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saedusk rolled 1 20-sided dice:
8
Total: 8 (1-20)
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 Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2016 10:42 am
Jamie Delacroix | 25/25 | everything is a blur It was only in that one instant that Jamie lost all sense of the things that worried him. When Shiloh grabbed his wrist, began to pull him down the hallway, time began skipping like a record, the needle stuck in a nasty scratch that wasn't meant to be there. His awkward, snowy rabbit feet brushed through the remnants of white petals on the floor, the tears welled in his eyes were jolted down his cheeks or pooled at the bottom of his mask, and the hallway passed by them in an instant as he stumbled along without control.
It was like it wasn't even there, everything was a whirlwind, and Jamie had no time to even begin thinking. Only the thud of the heavy door behind them brought him back to reality. Shiloh's hand was gone from his wrist, but he was stumbling still as he was tossed aside, feet struggling for purchase on the floor of parchment and canvas.
His claws left marks across the darkened strokes of a nameless face beneath his feet. Whoever it was, it wasn't The Spinel Lady.
"Where-?" The ominous eyes of the Lady did bear down from all around them, however. Obviously Shiloh hadn't lost his talent, no matter what ill had turned him into the shadow who stood before Jamie now. It didn't matter that Shiloh still denied him, though, it really didn't. The pain in his voice struck Jamie's heart all the same and as he stood on wobbly legs, he couldn't help uttering what he did. Heaven and hell both knew Jamie never wanted to hurt him.
"I'm sorry..." he damn near whispered, reaching out, not knowing what else to do. His hands were visibly shaking. "I just... I only... wanted you to remember me..."
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2016 10:57 am
25/25 | Shiloh Beaumont (unmasked) | Won't dry your tears
Shiloh watched the hand reach out towards him. He made no move to slap it this time, but his eyes were trained upon it like a hot iron, as if the touch would brand him upon contact.
"I can't..." he floundered for words, "I can't remember you if I never met you..." but his voice wavered. It wavered because now Jamie had planted a tiny seed of doubt in his head. It begun to take root. It started to worm into every corner, every nook of his consciousness. It probed at memories that had gone untouched for months and it ached for recognition.
"I don't want to remember—" the words left him before he could blink, breath sucking inwards with a sharp sound as he cut himself short. Was that the root? Had something been there all along? Was he trying to forget?
He didn't want to think about it. Lord he didn't want to think about it; he just wanted to run. His eyes glazed over the depictions of Madam Melany on the walls and he wanted to hide. Pathetic. He shouldn't be so scared. He wasn't taught fear, no, not this kind of fear. It was good to to practice trepidation in front of your betters; but this meek guest?
Why did he tremble?
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saedusk rolled 1 20-sided dice:
15
Total: 15 (1-20)
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2016 6:00 pm
Jamie Delacroix | 25/25 | weeps regardless The slender shadows of raindrops on the glass ceiling formed needles that impaled them both; embellished by Shiloh's words, they were like daggers. It was probably selfish to push like this, to want so badly for something that obviously, in Shiloh's own words, he didn't want. Jamie didn't want to give up on him, though. He didn't want to believe the friend who had come to mean so much to him in such a short time would really want to give up and forget him so easily. Hadn't they forged a bond stronger than that?
Except, well, it still stung. It still burned and ached and dug itself deeper than most any pain Jamie could remember before now. It hurt more than having his chest ripped open by wereclaws.
"Please..." he reiterated, unsure how many times he'd pleaded with Shiloh so far. As he stepped closer again, trying to ignore the stare of the paintings that drilled into him from every direction. "I'm sorry, Shiloh... Please try..."
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Posted: Mon Aug 29, 2016 2:06 pm
25/25 | Shiloh Beaumont (unmasked) | Tries to forget.
Standing in front of him is not Jamie, moonwalker bathed in lace. In front of him is Jamie Delacroix, just as shaken but also bloodied, decorated with three long gashes down the front of his chest. There's a blue hat on his head to hide his ears and Shiloh can see his hands pulling away—he put that hat there. It was his hat.
The memory burns him, jumbled like static on a television screen. There's emergency broadcast beeps drilling into his head and it's not a test signal this time; it's real and no one's here to ******** save him. There's no mute button to push, there's no fast forward to hit. Jamie's voice is sweet and familiar but it brings him no comfort; it makes him sick.
"I don't—" his voice cracks, eyes wide with something on the brink of remembrance, "I don't—!"
His words finally come crashing out, threshold in his mind shattering in a near palpable fracture, "I DON'T REMEMBER YOU"
And it sounds like he's convincing himself, because he is, because this hurts. It hurts and Shiloh Beaumont had been numb for weeks. It's been bliss. It's been tragic. He had found sanctity in ignorance. He forgot. He forgot. He forgot. He does not remember. The crying boy in his mind is shoved away again, locked away, long dripping claws destroying his image and dragging him back down again. Shiloh's holding his head now, fingers tight fists in his hair as he shakes his head and begs with himself. They're quiet words, barely audible words until the end, "Please. Please. PLEASE."
He forgot how to breathe. He was drowning in his stress, drowning in the flood of barely repressed things. He turned on Jamie with eyes like a wolf; wild, untamed, furious. His lips curled in a snarl and his expression was riddled with pain, features cracking at the seams, "GET OUT. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT."
He grabbed the nearest painting to him—one of an abstract, humanoid figure—and hurled it at the moonwalker. He didn't relent. He grabbed the next nearest one and hurled it again and again and again. In this room, it was his endless ammunition.
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Posted: Mon Aug 29, 2016 5:49 pm
Jamie Delacroix | 25/25 | running It was impossible to tell what purgatory Jamie had unleashed on his best friend in that moment with nothing more than desperate pleading. It was equally difficult to say whether knowing would've stopped Jamie from trying at all. Sure, he was meek, he was patient and kind, but he was also selfish and so, so lonely. If Shiloh himself, back to his right mind, had asked him to walk away, Jamie didn't know that he'd be able to.
This was it, though. This was the turning point, the moment they tipped into a place that wouldn't let them return to make those choices. Jamie had hurt Shiloh. He'd never meant to hurt him, but he had, mentally and emotionally and now he had to watch him crack.
"I DON'T REMEMBER YOU."
Jamie could feel his insides turn over on themselves. Any belief in Shiloh's denials was gone, this reaction too real and too raw and too revealing in its intensity to act as a proper cover for anything at all. His first instinct in that moment, despite the nausea rolling through him, was to try and comfort Shiloh. Wasn't there anything he could do? Wasn't there anything he could say?
Or had he already said enough?
"S-S-Shiloh I-" Except what greeted his attempts and his wary approach was a look that sent fear trembling through him, another sight he never thought he'd see. What followed was an order, get out, and then... the paintings.
The first one hit its mark squarely, catching Jamie in the chest. The second one's corner painfully found his shoulder as he tried to protect himself.
"Shiloh-!" He shouted, voice strained with effort and sickness and hurt. Jamie didn't want to leave. Jamie wanted to stay, wanted to fight this with Shiloh, wanted to hold out his hand and be the one to lead him out of whatever metaphorical darkness this was. How foolish he was to think life was as easy as it was in storybooks. Jamie Delacroix was no hero in a novel, he was just a scared and confused child who wanted his best friend back, but couldn't manage it.
Some paintings hit him and others didn't as he stumbled towards the door, tripping over his own feet, and struggled at the knob. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't know what else to do. He was crying again, disgustingly, desperatly, swimming in a sickness that felt like he'd lose his stomach to the floor any second... If he left Shiloh now, abandoned him, would he see him again?
Without knowing the answer, Jamie finally managed to get the door open and fled from the atrium.
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Posted: Mon Aug 29, 2016 7:01 pm
25/25 | Shiloh Beaumont (unmasked) | Alone again...
His paintings made contact, frame after frame smashing into Jamie as he wailed. The commotion lasted for only a heartbeat—despite feeling like an eternity—and the only remnants of it lay waste on the floor in splintered mahogany. Shiloh's chest heaved with effort, pupils dilated, breathing coming in labored gasps as he stumbled back against the wall, back sliding down against the surface as he landed on a pile of papers.
He was gone. Jamie was gone, and—no, wait, the moonwalker was gone. The guest; the guest was gone. He couldn't be humanized. He couldn't be given a thought or a face or a name or feelings; he couldn't exist as a person within Shiloh's mind. He was a stranger. Shiloh had never met him. He was empty. Shiloh had never met him.
His face found his hands, eyes squeezed shut at the silken fabric there as he curled up and hid. What a disgrace, if Madam Melany found him like this. Such an embarrassment, if a guest walked in on his breakdown. He had to calm down—he needed to calm down.
Shiloh listened to the rain. Shiloh took in the gentle cadence of sound, eyes dragging free from the sanctuary in his palms. He started counting raindrops; a constant, he clung to consistency, he breathed in time with the thunder.
He was okay. Shiloh was okay, alone in his atrium, adorned with portraits of the Spinel Lady. Constants; these were his stars, his constellations replacing a sky long since forgotten.
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