Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29 
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Post by Dismality on Feb 21, 2016 21:36:31 GMT -5
There were several things in his short life that Dismas had not expected to happen. Getting bitten by a poisonous monster, time traveled to who knows how many years in the future, and running away to curl up in a corner of a giant manor to slowly die were just a few of them. Were he not probably taking his final breaths, the human might actually be enjoying his recent escapades. They were surely more entertaining and in a way, invigorating, then his home life. While it was selfish of him to think, Dismas couldn't help but be thankful that his sister had run away. He was worried about her, worried sick, but also thankful. Her escape had granted him his own and the burn marks that littered the backs of his hands were testament enough to how badly he'd needed to escape.
The man stared at the dust motes that circled lazily in the setting sunlight streaming in through the small parlor window and gave a heavy sigh that stirred them into a frenzy. Dismas couldn't lift his head or arms or legs anymore, had been trapped slouching on the same couch for almost two days now. He hadn't eaten in a while and not being able to move had kept him from being able to go to the small bathroom he'd found and drink the water from it's faucet. He was starved, dehydrated, and the growing puddle of acid from his stomach next to him was getting dangerously close to being on him. The abandoned parlor room he'd managed to stumble across had been his respite since running away from the skinwalker who'd been trying to help him. While part of Dismas wished he'd stayed with the taller, another part, the one that housed his pride and fear, cringed at the aspect.
He closed his eyes with another sigh, thoughts interrupted by feeling that slow churning in his gut that normally signaled another bout of vomiting. If he had the ability to groan or the drive to move away he would, but all he could muster was a huff and the slight shift of his torso.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 21:54:03 GMT -5
Someone was dying.
That was the first thing she noticed, laying back on the cushions in her room. Usually, something like this wouldn't register to her. She rarely, if ever, collected the souls of the dying, but for some reason this soul called out to her. It wasn't a normal signalling that was a pulse of energy rippling out as a signal of the host's death, warning those that it was about time to collect the soul. It felt more as if the soul was calling out to her specifically.
Interest peaked, Chronic got up and left her rooms. The soul's essence, though depleting steadily of energy, left a trace easy enough to follow. She walked through the halls, making her way away from the cult's center and toward earlier additions to the cult that were practically unused, if the layer of dust was anything to go by.
As she reached a rusted door, the souls aura hummed loudly. She expected something...different, but she shrugged off the disappointment and knocked.
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Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29
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Post by Dismality on Feb 21, 2016 22:01:55 GMT -5
So the delusions were finally setting in huh? Dismas could almost laugh, almost being the key word. His head rolled to the side slightly and hazed grey eyes stared at the door the knock had come from. What did he do? What did he say? He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even throw an illusion up to hide himself. He'd already gotten to the point where he'd accepted his death, so unless it was death himself knocking on the door the dying human really couldn't imagine anyone being there at all.
His eyes slid shut and his fingers twitched slightly, breath stirring the dust in the area once more and head throbbing slightly. His stomach was quieting for now...but he could tell the next time it became active, the acidic vile he spat up would probably choke and burn him. A less then enjoyable end for an aristocrats son who'd figured he'd be assassinated sometime in his 50's in a power play. At least he was far enough gone to not care anymore.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 22:08:18 GMT -5
She waited patiently for an answer of some sort, focusing on the fluctuations of the soul. After a minute of waiting, she tried turning the knob. The gears ground against each other, setting Chronic’s teeth on edge from the noise, but the door opened with some effort. Stepping into the room, she looked around the dimly lit area. Some sort of study? She had no clue. It wasn’t exactly what she was expecting.
Her nose twitched at the acidic smell of the room.
Unfortunately the smell came from the same place the soul resonated from. Gazing over the frail form, she tilted her head to the side.A young man laid next next to a puddle of acid, pale and looked ready to well...die. Crossing the room, she knelt down beside him. “What do we have here?” she whispered, reaching out and brushing back his sweat dampened hair.
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Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29
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Post by Dismality on Feb 21, 2016 22:27:15 GMT -5
It was a nice voice he thought. A nice, lilting voice that certainly didn't fit the depictions of the creature said to take the souls of the dying. The voice, coupled with the almost sinfully cool hand pressing to his head made him breathe out a sigh of relief. Of all things to put him to ease, it would be a gentle touch to ease the heat of his death, wouldn't it? Dismas didn't open his eyes but gave another sound, trying to voice his thanks. Even if this was all an illusion, the manners practically beaten into him as a child were hard to ignore.
His fingers twitched slightly and a quiet gagging noise was heard as he tried to keep himself from vomiting, stomach deciding it didn't quite like how relaxed his was becoming. More sweat beaded on his brow and his eyebrows furrowed while black curls stuck to his head. His lips curled in and a dry tongue dragged over them. Another minute or so and he'd definitely be burning by his own stomach contents. Hopefully, the sounds and scents in the room would alert whoever was there to back off before he ended up burning them too.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 22:40:35 GMT -5
Chronic smiled as she watched him attempt to speak. Even on the edge of death, humans were interesting. "You can't be comfortable," she commented as she looked around the room, spotting a couch of some sort. Hooking one of his arms around her shoulders, she lifted him from the ground. He was lighter than she expected. She could feel his ribs protruding under her hands and she moved him away from the acid and to the couch. Carefully as she could, she laid him out on the cushions.
Leaving him there, she searched the room, finding a bathroom off to the side. Grabbing the cleanest cup and rag, she ran the tap until the water cleared of rust and filled the cup up. She rinsed out the rag a few times before making her way back to the young man. Sitting on the edge next to him, cup in one hand, she used the rag to cool his face and wipe away the traces of acid. "Would you like some water?"
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Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29
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Post by Dismality on Feb 21, 2016 23:00:49 GMT -5
The water on his face sent a shock through his system that made even his gut still in thanks. He couldn't understand what was being said, though the words and voice were both as soothing as the hands on his face. Thickly lashed eyes cracked open to peer up at what he was certain would be some skeletal figure. Instead all the man saw was a white mask surrounded by a waterfall of white hair. It fell around him like a curtain and practically blocked out the room from his sight. Could he move his hand he'd reach up and run his fingers through the silken strands.
Instead Dismas just closed his eyes again and tried to let himself relax against the couch. Well, now he'd get to die in comfort. And really this, woman, he realized, was a comfort. A presence that eased everything aching inside him and made his breaths a little easier. Too bad he'd only just gotten to meet her, he thought glumly.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 23:08:01 GMT -5
No reply. She didn't expect one, really, but she had hoped for one.
Cupping the back of his head, she lifted him enough that drinking wouldn't choke him. "Drink," she whispered as she held the cup to his lips, the water wetting the dry skin. It wouldn't help much, maybe relieve some pain. He was dying. There wasn't much that could be done about it. He didn't have much longer and any comfort that can be supplied, she could at least give.
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Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29
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Post by Dismality on Feb 21, 2016 23:15:54 GMT -5
He really was in no shape to be refusing the water that was sliding down his throat. Sick and dillusional the human may be but he also had his own basic survival skills. Instead of greedily gulping it Dismas took small sips, the water coating his dried throat and making it so much easier to even just think. He had to keep sipping however, the last thing he needed was to puke up this small treasure and if by some miracle the woman helping him was real he didn't want to waste her efforts. His throat bobbed with each swallow of the water, lips pursed slightly and mouth working out every drop of the liquid before it opened with a small gasp and he whined quietly. This was, more then he'd expected to be given, but with the clarity the water gave him also came the realization that he was definitely on the brink of death. Recovery wasn't plausible and for some reason, having her here to help him figure that out made the fact much lighter in his chest. Working his mouth again, Dismas finally managed a raspy "Thubank yuboubu."
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 23:23:13 GMT -5
Chronic blinked in surprise. She lowered him back onto the couch as she collected herself. That...that was an old language. A dead language to be precise. "Nubow, thubat's uba lubanguubage Ubi hubavuben't hubeard ubin uba lubong whubile. Whubo tubaught yubou tubo spubeak ubit?" The language ran easily enough over her tongue. A slight accent from not being used for so long. Brushing her hands over his heated cheeks, she waited patiently for a response.
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Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29
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Post by Dismality on Feb 21, 2016 23:32:00 GMT -5
That she understood him was one thing, that she was reminding him that his language, and the time he came from, were considered "dead" now (or so the time creature had told him) was another. It hit him in the gut, and for a brief second Dismas wished he were back home instead of dying in a random manor who knows how many years into his future. He sighed and tilted his face into her hands, no longer caring about even remotely trying to keep up appearances. "Ubit's," fuck, he thought, throat bobbing and eyes squeezing shut more. Speaking hurt, it hurt a lot. "My nubatubivube lubangubuubagube."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 23:39:58 GMT -5
Native language? That couldn't be possible. There was no culture that still used that language as its own and his soul wasn't old enough to considered born in a time period that would have used that. Unless, "Tubime jubumpuber?" she asked. That was possible. Those souls were always tricky. They are hard to pinpoint to their creation time, usually. "Mubay Ubi ubassubume thubat yubou're nubot frubom thubis tubime?"
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Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29
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Post by Dismality on Feb 21, 2016 23:45:35 GMT -5
He managed to get a short laugh in before quieting and humming to himself. "Yubes." it was really all he could manage to say now especially with his head so fuzzy and his body finally seeming to become dull in the pain it had been experiencing. Vaguely, his thoughts drifted back to his sister and he hoped that whatever fate had befallen the runaway girl was far kinder then his own. His stomach churned and there was a sharp rise of acid up his throat, making him flinch and let out a low hiss. Right, body filled with poison and stomach a vat of acid, he couldn't forget that before dying.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 23:51:11 GMT -5
"Thuben whuby ubare yubou hubere?" She folded the rag onto his forehead. "Ubin thubis tubime puberubiubod. Wubouldubn't yubou mubuch rubathuber bube ubin yubour ubown tubo dubie?" He should be able to transport. Probably. She wasn't exactly sure, to be honest.
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Dismality
Sacrifice
Well that was anti-climatic
Posts: 29
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Post by Dismality on Feb 22, 2016 0:01:31 GMT -5
He shook his head lightly and opened his eyes again to give her an almost belittling look. "Nubot...uba thubing" gah, he paused and slumped back against the couch. Really, why did she keep asking him things? Talking was hard, thinking was hard, anything but breathing was hard. "Dubid nubot cubomube huberube," heavy breath "by my ubown vubiubolubatubiubon." And he hadn't, Dismas would never in a million years mess with time travel. But that damned black hole, as he'd been told it was called, had swallowed him up and dumped his raggedy ass here. It would have been nice if maybe it could have done that before the monster that'd ripped up the team he'd been travelling with had bitten him, but no, Dismas didn't have that kind of luck.
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