lostcarnival | HELL OF A HANGOVER PT. 2

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HELL OF A HANGOVER PT. 2

Who: The people who were captured or turned.
When: Very early Day 66 to Day 67
Where: Vampire Hell
What: Those that were captured by the vampires are brought back to one of their demonic home dimensions to be imprisoned or integrated into the pack. People can start moving over here as they resolve their threads at the masquerade.
Warnings: Horrible BS, most likely. Violence, sexuality, torture, etc.

GOING TO HELL↴

You don't get to see what the outside of the fortress looks like, since when you were brought here, it was either by portal or by a ritual summoning ring set up by the vampires. However, the realm is easy to get the gist of - it's about classically hell dimension as you can imagine. Lava runs throughout the fortress like water in Venice, and the architecture is smooth black and grey stone that puts a significant effort into looking imposing. Skulls, demons, suggestive nudity - it's all carved straight into the pillars, or provided via ornate tapestry. It's hot, too, though not as hot as it should realistically be while standing at the edge of a lava pool.

Prisoners and freshly turned vampires will end up separated - those that have been captured will be chained in iron and locked within a great stone cell within the center of a ring of lava (as pictured above), with only narrow bridges leading across it. Those that have been turned will be unceremoniously thrown into the living areas of the other neonate vampires - which turns out to be a cavernous pit of almost-rooms where a vast quantity of newly turned vampires have been left to sort themselves out.

► IMPRISONED: The supervisors (or other captives that have made themselves exceptions) will be bound with iron and left in a large cell kept separate from the rest of the prison. At first, they'll all be locked in there together - spread around the walls of the dungeon to be kept apart from each other, but able to communicate across the gap. As time goes on, they may be pulled away for "special treatment" - whatever cruel fate the vampires end up having in mind for them, whether that be interrogation, brainwashing, or simply aimless torment. Sometimes they'll be brought back, and other times they won't. How exactly they are bound is up to you, but at the very least each prisoner should have either a collar or shackles of iron, which will rob veteran characters of most of their powers. It will be extremely uncomfortable, too.

► FORSAKEN: The newly turned vampires will be introduced to their "hazing" almost immediately - that is, they'll be mixed in with the other neonates, apparently collected from at least three different words. Most of them appear human, however, so the looks of the new arrivals may set them apart - potential in ways that may cause them difficulties. These young vampires have been dumped into a series of caverns and left to live with each other, with animals or human victims occasionally tossed in for them to feed. There is not enough blood to go around, ultimately, and the human victims are highly preferred over the animals - these means there is constant and violent competition over who gets to feed. The ideal is for the neonates to thin their own ranks, allowing the strongest and most canny to survive long enough to be accepted into the rest of the clan. You'll want to stick together - after all, vampires can feed off of each other, as well.

► MORNINGSTAR: Apparently the demon in charge of this all is a creature that calls herself "Morningstar." You won't see her long if you see her at all - the only sight of her you see is a form within a black cultist's robe, with their face concealed in shadow. Beyond her, you can continue using adult or neonates vampire NPCS to torment your characters, or ask the mods for the presence of an elder, if needed.

Whatever scheme is going on here, it's clear you're just another pawn.

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[Sora's definitely seen this dude around the carnival before, if only in passing. It's kind of astounding that this guy got turned; he's -enormous-, and could clearly crush someones skull. Then again, Sora got caught off guard, so maybe this guy did too.

He's only barely coming back to himself, now, so he doesn't exactly have the ability to think about the consequences of bothering this guy. But he looks... not great. Maybe he should help him out?]

Hey, um... are you okay?

[It's been hard to keep his head clear, with all the destruction and commotion happening around him. Someone bites something and his nose picks up the smell, or he has to dance out of the way of other neonates fighting, ears pulled back and hackles raised. Yuugi reckons he's explored every inch of the cavern since he came into himself, but honestly it's probably only been a few feet at a time, because - as he found out the hard way - someone will realise you're not "normal". He's been attacked no less than three times, not counting the time when he wasn't coherent, all because he didn't outright display any violent tendencies.

A snap of his jaws and teeth soon saw to that.

He hated it, but it looked like he'd have to be violent for just a little longer. At least until Psii came, or he broke himself out. He's given up on wiping the blood from his muzzle, bits still dangling from his chin and in his sharp sharp teeth. Not even his tongue can help that. His foot hits a rock and he flinches slightly when he catches someone's attention, growling in return and dropping to all fours, ears pulled back and teeth bared, before he recognises who it is, ears perking atop his head.]

Gongenzaka-san!

Okay, like... this is really the least appropriate place to be discussing your relationship problems, Peridot. But sure. Sans will bite. Mostly because that information catches him by surprise, because as far as he knew those two were still cruising along.

"...You mean she broke up with you?"

By the time he's been captured Psi is a mess. There's a bite mark in his leg, purple blood hardening to a dark violet crust where it covers his wounds. There's the stab wound in his side, hidden under bandages, apparently they wanted him alive. There were claw marks scrapping down his back, the skin raised and the fabric around them dark and matted with his blood. There was a vicious looking bump on the back of his head. Each mark served as a reminder to him of someone he had failed to save. The bite mark Gongenzaka, the bump Sora, the claws, Lars. Had Lars survived? He honestly didn't know. He hoped so, he wanted to assume that the teen had made it out okay, but it was hard to hope for the best when everything else seemed to have gone so wrong.

He can still remember Chiaki's scream as he'd dragged her away from the danger, the worry in Susan's voice as they frantically searched for someone who had likely already been turned. He'd failed, and failed badly. His tears aren't yellow anymore, and neither is his blood, but never before has he felt so worth the title 'lowblood.' He'd never felt so worthless, so pathetic, and here was his blood, the color of a prince's, mocking him. It wasn't his blood that determined his worthlessness though, it was him. It had always been him. Even on Alternia he couldn't protect the people who really mattered to him. Why should he expect here to be any different?

I. Whether it's because of the damage he's done or because of the damage he might do both Psi's neck and hands are bound in iron. His manacles have been hooked to the wall by their chain and his arms hang in the air above his head. The iron around his neck has a chain that connects to the same place, and although its chain is longer it does a lot to limit his movement. It's like a leash and a collar, he thinks darkly, and it reminds him in many ways of the psionic inhibitors he'd been forced to wear when he'd been captured back on Alternia. The dizzy weak feeling of being drained was similar too. He knows the others are there, but he has no idea what to say to any of them so he remains silent. He stares in front of him, quiet and unmoving.

II. He's brought back again, naked and shivering this time. There's a brand on his front left shoulder that you wouldn't have known about if you hadn't seen him naked before, but it's clearly old, the raise skin already healed. Now there's a new mark on him as well. His new masters had seen fit to mark him with a symbol of their ownership. On his left shoulder-blade, as though to match the mark on his front, his skin is bloody and raw with a new shape that's been burnt into his back. It cuts across the faemark he'd had there violently destroying the symbol he'd gained and replacing it with one of their own instead. The shape of it matches the mark they'd cut into the ground of the carnival exactly.

III. Like the others he's a victim of their mind games as well. The second day he comes back he's still silent, but in a different sort of way. Speaking to him seems to have no effect, where as before he would at least acknowledge other's words, no he is completely non-responsive. Whether he can't hear you or is choosing not to listen isn't clear. The only obvious change is that he isn't responding at all, and it's clearly a result of something they did.

Edited 2017-03-04 23:28 (UTC)

"No? I don't know. She wanted to leave before we really got to discuss--" she breaks off with an annoyed sound. "Look it doesn't matter, the point is that I could be back home safe at the barn right now, if I had just left the stupid carnival when I had the chance! Pointless. Literally ALL OF IT has been POINTLESS."

Edited 2017-03-04 23:59 (UTC)

He snorts, settling back against the cell wall. "Sounds like Amethyst..."

Not that they were usually inclined to discuss feelings much, either. He's pretty sure if he pushed it that she'd leave too, though. Sucks for Peridot. He'd be more bummed about it if he wasn't coasting mostly on emotions of bitter despair at the moment.

"Did you really stay here just for a girl, though?"

Edited 2017-03-05 00:05 (UTC)

[Oh, shut up, Joker.]

She did.

[Sans's voice rumbles from a bit further into the cell - he's presently naked but otherwise unharmed looking, besides the places where the iron is turning his bones a sickly glowing blue. His face is about as close to not smiling as it ever gets, though. He doesn't really have the patience for this shit right now.]

So, your guess is as good as mine.

This is one of the times that Sans is really happy that he doesn't have any skin. That mark is cringeworthy just to look at, and Sans honestly isn't sure if he'd survive an attempt to brand him at the moment. The iron alone is doing a number of his system - without hyperbole, he feels like he's dying. Like he should be dusting any minute now.

"That thing again," he coughs out. The collar is messing with the magical parts that allow him to talk with no actual tongue. It sounds like he's losing his voice. "It's almost like they have an aesthetic going..."

[She's small and slight of frame, but she's not afraid of their prisoner. She was rarely afraid of anyone. An adult vampire in her prime Rin was faster and stronger than the much taller man she led with a chain. It was fascinating to her how easy it was to capture these carnival workers. Just a bit of iron and they completely fell apart. Of course her kind was just as susceptible to silver, but at least silver was harder to find. Iron was in practically everything. It was in the knife she wore at her belt, and in the claw tips she wore like rings over her right hand.]

[She looks him over as they walk, noticing his serious demeanor.]

You're quiet today, my pretty Songbird.

[She smiles, turning to look at him over her shoulder.]

Don't tell me you've forgotten how to sing?

[They could always play the strong and silent bit at first, but they always ended up breaking and gibbering eventually. Just thinking of that moment sent a thrill throughout her body. They get to the room, a place that might be familiar to Joker by now, and she leads him to a chair in the middle of it.]

Sit.

[Ugh. This one again. He really doesn't like the way she looks at him, something that puts all his 'prey' instincts on overdrive as best as he hides it. Maybe it's the part of him that's bird or deer, or maybe it's just the part of him that's human.]

[So long in the carnival, it's impossible to tell.]

[Either way, her commentary earns a raise of his eyebrows and his mouth quirks a bit downwards. 'Songbird'. One nickname he thinks he could do without.]

Could sing a lotta songs, but I don't think much folks here have an appreciation for the kinda ones I like best.

[They like much louder songs that are a lot less fun for the singer, he's come to find.]

[But that's all 'play', much as anything can be called her, and he goes to flop himself into the chair without much need for hassle. They all know he'll end up in this damn thing anyway, even if his legs need to be broken for it. Speaking of legs, he crosses one over the other, like this is all casual and he's not liable to get his ass beat for it, and his wings flop out over the armrests best they can for comfort. Some feathers flutter out with the action; he's starting to molt from the god damn stress.]

[It's beautiful how wretched he look, it makes her happy just thinking about it. His pretty hair is a mess, his skin sallow, and his feathers, well to say he looked haggard would be an understatement. To think this was the same man that had so actively resisted them in his fine clothes and with his fine looks. It was wonderful.]

I don't know if that's true. I heard you make some lovely sounds just the other day.

[She walks around the chair, circling him slowly like a vulture does a carcass. Joker was as good as dead, so why couldn't she have a little fun with him? There wasn't any reason not to. She stops behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and then trailing it down to press into the wounds on his back.]

Was this what got you singing?

[People don't realize how much effort it takes fake relaxation. Even right now, with his years of experience, he has to force himself to do it, and it leaves his heart twisting in his chest from tension as she disappears from his immediate line of sight.]

[Probably won't do any good in the end. Whether they see lasting evidence of their actions or get their kicks out of kicking people down again, vampires are sadists of all sorts. That's what he's come to learn.]

[Try as he might, he can't resist the way his shoulders go slightly rigid at her touch, only to lock up completely as pain ratchets through him again. Stubborn, he grits his teeth together, voice muffled.]

I can't rightly recall, although that might be the lack of food, if I had ta make a proper guess.

Psi would normally laugh at such a comment, at least the cynic in him would. He just isn't in the mood for laughing today. He knows there all hurting, he knows Sans is just coping the only way he knows, but he just can't make himself care at the exact moment. Being branded again had stun in a way he didn't think he could explain. He'd been so small the first time, it was hard for his mind not to go back to that place when it happened. He feels so young and so hopeless. He wants to hide the mark, but he can't, so the fact that Sans comments on it has him flinch, before he can help himself. He's trying to keep the wound from pressing against the wall of their cell, but it's difficult with the way his hands are chained.

"Yeah..." he says it more out of a lack of anything to say than out of any agreement. His voice is watery, it's clear he's very near tears. "Guess so."

[Her finger digs into his flesh at the response, the iron tips that cover her claws ripping deep into the meat of his back.]

Is that so.

[She sounds as calm as ever, despite the pain she knows she is causing him.]

I don't have the patience to wait for starvation I'm afraid. I guess we'll have to find another way for today.

[She pulls her hand away, his blood staining her hand. She circles around to the front of him as she carefully lifts her hand to her face to lick at the red stain. Once she's cleaned it, she smiles at him again, reaching for his hand.]

Tell me, can you feel with this wooden limb?

Wow, god. Tough crowd.

It's not like he doesn't think Psi is capable of crying or being broken down - he's always been fairly emotional, even if his default is just being really... Psi. He doesn't know how else to describe it. Psi is usually the one scolding Sans for drinking too much or trying to help him patch together his useless brain whether Sans likes it or not.

But right now... Sans doesn't know what to say. He's not the hopeful one. The best he could ever do was avoid dragging people down with him. The best he could do was avoid the subject.

"If I get to see the Grand Poobah at some point during this, I was thinking of recommending that she add more lava," he rasps. Funny how all he knows how to do is ramble when his voice is giving out. "It just doesn't seem like there's enough."

[Bloody iron. Bleedin', wretched, hellish iron. He thinks the words to himself, tries to lock away in his mind as his skin burns cold and painful, and frankly he's not sure how long he'll hold out. But then she's pulling her fingers out from his skin, and his string-taut body goes slack as he slumps forward with a gasp.]

[God damn iron.]

[Breathing hard from even that much, he glances up at her footsteps, wary once again, and once he sees what she's reaching for, he jerks his hand to go beneath his seat. Even as he does it, he thinks fuck.]

[Now if that isn't a dead giveaway.]

Define 'feel'.

The night is a bit of a blur for Sora, he was so out of it, but he does remember one thing quite vividly; three people were turned because of him. Two of them by his own hand. It's his fault that they're here, in this mess. He still hasn't quite grasped all of his morals, but he knows he should apologize, at least a little.

This guy, though... Sora's not even sure of his name. And turning him seems to have driven him towards some sort of mental breakdown. That's not good. Better have a talk with him, he guesses? He feels kinda bad that he broke the guy.

So, he steels himself and goes to sit on the floor by Foster, hoping the guy won't run away.

"Um... Hi."

"It's like I said. I stayed because I thought... If there was a way for me to get tougher, so I could be more useful and protect my friends..."

She sighs and closes her eyes. "Turns out I couldn't even protect myself. So it was a cloddy idea from its very inception."

Oh god. This is the worst kind of thing for Sans to have to talk about. Theoretically, he doesn't have to talk, but... it's too awkward, just sitting here next to her, to not say anything at all. He stares at the floor on the opposite side of the cell.

"To be fair..." Sans starts, after a befuddled pause. "The situation wasn't exactly sporting. Lotta the time... it just matters who strikes first."

Sora's eyes instantly snap up to Snake's at the question, and he shakes his head vigorously.

"No way!" he insists. "I didn't want to hurt anyone... But I just... I was so hungry, and Xabat, he... he kept giving orders, and it was hard to resist... And I... I'm sorry..."

Sora looks back down at his lap, and plays with the bloodstained cuffs of his shirt. He's not sure if what he said is an excuse or not, but not wanting to hurt anyone is real. He's never wanted to hurt anyone, but it seems like he keeps getting thrown into situations where he has no choice.

Heh, Grand Poobah, that gets a small watery laugh out of him. For some reason that only brings out more of his tears. He sniffs as a few purple tinted tears roll down his cheeks. He wants to say something smart back, but lava just makes him think of the red glow of heated iron, or about how much he wants to drown all these fucking vampires in the liquid heat until they are reduced to ash. He shys away from both feelings. He doesn't want the fear or the hate, he just wants the people he cares about to be safe and neither feeling will help with that.

"Maybe ask her for some clothes instead." his own voice is a bit raw sound, after all he'd been screaming only moments before. His own nakedness would bother him more if he weren't the only one, or if he didn't have the pain of the brand and iron filling most of his senses.

[She stops as he pulls his hand away, looking surprised for just a moment, but she doesn't say a thing before pulling her hand back and meeting his gaze. She doesn't look upset, in fact, she smiles.]

I'm sure you know what feel means.

[And quicker than he can follow she raises her hand and gives him an open palmed smack straight across the face. The force of it is enough to knock him out of his seat, if it weren't for the armrests.]

You felt that, didn't you?

[Slaps, if nothing else he thinks as the world swims before his eyes, are at least familiar. He's been slapped a good few times in his life, some deserved, some not, and it's better than the alternative.]

[Shaking his head slightly, he shifts to sitting up again.]

Suppose I did. In that case, can't say I do.

[It's sort of a lie, sort of a truth. Feeling through his wood is- strange. There's none of the sensitivity of good ol' flesh, but... He can feel when his bark bends, when the cold nips at it, and, sure as hell, when irons digs its way in.]

[....Although now there's some sort of stone in it, far as he can tell, so who even bloody well knows what's going to happen with that.]

[She brushes some of his hair out of his face, stepping in closer to his space. What an interesting man, she'd never have expected him to be the type to so easily accept defeat. From the state of his limbs she'd pegged him for a fighter, someone it might be fun to break. Instead his reactions were that of someone already broken. Not very interesting, not very fun either. She meets his eyes, before her gaze flickers to his arm again. She reaches for it a second time, moving to hold his hand between them.

Will he resist a second time, she wondered, or would he give in? Was he a fighter, or was he an already broken soul?]

"Ask these guys? For clothes?" he says, apparently picking up some momentum with his bullshitting, even though his voice is still weird. He tries to shift his position, hoping the iron will hang further from his jaw.

"Don't think I could get away with wearing whatever they gave me," he says. "I'm already a skeleton, man. My threshold for avoiding 'darkier and edgier' looks is extremely thin."

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Page 2 of 9

HELL OF A HANGOVER PT. 2

[breathe in] More like MEAT me in the pit, amirite?

Like the Wild Ones Would

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Prison // OTA

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CAPTURED V1

II.

C - For CUT YOU UP

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A!

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