GOD OF DEATH AU

[enigmaster]

Comments

[agoodname]

It's rude to enter someone's home without permission. [quietly--and a little coldly]

1/2

[enigmaster]

[There's features forming, now. Familiar hair, familiar green eyes, familiar face. Slowly emerging from the shadows, right next to Osvaldus' face.]

[erotematic]

Oh, don't be like that, now.

[...Wrong voice. Wrong hairstyle, too, actually, wrong-- details, it's in the details. The way they carry themselves.

This is not Enygma.

He's far more jovial, for one.]

Simply paying a visit! I do it every day, you know, technically speaking.

[agoodname]

Hm. [Oswald's attention briefly flickers to the side, glancing at him, giving him a brief once over--before going back to his sandals, as if disinterested] And you are?

[erotematic]

Oh, an excellent question! But I'm afraid to say that I'll be the one getting answers right now. Save your questions until the end, please.

[And he pulls out a staff. One could almost mistake it for a shepherd's crook, but no shepherd would get one quite this fancy. Far too gold, and curved much more than any sort of crook would be.]

Just a tip: this will be easier if you lie down first.

[agoodname]

[Osvaldus's eyes narrow at that] Well. I can't say you make a compelling argument. [he sets down his sandal, leaning back] Try again.

[erotematic]

[He laughs, at that, completely unfazed.]

Someone's touchy. But, very well! I did try to be gentle about this.

[And he twirls that cane of his, a soft green... almost haze spreading out and filling the room. And Osvaldus will feel

suddenly

very tired...]

[agoodname]

[Oh--oh absolutely not-- Osvaldus grits his teeth at that, trying to push to his feet before it goes to his head, trying to stumble towards the door and shake off that green haze, hand reaching out to grab at his dagger on the shelf--but he's too tired, and it's enough to drag him to the floor, fingers just slipping away from the handle of the dagger as he sinks down into unconsciousness]

1/2

[erotematic]

[Casually, he simply walks over to Osvaldus on the floor, reaching down for that dagger. Twirling it a little as he does, as if anyone can even see it right now. Ridiculous.]

I'll just take that, for now. Hasn't anyone told you not to play with sharp objects?

[And he, himself, is just going to plop down on the bed, sitting back.]

2/2

[enigmaster]

[When Osvaldus opens his eyes, there is... dark smoke.

Shouts coming from outside, and a familiar crackling sound. Light that's too bright to be from candles, but nothing like daylight. Heat, everywhere.

Rome is burning.]

[agoodname]

[It takes a moment for him to come into himself--he can feel the heat, hear the shouts--and he bolts upright, sucking in a lungful of smoke, at which point, he starts coughing, badly, rolling over onto the ground and crouching as much as possible to get out of it, looking for an exit]

[enigmaster]

[And an exit he'll find. He'll manage to get out, with a little work. And he'll find himself out in the streets.

His ankle, miraculously, not burdening him.

...Better use that and run.]

[agoodname]

[At first, it's all blind panic. And Osvaldus is bolting through that exit, down the streets, thinking of his mother, his mother, did she get out alright--]

[enigmaster]

[It's disorienting. There's people everywhere, though even if Osvaldus stopped to look, none of them seem to have any identifying features. Faces either indistinct or reused, his memories filling in what blanks he can.

And as he keeps running, a cloak, black, far blacker than the smoke could ever be, a flash of a weapon--]

[agoodname]

[a black cloak--and Osvaldus slows to a halt, despite the smoke, despite the people, despite his mother, and stares at it, after it--] ...Enygma?

[enigmaster]

[The figure turns. And it certainly looks like Enygma, but there's no familiarity in his eyes. Simply that cold, disinterested look he had the first time Osvaldus got a proper look at his face. As if Osvaldus is no one in particular. And his scythe is at the ready.]

[agoodname]

[Osvaldus frowns at that, confusion, a frisson of unease snaking down his spine. Wait, that's not right. Something doesn't add up here. He tries to focus on what seems wrong; what seems out of place, but it's just out of his grasp, and it's so hot and so hard to breathe--]

1/2

[erotematic]

No, no, that can't be right... [The voice sounds almost more like an echo than anything. Ethereal, unnatural, far-away, and Osvaldus will have trouble placing it. Not that he'll have time to consider it, as the next moment, the scythe swings forward and--]

2/2

[enigmaster]

[--And Osvaldus is stuck in the pantry, as screams ring from outside.]

[agoodname]

[he barely has time to suck in a hitch of breath as the scythe swings towards him--and suddenly, he's no longer in the burning streets, but in the pantry, and there's screaming and his mother's out there--and Osvaldus puts his shoulder to the door and tries to ram it open] --mother--!

[enigmaster]

[The screaming doesn't stop. And it's only louder now than it ever was in reality. Then... that chill.

The sight of a black cloak visible through the gap at the bottom of the door.]

[agoodname]

[Osvaldus pounds on the door, trying to open it--and then, that chill, and he freezes again, looking down, staring at it] --Enygma. [Osvaldus's frown intensifies, and that feeling of wrongness returns. This isn't right. It's too loud, too noisy, though it feels muffled as he tries to reach for what's wrong now, actively trying to grasp at it, because this isn't right--]

1/2

[erotematic]

[Everything flickers around him for a moment. And... that voice again.] Oh, let's just skip ahead a little, shall we? [And everything shifts, surroundings changed, suddenly, and Osvaldus won't even realize it at first, mind simply accepting things at first. The way dreams seem perfectly natural as they happen. And...]

2/2

[enigmaster]

--your bones look fine to me. [It's dark, lit by candles, and Osvaldus is lying down. Curled into a blanket. And Enygma is right there, touching his face, trailing over his cheekbones. Gently, but the touch oddly muted.]

[agoodname]

[and instinctively, without thought, Osvaldus is leaning into his hand with something like a small chuckle--the terror and horror of a moment ago replaced by warmth, affection, fondness] You're sweet, as always. [he lifts a hand to hold Enygma's against his face]