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caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 07:30 am
pactum) wrote in caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 07:30 am
Entry tags:
[ dream / video ]
They peer in at him with their cruel, beady eyes and laugh and jeer with long crooked smiles, faces half-hidden by masks so that he couldn't tell them apart even if the light from their candles didn't leave him half-blind. They're faceless and nameless, and it's almost more of an effort than it's worth to struggle when their greedy fingers reach for him, curl as relentless and vice-like as shackles around his bird-boned limbs. Once, they held hot metal to his back, and he had heard and smelt his skin sizzling and cooking almost before he'd felt it. But oh, he had felt it--still feels it, a constant raw stinging hurt which he doesn't dare to touch. Branded like an animal. It isn't surprising; they treat him with less dignity than one. It's all hands and eyes and cold iron bars between his fingers, dirt and blood caked in his hair and between his toes, cuts and scrapes not healing and fresh dark bruises blooming where they've hit him or held him too tight. He's long since given up praying. Mother had promised him that God existed, loving and merciful, but she must have been lying.
He hates them. That hatred is the only thing that keeps him alive. It feeds him when they don't.
He knows, when they come in jewels and silk and velvet, in the largest crowd he's seen yet, that it's his time, as he's seen so many others die, writhing and crying and sobbing, or silent and empty. But he's special, he hears them whisper. He's the Phantomhive boy. He's been so lovely to play with, but now it's time for him to fulfill his intended purpose.
He squirms as they pull him from the cage. Or at least, he thinks he's being pulled from the cage--isn't he? There are hands and faces and chains and is that the stone altar beneath him, or the metal floor of the cage still? He's thrashing, either way, using the last of his strength to kick and scream and claw. He's held down against the stone--he's pressed to the bars--wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and at once there's a knife raised high above him and a sinister hand outstretched before him, sharp black claws beckoning, promising, and he's made his choice, because he will not die here. So he reaches desperately past the bars, and as the knife slices down, as those long fingers wrap tight and binding around his own, his right eye burns and he screams:
"Kill them all!"
[ He wakes with that scream still on his lips. It dies in his throat as soon as he realizes he's awake, and his fingers knot in the bedsheets, white-knuckled and shaking. His chest heaves as he attempts to regain his breath, in and out slowly through his nose, his mouth set in a hard grimace. His hair is a mess, his white night shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin with sweat, and he isn't wearing his eye patch--but that's no matter, really, as the video feed catches him directly from his left.
It's a good few minutes before Ciel notices the blinking light from the Dreamberry on his night table beside the bed, but when he does, he sits up at once, plush comforters and goosefeather pillows tossed wildly aside in his haste. He blocks his right eye from view with one hand and bats the device straight off the table with the other. It clatters to the floor, but doesn't seem to be damaged, and continues to record the ceiling until, after a time, the feed automatically cuts off. ]
He hates them. That hatred is the only thing that keeps him alive. It feeds him when they don't.
He knows, when they come in jewels and silk and velvet, in the largest crowd he's seen yet, that it's his time, as he's seen so many others die, writhing and crying and sobbing, or silent and empty. But he's special, he hears them whisper. He's the Phantomhive boy. He's been so lovely to play with, but now it's time for him to fulfill his intended purpose.
He squirms as they pull him from the cage. Or at least, he thinks he's being pulled from the cage--isn't he? There are hands and faces and chains and is that the stone altar beneath him, or the metal floor of the cage still? He's thrashing, either way, using the last of his strength to kick and scream and claw. He's held down against the stone--he's pressed to the bars--wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and at once there's a knife raised high above him and a sinister hand outstretched before him, sharp black claws beckoning, promising, and he's made his choice, because he will not die here. So he reaches desperately past the bars, and as the knife slices down, as those long fingers wrap tight and binding around his own, his right eye burns and he screams:
"Kill them all!"
[ He wakes with that scream still on his lips. It dies in his throat as soon as he realizes he's awake, and his fingers knot in the bedsheets, white-knuckled and shaking. His chest heaves as he attempts to regain his breath, in and out slowly through his nose, his mouth set in a hard grimace. His hair is a mess, his white night shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin with sweat, and he isn't wearing his eye patch--but that's no matter, really, as the video feed catches him directly from his left.
It's a good few minutes before Ciel notices the blinking light from the Dreamberry on his night table beside the bed, but when he does, he sits up at once, plush comforters and goosefeather pillows tossed wildly aside in his haste. He blocks his right eye from view with one hand and bats the device straight off the table with the other. It clatters to the floor, but doesn't seem to be damaged, and continues to record the ceiling until, after a time, the feed automatically cuts off. ]
voice;
You mentioned technology like this is uncommon for you. May I ask what is common where you come from?
voice;
[ his words are pronounced very sharply, evidence of his lingering annoyance. strangers viewing his dreams. honestly. ]
I'm sorry-- [ he doesn't sound it. ] --have we met?
voice;
How interesting.
[Oh right. About that.] I don't believe we have. [Even though that's a lie; he had spoken to him once before, over text.] I'm Lelouch.
voice;
[ mentioned rather dismissively; he obviously doesn't intend to expand on the topic any further. ]
Ciel Phantomhive. I apologize; I would be happier to make your acquaintance under other circumstances.
voice;
[That's...a long time. But he's okay with letting the topic go, for now.]
I apologize for that, it was rather rude to pry. I was just intrigued by the way these devices projected the dream as if it was any other broadcast. I wish we would've met under better circumstances as well.
voice;
Not at all. I would doubtlessly be more curious myself if I hadn't just experienced it first-hand. As interesting as these devices might be, I hope they won't be replacing the other communicator permanently. That would be far too much of a hassle for my tastes.
voice;
I wouldn't expect they are. Vatheon's changes generally last a week - it would be very inconsistent on what I've found if it were any different.
voice;
[ but he certainly won't be sleeping easily for the rest of the week. ]
voice;
[More like he doesn't want to run the risk of it either. Even though he got very little sleep to begin with, he's going to be getting even less until this is all over.]
voice;
In any case, I hope for your sake you do not experience it yourself, Lelouch.
[ not true; while he resents that his own dream was broadcast, watching the dreams of others has been enlightening, to say the least. ]
voice;
[Even though he is...going to try to make sure it doesn't happen. Period.]