songerein | [OPEN] Where Every Day is a Nightmare

Entry tags:

[OPEN] Where Every Day is a Nightmare

Who: Alastor, OPEN
Which: Interactive Dream, Open
What: Alastor is dreaming of his Hell. Feel free to explore it.
Warnings: High potential for blood, violence, bad language, and all sorts of assorted nastiness. This is Hell after all.

Entry into the dream was a fall.

Glowing hotly in the blood red sky was a massive pentagram. Below it was Pentagram City, capitol of the Pride Ring. Neon lights advertised drugs, sex, gambling, and any other perverse pleasure a sinner could possibly want. The buildings literally smiled or glared at its citizens both new and old, grinning mouths and blinking eyes peeking out from just about everywhere if they weren't prominently displayed to begin with.

There was a cacophony of noise. Not just the usual city noise of traffic or the occasional angry shouts. No, there were also constant gunshots, screams of agony or terror, and crazed laughter. It was a mockery of life, a twisted reflection of any modern city.

Landing was harsh, painful. The dreamwalkers would find their bodies had changed to match their various sins. While they might find one or two aspects of their new forms pleasant, there was always something that they greatly disliked. And everywhere they walked, the place was littered with the aftermath of various sins: passed out drunks, discarded needles, corpses, and so much more.

At the street level, more detail could be seen. There were billboards between the vulgar ads proclaiming "YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED" and "PUNISHMENT". Graffiti offered "good times" and proclaimed "Fuck you Heaven!" alike. And scattered about were clusters of little hand drawn posters of a familiar deer demon in red proclaiming "BEWARE RADIO DEMON. DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM"

((OOC: Feel free to tag around amongst yourselves in addition to running into Alastor. Though just an FYI, Alastor isn't a lucid dreamer. He will need to be made aware of that he's fallen asleep and dreaming...and will take some convincing since a lot of people arrive in Hell and claim it's a bad dream.))

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He's not sure what he expected, but he supposes landing facedown on the street is just par for the course. Hilariously, there was no need for him to land so harshly as his form in this dream grants him six huge, white angel wings. He's never had wings before though and so they're of little use as he makes his crash landing.

Satan groans as he lifts himself off the ground the ground and into a sitting position as he takes a good look around. His jaw drops a little as he takes in the scene all around him. It's all very... um... what the hell is going on here?

He's not going to find out who's dreaming this dream by kneeling here, so with some effort he picks himself up into a standing a position. He chooses to just walk forward, ignoring the distasteful scene in his peripheral vision. Of course, that doesn't stop him from seeing the things in front of him but he just chooses to... ignore that, too. Or at least pretend that he's not seeing any of it.

In his wandering, he eventually comes across some graffiti. He ignores it like everything else at first, but one in particular catches his attention. "Beware the..." His eyes finally fall onto the hand drawn posters. "...the Radio Demon."

Now he understands -- and perhaps, he scolds himself, he should have understood sooner. No wonder Alastor was probably bored to tears in the dream version of the Devildom. Based on what he's seeing, Alastor certainly wasn't kidding about the casual murder, drug use and whatever the hell else was going on here.

Satan runs a hand through his hair, which feels oddly shorter. Okay. If he's in Alastor's version of Hell then the first thing he needs to do is find Alastor. Simple enough.

As he turns to start walking again, he catches sight of his appearance reflected in a broken window. Short, neatly styled black hair, red eyes, the six heavy wings he felt on his back, a brilliantly white outfit with gold trim and the black and blue highlights typical of the Celestial Realm's attire. It's the haughty image of Lucifer staring back at him, his expression quickly melting into anger. The window suddenly finds itself a bit more shattered than before.

Of course Alastor's dream would make him look like this. Of course it would. When he finds that stupid deer demon he's going to tear the skin right off his face!! Ugh!!

With his hand bleeding, a few stray droplets staining his pantleg red, he walks down the street in search of Alastor -- or anyone, really -- his anger eating away at him. He can't believe this. Not again. Dreamworld or not, not again.

There weren't very many human-looking demons. Most had lost all semblance of humanity upon their falls. Eyes peered out from various inanimate objects, the last lingering traces of sinners who'd met their ultimate ends at the hands of angels.

Some of the sinners looked upon Satan and immediately gave him wide berth. Angels weren't common in Hell, after all. It wasn't Extermination Day, so this angel must have Fallen like Lucifer. Did he intend to try and take the throne away from their king?

Much farther down the street was a pleasant-seeming cafe, the fish-like demon shaking as he brought two plates and a cup of coffee to his only customer.

"H-Here's your deviled eggs, Mr. Radio Demon..." the waiter whimpered.

"Thank you! That'll be all for now!"

The waiter scurried away as Alastor returned to his newspaper, a couple of Hellish crows perching on the fence separating the courtyard from the street.

Satan only half-notices their reaction to his presence, and noticing just makes him angrier because they're acting as if he's -- as if he's Lucifer. He's nothing like Lucifer. Not in looks, not in personality, not in anything.

While there appears to be a fair number of demons around, even if they seem to take issue with him walking down the street -- none of them are who he's looking for. He notices the crows though and, his first thought thinking that they must be lurking around Mammon, he approaches the fence.

Once he's close enough, he peers through the fence and finally spies his target. "Alastor." His hand reaches out to grip the fencing in front of him. He would very much like to just tear the fence apart, and then tear Alastor apart. As angry as he might be, though, he's well aware that this is Alastor's dream and the scale would be tipped in Alastor's direction. That, and he's not even sure if he'd be stronger than Alastor outside of this dream world to begin with.

Alastor heard someone grip the fence, his ears twitching. "Hmmm?"

He lowered the newspaper, looking at his unexpected visitor.

"Well, aren't you an interesting one!" He grinned. "A bit early for your kind to be out for a stroll through Hell. And unarmed! Will wonders never cease!"

Both of Satan's hands are on the fencing now. He can't help but acknowledge that it's better for them to be on opposite sides of it, even if it's for his own good.

"Alastor, it's me." He says that, but the voice that comes out isn't even his own. It's deeper than it ought to be, and just hearing that sound come out of his--Lucifer's--no, his--mouth is upsetting.

"I guess you must be used to the whole debauchery that's going on in general, then?" Ugh. Make it stop. Make the Lucifer voice stop.

Alastor tilted his head to one side. "I'm afraid I've never met you before, my good fellow! Or if I have, it's been quite some time!"

He picked up one of the deviled eggs and tossed it onto the ground. The crows immediately swooped down and started fighting over it.

He then looked back towards the angel. "I doubt you're one of my victims! I was always very picky with my targets! None of them would've even caught a glimpse of the Pearly Gates!"

The irony of what Alastor's done isn't lost on him. It's nothing to be too torn up over though because demonic crows will be demonic crows.

"This isn't what I'm supposed to look like," he says, and although he's doing his best to keep his tone calm and even, his fury is leaking through anyway. It's not like Alastor can be fairly blamed for not realizing it was him, not with such a drastically different voice and appearance. That doesn't stop Satan from blaming him, though.

"It's me," he says again, more firmly. "Satan."

"Oh now that isn't true, my friend! I may not have met him personally, but the Prince of Wrath looks nothing like you."

He folded his newspaper.

His hands grip at the fencing more tightly than before and he has to remind himself that it's a terrible idea to destroy the fencing. Just as Alastor sees frowning as a sign of weakness, Satan sees losing his temper as a sign of his own weakness.

"Not--that--Satan."

Looking at Alastor just makes him feel angry, so he turns his attention to the demon crows instead.

"Me. The one who interrupted you when you were admiring nature. With -- with the blond hair, the demon horns, the tail." Logically he can understand why Alastor doesn't make the immediate connection but even so, Alastor's failure to somehow immediately and magically recognize Satan in this form is driving him up a wall.

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