why not give it a try, be a beautiful monstrosity

[obscurissime]

Who: Scratch & OPEN.
What: A catch-all, if you will.
When: The beautiful month of June.
Where: All around Milton.

Content Warnings: Murder, body mutilation, general violence towards others.

(( note: feel free to wildcard anything / start something unrelated to the event or prompts in here))

Comments

· a sign of things to come ·

[obscurissime]

It's a curious sort of feeling. Scratch has, technically, experienced very little and also more than most people could ever comprehend. When it comes to how humans feel things, though, most of it is just ... There. Imprinted into his being as a copy of Alan Wake, recognizing sensations based on false memory, that's how it goes. But there are some things that slip through the cracks, maybe because Scratch doesn't hold himself back the way Alan does.

This one? This is new but somehow familiar all the same. A crackling of like calling to like. The ghost of the Dark Presence that lurks inside of him feeling undeniably attracted to whatever terrible, beautiful thing is happening. Someone who knows what fear is supposed to feel like would be able to say that, yes, this is what Scratch is experiencing. He puts it down to reverence and awe. Not his Darkness out there, no, but something close. Something that brings promise with it.

Scratch stands outside his cabin. His eyes are fixed on the sky, looking off towards the vague direction of Lakeside. He stays there until the eerie sounds of teeth and laughter fade on the night wind. Only then does he feel compelled, at last, to move, heading into the warmth and false safety of four walls. But he stays near the windows. Watching. Maybe waiting.

· polar sun · part one · (cw: murder, violence)

[obscurissime]

Alan Lawrence.

Maybe if his parents had given him a different name, he might have survived until the next wave hit Milton. Probably not, though, if Scratch is being honest. He's never needed much excuse to waste a life, it was only a matter of time that it would happen here, but recently it's been ... More. That gnawing feeling inside of him to get his hands on someone and watch the light leave their eyes. Everything's been on the edge of setting him off since that night. Alan Lawrence would have died regardless, but the reaction from Scratch would have been so much less visceral.

To the credit of Alan Lawrence, there's at least a bit of a scrap. Scratch wasn't entirely prepared to kill someone, and the man puts up a fight for his life before Scratch finally gets one-up on him. There's a block of wood nearby, left over from someone must have been chopping it, and Scratch brings it down on Alan Lawrence's head until the man stops wriggling underneath and his body goes slack.

Then Scratch hits him with it a bit more, for personal reasons.

When he's done, Scratch stands, dropping the piece of wood beside the lifeless body. He straightens out his jacket and smoothes back his hair, shakes the rest of it out of his system.

It doesn't end there. Just as soon as Scratch gives into those intrusive thoughts, more come back. The voice speaks to him and it sounds like an old friend. The chills it sends down his spine are a welcome feeling. The words bring a smile to his face. The light has always been the enemy. Scratch will welcome this thing that claims to rot inside him and await the darkness. And with that, his restlessness manifests itself into all of his volatile and violent tendencies. It won't take much to set him off on a fellow interloper. One wrong look, one word in a voice he decides it too annoying, he's itching for a fight and he'll find it in anyone.

+ cw: blood, vampire succ

[flambeaux]

With night comes darkness and the things that live in it. This green false night gives vampires free reign when Louis had been prepared to nearly hibernate during the never ending arctic summer. Hunting has become difficult for both human and vampire.

Normally Louis is very careful not to reveal himself, and he goes far out of his way into the woods. His bright green eyes match the sky. The rest of him is a dark shape in colors he hopes will pass unnoticed. Louis is pallid, almost ashy, with circles under his bright green eyes, which are dilated nearly to black. He moves with light-footed grace and urgency despite being lightheaded. He can't get warm. His wool coat and toque jealously guard what little warmth remains.

He is drawn to the scent of fresh blood. He finds a body. Praying there may yet still be some life in it, he hurries to a desperate scrabble next to it and sinks his teeth into the neck. He moans with pleasure, neck arching, but after a moment, he shoves the corpse away from him and wipes his mouth in disappointment. The blood must be alive to nourish him.

"No good..."

Then he sees a man in the shadows looking nearly like a shadow himself. What's that they say about tall, dark, and handsome? Ah, it's Mr. Wake. Louis prefers not to eat people he knows unless they've disrespected him, but he's hungry enough to try. He stands, bloody lips pulling back from his fangs.

A twig snaps. They have company. Louis whirls and is pouncing on the intruder before he can raise his hunting rifle. Louis has made an art out of judicious ambush hunting with Free Runner, and an experienced vampire clamps his lips tight so as not to spill.

[obscurissime]

The dark doesn't scare Scratch. Maybe it should, given his annoyingly human condition in this place, but he still finds familiarity in it. There's a novelty in going out in the sun, sure, but darkness is home. Not that Scratch is sentimental. It's just what he knows best. So he doesn't take any issue with roaming the woods, axe and switchblade all he has to defend himself against anything - or anything - that might get a funny idea.

He's not surprised to see someone else out here. The town's in a frenzy. Scratch is eager to see the state of things when the chaos settles. But maybe it's a little surprising that the person he comes across is Louis, face bloodied, teeth protruding for a just a moment before his attention is stolen away.

And, really, Scratch has to admit he's impressed. A little jealous, too, if he's being honest. It just goes to show that you never truly know your neighbour.

"I think you got him," he offers, leaning against a tree as he watches the body start to go slack.

[flambeaux]

Louis doesn't know this man, but an "M" is carved into the butt of the gun. Louis knows this because he hits him with it. Louis doesn't care. His fangs are deep in his neck, and he clings to him as he fills like a leech. Louis moans like someone tasting a rare steak for the first time in a long time, or like a drunk with a bottle, or like a lover in ecstasy. Blood is more than all of that to a vampire. The man begins to shake, then go limp. His leg twitches one last time. Louis, so intent on his meal, works very hard to pull himself away before the last heartbeat. That way lies death for both.

Louis rises with blood staining his mouth and the welt on his temple. A feeding is usually cleaner, but Louis was ravenous, and there was a struggle. Louis licks the blood from his lips. He should kill this voyeur. That was standard procedure back home.

Louis glances down at the first body, then back to Scratch. "I'd kill you, but you know your way around an axe. Why so nonchalant, Mr. Wake? You a cannibal or what?"

Food is the hot commodity right now. An innocent person averse to doing harm would be more upset than this neighbor leaning against a tree.

[obscurissime]

The question makes him laugh, not a loud boisterous one, but it's full of amusement. He shrugs a shoulder, shifting his weight against the tree so he can put his cold hands in his pockets.

"Please. I'm a lot of things according to the world, but cannibal didn't quite make it into the rumour mill. I'm not that desperate yet. Besides, what am I gonna do? Scream and run away and hope you don't come shut me up?"

The tone isn't threatening. Scratch is merely pointing out what seems like an obvious fact to him. The idiot who tries to run from the murderer almost always gets got.

"Did this place make you what you are, or did you come that way?"

[flambeaux]

Scratch has a rather cavalier attitude towards violence and death. It's disrespectful. Louis is capable of great violence and desecrating corpses, but he has a gravitas about it. Louis's lip curls.

"Misery loves company, apparently I got some weird neighbors... Why you wanna know?" he asks roughly, discarding his gentleman's veneer. "Wonderin' if I turn under the full moon after sayin' a chant? Or if I'm the Darkwalker's thrall?"

Louis retrieves his cane knife from where it fell, unsheathes it, and cuts the dead man's neck to disguise the bite.

[obscurissime]

"Just making conversation."

Scratch looks up at the sky to make a point there's no full moon, but he doesn't press the issue. A condition brought over from wherever Louis is from, then. Given that Scratch is still under the assumption the real Alan's written this into existence, he's more than a little annoyed that the writer would let other people have cool abilities and take his own away.

Classic Alan bullshit.

"This place is full of all sorts of things. Drinking someone's blood seems a bit tame compared to whatever the Darkwalker has going on. It's all about perspective."

· polar sun · part two · (cw: mutilation of corpses)

[obscurissime]

It's not just Alan Lawrence that couldn't survive this. Scratch can just tell there's death in the air. It makes him laugh. Wasn't he just saying to someone this would happen sooner than later? And look, here he is, getting to experience it just like he wanted. In between giving into his own violent urges, Scratch likes to simply breathe in the chaos. If it were comfortable enough to sit outside and watch everyone run around, he would, maybe with a good whiskey in his hand.

But it's not comfortable outside. It's always often barely comfortable inside, and Scratch isn't ignorant of the fact that resources are limited. Food, sure, but also means with which to start fires to bring about the much needed warmth. At least that's what his fixation has become, a whimsical thought he'd had that's being turned into a compulsion thanks to those whispers in his head. It makes sense. It doesn't make sense that no one else is doing it.

He has an axe he uses to chop wood behind his cabin. It doesn't take him long to find someone, dead and starting to freeze. He's never harvested fat off of a person before, but he's got a rough idea of how to do it. Chop the body into useable pieces, then find a knife and carve off the fat. Leave the muscles and the meat for the animals (and the desperate).

He's not trying to be subtle about it. Anyone come down the street of Basin Overlook could see it, Scratch hacking the torso free of its annoying limbs.

[friendsfordinner]

[ That man is just...blatantly hacking up a corpse in broad daylight. Hickey is a little jealous at how devil-may-care he is, how he obviously doesn't give a damn what people think. Because of course someone is going to say no. Of course someone is going to try and be the hero and stop Scratch from doing this. Hickey isn't the only person who's wandered out in the woods to get away from everybody, he suspects he's not the only one who's going to run into Scratch.

But God how jealous Hickey is that Scratch doesn't care.

He can't help it, though. He's curious. ]

What're you planning on doing with that body?

[obscurissime]

( That's the best part about Scratch, in his mind. He doesn't really give a shit. He knows he probably should when it comes to this place, it's not his regular world, but that's so annoying.

Anyone's bound to snap under these conditions if they don't let things out now and then.

He brings the axe back up after separating a leg from the body, and, for a moment, his eyes are dark and crazed as he looks at Hickey. )

Human fat is flammable. You ever hear about the Wick Effect? It's the theory that people spontaneously combust because their fat caught on fire. Everyone's shitting their pants about resources and they just let this go to waste? Fucking idiots.

[friendsfordinner]

[ Hickey's already making notes in his mind. Fat's flammable. The fat on that man he butchered and buried in the woods is probably long useless, but if this happens again. If the hunger keeps going, if this damn night doesn't cease...he'll need more fuel. He'll have to do the deed again. Which really, Hickey's fine with, there's too many people here anyway. But that's not something you say out loud. ]

The people here still hang onto their morals, [ Hickey points out, with a little shrug. ] We've got a god picking us off one by one, lunatics in the woods who leave corpses as a threat, the threat of starvation on every corner and they're worried about morals. They don't want to take food from the lunatics in the woods because 'we can talk to them' or some nonsense.

[ Hickey shakes his head. As he talks, his gaze never strays from what Scratch is doing with the body. ]

Morals don't mean shit. People let them get in the way of the practicalities of living.

[obscurissime]

( See, Scratch knew he liked Hickey. Hickey understands and doesn't want to try and turn this place into some sort of frozen Utopia where everyone holds hands. And Hickey has the appropriate respect for things. )

The Darkwalker wants me to do my work. It's only a matter of time before it figures out how to make me part of the Dark Presence again in this place.

( Then they'll leave and go rain hell on Alan Wake and his precious reality. Beautiful.

The axe comes down hard on the body's other leg with a sickening crunch of bone. )

No one's ever survived on morals.

[friendsfordinner]

[ Now that's interesting. Hickey's eyes sparkle with interest as he looks over at Scratch. There's more here than he expected and he definitely wants to know. ]

You're speaking of this Dark Presence like you know what it is. Fill a man in?

Re: · polar sun · part two · (cw: mutilation of corpses)

[tinstar]

[Raylan was out with an aim to go hunting, his stomach gnawing on the underside of his ribs just as badly as the cold gnawed on him. His gaze felt oddly sharper for the hunger, senses a little more tightly strung, nerves taut. His gun wasn't drawn yet - that was for Out of Town, but as he comes across the street on his way and sees--

Well he sees someone hacking at a corpse. That was immediatly flagged as a threat and before he could think about it, his gun was cold against his palm, finger outside the trigger cage as his steps get long, heading in Scratch's direction.

Once he gets within general speaking range:]

That a family friend? Someone you know well? [You got a right to be hacking there stranger?]

[obscurissime]

( The cowboy with the hat. Scratch hasn't seen him since they both arrived here. He hasn't even really thought about him since then. )

They do say the worst crimes are committed by those closest to you.

( He pulls his axe free from the neck of the body. )

But this guy was already dead when I found him.

[tinstar]

Fast friends are hard to come by. [The quip is easy but with an edge of sarcasm - he knew the man was new like he was.]

So what is this - hungry enough to serve man for dinner?

[He wouldn't judge if that was the case, while it wasn't a path he could take yet, he understood it. There were still other options, in his opinion, even as hungry as he was.]

[obscurissime]

I haven't hit that level of depravity quite yet.

( But, hey, whatever people want to do with their time, right? )

Fat. It's flammable, it burns. This guy looks like he has enough to be useful. I can leave the edible parts for you, if you want.

[tinstar]

[The face Raylan makes at the answer and the offer is pure disgust, head pulling back a fraction as he frowns deeply under a furrowed brow.]

What? God no. I got more respect for the dead than that. [For now, anyway.]

Why- You know we got wood around here right? These big ass trees? Shit, broken chairs? Sacrifice a table? That axe could get you a lot more than some random man's asscheek will.

· reprieve ·

[obscurissime]

She knows his name. Not Alan, not Scratch, but the name so old and ancient that humans cannot utter it. And she summons a brightness so sudden that it would surely have destroyed every part of him if that were possible here. It's all he remembers as he comes to in the snow. Maybe he wakes up because you've found him there, or maybe someone sees him picking himself up from the cold ground. To say he seems unsettled would maybe be an understatement, but he'll put on the slightest of smiles in the face of another interloper.

The voice has gone silent, and, with it, all those urges have gone back to just gently simmering inside. They're still there. Scratch will always find joy in bringing harm to others, but it's once again easier to pretend that's not the case. He'll join anyone looking for help cleaning up or disposing of bodies, or offer his company if there's a desire for nothing more than conversation or companionship (boring). And if anyone has any questions about his actions, well, they were all victims here, weren't there?

[readytosee]

Things have been -- well, horrific. The darkness, the violence. People fighting each other in the streets. Things at the cabin have been tense, but have at least settled a little.

Now that things seem a little calmer, Darling is out to see if anyone requires medical aid. He's no surgeon, but he can at least tend minor wounds and do some stitching, if need be. It's on one of his rounds that he sees his friend lying there in the snow, and rushes forward, panic clenching at his chest.

"Alan?" he calls, hurrying to his side and dropping to his knees in the snow. "Alan, can you hear me?"

[obscurissime]

The name swims a little in his head. Alan. Alan, Alan, Alan ... And then something inside clicks that he's meant to be Alan, and he jerks awake in the frozen snow. There's a brief moment where the light of day makes him flinch as he brings up a hand to shield himself, expecting the brightness to tear into him. But it doesn't. Instead, Darling is there, and everything rush's back to Scratch's memory.

The darkness, the voice in his head, the chaotic and frenzied violence that felt so warm and cozy. And now he's just Alan again.

"Casper -"

He realizes he's shivering, and that isn't an act. He's cold. How long has he been lying out in the snow like this? Scratch's hands grip at the doctor's shoulders.

"I don't know what happened. Is everything fine -"

[readytosee]

"It's okay," he assures him, helping him sit up a little. Wrapping an arm around him to steady him, maybe try to warm him a bit. "I don't exactly know what happened, but things seem to be getting back to normal.

God, you're frozen. How long have you been out here? We should try to get you back to your cabin, get those stoves going. Do you feel like you can walk?" He can probably carry him, if absolutely necessary. Or at the very least, let Alan lean on him for the walk back.

[obscurissime]

Under usual circumstances, Scratch would find Darling's eagerness to help unappealing. But he can't deny that, right now, he needs the help, and it's probably ideal that Darling's the one who's come along. This can turn into something useful once he's this chill is out of his bones.

"I don't know."

That's true, at least, but it can't have been too long. There's still some movement left in his muscles as he pushes himself up to standing (with some assistance by leaning on Darling).

"I think I did some horrible things."

[readytosee]

"I know," Darling says, understandingly. He gets Alan's arm around his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist to help hold him up.

"But it isn't your fault. Everyone was -- muddled, these past few weeks. You weren't in your right mind. But things seem to have calmed down, I think."