Sebastian can't remember the last time he slept deeply, and it worries him that he managed to. How much time did he lose?
...Where the fuck is he?
The laughter wakes him, twisted, recent memories making his skin crawl, even as it shifts into something playful and lighthearted he's still unsettled, never mind the fact that those laughing look like some kind of ren faire dance troupe. He brushes them off, they don't seem to be a threat beyond annoyance, and pulls himself to his feet.
One of them is different, however, fully-clothed, for one, but not much more helpful. Blonde and blue-eyed but in a non-descript way he struggles to put a finger on. He doesn't realize exactly how much of a problem that is until he brushes past her, ignoring her nonsensical explanations, because he knows what this is. He doesn't need some phantom in this fucked up mindgame to tell him—
He whirls when she says his name behind him, her voice suddenly painfully familiar—
Except no, it's definitely the same woman.
He follows behind her from there on out.
[ ooc: admittedly more a set dressing than a prompt, but any fellow new arrivals want to end up on the Welcome Tour with him, or run into him around the Grand Crescent, etc, by all means! ]
—arrival 2.0—
If you think you just saw this man punching a wooden crate in an alleyway no, you absolutely did not.
—not easy drinking green—
He's a Detective, for fuck's sake, but can he find his own goddamn clothes tonight? No. No he cannot. And the horrible woman here to haunt him has given him no mercy, only an outfit that looks a little too much like something off a romance novel for his comfort, in a shade he'd never wear willingly, but he can't show up in the towel clutched around his waist, and he's never seen a woman look less impressed with him. For a moment he considers petulance and refusing to go to the Garden Party, but he knows that means a long night being stalked by Stephanie (she who shall be thus named until she wants a different one.)
Fuck it.
Sebastian will be found near the punch bowl, giving off “please don't” vibes, but observing in a way that's...softly curious. Unless he catches someone staring, in which case it's right back to cold standoffishness.
—welcome to the jungle—
The most disorienting thing is the thought that this is familiar. His head swims with something like vertigo, but without the expected high-pitched electronic whine to signal the world is about to shift. He's not surprised to find himself suddenly apart from everyone else, door nowhere to be seen. He is surprised that nothing's actively bleeding or falling apart around him. It's the little things.
He sticks to the path with the unerring confidence of a man innately good with directions (whether he actually is or not, the confidence remains), but he's not exactly taking a leisurely stroll. He's on edge, even with the sense of Adventure and Exploration in the air (in the drink he downed in one gulp without ever looking at it properly) he can't help feeling watched. Again, it's...familiar. Not comforting. But familiar.
On a hunch, he takes a slice out of a large leaf along the path. Fifteen minutes and seven different turns later, he finds himself at that same leaf for the third time.
“Fuck.”
—clap to save a life—
Sebastian is looking a little disreputable by now, jacket abandoned to particularly handsy nymph, his cravat pitched before even that, pants stained by an ill-advised off-path adventure into some ferns— and yet he's never felt more alive. Well, at least not in recent memory. He's actually smiling as he beats a new path, and all too easily lured by a new kind of light in the distance, this time finally unaccompanied by the unnerving laughter of the others.
He's not expecting butterflies, but then again, he's beginning to realize his imagination could use some work.
They swirl around him and he stops still, almost afraid to breathe, while they appear to take his measure, and then dissipate. One remains, however, curious, and he reaches out with a crooked finger. He can feel the light reflecting off his face as he smiles, as the strange creature perches on the offered finger, flutters its wings like Tinkerbell, and seemingly satisfied with its little glitter show, flitters off to rejoin its friends.
It's not til that small contact is removed that Sebastian is struck with absolute, abject loneliness, his hand feels chilled, and in a way that shoving it under his armpit isn't solving. He knows what he needs, as stupid as it feels, as much as he's still painfully in denial about it. God he just needs to touch someone.
—you can't keep me here—
By the time the rumours of the Golden Wreaths reach Sebastian, he's about fucking done with this place. It's a goddamn vacation compared to his last mindfuck, but he's ready for a nap and he's not drunk enough to sleep in this jungle.
His mind is sharp as ever, however, the sense of Adventure still lingering, so the smallest clues to follow keep him focused. The promise of getting out of this place would be motivation enough.
—wildcard—
{ ooc: OPEN TO SHENANIGANS, got an idea that I haven't made a prompt for? PM/asirensings me and let's chat, or frankly, hit me with it and let's see what happens.
Seb is gonna be a bit prickly and I'm not looking for super smutty options with him right now, but if you've got a solid idea I guarantee you I'm amenable.
Will match brackets or prose to your preference ♥ }
Sebastian Castellanos | The Evil Within | New
As far as nightmares go this is almost a dream.
Sebastian can't remember the last time he slept deeply, and it worries him that he managed to. How much time did he lose?
...Where the fuck is he?
The laughter wakes him, twisted, recent memories making his skin crawl, even as it shifts into something playful and lighthearted he's still unsettled, never mind the fact that those laughing look like some kind of ren faire dance troupe. He brushes them off, they don't seem to be a threat beyond annoyance, and pulls himself to his feet.
One of them is different, however, fully-clothed, for one, but not much more helpful. Blonde and blue-eyed but in a non-descript way he struggles to put a finger on. He doesn't realize exactly how much of a problem that is until he brushes past her, ignoring her nonsensical explanations, because he knows what this is. He doesn't need some phantom in this fucked up mindgame to tell him—
He whirls when she says his name behind him, her voice suddenly painfully familiar—
Except no, it's definitely the same woman.
He follows behind her from there on out.
[ ooc: admittedly more a set dressing than a prompt, but any fellow new arrivals want to end up on the Welcome Tour with him, or run into him around the Grand Crescent, etc, by all means! ]
—arrival 2.0—
If you think you just saw this man punching a wooden crate in an alleyway no, you absolutely did not.
—not easy drinking green—
He's a Detective, for fuck's sake, but can he find his own goddamn clothes tonight? No. No he cannot. And the horrible woman here to haunt him has given him no mercy, only an outfit that looks a little too much like something off a romance novel for his comfort, in a shade he'd never wear willingly, but he can't show up in the towel clutched around his waist, and he's never seen a woman look less impressed with him. For a moment he considers petulance and refusing to go to the Garden Party, but he knows that means a long night being stalked by Stephanie (she who shall be thus named until she wants a different one.)
Fuck it.
Sebastian will be found near the punch bowl, giving off “please don't” vibes, but observing in a way that's...softly curious. Unless he catches someone staring, in which case it's right back to cold standoffishness.
—welcome to the jungle—
The most disorienting thing is the thought that this is familiar. His head swims with something like vertigo, but without the expected high-pitched electronic whine to signal the world is about to shift. He's not surprised to find himself suddenly apart from everyone else, door nowhere to be seen. He is surprised that nothing's actively bleeding or falling apart around him. It's the little things.
He sticks to the path with the unerring confidence of a man innately good with directions (whether he actually is or not, the confidence remains), but he's not exactly taking a leisurely stroll. He's on edge, even with the sense of Adventure and Exploration in the air (in the drink he downed in one gulp without ever looking at it properly) he can't help feeling watched. Again, it's...familiar. Not comforting. But familiar.
On a hunch, he takes a slice out of a large leaf along the path. Fifteen minutes and seven different turns later, he finds himself at that same leaf for the third time.
“Fuck.”
—clap to save a life—
Sebastian is looking a little disreputable by now, jacket abandoned to particularly handsy nymph, his cravat pitched before even that, pants stained by an ill-advised off-path adventure into some ferns— and yet he's never felt more alive. Well, at least not in recent memory. He's actually smiling as he beats a new path, and all too easily lured by a new kind of light in the distance, this time finally unaccompanied by the unnerving laughter of the others.
He's not expecting butterflies, but then again, he's beginning to realize his imagination could use some work.
They swirl around him and he stops still, almost afraid to breathe, while they appear to take his measure, and then dissipate. One remains, however, curious, and he reaches out with a crooked finger. He can feel the light reflecting off his face as he smiles, as the strange creature perches on the offered finger, flutters its wings like Tinkerbell, and seemingly satisfied with its little glitter show, flitters off to rejoin its friends.
It's not til that small contact is removed that Sebastian is struck with absolute, abject loneliness, his hand feels chilled, and in a way that shoving it under his armpit isn't solving. He knows what he needs, as stupid as it feels, as much as he's still painfully in denial about it. God he just needs to touch someone.
—you can't keep me here—
By the time the rumours of the Golden Wreaths reach Sebastian, he's about fucking done with this place. It's a goddamn vacation compared to his last mindfuck, but he's ready for a nap and he's not drunk enough to sleep in this jungle.
His mind is sharp as ever, however, the sense of Adventure still lingering, so the smallest clues to follow keep him focused. The promise of getting out of this place would be motivation enough.
—wildcard—
{ ooc: OPEN TO SHENANIGANS, got an idea that I haven't made a prompt for? PM/
Seb is gonna be a bit prickly and I'm not looking for super smutty options with him right now, but if you've got a solid idea I guarantee you I'm amenable.
Will match brackets or prose to your preference ♥ }