YAN-PARA au master post

[earthflames]

WHAT IT SAYS ON THE BOX.

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[tracings]

[He sees this, and this is most certainly the opposite of what he wanted. Startled and just a little frustrated, he can't help but snap]

Don't what?!

[beautymark]

[It's reflexive to flinch, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the changes that fear brings. There's sharp, cracking thunder and lightning, and the fish all double in size, twisting into grotesque, toothy monsters.]

I don't like this. It's not supposed to be the whole world!

[tracings]

[Congratulations, Archer, you did the exact opposite of what you said you'd do in less than a minute flat. He has a moment, a split second to realize that he needs to stop setting new personal records like this, and he tries to even the tone of his voice in response.]

It doesn't look like you have that choice. Calm down before something else happens.

[beautymark]

I can't! Cu says to look at real things and wait for him, but there's nothing real to look at and he's not here!

[Quickly descending into panic, now that he's been set off. There is not much that helps these fits at home, and none of the things that do are available here. All they have is a landscape quickly turning warped and a many-tentacled thing crawling out of the river.]

[tracings]

Then look at me!

[Or his back, at least - remember that thing about being a big, damn hero? He can't drop it - not in an impulse moment, like now. He steps in front of Diarmuid, swords drawn, watching the tentacles ooze towards there]

[beautymark]

It can't touch you. It can't touch if it's not real...

[Nevermind that they could touch the fish. "It can't touch you" is key phrase in his process of keeping himself together, so he's clinging to it even when it's blatantly not true.]

[tracings]

I'm not going to count on that, you know.

[He backs up, watching that thing's movements. Dear self: keep your fucking mouth shut next time.]

Unless you want to test that theory for me.

[beautymark]

Well you can't just fight it!

[Can we pull Archer away and run? Let's try.]

[tracings]

[He'll allow himself to be pulled, but not without an argument]

Then what do you want to do with it?!

[beautymark]

Run away!

[It's all in his head. He's sure it is, so they just need a door.

Once he thinks that, there's a doorway in the middle of the grass, attached to nothing. He pulls the door open without a second thought and shoves Archer through before him.

Inside is a neighborhood. A poor, dirty, City neighborhood of the sort that exist just about everywhere. It would be a totally mundane scene -- if it weren't for the carnage. In this neighborhood there's nothing but dead bodies, blood smeared and splattered everywhere. Everyone has been indiscriminately killed, from the smallest child to the frailest grandmother, and some have been outright mutilated in the process.]

[tracings]

[Archer stumbles through the door, and once he gets his bearings, his expression is, for just a moment, sickened and incredibly displeased. He has to compose himself, for his own sake and Diarmuid's most likely, and so he straightens up and tries to not look at... all of that. Which proves difficult, though his shoes prove to be a convenient point of focus]

Thank-you, this is much better.

[beautymark]

[Once they're there the door disappears.

Also once they're there, D freezes. His face goes completely blank for a moment, and then that terrible smile starts to creep across it.]

Ah... this is...

[tracings]

Not something you should be looking at.

[He's seen that smile before, and knows all too well that stabbings (or worse) follow on its heels. Archer walks straight at Diarmuid, trying to give him forewarning before he claps his hands over Diarmuid's eyes]

Hurry up and hallucinate another door.

[beautymark]

[He lets Archer put his hands over his eyes, but he doesn't come up with any doors. Instead he laughs, unhinged exactly how Archer could have expected. His voice is sing-song and shaky, and he holds perfectly still.]

I can still see it. It's a memory.

[tracings]

[If this is futile, then he'll simply let go and put a fair amount of distance between himself and Diarmuid - close enough to be able to leap at him if necessary, far enough to be able to anticipate any sudden attacks]

And not one that should be dwelt upon. You don't need to bring this up now, so cut it out.

[beautymark]

I can't make it go away. I can never make any of it go away.

[It's hardly more than a mutter, and meanwhile the sound of innumerable shrieking sirens fills the air. Suddenly there's enough blood on the ground to splash in, and it's only rising.]

It's not my choice.

[tracings]

[Ugh, fine. Fine. We're returning the favor and grabbing Diarmuid by the wrist and giving him a level glare]

Then tell me where we can go that's safe.

[Mother fucker, this blood better not soak into his pants in the waking world. The last thing he wants is horrific blood stains ontop of a near death experience]

[beautymark]

There's nowhere!

[He's smiling, laughing, but it's all a hysterical response. He isn't enjoying anything, he's just that frightened and hopeless. This is a familiar state of being for him, and one that Archer's probably seen before. Only usually it doesn't end up making dismembered children get off the ground as zombies.]

No safe places. Only dying.

[tracings]

[Okay, now that's just fucked up and gross. Without letting go of Diarmuid's wrist, he goes for a sword with his free hand and stands at guard]

We're not dying, I'm not in the mood for that shit.

[beautymark]

Will you cut them even if they cry?

[tracings]

[Archer tenses - way to hit a soft spot, Diarmuid]

...you said it yourself. They're not real.

[beautymark]

They were, once. I remember every face.

[and now they are very upset children, crying and frightened and pulling at Archer's legs as if to drag him under the rising blood]

[tracings]

[Perhaps he doesn't hesitate enough. Perhaps he doesn't try hard enough to find another way out. Doubtless, he'll ask himself those questions once they're out of whatever it is, but for now he only needs a moment to steel his resolve before he gives a good kick to free himself from those tiny hands. Anything that still clings, well, he'll cut himself loose then, pulling at Diarmuid, just trying to move away for lack of any other place to go.

Between the Emiya siblings, there was always Kiritsugu, affectionate but absent-minded, and Shirou, dim but outgoing and responsible -- and in between he was the difficult one, the cruel one, and while he's grown out of some of that, the harsh practicality remains. Even if they cry before he cuts them down, Archer knows not to hesitate when it comes to Diarmuid and his delusions]

Once. So they won't care if I kill them again.

[beautymark]

[That reaction just gets more laughter. He pulls away from Archer, cheerfully skipping off through the now knee-deep sea of blood in almost dancing steps. The adult corpses are up now too, but he ignores them in favor of making his lazy way towards the town center just a few houses away. Archer can cut them all, but they'll just keep moving.]

Come on, Archer! You'll have to kill them all or you'll die too!

[tracings]

I've noticed...!

[He doesn't want to, of course, but he doesn't want to die. Not here, at least, even though he can't say he'd be surprised if that happened anyways. Archer isn't a killer like Diarmuid, all he has is his own personal training, but it's enough, maybe, to fight back and struggle towards the center of town]