RP: Not a coward! Characters: Sir Didymus and OPEN Jasper Time/Date: Sept. 22, after dinner Location: The rec area Warnings/Rating: Icky images of his family's deaths Summary: Sad, scared little fox man. :-( Status: Complete
Ambrosius was on the mend, and his mount appeared to be in much better spirits, overall. Didymus only wished that he could say the same for himself. He had been shivering all day, and if things got much worse, he was afraid that he might actually wet himself. Even though he had not seen one, not been outside once since they had come to call, these Dementors smelled of death and decay and ... he shuddered at both the cold and the thoughts that they called to mind. Memories of the horrors in his past.
His mother's bloated carcass being ripped apart by vultures. His father torn limb from limb by wolves. His sister Marion wasting away to nothing, lying in puddles of her own vomit and leavings. His brother Nigel raging and foaming at the mouth before he died. His brother John run through by a goblin's spear. His sister Elizabeth crushed underneath a fallen tree. His brother Joseph hanged from the castle wall for stealing chickens, whilst ravens pecked at his entrails and his eyes.
Nothing could take those ghastly images from his mind. They flickered over and over, in his mind's eye, as if they were being shown on that box that displayed the human mating. Except it was as if the little black wand could no longer shut them off. The screen inside his head would not go dark with a pop, and Didymus wondered if he would ever be happy again.
Ambrosius seemed unaffected by it all. That was a small mercy, at least. His steed hadn't his fortitude and could not bear even half so much. And though Didymus knew in his heart of hearts that he was not a coward, he wasn't certain how much more of this he himself could bear. So when he'd read of a gathering this eve, following the nightly feast, he was glad of it. At least he would not have to bear this alone.
He walked on unsteady legs to the room where the games were to be held, hoping that he would not simply faint along the way. Though if he did, he could be spared these dreaded thoughts for a moment whilst unconscious. Or perhaps not. His dreams, as well, had been strewn with the selfsame horrors, and he'd awoken several times the past two nights, panting and clutching his chest. A game or two of Scrabble likely wouldn't put that to rights, but he could always hope.
Or at least he could now. He wasn't so sure if he would still be able to, in a day or two.