[ this is all incredibly rank, and vira definitely has to spit out a mouthful of blood. she still manages to look very briefly and faintly amused by sheila's excitement—enjoy your first monster murder—but is absolutely dead-eyed by the time she helps her stumble towards the piano to jenga yet again.
[up they go, onto the piano - jingle scrambles down to help the rest of them up and tries to make sure they don't aggravate their injuries too horribly. hisoka judges them from afar.
but once they're all up in the vent, jingle rattles in relief, making grabby hands again. baby chain. everybody is alive and safe for now, but the baby seems insistent on moving on.]
[She waggles her free eyeball haughtily at Sasazuka.]
Was it reckless? I drew it into a position where it would be vulnerable, so we were all able to attack from relative safety.
[So back off, bitch. But she'll tuck her eyeball and dagger into her corset, and then take Sheila and baby's hands. A little less haughtily, she'll add - ]
Besides, it was my condition that caused us so many difficulties, before. The balance of my contributions to our survival was in need of correction.
[the chain seems to help with your aches and pains! you feel warmer, too. baby rattles at the four of you, and tugs harrow off and the rest of the chain down the vent. they're on a mission.
it's just that... once you start walking, you're struck by that vicious hunger again. this time, it's painful. this time, you double over from it, gasping, until it momentarily subsides into something more gnawing.
[ this has been such a bad time, and still being so hungry after literally everything they witnessed kind of just makes it even more disgusting. is it bad that he is now not really noticing that he is covered in guts because of everything else? probably.
but at sheila's voice, he looks over at the child. ]
[ she tries to focus and breathe through the hunger pains, but it only makes her more aware of everything that aches, and the stench of blood and flesh that's still splattered across them all.
when it passes, she wobbles up to her feet, intent on getting out of here. she looks at their little eldritch child. knowing their name means getting attached, but... ]
I wonder if they can't tell us. Or if they don't have one.
[She grits her teeth - she's never felt hunger like this before, hasn't felt hunger at all for months now. But it's something unnatural, and though she can't help the physical reaction that doubles her over, her brain puts it in perspective.
Listen, she cares about Jingle too, and grips his hand still, but his name doesn't seem that important right now.]
. . . The hunger. I wonder why. I thought it was to tempt us to join the table, but it's stronger here.
[If it's being artificially induced in them, does it have something to do with the place? Or is it like what happened before, when Sasazuka held Jingle's hand. Is there a transference of feeling? She'll talk first to the group - ]
If something is offered to us ahead, no matter what it might be, eat nothing.
[And to Jingle - ]
Do you feel it, too? That hunger? Is it something about this place?
[jingle crouches down, watching all of them through their paper bag hat. they glance at sheila, and then at harrow. in the distance, there's the sound of groaning metal, crackling flames.
for a moment, jingle just stares, and then it rattles, but this time, it sounds like static. mostly. a very tinny, high pitched voice can be heard through that static, and it almost makes the inside of your head itch. it's just one word: mercy.
and then they stand back up and start tugging at harrow's hand, trying to get all of them to stand up. have to go.]
[ the noise fills her skull, like cotton scratching inside it. alarming, but it doesn't change the reality of their situation: if they go back, they're just going back to whatever monster tries to eat them next. she already has to give takeru her wrist instead of her hand, and even that aches—if she loses her other hand, they have little means of defending themselves besides jingle's... mercy, aptly. ]
We'll just have to hold out. Let's hurry and try to keep our wits about us.
[Mercy. That - could be a name. But it sounds a little terrifying. Jingle has shown them a lot of it, so far. But they have also depended on them far too much.
She squeezes the hand, following along.]
If there's something we can do to help you, find a way to tell us. Until then, let's carry on.
[jingle doesn't say anything else, just leads them carefully through the vent.
it's a short walk, and it's a slope, though it's not steep. you head down, and down, and the longer you do, the hungrier you get. it comes in waves, overwhelming and horrible. your vision blurs, just a little. your stomach growls, loudly, grinding painfully.
jingle leads them out of the vent, to a small, dark room. there's nothing here but rusty metal and a dead end. jingle lets go of harrow, disconnects from the chain, and wraps their arms around themselves, crouching and watching. instantly, a horrible cold grips each one of you by the heart.
that same word, mercy, echoes from everywhere. from inside your heads, from the walls, from the floor, from inside of the paper bag itself. the hunger intensifies, and you can't escape it, it's overwhelming, you have to eat something. something, anything, desperately. your vision blacks in and out.
there's nothing in this room but the child in front of you.]
She knows she any awards for sanctity, but this is — not an option. She squeezes her eyes shut, shoving several gore covered fingers in her mouth. Nipping at her own skin. Why can't the extra chunky salsa be helpful? It's been dripping into their mouths all day. Fuck.
[ he has to kneel down, gripping at his stomach, trying to concentrate on literally anything else but it. it doesn't work. all he can think about how much he wants it to stop, but he can also remember the weight of holding the small child in his arms as they wandered this place. ]
No. Just... no.
[ he focuses his gaze on the others in the room. ]
[ she knows that reality is catching up to all of them, palpably and painfully. the cold, the noise, the hunger—it's all enough to drive her to knee, enough that even the viscera that's clinging to her clothes is less nauseating than before.
they'll die if they do nothing. but even she feels a squeeze in her chest when she remembers how this child has done nothing but save them at every horrible turn. ]
There must be something—think. What have we found so far?
[ it feels desperate and pointless, but on the edges of consciousness they have to try. ]
[Don't eat anything, she said. Don't eat anything, even if it feels like dying - somehow, she still feels strongly that was the right answer. But is it still the right answer if this is the only other option?
The pain brings her to her knees. Mercy, mercy. Is the child asking for mercy, or offering? Does that matter? If it is mercy offered, should she take it, even at this cost, remembering the one rule she is meant to follow at the expense of all others?
Stay alive. You may not end your own life through suicide. You may not end your own life through carelessness.
If it is mercy asked for, should she give it? She promised she would help how she could, and who is she to deny a request? But she's remembering. . . something else. The dour, resigned face of Ortus Nigenad, dutiful to the end, terrified always. Catacombs, below Drearburh, filled with tiny bones.]
I don't want that sort of mercy. Let me first water these walls with my veins. Let me first consume my own tissues, my own muscles, my own bone. The weakness of my body is less than the weakness of my heart, because it cannot bear to give you what you ask.
[A little astonishingly, against her will, tears are spilling down her cheeks, as she expends some of her precious dying, starving energy to give a pretentious little speech like the dramatic goth teen she is. She crawls forward as best she can despite the dizzying hunger, and reaches out to touch the child, and reaches out to touch the bottom of the paper bag, gentle.]
it echoes again, stronger, piercing, like the sound of shattering glass. the child inches closer to them, shivering. they hold out a hand, resting it on the ground, palm flat, in front of the four of them.
you are going to die. you know this hunger is going to kill you, if you do not act, somehow. it hurts, starving to death - and it does a number on your body. the longer you resist, the more you realize your body is shutting down. hair starts to fall out. you feel cold, you can't stand.
harrow speaks, and the child jitters. she can lift the bag.
the child looks like maybe she was a little girl, once. distorted, like the monsters before. her long, tangled black hair is missing in chunks, sticking up at wild angles. there are dark, dark circles around their eyes, black - so black that they almost resemble a raccoon. the child opens their mouth, and tries to speak, but nothing comes out. their sharp animal fangs clack, as they shut their mouth.
this time, there are no tears. just a long, steady look. they offer their hand to harrow, and the urge to eat, to devour, is almost overpowering.]
[If there's one bright side to their bodies slowly shutting down, it's that it zaps them of their strength. And the closer the child gets to the group, the more Sheila forces herself to inch away from them — and the rest of her companions. Something crunches from where she's biting her fingers. Though she drops the hand, obscuring it far too quickly to see what happened there.
Her voice is incredibly strained when she speaks, like it is taking every single ounce of the strength she has left to abstain from doing something she will regret. Her breathing is agitated.]
T-The eye. We still have the eye, right? We can eat the fucking eye.
[Or maybe they can just die. Dying sounds better than eating an eldritch child.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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but, okay. they have to keep going. he gets up to his feet and just starts walking back to the piano. ]
Come on. We need to catch up with the other two.
[ time to jenga once again up the piano ]
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also, she glares at hisoka as they pass him. ]
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Hurry!
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but once they're all up in the vent, jingle rattles in relief, making grabby hands again. baby chain. everybody is alive and safe for now, but the baby seems insistent on moving on.]
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Are you two okay?
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That was extremely reckless of you.
[ it doesn't sound mad, just like he's stating a fact that needs to be said. ]
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Still, if she hadn't, we may have died.
[ it'd been a close call either way. how much longer can they manage like this? ]
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Was it reckless? I drew it into a position where it would be vulnerable, so we were all able to attack from relative safety.
[So back off, bitch. But she'll tuck her eyeball and dagger into her corset, and then take Sheila and baby's hands. A little less haughtily, she'll add - ]
Besides, it was my condition that caused us so many difficulties, before. The balance of my contributions to our survival was in need of correction.
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it's just that... once you start walking, you're struck by that vicious hunger again. this time, it's painful. this time, you double over from it, gasping, until it momentarily subsides into something more gnawing.
jingle stops, waiting for you to recover.]
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Sheila just stays on the floor for a little longer than the rest. This is her home now. Go on without her. It's for the good of everyone.]
You know, I just realized something... We never asked for your name. [Ma'am, u good?] God, there are so many ways you can fuck up as a parent.
[Everything is fine.]
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but at sheila's voice, he looks over at the child. ]
I'm not sure if they can talk.
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when it passes, she wobbles up to her feet, intent on getting out of here. she looks at their little eldritch child. knowing their name means getting attached, but... ]
I wonder if they can't tell us. Or if they don't have one.
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Listen, she cares about Jingle too, and grips his hand still, but his name doesn't seem that important right now.]
. . . The hunger. I wonder why. I thought it was to tempt us to join the table, but it's stronger here.
[If it's being artificially induced in them, does it have something to do with the place? Or is it like what happened before, when Sasazuka held Jingle's hand. Is there a transference of feeling? She'll talk first to the group - ]
If something is offered to us ahead, no matter what it might be, eat nothing.
[And to Jingle - ]
Do you feel it, too? That hunger? Is it something about this place?
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for a moment, jingle just stares, and then it rattles, but this time, it sounds like static. mostly. a very tinny, high pitched voice can be heard through that static, and it almost makes the inside of your head itch. it's just one word: mercy.
and then they stand back up and start tugging at harrow's hand, trying to get all of them to stand up. have to go.]
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Sheila is silent for a moment, and then, softly:]
... Well, Mercy's cute.
[They are now Mercy "Chuck" Jingle. Just gonna pretend that was an answer to her question and not a totally ominous response to Harrow. It's fine.
Is there anything of note in their surroundings as they baby chain down this tunnel?]
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yeah, that was concerning. but they will continue this baby chain down this vent and he'll also keep a look out. ]
... I wonder if it is that we're just getting hungrier the longer we're here, or if it's as we get closer to something?
[ it's impossible to tell! but. one is worse than the other, he thinks. ]
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We'll just have to hold out. Let's hurry and try to keep our wits about us.
[ no eating anything weird. ]
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She squeezes the hand, following along.]
If there's something we can do to help you, find a way to tell us. Until then, let's carry on.
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it's a short walk, and it's a slope, though it's not steep. you head down, and down, and the longer you do, the hungrier you get. it comes in waves, overwhelming and horrible. your vision blurs, just a little. your stomach growls, loudly, grinding painfully.
jingle leads them out of the vent, to a small, dark room. there's nothing here but rusty metal and a dead end. jingle lets go of harrow, disconnects from the chain, and wraps their arms around themselves, crouching and watching. instantly, a horrible cold grips each one of you by the heart.
that same word, mercy, echoes from everywhere. from inside your heads, from the walls, from the floor, from inside of the paper bag itself. the hunger intensifies, and you can't escape it, it's overwhelming, you have to eat something. something, anything, desperately. your vision blacks in and out.
there's nothing in this room but the child in front of you.]
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No, no, no.
She knows she any awards for sanctity, but this is — not an option. She squeezes her eyes shut, shoving several gore covered fingers in her mouth. Nipping at her own skin. Why can't the extra chunky salsa be helpful? It's been dripping into their mouths all day. Fuck.
Muffled by her own hand:]
I'm seriously hungry, but...
[They are not going to eat this child. Stop.]
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No. Just... no.
[ he focuses his gaze on the others in the room. ]
Something else.
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they'll die if they do nothing. but even she feels a squeeze in her chest when she remembers how this child has done nothing but save them at every horrible turn. ]
There must be something—think. What have we found so far?
[ it feels desperate and pointless, but on the edges of consciousness they have to try. ]
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The pain brings her to her knees. Mercy, mercy. Is the child asking for mercy, or offering? Does that matter? If it is mercy offered, should she take it, even at this cost, remembering the one rule she is meant to follow at the expense of all others?
Stay alive. You may not end your own life through suicide. You may not end your own life through carelessness.
If it is mercy asked for, should she give it? She promised she would help how she could, and who is she to deny a request? But she's remembering. . . something else. The dour, resigned face of Ortus Nigenad, dutiful to the end, terrified always. Catacombs, below Drearburh, filled with tiny bones.]
I don't want that sort of mercy. Let me first water these walls with my veins. Let me first consume my own tissues, my own muscles, my own bone. The weakness of my body is less than the weakness of my heart, because it cannot bear to give you what you ask.
[A little astonishingly, against her will, tears are spilling down her cheeks, as she expends some of her precious dying, starving energy to give a pretentious little speech like the dramatic goth teen she is. She crawls forward as best she can despite the dizzying hunger, and reaches out to touch the child, and reaches out to touch the bottom of the paper bag, gentle.]
May I?
[Can she lift the bag?]
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it echoes again, stronger, piercing, like the sound of shattering glass. the child inches closer to them, shivering. they hold out a hand, resting it on the ground, palm flat, in front of the four of them.
you are going to die. you know this hunger is going to kill you, if you do not act, somehow. it hurts, starving to death - and it does a number on your body. the longer you resist, the more you realize your body is shutting down. hair starts to fall out. you feel cold, you can't stand.
harrow speaks, and the child jitters. she can lift the bag.
the child looks like maybe she was a little girl, once. distorted, like the monsters before. her long, tangled black hair is missing in chunks, sticking up at wild angles. there are dark, dark circles around their eyes, black - so black that they almost resemble a raccoon. the child opens their mouth, and tries to speak, but nothing comes out. their sharp animal fangs clack, as they shut their mouth.
this time, there are no tears. just a long, steady look. they offer their hand to harrow, and the urge to eat, to devour, is almost overpowering.]
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Her voice is incredibly strained when she speaks, like it is taking every single ounce of the strength she has left to abstain from doing something she will regret. Her breathing is agitated.]
T-The eye. We still have the eye, right? We can eat the fucking eye.
[Or maybe they can just die. Dying sounds better than eating an eldritch child.]
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