[yeah, not happening. before ash can say as much, the loud CLANG of a nearby locker door opening and slamming shut makes him jerk his head up. shortly after he hears that, another survivor (ace, by the sound of it) screams out weakly in the hallway. when ash hears yet another door open even closer to him, his breathing quickens to near panic attack levels. time to go.
whether or not he's misjudged the distance the killer really is from him or his own body's speed as he fights to overcome the nearly paralytic levels of terror rooting him in place, ash doesn't react quickly enough. in hardly no time at all, a shadow passes over his locker, blotting out the light from the vents. when it doesn't move, he knows he's run out of time.
[the door is nearly ripped off its hinges, and ash squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the end, curling himself into a tight ball.
when it doesn't come immediately, he cracks an eye open.
being that he's done a good job of staying hidden up until now, and again, he's new here, ash knows virtually nothing about the killer stalking them tonight. it isn't an exaggeration to say that he's expecting the absolute worst. the doctor with the skinned face. the gnarled hag with claws like branches and skin like tree bark. cheryl.
but what he isn't expecting is— her. this statuesque, slender, gorgeous woman. she's built like a model and nearly dripping with (pus) gold. her ceremonial headdress is a cumbersome, ornate thing that covers most of the (decaying flesh) upper part of her face, but not her sharp (exposed) cheekbones nor her pretty, plump lips (which are nearly rotting off her face). there's terrible darkness emanating from her, but also undeniable beauty.
ash might be smitten. he might also be completely batshit insane. either way, he's taken out of the urgency of the moment, his eyes wide and doe-like as they gaze up at adiris with something approximating genuine, stupidly earnest awe.]
looks of anger and fear — that adiris is used to upon discovering a survivor hiding within lockers, beneath beds, and around corners where they don't think she would see them. the lambs to be sacrificed and please her gods wants and needs over her own, and with hopes that the sick in babylon will eventually be cured thanks to the blood on her hands.
human sacrifices are rare and far between in babylon, but if this is what her gods desire then she will sacrifice each and every last one to please her gods.
there is the slightest pause as her eyebrows furrow. why does the strange one not run? why does he not scream? has he accepted his fate? there's no more arguing over his loved ones like he mentions through test; adiris believed he would fight back the moment they meet.
the scent flowing gently out of the censer is no use when she decides to release bile over the distracted survivor. an easy point blank target who doesn't move from his spot. to think she doesn't use the blood from the fountains yet.
[the moment (????) is officially shattered when adiris opens her mouth. of all the ways ash is prepared to die, getting showered in an avalanche of putrid bile isn't one of them. he's so caught off guard that he doesn't even have time to shut his mouth or close his eyes.
which is kind of a problem, given the sheer amount of it adiris releases all over the locker. it doesn't spew out at ash so much as shoot out with the force of a fire hose. it overflows in the locker. the smell of incense is utterly snuffed out by the stench of stomach acid and rotting flesh. ash chokes on it just as much as he sputters for air as he brings his hands up to ineffectively shield himself.
a flood of bile spills out all over the ground; with it comes ash himself. it has the unintended side effect of turning the asylum's floor into the world's filthiest slip and slide, allowing ash to slide out from under adiris' grasping hands, literally missing her by inches.
in another room down the hallway, one of the generators rumbles to life.]
[ The bad thing about getting all of your joy out of people thinking you're cool in the face of batshit circumstances is that eventually the circumstances are gonna outnumber how many people are thinking you're cool.
But you still gotta take anything you can get out here. ]
Yeah, of course. I'm just new at stabbing guys is all. Can't compete with pros this early in.
[ Is he actually a pro? He doesn't really know. Never really asked all that much about his brand of Crazy Shit. But he looks like the kind of guy that's gotten a stab or two in. Probably. ]
I [ Bro... ] Okay, no. I gotta level with you. We have to keep this honest. That was really bad.
[there's a lot going on in the room ash is lying in.
for starters, that offer he made back there: floor or wall? doesn't mean a thing when there's a nice pile of coats within range. from the... trajectory of the mess coupled with how most of it's gotten on his feet, it seems like he managed to make it a few steps over to the bed before his stomach finally decided enough was enough. by the time party poison shows up, he looks dazed, his eyes nearly black as they stare aimlessly off into the space at some water stain on the wall.]
Mm, you mean Ash. [it's a tiny little mumble against party's shoulder. ash's head lolls to the side.] Hey. When you're right, you're right. I feel— much better.
[you can hear the grin in his voice, wasted and content. but mostly wasted.]
[ Sorry if he laughs. Ash is just so big, and he's got the browline of someone who knows what's going on--and yet! Party wiggles under his arm, arm wrapping securely around his waist, and...yeah, they're not gonna avoid stepping in rancid carpet if they're traveling together. He just tries not to slip. His free hand pushes into Ash's hair, part to ruffle it and part to tilt his mouth the other way. ]Â
( ... probably they can't. if they could just huck the killers off one plane of existence never to be seen again, there would be no killers. David would have hucked them all. )
I dunno? I feel like probably not. So let's start with the fingers and see how that goes. And if the handsy goop shows up we just bail.
I guess just getting the supplies wouldn't hurt. It's not like bleach and alcohol wouldn't be helpful for other things too.
[So, if you think about it, they're really doing everyone a favor. It's teamwork, just... a different flavor of teamwork, that's all. The kind that makes fat clowns cry.]
Do you think that neighborhood with the Halloween decorations would have any? Those houses looked pretty lived in.
Hey man thanks again for snagging that weed. I've only smoked a couple times, and that last time with was one of the few times I didn't totally get wigged out.
I needed it after that last trial, you ever watch your girlfriend get her throat sliced the hell open as she screams your name? I mean she came back but...not my favorite moment of that night.
What a guy, Byers is alright. Man, you should've seen him a few years ago, talk about a massive change...
[That translates about as well to text as it ever will. He's in too much pain to manage anything more than that. He holds his hand against his belly, blood trickling between his fingers. The light from the windows of the cabin lights up just enough of the Delta for him to see how much he's losing; the upholstery of the car seat is rapidly turning red — black, in the dark — beneath him, and the front of his shirt is soaked. His eyes slip shut as he begins to breathe through his nose, counting to ten in his head.
Inside, the movement under the floorboards stops then starts again, soft and monotonous. It follows Quentin as he moves to the kitchen where the remains of a long-abandoned dinner are spread out across the splintery table. Flies hover over a glass salad bowl filled with browning lettuce and a dish covered with aluminum foil. Pulling the foil back reveals a nest of squirming white maggots, wriggling through moldy bread and rotting lunchmeat. At the center of the table is a blender filled with blood red sludge, ostensibly the remnants of a Bloody Mary given the glass bottle of vodka across from it.
There's an audible thud under Quentin's feet as something crashes to the floor in the cellar, followed by a low, miserable whimper.
—Then Ash's phone vibrates in his hand, snapping him back to reality.]
Im ok Just dizzy Theres beer in the fridge I think Can you grab me a can On your way out
no fucking way I wouldn't even trust the vodka in here just one minute
[ He's not finding the kit or anything like it, though his mind is racing to think of what might be useful around camp that he'll regret not grabbing while he's here. Time isn't on their side, though, if Ash's wound is as bad as it sounds. He just needs another minute.
[ Of course that noises scares it down to thirty seconds. Wake up, Ash, he's calling direct. His voice is low, careful as he starts to eyeball the floor, looking for a vent, a door, a hole in the wall... ]
[His thumb slips, leaving a red streak across the screen. He's so dizzy. Shit.
The phone almost vibrates out of his hand, and Ash sluggishly pulls his eyes open; he wasn't even aware he had closed them. Quentin's voice sounds distant, even when he puts the phone up to his ear.]
Yeah, stuff, [he slurs into the speaker. He doesn't hear the thumping downstairs, deep under the cabin.] Same — same thing that's in the cabin. It's out here, in the trees...
[He trails off, shuddering when he hears the wind outside. The branches of the thin, barren trees around the cabin are rustling, and the sound is creaky and lonely and awful. They look like long fingers, just like the ragged tears in his clothing look like they were left by claws.
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@jewellery (1/2)
[yeah, not happening. before ash can say as much, the loud CLANG of a nearby locker door opening and slamming shut makes him jerk his head up. shortly after he hears that, another survivor (ace, by the sound of it) screams out weakly in the hallway. when ash hears yet another door open even closer to him, his breathing quickens to near panic attack levels. time to go.
whether or not he's misjudged the distance the killer really is from him or his own body's speed as he fights to overcome the nearly paralytic levels of terror rooting him in place, ash doesn't react quickly enough. in hardly no time at all, a shadow passes over his locker, blotting out the light from the vents. when it doesn't move, he knows he's run out of time.
this is it. he's dead.]
(2/2) i'm sorry
when it doesn't come immediately, he cracks an eye open.
being that he's done a good job of staying hidden up until now, and again, he's new here, ash knows virtually nothing about the killer stalking them tonight. it isn't an exaggeration to say that he's expecting the absolute worst. the doctor with the skinned face. the gnarled hag with claws like branches and skin like tree bark. cheryl.
but what he isn't expecting is— her. this statuesque, slender, gorgeous woman. she's built like a model and nearly dripping with (pus) gold. her ceremonial headdress is a cumbersome, ornate thing that covers most of the (decaying flesh) upper part of her face, but not her sharp (exposed) cheekbones nor her pretty, plump lips (which are nearly rotting off her face). there's terrible darkness emanating from her, but also undeniable beauty.
ash might be smitten. he might also be completely batshit insane. either way, he's taken out of the urgency of the moment, his eyes wide and doe-like as they gaze up at adiris with something approximating genuine, stupidly earnest awe.]
simp spotted
looks of anger and fear — that adiris is used to upon discovering a survivor hiding within lockers, beneath beds, and around corners where they don't think she would see them. the lambs to be sacrificed and please her gods wants and needs over her own, and with hopes that the sick in babylon will eventually be cured thanks to the blood on her hands.
human sacrifices are rare and far between in babylon, but if this is what her gods desire then she will sacrifice each and every last one to please her gods.
there is the slightest pause as her eyebrows furrow. why does the strange one not run? why does he not scream? has he accepted his fate? there's no more arguing over his loved ones like he mentions through test; adiris believed he would fight back the moment they meet.
the scent flowing gently out of the censer is no use when she decides to release bile over the distracted survivor. an easy point blank target who doesn't move from his spot. to think she doesn't use the blood from the fountains yet.
later, perhaps, if he somehow gets away. ]
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which is kind of a problem, given the sheer amount of it adiris releases all over the locker. it doesn't spew out at ash so much as shoot out with the force of a fire hose. it overflows in the locker. the smell of incense is utterly snuffed out by the stench of stomach acid and rotting flesh. ash chokes on it just as much as he sputters for air as he brings his hands up to ineffectively shield himself.
a flood of bile spills out all over the ground; with it comes ash himself. it has the unintended side effect of turning the asylum's floor into the world's filthiest slip and slide, allowing ash to slide out from under adiris' grasping hands, literally missing her by inches.
in another room down the hallway, one of the generators rumbles to life.]
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@goodbabysitter
[omg someone thinks he's cool. that almost makes up for— well, everything else here.]
Totally! You don't get to be this cool overnight. It takes time. Why don't you start with something simple?
[being that this ash isn't completely out of his mind yet, he has something his future self doesn't: sense.]
What about something like, 'Run this off!" And then you stab him in the dick.
[never mind.]
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But you still gotta take anything you can get out here. ]
Yeah, of course. I'm just new at stabbing guys is all. Can't compete with pros this early in.
[ Is he actually a pro? He doesn't really know. Never really asked all that much about his brand of Crazy Shit. But he looks like the kind of guy that's gotten a stab or two in. Probably. ]
I
[ Bro... ]
Okay, no. I gotta level with you. We have to keep this honest. That was really bad.
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[ash's remaining brain cells died for this text. all two of them.]
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@gloryisbullshit
[there's a lot going on in the room ash is lying in.
for starters, that offer he made back there: floor or wall? doesn't mean a thing when there's a nice pile of coats within range. from the... trajectory of the mess coupled with how most of it's gotten on his feet, it seems like he managed to make it a few steps over to the bed before his stomach finally decided enough was enough. by the time party poison shows up, he looks dazed, his eyes nearly black as they stare aimlessly off into the space at some water stain on the wall.]
Mm, you mean Ash. [it's a tiny little mumble against party's shoulder. ash's head lolls to the side.] Hey. When you're right, you're right. I feel— much better.
[you can hear the grin in his voice, wasted and content. but mostly wasted.]
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[ Sorry if he laughs. Ash is just so big, and he's got the browline of someone who knows what's going on--and yet! Party wiggles under his arm, arm wrapping securely around his waist, and...yeah, they're not gonna avoid stepping in rancid carpet if they're traveling together. He just tries not to slip. His free hand pushes into Ash's hair, part to ruffle it and part to tilt his mouth the other way. ]Â
You drive tonight, Ashley?Â
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What happens if we run into him? We can't just throw him into a bottomless pit.
Can we?
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I dunno? I feel like probably not. So let's start with the fingers and see how that goes.
And if the handsy goop shows up we just bail.
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[So, if you think about it, they're really doing everyone a favor. It's teamwork, just... a different flavor of teamwork, that's all. The kind that makes fat clowns cry.]
Do you think that neighborhood with the Halloween decorations would have any? Those houses looked pretty lived in.
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@micronap
Like a half hour ago? I think?
We can handle this. I've been through this before, I know exactly what we have to do.
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We can handle this. It's going to be FINE. You have? What are you talking about?
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cw: you know
cw: 📞👅
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Anyway, Jonathan gave it to me. If you're gonna thank anyone, thank him.
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What a guy, Byers is alright. Man, you should've seen him a few years ago, talk about a massive change...
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@pharmacy
Ha ha
[That translates about as well to text as it ever will. He's in too much pain to manage anything more than that. He holds his hand against his belly, blood trickling between his fingers. The light from the windows of the cabin lights up just enough of the Delta for him to see how much he's losing; the upholstery of the car seat is rapidly turning red — black, in the dark — beneath him, and the front of his shirt is soaked. His eyes slip shut as he begins to breathe through his nose, counting to ten in his head.
Inside, the movement under the floorboards stops then starts again, soft and monotonous. It follows Quentin as he moves to the kitchen where the remains of a long-abandoned dinner are spread out across the splintery table. Flies hover over a glass salad bowl filled with browning lettuce and a dish covered with aluminum foil. Pulling the foil back reveals a nest of squirming white maggots, wriggling through moldy bread and rotting lunchmeat. At the center of the table is a blender filled with blood red sludge, ostensibly the remnants of a Bloody Mary given the glass bottle of vodka across from it.
There's an audible thud under Quentin's feet as something crashes to the floor in the cellar, followed by a low, miserable whimper.
—Then Ash's phone vibrates in his hand, snapping him back to reality.]
Im ok
Just dizzy
Theres beer in the fridge I think
Can you grab me a can
On your way out
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I wouldn't even trust the vodka in here
just one minute
[ He's not finding the kit or anything like it, though his mind is racing to think of what might be useful around camp that he'll regret not grabbing while he's here. Time isn't on their side, though, if Ash's wound is as bad as it sounds. He just needs another minute.
[ Of course that noises scares it down to thirty seconds. Wake up, Ash, he's calling direct. His voice is low, careful as he starts to eyeball the floor, looking for a vent, a door, a hole in the wall... ]
Hey. You said there was stuff in the woods?
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[His thumb slips, leaving a red streak across the screen. He's so dizzy. Shit.
The phone almost vibrates out of his hand, and Ash sluggishly pulls his eyes open; he wasn't even aware he had closed them. Quentin's voice sounds distant, even when he puts the phone up to his ear.]
Yeah, stuff, [he slurs into the speaker. He doesn't hear the thumping downstairs, deep under the cabin.] Same — same thing that's in the cabin. It's out here, in the trees...
[He trails off, shuddering when he hears the wind outside. The branches of the thin, barren trees around the cabin are rustling, and the sound is creaky and lonely and awful. They look like long fingers, just like the ragged tears in his clothing look like they were left by claws.
A voice calls out from underneath Quentin's feet.
"Hello? Who's there?"
It sounds frightened.]
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do you think we would be friends in real life
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do you like pineapple on your pizza
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idk hot fruit is fucking weird
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sexy tag
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