Re: Quicklog: Scott/Stiles/Bobby
[A raw shiver ran through Stiles' entire body. His eyes seemed to sink even deeper into their sockets until they were practically holes. The bones of his face seemed to show through in transparent, shuddering edges under the false lines of youth in cheeks and soft nose. The gaping skull of his mortality grinned outward in a horrible facsimile of what he had once been. He blinked sleepily at Scott, the way he had a hundred times after a long day or an even longer night, when one or the other of them had slept over in front of a flickering television while the world of adulthood grew ever more complex around them.
New tears glistened in the back of the skeletal shadows.]
Scott. Make it stop. [He sounded soft, soft and young, the way he had sounded the day his mom died, or the time his father failed to come home one night and ended up in a hospital recovering from a stray bullet. He moaned, as if in pain, and his eyes flickered with fear and growing agony.] Stop. Please.
[Shadows grew and flexed in the corners of the room, and cold mountain chills crawled down the ceiling with an entirely different power than that held by the mutant outside. Stiles started to struggle, but not like the nogitsune at all, like a child in a nightmare.] No, please. Stop!
[Then the screaming started. It went on, and on, and on, until Stiles couldn't find his breath, and for the first time the grinning image of the fox was briefly visible behind his face, a corpse-like creature of canine maw and teeth like daggers. The shadow had his teeth in the bank of Stiles' throat where it met his spine, a visceral shadow image of flickering heat and intangible reality, tearing like a dog at a rabbit.]