Asterion || Minotaur (cantfindtheexit) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-05-19 13:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | icarus, sato, the minotaur |
Who: Asterion [narrative] and eventually Sato, appearance by Icarus.
What: The Minotaur is loose, Asterion was shoved into the mental labyrinth...and he's freaking the hell out.
When: Right after the Minotaur came out
Where: Asterion's mind, Dream Country, Icarus' dreams
Warnings: Language, sexuality annnnd anger/sadness/freakingout/panic
It was as though he had been swallowed up by the darkest night, no warning, not even a sign, just something immediate and ice cold and dark, so dark, so fucking pitch dark, and it was such a change that it took him a moment to realize what was going on, took his skin a moment to cool from Orpheus' touch, his eyes several moments to adjust, took his mind a moment to process...
The labyrinth.
The horror of it, of what had happened, of where he was hit him all at once and he crumpled as though the his had been a physical blow, winded, terrified. He was in the labyrinth, and if he was here, then the monster was there...
There with Orpheus.
The first scream was long, raw, gut wrenching as it echoed, over and over again, through those twisting halls. The screaming continued, wordless agony, unable to wonder how this had happened as he twisted, stood, threw himself against the walls, clawed at them, used all of the force that he had to break through them...and when his throat was raw and his fingers bloody, when his nails were gone and his knees busted, scraped, when he could scream to more and fight no more to break through that endless black barrier, then Asterion ran.
He knew these halls perfectly because they had once been his home, his prison. He knew where the exit lay, and he knew how to force himself out. There was purpose in his step, even as his whole body seemed to burn with exertion, he didn't care; Asterion felt nothing but urgency, fear. He had already wasted time trying to go back the way he came, and there was no telling....no telling what the monster was doing. The beast was capable of anything, after all, and the artist cursed himself vehemently for allowing this to happen.
Left. Right. Right. Right. Left. Right. Left. Left. Right.
And finally he was there, the exit...or perhaps where the exit should have been, might have been if there was an exit, but there was none, only another flat black wall, a bull's head upon it. He let out another anguished scream, but this time it dissolved into a sob of defeat, of pain.
"No...no....no," he cried, curling up against the wall, the bull firmly stationed above him. His sorrow curled in wisps around him, and he thought of that night, that quiet lost night among the grass and the stars. "You'll ruin him...and you don't even care. Selfish bastard." The monster's voice whispered all around him, it had been in his own mind that night...but the labyrinth that he currently inhabited was a part of his mind as well, and now the voice was all around him. Everywhere around him.
"It will be your hands that bind him, it will be you who breaks his bones, it will be your teeth that rip out that precious throat of his, and it will be your throat down which his immortal blood pours. Blood that will be on your head, Pathetic Artist, yours and no one else's."
"No," he whispered impotently. "Please....please no. Not him, not him, please not him....please..."
And there was no sound at all, only the true silence of a labyrinth, punctuated by Asterion's sobs and sighs.
XXX
There was no judging the time that passed in that place - it was always perfectly dark, always perfectly still, and Asterion knew now that he would remain there until the monster saw fit to recede again, that he was stuck until further notice. Every inch of him ached, his fingers throbbing, muscles protesting with each breath. He could barely move his legs. And then he felt it; a warm calm that seemed to radiate from his chest, spreading slowly down through him, down his arms, into his pained digits, his aching limbs. It felt foreign and all at once familiar, warm and cool, comforting, and he opened swollen eyes slowly and blinked.
There was....light? beside him, a soft and gentle glow, and when his eyes became accustomed to it, he finally realized what was there beside him. The goldfinch. And the pulsing against his chest, like a second heartbeat...it was the charm that Mischa had bestowed upon him the night of his party - it had somehow followed him here.
The finch hopped up to his feet, and then hopped back, flew a few paces, turned to him, cocked it's head. Asterion sighed, knowing that the - what was a it? A bird? A dream? - wanted to be followed. He was worn, completely spent, blood staining his hands, streaked across his face and through his hair, eyes swollen, his usual calm visage ruined with tears and struggle. But...the goldfinch would lead him away from this place. It had before...and even if it didn't lead him back to the waking world, he wasn't sure if he could stand to sit here all curled up and useless. Maybe....just maybe, he could find help. Maybe the little glowing creature could help him.
And so he forced himself up, pushed himself from the ground, supporting himself on the statue of the bull for a moment before stumbling forward. He was covered with bruises; his body having been flung repeatedly, indiscriminately at the walls, and every sinew felt as though it were on fire...and still he stumbled forward, followed the finch around a system of turns he could never remember, until his feet were no longer treading over cold stone but rather warm earth, his eyes adjusting to the light of a full moon. He was in a garden, a quiet, serene little garden, and it was so at odds with his mind, with his physical form, and he was so tired, and finally he just collapsed onto the garden path, tried to simply breath.
But the charm on his chest pulled him further, pulled him toward a door beyond the garden, and he followed it reluctantly, his muscles protesting as he made his way to it, pushed through it...
And he found himself stepping into a strange twisting room, an oddly familiar place, and he was surrounded in familiar smells and sensations, a familiar face...
Icarus.
Asterion felt himself pulled into those arms, a sob of relief catching in his throat. Icarus....he must have been inside of his friend's dreams, and that was alright. From here he could manage. From here he could tell his friend to find his lover, to take care of him. If the Minotaur was hurting Orpheus, he would be distracted by his only friend. He wouldn't hurt Icarus...would never hurt Icarus. The artist chose not to consider whether or not Orpheus would still be alive....still be capable of getting away. He simply had to hope for the best, becuase what other choice was there, really?
"Icarus, my dear friend," he murmured, and he began to pull away so that he could speak, so that he could impart this message in dreams which he could only hope his friend carried over to waking life, but just as he pulled back his friend's fingers traveled up over his cheek, through his hair, and he found his lips seeking Icarus', found his arms tightening around that form, pulling him in closer, deepening the kiss, and it all felt wonderful for a moment, until the part of his mind that was still hurting and scared pushed through to the surface, forced out words even as his arms seemed to move around Icarus of their own volition.
"Icarus....please....I need you...I need you to find him, Icarus, I need you to find me, I love you," and that last part hadn't been at all what he meant to say, and he tried to shake his head, to clear it, but he felt good and drowsy and content, and Icarus was beautiful, and he wanted to kiss him endlessly, to take him to bed...but no, no, Icarus was his friend, he didn't want that, he wanted to save Orpheus...
"Find him," he murmured, feeling fingers tugging at his hair, sliding up his sides, "Please, Icarus, you have to stop me, you have to find him....you have...to..." and he thought for a moment that the dream-aspect of him might take over completely, until he felt something....something strong and angry and he was ripped away from himself, from the part of himself that had already been present, pulled by the charm or perhaps by the neck, and a rush of cold air hit his skin, and he called out angrily, wordlessly, becuase he didn't know what was happening, and he didn't know if Icarus understood, if he had made a strong enough impression....
And then his eyes opened, and he was back in the garden, but he was no longer alone.
He found himself staring at her directly, his own eyes wide with shock, throat instantly dry.
Sato.
She was here.
And they were alone...he was already hurt, bruised, bloody, sore...
He wanted to sink down into the ground, to bury his head, to give up, give in...but he just stared at her. Stared...and braced himself for another onslaught.