The first thing Sara hears when she stirs is the dripping of water. It's dark, and as she struggles she realizes her hands are free, but something is wrapped around her face. It's tight enough it almost hurts and she has to claw at it to get a sense light must exist somewhere
"Hello?" She calls out to the rest of the room as she manages to get a finger underneath the rough cloth. "Joe! Are you here? Where are we?"
The sound of dripping wakes him up; slowly, disoriented, because this isn't his nice soft bed. This isn't anywhere he'd sleep. He's passed out in the house before, from standing up too fast after doing chores, but even at night... there'd be the blue filter of night through the windows. Or red.
He must be dreaming, then. The fear that was starting to build up hits a cap and transforms into a different kind, because this is not how his dreams are supposed to go. His breathing is shaky, on the verge of panic. He reaches for something to help.
>CALM DOWN
He closes his eyes, and takes a long, deep breath. The growing dizzy, spinning feeling starts to subside. Someone else is in the room. A girl's voice... he thinks. It's difficult to...
>FOCUS
Another deep breath, and his eyes open with a little more clarity... even though there's still nothing to see. He gets shakily to his feet, arms held out for a purchase that isn't there. Something makes a noise as it falls from his lap, and he crouches and chases it with his hands before he can't place it. His leg pulls taut as something around his ankle tugs and he falls on his front, rolling and trying to pull at it. His small island of won calm is rapidly disintegrating. His fingers brush against something that feels like-
>Flick the lighter? >Yes
The room lights up in a small orange glow that feels like a lantern to dark-adjusted eyes, clutched to his chest like a talisman. The flame wavers as his hand shakes, but the thing around his ankle is... just... metal. Still cold metal. A chain flows from it, the other end out of range of the light. He stares at it numbly.
She does in fact, manage to get the blindfold off her face, thanks Sunny! As she pulls it off her face and down around her neck she gets the sense it might be...red? It's not important though, because before her...maybe about ten feet away, there is definatly a small flickering flame lighting up a face of a boy who does not look much older then herself.
Sara waves a hand, unsure if he can see her. He's got a bit of a glassy, dead eyed look to him. Sort of like a cute doll - with a nice little outfit to match. She tries to stand, only to yelp when something pulls taunt on her as well. Cold and iron? Ugh she can't see well enough!
"Hello?" She tries again, a bit of fear and frustration lacing her tone. This situation is too odd to not start to feel a bit of hostility bubble up even if she quickly crushes it. "Hello! Can you hear me?! Where am I! What is this place?"
The last thing she remembers is...her house and someone in her room. This guy couldn't be her stalker, could he? Oh god, Joe had been downstairs, was he okay?
The movement, the sound of chain on concrete, and then the voice... he looks up at her with wide eyes that rapidly settle back into that blank, neutral expression. He... has no idea who this is, but that's not unusual for his dreams either. Sometimes his mind has to hurry to fill a gap unexpectedly. ...it's uncomfortable, being this aware in one, even with a fine haze drifting over his thoughts and pulling at his limbs. It makes him feel exposed.
He gets up and walks closer, stopping a little distance away from her at the end of the chain length. The puddle in the middle of the floor reflects the small flame, rippling orange with each drop that falls into it. "Yes," he says. He can hear you. The sound is quiet, and raspy with disuse. He was never really talkative; replying yes or no to Kel today(?) even the few times has been a workout. He stares at her a bit.
>Give Strange Girl the light? >...yes
A frisson of fear snakes across his heart as he holds it out as far as he can reach across the puddle. It's the only source of light here; it seems a little too important to lose. But strange logic makes sense to him, and it's the only thing he can think to do and he is, now that things are more strange than scary, curious to see what will happen.
Okay...so. Other guy has certainly seen her at least. When he stands, the only thing Sara can seize upon to realize is that he must be too short to be her stalker. Everything else is...still frightening. It's dark, and he's standing and she's not. Something animalistic in her brain freezes as he moves, begging her to scramble away as he moves forward with a raspy voice and -
offers her the lighter.
She almost doesn't take it for a second, looking down in shock at this flagrant display of trust before she reaches out and takes it. Despite the stare, this strange boys hands are warm.
"Thank you." She says, because thats polite and her mother raised her to be polite. "Er...It's nice to meet you. I'm Sara." She holds up a hand. What a lame introduction but what else can she say? Even if he respond to her greeting she quickly scoots away to try and examine her surroundings. The puddle is immediatly suspcious but left for later. Holding the light up to the wall reveals much the same as what sunny had seen, a chain leading into concrete. Where it connects is odd though, almost mechanical. She holds it up to read it.
BONDS ARE BROKEN BY BLOOD.
"What does that even mean..." She glances over her shoulder sheepishly. "Sorry! I mean, there's just something written here! Do...you really don't know anything? If you do...I'd love to hear it? Please?"
After some lag time, he nods a little in response, because that's also polite. There's even more lag time before he replies with his name, as if the simple idea had kicked off some deep thought.
"...Omori."
That's who he is in dreams. He feels a little safer with just the name itself out there as a shield. He slowly raises his hand in turn, but by this point she's already long off and away darting around her side of the room.
He moves forward automatically when she calls over to him, and looks down at the chain halting him with irritation before leaning to the side to see the lettering behind her. The flickering of the flame makes it seem like it's alive and moving. He has no idea what it means, but the hairs on the back of his neck are prickling.
He hurriedly checks his pockets. His left. Then his right. His knife isn't there. ...that's right, Kel took it away. But no, that's not right, he's dreaming. It's always with him, in dreams. When he wants it.
He closes his eyes, hands clenching a little at his sides, and forces himself to take another deep breath before opening them. In... hold seven heartbeats. Out... seven heartbeats. It will appear when he needs it. He's been without it before.
He shakes his head. No, he doesn't know anything. He crouches down and examines the one thing he can both see and reach; the puddle, poking a finger into it. It's pleasantly warm... no, it's burning! He hisses in pain and scrambles back, chain clinking as he hurriedly wipes his finger on the front of his vest, sticks it in his mouth, wipes it down again. He feels the strange urge to whimper. His heartbeat is racing. He doesn't have any food... or even band aids... he needs to be more careful with his health. He sits there timelessly staring at the floor, then gets back up to his feet like a resurrection. The pain is a stinging throb but he can ignore it, distant, back to neutral.
Hand hanging at his side, black streaks on his front offering an aroma of burnt wool to the air, he points to the darkened side of the room and then holds out his free hand for the lighter as if nothing just happened. Maybe there's something over there he didn't notice?
"That's...a unique name." Really weird actually but, sure okay. Trapped in a dark room with a guy with a weird name. Its terrifying but...its fine. He doesn't seem to be in a good state (drugged? What does being drugged look like?) so it's up to her, isn't it?
She hears a hiss and turns back around, brow furrowed. Omori has sprung back from the puddle, his fingers dark with...something she can't quite see before he wipes it on his vest and sticks it in his mouth. W-what?
"Are you alright?" Walking briskly over to him makes her own chain jangle annoyingly, but she ignores it as she holds out a hand...keeping the lighter out of reach for now. "Let me see that. Are you hurt?" Wrong order, Sara. You've started bossing him around already.
He lifts his hand up pretty much automatically at the tone. It's a natural response. The no-nonsense concern of it reminds him a little of- of-
Mari. In a way. It hurts.
As he somehow manages to zone out even further, the damage to the finger is pretty apparent. It's red and raw and already starting to blister; quick instinct managed to save it but some of the skin on the tip is burnt black. The two nearest fingers are a little red themselves, just from splash damage as he was wiping it off.
He winces as she examines it, staring down at it in incomprehension. The pain seems to bring him back closer to the surface, as much as he's been this whole time.
He's... starting to wonder if this... isn't a dream. But what else could it be? That can't be true.
"This doesn't look good." She ruffles around in her jacket pocket. Joe is always making her carry his damn spare bandages around because he keeps losing his own acessories. Maybe right now they could be...actually useful? She holds them out to Omori.
"Take this. Can you wrap it with just one hand or should I help you?" The no nonsense concern continues. Its not her fault she seems to resemble everyone's big sister.
"There's text near my back wall. It says something about blood breaking bonds." She holds out the lighter. "Once your done, lets check out your wall. Maybe it has more clues.
dsfdgfdg both him AND sara with the accidentally scary angry face
Thankfully Sunny will not bat even a single eye at somebody else carrying around bandages on their person. Who knows when you'll next have a random encounter? They're random, after all.
He takes them and tries to apply them, but his hands are shaking too much and it is hard with just one hand. He makes a small noise of self-frustrated anger and holds them back out, looking down. Yes... he does need help... he can't do anything himself right, why did he even try? Just let big sister do it..
He nods, still looking at the puddle below as she wraps his fingers in the same brusque, no-nonsense way she's done everything so far. Lesson learnt. He takes the lighter and proceeds to cover his side of the room in similar protagonisty fashion.
>Strange Machine: Holding the chain in place... there's a slot for something in it. >Wall-Writing: It says LOCKS ARE BROKEN BY TEARS. What does it mean. >Door: Another machine is holding it shut... there's no slot on this one. >Shelf: A razorblade. You can see your face in it. Pick it up? >>Yes. >Puddle: Proven untrustworthy.
...there's really not much in the room.
He points at the writing on her side of the room as best he can with his injured hand, then holds out the razor on it's palm, and the lighter with the other hand. Maybe the machine takes blood? Honestly that feels like a puzzle his brain would come up with. In it's more macabre moments.
Ah they...aren't that nice you know? These are stupid cosplay bandages. It's just his fingers are hurt, so its good to have something covering them. Unless you aren't supposed to bandage something like this. High school chemistry has given her a vague sense he should probably wash his hands...but its not like they have a sink here.
She ties the knots loose, frowning before she lets Omori go.
"Be careful, Omori!" She calls out. Quiet guys like this are kinda worrisome. "Ah..you found something?" She bites back an instinctive 'good job'. This guy is her age, what is she thinking?
"Blood and tears...ugh this is..." She rubs her head. "I don't like it much. Do you think we're supposed to put blood in the locks? But then what does the "tears" part mean..."
Can you imagine if they used the 1000 yen water bottle needed for the puzzle on his fingers later? Imagine. Poor Alice is stuck in that locker forever now. (It's okay the kitchen probably has working taps. Probably. Better late than never.)
He's closer to her age than not, but he's also spent the past three or four years deliberately avoiding emotional growth of any kind even as his body has strained to be a grand total of 3 inches taller without him (someone measured). You can tell him he did a good job. He'll be pleased.
Sunny hopes it doesn't have to be actual tears because he's never really... been good at summoning any, even when in pain. On command is out of the question entirely; even at his most miserable he falls before tears do. If she can't do that either the only source of water is...
Another drop lands with a plick!, falling from a ceiling higher than the flickering light reaches. The evil puddle. He points to it, looking at her questioningly and then over his shoulder at where the door is. The acid is clearly strong, but they... don't have a container for it.
He gestures for the lighter and razor, making a motion across his uninjured hand like cutting it. He can give putting his blood in the machine a try at least. As far as he's concerned there isn't much to lose by the attempt.
Sara, killing Alice by dumping water on Omori. Its fine.
Sorry Sunny, she wants to treat you like a peer. She's as old as your sister was, which means she's pretty much your age. Save the painful fantasies for your own dreamed up reality.
"What? You are not doing that!" She's uncomfortable with the ease of which he's suggesting whatever he wants to harm himself for. "You aren't supposed to cut your hands like that..." Color her concerned. "Can you explain, please?" Yes Sunny, you see, if you want to do a puzzle you may have to...say things out loud.
Thankfully it'll take a little more CR before Sara ends up with a dreamsona. The possibility nevertheless looms.
Sunny stares at her. How else are you supposed to cut your hands. He opens his mouth, and what comes out is more aspirated air than sound. He hates this. He's used to everyone he knows being used to him. He's used to dreams where people instantly get what he means. He tries again after blowing out a long breath.
"If..." he rasps. Hm. How to put this. He visibly struggles with wording it, clears his throat and tries again. "The chains need blood." He swallows. "It's sharp. There's..." Wow this is already a lot. He chances pointing at the most illuminated machine. "A hole for it. There." He's just a little annoyed... frustrated at the necessity of speaking.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Starter: Sunny
"Hello?" She calls out to the rest of the room as she manages to get a finger underneath the rough cloth. "Joe! Are you here? Where are we?"
OH BOY OH BOY
He must be dreaming, then. The fear that was starting to build up hits a cap and transforms into a different kind, because this is not how his dreams are supposed to go. His breathing is shaky, on the verge of panic. He reaches for something to help.
>CALM DOWN
He closes his eyes, and takes a long, deep breath. The growing dizzy, spinning feeling starts to subside. Someone else is in the room. A girl's voice... he thinks. It's difficult to...
>FOCUS
Another deep breath, and his eyes open with a little more clarity... even though there's still nothing to see. He gets shakily to his feet, arms held out for a purchase that isn't there. Something makes a noise as it falls from his lap, and he crouches and chases it with his hands before he can't place it. His leg pulls taut as something around his ankle tugs and he falls on his front, rolling and trying to pull at it. His small island of won calm is rapidly disintegrating. His fingers brush against something that feels like-
>Flick the lighter?
>Yes
The room lights up in a small orange glow that feels like a lantern to dark-adjusted eyes, clutched to his chest like a talisman. The flame wavers as his hand shakes, but the thing around his ankle is... just... metal. Still cold metal. A chain flows from it, the other end out of range of the light. He stares at it numbly.
jerma jigsaw voice: GGGGGAS
Sara waves a hand, unsure if he can see her. He's got a bit of a glassy, dead eyed look to him. Sort of like a cute doll - with a nice little outfit to match. She tries to stand, only to yelp when something pulls taunt on her as well. Cold and iron? Ugh she can't see well enough!
"Hello?" She tries again, a bit of fear and frustration lacing her tone. This situation is too odd to not start to feel a bit of hostility bubble up even if she quickly crushes it. "Hello! Can you hear me?! Where am I! What is this place?"
The last thing she remembers is...her house and someone in her room. This guy couldn't be her stalker, could he? Oh god, Joe had been downstairs, was he okay?
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...it's uncomfortable, being this aware in one, even with a fine haze drifting over his thoughts and pulling at his limbs. It makes him feel exposed.
He gets up and walks closer, stopping a little distance away from her at the end of the chain length. The puddle in the middle of the floor reflects the small flame, rippling orange with each drop that falls into it. "Yes," he says. He can hear you. The sound is quiet, and raspy with disuse. He was never really talkative; replying yes or no to Kel today(?) even the few times has been a workout. He stares at her a bit.
>Give Strange Girl the light?
>...yes
A frisson of fear snakes across his heart as he holds it out as far as he can reach across the puddle. It's the only source of light here; it seems a little too important to lose. But strange logic makes sense to him, and it's the only thing he can think to do and he is, now that things are more strange than scary, curious to see what will happen.
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offers her the lighter.
She almost doesn't take it for a second, looking down in shock at this flagrant display of trust before she reaches out and takes it. Despite the stare, this strange boys hands are warm.
"Thank you." She says, because thats polite and her mother raised her to be polite. "Er...It's nice to meet you. I'm Sara." She holds up a hand. What a lame introduction but what else can she say? Even if he respond to her greeting she quickly scoots away to try and examine her surroundings. The puddle is immediatly suspcious but left for later. Holding the light up to the wall reveals much the same as what sunny had seen, a chain leading into concrete. Where it connects is odd though, almost mechanical. She holds it up to read it.
BONDS ARE BROKEN BY BLOOD.
"What does that even mean..." She glances over her shoulder sheepishly. "Sorry! I mean, there's just something written here! Do...you really don't know anything? If you do...I'd love to hear it? Please?"
sunny your ping is insane
"...Omori."
That's who he is in dreams. He feels a little safer with just the name itself out there as a shield. He slowly raises his hand in turn, but by this point she's already long off and away darting around her side of the room.
He moves forward automatically when she calls over to him, and looks down at the chain halting him with irritation before leaning to the side to see the lettering behind her. The flickering of the flame makes it seem like it's alive and moving. He has no idea what it means, but the hairs on the back of his neck are prickling.
He hurriedly checks his pockets. His left. Then his right. His knife isn't there. ...that's right, Kel took it away. But no, that's not right, he's dreaming. It's always with him, in dreams. When he wants it.
He closes his eyes, hands clenching a little at his sides, and forces himself to take another deep breath before opening them. In... hold seven heartbeats. Out... seven heartbeats. It will appear when he needs it. He's been without it before.
He shakes his head. No, he doesn't know anything. He crouches down and examines the one thing he can both see and reach; the puddle, poking a finger into it. It's pleasantly warm... no, it's burning! He hisses in pain and scrambles back, chain clinking as he hurriedly wipes his finger on the front of his vest, sticks it in his mouth, wipes it down again. He feels the strange urge to whimper. His heartbeat is racing. He doesn't have any food... or even band aids... he needs to be more careful with his health. He sits there timelessly staring at the floor, then gets back up to his feet like a resurrection. The pain is a stinging throb but he can ignore it, distant, back to neutral.
Hand hanging at his side, black streaks on his front offering an aroma of burnt wool to the air, he points to the darkened side of the room and then holds out his free hand for the lighter as if nothing just happened. Maybe there's something over there he didn't notice?
this bitch lagging smh
She hears a hiss and turns back around, brow furrowed. Omori has sprung back from the puddle, his fingers dark with...something she can't quite see before he wipes it on his vest and sticks it in his mouth. W-what?
"Are you alright?" Walking briskly over to him makes her own chain jangle annoyingly, but she ignores it as she holds out a hand...keeping the lighter out of reach for now. "Let me see that. Are you hurt?" Wrong order, Sara. You've started bossing him around already.
no subject
Mari. In a way. It hurts.
As he somehow manages to zone out even further, the damage to the finger is pretty apparent. It's red and raw and already starting to blister; quick instinct managed to save it but some of the skin on the tip is burnt black. The two nearest fingers are a little red themselves, just from splash damage as he was wiping it off.
He winces as she examines it, staring down at it in incomprehension. The pain seems to bring him back closer to the surface, as much as he's been this whole time.
He's... starting to wonder if this... isn't a dream. But what else could it be? That can't be true.
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"Take this. Can you wrap it with just one hand or should I help you?" The no nonsense concern continues. Its not her fault she seems to resemble everyone's big sister.
"There's text near my back wall. It says something about blood breaking bonds." She holds out the lighter. "Once your done, lets check out your wall. Maybe it has more clues.
dsfdgfdg both him AND sara with the accidentally scary angry face
He takes them and tries to apply them, but his hands are shaking too much and it is hard with just one hand. He makes a small noise of self-frustrated anger and holds them back out, looking down. Yes... he does need help...
he can't do anything himself right, why did he even try? Just let big sister do it..He nods, still looking at the puddle below as she wraps his fingers in the same brusque, no-nonsense way she's done everything so far. Lesson learnt. He takes the lighter and proceeds to cover his side of the room in similar protagonisty fashion.
>Strange Machine: Holding the chain in place... there's a slot for something in it.
>Wall-Writing: It says LOCKS ARE BROKEN BY TEARS. What does it mean.
>Door: Another machine is holding it shut... there's no slot on this one.
>Shelf: A razorblade. You can see your face in it. Pick it up?
>>Yes.
>Puddle: Proven untrustworthy.
...there's really not much in the room.
He points at the writing on her side of the room as best he can with his injured hand, then holds out the razor on it's palm, and the lighter with the other hand. Maybe the machine takes blood? Honestly that feels like a puzzle his brain would come up with. In it's more macabre moments.
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She ties the knots loose, frowning before she lets Omori go.
"Be careful, Omori!" She calls out. Quiet guys like this are kinda worrisome. "Ah..you found something?" She bites back an instinctive 'good job'. This guy is her age, what is she thinking?
"Blood and tears...ugh this is..." She rubs her head. "I don't like it much. Do you think we're supposed to put blood in the locks? But then what does the "tears" part mean..."
no subject
He's closer to her age than not, but he's also spent the past three or four years deliberately avoiding emotional growth of any kind even as his body has strained to be a grand total of 3 inches taller without him (someone measured). You can tell him he did a good job. He'll be pleased.
Sunny hopes it doesn't have to be actual tears because he's never really... been good at summoning any, even when in pain. On command is out of the question entirely; even at his most miserable he falls before tears do. If she can't do that either the only source of water is...
Another drop lands with a plick!, falling from a ceiling higher than the flickering light reaches. The evil puddle. He points to it, looking at her questioningly and then over his shoulder at where the door is. The acid is clearly strong, but they... don't have a container for it.
He gestures for the lighter and razor, making a motion across his uninjured hand like cutting it. He can give putting his blood in the machine a try at least. As far as he's concerned there isn't much to lose by the attempt.
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Sorry Sunny, she wants to treat you like a peer. She's as old as your sister was, which means she's pretty much your age. Save the painful fantasies for your own dreamed up reality.
"What? You are not doing that!" She's uncomfortable with the ease of which he's suggesting whatever he wants to harm himself for. "You aren't supposed to cut your hands like that..." Color her concerned. "Can you explain, please?" Yes Sunny, you see, if you want to do a puzzle you may have to...say things out loud.
no subject
Thankfully it'll take a little more CR before Sara ends up with a dreamsona. The possibility nevertheless looms.
Sunny stares at her. How else are you supposed to cut your hands. He opens his mouth, and what comes out is more aspirated air than sound. He hates this. He's used to everyone he knows being used to him. He's used to dreams where people instantly get what he means. He tries again after blowing out a long breath.
"If..." he rasps. Hm. How to put this. He visibly struggles with wording it, clears his throat and tries again. "The chains need blood." He swallows. "It's sharp. There's..." Wow this is already a lot. He chances pointing at the most illuminated machine. "A hole for it. There." He's just a little annoyed... frustrated at the necessity of speaking.
no subject