There were eight people packed in the lighthouse bright and early that morning in varying stages of alertness: three Suns, two Moons, one Death, one Life, and one Mist. Only the latter two felt uncomfortable about this makeup and had, by silent agreement, kept several people between them. It was only a temporary barrier, but it was also too early to deal with bullshit just yet.
The oldest, a woman in her late twenties sporting a specialist badge with a clenched fist in a sun, cleared her throat to get the group’s attention. Her handsome face was the most awake of them all, and Stormy found herself tracing the gouge mark that was carved into her head to avoid looking directly into those hawklike eyes. “Alright then, this is it,” said the woman. “Morning, all. Alicia Benson here, martial combat specialist. Debrief is short since you all got the report ahead of time. Same as always—yes, Nuñez—” one of the Moons cringed visibly, several other hunters suppressed disgruntled noises in response, “—this isn’t another bedwetting nightmare of yours, we’re still hitting the Sahara. And hard. Upper level management wants a real scouring this time: couple of small anomalies, possible nest or two, maybe a hive if we’re lucky.”
(“Lucky,” some of them murmur, ones who hadn’t been under Benson’s command before.)
“I would’ve personally kept this to Eclipse territory, but, well, labradors and all want souvenirs. Clone is the magic word, ladies. Have two more: ponies and bugs. Big warning now, we’re not coming back in three days unless one of you is god damn Superman, so if you need to text a buddy or a lover or family or what have you, go right ahead. Bad luck if you ask me, though; leaving things tidy just means the guy upstairs thinks you’re good to go.” She squinted at them, anticipating the flash of cellphones with judgment at the ready.
Someone coughed. Jack sipped his coffee with an intent look, wondering just how deep that wound went.
“Oh good, you all took care of your goodbyes ahead of time. Or I’ve got a team of chickenshits, we’ll see. So, knowing all that,” the woman continued, “you got your gear then, gang? Sunscreen? Christ, some of you are going to leave looking like a chili pepper, hah. Oh—god damn it, almost forgot. V, get another gun would you—”
As Benson gave the Death hunter a shove towards the armory, Jack and Stormy shared a glance around another hunter who resembled a younger, African Santa Claus.
“Got through your teary texts to him already this morning?” Jack asked conversationally.
Stormy didn’t reply, choosing instead to stretch her arms and pop a few joints. Jack tilted his mug forward and drained the rest of his coffee with a satisfied sigh.
“Go ahead and toss another while there’s time: tell him you’re safe with me.”
Posted: Wed Aug 13, 2014 10:17 pm
day three
“So is that your resolution for 2014: to keep ignoring me? You’re doing an admirable job by the way, no sarcasm here. It takes serious willpower to completely pretend a person isn’t occupying space, but you’ve gone to the lengths that makes even physics question itself. Bravo. No, really, I could have sworn a few times I felt my very existence flicker from the utter nonentity you were making me out to be. Or perhaps in this case, to not be.”
He golf claps. She continues to look up at the darkened skies, her eyes tracing constellations. It is their watch for the next two and a half hours, and this is the first time either of them have spoken for twenty minutes.
“The most curious thing about this behavior, I think, is that it continued even when I came to the island.” His voice is hushed, pleasant even, as if they were discussing someone else entirely. “I don’t blame you for doing it while I was out in the human world—god only knows I tried to do the same when you died. It looks like you’ve mastered the art, though. Surprising, since normally you’re bursting at the seams. You’d be a blast in a poker game.”
He hates that the stars still reflect in her eyes, but he hates it more that even when she looks like the grim outcome of a Barbie in a six year old’s hands (her shaved, scarred head stands out in her layered little mountain of clothes like a styled cap on a foreign drink, or like the partially smashed top of a piece of s**t) he can’t help but let his eyes get drawn towards her. (God, he needs a drink.) In the unreliable firelight, it’s easier to excuse and easier to hide, a moment’s flicker and nothing more if he is caught. There is three, maybe four feet between them, and behind them sleeps the rest of the crew in several tents and one open bundle, a twig of a hunter curled up and deep asleep with a barrier dagger under her pillow.
“I get it. Neither of us asked for this. But no matter how hard you wish on your little stars, it’s not going to make me suddenly disappear,” he says. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”
She shifts and surprises him by speaking, rusty and soft. “I don’t wish that.”
“Anymore,” he finishes for her mulishly, and she doesn’t contest it, whether because it’s right or because she’s hit her verbal limit with him for the night he doesn’t know.
He finds resentment rising in his chest anyway, however, not because she wanted him gone but because that means that even for a period of time she did think of him—and how pathetic is it that he wants to be scraps she chews on for thought? Even when if asked he will always reply that he couldn’t care less, that her penchant for living in memories is her business, and that when he looks back on the same memories it isn’t brooding but a review of his mistakes, a simple reminder, a regrettably biased perspective of prior idiocy that is necessary because those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it (and he can’t afford that, ******** him and his stupid heart, ******** feelings). When he does it, it is methodical clerical work with unfortunate side effects on his emotional state and sometimes his sobriety if he does not keep control: when she does it, it is voluntary, blessed with attention to detail not because she analyzes but because even little things are important, saturated in color and welcoming to its atmosphere and ridiculous and pathetic in the way only the most naïve can achieve. (Bravo.)
Does she remember him fondly? Is he blond still in her memories? (What did he care, right?)
Maybe she forgoes her usual rose-hued approach and remembers only the bad parts because it’s better to think of him as a villain in her tragic backstory (******** author powertrip), which is fine by him anyway, he isn’t all that great anymore anyway; no amount of polishing could wipe that particular grime about him, not even on the long nights in his room and on his bed with still-faced women and heels and a hard working hand for company because he’s too proud to hunt for something living (and sometimes there are days, god, days where it is pathetic and almost disgusting what he does to try and fix himself in the cover of a black night and a white room). Or maybe she compares the old and the new, and what a stroke of his ego might that be when he thinks back and remembers that in spite of the fact that no love was lost between them, he and Gale Gentry were frighteningly similar on the inside. She has a defective model, though: he is too short, too openly arrogant, too easy to set off. Gale Gentry’s presence can’t compare: it is his arms that are long enough to reach, to encompass, his legs that are tempered by athletics, can carry any burden set on his shoulders, his heart that burns with the sort of cliché literary pain she is attracted to (more than pure happiness, which like a drug sedates her, while pain reminds her how very much alive everything is), his example that she bases—
Abruptly, he realizes that they are gazing at each other. Her eyes seem luminous, and even his logical mind briefly touches on the idea that she could read his thoughts. She is giving him a look that is hard to read in the twilight but that he swears is patronizing. He does not know how long she’s noticed his staring, but the air is suddenly more charged than it was before when it was all one-sided conversation and awkward acknowledgement of existence, and for once he cannot read it.
He is seized by an impulse to strike her because nothing is worse than to be pitied He is seized by an urge to touch her because he wants to know this too was real He is seized by an instinct to kiss her because he does not know why He is seized by an impulse to strike her because nothing was worse than to be pitied and his hand twitches.
But he refuses to be the weaker of the two and does not shift his gaze, silently challenging her, curling his fingers in restraint. Seconds later, he takes her blink as a sign of submission and comes alive again with a scoff. “What.”
“Nothing,” she replies in a sad and simple tone, turning her eyes (now no longer so luminous) to the fire and adjusting herself on the blanket.
Feeling strangely cowed, he turns to look out into the stretches of sand for would-be intruders. “That’s what I thought,” he mutters. (God, he really needs a drink.)
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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medigel
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Posted: Sun Aug 17, 2014 12:12 am
day five
In the late morning they found their first sign of hope that the mission wasn’t too bad. While the base’s entrance was above the sand, the majority of it, like an iceberg, was hidden beneath the surface. Unlike an iceberg it was still unbearably hot, though not for the reasons the group expected.
V stared at the still perfectly functional air conditioner unit. “Someone put the AC at a hundred?” Such was her confusion that the statement became a question.
“What, no bloody handprints smeared on it?” Weasley asked with a grin as he passed by to check the next corridor, his stern-faced Sun partner dragged along. “I thought this place was supposed to be half-abandoned.”
“Half abandoned,” Yao repeated flatly as they walked.
“Yeah! Don’t those normally come with a few ominous warnings, flickering lights, I’ve got a bad feeling’s? Or, I don’t know, something a little dirtier on the inside?”
Indeed the base, which had gone dark about a week and a half earlier, didn’t show the usual signs of a building left to the mercy of a desert; at least, not in the section the group currently investigated. Abandoned was right as no-one answered their calls, but strangely enough there didn’t seem to be a great disturbance about the area either. Papers were orderly, chairs were tucked, desks were not flipped, blood was not spotted. At best there was dust and bits of sand in the immediate entrance and office, which set off more than a few alarms.
“Oh, good,” said Weasley in the hallway over, his voice echoing faintly as he made his way forward. “There’s the mood I was looking for: sudden rapture style. Anyone find any desiccated bodies of the sinners yet? Or did the cleaning demons get those too?” “Don’t joke, Fred,” said Nuñez with a nervous double take at the half-open closet she had just finished inspecting.
“I’m not Fred, Mum, I’m George!”
“God damn it.” Several of the others couldn’t help but chuckle. Even Jack joined in, if only because he had just started the series.
Beside the fretting Moon, Stormy patted her back. “If something as big as a rapture happened,” she said serenely, “we would’ve known already. Don’t worry, Carla, we’re totally safe.”
Nuñez gave her a strange look before she crossed herself.
Posted: Sun Aug 17, 2014 8:51 am
day six
Some days V made him want to strangle her. Other days they got along pleasantly enough. She had a foxlike face that Jack initially distrusted, and for good reason. V had a tendency to stray over lines: personal boundaries and the limit of his patience were among them.
"What are you reading?"
"I thought Death people honed their observation skills."
She scoffed and glanced at the cover of the hardback. "Dark History of the Kings & Queens of Europe: From Mental Tyrants to Mad Monarchs," she read. "Sounds cheerful."
Jack didn't answer and hoped his pointed silence would dissuade her from further conversation. A gold glint above him was too distracting to ignore, though, and he glanced up. Perched atop V's head was a pair of guilded, purple tinted shades.
"Aren't those Benson's?"
"Yaoi's," she corrected him with a grin. (Whatever.) "They're still checking out the interior with Tyler. Sunglasses not necessary."
They referred to the duo of Weasley and Yao, seeing as they often paired up for tasks anyway. V had attempted to begin calling them Yaowea as a "ship name" (whatever that meant), but that apparently conflicted with her pet name for Yao. In fact, a lot of what came out of V's mouth went over his head. Jack was forcibly reminded of Abbi and Chel's less than stellar qualities all bundled up into one person.
The problem was, she was hot.
"I pull them off better anyway," she said as she put them on and posed before him. "Right, Jackie?"
His jaw clenched momentarily. She's hot, he reminded himself.
"Maybe," he said with a smile. "Come closer, I can't tell from here."
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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medigel
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Posted: Sun Aug 17, 2014 7:48 pm
day eight
A little over a week into their mission and nothing very remarkable had happened aside from scattered bones in the desert, a strange curtain of moths they had avoided on the way over, and the occasional rustle and buzz of bugs inside the base.
Alicia Benson was still on high alert and put them on daily tasks as rigorously as a drill sergeant.
Fred Ashton, who preferred to be called Weasley, muttered, Constant! Vigilance! with a snicker as he followed orders.
Eric Yao followed half because he was in charge of routing the last of the horrible monsters (as Fred called the cobwebs, dust, and occasional spider) and half because he was sure his partner would get killed if he wasn't watched (accompanied by a long-suffering sigh nobody believed).
Valerie Reznikov made herself scarce most of the day and yet had an unusually detailed report about what everyone did by the time dinner came around.
Carla Nuñez stuck to patrol duty since it gave her nerves a productive means of venting, though nobody but Stormy let her live down the night she fired a full magazine's worth at a couple of stray hares that she swore had been horsemen.
Tyler McQueen, who specialized in construction and upkeep, helped Benson get the rest of the power going and checked for structural damage.
Jack Hawthorn delegated himself to help clean up and perused the reports in his spare time, trying to put together the story of what had happened.
And Stormy Ortega placed herself in whatever capacity was needed, usually with an appropriate Disney song at the ready.
The routine gave them a sense of normalcy, the cool interior a reprieve from the sun. They almost could have forgotten what the primary focus on their mission was.
Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 10:08 pm
day nine
At breakfast it was announced that connection had been established with Deus. More importantly, it meant cell phones were actually worth something.
With sweaty fingers, Stormy hastily typed out messages throughout her day.
To Gale <333
kuroopu
hello I miss you weve got wifi!! Don't knwo what time is it over there but hoepfully I don't wake you
Quote:
I'm okay don't worry! IT's just really hot here and it's hard to type but we're in the base now idk how long
Quote:
I hope everything is okay back home <3 my room wasn't too messy was it?
Quote:
I was thinking maybe we shoudl have like a summer sendoff dinner with the fam when I come back. Us, Evan, Noemi, your cousin, just immediate fam this time. Thnksgiving and Christmas will be much bigger!
Quote:
We could hold it at my place unless you want to use the house, I don't want to impose. Maybe I'll be able to upgrade mine soon!
Quote:
Food though hmmmmmm you can't go wrong with burgers or sandwiches right? And a salad. Lots of water and juice and tea for everyone of course~
Quote:
I'm making myself hungry ahahahrhasdkfj but I am sadly not eating any bananas or i would've made another nanner joke for you~
Quote:
sentry duty is boringggggg. Dinner is soon though
Quote:
I almost miss the caf. Please save some earl grey for me? I know it'll be hard not to drink it all, but you got me hooked!
Quote:
Oh did I mention, there's a guy who's called Weasley here!! Andhis name's Fred!! He's not really Fred Weasley in real life, it's Ashton, but he's really adorable and I mentioned how much we love HP! He's a good guy
Quote:
All the team is, it's really nice.
She hesitated. Was it okay to divulge, or was it better to keep it to herself? Her policy had always been to protect and conceal until either forced into the open or until it was safe, but . . . Maybe it was time to adopt Gale's policy of pure honesty. She just hated how even mentioning it would give him fresh worries . . .
Quote:
Jack's here. He hasn't done anything to me, though. I don't think he will.
She had exactly zero amounts of conclusive evidence for this. Days later and it was still hard to get the way he had looked at her that night out of her head.
Quote:
I can't make you not worry about it, but I can promise you that I can handle myself if something happens.
She heard Tyler give the dinner call and quickly added more, refusing to let Jack be her final message.
Quote:
I g2g eat now but plase don't be too concerned about it okay? I miss you lots Galestorm <333 Say hi to Tink n everyone for me!
To Herc:
Inle-roo
Evannnnnnnnnnn hi we're on base now so i can send a few messages.
Quote:
Since I bet it'll make you feel better: there's eight of us total, two are specialists, all but one are full hunters, and apparently at least a few of them have done intense Sahara stuff before. I'm totally good
Quote:
Dunno when we're coming back but it shouldn't be that long right? I hope you're doing well <333
Quote:
Did I say the Sahara sucks yet cuz it ttly does
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how does tuck stand going out for months at a time this really sucks I want to be home
Quote:
I miss you guys a lot and I forgot to say but you can stay at my place anytime you need okay big bro? Your room is tiny. Just knock and tell Gale who you are and that I said it's okay.
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YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HURT HIM WHILE I'M OUT
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DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD:<
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Im serious Evan idc what testoerone hulk brother thing you've got going you have tolike him or else it's just gonna be hard for everyone involved ok
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because I like him a lot. A Lot.
Quote:
You're not allowed to tell him that either Not that he doesn't already know I just
Quote:
Nevermind don't go over while Gale's there just wait til I come back
Quote:
srsly don't cause trouble or I'll give you twice as much back >:V
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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medigel
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Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 11:36 pm
day ten
The news didn’t affect Jack as much as the rest: half because he was notoriously bad at keeping up communication with people, half because Benson had dogged him about the reports. As far as he could tell, however, nothing save for a few incident reports of horsemen was notable to him; neither he nor V could come up with an explanation as to the disappearances aside from, “Someone plucked them out one by one.”
Naturally, Benson didn’t accept their theory. Her stubbornly suspicious airs were matched only by Yao’s stern-faced caution; as far as the two were concerned, something was just off enough to not relax their guard like the rest were, and together they produced a gray haze that hung over them all.
It was only after a lengthy interrogation about the rooms they had all swept that the group was allowed to disperse for dinner. MREs were once again the staple diet, though Weasley had scored candy bars from a previous hunter’s stash which boosted moods considerably. Doing his best to ignore the lewd gestures Weasley made with a Butterfingers and his mouth at his faggy boyfriend, Jack fixed his dinner, snatched a Kit-Kat bar, and stalked off to his corner for the night. The food itself wasn’t bad, which made him wonder just how maladjusted his taste buds were thanks to Deus. He missed something with more spice to it and longed to use a day of leave and find some Asian place to stuff himself with. Or coffee. Jesus Christ, there was no ******** coffee around.
(The withdrawal still hit him sometimes if he got too low in blood pressure.)
Sitting back against the wall, Jack nudged the emptied MRE tray away and lit up a smoke, the only comfort he could find after sunscreen. Even now his skin still had an angry pink tinge, which his weapon took too much entertainment in.
(( You do need some sun, dear one. You are no ghost, nor am I! ))
No, what he needed was either some answers or some action. It bothered him more than he let on that he could not piece together what had happened, and while his discomfort wasn’t as overt as Benson’s or Yao’s, it sat in his chest nevertheless. The chattering of bugs still caught his ear, local wildlife or not, and the clean state of the inside of the base . . . Something had an agenda. It couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to believe they wouldn’t notice how unnatural that was, but perhaps that didn’t matter. Maybe it wanted them on edge. Or it was them.
The team all knew about the cloning and the kidnapping, so it wasn’t hard to draw conclusions there; no bodies seemed to confirm a capture of some sort. But Jack had heard unsightly rumors that the horsemen weren’t simply using them for torture anymore, but for experiments reaching beyond simply recreation—procreation. Breeding and tempering and studying them like the diseases and pestilences they concocted. He couldn’t help but hold a grudging admiration at their tenacity, if the rumor was true.
None of that seemed appropriate to text about.
He gazed at his phone, unconsciously tapping a button to keep the screen lit up as he debated whether sending a message was worth it after all. (Abbi certainly had, judging from the torrent of messages that had spewed forth when connection was established.) What exactly could he say to any of them? “Worst thing so far is I almost got sunburned”? “My team is comprised of competent but emotionally dubious people”? “I have a feeling I might get lucky with this chick if she’d stop strutting around and sat on my d**k already”?
(“So my ex is here and I want out because ******** that noise ******** her stupid looks she looks at me like I’m some wounded animal all the time who the ******** wants to deal with that”?)
Eventually he settled on something simpler.
Quote:
I’m still alive so don’t ******** celebrate
xxkuroopu
[To I. Rahal-Nazari]
xxsammpai
[To Shyfag]
xxSeussi
[To That d**k]
xxcherno astra
[To Wondercunt]
xxGrey Dragon
[To Coffee b***h No. 2]
xxchiickadee
[To Coffee b***h No. 1]
xxAyeAvast
[To Weeaboo]
xxAkina Tokuwa
[To H. Nowicki]
xxEnoh Love
[To R.I.P.ley]
Posted: Sat Aug 23, 2014 11:11 pm
day fifteen
If something is easy, then it isn’t worth pursuing.
It was a curious thought to have while balls deep in V, but there it was. He couldn’t help himself. Somewhere past the foreplay Jack had lost interest in anything above her mouthwatering tits, and as such his mind had wandered: a woman should have been more than enough, but then again he didn’t see V as one. A walking Russian spy stereotype with a great body, yes, and possessing obvious characteristics that marked her as female, but nothing more. A mannequin had the same qualities, albeit lacking in the need for flesh and warmth, the same amount of self-awareness, the same ability to be owned and used without protest. He didn’t need to think so much as act now, and she seemed just fine with that.
He wanted to be prized but not be obtained. Maybe that was the right way to describe it. He wanted to be wanted, whatever he told the others, just not collected by someone. The moment he was, he would lose inherent value he couldn’t begin to describe, the same thing that was lost when anything was taken and given ownership; something changed. (He did not like change.) Desire came proportionally to how hard something was to obtain: the more difficult, the more worthy. The things that seemed unattainable reigned supreme.
(He remembered to cover V’s mouth as she grew noisier, though it seemed to just make her get louder.)
Someone wanted friendship; he refused to use the word. Someone wanted time together; he made it clear that it had to fit to his schedule. Someone expressed admiration; he expressed disgust. Being contrary was what allowed him to understand people. Being unattainable was what let him cope with the result. After all, if he acted as if it did not matter, then eventually it wouldn’t. Sometimes it got him what he wanted, such as when Hanna all but begged for his company while at the Miss Deus Ex pageant. Mostly, however, it got him nothing but bruises and angry people who wondered why they’d bothered again.
Good. Think. It certainly shut Ian up after a while. He wasn’t to be constantly joked with, nor was he wounded, nor did he need “help” with anything, nor was he “a good friend”. Really, he was a shitty one overall. That’s what he kept telling them. That’s what he kept telling himself. Nobody seemed to be buying it, but that was the mantra regardless.
Honestly I think I'm just ready to accept that life sucks but that doesn't mean I should just waste away and do nothing with what little time I have left.
That made one of them mildly successful then. The other was busy ******** a girl he couldn’t begin to remotely imagine as a human being. But he supposed in that case he literally was doing nothing, and thus came out on top—both metaphorically and literally.
We should celebrate! Staying alive is quite a feat, u kno! wink
Maybe he wasn’t, though. Maybe he’d found his niche as an automaton that only knew how to berate others for being exactly who they were supposed to be. A dog that barked and had teeth but who was ultimately chained in the yard, watching people walk past, in command of nothing except the dirt in his immediate area.
lol ur lonely af rnt u
The answer was still no. He couldn’t be lonely if he had a steady stream of messages on his phone. He couldn’t feel lonely if people professed to wanting him back safe. Alone was not the same as lonely; surrounding himself with shallow connections wasn’t something to combat any feeling but a coincidence, an event in which multiple people decided to talk to him at once. Alone required that he be by himself, which he was. Lonely required that he wanted someone else there, and he didn’t. It was that simple.
(He wished it was that simple.)
SO U WENT ON A MISSION AND DIDN'T EVEN TELL ME? (」゜ロ゜)」 HOW COULD YOU BE SO CALLOUS (≧σ≦)I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS
How could he? Because he could of course. Because he didn’t think about others nearly as much as himself and because he always would. Because it was part of his design to self-prioritize, otherwise it all went to s**t.
(But then what would he call this inner monologue? How long had he been thinking of them while nailing his teammate? He should have felt some form of disgust with himself, but his emotional state was impossible to pin down anymore: one moment thoughtful and aloof, the next agitated and rough and physical. His heart wasn’t in the act; the body was willing but the spirit was not. It no longer saw the point.)
They just care because I’m gone, a part of him mulishly said. Not because there’s an intrinsic meaning behind my being there. Noting the absence itself, not what made it. Appreciating the negative space. Ruining my s**t even when I’m trying to get some, what the ******** style="color: yellowgreen">< < You are so very thick-headed, > > Owain said affectionately.
Beneath him, V stirred. “Chort vozmi, are you even close yet?” she panted. “I’m getting bored—”
A sudden screech, muffled by several corridors’ distance, interrupted them.
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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medigel
Anxious Spirit
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Posted: Sun Aug 24, 2014 12:49 am
day fifteen
It had started when Stormy, Weasley, and Nuñez had begun to investigate a tunnel connected to the base. Uncovered the day before, it quickly became suspicious and sealed off until their party was ready. The search itself hadn’t revealed anything remarkable at first: open pods that made the Mist shiver at unbidden memory, markings that made little sense to them, something like gouge marks in the walls.
But when they reached the first chamber the tunnel lead into, the cockroaches came. An entire swarm of them erupted from the crevices. Whoops echoed throughout the tunnel, chains dragged through the sand, the very air grew dryer and tense. Ambush.
Bugs were burned, squashed, sliced, and shot. Weasley kept the runic torch alight in one hand, the gryphon sword in the other, and gathered the women to him as their attackers surrounded them. One, two, three, four, five, six—six figures could be made out in the light, a mixture of horsemen from Famine and War, with one or two that appeared to be students. Nuñez fumbled for the radio as Stormy held out the greatsword between them both, quickly glancing at Weasley on her right for orders. He raised his brow slightly, lifted one finger to tap against the hilt of his weapon.
Same as usual. Defense. Always defense. Thane was large enough for her to cover easily, and room was too cramped for her to get proper momentum. Cover and counter, Moon and Sun. That was why she had been asked for the mission after all: to be what was needed.
Bugs continued to swarm their boots.
The air began to smell of ozone and raw meat, raising the hairs on their arms and necks. One of the horsemen muttered gleefully about eyes and rubbed its skeletal hands together. Stormy looked to Nuñez and muttered quickly under her breath, “Soy contigo, me oyes?”
A meteor hammer suddenly flung out at Nuñez to cut off her communications, causing her to screech into the receiver and drop it. In a flash her shotgun was out, entangling the chains as she yanked the Famine scavenger forward for a better shot. The battle was on.
Posted: Sun Aug 24, 2014 9:19 pm
day ???
▓▓▓ ▓▓ ▓ He was i▓ ▓urns s**t s**t and his h▓ad hurt throbbed ▓▓ more like
move your fingers wiggle your toes d▓ som▓▓▓▓ng damn it
an apple a metal apple the apple of discord something so▓▓thing was in his mouth like copper wiring lining his veins teeth to root xxx to meat to bone to
don't ▓▓▓ ▓ ▓
Something was touching the fleshy casings and a noise left him and then it laughed so soft so soft, "They wake again. Let me see."
No— a feeble kick and the sound of chains and a moan from the left that was not his own
and the sharp touch went away laughing. Something else was in its attention, something that screamed obscenities and thrashed against restraints ▓▓ whispered something and a bright light came that made him flinch
jack what▓▓▓▓ ▓ ▓ don't le▓▓
he tasted it again copper or iron or something tangy and his nerves went aflame his heart beat like a constant reminder
"What do you see ▓▓▓?" it asked the hunter by him and while his eyes were shut he could feel nothing but a nebulous force of cold and hot metal and a blinding light from it. "▓▓▓ yes? Beautiful. Beautiful."
The squelch made his
▓ack ▓ ▓ see ▓▓ don't open▓
insides curl and peel like old fruit.
There w▓s ▓ ▓ something covered his face smothering hiding ▓ ▓▓ the light ▓ ?
the light? ▓▓ ▓ the light!
but not his ears ▓ ▓▓ screaming y anking p u l l i n g ▓ ▓▓▓
He could taste this man's blood in the air. How much did humans bleed? (S▓mewhere between 4.7 ▓▓▓ 5.5 liters. Chug chug chug.) How much did hunters? (No, please—)
screamingscreamingscreaming how much did you bleed how much did you make noise what was the measure of a living being and when did it all just stop
get ▓ your w▓▓pon ▓ summ▓▓ NOW
But itching hands found no relief against hot leather straps they stood still and stiff and bound by his head.
"And you."
It lurched
d▓nt open you▓ ▓▓
and he felt the cover slip off with a scratchy reluctance on his burned skin. Sounds of protest left him. His left foot twitched feebly, but his right lashed out and etched the cuff deeper into his skin.
It wheezed amusedly. "Come, Zeke, drop your scowl. This one is thrashing. Perhaps it will provide more entertainment for you."
Scuffling. Grunts. He heard something give a dull thunk nearby, sloshing liquid. On his other side, something tinkled like metal on metal. Without thinking he tensed and tried to turn his head away, but something thin and hard (bones) forced him to look up.
"Ah, hunter, I'm amazed you still live. Perhaps removing your token was not enough to stop the healing process." It sounded delighted. "Or perhaps you have more stamina than expected. Fascinating."
Clamps prodded at his eye as he struggled beneath the horseman, forcing it open. He stared into the skinless, grinning face of his captor, haloed by dim light. A covered window? He couldn't tell. Everything seemed blurrier past a certain distance and around his peripheral.
"What say you this time? During our last session, you—"
He tried to spit, but his mouth was so dry that it barely trickled over his cracked lips. The horseman seemed to understand the message and shook his head.
"Of course. Ah, but . . ." It leaned in until all he saw was its sockets. "what lovely eyes you have, hunter. Green like this is very hard to find, you know. Gems almost. Perhaps I will burn not fear but the last of your resolve into them before you die," it mused, stroking his cheek affectionately. "I dislike drawing this process out—it's quite easy to mess up and have tears be imprinted instead should it take too long—but there are deals to be honored. Revenge to be had."
It shook its head and stood up. "Punishment. Barbarism, I say," it grumbled. "The human eye is a beautiful item to collect. Windows to the soul and capable of keeping hold of the very last image or emotion before death. Much, much better than any simple photograph. A hunter's eye moreso. Destroying it all is wasteful."
A dark-haired lump entered his vision and murmured something to the horseman. It nodded and signalled with its free hand at something. The lump moved closer, and he could make out a brooding, scarred face under its hood, and hands that twitched as if wanting nothing more than to wring his neck.
At some unseen command both hands suddenly gripped his forearm and ▓▓ ▓ ▓ shaking p▓in metal hot metal and ▓nergy ▓ coursing ▓▓ screaming and they stared without remorse (▓▓th int▓rest)
"A shame," it sighed. "If you ▓▓▓ ▓ cooperated, I would have let you keep an eye." It made ▓ signal again and ▓ ▓▓ ▓ pain a▓ain the dim light ▓▓denly ▓ gaping hole in the ceiling, a blue ▓ blue sky ▓▓ ▓▓ xxxxxx ▓ ▓ burning body bur▓▓ng ▓ sun ▓
▓ ▓▓ th▓ l▓ght ▓▓▓ ▓ ▓▓
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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medigel
Anxious Spirit
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Posted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 10:13 pm
"I told you I saw horsemen out there!" Nuñez grumbled not for the first time. It was a favorite grumble of hers when she had little else to do.
Benson growled at her, "Oh give it a rest," before turning back to McQueen. "What's the damage?"
"The whole place isn't worth keeping," the Moon said somberly. "They've got us boxed in this office and the adjacent hallway, neither've which're defensible. Tech is scrapped or stolen by now, tunnel's wide open, parts've the roof been torn off, sand and sun and god only knows what else will get in now. Not to mention com's offline of course." He hesitated, then asked, "Ma'am, if we port out now—"
"Mr. McQueen, our mission hasn't been completed," Benson said in clipped tones. "Recovering the base was meant to be a bonus. If it's unsalvageable, then we leave it to whatever group they decide to send next, but we're staying the course until I say otherwise."
McQueen suppressed a sigh. "Yes, ma'am."
An hour later, as the sun began to hit the horizon and the heat slowly began dying down, V and Stormy returned from reconnaissance, dusty, twitchy, and glad to be back. Benson left the stoic-faced Yao and McQueen to their guard posts, dragging Nuñez along with her to get the report.
"The T-L-D-R of it—"
"Speak American, Valerie."
"—is that they've got the whole cavern jammed with traps," V continued over her as she wiped at her brow. A distasteful look was given to the grime under her nails. "We had a few close calls, but only one of those paths got real presents for the unwary by my reckoning. It's like they want us to follow them, Ali."
"Course they do." Benson's brow furrowed in thought as she considered the cracked ceiling.
Stormy, who had preferred to stay quiet for the majority of the trip, quietly cleared her throat. "We were thinking, Miss Benson...Maybe Weasley and Jack aren't dead yet."
If Benson heard her, she wasn't showing it. Nuñez was giving her worried don't looks, but Stormy continued.
"The traps themselves aren't too hard. Miss V and I thought maybe, um, if we speared right through the tunnel, took out what we could while you guys bring up the rear—"
"That's enough."
Stormy immediately clamped her mouth shut, shrinking under the Sun's gaze.
"They'd overwhelm us again as they nearly did last time," Benson said. "I'm not risking the rest of this group for two men; you all know what you signed up for. Tomorrow we break camp, grab what we can, and leave early as we can. Nearest base from here is a good long walk. From there, we hit the nest they've reported." She stared at them in turn. "Understood?"
"Understood," the women said as one. But even then, the idea of rebellion was slowly bubbling to the surface.
Posted: Fri Aug 29, 2014 10:09 pm
He must have reached nirvana because this time, unlike many others, he woke up and felt nothing. The light touched him everywhere now, not just his eyes, though he could tell the obsession was still with capturing something there, the most macabre photograph technique he had ever seen. The light whispered for him to show something worthy of being alive.
So he did his best to die, little by little, just to spite it.
Some days it was harder than others. It was in his nature to rebel against constraints, to be difficult for others. But when it came to his life, priorities were clear. The part of him that longed to did was in direct conflict with the most base instinct of survival, and for someone like Jack it was just as painful to be a part of as the light that blinded, the scalpels that cut, the whispers that wormed into his ear, and the lightning that had no business being there underground. His skin had already felt like an itchy flesh layer before, a meat suit he didn't feel comfortable in when alone, but now he almost wished the horseman would just peel it away for him.
Just let me die.
(( I cannot and will not allow you. )) Owain sounded far away despite being inside his mind, as much a part of the audience to their torture as he was. And Jack swore the giant tried to numb him to it. His wounds closed up fast even for a trainee, which only seemed to delight his jailor and incite him into inflicting them again to check his recovery time from various injuries.
For once, the Lifer was the experiment.
(For once, he wished he could just take the pain on his own instead of having to share.)
(( You and I are bound together, dear heart. Do not despair, for you are never alone. ))<******** you, he thought with as much venom as his tired body could manage, because the more Owain healed him, the more hurt he ended up getting, and it solved nothing at all except to prolong his misery, his inner conflict to live and suffer or to die and get it over with.
(( You are alive, )) the giant said gently. (( That is always worth it. ))<******** your opinion ******** you ******** you so much god ******** damn it—
But Owain knew anger was better than exhausted defeat: passion roused the mind towards action. He would rather feel his own partner of the heart hate him than continue to see him fall and despair.
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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medigel
Anxious Spirit
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Posted: Mon Sep 01, 2014 12:39 am
He became dimly aware of the commotion at some point. Later he realized it was more than a squabble between his captors, and later still did he realize the voices peppered between clanging weapons were familiar.
He was not sure how long it was before someone touched him, but when they did a strangled yelp escaped him.
"Damn, Jackie—" The offending hand left. V began fiddling with his restraints, each movement chafing his crusty wrinkled skin. He didn't have the energy to bite back his stream of whimpers, nor enough to conjure up the pride that would have been wounded for it. "Benson wasn't kidding when she said you'd turn into a baked potato, eh?"
Her voice was stressed and the humor half-hearted. She was just talking talking talking at him as she usually did. Mindless noise. Something to fill a gap. God, everything burned and he swore at Owain in his head.
"Hold still...and..." Clink. "There we go. Okay, this is going to hurt. s**t, why are you so tall?"
His wrists and ankles felt like they were covered in mush now that the restraints were gone. Joints protested movement, skin protested movement, everything protested any movement of any sort. V was half his size at a good day; this was going to ******** hurt.
"s**t—"
He heard V stumble away calling after someone. Something hard scraped against the table he laid on and jostled him with a weak groan. The silvery clangs of battle rang in his ears painfully.
He recognized Stormy's voice. "Why are you helping them?"
"I will do anything if it means killing your kind, hunter!"
Ozone. Blood. Zeke, he recalled, the one who had electrocuted him over and over (mashed skin, electricity, maybe he was truly the potato in this amateur experiment, completing the circuit and frying from the inside out.) His hair stood on end as brief flashes of light arced across his eyelids. His toes and fingers curled instinctively.
"Yao!" V's voice carried faintly over the clamor. "Yao, let him go—"
Another clang, this time by his head. Managing to cover his eyes with an arm, he tried to roll away from the fight. The ground, Jack thought, he needed to get up and...get up and...His head kept bobbing like a buoy in the chaotic sea of sound still filling his thoughts, in and out, this fight, that voice, where, what—
(( Deep breaths, dear one. Slow breaths. ))
But he didn't want deep and slow, he needed something much, much faster. Things were happening around him; things were always happening around him and he could not bear that thought any longer.
His first step off the table caused him to blindly careen into a cart and fall. Metal rain fell upon him, scratching, tinkling, smacking against his skin with a vengeance.
(( Breathe. ))
He sucked in what tasted like sulfur and stale air, but air it was. His fingers fumbled around as he dared, ever so slightly, to squint through his lashes. Too blurry. His attempt to open one eye proved too much (the light, the light!), and he scowled and rubbed at his face in frustration. Luckily it seemed nobody cared to notice there was a giant, bruised, mostly naked man sprawled on the floor like an amateur during a Tuesday Boozeday special.
It hurt enough to exist. Just thinking about trying to stand up made his bones ache. How could he have thought himself possibly able...
(( Because that is how you know your limits: by aiming to exceed them. )) Owain sounded affectionate, if tired. (( Now if you would, shade your eyes and let them adjust. Thy will this time, I assure. But slowly, slowly now... ))
And he did so. The world, once excruciatingly white, began to resolve itself into colors and then forms. V was busy entangling with the skeletal handed horseman and what looked like an overgrown plant. Yao was on his knees over something near her. Jack could hear her all but screaming, "Get them both then, but ******** move, Yao!" just as a gunshot blew off the Famine's thumb. Nuñez, not needing to reload, continued to pepper shots across the room; he realized reinforcements were beginning to arrive.
His attention became stuck, however, on the reaper Stormy was fighting just across from him. Lighting arced from the boil's hands several more times, and Jack had to turn away with a wince as he heard a strangled yelp. Without thought he scrambled among the metal and alien mess about him until his fingers slid against Owain's totem.
Immediately it materialized into his weapon. With clenched teeth and a grunt, Jack forced himself up little by little, leaning against the fixed table even as his skin burned. He was delirious now, the colors blurring together, the sounds distorting. Only Owain's constant interventions had allowed him even this much power, but he would not last much longer.
The fighting continued without taking notice of him. What a strange feeling that was, he thought suddenly. Was that what it felt like to stand and not be noticed? To not be gawked at? How funny.
The thing's back was to him, hefting some sort of jagged lance at Stormy. Jack lurched forward and tried to remember how to grip his weapon, but it had changed; no longer was it a heavy blade, but something smaller, lighter, different shaped. Easier to handle.
The lance lifted and crackled with more energy. The thing spat something foul at her.
Jack sank the dual-tipped blade into its back and fell with it. His weapon got halfway through before it had the nerve to dissipate completely. The ground met him swiftly and he hissed as the blade clattered and pressed at him from beneath.
"Jack!"
Ah, the old concern was back again. He'd almost missed it (terribly, terribly). But before he could so much as curse her out for making even his rescue a pain in the a**, Jack lost consciousness.
Posted: Tue Sep 02, 2014 11:50 am
The pain subsided little by little. Days felt like hours but hours individually felt like years. Sometimes he woke up from shallow sleep, gasping for water. Sometimes he barely stirred. His mind was a soupy haze he floated in and out of, his reality a blur of colors and half remembered words.
Sometimes it was Nuñez or McQueen patching him up. Sometimes it was V trying to comfort him by filling the silence with her usual babble, attempting to worm her way into a coffee date when this was all over. Once, it was Benson. Her words had pierced through his layers of medicated ignorance with ease: you failed.
He supposed that was a nice way of saying you ******** up by trying to nail a girl while we were on red alert and literally got caught by the enemy with your a** in the air and now Fred's dead. Unsurprisingly, this meant he got bare minimum medication, supervision, and a promise that he would get the s**t jobs once he was up on his feet again.
An extension due to gross misconduct, she called it.
He wasn't the only one. Apparently everyone there got the same message for going against orders, but it was a hollow punishment. It wasn't like they had even made real headway on their objective yet. Nobody dared complain, though, not around Yao; he still looked like a dead man walking.
(Wasn't his business to care about that anyway. People were going to die regardless. He was lucky Fred had held out long enough that the horseman hadn't killed him too, to be honest.)
And now here he was, recovering quickly. Burns and scrapes turned into scabs faster than he recollected, old scars were fading as if to make place for the new ones. Owain merely shrugged and suggested that it was their affinity thanks to the bonding, or perhaps something triggered from his...ordeal.
(( You and I together have a great strength against the odds, )) the giant said with confidence. (( We possess the souls of survivors. That should come of no surprise. ))
But he didn't feel like a survivor. More like a fish, having gasped for breath on the unforgiving slab of a boat, tossed back into the sea by the whim of a wave. The light had burned too brightly, and now he could not unsee what it had revealed about himself. The water surrounded him but he did not feel clean.
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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medigel
Anxious Spirit
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Posted: Wed Sep 03, 2014 10:41 pm
She eyed her new scars and wondered if Evan would go for the I told you so angle or the what did he look like so I can tear him apart angle after she explained what happened. The scars radiated out from her elbow where the reaper's spear had nearly torn the joint open, jagged, branch-like lines that reached out towards her shoulder and her forearm.
Hey, Gale, now I really am lightning, she thought with a humorless smile. Her arm twitched involuntarily again as she tried to grip her fork, causing some food to fall and her mood with it.
But I'm alive, Stormy thought to her invisible sister, all accusatory implications and wounded looks to the ghost that still haunted her, whom she still talked to as easily and often as she did with the living. I'm still alive and I hope you're jealous. I hope it burns you knowing that you didn't keep me with you, that every time I get hurt you can't help me, you can only just watch me get stronger for it. I want you begging me in my dreams to come with you because you can't kill me no matter how hard you try, no matter how easy I make it for you. I want you to fall on your knees and sob your apologies at my feet for everything I did for you that you threw back in my face.
Nobody thought anything of the fact that she was crying. It was just another human activity shared among them, as mundane now as lounging in underwear to cool down. Noxious emotions threatened to bubble over, however, and in combination with her irregular eating pattern it made her nauseous very quickly. She rose and barely made it to the bathroom before she was vomiting and dry heaving.
Her arm protested clutching the toilet so hard and twitched again. She gasped and stayed curled on the floor, too tired and dehydrated to move for the moment. (Too ashamed to enter public.)
I helped save Jack, she thought morosely. So why couldn't I be allowed to save you?
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