|
Jack I guess they can swim. Okay, that's one zombie on the boat I can see. Probably more in the cabin. gently caress the boat. He'd never actually gone in the red waters, but he'd spent enough time breathing its fumes and tasting its spray. It wouldn't kill him, not right away. If it comes to it he'll risk the drop and the swim, but he's hoping it won't come to it. Jack takes the waterproof document bag, pulls all the useless papers out, and tosses them on the armchair. If he has to go in the water maybe he can at least keep his pistol dry. Everything valuable that can fit goes in the dry box, especially the GPS. He puts on a poncho, as if that might help. Now he's going to find out just how badly the zombies want to come in. He gathers anything he can find that looks flammable and loads it into the armchair. Slowly and carefully, he pushes it down the hallway, leaving it about ten feet shy of the barricaded exit. Just in case, he examines the ceiling of the hallway. If there's a weak or rusted spot in the roof that he can tear open to let some rain in on his side of the armchair, he'll do it because this idea needs all the help it can get. He shreds papers and pulls all the stuffing out of the cushions. He takes out three flares. Taking a deep breath, he lights them and puts them to the papers and stuffing. Once things start igniting, Jack goes back to the room, grabs the TV tray and looks for any other larger items that can burn. One by one he places these things against the smoldering chair. When he is done he walks wearily to the far end of the hallway and slumps against the wall. Ah poo poo, too much lifting today. My loving bandage is probably coming off. And I forgot the loving asprins. No time now. Jack draws the pistol and double checks it. He pulls out the magazine and shoves in two more rounds from the supply at his belt. He replaces the mag, thumbs the safety off, aims it down the hallway, and waits. To keep his nerves in check, he explains this idea out loud one more time to himself. Just himself. "Okay, if this works, there will be a big-rear end flaming hole between me and the zombies when the barricade fails. Assuming they aren't long jumpers, they'll fall into the surf trying to get to me. I've never seen a zombie smart enough to hold back and they clearly don't mind being down below. Maybe I'll get lucky and roast a few." "Eventually, the floor is going to burn out from under the fire. Even if none of them fall for it I can pick them off without danger of getting close to them. Once the rain puts the fire out and the pier is clear one way or another I'll be in much better shape. That is, provided I can get past the hole. Jump or swing or maybe some do some creative construction. That's the best case scenario. There are contingencies but I'm not going to think about them right now." "And for once I hope it keeps raining. Too much fire would be bad." pre:Impulsive, Imaginative, Wounded Joe Anglican fucked around with this message at 07:53 on May 13, 2009 |
#
?
May 13, 2009 06:33
|
|
|
|
| # ? May 13, 2024 13:38 |
|
|
Greg It's a caribou. If he had lips, he'd be grinning like a maniac. And to be accurate, I'm here because I told Jennifer I would be in case that wendigo or something like it decided for dessert without asking politely. That said, since we're here, there's no good reason not to go hunting. I should note that when I ate over on this side last night, I stayed full over while awake. Not sure how that effects what you think the rules are; maybe stuff inside your body gets dragged along with you when you go from one to the other. That could be handy. He begins trotting along the tracks, pacing himself to let the others keep up. Try to be at least a little quiet, if you'd be so kind. We can work on shelter soon- keep your eyes out. Oh, and, Jennifer? By the smell and feel of this place, we're pretty close to a certain cliff face dotted with caves, where we were for a bit last night. He wasn't sure what the others were complaining about- it felt plenty warm to him.
|
|
#
?
May 13, 2009 11:46
|
|
|
Jennifer "Fix what? The cold?" She glances at Allison, then blinks. She'd changed her outfit. Okay. That... was something. And she had made a scabbard before, hadn't she? She supposed she could try and think herself up a hood. She feels around on her back, over her shoulder. Or maybe she already had one. She stares at Greg incomprehendingly at his last comment. Cliff face? Caves? "You mean with Coyote, by the beach? That was in my head..." Was this, too? Or was it like the time with the Pale Man, when there had been... rips, holes between her subconscious and wherever that asylum was, and this was yet another... place. Someone else's head, maybe? Frost's? She smirks at herself. Yes, just because its cold and we're all dressed in furs. For all she knew this was Odin's backyard. Or Greg's head. Hadn't he said he'd first gone to a snowy forest upon sleeping, after they'd done their crazy valkyrie accupressure thing? She follows after the wolf as best she's able through the snow, wondering just what it was he ate last night. She decides against asking. "Caribou, huh." She'd hunted deer. Long, long time ago. Like twenty years. She hadn't been to deer camp since eighth grade. Ah well. She doubted there would be a cabin with an oversupply of MGD here anyway. Best follow Greg's lead. She could use the hunting rifle right about now. Or at least a bow and arrow. Something ranged. She didn't know how she'd feel about going after an animal hand to hand, as it were. Caribou could get big. But they were also made of meat. If they could eat on this side, it might save more food for those on the other. Assuming they worked like Greg worked. She gets a brief flashback of some nature show of a wolf regurgitating food for its pups and blanches. If it came to that... ugh. It was a possibility to keep in mind, but... not for her. She'd drat well starve first. She keeps an eye out for any tracks, animal, human, or other. Survival 14, Observation 14, Running 11, Dreaming 18 to conjure up a hood if I don't have one already, and hell, why not try for a bow and some arrows while we're at it
|
|
#
?
May 13, 2009 14:13
|
|
|
Allison She looks out through the forest, her gaze more distant now. Thinking. Thinking. Curious. Looking to Greg and then Jennifer, then back to Greg, and finally up to the sky, she asks, "So if you hunt down this caribou and eat it, what do you suppose you're eating? Is it a creature from this side, like Inari or Spot? Or is there a caribou somewhere dreaming that it too is in a snowy forest? Or is there a caribou at all? Like, is it spun whole-cloth out of your desire for something to hunt or someone's notion of what should be in a snowy forest?" What if those first and last ideas aren't entirely different? That's an odd thought. Coughing, she looks down in the snow, pretending to shield her face from the wind, "Sorry. Just thinking out loud." She mumbles, "Should probably just look for this cave then search around."
|
|
#
?
May 13, 2009 22:59
|
|
|
Greg He lets his subconscious instincts handle the tracking and stalking. He knew how to do things like this so intimately his conscious brain didn't even have to take much active participation. It was great fun when he did- the rush of endorphins from the simple physical and mental act of hunting was extremely potent- but to continue talking he didn't need it. I don't know what specifically it is, but I know that for all intents and purposes it is fresh meat, because I'm pretty sure a wolf's stomach would be reacting violently badly to anything else if I crammed it as full as I had. As for the philosophical stuff, who knows? The barrier between realities has been thinned to breaking, or the entire world wouldn't be in the situation it's in let alone us specifically. An errant breeze blows a tiny puff of snow from a drift, and he quickly pauses to appreciate it before continuing on. This place- the other side, not just here specifically, he felt like he was home when he was here. What place did the world as it had been have for a smart giant wolf like him? None- and the waking world still didn't, not really. He didn't belong there. Best to savor the chances he got on this tide, then. If Jennifer can bring Spot over, there's no good reason I can't bring over a pair of rabbits and such. Best probably not to mention the jackal-headed guards.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 00:35
|
|
|
Allison She nips at Greg's heels, ducking beneath low-hanging branches and nimbly finding her footing on each new foot fall. Her legs ache to run, her body dares her to try and tire it out. Warmth seeped into her limbs as they go. She tries to maintain a serious, focused manner, and tries to at least pretend to keep an eye out, but in truth, it's hard to not simply enjoy being here instead of back there. The breeze catches her hood and tugs it back. She doesn't bother to hold it up, allowing it to be blown from her head and resting back. It doesn't quite feel like 'home' here. Nowhere has ever felt like 'home' to Allison, even her home. She just isn't the 'home' sort. This place feels like 'vacation,' though. Restful, relaxing, and yet adventurous all at once. And of course, whatever she needs, she needs only lift a hand and it's taken care of for her. Well, not quite, but she's quickly reaching that comfort level. If only there was time to practice, see how much she could change. And to see if she could take anything back with her as Jennifer or Greg seemed to. Maybe just a rock or a twig. Just to see. A snowball. The thought amuses her. Greg's explanation makes about as much sense as anything else, "Just thinking, that's all. Trying to get a handle on how this all works."
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 01:24
|
|
|
Hands akimbo, Allison focuses herself on Jennifer and the further change of her own attire--and with a long lingering effort, finds no apparent affect from her intentions but for the pair to grow that much colder in idleness. The wolf is off, and together the trio departs the grove, making headway off into the pine wilderness amidst a steady chill. Drawing a hand back around her scabbard and hilt, Jennifer's fingers grasp at the fur-lined interior of a hood, hoisting it up and over her head tightly. Cinnamon. Subtle. Her eyes match the search of Greg's own, while numbed fingertips find neither bow nor arrow as much as she pines for such things. Off in a headlong dash across the crest of a large whitewashed hill, frozen needles crinkling amidst the crunch of heavy snow. Thick flakes cling and matte against leather garments, while the lupine's senses carry them closer to the scent of the beast. Pushing past the treeline, the trio halt before an expanse of open white terrain. The edge of a frozen lake. A quiet chirp is heard betwixt ears that swivel and perk--eyes locked ahead to the form of an enormous caribou distant across the shelf of ice. It stands stoic, stilled as wind whips against a broad flank, pelt caked with snow. Copper tang, musk, subtle pheromones. It was enormous--easily more than five and a half feet at the shoulder. Blood trails across the surface of the lake towards it. ~ Jack hauls and shoves the recliner, floor-boards creaking quietly as he shifts it around and down the hall. Overhead brown-stained tiles sag and droop near the entrance, and a cursory shove of their center crumples a panel free, a steadily leaking drip spattering against softened wood underfoot. Ahead, the make-shift pyre is soon crackling with the dance of flames, terrible chemical smells wafting readily to the man's nostrils and stinging at his senses. Eyes watering, Jack settled back at a distance from the doorway, watching in wait as the fire intensifies. Outside, a sudden hammering thumping begins at the door, the shadow of a head pressing against the glass. He hears a voice, haggard and shrill, muffle out against the murky window pane. "I'm gonna call nine one one! I'm gonna call nine one one! Don't worry lady I'm gonna call nine one one!" CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. The glass spiderwebs, then bursts inward, a bloodied head with a five o'clock shadow squeezing in--one eye an empty socket, the other dangling and melted against a scarred cheek. "I'm gonna call nine one one! Don't worry lady I'm gonna call nine one one!" The flames continue to grow, spreading from the chair to the surrounding floor.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 03:50
|
|
|
Allison So it isn't so reliable. That's disconcerting. She hadn't really expected to be able to sway too much. After all, this isn't the jungle from her dream, and she guesses maybe things had been more more malleable there. It might even have been in her head. The sight of blood pulls her quickly from her more cerebral thoughts. The way it trails across the snow draws back the image of Michael Nichols laying in that hallway and the blood there. She comes to a stop at the edge of the lake. Allison may have lived in California most of her life, but even she's seen a public safety announcement or two about running across frozen ponds. Plus, it never seems to work out in the movies anyway. The caribou in the distance gets a long stare from her. She looks to Jennifer and then finally Greg, "What are you gonna do? Feels like... bait." She looks around the snowy terrain. If it was bleeding, then something hurt it. What, though?
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:00
|
|
|
Greg He pulls up abruptly on seeing the giant caribou; smelling the blood, and the faint tang of cinnamon in the air. Apart from that, the frozen lake. Don't anyone go onto that lake. There's something under the ice. And that caribou... it's something strange. It looked tasty- hell, it looked delicious- but Allison was right. This is all wrong.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:01
|
|
|
Jennifer The smell as she pulls up the hood is enough to stop her in her tracks, eyes wide. Puck? Is that you? "Do you smell that?" She asks at the same time Greg and Allison suggest its a trap. "The blood kind of looks like the trail in my dream. But no axe-guy." She clutches the hood uneasily, looking around. "Windigo was a winter cannibal spirit," she murmurs, apropos of nothing. Where's your bird friend taken us, Greg? "Maybe we should head for those caves."
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:09
|
|
|
Allison Reluctantly, her eyes drift in Jennifer's direction then shoot back forward, across the lake, "This wouldn't really be it's style then. Don't worry." She can't help but smile weakly, "Well, worry, but not about that." Here, in this place, she'd like to press forward, take the risk. But the cold is starting to dampen even her spirits a little bit, her fingers now just downright uncomfortably numb and stiff. "Maybe we should find this cave, Greg. This cold bites." Even she isn't able to smile at her own joke this time. Allison steps away from the edge of the lake, leering at it. Something in the lake he said? Under the ice? Not a comforting thought. "There's no way this can end well."
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:19
|
|
|
Greg He scratches at the snow, considering. If it were just me, I'd go around the lake to try to get at that caribou. But with the two of you... He really, really hated passing up that four legged buffet. really. But first job was to make sure the others were safe, now and always- going hungry for another night if he had to was an acceptable price. Let's get away from here.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:23
|
|
|
Jack "drat you are a crazy motherfucker, Jack." It's Bull's voice. Bull was the captain of the Rough Riders, and it's the sort of thing he said whenever they played poker during those long happy months at Ticonderoga. "Why would you ever take a risk like this? You are gonna die, man." You talked the same trash when we played no-limit, Bull, but who walked away the winner almost every time? I'm not crazy. I know crazy, I was heads-up with Phil Hellmuth once. It's like I keep telling you, tight and aggressive. You lay low and make your move when you are in a position of strength. When you come, come strong. "Don't talk poker at me, man, you cut off the best escape route and trapped yourself in a burning building." "Shut UP Bull!" Jack finds himself shouting out loud. Still talking to nobody, not the best sign. But he has a point. "Look, with a pier full of zombies and the boat infested the only other road to shore is the water. That sounds loving awful." "So that fire is going to keep the zombies back. If the rain puts the fire out at the right time, then I've just successfully built a moat and bought time. If the fire gets bigger and uncontained, I'm going in the water anyway." "My outs are lovely but the pot odds are enormous. The best play is to raise and pray that the gutshot draw hits." His torn and bloodied abdominal muscles twinge at that. Gutshot. Hilarious. Talking out loud about poker really does help, though. Joining the high stakes game had been a stupid thing to do, but he'd taken Hellmuth for 300K that night at the Bellagio. It's an important memory. Makes him feel in control. Jack watches stoically as the head of the zombie comes through the window. He waits, and aims. Bull's voice returns, more quietly. "Still a crazy motherfucker." pre:Phantom Voices Guns: Pistols 12 Gambling, Games:Poker 13 If they come through the fire before it makes a hole in the floor he will take one good headshot, holster the gun, grab the duffle bag, and drop feet first into the water out the trapdoor.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:28
|
|
|
Jennifer Deer camp memories, stories of previous hunts, fish stories mostly, combined with creepy campfire tales, bits and bobs stolen from popular horror movies, older sources -- the scene brings them forcibly to the forefront of her mind as she stares at the frozen lake. And of course the mythology of the hunt. Her father - the man she still thought of as her father - had always been into Native lore. He'd made her thank the spirit of her first deer kill, and (disgustingly) take a bite of the still warm, raw heart. She'd felt bad enough about killing the animal to not have a problem with the thanking bit, but the other was enough to make her throw up later, out of his sight. That was before she'd developed such an aversion to anything contaminated, of course, or she'd never have done it in the first place. But she'd wanted to make him proud, only guy with his daughter at camp. So she had watched him cut it out and steeled herself to take the smallest of bites. Other stories told three sheets to the wind, late nights in the northern part of the state, so many stars among the pine branches, full moon on the snow making for nights bright enough to read by. Windigo was mentioned, sure, but more about spirit guides, and totem animals and other such nonsense, it'd seemed to her at the time. A bunch of baby boomers pretending at some kind of borrowed half-understood spirituality with the help of books with titles like Black Elk Speaks and LSD. But still, the stories had had to come from somewhere. "Maybe its trying to get us to follow it. Its too big. Not... right. But not... I don't know." She sighs, rubbing her forehead. Ever since that thing had begun dredging up uncomfortable truths she hadn't been able to think straight. "Maybe its a test."
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:37
|
|
|
Greg It might be a test, yes. He shakes his head, licking his snout to keep it wet in the cold, dry air. But we can't know that. And I know the last time I was in this setting I remembered Martin and I hunting something very large underneath that ice. And I am not willing to cross that ice, knowing that there's very likely to be something big under there. Everything happens for a reason, and I saw that particular vision for a reason. He was not about to risk Allison and Jennifer's lives on that particular hunch.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:39
|
|
|
Before the trio the caribou yet stands far past the center of the lake, its silhouetted form stock still in the wind. They can feel eyes upon them, though none can be seen--neither from the beast itself, nor their vicinity. No response comes to Jennifer's question. Silence, save for the gusts that swell and flow. Breaking away from the edge of the lake, a path is padded and trudged along its outer brink--moving away into the fringe of the pine forest once more before making headway towards the rock face where lurking familiarity blossoms again. Greg knows this place, even if it remains an exercise of exploration. Thudding and crackling past branches, Jennifer and Allison move as swiftly as they are able, catching up with each pause and perked glance back from the wolf ahead. The Magpie remains nestled snugly between those ears, chirping from time to time as if to convey some quiet assurance or another. Here, the snow is far deeper--Greg very nearly disappearing beneath its surface as his snout forges a furrowed path through it. Jennifer can feel the chill find a bare patch of her belly, a shock of cold ringing through her senses. Among the thick foliage and gnarled limbs of trees crossed against the flank of a cliff, the dark recess of a cave entrance can at last be seen at the bottom of a sharp slope downward--itself discovered only when the wolf submerges abruptly and entirely beneath the snow's surface.  ~ Past the threshold the man jostles, face contorting with the frustrated effort as he cracks more fully past the window's frame. An arm draped in a torn sleeve shoves through beside his mangled mug, a gold watch glinting as he fumbles until the door's latch is found--and finagled loose. Back he draws, before the door is opened in a sudden lurch. "I'm gonna call nine one one!" He shouts. Outside the shack, Jack hears the long high shriek of a woman bellowing as hard as her lungs are able.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 04:56
|
|
|
Jennifer Something big under the surface of the ice. That he and Martin had been hunting. She peers at the caribou again, squinting against the howling wind. Blood trail. Was that what had wounded the caribou? Was it even related at all? She swallows the nervous lump in her throat. Run. Hide. Find shelter. Don't take risks. Was she prey, then? Greg's departure answers that question, at least for now. She follows as best as she's able, pleasant burning of her muscles spurring her to keep up, breath steaming in great plumes as she works through the snow. Deeper and deeper, going getting harder, she yelps when bare skin is exposed by the sheer depth of snow pushing the furs up, trying to run on tiptoes to avoid that unpleasant surprise again. It reminds her of Kumar, inexplicably, his fascination with her stomach at the gym upon first returning to her this morning. What was he doing, now? She hoped resting. They wouldn't really go down to the tunnels alone, would they? The cold brings her back to the here and now again, forcibly as her toes begin to numb. This could get dangerous if they were out in it much longer. Cave was probably the wise choice. Assuming there was nothing inside. She pauses as she sees Greg disappear beneath the snow, watching anxiously. They had to go in there? Why here? Why this place? What was here the Magpie wanted them to see, to find, to discover? Why was she a bird here and a person on the other side? Too many questions, not enough answers. She unsheathes the blade as a precaution, unsure there would even be room to swing inside. "Smell anything? Allison, feel anything?" She felt she was running blind here, compared to her companions. Blind and scared and nigh useless. It was not a pleasant feeling.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 05:06
|
|
|
Jack He feels his adrenaline rise and his heart rate quicken as the door opens. Too loving fast. Hasn't burned long enough to weaken the floorboards. What's worse than a zombie in your face? One that's on fire and doesn't give a gently caress. gently caress. He puts both hands on the gun and takes a deep breath, trying to slow his pulse, get some control. Once again he wishes there had been a shotgun in the boat. This first shot matters a lot. pre:Guns: Pistols 12 As soon as the first zombie gets through the fire, Aim for 2 or 3 seconds and then Attack with 3 shots(bonuses from Braced and Aim). A headshot would be nice. Follow immediately with up to 2 more shots if he's still moving toward Jack on the next turn. Edit: Mukaikubo answered some gun questions so I'm going to say the pistol is: SIG Sauer 226 .40 S&W (fine) 2d+2 pi+, Acc 3, RoF 3, Rcl 2, Shots 10+1(3 seconds to reload) It has night sights, which I just learned are little radioactive glow in the dark dots on the sights so you can aim properly in low lighting. For the record I now know dramatically more about handguns than I used to. Thanks BD! Joe Anglican fucked around with this message at 14:04 on May 14, 2009 |
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 06:14
|
|
|
Greg He backs up quickly, and once back on more solid ground begins snorting and shaking his head around. drat, drat, drat! There's snow inside my NOSE! After a few seconds combined sneezing and thrashing his head about, he seems satisfied, giving his entire body a good shake. Well- caves are down there, but I don't think I'm going to be able to lead the way too easily. No, can't smell anything. He had the sudden mental image of himself walking in snow just taller than he was, Magpie peeking out over the surface like a contented avian periscope. Amusing as it was to think about, it wouldn't be too amusing to actually do. Edit for Joe: You can either just use the pistols in Characters, or there's a whole selection in GURPS High Tech, but for all intents and purposes for a good pistol you can claim 2d+2 pi+, Acc 2, RoF 3, Rcl 2, Shots 13+1(3 seconds to reload); this is the H&K USP .40 in High Tech but is pretty representative of a lot of good pistols around that regime. Of note is that a "fine" firearm costs twice as much and has +1 to Acc, and this is probably applicable here. Mukaikubo fucked around with this message at 11:54 on May 14, 2009 |
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 11:47
|
|
|
Jennifer Well. That was that, then. She peer nervously down the mouth of the snow-choked entrance to the cave, asking, "Are you sure?" It looked more like bushes or something, some tamped down nest some woodland creature might've made to take shelter from the weather. And now Greg couldn't go first, thanks to his wolf form. She looks at him, frustrated, then wonders suddenly if perhaps it was he who had been the axe-bearing man in her vision. Maybe they'd changed that future by opening his traces? Or maybe it was still yet to come, once he'd figured out how to switch between the two. She sighs heavily. Allison couldn't go first. She may have more power here than either of them but she was still human-frail, and they definitely could not afford to lose her. She still hadn't mastered her portaling... thing she did. And Greg was too short to be able to see. That left... Oh, goodie. She gnaws her lower lip, weighing which would be more dangerous: descent into a place Greg claimed to have been before with Inari, a place that led somehow into the recesses of her own mind, or back to follow the caribou? The eyes upon them gave her unpleasantly familiar sensations of first meeting the Windigo, how he had puppeted the man, Nichols. A sudden mental image of some huge, hideous beast beneath the ice with a caribou-shaped protrusion on its head like some kind of warped angler-fish almost makes her giggle hysterically, and she smothers a snort with one hand, clearing her throat roughly. "Alright. I'll go." She doesn't move for a minute, staring at the gaping hole as if it were the mouth of hell itself. But if it could get her back to herself, her safe place... She leans over and makes sure her boots are tightened securely before making a cautious descent through the deep snow towards the entrance. Perfect Balance, Survival 14, Observation 14
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 14:23
|
|
|
Allison Jennifer's yelp causes her to jump in her step, but a moment of understanding and the actress can only smirk. Her steps are careful and deliberate, making use of the snow cleared by Greg and Jennifer in front of her. She shakes her head when Jennifer speaks, "I don't know if it works the same way here." Her arms are pulled tight to her body, hands rubbing at her stomach, and rib cage. A trick to stay warm, supposedly. She'd never really tried to put it to good use before. Time and place for everything, even if it's at the end of the world in a dream, she supposes. She liked it better when they were hunting. That caribou still irritated her. She doesn't want it the same way Greg does. Not for food. But she wants to test it, because she knows something doesn't seem to want her to have it. Or because it seemed difficult. Either way, she dislikes being deterred. "Easy, Jennifer." It's just a snow drift and a hole in some rocks. Suddenly, the image of a great Kodiak bear emerging from the cave occurs to her. Wouldn't that be just awful? To survive all these gods and monsters and acid rain, to be mauled by a bear in a dream. C'est la vie. It's probably alright. Greg could take a bear. Maybe Jennifer too. If it was a smaller bear. Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 14:31 on May 14, 2009 |
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 14:26
|
|
|
With Greg’s snort of an ice-touched snout the plump bird above his brow chirps several sounds, eyes squeezing slightly shut. A cheep, and the small avian cocks her head to watch Jennifer as she steels herself; the Valkyrie’s daughter can feel the chill soaking numbness in her limbs, a vague and dulled awareness of a strength which felt cannily hers. Her boots tightened, lungs burning and heart set to a fierce thrumming pound—Jennifer trudges ahead down the slope, immediately sloughed to beneath her shoulders as she moves. Again she feels unsteady, that she might topple—but muscle memory kicks neatly into place, limbs steadying again equilibrium. Slow, steady steps—so damnably cold, even amidst the leathers and furs; it had to be a fair way below zero. She could feel her nose clogged, fingertips tingling, eyes moist and vision blurred as she trudges deeper, further, forging ahead. In Jennifer’s wake, some semblance of an avenue is left by which Greg and Allison can follow suit; a good twenty feet down, and things seem to begin to level off. Atop the lupine the plump bird performs a concise hop, turned about backwards to watch Allison as she trails behind the wolf. Her head cocks, another small cheep sounded out, though near lost to the wind as a fresh force of a gale sweeps by through the pines. Snow is dislodged above, raining down into the trough of snow down the hillside—while Jennifer struggles ahead, feeling a more poignant swell of aching awareness in ample muscle as she shoulders her way free of the snowy threshold. Faced with the entrance to the cave, the freki steadies herself, hands moving in reflex to her knees for a moment—that smell so pronounced now, even with her nose clogged so. Greg can sense it, numb as his snout has become—and even Allison catches a hint of it on the breeze. Something shifts, stirs— And from the shroud of the cave emerges the head of a massive bear. ~ Adrenaline pours through Jack in a smothering wave, a wildfire of tingling lancing through his limbs as the grip on his handgun bites into his palm. Ahead, the man is given pause near the fire, the edges of a silk shirt singing. He cringes, drawing back. “Lady? Lady? Lady?” He shouts. Outside, another shriek on the pier. Jack fires. The man flinches sharply, and the round zips somewhere out the door. “I’m gonna call nine one one!” He lungs, scrambling towards and into the flame, clothing going up in an instant. Two more rounds are squeezed off, the first clipping the man in his left collarbone, the second into the right side of his chest. He wails a painful sound, stumbling madly as he topples over the crest of the flaming pile and into a haphazard roll before Jack. He begins shrieking, flames licking up and over exposed flesh which reddens and blisters in terrible ways. ~ Valda moves swiftly down the tunnel corridor, periodic glances back to those behind her, to their surroundings. The leftmost corridor leads off some thirty yards before sweeping down into another long ramp for ten more beyond it, the steep decline lined to one side by a set of narrow short stairs. Overhead, emergency backup lights are intermittently placed beyond the fluorescent lights. Another corridor, wider, ends off with a security checkpoint—iron caging, a booth, and security cameras. Raised blast door. Pausing, the Valkyrie settles down onto a knee, her brow furrowed as she looks over the scene. Beyond, ahead, is a larger room with a raised ceiling, a pair of restroom doors set into a flanking wall. Shaking her head, Valda rises and moves on again, flexing her fingers in her grip.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 15:00
|
|
|
Jennifer Her eyes widen comically in slow-motion as the massive head emerges from the cave, a litany of voiceless 'oh poo poo's escaping breathlessly past her lips as her lungs suddenly find themselves bereft of air. She stumbles back, sword high, and it takes her a few tries before she gains the ability to say weakly, "Bear." She clears her throat. "Bear. Big bear. Veeery big bear," she tries to keep a note of hysteria out of her voice, eyes not leaving the huge beast, sword at the ready and clenched tightly to still shaking hands, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "Hi, there, mister bear. Just ah... looking for a place to get out of the wind. Didn't know you were in there. Nice bear. Gooood bear. Easy, bear."
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 15:25
|
|
|
Jack Oh gently caress oh gently caress that thing is NOT coming near me. No no no no no. Gagging on the smell, Jack stumbles back toward the trap door room. He fires wildly three more times at the mass of writhing, burning flesh. Someone screams, probably him. Then something catches his eye. What the gently caress? Has that window been there the whole time? How messed up am I? A split second later he remembers what he's supposed to be doing and snaps his head back around to watch the body for any signs of movement. pre:Attack and Move. Ammo: 4/10 in pistol, 18 on belt.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 16:29
|
|
|
Greg A bear? He pushes up beside Jennifer, trying to keep his eyes above snow so he can see the bear. This is new. It wasn't here when Inari and I came through. Bear? Can you hear me? Practically everything else over in this side was intelligent, he figured at least trying to talk to this one was worth a shot.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 18:18
|
|
|
Alex Glancing at the iron cage nervously, Alex continues following the valkyrie down the tunnels. When the soldier stops, she follow suit, taking in the scene as calmly as possible. Upon resuming the patrol, the woman makes a point of glancing behind her and at the restroom doors. She could just imagine something hiding in there. Don't be silly, if you were an inmate in some supernatural jail, would you hang around it after getting out? Probably wouldn't be in the best shape to fight either. Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Senses straining for any sound or glimpse that hinted of danger, Alex silently moves forward with the rest of the group. Danger Sense Perception-15
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 19:23
|
|
|
Behind the head comes a huge and shaggy body, easily the largest ursine seen among the three throughout the course of their lives—save for Allison, reminded in brief thought of The Edge she’d watched however many years ago. Jennifer is neared as the wolf joins her side, a skull as broad as her torso rearing closer, great nostrils flaring before her chest as eyes lock on her own. “Охотник. Волк, кролик, птица. Что является этим? Американский волк?” The voice is an intense, deep bass that comes not within their minds, but from the barreled body before her. Its head cocks, looking down to the enormous wolf who yet pales in sheer bulk to the beast. “ Странный пакет.” It snorts, nostrils flaring again, the rush of breath setting Magpie to flutter her wings and chirp animatedly back. There is a moment of lingering before it finally registers and clicks within the lupine’s head—so long had it been since the tongue had been spoken to his ears in so thick a tone. The Hunter. The wolf, the rabbit—a bird. What is it? The American wolf? Strange pack. Again the wind howls, branches thrashing far above—and trickling through them with a rush of weight comes a slump of snow that pours over Allison’s shoulders in a heavy pile. Again the bird begins to chirp at her. ~ Jack watches the flaming, writhing form of the man, firing thrice more—though he can’t really tell whether or not any found purchase in his haste. Still burning, the man moves slowly, gurgling a choked sound through charred and broken lips—clutching a cellular phone now melted into his hand. Once it does not seem he is to be further pursued here, Jack makes his way to the window, peering out to find two other infected on the pier itself—one of whom is clutching a baseball bat to his chest.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 20:23
|
|
|
Greg The bear was talking in Russian. Well, why not? Russian bears. It made sense if you cocked your head and cross your eyes before you looked at it, and over on this side that was all the sense you got. Hearing the language spoken had two very different sets of memories associated with it- childhood, his parents speaking their birth tongue as often as English; college, taking courses in a language he already knew for easy grades. Neither particularly relevant here. Licking his stiff and frozen chops, he begins to reply in the same language. I know she smells like a rabbit, but she is not one. If you had met her a night before you would recognize her as a hunter her own self. Stretching the truth, but not by too much. The other woman is known to Coyote. That was about 50 50 on whether or not it would help or hurt, but was worth a try. We were merely trying to find a place to get out of the cold wind.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 20:35
|
|
|
Jennifer The Bear is speaking. And Greg is speaking. Dolgonosov. Russian? Russian bear? Sure, why not. She lowers the sword as the huge (huge) animal seems to be refraining from attack, wondering briefly what is being said as she watches the exchange like a tennis match. Good bear or bad bear? She's dying to ask but keeps quiet until whatever they're talking about is resolved, glancing back at Allison with too-wide eyes.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 21:35
|
|
|
Jack For a moment, Jack feels like he'll never be able to take his eyes off the burning corpse. He finds that he is mechanically repeating himself, "not moving. not moving. not moving." His paralysis passes in a wave of euphoria as Jack realizes he's done this alone. For the first time he's faced down one of these things without any backup ... and he's still alive. He lowers his gun, looks out the window and almost laughs out loud. Nice work, Jack, make a crazy plan to fight an army when there were only three of them. Four if you count boat girl. He steps carefully to the back of the window until he can just barely see the infected on the pier. Keeping an eye on them, he chambers a round and quickly swaps in the remaining full magazine from his hip. To be fair, I've only ever seen them in the huge swarms we got at the Fort. Maybe these two will be "helpful" and come in the same way that one did. I could hop out the window and just outrun them. Jack looks at the window to see if it can easily be opened. He glances back at the corpse. Can he step around it safely to lure them in? Is that a.. cell phone? Oh gently caress what if I can catch it by breathing these fumes? Jack takes a step or two into the room and picks up his bag. Hurriedly he goes back to the window, pulls out and puts on the emergency gas mask, and looks for the zombies. pre:Per 13, Stealth 7, Intuition 3 second Reload. Ammo: 11(gun)+4(belt)+8(belt) With all my little pistol revisions, I got the magazine size wrong, it should be 12+1, but I'll go with the wrong value until I'm out of combat. If Gaist allows, I will retcon the capacity, but not Jack's ammo total.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2009 23:15
|
|
|
Allison If there's one thing she's learned by now, it's this: gently caress coincidences. Her face hardens into a stern expression and she waves a hand at the chirping Magpie as though to shoo the chirping away irritably. Her voice is flat. Annoyed. Maybe amused too. "I'm a lucky guesser or that's my bear." She looks past her companions to gauge the bear, trying to match it against her thoughts. She turns away from the others. And is then poured on by a tiny avalanche of powdered snow. The actress turns back to the others, and shakes her hair, brushes off her shoulder, and wipes at her cheeks. Taking a single step back away from the others and their bear, she laughs and shakes her head, "Yeah, some lucky guess." Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 02:43 on May 15, 2009 |
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 02:37
|
|
|
Frost gathers about the colossal bear's snout and it wrinkles it, dark eyes glinting faintly as it looks over those gathered once more. There it seems to linger then in silence, eyes darting to Allison with her laughter. Another snort, and it lumbers thickly to lurch against the side of the cavern's entrance, leaving a small gap at its flank. "Внутри." Within the cave trails off for some distance, high enough that the woman may take their full height--no small surprise with the girth of the bear itself. Darkness, pierced slowly by the subtle glow of Jennifer's eyes, scarce all that is shed within. The bear shifts, turning around to lumber back into the recess of the cavern with a bass grunt. ~ Cloying heat washes over Jack in a heady wave, summoning sweat to his brow as the flames continue to spread and grow. Now they have lapped and skipped to nearby walls and curtains, the ceiling blackened and charred while the blaze intensifies steadily. An old pane is set within the window frame, wood painted over and chipped about the edges, with a latch fastened in place at the top. Jack gathers up his belongings and returns to peer outside once more--seeing now only the infected man with sweat pants and sneakers on, chest and head an angry blistered red. ~ Valda presses onward, pausing at a junction switch set into the wall with a torn open case. She scowls, brushing her fingertips over the switches, before shooting a glance off across the room to where a pair of heavy shutters have been lowered. "Heads up." A switch is grasped and thrown, a pair of yellow lights set aglow over the shutters before they begin to ratchet quite loudly upward. Beyond them stretches a broad, wide warehouse within which lights begin to crack on overhead in long rows. Beneath them are illuminated some half-dozen black SUVs parked in a staggered row, intermittent oil stains and tire marks strewn about. Far across the chamber several doors and a larger series of shutters can be seen, while above a catwalk runs the length of the center, a chain dangling down some fifty feet or so away. 1 CP for everyone. Adjusting the capacity is fine, Joe.
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 02:48
|
|
|
Hobbs "Well isn't that a shock. Just a garage." Hobbs steps in and takes a look around. He then gave a quick look back at Alex to make sure she looked as though she took this in stride. Seeing that she was fine, he then crouched down to take a look at the areas underneath the first SUV. He felt a little relieved that there weren't any monster lurking about, but it paid to be careful. After checking the first SUV, he slowly checked under the other SUVs parked there. He took his time moving from one to the next. It seemed almost silly to check underneath them all, but he wanted to make sure. Moving along, he then looks up. He looks to Alex and whispers, "Keep an eye open." He points to the catwalk. pre:Per 16, Acute Hearing 1, Acute Vision 1, Traps/TL8-11 DocBubonic fucked around with this message at 02:58 on May 15, 2009 |
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 02:50
|
|
|
Greg He begins to follow the bear in before catching himself. That last word was 'inside'. We're being invited in, I told him we were looking for a way out of the cold. Also, Jennifer? As a heads up? You smell vaguely like a rabbit. I thought it was just me, but our new friend here wondered why a wolf was in a pack with a rabbit. I just thought you might like to know that. He walks into the cave. And unless your imagination conjured a bear that speaks Russian better than I do, it's at least partly a coincidence, Allison. He looks around, watching the shadows he cast from Jennifer's eyes dance around the room, wondering if it'd be better to try to navigate just by scent then deal with a light source that faded whenever she blinked.
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 02:52
|
|
|
Alex "Yeah, I'll keep an eye on it." Nodding gravely, Alex sweeps her eyes across the catwalk, in search of any movement. She trusted the others to make sure the rest of the room was clear. Every few steps, she cranes her neck to check the ceiling. Didn't Jennifer find those monsters on a catwalk by the tram? Hopefully we'll luck out. On the other hand, once they made sure this place was relatively safe, they could look for tools and supplies. Maybe we can find a torch to melt the hinges off the armory door. It's not food, but guns are something. She almost smiles the sight of Hobbs checking under the cars. It was reminiscent of something a scared kid would do, and would be funny if the situation wasn't dead serious. "I'll give a shout the first sign of anything."
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 03:05
|
|
|
Allison She flashes the wolf a wolfish smile as she strolls into the cave, "And you know that my bears don't speak Russian?" There's something terribly naive, she feels, about strolling into a predator's den when invited. Something about spiders, parlors and flies flits across her thoughts, but the line feels a bit to tacky for her to jump at the chance to offer it. As she passes the bear, her anxious nerves that want to be terrified of the bear are forced down and beaten into submission until she can convincingly maintain a cool face. Harder than it sounds in spite of the weather. Giving the ursine a half-hearted salute as she passes, she mumbles, "Погода хорошая, Да?" She can't speak Russian of course, but as with many other things, Allison is an excellent faker.
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 03:07
|
|
|
Jennifer She looks back to Allison as she claims the bear as her own, frowning quizzically. "You... thought there'd be a bear?" It made sense, oddly enough. Fit her theory. Actions matter. Thoughts matter. Expectations matter. She'd expected to find Kumar alive. She'd expected the people she went out to meet in the town down below to be friendly, or at least not shoot on sight. They'd also expected something in the darkness of the tram area. She smirks. 'Think happy thoughts' had never been so apropo. Nice bear, nice bear. Good bear. Friendly bear. She watches the bear, then Greg, then the bear, and when it obviously moves out of the way she takes a step forward, hesitating until Greg informs them of its last word's meaning. Walking past the bear, she stops dead, looking back over her shoulder at Greg as he informs her of her peculiar scent with dread in her eyes. "That... the windigo. The last thing it said to me was 'sweet dreams, little rabbit.'" She rubs her face tiredly, moving further into the tunnel. First she smells like Coyote, now a rabbit. She was certainly as fearful as one. Prey. It wants me to be prey. She needed to put a stop to it, get rid of it. Somehow. She follows the bear slowly into the depths of the cave, lagging behind until Allison and Greg catch up, letting her eyes light the way for her.
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 03:18
|
|
|
Jack His heart almost stops when he gets a better look at the zombie in sweats. It looks like the worst sunburn ever. gently caress. Jack's seen this once before. There were two, maybe three of these things among the horde that night. They were .. doing things to other zombies, turning them into weapons or bombs. It was brutal and devastating. If it weren't for these sunburned zombies, he might haveNOT going to think about it. He has to admit the fire is burning way too quickly, and getting dangerous fast. The gamble isn't paying off. But the fire is still on Jack's side because Jack has a brain. He looks about in desperation. There's no slowing down the adrenaline now. He was groggy enough to miss the window. What else did he miss? gently caress it. I'll be dead before I think of something. Jack throws the window latch and heaves it open as hard as he can. One way or the other, he'll be off this pier soon. pre:want to see if the window opens wide enough to get through before posting more actions.
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 03:59
|
|
|
Blackbird Dreaming Deeper into the recess of the caverns the bear is followed, lumbering an enormous but lazy gait before them. Greg's eyes have trouble adjusting to the dimmed light from Jennifer, but his nose, now somewhat warmed by proximity of that mountain of flesh and fur, clears enough to gain a keened awareness of what lay before him--much of which was a twist and a turn. Overhead, dangling roots brush and crackle, snagging at garments and hair as they are passed. In its saunter the bear is silent, and at times the passage grows more narrow, huge form brushing by those who tread deeper still into what ought be the cliff face. After what felt like half an hour at the least, the tight passage opens up into a far 'larger' chamber--compared to what the squeeze had become, at any rate. Rock formations form something of a natural steppe arrangement, and down into the center divot of the cavern the bear lumbers before settling onto its hindquarters with a loud whump. Here, faint light trickles down from myriad fungi about the cavern ceiling, luminescent growths protruding among the gnarled roots and draped rocks. A heavy, heady snort is sounded, and great jaws part that a broad tongue may lick its chops. Greg can smell the lingering remnant of what must have been some manner of cervidae--and catching glimpse of cracked and polished bone fragments off to the side. The bear yawns its jaws wide, and Magpie chirps atop the wolf's brow. ~ Tensions rise as Hobbs sweeps beneath each of the vehicles in turn; they were newer than much the rest of what had been found in this place, Jeeps varying from the early turn of the century. Alex casts an eye up to the catwalk in the meantime, passing slowly beneath it as she follows suit to the lead ahead. Valda casts a quick glance to Raymond, her brow twitching before she continues her brisk lead across the garage--whipping her weapon around as he passes the last vehicle. "Let's get those doors open." she barks back, making a hastened approach to the far controls at the wall. "Keep an eye on the doors." She begins working the release, lights turning on over the threshold. ~ Squaring off before the window, Jack cracks the latch around to disengage it and then digs his fingers against the chipping paint below. There is a sharp creak, arms tensing as muscle rises to the surface--before just as a tinge of light-headedness enters his senses the window lurches sharply upward, sending flakes tailing down to the sill. On the pier, the sun-burnt man looks towards him, a lump at his temple the size of an orange.
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 04:44
|
|
|
|
| # ? May 13, 2024 13:38 |
|
|
Greg He looks over to the bone fragments, and then says a single word. Deer. There's no uncertainty in his voice as he informs the others of what the bear had been eating. Deciding to be the one to break the silence, switching back to Russian, Thank you for letting us get out of the wind in here. Do you have a name you'd prefer to be called, other than bear?
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2009 04:52
|
|