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)
riverviewlogs2017-03-22 05:15 pm
somnioergosum) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-03-22 05:15 pm
Entry tags:
What Nightmares May Come
Who: Ronan and open
What: Ronan brings back a bleeding flower from his dreams. Ronan tries to cover the evidence. Ronan is so in over his head.
Where: In or near communal housing first floor
When: Wednesday Morning, 3AM
Warnings: Brief description of a mutilated corpse, a bleeding flower, and Ronan being the traumatized joy that he is.
WhyNotes: Prose preference but can answer back in brackets. You can grab him anywhere from inside the shared floor to just outside it while he figures out what to do with a magic bleeding flower.
Ronan dreamed of his mother.
He did everything he could not to. He tried sleeping pills (didn't work and made him hallucinate). He tried drinking (honestly, he already knew it wouldn't work and just wanted to get drunk). He tried working himself to exhaustion (didn't work and he woke the next day to fully body aches that lasted longer than the hangover).
In the end, it all came back to Aurora Lynch. He'd loved her beautiful golden hair. He'd loved it so much that when he dreamed his brother, he gave it to him. And in these dreams, he wished he could say it was he noticed first but he couldn't give it that honor. That went to the blood, the glimpses of crushed bone, the crunch of a vertebrae beneath his hand.
No, Ronan didn't dream of his mother. He dreamed of what used to be his mother. Then, he'd touched her broken body out of instinct. He did the same now, replaying the moment in this dream.
"Mom?"
His thoughts went back to the first object he'd brought back-- the first he remembered, in any case-- a flower. Something living to banish this from his mind. But it twisted, as it always did, and the stalks burst through his mother's corpse. Petals bloomed, their beauty tainted by spirals of blood.
Ronan woke. He stared down at himself, an invisible presence hovering over his body. He couldn't move but he felt the flowers in his hands. Worse, he saw that they weren't just covered in blood; they were bleeding.
Shit.
It felt a century before he returned to his body and only a half century extra before he could move his pinky. Then he jolted out of bed. Blood trickled down his fingers.
Jesus, why couldn't he dream of daffodils?
Ronan could be quiet if he needed to. Counting on that skill to overcome his rattled nerves and tremor in his hand, he slipped out of bed. Time to dispose of the evidence.
What: Ronan brings back a bleeding flower from his dreams. Ronan tries to cover the evidence. Ronan is so in over his head.
Where: In or near communal housing first floor
When: Wednesday Morning, 3AM
Warnings: Brief description of a mutilated corpse, a bleeding flower, and Ronan being the traumatized joy that he is.
Ronan dreamed of his mother.
He did everything he could not to. He tried sleeping pills (didn't work and made him hallucinate). He tried drinking (honestly, he already knew it wouldn't work and just wanted to get drunk). He tried working himself to exhaustion (didn't work and he woke the next day to fully body aches that lasted longer than the hangover).
In the end, it all came back to Aurora Lynch. He'd loved her beautiful golden hair. He'd loved it so much that when he dreamed his brother, he gave it to him. And in these dreams, he wished he could say it was he noticed first but he couldn't give it that honor. That went to the blood, the glimpses of crushed bone, the crunch of a vertebrae beneath his hand.
No, Ronan didn't dream of his mother. He dreamed of what used to be his mother. Then, he'd touched her broken body out of instinct. He did the same now, replaying the moment in this dream.
"Mom?"
His thoughts went back to the first object he'd brought back-- the first he remembered, in any case-- a flower. Something living to banish this from his mind. But it twisted, as it always did, and the stalks burst through his mother's corpse. Petals bloomed, their beauty tainted by spirals of blood.
Ronan woke. He stared down at himself, an invisible presence hovering over his body. He couldn't move but he felt the flowers in his hands. Worse, he saw that they weren't just covered in blood; they were bleeding.
Shit.
It felt a century before he returned to his body and only a half century extra before he could move his pinky. Then he jolted out of bed. Blood trickled down his fingers.
Jesus, why couldn't he dream of daffodils?
Ronan could be quiet if he needed to. Counting on that skill to overcome his rattled nerves and tremor in his hand, he slipped out of bed. Time to dispose of the evidence.
no subject
"If people tell you it's overrated? Don't believe them." Ronan wiped his hands on his pants again, trying to get the last of the blood off before opening the door. The night's chill didn't hurt but it hit his overexposed body hard enough that he shivered.
no subject
He didn't follow Ronan outside. Frankly, Ivar wasn't sure he wanted to know what Ronan was going to have to do to dispose of such a flower. This had been one of the strangest nights the Viking had ever experienced. As he went back up to the fifth floor, the one thing he kept remembering was the way Ronan's back had looked, muscles all tensed up and with a tattoo that he couldn't quite decipher.