ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Left Behind

Vignette - Left Behind
Dramatis Personae Foom, Kai
In Absentia	2013-11-09 A nightmare during a nightmare.
Location <XS> Anole and Kai's Dorm
The Host slept. And, as he always did, Foom watched. His vision was clouded, now, here in the dreamscape that the Host created. Foom was locked behind walls. Ever-changing and ever-constant walls that kept him from consuming the Host and loosing his glory upon the world. And, Foom realized, those walls might very well be the death of the Host. Tonight, the dream was different. Foom could make out the shadowy walls of the school; recognizable from those times when Foom watched as the Host made his way through his pathetic (although necessary) day of learning. This time, though, there were different monsters lurking in the shadows. Familiar and terrible monsters. At the end of the hall, well away from Foom's own prison, he could make out the thin form of the Host. The puny thing cowered even in his dreams, shying away from the deepest pools of shadow. Perhaps he could smell the rot there, a smell that filled Foom's nostrils more every day as the Host's own illness progressed. The Host would join the ranks of the dead, if the stupid monkeys did not do something about this sickness. And then Foom would be lost to the world. It was enough to make Foom claw at the walls of his prison and roar in frustration. As he always did when this happened, the Host flinched, and actually moved /forward/ down the hall, as if seeking out Foom's chamber. Foom shifted peevishly in the always-cramped confines of his cell, and watched the Host as he approached, smiling inwardly whenever a lunging figure from the shadows made him cry out and shrink back. It was most delicious when the figures wore the faces of those on whom the Host had placed great importance. “Tiny Host,” he whispered, pressing against the wall and letting the boy /feel/ it. “Tiny Host, they have left you to die.” The Host flinched, and color drained from his ethereal face. And Foom watched. And smiled. “Your friends,” he continued, a sibilant purr that the Host allowed to fill his ears. “They have left you. Peter has fled. Sophie has fled. Even the one called Ivan has left you to fend for yourself. They have no care or respect for you.” His mental breath was long and heavy. “They only fear what glory you house.” The Host stopped, glancing nervously at the shadows. “Th-that is not true,” he said, his voice unusually strong. “They are my friends. They are scared of the sickness, and what it might do.” “They fear you, Tiny Host.” Foom was firm in this. The boy must learn to trust no one. The silly hope he pinned on monkeys was inconvenient at best, and infuriating at the least. “They fear you will die, and then Foom will be unrestrained. As well they should.” It was a lie, but it had the desired effect. The Host began to tremble; his eyes widening as the shadows began to move again. This time, Peter emerged from the shadow, the color of his chitinous skin faded to a dull blue that was somehow even less flattering than his pink monkey form. The other boy leaped /over/ the Host to dangle from the ceiling on one of his glue-threads and began lowering himself. “You see? Even in death, you only serve them one purpose,” Foom said, scraping against his cell walls. “You are only a thing to be disposed of. They do not care for you.” The Host began to back away as the dream Peter began to lower himself, his jaws working like a piranha's as he sought flesh to bite. As he neared another pool of shadow, a phantasmal figure rose up. Sophie was no ghost in this dream, her all-too-solid arms reaching out to capture the Host in one of her patented hugs, this time with her teeth bared. The Host yelped, and scrambled away, only to be met by Rasa and the twins. Rasa was wearing a zombified version of the twins' countenance, and ze hissed as ze grabbed for the Host. “Tiny Host, you will die in this school, at the hands of these monkeys. At least Hendrickson was an honest monkey. He never pretended to be our friend. Now you see this illness as it peels away the outer layers and reveals that all monkeys are full of treachery and monstrosity. Learn this lesson well, Tiny Host. It may be your last.” Surprisingly, the Host stood his ground at that. “No,” he said, twisting away from Rasa and the twins as they came for him. “This is not a thing that is true. Ivan is my very good friend. He is true, and not like this.” Foom didn't create the shade that appeared at that moment, but the resulting wave of fear and misery from the Host was so heady that he could only watch in torpid ecstasy. The final shadow produced nothing less than Ivan, far more pale than usual, and his skin seeming to writhe from the number of bugs that swarmed over him His eyes were vacant and dull, and when he opened his mouth to emit a hoarse moan, Lena crawled out and fanned her long blue legs over the older boy's chin like a gruesome goatee. The Host began to scream, then, seemingly rooted to the spot at the horrific state of his friend. The screams came with more frequency and volume the closer his friend came to him, and he held up his hands as if to ward him off. He reached maximum volume as the Russian's hands landed on his upper arms, and he was hauled forward into an impossibly-widening mouth, thin legs kicking uselessly as bugs swarmed over him. Eventually, the insects found his mouth and silenced him. And as always, Foom watched. And smiled to himself as the Host woke with tears on his face.