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

"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."

"Maybe not all of them came with your body." Wednesday's tone is still that flat, emotionless one, but she doesn't mean to be unkind. She even looks vaguely concerned for him, because if all he is is souls, then it must be terrible to lose some of them.

Like losing body parts only without any neat stumps left behind.

"Can you get more souls? Will that help?"

He frowns. He hadn't wanted to consider that possibility, but there it was. He didn't feel incomplete, exactly, but he'd never lost a soul before. Was this how it felt?

"We consumed many souls in our campaigns. Even now, we still hunger for more."

Whether or not he could consume souls here was the question. He could kill a person, sure, but he'd always used the energy created by the sheer concentration of souls within him to draw in the new soul. That energy was inacessible now, so his ability to properly feed could be compromised.

...Was he going to wither and come undone because of it?

"Are souls what you eat? They shouldn't have brought you here if that's it. But I could probably help you find souls." She seems comfortable now, if still slightly worried about his ability to eat, and she's curled up in her seat, head leaning against the spot where the arm meets the back.

"Do you need special souls? Virgins or the evil or something like that?"

"We can survive on corporeal food."

So, no, he wasn't going to starve to death...probably. Not quickly, at any rate.

"We have always preferred the souls of warriors. Their strength adds to our own."

If push came to shove, though, any soul would do. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to prey on anyone unlucky enough to be near him when he was starved; he was a creature of noble origins, not some stray mutt living off scraps and rats.

"That makes sense. All the food I've found here so far is really bad, though." Her nose wrinkles with distaste, and it irritates her more because she's still hungry, having only really eaten fruit since she got back. She knows she can eat the other things, but they're so sugary. "Nothing has eyes or tentacles or moves at all. It's just... colorful and sweet."

She nods. "Can you eat the soul of the tree man that killed me? He won, so he must count as a warrior. And then he'll be dead, really dead."

"We agree. Some of the finest Outworld delicacies are best enjoyed while they are still alive. We have seen fish served with the heads intact here, at least."

He couldn't understand the wastefulness of removing the heads and fins, but he suspected that the fact that Outworld's seat of power had always been in the desert may have skewed his tastes. It was difficult to keep fish fresh en route from the ocean, so no part was ever wasted. Even the bones made for a nice broth the day after the flesh was eaten.

He smiles at her.

"We will do what we can. If we cannot consume his soul, then we can at least give him a very painful death."

"How can you play with it if it doesn't react?" To Wednesday, it's just bad manners to serve food like this, food that doesn't move or wiggle or anything. "Fish eyes are good, though. Have you ever have octopus when it's still squirmy? Or squid. They're both good."

Fish bones are good for fortune-reading and spellcasting as well, but that's more Grandmama's arena than Wednesday's.

She smiles back, and it's again that odd, misplaced smirk that contrasts too much. "Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Have you ever had oyster? The Outworld species has suckers."

Of course, it had to be eaten alive; it would spoil too quickly, otherwise. The flavour and potency of the creature outweighed the risk of choking on a very angry mollusc.

"You said you're familiar with magic? Perhaps you could inform us of any magic you come across here."

"Yes! But ours doesn't have suckers, it's just slimy and slippery. It's the octopus that tries to fight on the way down, especially if you salt it first." It's always fun to put salt on living creatures and watch them writhe, and Wednesday's heard that it can work with soy sauce too.

She nods, braids bobbing a little. "I will. But they told me that no one can do magic except in the Arena, and not always then, either. They said that the Capitol can somehow control any powers or magic that people have."

"Snake hatchlings often fight as well."

Admittedly, they probably didn't need to be alive, but who could wait to cook them? It was better to just slice open the egg and suck out everything inside in one delicious gulp.

"There may be other ways. Perhaps some device, or folk magic."

"You would like my Grandmama's cooking. No one can cook like she does." It had been terrible in the motel, with no kitchen and all they could get was from the convenience store. But even that was better than this place. She'd still had Mother, even if Father was temporarily losing his mind.

Wednesday thinks about it, raising one hand to hide a yawn behind her fist. "The way they described it sounded more like the things people were doing in the Arena. I think if Mother and Grandmama were here, they would still be able to conduct seances and cast curses. We don't shoot fire from our hands or turn into trees or the things I saw. Witchcraft is knowledge, so it's different, right? That's what I think."

Here comes a candle to light you to bed

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

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)