sortinghat_logs | Dragged you down below

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Dragged you down below

WHO: Rhys and Kurloz
TONE: Surreal, disturbing
RATING: Up to R, possibly, for violent imagery
WHEN: March 1st
WHERE: Rhys's office, Kurloz's head
WHAT: Rhys wants to introduce his protege/son to a particularly disturbing form of magic
STATUS: Ongoing

Rhys sat opposite his son in his office, as they had done weekly since he'd first approached the boy. It was time for the next step. The thing that could bind the boy to him, no matter where his mother took him, no matter what happened later. The thing that could open Kurloz's mind to a whole realm of possibilities previously unavailable to him.

"I think you're ready, m'bach," Rhys told the boy. "It's time for your first test."

(OOC: This was posted in the wrong comm, responses there are c&p'ed to here so it could be moved to the right one.)

Kurloz perked at that, looking eager and leaning forward slightly in his chair. The quill on the table between them began scribbling:

what is it being, sir?

"We've talked of your dreams, and taking control, and you've had some success there. I want to see for myself what you can do, and how you respond to certain ... scenarios," Rhys explained, steepling his fingers. "I'd like to come into your dreams tonight, if you'll allow me."

Kurloz's eyes widened and for a moment he looked mildly conflicted.

it's not a nice place in there.

"Lad, I've lived through two wizarding wars. I believe I can manage in a teenager's head, no matter how dark, and if you wish me to continue teaching you, I have to know certain things," Rhys said, gently.

The student fidgeted some more, needing a moment to consider it. This wasn't just his sketchbook with a few dark drawings, this was t heart of it all, the centre of his mind that he often shied away from with horror.

But, as Rhys said, if the man had survived two wizarding wars...

Mutely, Kurloz nodded, dusky skin a bit pale but eyes determined.

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Rhys carefully examined the pool, then the thread, then pulled his wand once more. He spelled himself a solid path across the top of the indigo fluid, stepping stones materializing under his feet as he made his way to the cocoon. He attempted to use a spell on the thorns, as well, commanding them silently to unwrap.

The tangle of thorns trembled, fighting against the spell before settling again, the branches winding tighter defensively. The mass was large enough to be a small shack and if Rhys looked down he'd see that the purple liquid of the pond was actually trickling out from under the sharp thorns. The quiet thrum of laughter from earlier would start up randomly only to be abruptly silenced, the indigo liquid pouring out thicker and faster before dying down again.

Rhys opened his hand, and a wickedly sharp knife appeared in it, something long and completely unadorned, a tool of immense practicality. He used it to start cutting through the vines the hard way, trying to clear them away.

A low scream echoed from the thorny cocoon as Rhys made the first cut and indigo liquid sprayed from the branches as the blade began working its way past them. Almost simultaneously the laughter grew louder as well, mixing with the pained screams.

The man frowned, and the knife became his wand again. He considered the cocoon, then leaned in, heedless of the way the thorns pressed into his flesh. He closed his eyes, and laid his lips against it, and began murmuring to it in soft, musical Welsh.

"Come out, my boy, come out, my child, come out. I am here, you will be safe, but you must come out, you are strong, you can free yourself, you have grown, you are ready, come out, come out, precious child, come to me, I would see you, come out, come out!"

The branches shuddered and left several superficial scratches against Rhys' skin. The tangled cluster right by his face began to part though, both the screams and laughter abruptly silenced. A small, shaking hand reached out through the parting, stained with purple and covered in small scratches.

Rhys immediately grasped the small hand, engulfing it in his own and squeezing warmly. "There you are, child, I have you," he said in gentle English. He didn't pull hard, though - forcing things didn't seem to work well here. Instead he only offered support and a gentle tugging.

"Come out, I will catch you, come out, beautiful child ... "

Another hand crept out of the darkness to clutch at Rhys' arm. Thin arms emerged as well and and a voice whispered from the darkness, "You..."

Nails dug in hard enough to draw blood and the two small hands suddenly dragged Rhys into the thorns with monstrous strength. The branches gave away quick enough not to gouge out Rhys' skin in huge chunks, but they still nipped at him.

In amongst the thorny vines Kurloz's face was pale and covered in scratches. His mouth was half sewn shut and the grin that twisted his lips was viciously cruel, still bleeding dark purple ink around them. "You shouldn't have come here," he jeered, eyes glinting ferally.

Rhys studied the boy calmly. "You think not?"

He reached out to touch the stitches in Kurloz's lip. "And why is that?"

The boy snapped his teeth at Rhys' fingers, not quite as successful in biting with the stitches restricting his mouth. "You're trying to FIX THE MOTHERFUCKER," he growled, nails digging in more. "Trying to PUT ME AWAY."

Rhys laughed, warm and low and quite genuinely amused. "Are you stupid, boy? Is that what you think is happening? I thought you would understand better than that."

He cocked his head to one side. "Think. You hear everything he does. What did I say?"

"Control when I'm let out," he spat out, sneering in a way that pulled the stitches tight. "YOU THINK THE COWARDLY FUCKER'S GONNA STOP AT JUST UP AND CHOOSING WHEN THE MOTHERFUCK I GET TO RUN LOOSE!?"

"I think your premise is flawed at the core," Rhys said. He grinned suddenly, and the smile wasn't pleasant, though it was full of secret knowledge. "Since you seem to believe that you're two different people. That's what needs fixing."

"He wants it that way," he muttered. "That there fucker's the one who MADE THIS WAR."

The branches shuddered around them and the boy's eyes darted around for a moment before fixating on Rhys' face again.

"Let me show you something."

Rhys raised his hand, and the fingers were now tipped with long, wickedly sharp claws. He set the tip of one to the corner of Kurloz's mouth, and then ripped inward, slicing through the stitches while tugging roughly on the boy's lips.

The boy snarled with the sting of the the stitches tearing off, his own nails sharpening into claws that dug in deep at Rhys' arm.

After a short pause, he thoughtfully licked his torn lips, leaving streaks of purple blood. He then grinned, fangs visible now that his lips could spread easier.

Rhys smiled back, displaying a set of remarkably similar, albeit considerably larger, fangs. "Are you going to be stupid, now, lad? Or are you going to be smart?"

Before he could respond, the vines around them lashed out, wrapping around his body and stabbing in with thick, long thorns, one branch fastening over his mouth before he could shout. The other Kurloz appeared, lips undamaged but fingers stained indigo from how he'd been sewing the other boy's mouth shut. He shoved at Rhys' chest, pushing the gigantic man back and out of the thorny cocoon, expression livid as he yelled, "GET OUT!"

Rhys was stronger than the child. He could overwhelm Kurloz's mind if he chose (though he suspected, with some pride, he'd have a fight of it). But that wasn't the point of this, the point had been to see what the boy would do, when confronted with something like this - a deep terror of himself. So he did not fight being shoved back, he didn't argue. He simply nodded to the blood stained boy, and then faded back, into darkness.

The cocoon roiled and tightened into a crushing ball before Kurloz snapped awake, throwing the covers off and clapping a hand over his mouth to stop from yelling. Shoulders shaking and chest heaving, he took several deep breaths to calm himself, staring at his dream journal, wordlessly charming the quill to quickly write out what he remembered from the dream turned nightmare... which was to say everything.

He didn't even try to get back to sleep that night, spending it drawing pictures from the dream into the wee hours of morning. To say he was exhausted would be an understatement, and when his dorm-mates began to get up for the day he finally felt mind-numbingly tired enough that he slipped under his covers and fell asleep, not even bothered to think about going to classes that day.

When he did wake, he would find a note from Rhys, directing the boy to meet his professor in his office at his earliest convenience, or, alternately, he was invited to the man's chambers, if it was after seven.

Kurloz read the note and hesitated before burning it to ash, and didn't do as he was told for once. The next day he kept his head down as he attended his classes, doing his best not to be noticed.

Rhys, of course, noticed him in Potions immediately, but he didn't single him out for attention during class. What he did do was cast a subtle spell, just before the period was over, that snagged the hem of the boy's robe to one of the table legs, forcing Kurloz to spend the time to free himself as his fellow students filed out.

Which also gave the towering Potions professor time to approach him, of course. "I'm not accustomed to being ignored or disobeyed, lad," he said in a mild voice. "I thought to give you some choice in when we had this conversation, but it seems you would prefer to be cornered."

Kurloz froze as Rhys came up to him, glancing up with wary eyes as he finished freeing his robe from the table. His fingers tightened a bit at his bag strap but he held his ground, staring up at the tall man.

"Come with me. I'll write you a note for your next class, if this takes awhile," Rhys said, heading for the classroom door and then waiting for Kurloz to follow.

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