Rough hands grab his shoulders as he plunges into the fog. They grip tight, tight enough to hurt but not harm. They restrain, they cling...all they seem to be doing is gripping tight to cause that discomfort, steady but unmoving.
"Breathe. Feel."
The quiet instruction is given by a deep, gravelly voice, and given by a taller man with broad shoulders and bright blue eyes that are darting around, watching everything with the twitchy unrest of someone just as scared, but focusing on nothing--not even on the younger man's face when he finally looks at him.
Ellis Moorhaven can feel the fog crawling inside his bones. Ants and butterflies, little insect legs dancing around inside where his marrow oughta be, and the kid he's trying to calm down?
Well, calm down--not his forte. Still, he looks like shit even for a cadaver. Waxy pallor, blue lips and tongue...no, guy's got eyes. Glowing, wide and white and fucking blinding, so much so he has to wince even in the fog.
Spirit medium, poor bastard.
When he's relatively sure the kid won't bolt, Ellis lets him go and crouches to pick up one of the styrofoam cups rolling around. Holding it by the edge, between thumb and forefinger, he regards it like a particularly interesting insect. Maybe one of the butterflies in his bones...nah, a moth, not as pretty.
"What's this?" He asks the kid, gesturing with the cup. "And can I kill it?"
The monster behind it, the creature that turned it into an object of horror--bad enough to be stuck dreaming so hard it feels like reality, if he can fuck up someone? Least it'll be fun going nuts again...
Fog {{CW: unreality and allusions to hallucination, non-gory body horror imagery}}
"Breathe. Feel."
The quiet instruction is given by a deep, gravelly voice, and given by a taller man with broad shoulders and bright blue eyes that are darting around, watching everything with the twitchy unrest of someone just as scared, but focusing on nothing--not even on the younger man's face when he finally looks at him.
Ellis Moorhaven can feel the fog crawling inside his bones. Ants and butterflies, little insect legs dancing around inside where his marrow oughta be, and the kid he's trying to calm down?
Well, calm down--not his forte. Still, he looks like shit even for a cadaver. Waxy pallor, blue lips and tongue...no, guy's got eyes. Glowing, wide and white and fucking blinding, so much so he has to wince even in the fog.
Spirit medium, poor bastard.
When he's relatively sure the kid won't bolt, Ellis lets him go and crouches to pick up one of the styrofoam cups rolling around. Holding it by the edge, between thumb and forefinger, he regards it like a particularly interesting insect. Maybe one of the butterflies in his bones...nah, a moth, not as pretty.
"What's this?" He asks the kid, gesturing with the cup. "And can I kill it?"
The monster behind it, the creature that turned it into an object of horror--bad enough to be stuck dreaming so hard it feels like reality, if he can fuck up someone? Least it'll be fun going nuts again...