Last Resort Mods 🌊 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
killerwaves) wrote2023-03-03 10:06 pm
killerwaves) wrote2023-03-03 10:06 pm
.GRAVEYARD
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There is a moment of silence. That is all there is, following the end one meets, but it is wrong to say that nothing else proceeds afterward. Indeed, upon the deceased opening their eyes, there's a feeling like settling into a body that has not yet crossed over, and an undeniable bright scene in front of them.
Is it heaven? Is it purgatory? These are the questions that may unfurl when faced with a bright, vibrant sky with pleasant colors, and soft clouds. Alongside this pleasing sight are picturesque rivers, running around fields of flowers mixed with lively greenery that seems to extend to distances behind one's comprehension. But, make no mistake—there are large trees dotted here or there, where someone might feel compelled to lie under given how welcoming they look.
Perhaps most striking, however, is the floating tower, that seems currently unreachable no matter how close anyone nears it. Does it need to be blocked off with an invisible shield? Honestly, no. But nobody knows that, and maybe no one will figure it out either, despite how many times they will ask who frequents it...who so happens to be standing outside of it, but also nearby. Huh.
Who's that? Well, that's—
Merlin, Mage of Flowers
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What a shock, isn't it? To see someone like Merlin so soon. Yet, he hardly seems perturbed, as he says, "Oh, so you've come! What a terrible fate you've been met with. But, don't worry, there's plenty of things to keep you occupied with.
What do I mean by that, you ask? I mean yourselves, of course! And, yes, by the way, you're still dead. So sorry about that. If you need anything, though, just call my name and I'll be there."
Beat. "Probably."
Then he disappears helpfully in a flurry of petals, not even saying where this is. Wow, helpful, isn't he? But, you have more than enough time to explore, at least. And hey, where did that random shack come from far off in the distance? If one goes in, they'll find a random bookcase inside, filled to the brim with fairytales that automatically replenishes if all books have been read with new ones. In addition, there's a random 'fan magazine' of the super popular idol Magi☆Mari; a beautiful white-haired young woman with purple eyes. Huh, why does she look familiar?
...Anyway, at least this will all keep one occupied.
As a side note, off to the distance are a a massive gathering of trees, but whenever one tries to approach them they can't seem to actually get close. How obnoxious! Looks like you'll have to just continue to admire your surroundings of pink flowers, one or two solitary trees, rivers, and other flora for miles on end.
As of 'Week 3', there is now an additional, cutesy shed in the Garden of Avalon that can be accessed for arts and crafts materials. Sewing kits, canvasses, painting materials, paper, you name it! There also is a shelf full of lube as well, for your needs. They will have a hint of a flower scent.
As of 'Week 4', the forest is glowing and can at some point be entered for funtimes.
By 'Final Week', there is a small little cottage of some sort that has appeared, which is ridiculously more spacious once walked into. It appears to be like a little free-for-all clothing store, except everything is free of charge. The styles range from cutesy pink, stylish, fancy, and to even towards the gothic side of things...but also there is a spot filled with make-up and the like! Do you want to look pretty in death? No worries, you too can shine here as well with beauty products found along the shelves, and of course mirrors alongside changing rooms for your convenience.
There are also knitting tools, for those wanting to really step up their skills.
Additionally, in this large 'cottage', there are private changing rooms with mirrors and a plush long seat to sit down if you want to for whatever reason. The doors lock once someone is inside and the door is closed.
Lastly, for those feeling 'adventurous', they would also happen to find costumes. Sexy ones, likes nurses, maids, and the like, but also silly 'scary' ones like a t-rex and a sheet ghost.
The forest has also stopped glowing, and upon entering it give you view to a beautiful lake surrounded by trees (sans mist.) The sky is still a fantastical color, and taking a soak at any time is possible.
However, on the other side of the forest, is a field of beautiful blue flowers, and a perpetually midnight sky.
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[He turns his stare to Lobelia, now, his expression something unreadable, kept tight despite everything.]
...I am not to be fate's little plaything, Lobelia.
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[If Vergilius had the freedom to do as he wished with his own fate, he wouldn't be here right now, would he? He wouldn't be anywhere. It's selfish of him to keep Vergilius bound in these serpentine coils they've found themselves in, but isn't the greater evil against this man preserving his tired and sorry existence?]
Un, deux...!
[Holding onto Vergilius, Lobelia tips back, throwing them down onto the flowers. No, none of this feels right, murderers lying in paradise, but that's not where Lobelia's concerns lie. It never has been.]
We're only men, nothing divine or unholy. What control we have is limited, so why waste effort fighting against a force you can't possibly reach?
[Lobelia's question is nothing more than that: a question. Just as Vergilius hadn't allowed Lobelia to give up on happiness, something he was at one time assured would never be his, he can't imagine this man letting fate do with him as it pleases. Moreover, Lobelia would never allow it to.]
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[No.]
[He stiffens again, but this allows Lobelia to take advantage of it, tipping them both back. What a soft landing. Everything is so beautiful, so light. A mockery of heaven itself, in fact. A shade of a man like him isn't made for it, and neither is Lobelia.]
[If Lobelia is here, he knows this is wrong.]
[His hands clutch at the other's body, but its as if to find an anchor, his mind reeling. He feels sick. He always was sick to his core.]
I'll waste all the effort I can. [A murmur, hoarse.] I can't abide by this.
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This is why Vergilius is his anchor. His guiding light. His strength when he has none to spare. Thinking so highly of him, it's only natural that Lobelia would be gazing at him in sheer admiration.]
So what do you intend to do? Find some method of leaving this place? Bonne chance.
[I'd like to see you try.]
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[His hands reach out to encircle the other's shoulders, bending down - Lobelia, as persistent demon on his shoulder, asking him where to go next? He'll give him an answer.]
But of course. This old guide still has paths to go.
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And you intend to take me with you, oui?
[His nails seize into Vergilius' hips. It's so nice to feel him again, hurt him again... but he's getting ahead of himself, isn't he? Lobelia draws in a deep breath— patience.]
Through heaven and hell, through this life and the next. Une promesse est une promesse.
1/2
[Of course, he doesn't need to think on that for long at all. He knows what the man is referring to. He feels he can't exactly retract it, in his own way - why would he, in the sincerity of it?]
[Nestled in the horrible nest of loathing is a golden bough of possibility. One of his hands strokes over that soft jawline, down to his neck, resting gently over that warm, beating heart.]
Une promesse. But I need to do something before going down such a road. I have to clean my messes.
2/2 cw: gore, violence
[There is no preceding betrayal in his expression when he suddenly raises his hand and strikes down with such an intensity it literally punches through Lobelia's ribcape like it's paper mache. Blood splatters both of them. He ignores it easily, grasping the treasure he finds underneath to pull it out with a renewed red-eyed ferocity.]
[Lobelia's heart is so nice and warm. Was his heart the same? He ponders it as he smashes it into bleeding smithereens between his fingers.]
cw gore, death
Love is something Lobelia didn't understand until he felt it beating in his palm, and when it swiftly went cold, he worried he might forget what that love felt like. He's more aware of his own heartbeat now than he ever has been, Vergilius' palm settling over him before plunging into his chest, assuring his death. No, no, no. Before that, he has to—]
Je t'aime— Agh—!
[The pain is searing, blinding, muscles seizing up and blood issuing from his lips. His final breath spills into the open air, relief intermingled with happiness, genuine happiness. La petit mort, truly.
Lobelia's body disappears from beneath Vergilius' body, but this peace isn't meant to last. He reappears again before him, sputtering and coughing, suddenly alive again. Do you feel whole now, Vergie?]
cw: gore, violence
[Everything feels as real as it should. The give of the muscle, the way the warm blood coats his hand. Weapons like him did the job almost mindlessly, with no enjoyment involved. But here, there's something so tangible in the way it feels that he almost catches his own sigh of satisfaction bubbling up in his throat.]
[But then he hears it.]
[Je t'aime..]
[And just like that, as the words ring through his head like Lobelia was up to another one of his audiomancy tricks, the man reappears. A wonderful magic trick.]
[Vergilius finds a horrid hatred for wizards he never knew he could feel before. He moves up to his feet, staggering over almost like a zombie.]
[Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime.]
[Lobelia doesn't even really get a chance to breathe before he slams a fist to knock him to the ground again, cracking ribs from the blow. And almost instantly, that new anger floods his system, hot and burning and threatening to eat him up from the inside.]
cw violence, nsfwish................... it's all crystal's fault
What's more, the familiar feeling of having his ribs pulverized and crushed calls him back to that moment of intimacy they indulged in together, how special it was to writhe in agony while being held by his special person.
This time, the agony burns all the hotter, all the air forced from his lungs as he's knocked to his knees. He doesn't rasp for air so much as he moans, looking up at Vergilius with that damp-eyed, loving gaze of his, sputtering out blood as vivid and red as those burning eyes.]
H-eh— eheh—! Know some restraint... Mon amour.
[Mon amour. Je t'aime. Do you hate it, Vergilius? He'll say it over and over again until you can't stand the sound of it.]
you're playing lobelia i am playing an innocent old man
[He stares down at this lovesick man, mind driven to insanity from lust and violence and obsessesion. How easy to pin it all on Lobelia, though-! As if he had no role to play in this! Man is the maker of his own sins, after all. Lobelia is a living breathing incarnation of that, like a boa constrictor more than happy to bind him and crush him slowly under the weight of his coils.]
[His chest heaving, he slides his unbloodied hand through his own hair, an agitated expression.]
...If you really love me, leave me alone.
[Restraint. Pull the reins back. Fire to ice. His eyes prick with a sort of dull pain as he turns, heart racing, to walk away from this. He knows its futile.]
[But the more he stays in the other's presence, the more it feels like a magnet threatening to pull them together until oblivion.]
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Now, it's far too late to swivel on his heel and walk away like escape is a reasonable expectation. It isn't, and Lobelia's hand snaps around his heel to remind him of that fact, those relentless vibrations humming under the man's skin until he can be felled, pulled beneath Lobelia's frame.
It's always Vergilius who finds himself locked in this cage of limbs, isn't it? It's always Vergilius who walks right into prisons of his own design, blood left to cool and dry on his lips when Lobelia bends to kiss him.]
Je ne pense pas. That's not how love works, Vergilius! You would know that better than I, non?
[No, love does not leave you alone. Love follows after you until that love dies for good.]
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[His own defiant being is its own downfall, in the end. The parasite has latched onto him. Right now, he cannot find freedom from it.]
[He falls with a grunt and a pained groan, reacting with a low noise of distaste when the other bends in to steal a kiss.]
...I do. [He finally says, quiet - the lines of his sunken face seem deeper now, more stern, in the shadow Lobelia makes over him.] But haven't you heard of doing something nice for other people, before?
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You boring old man. It's sheer petulance that has Lobelia easing up and away to sit someplace beside him, the vibrations ebbing away to nothing. All this hard work, all the love and effort he's poured into their "relationship", and for what? Through the pain, Lobelia audibly huffs.]
You truly are unreasonable. Everything I've done in these last few days has been for your sake, but you don't seem to recognize that. C'est dommage!
[But see? He's leaving Vergilius alone, more or less. Isn't that worth recognizing?]
Go on, then. Don't let me keep you against your will.
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[If anyone, one of the things they have in common (as loathe as Vergilius is to admit) is their ability to be pettish about so many things. He hears that huff from the other's lips, a sound so often heard from his own.]
[He answers with another low groan of his own. Instead of standing up and leaving, though, he rolls over on his side to face away from the man, glancing over the endless horizon of flowers. As much as walking forward forever sounds appealing, this is just as much of a useless effort as when he was stuck in that bloody monstrous world of the Tower.]
[He folds his hands, mouth twisted into a peeved expression.]
It wasn't like you could've predicted this. [He could leave, but it seems he needs to argue First.] You only thought about yourself first and foremost. At least have the decency not to be a liar, Lobelia.
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Such audacity, accusing me of lying! What part of my explanation do you not believe?
[Some actual, genuine frustration manages to seep into Lobelia's tone. He's been nothing if not honest about his intentions here, so why shouldn't he be mad?]
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[He almost feels a headache coming on.]
Doing it for my sake, first off. What would I have gotten out of this? You thought I would be just as idiotically glad about it as you?
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Had he really been the one to make the mistake here? Lobelia, Lobelia, Lobelia. He still remembers the way his name rang like a mantra off Vergilius' tongue, back then. What happened to that Vergilius, he wonders?]
You've been freed from your shackles! Released from that island that held you captive! Should you not be just as pleased as myself?
[And sure, they're trapped in yet another place against their will, but what does that matter? Vergilius should simply be happy that such efforts were expended for his sake.]
Ah, but I knew you were a hypocrite, Vergilius. What I hadn't realized is how déraisonnable you are on top of that.
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[No, if there is a real afterlife, that's where he's cold and alone, he's decided. He cannot believe in a fake garden of flowers constructed by another. His soul doesn't belong here. After his hope has been realized, it should be sent to a place where he will forever live out his own sins and repentance on his own.]
[He makes a low noise at the statement, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. Yes, there was a Vergilius that cried out his name, over and over. But maybe that was a mistake. He's been making a lot of them.]
If you really knew me, you would know this isn't what I wanted. There's no freedom here. Not even for you, I suppose. [He curls up a little more, heart aching again...ah, what a terrible thing.] So much for your love.
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It's a cruel twist of fate, truly, and it only serves to further anger Lobelia. So unwilling is he to feel sorrow, regret, that he would rather lapse into frustration, tossing his head back to exclaim his woes.]
Oh là là! J'ai perdu mon temps. Il ne m'aime pas. C'était pour quoi tout ça? J'aimerais être vraiment mort. Je préfère être mort que d'avoir à nouveau le cœur brisé!
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[He is turning, finally. Rolling over to his other side to shoot a very unimpressed glare at the other.]
What the hell are you saying?
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What does it matter to you? You don't care. Leave me to my mutterings, démon de la tomate.
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[Really? Really.]
[Now he's the one to stare into Lobelia's back.]
You sound like a kid about to throw a tantrum.
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[Joke's on you, Verg. He's already throwing that tantrum.]
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cw: death
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