(no subject)

[fredless]

Who: Fred Burkle and YOU
What: Nightmares
When: At any point during nightmare plot
Where: Trapped in memories of Pylea
Rating: PG13-R

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The Lock

[fredless]

You wake up with a start, something brushing against your skin that's just not quite. Right or warm or reassuring. Any of the things that a body comes to count on when curled up in bed next to the person that they...

So what's touching you then. There's a deliberate slowness about the hand that drifts up, searching out and then up against your chest as you try and put all the pieces together.

Slow. So slow Calm. There's nothing to see here. Absolutely nothing worth looking at. Because it's best to be invisible. To not let them see. Up, up, fingers keep moving up. Everything working just as it's meant to. You're absolutely and completely alright. It's fine.

It.

Fingers close tightly over a smooth, cold surface that sits fully around your neck. It's talking to you, too. Not loudly, not in any kind of way that's supposed to be mistaken as conversation. The quiet, ever-present humming is a lecture. A lesson. You're not going anywhere and that's not ever to be forgotten.

Feet search for traction, pushing you up and back and back until you collide with the harsh wood of a stall. Every breath just reminds you that it's there. You're there.

"I said get up!"

Eyes lifting you blink dully at unfamiliar features. No matter how much you look at them, take all their pieces apart and put them back together it's never right. Never who you want to see.

Why can't you remember what that's supposed to be?

"I said get up cow," A foot connects solidly with your middle, and all the air is gone. They could use the collar, of course. But they don't. This one likes it better that way. You reach for breath, and the metal around your neck closes in, tighter and tighter every time you and it touch. "They swore you weren't broken when I bought you. I should've known they were just trying to pawn off broken goods..."

You feel them shift closer and instinct overrides the need to breath or think or even understand. You push up to your feet.

You stand up.

You wait.

[luthored]

More disoriented than ever this time, Lana's hand remains on the unfamiliar metal around her neck as she staggers up and tries to keep her balance and focus her gaze. Why does she feel like she might vomit?

"What did you just...call me?!"

[howruthless]

Tess feels the foot connect with her stomach and the wind is taken out of her. As she's yanked to her feet, she glances around, trying to figure out where she is. This place isn't familiar, but nothing lately has been.

"Where am I?"