Tour of the Dungeons [OPEN]

[Vagabond[101]]

"...And this is the library... Bunch 'a mildewy fucking books. Useless, if you ask me. Buuut some people like it, so hey, whatever pops your cherry." Vagabond shrugged as he gestured around the vast assortment of books. Usually he avoided the place- But while he was waiting for judgement on whether or not Edgar would be able to stay in the territory he figured it would be prudent to show the newcomer around his new home.

"Are you the type who likes books?" He said, turning to face Edgar. "You seem like the type who would enjoy a book. Not that it fucking matters to me either way. I mean, they're goddamn pieces of paper wrapped together in a piece of fucking cardboard, but whatever." He shrugged again, turning to look at the library. The truth was, he was not a very good reader- He barely knew how, and needed teaching- and somewhat envied those who could. He loved books- But the Library held very few that were on his reading level. And the ones they did have were... Well... Childrens' stories.

[Edgar [44]]

Edgar's forlorn optics had lit slightly on coming into the great library, and he was smiling again, with all of the painful awkwardness therein. Realizing that his input was needed, or at least requested, he coughed vaguely into one of his hands and mustered himself back to the present.

"Ah, yes... I happen to be... something of a reader, at times." he confessed, tugging on his hood for what had to be the nineteenth time this morning. It didn't seem to have any real purpose, just one of many nervous habits that had fostered in an individual who seemed to spend most of his time in a state of borderline alarm. "Agreeable, really, as a means of passing time. Haven't had the opportunity much, I..." Edgar's optics flickered, suddenly trying to look everywhere but Vagabond. "...don't exactly stay still very well..." As he spoke, his voice had gradually devolved to a low murmur.

He hadn't seen it. Not yet. Not here, at least. Naturally he wouldn't presume it had at last abandoned him, for the peace was hardly free- there he caught sight of a vague figure, something lurking in the corner of a bookshelf that dissolved under his gaze.

And why should it leave him? It had promised so much itself. A verse came to him, the line procurred from depth of memory, and in his preoccupied state, he let it pass his lips without much thought.

"And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore..."

[Vagabond[101]]

Vagabond followed the other's despondent gaze to find nothing, only more books. "You see something, man?" he asked. He was mindful of the topic they had discussed the previous night- And so caution coated his normally brash words.

He swept his slanted eyes across the room, but with his eyesight poor as it was he could see nothing. Maybe the doctor really was insane. Either way, Vagabond knew, there had to be some way to help. Sure, it would be hard to beat the shit out of a shadow, but fuck if he wasn't gonna try.

As Edgar rattled off some... Poetry, it seemed... Vagabond attempted to understand the verse and failed horribly. "What the fuck does that even mean?" He grumbled. The verse stirred something in his memory, though. Nevermore...

"Oh, like, Edgar Allen Poe? Oooooohhh, that explains your fucking name. I never did get his poetry. Bunch 'a depressing shit. Super wordy too, guess the fuck liked big-ass words. Fucking ridiculous. But we have a couple books on him, somewhere around here..." He jogged to a bookcase a row in and clambered haphazardly up the shelves, then began looking along the spines of books.

[Edgar [44]]

"Ah- I became, ah, lost in thought for a moment. My apologies." A half-glimpsed phantom was no reason to trouble his companion. Now, in daylight hours, he felt... a bit ashamed, unsure if he really should have burdened someone else with his troubles.

If it came for him, it really was better if it caught him alone. Would be better. For everyone, really; simply because it had never raised its hand to another didn't mean it couldn't... and wouldn't start.

Edgar followed after Vagabond, not climbing the shelves, but standing at the bottom, looking up.

"The Raven, actually. One of his more popular works. I believe it was," he paused, somewhat oddly in the middle of his sentence, either to choose his next words, or simply entertain some other morbid thought. "...something of a prophecy for his own life."

[Vagabond[101]]

Vagabond glanced skeptically at Edgar as he dismissed the sighting as a daydream, but blinked a couple times as his erstwhile companion expressed himself verbosely. "Uhm... What's a prophecy, again?" He asked somewhat sheepishly. Some words just escaped him. "Oh, right, where'd it fucking go... God damn it, Uh... Here it is." He used his massive forearms to pull a book from the shelf. "You might wanna get the fuck outta the way before I drop this, skinny britches."

He hung from one hand on the shelf and the other hand pulled the book free, hanging down from his hand. He curled his legs up to keep them out of the way and swung freely from the shelf. He crossed his legs as if sitting crosslegged on the ground, seeming perfectly comfortable with the awkward position.

[Edgar [44]]

Edgar watched Vagabond's climb with a distinctly impressed air; it seemed that, despite his short stature, the other was impressively powerful. Certainly the large, solid arms weren't simply for show.

"A sort of prediction. The poem The Raven describes a man in mourning. He has lost someone very close to him, and in grieving her he has descended into madness. Not long after writing this work, Poe's own wife died, and he himself was similarly stricken by her death."

-_{watching them stagger around, scared and lost, their weak eyes failing them in the dark}-

Edgar's tentatively happy expression froze. Despite Vagabond's warning, the stitchpunk stood as if rooted to the spot, his optics unfocused in the thin air.

-_{watching hunting following there's more to it than that, come on, there's a way to keep it going isn't there you pathetic animal let's see you run}-

"...Oh," he mouthed, softly.

[Vagabond[101]]

"Hey, get outta the fucking way, skinny britches!" He shouted, pointing away from the spot with his chin. "I dunno how much longer I can hold onto this thing." Although plenty strong enough, Vagabond's fingers were smooth and gripless, and the book was slipping through his fingers.

He noticed Edgar's instant change in mood, and heard the soft exclamation from his companion below him. He looked almost as though he were listening for something. "God damn it you fucking bonehead, MOVE!!"

[Edgar [44]]

Vagabond's warning filtered through dimly, unheeded by no virtue of the auds.

-_{give them a real reason to be afraid, and that was the real beauty to it was that it always came right when they thought they were safe}-

"No. NO!" It was the loudest he'd been, and it came out a sort of desperate squeak. The doll staggered back a step as if he had no idea what to do with his legs, knees trying to tremble and move at the same time.

-picking at threads watching them watching you fall apart only you just don't fall apart the way they did now do you-


"Safe here, it was supposed to be- you weren't-" As abruptly as it had spiked up, his volume guttered and died, to whispers that only carried thanks to the near silence of the massive library. He couldn't even convince himself with his accusations, and as if in the futility of it his hands curled over his optics, heedless of the sharp fingers that punched small tears in the fabric above his brows

-oh but I think you know-


...And it was there. No half-glimpsed shadow, but a full figure- filling his vision-RIGHTTHERE- clawed fingers curled around his throat but leaving no indent on the fabric, no sudden pinch of vital wires beneath. It wasn't real. Not to anyone else. Vagabond wouldn't see it, nothing would save him. Edgar's thoughts devolved, a writhing mass of fear that held him frozen on the spot. He did not move as it leaned closer to him, whispered in his auds, passing through the edge of his hood as it did.

-I am always where you are-

[Vagabond[101]]

"God DAMN IT EDGAR!" Vagabond hollered. He gave a rather impressive roar and heaved the book off to one side, where it slammed to the ground with a rather loud 'CLAP'. He struggled to maintain his grip, but never did things seem to go his way- He fell from the bookcase and landed harder than the book on the ground in a heap, face-first.

He got to his feet, spat out a black tooth into his hand, and stared at it in dismay, his slit-shaped optics spinning to slant the opposite way, giving him a look of sad bemusement. He absently tried to jam the tooth back into place (And somehow succeeded) as he rounded on Edgar. "What the ungodly FUCK was THAT about?! He shouted, optics rotating once more into their usual inward-slant, making him look angry once more.

He grabbed Edgar's shoulders and shook him, rather roughly, to snap him out of his trance. Each shake was punctuated by a word- "WAKE- THE- FUCK- UP- YOU- SCRAMBLED- FUCKING- SKINNY- BASTARD. HEY! I'm talking to you motherfucker, PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION!" His anger was not really directed at Edgar- It was simply the circumstances under which this had all happened.

[Edgar [44]]

Vagabond's shaking did ammount to some response; something muttered quickly in a tone that really didn't sound like Edgar at all.

"YOU you're starting to annoy me you little don't pull him away not while I have him he's mine I want to kill him"

-_{no you're not getting away not now I have you I have you you're mine}-

And then, abruptly, Edgar collapsed, dangling limply from Vagabond's grip on his shoulders. The only part of him that retained tension was his arms, his fingers hanging desperately onto the rims of his optics. He did not speak, as himself or in the other, strange voice, but hung there, seemingly unconscious.

Behind his hands, his eyes stared listlessly into space.

[Vagabond[101]]

(Warning: Hilariously foul-mouthed tirade incoming, for those of you sensitive to swear words, you may want to skip this post.)

For a moment, blank shock showed on Vagabond's face as his eyebrows shot up and his optics rotated to stop vertically. Then they slowly returned to their normal furious expression, and Vagabond's entire body followed suit, tensing up. A low growl even started in his throat. It was like watching a bomb fall, knowing there was no way to stop it, waiting for the-

"Listen you pointy headed little squit. I don't fucking care WHO or WHAT you are- If you don't get the FUCK out of my friend right now, I will beat your fucking shit in. I will slap your shit so hard your optics spin in your goddamn shitbrained skull. I will SLAP THE MOTHERFUCKING WHITE OFF YOUR FABRIC, YOU GET ME LITTLE MAN!? I WILL FUCKING TEAR OFF YOUR ARMS, BEAT YOUR SKULL IN WITH THEM, THEN MAKE YOU EAT THEM! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!!! I WILL RIP YOUR ORGANS OUT, HANG YOU WITH THEM, AND SEND YOU TO THE HOT PLACE WITH A NOOSE OF YOUR OWN FUCKING MAKING AROUND YOUR NECK, AND THE DEVIL WILL GO 'GEE THANKS VAGABOND' AND I'LL GO 'NO FUCKING PROBLEM DEVIL THIS BOLTBAGGED SHITMOUTHED BODYSTEALING LITTLE ASSWAGON HAD IT MOTHERFUCKING COMING!! DO YOU MOTHERFUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT THE FUCK I'M SAYING, YOU BACKWARDS LITTLE FUCKTARD!? HUH!?"

He stood panting for a moment. During his tirade he'd lifted Edgar's limp body into the air, and begun to shake it wildly. He stood for a moment, silent save his catching his breath, and then, furious at his lack of response, followed up.

"ENGLISH, mother FUCKER, DO YOU SPEAK IT!?!?"

[Edgar [44]]

A perfect, uninterrupted silence followed this tirade, the last of Vagabond's profanities left to ring through the air at their own leisurely pace.

Edgar's hands uncurled, slowly, with methodical purpose. They dropped, but not all the way, and his optics flitted over them with newfound focus. He flexed his fingers, studied the tip of each.

"Broke off more of them, did you?" It was a low, powerful voice, a stark 180 from Edgar's usual, even more pronounced than the murmured half-aware comment that had touched off Vagabond's fury. It didn't seem directed at the small stitchpunk, either, though his next words certainly were- he looked up, his gaze sharp, focused, and... bored.

"Yes, I speak English. If you mind putting me down? I have a fantastic migraine and you're not helping." He tilted his head back, studying Vagabond with a sort of dull attention. From the way one of his eyebrows arched, the consensus, unvoiced, was less than favorable.

[Vagabond[101]]

This complete and utter change in... well... Almost everything startled Vagabond enough that he gingerly set the other down. "...Uh... So... What..." He began, too shocked to even curse. He blinked once, twice, three times. It was like looking at a completely different person, the way he held himself, his voice... A horrid thought occured to Vagabond.

"I didn't break you, did I?" He asked, somewhat hesitantly. His eyes had rotated downwards again, giving him a sorry look. "Fuck, that's so embarrassing, I hate it when that happens..." He seemed not to realize the implications of his words at first, but then blinked and stumbled over himself trying to clarify "I mean, not that it happens often, just once or twice a week, nothing major..." He trailed off, realizing that the second statement hadn't sounded much better. "Anyways the point is, I didn't break your shit or anything, did I?"

[Edgar [44]]

The odd entity that wasn't Edgar straightened, studied himself as if for the first time in a long time. He scowled the moment his optics landed on the hood, and with a single movement he jerked the pin that held it out, casting it aside and watching it clatter away on the library's floor.

He looked up at Vagabond, aloof and somewhat puzzled, but then his face twisted into an unpleasant, lopsided smirk. If before Edgar's scar had a tendency to ruin his smiles, then here, against a face focused, purposeful, and withotu fear, then it was a nightmarish effect. "Well, isn't this a surprise. Didn't you just threaten to string me up by my own entrails? I am still here."

The stranger turned and walked over to a nearby bookshelf, studying the structure with bored interest. Might make a good vantage point. "Or- oh, I'm sorry," he tossed with condescending insincerity over his shoulder, with another dark grin. "You don't still think this is HIM, do you? Because he's gone. Curled up in his little ball of personal nightmares. Pathetic little thing, isn't he?"

[Vagabond[101]]

The short little ragdoll's eyes rotated back around until they looked angry as usual. "You got one chance, you creepy ghost douchenozzle. Get outta Ed, or I'll beat you out of him."

His hands curled into fists, and he raised his massive forearms in preparation for battle. His black teeth glinted in the light, and he looked perfectly threatening- Or, he would, were he even a little taller.

But it was clear that he wasn't playing games. The snarl was more reserved, less angry, more prepared than usual- He was ready for a fight, looking for one, even.