ʀѳรɛ (tophats) wrote in evaluation, @ 2019-12-29 21:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !rooms: 4: day 1, the shining/doctor sleep: dan torrance, the shining/doctor sleep: rose o'hara |
Who: Rose & Dan
What: She's hangry, she needs to eat
When: Day 1
Where: Room 8
Warnings: Parental Guidance suggested for psychic vampire nomming and psychic slapping at each other
Status: Complete
As soon as Rose stepped through the door, she was hungry. She’d been hungry, in a different way - a human way, the same as everyone else. This very moment, it was a terrible pain, constant and grinding - she was aware that the rations back in the Soviet nightmare were just bandaids on a gaping wound, one that grew wider the more time passed, but now it would be easy for the humans to stuff their faces with all sorts of meat and tropical fruits. But she needed something different. At least the clothes were more comfortable, and she put on a dress that flowed easily, opening the windows in the room to let in the poignant, salty breath of the ocean. She liked sea breeze. It was relaxing, in a sense. Dan would be here. If he didn’t, she’d find something else to eat - but him, she wanted him, wanted his steam. Straight from the source or spread on her morning toast like butter, to be consumed with a cup of tea if she could. The door was unlocked, and she sat cross-legged on her bed, projecting - she found him, could sense him, her mental presence settling over him gently like a gauzy blanket, pinballing through his neurons, his veins. She knew where he was and when he was close, she got up and opened the door with fiery, blistering red hands. He didn’t even need to knock. It had been snowing, so of course now they were on a beach. Dan eyed the scenery with a tangle of emotions that he didn’t have the energy to sort through- disbelief, mistrust, a heavy dose of confusion, a dash of relief. It was overwhelming enough for a moment that he didn’t clock the slow build of static fuzzing through his thoughts, the ever-present flutter and blink of emotions and impressions that didn’t belong to him. So his shine was back, then. That was… unfortunate. It had been a relief, not having to maintain the boundaries that kept him in and everyone else out, a mercy not to have to worry about closing his eyes and finding Rose standing there in the soft, fresh snow of his mental landscape. She was a cathedral. He was a maze. They didn’t need to be dipping in and out of one another’s brains, thanks. Not that it would stop her. Already she’d come knocking, and he reluctantly turned to trudge his way up to the… hotel? Resort? “If this is a cosmic apology,” Dan murmured to no one in particular, “It’s late.” Also, he didn’t trust it. He spent the walk reinforcing walls, picturing the small boxes that served him well over the last couple of decades. Sort it all out, lock it all up, worry about it another day. There was a whole well of confusion and concern lapping at him, a tide that wanted to drag him under, but it didn’t belong to him and he didn’t need to let it swallow his focus. Instead he let the lure Rose set pull him along, and he pursed his lips when she swung the door open before he’d actually reached it to knock. “You feel like hunger,” he sighed, put-upon. A void, gaping wider, a vacuum that wanted to swallow him whole. He nudged the door shut, shoulders leaned against it, and arched a brow. “How are we doing this?” She felt like hunger, did she? “So do you,” Rose returned in a seductive purr that was drip-dropping with lust she was quite unashamed of, and that withered the petals of pure white roses somewhere nearby, surely. Her talons hooked onto his shoulders, body curling into him like a dancer in death's music box, fingers sliding down to take the sleeves of his shirt - she would have grasped his hands, but they hurt. Poor thing. “Come sit,” she stepped back to let Dan make himself comfortable. In the meantime, she’d get that first aid kit, popping it open to find burn cream and bandages. “I told you I’d wrap your hands first, didn’t I?” See? She was always good for her word. Such a paragon of virtue, this one here. Not what he meant, and Dan’s expression curdled before he forced it smooth again. At least she hadn’t immediately gripped his hands, dug nails into tender, blistered skin just to make him scream. “You did,” he affirmed, sounding like he was looking for the trick, the bait-and-switch behind the offer. But this was their deal, wasn’t it? She wouldn’t go poaching any of the others, he’d sit and play snack as needed, and they’d give this whole looking after one another gig a try. So far, Rose was holding up her end of the bargain, so Dan was going to do his part as well. Not happily, but that hadn’t been part of the negotiations in the first place. He sat on the edge of the unrumpled bed, hands palm up on his thighs. The skin across both palms was blistered red and shiny, curling his fingers inward. It was uncomfortable, but hardly the worst that could’ve happened. Rose moved gracefully, like oiled silk, settling beside Dan and plucking one of his hands to transfer it into her clutches. She didn’t dig her nails in, she just applied the cream and carefully bandaged his hands - one after the other, covering the burns but leaving his fingers free to wiggle as he pleased. Those burns looked to be mostly on the palms anyway, as a result of making contact, shoving a goat demon caught aflame out a window. All’s well that ends well, right? “There we go,” she sounded pleased with herself. “How’s that feel?” Such a good nurse. But there was something else beneath it, thin ice - how long would it take, tick-tock, tick-tock, before she screamed from how badly she wanted to bury deep within his veins, crawling with life? Considering how he’d died, Dan probably ought to have more of an aversion to fire than he did. Somehow the lick and crackle of flames hadn’t bothered him half-so-much as the presence of weird, hooved demon things had. He was still at a loss over what those had been, or why they’d attacked. Apparently they were just ignoring the weird and moving on with life. Funny how people could compartmentalize like that. “I’ll live,” he allowed, carefully flexing his fingers. Everything was in working order, if a little raw and tender in places. His gaze flickered up, measuring and wary. “Your turn, huh?” Somehow he’d edited the dread out of his voice, but it was obvious in his eyes, written into the flat press of his lips and the way he leaned slightly away from her. It didn’t matter if Dan moved away - because Rose shifted toward him, settling with unerring accuracy into his lap, a queen on her throne, not ashamed at all. Her own blistered hands carefully traced his shoulders, and she let her tongue trace a thin line along his neck, tasting his heartbeat. Fluttering so wildly, it was, could he be nervous? The heartbeat was nice and all but what she really wanted was something else. “My turn,” she agreed sweetly, a whisper of his fate against his mouth - then she took hold, slender fingers seizing his throat; she squeezed, a flex of those fingers before letting go - he’d exhale, and she was ready. The steam curled toward her, she fawned at the taste and sensation as her eyes flooded with electric blue sparks, her palms healing over with skin smooth and soft - But then. Hm. “Needs a bit of something extra,” she whispered, fingers stroking his jawline. “Pain makes the steam taste better but I think with you - “ Rose hummed, grinding down in his lap. “Something else.” Of course she wanted to be in his lap. Of fucking course, and Dan’s bandaged hands went up and away, determined not to fasten on her hips or touch any more of her than was absolutely necessary because this wasn’t intimacy for him- it wasn’t affection, it wasn’t an experience he wanted to share and she wasn’t a lover. This was survival. Dan understood that, and fought to keep that frame of reference in mind as he exhaled a slow, smoky fog against Rose’s mouth. It felt… odd. Draining, but not in any way that could be explained away. Words were faulty, anyway. “Wh,” he began, choking off the sound and biting the tip of his tongue when Rose shifted, all sinuous grace and an unexpected friction. His next exhale was harsh, heavier, and he did shove at her then, heedless of the pain that lanced through his palms as he tried to remove her from his lap. “No, not… don’t.” It was a denial that echoed through both of their skulls like a gong. Oh, Danny. The words carried telepathically, and Rose’s laugh did too - she fluttered her lashes, oh-so-pleased, the sound inside his head was sex and wine and ice cream. Though her laugh wasn’t very high-pitched, her giggles never were - it sounded just as devious as she was. He tried to push her off and the pain it caused him was a ripple effect - more steam, and she took it, drinking it in from his mouth; she pushed back too, clinging to him with a strong grip and he would have to shove her harder if he wanted her off. Those were just the rules, she didn’t make them. No guarantee that she wouldn’t come back again though. “You should just let go,” she told him, linking their minds so he was in her and she was in him - the power in him was vast, and it had been awhile since Rose dove right into such a raw vibration of thought waves; it was dangerous but intoxicating. Especially since this someone was so repressed. Let go, she wasn’t moving from his lap, she just pushed down and her fingers curled in his hair, tugging his head back, catching the haze that blew past his lips. NO, the denial repeated, sharp and frantic and carrying the edges of the same childish terror Dan felt years and years and years ago, when he was too young to understand what was happening but understanding didn’t matter when he knew he didn’t want it- didn’t like it, needed it to stop, wanted to screw his eyes closed and wait for the scary thing to stop because that was how it worked when you were a kid. He was no match for her experience or skill, but in terms of raw power? Maybe Dan had the edge. Maybe not. Right now his brain felt like a snow globe someone had shaken too hard, a whirl of snow and frost and screaming that might be wind or might be something worse. He gasped, exhaled another rush of steam that carried the smoke and ash taste that had always been there (he was always meant to die by fire), and shoved again. Stop, he snarled, slamming her out of his head even as he snapped his chin down and bared teeth at her, a feral thing cornered and unwilling to back down. Dan shoving her out made her tremble; it shook her muscles, made her bones clatter like it was a stormy February day. Like Rose had hit her head, seeing stars, and she snarled back at him, material of his shirt fisting in her hands. “You’re afraid,” she guessed, fingers grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. Eye to eye, pupil to pupil. She pushed again, into his head, little pig, little pig, let me in - “You don’t have to be afraid,” she told him, as she shoved back - she craved the complexities of his head, those broken down walls that surrounded memories, shuffling through that maze (though she distinctly would avoid those boxes. Rose already knew what was in them). “Not of me. Not of me.” She let go of his chin and grabbed his head instead, thumbs digging into his temples. “We’re the same, remember? Oh, you’re so angry - “ Another inhale of that steam, cedar and malt and tobacco and she wouldn’t give up. “Let it out.” Me. Dan didn’t fear Rose. She wasn’t his boogeyman by any stretch of the imagination- never had been, never would be. He had feared for Abra, for children like her, for a hundred thousand kids stolen and swallowed away over centuries, their potential lost and never to be realized. If anything about Rose frightened him, it was how easy it might be to become her. The real admission, the real fear, was all twisted inward- fearing himself, what he could do, the things housed under his skin that kept him from being normal and carefree and deliciously average. So many people wanted to be extraordinary, to be powerful, and Dan would give it all away if he could. Afraid of me, his thoughts whispered back, insidious. It was a truth he couldn’t hide, not with Rose sinking into the cracks in his head, occupying space that didn’t belong to her. Dan hissed, hands snaking up to twist in her hair and yank, like he needed the leverage to drag them both out of the frozen wasteland of his mind and straight into the towering, shadowy silence of her cathedral instead. The yank on her hair made Rose shriek and she pushed at his shoulders, fully prepared to tackle Dan to this mattress. And devour him. In which way, she wasn’t sure yet - but it would get done. In the cathedral of her mind, the polish on ivory arches glittered like the Gates of Heaven (the closest to that concept she’d ever get), the floors stretched on forever and ever in a wash of silvery tile, and the ceilings rose into infinity where they were capped off in paintings that rivaled those in the Sistine Chapel. Rose herself was darkness, she was shadows, a stretch of spilled ink. But it was quiet in here. Because she had already conquered her demons. She knew what she was, all she had done - many centuries ago, she made a choice. Eat well, live long. And until she was (almost mercifully, deep down - a little tinge of it that was grateful for death and escaped into her conscious thought like a wisp of smoke) torn apart by his demons, she spent those years living with the consequences of her choice. You can’t get rid of it, Danny. It’s like a slumbering beast waiting to be stirred, she warned him, breathing the words in his mind like warm water. You can only make peace with it. Dan hit the mattress with a grunt, but didn’t loosen his grip on her hair. It was self-preservation, the instinct to keep her mouth away from his throat, away from where she might steal whatever was left of his soul, if he’d ever possessed one in the first fucking place. Up for debate, he supposed, letting the sizzle of pain across his palms clear his thoughts. He slipped back out of the echoing silence in her head, found himself blinking up at her in something like surprise. “You finished?” Because he was finished. He wanted to pull the shutters in, hole up, lock himself away again- maybe take the world’s longest shower, rinse away smoke and frost and try very hard not to think about the mini-bar in the corner of the room (of course he’d noticed it, he always noticed) or the calm of Rose’s thoughts, which might be just as addictive as alcohol if he let himself acknowledge it. But he wouldn’t. Dan couldn’t, or he’d slide further down this already slippery slope. Rose’s eyes faded back to cornflower blue, and if Dan was going to practically rip her hair out then she was going to give something back too. “No,” she replied, soft and dangerous, a bit of black velvet wrapped around the executioner’s blade. Then she kissed him, crushed her mouth against his, deep enough to taste the marrow in his bones. Her hands brushed through sandy puddles of that disheveled hair of his - she’d taken his steam and she’d consume the rest of him too, the way a jackal would. Mind, body, soul. Yum. “Finished now,” she said, and maybe took her time wiggling off of him. Bits and pieces of his surface thoughts filtered in and out and she added, “I’ll get rid of it.” Referring to the alcohol portion of the minibar, naturally. She didn’t particularly need to drink the booze. Maybe the neighbors would. Discomfited, Dan loosened up his grip, letting hair slide like razor wire through tender fingers. It felt like she’d laid him open to the bone, a cut so deep that he didn’t even notice it until he’d started bleeding. He swallowed, lash fluttering, and then rolled his way upright. “Won’t do anything for either of us,” he muttered, “Might as well donate it away.” Let someone else throw a real party, celebrate no longer being trapped in Soviet nightmares. Dan wouldn’t begrudge them the good time. He snagged a suitcase, rifled through it for the basics, and hugged the stupid, cheerfully-colored clothes to his chest on the way to the bathroom. There was a breath, a glance back to her, but whatever cutting thing he might’ve said was left to hang in the silence until the door slammed and the lock clicked into place a beat later. Stay out. Rose rummaged through the minibar - apparently in addition to the little bottles of rum and tequila and vodka, there were also useful things like juice and water and iced coffee. Well, she’d just be taking that. And probably wouldn’t share. Maybe. The alcohol was swiped, bottles clinking gently, and she decided she’d go pawn these off on someone else. And leave Dan to his sadness in the shower - but don’t think she hadn’t noticed how he calmed in the landscape that was her mind. The quiet seemed to soothe him, how cute. You can bet she’d be filing that away for later. But first she purposely banged on the bathroom door with her fist to give him a start, before leaving the room. Go fuck yourself. Which of course was the same thing as ‘see you later, sweetie,’ followed by ominous silence. |