songerein | Half My Life's In Books, Written Pages

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Half My Life's In Books, Written Pages

Who: Soldier: 76 &anyone
Which: Open Interactive Dream; Quest #0901(Baby Tapirs) || Open Log
Where: Dream || Edge of forest and fields
What: The task of feeding baby tapirs within a dream || Recovering after a run in with some red caps, but also there's a fairy cow covered in blackberries.
Warnings: Weirdness that dreams can take on, especially ones edging bad. || Injury.

A.Tapirs

A rich orange sky with yellow clouds and streaks of blue as if it couldn't decide if it was daylight or sunset, fields and corn stalks well over six feet high. Went on for miles, stretched out as far as the eye could see. An old barn, farmhouse- all too far apart to be normal. Smoke rising in the distance but whatever fires they had to be coming from out of sight.

Quiet, with a man standing near some fencing just beside what looked like the start of a corn maze. A scowl on his face, one that didn't fit the young face just by the look of him- "Of course it's one of these," muttered, aware of what was happening to some extent. These were the types that could pull him in, but something had interrupted that.

There was a baby tapir by his foot, gnawing on an ear of corn that looked as if it was glitching between yellow and multicolored. Another wandering a little.

Sounds of groaning machinery was keeping it's distance, at least.

"How many of you got in here?" Little punks.

notice; replies for this prompt will be coming from statued

B. Blackberry Bramble

Had it been the smartest idea to take up the redcap iron hunt from the board alone? Possibly not, but he'd needed to do something, and why not take up one that would have had him fighting? Didn't imagine it would have been like stepping on a fire ant nest the moment he'd gone in to the ruins and brushed against some vines within. Gotten out, gotten some of the farm tools back along with some scrap he'd stashed away.

Currently? 76 was seated on a fallen over log, jacket set aside and already patched up, instead checking over bandaging on his arms. Not alone, however.

Grazing just beside him was one of those Fairy Cows, green leaves and ripe blackberries adoring it. He'd found it on his trip back-

"The moment this is re-wrapped?" A grunt, winding a bit of fabric around his forearm, talking to the cow, "You're going back. Probably safer for you back in your field with your friends." Hell of a day, really.

(ooc: feel free to tag in brackets, I'll match! Want something different? Just shoot me a PM or something and we'll discuss it.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Reaper hadn't intended to slip into a dream, and he certainly hadn't wanted to ease his way into something like this either. He wasn't a big farm-type person, though he had long ago admitted that the high corn stalks was good cover for an advancing black-ops team if they were careful enough. Most wars involved destroying crops to deny the enemy food and cover, but mostly food. An army was a hungry resource consuming entity.

He was pushing through rows upon rows of corn, having limited guesses on whose dream he had entered. It could have even been his own, but he doubted it. Tendrils of black smoke proceeded him as he began to push his way towards what might have been an escape from the maze of vegetation.

He eased out to find himself in front of a fence, but more importantly, there was an old ghost haunting this nightmare in the form of Jack Morrison. He ignored the tapirs wandering around and hopped the fence in a single smooth motion.

"Look what we have here," he growled low in his throat. "Reflecting on the past, are we?"

"Sit and spin, Reyes," it was growled. Didn't match this young face at all, but it went to show something for the fact that 76 remained right where he was. Arms folded across his chest and barely giving Reaper a glance.

The stalks of corn moved in waves as if some great ocean behind them, went out further than the eye could see. So easy to get lost in, and miss the parts that had old blood dried and smeared at waist level. Shadows ran deep, flowing across grass and ground alike in pools and rolling like waves just the same.

All of those little tapir were happy enough to chase shadows and nibble at them. Ears of corn that looked ripped away from the stalk, too. "More or a nightmare if you're here."

Ah that was a familiar greeting, and he shrugged his shoulders to it. There was no expectation that things could or ever would be different between them as they had way too much history. Even his own three hiatus from dealing with 76 on any fleeting level wouldn't stop him from needling the younger man.

There were grandiose videos of a sea of corn, so he assumed this was what it looked like. Jack would know having been a farm boy and all that. He had to remind himself that this was a dream and not reality, what with the cut of the shadows being too much and the creatures that wandered about.

"Oh, you don't like your young fresh face? That body has to feel better than the achy fifty-something one you're stuck in." He knew there were far less aches and pains when he was in his thirties and even forties. "It sounds like you're complaining that you're back being an Overwatch poster boy."

The corn was too tall, too thick- too green, even. Warped in it's own ways that how a breeze went through them seemed more foreboding than it ever had whenever they had a field of the stuff. Whispers came out of the maze, not enough to make out anything distinct, but they were there at the edges of his hearing; like hooked claws begging to turn around or just pull in.

76 remained at the fence, eyes locked on the blood red horizon, even with the sudden smell of smoke that came by. Acrid, not wood burning. No sign of flames, and with how distant the smoke in the distance was it couldn't have been from there either—

"It's not real," how he looked, a hand set against the top of the fence, a bit of blood smearing and dripping from where it rested. Paid no mind if he noticed it. "More complaining about you waltzing in like you can own the spot."

Dreams had a habit of emphasizing or dimming certain qualities in the environment. He was still getting used to the differences in this particular manner of creating dreams compared to what he had experienced in Deerington. The faint whispers from the maze earned a look from him, and he was almost tempted to see what was beyond.

His own sense of smell picked up the scent of smoke, and it wasn't a fire of the corn field so far. Something else. Not flesh either. Not yet anyway.

"And? It not being real doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy the benefits of that younger body." After all the shit they had gone through to get it, may as well live the American Dream and all that nonsense. "I'm certain I can leave if you'd like to be alone with the smoke and whispers on the wind."

The cornfield was a place 76 was staying away from, it never had anything good in it, and when he didn't come to in the middle of it himself- never wander in to it.

He pushed away from the fence, hands rubbing together as the smear of blood remained on the warped and worn looking wood. None of it was on his skin, no matter how fresh it looked or part of it dripped. "You're assuming it feels young," it was grunted, 76 looking off away from the house and the red horizon filled with smoke. No, instead he was moving towards a different field, one that stretched out near the woods he didn't really remember.

"You never leave when wanted, why start now."

Well, well, that was quite the turnabout was it? Look young, feel old. "At the end of Overwatch, it sounds exactly what it would be like. Look young, feel old." After all, what was the old saying? Old soldiers never die; they just fade away. That's kind of what happened to Morrison what with bring crushed under the continued weight of responsibility.

Reaper moved towards the fence and even shifted to step up where he could sit on the top post, looking out over the corn field. He turned his head so that he could listen to the whispers as if trying to determine what they were trying to say. He let 76 go without complaint; they were always moving away or together at any given moment.

"I never come with called either. It makes up the difference."

There were a few tapirs heading in to the woods that he could see, squinting after them as he paused at a pebble covered path. This was new but not at the same time, something familiar tugging at his brain but he couldn't quite place it. Drifting just out of reach-

The voices would sound familiar, and Reaper might even catch his own- when younger of course. No words clear, barely even tones. A mix amongst the voices. No screams, but every now and again there could be Commander, Jack, Morrison, and even John. The only clear words, in a sea of voices familiar and even those Reyes himself avoided dealing with if he ever picked them out. Quite a few that wouldn't be familiar either, more from 76's childhood than anything else.

He took a step towards the woods, boots splashing through a small creek, "Some shit never changes with you."

He saw no point following 76 into the woods when there seemed an endless field of corn to explore. He'd been to corn fields before but not often. Usually it was burned down to deny an military force a source of food or cover, but this was almost peaceful. It reminded him of being on Jack's family farm.

The voices were of interest to him, even if he winced at the sound of his own. Was there something out there, or was this all part of the dream?

"Same could be said about you, Morrison," he called as he slipped from the fence he was sitting on and pushed aside from corn to ease into that field one step at a time. One hand went to the fold of his coat to pull out a shotgun, just as an insurance policy.

"Old dogs, new tricks, Reyes." There was that usual dryness mixed in to his tone, eyes narrowed as he tried to keep the baby tapirs in sight- even if the moment he made it across the creek he found himself in the corn field. Snarling under his breath, deeper within it rather than the edge. Turning and being met with more corn, all of it towering as if more than twice his own height.

The same would be found for Reaper, even if there was a path like there was an old maze within the corn. Voices louder the further gone in to, various tones able to be picked up even if words not- a lot of Reyes mixed in amongst them, more variety to those tones. Ana as well. Gerard. Reinhardt. Oxton. People from the UN, various politicians.

Reaper's hand would find nothing within his own coat.

Blood streaked the corn stalks, made obviously by hands at all heights. Some knocked over, some burned. Further in there was more gore on the ground, stomped in to the dirt. The smell of burn stronger the deeper gone.

When 76 went out of sight into the forest, Reaper thought nothing of it. He had picked his path, and Morrison had picked his. That wasn't an issue, and it wasn't as if they had worked together on anything in years. That kept the expectations that they could get along on any mission, dream or otherwise, to a minimum.

He pushed through the tall stalks of corn, easing his way along even as he groped in his coat and willed his shotgun to form in hand. It was a natural ability at this point, almost like breathing, and yet he found himself experiencing a sensation of loss when it didn't materialize in hand as it should.

He continued to ease his way through, closer and closer to voices, stepping over burnt corn husks. Blood smeared on his coat as he passed, coated his boots, spattered his armour, but he pushed along.

Was this a dream where they were haunted by the past? Probably. What a what a waste that would be.

Shadows pulled thick within the corn, sliding through the blood that was soaking in to freshly plowed soil between the stalks of towering corn. As if to nourish it, the bits of viscera there as if extra feed and why it was all growing so tall. Ears of corn peeking out of husks enough to show a reddish color rather than the deep yellow sweetcorn would take under all of that green and corn silk it usually hid behind.

Fingertips poked just from beneath the earth, skin burned off enough to show muscle and bone. The smell of burning flesh fresh within, mixed with blood and soil, and the smell of corn. The cries of crows up ahead but not visible within the shadows of the corn field.

76 growled to himself still, taking a slow step back as he watched shadows dart around him. Voices were pushing against Reaper, tones growing more in to snarls of their own. Never a word to be picked out now. Something else moving through the corn. Maybe the baby tapir had the better idea of getting out of there quick.

Reaper felt pieces of himself stretch out to caress the shadows, tendrils of black smoke pulling from his arms, legs and coat as he pushed deeper into the corn field. The voices tugged at something deeper, an old longing that he had considered dead and buried for a very long time.

His claws dragged over some peeking corn, spilling blood. Little droplets dropping with soft pth, pth, pth as he passed by. He turned to the side to push deeper as if seeking the source of the scents, sounds and shadows.

Then he began to hum an old war tune, letting the growls add to the sound rather than detract from it. Let whatever was out there come. He would be ready for a fight if it came to one.

Something was feeding off the shadows, the blood and viscera that soaked the soil. Numbers growing as the sky above grew darker and cast deeper shadow; a sky growing deep but not quite black, a red moon peeking out from behind smoky clouds. Not a star in the sky. Caused whatever bit of light was left to turn just as deep of a red, casting everything in that eerie glow.

Eyes peered from within the corn stalks, just a deeper and brighter red, moving along, multiple directions. Voices turned to screams, turned to howls as if calling—

There was a snarl from far deeper in, 76 himself as he huffed out a noise- "Does everything have to turn in to some dramatic horror movie?" As much as things rushed around him, taking a step back as a tail lashed out behind him an clawed hands curled in to fists. An ear swiveling as his head tilted, trying to track all of the movements gathering around.

The energy was there, and the shadows of himself were caressing as he pushed through the too tall, too sharply focused corn. It felt like the night was closing in quite suddenly, and it didn't perturb him in the least; Reaper was at his best in the darkness. It was more what this dream had in store for them.

He paused in his exploration as voices changed and warped, and it sounded briefly as if someone was being tormented. Probably Jack, whatever was left of the asshole at this point. They hadn't gone in the same direction, so he wasn't certain if they were even close to each other. He couldn't tell which voices were part of the dream or part of 76. Some words were clearer than others.

He began to ghost forward, pushing the stalks of corn aside in a very obvious way. Blood coated his coat, and he could taste it on the back of his tongue. So much blood. On him. On his hands. Everywhere. More wisps of smoke curled away from him, and he found his boots sinking into the moist dirt the further he went.

To his ankles. To his calves. To his knees. His movements slowed.

An ear twitched and flicked towards a new sound- or, more correctly, a different sound in the corn, something with more weight to it making it's way through the corn. Shifting, losing some of that and then-

Claws dug in to the soil as boots ripped away for paws, some low snarl jut under his breath before 76 was moving forwards. Pushing his own way through the corn as it parted, catching a scent that had his eyes narrowing. Youth falling away, shedding as skin ripped and gave way to fur in some areas, scars tearing way through flesh and bleeding—

There were hands in that soil, motionless, limbs partially uncovering and showing beneath those roots. Lifeless eyes staring in to nothing if a face had soil pushed from it. All the same. Buried pieces left forgotten so something else could grow, bloodied and torn apart as the process had never been clean.

—Blood dripped heavily from 76's face as those slashes broke a no longer youthful face, trickling over skin and soon enough staining beard as claws cut through corn stalks. Cleaving his way through before he stopped, tail lashing behind him as he kept just out of reach.

"Someone's having a hard time."

There was something out there, he thought. Whether it was real or some figment of the dream he couldn't be certain and right now, he had to concentrate more and more on moving forward. It was becoming increasingly harder, and he was then given the impression that whatever was out there happened to be heading his way.

Again his groped for a shotgun, but nothing manifested to his will. He growled low in his throat, a sound of a threat that it would come to a fight.

He was also aware of the bodies and body parts in the soil. He felt them against his legs, thought there were fingers closing around his ankles or grasping at the folds of his coat as he sunk into the muck.

He stilled at the strong smell of blood followed by a face that was and wasn't 76. It was hairier, the ears were elongated and that was definitely a tail. So in 76's dreams, the guy turned into a werewolf? What a dramatic ass.

"Oh look, the big bad wolf has come to investigate. Sorry I left my red cloak in another dream," he growled, struggling to lift his leg enough to raise it out of the muck for another step. "This is clearly your doing. Putting me in the mud with whatever is left of you, huh?"

"Be more of a cape with you," there was that growl to his voice, shoulders rolling as he took a step back, head cocking to the side as he took in how Reaper was sinking down. Glancing briefly towards his own feet and, well, at least for him the ground was still solid. Soaked with blood, but solid.

Shook a bit of blood away from a clawed hand as well. "The sinking is all you, Reyes. Should just leave you to it."

Much as the howls kept just on the edge of his hearing, standing straight as his head lifted and ears pricked. Eyes glowing in the red moonlight. Blood shined along skin and fur, scrubbing some from his beard and ruffling it as he tried to still get a pinpoint on whatever it was- "No one ever tell you not to wander in to the corn alone?"

"Are you planning on ripping out my throat and wearing my skin then?" His voice came out like a growly purr, as if he were daring 76 to have a go of it. He didn't think the wolf-hybrid was going to, which was a shame since he hadn't discovered how or if death even worked here in this dream.

He shifted his weight but he had sunk enough that he was well and truly stuck. Wisps of himself pulled off as if seeking for something to grasp onto, but he couldn't simply mentally let his body go completely to smoke. It was as if the dream wouldn't allow it. "Off you go then, Morrison."

He too heard the howls, but they were far enough away that he didn't find them currently his biggest concern. His eyes narrowed behind his mask at the beard; even in the dream this asshole was a torment. "When do you think the last time I've been in a corn field? They were razed in the war to deny us food and cover."

"Rather keep the taste of you out of my mouth." Dryly spoken, even if lips curled enough to bare all of those sharp teeth as he said it. A flick of tongue that just barely brushed against his own beard.

Sound was far enough away that 76 dared to squat down, sitting on the balls of his feet, toes spreading out as claws dug in to the soil. Easy to sit like that given they were paws now. Arms folded just over thighs, more eye level with Reaper as an ear flicked back, still gauging where and how far noises were coming. Blood still smeared his face, as if those scars were freshly dug across his face, eyes bright in the 'night' and shadows of the corn stalks.

"Bark all you want, this is a sad fucking sight. What's got you sinking in the blood and muck?"

"Is that so? I suppose you didn't have the spine to kill me, so why would now be any different?" He rolled his eyes behind his mask, the glow of red from the eye holes subtly vision if his head turned in the right direction.

He shifted his weight as he tried to work himself closer to the surface so he could potentially remove himself from this quagmire. This was not the first time he'd been waist deep in mud, but usually there were fewer bodies in it. He crossed his own arms just to look defiant. "What happened to your face? You're a mess."

He snorted and shook his head. "Your dream. I assume you didn't want me wandering."

His head tipped just enough, chin lifted- "Could say the same of you, actually." Not having the spine to actually kill him all the times he could and probably should have by now.

He scratched at his chin, right where blood was catching at his beard, claws making easy enough work of picking drying bits of it out. Not caring about the mess, nose filled with a mix of blood new and old, and the soil itself. The blood that covered Reaper as well, going so far as to reach out and let fingertips drag over that bone white mask.

Smearing blood, because he could.

"If it was me, you wouldn't be in here anymore. All you, asshole."

Reaper chuckled darkly. "Oh I have my reasons," he remarked. There were certain uses for 76 running about barking and drawing Talon attention. At least it had been that way at first, but when the order had come down for him to kill 76, it had been an inconvenient order to have to work around. Best to just avoid confrontation by then.

Ugh, what a mess. He was used to messy situations, but it seemed to him that 76 was just acting like a mangy cur for the purpose of being annoying. He shifted his weight, as if trying to put some distance between them. "Fleas getting to you?"

He shrugged. "So you can't so easily eject me. Why would I want to be stuck in the muck with you drooling over me?"

There was a snort, letting a claw draw some circle of blood right on Reaper's forehead since his hand wasn't getting swatted away. "That really doesn't hit like you want it to with you waste deep in muck," completely flat. This was almost funny, really. Of course, he wouldn't notice the blackened tips of his fingers, how wisps of it swirled along the digits and over his hands, going up his wrists.

"You know how drying blood itches, guess it feels real enough even in this lucid abstract nightmare," scruffing at his beard, further mussing it up without a care. "Terrible company, too." Just as dryly.

At least he could keep it together enough, rather than letting himself sink. "You wish I'd drool over you."

He jerked his head back at the foolishness before the blood that was scribbled on his mask seemed to absorb into the bone white surface. Reaper gave a hiss of discomfort, shaking his head slightly before stilling enough to glare at 76. "At least I know where my blackened fingers come from," he hissed in reply. He had noticed them so up close. "You going to blow up a tree and whimper away this time?"

He did know, but he wasn't about to acknowledge that fact. They all knew. When one was sleeping in the mud or under some meager canopy, sometimes blood, dirt and everything else managed to find their way into the most uncomfortable of places. "I could say the same thing. Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be pissing on trees to mark your territory?"

He wasn't in control of the dream, or so he told himself. He wasn't sinking further at least. "As if. I can smell your breath from here and it's terrible."

A.

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CW: Blood and more

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CW: Just a gore-y wild ride from this point on okay? Okay.

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