Stu Macher (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
target_audience) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2024-06-04 11:05 pm
target_audience) wrote in revivalproject2024-06-04 11:05 pm
Xtro
WHO: Stu Macher, Billy Loomis and open!
WHERE: Temba, by the fountain and the hospital
WHAT: A new arrival! He looks bad!
WHEN: Early June
WARNINGS: Stu's coming in already stabbed, so there's blood right from the start.
a. the fountain
Movie blood felt more real than the genuine article. It was always brighter red, lurid and fast flowing, not like the dark and dingy trickle that rolled sluggishly along the dirty clefts in the cobblestone. The real blood picked up dust and grime as it went, and rapidly dried, getting darker and slower and duller, Stu realized, quickly abandoning the reflection of the strange light. He couldn't see where it was coming from at first, only aware of the way it bounced where the blood was still sticky, fixated on its unfamiliar ambience from where he lay on the hard ground. It was like the diffused lighting from a softbox, glowy and indirect. He had to touch it.
By the time he could make his eyes focus again, he could feel the hard stone pressing into his back. He must have propped himself up, his legs still twisted awkwardly where he had collapsed onto his face. He could hear the constant trickle of running water, too, that was weird, that kind of made him have to pee, and was suddenly too aware of just how much beer he had been drinking and regretted not hitting the bathroom before the bloodbath or the alien abduction. You should always go before you take a big trip like that, even if you don't think you have to. He started to laugh, loud and unself-conscious, until the blood bubbling in his throat made it stick and splatter down his front instead of echoing around this empty square. He sobbed then, raising his shaking hands to that glowing light of the alien-ball like he needed any more confirmation that it was still him that was bleeding, then pressed them back around his middle to try to stem the flow. Being abducted should have been so much cooler than this. There should have been a spaceship, and a metal table, and a chip they were putting in his neck. Instead, Stu was sitting on a dirty, empty street, holding his guts in, not sure if he was in complete pain or entirely numb. If he died before the probing, he'd never forgive himself.
"Billy?" he suddenly realized, soft and plaintive. He had tripped and fallen onto his face on the way out of the kitchen, after he heard Billy's cry, after he had been attacked. Someone had to help him. "I'm comin', buddy..." Stu strained, pitching forward to try to climb up onto his feet. He had a long way to go.
b. the hospital
The sweater that Stu had been wearing was ruined. Even if he knew how to get the crusted blood out of it, there were huge holes where the knife had sliced through, enough that it was practically falling apart. He should have been falling apart. Instead, he was lingering in the hall of the weirdly dark hospital, wearing a new sweater with too many sleeves. The extra pair of them were sitting on his shoulders, all of the extra fabric gathered around his neck like a cowl, and when he wiggled they flapped in a way that made him snicker and feel like some kind of alien royalty himself. Maybe he was less likely to come back from this experience screaming and eating snake eggs than dazzling the aliens with his strange, human powers, like a normal amount of arms, and resilience to stabbing.
He had too much energy to stay put an heal like he was supposed to, he didn't know anyone that could just lay around in a bed for hours and not want to blow their own brains out. He had left the ruined sweater in his place, and dutifully kept his arms stiff by his sides to limit just how much he was moving as he went prancing in the echoing corridor, swinging his shoulders from side to side to make his empty sleeves flap while he bounced. Already, he knew not to expect to encounter just about anyone around here, but when he did he also wasn't terribly surprised and gladly pivoted to welcome them into this game. "Do you like alien movies?" he immediately greeted, his very posture impish, all stretched out six feet four inches of him drawn up straight with his shoulders back and arms still tight to his sides, and chin tucked down to make his wide grin look like a wicked challenge.
WHERE: Temba, by the fountain and the hospital
WHAT: A new arrival! He looks bad!
WHEN: Early June
WARNINGS: Stu's coming in already stabbed, so there's blood right from the start.
a. the fountain
Movie blood felt more real than the genuine article. It was always brighter red, lurid and fast flowing, not like the dark and dingy trickle that rolled sluggishly along the dirty clefts in the cobblestone. The real blood picked up dust and grime as it went, and rapidly dried, getting darker and slower and duller, Stu realized, quickly abandoning the reflection of the strange light. He couldn't see where it was coming from at first, only aware of the way it bounced where the blood was still sticky, fixated on its unfamiliar ambience from where he lay on the hard ground. It was like the diffused lighting from a softbox, glowy and indirect. He had to touch it.
By the time he could make his eyes focus again, he could feel the hard stone pressing into his back. He must have propped himself up, his legs still twisted awkwardly where he had collapsed onto his face. He could hear the constant trickle of running water, too, that was weird, that kind of made him have to pee, and was suddenly too aware of just how much beer he had been drinking and regretted not hitting the bathroom before the bloodbath or the alien abduction. You should always go before you take a big trip like that, even if you don't think you have to. He started to laugh, loud and unself-conscious, until the blood bubbling in his throat made it stick and splatter down his front instead of echoing around this empty square. He sobbed then, raising his shaking hands to that glowing light of the alien-ball like he needed any more confirmation that it was still him that was bleeding, then pressed them back around his middle to try to stem the flow. Being abducted should have been so much cooler than this. There should have been a spaceship, and a metal table, and a chip they were putting in his neck. Instead, Stu was sitting on a dirty, empty street, holding his guts in, not sure if he was in complete pain or entirely numb. If he died before the probing, he'd never forgive himself.
"Billy?" he suddenly realized, soft and plaintive. He had tripped and fallen onto his face on the way out of the kitchen, after he heard Billy's cry, after he had been attacked. Someone had to help him. "I'm comin', buddy..." Stu strained, pitching forward to try to climb up onto his feet. He had a long way to go.
b. the hospital
The sweater that Stu had been wearing was ruined. Even if he knew how to get the crusted blood out of it, there were huge holes where the knife had sliced through, enough that it was practically falling apart. He should have been falling apart. Instead, he was lingering in the hall of the weirdly dark hospital, wearing a new sweater with too many sleeves. The extra pair of them were sitting on his shoulders, all of the extra fabric gathered around his neck like a cowl, and when he wiggled they flapped in a way that made him snicker and feel like some kind of alien royalty himself. Maybe he was less likely to come back from this experience screaming and eating snake eggs than dazzling the aliens with his strange, human powers, like a normal amount of arms, and resilience to stabbing.
He had too much energy to stay put an heal like he was supposed to, he didn't know anyone that could just lay around in a bed for hours and not want to blow their own brains out. He had left the ruined sweater in his place, and dutifully kept his arms stiff by his sides to limit just how much he was moving as he went prancing in the echoing corridor, swinging his shoulders from side to side to make his empty sleeves flap while he bounced. Already, he knew not to expect to encounter just about anyone around here, but when he did he also wasn't terribly surprised and gladly pivoted to welcome them into this game. "Do you like alien movies?" he immediately greeted, his very posture impish, all stretched out six feet four inches of him drawn up straight with his shoulders back and arms still tight to his sides, and chin tucked down to make his wide grin look like a wicked challenge.
no subject
He doesn't wait for a confirmation from either of them before injecting Stu with an anesthetic of his own making. It should take him out quickly and allow Wesker to get to work on the actual damage. And the sooner he can get that done, the sooner he can get back to his own matters.
no subject
He'd be fine, wouldn't he? He'd never really considered losing Stu. He'd thought about possibilities where he sold him out, or shifted the blame, sure, but ever really with any focus on Stu not being anymore. The thought made him...uncomfortable, and his brow creased, swallowing thickly, and ready to do whatever was asked of him.
no subject