Beau Rosier (illusoiree) wrote in theunboundic, @ 2018-02-15 19:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! time: december 31 - january 6, beau rosier, calvin llewellyn |
Oh, I'm a mess right now
Who: Beau Rosier and Calvin Llewellyn
What: Nightmare Redux
When: Late Wednesday night, January 3rd. Interupting this
Where: Rosier Manor, Master Bedroom
Beau awoke most days barely remembering his dreams. The drug he took to find an easy rest saw to it that he slumbered too heavily for it most of the time. However, on some nights, bad nights, the Laudanum took hold of his subconscious and cast it wide, divesting him of direct control of his powers and making phantoms out of nightmares.
He lay only mostly awake against his pillows, watching with a sort of grim helplessness as his illusory powers manifested the intrusive thoughts looping in his head. The illusions were many and fractious, some merely motes of thought hanging in the air while others were fully formed figures. His mother laughed from across the room while hideous gargoyle stuck murderous attitudes. Tucker stalked across the foot of his bed, smug and beautiful, mouthing insults shaped directly out of his anxieties. Beau’s eyes followed, tracking his movements with uneasy focus. When he came around the corner of the bedpost he morphed into something monstrous and dark, a thing designed to be dreadful and give chase across his dreams. The illusory monster crawled silently up the length of his bed, baring a maw of glittering teeth.
“Stop. Stop.” Beau murmured faintly, fighting to clear his head against the drug and take some kind of control. He wasn’t sure if he was really awake or not, his movements were sluggish as he finally rang the bell to call Llewellyn to him. Almost immediately he forgot that he had done so, focus back on the illusions he had no control over. The monster morphed briefly back into Tucker laying against him with all the weight of smoke, his beauty now marred by the signs of plague. The image ran an illusory hand over Beau’s face, watching him with a rictus grin. Beau huffed softly, closing his eyes. Not real, he insisted to himself, Get ahold of yourself, Rosier. He opened his eyes but Tucker was now Viola, clawing at her own face in silent agony.
Weakly, Beau pushed away from her, half falling out of his bed and still too slow to catch himself. He smashed his cheek against the corner of the bedside table, a cut forming along his cheekbone. The pain was clarifying even as it brought reflexive tears to his eyes. His movements were slower than he wanted them to be, and he was now on the floor, but he was awake now.
Or at least, he was fairly certain he was.
He tried to catalog what was real, mind desperately working to push against the drug and the horror show unfolding around him. The blanket was real, it had weight. The side table was too, as the throbbing ache in his cheek attested. Chouette, who was lying almost flat in the corner and growling viciously at the illusion was real as well, she was capable of making noise at least. Three real things. He could work with that, or he could have before the train of thought was cut off by the sight of nightmarish figures detaching themselves from the shadows of the room to approach him while he was prone.
So focused on this was Beau that he didn’t notice the door opening or Chouette fleeing the room as soon as it did.