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Milo wanted to shoot the two of them a pained angry look, like couldn't they see he was trying to get away from this thing? Sand wasn't exactly the easiest thing to move in, it was dense and tough. And well, the bugs were more on the surface and pretty fast. "I'm tryin'!" He shouted back, pushing himself more into the sludge to get away from the charred body thing.

Hadn't he been near those guys too? Weep.

And then the thing exploded, the bugs spilling out from every inch of the husk it had once occupied and of course had to head his way (and now way of all the others, surprise, guys! More bugs!). Milo tensed up as he felt their little legs all on him and he flailed his arms wildly to get them off.

Well, this was awkward.

"Look, Shiloh. You're a great guy," Pandora prodded him hard in the chest with her gun barrel, as if to try and push him away. It didn't seem to do much. In fact, that smile was much creepier close up, and knowing behind it was a mass of writhing bugs about to get vomited out or something like that. Gross. She glanced around for help, but help wasn't going to come. "But this isn't going to work out, you know? I'm a girl... you're a guy... and a thousand bugs..."

She continued to talk, nervously, the only thing she could do in a situation like this. "You're probably going to leave me for the veterinarian who treats you for worms. It'd be tragic. Some real Romeo and Juliet s**t, if Romeo was an insect zoo. You know?"

DMG: 0
HP: 19
CHARGE: /3

Ripley heard the suggestion about the scarves and quickly acted on it, wrapping his around the lower half of his face and tying it tight behind his head. Yeah, he wasn't about to let some bugs crawl into him. He'd seen enough of that for a lifetime now, thank you. When Abbi responded, all he could do was make a face at first, as if he didn't know what she was even going on about, but as it clicked his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"...And how do you know I didn't?" It was only a momentary concern though, as he realized that there seemed to be more bugs and less chance of escape for any of them. It was the most pressing issue, but just as he was about to attack the sand, he noticed something else: Shiloh had his hand on another red-haired girl, trying to push her down into the sand. What the Hell, Shiloh?!

He swung Wilhelm out as far as he could, attacking Shiloh as best as he could, given all the sand. "Let her go!" ...Wait was she talking about Romeo and Juliet and vets?


HP: 40/40
Damage: 3
Target: Shiloh?
Charge: 2/3

"Gale this isn't a time to argue!" Lance snapped back. "I've survived a ******** regenerating hydra, I think I can survive several goddamn centipedes."

He looked like he was about to say more, silenced by a glance over his shoulder at his nephew. Stormy what wasn't she a Mist what was he doi--

Thoughts were derailed as Gale screamed. There were insects crawling towards him, one big one latched onto Gale's arm not too far from him. "Focus on the task at hand!" Lance snapped at Abbi, weapon raised as he did his best to twist around and strike at the giant insect nearby.

[Target: Gale's bugbuddy ]
[DMG: 9 ]

So maybe blowing smoke in their face hadn't exactly been Finn's best plan, but god damnit, it had been hilarious at the time! Still, it was disconcerting to see them now all working in unison to take down first one target, and then another, moving across the sand with great ease where the rest of them seemed to be struggling. It happened quickly, as first one went down, and then another. There were too many of them to light up with what he had, if it would even work against them, so the lighter and canister of oldspice was dropped back into his pocket as he attempted to back away, pulling on his lance as he went and dragging it through the sand, stumbling, struggling, eventually caught up to, though he was still grinning as if this was all nothing, his eyes narrowed dangerously, however.

"Don't ******** touch me." He tried to pull his arm away when it was the first part of him to get grabbed, attempted to duck away from another pair that went for his shoulders, but it was completely futile. "Ah, Stormy, I always knew you wanted to get your hands on m--" He started, then stopped when he felt the tugging coming from below, something cold that wrapped around each of his ankles again and pulled, forcing him down.

Death by sand and ******** insects. He was glad that Fini wasn't here for this, and for more then just one reason. Because Jack was right, this was a god damn embarrassing way to go, defeated by a bunch of bugs, and not only that, but it just gave him some relief to know that she wouldn't be here for this to happen to her as well.

Not that he didn't believe she would find some other, horrible way to die at some point in her life. He could pretend though, right?

Soon he found himself completely buried, his cigarette left behind, with cherry still burning bright, as the only evidence that he had been there to begin with. He had been forced down, the sand filling in around him, making it impossible to breathe, and nearly worse to try and move.

< Finn, you have to try! > Trynt's voice sounded like the crack of a whip in his mind, all growls and snarls, but the words clear, and Finn gave a mental nod of affirmation. He wasn't just going to give up without a fight, and he kicked down with his boots, hand still clutched around his weapon as he wiggled, and flailed, and hoped that he might be able to rise up above all of this, limbs beating through the sand, striking at insects that swarmed him and attempted to bring him down.

Then the first sting, along his neck, followed by more against his arms, torso, legs. His face, his scalp, everywhere there were tiny pinpricks of pain, that in a singular fashion might have been bearable, but like this, altogether, were overwhelming in nature. His body felt absolutely alight with the dihibilitating pain, but he gritted his teeth against it, shoulders hunching, muscles tensing, movements coming to a stop.

The stinging continued even then, and he would have liked to hiss out his pain if he just could have gotten the air to do so. Instead, everything began to swim in his head, his fingers loosening on their hold around his lance. It was just too much, it hurt so much.

You know I don't do apologies, buddy, but Trynt......

The only answer was one last snarl from his weapon, an almost muffled and faint sound, as everything went blessedly black, even while his joints continued to scream in agony over the assault.

[don't open this i'm so serious]

The last thing Lucky recalled was going under the sand, pulled by a force strong enough to break Mimsy's grip on his hand. Instinctively, he opened his mouth - for air, or to yell, something in the single moment he had before he was pulled entirely into darkness of the quicksand.

Big mistake.

The sand was alive with movement even as his slowed from the lack of oxygen. He had lost consciousness right about then, to the sensation of many long, thin, segmented somethings crawling into his mouth on rows of tiny feet--

And back out again just as suddenly, causing him to gag, retch, and convulse, still trapped in the sand as if no time had passed. He'd been buried deep; there was no difference between up or down. There was hardly room to move, hardly room to breathe, the sand was blocking everything and he was already losing precious oxygen to a panic attack. Behind his eyelids a darkness was creeping around the edges of his vision.

Being buried alive was not unlike drowning; there was no time for regret, no time for memories, or even acceptance. There was just base instinct - the absolute panic of oxygen depletion. Many more tiny feet were crawling across his whole body, pushing him downward in a concerted effort, seething all around him. He moved and kicked, faintly, but that only seemed to create a shift in approach as the insects twined around his leg and began pulling.

His struggling slowed, but the insects did not. Everything went black.

There were moments of wanting to scream over dramatically for falling comrades, an action that came to mind but far too late - there had been so many chances before. But then again, Milo didn't really know too many names. Missed opportunities. Missed chances, even just to help. It was probably what he was supposed to do, but well.... inexperience for you, slow reactions maybe, sand bits and lack of knowledge. Still wanted to kick himself. There were probably at least a dozen things he could have done (even just references to recall to help him in this). Not getting a chance for that now as he was caught in his own situation.

He still had the bugs from the charred corpse all over him, they hadn't let up even with his flailing and were soon joined by friends and company. Pushing him down, like they had the others. Did this mean he was going to join them, he wondered, as he tried to break free under the power of so many tiny little legs. Squirming and pushing, making it seem like his layers of clothing were utterly pointless from the sensation of.... well, tiny little creatures all over him. Milo felt himself tugged then. Further. No amount of struggling, no amount of kicking and pulling of his own helped. Koume had disappeared from his grasp, either lost in the confusion or returned to her smaller state to escape what was going on. He could only vaguely hear her annoyance with him once more before he finally blacked out.