Marceline (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
queenofbass) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-03-02 09:37 pm
queenofbass) wrote in towerofanimus2012-03-02 09:37 pm
Entry tags:
When bleeding is feeling and feelin' ain't real
Characters: Marceline and anyone who wants to deal with her right now
Setting: Morning after Hitori Kakurenbo, tower halls
Format: Starting in prose but I'll match.
Summary: Marceline knows death, but never as awful as the game showed her. And it's more scarring than what she has experienced before. She doesn't deal well with this kind.
Warnings: Panicky, irritated vampire, mostly.
Marceline had been on her side as she woke up, the prickling at the back of her neck alerting her to danger and worrying her, but leaving her unable to do anything until her body recovered from the paralysis. She'd been facing away from her table. The resulting fit when she finally turned over and saw the "present" the lunatics running this insane asylum of a tower had left her was worse than any she'd ever had.
Hambo the Second. Sitting on the table. As repaired as if nothing had ever happened to the ratty little thing. The previous night's game hadn't even faded, and the phantom pain in her scars flared red hot. For an eternity (contained in a few faint flutters of her undead heart), it all came back as if she were reliving the event.
Attack. Claws, no bass, left it behind because what could this really call for besides herself and Hambo? Screaming. Not a chance. Plucked from air like nothing. Pushed down to the ground. Old scars reopened. Drained. Pain, red in the worst way. Pain like a brand. Screaming, hers. Fading slowly. Waking here.
Her nails had become claws again, but she couldn't use them, whether from fright or some sick remnant of concern for the tattered bear she couldn't say. With a quiet shriek she swiped the bear off the table, and shot out of the room, determined to get as far away from it as she could.
Setting: Morning after Hitori Kakurenbo, tower halls
Format: Starting in prose but I'll match.
Summary: Marceline knows death, but never as awful as the game showed her. And it's more scarring than what she has experienced before. She doesn't deal well with this kind.
Warnings: Panicky, irritated vampire, mostly.
Marceline had been on her side as she woke up, the prickling at the back of her neck alerting her to danger and worrying her, but leaving her unable to do anything until her body recovered from the paralysis. She'd been facing away from her table. The resulting fit when she finally turned over and saw the "present" the lunatics running this insane asylum of a tower had left her was worse than any she'd ever had.
Hambo the Second. Sitting on the table. As repaired as if nothing had ever happened to the ratty little thing. The previous night's game hadn't even faded, and the phantom pain in her scars flared red hot. For an eternity (contained in a few faint flutters of her undead heart), it all came back as if she were reliving the event.
Attack. Claws, no bass, left it behind because what could this really call for besides herself and Hambo? Screaming. Not a chance. Plucked from air like nothing. Pushed down to the ground. Old scars reopened. Drained. Pain, red in the worst way. Pain like a brand. Screaming, hers. Fading slowly. Waking here.
Her nails had become claws again, but she couldn't use them, whether from fright or some sick remnant of concern for the tattered bear she couldn't say. With a quiet shriek she swiped the bear off the table, and shot out of the room, determined to get as far away from it as she could.
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"And I'll try to return the favor. We'll show these guys who they're dealing with!" she laughed.
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It didn't. But it did give her a couple of steps to wave casually back toward Romeo, a small grin on her face as she said "thanks, kid," just loud enough to be heard.
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