Post by Miss Jack on Jan 7, 2009 2:07:15 GMT -5
Alexander stood with half of his feet hanging off the edge of the Edge, hands on his hips, bent slightly at the waist to peer into the void below. The rapid winds tore through his hair, yanking it in all directions around his face.
A bit bored, he tossed down a fireball, which promptly hurtled right back up and exploded in his face, the flames curling over his ears, through his air, and then vanishing into the wind.
From within the raging current that extended into rolling black clouds, and beyond visibility below, a black shape formed and then landed next to Alexander on the cliff edge.
Flame-colored eyes shifted over. "That was fast," he remarked.
Armand straightened, turning to look back at the rushing portal of the Edge. "Alexander...." he said quietly. It barely carried over the noise of the wind.
Alexander stepped back from his precarious perch, directing his full attention (it was rarely in one place at once) at his twin--- who looked... shipwrecked, burdened. Which isn't to say Armand didn't always look too-serious about something, but this felt as if something very massive balanced on something very small, and it was about to tip.
"What?" he finally asked.
"Real world changed something. Mortals are falling directly into the last stage of sleep. They're asleep only an hour, and their subconscious has been predirected.... some way, I can't tell, but... I couldn't change anything. I tried several minds, Alexander. Something is wrong."
"What do you mean you couldn't change anything?" Alexander demanded, perhaps too harshly.
"I mean I was utterly useless inside these minds. Whatever programming they had didn't allow any outside activity. I just... sat there."
Alexander sucked in a sharp breath. Sat there? They were Nightmares; essentially born of the human mind, their purpose was to manipulate subconscious emotion... how was it possible they could do nothing?
"I'm going to try," he announced shortly, and without waiting for a response from Armand, leapt into the Edge.
He sought a mind he knew he could affect. A prison? No-- better, a convent. Catholic, preferrably-- a nun who had given in to lustful temptation.
She was already dreaming. He entered the serene scene unobtrusively. A church, of course. His target sat on the fifth pew, head bowed in deep, contemplative prayer. He wondered if this was really a dream she wanted, or one programmed for her.
What was he saying? Was he already agreeing with Armand's theories?
Alright, Sister, he thought. Time to repent. But as he called forth a scene of burning purgatory.... nothing happened. At best, the atmosphere of the church wavered, and the temperature rose by perhaps two degrees.
What the hell? (pun intended).
His eyes sank closed as he concentrated, finding the threads of her subconscious, willing them to bend to his desires, but it was as if someone had replaced the flowing, free waves of the human mind with steel chords: already set in place and entirely immovable.
Except, he had every intention of moving them.
Fire blazed around the edges of the nun's premeditated dream, not quite penetrating, waiting, searching for a single crack that would bring about her downfall. Alexander pushed; unbelievably hard, he pushed, for something that had once been as effortless and natural as breathing.
And then the dam broke, and fire flooded into the nun's subconscious. Too late to stop, the force of the nightmare was perhaps too strong (strong enough to inflict slight permanent damage), but he couldn't pull back.
The nun woke up screaming, soaked in tears and sweat, and Alexander collapsed beside Armand at the Edge.
"Here!" he gasped, and shoved all the extra fear at Armand.
"You did it!" Armand said, clearly relieved, because perhaps he'd been wrong after all-- but then he got a good look at his brother.
Alexander sank to his knees and braced himself on his palms to catch his breath. Each one was a shuddery effort that shook his shoulders to his fingers clutched in the dirt. He lifted his head, sweat dampening the roots of his hair, dripping down his temple. One nightmare had exhausted him.
Armand's initial relief crashed down around them.
"What's happening?" Alexander asked, trying not to appear too much like the little brother, though he certainly felt like it.
"I don't know."
A bit bored, he tossed down a fireball, which promptly hurtled right back up and exploded in his face, the flames curling over his ears, through his air, and then vanishing into the wind.
From within the raging current that extended into rolling black clouds, and beyond visibility below, a black shape formed and then landed next to Alexander on the cliff edge.
Flame-colored eyes shifted over. "That was fast," he remarked.
Armand straightened, turning to look back at the rushing portal of the Edge. "Alexander...." he said quietly. It barely carried over the noise of the wind.
Alexander stepped back from his precarious perch, directing his full attention (it was rarely in one place at once) at his twin--- who looked... shipwrecked, burdened. Which isn't to say Armand didn't always look too-serious about something, but this felt as if something very massive balanced on something very small, and it was about to tip.
"What?" he finally asked.
"Real world changed something. Mortals are falling directly into the last stage of sleep. They're asleep only an hour, and their subconscious has been predirected.... some way, I can't tell, but... I couldn't change anything. I tried several minds, Alexander. Something is wrong."
"What do you mean you couldn't change anything?" Alexander demanded, perhaps too harshly.
"I mean I was utterly useless inside these minds. Whatever programming they had didn't allow any outside activity. I just... sat there."
Alexander sucked in a sharp breath. Sat there? They were Nightmares; essentially born of the human mind, their purpose was to manipulate subconscious emotion... how was it possible they could do nothing?
"I'm going to try," he announced shortly, and without waiting for a response from Armand, leapt into the Edge.
He sought a mind he knew he could affect. A prison? No-- better, a convent. Catholic, preferrably-- a nun who had given in to lustful temptation.
She was already dreaming. He entered the serene scene unobtrusively. A church, of course. His target sat on the fifth pew, head bowed in deep, contemplative prayer. He wondered if this was really a dream she wanted, or one programmed for her.
What was he saying? Was he already agreeing with Armand's theories?
Alright, Sister, he thought. Time to repent. But as he called forth a scene of burning purgatory.... nothing happened. At best, the atmosphere of the church wavered, and the temperature rose by perhaps two degrees.
What the hell? (pun intended).
His eyes sank closed as he concentrated, finding the threads of her subconscious, willing them to bend to his desires, but it was as if someone had replaced the flowing, free waves of the human mind with steel chords: already set in place and entirely immovable.
Except, he had every intention of moving them.
Fire blazed around the edges of the nun's premeditated dream, not quite penetrating, waiting, searching for a single crack that would bring about her downfall. Alexander pushed; unbelievably hard, he pushed, for something that had once been as effortless and natural as breathing.
And then the dam broke, and fire flooded into the nun's subconscious. Too late to stop, the force of the nightmare was perhaps too strong (strong enough to inflict slight permanent damage), but he couldn't pull back.
The nun woke up screaming, soaked in tears and sweat, and Alexander collapsed beside Armand at the Edge.
"Here!" he gasped, and shoved all the extra fear at Armand.
"You did it!" Armand said, clearly relieved, because perhaps he'd been wrong after all-- but then he got a good look at his brother.
Alexander sank to his knees and braced himself on his palms to catch his breath. Each one was a shuddery effort that shook his shoulders to his fingers clutched in the dirt. He lifted his head, sweat dampening the roots of his hair, dripping down his temple. One nightmare had exhausted him.
Armand's initial relief crashed down around them.
"What's happening?" Alexander asked, trying not to appear too much like the little brother, though he certainly felt like it.
"I don't know."
