Tristan Sable || Dream (demos_oneiroi) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-10-23 01:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | dream |
Who: Tristan
What: Post-"death" closed narrative
Where: Hamartia 605
When: Directly following Charlie killing him in a little girl's dream
Warnings: Some gore - Not too bad?
For long, never-ending moments, all Tristan knew was red pain. The scarlet slick in front of his eyes, tied up with the coiling mess that was meant to be inside his body. Eyes open and unresponsive, though the sights still filtered in, and he was aware of himself still screaming very small and very far away. He saw the nightmare man walk away, heard his scream and the shattering glass. As the dream dissolved upon Abigail's waking, Tristan fell down the well of consciousness and back into his own waking body.
He gasped oxygen into lungs that hadn't taken a breath in too long, shuddering as the air hit the back of his throat. The exhale was a scream, delayed reaction to the disemboweling, still an echo of pain sitting low in his belly.
It took slow minutes of his entire body shaking until Tristan was able take stock of himself. That dream had been nothing like any other he'd ever been in, the death feeling so close to real. The man was a Creation - there was no other option - and Tristan obviously wasn't the only one that could move in and out of dreams.
The hard hammer of heartbeat and stuttered breathing eventually calmed, adrenalin fading until Tristan could take stock of himself. But there was still pain, licks of fire along his stomach. Lifting the bottom edge of his tshirt, he was greeted by the sight of blood pooling on his stomach, gathered from four shallow cuts along the skin in the same path the blades had taken. Seeing them made them start to hurt, hot lines of pain. None of them was deep enough to require stitches (he hoped), but they bled fairly freely and were staining his shirt and sheets. "...fuck."
Holding a towel from the "needs Laundromat" pile over his stomach, he levered himself out of bed, groaning when that motion brought to light how battered he felt. His entire body ached, and he had to hobble like an old man just to get to the bathroom where they actually kept a first-aid kit. He hoped that Genny hadn't taken any of the supplies for any strange reason, but breathed easier when he opened the kit to find it still full.
It wasn't easy to clean and bandage his own stomach, requiring the gauze and tape, and he wasn't looking forward to pulling the tape back off again. But he was still bleeding a bit, and he couldn't just let himself get it all over everything. So he did the best he could, and then slowly worked his way out to the kitchen to make some coffee.
He was pretty sure he wouldn't be letting himself sleep for a long time. It would give him plenty of time to try to figure out what just happened.