Pitch Black (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
toomanyeyes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-05-13 07:36 am
toomanyeyes) wrote in towerofanimus2013-05-13 07:36 am
In which the Tower acquires a Boogeyman. Great. [intro]
Characters: Pitch and YOU
Setting: The library for now. He will be moving steadily upwards as he explores, so if your character is on a different floor, don't be afraid to put it in the subject heading!
Format: Prose to start, will match
Summary: The Tower's brand new Boogeyman is in the exploring mood. Be afraid. Very afraid.
Warnings: If you haven't checked out Pitch's permission post and replied to it, do so here first. Kind of important. Pitch exploits and reads people's fears, so if you don't want him digging into your character's head, please let me know!
Pitch couldn't believe how good his luck had become.
Centuries--no, millennia of being dismissed as a bad dream, as a nagging feeling, as a figment of some human's imagination, betrayed and starved and almost outright killed by the Guardians... No more of that, now. Now he had an entire Tower to paralyze with fear, to inflict with nightmares. Here, everyone could see him. Whether they believed in him or not. And they would believe, if Pitch had his way.
But that could wait. Bolstered by the fears of an entire community, he was feeling better, stronger than he had in ages. A perfect time to go exploring his new home. Why should he care about the old one, when the new was already turning out so well? He would miss certain things, certainly. Scenery, a few of his fellow spirits, the ones very old like himself that were still clinging to existence. But he had survived, and not them. All the better. He already had to share with his rescuers. Less to bicker over, really.
Pitch sat in one of the chairs in the library, enjoying a book he'd been meaning to read for a while. At the Mountains of Madness was the only thing he had yet to read, and he lamented not being able to do so during its author's lifetime. He read intently, giggling a bit to himself. "Oh Howard. You sad little man. You never did quite get the hang of dialogue, did you?"
Setting: The library for now. He will be moving steadily upwards as he explores, so if your character is on a different floor, don't be afraid to put it in the subject heading!
Format: Prose to start, will match
Summary: The Tower's brand new Boogeyman is in the exploring mood. Be afraid. Very afraid.
Warnings: If you haven't checked out Pitch's permission post and replied to it, do so here first. Kind of important. Pitch exploits and reads people's fears, so if you don't want him digging into your character's head, please let me know!
Pitch couldn't believe how good his luck had become.
Centuries--no, millennia of being dismissed as a bad dream, as a nagging feeling, as a figment of some human's imagination, betrayed and starved and almost outright killed by the Guardians... No more of that, now. Now he had an entire Tower to paralyze with fear, to inflict with nightmares. Here, everyone could see him. Whether they believed in him or not. And they would believe, if Pitch had his way.
But that could wait. Bolstered by the fears of an entire community, he was feeling better, stronger than he had in ages. A perfect time to go exploring his new home. Why should he care about the old one, when the new was already turning out so well? He would miss certain things, certainly. Scenery, a few of his fellow spirits, the ones very old like himself that were still clinging to existence. But he had survived, and not them. All the better. He already had to share with his rescuers. Less to bicker over, really.
Pitch sat in one of the chairs in the library, enjoying a book he'd been meaning to read for a while. At the Mountains of Madness was the only thing he had yet to read, and he lamented not being able to do so during its author's lifetime. He read intently, giggling a bit to himself. "Oh Howard. You sad little man. You never did quite get the hang of dialogue, did you?"
no subject
The voice that comes near Pitch's shoulder is so timid and quiet, one might think it might belong to an insect hovering nearby- but, in fact, it's just a young man with disheveled clothing and long shaggy brown hair, blinking at Pitch's choice of book with dark eyes. He seems to be carrying a book of his own- Grimm's Fairy Tales, to be exact.
"I-I've always found his writing style to be a little hard to read. The descriptions in it are quite nice, though..."
no subject
His eclipsed eyes glanced to the other's own book, and he smirked. "Not bad taste. I think my favorite has to be 'The Story of a Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was'. An exercise in futility, really, but he got his wish in the end."
no subject
Said the being who was millions-of-years-old himself. But still, it wasn't like he was around to know Lovecraft when he was alive, being stuck at the bottom of a lake and all. At Pitch's comment toward his book, though, he smiles pathetically and nods, clutching the tales closer to himself.
"Ah, yes! Yes, I like that story too. Godfather Death is an interesting, one, as well as Brother and Sister...it's really hard to choose one for a favorite, though, I really like them all."
no subject
no subject
Instead he moves his gaze to the side with a nervous little smile, though the look in his eyes is darkly amused.
"That depends on what age you're referring to. To most people, I'm 20. That isn't very old at all..."
no subject
Pitch laughed, making a flourishing bow. "Humans named me Pitch. A pleasure to meet you."
no subject
"Ah, then my other age is much closer to that one, yes...Pitch?" Not a name he had heard of before, but still, he'll bow his head in turn, smirking. "A pleasure as well. I never thought I'd meet another one like me around here, I have to say. It's a pleasant surprise."
no subject
"There's been fewer and fewer of us, I'm sorry to say. Well...depending on your individual universe. I have no idea if we're even from the same place. But what about you? Have you a name, as the humans define them?"
no subject
He smirks and gives a shrug to Pitch's question. "Sam. Sam Erstwhile. Though that, acually, is the name I borrowed from somebody else. I'm afraid I was rather nameless before that. Still, a name is a name."
no subject
So he was untainted by humanity. ...No. Not quite true. He felt fear. Pitch could taste it, could sense it. "Indeed it is. You might want to reconsider that last name. Given your circumstances, it might be a little too ironic."
no subject
Formerly Sam. It was right there, in front of people's eyes and ears, and no one even noticed. The truth about the snivelling coward of a man that everyone knew was hidden in plain sight. How ironic, indeed.
"Besides, part of me won't quite let go of the past, so...it had to stay."
no subject
no subject
no subject
As she walked, she grabbed a copy of I, Robot, one of The Master and Margarita, and Thus Spoke Zarathustra. However, when she turned the corner, she saw a man reading At the Mountains of Madness to himself. While she enjoyed that volume, his laughter and words were what piqued her interest, so she walked towards him, smiling.
"Pardon, but did you actually know Lovecraft in your universe?"
no subject
"I did. He was a good friend of mine."
no subject
"That's pretty amazing then! You must be older than you look..but I don't think Lovecraft's dialogue was bad. It's just like his prose: it takes awhile for people to get into, but once you're used to it, it's like drinking wine that came out of an old, crooked, dusty black bottle. It's dark, and a little scary, but it's seductive and delicious!"
no subject
no subject
"Maybe..if I'm wrong, I apologize..but are you in any way fear personified?"
no subject
And so for the first time in a very, very long time, Pitch was rendered entirely speechless.
Finally he cleared his throat. "What makes you say that...?"
no subject
"Well, if you look at the people and things Lovecraft was influenced by, there were quite a few authors, like Poe, Blackwood, and Chambers..but, to be honest, you probably wouldn't be calling Lovecraft a friend if you were any of those authors. Poe was dead, and Lovecraft's readership was limited while he was alive.
However, Lovecraft was also influenced by two other things: his love of science, which you don't quite fit of the part of, and his own nightmares, which would fit your 'rubbing off' statement. Poe was also influenced by fear, and Lovecraft's stories were mostly about cosmic entities that might as well been fear personified for those universes, as they drove people mad with both horror and the fact that they could do nothing about them.
So, was my guess correct? Or are you an author who knew Lovecraft during his lifetime?"
no subject
no subject
"I don't know much about the people in your universe, so I wouldn't say that..but when you mention Lovecraft in front of a book girl, the truth will come out sooner or later."
no subject
Despite what he'd told Apollo, the letter had shaken him. The thought that despite everything they'd done, the world had ended anyway... well, it wasn't exactly something he wanted to dwell on. Unfortunately, he needed control of himself to have proper control of his powers, which meant the empathy was even less closed off than it normally was. Being in a room with one person had been manageable. Hundreds of people was pushing it a bit far right now. He'd settled for projecting the sort of sad, harmless apathy that made most people want to pity him, but from a distance. When he was ready for company again, that would change.
Or, at least, that was the plan, but he hadn't expected so many minds that just plain weren't human. So when he passed the man reading by himself in the library, he couldn't quite stop the visible flinch as he stopped in his tracks, pulling his powers back to himself as well as he could. He couldn't help the staring, either, as obvious as it was.
no subject
Maybe he found a book buddy that he can annoy?
no subject
He spotted the grey-skinned man (a dunmer? No, the ears were wrong) and silently walked up behind him.
"I never did understand why some of his characters take the time to write out their final screams in his books," The vampire said in a conversational tone.
no subject
no subject
no subject
The voice of the Elvish lord came from behind Pitch, the owner of it standing some feet away from the spirit with a book in one hand. He had come again to the library to find something to read since that appeared to be one of the safer methods with which to pass time here in this tower.
If Pitch could read the title of the book he held, he'd note it was by Edgar Allen Poe, titled The Raven and Other Poems. He'd not actually read it yet, but the title was the thing that had caused him to pick it up to check it out.
no subject
He looked at the book in the man's hand. "Ah, one of Edgar's. He can tend to be a little too morose at times, but overall his writing is superb. I would suggest some of his stories as well."
no subject
This tower was doing wonders on keeping him guessing as to the natures of those who inhabited it, and given that there was just too many questions and not nearly enough answers to be had, he'd for most part had given up chasing them down. Still, he was curious about the being before him, the other definitely didn't look anything like any men that he'd ever known. Too tall, lanky, with unnatural skin and eyes.
no subject
no subject
Curious what had tickled the stranger so, he cautiously approached. Caution being the word of the day: he had gathered that there were people here who would kill other unfortunates.
"Pardon me--" Wow. Okay, that was gray skin. Evidently not one's typical human. Rallying with barely a pause, he continued, "I couldn't help overhearin'. Good book?"
no subject
no subject
And then I get to this two days later than promised sob
Giggling, however, was unusual enough that Enoch had to at least see what was causing it. On listening further and learning it was something mundane like this, he figured he could at least respond to the gray-skinned man. The cafeteria fare this month had him in a state of relative ease.
"Even if authors don't capture everything perfectly, it's still admirable, the stories they weave."
no subject
"Oh, absolutely. Writers fascinate me. Though I am quite partial to those who explore fear."
no subject
no subject
no subject
Many can't read where I'm initially from, so I couldn't begin to tell you how well it would work there. When voice is put to words, it's much easier to elicit an emotion.
no subject
He smiled at the man, as strange as he seemed. "Is he from your world?"
I need to not be lazy in checking the comms whoops -
Naoya leaned over, attempting to see what spot the man was in the story. He was holding another book, grinning a bit. He backed off once his curiosity was sated.
"It does take a bit of patience, but I think it's rather worth it." Not to mention the information was useful when tracking down Nyarlathotep to program him into the summoning program.
that's okay I need to not be lazy in answering tags.
Hooray lazy high fi - zzzzzz
He tucked the book under his arm as he continued speaking.
"A few of his so-called creations are quite real. A few people in my world got a look at at least one of them recently, though in a much reduced form."
no subject
But then he'd been seen. He'd been heard, and he picked himself up and pieced his staff back together and forgot all about the plight of the Guardians.
Forgot how angry he was with himself for letting all of them down. Forgot that being here, alone, meant that Baby Tooth was stranded in the arctic unable to fly, because he was having so much fun. Sure, he could feel it and see it, that downtrodden undercurrent of fear and misery in the people trapped here, but it was incredibly hard to focus past the exhilaration of the moment.
Of course, that all flies out the window when he hears Pitch's familiar voice, and sees the dark little spot he'd nestled into in the library. He'll never admit it aloud, but it sends a shiver down his spine, and bids him to clutch at his newly repaired staff a little more firmly. It could be in anger or it could be in fear, he finds them a little hard to tell apart at times. He lands behind Pitch's chair without much ceremony, light and silent on his feet but for the waning howl of the wind that he throws himself everywhere with.
"What are you doing here?"
no subject