he digs his fingers into scarecrow’s feathers, partially so the bird knows he’s still there and partially because— yeah. his hands itch to light a cigarette, but he knows he doesn’t have any on him. he can only keep going, despite the darkness and the fog rising up. he raises his shoulder slightly, so scarecrow is a little higher. ]
You might want to go on my head in a minute. Higher vantage point.
[ colder though. but if he’s talking to the bird, he’s not focusing in on the voices he can hear around him. don’t focus. don’t think. just keep walking.
but whether he’s failing and being distracted by the familiar voices saying unfamiliar words, or whether he’s so focused he can’t sense anything else — it does mean he doesn’t know he’s not alone, yes. ]
[ scarecrow does not seem like he wants to do that. like at all. he burrows in closer to shu and shakes his cute little bird head.
all you ever do is lose people. the voice says. that's teuta, you think. maybe? it might be someone else. don't come home. says another - a softer voice, more recent. the smell of rotten apples intensifies, thickens in the air, swirling. i don't want you here.
as you take a step forward, you feel something grab onto your ankle. it's a gooey, sticky grip, whatever it is, and it is sharp - it snags you tight and pulls, hard. the grip is clawed and sharp and whatever it is burns like frostbite. it digs its claws into your ankle and tears into flesh.
turn out the light, says a voice, desperately - hopeful, maybe, searching. it sounds a little bit intense, like a woman you know. blue haired, someone who helps. i can't find you if you don't turn out the light.
[ he doesn’t get a chance to give the little bird a reassuring pat, before there’s something digging into his ankle — searing and painful, both freezing cold and burning all at the same time sending pain lancing up his nerves in a way that makes him swear out loud.
he stumbles, but manages to keep his hold on his lantern and his balance — just. ]
…
[ fuck. ]
No way. [ it’s low, and mumbled slightly rather than out loud. he might not be able to see or hear or sense anything, but he sure as hell can feel something so he knows he’s not alone and he knows whatever is there is hostile. ] Nice fucking try.
[ the lantern is staying on. in fact he’s going to shift his weight back onto his captured leg and try to drive the heel of his non-grabbed foot into whatever’s clawing onto his leg ]
[ the lantern dangerously bobbles as shu jerks backwards, but the light does not go out.
he is able to successfully ram his heel into whatever that is, but it makes no noise. in fact, his foot just feels like it goes straight into the mud, pushing through something putrid and wet, like dead old flesh. the smell is awful, and the claws in his ankle release. does he look backwards, or does he keep trying to push on? ]
he doesn’t have the spare hands to hold the lantern, comfort a bird/help keep his balance and cover his nose so he’ll just have to suffer the putrid scent of wet, dead flesh for a while instead.
at least he can move again. he won’t turn his body, to avoid getting his sense of direction thrown off, but he will take a brief look backwards before pressing on. something sure as heck was there, but he doesn’t expect to see it even after feeling it there. ]
[ well looking backwards was a mistake, because what stands behind him is a massive, garbled pile of purple, shadowy hands. there must be twenty of them, at least, moving and squirming, and the minute he looks back, one shoots out and wraps around his waist, digging its claws into his stomach. as it turns out, he does not get to get away.
in the moment that it has you, you realize it's holding the head of a woman, too - red headed, her eye still open, eyepatch on her face. the creature waves the head around once, twice, jerking, like it's trying to puppet it. like it's trying to make you see.
eun...hyuk, yuri's mouth gasps, i wanted... to live... why did - i wanted... ]
well, his immediate reaction is to bring his lantern down on the shadowed hand clawing around his stomach. the light might be smaller and weaker, but it’s still light and that’s the only thing he has against the shadows rn.
he doesn’t want to give this stupid thing the satisfaction of seeing. not when it’s trying so hard to make him. don’t look, don’t listen. he knows where yuri is, and it’s not here. he knows where teuta is, and it’s not here. he knows where any and all of the voices and things he being made to see are, and none of them are here
the light smacks against the shadowed hand at his stomach - it doesn't like that, not at all. the creature, because it's really all of those hands, it's all of them together, makes a shrieky sound, and - unfortunately - brings that head around to try and beat shu with it. if you won't look, you'll feel it. good luck explaining those bruises.
one of the many hands latches onto his ankle, and drags at him, yanks him down. down, down, into the dirt, farther and farther, until -- suddenly, you're free. you're standings straight up, on a path and you can see...
eunhyuk? in the distance. he's being assaulted by hands. do you want to save him?]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he digs his fingers into scarecrow’s feathers, partially so the bird knows he’s still there and partially because— yeah. his hands itch to light a cigarette, but he knows he doesn’t have any on him. he can only keep going, despite the darkness and the fog rising up. he raises his shoulder slightly, so scarecrow is a little higher. ]
You might want to go on my head in a minute. Higher vantage point.
[ colder though. but if he’s talking to the bird, he’s not focusing in on the voices he can hear around him. don’t focus. don’t think. just keep walking.
but whether he’s failing and being distracted by the familiar voices saying unfamiliar words, or whether he’s so focused he can’t sense anything else — it does mean he doesn’t know he’s not alone, yes. ]
no subject
all you ever do is lose people. the voice says. that's teuta, you think. maybe? it might be someone else. don't come home. says another - a softer voice, more recent. the smell of rotten apples intensifies, thickens in the air, swirling. i don't want you here.
as you take a step forward, you feel something grab onto your ankle. it's a gooey, sticky grip, whatever it is, and it is sharp - it snags you tight and pulls, hard. the grip is clawed and sharp and whatever it is burns like frostbite. it digs its claws into your ankle and tears into flesh.
turn out the light, says a voice, desperately - hopeful, maybe, searching. it sounds a little bit intense, like a woman you know. blue haired, someone who helps. i can't find you if you don't turn out the light.
no subject
he stumbles, but manages to keep his hold on his lantern and his balance — just. ]
…
[ fuck. ]
No way. [ it’s low, and mumbled slightly rather than out loud. he might not be able to see or hear or sense anything, but he sure as hell can feel something so he knows he’s not alone and he knows whatever is there is hostile. ] Nice fucking try.
[ the lantern is staying on. in fact he’s going to shift his weight back onto his captured leg and try to drive the heel of his non-grabbed foot into whatever’s clawing onto his leg ]
no subject
he is able to successfully ram his heel into whatever that is, but it makes no noise. in fact, his foot just feels like it goes straight into the mud, pushing through something putrid and wet, like dead old flesh. the smell is awful, and the claws in his ankle release. does he look backwards, or does he keep trying to push on? ]
no subject
he doesn’t have the spare hands to hold the lantern, comfort a bird/help keep his balance and cover his nose so he’ll just have to suffer the putrid scent of wet, dead flesh for a while instead.
at least he can move again. he won’t turn his body, to avoid getting his sense of direction thrown off, but he will take a brief look backwards before pressing on. something sure as heck was there, but he doesn’t expect to see it even after feeling it there. ]
no subject
in the moment that it has you, you realize it's holding the head of a woman, too - red headed, her eye still open, eyepatch on her face. the creature waves the head around once, twice, jerking, like it's trying to puppet it. like it's trying to make you see.
eun...hyuk, yuri's mouth gasps, i wanted... to live... why did - i wanted... ]
no subject
well, his immediate reaction is to bring his lantern down on the shadowed hand clawing around his stomach. the light might be smaller and weaker, but it’s still light and that’s the only thing he has against the shadows rn.
he doesn’t want to give this stupid thing the satisfaction of seeing. not when it’s trying so hard to make him. don’t look, don’t listen. he knows where yuri is, and it’s not here. he knows where teuta is, and it’s not here. he knows where any and all of the voices and things he being made to see are, and none of them are here
he has to keep telling himself that. ]
no subject
the light smacks against the shadowed hand at his stomach - it doesn't like that, not at all. the creature, because it's really all of those hands, it's all of them together, makes a shrieky sound, and - unfortunately - brings that head around to try and beat shu with it. if you won't look, you'll feel it. good luck explaining those bruises.
one of the many hands latches onto his ankle, and drags at him, yanks him down. down, down, into the dirt, farther and farther, until -- suddenly, you're free. you're standings straight up, on a path and you can see...
eunhyuk? in the distance. he's being assaulted by hands. do you want to save him?]