#infamouscabal: lucy

[nightmarecountry]

"What I'd like to know is, do you dream?" Lucy squinted thoughtfully, following the Nightmare. "I think you do. I think they motivate you."

"And if you do dream, have you ever wondered what that means? Is he up there when you're resting, poking around at your secrets? Does that mean that you're him, in a way, as well as being yourself? See, I've been thinking about this a lot lately-- your desire to escape. What, precisely, are you trying to escape from? Dreams? Nightmaredom? Flesh?" She tutted thoughtfully.

"You're always running. But where are you going?"

He was on the hunt again. It was harder like this, in someone else's flesh-and-blood body, a small and fragile one that neither matched the predator on the inside nor attracted the kinds of men he was interested in. In his annoyance he had cut their hair short, dressed himself in a manner that would make his chosen quarry more likely to see him as one of their number, but even in his usual haunts he felt men look at him like prey and hated it.

Even more difficult was the constant presence of the ghost at his side, distracting him, commenting and questioning his every move. When she invoked Him, the hairs on the back of his neck rose like a prey animal's might, and for a moment he feared she'd say His name and summon Him.

"I'm just me, Lu," he told her, through smiling teeth. Her words were still echoing in his head: him, in a way, as well as being yourself? "And I'm 'going' wherever I want. Do me a favour: stay out of the way this time."

[nightmarecountry-a]

Her dress of moss and ancient Alexandrian scrolls rustles softly; the whispering of dead scholars in the sound. A crown of mushrooms, bone and gleaming martyr's tears adorned her head-- most Honored Guest of the Dreaming's Library.

Lucy looked down and away upon noticing the Corinthian. Guilt spearing her heart and growing like a corsage upon her breast. Red and blooming upon her cheeks. But she remains composed. Serene.. or resigned.

"I suppose it is our turn to dance," She whispered.

"Will you lead? I do not know this song."

The sight of her made him think cold dark trapped. It had been a long time since he'd escaped the Archives* but the cold had come with him out of that place, and it lingered on the back of his neck and behind his eyelids when he looked at this Honoured Guest.

(*he hadn't escaped and he knew it, he had been freed, but escaped made it feel like it was something he'd done for himself)

Be hospitable, Dream had told his subjects. What he'd really meant was be charming; be affable; consider yourselves an extension of my will and my welcome to our guests. So the Corinthian, mercifully restored to his place in the Dreaming (under threat of imprisonment should he ever try to walk the Waking again), took to the evening's festivities with all the charm and sociability a beast of his making could have.

He smiled at the archivist, all charm, and extended a graceful hand to take hers. In the Waking, he had never laid eyes on her--but he knew her now as he knew all Dreamers, and the first touch between them only confirmed it. As he led her into their first dance they were much too close, and the Corinthian hungered for her mismatched eyes and wondered if he would taste guilt when he ate them--

--but he couldn't here, and so they only danced.

"You remember me, don't you, Lucy?" the nightmare murmured. He was too tall to speak into her ear, but his voice was still low enough that only Dream could have heard - and that was if he was listening, which the Corinthian very much doubted. "I certainly remember you. I'd know your voice anywhere."

[formshaper]

"These are mine, now."

And just like that, Lucy had taken several volumes from Dream's library-- tucking neat cards for the catalogue into their dust covers, so as not to lose them.

"I'm sorry, but you know how things are. These belong to the Archives. It's where they belong."

"And what do you Archivists believe gives you the right..."

The library shudders. The shelves shrink when the Lord of Dreams draws closer, its shadow stretching over them; over Lucy; over all.

"...to take anything from my realm?"

[secondhandmckie]

@infamouscabal || (continued from x)

Lucy’s fretful frown only deepened, pale hands wringing together as she tried to muster another argument on why Molly shouldn’t. It was Lucinda who broke the silence. “I’ll go with you.” She sat forward, allowing the light to fall upon her features. Her synthetic skin shone slightly in the low light, lending an uncanny quality to her glass eyes. With the faint sound of servos, she rose from her seat and crossed the floor to join Molly. “Now I really have to object–” Lucy looked at her cybernetic twin, completely distressed at the idea. “What if its still on fire down there? What if something collapses?” “And what if she’s right?” Lucinda interjected, crossing her arms. “I say we wait for Doc Banner to get back, and all four of us have a go. After all, we made that mess. We should clean it up.”

If the appearance of Lucy's twin is still of any surprise, Molly doesn't immediately show it. After everything she's seen and experienced thus far? This was more or less tame. Besides, having more allies were better than having less, wasn't that right? @infamouscabal

"I'm not entirely asking either one of you to come with me." Molly replied, glancing at Lucinda, then back to Lucy. "I just know I can't do it alone. I don't want to put either of you in danger but we're already there, right?"

"I don't know how much Banner can be relied upon. Or Cabal." She frowned a little to herself. They were two people she'd never thought she'd have to say that about. But with Banner off in the four winds and Cabal and his secrecy...maybe she was very well on her own with this.

[suffcring]

🍒 + @infamouscabal

send  me  🍒  +  a  url  and  i  will  write  some  positivity  for  them.

APOLOGIZING TO SERAS FOR BEING A LITTLE SHITHEAD YEARS AGO WAS ONE OF THE BEST THINGS I'VE EVER DONE. I love their kindness and unique sense of style, which carries so lovely like into their artistic endeavors. Their writing, of course, but also their soaps and other creative outlets which I am so blessed to continue to receive. A shower or bath is not really a shower or bath without a bar of Heart of Darkness, Necropolitan Aromatic, Black Orchid, Just Orange, Absinthe... fuck, any of them. I have a stash of four bars under my sink rn and I had one even when we weren't friends for a while. That's how fucking good those soaps are.

Seras is Horst and Johannes to me. Beyond that, they are also Lucy and Mina. I cannot re-read Dracula or consume any Dracula based content without thinking "this bitch is an angry lesbian in the future" or "my favorite little archivist <3" Seras isn't canon? No. Canon isn't good enough for Seras.

They're also just a very strong individual. They keep rolling with the hits, and it's incredibly inspiring. I dunno, I just think They're Neat.

[1womanarmy]

🔐 (captured/imprisoned together) -Lucy

@infamouscabal

In this day and age walkers were the least of Carol's problem. Human beings were the real threat. All she had wanted to do was hit up a nearby library to get a few more books to stock up on. It was starting to get cold out and she wasn't about to make the long trip during the wintertime. Clearly that was too much to ask for.

Carol had already gotten grazed in the shoulder by one gunshot, firing back to get the raiders to scatter. Libraries could be considered a sanctuary to some and clearly that was what it was going to be used for now.

She slammed through the front doors and whipped around as more gunshots went off. At least this door was thicker than most. She flung the lock down and then moved quickly to drag furniture in front of it. It wouldn't be long until the noise they were making would attract walkers. Until then...it looked like she was stuck at the library.

She didn't know how long the door would hold, but she might as well stay near the back so she could find a good hiding spot to fire on them. She had the advantage of scoping the place out first.

[paradisecost]

"How do you keep getting in?" Lucy sighed, seeming slightly irritated rather than afraid.

"Some of us need sleep, you know."

(consider Silver getting really bored at night)

Long John only smiles from across the room. "You don't mind."

It seems to be a statement, not a question.

"Maybe you should try harder to keep me out. There's ways of doing it, you know - for creatures like me. If you wanted to."

[metalzerotruck]

Laurelai was pleased to have found such easy prey after her recent relocation-- Lucy, significantly less so. Her scream echoed throughout the snowy cemetery as Laurelai had made herself known. Silence followed: the two women facing each other, one frozen in fear, the other a predator. {oh no}

Truck had a bad habit of assuming that things would, in general, go better than they often ended up going. Where it was a choice between cynicism and disappointment, he'd choose disappointment every time. But still, he probably should have been more careful about Laurelai, kept a closer eye on her. Been just a bit more pessimistic.

When he heard Lucy's scream, he immediately dropped what he was doing and ran toward it, flickering between the gravestones and leaving eddies of snow like ghosts in his wake. He stopped only when he was beside Lucy, arm stretched out toward Laurelai in a gesture of warning and ready to step between the two women if he had to.

"Evening, ladies," he ventured cautiously. "Hope I'm just interrupting a friendly chat here?"

[eilidhink]

"Excuse me, Miss? I think you dropped this."

Lace-gloved fingers hold out a crisp $20 note--- a study in white and black and green.

[not truly lost, but as good an excuse as any]

Lucy offered a small, curious smile, hoping to learn something about the dark-haired artist. She was one Lucy had seen before, whilst hunting visiting this particular café, but this was the first time she had found the courage to approach.

"I know I'd be upset if I lost so much."

{a little vampire AU. as a treat}

Eilidh blinked in surprise; she hadn't noticed dropping anything, but the way everything was shoved into her bag it was certainly possible.

"Oh, thanks for that!" she said, tucking the money into a little side pocket that it would definitely fall out of if she tried to pull her phone charger out. Smiling, she let her curious gaze take in the woman beside her. If she'd met her in a spookier location, in a dusty attic or a moonlit moor, she would not have seemed out of place with her luminously pale skin and old-fashioned gloves. Just the sort of ghost you'd expect in those places, Eilidh thought. But here, amid the bustle of people and with neon splashing in the puddles outside, she had more the look of a time traveler. No less fascinating.

"Can I thank you with a cup of tea? I was takin this to go, but I wouldnae mind an excuse to take a longer break. Coworker's drivin me mad."

[archiviststatement-a]

"I trust everything went well? No terrible tragedies in my absence?"

Lucy was only halfway joking, and studied Jon worriedly-- her smile fragile.

"Everyone getting along? No fires?"

"'Getting along' might be putting it strongly, but... No. No fires," Jon assured her. He was even more relieved than he'd thought to have her back, and not only because it meant he'd shortly be transferred back to his own Archives. His most constant company for the past month had been a crude ghost that had almost (not almost, had) convinced him to supply it with pornography. "No tragedies either, though I--I found... I went looking for something in your office, and the drawer was locked, and that fucking ghost implied it'd be worth my while to--to break into it, so I--do you regularly threaten Johannes Cabal?"

[nightmarecountry]

“None of us can do exactly as we please.” whispered the ghost, watching pensively as the Nightmare manipulated and puppeted her body. (did it feel imprisoned; limited by those small hands as she had been? )

in which i still haven't answered the ask this corresponds to but tldr: local nightmare gets trapped in the body of a shortass human

"Clearly," the Corinthian hissed, which to any onlookers would have looked like he were talking to the empty air. He'd adopted the closed-off, tense body language one might expect from a predator suddenly finding itself prey--and that was dangerous. Act like prey, he kept thinking to himself, and every hunting thing you meet will look at you and know it. So the furtive movements had to go. Head up: eyes ahead.

But it was hard. Humans were fearful things, like any animal, and he knew better than almost anything just how much there was to be afraid of. He wasn't just puppeting Lucy's body: this was his body now. His nervous system. His bodily needs: hunger and thirst and urination and headaches and eyestrain (gods, the eyestrain) and nausea and terror when he'd eaten someone's eyes and found they came right back up.

They hadn't given him anything, the eyes. They were just meat.

The Corinthian nearly snarled when someone brushed too close to him--a man, as startled by the visceral reaction as he himself was--but even his vocal chords weren't the same now. He couldn't snarl. He could only make a choked, angry sound of protest that had the guy muttering a confused apology and passing by.

"You didn't get to do very much of anything you wanted when you were alive, did you?"

[nightmarecountry-a]

"You want me to feel bad for you. To see you as something human." Lucy shook her head, stepping back from that iron door.

The spell had broken. A shiver ran up her spine. She had nearly set him free.

"But you aren't human. You never will be."

On the other side, the Corinthian's ocular teeth clenched together hard. He'd never had any talent for deception; there had been no need for it, not when his purpose had been to reveal the truth of what someone was deep down. But he'd been close, he knew, to convincing her to release him. He could hear it in her voice: the doubt and the shaken resolve, the horror at what she had almost done.

"Do you only care for your own kind?" he hissed, palms pressed to the iron door. The charm from before was gone: he'd gone back to petulance and cold disdain, the way he always did when she refused him. "Wouldn't you set a tiger free if you saw it caged in a box too small for it to thrive in? Humanity doesn't have a monopoly on feeling, you know."

[formshaper]

👋 -Lu @ Dream {there, there, sad man}

Dream is sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, arms folded upon them. He looks bedraggled, tired, the stars in his eyes all but dead. One could almost convince themselves he is just a man, lonely and unhappy in a castle of dreams.

"You should not be here," Dream murmurs, without looking over his shoulder at her. He feels her presence as he feels all things in his realm, close behind him. But Morpheus doesn't move. Doesn't chastise Lucy for intruding. Nor does he protest when a hand settles in his wild hair, stroking through it.

His eyes drift closed. He turns his head to rest his cheek on his arms, but still, he does not scold her. In this moment, Dream resembles Endless, dream, and man, but he also resembles a tamed beast, temporarily soothed by Lucy's hand.

"How did you get past my gatekeepers? And Lucien...?"

[secondhandmckie]

Lucy: I have left clear instructions for everyone while I’m gone.

Molly: Mine just says ‘Molly, NO”.

Lucy: And I want you to apply that to every situation possible.

@infamouscabal

[afteralittletrouble]

"Shh, it's alright, it's not that deep." Lucy knelt next to Avery, gently cleaning the dirt and blood from the cut on his knee. They had been at play-- running through the forest when he had fallen. Lucy had felt at fault, supporting him all the way back to the castle. "I know it hurts," She reassured, winding a clean bandage over the wound. "But you were very brave. I've seen full-grown knights cry over less."

Avery bunched his fists at his sides, willing back the tears that threatened. It wasn’t the pain, really--he didn’t like pain but he knew that tolerating it was a virtue--it was something else that was much harder to fight.

“I shouldn’t have fallen at all,” he muttered, as much to himself as to her. “Falling over things is what babies do, and little boys with stubby legs, and I’m supposed to be more grown than that. What’s the point of having birthdays if I don’t get any taller and keep tripping over things forever?”

[kojiscorner-a]

continued from (x)

Her question perplexes and annoys him. As if he needed to wait to catch them in the act when knowing what they were wasn’t enough. “They’re monsters, and monsters get put down. I don’t need any more reason than that.”

He turns to fully face her then and begins to approach, his wariness rising. “Are you and this ‘Dee Society’ here to defend this filth? If so, you can join your friends in oblivion.”