The Hannya Mask

[warandpeace]

Who: Event Post | Open
When: Dec. 5th - 15th
Where: Around Avagi
What: A demon is haunting the station, spurred on by emotional responses. More information can be found here.
Warnings: Violence, possible death, body horror, etc.

THE HAUNTING

The onryō starts making her first patrols in the early morning when most people are comfortably asleep and not wanting to wake up. The sense of unease she creates is palpable, and initially she just looks at who is around. She chooses in the dark who she should be angry with, who is a foolish idiot for making her mistakes and who is an ignorant soul who ignored the anguish of someone else's attention. Everyone else is unimportant.

Occasionally, rarely though, she'll stop and look at something. Usually carved or drawn or molded, something someone used their hands to create. The very faintest of scraps of who she used to be, though that's barely significant. There's not enough left of that self to deter her from stopping more of the foolishness that damned her.

The Noh mask appears the same day, the same time as her first investigations get underway, and there it remains, conveniently close to where the Ingress once was.

The mask will always return to this original state the moment it's not being observed. It'll be returned to its resting place. If it's been destroyed or altered or damaged in any way, it'll be back to the state that it was when previously examined (even permanent marker would disappear).

It's made of cypress wood and is covered in layers of chalk paint and a glue-like sealant. On the back is a raised signature, indicating that it was handmade by an artisan. On closer examination (like swabbing or enhanced senses or super scanner) there's a bit of smoke damage, but otherwise it's not been worn many times. The straps attached are hardly frayed at all. However it's aged, it's not from scuffing or rough handling.

There might not be much time to notice or to bother with it, though. Not when people are being hunted in the shadows, when quick hands reach out from cabinets or a hunched form hangs upside down from underneath a table, waiting for someone to sit down too close to her.

Comments

[beeped]

[Richie adjusts quickly, tucking himself against Eddie and snaking an arm around him as best as he can without causing further pain to return the hug. Truly, he's relieved that Eddie seems fine, intact, and not devastatingly injured.

It doesn't change the fact that he is hurt, though.]

I'm glad she saved you.

[If he was there, he's not sure he could have done better. Or been much of a help at all, which isn't a great feeling at all. He'd like to think he could protect Eddie--this is his best friend, after all!--but he's not a good fighter, or particularly strong.

If he has to assess his skills they're as followed: great at getting hit in the face with a rock, and failing to stick together in the Neibolt house of all places. Maybe if he'd paid attention better, Eddie could've stuck with him and Bill. It might not be the correct interpretation of events, but memories are a tricky thing.]

I shoulda told you about it sooner.

[It hasn't occurred to him that their encounters could've possibly happened concurrently, or that Eddie could've encountered the demon first.]

[clussy]

(Eddie moves automatically to accommodate his friend, even if it meant a bit of hissing with pain on Eddie's end. Eddie gets himself comfortable because he suspects that Richie wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon. Eddie had been calm since getting back, but frankly, getting hurt and by a monster especially had made him desperately want to be close with his friends. More than usual. After everything they had been through, getting pulled through that dark awful place had reminded him of how lucky he had been to have them at all for It.

He presses his face into Richie's shoulder and goes lax against him, breathing slowly, shakily. Later, he would grab at Bill, grab at Stan, hold them as tightly as either of the boys would let him (with his arm and his ribs? It wasn't that tight).)

It isn't your fault.

(That's all there is to it. No one could have predicted this. He rubs his face slowly against Richie's shoulder, rubbing his cheeks against Richie's shirt, and okay, he was maybe crying a little silently. Trying not to make a big deal of it.

He just didn't realize. How badly he had wanted the Losers near.)

I've probably got so much shit-medication in me that I taste bad to monsters.

[beeped]

[On the bright side, Richie really isn't going anywhere. Eddie is going to have to deal with Richie being pressed right beside him until he absolutely insists Richie go away. Even then, he'd likely just take the floor and lean against the side of the bed. That's something that may or may not happen later.

All that matters right now is being here for Eddie. Richie rubs his back. He can tell Eddie's crying, but he's not going to say anything about it. Eddie doesn't need to feel bad about that.]

Nah, you probably taste great which is why this happened. [Which probably isn't the best thing for him to say, but Richie isn't always the best at this.] I mean, it completely ignored me. Talk about rotten meat. Even monsters don't want me!

[Ha ha ha isn't it such a great joke, Eds!]

[clussy]

(Being injured always managed to inspire a much larger sense of loneliness in Eddie than usual. Richie's a quiet blessing in that he lets Eddie get it out of his system without fussing. It isn't the gasping, breaking sobs that demand attention and diversion techniques. This was something more humbled and lowly, something Eddie himself could reel in.

It doesn't take long for the tears to stop, the moment of horrible, wonderful relief leaving him. He picks his head up to glare at Richie with eyes that were only a teensy bit wet between the lashes.)

That's disgusting.

(He would rather not taste great, thank you. Being off any and all monsters' tables was an ideal.

It could be worse.

At that joke though...Well, Eddie just gives his best friend a flat look before heaving himself up a little more against him. He squeezes around him, and reaches up with his good hand to pull at a handful of Richie's hair. Not too hard.)

Idiot. (Such a stupid idiot. And said with such fondness too.)

I dunno why it ignored you, but I'm glad. Some dumb monster isn't allowed to take you. (Any of the Losers. None of them. Eddie was broken, but he refused.)

You're too wanted here. Maybe she knew taking you would be crossing the line.

[beeped]

[Richie's not sure why he didn't expect Eddie to react this way, but he probably should have. There's self-depreciating jokes, but there's ones that take it a step too far. More often than not, if he's going to make that sort of joke, it'll be the kind that goes too far. Humor and a satirical critique go hand-in-hand, after all.

Eddie doesn't pull his hair that hard at all, but Richie makes a show of yelping like he actually has a sensitive scalp. But following that, he slumps against Eddie as much as he can.]

I wasn't gonna let it get me, I was gonna fight it.

[Except he really couldn't have. The best thing he could've possibly done is run away. And then Eddie's telling him that he's wanted and Richie wants to just hide his face.]

God you're so embarrassing.

[clussy]

(Richie could be a real goon about himself sometimes. Especially thinking that Eddie wouldn't catch on. Sometimes Richie made it too easy, or maybe Eddie just knew him so well by now that there wasn't much point in trying a joke.)

Good.

(Richie wasn't the fatalistic type. Eddie couldn't see him going down without a fight, or at least trying. Even if it didn't work out well for him. Thinking about it makes Eddie squeeze Richie tighter, even if it's uncomfortable on his ribs.

He glares at the nearest wall, his cheeks puffed up for a split second. Then he exhales and rubs a hand down Richie's back.)

And you're fucking stupid, but I still like you.

[beeped]

That's unfortunate for you, innit.

[He's grinning, though, soaking up the affection while he has it. How can he not? He has to collect all of it and store it up for winter. Or the next time he feels lonely or isolate or any of these other things he's not actually thinking about.]

Hey, you should lay back and relax now. I'll stay right here.

[clussy]

My entire life is unfortunate.

(Eddie smiles eventually, because Richie grinning is the exact Richie he wants. He doesn't like it when his friend was sad.)

I am relaxing.

(Kind of. He does reluctantly let go of Richie to lay back down properly. It's a bit of a relief for his body, he has to admit, but he's instantly making a small keening noise.)

You're farther away now.

[beeped]

[Richie watches Eddie get settled, and he can't help but snicker some at his best friend.]

No I'm not!

[He immediately dives down, laying down beside Eddie in whatever part of the mattress is left. If he has to hang half off the bed, he won't mind.]

[clussy]

(It isn't too much, thankfully for Richie. Eddie has mostly tucked himself against the wall. It was comfortable, and where he felt most secure.)

Are too.

(He mumbles this, grinning just slightly.)

Hey. You should sign my cast.

[beeped]

[Richie scoots a little closer, but the only way he can get much closer is to probably hurt Eddie and he's not about that.]

Can I write whatever I want on it?

[His eyes light up, and it's not difficult to imagine what sorts of things he's considering.]

[clussy]

Not whatever.

(He knows Richie well enough to not give him that kind of fire power. Richie had a substantial amount of sway over Eddie, but Eddie was wise enough to know that Richie must never know that. Had to keep the law with him firm.)

[beeped]

Okay, fine.

[He gets off of the bed to fetch a marker. When he returns, he very carefully and very diligently signs the cast. In large letters, taking up a large part of his cast:



Beneath that, he writes 'Richie,' but in much smaller letters.]

1/2

[clussy]

( !!



HOW DARE?)

[clussy]

Everyone will see that!

(He's going to have a fucking stroke. The only thing redder than the ink on his cast is the blood rushing to his face.)

[beeped]

Everyone's already seen it!

[He reaches over to pull on Eddie's cheek. Richie's certainly proud of himself right now.]

[clussy]

No! Not with that on it they haven't!

(Eddie shrieks when Richie pulls on his cheek, flailing to get his hand away.)

Stoooop! I hate when you do that. (Mostly because hello, he does not want more attention drawn to the fact that his head was smoking from how much he was blushing. Being friends with Richie Tozier shaved at least five years off his life every time they interacted; he'd swear on it.)

[beeped]

[This reaction only proves that he wrote the best thing on Eddie's cast.]

I only wrote what everyone else was thinking!

[He stops pulling Eddie's cheek, in favor of ruffling his hair before finally leaning back on his heels.]

[clussy]

(FALSE?!

Eddie groans quietly, hands covering his face the moment Richie lets go of him. He drags his hands down and off, before staring down at his cast. His mouth pinches into a firm line, and the worst part of it all is that he doesn't totally hate it.)

Gosh. You're too much sometimes. (Does he sound angry as he wants to? Nope. Was he going to fix that? Nope. He had just gotten his ass handed to him by a demon, and frankly, seeing the bright red of Richie's outrageous 'CUTE!!!' was reminding him that he was lucky to even be here to deal with this bullshit.)

[beeped]

[Richie readjusts so he's leaning against the headboard, knees tucked up, close enough that his arm can brush against Eddie's if chooses to. His focus isn't there at the moment, though, apart from sticking close by for Eddie.

He's already distracted himself somewhat, taking to doodling on his pants with the red marker.]

If I was too little, I'd be the size of an ant.

[clussy]

Richie. You'll ruin your pants.

(Except Eddie staggers himself up onto his knees. He gives a wheeze of discomfort, grimacing visibly, and slowly pulls himself forward until he's kneeling in front of Richie. He takes the marker from his hand, and awkwardly holds it in the hand of his cast.

He starts to write something on Richie's pants, tongue stuck out at the corner of his mouth in concentration.)

Yeah, numbnuts. Then I'd probably step on you. (He stops writing and drops the marker into Richie's lap. He slowly moves back over to laying down, letting out an airy breath. Fuck. It hurt too much still.

In considerably smaller writing than Richie's stupid 'CUTE', Eddie had very neatly written 'Wanted' across Richie's knee cap, signing his name just underneath. If Eddie had to deal with the trauma of being cute, Richie could deal with the trauma of being wanted.)

[beeped]

[Richie's not concerned with the state of his pants. He's not going to suddenly stop wearing them just because there's marker stains on them. If anything, he's even more of an incentive.]

You wouldn't step on me, I'd drawl on your head and live in your hair.

[He watches Eddie write on his pants, and makes a concerted effort not to move. It's only after Eddie finishes that he leans forward to look at his friend's handiwork. It makes his heart swell, and as he looks over at Eddie, he has a lopsided grin.]

Aw shucks, Eds. I'm never going to wash these pants again.

[clussy]

Ew.

(Why even.

Eddie places his hands over his own chest, and contemplated his life choices. He only looks at Richie again once he says that, and he just mostly sighs.)

You probably don't even wash your pants anyway.

(Even if he did, he isn't so sure permanent marker would come out so easily. Maybe that's half the reason he wrote it though. The idea of Richie wearing those pants in the future when he started getting down about things, and having to see Eddie's reminder- well. It made Eddie feel rather accomplished.)

[beeped]

[Richie simply shrugs. His personal hygiene is on par with most boys his age (so... not great, probably), but he's never prioritized the whole wearing clean clothes thing. If it doesn't smell bad, it's good to wear again another day or so, right?

Then again, that partially stems to him simply just not wanting to do laundry.]

You're not supposed to wash jeans ever. That's probably the same for anything else.

[clussy]

...I guess I've heard that before.

(He can't actually deny it. Even his mom didn't wash his jeans too often. Not that they really needed it. Eddie isn't as neat as one might think, not as neat as Stan, but he's neat enough to lecture Richie about basic things.)

Fine. Don't wash them then. As long as they don't get gross.