thecapitol | Here comes a candle to light you to bed

Entry tags:

Here comes a candle to light you to bed

Who| Wednesday Addams and you
What| Second place is just the first place loser. Also she kind of hates the Capitol.
Where| D7 Suites, Sublevel 1, the Roof
When| A day after the end of the Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Standard macabre Wednesday stuff.

I. Wednesday wakes up in her room, as everyone does, and takes a few moments to get her bearings. She throws away pretty bouquets, bright and beautiful, and figures out how to change her holographic window into a dark night scene with a full moon and bare tree branches swaying in the wind.

Then she can only do what feels natural. She goes to her bathroom and brushes her teeth and hair, braids it into her two sleek plaits. She scowls at her closet, at all the sparkle and embroidery and color, but then eventually settles on the least embellished dress in there -- it's black and simple, but there's still rhinestones on the white collar, and frilly ruffles along the hem.

She's equally as grumpy in the common area of the Suite, where she's forced to watch herself lose over and over again on the constantly-playing screen. She tries to find food, but it's all sweet and colorful, and none of it even moves or has eyes or occasionally emits a burst of flame.

Miserable, she finds a kitchen knife and sits at the table with her hand spread flat, sadly playing hand roulette to try and make herself feel better.

She misses the Arena.

II. She didn't really know what she'd find when she pressed the very bottom button on the elevator panel. It seemed worth it either way, since it couldn't be worse than the brightness and volume of the Lobby or anywhere else she'd seen so far.

It's not terribly surprising to find what looks like a large parking garage combined with a storage unit, but it's at least sort of dark and dank purely by virtue of being so far underground. It's the most comfortable place she's found in her time here, so she decides to stay a while.

Wednesday can be found here most of the day, sitting in a chariot by herself, curled up with her chin on her knees, quiet. She's sure that she probably shouldn't be here, but then they really shouldn't have given her access, should they?

III. The roof is only somewhere she dares venture after dark, once the sun is gone. The flowers disgust her, but if she sits in the right place and faces the right direction, she can see the mountain range in the distance, past all the city lights, and that's sort of comforting to look at, with the moon hanging low over the far off peaks.

Mother would like that, to go up that high and moonbathe.

Wednesday thinks about lost travelers and those crushed in avalanches, and she feels a little better, running her finger along the embroidery of the cushion she sits on, murmuring to herself.

"Who killed Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow..."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"American? Then you are from Earthrealm."

A formerly noble family in America could escape his notice, especially if they weren't active in the Netherrealm War. He gets up from his seat and approaches her. This was an interesting specimen, if nothing else, and he wanted to know more.

"Were you trained as an assassin?"

The Arena footage didn't lie; this girl knew what she'd been doing, even if her size was obviously an obstacle for her.

She doesn't recoil, barely reacts except to look up at him, her round face pointing almost skyward to compensate for how he towers over her. She blinks impassively, takes in the detail of his face that she can see a little better now that he's come closer.

Wednesday doesn't offer any detail, doesn't talk about her many and varied experiments. She only raises her eyebrows a bit.

"No."

"Then you are a natural."

From a distance, he sounds normal, but up close it's easier to hear what almost sounds like two or three other people speaking quietly in unison with him.

"A shame, we think. You could have been legendary if you had a mentor."

Competent was fine for serial killers and hit men, but mastery was essential to having your name whispered in conversations held in dark rooms by people who made their living off society's dark underbelly.

Her nose wrinkles, both in response to his voice and the idea of being a 'shame', in any sense of the it. Honestly, Wednesday would much rather be a serial killer than an assassin, but it's not the worst back-up plan in the world.

"I'm only ten. Mother says there's plenty of time for these things after college. Besides, there's not much point in focusing on it before Mother and Grandmama finish teaching me witchcraft. A Frump woman is nothing without her gifts, especially if I want to follow in Calpurnia Addams's footsteps."

Little lines appear on her forehead, and she amends her thought.

"But I'd like to make it longer than she did before I'm burned at the stake."

"There are Earthrealmers still opposed to magic? We thought it was accepted after the Netherrealm War."

The idea of burning someone at the stake for witchcraft is bizarre. It's like burning someone for being a gifted physician, or a particularly good craftsman. Sorcery was a particularly useful talent, especially in regards to combat and conquest, but not worth executing someone for in of itself. He'd even met a few native Earthrealmers who openly used sorcery; one of them had even been considered a hero in that realm.

"We think it will be difficult to practice witchcraft here. Even our powers have been...restrained."

"Why do you keep calling it that?"

Wednesday's face sparks with a sudden curiosity. She's never heard of realms referred to that way -- there's the realm of the living and the realm of the dead, and that's all, as far as she knows. Maybe there's more and they haven't been found, but she doesn't know how this man would know them.

"I'm not supposed to practice without Mother or Grandmama. They said there's too much of a risk of burning the house down or summoning an apocalypse."

"It is one realm of many. We hail from Outworld."

He nods his approval of the Addams women's decision.

"We have heard of sorceror's apprentices bringing destruction on themselves while practicing."

He'd been called to clean up the aftermath of one such suspected incident. They could only speculate on the cause, since there had only been demons, burned paper, and a very mutilated corpse by the time they'd arrived, but magic gone wrong seemed to fit.

"Is the Outworld like Hell? I've never heard of it. But I wanted to see Hell and I died and I didn't even get to see it!"

It's clear that Wednesday isn't pleased about this turn of events. She'd died and it wasn't even like an atheistic sort of nothingness, it was a fake death where she just came back, and she feels cheated by it.

"Exactly. So I don't do any witchcraft without them. But I like to practice, after school usually."

"No. It is....more like your Middle Ages. We are familiar with your technology, but sorcery and strength rule in Outworld."

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued that she seems so fascinated by the concept of Hell. Most Earthrealmers would ask if there was a heaaven, in his experience, and would almost inevitably be disappointed to hear that he'd never heard of any realm that matched the description of it.

"We have been to 'Hell.' It is the Netherrealm."

"Oh. You would have liked the Arena, then. I liked it. I wish I could go back there."

She seems genuinely dejected about not being allowed to live in a rotting deathtrap instead of a luxurious city, as much as she ever seems to express any one particular emotion. She does look back down at the cushion with a sense of sadness, though.

Her interest piques again when he tells her of going to Hell, and she looks back up at him with her brow knit slightly. "You've been? Is it as nice as they say, are the lakes of fire that good? What about the moaning of the damned?"

"You did well there."

This child was unusual in a way that he appreciated. Most children craved comfort and safety, which threatened to make them weak and spineless as adults. He'd be very interested to see how this one turned out in ten years.

"Indeed. The land is made of brimstone, as well, and the moans of the damned never cease. We have heard that it is ruled by two fallen warriors killed by an Earthrealm god's foolishness. A powerful necromancer ruled much of it before them, but he was recently killed. His soul never reached the Netherrealm."

"Thank you. I still lost."

Actually excited by the visual of Hell, Wednesday smiles. It's not a pleasant smile so much as one made of glee over such misery and pain -- it stretches over her face oddly, as if she simply wasn't designed to smile at all. She scoots closer to the edge of her seat, leaning forward for more details.

"I bet it smells like sulfur and death and filth! And Satan's minions crack their whips and you can hear the demons swinging their swords!" She sighs. "I really wanted to visit."

He almost smiles at the child's enthusiasm.

"And burning flesh."

He frowns a little at the mention of 'Satan.'

"We saw no 'Satan' there, only the revenant army of Quan Chi and Shinnok. We suspect Shinnok has been misremembered as 'Satan.'"

Gradually, Wednesday manages to spread out, until she's lying on her stomach with her chin propped up in her hands, looking at him as she kicks her toes against the back of the seat.

"Probably. There are lots of names for Satan, real ones. I guess Satan is more like a title. For names, there's Lucifer and Abaddon and Belial and Beelzebub and Mammon. And those are just the ones most people know from Christianity. There are other versions too, like Hades. Is Shinnok like that, is he another kind of Satan? Most of the versions are some kind of fallen angel or god, is that what he is?"

He sits down next to her, making sure to keep a respectful distance.

"Yes. He betrayed the other Elder Gods, and was bound in first the Netherrealm, then his own amulet. We saw him rise in Earthrealm."

This child liked descriptions, didn't she? Well, her company was enjoyable, so he may as well indulge her.

"He infected the thunder god's temple and turned the sky red. We felt the presence of thousands of lost souls in the forest around it, and we could hear the cries of his demons."

Whether those souls were there because of Shinnok or if they were a normal feature, he couldn't say. He didn't go to Raiden's temple as a general rule, so he didn't know what was normal for the area around it.

"We have heard rumours that he has been...decapitated. But an Elder God cannot die."

There's more of that strange, out-of-place smile, her big eyes lit up with delight, and she's absolutely comfortable with his presence, which is more than she can say for most people in this place.

"Thousands? Were they screaming, was it deafening?" She's so very enthusiastic and pleased, imagining blood red skies and a forest of bare trees with branches stark against the moon (he didn't say it was night time, but she's using some creative license).

"That means he's alive with his head just rolling around!"

Her enthusiasm actually get a small smile from him.

"We heard many of them screaming, and many weeping. Others were hunting the living or fleeing in terror from us."

He can almost feel the oppressive pressure from the sheer overcrowdedness of the forest. He would have liked to have properly explored the area, but he'd been on a mission.

"Indeed! We expect that he will recover, eventually...but possibly not for many millenia."

She laughs and it's the horrible, haunting laughter that most people affiliate with horror movies and impending death, but for the first time since the Arena, Wednesday is engaged in something. She rises to her knees and she's still smaller than he is sitting down, but her happiness makes her seem to swell.

"I wish I could go there! My whole family would love it so much, Uncle Fester loves screaming!" Sighing contently, she sits back against the chair. "We could play kickball with his head."

"We would be happy to take you."

There's an unspoken 'but' there. Damn whoever invented whatever means Panem was using to suppress his powers! He used to be able to cross over to other realms if he put the effort into it, but now they were as inaccessible as the far side of the universe. He'd have to find out how they were repressing his powers, and undo it. Then he'd show them the carnage he was truly capable of...

"We will have to find a substitute, won't we?"

Wednesday doesn't have any powers, and her natural Addams hardiness against death doesn't seem to be any different than normal, so she doesn't have any insight as to what's even possible. All she knows is that she fought a tree and lost.

"I'm Wednesday. Are you an assassin?"

She figures it's fair enough to ask, since he'd asked her. He's certainly not a regular killer, she knows that because he sticks out too much, and maybe he's a king or a prince or a lord, since he uses the royal we.

"We are a fusion of souls, created to fight for our Emperor. We have been named Ermac."

He raise an eyebrow at the mention of her name. He knew it was a day of the week in Earthrealm, but he'd never heard of someone having it as a name.

"Wednesday? That is an unusual name."

Maybe he grasp of Earthrealm customs and naming conventions has looser than he'd thought.

She nods firmly. "Wednesday Friday Addams. My family prides itself in not being usual."

Leaning forward a bit, she squints and peers closer into his hood, examining his features as if she expects to find an extra ear sprouting from his forehead or something. It would be interesting, at least.

"But are you one person? Is Ermac in charge, or can each soul come out on its own? I've never heard of putting more than one soul in a body before. Lurch has six kidneys, but only one soul."

Alas, he only looks a bit mummified and has glowing green eyes. Really, though, most people would consider that unusual enough. He nods in response to her question.

"Ten thousand souls bound in one body. We act and fight as one...but the construct remains in control."

He can almost hear one soul laughing and whispering what might be 'for now,' but it was like trying to listen to a conversation in the middle of a wind storm.

She still seems satisfied with his appearance, another thing that's almost comforting to her. She's used to people who sort of look like and/or actually are corpses. All she needs is an appendage running around and she'll be happy enough to stop hiding in dark places.

"So what do all of you do now that you're stuck here without your emperor?"

"We train for the Arena."

Even if that didn't take up all his time. Even though he'd been built specifically for combat, and had maintained his strength and agility despite the gradual decay of his body, he couldn't train all day. Even he needed to let his muscles rest and heal for the next day, and that left him alone without any orders. They might as well have dropped him on a raft in the middle of the ocean; there were things he needed to do, but it wasn't enough to keep the uncomfortable nature of his predicament at bay.

"We were communing with our souls. They have been...quiet since we arrived."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Meanwhile, part of the Netherrealm freezes over...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject