|nishka//loki (nishka) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-02-09 23:05:00
You’re afraid of what I’ll do to you
Who: Nish and Loki
What: Host meets deity for the first time.
Where: In dreams
When: After this thread.
Why: This song showed up in my playlist while doing dishes, and it wrote itself.
She opened her eyes, but all she saw was gray.
She was lying on the ground, or what she assumed was the ground, but she was nowhere she recognized, nowhere real.
“Of course it’s real,” the voice said. She sat up, and saw him walking towards her, leaning over her. “Hello, Nishka.” Hesitantly, she stood, backing away from the only other feature of this featureless place.
“Who are you?” she asked, hugging herself defensively. He smiled widely, raised his arms up in an expression of grandiosity.
“You know who I am,” he said, dropping his arms and looking at her with a smile that was almost tender. “Your conscience. Your courage. Your talent. Everything that makes you who you are. Everything,” he walked forward, suddenly a look of derision on his face, “that makes you more than just the frightened little girl that you were.” She backed away from him, and that only confirmed his words.
“I am the voice in your head, darling,” he said, buffing his nails on the immaculately tailored suit he wore and inspecting them. “Your helper. Your constant companion. In fact, you could say you’re not you without me.”
Nish frowned, looking around her again for some sense of what was going on. “I don’t understand,” she said, and he chuckled.
“Of course you don’t,” he said derisively. “You’re not supposed to. I chose you for a reason, after all. You were so pliant, so malleable when we first met, but I saw your potential, even when you were so young. You were so easy to corrupt.” Flashes of memories flew behind her eyes. Images of her drinking until she passed out, shooting up with relative strangers, sleeping with nameless men - and women - destroying herself inch by inch. She blinked them away, but the guilt and revulsion at what she’d seen remained, churning in the pit of her stomach.
“You did that to me,” she breathed in recognition. He smiled widely, an admission, but without a hint of remorse.
“Greatness must be forged within the crucible of pain,” was all he said. Nish’s hands tightened around her arms, hugging herself closer, an attempt at self-comfort. She shook her head.
“No, you’re not real. This is a dream.”
The man smiled widely. “Of course it is, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.” He walked towards her, standing just in front of her, close enough that she could feel the chill radiating from his body, and she shivered. His icy fingers caressed her arm, a look of fascination and maybe even lust in his eyes. “I have to admit,” he said in a softer tone, but no less dangerous, “it has been a long time since I was female, and I’m quite enjoying myself. Or,” he said with a little wink, “ourself.” His hand moved up to cup her face and she flinched away from him, feeling dirty.
“Don’t touch me!” she demanded, but in this place, it sounded like a plea. Weak and desperate.
“Ohh, but I touch you every day. I am inside you, every day. Where do you think your confidence and courage comes from? Your determination, your skill, your power? I’m sorry to say that you have none of those things without me,” he said with mock sympathy. A sudden understanding passed over her eyes.
“And my impulsiveness?” she asked him. “My rage and my addiction and my guilt? That’s you too, isn’t it? I feel none of that here.” It wasn’t exactly true. The guilt was always there. The man shrugged slightly and looked down at his nails again.
“Yes, well, we all have our flaws,” he admitted. “For instance, that man you’re fucking...you do know who he is, don’t you?” He chuckled at her confused glare. “You’re angry, good girl. He’s on the wrong side, Nishka. Enjoy him while you can, but it won’t last. When I finally wake, it won’t go well for him.” Tears stung her eyes, her cheeks burning with suppressed rage.
“Don’t you dare do anything to hurt him, you…” but she didn’t finish her sentence, fumbling for a word, and he again laughed in her face.
“Still don’t know who I am, darling? Didn’t your grandfather teach you anything about where you came from?” Again, images flashed and flitted behind her eyes, memories of when she was a little girl, visiting her grandparents, listening to stories on her grandfather’s knee. Playing with the pendant he always wore around his neck, the one with the image two entwined serpents in the shape of an S.
“The symbol of…me,” the man said with dramatic flair, answering the question that her grandfather never had.
“How did you know…”
“Because I am you,” he answered, “at least until your mortal body dies and I’m forced to find a new host.” She took a moment, processing the information.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, “what’s in it for you?” She was starting to understand, but that understanding was vague and shadowy, just beyond her reach.
“Because we’re in danger,” he said. He came closer, wrapped his hands around her upper arms, forced her to look at the seriousness and - was that fear? - in his eyes. “My son has found us, and he’s dangerous. He’ll stop at nothing to get to me, and he’ll go through you to do it.” His fear seemed to seep into her through his icy hands, and she trembled in his grip.
“W-what do I do?” she asked, suddenly trusting him. Suddenly needing him. Mortal fear gripped her heart, and she knew that it had come from him.
“You need to run.” Her eyes widened; she shook her head.
“No...I’m not running. I’m finally happy. I...I’m in love.” She said it with such ease, such freedom, that she knew it was true. The man scowled and grunted in frustration.
“You have to put aside such things, and think about our safety.”
“You mean your safety,” she accused, some of her courage returning. He was still touching her, and the contact caused a connection that was beginning to meld them together again.
“Yes, my safety, which also means yours. Do you think your puny mortal body can withstand what he will do to it? You won’t survive.”
“What do you care? You’ll just find a new host.”
“Do you want to die? In horrible agony at the hands of my psychotic son?”
“I want to live my life.”
“Our life. And as one half of that life, I say our survival is more important than your silly pleasures.”
Nish paused, holding his eyes, narrowing hers. A dare. “If you could manipulate me into doing it, you wouldn’t need to convince me. You can’t force me to do anything.”
“This will be the worst mistake you’ve ever made, Nishka.”
“But it’s mine to make.”
He glared at her, his eyes hard like chips of flint, staring into her soul. “On your head be it,” his voice suddenly boomed, the pronouncement echoing deeply in her soul like the words of a vengeful god. Immediately, a sense of dread filled her, as if his words were a curse.
She startled awake, her eyes flashing frantically in the dark. A hand swung out and flicked on the bedside lamp and she sat up. Trembling hands rubbed her face roughly, clearing the vision from her mind. It was gone the moment her eyes had opened. None of the dream stayed with her, not one word, save for the sickening feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. She drew her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball and willed her heart to slow, her stomach to settle, and her hands to stop shaking.