Smoke & Mirrors: Dillen Dreams Again

4/25/2006

Logfile from GarouMUSH.

[GMNote: Stacey GMed this dream sequence.]

[In Brownstone, Dillen's apartment.]

Dillen is restless, even as his cub name was, again. All that has been going on has him on the couch again, sleeping fitfully.

As the Get's awareness pushes through the fog of sleep, deeper into the world of dreams, he opens his eyes to view the well known streets of St. Claire. Old Requiem territory. The streets appear to be empty. And quiet. The Galliard's moon shines high in the midnight sky, and a cool spring breeze brushes past.

Dillen looks about and goes about his normal way. His hands shove down and into his pockets as he begins a patrol he was used to in that day.

All is well and normal as Dillen patrols, that is, until he approaches a rather large warehouse. The tall sliding door is open several inches and a light shines out from within. The sound of laughter can be heard and cheerful, spirited talking.

Dillen tilts his head towards the sound, trying to make out voices. He shakes his head and then continues on. A happy warehouse is nothing to investigate.

A loud, somewhat familiar voice rises above the others, proud and confident, obviously male: "Kick back another beer, Nikolai." More laughter and cheers as Dillen passes by the door, the light that streams from the door almost touching his shadow. Up ahead are more warehouses, dark and locked.

Dillen tilts his head once again. A few slow steps take him to the door to look inside it. He pulls the door open slightly, hoping to maybe see his old pack mate.

Not just his old packmate, /all/ his old packmates. Sitting on various crates or standing with crossed arms, the tough and hardy crew of Requiem - past and present - seem to have gathered, beers in hand. Brom steps over to Kevin, slapping him on the back. "Oh, yeah, it's been a good day. I just fucked the hell out of Rillie."

Dillen stops in the doorway. He surveys all the people in the room, looking them over. His arms cross over his chest and he raises a brow. Seeing them all here causes him to be a bit confused, especially since one is dead.

Lucas notices Dillen first, grinning broadly and motioning him in with a hand, the one that's not clinging to a beer. "Dillen! Come in, come in. You don't want to miss the meeting." He stands up from where he sits, raising up his hands for quiet. "Now that we're all here, I believe a toast is in order." Kenneth pushes up from the stack of crates he had been leaning against and walks over to hand Dillen a drink.

Now he is confused. "Meeting?" He asks, eyes furrowed. "What meeting?" The drink is pushed into his hand and is quickly set down on a nearby table.

Dillen's questions are ignored as the pack turns its attention to Nikolai. The Fang raises his beer, surveying the group. "To the Requiem of this worthless pack. To finally moving on to better things. And to Alphas that keep failing to see the shit that's happening right underneath their noses. May the other packs learn from our example."

"Fuck you." And with that Dillen is up and headed for the door. "Don't need this shit."

The group bursts into laughter at Dillen's words, apparently highly amused. Michael even wipes away a couple tears, while Kevin stage whispers: "He never saw it coming."

Dillen turns with a feral look, "Saw what coming?"

When Dillen turns, he no longer sees the illuminated warehouse, but instead a dark, damp room. The Get is almost overwhelmed by the foul odor of the place. Death, decay, blood. His foot bumps against something soft as he moves, and the floor is slick. Just enough moonlight squeezes in between the cracks in the walls to reveal what stands before him. A large black Crinos, wrapped in layer upon layer of thick chains. Weighed down by them, weakened. Blood drips from his mouth and claws, onto the red floor beneath him. ~Hungry. So hungry...~

Dillen steps back, shifting up and into crinos for protection. He keeps his eyes on the crinos and still tries to check out the room for exits, windows, anything. He tries to get his back to a wall for protection. ~Who are you?~ He asks the chained crinos.

The stink of death almost seems stronger as the Get backs up, his clawed feet stepping over soft, awkward objects, some of which crunch under his weight. If he looks down, he'll see the shredded limbs and bones of humans, blood staining skin, clothes, and the wooden floor. The Crinos steps closer, chains scratching against the floor as he drags them forward. ~Please, friend, packmate, feed me. I can no longer reach.~ No answer as to who he is, and the darkness still obscures its face.

Dillen kicks things out of his way. His heightened senses make him slightly retch at the smell. ~Lucas. You are dead. You no longer exist. I sent your soul to Valhalla.~ His clawed hands come up, ready to do battle if he must. ~Go back to Valhalla, Lucas. Your should should sleep.~

~Lucas?~ the Crinos repeats the name softly, curiously, sniffing the air before dragging himself and the chains even closer, entering a patch of moonlight. It is now that the Get can clearly see that his eyes are not the blue of Lucas, but gold.

~Fuck me.~ Dillen mutters out. ~Oh fuck no...~ And with that, the crinosed Bloods-Bane leaps at Kenneth to rip him apart. It is a rake of his claws meant to put Kenneth down fast. ~I cannot allow you to live now.~

As the Get's claws swipe down, it is not a chained black Crinos, but a dark brown wolf that he strikes, leaving a long red gash along its side. The Glass Walker looks up at him with mournful, repentant eyes, not moving to defend himself, but instead lying down, bleeding upon the center stone within the Caern. Like a sacrificial lamb. The Sept has gathered. Dillen can sense them. Their hot breath upon his neck, eyes glaring at him and Power-Up, the rumble of their growls as they call for death and punishment.

Dilllen is thrown aback for a moment as he looks down on Kevin, bleeding on the ground. ~No.~ He turns and looks to the crowd. ~He is a warrior. A mistake was made. We need the warriors. There is much to be done. Give him the voice or the stone but allow his claws to fight. We are losing. We are the fools if we kill. Make them die in battle not lying down and waiting for death. Use their claws!~

Dillen can't quite make out just who is there, but he can see yellow eyes peering out from the darkness, shrouded figures waiting to pounce. The moonlight gleams off of their bared teeth, sharper and longer than any normal Crinos. Discontented, mocking whispers rise from the crowd, growing louder as Dillen speaks. Litany breakers. Failures. Dishonored fools. Liars. Kill them. Kill them all. Who needs their wicked kind? They are a stain upon this holy ground! Only these two remain. Kill them and be done. They have served... no purpose. A sharp, piercing pain shoots from Dillen's shoulder as lupine teeth sink into him, struck from behind. Blood drips down as the Walker hangs on fiercely. A low, cold voice whispers in Dillen's ear. "This is what you never saw coming."

Dillen begins to fight once again, not going down easily. His claws flash through the air, moving to claim flesh in any way possible. ~No.~ He says through gritted teeth. ~This will not happen.~ He fights ever more, claiming his own destiny, to die in a fight.

The fanged mouths widen in delight as Dillen begins to fight, and then they, too, leap toward him. All he can see is darkness, silver teeth, silver claws, yellow eyes. Scratching, biting, pain pain pain. And though he struggles, valiant as any with Fenris blood, there is no hope for him to win. There is only pain. Failure. Blood. Death.

Dripping with sweat, Dillen pumps awake on the couch. For a moment he snarls and claws at the air with his hands. Then he realizes that the battle was only in his head. "Fuck." He says as he calms some. Hand go through his hair, wet with perspiration. He shakes his head, clearing the visions. "I gotta stop sleepin."

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