Ronan Lynch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somnioergosum) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-11-18 02:34 pm
somnioergosum) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-11-18 02:34 pm
[closed] Sometimes Insomnia Is Better
who: Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish, and Ivar Ragnarsson
what: Ronan accidentally brings back monsters from his dreams. They really want him dead. Adam and Ivar would rather keep him alive.
when: November 18, past midnight
where: Edge of the city
warnings: Violence, major injuries, probably gore.
A nightmare was building inside of Ronan. He’d spent weeks fighting this back. Every night he didn’t bring back a night horror or mangled limbs was not a victory but it was a satisfying draw. He doubted he’d get that tonight.
Ronan waited until Adam was asleep. He slid away from him slowly. Once on his feet, he reached down and touched Adam’s head lightly. At first glance, it looked like he was blessing him, but Ronan was no saint. This was a silent request for forgiveness, known only to himself.
He grabbed a coat and a gun. The handle was composed of metal vines, which somehow gave him a good grip. The barrel of the gun had the faint imprint of leaves. It should be in an art show and not his hand, but it was the best he had.
It took him a while to get anywhere. He left his BMW behind and the Skytram only took him so far. By the time he reached the abandoned city and entered one of the old buildings, he was tired enough to fall asleep within fifteen minutes.
He dreamed of a man who looked like himself, blood streaming from his open chest cavity and trickling down his mouth. He dreamed of his father, dead beside his car. He dreamed of what had been left of his mother when the demon was finished. He dreamed of creatures as big as a man, feathers spread sparsely over its leathery, scaled body. Each face had gleaming red eyes and two beaks in the place of a mouth. Long talons reached for him. They were still on his chest when he woke.
The gun was inches away from Ronan’s hand but he lay paralyzed.
Tck-tck-tck-tck… The sound came from the night horror. Its talon hooked into his shirt and pulled. His shirt split open and blood flowed along the scratch the claw had left behind.
Ronan’s hand twitched. His finger pressed against the gun.
This time, the night horror hooked its claws into his arms.
Ronan opened his eyes and two red eyes stared back. One talon pinned his arm to the floor while the other went for his head.
He grabbed the gun and pressed it to the night horror’s stomach. He fired. One, two, three shots. If he hadn’t turned his head, the night horror’s thrashing would have ripped open his face. He shoved it off him. It lay half-shrieking, half-gasping. He stared at it as he pushed himself onto his feet. A moment later something shoved him into the wall. The gun flew out of his hand and skittered along the floor. Reeling, he struggled onto his knees.
Tck-tck-tck-tck. The sound was in front of him. Then, from the corner of the room: Tck-tck-tck-tck.
Ronan looked at both sets of red eyes and the dim outlines of the two surviving night horrors. They matched his height, around six feet, and stood upright. Their shape was vaguely humanoid but the rest of them was twisted. Their scales were as tough as leather. The thin, greasy clothes over their body served as no armor because they didn’t need it. Their many limbs reached out for him, eager to rip him apart with their claws.
He muttered a single word before they attacked again. “Fuck.”
what: Ronan accidentally brings back monsters from his dreams. They really want him dead. Adam and Ivar would rather keep him alive.
when: November 18, past midnight
where: Edge of the city
warnings: Violence, major injuries, probably gore.
A nightmare was building inside of Ronan. He’d spent weeks fighting this back. Every night he didn’t bring back a night horror or mangled limbs was not a victory but it was a satisfying draw. He doubted he’d get that tonight.
Ronan waited until Adam was asleep. He slid away from him slowly. Once on his feet, he reached down and touched Adam’s head lightly. At first glance, it looked like he was blessing him, but Ronan was no saint. This was a silent request for forgiveness, known only to himself.
He grabbed a coat and a gun. The handle was composed of metal vines, which somehow gave him a good grip. The barrel of the gun had the faint imprint of leaves. It should be in an art show and not his hand, but it was the best he had.
It took him a while to get anywhere. He left his BMW behind and the Skytram only took him so far. By the time he reached the abandoned city and entered one of the old buildings, he was tired enough to fall asleep within fifteen minutes.
He dreamed of a man who looked like himself, blood streaming from his open chest cavity and trickling down his mouth. He dreamed of his father, dead beside his car. He dreamed of what had been left of his mother when the demon was finished. He dreamed of creatures as big as a man, feathers spread sparsely over its leathery, scaled body. Each face had gleaming red eyes and two beaks in the place of a mouth. Long talons reached for him. They were still on his chest when he woke.
The gun was inches away from Ronan’s hand but he lay paralyzed.
Tck-tck-tck-tck… The sound came from the night horror. Its talon hooked into his shirt and pulled. His shirt split open and blood flowed along the scratch the claw had left behind.
Ronan’s hand twitched. His finger pressed against the gun.
This time, the night horror hooked its claws into his arms.
Ronan opened his eyes and two red eyes stared back. One talon pinned his arm to the floor while the other went for his head.
He grabbed the gun and pressed it to the night horror’s stomach. He fired. One, two, three shots. If he hadn’t turned his head, the night horror’s thrashing would have ripped open his face. He shoved it off him. It lay half-shrieking, half-gasping. He stared at it as he pushed himself onto his feet. A moment later something shoved him into the wall. The gun flew out of his hand and skittered along the floor. Reeling, he struggled onto his knees.
Tck-tck-tck-tck. The sound was in front of him. Then, from the corner of the room: Tck-tck-tck-tck.
Ronan looked at both sets of red eyes and the dim outlines of the two surviving night horrors. They matched his height, around six feet, and stood upright. Their shape was vaguely humanoid but the rest of them was twisted. Their scales were as tough as leather. The thin, greasy clothes over their body served as no armor because they didn’t need it. Their many limbs reached out for him, eager to rip him apart with their claws.
He muttered a single word before they attacked again. “Fuck.”
no subject
"I-- pick them-- fine," he rasped. In different circumstances, he'd be manning the turrets and ready to launch a fierce battle in defense of his boyfriend and his fine qualities, but in those circumstances, over a quarter of his blood wasn't outside of his body. It didn't help that he was pissed at Adam for keeping his gun aimed at Ivar.
"Adam--" He scrambled when Adam tried to carry him, which he fought at first. His feet slid on blood and his knees kept buckling. Too weak to resist, he had no choice but to rely on him. "You don't-- point your gun at-- at someone unless--"
Oh, fuck. He didn't have the energy to give a lecture on gun safety now. Not to mention he thought he might throw up if he opened his mouth again.
no subject
He let them go, leaving him behind in the scene of the carnage. Ivar tore a strip off his shirt, tying it around his right shoulder to put some pressure on the wound. The creature's claws had sunk deep into it in an attempt to get him to drop his axe. Though he hadn't felt it at the time, Ivar's wounds were starting to catch up to him. Ronan wasn't going to be the only one spending time in the hospital. That is providing that someone could convince the proud and angry Viking warrior to even spend time in the institution.