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How to Break a Nightmare ((18+))

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Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

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PostPosted: Fri Aug 31, 2018 10:34 am    Post subject: How to Break a Nightmare ((18+)) Reply with quote

1. Discover the one thing that she's been absolutely terrified of anyone finding out.

August 26th - Sunday - Early afternoon

Three months. Zagan had endured three months of near nightly harassment from Roni in his dreams. But it was more than that. He was covered in bruises, healing cuts, thick heavy scars from the things the nightmare of a faerie had done to him in his dreams. Honestly after the first night he thought that his time was limited... but instead, she's haunted him, night in and night out. Invading his dreams. Maiming, beating, and otherwise leaving her mark on him. Like a slow method of torture, that was slowly, but surely working. He heard footsteps that weren't there, was paranoid, checking over his shoulder like she was only a few paces behind him. He had tried several times to find someone to combat what she was doing, or to get her to leave him alone, to no avail.... which all in all, led him to where he stood now.

On the threshold of the Dullahan courts, looking as every bit exhausted and disheveled as he felt. His hair at the most had been finger combed, and he wore a suit. Solid black, and rumpled, like it had been laying in a heap on the floor, and blue tie askew, and not quite tied right. Really, he's not sure why he had not come sooner. A couple words, a simple request, and there was nothing that the dream weaver would be able to do to avoid her fate. With a sigh of defeat, he gave up on trying to make himself appear any more presentable than he already was, and stepped forward with purpose. He had a problem to take care of.

The realm of the Dullahan was just a step away from the high courts. The headless horsemen served, not only as the reapers of souls but also as loyal knights to the Queens and Kings of faerie. Though so close to the opulent halls and courts of the seasons, this place held none of the beauty and all of the malice. An old fortress sort of place with old stone corridors and cold floors served as the barracks and home to the headless horsemen. Sconces of unnaturally colored firelight burst to life as he walked near them, giving off no heat but illuminating the passages.

After a time of wandering the hallways of locked rooms, he came across a courtyard, open to the strange swirling sky. Two figures paid him little mind, one, a petite brown skinned woman tending to the brushing and care of a gold and green striped tiger, who's emerald green flaming eyes tracked Zagan's every move. The other, was a rather lanky fellow with shaggy dirty blonde hair in a tattered brown duster, leaning against the wall and eating an air of laziness about him.

There was a reason why he never really made the effort to show up there. Plus, until this point he really hadn't much of a reason to come and ask for the dullahan services, except for some time long ago, when he had just only found himself in a status of position to do so. As his wanderings turned him out to a courtyard, his steps came to a slow stop, and his attention danced between the three there. The blonde man, the pretty little doll, and her pet. The latter of which was given a moment of careful consideration, before he started stepping forward, just a little.

"Hello. Is it possible to bother one of you for a moment of your time?" Polite and cordial, because really. He'd learned first hand that he didn't want to piss off a dullahan. His nose still sat a little crooked on his face from the last time.

The tiger rumbled a growl that reached into Zagan's bones, the only warning the businessman would get. The dark skinned woman had gems that dangled strategically on her forehead, making it look like a thin crown as well as a delicate chain that connected from a nose ring to one of the many rings that lined her ears. Bangles and rings decorated her hands and her almond eyes looked to Zagan briefly, slowly blinking at him but her attention returned to the big cat.

The cowboy in the duster looked over to Zagan and eyed him up and down, sizing him up before he snorted, "Got a set on ya t'come wanderin' on in here without an invitation there, buck-o." The man gave a wide toothy grin, "But...seein' as the Grey didn't rip your face off at the door, guess y'got some status. What ya want?"

The tiger's rumble, and the lack of interest shown by the woman tending to it was all the warning that he needed to leave her be. So he did, and nor did he move any further into the courtyard. Instead, his attention turned towards the Cowboy when he spoke, and couldn't help the faint smirk that pulled at his features. "You're not the first to say that." This was mused in response, while the american's following words had the amusement on his face growing. "What I want is simple. I would like to put in a request on Ronixi."

The wild west looking scruffy cowboy scratched said scruffiness along his jaw, "Y'would, would ya?" He looked him up and down again before giving a snort, "Would be simple....but seems we can't accommodate ya, Mister Status-man. Y'already invoked a cullin' on someone. Can't have you uppity sorts using us as assassins ALL the time." He smirked and pushed off the wall, tossing his apple core aside, licking his fingers of the juice, "So, swagger on outta here the way y'came."

He was going to respond to his question, when the american spoke again. Only this time his words have a touch of surprise bleeding across his features. "I already invoked one. Mmh. The years must be beginning to blend together." His feet shifted below him, before his attention settled on the other. "Tell me. Can I ask what the last name I put a request in on, was? Just to jog my memory. Then I'll be on my way and you can go back to enjoying your day."

The woman's almond eyes looked over to Zagan again, blinking slowly as she watched him and the cowboy thought a moment before answering, "...Couple years back, three or four, not long so your mind must be slippery than a new deck a cards." He snorted, "Fella named Lynch. Ol' Irish done the cullin' if memory serves...she'd know more but she's a little....indisposed." A wicked grin came to his face and a rough bark of a laugh. The Indian woman did not look amused.

"Lynch." Brennen. The man's first name popped into his head the moment he spoke the last. It was the name that Siobhan oh so many years ago had been working hard to earn Zagan taking care of the man for her. He never put the request in... but someone did. And honestly, was it a hard guess as to who had? Roni and Siobhan had been damned near inseperable for as long as he could remember... but the fault was nothing but his own. If he had never shoved Roni off on Siobhan, maybe none of them would be where they were now. Or... maybe the same thing would of happened, who knows.

"I remember now." The devious smirk pulling at his features speaks of the gears already running through his head. "And I'm well aware. I'm the one she attacked to get there. Tell her Zagan says Hi. And she's still welcome for me taking care of Brennen." There's a chuckle that rolled out of him, before he turned. "Thank you for your time, and sorry for the intrusion."

The cowboy Dullahan grinned, flapping a hand, "Glad t'be of service, your Courtly-ness." He gave a flourish and bowed, "Yeah...more of a headache for us but it'll be over soon, I wagers, got a lotta power in that Irish blood to transfer."

"Of course. I wish you all the speediest of times, and the least of a headache." That was offered simply, before he was disappearing around a corner, a bounce in his step that had not been there on his arrival. Roni had lost her ground again, and he's pretty damn well certain that there was little in the way that she would be able to get one up on him again. One sentence would ruin absolutely everything she had managed to accomplish. One sentence could end up with her life coming to an end. All he had to do was speak of the fact that he did not place the request on Brennen.

All was becoming right with his world again. He just hoped Roni was ready, because she was going to reap what she sowed with three months of slow torture.

If it feels good, tastes good
It must be mine
Heroes always get remembered
But you know legends never die~
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Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

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PostPosted: Fri Aug 31, 2018 2:57 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

((Heads up. This post involves violence, blood and murder! Don't read it if that's not your thing!))

2. Start deconstructing everything she's built for herself.

August 30th - Thursday - Mid-Morning

Irma Worthington.

It was the first name and address on a list of twenty. All of which had come from a client's list that belonged to one Roni, who owned and ran the Fallen Cross Detective Agency. Confidential information that only she would, or should have access too. Zagan was resourceful though, and unafraid to pick a lock or two to get the things he needed.This was the first of a slew of many misfortunes to happen across one of Roni's clients... Only because he could. And only as Roni would be soon to find out, because the scales had tipped out of her favor once again.

And it was the house at the address besides her name that he strolled up to about mid-morning, a carry tray with coffee down from a little shop down in dockside in one hand, and a bag of pastries in another. Her wore a simple black suit, with a white button down, and solid blue tie. A pair of black thick framed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. Disheveled locks of blond hair seemed naturally tousled, and added a friendly boyish charm to the smile that stretched across his features.

It was a deceptively friendly face that presented itself when he lifted a hand, and knocked loudly, before he waited for Mrs. Worthington to come answer the door. Her husband died a few years ago, so she lived alone, but her daughter, who had gone missing for a short period of time, and was located by Roni, still stopped by to check in on her mother from time to time. Thankfully for him, now was not one of those times. He had waited, observed. Her daughter visited on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It was Thursday morning, and as far as any one else was concerned? His form was glamoured to look feminine and thin, with a wealth of black hair. General enough to be pinned for a certain little detective.

There was first the loud yowl of a cat, followed by the voice of a middle-aged woman chastising the creature as she scooted him out of the way of the door, then yanked it open. The woman that peered through the crack in the door, was middle aged, with bright golden green eyes, rich chestnut hair that curled and froliced to a stop at her shoulders, and a jovial face with smile lines in all the right places. She was still pretty enough to make him hesitate before speaking.

"Hello, Ma'am. Mrs. Worthington, Yes?"

"Oh. Uh, yes. Can I help you sir?" She looked pensive and unsure for a moment.

"Oh, I was hoping so. I'm just running a follow up. Like a survey on how satisfied you are with the services provided by Roni. The detective that helped you find your daughter?" This was earnestly spoken, like he actually cared.

It's enough though, to have her face lighting up just a touch. "Ah! Alright! Yes. Yes! Please, come in. Is that coffee and donuts you have? Oh! They're from the same place. When she was working with me, she brought me coffee and sweets all the time. She's a good girl." Cheerfully.

"A good girl? Mhh. You are not the first to say as such. It's good to hear such positive words." This was spoken as he stepped forward, and inside the door that she pushed wider to give him access inside. "I take it you were satisfied with her work?"

"Oh! Ooh! Yes. She was very quick, very efficient. She had my daughter located in only a matter of days." Irma nodded eagerly, and pushed the door shut once he was clear of it. A mistake only she was ignorant to.

Zagan was not. People as a general were always too trusting of friendly faces. Especially if it was someone following up on a good, or bad experience with something. He thoroughly planned to use that to his advantage, most likely with every single name if he could manage.

Zagan nodded enthusiastically for her "Good, good." He dug a little notepad and a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit, then started to scrawl. "Tell me. Was she well mannered, and professional?"

"Oh, for sure. Always a smile on her face, very cheerful." There's a beat of a pause as she settled on the couch. "Sometimes she's got a dirty mouth, but that's really only it."

He paused at the couch and offered her one of the cups of coffee, and a pastry bag. "Mmmh. Yes. We're working on that with her. It's tough."

"Baaah. Everyone has their flaws, yes? If that is hers, so be it!" She collected both of the offered things, and dropped the bag in her lap so she could pet the white cat that hopped up onto the couch. It hissed and swiped at Zagan's hand when he reached to pet it as well.

"Yeah, your not the first cat to dislike me." Simply to the cat, before he was nodding to Irma. "Yes, yes. Everyone has their flaws. Like you. Really, it's terribly dense to just welcome a stranger into your house." Whatever friendly demeanor he had been putting out was very quickly changinging. Gone was the jovial look on his face, or the devious boyish charm, and in its place was a darkened sneer.

"What do you mean, Mister? You're here to follow up on Roni's services, right?" Irma's voice was very suddenly quiet. Gold-Green eyes were wide with shock, an edge of terror. The cat follows with a low warning growl.

"Oh, Doll. How naive can you really be? Especially after living in this city for so long." His laughter was deep and rich. "I lied. People do that. Too bad though that your mistakes are going to cost you." As he spoke, there was a glint of steel, and a flash of a blade.

In an instant, the cat yowled, and leapt for Zagan, while Irma scrambled, spilling her coffee, and sending her pastry bag tumbling as she tried to climb up and over the back of the couch. The cat's claws sunk into his suit, while it went swinging and batting at his face. With a snarl, his free hand grasped and grappled until he got ahold of the cat's scruff, and wretched it off of him. With a vicious fling, he sent the thing flying for the wall. It it with a thump, landed on the floor, and didn't move. He didn't care if the cat was living or dead, just that it was not attacking him.

No longer hindered by the animal, he whirled around to locate Irma, who was currently over the couch and scrambling for the door. Quick efficient steps have him catching up with her in no time at all. His hand wrapped around her arm just as her fingers found the doorknob. There was a scream that tore from her throat as he yanked her back, then changed his grip from her arm, to wind his fingers into her hair, and drag her back.

"Really, Luv. You are not getting out of this alive. So just be a good Doll, and accept it."

"No! Let go." The words came sharply as she twisted and struggled against his grasp to no avail.

"Sadly, Ronixi has a thing or two to learn. You just happen to be the tool to start teaching her." That said, he let his grasp of her hair go abruptly, and watched as she tumbled to the floor.

Almost immediately she started scrabbling on hands and knees for the coffee table where several things could be utilized as a weapon. He didn't wait for her to reach it. She moved and he pounced, bringing the knife down in a fluid motion. Effortlessly, it sank into her back. Meanwhile his other hand pressed against the back of her head, and shoved her face into the carpet, effectively muffling her agonized scream.

The sharp jerk and thrust of him removing the blade just so that he could stab her again, renewed her screams with fevor, and blood blossomed bright crimson against the pale blue of her shirt. There was one last jerk to remove the blade, before it plunged back into the woman's torso. This time when he yanked it back out, he let it drop to the floor and kicked it aside, before he stepped back. Surprisingly enough, he was impeccably clean, and free of blood anywhere. Magic was a useful thing.

With malignant glee, he watched as her struggling and screaming weakened to more agonized writhing, pained whimpers and desperate wheezing that was the tell-tale sign of a lung filling with blood. He watched as she struggled, and tried to call for help, to drag herself for the kitchen and phone there, as blood pooled and smeared beneath her on the linoleum. She only made it about half way, before the pain and blood loss made her give up and lay there. Suffering, rocked with pain, dying alone.

He finally left Irma to her misery, and carefully, started pulling a small assortment of things from his pocket. Most namely was a small box, and from within it, he plucked out a coffee lid with a smear of dark purple, near black lipstick on the mouth piece. He had plucked it out of the trash at Roni's office when he had fetched the names and made sure to purchase coffee from that shop. Which was what he had handed Irma before. Gingerly, he plucked up one of the two spilled coffee cups, and switched out the lids. The clean one was dropped back into the box, and exchanged for a small sandwich bag filled with various black and rainbow colored hair. Once more, from Roni's office, or more namely her brush she left in the bathroom. Carefully, methodically, he started placing them here and there. On the couch where she would of sat, a couple in the place of the scuffle, and finally, for good measure, a few between Irma fingers, like she had grabbed her hair in the scuffle. She was just barely breathing now. The knife he had used was something that had been the same specifications that Roni's was.

With the utmost care, he deposited the bag, and the rest of the hair back into the box. It was closed up, and tucked back into his pocket. Careful steps carried him around the room just to make sure that he wasn't leaving a trace of him behind, and ended with him besides Irma once more. Given no one was slated to come until tomorrow morning, and she lived in a house, with a decent yard, he was certain the neighbors hadn't quite heard anything... so he was in the free. So in silence, he simply waited until the rise and fall of Irma's chest ceased to be, then he turned and left. His retreating steps were hurried and rushed, and while any curious eye would not see him rushing off, but instead, the form of Roni. Glamours were lovely things, especially when trying to frame someone for something or another.

Honestly, just a little bit of investigating would have everything pointing at the Private Investigator in a very easy case. He just had to sit back and watch everything unfold.

Roni had screwed up many things in his world, and it about time that he started repaying the favor, whether she was ready or not.

If it feels good, tastes good
It must be mine
Heroes always get remembered
But you know legends never die~
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Pretty Little Nightmare
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 11, 2018 7:34 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

3. Let her know she's not in control any more.

September 6th - Thursday - Late Evening

The week had been long for Roni. Between hunting down, and dealing with Crazy Cultists with Cris and a few other familiar faces, and losing a very dear and kind client, and trying to console her daughter along with everything else in between, the faerie felt stretched to her limits. Stressed so much she hadn't even really stopped for a moment and taken pleasure in harassing a certain jerk, and making his life as miserable as she could.... Small reprieve for him, just meant that she had plenty to make up for.

Currently she was curled up in bed, with Lacey asleep, and purring like mad on her chest. Thankfully, and thanks to a substance or two, her sleep wasn't elusive. It came easily, and she welcomed it with open arms.

A subtle shift, a mental nudge, and she was drifting, searching... until she located the ever familiar dreaming mind of Zagan. There was no hesitation in delving right into it.

And she came to a quiet and desolate landscape. The earth was blackened, cracked and scorched beneath her feet, what was left of the trees stood as giant sticks of charcoal. The acrid smell of smoke was sharp and pungent, while the air danced with the faint smog of it. As far as she could tell there wasn't anyone quite there... At least not with her first initial scouring of the landscape. A second one revealed the ever familiar form of Zagan crouching and inspecting something among the ashes at his feet.

"There ya arrre. I was startin' ta think that I had the wrong dream or somethin'." Her voice carried.

Zagan's attention snapped to her and her vocal announcement that she was there. A quick study told him that she was not a figment of his dreams. Not wearing pyjamas like she was. He really can't help the knowing smirk that pulls at his mouth. Nothing like the normal defeated look on his face that came when he realized that it was her, and not Dream Roni.

"Ahh, Ronixi. How nice of you to come and haunt my dreams again." His gravel voice was bright, merry, almost taunting and mocking. "Do you have anything particularly exciting planned for me? Or is this just going to be another night where you drone on and on about how horrible I was to you and how much I ****ed you up, with random interjected violence just because you feel like it?"

His response, the cockiness was enough to have red flags bouncing around like crazy in her head, and anxiety clawing at her chest. Instead of entertaining his flamboyant words and attempt to poke some kind a reaction from her, those abyssal hues narrowed sharply on him.

"Zagan, stop ****in' around. What happened ta the sniveling defeated man I've been dealin' with? I miss that pathetic little look he went n' gave me when he realized I wasn't a dream fantasy."

A deep rumble of a chuckle followed her words, while a jovial smile curled the corners of his mouth, and crinkled lines along his brow. "Oh Ronixi. You didn't really think that having one thing over me would keep you in a position of
Power over me forever, right? Eventually. At some point it would come down to this."

There's a couple of steps taken closer to him. "Come out with it, Zagan. I've had a long week. M'not up fer dealing with yer ****."

"Ah, Ronixi, I think you are going to be more than willing to put up with me. Tell me, Doll. Does the name Brennen ring any bells? Last name Lynch?" The smile that curled his lips spoke of something disastrous.

He spoke that name, and her heart dropped into her stomach. He knew something. She could tell. "Yeah. He's the ****face that stole Siobhan's head." This was snarled softly.

"Ahh. Good. Do you remember what happened him? That it was Siobhan that brought forth his death? Now the only way that can happen is if someone puts in a request with the Dullahan. Or she would of been locked up long ago, and we wouldn't be here."

His words had her utmost attention. He most definitely knew something. Her whole demeanor changed. Thin shoulders slumped and a defeated look came over her features, and for once, she didn't have something smart to say.

"See. The funny thing is, when I went to try and request that you be removed, I found that I was unable to. Why? Because about three years ago I apparently went and put in a request on Brennen. But really, we both know that was not my doing." Malicious glee danced in those neon blue eyes of his.

"No." The word came softly, almost pleading.

"Oh, yes, Doll. That.... That was a very bold move. You do know... All I need to do now is to speak up. That it was not me that placed that request. You'll be finished. You'll get no pathetic attempt to maybe save your friend, or really a chance to even say goodbyes, I'd imagine."

His steps carried him closer to her, the ground crunching beneath his feet. "I mean... I knew you were pretty bold, but I didn't think that you were
that damned bold Ronixi. Mh." He stopped when he was about a foot from her, and leaned so that his face was only inches away from hers.

A poker face did well at not giving away everything that she was was feeling. Terror. Panic. Not only would such news reaching the dullahans spell death for her, but it would probably add to all the trouble Siobhan was in as well. She's also mildly surprised that he actually tried to put a request in on her. Her abyssal hues didn't leave his neon blues when he leaned down and
invaded her space.

There was silence from her. What could she say? She had no words. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she knew that once again he had control. She didn't say anything. But she instead, reared her head back, before jerking it forward to headbutt his face. Just so he'd wake with a headache.

There's a started yelp from the man as he jerked back away from her, hand coming up to cradle his face. He was bleeding from both mouth and nose, and grumbling a series of curses. "That's going to ***ing stop too. Not more with the beating the **** out of me in dreams either. I'll give you that one because you've always reacted violently to bad news. No more. Or I go to the Dullahan."

He reached out after a moment with a bloodied hand to pat her cheek. "Buckle up, Doll. I'll offer you this first. Come back with me to my estates like a good little girl, and everything,
everyone you care about here, will be safe." He held up a finger to silence her protesting. "Orrr. You've made my life a living Hell all summer. Refuse. I'll make you watch everything fall apart around you. By the end you'll beg me to take you back to my estates."

"**** off, Zagan. M'never comin' back to yer sorry ass." She saw the smug look on his face, and something told her that those words were bitter hopefulness.

"Very well, Ronixi. Perhaps I'll be seeing you around. Keep an eye out, luv. Till then." He wiggled his fingers then snapped, and very abruptly everything went black...

.....And she snapped awake in her bed, startling Lacey who was curled up at the foot of her bed since Roni had been thrashing in her sleep. There's a second where both faerie and cat stare at each other for a moment, eyes wide, before Lacey bolted off the bed and into the living room.

"Ah, ****." The word came out on a huff of breath, before she's scooting off her bed to stumble off and find some kind of painkillers and her phone. Already her throat felt tight with her rising panic. She needed to call someone... and she really didn't have many to call early in the morning, but she had a certain elf in mind.

The painkillers were because she had one killer headache too.

And you'll see me holding up my middle finger to the world
**** your ribbons and your pearls
'Cause I'm not just a pretty girl~
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