epidemiology | the danger is i'm dangerous

Entry tags:

the danger is i'm dangerous

CHARACTERS: Koltira et al

DATE: Jan 27 - onwards

WARNINGS: violence; blood; general gross (dead things and decaying things etc)

SUMMARY: Blood frenzy.

GENERAL PROMPT: THE OUTSKIRTS, NEAR THE WOODS;

[It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts--

It's his only sensible thought, a continuous scream in his mind that never quiets; never stops. He just wants to stop. The pain, the noise, the press of life and energy and movement that surrounds him. His own body. He'd give anything for exhaustion. For sleep. But a death knight was not designed to yield. No matter the depth of his injuries, no matter the blood smeared on his face and armor and across the long curtain of his bone-white hair, he does not fall. No matter the cracks in his armor, his split lip, his wounds. He is relentless, because he has no other choice.

Koltira staggers among the fields that border the woodlands; they are silent, and largely abandoned.

Eventually, he presses into the woods, thinking--thinking nothing, still, really. His mind is static and incoherent whispers and begging. Animals cross his path: a rabbit dances away from him, but a deer is not so quick. He lets Byfrost linger in its belly for too long, watches the corpse rapidly decay into so much meat and slime.

He leans against an oak, and plague seeps from his fingers, steals past the bark and down to the root. The wood begins to hiss and melt beneath his palm.]

[ooc: individual starters are below! the above is a general prompt for encounters in the woods or the outskirts. if you would prefer something else, or even a thread set AFTER this whole mess, let me know. you can grab me on plurk at

runehallow.]

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[He should have left the city earlier. He should have left the city weeks ago. Some dim, desperate voice in the back of his mind suggests he actually should never have stayed in the city at all, never allowed himself to go among this crush of the living. But Koltira thought he could manage. He was disciplined; he was strong.

Not strong enough.

He gathers his things from the boarding house--what few belongings he possesses--and it's a struggle just to make it down the stairs. Koltira can't even lock eyes with the proprietor, for fear that he will lunge at the man's throat. A man who's been nothing but kind to him; who's never questioned his appearance or uttered a single nasty word. A man who gives him a discount.

He counts out his coins, mutters a barely audible word of thanks, and heads into the street. If he moves quickly, he can be in the woods by nightfall.

But he's barely made headway into the trade district when a voice calls to him. It's just a merchant. A young woman, selling hats. He shakes his head, 'no', and tries to keep walking, but she's insistent. She leaves her stall.]

No --

[His voice is hoarse; cracked. Koltira doesn't feel panic, exactly, but he does feel urgency. He feels the girl's excited heartbeat. She's eager; she's happy. She's not afraid. Koltira tries to step away from her, but she won't stop babbling. He can't even process it; pain clouds his vision, wracks his limbs.

The girl grabs his arm.]

No.

[She just looks confused. There's a royal blue hat in one hand, decorated with a feather. Her other hand squeezes his wrist. He shuts his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, his own fingers are clasped around her throat.]

[He's been trying to follow a specific path. He can't say if he's succeeding or not; he has no sense of direction in this state, and few problem-solving faculties overall. His only directive is to flee, to get himself as far away from the clusters of civilization as possible. Pain dogs his every step, a constant screw turning in his spine, a sword lancing through his gut. The pain blinds him when it spikes, filling him with wordless, fathomless rage. He wants to lash out at anything he can touch, anything with skin that will yield and a mouth that will cry for mercy.

But more than that, he doesn't want it. He wants silence. An end. Peace.

He stalks down the roads of the outskirts, passing the great goblin church. There are people milling around near it, speaking excitedly; with great effort, Koltira does not lift his runeblade and plague the lot. He just keeps walking, head down, eyes narrowed. The forest can't be far.]

Edited 2016-01-28 04:51 (UTC)

[He's been here long enough that he should know the streets of Chantes by now. Under ordinary circumstances, he does. But he's lost on some side street, and he's crippled to distraction by the agony that spikes up his legs with every step. He knows he has to escape the city, to remove himself from the throngs of people, of hot flesh and shouting voices. But he simply has no idea where he is. There are a lot of humans. Some vendors, but not nearly so many as in the central trade district. He wanders in aimless frustration, growing more agitated by the minute.

And then he hears it--the singing. About him.

She's a lone busker, and she clearly isn't having the best day, either. Her hat is nearly empty of coin, and she has a scowl on her face like she blames Koltira for it personally. As he approaches, she sings a bawdy song involving his ears and two tavern girls. It is very filthy.

On any other day, Koltira might have ignored it. Moved on. The woman was a human; average in every way. He would gain nothing from indulging her bitterness.

But he doesn't have that sense of reason with him now. So he grabs her by her blonde hair, cups one hand around her mouth to stifle the scream, and disappears into the darkness of a nearby alley.]

[It's difficult to see. His face is smeared with blood, dried now and flaking at the corners of his eyes, but it's more than that. There's a haze over his vision, red and alive, obscuring the road ahead. He staggers mindlessly, dragging his sword in the dirt, baring his teeth like some kind of wild animal. But that's what he is. A creature; a monster. Reduced to a bestial state. His thoughts are minimal, and they focus only on the spasms of pain wracking his body; all other considerations are discarded, or nonexistent. No one approaches him, and thankfully this part of Chantes is lightly populated, but he can still hear a few rapid heartbeats. He can still taste fear.

Someone's approaching, though. Quickly. He lifts his head in a slow, jerking motion, sluggish and unnatural. He stares, the cold light of his eyes dim and expressionless. He feels the fierce pull of running blood. He stops, and he waits.]

Edited 2016-01-28 02:57 (UTC)

[It's a young man, a goblin. Perhaps nineteen or twenty. He's alone, carrying a bundle of flowers in his arms, walking towards home. Or so Koltira presumes. He can barely discern the features of the boy's face; the color of the flowers. At this point, he understands only a quick breath, a frightened whimper. The well of blood on broken skin.

The young man drops his flowers. The petals scatter across the road. It is almost dusk, and they are alone. Koltira lifts his hand, silent, gritting his teeth so hard that he can feel them crack in his mouth. The boy begins to choke.]

[Where is he? He can't say. He's stumbled past houses; fields; temples. The population thins as he keeps running, and that's a good thing, that's his goal. But the pain does not abate. If anything, the abortive encounters of the past few days have left him in an even worse state than before, a place of half-satisfaction that demands much more than it received.

Koltira does not tire, but he does weaken. He kneels down in short grass, at the edge of an abandoned field, not far from the dark treeline of the woods. He heaves, and covers his face with his hands. Hands already dark with blood, both familiar and foreign. He rakes his nails in the soil and he screams.]

[A traveler walks up the road. He's come from the forest, which Koltira can see just behind him, looming vast and dark and promising. Koltira must get there. He must seclude himself. He drips blood as he walks, injured but not slowed; he has no complete or rational thoughts in his mind. The pain has receded slightly by this point, but it's the difference between a thousand daggers and five hundred. Either way, he's still continuously, relentlessly stabbed.

If the man had just come out of the forest a few minutes later. If he had just walked faster; if he had just kept his distance.

But no. Instead, the simplest thing, the most every day and devastating thing happens: he doesn't watch himself, and he runs directly into Koltira, a solid wall of armor and muscle. The man falls. He looks up at Koltira and opens his mouth to apologize.

Mindlessly, grimacing, shaking, Koltira reaches for him, shadow energy swirling around his fingers.

The man's apology freezes in his throat.]

Edited 2016-01-28 03:06 (UTC)

[It is done, at last. The tempest has ended, and Koltira kneels among the wreckage, soaked in blood and guilt and loathsome, terrible satisfaction. His armor is cracked; his pale hair dark with crusted blood and filth. His nails are black from digging at his own face, his own throat.

He's in a clearing, not far into the woods proper, and his mind is a riot of awful thoughts. What he has done to these people, to this place? Innocents, all. Undeserving, all. So many of them had treated him kindly, without prejudice or expectation. They had befriended him, and he had repaid them as he knew he would. With his sword, with their own blood.

Koltira's body is not weak. It does not tire; it cannot yield. He could stand if he wanted, and he could run, run to the edges of this world and never return. But his soul is weary. He leans on the hilt of Byfrost, driven into the ground (blackening it, because even now he can't stop spoiling everything he touches), and he stares straight ahead, every muscle taut with misery.]

[Papyrus considers Koltira a friend.

Which isn't actually saying a lot, because he considers everyone he meets a potential friend, and considers the deal of friendship sealed if they respond in any way that can even be slightly construed as positive. There's a plethora of reasons why, somehow, this became Papyrus' modus operandi when dealing with people, but mostly it can be summarized by his loneliness.

But Papyrus considers Koltira someone who also needs his help. It's obvious, even to someone like Papyrus, that Koltira needs help with... A lot of things. And while the skeleton might not remember it due to circumstances of his own world, he's quite experienced in dealing with Edgy McTryhards.

It was actually pure coincidence that he happened upon Koltira in the Trade District. He was just trying to get some practice moving around in his new outfit: a set of armor. Real armor, not some costume he and Sans made for a party.

Papyrus had briefly mentioned to Sans he might be interested in armor after Christmas- and somehow, Sans had wound up with a suit of armor, shortly afterwards! He had said he had found it just lying around in the garbage, and what were the chances it was exactly his size! His brother really was pretty good at finding some decent garbage! It looked brand new, even! How odd! It's a big heavier than his normal outfit, though, and while he prides himself on being pretty fast, and light on his feet, he definitely can't say he's either of those with all of this on. It does feel a bit like... overkill. Do knights and guards always wear this much?

Either way, upon seeing the familiar shape of Koltira, Papyrus attempts to lightly jog towards the other, waving and followed by the impending sound of CLANK CLANK CLANK as he approached.

And then he sees Koltira lash out, grabbing the girl by her neck, and- ]

KOLTIRA, NO!

[Suddenly, it's a lot easier to run.]

WHAT ARE YOU DOING! HUMANS NEED THEIR NECKS IN ONE PIECE!!

[ Alice spends quite a bit of time out on the streets of the Chantes, with the native children. She plays with them and with the arrival of the sun, the children have been taught things like hopscotch and other games. When there's a lack of drawing material, sometimes the cobbled streets are littered with drawings from Alice and the children with rocks scratched against the surface. When it gets late, Alice starts to send them back to their homes, if at all possible. The reality of that some of the children don't have homes hangs heavy over Alice's head.

Even with the sun, it's not enough to change the disparity of the streets, much like London. And in the end, Alice is still reminded of the world she left behind. She has gotten used to walking alone, confident in herself because her knife was constantly in her possession. Rest assured, if she was ever in danger, Alice wouldn't hesitate to use it. Alice was eager to return to the inn when the last group of children returned home after escorting them back safely. Finding nothing of interest in the trade district today, Alice moved on.

In a way, the small detour after escorting the children home was a good thing. Had Alice been passing through another time, she wouldn't have seen someone who was clearly a woman being dragged off into an alley. With no hesitation, Alice follows, her blood boiling at just the sight of another woman in distress. She's quick, storming to the alley and unsheathes her knife out from her side, the silver-blue edge of it glistening in dim light.

In retrospect, it was stupid to charge after someone who could possibly overpower her, but it didn't matter. Her nanny and her sister, both who had suffered at the hands of men is enough to send Alice into the situation without reconsidering. Her well-being didn't matter, what mattered to her was this other woman wouldn't be hurt or worse. With an icy anger and a voice filled with venom, she speaks. ]

Let her go if you want to keep your hand.

[Make peace. What utter nonsense. From what Shadow has seen, these humans and the goblins were never really friendly to begin with, and nothing a bunch of strange aliens said or did was doing to change that. Not if "bringing back" the sun and their moons didn't already do that.

But, it seemed like their delightful captors-slash-employers weren't going to let them leave this backwater planet without at least trying to be diplomatic. Shadow, however, knew where his strengths lay. And being a patient peace-talker was not one of them. He'd just keep his nose out of it, thanks.

So instead, Shadow is avoiding his irritating "nephew" and exploring his surroundings. The human village, the forest, the home of the goblins... They wouldn't be here much longer with any luck, but that didn't mean he should sit around doing nothing.

Which is when he sees a rather unfortunate, but innocuous, occurrence; two people bumping into one another. Clumsy creatures.

But then the armored one raises a hand, shrouded in what could only be some sort of dangerous energy. Did he mean to attack that man for something so stupid?

Yeah, no.

It was Shadow's duty to protect humans, even on other worlds. The hedgehog vanishes with a "blip" and reappears next to Koltira and the traveler, glaring up at the elf.

(Not a human after all, perhaps? The ears were all wrong for humans.)]

Don't.

[The girl breathes raggedly, struggling. She's dropped her hat; it tumbles away on the cobblestones, picked up by the afternoon wind and gone soon after. Her eyes, wet with tears, dart towards it, then back to Koltira. He's barely seeing her. He's only feeling the strain of her muscles, only hearing the fear in her voice.

But then, something familiar.

He looks up, spotting Papyrus.

The girl renews her fight when she sees he's distracted, and his mind buzzes, unsure of what to do next.

Papyrus runs towards him, upset.

Koltira's grip eases, but he does not let the girl go.]

[The busker puts up a fight. She scrabbles against Koltira's arms, trying to find purchase, trying to shove him away. It's no use. He's fully armored, and he's too strong. He stares the woman down, his eyes empty, aching. Why was he doing this, again? She had insulted him. But no. That wasn't the truth of it. The truth is that she's alive, and she was too close, and it hurts so, so much.

He barely glances up when Alice comes into the alley. The knife glints, and his eyes dart towards it briefly, then away. He presses the busker against the alley's dirty brick wall; she cries out as her back scrapes against the rough stone.

He says nothing.]

[Honestly, Koltira can barely comprehend Shadow right now. Not that he can comprehend much of anything, but--even as someone from a diverse world like Azeroth--Shadow is something entirely new. New enough that he does pause, just for a second, to stare Shadow in the eye. Whatever he is, he's alive. Maddeningly so: his heart beats rapidly, his pulse soars.

Koltira scowls, and shoves the traveler down into the dirt. Ice begins to form over the traveler's chest, and he screams, though it's more out of terror than pain.]

STOP IT!!

[Papyrus cries, running full steam at Koltira. Which, you know, when someone has an added sixty-or-so-added pounds to them, stopping isn't exactly easy. He's realized as he nears the two, he won't exactly be able to stop on a dime. Rather, he's going to need to crash into something to finally stop his inertia.

Maybe something like a six-foot-five elf.

As Papyrus decides to take this action, the sprinting becomes more of a charge. The other weighs a lot more than him, especially when he has his own armor on, but he has to try. He just needs to be enough of a distraction so the girl can get away.]

KOLTIRA, LET HER GO!!

[Koltira knew that armor was sturdy. He'd selected it himself, after all. That thought doesn't quite register with him yet, though it's there, unformed, slowly wending its way to the surface. For now, he can process only the solid thump of Papyrus's body clanging into his.

It doesn't knock him down, but he stumbles, and the desired effect is otherwise achieved: he lets the girl go. She falls to her knees for a few moments, gasping for breath. Once she's got air in her lungs, though, she's up and out of there like a lightning bolt.

Koltira whirls on Papyrus, scowling, his teeth bared like a wolf. Some part of him is grateful. But the rest of him is just pissed off.]

[Typically, this might be where Papyrus would wrap his arms around Koltira to hug the other, but two sets of armor doesn't lend well to that. Instead, he takes a few steps back, slowly and carefully. The expression on the other's face... it was as if he didn't recognize Papyrus at all.

But that's no reason to be afraid, right? Steeling his voice and his nerves, he plants both feet on the ground firmly.]

K... Koltira. You look... like you're not having such a good day! But fear not! The Great Papyrus is here now, and you don't need to... uh... get mad at sales people! I'm here to help you, in any way I can!

[Koltira doesn't say anything immediately. He's staring at Papyrus as though he can't quite make sense of him. The low, blood-mad cunning that's subsumed his reason finds itself off-guard. Papyrus has no flesh to tear; no veins to taste. He is bone and armor and little else. Koltira inclines his head to one side like a confused predator.

He takes a step towards Papyrus. A skeleton. Bones to crack. Marrow, perhaps. A voice, still, a loud voice. The distress is something.

But then his eye catches on the armor. Some glint in the sun. The working of the breastplate tugs at him. The thought from before breaks the surface, and a piece of memory breaks through like a dagger.

Koltira squeezes his eyes shut. He clutches at his temples in pain.]

No--go--go away.

[It hurts to see his friend in such pain, from some unknown source. It isn't as if the other is physically injured, Papyrus can tell that much. But something is wrong. Koltira was suffering from something, and surely that's why he must have... unintentionally hurt that girl.

Never one to turn someone away because of his own fear, Papyrus suppresses a flinch as Koltira takes a step closer. His boots, firmly planted on the ground from before, remain there.]

Koltira...

I am getting the feeling that...

That you may be heading down a dangerous path.

But we're friends! And as friends, it is part of our friendship clause that I help guide you in your times of need! That is what I'm here for! So...

[A spike of pain jolts up his spine, slices between his eyes. He groans, digging the palm of one hand against his face. Papyrus is a blur of white bone and gleaming armor. His voice, so solicitous and kind, rings in Koltira's ears like fragmented thunder. It hurts. It hurts.

And can't Papyrus help him? Can't he scream? Can't his bones decay, turn to dust, turn to so much nothing?

The image burns in Koltira's mind, vivid and terrible. He recoils internally, and physically takes several steps back. No. No. He will not do this. He has to get out of here.]

You cannot help me. No one-- no one can--

[His words are halting, interrupted by sharp, high pitched gasps. There are so many people around them. Milling about. Minding themselves, going about their business. Too many. He can't; he can't.]

We won't know until I try!

[But this is good! A step forward- in the metaphorical sense, of course, because in the literal sense, Koltira is stepping back. Which is... Maybe good? But he's using his words! Which is better than the growling he was doing, moments ago.]

Now, let's start with taking a deep breath-

[ Ah... he's... gasping a little. ]

Okay, uh... good job! See, you're already doing a little better! I knew you could!

[ Papyrus takes a very slow, half-step forward. ]

Something that helps me, when I'm feeling ... claustrophobic- is running! I like to run! So maybe, we should run together! How does that sound?

[ Alice considered that a sufficient enough warning, hoping to deter his attention onto her, not the poor woman. His features may look familiar to Alice as she did what she could in that split moment to look him over, for a week spot. Armor isn't an issue usually, but Alice isn't feeling particularly kind and her temper finally flares. Now, clearly bellowing loud enough- ]

Let her go!

[ Looking back, she wishes she could have done more to help Nanny, rather than stand there frightened and dumbfounded at the audacity of Jack Splatter, Alice makes the haphazard and dangerous choice to rush forward. Enraged, her well-being didn't matter; what mattered to her that she could free this poor woman and become the vocal point of that attention. Alice is small, which is arguably her largest disadvantage, but that didn't matter to her, she throws herself at him with her knife, hoping at the very least it can be hard enough to push him away and off of her. In her mind, it's worth a try, even if the vorpal blade in all of it's sharp and indestructible nature may not always cut through armor. ]

[Koltira just swallows, hard, uncomprehending. Papyrus talks and talks, but it's translating as pure static in Koltira's head, lost amid the rolling, wracking spasms of pain. He can't think. He can't see. He needs it to stop.

Koltira slams his open palm against Papyrus's chestplate, hard, though not hard enough to necessarily knock Papyrus off of his feet. Just to stop him.

The claws of his gauntlets curl against the metal, screeching, scraping. Koltira bites the inside of his cheek.]

[Koltira's armor is saronite, the hardened blood of an old god. It's a rare metal, unusually tough and resilient--but by no means impenetrable. Alice's knife cuts, finds a way in. Black, hissing blood pours from Koltira's left side as he stumbles back, surprised by the sudden ferocity of Alice's assault. The busker crumples, albeit only for a second. She looks from Koltira to Alice, clutching at her throat, trying to regain her breath.

Koltira, meanwhile, recovers quickly. Base instinct rules his mind at present; reason is almost entirely chained. He does not see a young girl before him: he sees weak flesh, dark veins, excited breath. He sees vitality.

The busker hisses something about freaks once she's able to, then gets to her feet and fairly races out of the alley.

Just them, now.

Koltira draws the sword from his back. Blood continues to pour from his wounded side, trickling down his armor and smoking where it drips onto the ground.]

Oh-

[ Papyrus wasn't expecting that- feels the shove of a palm, and then the ensuing shrill sound of his new armor being dug into by sharp nail-like gauntlets. It didn't hurt him, this armor is quite heavy and thick, but he gets the feeling that Koltira could simply tear through it easily, if he wanted to. ]

I see... P...Perhaps...

[ The skeleton raises a hand, still slowly, like one does around a wild deer as to not frighten it- ]

I shouldn't have done that...

[ He tries to level his breathing, since this is very much a scary situation he's in, but showing fear is one of the worst possible things he could do right now. ]

I will... respect your boundaries a little more thoroughly! Sometimes the best thing you can do with someone is unhug them...

[ He'd step back again, if Koltira's grip on his armor loosened. ]

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Page 1 of 8

the danger is i'm dangerous

PAPYRUS -- THE TRADE DISTRICT

RIN + GILGAMESH -- OUTSKIRTS

ALICE -- CENTRAL SQUARE

RIZA -- OUTSKIRTS

LEVI -- OUTSKIRTS

RAMIR + HELLBOY -- OUTSKIRTS, NEAR THE WOODS

SHADOW -- OUTSKIRTS, NEAR THE WOODS

OLIVIA -- WOODS

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Gently plays https://youtu.be/IXlDDlEJP8c

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