Micolash, Host of the Nightmare (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grantuseyes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_crossings2018-02-20 01:23 pm
grantuseyes) wrote in nexus_crossings2018-02-20 01:23 pm
New Years Tradition
Micolash is back in the Nexus again after a long period away, though that part's understandable, given the state he was in that time. He's no longer in a wheelchair nor hooked up to an IV, but his eyes are still bandaged tight behind his cage. He at least looks a little healthier in general and curiously well-dressed today. Clean pinstripe trousers, polished (but still untied) shoes, a fitted waistcoat, a new light blue ribbon tied at his throat, a clean white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
He has two things of note with him: a table with a lot of writing supplies and a cat. The cat is a handsome, plush creature, mostly white with patches of tabby orange. One such patch on its forehead looks a lot like an eye. Another on its back looks a lot like a skull. Markings are funny like that, huh? Said cat is always close to where Micolash is seated, curling around his ankles, napping under his chair, hopping up onto the table to lazily peruse. Sometimes it even perches on the top of Micolash's cage for an even BETTER vantage.
The table, meanwhile, looks to be loaded up with pencils, strips of paper and gilded envelopes. On the far end, opposite of where the scholar is seated, is a wax sealing kit as well.
"Ahem. Soooo," Micolash starts in that nasal drone of his. "This past weekend marked the celebration of a new year back in Yharnam. And while I am very much not there at this time? I thought it would be. Interesting to still observe at least one tradition we have. Namely, writing down a wish. Or wishes! You have for the coming year and seal them away, only to be read at the start of the next year. To see what did and did not come true. To see how much you've changed from one New Year celebration to the next."
He pauses, almost looking to be lost in thought for a time, staring sightlessly somewhere into the middle distance. Eventually, he adds, "...Do you have any taboos for these sorts of celebrations? Where you are from? Things that you avoid to not have the new year sullied? Or set into an...unfortunate pattern?"
He has two things of note with him: a table with a lot of writing supplies and a cat. The cat is a handsome, plush creature, mostly white with patches of tabby orange. One such patch on its forehead looks a lot like an eye. Another on its back looks a lot like a skull. Markings are funny like that, huh? Said cat is always close to where Micolash is seated, curling around his ankles, napping under his chair, hopping up onto the table to lazily peruse. Sometimes it even perches on the top of Micolash's cage for an even BETTER vantage.
The table, meanwhile, looks to be loaded up with pencils, strips of paper and gilded envelopes. On the far end, opposite of where the scholar is seated, is a wax sealing kit as well.
"Ahem. Soooo," Micolash starts in that nasal drone of his. "This past weekend marked the celebration of a new year back in Yharnam. And while I am very much not there at this time? I thought it would be. Interesting to still observe at least one tradition we have. Namely, writing down a wish. Or wishes! You have for the coming year and seal them away, only to be read at the start of the next year. To see what did and did not come true. To see how much you've changed from one New Year celebration to the next."
He pauses, almost looking to be lost in thought for a time, staring sightlessly somewhere into the middle distance. Eventually, he adds, "...Do you have any taboos for these sorts of celebrations? Where you are from? Things that you avoid to not have the new year sullied? Or set into an...unfortunate pattern?"
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"The Waking is what we know as...reality. The plane of mortals, of man and beast." Micolash gestures wide and grandly, his motions always languid, like some kind of odd underwater grace. "This place is a Dream, of course. A portion of the Nightmare Frontier, perhaps, or a pocket formed by another Great One for reasons only She would know fully. I've yet to find this Dream's Host, or its creator. But rest assured I will continue to seek them!"
He's getting more animated as he goes on, talking faster and with greater eagerness. These are all his favourite topics! And someone wants to hear them! What a marvelous day! "Some people are more. In-tune with what the Great Ones have to say, or to seeing the evidence of Their influences and presence. I would, perhaps...discourage others with no exposure to the unworldly simply pulling on a cage and listening. The experience may prove, eheh. A mite overwhelming? Their voices are unlike anything the Waking has to offer, after all. But one can slowly acclimate, learning lesser Truths over time..."
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"Might be worth seein' a shrink before ya get those hopes too high 'bout these Great Ones."
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He stands up now, however, pulling himself to his feet with only a slight wobble to compensate for the weight on his shoulders. (The thing HAS to be at least, what. 40 pounds? 50? It's wrought iron, after all.) "However, I suspect you'll find my words insufficient proof. Would you like to see something instead?" Micolash sounds like he's looking forward to this, eager to show off...whatever it is he has in mind.
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Micolash will be treated to a long stretch of silence as Majima vacillates over this offer. The last time he called a weird guy on his bullshit, it didn't end well. But Majima is also incredibly curious.
"Uh, sure?" he agrees, tentatively.
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"Wonderful! Now, please, a bit of room? If you would?" He twitches his fingers towards the yakuza, urging him to step back if he cares to. Then he holds his other arm out straight and partly raised, fingers splayed.
The resulting display is near-instant, needing no time to concentrate or try. The noise is loud, like a rush of fast-running water and spattering slime. His pale arm bursts into paler tentacles, twisting and splitting to take form from his own flesh. These new segmented appendages wave and slither with unsettling sounds against one another. The man conjuring them has to brace his footing briefly and looks to strain briefly to keep things under some level of control. But then he laughs brightly as he keeps the display there for Majima to witness.
"There! The flesh of one such higher being channeled through my own! A gift through Her own augur! It's it fantastic?!"
To stare or listen too long to these strange growths Micolash's arm now sports starts to make the mind conjure images of butterflies and starlight, the imagined scent of seabreeze and wet stone.
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"What the flying fuck ...?" For a moment, he has trouble processing exactly what's going on. He feels suddenly lightheaded as the hallucinations and fever dreams during that miserable year come to mind. It's the closest mental model his brain can construct around whatever this is.
The hypnotic suggestion adds a new layer of discomfort. A bout of dizzy vertigo makes him stumble backwards, upending a chair with a loud clatter. It distracts him enough to tear his eye away, even as the nauseating noises continue.
"Stop," he says, keeping his head resolutely turned away. He repeats himself, this time with a snarl, "Fucking STOP!"
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"Have I offended?" Why else would someone respond with such distaste and vehemence?
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