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fandomweekly2016-03-18 07:50 pm
craftings) wrote in fandomweekly2016-03-18 07:50 pm
Entry tags:
[#007] Ghosts of the Past (Thief)
Theme Prompt: Traveling
Title: Ghosts of the Past
Fandom: Thief (reboot)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 because, well. Moira.
Bonus: No
Word Count: 961
Summary: Moira Asylum isn't exactly a place you can just forget.
He'd promised himself he'd never step foot back in this place if he could help it.
There's a thick fog around the docks, and Garrett wryly remembers what Basso had told him before he left. Don't become a ghost yourself. It serves as something comforting as he climbs the winding steps up the island, far away and isolated, out of view from the rest of The City. He's here for a job, and much as he hates the place, he's not about to let his previous time here ruin his chance of a good heist.
Only silence greets him when he finally arrives at the entrance. The gates to the asylum are just as he always remembers- rusted and covered in vines, the twisted plants spreading across the surface like fingers grasping into the void. He wonders, idly, if anything's changed since he last was here, or if things never really died at all. The asylum itself is closed off, much like the rest of the place, barring any entrance; but when you're a master thief, you don't always need a door to find a way in. He takes the normal route, climbing above the stone walls and down into the courtyard, stealthily skirting up the steps and quietly pushing the door open.
His steps are silent as he travels past old papers piled on desks covered in dust, books littered with notes of treatments and atrocious work done in the attempt to connect and remove the Primal from its host. The Women's Ward is empty, and no doors slam or wheelchairs move when he turns his head- something he's thankful of, honestly. But it's only as he quietly makes his way through the asylum does it strike him that he hasn't a clue why he's here anymore. Another turn down a corridor and the answer dawns on him slowly, as if he's just waking from a deep sleep.
...He was supposed to find something. Now, standing here between the doorway of the Men's Ward and another hallway, he can't seem to grasp what it was that he needed to find. Garrett doesn't forget what a job asks him to steal; he never has. Against his better judgement he pushes the door open to the Men's Ward and ventures in, eyes looking left and right and incredibly alert.
Garrett knows better than to test his luck without certainty. It's the only reason he's still alive after all these years. The master thief journeys almost aimlessly between rooms, searching high and low through cabinets, desks, and other odd assortments, hoping to find whatever it is he came for. Doors are open and shut as he makes his way between rooms, looking for something he cannot find, and he finally pauses after several moments of frustrated attempts to find and remember what he was supposed to steal. He stands where he is, wracking his mind for why he can't recall anything, and that's when he notices that he's not alone in the asylum.
Suddenly, Garrett remembers why he hates the Men's Ward here. Heavy breathing traces down his neck, makes the hairs on it stand straight up and causes him to stiffen so quickly he knocks over a glass bottle in the process. He goes to grab it and it slips through his fingers like sand, hits the floor. Everything around him seems to slow down, stop; all the thief can hear is the sudden pounding of his heart in his ears.
The bottle shatters, and the next thing Garrett hears is an almost deafening roar. The Night Warden has found him.
There's no chance for him to run. This Night Warden, this ghost, hoists the thief up by his neck straight into the air; up, up, forces the air out of Garrett's lungs as he struggles to breathe. He can only see a faint glimpse of the thing, the air in front of him shifting ever so slightly as a reminder of its presence. His hands try and desperately fail at prying the Warden's claws off his throat, and just as he thinks he's about to die, the floor suddenly gives way. The Night Warden drops him, and Garrett tumbles down, down, down into the abyss below, to the bones of a city long forgotten. To a place where people are no longer people, but creatures- eyeless, mouthless, with claws for hands and no vocal chords left but to coo and scream. They find him, drag him down into the earth and begin to bury him, Garrett not even having any time to hide or recover before he's swarmed by them, taken and beaten down.
In the midst of all this, he feebly reaches out as he feels himself being tugged into the ground, being buried alive, desperate for what he knows is a pitiful attempt at being saved. To his surprise, another arm reaches out for him, but he doesn't recognize the person behind it- a hooded figure with only one distinct feature; a mechanical right eye. The man pulls him up slightly from the mass of freaks dragging him down, close enough that Garrett regains some semblance of coherence, and stares at him.
Don't forget, it says. It then lets go, and Garrett is swallowed whole into the earth before he wakes from his bed with an incredible jolt to the floor.
For a second he lies still on the floorboards of the clocktower, too terrified to move, thinking he may be dreaming or this is the afterlife. When he finally breathes again, however, he puts his head in his hands and scrubs his face awake. A dream, then. Or was it real?
The only answer Garrett has is the gleam of the mechanical eye that sits among his trophies.
Title: Ghosts of the Past
Fandom: Thief (reboot)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 because, well. Moira.
Bonus: No
Word Count: 961
Summary: Moira Asylum isn't exactly a place you can just forget.
He'd promised himself he'd never step foot back in this place if he could help it.
There's a thick fog around the docks, and Garrett wryly remembers what Basso had told him before he left. Don't become a ghost yourself. It serves as something comforting as he climbs the winding steps up the island, far away and isolated, out of view from the rest of The City. He's here for a job, and much as he hates the place, he's not about to let his previous time here ruin his chance of a good heist.
Only silence greets him when he finally arrives at the entrance. The gates to the asylum are just as he always remembers- rusted and covered in vines, the twisted plants spreading across the surface like fingers grasping into the void. He wonders, idly, if anything's changed since he last was here, or if things never really died at all. The asylum itself is closed off, much like the rest of the place, barring any entrance; but when you're a master thief, you don't always need a door to find a way in. He takes the normal route, climbing above the stone walls and down into the courtyard, stealthily skirting up the steps and quietly pushing the door open.
His steps are silent as he travels past old papers piled on desks covered in dust, books littered with notes of treatments and atrocious work done in the attempt to connect and remove the Primal from its host. The Women's Ward is empty, and no doors slam or wheelchairs move when he turns his head- something he's thankful of, honestly. But it's only as he quietly makes his way through the asylum does it strike him that he hasn't a clue why he's here anymore. Another turn down a corridor and the answer dawns on him slowly, as if he's just waking from a deep sleep.
...He was supposed to find something. Now, standing here between the doorway of the Men's Ward and another hallway, he can't seem to grasp what it was that he needed to find. Garrett doesn't forget what a job asks him to steal; he never has. Against his better judgement he pushes the door open to the Men's Ward and ventures in, eyes looking left and right and incredibly alert.
Garrett knows better than to test his luck without certainty. It's the only reason he's still alive after all these years. The master thief journeys almost aimlessly between rooms, searching high and low through cabinets, desks, and other odd assortments, hoping to find whatever it is he came for. Doors are open and shut as he makes his way between rooms, looking for something he cannot find, and he finally pauses after several moments of frustrated attempts to find and remember what he was supposed to steal. He stands where he is, wracking his mind for why he can't recall anything, and that's when he notices that he's not alone in the asylum.
Suddenly, Garrett remembers why he hates the Men's Ward here. Heavy breathing traces down his neck, makes the hairs on it stand straight up and causes him to stiffen so quickly he knocks over a glass bottle in the process. He goes to grab it and it slips through his fingers like sand, hits the floor. Everything around him seems to slow down, stop; all the thief can hear is the sudden pounding of his heart in his ears.
The bottle shatters, and the next thing Garrett hears is an almost deafening roar. The Night Warden has found him.
There's no chance for him to run. This Night Warden, this ghost, hoists the thief up by his neck straight into the air; up, up, forces the air out of Garrett's lungs as he struggles to breathe. He can only see a faint glimpse of the thing, the air in front of him shifting ever so slightly as a reminder of its presence. His hands try and desperately fail at prying the Warden's claws off his throat, and just as he thinks he's about to die, the floor suddenly gives way. The Night Warden drops him, and Garrett tumbles down, down, down into the abyss below, to the bones of a city long forgotten. To a place where people are no longer people, but creatures- eyeless, mouthless, with claws for hands and no vocal chords left but to coo and scream. They find him, drag him down into the earth and begin to bury him, Garrett not even having any time to hide or recover before he's swarmed by them, taken and beaten down.
In the midst of all this, he feebly reaches out as he feels himself being tugged into the ground, being buried alive, desperate for what he knows is a pitiful attempt at being saved. To his surprise, another arm reaches out for him, but he doesn't recognize the person behind it- a hooded figure with only one distinct feature; a mechanical right eye. The man pulls him up slightly from the mass of freaks dragging him down, close enough that Garrett regains some semblance of coherence, and stares at him.
Don't forget, it says. It then lets go, and Garrett is swallowed whole into the earth before he wakes from his bed with an incredible jolt to the floor.
For a second he lies still on the floorboards of the clocktower, too terrified to move, thinking he may be dreaming or this is the afterlife. When he finally breathes again, however, he puts his head in his hands and scrubs his face awake. A dream, then. Or was it real?
The only answer Garrett has is the gleam of the mechanical eye that sits among his trophies.
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