Of Ruby Coercion

[Nayt]

For a moment, there was lifelessness.

Then, there was feeling.

And finally, there was color.

It would perhaps be the most disquieting experience for any man, to open his eyes after a moment of agony, only to be blinded by an obscure pink. There was nothing else, no further figure, no extensive form, just that one enraging Baker Miller color that could inspire even the most serene, contented citizens to jump headlong into violence without a second thought--after, of course, a short while of exposure to the godforsaken color. Baleron would only be left to hope, if he could, that such a fate would not befall him.

"Hey there, cutie," declared a female voice.

The voice was young--but she was not a teenager. She couldn't be; she sounded older than that. Thirty, perhaps? No, that was far too old. Twenty would have been a better guess--or perhaps even the mid-twenties. Though she had the voice of a mature woman, physically, her tone was far from that.

Although Baleron would see nothing, his sense of feeling was in tact, as was his hearing--he'd hear the woman loud and clear, feel himself laying on something . . . moist, it seemed, and smell the fresh, clean air around him. There were no drugs lingering . . .

"You look a lot better with arms," she giggled, a declarative giggle and subsequent snicker that could drive a man to madness. "Did you have a sweet dreeeaaam?"

[Baleron87]

Pieces... He had been broken into pieces, and not just metaphorically. The final assault of Vylrath's attack still was etched clearly into his sight, as he had watched his limbs seperate from his body in quite a morbid fashion. He could have sworn that in the last few seconds of his life, he had even felt his head bounce onto the soft sand, his gaze staring out upon the massive ocean that surrounded that island. Even with such a horrible death, he felt at peace with how he had died. He didn't know if his eyes had closed or not as his vision blurred and blackened before him.

And then there was pink. It was not a gradual change of light or color, but a simple snap of hue that assailed his senses and kept him frozen rigid. With the memory of his broken corpse only a few moments old, he didn't think to move, imagining himself to still be only just a head. But soon, feeling came back to him, and with it a sudden realization. Slowly, he tested his body, blinking an eyebrow at first, then curling a finger or stretching his legs outwards. He was able to feel it all. No longer did his skin feel like stone. He was truly capable of the sense of touch.

It was a miracle... The Blood Curse was no longer upon him.

He restrained himself from bolting up and dancing about for the return of his senses. Endless possibilities began to flutter about in his mind. He was capable of feeling again. He could actually feel pain. He pinched himself on his arm to test this, and let out a painful and satisfying yelp, following it up with a truly genuine smile. He relaxed back against his "bed", looking up into the vast pink, contemplating the vibrant color.

His logical thoughts began to return to him after his initial celebration, and he turned his head from side to side, looking around for some sort of defining feature. Unfortunately, none were to be had in this place. Slowly, he began to realize where he might be. He began to sit up when a sudden voice cut through the quiet, and he kept still for fear of being taken somewhere dark. Albeit, the voice definately didn't sound like one that would drag him down into fire, but after his recent death, he didn't want to take any chances.

Baleron listened to this voice, knowing quite well that she knew he was here. Still, he didn't move, somewhat paralyzed in thought at what might happen to him in this desolate place. He shivered at the woman's giggle, his body telling his mind that there was definately something odd about the situation at hand. Now uncomfortable in his laying position, he slowly stood, now cursing the fact that he was incapable of calling up the Blood Gift if this led to trouble. His single question was one probably asked by all men who came here, but Baleron could think of no other question to start.

"Am I... dead?"

[Nayt]

Baleron's display of joy was humorous, without a doubt in the world! She had a hard time containing the urge to laugh--not at him, but with him! Baleron himself was on the brink of laughter, and it was truly contagious--were she already not already in a state of joy. He did, however, amplify her own personal rapture, and now she was so longing to keep him around. It was just too bad that he'd have to leave eventually.

Not that it would wind up being problematic for Baleron when that time came, of course. The woman found him cute enough to feel a desire to just . . . keep him here, all based on just one reaction. But would he have been able to withstand it? Surrounded by this color, would he have been able to maintain a semblance of sanity? It only took a few hours for a normal person--without any discrimination against race--to begin to lose their minds. The color was blinding in so many ways, and was one of the few aspects of the natural that could drive a grown man into rabid violence, frothing at the mouth and tearing away at anything and everything around him. He could destroy the walls, his bars, his homes, families, his own life--anything. It simply instilled a strong madness in those who experienced it for prolonged amounts of time, this single color . . .

"No, silly," she replied, giggling once again.

And yet, she may as well have lived within it. It could have been her home, and she'd find no qualms; in fact, she'd feel nothing more than childish ecstasy, inspiring no feeling beyond the truest form of joy. If it made her want to snap and destroy her surroundings . . . well, that was yet to be determined . . .

Baleron, standing, would feel clothes against his back--yes, the same clothes he died in. There was no moisture upon them, nor did the scent of blood arise to meet his nostrils. If this was a world between worlds, some form of Purgatory, then what was beyond had the potential to be a total hell (perhaps laden with a color much more miserable than this, if there even was such), or a perfect heaven. Both fortunately and unfortunately for Baleron, he was not going to either of these places.

"You've just been dreaming," her voice echoed, a trace of joy behind every word, as if she were ready to burst into childish laughter at any second . . . "But don't worry, you'll wake up soon!"

[Baleron87]

"Dreaming? Have I really been..." His logical mind began to work over countless situations and memories, searching avidly within himself for the names of people he knew, how they looked and who they were. All of those people he could quite easily remember. How then could he have been dreaming at all? And if he were to take what she said as truth, then what was this place? From her words, it sounded as if he was still in a dream, but this place seemed as real as the world he had just left. He imagined he would never understand the answers to any of these passing thoughts, for his instinct told him something was going to soon happen to him that would leave all of these questions unanswered.

He took a moment to survey his surroundings once again, being utterly blinded by the sheer pink that enveloped his sight. There was no one around, yet he knew that somewhere nearby someone must have been watching him. The woman that had been speaking to him had not yet shown herself, and without his Blood Gift he would have been unable to sense even the general direction in which she stood. That is, if she was simply standing anywhere at all. In such a place, he imagined voices could come without bodies. It only gave his curious side more to ponder, such as what such a woman would look like. Thoughts of a woman with skin as pink as her surroundings gave him more than a few images he was loathe to move on from.

Baleron's inquisitorial nature began to weigh heavily on him. He wished to ask so many questions, but not knowing how long he would be kept in this place, he decided it would be best to stick with the most basic of questions, or at least those pertaining to what would happen to him now that he was here.

"So... Then what is this place? And... What exactly is going to happen to me now that I'm here? If I'm not dead, then what am I supposed to do now?"

[Nayt]

"You wake up, that's what~" the woman chimed merrily.

It was far too simple of an answer to be true--but if this was exactly what she said, and was nothing more than a dream, would that be all? Baleron maintained all of those memories, all the events of the party and everything that lead up to his death, and while they weren't going to feel like something as minor as a dream to him--if he woke up, would he feel the same way?

"That's how dreams work, silly! Your dream's just ending right now, that's all~" she declared with a giggle. "Just when it gets to the best part! Oh well~! It just means you'll go on with your normal life, where you were--traveling, right? After freeing yourself from your curse, you started walking one road, deciding to see where it would lead you, now that you feel like a human being again! Right?"

Memories would flood back to him-- memories . . . his own . . . were they real, or was his mind just filling in the blanks with imagination? That was for him to decide, and as tempting as it might have been for him to believe that he really had died--if this was just a dream, then there was only one choice of what to believe . . .

There was form--he could see-- someone. Her. Slowly, the outline became more prominent as his eyes adjusted to the color (and, though he may not have noticed it, he'd begin to twitch indefinitely), and over the next couple of seconds, he'd finally be able to see the details of the woman he'd been talking to. She had a thin frame and was average height--for her age, at least, just five feet and four inches tall. To most men, she was the type to be considered attractive: thin, young, pretty . . . she had this pristine skin, almost completely devoid of blemishes, thin eyebrows, a bosom as perky as her attitude, and a quaint, pleasant smile--with ruby red lips, eyes pink like a jewel, and short, wild, yet well cleaned and groomed hair of the same color, the same shade of pink that could drive a man to frothing violence. Each article of clothing seemed to have no rhyme or reason: her pants were halved--one long pant leg (to her ankles), one short pant leg (to her knees), a tank top laden with unnecessary zippers, and jacket that she only wore over one arm, with the rest of it dangling down behind her, and to top it all off, between every article of clothing, she had every color of the rainbow, and every color beyond the rainbow, visible.

"And--hey! If you forget everything else, at least remember the name of your dream girl!" she declared with a giddy smile, before announcing her name--Baleron wouldn't hear what she was saying, as the pink began to fade into a less maddening color, and a world more real than the one in which he stood faded in, but as the figure faded with the color, he'd be able to read her lips, at the very least: "R-O-S-E-U-S."

In the end, Baleron would find himself resting at the camp [he had set up for himself?], after what may have been the strangest dream of his life.

[Nayt]

Of Ruby Coercion // Fin.