thirty-seven ➢ psychic spam & voice

[patheticvillain]

[Open season to any psychics around: a bad dream. Or a memory, but fantastical enough to masquerade as a simple dream. It's about justice, and games, and a carnival death. It's about entertainment, and about despair.]

[He kills the girl in the memory-dream. He remembers doing it, and he remembers feeling ashamed and weak. She had his secret. She knew, somehow, the worst thing he'd ever done in his life, the worst sin he'd ever committed - and she was going to tell.]

[He lured her to the roof, and he walked her off the edge. And they found him out. Of course they fucking found him out.]

[There was no escaping judgment, of course. Nobody before him had, and it was vaguely satisfying to realize that nobody after him would, either.]

[A deck of cards, taller than him, boxing him in by suit. Fluorescent green spades and clubs, fuschia hearts and diamonds - they make his eyes hurt. He's staring down four aces, lashed by his ankles to the floor as the cards fan out and begin to circle him. They're on tracks; he can hear the tracks but not see them. What he sees are the sharp edges of the cards whizzing past himm, circles getting tighter and tighter. He can imagine them cutting pieces off his skin, chunks out of his flesh, slicing bone, as they come closer and closer--]

[And then they're here, and they do, and it hurts more than anything's ever hurt before, and he's laughing and screaming and dying--]

[And he wakes up. Sulkily turns on the network and speaks plaintively, too shell-shocked by his own mind and memory to censor himself.]

I dreamed about that goddamn bear again. Let me into the pub.


( ooc; cassel is a super high school level gambler from dangan ronpa! he was also super murdered by monobear. feel free to pick up on that if your character has psychic powers. more info here. )

Comments

[fridgetothefire]

[Her room is different. The briefing she leaves by her bunk in case of memory disruptions has been reworded overnight, and is much less concise. The penmanship has also suffered. Her item is different, but clearly identified.]

I will.

[And click. She waits by the door.]

[notsoneedy]

[If it were only a dream, Needy might be confused. Her own dreams are like this, sometimes. Muddled and dark and...evil. Tormented. Stealing away her sleep, but even still, useless.

Except she isn't dreaming when it happens. She's sitting up in her room, wide awake.

She knows this. And yet, like distorted whispers through a toy tincan phone, she hears the disjointed fragments of this bad dream invading their way into her mind.

She can feel the fear, hear the thoughts of 'She's going to tell' and all she can think with her own horror and frustration is 'Not again'.

She lets out her own psychic scream of 'Stop!, overloaded.

Whether or not the person on the other end is capable of hearing her, there's no way just then to tell.]

video;

[notdreaming]

[ Kara blinks for a moment, confused. Cassel's never caused any trouble, so... ]

You're welcome in the pub any time, but what bear?

dream spam????

[lastrat]

[One moment he wasn't there, and the next - there he is. Walking along beside Cassel, walking with him as he walks her onto the roof.]

Pretty.

[He sounds as arrogant and blase as ever. Dream-Bond still has his humanity turned off.]

Bit thick, though. How'd you get her up here?

[andyougoleft]

[Slevin is always smiling, it seems - now is no exception. His voice is warm, though, apparently always empathetic for the plight of those around him.

It's a lie, of course, but so thorough that it's impossible to tell for sure.]

Perhaps you should be seeking something a little more longterm.

[patheticvillain]

[Well, that was easy.]

[He slinks to the bar, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes narrowed in anger or surrender. When he gets there, he doesn't meet her eyes.]

Hey.

Lemme in?

[patheticvillain]

[He shivers and sweats in his sleep. Doesn't wake up right away; just hears the screaming of one of his classmates or another, he doesn't know which one, doesn't care, they're nothing and less than nothing to him, it's just that he doesn't want to die--]

[When he realizes the scream isn't coming from a person. It's coming from one of the cards, the ace of hearts, which slows before him just moments from slicing off a chunk of his shoulder.]

[Stop! the ace screams, from a face it doesn't have with a mouth it doesn't have, and everything just . . . stops.]

[Cassel wakes up in his room, staring at the ceiling. What. Was that.]

[Then, tentatively, he screams through his own mind into the Barge: You stop!]

video;

[patheticvillain]

What bear, she asks-- Monobear. The bear. The one who killed me.

yeAHHH!!!!!!!!!

[patheticvillain]

[Cassel starts, almost jumping off the roof himself. Careful, careful. Some part of him knows it's a dream; some part of him is convinced it isn't.]

Persuasion.

And drugs.

Who the hell are you?

[patheticvillain]

[He narrows his eyes; shrugs tightly.]

What? You mean like death? Tried that already. It didn't take.

[fridgetothefire]

[She unlocks the door and holds it open, waiting. She'll follow him in, like a guard, like a shadow.]

[patheticvillain]

. . . You don't have to stay. If you don't want.

[fridgetothefire]

I am aware.

[There are other wardens here; even though he is often foolish, he will likely to come to little harm here, from himself or others. She sits beside him. He didn't say he wanted her to go.]

[patheticvillain]

Oh.

[She's quiet and a little odd. But she sort of makes him smile, sometimes.]

[He sits at the bar, angled awkwardly towards her, like he's inviting conversation but not sure about it.]

Do you want something to drink?

[fridgetothefire]

I will have what you are having.

[It is an effective way to learn about not only the available varieties of alcohol, but also their social and personal associations, which are neglected when she works her way through lists. Additionally, humans derive emotional benefits from co-consumption.]

[patheticvillain]

[He brightens slightly, slides a beer towards her. It's cheap beer, what he's used to. That and expensive champagne: he has complicated taste.]

I had a bad dream.

[fridgetothefire]

[She takes a swallow, considers. The low alcohol content means more can be consumed by humans in a social setting before becoming intoxicated. The cool temperature gives it the superficial impression of being more effective at hydration than wine, but this is an illusion in both cases. The tactile quanta of carbonation remains difficult to assess. She takes another sip. Anya Lehnsherr's library included texts containing many texts on the significance of dreams, but few agreed.]

Are you seeking understanding, or comfort?

[patheticvillain]

[He gnaws his lip.]

I don't think there's anything to understand. It's just . . . memories.

So comfort, I guess.

[fridgetothefire]

I also dream of things that have happened. But they are in the past.

video;

[notdreaming]

Oh. It's strange, I don't think I've ever heard that name before.

[ Which is weird, because she hears everything-- when she has her powers, anyway. ]

[persecutioncomplex]

[It can't be the same bear, she tells herself, but she listens to what other people have to say for once and hears him name it to Kara. She's new, so he hasn't met any version of her who would repulse him (as far as she knows), and she has to offer... something. A sense that he isn't alone, at least.]

There was more than one bear.

[notsoneedy]

[Ugh. That scream back feels like a little knife right to inside of her brain. She winces, hard, in the physical world.

Thinks back again, as hard as she can "Who ARE you?"

She's used to picking of fragments of other people's thoughts but most of the time it's like white noise. Like trying to eavesdrop across a crowded room. It's never really been this direct, this clear, this singled out before.]

[lastrat]

Your fairy godfather.

[He smirks, leaning over the edge of the roof to peer down, and whistles.]

What did she do to you?

video;

[patheticvillain]

Then either you haven't been paying attention or you're really fucking lucky.

[patheticvillain]

[Radio silence for a moment. He doesn't know what to make of this at all. The voice sounds - familiar, but--]

Copies?

[patheticvillain]

[He shrugs, mumbling something to himself. The last word is probably tell.]

[patheticvillain]

[For a minute he thinks about lying. Making up a false name. But that's stupid. She's in his head. She'll be able to figure it out no matter what he does.]

["Cassel," he says tentatively. "Why are you in my head?"]

[patheticvillain]

What do you dream of?

[fridgetothefire]

Sometimes killing.

Sometimes -

[Now, she balks. She takes another swallow of her beer, then sets it down before hopping deftly over the bar. She finds a plain shot glass and a bottle of raqi. She looks at him.]

There was a girl.

[She fills the glass, almost to the brim, and it's almost invisible, clear and smooth. She puts the bottle away. There's a water spigot, and she runs her hand under it, then flicks her fingers, droplets of water unerringly hitting the liquor in little blooms of white, tiny clouds of opacity. Flick, flick, flick.]

She felt too much. Struggled. Lost - clarity. She focused on the wrong thing.

[Flick, flick. The whiteness spreads through the whole glass.]

So.

[She dries her hand with a napkin, precise and dainty, then flicks the side of the glass with one strong, careful finger, holding it still with her other hand. The glass fractures, a curving spiderweb of cracks, but doesn't shatter, doesn't spill. Then she picks it up, pouring the liquor out on the counter in a long, thin, slow stream. The smell of licorice is strong. She wipes out the inside of the glass with the napkin too, then turns it upside down, puts it on the counter with a clink, slides it toward him as if for inspection.]

The glass is dry. But it remembers. Being full, and being emptied.

[notsoneedy]

["You got into mine first," she retorts, and the defensiveness that comes along with it should be an answer all its own, maybe. She thought she was under attack. She was only trying to defend herself. Flight or fight.

It's the story of her life, really.]

video;

[notdreaming]

I'm sorry. [ She sorta skipped over the horrible nightmares part. ] I'll let you into the pub now, if you like.

[lastrat]

[Bond leans forward, making a vague gesture to his ear. Like he doesn't have great hearing. Like he doesn't have more than great hearing.]

Sorry, what was that? You really ought to enunciate.

What did she tell?

[patheticvillain]

[Being full, and being emptied. He wonders if he was ever full, or if he was always playing hands desperately in attempt to get to fullness. He believes he thought killing that girl would keep him safe.]

[He believes in nothing at all now. Not even fullness. He wonders if she is telling him a fairy tale.]

I dream about killing, and being killed, and . . .

Echoes.

[In his heart, in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know how to explain.]

video;

[patheticvillain]

Thanks. I'll - hold on a sec, I'll be there.

[patheticvillain]

She was going to tell, [he bursts out, ferociously angry.]

She was going to tell on me.

[patheticvillain]

["I didn't mean to," he offers, and for once it's the truth. He thought he was safe in his own head. It seems like he isn't safe anywhere.]

["How much did you see?"]

[notsoneedy]

["Enough," she spits back, but it's all rough around the edges, tinged by her own fear. She backs up a little, retreats. After all he did apologize. "You were scared. Of a secret. Of someone telling it. And I saw...pain."]

[fridgetothefire]

You are not an echo. You're real.

[With the conviction she brings to all things, the certainty of strategic assessment, that she would not say it if it were not verified.]

[persecutioncomplex]

There were always copies. The whole world was full of them, after I died and remembered.

I remember it, but not you.

[She'd rather have remembered him.]

[patheticvillain]

But I'm dead. Doesn't that make me - a ghost?

Except you wouldn't believe in those, I bet.

[patheticvillain]

[Nothing for a while, just staticky silence. Then:]

["Did you see the secret?"]

[patheticvillain]

Who are you?

[lastrat]

Oh, you poor thing.

[He likes that anger, but not quite enough to stop poking. He leans over the edge of the roof, looking down and whistling.]

Must be something terrible, whatever you did.

[notsoneedy]

["No. I'm not that good. I'm surprised we're even talking right now."

Well. 'Talking'.]

[fridgetothefire]

I have met angels and vampires. Ghosts are a similar class of spiritual and/or postmortem folkloric phenomena. The question is not whether they exist, but where.

However, an aggregation of available cultural descriptions suggests ghosts do not drink beer.

[persecutioncomplex]

[It's momentous, almost. She takes her position seriously, when it's someone from her home.]

Fukawa from Class 78 at Hope's Peak.