foolishwren | 94. FOURTH WALL

_{[The moment she does, it flaps its wings and is up in the air, almost impossibly fast - the rock flies right by it.]

[It should only take her a heartbeat to see that the owl is coming for her face. Claws outstretched and dangerous, but it doesn't make a sound. Not its voice, not its wings.]

[It just comes down and looks like it might rake her eys out.]}

_{[It's a deep, primal instinct in humans to duck and cover your face when something is flying at your head, and that instinct originated from situations exactly like this.]

[Not even having the time to cry out, Heather merely sucks in a sharp gasp of breath and throws one arm across her face.]

[The other arm?]

[Is reflexively throwing a fist forward.]

[She is trying to punch an owl out of the air.]

[It probably won't go well, but the fact that this response was as instinctive as shielding her head probably says something about her as a person.]}

_{[It does. The bad news is that the fighters are the ones BOB likes.]

[The owl shrieks, then, but not because she hit it. If it had been human, it might have been a laugh as well as something angry. Here, it's just a sound from its throat, edged with the sound of static if Heather is to listen close enough.]

[It will probably tear at the arm across Heather's face, but it continues past her, silent on its wings.]}

_{[Well, that didn't go well.]

[She lets out a strained noise of pain as its talons open up the skin on her arm, flinching way and clutching the arm to her chest, staring down at the long lines of red with wide eyes before whirling around to see where the owl went.]}

_{[It's gone. No matter where she looks, she won't find it.]}

_{[When she sees that the owl is nowhere in sight, that's when a real thread of fear starts to snake its way into her consciousness.]

[She freezes, clutching her bleeding arm, and just sort of stands there in the still path for a second or two.]}

... He ... hello?

_{[And that's when things will get ... cold, somehow. Not really in temperature, not in a way you can feel, but it's still there. The presence that was lodged in her mind previously now physical and menacing.]

[Behind her.]

[Close, but out of reach, wearing the old tattered jean vest and a toothy grin that screams predator.]}

Hello, Heather Mason.

_{[The second that coldness sets in, she knows.]

[That doesn't stop a sharp intake of breath from escaping her at the sound of his voice. Stiff as a board, the hairs on her neck standing on end, she turns slowly around.]

[And there he is. Not a flash of him standing in the corner and leering, or a shadowy silhouette in the basement-- now he's standing there as bold as brass. He must know she knows now. Maybe that's why.]}

... You.

_{[She wants it to sound brave, but it really doesn't. For all she'd tried to reassure Cooper with talk of how now that she knew, she could plan and prepare, she hadn't.]}

ME!

_{[He shouts it, hurls it at her, somewhat crouched like he's ready to pounce. But he doesn't move, not outside of a subtle raising of one arm, fingers held like claws.]

[There's a clear glee in his voice and he starts laughing.]}

ME, Heather Mason! Back for a treat.

_{[She can't help it-- she steps back, her muscles tensing. Just as HE'S giving off the impression that he's about to hurl himself forwards just like his words, HER entire being responds by preparing to run the fuck AWAY.]

[Silent Hill instincts, after all. You could take the tiger out of the jungle, but not the jungle out of the tiger. Although in this case, maybe it was a matter of taking a girl out of the Otherworld.]

[Her lips peel back and she bares her teeth without even thinking, bleeding arm forgotten as her fingers curl into fists.]}

What do you want.

Some fun, Heather Mason.

_{[He bares his teeth very similarly, the smile not at all friendly. And the eyes have something wild about them when he takes a step forward, slowly and deliberately, to keep the distance they originally had.]

[And then he mimics what MIKE would sometimes say, mocking him in his absence. He's not here. BOB is in control.]}

"He is BOB, eager for fun.
He wears a smile, everybody run."

_{[Is anything about him EVER friendly?]

[The little rhyme, which is somehow childish and terrifying all at once, rake another set of icy fingers down her spine.]

[Fun? Fun? Yeah, I BET you'd like to have fun with me.]

[But all the same, she shoots back.]}

Then go find it somewhere else.

Like in traffic.

_{[He tsks, like setting a kid straight. The smile changes and could almost be playful if his eyes didn't look so cold and dark.]

[Taunting her, now.]}

Sticks and stones, little girl. I see your manners haven't changed.

I only change my manners for people who deserve it.

_{[She's not stepping back anymore-- he'd just follow her. She has to wait for the right chance.]}

_{[He grins at that, showing more of his teeth - in case she didn't already have a clear image of them.]}

Rude, Heather Mason.

I thought we all deserved second chances.

_{[And who here had a second chance, if not the girl who was born again?]}

Not you.

I know what you do now.

_{[Although in a weird way, she has a feeling that she always knew it, somehow. Deep down. Sort of like she'd known a LOT of things deep down that just hadn't come to the surface until she'd been forced to confront them head-on.]}

_{[And that seems to utterly delight him. The way he looks when he takes another step towards her could only really be described as a mix between gleeful and pleased.]}

Oh?

_{[Again - it could almost be innocent, his tone, but his eyes are malicious and hungry.]}

And what is it I do, Heather Mason?

_{[His glee at her knowledge of his actions sends a cascade of shudders down her spine. Disgusting.]

[She bristles.]}

I don't need to fucking spell it out for you.

Language. Now tell me, girl ...

_{[He reaches out and grabs her cheek. Unexpectedly fast; the grip is rough, and reminiscent of the way a parent might touch a misbehaving child, and in the same movement steps up close, leans into her space. Grinning all the while.]}

Who kissed and told?

Edited 2012-06-25 23:32 (UTC)

_{[Heather has quick reflexes. She has to. Slow people didn't go to Silent Hill's other side and come back out of it unscathed. Or alive, most of the time.]

[But the grab is fast. Almost unnaturally fast, and Heather, as tense and bolt-ready as she is, doesn't have the time to jerk away from it. An angry snarl of pain escapes her as she's yanked close by the flesh on her face, hands flying up to try and shove against him-- shove him away from her. She NEVER wanted him this close to her and now that she knows what he is and what he does, she wants it even less.]}

LET GO!

_{[No answer. Heather's never played nice when people try to get her to talk by getting physical.]}

_{[The grab wasn't actually meant as a threat to make her talk - he has a good idea anyway. Honestly, it was just something he couldn't resist doing. He laughs wildly when she struggles and lets go of her cheek only to gather his other hand in her hair, cradling the back of her head, not afraid to let his fingertips dig into her skull.]

[He's not aiming to hold her there for too long, but for this one moment, he wants to make her look him in the eyes when he stares down into hers and licks his lips. It's very deliberate.]

[When she asks him to let go though, he does, by practically throwing her away. And down, if he can - that depends on her reflexes. With that, the laugh changes into something calm and sinister.]}

Keep fighting, Heather Mason!

The fire is waiting.

Do you remember WHAT I TOLD YOU?

_{[Threat or no, if it was meant to scare her, it does its job. The hair-yank gets a strangled, garbled growl as her head jerks back, and no matter how lightning-fast her fear converts to anger upon manifestation, she can't hide the pure, undiluted fear in her eyes when he stares into them and tongues at his own lips like that.]

[But even as she recoils (as much as the brief grip allows her to) in fear, her hands are already coming up to claw at his face.]

[Surely, he expects that. It's something that anyone with any experience with Heather at ALL would expect her to do, and he's proven to have her number down pretty well.]

[As she's flung backwards, she reels but does manage to catch herself before hitting the ground, although it's a close call and her hands hit the earth to stop her FACE from pounding into it first. Then she whips back up to look at him, a scowl with the ferocity that can only stem from terror deep down planted firmly on her face.]

[She wants to attack him. Every instinct in her body SCREAMS to attack him, both her personal ones and the ones that came from Silent Hill. The old, foul ones that took satisfaction in feeling bones crunch under her feet and seeing the life leave things that she wanted dead. Those were the instincts that wanted to grab BOB by the throat and taste his blood and howl in triumph at the justice that was being served.]

[He no doubt expected her to try (and fail, because COME ON. This wasn't Silent Hill, here.)]

[But something held her back, and although she couldn't quite put a finger on it (nor could the stop the quiver of her entire body as it strained like an attack dog on a leash, begging to be let loose to DESTROY the thing that was frightening her so badly), but it might have had something to do with the two years she had spent here.]}

Yeah.

_{[Her voice is flat and cold.]}

I remember.

_{[And then, in a hurry because if she stopped to think too hard she might miss the chance or worse, go with what she WANTED to do, she jamsa hand into her pocket and hurls its contents (one of them) straight at BOB.]

[But unlike the rock that she'd lobbed at the owl's head earlier, it doesn't make it as far as him before it opened in a blinding flash of light.]

[And out of the light comes a horse that was big, on fire, and charging straight at him with its horned head lowered.]}

Edited 2012-06-26 00:23 (UTC)

_{[BOB is old. He doesn't even know how old he is himself - there's nothing equivalent to childhood memories and no one has told him. If asked, he'd like to say he's older than time, which is probably false. But he's old enough to have seen many things and done even more, and things that used to surprise him don't any longer.]

[This?]

[This is unexpected. And he's not surprised at what happens so much as angry, because Heather isn't playing by his rules. It makes him lose a bit of control of the situation and needless to say, he is not pleased by it.]

[Even less so by the fact that this rule breaking takes the form of a horse. The pale horse has been his opposition for many many ages. He's not scared of that horse and isn't by this one, but he loses his cold, gleeful composure in favour of something tense and angry - and it does look somewhat defensive when he bares his teeth this time.]

[Suddenly, he's not there.]

[He doesn't plan on getting trampled by a horse, even if it's on fire. It's ironic, really, and MIKE might have gotten a kick out of it in the older days. But now BOB is on his own, and he hates that fucking horse, and he's not going to get run over by something that resembles it, even if he knows he'd walk away from it without a mark.]

[It's a pride thing, really.]

[So he disappears from in front of the horse. Is gone long enough to cause confusion, the shrill sound from earlier starting to sound -]

[Then, a light falls on Heather as everything else slowly goes dark, and BOB is behind her, gripping her arms hard and breathing into her ear, voice low and rough and yes, he's angry.]}

Play. Nice.

_{[If one thing could be said about Heather, it's probably that she lives to break rules. She lives because she breaks rules.]

[And even though she's still scared, something in her lets out a raucous crow of triumph as his glee turns into anger. That's good. She likes that. She would rather see her enemies full of rage than leering at her like a bully sneering down at a kid they'd just pushed to the ground. That means she's made them mad, and that means she has power, however small.]

[But as Carousel blazes through the spot that BOB once stood, Heather's already realizing there's something wrong.]

[And then there's rough hands pressing into the flesh of her arms and a foul-smelling voice puffing hotly against the side of her head.]

[Play nice? Play NICE?! >8( HEATHER MASON NEVER PLAYS NICE.]

[He doesn't receive a verbal reply-- outside of an outraged scream as she twists in his grip. He's got her arms, so she can't claw or punch, but like a snared animal, she squirms with bared teeth to try and sink them into the side of his face. She's not sure if she can, but it's the closest thing to her and the dim image of her Rapidash is turning too slowly to come to the rescue.]}

Edited 2012-06-26 01:24 (UTC)

_{[Well, now.]

[He can absolutely work with her angling her face up towards his.]

[It could even look intimate at any other time, the way he's leaning over her shoulder and looking at her mouth; except she's fighting and his mouth is twitching, as if torn between a feral grin and the snarl that's in his throat.]

[And two can play at that game, Heather Mason.]

[His grip tightens on her arms as he yanks her back towards him and leans down to bite at her himself, aiming for the side of her mouth, nose, cheek, chin, anything that stands out in a dark dark parody of butterfly kisses.]}

94. FOURTH WALL

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