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Greg Because I wasn't asleep. Maybe I was. But not really. He yawns, stretching his jaws out again. I... it was like I was asleep and dreaming, only I wasn't, because my senses weren't as sharp as they were when I dreamt. It was as though we all were somewhere else- a snowy forest. The two of you were having your conversation, I heard it all, but you were dressed in furs and sitting on logs. And I... I think the only word is remembered- me hunting with Martin, something under the ice, and Martin had a giant two handed sword. The reason I ask is I laid down beside Inari, she was there, and Magpie as a bird nested on my head, and Spot was there too- busted through a snowbank to get there- but Allison, you had a raven perching on your shoulder, as well as Coyote's head in your lap. He stretches out in place without getting up. Might be nothing. But there aren't any coincidences, and I'm especially not willing to ignore something dealing with that kind of half dream with the way we all are. Of course, for all I know, I was transposing memories into a past life, and all this stuff happens in cycles. Could be my imagination was going nuts on me, but- again, not really willing to dismiss it so easily. There were a host of possibilities, some pleasant, some not so much, as to what was going on in his head. Craning, he sniffs the air- nobody'd left to go wandering off yet. Fair enough. Mukaikubo fucked around with this message at 15:23 on May 10, 2009 |
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May 10, 2009 15:16
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Allison Her lips curve in a smirk, amused as she tries to paint this scene in her head. She rather likes the thought of a raven perched on her shoulder. It's easy to dismiss most of Greg's vision as idle dreaming. She'd done that sort of thing, incorporated the waking world into a waking dream. Still, it's also hard to dismiss just about anything. Especially the hunting bit. The actress gives Jennifer a long look, "That sounds sort of like what you'd talked about."
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May 10, 2009 15:22
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Alex Alex shakes her head at Raymond's questions. "We were just talking, um, stuff like that. Just what we wanted to do if, I mean when, we get through this. We also drank beforehand both times. It's kinda easier to sleep if you do." She shrugs, a little confused about how to answer the question. They hadn't done anything special. Well not supernatural at least. But I'm not bringing that up. When Valda enters the room, she looks from her to Hobbs. She had been hesitant to go back into the tunnels before, but if they had a Valkyrie along...well that was a whole different situation. "What do you think Hobbs? Maybe we could see if Rick wants to tag along two. He has those freaky visions of dying, so he make a pretty useful monster detector. Five people might be alright?" Frowning a little, she thinks of her conversation with Allison while waiting for a response. Well, Valda will be with us, and Hobbs does have a point about not leaning on the lovelies too heavily. Hell, we might be less conspicuous without them. Straightening up, she waits for Hobbs to speak. She didn't know much about tactics, but if Hobbs and Valda thought a trip down there was alright, she'd trust their judgment. Allison means well, but she isn't military. This could be a good chance to prepare for tomorrow.
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May 11, 2009 03:06
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Hobbs "If he wants to tag along, fine with me. I ain't gonna complain about having another person or two. That's if Rick feels up to it. The sun might've gotten to him a bit too much though." Hobbs intentionally avoids answering Ray's question. There were some things he wasn't interested in talking about publicly. He felt there was some kind of a bond between them, but it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. He moved over and took Alex's hand. He smiled at her. "We'll see if Rick wants to come along and then we'll head out." Hobbs picked up his radio. "Rick. You there? We're going back into the passages. You in? Meet us down by the big door if you're in." DocBubonic fucked around with this message at 05:02 on May 11, 2009 |
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May 11, 2009 04:20
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Jennifer She listens blankly as Greg recounts his dream. It does sort of sound like what she was talking about, except she couldn't see herself in her vision, at least not from the third person, so she's unsure if it was just a dream or something more or a combination of the two. "I-- uh. Hugin's on this side, so maybe it was Munin? He's still on the other." She frowns. "I've actually never dreamt of Spot. She's always just here. I thought it was because I pulled her across at the base and so since I dreamed her up and now she's walking around she can't... but maybe she can, I don't know. Hugin would know, he read her thoughts." She shakes her head. "I don't know. You could be right. It could be some past thing, it could have been just lucid dreaming, you inserting people and things into whatever you were dreaming of. It could have been your uh... special place, possibly. Like mine is a beach, maybe yours is a snowy forest. I've gone there while meditating: remember, on the train? I tried to bring you and I couldn't?" She shakes her head, unsure. "Or it could have been all of the above. What's Inari say?"
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May 11, 2009 05:38
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Allison She idly wanders what her special place is. All sorts of thoughts and visions flash through her head, imagination welling up like a fountain, but ultimately she settles on nothing in particular. The thought of a raven on her shoulder had made her assume immediately it was Hugin. It seems the right spot for him. It would feel natural. Maybe he's there, on that side, regardless of where he is on this side. It's comforting to think that maybe he's with her even when he isn't actually with her. She rubs at her head, muscles seeming to ache now. Too much stillness, ready to go. And yet weary. Allison looks Jennifer's way, "I haven't met Munin." There's some trepidation in her voice. She doesn't like the notion of this potentially hostile other-Raven perching on her shoulder. Though, the mention of 'bringing Spot over' does catch her attention. Wonder how she managed that... "I feel like I've only barely gotten my feet wet, with this dreaming on the other side, compared to all the things you've done." There's a hint of eagerness in her voice, a smile on her face. What will I dream tonight? Will you be there, Coyote? Do you know? She was perpetually fascinated with this other side, that was eternally malleable, where anything was not only possible, but even likely it seems.
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May 11, 2009 05:57
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Blackbird Dreaming Topside, Samantha has settled in, legs outstretched and head laid back. A squinted eye follows the still circling shape far above while distant the sun begins its descent upon the horizon. She casts a glance to Rick, half-smirking, raising her shoulders in another shrug. "I'm ready to find someplace..." she trails off, brow twitching, and then simply shakes her head. Her eyes return to Hugin, the Raven nearly imperceptible anymore among the clouds. ~ Valda nods to the assembled trio then, listening for a moment as they radio up to the surface--though a ready reply does not come immediately. The Valkyrie gives a roll of her shoulders before slinging her weapon, treading on back down the stairs and to the blast door corridor. "We'll try and make it quick-like. Stay sharp, keep pace, and I'll go on point." She smirks. "Let's just hope it isn't a long walk out of this place." With the blast door risen, Valda checks several magazines and stuffs them into larger pouches among her gear. "Left corridor's probably the ticket." She mutters, starting off in the lead of the trio--a glance cast back towards Raymond. "Stay center, Alex can bring up the rear and Hobbs on me." She winks to the author, then sets out at a markedly brisk pace. Wayne settles in at the folding chairs by the blast door, rifle across his lap, the vet watching silent as the group departs. ~ Magpie seems to have drawn a waking dream, Inari murmurs, something...very pleasant...old. Familiar, perhaps. I'm not entirely certain. It has the lingering sense of a dream--yet he remained aware, here, to some degree. I felt his peace. Allison feels a warm tingle at the pit of her stomach. I will try to accompany you.
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May 11, 2009 06:54
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Alex Alex nods eagerly, quickly falling into place behind the others. Eyes darting from one side to the other of the entrance, her heartbeat quickens. She didn't truly want to go back into the tunnels, but they needed to find a way out. Everyone was virtually trapped in here, the tram was possibly infested with those centipedes, and most of them couldn't make a quick run down the mountain of something went wrong. Yes, it needs to get done, the sooner the better. That wasn't the only reason she was ready to go along with the plan. So many other people, good and talented people, had died. Sometimes it seemed almost unfair that she had lived. Alex desperately wanted to prove to the group that she had been worth saving, that she was more than dead weight. Maybe taking on a task like this, and not screwing up, would prove it to her as well. I'm not afraid and I'm not prey. I can do this. We can do this. Smiling faintly, Alexandra steps towards the gloom of the tunnels. Danger Sense Perception-15
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May 11, 2009 07:26
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Jennifer She starts as Inari's voice echoes, eyes widening, then taking in the sleeping form of the woman. "Waking dream... is that what Coyote meant by her being 'special?'" What could that do, for them? For good or ill? Could she bring everyone into it, or just people in a relaxed half-asleep state? Half-asleep for half-here, half-there? Or was it like when she tried to go to her own place with Greg in the tram? Well, Greg had obviously not been willing himself there... but had Inari, maybe? Where was Martin? Or Spot? She looks around, trying to place them. She thought she'd seen Martin sneak out but she wasn't sure. He wasn't in any of the bunks here, at any rate. It looked as if they'd been left rather alone, out of courtesy. They had been going to sleep. She looks at Magpie again, thoughtfully. Allison's question belatedly tugs at her conscious thought. "What? Oh. Uh... Munin... uh. He's shown up in my head uninvited a few times. I threw up some walls after you... did." She looks a bit embarrassed. "Kind of spooked me, I mean its supposed to be my subconscious, if you could get in and he could get in god knows what else could, right?" Not that Allison had to worry about spiritual interlopers. Just turn them into more... groupies. She shakes her head at Allison's claim of lack of experience. "You've done plenty. Noone else has shown up in my head like that." Noone human, anyway. "Not less. Just... different things. Necessity took us different ways, I guess. Different abilities." She pinches the bridge of her nose tiredly. "I really should rest, but I don't know if I want to be pulled into... wherever they were, right now. I need rest rest, I think. Maybe." Still, it would be nice to not be alone over there. Especially if-- "I don't know. Maybe we should see if her thing works on all of us. It'd be nice to be able to talk to Greg directly." No offense, Inari.
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May 11, 2009 07:34
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Allison She raises her open palms up, gesturing at Jennifer's mention of walls that there's no harm, no foul. The musing on this Magpie draws the actress's gaze to the woman. She had a weird sort of behavior. That sort of inappropriate reaction for the moment, odd manner of speaking, or noticing things others didn't but not seeming to care about things others did. It's a sort of thing she's come to associate with Phoebe and, to a lesser extent, Hugin, Coyote and Inari. It's just part of not being human. Things just don't mean the same stuff for them. You forget that, especially when they're in a human body. What was it Coyote had said about her? "I don't know. Coyote said she was 'uniquely-talented.' I asked if she was like he and Inari, and told me 'not in the way that you'd think." Her mouth quirks a little, puzzling over thoughts, "He called her a 'rare result of a rare mingling.' I don't know. I asked why she was here. He'd said it'd been a very long time, and that she'd always been fond of mortals." There's a shrug of her shoulders. It seems like helpful information, though at the moment she can't make much from it. Maybe it will make sense in time. "I was thinking, and I don't mean to pull us away, I was thinking," Allison shakes her head, sending her blonde hair tossing about, "I was wondering why you'd ended up here, at this bunker. Built with this, this facility, and these catacombs." The actress reaches over with her slender, smooth fingers and scratches at Greg's thickly furred side, inspecting his form curiously as she sort of rambles on, speaking at both him and Jennifer. "I'll admit, the word 'Fate' entered my thinking for a bit but I don't know. There's a Big Gate near here though, right?" Her eyebrows bend inward, a crease of concentration crossing her brow as she lays out her thoughts, "I was thinking maybe there's sacred geometry stuff at work, like Feng Shui, or whatever. Maybe something like ley lines," her eyes dart to Jennifer, "Do you know what those are? Whatever." It isn't important, obviously, and her shrugging shoulders say as much. Her left hand continues to slowly pat Greg, trailing down the corded muscle of his back canine back and fluffing his tail a little bit, a glint of amusement in her eyes for a moment. "But I don't know about that, that seems almost as weird as Fate. What didn't seem so weird was like, what if this Big Gate is at a sister facility or something?" She bites her lip, her thoughts developing and stringing together as she talks, forming new opinions as her mouth quickly catches up to her head, "Like, what if this gate is... housed or was made or whatever," Allison quickly realizes she has no idea what a Gate looks like or how it really works, just a word to call it, "by the same people who made this place. Or it used to be." She blinks her eyes, becoming more comfortable with her theory as she goes, "It seems like good odds to me that these places aren't so close by pure chance. And if they're both connected to Wright-Patterson by rail, and..." She snaps her fingers, wracking her brain. There's a pained look of frustration on her face as she tries to recall, glancing to the ceiling, "Parkersburg, that's it." She looks back to Greg and Jennifer, "Maybe they have these rail systems all over for army bases, I don't know. But if they don't, then I'd think that these places are all connected." She glances around awkwardly, "I mean, connected besides just by tram. Like the same person or people had a hand in all these facilities." "So, I mean, think about where you've all been." Her fingers count out as she goes, "Like, for example. We have this gate at one stop, we think, right? That's the theory right now?" Allison looks at Greg and Jennifer for confirmation, "And then we have this... This hosed-up-sort-of-prison here at a second stop." She hesitates. Frost's face intrudes on her mind. Her imagination doesn't want to try and work Frost into this conspiracy theory. "And, at Wright-Patterson, you guys found that lab with Frost. Parkersburg, you found..." This is where her theory sort of falls apart, "Damnit." And she sighs. "I don't know, what did you guys find at Parkersburg?" She looks to them in frustrated thought, "You found Greg and Valda, I guess." Her hand gives Greg a reassuring scratch on his side near the top of his hind legs, "That counts for something." The actress's right hand bobs up and down, snapping her fingers as she thinks, "I don't know what it all means. But it's a lot of connections. Way too many. I can't really believe these places just happened to be up to their necks in End of the World poo poo, like gates, spirits and cerebrosus labs." She laughs, "I feel like... Like if it was a snake, it'd jump up and bite us. Like it's so obvious and in front of us."
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May 11, 2009 10:31
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Greg Well, he manages, shutting his eyes against the petting and massages, it seems as though this network of bases and trams was a cold war Continuity of Government program, so that in the event of nuclear warfare the president and congress and the pentagon could come down here and keep working. If after they'd started or finished that they'd gotten into this supernatural stuff, putting the prison in one of those bases would make a lot of sense. And if they could move the gate around, putting that in another one from- I don't know, some Indian burial mound? would also make sense. He begins to pant a little. Magpie only seemed interested in the dream of nesting on my head, for what it's worth.
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May 11, 2009 12:35
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Allison She slumps her shoulders and nods at the Wolf's comments, accepting his explanation. "Well. drat. That makes everything a whole lot tidier. So much for that train of thought, I guess. Though it still seems to point to all of them being linked." Her frown deepens, "Whose 'they' though? I mean, if they were working on cerebrosus stuff at Wright-Patterson, and that was linked up with these other bases that are involved in spiritual stuff..." She tilts her head, "I mean, that would tell me that 'they', whoever they are, knew cerebrosus wasn't just some disease from the start." Allison tosses herself back up onto the bed and swings her leg ups, laying down. She stares up at the ceiling and puts her right forearm to rest on her head, "I don't know. I want to figure it all out right now." Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 14:07 on May 11, 2009 |
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May 11, 2009 12:50
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 Repugnant, acidic smells had so long washed into nostrils sore and inflamed that they’d nearly driven him mad all their own; the whole of the coast had been every bit a distanced tour of the bedlam ashore. Broad swathes of what had been beachfront property lay now ruined, battered and broken by the crash of some long passed wave-crests which, by some streaking twist of fortune had since ceased. Emptiness. Desolation. What little fuel had been left had long since dwindled away, emptied reservoirs left scattered around the vessel; off the mark from supplies, from sanctum—off course. How far? Could he really say, without instrument and implement by which to judge his bearings more adequately? It was hard to focus, sun-soaked and exhausted as he had been. Could they make it together, at this pace? poo poo had hit the fan so swiftly that the last cache was left to ruin. Parched. Starving. Poor planning was not to blame—there simply hadn’t been enough planning, even so meticulous as he had been. Who could blame him? Who could have predicted the things he had seen, had experienced first-hand in the span of so few moments at the end? After all that he had accomplished, prepared for, and seen to completion—all of the successes, even in the face of a world coming apart at the seams—he’d still failed. Defeated. Foolish. How long? How long could he maintain? Just another cache, a regroup to get his bearings back. It was just the two of them now—no doubt, the others were long dead. Somewhere, out there, there would be others—there had to be. Men and women of the kind of caliber who could take care of themselves. To survive. He was a survivor too, after all—right? But he’d seen most of the people out there, what they were capable of and willing to do… Vicious. Greedy. His companion was silent, and it was maddening. Not a word for a day now—but he wasn’t much up for conversation anyways, right? City after city, all down the coast the same story time and time again—and every now and then the sound of the motor would draw morbid curiosity from among alleys and homes, keening wails carrying off the coast and trailing away. Fat salary had bought trips to the Caribbean before—and the waters had been amazing. Nothing like it was now. Had to stop, to break for ‘camp’, gather thoughts and re-assess the situation. Figure out where the hell he was, where the hell he still needed to go—and if that meant wading through hell to make it happen. Supplies were down to the scraps, useful tools still an immense boon, but you couldn’t eat a Leatherman and you couldn’t run a boat off of bullets. No food. No fuel.  Old pier, some sort of poo poo-hole shack on the end—but it was away from town. In a way, a sort of miniature fortress from which to repel ‘invaders’. Surely long picked over, if it ever had anything worth a drat to begin with. Tether the boat, unload what was left and necessary up top. His friend didn’t carry poo poo. Just watched. He helped him up. They got settled in. Just needed a breather. Shift a ratty T.V. in front of the door, stack some chairs, lean a table. Barricade. Rest. Shut eye was jarred sharply by an all too familiar loving moan. A drizzle outside too, really—but it pattered loud on the shack’s roof above, and he could hear it in the water around the pier well enough. Thump. Thud. Might’ve been a scavenger at first—and he’d been ready to draw if need be. Armed. Prepared. Then he heard her—murmuring harshly in that same lilting groan that he’d heard dozens of times. The things would yammer on about something endlessly if left to their own devices. Planks creaked. There were others outside, too. Cornered. Trapped. Rain kicked in nice and steady, and outside he could hear them grow giddy from it. gently caress it was getting cold.
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May 11, 2009 17:53
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Jack "gently caress gently caress gently caress gently caress gently caress. Sorry." He looks at this guy sitting here. This guy slumped against the other wall who is probably dying but his body hasn't admitted it yet. He knows it, the guy knows it. The loving zombies who have them trapped in here know it. "Sorry for being so unoriginal." Nice way to wake up after the first good nap in days. He notices he's not really sweating, even though he should be. That's probably bad. The rain comes down harder on the corrugated metal roof and the zombies start screaming happily. They'll probably figure out the makeshift barricaded door before long. They'll be in before the sun comes up. He decides not to think about it. This other guy's not talking, just breathing and staring. They sit for a while. Might as well pass the time. "So there I was, waking up in bed with this Brazilian Goddess. We were at her place, some penthouse on the Upper East Side. Do you know the kind of body I'm talking about, here? Brazilian women. Jesus Christ. "Anyway it's my week off but my cell keeps going nuts and all I want to do is pretend last night is going on forever. But that's not working so I answer the drat thing. "Turns out, the skyline is now short two very big buildings. I'm short my brand new corner office and probably half of my co-workers." Why am I even talking about this? 9/11 was nothing, just.. nothing. "Well I loving started paying attention after that. Most futures traders don't give a drat about the future. They spend each day caught up in micro trends and guessing games. And every night doing blow and chasing tail. But after the WTC was gone I started loving paying attention to the future. I realized how vulnerable we were, all seven million of us. Hanging out on this island with these tiny little exits. Just a bunch of ostriches with our heads in the sands, paying too much for eggplant parmigiana and waiting for one good disruption to turn Manhattan into a nightmare. "At first I made a bunch of stupid moves. Spent too much on the Executive Deluxe Office Parachute, took skydiving lessons. It didn't take long to figure out that gravity wasn't my problem, all the other people were. And they would have guns. So I got a pistol and learned to shoot. It totally freaked out all my hip, liberal prep-school friends. Now right now I should say 'I hope they are doing okay' but I know they aren't. "What's that? Yeah, prep-school. Wasn't going to end up at Goldman out of public school. I guess Grandma had some money, because it was Choate to Harvard to the Street, just like that. Mom never took charity except when it was for me. It broke her heart that I didn't keep up the violin after 10th grade but I figure one performer in the family is enough, right?" Where did this guy come from, anyway? Just popped up out of nowhere. Lucky for him he found me. Well, except for that hole somebody tore open. gently caress, it's raining even harder. "So yeah, then we had the huge power outage in oh-three, and all the nice New Yorkers were so proud of themselves. No violence, neighbors getting know each other, blah, blah, blah. But it lasted what, a little more than a day? That's not even enough time to thaw a steak in a closed deep freeze. "And then, I swear to God this is true, I Saw It Coming. I know, I know it sounds like bullshit but I saw it. The same way I knew when October pork bellies were going to take a dive, I saw this whole mess on the horizon. No specifics, just the message. The end is loving near. "And I'm sitting here on all this imaginary money and it's not going to be worth anything soon, right? I put a squad of ex-Blackwater mercenaries on a retainer. Called themselves 'The Rough Riders', which I know sounds ridiculous. Bought a nicer gun. Made contingency plans for about six different likely degrees of collapse. Discreetly put big caches of supplies near my possible retreat locations--which is what I'm doing here, by the way. "I even, poo poo, I even bought a fuckton of gold and silver. Ha ugh.. ha ha.. oh man. That was my one true fuckup. I thought this was going to turn around and I'd still be rich. Oh Jesus it hurts to laugh ah hah ah ah." Deep breath. "You don't know how hard I tried to get my mother to understand. I needed her to be ready, too. When the ball dropped, we needed to be off the island in under 30 minutes or we were simply going to be dead. I spent so much time with her in those last six months. That was one of the few good things about the world ending. All that time with her. "And after all my efforts, she dodged the bullet. Heart attack got her just two weeks before it happened. Isn't there something in the Bible about envying the dead? And my girlfriend left me about the same time, not sure why. So when it did happen, it was just me." Maybe when this poor guy dies I can use him as a decoy? "The whole Cerebrosus thing went from overblown media hype to serious oh poo poo pandemic, but for a while it still seemed managable. I knew though. I knew it was happening that morning when I turned on the faucet. New York has really clean water, it comes all the way from the Catskills. That morning when my fingers and eyes started to burn after washing out my coffee mug I knew it was time. "I made some calls, pulled some triggers. The Riders were inbound to the rendezvous point in under 30 minutes because I was paying them a lot of money and they still thought that meant something. I took a cab down to the Battery, and everything still seemed normal. The sun was just coming up on the towers and the cranes at Ground Zero. It felt kind of lame. What if I was wrong? "Then. Oh God. Hoo. I heard the subway screaming. I mean the people, I mean I don't know what I mean but poo poo I ran like hell for the waterfront. And I'm running--I still don't know if this next part really happened-I'm running and I turn the corner and Battery Park is completely covered in crows. I mean covered. They were just sitting there on the grass and the trees and the benches and as I ran through them they just sat there and watched me. "I tore out onto the ferry dock and the Riders were there in the boat I'd bought them. I left Manhattan for good at 6 in the morning. I only ever heard a little about what I left behind, but it was enough. "Funny thing about that morning. That was the first night the dreams stopped. I used to have great dreams, big long epics which I could never remember. And like every single night. But that night I didn't dream. Just slept. And it's been that way ever since." poo poo is he passing out? No, just tired I guess. "Everything went as planned for a while. And the name of this plan, Contingency #5, was Fort Ticonderoga. We cruised up the Hudson, again everything looking normal. Got through the lock at Troy no problem, down the canal and into Champlain. Do you have any idea how easy it is to take a fort defended by volunteers from the historical society? Ah ha .. ha. "We haul the entire supply cache out of storage nearby and get to work turning the place back into a real fort with steel and concrete. Then we let the historical society go at dinner time, expecting the cops to show. But they didn't. Not right away. And by the time they did they weren't cops anymore, you know. "Hard not to smile about this part. We started getting a lot of visitors. People had my idea, but I had it first. If they came with guns, we sent them packing dead or alive. There was only one way in, and it was to pay. I had the supply, they had the demand. And the more people we took, the higher the price tag got. It was a really simple system. Feudalism, that was the other name of Contingency #5. We took in smart people who were well-prepared and they kept us stocked. I really enjoyed being with the Rough Riders. Once it was clear that we didn't have an employer-employee relationship anymore, I got more respect. gently caress, I'd basically saved their lives. When the visitors stopped being people and started being zombies, it seemed kind of fun. Some of them, like me, were young enough to have grown up playing shoot-the-zombie video games. They showed me how to use a shotgun at close range because my Sig wasn't doing poo poo. They were friends. We kept our people safe and we had at least a year's worth of supplies. We even had some kit which could distill the acid rain for us, because I had spent a lot of money on that kind of thing. We did really well, because I had seen it coming." Not going to think about it. "So yeah. No more fuel. We are done with the boat. Contingency #3 is supposed to be around here, if I can connect roads with the map in my head." Not going to think about it. ... Wait, what? Must have.. did I nod off for a second there? Raining harder. Cold. Oh drat he does not look good.... ... gently caress. gently caress gently caress gently caress gently caress gently caress. I am looking at a loving floor-to-ceiling mirror. They are getting louder. When was the last time I ate? pre:7/10 HP Joe Anglican fucked around with this message at 20:38 on May 11, 2009 |
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May 11, 2009 18:06
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SPOILERS POSSIBLE BELOW, like any sheet which gets updates.pre:Jack Caulfield, Successful Futures Trader 160/-44 (initial values) Attributes [+85] ST 10 DX 10 IQ 12 [+40] HT 11 [+10] BL: 25 HP: 10 WIL: 14 [+10] PER: 13 [+ 5] FP: 11 BS: 5.25 BM: 5 Weight: 205 lbs. Height: 6'1" Build: Mildly Athletic Age: 29 Appearance: Average Cultural Familiarity: Western Languages: English (Native) Wealth: Wealthy [+20] Advantages [+63] Absolute Direction [+5] Charisma x1 [+5] Hard to Kill x1 [+2] Intuition [+15] Less Sleep x2 [+4] Lightning Calculator [+2] Photographic Memory [+10] Talent: Business Acumen x 1 [+10] (+1 react rolls: business partners) Talent: Mathematical Ability x 1 [+10] (+1 react rolls: Engineers/Scientists) Perks [+2] Alcohol Tolerance [+1] Deep Sleeper [+1] Disadvantages [-40] Impulsiveness (15) [-5] Insomnia [-10] In a suit and tie Jack Caulfield once looked like any of a dozen other young smartass jerks who frequented the offices, bars, and overpriced restaurants of Wall Street. And 16 months ago that stereotype would have mostly told the story. Now he looks a lot like any other survivor who has seen death one too many times. A closer look reveals that he must have had it better than most. Although he is exhausted from a trying journey, his body is not a gaunt wreck of near-starvation, as many are. Jack was eating well until fairly recently. He has managed to keep his thick sandy-blond hair from becoming a shaggy mane, possibly even with scissors. His unshaven face has barely been coming in for a week. He's a bit tall with a medium build. He talks fast, looks you in the eye, and while he isn't exactly handsome he leaves a strong positive first impression. When he concentrates he chews a thumb, but doesn't bite the nail. He smiles genuinely when he's trying to explain to someone exactly why they are wrong. pre:Character Points Initial CP 160 Earned CP 59 Advantages 211 Disadvantages -35 Sum 176 Unspent 43 Change Log 5/25/09 - [+4] Bought Dreaming 14: Will/H+0. 8/ 5/09 - [+1] Observation 12: Per/A-1 8/ 5/09 - [+1] Fast-Talk 11: IQ/A-1 8/ 5/09 - [+1] Diplomacy 10: IQ/H-2 9/20/09 - [+5] Bought off Wounded[-5] 11/24/09 - [+4] Reduced Phantom Voices[-5] to Quirk[-1] Joe Anglican fucked around with this message at 19:36 on Jan 20, 2010 |
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May 11, 2009 18:07
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Hobbs Valda gave the orders and Hobbs fell into the line. He went up front even though he preferred to be next to Alex. However keeping her in back would protect her if anything reared its head. Valda's military training seemed to be coming to fore front now. It felt reassuring to hear her discuss this trip like it was a simple patrol. Hobbs looked back at Alex and gave her smile to reassure her. He then turned back and followed Valda. pre:Per 16, Acute Hearing 1, Acute Vision 1, Traps/TL8-11
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May 11, 2009 19:41
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Jennifer She listens to Greg and Allison go back and forth about the nature of the bases, lying back herself, watching Allison's hand stroke Greg's back and letting the repetitive motion lull her. "I think Greg's right," she murmurs. "This was all just repurposed Cold War stuff. Though Frost had said that the Nazis were messing with stuff they probably shouldn't, stuff from her side. Its possible that at the same time they were getting all the Nazi rocket scientists and stuff they got some of these... bit players too. Part of the spoils of war I guess. If you don't have a problem with some butchering Nazis I can't imagine it being too much of a stretch to care about other kinds of monsters, if they prove useful." She glances at Allison. "I mean wasn't there rumors about the Russians doing stuff with remote viewing and ESP and stuff like that? And we had to match them no matter how crazy because hey, that's what the Cold War was all about, never giving the Russkies an inch?" She sighs, stretching her arms over her head tiredly. "There's notes, on what we know who knew when about cerebrosus and stuff. I'm just too tired right now. I really need to just... take a break. My head hurts."
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May 11, 2009 20:25
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Greg Yes, well, some of us intended to take an actual nap before some others of us began discussing philosophy at length. The wolf snorts, one of the few humanlike nonverbal expressions he can still manage, and it gets a lot of work. Wasn't too surprising that the government had gotten onto anything like this. For all the fiction and stereotypes, the government was generally two things; reasonably competent and reasonably intelligent. They spent trifling amounts of money on all sorts of longshot things because hell, they might work; after all, in 1939 the atomic bomb looked like a lunatic fringe idea. And so the government kept its hands into everything that even looked like a pie, and- when it turned out this stuff was real, they had a hand covered in delicious fruit stuffing. And they had a set of very deep, very secret tunnels and bases already being largely unused. Some bureaucrat had probably gotten a promotion for connecting the two.
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May 11, 2009 20:47
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Jack There is one small benefit to discovering you've been hallucinating an entire person and that you are trapped by zombies. Things get a lot simpler with one less body. No time to think about possibly being crazy because being dead sounds much worse. Except becoming one of -- no time to think about that either. Need some energy. gently caress rationing, this is a critical inflection point. He twists open the dry box, tears into one of the last Power Bars and starts eating, thinking, and paying attention. I need to get to shore, with my stuff, be ready to shoot if I have to, and get a lot of distance between me and the zombies. Then I need to know where to go to get out of this acid rain poo poo, preferably somewhere with clean water. gently caress. Last things first. Jack fishes in the duffle bag for the GPS device. It is bulky with a large screen, intended for permanent mounting on the boat. He's lucky it has reserve batteries. The signal has been completely unreliable, but the in-memory maps have literally saved his life--allowing him to navigate to this deep Virginia inlet. The device doesn't have a lot of road-map detail, but it has coastal towns, loading docks, etc. He thumbs the zoom out to a five-mile radius centered around where he *thinks* he is and pans around, committing relevant details to memory and looking for the mostly likely shelter from the storm. Of course, he may not be where he thinks he is, come to think of it. Okay, now I just have to get off this death trap. Really only two.. no three ways. Over the dock, under the dock, through the water. Do these things swim? A trapdoor is lifted on the underside of the structure and a sandy-blonde head sticks out. He holds a pair of waterproof binoculars and looks around with the help of a bright LED flashlight. He turns his attention first to the underside of the long wooden dockway. Are there any handhold? Or big open spaces where the things could get through and get at him? He always found monkey bars to be easy enough as a kid, though he never did them with twenty pounds of gear. That way is probably not a good idea, given the eyeless things appear to "see" you wherever you go. And at the end of the dock, can he make out more zombies still actually on the shore anywhere? Or are they all apparently at his doorstep, hungry for... actually they don't seem to hunger for anything. They just want to tear you to shreds. He shifts to look at the murky, rain dappled waters. Acid striking salt. Terrible for his gear, but it can't be that deep or they wouldn't have needed to build this thing so drat far out just to get boat access. There's the dry box and he can waterproof the rest a bit. Hopefully if I have to go that way there will be sandbars and a shallow shore. Jack looks down and realizes how extensive the rust has become on the large motorboat lashed to timbers just a few yards away. He'd sort of though he might come back to the boat with some gasoline from the cache, but it is starting to look like a lost cause. gently caress it. Maybe he can use it against the zombies. Ram the supports so they come raining down on him? He doubts it'll even turn over again. It is a whole lot of metal and wood. It could burn. Jack gets back up, closing the trap. He stops for a few seconds to let the pain in his abdomen die down -- he's going to need to use some of the painkillers from the first aid kit when he makes his move. He draws his pistol and peers around the corner down the hallway to the barricade. He doesn't much feel like getting closer but he needs to know just how bad it is. How many of them are there? Measure the risk honestly. Estimate the return conservatively. Make the loving call and act swiftly before conditions change. What's it going to be, Jack? Over, under, or swim? pre:Computer Operation 12, Photographic Memory, Absolute Direction: to pick a destination once gaining the shore. PER 13, Intuition, Gambling 13: to figure which strategy has the best odds of success Imaginative Joe Anglican fucked around with this message at 23:48 on May 11, 2009 |
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May 11, 2009 23:45
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Jennifer "Sorry," she says in a small, contrite voice. "Hard to sleep." Especially when you don't know what's waiting for you on the other side. But there was only so much even she could go through before she needed a break. Just a few winks. She closes her eyes, concentrating. Sometimes the trick to falling asleep was trying not to fall asleep. And this way, if she doesn't sleep she'll at least get to the beach, or possibly wherever Magpie wanted. Proof of concept, she supposed. She concentrates, making her breathing shallow and even, emptying her mind. Whichever place she went at least it wasn't here. Dreaming 18, Meditation 16. If I can't go to sleep I'll at least attempt to go to my happy place.
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May 12, 2009 00:54
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Greg He simply blinks a few times as Jennifer puts her head down, peevishly wishing she'd done so earlier even while knowing it wasn't fair. Instead, he turns his head to Allison and cocks it over to once side, looking at her and wondering what she was going to do.
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May 12, 2009 04:23
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Allison She glances over to Jennifer out of the corner of her eyes and says nothing. Laying back, with her legs stretched out down the cot, she allows her forearm to slide down her brow to rest over her eyes. Her thoughts feel… gentle, for a moment. It’s rare that her mind offers her a moment’s peace, wondering about this, regarding that, imagining things. That isn’t to say her thoughts are idle. They’re just flowing gently, like a stream. A lush star leaf drifts down from the canopy above, tumbling through the air at a lazy pace to land on the surface of the water below. The stream’s flow passes over sand and rocks, trickling through gaps and stumbling down the shallow incline of the hill. It isn’t a very deep. Just enough. The leaf floats downstream idly, urged this way and that by the gentle eddies of what passes for current in this waterway. It seems it’s caught on a rock and can go no further, but it is tugged free in due time. Her vantage point drops down low and is drawn in close to the leaf. Like a small raft, it seems. She can see the veins, the… what did they call them on plants? Running through the leaf. The air is cool, and moist, and smells of naturally decaying plants and a healthy, wooded fore- She looks over at the Wolf, blinking as their eyes meet, then mumbling, “What? Use your words.”
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May 12, 2009 05:22
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Greg His head stays cocked. Just wondering if you were going to nap here with us or go off somewhere else.
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May 12, 2009 05:25
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Allison She rests her forearm back over her eyes, flatly responding, "Maybe I will. Last I checked, this was still a free country." The actress can't help but snicker at her own joke.
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May 12, 2009 05:51
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Greg Suit yourself. Me, I told Jennifer I'd be there to protect her when she went to sleep- just in case- and I intend to be. Shifting his weight and rolling over so that his body's pushed up against Jennifer's, he puts his head between his paws and shuts his eyes, quietly waiting for sleep to come in.
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May 12, 2009 20:05
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Blackbird Dreaming Jack chews on his bar, food for thought sparked as he hauls his aching frame towards the old hatch in the floor. There's a forest green recliner settled beside it in the corner with the arms torn-up, cigarette burns pockmarked amongst where some feline or another has utilized it as a make-shift scratching post. He has to stand to open the thing up, muscles standing at attention and arms shaking before the hinges work with a shriek of protest, knocking over a T.V. tray with an artful recreation of George Washington on horseback--leading troops, saber outstretched. Below, a good fifteen foot drop at the least, waves lap and roil about the supports of the pier in a crimson froth. Fat dollops of rain explode against the roof above, setting the place to a subtle rattling that seeps into Jack's cartilage and bones. He can see his boat, still tethered, cracking against one of the supports with the swell of a crest beneath it. He can also see a woman dressed in black-and-orange cheerleader garb, blond hair in pig-tails, standing in the middle of his boat staring up into the rain with empty sockets. 'JACKETS' says her shirt. She flinches, head cocking, and 'looks' towards the man. A corner of Jack's mind can't help but register that she'd be cute--if she hadn't been shot in the mouth. She reaches out across the water towards him, pointing--a quiet gurgle wheezing past torn-apart lips. From the pier, boards creak from the weight of movement, and Jack is quick to withdraw back inside of the shack. Looking down the hall towards the entrance, mud-smeared windows at the door only vaguely reveal the silhouette of a head just beyond them. His map, accurate as it is, lends little revelation as to his current whereabouts. ~ Gradually Jennifer, Allison and Greg settle more comfortably among the barracks bunk and cot, heads rested and swimming with the ready fatigue of the day's labors and trials. It was scarcely evening yet, but enough weariness had already indebted the trio of bodies to a slumber that even racing minds and quickened hearts do little to abate. For Greg, it is a swift change--senses attuned once more to the chilly air that supplants that of the conditioned interior of the garrison. The rhythmic thrum of the ventilation system is swept away by the rustle of pine needles among a breeze--boots crunching into snow as Jennifer nearly loses her footing altogether. It is not unlike catching oneself falling amidst a dream and jerking to consciousness--only here, the Valkyrie's daughter is nigh to knee-deep in a snow bank, graciously garbed in thick leathers and furs to shield weary limbs from the cold below. Her vision is blurred, taking a long moment to focus. As Greg lays eyes upon the woman, for a scant moment he smells a rabbit--but the sense dissipates just as swiftly. Allison snaps 'awake' some thirty feet off, fingers clutching reflexively and finding the huge expanse of fur wrapped tightly about her form. Her cheeks sting numbly, eyes cast skyward to overcast clouds as snow drifts down onto her face. Looking to the large lupine, Jennifer finds that Greg looks less...starved than when first his form had been revealed. Fuller. Healthier. Unfortunately, as Greg discovers from the growl within his lean underbelly--hungrier once more. Inari, as well, he finds absent--though somehow, her scent yet lingers, some strange sort of comfort. Somehow, he simply knows that she is secure. A chirp is heard, poignant through the grove--a plump pretty magpie nestled into the fur on the wolf's head which has been helpfully repositioned and squirmed against until it has formed something of an impromptu 'nest' among the pelt. More keenly, the wolf finds that he is able to vocalize even in the absence of the Fox.
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May 13, 2009 03:18
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Greg Nostrils flare as he smells Jennifer. So. Being forced by a monster to feel afraid of everything made her smell like a rabbit? He decided on the spur of the moment that this was not something which he should be sharing with everyone else- when added in concert to his growling belly, there were conclusions there to be drawn that he never wanted to draw in this lifetime. Instead, he pads over to the freki and bobs his head very slightly to indicate the bird nesting. Magpie, meet Jennifer on this side. Jennifer- oh, hello, Allison also- he breaks in as the actress also jumps across the divide, his own 'voice' coming as it hadn't been heard during the day. This is what I was semi-dreaming a few minutes ago. How are the furs? The question is somewhat perfunctory as he looks around, scanning for threats and prey- the two most important features of any environment. Inari's withdrawn for now, but Spot should probably be along presently. Comfortable, Magpie?
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May 13, 2009 03:28
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Jennifer She lurches as if her feet were stuck in mud mid-stride, almost falling forward onto her face. "What the hell?" Arms flail as she rights herself, blinking rapidly against the frigid wind and dazzling snow. "Wow, you weren't kidding." She squints at Greg, eyes watering, and eyebrows race to her hairline as she notices his ah... head adornment. She nods in greeting as they're introduced, pulling the collar more securely closed, clutching it tightly about her throat as she looks around the forest with wide eyes. And there's Allison. "Wow. This is... wow."
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May 13, 2009 03:30
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Greg Yes. Isn't it beautiful? This reaction is probably not the most normal one in history, but to his wolf's senses it was practically a playground. Inari did say Magpie might have something to do with... this. What were you trying to dream?
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May 13, 2009 03:39
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Jennifer "Cold. At least the snow's not red." Oh God, winter. What would winter be like, now that the world was dead? Would it snow? Was it on some runaway global warming path? There were no trees, but no industry either. Assuming the whole world was like -- here, now. Greg had a question. "I was... just trying to sleep, really. I've always had trouble falling asleep so I figured I'd just... try to get to my safe place if I didn't. But I guess I did?" She crouches, hand reaching out and touching the snow gingerly, as if she expects it to feel like feathers or -- well, anything other than snow. A sudden thought strikes her. "Hey, do you suppose the big burly guy I was following in that vision I had is here?" She straightens, looking for a trail of blood. They'd been hunting something, if she recalls correctly...
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May 13, 2009 03:53
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Allison She slowly opens her eyes, shifting her view back and forth and taking in the whole of her surroundings. A broad smile forms on her face. There’s a familiar lightness to her form. Some of the ache or tiredness from the waking world ebbing away. It feels comfortable here. She likes it. The world here is full of colors she hasn’t seen while awake in such a long time. Eagerly, she jogs towards Jennifer and Greg, and what she supposes must be the Magpie, if only because it is a magpie. On her approach, she raises her arm in an eager wave, the exuberance surrounding her is palpable, “Hey guys! Nice weather we’re having.” It really isn't that nice but she doesn't seem to mind the stinging wind or biting cold or snow flurries all that much. Greg gets a smirk, “The furs are fantastic.” She could maybe do better. Maybe she’d try later. Jennifer’s question draws a look from the actress, “Could it be Martin? He’s sort of big, and Greg said he saw him here, didn’t you, Greg?”
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May 13, 2009 04:00
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Jennifer She looks at her outfit now at Allison's words, really looking at it. "Oh." Real fur, from the feel of it. She'd never have worn something like this on the other side. Too showy. Extravagant. Vain. But man they were warm. And soft. She glances at Greg, then at Allison's outfit. "Martin? All I remember is he had a big huge loving axe." She looks back down at her feet. "And the snow was waist deep. We were hunting something. Something that'd been wounded. Blood trail." She glances around the forest again, half-expecting to see some queenly woman in a sled pull up and offer them some Turkish delight. Oracle fucked around with this message at 04:18 on May 13, 2009 |
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May 13, 2009 04:15
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Greg Could have been Martin. Could have been an analog of Martin's, or a convenient slot for me or Magpie to drop Martin into. Hard to say. If there was any kind of fresh blood trail around here, he could smell it with his nose in a sackful of rotting onions- but telling Jennifer that seemed needlessly boastful, so he just lightly sniffed the air to confirm that nothing large and possibly tasty was dying nearby.
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May 13, 2009 04:22
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Allison “Blood trail?” She looks around, narrowing her eyes and shielding her face from the wind and snow , searching for what Jennifer has mentioned, “Greg would be our tracker, I guess.” She looks to the wolf encouragingly, “I don’t really know if this sort of weather makes it difficult for you to search out a scent.” Leaning over beside Greg, she holds out her index finger in front of the bird and tilts her head, “Uniquely-talented, is it? Don’t suppose this is place is somewhere you know anything about.” She doesn’t entirely expect the Magpie to respond, but there is some hope. Looking back, she focuses on her feet. These were nice, but some higher cut boots would be a bit more practical. Biting her lip, she experimentally tries to alter them, as she’d done before in the jungle river basin with Coyote. Will – 16, Dreaming – 15, if it helps.
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May 13, 2009 04:25
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Jennifer "Or it hasn't happened yet. Maybe the whole fight on the ramparts thing comes first." She blanches as she remembers the darkling horde just beyond the torchlight of the walls. So many of them. Past? Future? It was hard to say. She rubs the back of her neck uncomfortably. "I thought you said Puck was here too."
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May 13, 2009 04:28
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Allison She interjects, “He’s here. Somewhat.” Jennifer gets a meaningful look, “I don’t know where the rest of him has gotten too.”
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May 13, 2009 04:39
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Greg The wolf grumbles. He was here a few minutes. Head in Allison's lap.
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May 13, 2009 04:40
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Greg's query is met with an amenable chirp atop his brow, and he can feel small taloned feet grip at the fur there, body squeezing more pointedly into that lush sanctuary. There were scents carried on the wind, certainly--though quite distant, something register in the wolf's mind as caribou. Eyes glimpse subtler signs--the way snow lay just so that footprints had been present; pine branches bent and displaced in some placed, where more reckless a passage had been forged. Overhead, the snow continues down in ever the thickened flurry. It certainly wasn't getting any warmer. Jennifer finds the heft and weight of the blade against her back, and sights upon Allison the sort of garb that stirs thoughts of Zsa zsa Gabor among her musings. Rich tawny fur which dawns upon her as what could well be a portion of Coyote made manifest--albeit in a more fashionable way than one might expect. Focused in a moment, Allison can feel the faint presence of that massive beast--and the tingling, surreal warmth of her boots spreading higher to accommodate her whim. From center of the pine grove, the wolf can recall a vague familiarity of the place--a frozen lake, a cliff face, and caverns set within. Jennifer finds in passing awareness her arms feel thick with meat and muscle. GaistHeidegger fucked around with this message at 05:08 on May 13, 2009 |
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May 13, 2009 05:03
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Jennifer She looks at Greg curiously at the tone of voice, but decides not to comment. Whatever weird alpha male dominance thing Greg had going on with Coyote they could hash out on their own. She nods to Allison, the coat's peculiar, familiar color just getting an arched eyebrow and a smothered smile. "Gotcha." She looks at the snow, cocking her head, and crouches, brushing at, then gingerly scooping some light new-fallen snow out of older, harder stuff. A bootprint. Greg's dream, maybe? "Hey, there's tracks here." She rubs at the side of her head irritably with one shoulder, and blinks as hits sooner than she'd have anticipated. She straightens, a hand going to said shoulder and eyes widening at what she finds there. "Alright. Um... my ears are starting to get frostbite. Assuming we're here for awhile," she glances at the bird on Greg's head, "and for a reason, can we find some place to hole up?"
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May 13, 2009 05:34
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Allison There's a wry grin on her face. So I can. Like before. Her mind buzzes, and it takes a conscious effort to quiet it down and focus on Jennifer and Greg. With all the brooding on other things, she’d almost forgotten how liberating it felt here on this side to be able to wield your will and imagination with more effectiveness than Martin’s rifle. She wonders idly how the others handle such a thing. Jennifer had obviously managed some impressive feats, bringing Spot into the ‘real’ world. Can I do something like that? If Phoebe was here, could she exercise all of that divine power of hers? No matter. Allison feels secure, safe here. Powerful. Certainly not as weak. Her cheeks must be pink from the cold, she realizes suddenly. Well, being fanciful was fine and good but standing in the snow isn’t exactly her perfect notion of a dream vacation. She calls over the wind, head tilting at Jennifer, “Can't you fix it?” The actress carries herself up straight and brings her hands together in front of her, stretching and flexing her fingers. She aims to shape the furs into something sportier, more suited to romping round a snowy forest. A huntress, she thinks. A huntress with a taste for quality furs and a keen fashion sense, maybe. And furred hood over her head, to help shield her ears. “Shelter? But we're here to hunt, right?” Greg gets an uncertain look as Allison looks to him to back her up. Her eyes scan the edge of the grove as she turns to look it over. She’s not Greg, nor is she Les Stroud, but it doesn’t take a world-class woodsman to know what sort of things to look for. Snapped branches, snow that’s fallen in clumps from disturbed trees. And of course, she could sense things the others might not. There’d never been a time in the bunker that she hadn’t been able to sense Phoebe. Maybe it wouldn’t work here, but maybe it would. She looks back to Jennifer, and shrugs a little, "I say hunt, but you may be wiser than me. Either way, we're not going to find much standing here. You'll be warmer if we move, I think."
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May 13, 2009 05:54
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