[ORP]You Were In The Darkness Too(Mort, Bells, Ofie &Before)

[AyeAvast]

The floor was not the most pleasant of places in which to wake, whether by the sheer fact that it was uncomfortable, or by the admission of what waking on a floor could mean. Unwilling to yet consider those possibilities, Belladonna instead placed both hands against the wooden surface and pushed herself into a sitting position. The creamy color of her own skin made her cry out, a noise that echoed through out the expansive room, but as it reached the far edges and petered off, that was it. The witch held her breath as her pink eyes darted around her, waiting. One second... Two seconds... Three, four, five.
Quiet...
Unbelieving, for there was absolutely no way that this could honestly be happening, (not to her, not right now) Belladonna brought both hands up in front of her face. Pale white skin stared back at her, run through with an undercurrent of pink. When she flipped them, pink nails stared back at her, topped with a crescent of white.
No voices... No gray...No... No......
A deep breath was taken, half because of the realization that Belladonna was no longer affected by the Insanity that had so easily claimed her before, and half because of the still fresh and vivid memories of her descent into such. The breath quickly morphed into a sob that swiftly brought the witch back down onto the floor, where her hands pressed back into the hardwood, desperate from something, anything that would distract her from having to face everything that had happened. Clear tears fell from her eyes as the witch recalled in exactly what manner events had unfolded, unable to stop them though she desperately tried.

But it had really happened, she and Alexander had really escaped one monster only to be confronted with a far worse one. Even though they had saved it, even if Belladonna had done her best to bring Mort back from the pit of despair he so often fell into, it had all soured so quickly. Even the quick trip to see Medea and the comfort that offered was so easily destroyed, it was like watching a spider web burn in a flame. Over in a flash, without even a trace left over. There had been nothing to clutch onto as the witch had felt the fog cloud her vision, nothing to save her as she lost her way standing still, standing right in front of....
A hand reached up to wipe at her face as Belladonna sat back up, trying to quell the deep sadness within. The same hand drifted down to press against the top of her breast, where there only resided a swell of smooth skin. No pain, no burn marks, no gaping hole where she had been repeatedly scorned, hurt again and again by the boil she loved.
And it wasn't as though this deep hurt was all the cause of a little bit of brutality. Those words she'd spoken, whether insanity driven or not, had still been dredged up from the deepest part of her. A part the witch had sought so very hard to ignore and hide and kept locked away. Yet the veil of Insanity, that odd inability to discern anything tangible and real, had been cast over her eyes and she had said horrible things. The ache this left within her (or was that the feeling of having Insanity being ripped forcefully from her?) felt right under her skin. If she were to press a hand to her stomach, it might ebb momentarily, but it still felt too raw to even bother an attempt at.

And while the ache mingled uncomfortably with a deep sense of guilt over her unmitigated attack on Alexander and Maggie and the other, unknown first year (and naturally the words the witch was unable to take back from her beloved), Belladonna knew she could not stay here. A sweep of her surroundings showed her that she was still in the Haunted House, but everything felt very.... Different. Off, somehow, in a way she could not name. Still, it was a place she did not want to stay.
Another breath, another press of hands against the floorboards, only this time she found the strength within her to actually stand. All that guilt and hurt at being so viciously mauled were lessened with the singular knowledge that she could actually stand. It was a simple action, but one she would gratefully take. A few tentative steps were taken, but the gray was completely gone. Even though she stood surrounded by mist and fog, not a bit of it seeped into her skin. It was a momentary relief as Belladonna began to trek through the room, only a few heel clicks through the room before something crunched beneath her shoe.
A quick crouch down showed the familiar look of the little vial Alexander had used on Mort, all its healing liquid exposed and useless as it seeped out. Feeling a little bad about that, Belladonna could only offer the shattered vial an apologetic glance before she stood back up and wandered off. It felt like she could wander forever in this room, just keep walking forward with no end in sight. At first she had tried to count her steps, but after one hundred that got tedious.
Time became irrelevant, a strange thing that Belladonna was no longer aware of as she pushed forward. If she had been saved, if she had experienced whatever thing that had cleansed her of this Insanity, then the same could have happened to the others, to Mort. She just had to press forward a little longer and surely she would find him. Then she could apologize for her awful words, her horrid actions. She could hold him and heal these wounds.
Maybe it was these thoughts that prompted the light, prompted the warmth she could almost feel when she had felt nothing before. With a gasp she tripped forward and broke into a run, eager to reach that light, that thing that was different and surely lead to salvation. The run stretched out as the light stayed exactly where it was, the warmth continued to elude her and she kept on. Her run slowed even though she didn't really grow tired, but merely because there was no need to push if this was merely an illusion from the Haunted House.

Suddenly, for she had run long enough that once more Belladonna had forgotten to track the time again, a chill bloomed with another light. There was no thought, no conscious need to take action as the witch immediately and with absolutely no hesitation switched direction and sped up. All she knew was that chill, that second, cold light that she now ran toward, and that quiet refrain repeated over and over in her head.
Mort. Mort I love you, Mort I'm sorry. Mort, please. Mort, I'll find you. Mort.

xOl-j-manx

 

[medigel]

Waking to a stiff back and a flat ground wasn't uncommon - it was like rigor mortis in that manner, everything rigid and locked in place. But Mort didn't need to sleep, not unless he pushed himself so hard that his body needed to cool down . . . And Amityville was far behind him. This wasn't his bed, or the floor it sat on; this was the furthest thing from it.

Everything had a blurry quality to it, which made him realize his glasses had fallen off. Yet he didn't need clear vision to know that he was still surrounded by fog, still enveloped in some new catastrophe he couldn't help but stick his nose in. The zomboil sat there for a stretch of minutes, hunched over with a strange ache in his bones that left him vulnerable and woozy for the first few minutes after waking. But nothing came out at him: no whispers, no hissing, no manufactured monster come to take him Home. It was unnaturally quiet - the silence seemed to press in on his ears and made the sigh he issued sound far away.

So . . . He was free? Was he cured? But . . . How?

Piece by piece Mort's memories assembled themselves, the metaphysical noise causing him to curl inward further and his hands to grip at his head as if to ward off a migraine. Each death rankled him, each horrid howl rang painfully in his ears, and the diabolical hatred and contempt he had housed for so long made him shiver and tremble in shock. Being taken down so often did little to assuage him, not when he could recall in gruesome detail how he had eviscerated Alex or forcibly carved a gaping hole -

- He had to choke back the involuntary noise, the impulse to devolve into a teary mess over that betrayal. It was all Insanity, he kept telling himself, but was it just that and nothing more? When he had turned distorted, what that Mort had said came only because it was based off of his own feelings, however twisted they were. But after seeing the capacity for rage and hate he held within, and the manner he was capable of funneling those dark emotions into, he didn't, couldn't believe that he had meant every word, every literally heartrending action . . .

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . .

He needed to move. If he stayed in place much longer, he would crush himself to re-death.

A few seconds of fumbling found his glasses again, and with a soft grunt Mort pushed himself up; his legs felt like gelatin, like they had remained unused for too long. He almost didn't notice the sound of broken glad as he lumbered forward, almost didn't think to look down at what else he had destroyed.

A vial. That vial. Of course.

Continuing forward, the zomboil lightly hugged himself as he struggled to keep the memories at bay, feeling as if he could be wandering in circles for hours. Time had no place here, and neither did logic; it unsettled him in more than one way, even if a part of him believed that this strange purgatory was the perfect place for penance. Loneliness began to cling to him and sap him of the weak flare of hope he had had when he realized he was no longer that creature. Maybe this was a fever dream brought on by a mental break, an inability to deal with his actions. Maybe he really was still finding and attacking people but was just too cowardly to accept his fate.

His ears rang with the sound of faint cackling and winced. Worthless indeed.

When Mort was beginning to think that he should have just sat alone in misery like he deserved, something broke the monotony of darkness and fog: a strange light appeared in the distance. And he would have regarded it with suspicion if he wasn't growing desperate for a sign for something, anything. How hypocritical it was that he had asked his friends to leave him, and yet when at last alone was like a lost scareling, frightened and despairing.

He didn't deserve that warm light, not one bit. Not when he had continually pushed it away to look strong. But what was strength worth when loneliness was the only thing left, when an ache of something ripped away gnawed at his bone and gnawed at his mind? What was the point of being strong when the one that mattered most was not here to support him?

What the witch had hissed was true: He was weak from his wants. And now, through his own folly, he suffered.

Forgive me. The warm light beckoned him onward with unlimited patience. Please forgive me. On it he piled the shreds of his hope, his thoughts, and what remained of his fallen dignity. Take me back. It - She - was always willing, always there, always holding him together when he wanted to fall apart, always promising something better when he thought nothing but the worst, always trusting him, always thinking of him as her hero even when he was wretched --

He was such a fool for ever letting go. ICome back, /please/. . . Mort shivered again, staring at the warm tendrils of light as he shuffled forward, drawn like a moth to the flame and unwilling to stop. Even if it meant burning, at least he would have a shadow of a memory to keep, of those arms around him one last time.

So strong was that need that something else was conjured in the fog: trailing away from the star of light was something red, something hurried -

"B..."

Why was it so hard to say her name?

"Belladonna...?" His footsteps trailed to a stop as he watches the bobbing, faintly familiar mass turn away.

-AyeAvast

 

[AyeAvast]

Frustration was beginning to set in as the witch continued on with her run, distraught with the fact that this cool light was not getting any closer. A part of her chimed in that she should be glad that it was at least not getting further away, but it was small. Sole focus had been centered on that light, with a little left over on making sure she didn't trip over herself, so all that was left was the mantra she'd made in her mind.
...I love you, Mort I'm sorry, Mort pl--

Belladonna

The force with which the ghoul halted her run made her trip forward a few more paces, eyes scared and wide as she stared out into the fog. She had been doing so well, she hadn't heard a single voice beside the one inside her head. This entire time everything had been quiet and well, but now... Now there was someone calling her name. Not just anyone, and not just her name. It had been Mort and it had been her full name, something he'd never done. Even as the witch cast back in her memory, even as Belladonna took those few tentative steps toward something hidden in the fog that was tall, she could not recall him ever saying her name in its entirety.

Though she did not stop taking those steps forward, they remained cautious and uncertain. If this was a trap, if this was merely a thing set up to lure her in, it was working. Already the witch had brought her hands up to clear away what fog she could, to better gaze at this looming figure before her.
But what if it wasn't actually him? What if it was just another Insanity driven thing, come to destroy her or drag her screaming back into its depths? For Mort had never said her full name, had never had the ability to properly pronounce all those syllables with his stitched up mouth. It wasn't something the witch disliked, for she had grown to love that nickname he used, that little moniker that meant her, the her that belonged to him.

And finally, with a great sweep of her hands, there he was. Just standing there, all lost and broken looking and not at all affected by the Insanity. For a moment Belladonna just stood there, eyes wide as she stared at him, at the gray fog that curled around and away from him and didn't seep into him. He was completely devoid of the gray, only covered in familiars blues and green and dark colors. For a long time (or perhaps it just felt like a long time, what with all this emotion welling within her chest), Belladonna could only stand there and stare up at him.
Could this really and truly be her's, her precious darling, her hero who always saved the day, who always saved her? Or was this too just another illusion, sent to torment her further?
A hand rose up slowly, as though to touch him but just could not breech the gap that remained between them. Belladonna stared up at him, face broken with pain and wanting, with sorrow and desire. Her mouth opened and the first note out was choked, so that she had to try again.

"M-Mort?"

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

The moment's meaning was lost to Mort. All that mattered was that when he invoked her name, the apparition didn't fade or keep going, but rather turned and began to move towards him. It was a fine mental game if this was what it really was, to give him another memory so vividly stark against the fog, to tease him with what might have been. It amazed him how lifelike the figure ghosting towards him was: the exact height, the exact clothes, the exact everything as he remembered her, down to the little lilt in her step that, though subdued, remained nevertheless.

It was insane to think she would come back just through sheer willpower, but there she was: a living memory in all the brilliant, glorious color she was due. And yet she was staring up at him not with triumph or relief, but with a forlorn and scared and lost and longing expression that mirrored how he felt. What a fine mental game indeed. Maybe this was a new trick from Insanity to demoralize him. Maybe it was all in his head.

Maybe he didn't care if it was either.

"Bells..." Everything still had a muffled quality to it and almost made his whisper inaudible as it hitched in his throat. Mort found himself rooted to the spot as he glanced at her raised hand, so much wanting to reach for it yet so much more frightened of the possibility that the illusion would break if he did; his hands felt like weights on either side. It was amazing how, when confronted with the one person he was longing for, he grew speechless. After a few moments of opening and closing his mouth, he managed to ask tentatively, "I-Is this real?"

It was the perfect question to ask his illusion.

AyeAvast

 

[AyeAvast]

With absolutely no effort, the fog closed in around them, effectively creating a barrier that kept out everything else but the couple, a sheltered little place made just for this moment. As though she had the ability to sense this, Belladonna, in all her dramatic glory, instantly assigned such meaning to such a moment. For what else but the most ridiculous of circumstances would have brought her beloved to her, so easily and with no fight? There had been no great push of willpower, no real battle to be overcome. There had been only her Insanity, the remembrance of all that horror, and then this.
And now Mort.
Here, whole and untouched by Insanity. Only a step away, the same as always. A little broken, a little lonely and hurt, and Belladonna could fix it. She'd always been able to in the past, always just held him close and said whatever came into her mind, whatever seemed appropriate.
But... What could she say now? What was there to say? There was no way the witch could instantly launch in apologies, in asking for acceptance and grace in this trying time. This might not be her Mort. This might be another farce, another trick of whatever cruel thing dictated their lives. And for that matter, what could the witch ask that would lend her to believe this was real? What question could she invoke of him that would sate her curiosity and definitively show this was him? If this were a trick pulled from her mind, she had to ask a question she did not know the answer to, or one in which the answer would surprise her.
So.... What could she possibly ask?

The way he said her name, all quiet and stilted, once more the shortened thing, made Belladonna let out a heavy sigh of air she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her heart hammered in her chest, a painful reminder of what had been attempted to be mercilessly torn from her earlier, by the same person standing in front of her. Though she blinked to quickly keep the thought away, still the memory of Mort, all twisted and not himself, sprang forward. Of those claws that bore into her, digging for something she had already given him ages ago.
Did he understand that now? Without the taint of darkness heavy on his mind, did he know and could he see in the way she looked at him, that her heart had been his since before the witch had been aware?
Still, at his question, the witch only continued to stare up at him for a second longer before her entire face broke into a mix between a laugh and a sob. Quickly she hastened to laugh, but even through her smile her eyebrows turned up in melancholy and one corner of her mouth tried to turn down into a cry.

"I think that is my question." She replied, another small, scared laugh escaping her. "For if this is not real, what am I to do? Even if this is still false, can I still ask forgiveness and tell you my adoration of you? That even if this is just my imagination, I am glad it is you?" Even if this truly was just another illusion, Belladonna still felt her cheeks heat up, still felt her heart lurch forward. Adoration was the closest she yet felt prepared to admit to an illusion, for if she acknowledged more than that she could easily be pulled into a deeper trap, be easily lured into thinking this was real if it wasn't...
Still, the witch wracked her mind for a way to prove this was reality, that this wasn't just an illusion. Further frustrated with this conundrum, she was almost to tears and instead left her hand outstretched to him, uncertain of what she wanted. The other hand clenched into a shaking fist at her side, angry that this had to happen. That there had been so much confusion and strife that a simple meeting of lovers was thus polluted.  

[medigel]

So his illusion thought he was the imaginary one? He made a noise that could have been a chuckle once, but really could have been just him clearing his throat nervously. How many people would have laughed at him if they saw how anxious he was being around her, like Belladonna could reach out with a slender hand and touch him, break him, dig into him with long nails and bring him down to her level, hiss in his face, cackle in his ear -

"I think that is my question. For if this is not real, what am I to do?"

I want you to destroy me, body and soul. End me with yourself and take me Home.

"Even if this is still false, can I still ask forgiveness and tell you my adoration of you?"

Because a proper hero needs distraction, a gloriously beautiful distraction to test the conviction of his cause. A distraction to bring him down to the floor and make him weak with lust.

"That even if this is just my imagination, I am glad it is you?"

M'not your servant boil!

Oh, but don't you see? You are!!

Both the ringing in his ears and the already established ache in his body bore away at him until Mort clenched his eyes shut and willed the unwanted memories away. Was this a test? Or just an innocuous image conjured to ease his loneliness? Or was there a third option he dared not think of less it give him unwarranted hope, that this was really and truly -

Slowly Mort inhaled, slowly Mort exhaled, and slowly Mort opened his eyes again as some tension in his shoulders were released. "I . . . I-I dunno if should," he answered gingerly, for even if this was only an illusion he couldn't bring himself to be forthright. Not when he was starting to wonder if the gray monster hid beneath the veneer of life and color, lying in wait for the chance to capitalize on his growing weakness. His brows turned up with concern. "What if - what if s-something happens again? Wh-What if is just another waking nightmare?"

It was just like him to question the validity of their meeting rather than rejoice in it, in spite of craving the reunion. But Mort had gone through enough as a mist monster - he didn't want to open himself up to more if he could help it.

Still this denial and stalling tore at him on the inside, as did the mixed emotion on the witch's face and in the clenching of the hand at her side. And it reminded him of the growing weights beside him, one of which was hefted up to rub at his neck. Try as he might, the witch-monster's screeches had left wounds no Fear healer could fix in a jiff, and while he normally would have tried to hide that insecurity, here it was as written plainly across his face: "M'scared . . ."

Of what she would say, of what it might bring, of what this place held in store for them, and, most of all, of himself. Was it wrong to want to stay sheltered in the middle of unknowns when any one option threatened to break him one way or another?  

[AyeAvast]

The little noise from his throat did not ease the witch's worries, nor did the sudden close of his eyes. The way his face suddenly strained, suddenly dove into tight uncertainty made Belladonna reach out, whether she wanted to or not, and touch light fingertips to his arm. Even if this was just an illusion, just a game pulled from her mind in the most vivid details, she'd fallen for the trap long ago. Just as she'd easily handed over her heart the moment they met, or in that moment when he'd first opened up to her, or even the first time he'd kissed her or any of those moments in between, she was already fallen, already trapped within the very essence of the possibility of it really being him.
It took a few strained moments, but after a few more shallow breaths the supposed zombie opened his eyes, while Belladonna's hand remained on his arm. Now that she could actually touch him, find that he was highly substantial in the same way she was, a strange feeling was rising within her. There was no way she was ready to yet classify that thing as hope, because hope was a pure emotion, something she was so familiar with it traveled as a part of her and if she named this swelling of thing within her as that companion she would certainly crumple from the mere mention of this being real.
"If this is a nightmare, then I fear we are having the same one..."

And what could that possibly mean? It was possibly for people to have the same dream, but even then they did not recognize that the other person knew. So what did it mean if this potentially imitation Mort knew he was dreaming? What did it mean when the layers overlapped enough that the both of them questioned it?
Yet the tilt of his eyebrows, the down-turn of his mouth, and that gesture so familiar the witch had unknowingly adopted it into her own habits, erased all the doubts. It was not erased in a manner of pure acceptance, for as her other hand lifted into the air, she questioned what she was doing. This had to be a trap. There was absolutely no way in all the seven hells that this could be real. That this could be true. That this was her Mort, the one she was ready to confess her love to because the weight of keeping it within herself was becoming such a burden that she was nearly positive just speaking those words would act as a healing incantation. As her other hand reached out and grasped the small of his back, as her feet moved of their own accord and brought her right underneath him, quick enough that she was suddenly pressed full against him, Belladonna questioned every moment of it.
They have trapped me. They have found my weakness and exploited it and I am far too weak to even bother fighting it.
But she did not care.
So much had happened, so much pain, so much anger and frustration and betrayal, that even if this was a trap, the simple explanation of her apologies and the simple act of asking this illusion for forgiveness would be cathartic enough to give her the strength to continue forth. The mere touch from this false Mort would be all she needed to move on to find her true love.

"I am scared too. But at least we can be scared together. We are not so alone as we like to think." She told him as she pressed her face into his chest, into the fabric of his jacket and shirt. As the mingled cloths brushed against her cheeks, as she pressed harder and dared to take a breath, that familiar scent of decay and ocean water flooded her senses. If this was illusion, if this was not real, it was the most wonderfully fabricated lie because just with the simple act of wrapping her arms around him and hugging him close and smelling Mort, it brought the witch to tears. It did not matter that she had just cried over a half hour ago, that she had wept and mourned for all the awful things that had happened. What mattered now was that she was holding something in her arms that might very well be the thing that could fell her, that could so easily destroy her with a few simple words and carefully laid actions and that it smelled just like Mort always did.
So tired, so weak and fragile, Belladonna didn't even bother covering the sob that choked from her as her fingers dug into him and pulled him closer, desperate for this to be real.
"Oh Hecate, please, please be Mort. Please, I cannot handle you being false, please, please, please Mort, please." She found herself pleading in a broken, weak voice as she pressed her nose deeper into his chest and inhaled his scent. As silly as it was, her knees began to give out as the pain and sorrow and realization that any moment he was going to shatter into mist and she was going to fall to the floor set in, that Belladonna quickly handed herself over to such a thing and let herself press forward into him in such a way that knew if this illusion did not catch her, did not become as substantial and tangible as it felt, she would fall straight down to the floor and lie there and be forever done. That if this was not her love, her Mort, she was going to fall and be permanently damaged with her own imaginings because so much had happened and this was just too cruel not to be rewarded with the thing she had only ever hoped to want and only ever been so blessed to be granted with.  

[medigel]

In that one moment when her fingers brushed against him and did not fade, when warmth spread up his arm and up his spine in a way that not even memory could replicate in full, when she drew close enough that her presence couldn't possibly be a figment of his imagination, that her heartbeat was felt thrumming even through layers of clothes, that each and every feature of her that he could see in such detail now was too lovely to ever be mimicked in full - that was when he realized that the person sinking into him was real.

Jack, but she was there with him. She really, really was there.

Something lodged in his throat and made it impossible to talk for a handful of moments, but that was fine; better to stop himself before something incoherent blubbered out. All he could manage was a soft "mrrrr" as he cradled her, dipping his head once she was secured so that he might see if - yes, there was that myriad of strange smells she carried, a scent that changed on the day's burned incense but that always seemed to carry a sweetness that drew him in. No, this couldn't be imagined.

Neither could the fact that she was slipping downwards be ignored. It was very tempting to sink with her, to just ignore his surroundings and keep her close, drink her in and make it so that they were inseparable. But Mort's resolve had already been set to endure what other challenges laid between him and the warm light, and so somehow he kept himself steady and held her tight, easing the witch back up before she completely buckled. "M'real," he murmured with quiet awe, fighting past the strange lump in his throat. "M'real n' so're you . . . This i-is real."

This was far, far better than imagined, and more than he could have hoped. And maybe it was wrong to wish that Belladonna be in this strange purgatory with him, but the twinge of guilt paled in comparison to the wave of relief and affection flowing through him. When he was sure she was back on her feet and less likely to melt again, he ran a hand through some of her curls, the strained expression gaining a tremulous smile as he watched the red strands bounce back in place. "Jack, I-I . . . S'all so strange. But you're here," he whispered with growing elation, with the look of a scareling who realized the wish he had made at the well had come true. "A-Asked, begged, prayed - n' you came." Contrivance, coincidence, or a matter of the House's unpredictable whim, he didn't care the manner of how or why.

And when his smile grew so that the stitching at each corner grew agitated, he brought her up for an grateful and impassioned kiss, uncaring of their most likely precarious situation for the spans of a few heartbeats.  

[AyeAvast]

Maybe this was the chill light she had found previously and run so hard toward. Maybe the coolness under her hands, her palms and fingertips and what exposed skin from her chest and neck and face could press against whatever of him she could feel, maybe this was the light that had helped her realize fighting was something she was capable of. It no longer mattered that fog still pressed all around them, that they were still irrevocably lost in the Haunted House or that they'd even lost the friends they'd begun this journey with. Right now, all that mattered was Mort here with Belladonna.
The little "mrrr" he allowed made the witch cry all the harder as she clamored to be as close as possible, to hold him tighter and tighter still, regardless of how ridiculous this was. But even despite her tears and her little wracking sobs that left her shaking in his arms, a smile could not be stopped. Still her mouth grew wide in glee just to have him here, and real, and so surpassing in memory that this could not be a fake.
Even the way he held her up, the manner in which he kept her from sinking down to the floor where she would have been content to express any number of emotions, was so precious that it made her cry a bit more. It felt, for one brief and startlingly clear moment, that the witch would cry forever. That this one minor victory would be superseded by her own melancholy at what had happened. Thankfully, thank Hecate, Mort spoke first, and oh, what surprisingly sweet words they were.
We're real. He is real. I am real. This is happening.

The odd sensation of her feet momentarily leaving the ground, even for a split second, made the witch take in the smallest of gasps. It did not matter one little bit that the balls of her feet quickly were reacquainted with solid ground, that her center of gravity so easily returned, it was the mere fact of the recreation of a similar action made her laugh out loud. A pure, bright laughter despite all this gray fog.
A hand raked through her hair and Belladonna pulled back, her hands still clasped to Mort, but far enough back that she could gaze up at him.
"Strange is an understatement! But yes, I'm here and so are you and I just--" Instead of a sob, (for a moment she was certain it would be a sob that choked her) another laugh broke free as she smiled up at him. Not wanting to be left out, one of the witch's hands wormed its way up to grasp at her zombie's hair, to feel its strands against her skin. Before, where she had felt nothing save for the touch of the floor beneath her or perhaps a bit of her own skin, now she felt coolness, a welcome chill that made her heart speed up once more.
Naturally the smile he gave her, so wide and brimming with emotion, was easily returned, along with the smallest of bounces, an action she had yet to enact since before they'd entered this twisted house. And of course, with one hand pressed into his hair, and a bright smile on her face, with her heart nearly bursting with her love, her mouth opened to spill out the words. Before the note could even began, Mort caught the words with his own kiss and Belladonna gave herself over to the action with all the passion and conviction and abject adoration she felt for him.

Once more her feet left the ground as she was brought up, as her arms tightened around him to help lift herself up to him. It was far too quick for her liking, but at the same time Belladonna understood what was going on. As much as she wanted this, she had him and that was enough for now. A quick press of her forehead to his would do for the moment as the witch quickly whispered her apologies.
"I am sorry for those awful things I said, for those awful things I made you do. Please, please forgive me. I am so, so glad you're alright. I was so worried, I am so glad you're alright. Oh Mort--" Finding it silly to continue talking Belladonna pressed one more kiss to him, quick and heady, before she pulled back to try to burn that particular green of his eyes into her memory.
"I... I was headed toward a light... Cold, like you! Did you... Did you see it too?"

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

It was just like it was before: laughter and tears and apologies, things that always seemed to happen between them. The familiarity gave him some solace as he held her, and as she pulled back and spoke and kissed him again, he became suffused with a sort of inner light that dispelled his doubts and fears if only for his moment, that lit up his face and eyes and bubbled out as a small laugh of his own.

"Shhh, shhh. Wasn't yourself,"
he replied, leaning his head into the hand knit into his hair. "Neither was I. Was Insanity talking, n-not us." He refused to acknowledge his own dwelling depths when it would ruin the mood, and especially when there was a handy scapegoat. "W-Wasn't me doing...that." Too disproportionate, too cruel, wrong target - no, it couldn't be him. He could control himself.

The mention of the light made him blink in some confusion. There were more? A quick study of their surroundings revealed the source she spoke of. "Ah, no. Was following that," Mort pointed out the warm light still fixated in place opposite the cold one. "I-It reminded me've you. Can't seem to reach, though, 've been trying for dunno how long."

But that mattered little in comparison to the ghoul in his arms, and he pressed his face into her hair once more. "C-Can't express enough relief that you're safe n' sound again...Won't let you get lost again, promise." She was too precious to let to again so easily, even if he was slowly bringing her back down to the ground.

As tender as this moment was, this area wasn't stable enough to remain distracted in. "Ah, wouldn't happen to know where this is, would you?" he asked, hands remaining on her waist as he glanced around.

AyeAvast

 

[AyeAvast]

A press of chill in her hand, a soft whisper that meant she should quiet. More than that though was the offer of glossing over what had happened. Somewhere within the witch, in a place a little above where the other things she did not want to consider resided, she knew they would have to return to this one day. Perhaps not today, or for the day after, or even a week if they managed to escape this strange place, but at some point it would have to be revisited. Even though they'd both been warped, the things they had said must have been at least partially true. For Belladonna knew that even if she had not fully meant what she said, they were still words she had dragged from her mind. And the brutality in which Mort had responded with could not also be fabricated.
But with a nod Belladonna let all that go. Now was not the time, and she'd rather be content with her love than dredge up horrible memories that were still fresh enough to sting. Instead the witch distracted herself with looking at the warm light, one hand momentarily leaving it happy spot against the cool to reach out a little toward it. But even that small reach did not bring any increase, only the same dull warmth. The witch much preferred the chill and was content to be set on the ground, glad to have his hands remain on her.

"Me too. Promise." Unable to accurately describe her elation over his safety, over his return to normalcy, to her Mort, she only smiled up at him. Slowly the little broken pieces of herself regathered, quietly stitched themselves together as she looked at him and knew, at least for a moment, that he was safe and whole her's. But the moment was fleeting, so with one last press of hand into his hair before she let go, Belladonna surrendered her lover, as well as their reunion, and began the task of finding a path in this odd place.
With a backward glance she looked around them, eyes cast around for anything else hiding in the fog. She'd found Mort, what else could she find if only she really looked?
"I haven't a clue, I'm afraid. Still the Haunted House, but something... I don't know, it feels strange. As though we were far deeper inside the house than we once were."
Now that she said all that, it seemed very strange and did not make very much sense. With a purse of lips she returned to facing Mort, eyebrows momentarily drawn down in thought.

Where could they go from here? Especially when they had been following opposite lights? Yet how very them it was for the other to be following a light that was the opposite of themselves for the sake of the other. Belladonna let her face relax at this, more than pleased that her lover had been thinking of her too.
With no other ideas, Belladonna flapped her hands at Mort before she puffed out her chest and bounced a little.
"Well! Since you and I are here, I suppose others are too. Should we search for them in that case?"
It was left unsaid that the more was merrier, or even that while the witch was acutely aware of Mort's heroic tendencies, that certainly both of them would want to find others, to help them if they could. Instead, she only offered him a bright smile as well as her hand, not ready to let go of him. Last time she had hurried ahead to be the leader, now she would take this task at his side.

Ol-j-man

 

[Rown]

[ entering - with permission from Aye-tan! ]

Ofelia had been sleeping in the hunter recovery tent, mostly because she felt it was the right thing to do after everything got crazy (she was dumb in that choice) so when she woke up, strange places and all alone out there with everyone else gone, she did what any normal person would do. She got up, stretched her arms, and decided to look around for anything and everything.

Of course that was before something grabbed her ankles, pulling her in. Ofelia might have let out a little squeak, something along the lines of 'oh holy crap!' as she was pulled towards a dark portal, towards a place unknown. Despite her love of adventure dark portals tended to be bad juju and she would have flailed to get free except everything was over, she blacked out, and then woke up on the floor.

Floors were bad, Ofelia got up quickly, and listened for Rue inside her head. when the bitching started she sighed with relief and moved onward, taking careful steps towards what appeared to be a warm light off in the distance. Ofelia was always attracted to warm things, like a fly to a light, and she hurried her pace along before she heard voices. Voices she could understand, saying things she could grasp, and even though they weren't familiar Ofelia moved towards them in the same manner she moved towards the light.

Blinking as the figures came into view Ofelia felt her stomach drop ever so faintly before it went back to where it normally belonged. These were Halloween students, none that she had seen bef-oh wait. Was that one of th - holy crap.

Ofelia recognized the zombie from her first time in the haunted house. She'd broken his skull with Rue forced him to dissipate into the air. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't remember her. It'd been a while, right? Maybe he also wouldn't be holding a grudge because well Ofelia was a bit different from that time and she didn't really want to think too hard on it.

" . . . . hello over there. Mind if Ah come closer?" She called out, asking. Ofelia was standing a bit away from them, in the somewhat shadow she could find, and she was busy turning her coat inside out to prevent them from. . . well, no, that was a dumb idea. They'd know her as a hunter right away regardless of what she did and so she stopped moved and waited for a reply. Better than nothing, right? "Ah kinda got lost an' am hopin' ta find a group ta move wit'."

Always good to be honest, right? Ofie hoped they wouldn't gang up on her, she didn't know if she could take them both in a fight. Rue, however, wanted a fight and was goading her on in the back of her mind. Ofelia ignored it.

AyeAvast

Ol-j-man

 

[medigel]

Deeper inside the Haunted House? Great . . . As if things weren't topsy turvy enough. Still, it was a welcome tradeoff to have his ghoulfriend and himself of sound mind again - getting out was just going to be something he swallowed as part of the deal. "Barely remember how got here," he commented with a little frown as she slipped out of his arms, turning his head towards the lights in case they shed their rays upon something new to investigate. "Mrrr . . . But you're right, prolly are others here too. Should -"

Something flickered near the light and he fixated his eyes on the figure parting the mist. A moment later, his eyes widened. "Bells," he called a bit harsher to get her attention, backing towards her as he stared at the hunter; her bright hair, much like Belladonna's, was easiest to catch sight of in this world sapped of color, but at the sight of the white coat alarm bells went off - and seconds after that he recognized this particular one because, well, how many red-haired, tan-skiinned, one-eyed hunters did he know of?

It was funny. The last time they met, she had gone with the guise of friendship and all but literally stabbed him in the back afterwards, and the battle's end had been no less gruesome; he'd gone to Scarentines nursing various wounds and with a big hankering for brains. And this was the ghoul who had taken Alex's eye based off his bro's description, he was sure of it. So Mort's first impulse, naturally, was to be defensive. "Stay away," he growled as the Hunter stopped walking, Thor already curling into a fist as it powered up. "Don't have time for fights, human. Why don't go get lost somewhere else?"

Jack, what if she brought friends? The zomboil tensed and maneuvered himself between the two ghouls, ears straining for the sound of more muffled steps.

AyeAvast

Rown

 

[AyeAvast]

It was folly to believe this would be as simple was wandering through the Haunted House until they happened upon the exit. Even back when things had been more clear than they currently were, Hunters had been there, and seemingly just as confused as the students and Clans members. That one ghou had been a little over-dramatic, but the very chatty boil had seemed confused enough and while Belladonna wasn't totally focused on such a thought as she spotted a dull and used looking roll of bandages hidden on the floor, it was still a thought that echoed faintly in the back of her head. With a small roll of fog both the bandages and the thought were gone and the witch looked up, realizing a little belatedly that Mort had said something very... Angrily.
A gaze into the fog brought forth a rather looming figure, not nearly so tall as Mort but still taller than the witch. Her hair was a lovely shade of red, and she looked rather lost. In fact, she spoke with a voice that seemed lonely and when Belladonna really looked, she could see her trying to... Untie her coat? Or, something the matter with her-- Oh.
The witch frowned as she studied the girl, for all intents and purposes rather harmless looking. She didn't even have a weapon out, and while the way she had tried to hide the markings on her coat was not really very reassuring, when Belladonna stopped to think about it, she could somewhat understand. The girl was lost, had stumbled across two Halloweeners and most likely reasoned she could not take them alone. And, well... That one Hunter boil had been so nice, maybe the others could be too?

"Sorry, but I must ask you to at least... Not move quickly." Belladonna offered in a much kinder voice than the one Mort had taken. Where as he had stepped in front of her, she quickly maneuvered to stand at his side, one hand snaking down to hold his while she turned herself so that her other hand could touch his arm. It was a small gesture, but one that meant she was not only vulnerable, but would do what she could to keep them from fighting the other.
"As wonderful as a group is, if you are only here to hurt us, it would be wise not to travel with us."
This was going to earn her a glare, and possibly a hard word or two, from her boilfriend, she knew it would, but Belladonna just couldn't turn someone who looked so lost and scared away. Hunter or not, they were still people too. It would be hypocritical of her to preach trying to find another way to Mort and then not even bother trying.
"If you promise to stay civil, as we too will promise, you may join us."
It was the best compromise the witch could think of on such short notice and without actually knowing this ghoul. Besides, unless she had a whole horde of Hunters hidden behind her in the fog, it was only the one ghoul! Surely she wasn't brash enough to think she could take on two Halloweeners!
Granted, if she were to attempt an attack, Belladonna had no qualms dropping such kindness. Offering something sweet in such a strange and unsettling place was one thing, not receiving that same respect was another thing entirely.

Ol-j-man

Rown

 

[Rown]

Craaaap, it really seemed like they wanted a piece of her. Ofelia wasn't really surprised that the zombie boy was angry at her, she kinda deserved it after somewhat killing him, but his companion was far more civil and Ofelia found herself walking towards them even though the girl had asked her not to move quickly. Almost as if to show she was sincere Ofelia raised her hands up as she approached, her bracelet covered in charms jingling in the air.

Summon me, we can destroy at least the girl. The zombie, I would love to taste his FEAR again. Rue spoke in Ofelia's mind, her words a soft hiss of delight. The two Halloween students were scared of Ofelia which suited her means just well. The weapon was hungry, starving for FEAR. These creatures would provide it.

But Ofelia wasn't summoning Rue, wasn't even answering her. Instead she kept her hands up as she approached, her steps even and calm. A sort of weak smile crept over her face as she was finally close enough to them that she could reach out and touch, if she wanted, but she simply dropped her hands to her side.

"Ah've honestly got no interest in smackin' any'a ya, Ah'm more or less jus' tryin' ta get outta here." Ofelia said, speaking the truth. A sigh escaped her lips as she continued speaking. "Ah was takin' a nap an' ended up wakin' up ta sommin' pullin' me inta a portal. S'how y'all got here?" She asked, curious. The other hunters, did that happen to them as well? Was Clover somewhere out there? Ofelia only thought of him because he was the last person she really saw and for some reason she wanted to spend time with him. Maybe it was because he'd been gone so long, or maybe it was because she read the text messages where he'd swore to protect her?

The girl was asking Ofelia to be civil, to not attack, and the teen nodded her head in that regard. "Ya might not believe me, but yer kinda safe wit' me. After somma yer friends helped save mah life Ah've sorta lost interest in smackin' y'all 'round fer no reason. A'course if yer gonna attack me Ah got no qualms there." Her one-eyed gaze settled on Mort and his aggression, the look on her face serious. The girl was calm, he was not. This might get tricky but she needed them in order to find her way out.

Looking around, Ofelia set her sights on things in the area. She could search for stuff, right? Anything that could be helpful? "Do y'all know where we are? Ah've never seen a place like this, kinda gives me the creeps." Honesty was Ofelia's best policy when it came to not getting killed by creatures. "Also, thanks fer not jumpin' me when Ah came over. Mah name's Ofelia, but most people jus' call me Ofie. Yer welcome ta call me that if ya wanna, s'easier fer most people ta say."

She kept searching while talking, moving a few thing around with a flip-floped bedecked foot. Maybe she should head to the light that she was following before. If the others wanted to come along that would be awesome. "Ah was headin' towards a warm light, jus' in case yer curious as ta how Ah got here."

Ol-j-man

AyeAvast