|Peter Vincent thinks people see what they want to (smokingmagician) wrote in carnaval_logs,|
@ 2013-11-18 03:26:00
|Entry tags:||!open (20), !plot (25), ginger, peter vincent|
Who: Peter Vincent and Ginger
What: Peter gets caught in the house of mirrors, and then his doppelganger runs into someone he'd lost.
Where: In and near the House of Mirrors
When: early Monday evening, November 18th.
Warnings: Peter’s foul mouth, general creepiness, tbd
Status: Closed, ongoing.
Have some creepy music to go with it! :D
Peter paced slowly in front of the tent, studying it with narrowed eyes. This morning, heading into town to replace his liquor supply, he’d passed through this same way from his trailer. This tent hadn’t been here then, just a large patch of bare dirt. Its ratty sign dubbed it the “House of Mirrors”. It didn’t look to be in particularly new condition, but he didn’t recall ever seeing it during the packing up or setting up. He wondered how it looked inside, if it was just as trashed as most of the rest of the attractions and showman’s supplies on offer.
Henley was likely expecting him back at their trailer by now; he’d taken longer in town than he’d expected to. But curiosity was tugging at him. It wouldn’t take that long, he figured, just a quick glance around. A few minutes later than he already was wouldn’t hurt. He strolled forward to the dark entrance.
It started out simple enough; plain, smooth, flat mirrored walls on either side. He trailed his fingers along one side, backtracking a step when they slid off an unseen corner and met air, and turning left to keep going. Here the mirrors were trickier, endless reflections deepening back and forth into eternity. He met his own eyes in the glass to the side. His own reflection was reassuring in a way; there’d been a time when he could’ve lost it forever. Vampires didn’t show up in mirrors, after all. Not the breed that he’d nearly become, at any rate.
He shoved back the memories. Jerry was dead. He had no power over Peter now, not as his almost-sire, and not as his lifelong tormentor. There was no need to think on that anymore.
Peter wandered over to another mirror, this one rolling in waves down to the floor. He paused in front of it, smirking a little as he watched the curves of the glass twisting his reflection into strange shapes.
The tiniest shift of motion, some ten feet behind him in the mirror, caught his eye, and his heart leaped into his throat as he whirled around. He hadn’t realized anyone else was in there… but he couldn’t see them now, just more of his own reflection. “Hello?” he called out, his voice falling flat in the close space. “Someone else in here?” He listened, but there was no reply. His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening into a nervous fist. He should go, this was just some stupid, whimsical idea in the first place.
The entrance was likely closer; he decided to head back that way, passing back through the lane of mirrors. Only a few minutes passed… and then a few more. He should have gotten there by now, he must have taken a wrong turn. He huffed in irritation. Mirrors were one thing; mazes were just fucking annoying. He stomped along, trying to figure out a direction. Front entrance or the back exit, didn’t matter. Then he paused at another corner… and he could hear footsteps behind him, still walking a few steps before they too, paused.
He just about jumped out of his skin, but promptly shook his head. Someone else had just come in after, that was all. He moved on, hearing the other person’s footsteps start up again as well. They sounded awfully close. Like, right behind him close. But he couldn’t see anyone in the mirrors all around, just himself.
He froze at that thought, eyes widening in sudden horror. All the hair rose on the back of his head. Vampires didn’t show up in mirrors, after all. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed, and turned to look behind him. No one there. But someone else was in here, and if they were human, surely he’d have caught a glimpse of their reflection at some point, bouncing back and forth through the maze. A vampire though… they could be right on top of him and he’d never see them coming until it was too late. He had to get the fuck out of here, fast.
He started jogging through the mirrors, arm out to trace the wall. He kept pausing, looking behind him, but at first, the only thing he could see was his own pale face, running scared. He couldn’t hear footsteps anymore, aside from his own. But there were moments that he’d catch a glimpse of movement and practically leap in the opposite direction. He bumped into the mirrors several times, once banging his elbow hard and sending shooting pains up and down the rest of his arm. Finally, a sigh of relief escaped him, there was the exit up ahead, just around the corner. He started to run forward, towards the open air, turned that last edge and hit glass.
Thinking he’d just gone the wrong direction, he turned the other way… and found another mirror. “What?” he whispered. He turned one way - mirror, reflecting the exit behind him. Turned another - same thing. “The fuck?” he spluttered. What was this?
And then his heart stopped. Because his reflection was smirking at him.
He couldn’t speak, strangled by sudden shock and terror. The mirror!Peter tilted his head, mock-pouting at him. Peter couldn’t breathe, couldn’t comprehend what he was even seeing. He could only stare, a black, sick weight dragging at his stomach. He didn’t move, couldn’t move. The mirror!Peter didn’t seem to care, moving completely of its own accord as though it always did so. It crossed its arms and sauntered up to its side of the glass, still wearing that mocking expression. As if Peter was not freaked out enough, the thing started speaking. “Looks to me like someone’s been a very naughty boy, Mr. Vincent.”
That was his voice and his face, but it was definitely not him. Peter shut his eyes. “I’m dreaming,” he told himself firmly. “It’s just some fucked up nightmare.” He opened his eyes again.
Mirror!Peter had pulled a new bottle of whiskey out of its jacket and was tipping it this way and that, watching the contents slosh around inside. Peter had purchased that same bottle in town just a handful of hours ago, something to replace the stuff he’d used to clean Henley’s zombie bite. He slapped at his leather jacket, feeling near the inside pocket where he’d stowed the bottle, but his own jacket was suddenly empty. “And what’s this then?” the mirror!Peter sneered, catching his eye. It unstopped the bottle, pouring the contents out onto the dirt floor. “Liquor displeases the Lord, you insolent child,” it sniffed at him. The last few drops dribbled out, and the mirror!Peter tucked the empty bottle back into it’s jacket. “I’ll just have to dispose of that later.”
It stepped closer to the glass then, and Peter couldn’t stop himself backing away, his voice still paralyzed. “I do have to thank you,” it said, “for leading me out.” It flashed his own familiar toothy smile at him, but its brown eyes were like glaciers, cold and hard and unforgiving. “Couldn’t have possibly done it without you, my good man.” And then it turned around, and sauntered off to the exit.
“No,” Peter whispered sickly, a new wave of fear giving him back the use of his voice. “No… Hey… HEY!” He ran forward, slamming full-bodied against the glass. Panicked fingers scrabbled uselessly at the cold surface. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” Peter raged, pounding against the mirror with all his strength. “LET ME OUT!”
His reflection just paused right at the exit, and turned, still smirking, and flashed him a jaunty salute. Then it was gone, out the door with a spring in its step. Peter was left alone, trapped in a cold hall of empty mirrors, spitting a stream of useless curse words after the mirror!Peter.