shatterverse | (no subject)

Current Location: US 34, Western Iowa

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(no subject)

It starts the usual way: A flash, a bang, a person standing, disoriented, near a long stretch of deserted road.

But this man falls to his knees-

(thousands of voices; screaming, crying in his head; anger and despair and everything in between, and he can’t fight, can’t ignore, can’t resist them; stop, stop, Goddess why won’t it STOP)

-and clutches his head, letting loose an agonized shout of surprise.

Then it's over, and it's like it never was.

Jamie lowers his hands, noticing in a detached manner that short strands of blond hair come away in his fingers, and sits back on his haunches, blinking. The last thing he remembers is laughing at a joke -- a bad one, with three tavern wenches and a statue -- and climbing a ladder to get at the apples high in an Olau tree. His shirt still smells like the orchard: sun and fruit and green, growing things. Had he fallen? Is this a fevered hallucination brought on by his broken body and healing magic gone wrong? Grace never could get the hang of it. She’s probably given him an extra thumb.

No. All’s right with that.

Digging his fingers into the earth beside the road, he watches it sift back to the ground. It's chunky and rough, but not dry. Even so, it's clearly not the smooth, dark soil of Olau. Jamie sniffs his hand, frowns and pulls himself to his feet. The road crests a hill to the west. Maybe there's something on the other side to explain what's happened; maybe not. Nothing to do, he supposes, but to start walking.

He'll get back to the pain (voices) in his head later. When the mood strikes.

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Jamie raises both eyebrows.

"Getting the fuck out of the forest," he answers, both serious and not, "by any means necessary. Usually I'm fond of time in the woods, but today I'd rather be in a wide open space." The door creaks as he pushes it with his shoulder to check the other end of the hall. Then he adds, "Finding a town or city seems wise."

The hallway remains clear. Readjusting his bundle, he nods at Eleanor and walks quietly toward the kitchen and back door. He learned stealth from the best, even if he only rarely paid full attention to such lessons, so he's comfortable enough sneaking around.

Jamie has no idea whether or not Eleanor heard or even followed him, and steals a moment to look around the kitchen; he feels the rush of having escaped an immediate trap only to find himself far from safety. The kitchen smells of fresh cream and bread, and looks inviting in the morning light. Almost too inviting, like everything else in this place, perfect and harmonious and rather creepy for it. As he turns, he selects a knife from the block to the right of a bowl of blemish-free fruit. It's a good knife, sharp and well-crafted. Absently, he pulls two more and looks back for Eleanor.

Eleanor did hear him, and she followed along agreeably, not wishing to point out that his 'plan' is actually just an objective. Suggestions on how to achieve it were what she was asking for. But since she has none herself, she can't really complain.

She's now just a few feet behind him, watching his weapon selection with relaxed interest. Possibly a little closer at hand than he expected? It appears that Eleanor can do the stealth thing too.

"Lemme see one of those," she says, gesturing to the knife block.

There's something very eye-catching about the craftsmanship of the handles. They look to be made out of ivory, or something similar. She's curious to know if it's well-fabricated imitation plastic, or the real deal.

One could argue that Eleanor likewise hadn't offered up any suggestions on how to achieve her objective of 'getting the fuck out of the house,' which could yet prove dangerous, but that would be pedantic.

The narration: *ducks*

Jamie looks her in the eye while smoothing his thumb over one of the handles, feeling the strange design etched into it; the edges are obvious to the touch but not rough, and though beautiful, bear the slight imperfections of hand carvings. He nods and hands over the one he's already examined before reaching for a third. The other seems to have disappeared up his sleeve.

The patterns don't mean anything to him, but they might to her.

"Unusual for kitchen work," he comments. "I've seen ceremonial daggers less ornate." And then, because he feels like it, he smiles at her.

Edited 2008-11-11 22:44 (UTC)

Eleanor nods in concurrence with his analysis. Once she has possession of the knife, identification of the handle material is much easier. There's only one substance that has this particular weight and texture.

"Bone," she concludes. "That is kinda weird."

Even in a backwoods hunter household.

"Deer maybe?"

Jamie's the outdoors expert. She figures he might know the species.

"No idea what all these markings are about though."

"Not deer..."

His eyebrows pull together in a sudden frown. Something about the third knife has wholly captured his interest and he turns it over and over, trying to isolate what that is, until the hand holding it before his eyes is no longer his own but a smaller, smooth one. After the first stark realization, the rest of the vision fades in slowly, allowing him time to

(hear the screams)

understand.

The knife hits the floor hard and slides partway under a cabinet. His breathing quickens; a strange grumbling sound gets trapped in his throat.

"Definitely not deer bone. That knife was used-" a pause to swallow "-for killing."

Eleanor lifts her eyes from the knife she's holding and observes the vacant stare that prefaces Jamie's conclusion. It's like... he's not quite here. There's something darkly certain about his voice too, after he's dropped the utensil, that gives his insight credibility.

"Yeah?"

She doesn't need to ask how he knows. He's clearly had another vision.

"For killing what?" she follows up. She has an idea, and her face is already crinkling in anticipation of that abhorrent answer.

He looks at Eleanor as if surprised to see her standing there.

"Us," he croaks. "Us. We have to get out of here."

Without waiting for an answer, he throws the other knives on the floor and rummages through the drawers for more traditional cutlery. Anything sharp, he thinks, trying to put the images firmly out of his mind. Eventually he finds scissors and another, run of the mill carving knife. They'll do.

"It was ritualistic. But there's something strange..." A shake of his head, nostrils flaring, and he yanks open the kitchen door on a bright, entirely too cheerful morning. "I don't think they're thieves," he adds ominously, gesturing to the shed with the scissors.

His words send a chill down Eleanor's spine. They confirm what she was expecting and a whole lot more. Heart pounding hard and adrenaline filling her veins, she strides after him with a whole new level of action-readiness.

"I'm getting that feeling too."

chud... scrutch...

"Are you seeing the future as well now," she inquires, "or what?"

The bike is hopefully still in the carport around the next corner. Where they'll go once they're mounted up, Eleanor has no idea, but getting to it seems like a good next move.

"What."

Avoiding the question, at least as far as not providing details, seems his best bet. She can't possibly expect him to explain what he doesn't understand himself. It's an angry thought, one that takes him by surprise, and the frustration is still on his face as he moves quickly toward the carport.

Somewhere close by, there's a loud scraaaaaaaaaaaaape. It's followed by a thump and dull scratching and tapping sounds that strike Jamie as familiar.

"What's that?" He stops to whisper it in her ear, his eyes casting about for the source of the noise.

Edited 2008-11-18 01:31 (UTC)

Eleanor doesn't press him on the psychic ability any further. It's apparent that he's not in control of it, and that he lacks any clue as to why it's happening. The results are proving kinda helpful, so why question it.

She pulls up when he does and swats absently at him.

"Not so close," she murmurs. "Ear play's a big turn on for me. And I'm already horny."

She then cocks her head, listening.

"Sounds like someone digging."

In daylight, some of the other houses in the hamlet can be seen along the unpaved street out front. They're nothing lavish: just single-story country constructs with good sized yards. And there are no signs of life at any of them. The sounds of spadework seem to be coming from the far side of this one.

Looking in that direction, Jamie motions that they should check it out and begins creeping along the side of the house. He doesn't notice the emptiness of the houses, or the lack of additional vehicles. What sends a chill down his spine is the way nothing is growing as it should. The grass, the shrubs, the plants in the hanging basket he ducks under: they're all dead, frozen in the moment before decomposition starts. A brown vine snakes around his foot as he walks past, but the moment he shakes its leg, it crumbles to dust.

He sends Eleanor a pointed look and peeks around the corner.

"Mithros," he swears under his breath. "We didn't see that last night.

Ethan is methodically digging a man-sized hole, moving in short bursts of energy like a puppet on strings. The new hole is in a field of tenacious weeds and is bordered by other mounds of dirt. Many, many other mounds of dirt.

Eleanor nods and quickly finishes packing their gear back onto her bike. A quick escape might be in order, so it's only prudent to get everything ready. She then draws her Beretta and catches up to Jamie at the corner of the house, frowning at the lifeless vegetation when she notices it. Her expression becomes even more severe at the sight of Ethan and the task he's engaged in.

"That's a lot of graves," she hisses. "I might've thought they were for victims of the trees last night. But now... not so much."

She withdraws a few steps from the vantage point, and tugs Jamie with her.

"I don't know what the fuck we're dealing with here. But it needs to be stopped."

"Before it stops us," Jamie agrees. He glances at her gun, frowns, and palms his knife. "I'll go talk to him."

Interrogate might be a better word. Either way, he's unwilling to hang back while she handles Ethan. He wants to know why the trees seem to thrive and respond to these people but everything else is dead, and somehow he doesn't think that will be high on Eleanor's list of questions.

"Fuck that," Eleanor snorts. "Very noble and all, but I've got this. Just hang back and watch my ass."

And, before he has a chance to protest, she breaks cover. Hopefully Jamie doesn't take her instruction literally. Given how said ass moves when she marches out, it could be distracting.

"Oy!" she shouts as she approaches the gravedigger.

Ethan looks up from his work, his shovel halfway into a load of dirt, and stares at Eleanor in amazement.

"Yeah, that's right, buddy. Your piddling little cell couldn't hold us." Close enough now, she stops, her gun pointing steadily at him. "Now what's the fucking deal here? You in league with the trees or are you just opportunistic mass murderers?"

So much for that not being a high priority issue for her.

"C'mon. We're all ears. You might as well get it off your chest while you still have one."

Her ass is not nearly as distracting as the mass grave and the people who probably want to kill them. That doesn't mean he doesn't sneak a look.

"You aren't supposed to be here," says Ethan. He stares for another long moment, then continues his work. Scoop and toss. Scoop and toss. "You're supposed to be inside."

Jamie snorts, adjusting his grip on the knife.

"No kidding," Eleanor snaps back at the man. "Because of you and your fucked up family, I didn't get laid this morning. And I'm kinda pissed about it. You've got five seconds to explain yourself or you're history."

There's no reply. Just more scooping and tossing until the five seconds and a few more expire.

"Okay asshole, I don't have time for this."

She braces herself to take the shot. "Say good-bye..."

Ethan does respond this time, in a louder more forceful tone. "Why don't you put the gun down. You're not going to shoot me."

There's a pause before Eleanor speaks again.

"Yes. I am."

But nothing happens. Try as she might, her finger won't tighten around the trigger. And then, inexplicably, her arm drops back to her side and releases the pistol. It falls innocuously into the yellowed turf below.

"That's better," Ethan says. "Now go back inside and we'll be in to take care of you soon."

Eleanor nods woodenly and replies in a voice that's eerily devoid of tone. "Yes, sir. My apologies." She turns and starts walking back towards the house, gazing blankly through Jamie like he's not even there.

"What?" Baffled, Jamie searches Eleanor's vacant eyes as she approaches. "What are you doing?"

To see Eleanor like this, the girl who is usually strong-minded and certain of who she is, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. It must be magic, the sort he's never liked. She keeps coming, marching obediently, and looks as if she intends to take his arm so they can return to their cage together.

Jamie slams his hand on top of hers before she has the chance. "Eleanor," he tries. "Wake up." But even he knows it's not as simple as that, and a tickle in the back of his mind, a foreign presence spreading its tendrils and seeking entry, makes him jerk his head to the side and stare at Ethan. The heat is similar but different, the sensation coming from outside not within. Gritting his teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes it away, dragging Eleanor back toward the grave digger. "Stop," he growls warningly. "Let her go."

He glares at the man and anchors Eleanor to his side, reaching out with his hands and mind, the attempt amateurish but determined. It's nothing he's ever done, nothing he's ever experienced, but there seems to be a lot of that going around.

The gun isn't far from their feet. It's always good to have a back-up plan.

Ethan flinches visibly, then looks surprised again.

"My my," he surmises. "Not quite as impressionable as your bitch friend."

He fixes Jamie with a far more penetrating gaze and tries to seize mental control again. Compared to the almost tentative touch of the previous attempt, this attack is like an industrial vice clamping down on Jamie's mind. And the strain of it shows on the man's face.

"Get. Inside."

Eleanor just stands there, arms and head hanging limply, like a puppet whose strings aren't being pulled at the current time.

The strain of it shows on both their faces. Before now, Jamie had never thought that something could be simultaneously ice cold and burning hot, but that's exactly what he feels inside his head as he fights the attack. He senses sweat running down his face and tastes blood in his mouth as he throws all of his effort into resisting the invasion. It's a violation of the first degree, and only when he feels pure, undiluted rage wash over him does he begin to get the upper hand.

That scares him almost as much as having someone else in his head.

"INSIDE," Ethan roars, red and angry, unable to process why this man is unaffected. It becomes too much for him, and in the space of an instant, the normal man before them morphs into a hideous creature of too many limbs and eyes and tentacles.

"Great Merciful Mother," Jamie manages, touching his head with one hand and clutching Eleanor with the other. His knife is looking fairly useless by comparison.

Edited 2008-11-19 19:55 (UTC)

The creature has never encountered such an adversary before, and it's forced to seek support from its brethren, wherever they might be. They respond immediately, uniting their mental faculties with their comrade's for an unstoppable hive mind assault upon the young Olau man.

Feeling the surge to its power, the beast screeches in triumph, showing off several rows of razor sharp fangs and spraying slaver everywhere. It advances on Jamie, tentacles whipping about frenziedly, preparing to finish him mentally and physically...

BLAM!

The creature stumbles. And suddenly it doesn't look so sure of itself.

BLAM!

This time a gout of viscous green fluid plumes from the back of its misshapen head, accompanied by pieces of brain and shards of skull. In the last second before it topples forward and crashes into the ravaged earth, it's bug-like eyes shift left and down until they come to rest on Jamie's partner, resting on one knee at his side.

"Call me a bitch will you?" Eleanor says, from behind her smoking handgun. Her expression is grim, but there's a hint of a smirk upon her lips.

The last tethers of control were released from her mind when the creature became ragingly preoccupied with Jamie. She was fully aware of what was going on, she just couldn't do anything about it until that moment.

Now that it's down, Jamie is having a hard time looking away. He flicks his hand under his nose, wipes blood from his lip, and shudders.

An inhuman shriek comes from the woods behind the first house.

Another echoes from their left flank.

Jamie shakes himself and grabs Elanor's arm. "Time to leave," he shouts over the noise.

He'll thank her later.

"Right."

If they get out of this alive there'll be thanks all round. For now though, gratitude is also the last thing on Eleanor's mind.

"Where to?" she yells as they run for the bike. "These alien freaks are prob'ly controlling the trees with their telepathic voodoo. They aren't gonna let us out unless we end them."

The blood-curdling screams are rapidly getting closer.

"So let's end them!"

Easier said than done. Jamie practically leaps on the bike behind Eleanor, who barely waits for his weight before taking off, and is scanning for the other two ugly beasts when they round the side of another house and hurl themselves at the bike.

"Faster,' he hisses, pelting a knife at one of their enemies. It strikes what he thinks is a shoulder, but doesn't slow the creature down.

"Okay!"

The bike accelerates. And so do the aliens. Seeing their progress in her wing mirror, Eleanor twists around to take a couple of pot shots at them. Her aim isn't as true this time though, and the bullets that do hit the mark only serve to enrage the creatures more.

Before she has a chance to get any more rounds off, the beast that was once Emily flings a tentacle out and loops it around Eleanor's wrist. The hard yank that follows nearly unseats her, and causes the bike to swerve violently.

"Fuuuuck!" she screams, and jerks her arm free.

Grabbing the unmanned end of the handlebars again, Eleanor manages to keep their ride upright, but she's forced to drop the pistol in the process. She and Jamie would not have walked away from the ensuing wreck if she hadn't sacrificed it.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"