Day of the Dead Guy [Pretty Dang Open]

[vengefulshades]

WHO: Yomiel/The Manipulator, and many of you!
WHERE: The Lift, 15th-floor penthouse lounge in Heropa
WHEN: The night of November 3rd, starting at 8:00
WHAT: A desperate ghost goes to desperate measures to try and off himself, even if that means taking others down with him.
WARNINGS: Violence, mind-control via possession, suicidal themes from Mr. Coping Mechanism here
NOTES: Plot post is here. Mood music is here.



At 8:45 PM, the message goes out across all the Import devices. The Manipulator is back, out in public, and threatening to take six people down with him if the Import heroes don't try to grant his only wish-- to be destroyed permanently.

Who will live? Who will die? And will the Manipulator finally face justice- or oblivion?

STAY TUNED!

Comments

[brushoff]

Dorian frowned, looking over at the tall man with a dark hood covering his eyes. Couldn't he see out of that thing? He strolled closer towards Yomiel's body, frown on his face as he watched the other man.

"Right, I know you're a ghost because I saw that post you made a bit before Halloween. So go ahead. Possess me."

[vengefulshades]

"I've already possessed you once before." He recognized the guy. Though that didn't stop him from drawing closer.

"What are you gonna do?" Not that he really cared, since the idea was that he end up dead anyway, but it was worth asking.

[brushoff]

Paaaause. Because wait, he had? That was something new. He didn't remember the incident at all--but it was worrying, to say the least.

"Simple. You possess me, I kill myself, that should exorcise you."

[vengefulshades]

His eyes were rolling underneath the mask. Out of habit, anyway, since any physical action he made had to be very much deliberate.

"My ghost isn't bound to the people I possess. I don't think it's going to work the way you want it to. What with the death and all."

He put his hands on his hips.

"Unless you're special."

[brushoff]

"If I wasn't special, why would I be up here?" Dorian remarked with a little smirk. "I don't have a death wish. And besides: it's worked before."

[vengefulshades]

"Really."

Somehow, he didn't sound precisely convinced. But he wasn't there to naysay without even trying.

Suddenly, the man in the hood wobbled and slumped, collapsing instantly on the ground as though he'd lost consciousness. Then... nothing.

Nothing until Dorian could suddenly hear a voice in his head.

There. Now get on with it or I'll make you jump off the roof.

[brushoff]

Oh. That was a voice in his head. Dorian had to blink back confusion for a moment as Yomiel talked. Keep in mind that the last time it worked, I had a bomb explode on top of me. As that can't happen here...let's improvise.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Dorian pulled out a sharp bread knife. Throat first, if that doesn't work then I suppose I'll have to set myself on fire. Letting the coat slump to the ground, he stepped away from the coat, so as not to get blood on it, unwrapping the knife in the process. Taking a small breath to help steady himself, Dorian slit his throat, thrusting the knife as far in as possible. Almost instantly, he lurched forward, stopping his hand from going up to his throat via reflex. No. He needed to let his power work. He needed to let things take their course.

Gagging on blood, Dorian gasped and gurgled for air, swaying to the side, as if almost falling down. And then his power kicked in. The skin and muscle started to regrow, knitting his slit throat back together, as his healing factor started to kick into high gear. Within few minutes, his wound had healed, the only trace of it being the line of blood that now marred Dorian's neck.

Still here?

[vengefulshades]

He didn't have much hope for this scenario. Particularly not when it seemed Dorian had the exact same ability to regenerate that Yomiel did, though probably without the annoying deadness attached to it.

Ah... and what memories this gives him. Frantic slashings of his throat, his wrists, stabbing himself in the heart... any number of knives and guns and ropes and any other weapon he could find. He'd gone through all of this before. And from within Dorian, he could only register the injury as a barely-there sensation of pressure.

Yes. I'm still here. He didn't sound so much as flustered by the violence, the gore, the blood gurgling out of his throat.

How is it that you're able to heal yourself? Is that your powers?

[brushoff]

Well shit. Dorian frowned, looking at the bloodied knife, as if trying to figure out what best to do now. He had a lighter. He could try to set himself on fire. But it would be slow going, it would take a while. And he highly doubted that the Manipulator would be patient enough to wait while Dorian attempted arson and then burned alive.

It is. I'm essentially immortal. No essentially about it: he was immortal. But even though this ghost was in his head, he didn't want to play all his cards just yet. He didn't want to give away his entire game, to mention the portrait and oh motherfucker, he just thought about the portrait, he knew that they were communicating via thoughts, but could this guy read his thoughts?

...did you hear what I just thought? Because at the moment, Dorian is decidedly thinking about pink elephants, anything to smother the brief mention of his portrait.