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)
revivalproject2025-01-03 12:33 am
target_audience) wrote in revivalproject2025-01-03 12:33 am
Don't Go In The House
WHO: A mysterious voice, a masked figure, an assortment of victims, and maybe some heroes, too! This one is open, check the OOC post to coordinate.
WHERE: Temba, Green-14
WHAT: Another homicidal attack!
WHEN: Early January
WARNINGS: This is another murder attempt. It involves fire.
This wasn't often an alluring part of the city. Even dark, the blinking light long since winked out, the radio tower loomed, and the wasteland around it felt like a warning so the snow fell smoothly there, the ground underneath it flat and unbroken by any snarl of resilient weeds. Only a few footprints disturbed its surface. On the road, they were all but gone, the bots dutifully dusting away the snowfall on the new pavement and keeping it easily walkable for anyone who didn't mind the empty eye of the tower, or the hypnotizing maze of the memorial nearby. Someone who might have ducked curiously into a building that was leaning slightly, neglected among the repairs of the city, maybe because of its flat, imposing walls--devoid entirely of any windows, and only accessible by a single, heavy door. Someone who must have finally picked up the courage, or just a flashlight to brave the complete dark within, because as the sun started to sink, leaving dazzling colour dancing around the icicles clinging to the roofline of this abandoned structure, a scream burst out of it. It was tinny and muffled, clawing its way out of the single, dark doorway that it could penetrate, and the snow gathered around the foundations softened the sound even further, but in the empty city, in the air chilled enough that not even the flapping of birds' wings might baffle the sound, it echoed. A scream, then a pleading sobbing, rattling breaths begging for mercy, help, God. A raw, desperate wail.
Anyone moved to help would have to access through that one open doorway, and would be immediately met with the imposing darkness of this closed off space. Inside, it smelled cloyingly sweet, like old rot. Underfoot, the floor was slick, not like melting ice but with a worrying tackiness. If they brought any light, they could see that it was red, and spread slowly, coagulating in the chill.
The sound of the sobbing didn't cease. Even inside, though, it had a strange, small quality, like the source had moved further into the building. The voice had gone hoarse, the screams like rasping paper. Until, maybe, such a helpful hero picked up the communication device, dropped in the middle of the floor, sticky with the red substance. Then, the voice giggles.
In the horrible second you have to wonder at the noise, a burst of heat and light suddenly erupts from the doorway, the one exit standing behind you, now an inferno. Just beyond it, in the cold blue light of the last of the winter's sun, a figure had their hand on the door. A ghost, draped in black that pooled in the snow, with a stark, white screaming face. They slam the door shut, trapping the rapidly spreading fire inside.
WHERE: Temba, Green-14
WHAT: Another homicidal attack!
WHEN: Early January
WARNINGS: This is another murder attempt. It involves fire.
This wasn't often an alluring part of the city. Even dark, the blinking light long since winked out, the radio tower loomed, and the wasteland around it felt like a warning so the snow fell smoothly there, the ground underneath it flat and unbroken by any snarl of resilient weeds. Only a few footprints disturbed its surface. On the road, they were all but gone, the bots dutifully dusting away the snowfall on the new pavement and keeping it easily walkable for anyone who didn't mind the empty eye of the tower, or the hypnotizing maze of the memorial nearby. Someone who might have ducked curiously into a building that was leaning slightly, neglected among the repairs of the city, maybe because of its flat, imposing walls--devoid entirely of any windows, and only accessible by a single, heavy door. Someone who must have finally picked up the courage, or just a flashlight to brave the complete dark within, because as the sun started to sink, leaving dazzling colour dancing around the icicles clinging to the roofline of this abandoned structure, a scream burst out of it. It was tinny and muffled, clawing its way out of the single, dark doorway that it could penetrate, and the snow gathered around the foundations softened the sound even further, but in the empty city, in the air chilled enough that not even the flapping of birds' wings might baffle the sound, it echoed. A scream, then a pleading sobbing, rattling breaths begging for mercy, help, God. A raw, desperate wail.
Anyone moved to help would have to access through that one open doorway, and would be immediately met with the imposing darkness of this closed off space. Inside, it smelled cloyingly sweet, like old rot. Underfoot, the floor was slick, not like melting ice but with a worrying tackiness. If they brought any light, they could see that it was red, and spread slowly, coagulating in the chill.
The sound of the sobbing didn't cease. Even inside, though, it had a strange, small quality, like the source had moved further into the building. The voice had gone hoarse, the screams like rasping paper. Until, maybe, such a helpful hero picked up the communication device, dropped in the middle of the floor, sticky with the red substance. Then, the voice giggles.
In the horrible second you have to wonder at the noise, a burst of heat and light suddenly erupts from the doorway, the one exit standing behind you, now an inferno. Just beyond it, in the cold blue light of the last of the winter's sun, a figure had their hand on the door. A ghost, draped in black that pooled in the snow, with a stark, white screaming face. They slam the door shut, trapping the rapidly spreading fire inside.
no subject
He looks over at Keith's aborted attempt to stand. He doesn't think anyone in this group can walk very far, so he gets himself under Donnie's arm and drags both of them up, then raises his sword.
"Alright, let's get you guys to the hospital," he says, slashing the air.
At least now, Leo's been there enough times that he can portal them straight inside the door. All they have to do is walk through. He gestures at Keith and Radley to go first.
no subject
At least there was one good thing about having been to the hospital a lot, right, Leo? Heh... He grabbed his helmet, summoning his own sword back from wherever it had landed after Donnie blew the hole in the wall so he could stow it in his armor (a few flashes of light and the sword was back in his hand before being 'gone'...). He nodded at the gesture from Leo.
"Thanks... for getting here." He'd have likely been literal toast if Leo hadn't shown up. Then, leaning on Radley for support, he nodded at him that he was ready to head through. Another, "Thanks," to Radley this time. Keith hated needing help, but at least he had learned over time and with maturity how to accept it.
no subject
Donnie raises his head again at the flash of Leo's portal, even though his eyes remain mostly closed. Just a little farther, and at least his brother's here.
no subject
"Sure," he said. "But I'd probably be dead if you hadn't acted in there, so ... thanks." He smiled and moved to help Keith through the portal.
no subject
So, with Radley's help, he went through.