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theafflicted2022-06-04 05:33 pm
afflictionmods) wrote in theafflicted2022-06-04 05:33 pm
02.50 - week two, saturday
W2 SATURDAY
Like last Saturday, everyone will get an announcement on their tablets; this time, the announcement is preceded with a bell of some sort before Lorelei appears on the screen again.
"Good morning, everyone. This is an announcement to let you know that today's lesson will take place starting at 8:15 tonight. Again, today's lesson will be starting at 8:15. Please meet at the lower campus exit near the lecture by 8:00pm; Florence will be waiting for you there.
If you have a bag for some snacks and, perhaps, an item you can use for self-defense in the case of an emergency, please arrive with those things on you. We will provide you with an overview of what to expect when you arrive at 8pm.
Thank you."
The alert ends.
You have the day to prepare, ask each other what the hell is happening -- Florence and Lorelei do not seem to be available, strangely enough. There's a lot to take in with the information you have now. But before you know it... night falls.
"Good morning, everyone. This is an announcement to let you know that today's lesson will take place starting at 8:15 tonight. Again, today's lesson will be starting at 8:15. Please meet at the lower campus exit near the lecture by 8:00pm; Florence will be waiting for you there.
If you have a bag for some snacks and, perhaps, an item you can use for self-defense in the case of an emergency, please arrive with those things on you. We will provide you with an overview of what to expect when you arrive at 8pm.
Thank you."
The alert ends.
You have the day to prepare, ask each other what the hell is happening -- Florence and Lorelei do not seem to be available, strangely enough. There's a lot to take in with the information you have now. But before you know it... night falls.
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Oh, I know. But I'm just now realizing I really don't need to hear from you about the games the two of you enjoy. Now if you're quite done with this, we should be looking for a way out.
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Don't tell me you're jealous. I knew you envied Phil, but I didn't know it went that far.
[Just another step closer...]
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The depth of the anger Phantom feels at that overrides even caution. Because it's true. Because of the mockery in that laugh. Because of the total sense of helplessness, knowing he can't even run fast enough to make an escape if he wanted to. Whatever game Marcus is playing with him, he's had more than enough of it.
So Phantom does what he always does when cornered and confronted. He lashes out in the only way he can, drawing back one fist to throw possibly the most pathetic punch ever attempted towards Marcus's face.]
Don't talk like you know a single thing about me!
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[It is a pretty pathetic punch, and that's why it takes Marcus absolutely no effort to simply lift his left hand up to block it before it can even get anywhere close. Maybe he should have let it hit, honestly, but at the same time he doesn't want to allow Phantom even the smallest bit of satisfaction here.
But he's not done yet-- no sooner does he block that punch than his right hand shoots out to grab Phantom around the neck and just squeeze, letting the momentum carry them both forward until Phantom's back slams against the wall. He feels all of this too, of course, and it hurts, but it's nothing he hasn't felt before, and certainly not anything he can't simply shrug off, at least for the time being.]
Now, why don't we play a little game? Which one of us is going to pass out first... pretty sure I can call the winner right now...
cw asphyxiation from here on
[Phantom hadn't expected much to come of that punch. But it just stokes his frustrated fury higher, even without the unnecessary goading of Marcus's words.
Is he afraid? He expects nothing from Marcus. There was never the slightest chance of being acknowledged by him, of Marcus making the excuses and the justifications for every one of Phantom's flaws that he does for Phil's. And with his thoughts now painfully clear of the effects of the damage caused by the anima resonance, he sees every bit of ugliness perfectly well for himself. Why should it matter if Marcus does, too?
He can't hope to convince Marcus if he can't convince himself. All of it flashes through his mind in an instant, and then-- his back hits the wall, hard, and Marcus's hand closes like a steel band around his throat. He reaches up to grip Marcus's wrist, nails digging in a little frantically.]
Are you... this pathetically self-destructive as soon as your master is out of your sight? You idiot--
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[He gives a slightly harder squeeze to punctuate this, relishing the sensation of Phantom trying to dig his nails in, as if that would somehow be enough to persuade him to let go.]
Or have you forgotten why mirrites exist in the first place?
[Unlike Phil, Phantom has never treated him as anything beyond a tool, a bargaining chip, something to be used when it's convenient for him. There's absolutely no reason for him to care about how Phantom feels about all of this when Phantom himself has never once stopped to consider Marcus' side of things.]
We get used to this sort of thing real fast, sorry to say.
[It hurts, of course. He can feel the pressure of his hand around his own neck, and that's exactly how he knows that he's squeezing just hard enough to ensure that Phantom is feeling exactly what he wants him to feel out of this.]
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[Phantom loses the thread of whatever he was going to say in a pained little grunt as Marcus's grip flexes. He can feel the sting of his ineffective scrabbling in his own wrist, enough to make him flinch. Marcus doesn't even seem to notice.
He redoubles his efforts, pain or not. But thrashing only makes the grip feel tighter, his vision swimming for a moment. Likely not from loss of breath, not this quickly. Maybe simply from the sense of panic flooding him, dizzying and overwhelming.]
As if--Phil ever used you like that. Not even for the treatment.
[Ah. Maybe that's the part of this that feels familiar. Pain and dizziness. Weakness. Feeling his own body fail to do what he needs. He has memories like that in abundance from Phil, doesn't he?]
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[And now he raises his arm just enough so that Phantom is left standing on tiptoes, Marcus easily hefting the majority of his weight with what seems like almost no effort. This is what Phantom deserves. That's what he tells himself even as he feels his own breath being choked off just slightly.]
Are you scared? Do you understand how it feels now? Perhaps I should praise you-- you're more resilient than I expected.
[But that's handily solved by another squeeze, longer and harder this time in the hopes of actually preventing Phantom from breathing for a moment. And all the while, he's still smirking as though this is all just some sort of perverse entertainment to him...]
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[It's hard to get words out when Marcus's grip tightens. There's no breath to fill his lungs with as they leave him. The fear is almost consuming now, and with their bond, there's no way Marcus is unaware. Phantom wants to live. Up until the final moment, he'd still wanted, desperately, to live.
He could truthfully say that every use he'd ever put Marcus to was in service of Phil. But even if he could breathe right now, he doubts the words would come. He knows what he did, and what he tried to do. What he is. Even if he wished otherwise. His grip on Marcus's wrist slackens and he sags against that hold, for a moment not caring that it makes the crushing pressure on his throat worse. Even the fear subsides a little in the face of that emptiness.]
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... until suddenly it all gives way to emptiness, like being submerged in icy water, and it takes Marcus a moment to realize that the gasp he hears is his own. He freezes, just staring up at Phantom and the way all the fight has gone right out of him, and in the pit of his own stomach a mixture of fury and revulsion begins to bubble up.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.]
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If the anger gives him any spark at all, it's for the single wish that this would be quicker. He no longer cares whether he deserves that or not. He's had enough of every bit of this farce: the connection with Marcus that's now his alone and means less than nothing; a life after death in a place just as hopeless as the one he left behind; the sense of struggling with nothing, for nothing. He watches the look of shock play across Marcus's face with eyes barely open and scrapes together enough energy for just one word.]
...Coward.
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All it would take is for him to squeeze a little harder--
--- but as he continues to stare up at Phantom's face, the mirror image of Phil's, watching all of the emotions just drain away until there's nothing left (almost as though he's completely giving up, as though he wants it all to end here), and suddenly all he can think is that he doesn't what to give Phantom what he wants-- not now, not ever.
So he simply
lets go.]
... yeah. I am. But don't you dare put the blame on Phil for that.
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He stumbles when Marcus drops him, catching himself hard against the wall as he drags in great, heaving breaths. Logic says it's the remnants of the panic still, making his body overreact. He glances up at Marcus, expression still every bit as blank as the moment Marcus let go.
Of course it's about Phil. It's always, ever, only about Phil. He could try to find more words that would gouge at that weak point and see if he can deepen the pain Marcus is already feeling along their link. But it feels so far beyond pointless. Nothing he could say would provoke Marcus to simply finish this. And repairing things between them was out of his grasp from the moment he was created. So instead he shoves himself away from the wall with one hand and tries to brush past Marcus, fully intending to say absolutely nothing.]