-*- chthonianGunslinger Previously on All My Dreambubbles...
-*- chthonianGunslinger "No terrror-not even the eldessst of ourrr kinnnd stannnd a chance! Whyyy should I place faithhh in you; a sinnngle, pathetic little crrreaturrre, like theeey have done with those hopelesss childrrrennn?"
-*- chthonianGunslinger  "Tell me ssswiftly, beforrre I brrreak your neck."
-*- chthonianGunslinger And now, All My Dreambubbles...
-*- chthonianGunslinger URK--
-*- cunningConnery He couldn't say it was entirely unexpected, nor could he say it wasn't entirely what he wanted. It was a show of anger, and anger was exactly what he was trying to dig up. People stopped thinking when they were angry, mortal or otherwise. Plans were thrown aside, logic left for dead, and anything could be fed to them with all but the right wording and a touch of luck.
-*- cunningConnery Rationally, he had to tell himself, the tables had just been turned into his favor.
-*- cunningConnery ...But that didn't make it any less fucking terrifying.
-*- cunningConnery Rest assured, the fervent trembling on his part was very much so real. No smoke and mirrors here... though it might as well be. As bonechilling and humilating as the terror might have felt it did its 'job', so to speak, of keeping his true cards to his chest.
-*- cunningConnery But the tentacles, the slimy and yet shudderingly soft tentacles, coiling around his neck and arms and always, always threatening to tighten just so and k--
-*- cunningConnery Jesus fuck, no, he had to keep it together. Had to hold himself into one piece for just a little while longer, lest he drag down this nightmare to something more akin to a nuclear apocalypse. It was all on him now, no one else; he couldn't twist his head to see how his fellow damsel-in-distress was doing, but it was hard not to ignore all the growls and buzzes and other unseemly noises coming out of him. Sounded like he was about to burst.
-*- cunningConnery Damnit, he--
-*- cunningConnery ...He'd thank him later, he swore. No way he could screw this up now. Not when he was carrying all the cards.
-*- cunningConnery God help him, he'd get them out of this.
-*- cunningConnery (At this point, honestly, he'd just be happy if God helped him at all.)
-*- cunningConnery (...But he had learned better than to put any stock in such fanciful things.)
-*- cunningConnery (He'd help him, then.)
-*- cunningConnery "N-now now," He quivered, his faint smile growing taut and quietly nervous with each second-- Don't insult him, don't get cheeky, don't don't don't say anything that puts his peers in a vain light-- as he tried his best to the quell the internal screaming he so wanted to unleash. "Oi'll admit y'goht a point therhe, killin' a demon 'tain't no easai feat, 'specaially one o'his grheenest's calibur..."
-*- cunningConnery "M'not claimin' Oi can kaill him, Oi doubt anyone can..."
-*- cunningConnery (And frankly, he wouldn't do it even if he knew he could. It was too risky, too high stakes and, quite frankly, too pointless. He was an opportunist, not a hero.)
-*- cunningConnery (A mutt.)
-*- cunningConnery (That's where he disappointed everyone the most.)
-*- cunningConnery "...But what if Oi told ye Oi could keep him awai frhom this verhy manor? F'good, even? Oi hear therhe arhe... cerhtain people who laike t'keep thais place somethain' o'a safe space frhom that overgrhown Christmahs trhree."
-*- cunningConnery "Whai don't we mahke it official?"
-*- cunningConnery And somehow, despite the tentacles coiling deeply into the ruts of his spines and the furious violet eyes threatening to bore deep into his soul lest he make one wrong move, he felt his smile returning in full flourish. Because this, this of all things, was something he knew he could accomplish. This was foolproof. This was perfect.
-*- cunningConnery And, best of all, no one had to die.
-*- cunningConnery No one had to suffer.
-*- cunningConnery (For once.)

-*- abstersiveTournure ...of course it wouldn't like that. Of course it would be furious. It was being tricked, lied to, as far as it was concerned. An insult -- to its intelligence among other things -- and merely mentioning something so much more powerful was insulting, infuriating, to it. He could hear it in the growling, the little warnings -- stupid stupid stupid boy --
-*- abstersiveTournure And then it spoke, and he choked silently. It was all rattles and overlaid echoes and a thousand whispers pressed and twined together, nails on a chalkboard and hissing and buzzing in his ears. Maddening.
-*- abstersiveTournure He shivered and, carefully, slowly, tried to start breathing again.
-*- abstersiveTournure He did his best to glare instead. It did nothing productive, of course, but it made him feel a little better. It was enough to let him disregard how tight, white-knuckled, his grip was around the Yamato. Focus -- focus. Think about this thing, what it's saying, don't be scared don't be angry don't be scared --
-*- abstersiveTournure (-- hopeless children? Break your neck --)
-*- abstersiveTournure His head snapped up. But -- there was something wrapped around his arms he couldn't mOVE --
-*- abstersiveTournure Breathe -- breathe breathe breathe. Don't growl. It had him by its tentacles, wrapped tight and too slimy but like they shouldn't be tangible at all -- it -- he couldn't fucking move --
-*- abstersiveTournure Cael was speaking and he dared not breathe. Soothing lilting little words, as if those would at all placate this monster -- it wants to kill you now you imbecile you mindless dolt --
-*- abstersiveTournure Vergil seethed silently, desperately hoping this didn't go so horribly wrong as he thought it would. The little fool actually thought he could play this game. Actually thought he had a chance of talking his way out of it. It wasn't interested in talking. It had, it seemed, more readily than not accepted its circumstances.
-*- abstersiveTournure He'd only heard a little of the demon: enough to know that it was coming and it was death. It was ultimate annihilation, a reduction to nothingness at a scale that seemed unfathomable. And it was not stoppable. Not by an army, and certainly not by one puny, inexperienced human boy. One who'd only begun to glimpse, nevermind fathom, the mechanics of reality.
-*- abstersiveTournure And this creature was no fool. If it, a god, held out no hope (what they understood of hope) to stand against devastation, it would hold out no hope for a boy.
-*- abstersiveTournure ...But it might be amused to see him try. Interested. Maybe -- just on the slim chance that its curiosity eclipsed its fury -- just maybe. But if it went wrong, there were no second chances. If it didn't like what he had to say, there was no slipping out of that noose.
-*- abstersiveTournure And even if it was interested, there was little morality to limit it. No reason it couldn't choke and torture and maim the truth out of him. And kill him afterward, if it pleased. And if he kept the secret to his grave, it could find him here and then there was no escape in death.
-*- abstersiveTournure (If there was any secret.)
-*- chthonianGunslinger (Possibly, yes.)
-*- abstersiveTournure (Rumors were a dime a dozen, but with a creature as this, what did they really know about it? Let alone something the gods wouldn't know.)
-*- abstersiveTournure (Shut up. He's angry at you.)
-*- abstersiveTournure (Gambling with one's life on the creaking rusty hinge of a rumor. Rocks and hard places or otherwise, it's not a reasonable way to die.)
-*- abstersiveTournure ...The places where the tentacles coiled were cold, deathly cold, terrifying and unnatural and encroaching on the center of heat that always burned in his chest, on the very nature of his existence. They were too -- too cold. Too constricting. Snakes wound so tight he couldn't move -- couldn't sweep his blade free and cut away the hangman's halter --
-*- abstersiveTournure He couldn't fucking breathe --
-*- gatheringTournure "...Let go." It was a layered rasp, seething with all the throaty hiss of a lizard. Certain kinds of birds and lizards, right? He'd always been most interested in them. The thought, the memories, were steadying, just a little.
-*- gatheringTournure But that only meant that the words that came out were steady and smooth, like he'd really taken the time to think them through. (Secretly, he couldn't think. Couldn't stop himself from speaking but couldn't think. The words strung themselves together in a rapidfire, terse, articulate blur fueled by panic and fear he'd never admit to.)
-*- gatheringTournure "You do not benefit from killing or maiming, here, nor will you enjoy it in all likelihood if you are so infuriated." The stark, nearly emotionally sterile reason wasn't backed by the roiling terror alive in his chest. He strained against the binding tendrils, shivering. "Let go --" Please please please please --
-*- gatheringTournure (He'd hate himself for speaking up later, probably. And for pleading, if internally. But no more or less than any other time. It was just as well that he validate that loathing once again.)