Harrison looked over the fog one last time. Manned up.
"I'm just saying is all," he grumbled, and even with a single step outside the barriers, it felt like the house was starting to shift and change around them.
It wasn't long before they stumbled on another group- but this time there was no familiar glow of weapons, just shuffling shadows, a few at first- then more and more....more than they could handle-
Harrison stepped back, on edge.
"What...what is it?" he whispered.
(encountering Prompt #2)
Posted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 2:07 pm
Rep didn't want to go back into the fog, not in the slightest - as it was he was already anxious that he would be once again having those dismal nightmares that pursued him after the fight with the horsemen, that the dread had gotten into his bones like the chill air.
Shifting Tracey to one hand, he fastened up his jacket, burying his chin against the fur as if it would somehow help. Regardless there was no option but to follow, which he did, in silence, normally he'd have been quick to banter, maybe unnerve Melvin a bit with newbie jibes. But things were pretty serious as it was and he wasn't entirely in the mood for trench humour.
Instead of furniture out here there were booths. It did look a lot like fright night but about one hundred percent less festive. He highly doubted anyone would be offering fun colourful little money spinning monsters out here. It was dead, absolutely dead and it was getting to him. Every little sound of footfall, every rustle of a coat seemed louder in this oppressive grey.
The instant where he felt like he was falling stopped him dead in his tracks, wide eyed. But it passed like a moment of vertigo and he relaxed his white knuckle grip on Tracey's handle. They were no longer alone however and he eyed the figure with tension in every single line of his body. His first instinct was to edge closer to the others but he found he couldn't even move.
"Bad ******** news is what it is."
HP: 50/50 DMG : N/A FEAR Strength: 100% Insanity Strength: 0% Charge: 0/3 Items : 2 x medikit, 1 runic bandage Appearance : Loud, arrogant human with vibrant red hair and a nasty demeanour, weilds a massive two handed lochaber axe.
When the fog drew back, began to form shapes, Jordan went silent and tense, on high alert and watching and listening for anything that might come out of the ghostly imitation of the festival booths. The fact that nothing did wasn't relaxing. Every moment that passed without incident was like the long climb up the first hill of a rollercoaster, anticipating the inevitable drop.
It was almost a relief when the fog came rushing in to engulf them again. When the dizziness cleared, they were facing a dark shape with a weapon in its hand, a crowd of silent shapes behind it.
As it spoke, Jordan looked past it to the figures behind it. The shock of recognition made him grip Ferros's haft tighter. These were people he knew. Familiar faces, lined in the greys of the fog; even the little shufflings and movements were right. Ennea stared back at him with accusation in her eyes; Ofelia watched him with uncharacteristic calm. Robert stood half-hidden behind the dark figure in front, and wouldn't meet his eyes.
Jordan searched the crowd with a sinking feeling in his stomach, found none of the people who stood with him. Were they, somehow, the only ones left, or was it an illusion?
"Guys," he said quietly. "Who do you see right behind the one in front?"
Name: Jordan Faction: Hunter HP: 60/60 Fear: 100% Insanity: 0% Visual Reference:Here Inventory: 1 Corrupted Runic Bandage 1 Runic Bandage, 1 Horseman Vial - picked up here
Posted: Tue Oct 16, 2012 10:05 am
Jerry stiffened as the figures emerged, his brows furrowing. He focused on the figure up front,but soon his eyes were drawn to the figures just behind and... "Sasha...?" He breathed, tensing. Wash was there too and Petra and.... "What's going on?" He managed, brows furrowed. She wouldn't look him in the eyes, but that wasn't new. She didn't speak.
"What do we do?" He hissed to the others, but he couldn't move, the fog was... doing something. "What do you want!" He shouted at the figure. It looked like a Hunter, but why were they looking at them like that?
"You know very well what was taken... I would like it back."
"I don't-" His glasses were dipping on his nose, but he couldn't move to push them up.
He set his jaw.
"Let her go!" He shouted suddenly, "T-take me instead!"
Stats:
Name: Jerry HP: 60/60 FEAR Strength: 100% Insanity Strength: 0% Items: Med Kit X 2, Corrupted Runic Bandages RP Blurb: Disheveled hippie-nerd with a bazooka.
When Rep looked behind the figure, he saw few faces he recognised. At least until he spotted Rin in the crowd, she wouldn't look at him. There was a surge of paranoia and hostility. Had she betrayed him somehow? Was this a setup?
"Rin." he snarled. Tension and anxiousness as always twisting into a simmering sort of anger just below the surface. He would agree to whatever but he wouldn't be fooled here, whatever this b*****d wanted, he was going to get an axe to the face.
HP: 50/50 DMG : N/A FEAR Strength: 100% Insanity Strength: 0% Charge: 0/3 Items : 2 x medikit, 1 runic bandage Appearance : Loud, arrogant human with vibrant red hair and a nasty demeanour, weilds a massive two handed lochaber axe.
Posted: Tue Oct 16, 2012 11:45 am
The ghosts were moving, and Jerry's heart was clenched in his throat. He didn't seem to notice Rep surging forward with weapon bared. All that mattered was that she would be safe. He braced himself, waiting for an attack to come- something, anything... but the fog simply whisked past him. The world was white for a moment, and he wobbled, brows knit. He didn't feel.... well, he wasn't in any pain. What exactly had...?
He stiffened, glancing around, but he couldn't see Jordan or Harrison or Rep at all. When had...? He looked down again, his hands sticky with... something.
"Oh god, oh god oh god..."
There was a figure laying in front of him. Had he blacked out again? He had been fighting through his dissociation! He didn't even remember what could have triggered it! He just remembered Sasha's somber face drifting by and... he couldn't tell who or what the body was that lay... had it been the person holding them captive?
His brain was reeling.
Gently, he rolled the figure over, but the fog was too thick... all he could make out was the glaring wound. "I'm... I'm not a Moon or... or a lifer..." He debated, for a moment, putting the creature out of it's misery.
The tiny part of him that was still Jerry Collins of Philadelphia, and not a Sun Hunter stopped him.
"But... but I can do what I can, alright?" He tried with a weak, trembling smile that was not at all assuring.
And so the Sun Hunter attempted to heal the figure...
Stats:
Name: Jerry HP: 60/60 FEAR Strength: 95% Insanity Strength: 15% Items: Med Kit X 2, Corrupted Runic Bandages RP Blurb: Disheveled hippie-nerd with a bazooka.
Rep was willing to agree with whatever the guy wanted, nodding sure yeah whatever. He didn't have anything, and even if he did, he'd never return it. His stuff was his. Stuff was important, he would never ******** give it up. He just needed his chance, needed to be able to move. He got his wish, motion slowly returning to him. The moment it did, he lunged forward like a wild thing, so sure this was another monster, another fog creature. He'd never get caught out again.
"My s**t is mine." he snarled as he summoned Tracey and swung.
It might as well have been slow motion for the speed the figure displayed, his words were cut off by the weapon connecting with his shield, with him. There was no time to think, to respond as he fell for what felt like forever. He was dead this was it, it was ove-
Panting, chilled by a cold sweat he found himself back in the fog. He sat up with a hiss of pain, realising as he did so that he was now sporting a large bleeding gash on his chest that hadn't been there before. "The ********? I thought that was a ******** illusion." he said out loud, almost expecting one of the others to respond with the same incredulousness.
There was no one there, somehow he was now alone. It felt like he'd lost something enormous. "s**t." he snarled to himself, his confidence draining away like water through a sieve.
real injury William. I don't know how it bypassed the shield. Its fixable, I'll stop the bleeding, just please be careful.>
He could no longer look directly into the fog, like avoiding a mirror in the dark. When he'd had the others it had been all bravado and confidence, out here he was alone, and no matter how hard he tried to avoid the cold hard facts - he was afraid.
He tried not to think about sirens or about the way his hands were shaking.
Once again the house seemed to change and shift, tendrils of fog curling in around him like an embrace, slowly desaturating the world and clouding his vision until he couldn't see even an inch in front of him. Even holding up his bloodied hands almost close enough to touch his face achieved nothing. To all intents and purposes he was blind, and to be blind here, with potential danger all around was to be prey.
Another shift and there was that sensation of falling again, as if the ground had dropped away over an endless abyss, as if for a few dizzying seconds there was nothing under his feet. He wanted to seize hold of something, anything for the sake of balance, his body tensed for the inevitable drop. But it never came. Just as soon as the feeling arrived it was gone like a spell of vertigo, he was presumably still upright, but could see nothing at all.
In the close stifling fog, there was a blank window of time - it could have been seconds he was standing there or it could have been hours, there was no signifier of relative time in the house, no day or night. Trapped in a world of white where he couldn't even discern if he was asleep or truly awake. Even closing his eyes - a desperate attempt for dark reprieve - rendered nothing but more dim whiteness. This house had started out the day playing merry ******** hell with his mind, but it was only now that it was really getting to him, slithering into his thoughts as insidiously as the fog seemed to sneak its way into everywhere without a magical barrier here.
After some unquantifiable time, the fog relented a small amount - whatever dictated these things seemed to have deemed it fit to permit him narrow vision and tenuous consciousness. He could still make out very little, but any visibility at all was better than that suffocating whiteness he'd left behind. There was a scramble of thoughts as he tried to take stock of his surroundings. Straining his ears for voices and hearing nothing - he realised he was alone.
Well. Almost alone.
There was a sick twist of dread as clarity returned to him enough for him to realise he noticed had his hands pressed firmly against something.
The creature felt mangled beyond repair and he would almost have assumed it was dead, were it not for the thick warm fluid he could feel spilling from it. It felt like blood but it could have been anything, the only certainty in the muddling fog was that it was probably not supposed to be on the outside. Whatever this mangled thing was it was almost definitely bleeding to death.
Life essence seeped between his fingers with every weakening heartbeat, hands a poor tourniquet. He'd felt this before. Not the same as this but like it. Too familiar. He could remember his palm pressed to the wound, too deep, too harsh. He hadn't meant it that way, it was meant to be a warning. Stay off my patch. Not die. He never meant it, never meant anything, there was always just the anger and people too soft to survive the cold hard edge of his fury when he could no longer keep it in check.
No.
That was a world away. He shook his head.
Focus.
There was a moment of hesitance, a swirling confused instant where he groped for explanations, a brief anxious doubt that it could well be someone he knew. The blood was soaking into his denims, he wanted to retch. He dispelled the doubt before it consumed him, before he slipped into hysterics, blinded by panic. No. He'd know, he would simply ******** know if it was someone close to him, he knew everything about them, it wouldn't end this way. He refused to entertain it, doubt here could be the end of him, it was what the monsters wanted. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. The longer he thought about it the deeper the tendrils of fear slunk into his thoughts. Less thinking, more fighting. It was so easy to find the explanations he wanted to justify his course of action. The monster had probably confused him when he'd attacked it, ******** with his head. Yes. Confusion. He'd done this, it had earned it, whatever it was, it was just putting off the inevitable. He couldn't afford to be tricked. It was familiar. It was so easy.
He treated this as confirmation of his doubts rather than cause to hesitate.
Getting to his feet, the massive axe was summoned in an effortless instant, one solid thing in this misted world, comforting black in a world of white. But even the runes weren't enough to light definitively what he was dealing with. He couldn't hesitate, these things regenerated faster than humans could even hope to compete with. He brought the blade down hard. It was too fast for Tracey to speak up, to remind Rep of how close this was to the last time he'd acted on a mistrust of Halloween and the horsemen. To warn him to stay his hand - think about what he was doing.
It was too late to stop him.
The cleave was brutal, not as hard as the charge that had obliterated the old woman on the ill fated mission in the jungle, meeting a horrific sort of resistance mid-way in the broken figure. Bone - at least he assumed bone, did these monsters even have bones? - provided resistance. He made a sound that was almost a laugh as he found the axe well and truly stuck in the figure in its death throes. He wrenched it free with a sickening crunch but felt nothing at all but satisfaction. One day he would learn how to destroy these things, these abominations - in a way that left nothing to regenerate. He could taste their fear, even as he let their broken and bloodied form drop the ground - they would dissipate no doubt eventually, he could only hope they would never return - cores could be broken right? The low level thrum of the charge stopped Tracey's protests in their tracks, turning both of their thoughts away from what had just happened and synchronising them in how fantastic it felt instead. It was hard to feel regret when a decision had such intense rewards. He felt once again like a predator, like he was in control.
It couldn't have been human, he thought to himself idly, almost as an afterthought. Humans didn't taste so good.
human with vibrant red hair and a nasty demeanour,
weilds a massive two handed lochaber axe.
Posted: Tue Oct 16, 2012 1:37 pm
"I never stole from you," Jordan said to the figure. Fog and darkness rolled in the corners of his vision. "If I took anything of yours, it was not stolen."
When it raised its weapon, he took a step back, bringing Ferros up automatically -
- and found himself alone in the fog, the figures gone as though they'd never been there. He felt off, somehow. Strange. Ferros?
I don't know, the weapon answered cautiously. We're not injured.
Well, that's positive, I think. Jordan searched the fog around him, straining his eyes and ears for any sign of the others, looking for the lights. There was no sign of the camp, nor of his friends. I guess we're going to have to pick a direction. I'm not keen on staying here.
Ferros responded with the mental equivalent of a shrug.
Between one step and the next came the dizzying feeling of falling again.
When his vision cleared, he found himself on his knees, Ferros desummoned, his hands pressed against a living body. The fog swirled thickly around them, so dense it was nearly impossible to tell who or what lay under his hands, their blood pulsing over his fingers with each heartbeat.
The gash he was applying pressure to (basic first aid, said his memory, apply pressure to slow the bleeding until the wound can be bandaged) was large and terrible. If he removed his hands, he suspected, the injured person would die. Die more quickly, perhaps. He was alone with the body beneath his hands.
If the person he knelt beside were human, he reasoned, an injury of this scale was not within his ability to attend to; he carried bandages, but once the Fear shield broke, the body needed real medical attention. If the person were not human, the bandages might help, but he would then be healing a potential enemy, using supplies that could be saved to help preserve human lives.
The logical decision would be to stand up, wipe the blood off his hands, and walk away. Trying a bandage on an injury like this was stupid, he didn't have the skill to patch them up alone, and carrying a dying person when he was alone and lost in potentially hostile territory could get him killed too.
What stopped him was the thought that the person he knelt over was unknown. Unidentified. It could be anyone. His imagination painted a brief, too-vivid picture of himself walking away from Harrison, leaving him to die. It wasn't. It couldn't be. And he couldn't walk away. Cursing his own stupidity, he fumbled one of the bandages out of his bag one-handed and applied it to the wound.
The figure's breathing rasped, slowed. The blood flowed more slowly over Jordan's fingers, and he held his breath, waiting. Something grasped weakly at his hand, and he jolted with surprise, but they only rasped, "Thank you ... "
Then the rise and fall of the figure's chest ceased in a final sinking exhale. Jordan sat back on his heels, angry at himself for wasting precious supplies, angry at himself for having failed, unable to banish the leaden ball of upset from the pit of his stomach. He wiped his hands on his scarf and pushed himself to his feet.
The fog swirled back and away as he moved, and he found that there was no body, no blood on his hands or clothes. Nothing there at all. Nothing left but the unused bandage on the floor in front of him and a sense that he'd ******** up.
You did what you could, Ferros said as Jordan bent to retrieve the bandage.
I don't know if I should have tried.
The dragon rumbled quietly. I am your weapon, not your conscience.
Jordan shook his head and walked onward into the fog.
Name: Jordan Faction: Hunter HP: 60/60 Fear: 90% Insanity: 5% Visual Reference:Here Inventory: 1 Corrupted Runic Bandage, 1 Runic Bandage, 1 Horseman Vial - picked up here
The world shifted again, but this time he was resigned to it. He was a predator in this fog nightmare, he would find the others and nothing these creatures could do would stop him. He leaned back his head and inhaled deeply - what on earth was that smell? It wasn't particularly bad but at the same time it was somehow like nothing else he'd ever smelled before. Still, cooking meant sentient creatures, and out here that was better than nothing at all. He turned to follow where it seemed to be coming from and gradually found himself face to face with another indiscernible figure. Almost indiscernible. The resemblance to Julie was uncanny. He'd never known her personally but it was amazing what seeing someone turned into a hollow husk did for searing even small details into the mind. It wasn't Julie. Julie was dead.
He turned to eye the strange counter, figuring simply that he would play along with this charade, toy with the monsters, with the house. He'd play their game because he wasn't afraid, and would even indulge in woman's work to do so. On the worktop it was tough to tell what there was to choose from, most of the creatures seemed to be squirmy and alien to him but one of the creatures was unmistakable - it had to be a foxfire, one of the minipets he'd seen in the lab. It would do.
"This one." he stated coolly, picking up the fluffy thing.
Tracey protested in his head. It irked him. Jordan did not keep this particular one. Things were clearer than that, keeping a pet did not excuse the entire race of a creature, just as one good human would never redeem the entire race.
He handed it over to the figure, looking on as she - as it, placed the thing in a bowl and placed it into what was presumably the oven. He waited even as the smoke billowed around them twining with the fog, he found himself almost eager to see what resulted.
The fog crept back in before he could.
HP: 30/50 DMG : N/A FEAR Strength: 100% Insanity Strength: 20% Charge: 0/3 Items : 2 x medikit, 1 runic bandage Appearance : Loud, arrogant human with vibrant red hair and a nasty demeanour, weilds a massive two handed lochaber axe.
Posted: Tue Oct 16, 2012 6:56 pm
Jerry staggered forward, anxiety building with every step. The others couldn't be far. He felt like he was swimming through a dream, not sure what was real or not but it all FELT real. He needed to find Jordan and the others. He'd protect them, they needed him and Roar and.... a sudden smell drifted over the subtle muggy scent of fog and he picked up pace.
Concentrate on breathing. I don't like this place. Don't smell right at all, Roar grumbled.
"You and me both," Jerry breathed, hugging the massive weapon tightly as he followed the scent.
"Oh, here again? Oh, well, I would love the help!" Jerry nearly jumped out of his skin as the figure swept in. There was something... familiar about her. But he wasn't entirely sure. Everything seemed odd. Familiar yet not.
"Where are my friends?" He growled, but she ignored him, "I SAID-"
"Put that down for just a moment and give me a hand, we'll surprise them all!" The figure bubbled.
The sun hunter hesitated, brows furrowing. Maybe she'd talk more if he gave her a hand...?
A name drifted past his memory, but he shook his head, ignoring it before reaching for one of the quivering creatures to offer it out to her.
He glanced around as he kept a firm grip on the squirming, fluffy creature, but there was no way out, no place to turn... "I... I should go..."
"We'll take a break when we're done!"
"I need to find my friends..."
His head was swimming, as though the fog had crept in his ears and was quietly whispering in his brain.
Deep breaths.
Find a way out.
Stats:
Name: Jerry HP: 60/60 FEAR Strength: 95% Insanity Strength: 40% Items: Med Kit X 2, Corrupted Runic Bandages RP Blurb: Disheveled hippie-nerd with a bazooka.
He followed slowly behind the other hunters, expecting to hang back and fire when he was able and sure he wasn't going to shoot someone he knew in the back of the head. When he noticed their weapons summon, he started to move to see, but the fog seemed to rise up around him. With a jolt, he felt as if he was falling, and the fog rising around him made him feel as if he was falling through thin air before his stomach dropped and he stumbled back. No. There was still ground beneath his feet, and the Lifer tapped his foot once to be sure of it as he held his spinning head.
Looking around, he breathed out. "Guys?" No one. There had to be some sort of trap, because once again he was alone.
Holding his gun, he slowly moved, his ears straining to listen to even the slightest noise which was increasingly difficult with the sound of his own racing heartbeat in his ears. Breathing deep, he looked around and slowly saw more and more booths around him. It reminded him of the festival he went to when he was in a golem for the first time, but all the festive colors were drained, the music somehow off, leaving nothing but the strange, deserted booths and the sound of laughter.
In short, this place was super creepy.
It was then that he saw a figure up ahead, and gun out and pointed, he moved slowly closer. "Wh-Who are you?!" He said, voice higher in pitch than he wished as he crept closer. To his relief, it was someone else with a weapon, but they were hard to make out under their clothes. They were dark in shape, probably due to how thick the fog was, but he instantly felt a sense of respect for him and felt he was a superior. When he saw other shapes start to form, he breathed out. He must have found the base again or at least a bigger group.
However, when the figure spoke, he didn't know the voice, and it was hard to place the gender. Listening, he was confused by the question. Why am I fighting? He didn't know. He really didn't want to fight to begin with, but since it was what everyone else did here, what was expected of him, he fought. He fought because he had to go on these missions, but mainly he fought to stay alive on these missions until he didn't have to any longer. He wasn't a fighter in the end.
is holding a weapon. A strange, odd lullaby-like sound seems to creep across your skin, paralyzing you in place. "Is it power? Is it for them?
Melvin looked past the figure to the others that were forming and his breath caught in his throat.
"How..." His college friends stood in a group, looking somber, annoyed...disappointed? None looked up at him except for a few, but only to glance away nervously as if he would hurt them. A few others glared at him, accusing him. Did they think he brought them here, and how were they here? Did this figure kidnap them?! Hostages.
It was then that one figure moved through the crowd, and he felt his heart turn painfully cold. "Sophie?!" He cried, stepping closer, but she looked frightened as he took a step and moved back into the crowd. His sister - she....she probably thought he was dead and here he was. What did she think? How did this person get her? Here she had wanted to see what he saw, and now that she was here, she only seemed scared.
Guilt washed over him before a stronger emotion, the heat of anger, rushed over him. Glaring back to the figure, he called him out. "How did you take them? Why would you do this? Let the go! They didn't do anything! They're just.....just ....Normal!"
Would you tear away those who are seeking another path, force them into a life they do not wish to be in?
"No! They don't need to see this. Let them go back. Let them just be safe and live their lives." Live their lives without the worry and alienation he felt every day of his life.
I am not an unreasonable person. All I ask for is an exchange, and return of the things you have taken from me. You make your own choices; the choice is always yours to make.
Taken? He looked confused to the figure. "What did I take?"
You know very well what was taken. I would like it back.
He wasn't sure what the figure meant, but glancing to his friends, to his sister, he couldn't just leave them here.
"I'll give you whatever you want, but I didn't take anything! If I knew, I'd give it to you. Pleas -"
Stubborn, aren't we? No matter.
The figure raised his weapon, and Melvin aimed to shoot before the fog swallowed him up.
Name: Melvin HP: 40/40 FEAR Strength: 90% Insanity Strength: 5% Items: Med Kit X 2, Corrupted Runic Bandages RP Blurb: Sweater-wearing, tall, immaculate man with a red gun.
Posted: Wed Oct 17, 2012 1:18 am
Prompt 5:
Everything had gone white. Had he fainted? Where were the others? The hiss of voices on the peripheral of his hearing picked up before he straightened up with a groan. "Jordan?" He called out frantically, "Harri?" No 'don't call me Harry' retort. "Rep?" He pulled himself to his feet, resummoning Roar in an instant. "Melvin?" His voice had grown weak.
Abandoned him, probably. Knew he was useless.
They're just lost in this mist too, man-
He ignored Roar, turning sharply at a sudden subtle noise he may or may not have actually heard...
There was a door.
The way out? He reached to try th handle...
"WAIT!" Suddenly hands were around him, gentle, slender...
A flautist's hands.
"Sasha..." He turned slowly, his brows knit.
"Don't go. Please."
"I... I thought they had you... or it was a dream or..."
"There's still another way."
"To get out of here? This isn't it?" maybe it was a trap. Maybe she had come back to her senses, swayed by his charitable act before... or maybe it had all been an illusion.
What was real, anyway?
"You don't have to do this."
"Then what should I do? I won't go." She was warm, so warm, and smelled of wild flowers and paper. Roar vanished so he was able to take her hand in his...
"Stay with me,"
He leaned in, his breathing deepening. He missed her, he missed her so much, who she was... who she was becoming... he wanted to move with her, evolve with her, change for her if he could but that hadn't been enough. It was never enough for any of them. He was never enough.
"No." He suddenly pulled back, brows knitting in a sudden fit of rage as he shoved her away, "You... you left ME. After everything we went through you LEFT ME. I would have given the WORLD to you and you-"
The so-called Sasha went silent, her eyes locked on his face as her expression contorted. Her voice was a vicious hiss, her grip tightening on his wrist, "You will stay with me!" Suddenly, he couldn't breath. He couldn't move.
And then.... gone.
Stats:
Name: Jerry HP: 60/60 FEAR Strength: 95% Insanity Strength: 75% (as of this post) Items: Med Kit X 2, Corrupted Runic Bandages RP Blurb: Disheveled hippie-nerd with a bazooka.
He didn't recall landing or even kneeling, but he felt his hands pressed down upon a warm body. His head swam with confusion, and it felt as if he had just been daydreaming for a moment to then snap back to reality. Who was he touching? The warm liquid pooling between his gloves made him jerk his hands back, but he realized that it was blood. Blood. This person was dying.
Gasping, he pressed his hands back down quickly, holding it down with the only limited knowledge that he wanted to keep the blood in. Clearly he hadn't taken any First Aid classes, and regretted not being more prepared. Blood. He never touched so much blood in his life. It was everywhere. How did this person get hurt? Who was this person? All he remembered was that he was calling to that one figure to let his sis-
He turned his head to try and see who it was, but the fog was so thick at this point that he could only see a few inches from his face. Growing up in Rhode Island, he knew fog, but never had he encountered fog this thick before. It seemed impossible. All he could make out was the shape of a body, feel the blood pooling under his hands, and the haggard breathes that caused the body to rise and fall under his hands.
"Sophie?" He looked in the direction of where he was sure was a face. The figure said that he felt Melvin was responsible, that he took something, and that he would force those he loved into this mess. Did he make an example of Sophie? Was she..
His body was trembling as he held his hands in place, eyes stinging as he started to panic. "It's okay. It's okay, Sophie. You'll be okay. I'm here. I'm so sorry. I'm sssooo sorry. I never meant.." He had left her and now they had taken her. They finally hurt the people he loved. He killed his sister.
"Someone?! ANYONE?!" He cried out, but no one was around. He had to work fast.
Bandages. He had bandages. Magic bandages. He could use that!
"Hold on. Hold on. I have bandages. Just..." She was in pain. Shaking, he fumbled with one hand as the other pressed on her chest and worked a bandage package. Her breathing was becoming slower, and he cursed as his own shaking hands and slippery fingers had a hard time managing to get the bandage free. Then, just as he dropped the bandage, he noticed that she wasn't breathing.
Turning, he looked down at her just as she breathed out a simple Thank you.
"No. No. NO I have this. Just give me a moment. I have a bandage right here!" He reached out, tearing the package open, but it was too late.
She wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead.
The fog started to part, and he breathed out as he saw it wasn't a human at all. Jerking back, he kicked off until he scooted away from the figure. It was one of those creatures, and while he was relieved that it wasn't Sophie, he felt frail and wrecked from panic. Looking down, he quickly tore off his gloves and threw them at the creature, reaching into his own pocket to pull out some wipes and try and get as much of the blood off of him - but it wasn't real. However, he still wiped his hands, his cuffs, anywhere where he thought there had been blood, and then went to retrieve the bandages just as the body dissolved.
Shaking, he got up and slowly started to walk away, not tearing his eyes from the spot where the body once laid until he was far away.
Name: Melvin HP: 40/40 FEAR Strength: 90% Insanity Strength: 30% Items: Med Kit X 2, 1 Corrupted Runic Bandages RP Blurb: Sweater-wearing, tall, immaculate man with a red gun.
MoonKitsune
Romantic Exhibitionist
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MoonKitsune
Romantic Exhibitionist
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Posted: Wed Oct 17, 2012 6:48 pm
Prompt 4
In the thick fog, he moved, gun close to his chest and eyes down as he moved quickly but without any goal. He wanted away from the image of the dead creature, but also wanted to know if Sophie had also been an illusion. Right now, he wanted company. Backup. Someone to tell him he wasn't circling in the fog forever.
It was the smell of something sweet and warm that grabbed his attention, and moving onward, he felt he walked into someone's kitchen. The fog was still around, but he had the distinct sense he must have walked in through a door. There was still no color here, and a black figure of a woman came in, or what he assumed to be a woman. It stung his eyes to see everything in black and white as if he was stuck in a old movie, but the warm smell calmed him down a moment despite not liking this figure. However, she had no weapon and spoke to him sweetly.
The smell was strange, but it reminded him of baked goods....like his mother's snickerdoodles.
She gestured for him to pick something from a pile of ingredients, and he looked down as figures scurried and squirmed, their white eyes looking at him but making no noise. The tentacle was out of the question as he didn't want to touch something slippery, and there was a vile of something that he rather not touch. Maybe he was in the Life labs too long, but things in glass bothered him if he didn't know what it was. The fluffy thing was the only thing he ventured to touch, and pulling his hand into his sleeve, he picked it up without touching it and offered it to her as he looked around. There didn't seem to be any way out, but the woman was speaking about others coming and talked as if he was here before. His memory didn't feel as if it was connecting things correcting. Was he missing chunks? If so, then how long had he been here?
"Have you seen a tall girl with blonde hair?" He asked, but the woman was too busy as she took the fluffy thing from him and set to baking.
A beep went off, a timer he guessed, before smoke billowed into the room. Backing up, he covered his mouth, but she seemed not to mind. Instead, she smiled.
Then everything went white.
Name: Melvin HP: 40/40 FEAR Strength: 90% Insanity Strength: 40% Items: Med Kit X 2, 2 Corrupted Runic Bandages RP Blurb: Sweater-wearing, tall, immaculate man with a red gun.
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Name: Jerry
