[the stealthy pitter-patter of footsteps on the opposite end of the hallway is drowned out by ash's louder, clumsier feet as he scrambles to get his bearings and run at the same time. no such luck. trying to keep his balance is like trying to dash across ice without skates. his shoes squeak obscenely on the cracked tiles slathered in greenish brown bile. god, it's even in his eyes, and the stench, holy shit—
one of his legs buckles. ash pinwheels his arms, desperately trying to stay afloat in a sea of filth. somehow, he manages to kick off the ground without falling flat on his ass, and the surge of dizzying, manic, wonderful triumph that surges through him is like a much needed shot of adrenaline straight to his heart, better than water, air—
until he sees a glint of gold catching off the side of a rusty gurney. for some ungodly reason that defies all human logic and common sense, ash looks over his shoulder.
adiris' dress billows behind her like a character straight from a victorian ghost story, the chain of her thurible clanking as she storms toward him. lery's sickly lighting does nothing to conceal the worst of the damage the disease has done to her; now that they're out in the open, ash can see everything. one of her eye sockets is empty, oozing like an open sore. her other intact one looks so righteously pissed off that it makes whatever she screams at him sound like a grumble.
or that could just be the puke.
ash tries to outrun it, and for a split second as he dashes past the open doors to the operating theater where faint mechanical tinkering can be heard, it seems like he might actually succeed. until he starts to skid. his feet give out from under him and he goes sliding the rest of the way, spinning like a bowling ball around the corner, straight into a makeshift archway bracketed by stacked wooden pallets.
he accidentally hits one of the pallets with his leg and brings it down.]
no subject
one of his legs buckles. ash pinwheels his arms, desperately trying to stay afloat in a sea of filth. somehow, he manages to kick off the ground without falling flat on his ass, and the surge of dizzying, manic, wonderful triumph that surges through him is like a much needed shot of adrenaline straight to his heart, better than water, air—
until he sees a glint of gold catching off the side of a rusty gurney. for some ungodly reason that defies all human logic and common sense, ash looks over his shoulder.
adiris' dress billows behind her like a character straight from a victorian ghost story, the chain of her thurible clanking as she storms toward him. lery's sickly lighting does nothing to conceal the worst of the damage the disease has done to her; now that they're out in the open, ash can see everything. one of her eye sockets is empty, oozing like an open sore. her other intact one looks so righteously pissed off that it makes whatever she screams at him sound like a grumble.
or that could just be the puke.
ash tries to outrun it, and for a split second as he dashes past the open doors to the operating theater where faint mechanical tinkering can be heard, it seems like he might actually succeed. until he starts to skid. his feet give out from under him and he goes sliding the rest of the way, spinning like a bowling ball around the corner, straight into a makeshift archway bracketed by stacked wooden pallets.
he accidentally hits one of the pallets with his leg and brings it down.]