Unnamed

Happy and excitable, always angry, shy and bashful, uninterested and bored, “normal”

Mimic Buttersnake

1st Sighting:

The entire house was bathed in a rose tinted light. Though she had no indeed of knowing if it was the house where the nightmare had taken place all those years ago, it mattered not. Their combined presence had summoned him all the same. Of course, what other way to celebrate a glorious return than a party? She wondered if the whole area would turn red, much like the balloons that already lined the elongated table. She had already had her slice of cake, he had held her hand as she dug the metal spatula into the chocolate words upon a vanilla surface and scraped out a slice that looked less than appetizing. Still, even as he loomed over her even now, she could not help but be thankful her hand lacked any of the scratches he was known for giving, even as his arms draped over her shoulders. Eventually, the time for eating came to an end. That much was apparent when he lept on a table, arms a flurry and voice booming. The group looked on, some cowering and close to tears, others staring with a hard, unabiding glare. The girl neither glared nor averted her gaze, face impassive. She listened on to the showman’s speech. Trials, they were to partake in. Whether they survived or not, he did not care. He warned that failure should not be an option, should each “guest” care for the safety of the others, grinning like a lion looking upon its prey. A projector started to play his “movie” upon a wall, a bird’s-eye view of his past crimes. The girl wondered what her specific trial would be... and if she would make it out alive.

The others went and returned, ragged and undoubtedly worse for wear. She sat still at the end on the table, a black and white movie still projected onto the wall to her left. The cake was a horrid mixture of sweet and bitter, the tastes of ice cream and blood-soaked pastry sour upon her tongue. And yet she ate, for fear of what might happen if she didn't. When the thing called her name, she was not to face her trial alone. Another, with raven hair. They were to go together.

All at once, they were on a beach. Swim until they could no longer was their task. She knew at once what this was-- a dream. That was his claim to fame, after all. But it all felt so real. The girl was left wondering if this was truly her own imagination at work, only the figments of her mind coming to taunt her, or something else entirely. Something real. It was sunset, the orange ball of fire to her left like the movie had once been. Then she was swimming. She could see above the water, watch the sky darken to night, and below. Below swam horrors of all kinds. Glowing jellyfish, and finned carnivores. She swam for what felt like hours. She and her partner, who she didn't even know the name of. There were others, unnamed faces in a black ocean. At times she could hear them, but she didn't understand their words. A hard collusion brought a stinging pain to her wrist. The girl looked up. A tiled wall, like a bathroom at a pool. A lantern dangled from the top, and there was a toilet and sink comically affixed to the wall. The girl looked to her left, and then her right. The wall stretched on infinitely, stopping her from traveling farther into the ocean. Of course. He had set these boundaries. If she were to go farther, than she would slip, slip, slip away into a dream of her own making. No longer in his world. That would not do. The girl reached up, but the top of the wall stretched out of reach. As the last rays of sunlit fire danced and died across the cloudy sky, the girl turned around. It was time to return home.

The swim back was much shorter than the swim to the border. The girl got the feeling that she was alone. No longer could she hear or see the others, not even the gaunt and sickly one with the raven hair. She let the waves carry her back, the only sound that filled her world. Visions flashed in her gaze mysteriously unstung by the salty water, visions of the one with raven hair. Dead, blood smeared upon the faded green tiled walls of the bathroom. Somewhere, somehow, she had failed her trial. The girl did not care. The one with raven hair was quiet and meek. She was no more likely to survive than a baby bird tossed from the nest by a bigger and stronger sibling. Perhaps it was for the best-- perhaps that was why he had sent two for the trial. So that the less assuming one would perish. The girl reached the shore, collapsing upon it. It was night now. She was exhausted. She looked up, and was no longer in the beach. Back in the house, lying next to the table, the light of the movie cast upon her back. She was alone, but she could hear laughter. She was in the same clothes as before, dry as ever, but her hair was soaked and her clothes started to dampen with the seawater she had brought with her. She was cold. She wanted to sleep forever. Picking herself up off the ground, she headed in the direction of the laughter. A closed door opened into a room filled with rose light. There were no windows, and no light source of any kind. Blanket forts that looked quite comfortable stretched along the sides of the room. Well, perhaps this was of her own creation. He could never create something this ridiculous, this innocent. There were two others, giggling and laughing, backs against the wall directly opposite from the door. The girl suddenly felt jealous. It was not fair, she had been away for longer than they had. She got the urge to scare them, but it would be no use. They had already seen her, and he would be unimpressed. Closing the door behind her, the girl trudged over to the end of the room, grumpy and irritable and tired. She snatched a blanket from a fort, causing it to collapse and reveal him. All three of them were wrapped up in blankets, laughing. The girl sat in-between them, wanting to fit in. Needing to fit it. She laughed, bringing the blanket around her shoulders, and closed her eyes.

And then she woke up.

~~~

The Waking World:

Q was strong. That much was apparent. She knew that he was a swimmer, not a runner, but he held unmatched athletic prowess on the land nonetheless. Perhaps it was due to his underwater training, or maybe the speed at which he ran was a byproduct of some unshared paranoia, some reason to run that she knew all to well. But as he jogged around the track, one thing was for certain. She could never reach his level. His talent was apparent even at less than half the effort, visible in a leisurely jog. She could break into a sprint, a mad dash for freedom, and never even come close to his speed. She could throw in all she had, run until her heart burst. She could pour in every ounce of effort, every breath she took, every spark of energy that desperately boiled inside of her, and Q would always be able to outrun her. If they were truly both against him, if Q's jumpiness was anything to judge by, then she was a liability. Her physical strength was laughable, mental stability anything but reliable. If things turned violent, she was nothing more than dead weight. Or worse, a pawn. Undoubtedly, Q was better off without her.

So why had he been so protective over her earlier?

~~~

2nd Sighting:

Fear leaked from the prey like blood from an open wound. Flames cast an orange glow upon the boiler room, the prey crawling across the floor. The ground rough and cold, a chill sent running down her spine. Choking out pleas, the same two words over and over again. To her, the danger was clear and present. No longer a game, the situation has evolved to a life or death struggle. The hook dangled from the ceiling, having morphed from a common clip to a metal killer, dark and stained with the blood of previous victims. He had laughed when he hung it up. Perhaps this was the end, and the prey probably would have been berating itself, cursing its naivety were it not so petrified. If it could even take it’s terrified eyes off of the monster that stood before it. The monster, however, was displeased. It had gone too far this time. It would have been ashamed if it felt any capability for the emotion. The others were already dead, and he had just threatened her with the same demise. Of course, at this point, it would not be viewed upon as the same kind of game. Head radiated from the prey as tears ran down its face, sobbing breathless pleas. The fun was over. Though he had hoped to take things farther, his final plan could not be enacted while his toy was in a desperate state of panic. He knew that it felt the same, could see the flashes running through its mind, confusing it greatly. Perhaps another time.

He tossed it a plastic “rope”, and the prey stopped its backing away to look down in confusion. The nightmare commanded it to tie up its own hands, and as it had suspected, the prey had no idea what game he was playing at. Still, it set upon the fruitless task, using teeth to pull when hands could not. The predator avoided laughing, feigning annoyance, and walked away to a corner of the made-up room. It could not let the prey know it’s plan. Revealing any softness, any lenience with it would destroy his whole image. It needed to think up a crafty way to calm its only pet. Sitting down in a rickety chair in front of an old monitor, his left hand clattered upon the keyboard. The prey was still trying to tie up its own hands. Not out of any stupidity, rather the undying conviction to please the predator. Wildfire, the prey was— but not when confronted with a raging inferno so much more dangerous than itself. It only held the spirit of fire— he had been consumed by it. The smoke had whirled around him from the very day he was born, and reborn again in his untimely demise. With luck, a few embers would fall off and grace his prey. Make her more dangerous than she could ever know. But only with time, for now only a few cinders had floated upon her complexion, led to an apathy for his crimes and his crimes alone.

Time passed, and the predator kept his gaze averted. With time, the telltale steps approached him, behind him to his left.