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Bathic !!1oQZB1czRDh

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Bathic !!1oQZB1czRDh ID:XXbIhewW Thu 01 Feb 2024 04:25:20 No.5911203 View View Report

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"...I mean, if you want..." You bend down, down, so you can reach her, and you push her hair out of her eyes, and you wipe the glob of snot off her nose, and you watch her eyes dart, tracking your movement, waiting for the terrible moment where your claw will lower and she'll die. But of course she is dead, and of course you wouldn't kill her. Your heart is pure and honest. You said exactly what you wanted, and the pulsing red in your throat and your chest wants it too. It wants it for you. It wants to help. Isn't it your close and cherished friend? Your only companion while you're alone and strange in this place? Your only one for now. Of course it is generous and accommodating. Of course it will allow a place for Claudia too.

>[-1 SV: 0/???]

Of course it will come out of you, in a form like a string of soft pearls, in another like viscera, in another like the snot that beads and threads from Claudia's nose and drips onto her rouged lips, and all of these forms are red. They are red like a gored body, and maybe yours is a gored body, not that you'll realize it then— but they are red and stark against the black and against Claudia's capelet of pale wool. They are reaching for her. When the first one made contact she inhaled bravely. When they began to twine between her fingers, she made a wet sound. She only screamed when the haustoria pushed inside, and even then not for long, because the pearls filled her mouth and her eyes rolled back and she lost definition soon after that. Later, you will be comforted by the short duration of the scream, and you will tell yourself that it was a pity, how it happened, but it was for the best in the end. You will tell yourself that you didn't do anything wrong, and it wasn't your fault if you did.

For now, you hear the scream, and you are fed the snide thought that this could've been much faster and easier and arguably more humane if you'd bitten her and drunk her memories straight out. It was a shame that, despite it all, you were still over-squeamish— but this could be corrected eventually. Eventually. For now, the scream has ended, and Claudia (at this point invisible under a web of red dodder) is sucked up and regurgitated inside you.

If it makes her feel better— if it'll make you feel better— you're not really conscious. You're definitely not cognizant. You are wanted whole and safe and ready, so a web's been knitted over your mind, too, so you don't start commenting about how this is 'gross' or 'evil' or 'not what you really wanted,' as if you ever know what you really want, as if you're qualified to comment. You are honestly just crouching there, dead still, with weird tendrils coming out of your mouth. The only clear thing you'll remember later is the fleeting scream, and it will make you wish you'd drawn a blank.

(5/6)

Bathic !!1oQZB1czRDh

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Bathic !!1oQZB1czRDh ID:otFvM223 Thu 28 Dec 2023 11:35:48 No.5876195 View View Report

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>Seeing red

Gil is undoubtedly around here somewhere, and if it's anything like last time he'll be lucid— and probably looking for you. So does it make any sense to go looking for him, really? What if you walk right past each other? And trying to go find Pat: you have no idea where she'd be, or what body she'd be in, or if she'd be lucid, or anything at all. Maybe she hasn't even gotten here yet! (She probably has, but you never know.) So maybe you better start scoping everything out.

Or, no. You have a better idea. You came here to talk to Us, didn't you? That was your whole original plan before Pat got tangled up in it. So why not knock that out now? Get the A-OK on the Headspace merger signed and submitted, freeing you to devote 100% of your brainpower to making Pat not be murder-tortured. If Us is in a good mood (positive thinking), they might even pitch in with that! And help you find Gil! And help you awaken even more of your latent magyckal powers, since apparently that is something that happens when you aren't looking. God. You still can't believe Gil didn't even have to go on a vision quest.

Anyways, speaking of latent magyckal powers, those were how you contacted Us last time. And yes, maybe those selfsame magyckal powers also led to you cackling wickedly and brainwashing people and eating Gil, and also murdering somebody in real life for real (who deserved it so you didn't do anything wrong but still!)— but they also let you re-befriend Annie! And when you talked to Us the first time, nothing bad happened. You just puked up a lot of smoke. And you're in a good mood right now, and you just cleverly snapped yourself out of a trance, so there's no way it can overtake you even if you do more than puke up smoke. You'll simply snap yourself back out again! It is indubitable!

And it's an excellent thing that it's indubitable, because the merest thought that you might in some way make use of the red stuff at some point in the near future has brought it gasping-slash-grasping to your surface. There is less than there has been, but any amount is uncomfortable, like a itch in your throat. You *should* use it. Now is an *excellent* time to use it. How intelligent of you to think that way— how inspired! There is a pointed stone in your pocket. Think how easy it would be to leap upon a passerby and gouge their eyes out!

(You're not going to do that.)

But you could! You could also pack it in a sphere of frozen water and wind up your arm and allow your form and your strength to be altered— to be perfected— such that the sphere would make impact with the skull of a whelp and render it into fine red mist. Would that not be beautiful?

(You're still not going to do that.)

But you are thinking of it! The images are shadow-playing in your mind. Your hand jittered to your pocket before you pulled it far away and clasped it tight.

(1/5?)

Bathic !!1oQZB1czRDh

View Same Google ImgOps iqdb SauceNAO redness 9.jpg, 79KiB, 540x700

Bathic !!1oQZB1czRDh ID:Wt6ShItw Wed 01 Feb 2023 11:37:11 No.5552920 View View Report

Quoted By:

>Fix him

"Pat?" you say, to distract yourself from the eyes. "Aren't you going to help?"

"With what?" Pat's posture is maddeningly relaxed. "So Bug Man's C.O.S. is a bug man. Were you not expecting that? Everything else appears standard."

You glare. "Besides," she says. "I said I wasn't available to help with side effects."

Wracked by the throes of conscience. "Go to hell," you inform her, and hunch back over the bug thing. "Gil? It's me. We're going to fix this, alright? Just like I said earlier, we— I don't know if I can slay Pat yet, but I'm just going to skip ahead to the fixing. Just like last time. I think it'll be even quicker than last time, um— I don't think I'll have to muck around in there." The eyes are widened. "I'm going to commune with you a little bit, is all. Don't be worried."

A string of clicking leaks from the slit. "You're going to what?" Pat says.

"Shut up." You press your fingers against the bug thing's— you guess its forehead, since it's above the eyes. "Don't be worried," you say again, for somebody's benefit. "It'll be fine."

It must be fine, is what you're doing your best to project into the world. You will make it be fine. It can't not be fine, with you around. You'll merely use your pure heart, plus your keen and perceptive vision, to look at Gil— look at him, God-damnit, you have to— to fix him in your noble gaze, lumps and all, and feel a pity feel a contempt a disgust an urge to put him out of his misery have to feel horrible things, and channel them to a knifepoint, and thrust— and see through.

>[-1 ID: 10/13]

Horse Face was bone-dry. Guppy was wet and dim. Both of them were still. Gil, one long blare of static, is a loosed current, a random sprint, a hailstorm. If you had ears and gums they'd ring and throb. If you had a skull he'd be beating himself against it, but you're all empty space so he's just slamming himself against himself, over and over, blindly and bullishly, and you can't bear it a moment longer (you pity him you despise him) so you wrench existence into him and see again. Inside Gil is beetles. Wall-to-wall beetles. Slick, green, squirming, mute.

Inside the beetles is you. You're buried alive again, which fails to bother you: you've seen the swarm before, and known it, and got out of it just fine. And that was before something coiled in you. Imagine how easy would it be to escape now? You wouldn't even have to dissolve yourself first, or claw your way back up to safety after. You wouldn't have to entwine yourself with any disgusting pagan thoughtforms. None of that. You order the beetles gone, and they're gone; you order Gil here and he is. That's what power is, Lottie.

(1/4)

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