Post by Rhys on Jun 27, 2012 15:31:52 GMT -8
((The normal application is at the bottom. I just liked the way this character worked out. Skip all this if you want.))
Tired.
Oh god was he. But he couldn’t sleep anymore, not now that he knew what lurked in the shadows of reality.
Three months ago (Or was it weeks; years maybe…) he had first seen them; those horrible nightmares. At first, he had attributed it to the drugs he had been on. Heroin can do some nasty things to you on a bad trip. But they stayed even after the drugs had worn off. He gave it days and still they followed him; in every shadow and crevice. He didn’t know what they were, not yet at least, but he knew they were there. He could feel their gaze whenever he turned his back, whenever he closed his eyes. It wasn’t that they were following him, they were just everywhere, all at once, and all connected somehow. He could feel that from the very beginning.
But that wasn’t the worst part of it all. No, the worst part was that they were specifically watching him. Everyone else they would glance at occasionally, but for him it was a constant gaze; like because he could see them it made him more interesting to watch, and to torment…
At first, he tired to ignore it. The moving writhing mass in the closet of his bedroom, the noises coming from the subway tunnel that only he could hear. New York was full of shadows, and lurking in each one was a unique horror that for one reason or another had all decided they were interested in him. It started to get so bad that he would have to bar the door to his apartment, bring every light he owned to his bedroom and turn them all on just to cast out the shadows for a moments piece. But even that didn’t work for long. Soon he would feel them, moving through the walls, or waiting outside the window for him to close his eyes. It made sleeping impossible. So he made the only sensible decision; he stopped.
And that’s when it all got worse. The longer he went without sleep the more he saw them. And the more he saw them, the less likely it was he would ever be able to sleep again. The odd thing was, he didn’t really get tired after that. Sure, he would need a rest after running for a while, and he couldn’t do strenuous things indefinitely, but he never got tired after that. What replaced it was this ache the came from the core of his very being. The more strenuous of an activity he did, the more it ached, until it would stop him from doing anything until he rested.
Nightmares Made Flesh
Things seemed okay for the first week. Sure, they were still there, lurking and watching. But oddly enough that was okay, it didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should have. Then they started talking. It started only where there was lots of background noise anyways, so it was hard to make out if it was someone around him speaking, or something else… But soon enough he could hear it even when there was nobody else around. And things they said, well… Disturbing would be a kindness.
At first, they preyed upon his own insecurities; Shouting out his every hidden secret and all his darkest desires. They told him that his mother never loved him, and blamed him for his father leaving. That his father abandoned them because he knew what kind of failure his son would become. The mocked his day to day life in its futility, go to a dead end job, hit the streets to sell what he could, then go home and shoot up till he was higher than a kite. He tried to use the drugs to drown out the horrors of the darkness, but it only seemed to make them louder. So he stopped that too. It was surprising just how easy it was to stop. He knew all the horrible things that withdrawal could do to a man, and he suffered none of it. And as he wondered at it, the nightmares laughed.
Your reality is a lie. But you, you amuse us. So come, let us play.[/color][/b]
That’s when the real scary part began. The things in the darkness, the things out of childhood nightmares began to help him. Did they ever. Because the nightmares knew things; horrible things. Every secret, every desire, every whispered thing in a moment of desperation or anger the nightmares knew, and what the nightmares knew they were more than willing to share with Rhys. He was short on money; they knew where someone dropped their wallet. Or better yet, knew a spot to leave the store where the cameras wouldn’t notice and he wouldn’t trip security.
But not all their help was good, though all of it could be useful. His car broke down; well the nightmares knew where there was a car three doors down that was unlocked and the owner kept a spare key in the wheel well. He got mad at his boss, turns out he was deathly allergic to garlic, and there happened to be some in the drawer on the left. All these little helpful things that were just one side or the other of wrong on so many levels.
But that’s not all they could do. No, they were more than simply voices in the shadows and the dark parts of his head. When nobody else was looking things would move on their own. He would reach for a pen to write something down and instead would find a knife in his hand. He wouldn’t notice till later that at that very moment he had been about ready to throttle the customer in front of him. He was eyeing a nice watch that someone on the subway was wearing and later that day when he reached for his wallet he would find that very watch in his pocket. Lots of little things to simply make his life better.
But the normal day to day life was boring. And little by little the nightmares pushed him towards bigger and more interesting things. They helped him talk to a very pretty woman and get her back to his place; Forgetting to mention of course that she was married. To a hit man for the mob. Then they left him a gift, right when things seemed bleak. A clear little syringe with a black liquid in it. Let us help you. Its not like you don’t know how to do it…[/color] And what choice did he have. There was a madman with a gun after him. He was way out of his league here. What could it hurt to have a little help. So he did what he had done for years. Picked up the syringe, put it to his skin, and let himself go.
Whatever was in the syringe burned like nothing he had ever experienced. (And he had experienced a whole hell of a lot) But that was just the beginning, because what happened next would haunt him in the dark recesses of his mind for the rest of his life. He felt them. Wriggling just under his skin, like a thousand maggots filling up every inch of his body. And the pain, it was like nothing this world could ever imagine. But he didn’t scream, he just grit his teeth and waited for the sensation to pass. And it did, to an extent. The pain left after a few moments. But the feeling, the thing beneath his skin, just waiting in the darkness inside him, never lessened.
He could hear the footsteps coming up the hallway to his apartment door. Heavy footfalls, steady footfalls closer and closer. When the stopped outside the pause was almost long enough to make him think that the footsteps had really been his heartbeat all along. And that’s when the door burst off its hinges. And with the door flying his direction his body started to move of its own accord; seemingly dragged by the writhing mass that lurked under his skin. Quickly he spun out of the way of the door as it fell towards him. Without stopping his hand flashed out to grab the boot of the man that had just kicked in the door, without it having even enough time to hit the floor.
Using strength he did not realize he possessed he flipped the man up and onto his back, which stunned him rightly. Reaching towards the doorframe there was a baseball bat. The one that was usually kept under the bed. He knew he had not moved it. Before he could formulate the thought of how it got there he was raising it above his head. With all the force his body could muster, which apparently was far more than he had ever imagined he brought the bat down on the man’s chest. The gruesome crack of the wood hitting flesh and snapping bone would stick with Rhys forever. But his attacker was not done just yet. And lifted his had to point at Rhys square in the chest.
Before a thought could register there was a loud crack, and Rhys’ whole body was shaken. There was a moment of burning in his chest before he realized his body was still moving. The bat was above his head again, and as it came down this time it was not aimed towards center mass. This time it crashed straight into his face. As the burning sensation grew and a warmth began to spread down his chest that caused his shirt to cling to his body like a glove he slammed the bat into the man again and again, past the point of lifelessness.
Finally as Rhys straightened back up he registered that there was a gun in the attackers’ hand. Terror began to fill his mind and he fought to look down at his chest. You really don’t want to do that. Trust us.[/color] Said the nightmares. But this time, they came not from the shadows around him, but from within his own head. And Rhys believed them. Dropping the bat he reached down and grabbed the man’s leg and pulled him into his apartment. He picked up the gun and put it in his pocket. He was just about to start cleaning up the blood on the floor when he was doubled over with a fit of coughing. When he pulled back his hand he a black filmy liquid coated his hand. Before he could quite think about what he was looking at his other hand was clutched to his chest. We need to get you to the hospital. NOW.[/color] And for the second time in just a few minutes, he agreed with the nightmares. That’s when things got blurry. His body was pulled outside, closing the door behind it. He couldn’t tell if he closed it or the shadows of his darkened apartment did. He felt himself get into his car, and stash the gun in his glove box before starting it up and speeding all the way to the hospital.
The next thing he could remember he was opening his eyes in a hospital room. His chest was bandaged up and he was alone. The next thing he noticed was the incessant itching. It was everywhere; his arms, his legs, face, everywhere. And it was coming from, from under his skin. The crawling sensation, it was still there. He looked down at himself. He had been cleaned up and left to rest apparently. He was hooked up to several machines checking his pulse, blood pressure, temperature. Other than being a few degrees lower that he thought he remembered was normal he thought it all looked fine. But the itching, it was mind numbing.
As he began to scratch at his harm they started up. Both inside his head and from the shadows in the room. It won’t help you know. So just deal with it.[/color] For some reason he still believed them. But it didn’t matter, he scratched anyways. Its time for you to leave. We suggest you do so.[/color] Rhys figured it was probably a good idea. He could sit up, and other than the incessant itching he just felt sore all over. As he went to reach for the wires attached to his chest the nightmares chimed in again. Flip the orange switch on the back of the computer thing there first.[/color] So he did, and it stopped transmitting data to the hospital before he unplugged himself.
Following directions from the nightmares all around him he avoided any hospital personnel on his way out and into his car. From there he didn’t need their urging to ‘just drive.’ He also knew it was a stupid idea to go back to his apartment before they told him. After all, he had killed someone there. So he just drove on into the night, letting the nightmares guide him. After all...
Name: Rhys
Age: 19
Sex: Male
Powers and Descriptions:
Prestidigitation: The nightmares can manifest small changes in the surroundings. Move light objects, change a small objects colour or flavor, make lights appear or vanish.
Secrets: The nightmares know things. And like to share them. Usually its things Rhys would rather not hear, but sometimes it can be something useful.
Possession: Sometimes the nightmares can react to a situation better than Rhys ever could. In those situations they tend to like to prove that, and take over control of his body. He may still be hurt, or get in trouble for his actions, but at least usually it is the best possible outcome. And since they can influence the surroundings on a whim, imagine what they can do to his body for him when they are concentrating.
Personality: Paranoid, twitchy and on edge at all times. Rhys had a bit of a troubled childhood; as such he is always looking over his shoulder. He was never exactly a good kid, and made his fair share of mistakes, as such he can be a bit stand-offish and off-putting.
Appearance: Tall and unnaturally slim, Rhys defiantly still looks like an addict. He has black hair and his eyes are permanently darkened due to his indefinite lack of sleep. He keeps his black hair just above his shoulders to stop it from getting to far in his way. He is rarely seen without long sleeves or a jacket to hide the scars of his drug abuse.
History: Rhys comes from a broken home raised just by his drunk and abusive mother. Having no real support at home he turned to drugs at an early age of 12. That kept him until he was kicked out of his house at 15. He dropped out of school and found work on the streets, peddling drugs until he could get a legitimate job as a day clerk at a gas station. He got himself an apartment and days turned to months turned to years until he started to see things that he couldn’t explain; Shadows that moved with nobody around, voices that only he could hear…
Code Words: Fantasy Reference
Tired.
Oh god was he. But he couldn’t sleep anymore, not now that he knew what lurked in the shadows of reality.
Three months ago (Or was it weeks; years maybe…) he had first seen them; those horrible nightmares. At first, he had attributed it to the drugs he had been on. Heroin can do some nasty things to you on a bad trip. But they stayed even after the drugs had worn off. He gave it days and still they followed him; in every shadow and crevice. He didn’t know what they were, not yet at least, but he knew they were there. He could feel their gaze whenever he turned his back, whenever he closed his eyes. It wasn’t that they were following him, they were just everywhere, all at once, and all connected somehow. He could feel that from the very beginning.
But that wasn’t the worst part of it all. No, the worst part was that they were specifically watching him. Everyone else they would glance at occasionally, but for him it was a constant gaze; like because he could see them it made him more interesting to watch, and to torment…
At first, he tired to ignore it. The moving writhing mass in the closet of his bedroom, the noises coming from the subway tunnel that only he could hear. New York was full of shadows, and lurking in each one was a unique horror that for one reason or another had all decided they were interested in him. It started to get so bad that he would have to bar the door to his apartment, bring every light he owned to his bedroom and turn them all on just to cast out the shadows for a moments piece. But even that didn’t work for long. Soon he would feel them, moving through the walls, or waiting outside the window for him to close his eyes. It made sleeping impossible. So he made the only sensible decision; he stopped.
And that’s when it all got worse. The longer he went without sleep the more he saw them. And the more he saw them, the less likely it was he would ever be able to sleep again. The odd thing was, he didn’t really get tired after that. Sure, he would need a rest after running for a while, and he couldn’t do strenuous things indefinitely, but he never got tired after that. What replaced it was this ache the came from the core of his very being. The more strenuous of an activity he did, the more it ached, until it would stop him from doing anything until he rested.
Nightmares Made Flesh
Things seemed okay for the first week. Sure, they were still there, lurking and watching. But oddly enough that was okay, it didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should have. Then they started talking. It started only where there was lots of background noise anyways, so it was hard to make out if it was someone around him speaking, or something else… But soon enough he could hear it even when there was nobody else around. And things they said, well… Disturbing would be a kindness.
At first, they preyed upon his own insecurities; Shouting out his every hidden secret and all his darkest desires. They told him that his mother never loved him, and blamed him for his father leaving. That his father abandoned them because he knew what kind of failure his son would become. The mocked his day to day life in its futility, go to a dead end job, hit the streets to sell what he could, then go home and shoot up till he was higher than a kite. He tried to use the drugs to drown out the horrors of the darkness, but it only seemed to make them louder. So he stopped that too. It was surprising just how easy it was to stop. He knew all the horrible things that withdrawal could do to a man, and he suffered none of it. And as he wondered at it, the nightmares laughed.
Your reality is a lie. But you, you amuse us. So come, let us play.[/color][/b]
That’s when the real scary part began. The things in the darkness, the things out of childhood nightmares began to help him. Did they ever. Because the nightmares knew things; horrible things. Every secret, every desire, every whispered thing in a moment of desperation or anger the nightmares knew, and what the nightmares knew they were more than willing to share with Rhys. He was short on money; they knew where someone dropped their wallet. Or better yet, knew a spot to leave the store where the cameras wouldn’t notice and he wouldn’t trip security.
But not all their help was good, though all of it could be useful. His car broke down; well the nightmares knew where there was a car three doors down that was unlocked and the owner kept a spare key in the wheel well. He got mad at his boss, turns out he was deathly allergic to garlic, and there happened to be some in the drawer on the left. All these little helpful things that were just one side or the other of wrong on so many levels.
But that’s not all they could do. No, they were more than simply voices in the shadows and the dark parts of his head. When nobody else was looking things would move on their own. He would reach for a pen to write something down and instead would find a knife in his hand. He wouldn’t notice till later that at that very moment he had been about ready to throttle the customer in front of him. He was eyeing a nice watch that someone on the subway was wearing and later that day when he reached for his wallet he would find that very watch in his pocket. Lots of little things to simply make his life better.
But the normal day to day life was boring. And little by little the nightmares pushed him towards bigger and more interesting things. They helped him talk to a very pretty woman and get her back to his place; Forgetting to mention of course that she was married. To a hit man for the mob. Then they left him a gift, right when things seemed bleak. A clear little syringe with a black liquid in it. Let us help you. Its not like you don’t know how to do it…[/color] And what choice did he have. There was a madman with a gun after him. He was way out of his league here. What could it hurt to have a little help. So he did what he had done for years. Picked up the syringe, put it to his skin, and let himself go.
Whatever was in the syringe burned like nothing he had ever experienced. (And he had experienced a whole hell of a lot) But that was just the beginning, because what happened next would haunt him in the dark recesses of his mind for the rest of his life. He felt them. Wriggling just under his skin, like a thousand maggots filling up every inch of his body. And the pain, it was like nothing this world could ever imagine. But he didn’t scream, he just grit his teeth and waited for the sensation to pass. And it did, to an extent. The pain left after a few moments. But the feeling, the thing beneath his skin, just waiting in the darkness inside him, never lessened.
He could hear the footsteps coming up the hallway to his apartment door. Heavy footfalls, steady footfalls closer and closer. When the stopped outside the pause was almost long enough to make him think that the footsteps had really been his heartbeat all along. And that’s when the door burst off its hinges. And with the door flying his direction his body started to move of its own accord; seemingly dragged by the writhing mass that lurked under his skin. Quickly he spun out of the way of the door as it fell towards him. Without stopping his hand flashed out to grab the boot of the man that had just kicked in the door, without it having even enough time to hit the floor.
Using strength he did not realize he possessed he flipped the man up and onto his back, which stunned him rightly. Reaching towards the doorframe there was a baseball bat. The one that was usually kept under the bed. He knew he had not moved it. Before he could formulate the thought of how it got there he was raising it above his head. With all the force his body could muster, which apparently was far more than he had ever imagined he brought the bat down on the man’s chest. The gruesome crack of the wood hitting flesh and snapping bone would stick with Rhys forever. But his attacker was not done just yet. And lifted his had to point at Rhys square in the chest.
Before a thought could register there was a loud crack, and Rhys’ whole body was shaken. There was a moment of burning in his chest before he realized his body was still moving. The bat was above his head again, and as it came down this time it was not aimed towards center mass. This time it crashed straight into his face. As the burning sensation grew and a warmth began to spread down his chest that caused his shirt to cling to his body like a glove he slammed the bat into the man again and again, past the point of lifelessness.
Finally as Rhys straightened back up he registered that there was a gun in the attackers’ hand. Terror began to fill his mind and he fought to look down at his chest. You really don’t want to do that. Trust us.[/color] Said the nightmares. But this time, they came not from the shadows around him, but from within his own head. And Rhys believed them. Dropping the bat he reached down and grabbed the man’s leg and pulled him into his apartment. He picked up the gun and put it in his pocket. He was just about to start cleaning up the blood on the floor when he was doubled over with a fit of coughing. When he pulled back his hand he a black filmy liquid coated his hand. Before he could quite think about what he was looking at his other hand was clutched to his chest. We need to get you to the hospital. NOW.[/color] And for the second time in just a few minutes, he agreed with the nightmares. That’s when things got blurry. His body was pulled outside, closing the door behind it. He couldn’t tell if he closed it or the shadows of his darkened apartment did. He felt himself get into his car, and stash the gun in his glove box before starting it up and speeding all the way to the hospital.
The next thing he could remember he was opening his eyes in a hospital room. His chest was bandaged up and he was alone. The next thing he noticed was the incessant itching. It was everywhere; his arms, his legs, face, everywhere. And it was coming from, from under his skin. The crawling sensation, it was still there. He looked down at himself. He had been cleaned up and left to rest apparently. He was hooked up to several machines checking his pulse, blood pressure, temperature. Other than being a few degrees lower that he thought he remembered was normal he thought it all looked fine. But the itching, it was mind numbing.
As he began to scratch at his harm they started up. Both inside his head and from the shadows in the room. It won’t help you know. So just deal with it.[/color] For some reason he still believed them. But it didn’t matter, he scratched anyways. Its time for you to leave. We suggest you do so.[/color] Rhys figured it was probably a good idea. He could sit up, and other than the incessant itching he just felt sore all over. As he went to reach for the wires attached to his chest the nightmares chimed in again. Flip the orange switch on the back of the computer thing there first.[/color] So he did, and it stopped transmitting data to the hospital before he unplugged himself.
Following directions from the nightmares all around him he avoided any hospital personnel on his way out and into his car. From there he didn’t need their urging to ‘just drive.’ He also knew it was a stupid idea to go back to his apartment before they told him. After all, he had killed someone there. So he just drove on into the night, letting the nightmares guide him. After all...
They had yet to steer him wrong.
Name: Rhys
Age: 19
Sex: Male
Powers and Descriptions:
Prestidigitation: The nightmares can manifest small changes in the surroundings. Move light objects, change a small objects colour or flavor, make lights appear or vanish.
Secrets: The nightmares know things. And like to share them. Usually its things Rhys would rather not hear, but sometimes it can be something useful.
Possession: Sometimes the nightmares can react to a situation better than Rhys ever could. In those situations they tend to like to prove that, and take over control of his body. He may still be hurt, or get in trouble for his actions, but at least usually it is the best possible outcome. And since they can influence the surroundings on a whim, imagine what they can do to his body for him when they are concentrating.
Personality: Paranoid, twitchy and on edge at all times. Rhys had a bit of a troubled childhood; as such he is always looking over his shoulder. He was never exactly a good kid, and made his fair share of mistakes, as such he can be a bit stand-offish and off-putting.
Appearance: Tall and unnaturally slim, Rhys defiantly still looks like an addict. He has black hair and his eyes are permanently darkened due to his indefinite lack of sleep. He keeps his black hair just above his shoulders to stop it from getting to far in his way. He is rarely seen without long sleeves or a jacket to hide the scars of his drug abuse.
History: Rhys comes from a broken home raised just by his drunk and abusive mother. Having no real support at home he turned to drugs at an early age of 12. That kept him until he was kicked out of his house at 15. He dropped out of school and found work on the streets, peddling drugs until he could get a legitimate job as a day clerk at a gas station. He got himself an apartment and days turned to months turned to years until he started to see things that he couldn’t explain; Shadows that moved with nobody around, voices that only he could hear…
Code Words: Fantasy Reference