lostcarnival | [closed] i have made mistakes

Entry tags:

[closed] i have made mistakes

Who: Ginko and Foster (and Steven and Greg and Psi)
When: October 18th
Where: Foster’s apartment
What: Foster helps Ginko with his fae flower problem.
Warnings: Mind control, probably talk of attempted kidnapping?? Also like. Eye socket trauma.

It takes well over an hour for Ginko to wake up from the effects of the pollen - plenty of time for Foster to remove him from the park and take the necessary precautions.

When he wakes up, it takes him a few moments to realize that he’s not where he had been before. Rather than lying facedown in the park, his face shoved into the dirt and his skull feeling like it’s breaking apart, he’s on his back on an actual bed, with his skull feeling like it’s just cracking a little… which would be an improvement, if it weren’t for two factors.

He’s got no idea where Steven is, and he can’t move his arms.

Or… well, he can. But not very far, or effectively; his wrists are cuffed to the bed, and no amount of pulling against the cuffs seems to be loosening them up. He looks around frantically, trying to get some idea of how he could free himself - or even how this happened to begin with.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It may take Ginko a few moments to figure out where he is. He may have spent plenty of hours in this room, but those hours probably weren't spent looking at the ceiling.

But maybe he'll recognise the ceiling fan, plain as it is, with its five white-painted blades and two out of four functioning bulbs. Or the bed, with its heavy blue and white and yellow quilt covering rumpled sheets and its flat, hard-used pillow. Or the walls, bare of posters; or the windows, firmly shuttered; or the nightstand, with its stray pennies and assorted unspeakables; or--

Or just Foster van Denend, because he's right there, seated with his back to Ginko, his hair let down and legs off the edge of the bed. He hasn't noticed Ginko's waking state yet; he's preoccupied with a phone, his unseen face illuminated by the glow its screen as he scrolls impatiently through.... something. It's not like Ginko can read it.

But it's definitely not Foster's phone, either.

"F-Foster!" Ginko strains against his restraints for a couple moments before giving up again. Inevitably, he'll make another attempt in a few seconds. For now, though, he's more focused on his captor. ...And is that his phone?

"Foster, what-- what are you doing? What the hell is this!"

Foster jerks in surprise at the sound of his name, and almost sets the phone aside--notably, on the opposite side from Ginko--before catching himself and thinking better of it.

"Yeah, good question." He keeps hold of the phone, but twists around to face Ginko on the bed, his other hand planted on the quilt for balance. With his phone that far away, Ginko will probably never find out what Foster was looking at--or who he was talking to.

"What the hell is this?" He doesn't actually have to ask. Because from where he's sitting, the past couple of hours have painted him a pretty clear picture. But he wants to hear it from him. He wants to hear those words come out of Ginko's mouth. Maybe it's petty, maybe it's... maybe he's making this personal.

Well, maybe it is personal.

This? Is not the Ginko he knows.

This is fae bullshit.

Again.

Oh Foster is not turning that question around on him right now. Ginko just stares at Foster in shocked silence before answering.

"I-- you tell me!" He rattles the cuffs behind his head. "What's this about?! I don't-- I don't know why you'd do this!"

"Dunno, why did you try to kidnap someone's kid?!" Foster raises his voice in return, sharp bearlike teeth showing suddenly in his mouth. "Like right in front of his dad, I can't even--" He breaks off, licks his lips, starts in again, visibly angrier than he's... possibly ever been in Ginko's vicinity.

"Good thing you had that fokken flower in your face or you'd be on a sex offender list already!"

He can rattle them all he wants, but Ginko is lucky that Foster chose the heavy black leather cuffs instead of the steel law-enforcement pair, or he'd be a lot less comfortable right now.

Ginko actually flinches back at first, his eye going wide. If he's seen Foster anywhere near this upset before, it must have been long ago and pretty briefly. It feels wrong, in a way - even more so once his actual words sink in.

"I-- I was trying to help him! He's in danger, I've got to-- I have to make sure he's safe!" He doesn't even address the flower thing, partly because he has no idea what Foster is talking about. Why the hell would there be a flower growing out of his face?

More bullshit. Greg had suggested this was some kind of mind control, and Foster fully believed him. It fits. It all fits.

Which is why he had taken Ginko's phone.

While Ginko slept, he'd occupied himself going through his contacts, his messages, his search history... trying to piece together what Ginko was actually doing. What the fae were doing with him. Any scrap. Any clue.

But all he'd learned was... nothing. And the past couple of weeks have steadily stripped Foster's nerves, like a boiled egg left on the stove too long--so long that the water has evaporated, the shell cracking under the heat.

And Ginko just--

"His dad was right there? Were you going to keep him in the backseat of your car with--with the guinea pig? I--no. No. Fuck this."

Foster pulls back, dropping the phone off the edge of the bed and sliding off to land on both feet and stomp around to the nightstand. He opens the drawer viciously before slamming it shut, loud enough and hard enough to...

... to produce a crack of metal or wood, very likely breaking it inside. The pill bottles rattle with the impact, and a couple of them topple, joined by the jangling of pennies and the dull thunk of the cocksleeve falling over.

He doesn't let go of the drawer handle--just stands there for a couple of seconds, breathing, shoulders bent.

"His dad isn't going to be able to help with this! Steven's already been taken by the fae once, he--"

The slamming of the drawer shuts him up again, at least for a couple seconds. Ginko stares at Foster, visibly shocked.

When he does speak, his voice is quieter, almost pleading. "I've got to make sure he's alright."

"No."

Foster feels... not better after ~~breaking his dresser~~ slamming that drawer, but... he feels a lot less like he's going to break something else. He's collected again. Numb. Familiarly. Detached again, or enough.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out. Turns his head to look at Ginko. His expression is too cold to be called resolute--if anything, it may be just the ghost of anger cluing Ginko into the fact that he feels anything at all.

"You don't."

Then he plants one palm on the mattress and climbs up onto the bed.

Maybe, if the rose's control over him were more overt, if it worked a little differently, Ginko would feel differently about all this. Maybe he'd be angrier at Foster's interference - or maybe he'd be just as detached as Foster.

Instead, more than anything, he's confused - and increasingly scared. He can't understand why this would be happening, why Foster can't understand that he's trying to help Steven. But, regardless of why, the result is the same. His best friend has him handcuffed, and is treating him like a criminal. Like he'd intended to harm Steven.

"F-Foster? What... what are you doing?" Ginko pulls back, trying to move as far away from Foster as he can. He's seen that look before, when Foster was working on a puzzle or trying to solve a complex problem - not when he's looking at a person, definitely not when he's looking at Ginko.

If he hadn't been scared already, he definitely would be now.

"Shut up."

It's the exact same tone and volume he used when he was slamming Ginko's face into the dirt just an hour or two ago.

The look on his face doesn't change at all. He doesn't bother to look Ginko in the eye, doesn't even look at 'Ginko' at all. Ginko's status with Foster might be approximated as somewhere below 'malfunctioning television.' He just grabs Ginko by the face, covering the man's mouth with his hand as he climbs on top of him, and seats himself straddling Ginko's chest.

The fact that he's not wearing a shirt probably makes this that much more uncomfortable for Ginko, but Foster isn't interested in Ginko's comfort right now. He's not wasting any more effort on him. And he's not in the mood for words anyway.

Clamping down on Ginko's chest with his legs, he holds Ginko's face still with his left hand before reaching out over Ginko's open socket to pinch the stem of the rose between his right thumb and forefinger.

Ginko starts to protest again, but Foster’s hand presses down over his mouth. He still tries, still makes an effort to argue and plead and reason against whatever it is that Foster is doing here, but it’s pretty effectively muffled, and Foster… he’s not faltering, he’s not listening. He might be able to feel the tempo of Ginko’s breath changing against his hand, his exhalations coming out shaky and uneven as he starts to panic.

The pressure of Foster’s fingers around the stem of the rose sends a bolt of pain through his skull. It’s not a simple pang of nerves; it’s not really something he’s ever felt before, a feeling of deep and inherent wrongness that makes him sick to his stomach and sends him struggling to escape all over again, trying to twist away, yanking at the cuffs until his wrists are sore and bruising.

He can feel Ginko tense underneath him, like a seizure, like a spasm, but he doesn't react save to close his hand down harder over Ginko's mouth, his fingers pressing into cheekbones. Ginko's struggles are only going to make it harder, and Foster's forcibly attempting to hold him still.

He keeps his hold on the rose.

If knowing Axel has taught him anything, it's that the fastest solution to plants is fire. And if he sold his soul for anything...

The heat starts in his fingertips, a feeling like sparks and like being burnt, like slivers microscopically fine being inserted into each and every groove or pore--or maybe emerging, needles of hellfire, travelling up the stem and down the rose in thin lines, kindling inside the woody core.

And the rose begins to burn. Inside, first--Foster doesn't know anything about plants, but he's trying, with every ounce of concentration, every ounce of power and focus and control to keep the entire thing from igniting like a bonfire inside of Ginko's face.

The fae nature of the thing is the only reason it doesn't. The stem begins to crumble in the middle, bright spots of ember and the inner fire still visible--like a column of ash from a cigar, burning and intact, but barely.

Edited 2017-07-23 00:21 (UTC)

Not too surprisingly, having something that's in his eye socket burned is... not exactly comfortable. And, even if the rose isn't actually a part of him, its magic is.

The pain starts out dull and burning, just inside his eye socket - and then it spreads, sharpens, like needles in his skull. He struggles all the harder, his muffled protests becoming louder and more insistent, until, if it weren't for Foster's hand over his mouth, he'd be screaming outright.

Wow, yes, Ginko, that's really helping him concentrate. He does his best to filter out the excess--Ginko's muffled attempt to scream is actually less distracting than the way he's fighting the cuffs, thrashing under Foster as the warlock struggles to hold him down.

The column of ash and ember travels up the stem as well as down it--the roots extend invisibly behind the bone, so that Foster can no longer use his eyes to guide him.

The heat is inside Ginko's eye now; Foster himself is breathing hard, irregularly.

The petals and leaves begin to wither and smoke.

Suddenly they ignite, and Foster loses control. The head of the rose combusts inches from his face, the roots flash over.

The fireball of petals falls as the ash column crumbles, scattering embers over Ginko's face. Foster really only has a fraction of a second to stop the spell from igniting everything, leaving him with less than that to decide whether to catch the rosehead or not.

Ginko is definitely going to owe him a new pillow.

For a while, Ginko keeps fighting back as well as he can - which isn't saying much, but. He's trying. He keeps trying as the pain burrows into the socket, stabs into flesh and bone, and--

The rose bursts into flames, and suddenly agony whites out all his other senses, until it's all he can feel.

Then he doesn't feel that, either.

On the bright side, Ginko isn't conscious when the embers burn against his skin - and he's not struggling anymore and making it more difficult for Foster to run damage control.

And just like that.... it's over.

Ginko, unconscious, his face dusted with ash. The remains of the fae rose have collapsed into the empty socket of his missing eye, covering the open burns from Foster's hellfire.

Foster, still sitting--breathing hard, only just now becoming aware of the sweat slicking his hairline.

His hair is in his face. He reaches behind him, his arms... weak, weirdly heavy, and fumbles to retrieve the butterfly clip he'd closed over one belt loop. As he pulls his hair back, he finally rises up on his knees, clipping the messy coils up before he swings his leg over Ginko's chest to sit on the mattress, legs half-folded on the sheets.

He's hazy and tired. Still angry. But...

More than anything, he wants to collapse backwards on the bed and just lie there, maybe close his eyes for just a minute, but if he does, he won't get back up again. And he knows it.

Before he gets up, he reaches forward and gently turns Ginko's face sideways on the pillow.

Just in case he vomits.

Char and burnt ends spill onto the scorched pillowcase, debris from Ginko's burned socket.

He... has a lot of cleaning up to do.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[closed] i have made mistakes

The burning of the rose

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

idk if this needs a self-harm warning but uuuh just in case

Content warning uhhh fire, setting things in people's faces... on fire... you know

no subject

I ROLLED A 4

BETTER THAN A 2

no subject