Jan. 12th, 2010

[identity profile] deadwesley1.livejournal.com
~When Wesley was at the Academy, he read every piece of writing he could get his hands on. It didn't matter if it was textbook, scrap of paper left on the floor, mass pulp- if it could be read, he read it. He was obsessed with reading. Still was, though here in Hell there's precious little material.

When Wesley was home on holiday, he read. He would sneak into his father's library and lose himself in whatever was to be found. He'd gotten into a spot of trouble that way more than once; several tomes in his father's collection are very dangerous and ill used by a well meaning child. Still, his father couldn't help but be a little pleased that his son was a voracious reader, and an excellent linguist. Wesley couldn't say how many languages, human and demon, he knows; he lost count years ago.

So it is that Wesley is more than accquainted with Dante's timeless work. He was, as a child, fascinated by his father's collection of classic literature, and the illustrations therein. Now, however, those same illustrations haunt him as he sees them come alive in the landscape around him, and the inhabitants try to trap him, shock him, eat him, and what else?

He and Snape cross through the fetid wastes of the carcass field, heading toward the far away cliffs. Wesley shows the other shades no mercy as he stabs skillfully with the demon weapon, injecting a deadly toxin into each shade he successfully stabs. He doesn't know what death will do the already dead, but he suspects it won't keep them down long, so he hurries Snape through until they at last are facing the sheer cliffs. But now that they're upon them, they realize the cliffs don't rise above the carcass plains as they appeared from a distance; they fall away from them in a sheer, dizzying drop.~ Of course, ~Wesley breathes, remembering the horrible scene in the masterwork. He turns to Snape, grim and determined.~

We have to go down.
[identity profile] bigredanhorny9.livejournal.com
~ Seemingly innocent mishaps begin to stack up. The sentience of rogue limbs everywhere becoming more and more pronounced and malevolent. Soon the sight of shades holding themselves at knife-point, strangling their companions and inadvertently disembowelling themselves become common-place. Legs take the unfortunate for inopportune and unwanted adventures, seemingly and willfully walking toward danger. Hiding becomes increasingly impossible, and even those who manage to conceal themselves from outside threats are at the mercy of their own mischievous limbs. ~


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