Rᴇᴍɪʟɪᴀ Sᴄᴀʀʟᴇᴛ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
septette) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-12-15 11:04 am
septette) wrote in towerofanimus2012-12-15 11:04 am
Entry tags:
[open] i just want to save you while there's still something left to save
Character: Remilia and you
Setting: Floor 19, Floor 26
Format: Prose to start, but I'll match you!
Summary: Remilia's hallucinations are getting worse, meaning that she's starting to hear the voices of her old acquaintances from the Facility, and getting awful overlayed flashbacks.
Warnings: References to death. And obligatory angst.
It couldn't be real. It couldn't be. The place was long gone, even if it wasn't destroyed. She could never go back there; they wouldn't let her. She was so sure of it.
So she did anything she could to push out the voices.
At first it was easier. She could just ignore them, or try and go to sleep. Luckily she had no nightmares. But after a while it grew more incessant. Clamping her hands over her ears wasn't good enough.
A} One can find her on Floor 19, flipping through the thick reference books. She has a pile of psychology books next to her, virtually everything she could grab from the near-vacant section. She flips through hastily, looking through a couple at once, a few on her lap, a few on a table next to her. The covers indicate she's generally looking at books on schizophrenia and other manias. In addition, there's a large medical textbook on the floor in front of her, turned open to a page on paracusia.
B} Textbooks not helpful in the slightest, Remilia no longer knows what to do. Instead she's holed herself up in one of her regular spots, Floor 26 aka the morgue. She's curled up in a corner, her cape wrapped around her, slightly shivering and muttering to herself.
"It's not real...it's not real...I'm not..."
Fire. Burning. Lights. Metal. Blood. Screaming. Fire. Fire. Fire Light. Sun burning fire light sun burning scream fire fire light sun sun sun fire fire fire fire BURNING--
And then nothing.
She lets out a blood-curdling scream.
"Let her go, let her go, LET HER GO! She didn't...she didn't go anything...I didn't do...she didn't...I'm so sorry, Patchouli..."
Her scream eventually fades into a low, aching sob.
Setting: Floor 19, Floor 26
Format: Prose to start, but I'll match you!
Summary: Remilia's hallucinations are getting worse, meaning that she's starting to hear the voices of her old acquaintances from the Facility, and getting awful overlayed flashbacks.
Warnings: References to death. And obligatory angst.
It couldn't be real. It couldn't be. The place was long gone, even if it wasn't destroyed. She could never go back there; they wouldn't let her. She was so sure of it.
So she did anything she could to push out the voices.
At first it was easier. She could just ignore them, or try and go to sleep. Luckily she had no nightmares. But after a while it grew more incessant. Clamping her hands over her ears wasn't good enough.
A} One can find her on Floor 19, flipping through the thick reference books. She has a pile of psychology books next to her, virtually everything she could grab from the near-vacant section. She flips through hastily, looking through a couple at once, a few on her lap, a few on a table next to her. The covers indicate she's generally looking at books on schizophrenia and other manias. In addition, there's a large medical textbook on the floor in front of her, turned open to a page on paracusia.
B} Textbooks not helpful in the slightest, Remilia no longer knows what to do. Instead she's holed herself up in one of her regular spots, Floor 26 aka the morgue. She's curled up in a corner, her cape wrapped around her, slightly shivering and muttering to herself.
"It's not real...it's not real...I'm not..."
Fire. Burning. Lights. Metal. Blood. Screaming. Fire. Fire. Fire Light. Sun burning fire light sun burning scream fire fire light sun sun sun fire fire fire fire BURNING--
And then nothing.
She lets out a blood-curdling scream.
"Let her go, let her go, LET HER GO! She didn't...she didn't go anything...I didn't do...she didn't...I'm so sorry, Patchouli..."
Her scream eventually fades into a low, aching sob.
no subject
"That demon"?