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.)

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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."

"Don't know what you're talking about," eyes narrowing at the blood soaking in, leaning forwards a bit as a hand set against the ground to keep himself braced. "Careful, might start sounding like you're concerned." There was something up, and he was going to figure it out- of course it didn't have anything to do with the mention of the blackening of his own hands. 76 had noticed that a bit ago, and all the better reason to keep gloves on.

Guess he didn't think about that here. Didn't matter much now, "Unlike you I don't feel the need to piss about and act like I've anything to stake claim to." That other and? Was already shooting underneath Reaper's hood so claws could pry at and under edges of his mask in an attempt to yank it off in one go.

"Protesting too much."

"You never believed in plausible deniability, so don't start now," he replied dryly. There was a reason that 76's fingers were like that, and it might have something to do with the dream state or it might not. He noticed that there were no baby tapirs around them anymore for one reason or another. "Only concerned that if you die like the dumbass you are that I'll be blamed for it. I don't want the headache."

That was rich, considering they were in a corn field of all things. Hadn't little John grown up on one? Yes, indeed. "I have nothing. It doesn't bother me." He jerked his head back, but with his legs so stuck there was little he could do but bob and twist to avoid the fingers catching on the edge of his mask. Normally, he'd just smoke away, but that wasn't an option either.

His mask was torn from his face, and he narrowed his glowing red eyes at 76 and his lips formed a thin line of disapproval. Small black lines extended from around his eyes like little branches of lightning.

"Says the man I covered for until that couldn't work any longer," so what if the blackness of fingers and claws showed more with that mask in his hand, sitting back on the balls of his feet again as he turned it in his hands. More examining it than he was Reaper's face; that was not actually news to him. "No one would blame you, let alone care," and that was not completely true, but he'd rather think it was.

He kept hold of that mask, eyes narrowing a bit as he snagged his thumb against a canine just to smear blood across the forehead of it. Watching it to see if that was some weird dream bullshit, or Reaper bullshit. "You're posturing at this very moment, so bullshit, Reyes."

His tail swayed just above the soil, letting his gaze lift briefly from the mask to Reaper's face, expression just unimpressed.

"I gave you all the means to keep your hands clean, but you were too determined to try to protect me," he growled back, narrowing his eyes. How many times would they have the same arguments? They rehashed the same comments over and over without solving anything, which would leave them both willing to fight to avoid talking any further. He knew this song and dance well. "You're an idiot if you think that."

The blood smeared for a moment then beaded up before being absorbed into the material. More thin black lines around his eyes appeared in response, and the glow of them increased slightly. "You're the one stealing my mask, Morrison."

He shifted, trying vainly to pull a leg out of the vacuum of mud. It moved a bit before it felt as if something grasped his ankle and held it firm. "What's the point of this dream? How do you end it?"

Eyes rolled, "Just as you were determined to do the same in your own way," over and over again it was danced around. Arguments had before, and this wasn't the time for it with the low growl of his voice, or maybe it was over- "You're an idiot if you don't. Only person here who knows me well enough to care is your ass, and you've made a clear stance on that." Easier enough to believe there was some damned game being played than anything else.

He caught Reaper's chin then and lifted it, claws threaded through facial hair and pressed against skin. "You're the one absorbing blood through it. Do you even notice it or is that some card up your sleeve?" There wasn't any missing that change.

76 couldn't be blamed for taking this advantage while he had it either, not after how long he had chased the bastard. "I don't know. I thought this place only broadcasted the occasional dream, not pull this shit," and a reason he was attempting a quick power nap- going to be re-thinking that after this whole thing.

"You had to deal with the political circus; you didn't need to deal with Blackwatch trouble too," he replied tersely. He knew how to keep him and his own safe enough, and the information that they acquired was used to assist Overwatch. That was their purpose. "Yes because you've shown yourself to be a bundle of love and adoration for me," he snapped back. It was amazing they hadn't killed each other, especially now that the shock of 76 being here had worn off.

He bared his teeth, sharp canines making themselves known. He tried to jerk his chin free of the hold, ignoring the insinuation that anything was happening to him. "That mask is part of me," he reminded. "Do you notice the black lines on your hands and arms? It's growing," he retorted. Just another argument for them to have.

They were both still new to the dream situation here, and it was going to take some getting used to. "Did you forget that people dream too? Most of us need to sleep, so it isn't as if you are safe from intruders in your dreams." Him being here had proven that. "And now that you know, you're going to sleep deprive yourself until you collapse. That's your style."

"Part of that political circus, or did you forget that?" Covering any little thing that could have the goings on, let alone existence, of Blackwatch out of any political ring. That included covering for things that Reyes couldn't account for on missions, keeping him from getting arrested when it could be brushed off and under the rug using himself. Stupid? Yes, incredibly so, but he'd done it anyway. "Then why the fuck are you arguing that anyone here would care if you killed me?" Amazingly stupid.

He kept that hold, even digging claws in a bit as his thumb firmly pressed against Reaper's jaw; 76 even bared his own sharp and larger canines in reply without even thinking about it. "You're getting more lines around your eyes and they're getting redder," hissed. Sure he noticed, but he was ignoring how blacker parts of his skin were getting, thanks.

"Didn't think anyone could waltz in when worst we've seen was a few dreams being broadcast on journals like a record," and this was a surprise for them both. Letting his thumb dig a little more against Reaper's jaw. "Your point?"

"I stopped showing up for political events years ago. The only time I did was to eavesdrop from the shadows." Sometimes he would be around for security purposes, but he was never so present as to be seen. There were too many people that wanted pictures, hand shakes and to tell him about the war, and he had no time for that. "Considering we fought on the roof, they will blame me if you die. You claim to have no one care for you, but you're still much too social for that to be true." Idiot, people care.

Fine black lines spread out from where the claws dug into his face, arching like static from the source of pressure. He didn't notice of course. "Who cares? I turn to smoke at will, so what's a few lines. How about you stop avoiding your own signs of degradation?"

As far as he was concerned, they didn't know the rules of this place yet, so anything was technically possible. "You know what my point is. Your avoidance behaviour is only going to get worse when you're exposed to being uncomfortable. Dream isn't something you have as much control over."

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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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