killerwaves | .GRAVEYARD

.GRAVEYARD

GARDEN OF AVALON

[🎵]

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
💮

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 moves, suddenly - a show of his strength, as he shifts closer, and then suddenly pushes onto his knee to move over the man, straddling him. Just like before. As if it was always meant to be this way.]

[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.

[Oh...? Perhaps such voyeuristic displays no longer bother Vergilius. Lobelia hums, hands settling loosely on Vergilius' lips, curiosity darting his brows.]

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.

Mm. I have to search my memory a little.

[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.

[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.]

[An eye for an eye, is it? No... This is a matter more serious than an exchange of blows, considering what that beating heart represented to Lobelia when he carved it out of Vergilius' heaving chest.

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?]

[Shouldn't I be happy?]

[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.]

[Had he not warned Vergilius to restrain himself? It seems that alone was not enough, but it takes nothing more than suffering a death at the hands of this man to sever any reservations Lobelia had. Surely Vergilius can't expect him to contain himself when he's being treated so kindly, so sweetly, his heart held in his lover's hand and swaddled in his unrelenting vicegrip and mashed to bits.

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.]

Edited 2023-06-04 16:40 (UTC)

[Of course he hates it. What he hates most is how true it is. Lobelia's love feels like acid. It sinks into him, burns him, eats away at his core. There is no true antidote for this poison, is there?]

[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.]

[Oh, but of course it's futile. This is what Lobelia truly loves about this man: his stubborn, pigheaded refusal to give in even when his fate has already been decided for him. There's some humor in the fact that Vergilius wouldn't have grabbed Lobelia's attention if he weren't so insistent, if he were willing to give up and walk away when he knew he still had the chance to.

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.]

[If only it could die for good. The more he resists, the more Lobelia hooks himself in, delighted for the denial. It's like the jaws of a dog who only clamps down further when one struggles under its bite. To get Lobelia to even consider releasing is to become akin to a lifeless doll and let things bat him around to their enjoyment. But that would be like tearing out his own soul. He cannot be broken. His conviction is something that only gets stronger the more cruelty life throws at him.]

[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?

[Yes, yes, he loves that defiance and always will... but it's a shame that the excitement is Lobelia's alone, that he can't have the happy ending promised to him in books and fairy tales. Does he not deserve that after the lengths he went through to get them here? Here, in a place where even death can't keep them apart?

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.

Everything you've been doing was for me? Get real.

[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.

[That's just as well— Lobelia doesn't feel much like looking at this man now, his gaze instead trained forward on nothing in particular. He snaps his fingers, more out of instinct than intent, but nothing appears in his hand. No conchs, no bleeding hearts, nothing. Everything that mattered to him died in the land of the living, no longer within his grasp, so perhaps this truly is hell. Perhaps this is what he deserves after all, this empty mockery of paradise.]

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?]

[He instinctively tenses at the sound of the snap - almost a Pavlov reaction at this point, huh - before easing up and getting irritated at himself for his own unconscious reaction. Another groan of a sigh comes as a response. His nose itches as it brushes against a flower - this feels surreal in the worst of ways. Alive yet not alive. Laying next to a man who murdered him, and yet now debating whether or not he's lying about being in love with him.]

[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?

[Seeing Vergilius tense in the corner of his eye, Lobelia just barely manages to suppress a laugh, snorting in amusement. Petty is right. Vindictive is too. After all he did, he's certainly feeling far from appreciated.

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.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire, Lobelia. This isn't even a true afterlife.

[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.

[No freedom, hm? Not even for himself? Strange. Up until Vergilius got all up in his face with his bitch ass attitude, Lobelia was having a fine time. His heart felt light for the first time in years, he felt happy, but now the source of that happiness is threatening to rob it from him.

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!

[...]

[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?

[You know what? It's his turn to lay on his side and have his Aoba moment, if only because his ribs are seriously aching. It's not even a pleasant ache thanks to Vergiliass.]

What does it matter to you? You don't care. Leave me to my mutterings, démon de la tomate.

Are you really calling me a tomato demon.

[Really? Really.]

[Now he's the one to stare into Lobelia's back.]

You sound like a kid about to throw a tantrum.

Ah! So your ears do work. I'd begun to worry that they hadn't recovered along with the rest of you, bite molle vieil homme.

[Joke's on you, Verg. He's already throwing that tantrum.]

Now that one I don't know.

[Probably good that he doesn't!]

[Now he's letting out an exasperated sigh.]

You killed me, Lobelia. I'm not you. Not everyone is going to get off on something like that, you idiot.

[Yes, yes, he gets it. There was no escape from the island through conventional means, and here, they're subject to Merlin's whims. There are certainly worse fates, Lobelia thinks, but it wasn't his place to do as he pleased with Vergilius' life. He understands that.

He's silent for a while, eyes closed against the petals that brush his face, breaths irregular and labored. If he died once more, would he be free of Vergilius' pain? He wants to cherish it, yet even that has been taken from him now.]

Je suis désolé.

[Wow. An apology?? Vergilius has heard this tired resignation in his voice before, when he was prepared to accept that happiness would never come for him. If he needed an indication that Lobelia wasn't lying about his feelings, let it be this: a compromise. A genuine apology.]

Only you know what's best for you, non? Your life was never mine to take. Of course, I had been thinking only of what would make me happy and hoping you would feel the same. Admonish me if you will, but my actions can't be taken back.

...

[Of course those actions can't be taken back. Both of them made decisions that found them on this path from the beginning. The circumstances were outside their control, but what happened afterward was their fault, and their fault alone. As much as he hates Lobelia, and hates everything he is with that twisted nature, he knows he's as much to blame as anything. He could have left well enough alone. And yet Lobelia was like a scab he kept returning to pick and pick until it bled.]

[Everyone he interacts with is affected in some way, he thinks. He must be one hell of a blood stain one can't get out. It's why he did his damnednest to force people away. That's the classic lesson of a Fixer. Cut bonds. Move on. And here, he pulled Lobelia into his orbit, thinking it didn't matter because it was about proving something to him and himself. Maybe it was more than that.]

[The tiredness of his voice makes him silent for a long moment, eyebrows twitching together, unsure how to feel.]

["I'm sorry", huh.]

[.....Lobelia is different now, isn't he?]

...We'll find a way out of this mess. [He finally says, voice low. Whether the "we'll" is accidental, intentional, casually referred...hard to say.] As long as I still draw breath, even here, that's the flow I'll follow.

[There's little more that he loves more than the bright, incandescent anger that lights up in Vergilius' eyes, but Lobelia has come to realize that being the source of that anger isn't quite as rewarding as it used to be. Perhaps finding happiness in his own death is what changed him. Perhaps he doesn't need to poke at Vergilius like a rabid bear to get his kicks when he has the sounds of his own demise to reflect upon and indulge in.

He had thought, surely, that death would be just as rewarding for Vergilius, but Lobelia thought wrong. He gets that now. As stubborn as he is, insisting upon always being right, he's acknowledged that too. The idea of withholding that apology only to further hurt Vergilius has lost its savor, and why that is, Lobelia has yet to determine.

So much for being a genius, he thinks, but he doesn't bother Vergilius with his internal monologue. For what little he can make sense of his own ever-complicating feelings, it would be a waste of breath to speak them aloud and hope Vergilius can make sense of any of it.

Still... What's this about we? It's brief, but Lobelia looks back over his shoulder at Vergilius, surprised. Yes, that could have very well been a slip of the tongue, so Lobelia treats it as such. Of course, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he wants to believe it was intentional.]

Understood. You'll do as you please, hm?

[I've always liked that about you. In his newfound efforts not to hurt Vergilius when nothing can be gained from it, Lobelia keeps that thought to himself.]

But I don't intend to lay about uselessly while you toil. If you would do me a faveur, I can be of much greater use to you. I think you'll find it agreeable.

.GRAVEYARD

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1/2

2/2 cw: gore, violence

cw gore, death

cw: gore, violence

cw violence, nsfwish................... it's all crystal's fault

you're playing lobelia i am playing an innocent old man

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cw: death

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