10849/Mythic Sh*t Happens
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| Mythic Sh*t Happens | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 22 April 2022 |
| Location: | Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township |
| Synopsis: | Torment of the mental variety. Lack of sleep, and looking forward to more darkness! Yay! |
| Cast of Characters: | Achilles, Zatanna Zatara
|
- Achilles has posed:
You know how normally, dreams seem to fade into the most vague memories, or fleetingly escape the memory after minutes of wakefulness? Well, that's not how the last few nights have gone. Not one little bit. Every night for the past ten nights, Zatanna has woke in a cold sweat. Her memories are -very- clear of the dream. What dream you ask? Why I am happy you asked!
A formless female face... formless female voice... sounding like a hundred voices speaking -precisely- in unison. What is she saying? Well it's less about words and more about impressions. Impressions of wanting in. Needing what she has located within Zatanna's house. The magical defenses and wards are keeping her out. But the last image Zatanna gets whenever she wakes is a formless, yet recognizable 'evil grin'. The impression that if she can't get in. She will entice Zatanna out. Somehow...
- Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna startles awake still seeing a faceless mouth grinning at her, hovering in the air -solid yet not solid, light shining through the translucent lips. A nightmare version of the Cheshire Cat echoing with a chorus of voices scraping at the marrow in her bones. Wanting.
She sits bolt upright and angrily throws the silken duvet on the bed aside. Real daylight warms the floor under the tall bedroom window. She checks. The wards, the new wards, still hold.
The house keeps the floors warm under the hand knotted rug that greets her toes as she slides out of bed and walks to the window. The pink silk camisole just brushes the top of her thighs, revealing long firm legs. She knows she won't be seen.
One arm leaning on the window sashing, she presses her head against the hard wood and sighs. Then, pulling her shoulders back, she reaches for the robe matching her camisole, slips it on, tying the belt with a thoughtful frown before pulling a sash.
Somewhere in the mansion, a bell rings telling the servants that their mistress has awakened.
- Achilles has posed:
And the day goes like most others. Just... the lack of really good sleep making things more difficult. However, whenever Zatanna goes out, things seem a bit odd. People just a bit more confrontational. They seem a bit more on edge. A bit more short tempered. It is like the world is filling with just the tiniest bit more discord. For everyone but Zatanna. Well, not everyone. Some people seem immune. Or not targeted.
But.. there is definitely a bit of extra strife going on in the world. In something like 75% of the plain human people who spend time around Zatanna. Not her servants. They spend most of their time within the wards. But whenever she goes out, strife seems to infect the vast majority of people around her. The dreams do not go away, and perhaps the slow build up is pure patience, or cunning.
- Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna pffts into the busy shopping district, heading for a lingerie shop. She'd rather buy stockings when she can, instead of using magic for every whimsy of clothing she desires.
There is a persistent sensation of being followed. Once while picking out stockings, she looks over her shoulder pretending not to hear the store manager ream an employee out for losing a sale.
Package in hand, out on to the crowded sidewalk she dodges a man not looking where he is walking as he fights with a woman she assumes is his wife.
Objects have a strange aura around them. A fight breaks out between two drivers vying for the same parking space. All the homo magi wants to do is have a peaceful cup cappuccino and a scone. The dream last night had robbed her of an appetite.
- Achilles has posed:
It can be so exhausting dealing with people who are filled with anger, discord and strife. Home does provide a safety net. A sanctuary... but the dreams still come. It's like they bypass the wards. Well, not so much bypass, as just seep a tiny bit through them. It's just communication. Thoughts and impressions insinuating themselves into the sleeping dreamer. It is almost as if dreamers are more open to such things. That or Eris has somehow gotten Morpheus, god of dreams, to help out. Who knows?! Stupid team-ups.
But the message changes after several days. The impression left within the mind is something along the lines of 'Others will suffer if you keep resisting... the choice is yours.'
- Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna sighs as she sits forward at her dressing table and peers at the dark circles under her eyes. With a reach, she grabs a small jar of concealer to dab on the tender, puffy skin. The voices live in her dreams and echo in her ears throughout the day. Outside the mansion, a raised voice or a frown make her flinch. The world seems to be dissolving into non-ending strife.
Last night was the worst. The threats have been accompanied by graphic images. One stays with her long after waking: John hanging from a lone tree in a hellish landscape while Meggan laments at his feet, calling the fury of faerie down on whoever did this to him.
- Achilles has posed:
And then in the coming days, the creepiest part of it all begins. While ordering a cappuccino at a local shop, the barista hands the cup over with a smile.. a smile that turns cruel as she says aloud, "Will you save them?"
And then a Hot Dog Vendor cart operator speaks up as Zatanna is walking past. "More will suffer. You don't need to fight to save them."
Each of these people have no memory of saying such things. Lastly, the wife fighting with her husband as Zatanna walks past again... Yes, the same couple as a week previously... the wife, mid fight.. turns and says, "All I ask is that you do -not- fight. Soon, people will start to die."... and then they go back to their own fight like she never paused to speak.
.... CREEPY!
- Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Some people walk in beauty and light. Zatanna walks in shadows. Happiness seems a distant memory. Even the sun seems dimmed by her constant fatigue and sense of dread.
Neither John or Meggan have been within reach. Honey mooning, they have been traveling in Faerie.
The first time a stranger repeated the words in her dreams, she had stopped dead in the street and stared. The whole world seems to be gaslighting her. She received uncomprehending looks when she questioned the man. Then, it happened again.
Back in Shadowcrest, she closes the door to the library and pours herself three fingers of single malt, wishing for the two of them. Nothing can stop the constant sense of impending danger.
