23/09/11: I was sick of how this story was. So I rewrote it. Again. So here's Limbo 2011 edition. ~o3o I have to admit, this fic isn't my favourite. Mostly out of worry about how CERTAIN people will react if they see it. Which is why I have a second account. XD Anyway so for motivation I have the Sailor Moon theme on repeat.
...FIGHTING EVIL BY MOONLIGHT, WINNING LOVE BY DAYLIGHT~
Oh, and sorry for squishing the chapter name. FF.N is retarded like that.
Also, just a quick note. If you've never heard of or watched Rayman: The Animated Series, you'd better not read this until you have. Seriously. Trying to pick the plotline up from the characters is not very helpful. You have been warned.
Oh, and I did nick that Basic thing from Star Wars. Whatever. This is set in a different world, the characters have never heard of England.
I
Was this honestly what he lived for? Roughly shoved into the ring and ending up on his hands and knees, the seventeen year old looked around him and squeaked. How many people were there here? Hundreds upon thousands. He shivered.
"Well that was a dignified entrance." he mumbled.
He got up. He had to. He knew what would happen if he messed this up. The scars on his back were a permanent reminder.
The music started. He blindly stumbled through the act...which in all honesty was vaguely obscene. The fact he was wearing the usual, opaque (at the chest anyway) bodysuit made it all the more humiliating.
And technically he wasn't a kid. He was seventeen, so he was an adult. Just. Not emotionally though. He seriously doubted that he was any older then nine emotionally. But still.
His heart was pumping by the time he stopped, bowed to the audience, was escorted away by Razorbeard, Rigatoni's robot assistant. Among clapping, cheering. Shouts of "You rock kid!" "I love you!" and other things that he really didn't want to go into but involved him and babies. And some of the screamers weren't even female. Which, despite the gay rights supporter part of his brain, was...disturbing. to say the least.
But did these people really love him or what he did? Would they honestly care about him if he wasn't "amazing" or "talented"...
But in the back of his mind, as he was dragged away from wolf whistles and screams and sexual threats, he knew he wasn't amazing. Or talented. He was just a seventeen year old boy, ditzy, naive, linguistically challenged...basically, he was a retard who could throw a ball in the air and catch it.
That was all.
oOoOoOoOo
"Is there anything I can get you?"
Those words sounded so sweet on paper, but he wasn't falling for it. The past...year? Anyway, it had been hell and he knew it wasn't going to stop now. The fact he was sitting in a cage at this moment proved that. He closed his eyes.
"LacMac wants free." he whispered.
oOoOoOoOo
And that was when he woke up.
His eyes snapped open, and he squeaked louder than intended as he fell off the bed, taking his blankets with him.
Closing his eyes, LacMac groaned in pain. Dammit, he should've had Ray take the top bunk. He might have been three foot tall, but at least he could fly.
Speaking of Ray, he was still asleep somehow. He didn't have anything to worry about.
LacMac sat up dizzily, holding his head, and looked around the room. You couldn't tell in the near darkness, but it was painted in very nice but contrasting shades of red and blue. Photos hung on the walls, and considering that it was a living space shared by two teenage boys, the room was surprisingly tidy, excusing the odd sock or box or comic.
...Okay, technically Rayman was about four. But apparently that hardly counted when you'd been created by the mystical moonbeans of the seventy second solstice or whatever the hell it was. Besides, Rayman was a teenager in attitude, look and apparently hormones. Technical age didn't count, although apparently it was a turn off when it came to girls.
LacMac had little to no romantic experience with girls, or even boys, so he wouldn't know.
The numbers on the clock glowed, illuminating the room with green.
3:47
LacMac groaned again.
Standing up, albeit a bit wobbly, he made his way over to the kitchen and got a drink.
This had been going on for about a month now and he hated it. It had started off with nyctophobia, which then got worse. A lot worse. And then the nightmares started.
It was horrific, to say the least, not to mention rather embarrassing.
"Are you okay?"
After around ten minutes of silence, the whisper was enough to make LacMac squeak quietly in alarm.
He looked towards the source of the noise, and was able to make out a figure in the half-light. A figure wearing a pink nightdress and a matching dressing-gown.
Betina.
"Hi." he whispered.
"Hey." she went to sit down next to him, with her own glass of water. "You okay?"
He nodded.
"What are you doing up this early?"
"Well, you?"
"I just...woke up I guess." She looked down. "It still haunts you, doesn't it?"
He didn't want that conversation now.
"A little. I'll be okay."
"You should get some more sleep." she squeezed his arm. "And don't worry so much. You're starting to act like Cookie."
LacMac giggled, despite his childlike loyalty to the older man, and stood up. "I'll be going then."
Betina smiled. "I'll see you in the morning."
Making his way back to the room that was half his, LacMac mused over what Betina had said.
Worrying? That was Stage One. Stage Two was slowly and inexplicably losing his mind.
He couldn't be sure, but he had a horrible feeling he was at Stage Two.
Better? Worse? Please tell me _
