11-03-2018, 10:32 PM
[font=trebuchet ms]/tw: mentions of drowning?
All he could hear, in the desolate night air, was the sound of his own wheezing.
He was inland. How far inland, he could not tell anymore. All that mattered was that he had to escape.
The scent of salt water was nigh imperceptible, but even the slightest hint of salinity was suffocating. He could not escape it. Why could he not escape it?
He had to have his revenge. Only then could he have peace, and lead the Typhoon to glory again. He needed a plan, and he could not THINK STRAIGHT as long as the salt continued to follow him. He had been able to stand it for a few weeks, but no more.
The desert would yield him nothing. The Pitt would be more trouble than it was worth. The Ascendants were not strong enough. His best bet was rogues, but how could he acquire an army of them looking the way that he did- ugly, half-blind, half-deaf, not even able to speak properly anymore?
Come on, you couldn't even last two months?
And then there was the voice in his head, surprisingly persistent once it started trickling through.
"Here's the funny thing about deals," Infinitepotential responded telepathically, though his tone was just as exasperated as it was amused. "You've already given me what I wanted. I'm under no obligation to keep up my end of the deal. Besides." He smirked. "Who's to say I'm NOT helping the Typhoon right now?"
...Care to explain? the voice said finally, as if genuinely curious. No, really- I want to hear your justification for this.
Infinite glanced behind him, double-checking to ensure that he was on completely dry land. As dark as it may have been, he could see there was nothing but grass for miles around... well, there was that ridge in the distance, but it didn't smell of moisture. Everything was fine. He was in control.
"Whatever drove Pincher to attack you... should the Typhoon really be under the control of someone who can't control themselves?" he asked, with a relaxed grin.
Ouch. The voice had clearly picked up on what Infinite really meant, but didn't seem as angry as he would have expected. Perhaps the life of a spectator, watching his own body act against his will, had finally broken Paper.
"Regardless. There's nothing you can do to stop me."
Do you even know where you are right now?
That... was a good point. Still, though he wasn't familiar with this exact location, he could easily find his way back. "I don't see why it matters," he laughed, twitching his good ear. "I thought you'd know full well how hard it is for a jackal to get lost."
The smell of salt arose again. Why? He'd traveled for days. No, weeks. There was no possible way he could have stumbled across another ocean, the landmass was too big. Was he going mad? No, he wasn't the type to go mad.
Another smell, too- of some sort of creature, almost rodent-like. Blinking, he looked towards the source.
Staring directly at him was... he couldn't even make out what it was, aside from the crimson glow of its eyes and its size several times that of his own.
"Papercutter. What is that." Infinite demanded, forming a defensive stance. The salinity surrounding him was almost unbearable, and between that and the massive creature before him... he needed an answer. He needed something to make sense for once.
Rodent of unusual size, Paper remarked blithely. Did you think they didn't exist?
The creature seemed to grow bigger, closer, darker. Gritting his teeth, Infinite shook his head. "What does that even mean?"
Jaws snapped right in front of his face. With a snarl, he jumped back and mentally reached for the creature's mind. If he could show it something larger, something scarier, he could make it flee.
Suddenly the telepathic connection was cut off, and a wave of pain washed over his mind, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. Wheezing, he struggled to get to his feet, only to be shoved down again, the weight of a heavy paw on the back of his neck. Breathing- he couldn't breathe, his airways constricted by the force of his assailant.
Water- he felt water rushing in, frigid, briny, tearing at his insides as he struggled to free himself. It wasn't fair. He had done what was right for the Typhoon. He had claimed his place, why couldn't they all see that he belonged there? How could they betray him like this?
"DO SOMETHING!" he howled to the other occupant of his mind. Why wasn't Paper helping? This was his body, wasn't it? "WHAT IS THIS THING?"
A moment of silence.
Then, the voice echoed.
I don't know what awaits me after this. But it can't be any worse than being stuck in the head of a mutineer.
Involuntarily, he rolled over onto his back- as if pushed by the creature, or by his traitorous host, or by a swell of the tides. The ruby, the one thing he could rely on, the one thing that had failed him when he needed it most, was exposed.
The creature stared down at him, and him back at it.
With a blink of an eye, he could see only darkness. The space around him was empty and cold, the air long since having left him.
He heard a loud shatter, and felt his consciousness swept away by the tides.
--
Papercutter opened his eyes.
He still existed. There was no way he could open his eyes if he didn't exist. Was that something to be relieved about, or fearful of?
Underneath him was an expanse of bright white. He could distinguish its grainy texture- sand. Desert? A roaring, loud, on all sides. He lifted his head- surrounding the sand was ocean. Lots of it. This was a beach.
This was the afterlife? It didn't look much like one. He couldn't see anyone else. It wasn't burning, or dark, or anything else he had grown to expect from hell. Narrowing his eyes, he looked down.
He could just barely make out a sort of dark, fuzzy shade where his paws should have been. Lifting a leg, he watched the shade move with it, as though it was the non-corporeal essence of his being.
If this was what happened to dead people, then why weren't there more of them? Or were there more of them, but separated from the world by a barrier, unable to interact with the living? Was that why he had never seen his brothers?
He had to find someone who knew what was going on. Or, failing that, he had to find someone, period. Maybe, if he made it back to the Typhoon, he could figure everything else out from there. They had the Black Mambas for exactly this reason, right? Maybe they wouldn't even notice. But he had to know.
He eventually found himself by the railroad wall, not the slightest bit tired. He considered waiting for someone to come by, then decided against it, and proceeded into the territory. He was a ghost, it wasn't like he could hurt anything.
Being weak had its advantages.
/tl;dr: weird ghost flying around on the territory
/I didn’t proofread this one bit so eh
All he could hear, in the desolate night air, was the sound of his own wheezing.
He was inland. How far inland, he could not tell anymore. All that mattered was that he had to escape.
The scent of salt water was nigh imperceptible, but even the slightest hint of salinity was suffocating. He could not escape it. Why could he not escape it?
He had to have his revenge. Only then could he have peace, and lead the Typhoon to glory again. He needed a plan, and he could not THINK STRAIGHT as long as the salt continued to follow him. He had been able to stand it for a few weeks, but no more.
The desert would yield him nothing. The Pitt would be more trouble than it was worth. The Ascendants were not strong enough. His best bet was rogues, but how could he acquire an army of them looking the way that he did- ugly, half-blind, half-deaf, not even able to speak properly anymore?
Come on, you couldn't even last two months?
And then there was the voice in his head, surprisingly persistent once it started trickling through.
"Here's the funny thing about deals," Infinitepotential responded telepathically, though his tone was just as exasperated as it was amused. "You've already given me what I wanted. I'm under no obligation to keep up my end of the deal. Besides." He smirked. "Who's to say I'm NOT helping the Typhoon right now?"
...Care to explain? the voice said finally, as if genuinely curious. No, really- I want to hear your justification for this.
Infinite glanced behind him, double-checking to ensure that he was on completely dry land. As dark as it may have been, he could see there was nothing but grass for miles around... well, there was that ridge in the distance, but it didn't smell of moisture. Everything was fine. He was in control.
"Whatever drove Pincher to attack you... should the Typhoon really be under the control of someone who can't control themselves?" he asked, with a relaxed grin.
Ouch. The voice had clearly picked up on what Infinite really meant, but didn't seem as angry as he would have expected. Perhaps the life of a spectator, watching his own body act against his will, had finally broken Paper.
"Regardless. There's nothing you can do to stop me."
Do you even know where you are right now?
That... was a good point. Still, though he wasn't familiar with this exact location, he could easily find his way back. "I don't see why it matters," he laughed, twitching his good ear. "I thought you'd know full well how hard it is for a jackal to get lost."
The smell of salt arose again. Why? He'd traveled for days. No, weeks. There was no possible way he could have stumbled across another ocean, the landmass was too big. Was he going mad? No, he wasn't the type to go mad.
Another smell, too- of some sort of creature, almost rodent-like. Blinking, he looked towards the source.
Staring directly at him was... he couldn't even make out what it was, aside from the crimson glow of its eyes and its size several times that of his own.
"Papercutter. What is that." Infinite demanded, forming a defensive stance. The salinity surrounding him was almost unbearable, and between that and the massive creature before him... he needed an answer. He needed something to make sense for once.
Rodent of unusual size, Paper remarked blithely. Did you think they didn't exist?
The creature seemed to grow bigger, closer, darker. Gritting his teeth, Infinite shook his head. "What does that even mean?"
Jaws snapped right in front of his face. With a snarl, he jumped back and mentally reached for the creature's mind. If he could show it something larger, something scarier, he could make it flee.
Suddenly the telepathic connection was cut off, and a wave of pain washed over his mind, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. Wheezing, he struggled to get to his feet, only to be shoved down again, the weight of a heavy paw on the back of his neck. Breathing- he couldn't breathe, his airways constricted by the force of his assailant.
Water- he felt water rushing in, frigid, briny, tearing at his insides as he struggled to free himself. It wasn't fair. He had done what was right for the Typhoon. He had claimed his place, why couldn't they all see that he belonged there? How could they betray him like this?
"DO SOMETHING!" he howled to the other occupant of his mind. Why wasn't Paper helping? This was his body, wasn't it? "WHAT IS THIS THING?"
A moment of silence.
Then, the voice echoed.
I don't know what awaits me after this. But it can't be any worse than being stuck in the head of a mutineer.
Involuntarily, he rolled over onto his back- as if pushed by the creature, or by his traitorous host, or by a swell of the tides. The ruby, the one thing he could rely on, the one thing that had failed him when he needed it most, was exposed.
The creature stared down at him, and him back at it.
With a blink of an eye, he could see only darkness. The space around him was empty and cold, the air long since having left him.
He heard a loud shatter, and felt his consciousness swept away by the tides.
--
Papercutter opened his eyes.
He still existed. There was no way he could open his eyes if he didn't exist. Was that something to be relieved about, or fearful of?
Underneath him was an expanse of bright white. He could distinguish its grainy texture- sand. Desert? A roaring, loud, on all sides. He lifted his head- surrounding the sand was ocean. Lots of it. This was a beach.
This was the afterlife? It didn't look much like one. He couldn't see anyone else. It wasn't burning, or dark, or anything else he had grown to expect from hell. Narrowing his eyes, he looked down.
He could just barely make out a sort of dark, fuzzy shade where his paws should have been. Lifting a leg, he watched the shade move with it, as though it was the non-corporeal essence of his being.
If this was what happened to dead people, then why weren't there more of them? Or were there more of them, but separated from the world by a barrier, unable to interact with the living? Was that why he had never seen his brothers?
He had to find someone who knew what was going on. Or, failing that, he had to find someone, period. Maybe, if he made it back to the Typhoon, he could figure everything else out from there. They had the Black Mambas for exactly this reason, right? Maybe they wouldn't even notice. But he had to know.
He eventually found himself by the railroad wall, not the slightest bit tired. He considered waiting for someone to come by, then decided against it, and proceeded into the territory. He was a ghost, it wasn't like he could hurt anything.
Being weak had its advantages.
/tl;dr: weird ghost flying around on the territory
/I didn’t proofread this one bit so eh
[font=trebuchet ms]some weirdo