( closed 👻 the case of the murder-causing mind infection )

[incorrigibles]

Who: charles rowland + various
Where: in vague locations around aldrip
What: charles has a no-good, very bad time with the gnosia situation
Warnings: talk of murder and death, at the very least.

( specific starters in comments! if you're keen on one, hit me up on plurk @ celen. )

Comments

hello charles. it is time to die.

[traumaticus]

[Place an already mentally unstable individual, who's sense of reality is compromised enough as it is, in a closed off city with a murder infection running rampant and see what happens.

Richard has been very busy during these last few days. At first there had been the almost eerie calmness in his soul, setting on his bones and spreading all the way to his body. He had felt so light, air flowing freely in his body and making him light. The almost serene like calmness and relief, similar to what one would feel when returning back to home after being away for so long. Like Ulysses seeing the the shores of Ithaca after years of his Odyssey. And just like the mythical hero of the past, Richard knew exactly what he needed to do.

After the calmness had came the nightmares. Maddening visions, distorting the reality and covering everything in the darkness. The calmness had changed into a fury, swinging from freezing cold to blazing hot, blinding him from any further sense and reason. And yet, even in this state Richard knew what he needed to do.

He had killed. A lot. Some of them had been ugly and personal, some not so much. But he had made sure to paint the world red, claiming the victory over anyone who came across him. And while the fury within had quelled for most part it still wasn't enough. He could feel the fire bubbling underneath the weird, almost mechanic like calmness. Like a water slowly waiting to boil over.

Richard is standing in middle of street that had been so busy and full on life less than a week ago. He's breathing heavily through his nostrils, his shoulders raising with each inhale, then slumping back down. His gaze is focused on the broken glass on the ground, eyes staring down at his fragmented reflection on the shards but not truly seeing. No, his mind is completely somewhere else. Stuck in the darkness with all the voices speaking to him from the shadows, chanting to him as a choir.

"More! More! More! Kill more!"

It's so dark. Colorless and freezing just like that day when the light had been robbed from him. Leaving him to walk in a darkened path, waddling through the rivers of despair. The only other color he could make out through the black veil was none other than red. And he needed to see more of it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound coming from near him. Was it from footsteps approaching? Or maybe a voice trying to talk to him? He couldn't tell. But it's just enough to snap Richard away from his own head, back to the present. He lifts his eyes from the ground, turns to look over his shoulder and ah.]

Charles. [He says calmly, voice smooth like satin and a gentle smile forming on his lips. Yet his mismatched eyes stayed hazy as he looked at the youth, hand already grasping his sword.]

the best of times--

[incorrigibles]

[ it's — well, it's not been a great week for him. but it's also not the worst, because he hardly has it the worst; it's not him struggling with murder impulses, so what if he just feels progressively more and more useless, the longer the week goes on? so what if it's killing him, watching someone he cares about lose a bit more of his mind every single goddamn day?

it doesn't matter. what does matter is that he's at least not making things worse — and so he's out, wandering aimlessly for a while, which maybe isn't his smartest move yet, what with the whole city in chaos and all.

it's on one of the streets that he tends to walk through on his quick city tours that he spots someone familiar — and, yeah, okay, so maybe he's not thinking clearly, because the only thing he can feel is nothing but sheer relief. ]

Your Grace! [ he calls out, jogging closer, heaving a sigh. ] Bloody hell, you're okay, that's a relief.

[ he stops a few paces away, watching as richard finally turns to face him, a small smile on his lips but a strange look in his eyes. and charles — well. he smiles back, because, as established, he's really not thinking clearly. ]

I've been worried about you, [ he says, instead, glancing at the sword and whistling low. ] Though maybe I shouldn't have been.

[traumaticus]

[There is a colorless expression on Richard's face as he watches Charles to jog and stumble towards him. He definitely hears what he is saying but none of the words really register to him, as his head is buzzing with strange white noise. A sound that prevents him fully relaxing his body, threatening to steal his focus away back to the darkness.]

..It's so quiet. [He states, but instead of speaking to Charles his words are aimed at something completely else. Richard keeps looking through at the youth, his hand continuing to grip on the sword's handle but not yet making a move to pull it out.] Strange, it was so loud a moment ago. Now you can't hear the witch's curse even if you try to.

[incorrigibles]

[ at that first statement, charles glances around them — well, sue, the street is pretty quiet, that's true... but then he keeps speaking, and.

and, well.

shit. ]

Uh, [ says charles, mind fighting for some semblance of calm over the ocean of worry that suddenly crests over him, ] Right. The witch's... curse.

[ he lifts one hand up, palm out, somehow placating and disarming at once. ] So — what's that, then? Would you tell me about it, my lord?

[traumaticus]

[Richard blinks few times at the question. And just for a moment it looks like it might've been enough to snap him back to reality. But then his pupils dilate and he shakes his head in disbelief as a grim realization dawns upon him.]

You would know all about it, wouldn't you. [The words are spoken with a dark and low voice, the expression on his face turning more harsh.

It's the trick of the witch no doubt. She must have planned it all along, sending one of her minions, a ghost, to follow him and fool him. She would do anything, use any lie and illusion, to steal light from him and so that she could continue on tormenting him. The ugly witch that cursed entire England as she was burned at the stake by his father.

This time Richard doesn't wait for an answer. But instead with practiced and carefully movement, one learned after many years spent in the battlefield, he unsheathes his sword and swiftly turns it to plunge the sharp blade right into Charles' abdomen.]

[incorrigibles]

Wha —

[ that's about all he manages to say, genuine confusion turning into sharp realisation just a touch too late, before there's a sword sticking out of him and charles lets out a pained yell that ends in a swear, because —

his form right around the wound is black and smoking. fuck, charles manages to think, so there's some iron in it, and well, he's — yeah, he's absolutely fucked, then. he could try to pull the sword free, but as his legs give out from under him out of the sheer, debilitating pain that's everywhere, radiating through every single atom that makes up his ghostly body; that's... going to be a struggle, innit?

and what, then? he could try to fight back, somehow, but this? this isn't richard. this is an infection inside him, and if charles hurts him, even a little... doesn't that make him worse?

he makes an attempt to lift his hand to where the sword is sticking out of him, but all he manages is halfway before he groans at the sharp stab of pain. ]

[traumaticus]

[The black smoke is the only further proof he needs. Charles was not of this world but belonged to witch's realm. Just like that damned, wicked and despicable Joan of Arc. Richard had once managed to strike her down, casting her away for all those years until she found a crack where to slip back into his life -- back when he had became disillusioned by the might of his brother and his right to be king.

Joan had been quiet for a while now, again. So maybe that explained why Charles had appeared in his life all of the sudden. To spy on him for her sake, try to soften him so that he'll lower his guards again. Joan had always enjoyed tormenting him when he was feeling the most vulnerable.

But not this time. Richard wouldn't let it happen.

Gritting his teeth together, Richard pushed the sword deeper until it pierced through Charles' bony frame, the sharp end of the blade sticking out from his back. Then, grabbing the hilt with both of his hands, he pushed the sword upwards, the iron cutting a bigger incision as he pulled the weapon out. ]

ok dw could really stop eating my notifs?? that'd be lovely. also idk how to cw this. impalement?

[incorrigibles]

[ the sword pushes through him, and charles screams.

it's a sound that's ripped out from his throat with violence, burning and tearing at him the same way the blade does, leaving behind a gash of pouring blood and black smoke that's nearly engulfing his entire torso, now. the iron burns every single atom inside him as the wound grows, and charles bites his lip to keep from screaming even more.

the sword slips free, finally, and charles collapses on the ground, gasping against the pain that persists, the blood that pools around him; his form already feels less solid, and yet it isn't the same way he is used to, but as if the black smoke is taking away what has kept him corporeal all this time, like he is slowly disintegrating into nothing. ]

Richard... [ he manages a look up, then, though stops to cough up some blood. ] It's... okay, yeah? All — okay.

[ it's not, really, because he's in more pain he remembers ever being before, and pretty sure he is going to die again — but if richard remembers this, when he comes to, when the gnos leaves him... he'd have him know he doesn't blame him. ]