Traversing Time

A/N: This is an actual roleplay that is still ongoing. Rose and I have decided to share it so I will edit to the best of my ability. It is sort of a twist on beauty and the beast. Reviews and comments welcome. Enjoy!:


Fear ruled one too many lives. She was a strict mistress that left little room for argument and appeared in more forms than a mere human could keep track of. One could see the trail of her fingers in the nightmares that woke small bodies in the dead of night. She influenced the stories told to children in order to ‘keep them in line’; worked through the lesser humans that fed off despair, and crept into the smallest crevice if there was a foothold.


Pride was also the downfall of mankind.


“I think you’ve been dipping into your parents’ good scotch, Lucas. Why would you accept such a dare?” Soft lips pulled into a frown as the figure swiped his forearm across his itching nose, leaving a trail of flour in its wake.


Lucas glared, huffing softly as he watched the young man continue to knead dough then roll it out as he prepared to make the sweet rolls that sold so well in his parents bakery. Siri was odd, simply put. He rarely hung out with the kids in their small town, or if he did it certainly wasn’t with the ‘in’ crowd.


“Everyone knows it is merely a story anyway. No one lives in the abandoned house. Certainly nothing that resembles a scarred, bitter, humpback of a man or a spirit of some murder victim. I thought you grew out of such nonsense when you were a baby.”


“If it is such nonsense then you go.”


Dark eyes, the color of bitter chocolate, flashed in irritation. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what people said behind his back, he just took little notice of it. “Let me understand this, then. You took a dare given by your idiot friends, come into my parents shop to insult me, and then wish me to go in your place?” Siri lifted a skeptical brow, absently brushing at his long hair, unmindful of the picture he made.


Lucas had the grace to blush, though tilted his head stubbornly. He might have been in the wrong but it was hard for him to back down. Finally, Siri rolled his eyes, sliding a pan into the hot oven, the rush of heat bringing a flush to his cheeks. “Fine, I shall go tomorrow. And after I prove you wrong you can do my chores for the week.” He flashed a stunning smile, which brought a soft groan from the other boy.


Such a stupid promise, and currently the only reason the young man was walking in the predawn light. Not that you could tell, since Fate, along with Pride and Fear, had decided to mock him with heavy gray clouds and the smell of rain. A gust of chilly wind pushed his black hair into his eyes and made him wish for his hat.


Soon enough, and perhaps far too soon, he came upon the rusted iron gates that led to the aging manor. Telling himself he was a fool he tugged his thin coat a bit tighter, silently reminding himself that it was all speculation, stories from bored kids. His gaze swept the leaf strewn path, boots crushing the dead foliage, sounding overloud to his suddenly sensitive ears.


“I hope the door is locked,” he muttered, with only his own mocking thoughts to hear him as he carefully mounted the front steps. Luck seemed to be against him too as the heavy door opened under his touch, the twisted form of the door knocker sending a shiver down his spine. It looked like some twisted demon with a gaping mouth and seemed to be laughing at him.


Swinging his gaze forward and breathing through his mouth he stared for several moments into the darkened hall. Nothing moved, not even a floor board creaked. It was eerie and raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Well, if there was one thing Siri was it was honest, and if another it was stubborn. With a long look behind him he finally crossed over the threshold, vowing to make the journey quick so he could get back to his beloved baking.


However, things were simply not meant to be. He had no sooner made three steps than the floor dropped out from under him, a wide gaping pit opening up to swallow his scream whole and his body with it. There was nothing left to show he had been there except the door that banged in the increasing breeze. And Siri just kept falling and falling…


XoXoXoX


“Boys and girls of every age, wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”


He could hear them as if they were standing right beside him, a hundred thousand voices joining in one frightening chorus.


“Come with us and you will see, this our town of Halloween!”


He didn’t move, eyes glazed over and heavily lidded, face tilted up towards the heavens. He didn’t look like he was paying attention, but his ears twitched; he listened. Listened for something in specific, past the citizens of Halloween Town, past their excited, blood-curdling screeches…


“Please, please, what are you doing? Let me go, please let me go. I didn’t mean to… you know I didn’t mean to! No, don’t, don’t! Let me go…Please…”


He smiled.


There it was. A single, keening voice, raspy with exhaustion, muffled with tears. A little shiver of pleasure slithered down his spine and the smile stretched a little wider across a pasty grey face. His head turned and his body shifted so he could watch the parade march by the graveyard gates, eyes taking in everything from the glow in their fevered eyes to the blood they left smeared on the ground in their wake.


He’d chosen the graveyard because it would be empty tonight. After all, who hung around in bed on Halloween? It was quite probable that he was the only citizen not pushing and tearing and screeching and screaming in the holiday parade, and for that he was thankful. He was very much alone, draped comfortably in the icy arms of one of the angels overlooking the smaller headstones.


“This is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of night.”


He hummed the song he knew by heart, looking torn between exasperation and wistful desire.


He could see them perfectly, pupils opening until there was hardly any iris left, gaze trained in an almost hungry manner on the proceeding. The parade stretched all the way down the street and into the city, illuminated by lamps and torches. He could smell the blood on the air; his tail curled, the hairs standing on end. The sheer craving need to be a part of the mob was almost overwhelming, but he stayed put, gripping the edge of the headstone and making himself as comfortable as possible. Before he could lose himself in the song, he diverted his attention back to the Voice.


“Stop, no, stop! It hurts!”


He licked his bottom lip and his ears twitched eagerly. Deafening himself to the song, which swelled and boomed in the heavy night air, he listened for the sounds of shredding skin, ripping teeth and claws, hungry moans and terrified screams. The voice gurgled and gasped and then was silent. They’d finished him already?


“Pity,” he breathed to no one in particular, seeming to relax a little. The wave of people seemed to condense for a moment, and his sharp eyes could see them diving, fighting, killing, devouring where they could. He recognized the blood lust all too well, and as he swung his feet in some sick mockery of child-like curiosity, he wondered how many people would be dead tomorrow.


They hadn’t even gotten to the fountain and they’d already killed one of the people they’d chosen for their heathenistic practices. “Tsk, tsk, they’re losing contro-o-ol,” he sang gleefully, wide eyes sliding upwards to look at the stars before watching the parade again. It was passing, the last few picking through the dead bodies littering the streets. The song continued:


“It’s our town, everybody scream!”


But it was softer now that the crowd had moved on towards their destination at the other end of town. He mumbled the last few lines of the city’s non-official anthem under his breath and stretched out, back arching impossibly. The lust that had been growing in his strange yellow eyes dwindled with the excitement of watching the parade, and the former emotion set back in.


Boredom.


Godrick was bored.


So. Bored.


He couldn’t remember how long he’d been alive – his memory was a story within itself and not something he enjoyed thinking about – but he knew he’d been around long enough that the routine of revolving his life around a holiday was beginning to get old. The pleasure of Halloween was fleeting, and although he relished the sinful night, he wanted something new. He flopped back against the stone, looking closely at the tomb he was resting on top of.


He traced a long, spidery finger over his angel’s face and marveled at how something so sweet and lovely had ever come to decorate the graveyards of this place. She looked out of place, especially holding someone such as himself, and he took notice of this.


And sighed.


It was a long, terrible sigh; such a sigh, in fact, that he was actually a little breathless afterwards. He shifted, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side. He leaned against the giant angel’s chest, his frown irritated and his gaze flickering impatiently.


Godrick was a strange looking creature, though perhaps not strange in comparison to some of the monsters down by the fountain. He was small and slight, only standing at about five feet three inches or so. He was slender, skinny, and sickly looking; his skin shown in the moonlight as shades of grey instead of pink, there were dark circles under both eyes, and especially now, crouched in a graveyard, he looked like one of the dead. His eyes betrayed the life that his complexion didn’t; they were bright gold, sharp, and glinting with mischief. Very strange eyes… the pupils, instead of being circular, were vertical slits, quite like those of a cat. Stranger still were the ears resting on the top of his skull or the tail that lay curled on his lap, twitching and thrashing to show his irritation.


He reached up, twirling his hair between his fingers as he glared, sulking, at his shoes. His hair was long and shaggy, creeping in tangles down to the nape of his neck, curling and clashing wildly about his face. It was, for the most part black, but there were streaks of bumble-bee yellow, dropping into his vision and earning a quiet huff of impatience. The color choice of black and yellow extended passed his hair; the tail and ears were both black, with the tips of each appendage dipped in bright, neon yellow.


As for clothing, he shunned the trends of his society (which demanded rags drenched in blood, for the most part) for an outfit that was cleaner and less terrifying. His jeans were black and slim, his high tops were green and ratty, and his shirt was simple, snug, and dark; the only really interesting thing about his current ensemble the scarf that was wrapped about his neck. It was striped (red and black, for the curious), and long. Very long. Ridiculously long. He’d wound it loosely about his neck twice and it still dangled down to his knees.


He was strange looking, to say the least, and yet there was also something deceptively attractive about him. Something not quite right, seductive, dangerous. He moved with impossible grace, his lusty eyes dropping from the sky to glance around him. His mind, which was neither stable nor sporting a particularly impressive attention span, was beginning to wander.


And when it came to Godrick, this was never a good thing.


It was around the point where he began to swat at things that weren’t there when the situation seemed to change entirely. He let out a little gasp as a heavy weight was suddenly dropped into his lap, probably with enough force that he’d have bruises later, and his eyes, which had drifted shut, snapped open to frantically focus on whatever it was that was now resting in his lap.


He blinked, an ear twitched, and he stared with a blend of surprise, annoyance, and delight at what appeared to be a boy who had fallen from the sky and landed oh-so-conveniently into Godrick’s lap.


His prayers had, to all intents and purposes, been answered.


The irritation disappeared entirely and he sat up a little straighter, poking a finger into the boy’s shoulder. He was soft, soft and warm, and within a moment Godrick had buried his face in the crook of the dazed boy’s neck. Whatever this thing was, he liked it. He liked it a lot.


He remained like that for a few moments, having recovered from any shock or surprise. After a second or two he leaned back again, head tilted and a look or errant fascination apparent on his face a he absently twirled his fingers in the thing’s hair. He wondered what it would taste like. “Hello,” he said, wickedly sharp canines flashing in a creepy little smile.