Mille Regretz [Closed]

[Bertolt]

In the grim darkness the devil sat upon his stool, lute clutched tenderly between clawed fingers as his horns hung low in shame. The doors of the devils home were all open, save for two; one that lead outside, firmly shut, and one that lead to the master bedroom, covered in dust and never to be disturbed. Bertolt was the devils name and his eyes shone bright as they cracked open like the parting rock of cooling magma, illuminating the room in a warm golden glow. Like he'd done countless nights before, his crimson fingers found the strings and plucked a tune of regret. This was the vigil he kept in his prison, just one small segment of a routine that helped him cling to the remaining threads of his fraying mind.

Each note lingered in the hallways, barely peeking into each room they passed before continuing their journey down, down, down into the mansions depths, seeking an escape that did not exist. For a moment they stopped at the closed door on the second floor--the previous attempt a distant dream--before moving on. The notes were weak by the time they reached the front door, unable to pull it open, try as they might. How many times had they tried?

Bertolt sighed as he picked at his instrument, his breath billowing out with the heat of a furnace. It was the only sound besides his tune, a faint sad hiss in the dusty blackness, perceptible from every inch of the building as if he'd become one with the wood. Gently, the devil rocked back and forth to comfort himself and lost himself in the music, unshackled if only for a few minutes.

The sound of a door unlatching somewhere in the mansion stopped both his tune and his movements dead and the devil sat frozen in the murky nothing with his eyes closed and body taut, like a cat ready to bolt. Holding his breath, his mind began to wander into madder waters; images swirling all around him, of burnt corpses shambling from their resting place to punish him for his crimes, a woman with an unremembered face silently gliding through the hallways to finally end his suffering, countless people with clubs and scythes and hoes hacking away at his walls now that they knew who the true monster was.

With a grace belying his ungainly appearance Bertolt slithered from his stool and propped the lute in the corner where he'd found it, slipping fluidly through the crack in the door to peer his glowing orange eyes into the hallway. Every blink plunged the world into darkness, until he closed his eyes and began his search. He wasn't sure how, but he was able to sense the presence of another creature within his home even without sight or sound.

"Who has come to visit Bertolt?" His voice was cracked and haggard from years of neglect, a softness in the rusty vocal chords, yet despite this his voice permeated every floor of his home like the fires that once engulfed it. Like a horrific creature Bertolt crawled along the rug of the hall, deftly climbing up onto the wall and ceiling like a great red insect. Skittering through an open door way he climbed up to the lofty roof of the foyer, using his tail to swing from the rafters.

"Are you the jailer?" He asked, his light germanic tones drifting from nowhere and everywhere.

[EXP: 5][Total EXP: 5]

[Bái Yan Láng]

Hiking, Josh groused to himself, was clearly invented by the devil. It wasn’t the physical exertion that was a problem. But rather the lack of roads and comprehensible landmarks. More than twice he’d somehow ended up right back where he’d started, or maybe just in a lookalike locale, which was even worse.

And of course his cell service wasn’t working out here. That’s what he got for skimping on the SIM card. Josh hadn’t thought he’d be here for very long. A day or two at most. It was supposed to be an experiment. To test whether he could get by traveling outside of Hong Kong. This was closer to Wales than he’d been since he was a brat and yet so far nothing had crawled from the woodwork to curse him or his very nature.

Hiraeth shifted restlessly under his skin – one out of two of them disappointed at the lack of action. Josh wasn’t impressed at the lazing doll. How was it that Josh was the ‘weak’ one when Hiraeth got to hitch a free ride and skip out on the mosquitoes.

Quit your whining, boy.

His muscles cramped, a sharp pain the doll’s rebuke, and Josh rolled his eyes. Before he could respond with some sort of snappish comment sure to get a further rise out of Hiraeth, the doll flooded their bond with a languid disinterest.

Keep going – There’s a building up ahead. I want to see what’s inside.

“And I want a bowl of dandanmian and to sleep for a week, but we don’t always get what we want.” Josh huffed, craning his head back to stare towards the skyline. He certainly couldn’t see any building and the only sounds nearby were birds acting like dueling wind sections at a tryout.

Normally he’d have turned and gone the opposite direction just to spite Hiraeth, but it wasn’t like Josh had a surfeit of options right now. Also – hiking would no doubt be ten times worse if it involved the doll dragging him through the woods. He preferred his own feet, thank you very much.

Besides, Josh wasn’t dull enough to miss the frission of interest floating below Hiraeth’s bored commands.

Trudging forward, Josh made sure to direct his swear-laden complaints towards Hiraeth as the path became more rocks than dirt. Was this even the right way up? How did people live like this? What was so wrong with roads and cars and fucking subway systems?

Wiping perspiration from the brown hair now flattened against his forehead, Josh grimaced at the sticky feeling as he paused for a breather. True to Hiraeth’s instincts, there actually was some sort of creepy mansion, looming out of the earth like it’d just popped up from some pocket dimension.

Shaking out his arms, Josh adjusted his backpack and regretted the long-sleeved shirt he’d thrown on this morning. Back when it had been a misty cold pre-dawn and that had seemed like an intelligent decision.

Wasn’t Germany supposed to be cold?

Sauntering forward, Josh walked right up to the front door and knocked, getting his grimy hands all over the intricately carved monstrosity. Clearly someone had money. Which meant they were either going to be really nice about having unexpected guests or really crappy about it.

“Want to lay odds?”

Hiraeth grunted. The door isn’t locked, boy.

Josh wasn’t keen on asking how the doll knew that, but he also figured a little B&E would go better if he was the one to trespass rather than the towering monster he unfortunately shared this body with.

Turning the knob, he was surprised when the door swung open smoothly. The inside appeared dark at first, mainly in contrast to the sun at his back, and Josh shrugged before stepping over the threshold.

Standing in the foyer, with his eyes adjusting to the light, Josh grimaced. Someone had a lot of money. And no household help, judging by the sheets of dust he disturbed when he ran his finger over the wainscotting.

The place was empty. And not the intermittent quiet of a room temporarily abandoned but rather the hollow that got left behind when silence stretched too long.

It’s not silent. Hiraeth shuffled, laying close to Josh’s skin like he was preparing to emerge. Pinpricks raced up and down Josh’s spine, his fingers numb.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say Mister Super Senses. Can you not do that?” Josh snapped, discomfort getting the best of him.

The sensation subsided only a little, softening to the more mind-bending skitter of questionable contact. But Hiraeth’s focus was honed now, his attention turned towards the doorways and fancy staircases as if this was some game of hide and seek. Josh rubbed at his arms and chose a direction at random. If he found the kitchen at least he could sneak a glass of water before whatever this was went to hell in a handbasket.

He’d made it two meters when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Josh was filled with the terrifying atavistic certainty that he was being watched.

When he turned, that voice slithered out from the shadows, reverberating around the open space like some magic trick.

There!

Hiraeth saw it first – the contorted abomination skulking in the rafters. Golden orbs glowed way too bright to be human and its hunched position looked impossible with a normal spine and skeleton.

“Am I the what?” Josh muttered in confusion, squaring off against the thing peering down at them. He’d seen uglier creatures, probably.

“Why the fuck would you think I’m a jailer? Do I look like a cop to you?” Did they really come all this way to get insulted by some horror-movie knock off?

[Bertolt]

Caught in the spotlight of Bertolts eyes the boy was revealed to him: a small thing with soft hair and strange clothes, that barked like a dog at ghosts and ghouls. Strange runes covered the boy from neck to toe, an odd looping curl with a point that looked remarkably like Bertolts tail emblazoned on the coat, a white slash was stitched into his shoes, perhaps some kind of wing charm for speed? Like an owl, Bertolt craned his neck to get a better view of the weird symbols, wondering what other icons the boy had embellished himself with and for what purpose. 

Strange words escaped the boys mouth and Bertolt fixated on one inparticular, the little one that the boy had associated with the word jailer. Cop. Was that what they called people who kept other people inprisoned now?

"Cop." He tested the word, feeling it on his tongue, tasting the single syllable that started at the back of his throat and launched to his lips. His tail flicked and coiled curiously. "Cop cop cop cop." It was simple, inelligant, like something a baby would babble, or a noise a toddler would make to entertain itself. Not fitting for the title of a person who held so much power. The glowing eyes wandered for a moment as he repeated the word idly, fixating for a moment on the open doorway, then they found the boy again.

"Not the jailer then." Bertolt crowed. "The jailer is a lady, and stronger besides. If she were here, Bertolt would likely not be." With a sudden muffled thud Bertolt dropped onto the carpeted landing between the two staircases that lead to the upper wings of the mansion. In the darkness his form landed as a creature, but as it rose to descend the staircase down to the foyer it became a man. Tall, and still too misshapen to be human, but a man nonetheless. As he descended his eyes were once again drawn to the front door and the world beyond, the only source of natural light, and the only exit from the mansion.

With just the slightest touch Bertolt lit the candles on either side of the staircase and gave the foyer some much needed light, his crimson skin, haggard hair, and fleshy horns dimly lit by the tiny flames. His face seemed almost fearful, with a pinched brow and small frown. He crossed the foyer, upright this time, stepping from carpet to marble flooring with clicks and clacks from his long sharp nails, to light the candles along the walls so that he might welcome his guest properly. 

When he turned to do the same for the other side he nearly jumped, as if he'd forgotten the boy was there.

"Please," his voice was almost a whimper. "Close the door. It is cruel to tempt Bertolt with something he cannot have."

[EXP: 5][Total EXP: 10]

[Bái Yan Láng]

"This better be worth poking a loonie," Josh muttered, watching the creature replay his words like some demented mockingjay. He actually felt a little bad, like he was watching some sort of private moment, a vulnerability not meant for him to witness.

Hiraeth scoffed, the doll's attention never leaving the figure. Like always, he didn't deign to fill Josh in on what was going on. But he didn't seem nervous, either. Just intent -- the way a cat watched a mouse after it had already eaten its fill.

"Obviously not," Josh grit out, offended at the comparison and using his anger to cover for the way he'd startled when the guy dropped down from the ceiling. "I wouldn't be caught dead working for the government. Fuck pensions."

He narrowed his eyes and watched the creature's approach, holding his ground sternly and widening his stance. Josh wasn't about to back down even if this mansion likely belonged to the other guy. Odds were, if he did call the cops they'd arrest the nutjob instead of Josh. That seemed more their M.O.

Josh's guilt curdled his stomach, and he stomped back to shut the door without griping about being told what to do. Whatever. He was capable of manners! And he didn't like it when people got all jumpy around him -- not unless he'd given them a good reason to act like that.

Turning, Josh leaned against the wooden door, wrinkling his nose at the faint smoky scent that permeated the building. He'd stay here for the moment, give the other guy some space.

"Bertolt? Is that your name?" Was talking in third person a sign of insanity? It seemed like it should be. That and the guy's award-winning best-Halloween costume didn't exactly fill him with confidence. What the hell did Hiraeth want with this guy?

If he was hungry there were way easier souls to grab. Ones that didn't live in the middle of fucking nowhere.

"There, door's closed. No need to worry about the robot pigeons or the aliens listening in." He held his hands up in a soothing manner that didn't fully counteract the biting sarcasm. Look, Josh wasn't claiming to be a saint by any measure.

"I go by Bai. Sorry to barge in and all that -- you've got a nice place here." (He flipped Hiraeth the middle finger as the doll started snickering.)

[Bertolt]

The boy didn't seem pleased by Bertolts plea to complete the enclosure, but the finer details of modern mortals and their complexes were beyond the devils understanding, so all he could do was nod his head graciously as his guest acquiesced. Limp brown hair fell into his eye with the motions, and a crooked clawed finger poked it back behind his horn before he continued his journey to light the hall. Clicks turned to thumps and back to clacks as he stepped barefoot over the carpet in the middle of the foyer and began pressing fire into the candles on the other side. Bertolt had forgotten when he learned to do it, but flame came as naturally to him as breathing now. Fortunate, considering he'd lost the flint and steel centuries ago.

"Bertolt is my name, yes." He replied dreamily, focusing on his work as he began to ascend the stairs again to light the landing candles. The entire landing was carpeted, his feet making soft thumping sounds that echoed throughout the hall like the beating of a sickly heart. He didn't pick up on the venom in Bai's voice, simply because Bertolt wasn't fully aware of what was being said to him.

He appeared briefly over the banister and repeated the words he hadn't heard before, his voice carrying down into the foyer as he pinched another wick between his fingertips to create light.

"Robot. Alien."

He played with the consonants, holding and shortening them, searching for the meaning.

By the time he was done lighting all the candles in the foyer Bai had complimented his home, and Bertolts frown deepened. There was nothing nice about his prison. 

"I inherited it." He said. Appearing at the balcony again, Bertolt rolled over it, freefalling half a story to the ground, where he landed once again in a puddle of crouching rag covered beast, again rising as a gaunt ghost of a man. He continued his sentence as if nothing had happened. "It had no meaning for me at the time, just a bauble, but now I wish I hadn't."

With the foyer lit Bertolt approached Bai, and for the first time came within polite speaking distance just a couple of feet away. Framed by the flickering red flames he bowed, as what little sunlight that peeked through the shrouded windows illuminated his face. A fierce, if melancholic crimson-skinned man with the visage of the devil himself.

"Welcome, Bai, to Bertolts home. There is little here in the way of food and drink, Bertolt can offer you only shelter and ask that you forgive the lack of hospitality. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. All that is asked of you is that you keep closed doors closed. If you have questions, as many do, Bertolt will gladly answer. It has been a long time since he had a guest." A small smile broke the sadness of his cheeks, a crack in an otherwise grimy piece of porcelain, as if he'd forgotten how to grin.

[EXP: 5][Total EXP: 15]

[Bái Yan Láng]

It took effort to press his shoulders flat, to keep them from inching upwards as Josh watched ‘Bertolt’ prowl. The creature’s sinuous stride called up some animal instinct in the hind parts of Josh’s brain, a wordless tinny scream like a hand closing around his throat. Where Hiraeth was all purposeful stalking, a panther on the roam, this guy slunk about in a herky-jerky fashion – moving both too quickly and too slowly. Predicting his position was all but impossible.

Hiraeth was power under a rippling veneer of humanity. The threat embodied in his form and movements was straightforward and clear-cut. Josh knew when to duck or when to stand tall and push back. To grit his teeth and weather the hit.

This, though, was something wholly incomprehensible. Josh tried – unblinking, staring, following Bertolt’s path like the knowledge would click into place and he’d suddenly be able to predict what the guy would do next, where he'd end up. Instead of this glitch-like shamble. This impossible hair-raising wrongness.

Josh wasn’t afraid of much. He’d mastered fear after having it pounded into him. That’s what he told himself, while his stomach tried to claw its way up his ribcage and into his throat. Bertolt was a Frankenstein monstrosity – fine then, no wonder Josh’s skin felt clammy, and his breath sang sharp in his lungs – but atavistic terror or not, Josh had no reason to be afraid of the guy.

What was he going to do? Kill Josh? Big deal.

Focus. Hiraeth’s order rumbled through his chest, the grind and crack of rocks collapsing.

Wincing at the pressure, Josh shook his head, forcing himself to blink. To exhale. Not to freeze up when Bertolt dropped down again and began to approach closer than before.

There was a huff, long-suffering fondness dancing around the mental vocalization. As if I would let anyone else kill you, boy. Stop your mewling and make him tell you how he is kept here.

Josh scowled, unwilling to admit the doll’s reassurance was anything more than insulting. Before he could uncoil his muscles from where they had tightened into cinderblocks, Hiraeth added one last hard jab. Unless you’d like me to talk for you, boy? – This one has been marinating in his own power for decades.

No fucking thanks. Josh twitched at the offer (threat), shaking his head again like a dog casting off the irritating buzz of a fly. (That was one check against traveling. Without Xiao as a heavyweight Josh knew he wouldn’t be able to stop Hiraeth from consuming whoever he wanted to – deserving target or not.)

“I’m not a stickler for that fancy shit anyway,” he muttered, leaning back against the door with an insouciant arrogance that his body recognized even if Josh had to shove it into his limbs.

Bertolt certainly looked like a humanoid – the horns and flames notwithstanding. What the fuck were his joints made of if he could stand upright as calm as you please after basically dripping all over the place just a moment before?

“Thanks, though,” Josh said roughly. Hoping the guy was too much of a freak to pick up on the awkward tension rising. “Shelter’s good enough for me. You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been hiking up that damn mountain.”

“I guess it’d be hard to get supplies up here,” he offered, an excuse that explained the lack of food but not why this mansion looked like it’d just stepped out of a horror novel from the 1800s.