August 23, 2011 - 4:40am — GingerNut
He was falling.
It was a dull, tiresome sensation. It was nothing more than the simplistic feeling of wind whipping through his fur, his tender eyes wetting at the corners.
There was nothing, and seemingly no end in sight.
Unable to stand the pressure of the gust beating in his face, the piebald could only crack open his eyes the smallest fraction of an inch. All he could perceive was an infinite blackness, the sort that one can only comprehend in death.
Had he died? No, no he hadn’t. Rather, he was experiencing a lucid dream that almost seemed too real to be simulated by his mind.
Then again, Pert’s mentality had never been normal to begin with.
As he fell, he tried to make sense of what had occurred, why he had fallen unconscious. His lips crinkled in a tight frown.
“Jergens"
He whispered the name, and the sound was instantly whipped away by the surrounding air currents. He said it again, more slowly, rolling off every letter as if it were a holy relic.
The name sounded harsh, the ‘j’ and the ‘g’ unable to compromise in a pleasant sounding tone. The first four letters, complimented by a hissing ‘s’ at the end, made the unusual name sound more like a curse than a title. It was a terrible name, to say the least. A name of some poor soul that was doomed to be ostracized by society.
And yet, despite the name’s horrid sound, it’s mere thought or mentioning triggered a blossom of such indescribable feelings in the stag’s breast that the first mutter of the name was nothing short of a gasp.
The plethora of emotions that stewed within him seemed to range from a carnal lusting (of which he could not understand and thus, could not name) to an unfathomable rage. There were many others as well, remorse, giddiness, childish dependence, nervous tension, and even disgust.
The anger was what surprised him. As far as Pert knew, this particular figure had been important to him in a way that anger didn’t even seem possible.
Then again, ‘Jergens’ had mentioned being hurt by him.
Pert immediately dismissed the idea that he had done something wrong himself. Yes, even he could admit that he had a bit of a nasty temper. But even so, the stag wasn’t able to believe that he had the capability of hurting another person.
…Why had they run away? Or, at the very least, why did they choose to travel together against the wishes of their parents? The answer was probably obvious enough to be read between the lines, but Pert wasn’t clever enough to deduct anything in particular about their relationship in the first place.
As a deer, Pert had no time to conduct in the folly of romance. He was too busy hiding himself from the overbearing patch of stimuli that was The Endless Forest itself. He had assumed that his human life had been just as loveless.
The thought of his sexual orientation had never even remotely occurred to him. If there was one thing that stuck to Pert from his past life, it was his core set of morals and values.
In the time-period and culture that he had grown up in, homosexuality was not only wrong, but it was also considered to be a severe mental illness. The sheer magnitude of just how wrong it actually was had been drilled into his head, and if he had been in school during the AIDS pandemic, it would have been hammered in even more.
Despite his violent childhood, Pert had been a fairly open-minded person. But even so, it would take some time (and plenty of more evidence) before the stag would even consider the possibility that he and ‘Jergens’ had been a queer sort of couple (literally).
Were they family members? They couldn’t be brothers, unless Pert’s hallucination was inaccurate, the two looked nothing alike. Maybe they were cousins of some sort, or simply childhood friends that had bonded to the point where ‘Jergens’ felt inclined to watch over him.
As the stag thought, the rate at which he was falling began to slow down. The wind no longer hurt his eyes, and he bravely stared at the infinite black void down below. After all, none of it was even real to begin with, just his sick mind making sense of whatever seemed to be happening to it.
There were memories, but they seemed to be unearthed so quickly that Pert couldn’t even attempt to grasp a single one. They were dug up only to be re-buried into another realm of his unconsciousness, unable to be grasped.
Still, small bits and pieces of other aspects of his life presented themselves to him. The details of his mother’s appearance, a little girl with long wavy red hair, a small mongrel Rottweiler and much more trickled through his consciousness.
Soon, as small meaningless bits were gathered up and neatly filed away, the stag had stopped falling in entirety. Sprawled out, he floated motionlessly through oblivion; his eyes clenched shut in mental strain.
At first he could hear nothing save for the shallow gasps of his own breath, but as minutes passed, Pert heard much more than that.
The light chirping of cicadas, a rustle of leaves, and the gentle murmur of people talking… all of which heard with no distinguishable source to back them up. There was nothing but the blackness that encased him.
Ears twitching in agitation, Pert tried to make out the conversation. It seemed to reverberate from all around, echoing and distorting to the point where he could only make out one of the voices as his own.
As he strained to decipher the words, he wondered to whom the other voices belonged to. One was a high tenor. A voice he couldn’t even begin to recognize, and the other was a familiar, gritty drawl.
However, the stag didn’t need to wait for long. Slowly, the black void bled into a lighter shade of green… then a light blue… and after fading back to black, Pert could clearly hear the conversation ring out before him. A fragmented memory of which most had been lost.
”So tonight I think I got enough to get us one of those cheap-ass motels…”
That was Jergens; Pert easily recognized the cracked growl of the ginger’s tone. There was a pause, and even if the stag could only hear what was going on, he could clearly imagine the sickening sneer on Jergens’ face at his next statement.
”...Who the hell is that, Pert?”
"Isn't that your friend?”
”Never seen him in my life, where’d yew get that idea? The kid's just lyin' with ya, Perty.”
Pert recognized his own voice, but it sounded tired, like he hadn’t slept for days. It was almost surreal, hearing himself talk like that.
He wished he could understand the whole context of the conversation, or at the very least the person that Jergens was referring to. All he could do was listen and interpret.
”What are you doing? Were you lying the whole time?” his own self asked.
Another voice came in. A high tenor that seemed to quaver, whether out of fear or not, Pert didn’t know.
"I'm staying at my big brother's side… I have to stay with him…”
Big brother? What did that mean? Pert’s brow furrowed in confusion.
”Why.. why do you think I'm lying…”
The man’s voice was nearly emotionless, droning in a helpless, yet uncaring tone. Something had happened, but Pert didn’t have the slightest idea on what.
"Get rid of him, Perty…” Jergens’ voice rang out, the id to Pert’s ego. ”Maybe he'll have enough fer us to get a good dinner or somethin'… Here.”
Amidst the warble of cicadas and rustling branches, Pert could hear the familiar click of a box-cutter’s safety latch. Even if he had forgotten most of his human life, some things had been so hammered into his brain that it was impossible for him to forget.
He felt shivers going up his spine with the realization that he was intending to hurt what seemed to be a helpless man. Jergens had handed him the weapon and was intending for him to do the dirty work.
Had he wanted to, though? Was he so much of a sadist that he genuinely wanted to harm others, even Jergens himself?
His thoughts abruptly came to an end as he heard what sounded like a dull thud against hard ground, accompanied by a sickening crack.
"Sorry sir... I need you to empty your pockets and all that. Where’s your wallet?” he heard himself say, shocked at how flat his own tone was. How mechanical it all seemed, like such violence was mere clockwork to him.
"…don’t… have it… Please… let me…”
The sheer weakness and babbling of the voice was enough to tear the stag’s heart in two. He couldn’t have been so cruel… so terrible. Had he changed for the better in this new life? Given a sense of remorse and kindness despite his fervent temper? It seemed dreamlike to him… almost unreal.
”He says he doesn’t have one, Jerg.”
”Bastards probably lyin'… Give him the ol’ one-two.”
What had been wrong with them? What had reduced them to such petty, horrifying criminals that stalked the streets and preyed on the innocent?
There was a pause, a long, horrible pause.
And then the unmistakable sounds of someone being beaten.
The other man didn’t cry out, which was what disturbed Pert most of all. There wasn’t a single whimper of pain or a scream of protest, just the dull thud of fists hitting against flesh.
”I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he heard himself apologize after every hit. The sentiments didn’t sound sincere. They sounded almost mocking to the stag.
He was disgusted, his skin crawling and his legs writhing as he was forced to listen to his own assault.
It was soon over, and Pert could hear the sounds of gasping.
”I-I’m sorry…”
He flinched, for his words reeked of shame, like he hadn’t known what had come over him. That the whole act was not of his own will.
".. s'okay..”
He was being forgiven. Forgiven for brutally attacking some poor person on the street, no doubt. It was like his brain was offering a more satisfying conclusion to what had been a dissatisfying experience.
Slowly, the drone of the cicadas died out, and the swaying branched faded away. The memory had ended, and Pert didn’t even get to hear Jergens’ response.
The black void faded away, and the stag found himself where he had fallen unconscious, bleary-eyed and disoriented.
“Are you alright? I happened to see you collapse. That doesn’t usually happen to normal looking deer like you.”
There was a stag lying in front of him, but Pert couldn’t make out any details. His vision was fuzzy and distorted at best. “I… Where…" he started, only to have a nasty smelling poultice shoved in his face.
“Don’t talk and eat this.” The stag commanded, who appeared to be nothing more than a fuzzy, incomprehensible green blob that loomed over him.
Pert, not wanting to make the beast angry, lapped up the foul smelling goop with the tip of his tongue. The effects were instantaneous, and the stag’s eyesight cleared within seconds.
“Better?” the stag inquired. Pert looked up, finding that the stag was rather elderly looking, with the tips of his green fur greying and splitting at the ends. His human face was almost ancient, dotted with a vast map of wrinkles and tiny scars.
“Yes… Thank you.” Pert mumbled, forcing himself to his hooves, swaying slightly back and for the before he sat back down to look up at the stag (for he was quite massive even by forest deer standards).
The senior stag sighed in reply. “So many horrid things happening lately…” he mused, more to himself than Pert, who cocked his head to the side.
“Are you a healer?” he asked, more out of politeness than curiosity. Frankly he just want to go somewhere private and attempt to analyze what had happened, maybe even conjure up a Jergens-hallucination and talk to him about it.
The other stag smiled wryly. “Far from it, I’m a practiced physician. I only seemed like a healer since I don’t exactly have much to work with here besides what you just ingested.” He talked stiffly, keeping a business-like demeanor that, needless to say, gave the stag a very professional mien. Even if his statement sounded silly, he had the type of look where you wouldn’t have the nerve to laugh at him.
“I'm Malware.” He added in, reluctantly, as if feeling the need to introduce himself.
Pert smiled a little, bowing his head politely. “I’m Pert... not as nice sounding as your name, is it?” he introduced, forcing a chuckle that quickly died out when he saw Malware’s hard gaze suddenly burn into him. He quieted instantly.
“...Kambell?” the stag's tone seemed to darken withen seconds to Pert, his eyes narrowing into what looked to be a suspicious glare.
“Um… yeah…” the piebald replied, remembering how he had signed his last name on all the letters he had wrote.
Malware’s eyes turned into glinting slits, and his ragged pelt seemed to twitch.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Pert.”
And, for the time being, Pert seemed to forget about why he had fallen unconscious in the first place.
---
And here you go~ Two days late but here all the same.
The memory's dialogue is ripped from an rp. Obvious text of obvious character belongs to obvious Munkel (obviously).
Didn't use color codes for the sole reason that they aren't working... no idea why, but it's annoying. Whatever though, I can live without them.
...
Why does Malware always show up in my plot's cliffhangers? This is like... the third time now...
Ohh... *glued to screen,
Signature by Roo ♥
I think you have to change
And haha ffff, makes me so happy that you included this rp here ;3;
And I love this as always~
I guess Malware's always quite important, I always it like when he appears : D
Skits; Teeheehee~
Munk; I honestly don't know what it is... Cause I did all of that. The weird thing is that it DOES work, it just warps all the outside text as well. It's okay though, it's not like I need it anyway c':
Well... he is old cx