sight, Allen remembers.
This is a Maestro, a devil, a saint.
“Sure, why not now,” the figure says with a lightness and cheer that is sickening and grabs his left hand - his weapon, his Innocence - and yanks.
He’s pulled down into and through the water (sticky, heavy, but he can breath - why’s that?) before he can fight it. But he does fight it, gritting his teeth against a confusing swirl of dark water and mocking grins all around him.
And then he’s biting a shoulder.
Her shoulder.
He should be horrified, disgusted. He actually is, but he also likes the taste of blood and bites harder, not caring about how she tears at his gray vest (it’s rather fun, actually), but it’s a distant feeling, like a puppet. This isn’t him in control. It isn’t, it isn’t, it’s that thing.
It’s sickening. It feels like violation. This is not him, not his body, but it is. He fights it with every fiber of his being but there’s blood and her struggling naked as they grapple and sink further into the water, back towards the red side. That’s the way now~.
Blood is good. Blood is coppery, warm, slick. Tastes like fear. Her struggling is fun. Exciting. Let’s play like this, then, if you two insist~.
If he had control of his own body he’d be screaming and does so mentally and fights it suddenly, hard, with rage and horror.
That thing is NOT. HIM.
[Allen jolts awake with the residual emotions running hard, eyes snapping wide open.
This time he remembers and this time his mouth is very, very dry as about a million implications set in.]