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 Posted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 5:36 pm
Duncan reeled in shock when the splash of warm water hit him from the flare. He wasn't able to shield away from the sharp ring of the gun, and the sensory overload from it all sent Duncan into a dazed state that could barely register the situation. Even when he noticed that Lazarus was supporting the slumped Frei on his shoulder, Duncan's legs gave in beneath him and sent him plopping onto the ground helplessly.
When the adrenaline began to quickly fade away, Duncan felt ill. The exponentially rising temperature of the area didn't help his nauseum in the least, but what he could bare the least was the lingering and odd smell of flesh and bog. His clothes, which had once protected him from the cold, was now clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He managed to tug at the scarf around his neck while Jeremy and the two Raevans recollected themselves by the campsite, however soggy and beyond repair their materials now were. Duncan knew now that the maps they all had were probably not going to help in the least, not when they were soggy and crinkled. Not with this moisture.
Duncan focused his sights on the corpses of dead sealife when Jeremy began to address him. It was only when the man mentioned the mass grave again that Duncan turned back towards Jeremy and stared in minute horror, the stench terrible even moreso with this reminder. He hadn't forgotten the sight, no, but the fact that its existence was surrounding them unavoidably now was horrifying. In his still-soaked, strangely quiet state, Duncan managed to utter a small 'no' before shaking his head furiously. The acid in his stomach was caught at the back of his throat, and he rose first to his knees at this resurgence.
He pulled on his scarf again and obscured himself from Jeremy's view by hiding half of himself behind a tree trunk. He supported his weight by holding onto it with one hand and stared bewildered at the ground below him, at the bushels and soggy dirt, before expelling what contents were there in his stomach. His puke was a prickling sensation, especially in comparison to his body's confused state, where it was still registering the cold between his sweat and the returned stickiness of the forest.
Duncan remained leaning against the tree trunk, but managed to breathe shortly afterwards. Every movement was panicked and rough, and the ache of his bones were amplified by his now shoddy back. Though he wasn't fully aware that Jeremy couldn't see him, still, he shook his head at the notion of covering the hole, and managed to respond back in a rushed tone.
"N-no... We need to leave!" Duncan blurted.
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Posted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 7:23 pm
The temperature in the jungle has leveled off, pleasant but for its humidity and the stench of where the team is. It seems that there are areas close by that are much drier than the one they currently inhabit, parts of the jungle where the ice did not manage to get its fingers, especially directly across the river.
There is nothing but quietness and the drip-drip-drip of the melting on the trees, and the odor around them is thick. It will not be easy to camp where they are, and with the flies beginning to gather, it may be safer to continue on.
At least, in their favor, there are no yellow eyes watching them, no jaguars, and no other obvious predator to bother them.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Sep 16, 2013 10:37 pm
Basil remained totally unresponsive all the way the campsite, even when Lazarus arranged him on the ground to peel away his sweatshirts, one after the other. Because it was critical that he do it quickly, he had to sacrifice a certain amount of carefulness, so that by the time he was finished, Basil's wings had done a good job of practically shredding the clothes off his back. Lazarus then tossed them aside with a thwap on the wet, wormy earth.
Basil had been stripped to the default clothing he had been born in, giving his team-mates the rare sight of his uncovered head. His hair was in a state of tangled insanity from a combination of being wet and having his clothes pulled over it. His skin was so white it looked bloodless, contrasting his mouth and eyelids, which were the dark purple-brown of a bruise. His expression was soft and almost dreamy.
Now in short-sleeves, one could see that on his upper arm was a network of dark veiny lines. Patterned over the skin like a jagged spiderweb—or the fracture pattern of broken glass. It was the place Lazarus had jabbed him with the torch.
It wasn't long before insects from the rest of the jungle had arrived to reclaim the area. The beetles and blowflies came first, arriving in a mass-exodus to the corpse-pit. Some of them spotted Basil's cold skin as though "making sure", quickly disembarking when they saw that he still drew breath. A single blowfly scuttled across his forehead, dabbing the skin with its alien tongue before lifting into the air as quickly as it had come.
He lay motionless on the soft earth, arms positioned at his sides, and mercifully spared from the horrific odor. It would be a while before he would come to.
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Posted: Wed Sep 18, 2013 8:32 am
For a moment, Jeremy forgot that Duncan was unlike himself. He is no stranger to weird and dangerous situations like the one they just faced, as he has a vast experience on such matters. That is why the man seemed unfazed, even though they had just faced a bizarre life and death situation just minutes ago, and is able to move on swiftly.
Duncan however, is just a normal man leading a perfectly normal life. Jeremy would have considered him as a... civilian. One that is unaware or is oblivious to the world of the occult and magical. The hike so far into the forest had been so familiar to the ones he had with Kyou, that he had forgotten that Duncan is just a normal man.
As he watched Duncan puke behind a tree, he was drawn harshly back into reality, that the people taking part in his search for Kyou are mostly still civilians. Had he made the right decision in forming the search? He had to think as he watched the other man's form shying away from him, shuddering in the sudden change of temperature, his body seemingly unable to adjust quickly. Are the Raevans' powers enough to protect them from whatever lurks in the forest?
Are the rest of the teams alright?
Jeremy can only assume that they are, having seen only a few red flares going up. But what if they are in a situation where they can't fire a flare at all? As more and more questions of doubt passed through the man's mind, he bit his lip with the realization hitting him, that perhaps he should asked for help from the authorities after all.
However, it is already too late now for regrets. They are already knee deep in the forest, they might as well push forward.
Stepping forwards, Jeremy offered Duncan a hand to help him get up. "Okay, we'll leave." For now, he had to worry more about the living and less about the dead. He can still come back later when everything is settled to cover up the mass grave, but for now, they will have to move. "Let's check on the boys first and gather our things." Like Duncan, he too realized that their maps may be wet now and unreadable. Unfortunately he don't remember keeping a copy in his backpack, his copy was kept in the hunting vest he was wearing earlier, and it had been thoroughly drenched. "We could follow the compass northwards, if our maps are wet. We'll find somewhere dry to make camp again and rest for the night." After just what happened, he is willing to bet that everyone is ready for a good sleep.
Before they leave the river side, Jeremy gazed in the direction of the shore on the other side of the river. It looked nice and dry, rather welcoming compared to their side of the shore. However the jaguar just disappeared into the forest on that side, and he is not sure if they are ready for another encounter just yet. So even if it will be unpleasant, they will thread on their side of the muddy shore in search of better ground.
The Sigel's luck wasn't so good, as he only managed to light one broken branch on fire. The rest of the firewood were too drenched to be lit, and the stench coming from the pit was too unbearable at that close proximity, that Lazarus can't bear to stay long to look through them.
Back by the Frei's side, he didn't really know what to do, or where to start. He only had one branch, and he is holding it like a torch as the end was lit. How can he get a fire going with just one branch and no other firewood?
With the help of the flickering light, his gaze fell on the fractured texture on Basil's upper arm where he had jabbed with the torch's end before. The sight made him feel a little squirmish. He vaguely remembered that he had seen it before, when he had accidentally burnt him on their first meeting in that dark street. However this one looked way worse than before, definitely. Momentarily, he wondered how it would feel like to his touch, would it feel like cracked glass? The Sigel was wary though, what if he chips when touched? As with that cracked look, it made the Frei looked really fragile.
Just as Lazarus was going to tentatively poke a finger at Basil's arm, Jeremy got back with Duncan. The latter don't look too good.
"We need to move, pack everything and let's get going as soon as possible." Jeremy's eyes then fell on Basil's unconscious form, the cracked texture on his arm didn't escape his attention. It doesn't look like he would come to anytime soon either. "Carry him on your back or something."
Lazarus nodded. He was actually glad that they would be moving to another location, as the stench is getting worst and the flies are starting to swarm in. Grabbing his belt, he put it back on his waist. The wet clothes he just balled up together, they could maybe lay them out to dry later when they had set up camp elsewhere, somewhere that they could actually make a proper fire. Leaving the torch by Basil's side, with it's butt end stuck into the muddy ground, he got about helping Jeremy and Duncan to pack.
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Posted: Thu Sep 19, 2013 2:42 pm
Duncan wasn't in any position or state to argue against Jeremy's decisions. He trusted the man enough to navigate through the forest, and couldn't focus on what Jeremy was saying to the rest of the group when he did. All he could think was that their maps were long gone, now, and he'd have to at least relinquish his top clothing to get rid of this sticky, sickly feeling, at least briefly, before he could breathe fresh air again. The scent of his own acrid puke combined with the moisture of the mass grave and river sent him into a dry heave, but he'd already emptied the contents of his stomach.
He sat there for a while when Jeremy returned to the campsite. His breathing was lurching and panicked, though simply sitting there didn't accomplish much of anything, other than remind him of the dull ache creeping up his back. He halfheartedly spat on the floor in an attempt to rid of the taste in his mouth, then made his way to the campsite when he regained feeling of his legs. He couldn't help but feel jumpy, so he grabbed his backpack in silence and tried to ignore the heat in his head. If he listened to Jeremy, he'd be okay.
Duncan glanced over at the man and nodded. Though his clothes were drenched, he was much too tired to take any of it off, and knew more coverage was better for the time being. If they had the chance to go to sleep, he'd find some way to dry them. For now, he simply wanted to leave. He wasn't aware of the group's intention to continue going northwards, and wasn't knowledgeable of how to exit the forest anymore, and thus remained compliant.
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Posted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 9:58 am
Leaving the area seems to cure the team's immediate ills. As they move from their immediate surroundings, the wetness and the stench stay behind, and their tired bones can finally rest in an area that is more solid and more dry. The jungle's normal temperature makes it hard to find kindling and wood that will immediately take a fire, but with Laz's power and whatever fire-starting kits they have in their packs, it should not be too difficult to make camp. The jungle is not ever a particularly hospitable location to spend the night, even without errant massacres and jungle fiends attacking them, what with the usual bugs and the cacophony of the nocturnal creatures' noises, but it's much better than what the team just left.
The only disconcerting thing is that their old friend, the yellow-eyed cat, has resurfaced in the trees. However, this time he seems perfectly content to yawn and to make his home on a branch.
For the evening, the team may have finally found a decent place to sleep.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sun Sep 22, 2013 9:33 am
Although Basil himself was not able to register the feeling of warmth while unconscious, his body seemed to respond in spite of him.
By the time Lazarus had finished packing and returned to check on him, his face had turned slightly at an angle, and his breathing was noticeably less shallow. There were movements and noises from him that seemed more indicative of someone in a deep sleep than of someone who had passed out from the cold. He wasn't the picture of life and vitality, but any improvement was better than none at all.
Just as before, he was more or less totally deadweight as Lazarus carried him, this time over what had formed of the Sigel's back. Because Basil was unable to carry his own supplies, the rest of the team had to compensate by carrying a little more than they had started with. As a consequence, Lazarus needed both his arms free. It was a lot for him to juggle, but luckily he had the strength to manage—so long as he didn't need to get anywhere in a hurry of course.
Because Basil's arms would not stay fastened around his neck, nor did he have legs to support in piggyback, Lazarus had needed to stoop over as he floated to keep the younger Raevan from sliding off, periodically stopping to adjust his weight as necessary. His bone-white arms dangled limply over the Incubus' shoulders. His breath hissed past Lazarus' ear like the whine of a mosquito.
The team trudged on this way for a relatively short distance, until the smell of the corpse-pit and the memory of blood-thirsty panthers were put well in perspective. It was during the latter half of this exhausted march that Basil finally began to stir. He groaned from somewhere low in his throat, his eyelids seeming to peel apart like scotch-tape. His vision was blurry. Mostly he saw a curtain of red hair. The fairy-like glow of several flashlights in a stretch of infinite darkness. They were under the cover of trees again, where the moonlight didn't dare to shine.
He took his first deep breath, and his lungs made a wet rattling sound. He felt weak and fluish. Confused. Trying to remember where he was, what he was doing, before he was swallowed up by darkness.
He remembered the moon, glaring violently like the shine off a tossed quarter. He remembered a terrible stench that made his tongue go furry with nausea. He remembered eyes. Lots of eyes. And yowling. And then nothing. The rest were in fragments. Like the fracture on his arm had somehow spread over his brain too. It was so dark around them it was hard for him to tell what was happening, except that he was moving somehow. He couldn't remember how he got here, which in itself lit a tiny light of hope inside him.
Maybe he didn't remember because The Other was finally back. Maybe he had just "gone to sleep" like he always seemed to do when things got out of hand. Maybe The Other had come to their mutual rescue, guns blazing, sword swinging, spit flying, etc. Taking the body far away from whatever was making that godawful stench. From whomever those eyes belonged to.
Of course, lately he and The Other had established a protocol for this sort of thing. There was to be no more switching on a moment's notice just because The Other had a few choice words for somebody. They had to ask first. Be nice about it. Literally try to put a method to their madness. Of course it wasn't a perfect system, and The Other was pretty willful. But if He was somehow responsible for getting them into the clear, Basil wasn't about to split hairs. If anything, he was grateful!
So then, why didn't this feel familiar? Like something he'd been through a million times before?
Why was his head still so clear? So empty?
So... quiet?
Maybe he could have given it more thought, if he didn't feel like death warmed over. Like someone had replaced all his bones with wilted lettuce.
He blinked. His eyelids kept sticking together. He realized he couldn't breathe quite right, wrinkling up his nose like a rabbit. Suddenly, his sinuses tickled and his eyes watered. There was pressure. His breath hitched up and AAHH-TCCHHHFF.
He blew a mist of blood and watery mucus on the back of the Sigel's neck with his hair as a buffer. Afterwards, was pure and heady relief. He sniffed, trying to bring a sleeve to his face, only to realize there was none. Only the skin of his wrist.
"What...?" He mumbled blurrily.
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Posted: Wed Sep 25, 2013 9:42 am
They were hiking for about another mile or so, guided only by torchlights in the dark of night. Lazarus had to abandon the fire torch back in their old camp because he simply had no free hands to hold it. With one hand he had to hold Basil's arms together so he doesn't slip off, with the other he had to hold onto all of the Frei's things, including the two sets of drenched, heavy, torn sweatshirts. Not to mention the backpack with the tent that he originally carried on his back. Now with Basil balancing on top, it only adds to the weight. So he had a torchlight secured to the belt on his waist instead to guide himself in the dark.
Although hating this part of the hike due to the burden he's carrying, he was glad that they left the area where they were at. The jungle air smelled fresher as they trod further, and the fact that he could actually breathe instead of being smothered by humidity is a big plus too.
Just as Lazarus was wondering when they will stop to make camp, he felt a stir and a soft noise coming from behind him. It could only be Basil. "Hey, finally waking up sleeping beau-" He didn't get to finish his sentence before the awful sound rang out right behind him, followed by the icky stickiness on his hair and some on his neck that could only mean one thing...
Pausing in his tracks, he let go of the hand that was holding the Frei's arms together, letting him slip off. "Since you're awake, you can float on your own." Then using the same hand, he took one of Basil's sweatshirts and wipe the snot off his hair and the back of his neck before chucking it back at the Frei. There, he feel much better now.
Instead of going off though and leaving the Frei behind, Lazarus waited for Basil to get a grip of himself and steady up before continuing on their trek. This shows that even though he seemed disapproving of Basil, he still felt like it was his responsibility to see through that the Frei could continue on. If Basil was still weak, even if he really didn't feel like it, he supposed he could give him a lift once more.
"I think there's a clearing up ahead." Jeremy said as he brushed a bush aside, pointing to a place a few bushes up ahead with his torchlight. It doesn't seem like a huge space, but just nice enough for them to set up two tents at close quarters and a fireplace.
He too was feeling the effects of the night's events. His shoulder is sore and so are his feet. Admittedly he is a man that works out at least once a month, and lives a pretty healthy lifestyle. However even a man like him has his limits. The adrenaline rush and the drastic change in temperature back there was starting to affect his body, his joints feel sore and stiff. At the moment as they trod through the bushes, he just wants to set up a tent and fall asleep, after filling his stomach a little bit more of course.
He is so tired, that he didn't notice the cat that was trailing them once more. His mind just focused on the prospect of resting.
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Posted: Wed Sep 25, 2013 2:07 pm
Duncan was at the very tail end of the group, despite not having the burden of carrying another body and his things. He was still in charge of grabbing more than he had before, though, and the total weight of both his backpack, the other supplies, and the water caused him to lag significantly behind everyone else. The fact that the temperature tapered up as they moved onward didn't help his back, either, and he stopped every once in a while to collect himself before moving on. He was a good several feet behind the two Raevans.
Duncan waited cautiously behind as Lazarus and Basil seemed to catch their bearings. The sight of Lazarus letting of Basil the instant he stirred awake was awfully alarming to him, but in his ragged state, Duncan was in no place to contend it. He noticed that the Sigel was staying behind to see if the Frei was okay, though, which offered some relief. When Jeremy spoke up, Duncan had to strain to hear what the man had to say, only to realize the effort was futile. Duncan forced himself a few steps forward in return, guided towards the man by only the light of Lazarus' flashlight.
When he moved up to where Jeremy was, though, it was plainly visible what he'd meant to tell them. Though Duncan was without a map and wasn't quite sure where they were, the thought of some respite for the time being made him well up with joy. He was aware of the things they had to accomplish before truly resting, though, and gripped the handle of his backpack tighter. He, too, was unaware of the cat following them.
"The tents are somewhat wet and damaged," Duncan managed to say, "Would you advise that we set them up anyways?"
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Posted: Wed Sep 25, 2013 8:30 pm
The jungle is loud, so very loud at night. Half the creatures seem to be just getting up to start their day, and there is plenty of movement and sound all around them. Still, the team has to feel that there is a sort of normalcy to everything, that there does not seem to be any malice in this part of the jungle. The clearing feels as comfortable and settled as walking into grandmother's parlor.
Except for the cat.
Nestled on a branch, the cat watches them set up camp, set their things aside, pitch their tents and bed down for the night. The moon manages to peek through the jungle canopy, lighting the ground silver. The noises fade as white noise into the background. For those who wish it, sleep seems as though it will come easily. They will be left alone, with only the memory of the perils and horrors they earlier faced to bother them.
It's only when they start to make their fires that anything seems even the slightest bit amiss.
Every time Lazarus moves toward the fire, or moves toward making a fire of his own, there is a strange sound.
Tick, tick, tick. The sound of a gas stove trying to light. Tick, tick, tick. Like a warning noise, seemingly coming from Lazarus himself/ As though he is the gas line, and he's coming too close to open flame. Every time the sound occurs, Lazarus can feel a swell of magic within himself, as though his body is urging him to produce fire.
Somehow, it feels very dangerous...
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Thu Sep 26, 2013 6:24 pm
Basil startled at the closeness of Lazarus' voice. He didn't realize he was being carried on someone else's back.
When Lazarus let go of his wrists, he tried to brace himself for the drop, sliding off with a whoof. He recovered surprisingly well given his condition. Almost instinctually, like a cat twisting in mid-air to land on its feet. He took a moment to orient himself, then brought a hand to his chest. Breathing in, his lungs felt somehow "wet". Like he was coming down with allergies or a cold or something. That was all he needed next...
Hopefully it was just his body's way of recovering, but he wouldn't know for sure until he'd had a good night's sleep. God, he'd never felt such a strong desire to see the sun before. Sunlight would clarify everything. It would be warm and cleansing. It would make the events of tonight feel like just a bad nightmare. Something he could sandwich days between, and then months, and then years. Sleep would speed that process along. The tonic of the traumatized.
When he was finally more or less awake, he turned up his head. He wanted to thank Lazarus for his help, but was stopped short by the sight of him vigorously swabbing his neck with something. His reaction-time was pretty slow. It wasn't until Basil heard himself sniffle a second time that he put the two together. snffff.
Oh.
He flinched as Lazarus balled up the sweatshirt and lobbed it at his head. He tried to deflect it with his arm, then awkwardly caught it before it fell. Holding it, he stood there, wringing the sweatshirt in his hands. He couldn't bring himself look the older Raevan in the eye. Trying to muster up an apology. Any kind of apology.
The embarrassment turned his mouth to mush. He couldn't form the words. The only thing he could do was sniff. This time louder and deeper, like the sound of a bad snorer.
He turned discreetly away and brought the sweatshirt to his face, honking lustily into it a few times, and feeling a bit light-headed when he was done. When he pulled the shirt away, he was alarmed at the sight of a giant red stain, his face tethered to it by a quivering line of snot. His eyes went huge, fumbling the shirt and making a panicky sound between surprise and disgust. "Ehhh-EEHH-ehh!"
The shirt fell on the ground with a wet slap, and Basil had both hands in the air like he was under arrest. He stared at it, motionless. What was happening to him?
He dabbed a hand to his face and it came up mostly clean. That gave him some relief, but mostly he just wanted to kick himself for looking like an idiot. Really, what did he expect? The elevator scene from The Shining?
He turned to look at Lazarus, who had been standing patiently behind him. Waiting. Basil expected maybe to share an awkward laugh with him. That was pretty stupid, huh? But honestly, the guy didn't look like he was in any kind of mood. He looked exhausted, and just a little fed up with all these antics. Neither of them had eaten a thing in hours, and right now, Basil was holding up the line.
Basil's face felt warm, embarrassment swelling inside him. Crowding his lungs and making it a little hard to breathe. The longer he looked, the more he saw. The more he projected. Until Lazarus' eyes seemed to be pulling him in. Deep into the pupils like a needle being threaded. He felt swallowed up, his chest constricting. A twist of something painful. The illogical ache of a phantom limb. I'm sorry, okay?
Then he heard a sound. Echoey and faint, as though by distance, or maybe the passage of time. A memory of a memory?
Ffffffwwwpppwppp.
His breath quickened, and something indescribable passed through his expression.
Ffffffwwwpppwppp.
Ffffffwwwpppwppp.
He swore he heard a voice whisper.
What are you staring at?
The ache splintered apart like psychic shrapnel. He made a small tortured sound, pressing his hands against the sides of his head. Without any warning, he pushed past Lazarus, their shoulders colliding. Racing ahead until he nearly smashed right into Jeremy.
His body stuttered when he was about to exit the sphere of light from the man's lantern. Some invisible force holding him back. Keeping him with the group. He knew better than to just barrel ahead into the jungle. Into the mysterious night. But in that moment, it was awfully tempting. He needed to vanish. To go somewhere. But he just couldn't! And it was as excruciating as a drug addict's withdrawal.
Somehow the jungle felt crowding to him now. The shadows penning him in like walls. Realizing how limited his sphere of movement was made him feel a little claustrophobic. A little trapped. He needed to pull it together. Now wasn't the time for an "episode".
For lack of a better option, he tentatively grabbed ahold of Jeremy's sleeve. No explanation given. None needed. That seemed to help, and he spent the remainder of the trek in pensive silence. Breathing deep.
---
When they arrived at their new campsite, he had managed to get himself under control again. The first thing he did was wait for Lazarus to throw down his backpack so he could pull out his tent. He sat on the dry ground, and instead of setting it up, had managed to wrap himself up in the canvas like a kind of blanket. It helped him to feel protected. He would start setting it up when he was ready. Maybe after the fire got going so he could see what he was doing.
It wasn't long before he realized how totally famished he was, and began sifting through the backpack for his theremin. He pulled it out from the bottom. Luckily it was buried under enough stuff that it didn't get wet. He let the tent canvas fall loosely around his shoulders so his arms would be free.
He smiled privately, running his hand over the little black box. He wished Genie could see this somehow. That he could somehow transmit his thoughts to her.
Thank you.
It took less than a minute to set up, and most of it was spent hunting for the on switch. He waved his hand experimentally between the antennas, making a high thin sound of feedback. A few adjustments, and then, he was ready. He mewled at it for a little while, deciding what he wanted to play. He worked out the first part of Somewhere Over The Rainbow, then transitioned into Clair de Lune, which he liked much better. It helped soothe his nerves. Take his mind off things. Maybe improve the morale around here.
As he fed, his rune glowed with new and healthy light. He was satisfied.
He could hear his team-mates bustling around him in the dark. Setting up tents and unrolling sleeping bags. Passing occasionally through the beam of their lanterns. It wasn't long before the first fire bloomed, bathing the campsite with comforting yellow light. For the first time in a while, they could actually see one another.
Basil smiled approvingly. He would wait until the song was over before he would get up and see about his tent. Maybe then he would get a moment with Lazarus to tell him how sorry he was for freaking out before.
His hands moved extravagantly and expertly between antennas, weaving a melody out of thin air. It was probably the closest he'd ever come to being graceful. He watched with mild interest as Lazarus crossed the campsite to hand something off to Jeremy. The Sigel passed by one of the campfires as he went. Maybe five feet away. It was faint, but Basil was sure he'd heard something just then. Something irregular.
He stopped playing, his brows knitting. Trying to listen. See if it happened again. Lazarus passed by the same fire on the way back to his tent, and sure enough, he heard it. A flicking noise that seemed very familiar. Where had he heard that sound before?
His insides clenched. Without knowing why, he glanced behind him. Into the treetops, where he saw the cat. Draped over the branches. Its yellow eyes squinting in an expression of pleasure. As though an invisible someone had given it a long stroke from head to tail.
He suddenly had a really bad feeling.
He turned, his voice thin with caution, "Laz?"
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Posted: Mon Sep 30, 2013 9:11 am
Duncan had looked pretty down and out of it all throughout their hike to the new camp site, and it didn't went unnoticed by Jeremy. Having witnessed the other man's reaction of the aftermath, he don't blame him. So it was expected that Duncan seemed reluctant to set up camp when they reached the clearing.
"It's still best to have some roof over our heads." He said as he unpacked the tent that Lazarus had just set to the ground. There are so many things that a tent could protect you from aside just rain. Jeremy didn't blame Duncan though, he looked exhausted and probably sore all over. Hell he is probably not any better himself physically. "But I guess you could just lay a sleeping bag on the ground beside the fire. It doesn't look like it will rain tonight anyway." Jeremy remarked as he looked up at the sky. Such a clear, dark, cloudless sky. He could see the stars so clearly. "I'll just set up one camp and prop the other one up to dry."
Taking the hint, Lazarus went to gather some fire wood for the fire. The wood in this area may not be as dry or as ideal for fire wood as he hoped, but with his fire conjuring power it wouldn't be a big problem.
Gathering a good pile, he brought it back to the camp, and to his surprise there was music playing? It puts him a little off, thinking that something was happening again as he looked around. That was when he saw that weird contraption Basil was holding, and recognized that the sound was coming from there. Sighing in relief, he tried to give it no heed as he set the wood pile in an open area. He supposed that some pleasant music isn't a bad thing at a time like this.
With the fire wood piled and a decent amount set aside to be added later, Lazarus picked up a stick and tried to set it on fire. Normally he would be totally comfortable with this, but to his surprise the fire came out in a small pop and he found himself slightly surprised. He felt a little weird too, like he was overwhelmed with energy. Which shouldn't be the case since he is exhausted. True enough, the normalcy returned and he began to feel tired once more. At least the fire had been lit, he thought to himself as he take a whiff from the small fire on the stick, feeling a comfortable warmth flowing into his body. Fire burning from wood is still some of his favorite. Bringing the fire closer to his face, he took another deep breath again, inhaling the scent of the fire as he feed on the flames.
That was when he heard it, that strange tick tick tick sound... or at least he thinks he's hearing it. To him, it's more like a feeling rather than a sound, like he was listening to his own heartbeat. Frowning, he lowered the lit branch and to his surprise, the sound faded. This is curious. He tried lifting the fire closer to him and there was it again!! And to his shock, along with the strange ticking sound he could feel his power growing inside of his body. Like a burning, swelling flame that is making him a little hard to breathe.
Too preoccupied by this strange, puzzling sensation, Lazarus didn't notice that the small branch was nearly burnt in it's entirety, the fire licking dangerously to his fingers now. It wasn't too long to begin with anyway. Gasping, Lazarus dropped the stick into the wood pile below when the fire burnt him. Fire normally doesn't bother him, but with this new twist, he began to fear his own power, even just a little bit. Maybe that's why he felt the burn just now?
Rubbing his fingers together, he tried to not let it bother him. Leaning down, he gave the burning stick a little nudge into the pile of wood, and see it slowly caught on fire. He consciously floated a little further away as the fire became bigger. At least they have a fire going now.
Going over to Jeremy, he asked the man to help him manage the fire, earning a curious look. Nevertheless the man nodded, thinking that Lazarus was probably just tired. Then the Sigel looked around, before seeing Basil sitting near the drying tent, and decided to join him. It's a safe distance away from the fire, and a bad companion is better than no companion, he thought.
His worries were probably reflected on his face or something, because Basil seemed concerned as he spoke the Sigel's name. Waving a hand, he just settled down near the Frei, not too close that they could put an arm over each other, but not too far that they couldn't speak in considerably lowered voices. "It's nothing, don't worry." He said, unaware that Basil too heard the ticking noise. Lazarus was right though, this was a safe enough distance away that he can't hear or feel the ticking anymore. His red eyes glinting with the reflection of the fire as he looked at it longingly. He haven't fully fed yet, that few whiffs just now were appetizers at most, he was still hungry.
Oh right, he has lighters!
If he flick it open for short amounts of time and feed in short bursts, maybe he could contain the explosive feeling inside of him. He was surprised that he still feel so tired, despite that swelling of energy that the fire was having an effect on his body. Taking a lighter from his belt, he flicked it open.
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Posted: Mon Sep 30, 2013 11:07 pm
Duncan didn't take long to set up his side of things. All he had to do was do as Jeremy said-- set up his sleeping bag and leave his wet and damaged tent to dry. Though he wanted to help the Raevans and Jeremy, their preparations were already complete by the time he was set to lay down where he was.
When Basil began playing his theremin, Duncan felt oddly uneasy at first, though it was easy enough to slip back into a lethargic state. He figured from the look on Basil's recuperating phase that this was some mode of recovering himself, which was all well and good-- Lazarus followed soon after. Duncan felt the wet surface of his jacket over his stomach, and couldn't tell past the pukey taste in his mouth and his lingering weariness. The sight of that mass grave flashed in and out of his consciousness as he halfheartedly thought of the thousands of ways he could have evaluated that situation better, and how he'd played so little a part in making the predatory cat go away.
Duncan took off his hat and remained brewing in his own contemplation. It was rare to see the man so quiet, and it was stranger moreso that he didn't address the state of his companions. He was aching too much to be of any help, he knew-- for now, it was best if he kept to himself and out of the way of the more able. If he gathered enough energy for the morning, he could devise plans for the team in better shape.
He cozied into his sleeping back and took off his glasses, tucking them gently into the pocket of his jacket. He was a still sleeper, which was fortunate, as he felt oddly protective of his glasses after they survived that strange situation.
It didn't take long for Duncan to fall asleep, after which he was stiller than the night silence.
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Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 4:55 pm
Tick, tick, FWOOSH.
As Lazarus flicks the seemingly-innocuous lighter into life, it is like a gas stream hitting flame. The flame from the lighter exits in a burst, booming and singing his face, enveloping the hand that grasps the object. The flame stays there, in his hand, going higher and higher up his arm, as though the limb were an oil-soaked wick.
TICK TICK TICK. The feeling inside Lazarus grows wider, and the fire on the outside seems to be trying to get to his heart, to the heart of the eternal flame, egging him on, surging the power inside of him.
Explode, it seems to command, gleeful.
Water -- where is there water?!
((BASIL: roll a number 1-4. If you roll a 4, Basil will have also caught on fire.
LAZARUS/JEREMY: roll a number 1-3. If you roll a 3, a tent will have also caught on fire. ))
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Twintastic generated a random number between
1 and 4 ...
4!
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 6:23 pm
Basil pressed his lips into a line as Lazarus came to sit near him, looking up at him from under a shock of dripping black hair. Veiny strands were plastered to his forehead. Both smelled strongly of river-water. His eyes were pinkish and his face was white as paper. A thin crust of blood showed on his upper lip. The jungle had thrown a lot of surprises their way, and it showed.
He looked like something out of The Grudge. Something that sneaks up on you in a scary shower scene or crawls up out of a well. Cue a hit from the orchestra— It's right behind you!
There was a certain confidence in the sweep of Laz's hand just then.
"It's nothing, don't worry."
Basil grunted and looked down at his hands. He wanted to believe that. Under normal circumstances he would have, without even thinking about it. The Other was the one who was always second-guessing people, always on the lookout. Basil was a softer touch. Easy to comfort. Easy to reassure. But not this time. Not now.
Maybe that was just the jungle's way. Regardless of how you went in, eventually it made a skeptic out of you. Rearranged your notions of the possible and impossible. He heard something. He knew he heard something.
He resisted the urge to look behind him, nibbling a flake of skin from his lower lip. Then again, there was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight if he kept fixating on every little thing. And whatever that sound was, he wasn't hearing it any more. Just animals. Crackling firewood. Human heartbeats. It got him to thinking, maybe Laz was right.
Nothing to worry about. False alarm.
He looked at Laz again, craning his neck to work a hand through his hair. He let out a long sigh. So long as they weren't in danger, maybe now was his chance to clear the air between them. "Uh... Hey. I'm sorry about before. Back on the trail. I didn't—"
The words dried up in his mouth. His eyes drew a line from Lazarus' face to the lighter in his hand. His eyes widened fractionally. Flick
There was a flash of blinding light, and Basil went white.
His brain blinked like a flash-bulb, and when he came to again, he was only vaguely aware that a trail of fire was eating away his sleeve. Spreading over his shoulder and chest. A flickering heat against his neck and face.
Then the flames licked his skin, and he'd never felt a pain as excruciating. White-hot, it lit up every nerve in his body. Spreading fast.
A moment delayed, he delivered a high, rusty scream, trying to smother it with his hands. He stood up, and the flames flickered with movement and oxygen. He didn't know fire could get so out of control so fast. So hungry. Black petals lifted off his clothes and into the air. Smoke curled up into his nostrils. That was him. That was really him! He was burning!
He went in a jagged semi-circle around the campsite. Somebody help. God somebody please help. ********> He ricocheted clumsily off a tree. Fell to the ground. Tried to throw dirt on it. Writhe. Roll. Sobbing for air. Somebody! Hurry!
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