ArchivedLogs:Vignette - If we Shadows have Offended

Vignette - If we Shadows have Offended
Dramatis Personae Tag
In Absentia	2013-10-31 Warning: non-consensual physical contact, adult situations, tentacles.
Location <NYC> Rainbow Land - Village Lofts - East Village
The factory has been empty for a while, but the raptors nesting in the rafters keep the vermin away. Well, most vermin. Tag and Aidan climb in through a broken window that looks out onto the overgrown empty lot. It is cool inside, a respite from the last gasp of a sweltering mid-Atlantic summer. Broad shafts of sunlight from the windows cut through the gloom. Abandoned industrial equipment scattered around the floor loom like alien hulks. "This is /amazing/!" Tag's quiet soprano echoes in the cavernous space. He trots out into the center of the factory floor, turning himself round and round. Aidan watches him with an indulgent smile. Tag spins around to face him, grinning wide. Walking backwards, he bumps into a piece of equipment and yelps. "Perfect. Stay right there." Aidan has a vicious gleam in his eyes as he approaches. He reaches into his messenger bag and comes out with a locking carabiner. "Lift your arms up." "Isn't it /my/ turn?" But Tag complies, running the tips of his fingers over his lover's cheeks in this process. The cuffs slide down only slightly on his slender wrists when he raises them above his head. "Yes, but I'm cheating." Aidan captures the D-rings of his cuffs in the carabiner and clips them to a component of the machinery Tag cannot see. His cold hands slide down over Tag's sun-tanned arms, over the not-actually-tie-tyed tie-dye t-shirt, then up under its hem. Tag bites his lower lip. Aidan's hands reach the sweat-soaked binder beneath his shirt and undo the zipper that holds it shut. Tag draws in a deep breath and shudders. "Aidan..." His expression changes from rapture to confusion. "Um, Aidan...? Why do you have so many hands?" Aidan's grin has transcended lustful glee and ventured into the uncanny valley. His fair skin goes ashen, the hazel green of his eyes become faintly luminous, and his strawberry blond hair turns into a nest of writhing shadows. Similar tendrils lick out from beneath Tag's shirt, from the sleeves and even the collar, "No, what are you--" Tag's voice is a strangled squeak of terror. He tries to twist away from Aidan, but the shadows and the bonds hold firm. The tendrils wrap around and slither up his neck. His eyes snap wide open. "No Aidan, stop. Red! RED! Ai--" Tag's struggling turns to thrashing as the grip on his neck tightens. His mouth opens wide, but no sound comes out and the shadows pour in. Aidan's smile widens to impossible proportions to reveal perfectly human and perfectly white teeth. The living darkness closes over Tag's eyes. He jerks violently-- --awake, gasping and whimpering under a bright pile of covers in a Technicolor blanket fort. Scrambling closer to the uncertain glow of an ancient desk lamp on a cardboard box in the corner, Tag hugs his knees to his chest. He does not move for long time.