foolishwren | 70. [DREAM/DREAM/DREAM/DREAM]

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70. [DREAM/DREAM/DREAM/DREAM]

_{[So while the rest of Johto alternately panics, cries, or rushes around trying to capture as many of the soulstealing insects as possible, there are dozens of souls floating around in that dream limbo, drifting in and out of each other's slumbering thoughts and visions. Whether it's nightmarish flashbacks or just those dreams where you're at school taking a really hard test, and then Dracula shows up, and then everybody's naked ... anything is possible when it comes to what people see in their sleep.]

[But what appears in the darkness in this particular spot in the spaceless, shifting mass of dreaming souls... is a door.]

[It's old, and covered with boards and bolts, rusted near-through in some places. The lock is broken-- mangled and half-melted and wrenched out of the keyhole. The only thing on it that doesn't look ancient is a scrap of torn notebook-paper that's taped up on it at roughly eye-level. It reads only a single phrase:]}

Fear of blood tends to create fear for the flesh.

_{[More importantly, though... the door is ajar. Through the gap come the scents of rust and metal-- and something organic, fleshy-- and a low, deep hum of industrial machinery. It's not a door that anyone in their right mind would want to go through. ... But for anyone who may have stumbled this far into the dreams of their fellow lost souls, either in flight from some other nightmare or just pure, wandering curiosity... there's just no other place to go but through the door.]}

_{[Go on. Open it. After all.... it's only a dream.]}

[ooc: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, GUYS. Thanks for being patient! If you commented on that planning post, there's something spooky planned for your character to do here so please feel free to tag or not tag as it pleases you!]

~*~

[ooc: This is the IC post for what was announced over here! Even if you didn't comment there, feel free to participate! I'm still happy to whip up Silent Hill scenarios for folks!]

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_{[The figure tilts its head curiously-- an almost birdlike motion. Although most of it is obscured in shadow, its eyes catch the meager sunset light and reflect like a cat's, in a shade of deep, bloody orange.]

[Then, slowly, it turns, crouches, and starts to climb down the wall, finding miniscule footholds in the grooves between the bricks.]}

[The figure, though bizarre, seems to have a certain agility and grace that L can't hold a candle to. He shifts skittishly, keeping several steps between them at all times, especially after she's scaled the wall and successfully reached the ground. Even though she saved him, he doesn't want to be too trusting, doesn't want to assume that she's a friend because she killed something that wanted to rip him apart.

She looks a bit like the girl in the house, and L wonders if there is a connection...]

_{[Oh, there's a connection... although those unearthly sunset eyes couldn't be further from the frightened brown ones that had been staring fearfully down at him from the top of the staircase earlier.]

[When the figure reaches the ground, she stands all the way upright, head still tilted. When she notices how L scurries away from her, she refrains from approaching, but she doesn't move her stare.]}

[He still maintains his distance, keeping a wary eye on her and his back against the wall as she regards him with that unearthly stare.]

I don't know you... do I? Are we acquainted...?

[The worst that can happen is that the girl kills him, a fate he already came to terms with when the dog was closing in on him.]

_{[She tilts her head to the other side when he speaks, then takes another step closer. There's no real expression on her face-- in fact, it's up for debate whether or not it's CAPABLE of making expressions. Every inch of bare skin is pocked and mottled with deep, oozing burns.]

[She says nothing, but her curiosity is plain. She's never seen something quite like him around here... and she knows everyone in this neighborhood.]}

[Up close, it's possible to actually see the state her skin is in; it makes his own crawl. He reaches a curious arm out as if to touch her, but remembers that even the relatively soft serrated surface would probably be enough to tear at those burns.]

_{[Probably a good idea-- she withdraws slightly when he reaches out, possibly thinking the exact same thing.]

[But she still looks curious. For lack of any better way to communicate this, she points at him.]}

[They're an odd little pair together. They look like they're in cahoots, at least, seeming to each be the right mixture of monster and child to appear more-or-less related. He drops his arms quickly at his sides to demonstrate that he absolutely means her no harm, his brow furrowing when she points her index finger directly at him.

Well. That didn't make much sense. But she wasn't laughing, and she wasn't chasing him or whispering hurtful things.]

Me. It's me. Who are you? Are you from the house before?

_{[Indeed. The scruffy, jet-black hair helps, too.]

[When he speaks, she tilts her head the OTHER way-- like clockwork, practically.]

[She does not reply, but instead bends down and picks up one of those fliers. Scrutinizing it briefly, she then holds it up and points to it questioningly-- is THAT the one 'from the house' he's referring to?]}

[He stares at her for a moment before glancing down at the flier.]

Maybe. It feels right, but the hair color is wrong... and the freckles. Hair can be bleached, but...

[He trails off, glancing from the flier to the girl, trying to pick up some sort of resemblance.]

_{[The hair might be black as tar and the freckles outcrowded by the burns, but otherwise, the resemblance is rather uncanny.]

[... And as if knowing this... the still-neutral expression on the beast's face has shifted ever so slightly-- the mouth twisting upwards on one side in something that could, if one squinted, be called a smirk.]

[It looks more like Heather Mason than the poster does.]}

[His eyes widen slightly. He sees it, it's impossible to miss. He knows her, not just from the fliers, not just from the house, but from video feeds in a world he was beginning to forget as a result of being tossed from nightmare to nightmare.]

We're... friends, and you saved me.

_{[She nods.]

[Yes... in some small way, she does remember. After all... it was this side of Heather more than any other who had been the one sinking its teeth into L's monstrous dream-mother.]}

Did something get taken from you, too? You're quiet, and that's unusual, for you.

[L knows that much, at least... even if his memory of Heather is as hazy as his memory of himself, there are things that he knows, and one of them is that Heather has never hesitated to talk to him before.]

_{[It WAS unusual, for anybody who knew Heather. Being quiet was something she NEVER had a problem with.]

[But this... this is not the Heather he knows, not entirely. As evidenced by the way she sort of smiles and reaches up to close her hands around her throat, shaking her head.]

[Alessa Gillespie had no voice.]

[It had been taken away from her-- perhaps if she'd had one, someone would have listened... and been able to save her from Hell before it ever got to the point where death was the only way out.]}

[He blinks, comprehending; it's one thing to be afraid to talk. It's another entirely to be literally unable.]

It's all right. I am not upset.

[He raises his eyes to the wall before him, turning to survey the winding alleys stretching past the dog's split carcass.]

I am lost... will you take me away from here...?

_{[Children had hardly any voice to begin with, especially in the cult... and spending seven years trapped in a pain-wracked and broken body in a secret room, while the rest of the town was told you were dead... had pretty much taken away any that might have been left.]

[But the creature before L seems powerful despite not having a voice, somehow... and at his request, she nods. And then beckons, with oddly sharp fingers.]}

[L was starkly aware of just how difficult it was to be heard in a world where you had to struggle just to be taken seriously; with his neuroses and quirks, there was a reason beyond fearing for his safety that he hid his face from the public. But even though he has a tremendous amount of control in his home world, his soul is still that meek, frightened child. But a thin voice, strings and whispers, were far better than nothing at all. The creature in front of him made him feel lucky, that way.

He nods briskly, moving as quickly as he's able. He is slow and clumsy, compared to her agile movements, and she might have to do more fighting to keep him from getting caught and torn to pieces.]

_{[The dark-haired Heather moves in a gait that's half-shamble, half-lope. Like a corpse combined with some sort of wild animal. It's graceful, in a weird way. She leads him down rubble-filled alleyways and over rotten staircases without hesitation, occasionally looking over her shoulder to check if he's there every so often.]

[There are sometimes sets of unfriendly eyes that glimmer at them from the shadows and nooks they pass, but it would seem that her presence is enough to deter them from attacking... for the moment.]

[Eventually, as they round a bend, a gateway comes into view. It's some kind of immense junkyard, surrounded by chainlink. Pace visibly picking up when she spots it, Heather brightens and beckons to L once more.]}

[It is gracefully, albeit unorthodox for the classical definition of the word, and she could easily lose him if she so desired. Fortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case, and though he often trips, slips and stumbles over the debris and decaying stairways, she doesn't leave him behind.

The eyes are foreboding, and he stiffens and swallows accordingly when they flash at him from the darkness, but they seem frightened of Heather, at least enough to matter, enough to keep them from springing into the light and tearing at the two specter-like children.

As her pace quickens when they approach the junkyard, she beckons, and he does his best to keep up with her. The rubble makes him nervous; the general clutter and disorder of the scene automatically increases his anxiety. But if this is the way out, he's glad to brave it.]

_{[It would seem there's not an INCH of this space that isn't already littered with junk... Whatever this town may have once been, this vision of it is almost post-apocalyptic... like the whole place was ravaged by some kind of horrible disaster.]

[But Heather-- or THIS version of her-- seems more or less at home here... even if it's not a happy home. She reaches the chainlink fence and starts to climb it like a monkey.]}

[He shuffles past broken glass bottles and rejected, pungent boxes and casings, keeping Heather in his sight as he attempts to keep from cutting or puncturing his bare feet. Though L's soul seems otherworldly, he doesn't fit as well as he appears to. Either that, or he just doesn't know how to fit and survive.

When she starts climbing, though, his heart outright sinks. All he can do is hook the pointed, curved tips of his forearms through the chainlinks and watch her ascent; he's powerless to pull himself up.]

_{[Heather reaches the top within seconds, then turns to check on HIS progress-- .... Oh. :I]

[... Well this could be a problem.]

[She checks on the horizon, then starts to shimmy back down again.]}

[L gazes up at her with his jet-black eyes, his expression somewhere between dismay and apprehension. He can't scale the wall; he's embarrassingly ill-equipped to do much at all, actually, barring... well, barring what he does. He is L. He is the Computer Detective. He has several peripheral talents, and one perfect one. Everything else, in the entire world, is something L is better suited to leaving alone.

When she shimmies back down, though, he realizes that he's not completely forsaken, that there might be a glimmer of hope for this situation yet. Not that it doesn't still look pretty dire; how the hell could Heather get him over the fence? She's not much bigger or sturdier than he is... which is to say, neither of those qualities could be applied to her with a straight face.]

_{[It's easy to forget that not everything possesses her monkey-like climbing skills. When she reaches the bottom, she tilts her head this way and that, trying to work out a solution.]

[She couldn't carry him in one arm... as small and light as he looks, she's not exactly made of muscle...]

[Running her fingers down the chainlink she narrows her eyes briefly, before turning around and kneeling. :I HERE. PIGGYBACK.]}

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