Kahl hisses, catlike; he finds the idea of mind-readers offensive.
"Hiding you from their gazes, I can do. Your hands, your thoughts, even your fate. Then you will be able to plan. I may need to give you half your shroud in dreams. Do you sleep here?"
"I do. Mostly in my cabin, but sometimes in Alucard's, or Collins." He admits. "That would be helpful. I have almost no mind-control protections, nothing non-physical that'll prevent a complete take-over."
"Yes, I see. Yes. You must be able to keep your motions hidden. Put me on your access filter, and sleep here tonight. I will cover you in shadows, and then we can speak more," Kahl promises.
He wavers at the edges, like heat haze, like wisps of smoke coming from something smouldering low, little twists and eddies of chaos where his power does not quite fit within the shape of a human boy, as he plans.
That night, Kahl waits. He's spent most of the day in his own realm, tucked away inside himself, spinning out thread from the quiet of a hundred years in hiding, a creature that can't be found in the world because he was never allowed to be in the world. The memory of his forgotten cage, of his mother's whispers.
When Trevor sleeps, he winds the skeins of secrecy around his hands like smoke, and slips in to meet him.
Trevor's always had uneasy dreams clogged with smoke and vengeance. Being a Belmont, he's a light sleeper, always with a hand close to a knife. He drifts awake, once, before forcing himself to relax again, muttering Kahl. It's only Kahl..
He sleeps curled up next to a firepit, on a stuffed mattress that's bolstered by his own cape. He's never been picky about sleeping arrangements, provided they're warm and dry. The smith's forge he's made of his cabin is both.
Trevor is marching on a harsh, narrow path. Sharp stones underfoot, thick stormclouds above, cold rain. There air tastes faintly of ozone and something acidic. The pathway climbs higher through jagged mountains, gradually more enclosed on either side, rough-carved walls of dark, translucent obsidian. He can go back, or he can go forward, but he cannot stop here.
The journey is long, and yet, also short. He's already so near the end. At last he comes to an outcropping, overlooking the dire valley, full of pitfalls, baleful marshes, and obscuring mists. The rain clears a little, although the wind is still chill, in this high and lonesome place. Kahl is waiting for him there, filling the silence with the clack-clack-clack of bone bobbins, as he weaves almost invisible dark grey lace. Sometimes it looks as though he is pulling the thread from his own veins, sometimes from the mist, sometimes from nowhere.
He doesn't know why he feels exhaustion in these dreams. Trevor aches, climbing hand over fist, working to scale the obsidian stone that cuts his palms and leaves wet streaks on the rocks.
What a miserable view. Trevor sports Kahl and takes a moment to compose himself before heading closer.
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Re: Voice
"Hiding you from their gazes, I can do. Your hands, your thoughts, even your fate. Then you will be able to plan. I may need to give you half your shroud in dreams. Do you sleep here?"
Re: Voice
Re: Voice
He wavers at the edges, like heat haze, like wisps of smoke coming from something smouldering low, little twists and eddies of chaos where his power does not quite fit within the shape of a human boy, as he plans.
Re: Voice
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
Timeskip to Sleeps??
When Trevor sleeps, he winds the skeins of secrecy around his hands like smoke, and slips in to meet him.
Sounds good!
He sleeps curled up next to a firepit, on a stuffed mattress that's bolstered by his own cape. He's never been picky about sleeping arrangements, provided they're warm and dry. The smith's forge he's made of his cabin is both.
Re: Sounds good!
The journey is long, and yet, also short. He's already so near the end. At last he comes to an outcropping, overlooking the dire valley, full of pitfalls, baleful marshes, and obscuring mists. The rain clears a little, although the wind is still chill, in this high and lonesome place. Kahl is waiting for him there, filling the silence with the clack-clack-clack of bone bobbins, as he weaves almost invisible dark grey lace. Sometimes it looks as though he is pulling the thread from his own veins, sometimes from the mist, sometimes from nowhere.
Re: Sounds good!
What a miserable view. Trevor sports Kahl and takes a moment to compose himself before heading closer.
Re: Sounds good!
"Are you sure this what you want?" Kahl asks. Sometimes, Trevor can see the shadow of something woven in his hands, sometimes not.