foolishwren | 98. [Action for Saffron City, backdated to Friday]

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98. [Action for Saffron City, backdated to Friday]

_{[It's funny, because these sorts of weekends have come to be ones that Heather dreads, clear memories or no. She doesn't remember much of them when they roll around, but she remembers enough, and usually what she remembers is bad.]

[So yeah, she's sort of been walking on eggshells, waiting for this to happen.]

[BUT... between all the craziness going down throughout November... bundling over to Kanto with the rest of her family to cheer Crow on during the Tournament, spending Thanksgiving in the packed-to-bursting household of a grumpy FBI agent and the enormously large family unit he seems to have somehow gathered (despite... being himself) ...]

[It drives weird dreamy weekends filled with amnesia and horror and the Koolaid Man bursting through the wall out of the mind, a little!]

[.... Which is why, yeah, uh, she's out taking Cooj for a nighttime walk on Friday night, and doesn't quite notice anything's up yet.]

[Or the pink bunny following her around.]}

[OOC: Tags may be horrendously slow due to NaNo, but I had to hiatus-break at least a LITTLE for 4th Wall! Robbie the Rabbit will be lingering in the background of any given thread, but feel free to throw anything at Heather and not bother with the spooky pink bunny chillin over there.]

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_{[Backing up? He can fix that. He can fix that well and good, and he matches her pace almost exactly when he follows her.]

[The difference is that he's a little bit faster, but she might not notice right away.]

[That smile that's more of an animal grin exposes teeth that look more intimidating than they have any right to be, and then he speaks, low and intimate but just as rough as she'll remember.]}

Heather Mason.

Did you ... miss me?

_{[No, BOB. No, she did not. Why would you even ask that, seriously.]

[She doesn't answer.]

[The look in her eyes is probably enough of an answer-- they're wide and gleaming in the yellow streetlights, and they're locked straight on him as she backs away.]

[Well, until she chances a quick glance around-- weren't there people walking up and down the sidewalks just a few seconds ago?]

[... Wasn't Cujo with her?]

[When the answer turns out to be 'no', she wastes no time.]

[She turns and RUNS back in the direction she came.]}

_{[Oh, well then.]

[Let the chase begin.]

[See, this is the good part. This is what leads up to what he really enjoys. The fight, the resistance; taking that will and breaking it.]

[But there's usually a fight before he gets to them completely.]

[He's running.]

[And no matter how fast she goes, he'll always be close by, laughing to himself with every. damn. footfall.]}

_{[Whatever else Heather may be, she's fast. She's very fast. The one-man (or one-girl) war in Silent Hill had not been won by brute strength (no matter how forceful and belligerent her fighting style was), it had been won by being swift and hard to catch.]

[Which is why it's]

[so]

[damn]

[frustrating]

[that she cannot lose this pursuer.]

[Within thirty seconds, she's running at a breakneck sprint, feet pounding the sidewalk and breath gushing out of her in rough, explosive huffs. Yet no matter what, he's still there at her elbow, and she can tell this without even looking because she can still hear that horrible, horrible LAUGH.]

[It's like the panic attack that strikes when you're walking somewhere-- a bike path, a long hallway, a lonely road-- by yourself and suddenly, perhaps not even seriously, you fancy that something is chasing you. So you run, and no matter how fast you go, all it does is make the fear WORSE.]

[It's like that.]

[Except it's real.]

[In desperation, she turns corner after corner, not daring to stop for breath until she can't bear it any longer-- she spins around the edge of the building and stops there to breathe raggedly, whirling around in the process. She's terrified, the epitome of flight over fight right now, but she's still anticipating him coming around the corner after her within a split second, and the only way she can think of to buy time for a breath or two is to be ready to slam a boot into him the second he appears.]}

_{[He loves that terror. He relishes in it, can feel it almost like a physical thing, scared energy radiating off her in hormones and sweat and breaths and panic.]

[She's just handing it to him, the very thing that makes him feel stronger and faster and more alive, and the chase isn't even a chase to him when she rounds that corner.]

[It's a game.]

[There's no one there, Heather. No thumps of feet against pavement, no wheezing laugh, not even a breath.]

[It's just you.]

[And a pressing, not-quite-natural silence.]}

_{[It's stupid how long she waits, lungs heaving in and out, for his horrible grinning face to show itself around the corner. It's not that she thought her strategy was a particularly good one-- it was just the only thing she could think of, and, well, let's face it, Heather usually defaults to violence no matter what sort of situation she's in.]

[But as the thrumming of her heart in her ears (which had almost become one with the sound of BOB's pounding feet) fades, that unnatural chill sets in and she backs away from the corner a little bit, sagging-- not in relief. Just sagging.]

[Where is he?]

[Is he gone?]

[No, he can't be... although he had disappeared in the diner when she'd run. Maybe...?]

[No. He'd been chasing her this time. And after their last encounter... no. He wouldn't let her get away that easily. ... Would he?]

[Unsettled and still breathing raggedly, Heather scrapes her palms dry on her knees, listening hard. There's no sounds of ANYONE now, not even the people of the city. Where had they all gone? It was that awful night in the mall all over again....]}

Cujo? ... Cooj?

_{[Her voice is hardly a croak, she doesn't want to YELL in case she HAD legitimately lost BOB, but she wants to know where the hell her dog went. Because she feels weirdly helpless without him there and god dammit she wants him back. ;-;]}

_{[There's no response. But that silence is more like distant electricity, a hum so low you can't hear it at all at first, but it's there and it's tiring and building like a headache. She might start to notice that much, like it slowly grows closer, louder; or maybe there's no change at all.]

[Maybe it just seems that way once she's conscious about it and she's magnifying the noise on her own accord.]

[Or maybe there's nothing there at all. It could be in her head. Maybe it's the sound of her own psyche.]}

_{[She's pretty intimately familiar with the sound of her psyche, all things considered.]

[She had to listen to its abrasive symphony with every step she took in Silent Hill.]

[But that awful electric hum is not so dissimilar, so she frowns and presses a hand to her head, wincing. She doesn't want to be here. Maybe if she makes her way back towards Albert's place. Maybe Cujo ran back there when she wasn't looking. It has to be safe there.]

[Unless it's empty too.]

[But that's pointless to think about.]

[Shakily, and cautiously, she edges away from the wall of the building where she'd been pressed, and starts to creep back onto the sidewalk, hugging whatever walls she can as she does so.]

[It's a lifetime's worth of sneaking that she'd learned in one night from Silent Hill... and truth be told, she's not sure it can protect her now. But it's habit. No-- deeper than habit. Instinct, to be honest.]}

_{[Instinct won't help her as much as she'd like. She can go on, though. There's nothing stopping her from walking.]

[Well, nothing but the sounds.]

[The street lights that dot the road are working but they show nothing but empty streets and alleys - hardly a comfort. But there are only so many ways to go.]

[The noises, though. A tiny bit like static, aren't they? A warning. Or an omen.]

[When she looks away, or down, or up ... next time she looks back, he's under the closest light, looking straight at her.]}

_{[She knows what that static means. It sure as hell doesn't make her feel any better about the situation.]

[But she trucks onwards, because what else can she do?]

[She can't stay in one spot. That's like BEGGING to be found by something nasty. No, moving is the only solution. It's just that she's not sure if it IS a solution right now...]

[But needless to say, it's only when she'd started to relax just a little, started to think that MAYBE that had BEEN the encounter and she'd somehow escaped unscathed like last December, that maybe May had been some sort of awful fluke-- that she sees him again.]

[This time she lets out a low, unhappy moan, because dear god, it's not over yet, before throwing herself into another desperate run. She has no idea if getting back to 'home' (in this case, Albert's place-- the little band of Silent Hill survivors doesn't really HAVE a permanent home) will do ANYTHING, if she'll even be safe there-- but...]}

_{[There's nothing quite as lovely as seeing a bit of hope and then killing it right off.]

[He follows, of course, but lets her keep a bit of a lead ... if only so he can gain on her. Because THAT is effective too.]

[He's not bound to a body here. He can run forever.]

[And not only can he catch her, but he will.]

[Oh, will he ever.]

[It was such a treat last time.]}

_{[Well, one thing's for sure... she probably won't be getting her hopes up again. She's too experienced for that.]

[Three long years ago, she had hoped the nightmare was over when she had re-emerged into the mall's lobby, too.]

[And look how that had turned out.]

[So she just runs. As fast as she can, which is fast but not fast enough, and she knows that.]

[So, helplessly aware that he's behind her on the chase once again, she grabs for a doorhandle and yanks on it-- locked. Of course it's locked. Three fourths of the fucking doors in her life are locked.]

[There's no time to keep trying, so she abandons that effort and spins away to run again, grabbing a trash can and flinging it to the ground behind her as she goes past. Obstacles are probably nothing to him. But she has to try.]}

_{[The obstacles amuse him, but like she thinks he will, he goes right past them. Closer, closer, closer now ...]

[Until he's right behind her, once again, breath by her neck and his feet by her heels, in that incredibly frustrating way when you know how close by they are, that their feet might catch your heels and make you stumble any second.]

[That's where he is.]

[And then with something eerily close to a snarl, yet somehow delighted, he reaches out and grabs her by the arms.]}

_{[Oh yeah. She can feel him back there.]

[She's felt thousands of horrible things in her life (lives...) and the unmistakable sensation of something right on your tail as you run has to be one of the worst.]

[Except that she'd had the blessing of being faster than most of the things in Silent Hill. Even the dogs.]

[She doesn't have that good fortune this time.]}

FUCK OFF!

_{[It's not a yell-- it's a SCREAM that tears out of her throat when she feels his hands clamp down on her arms from behind. She twists, trying to hurl him off the same way she'd thrown off split-faced hounds and pouncing slurpers back in the Otherworld.]

[But this is different.]

[And not in a way that makes it any better.]}

_{[He lets one of her arms go only so he can grab it again in the way she's trying to twist and squirm, making her face him, and the more she struggles the harder the grip will be and he'll shake her to keep her in place and try to shock her out of fighting.]

[Yet he doesn't actually harm her. She might have bruises from his fingers pressing hard into her upper arms, but there are no hits, no threats of it either, just him close against her and breathing into her face, teeth bared in what can only barely pass as a smile.]}

What did I tell you about MANNERS, Heather Mason?

_{[He takes such delight in that word, apparently, in what would be gentle chiding and correction. But in his mouth, it's anything but.]}

Is that a thing to say to your playmates?

_{[It's awful, when your own attempts at fighting back are used against you.]

[It's everything that Heather is terrified of, actually.]

[Her entire life (both of them) has been spent fighting back. Fighting back and learning that it WORKS, if you do it hard enough.]

[It's bad enough just doing it and realizing that nothing you try is helping or changing anything... but it's a thousand times worse when whatever you're fighting just uses it to hurt you more.]

[She shuts her eyes as his awful grin fills her vision, still straining to get away, pushing at him, striking with her feet, her knees, pretty much anything she can actually use. But she doesn't expect any of it to work.]

[None of it worked last time.]

[All the same, she hollers, too. Screaming right into his face, which is so close to her own. No matter how scared she is, her mouth seems to almost always be on autopilot.]}

WHO gives a FUCK what you TOLD ME!

LET GO!

_{[Playmates.]

[Disgusting.]}

_{[And just like that his voice drops from the maliciously cheerful tone into something far more threatening, much more darker.]}

Never, Heather Mason.

You belong to me.

_{[He doesn't care in the least about the way she's kicking and fighting and squirming - not when it comes to what she's doing to him, anyway. But he shakes her roughly once again to keep her in place.]

[Then, without warning, he moves one hand to her face, clamping his fingers around her mouth like he wanted to force it open, despite his choice of words.]}

Now shut your mouth, you little bitch.

_{[The sudden face-grab takes her by surprise and although she jerks backwards violently, it doesn't do anything to get her out of that frightful grip.]

[The hot, sickened rage that roars at his claims of ownership are buried under the screaming panic that's resonating through her skull-- which is why, when he vulgarly tells her to shut her mouth, the immediate defiant response is more the desperate reaction of a wolf in a trap than a cool-headed act of rebellion.]

[Far from shutting it (honestly she's not even sure she CAN with him holding onto it like that), her lips peel back to show gum and teeth-- which gnash open and clamp down on the hand right in front of it.]

[Her brain knows that it got her nowhere last time. But her every molecule wants that hand to let go and the dark thing inside her knows in its own primitive way that the best way to get free is to crunch through flesh and sinew.]

[She bites down on the fleshy space between thumb and forefinger as hard as she can.]}

_{[And just before she hits that spot, he moves his index finger into her mouth.]

[If it hurts in any way that she's biting down that hard around the flesh and bone, he doesn't show it, but instead tugs her closer with his other hand again, yanking at her arm and clothes. It's just about proximity with him because nothing QUITE beats the terror of someone so close to you, invading your personal space so completely, almost threatening to take a bite.]

[He doesn't, though.]

[That's all her.]

[No, what he does is let her go for a split second to tangle his fingers into her hair and pull her head back.]}

_{[Well, she's still biting, but nobody likes getting someone's finger shoved down their throat. She gags even as she clamps her teeth down. And of course it doesn't do anything.]

[She does, however, let go as her head is jerked back-- with a hoarse, strangled sound.]}

_{[He smirks, like that's exactly what he wanted, and shoves his finger into her mouth again - this time with his hand turned the other way so he can scratch the roof of her mouth with his nail.]

[A long, shallow scratch.]

[Come hither.]}Remember this, little girl. Remember!

_{[With a sort of voiceless laugh, as he scratches her again, grip still tight in her hair.]

[And again, and by the end it's not shallow at all.]}

_{[Well, if that's not a deterrent to biting, god only knows what is.]

[At first she just makes another strangled sound, jerking her head against the scratching, more out of disgust (his hand is DISGUSTING, the fingernails longer and thicker and FILTHIER than anyone has a right to keep them-- she can feel it, she can TASTE it) than pain.]

[Until it becomes obvious what he's doing.]

[Then she starts to thrash and scream-- muffledly, but screaming all the same. In fear and in pain. Mostly pain, really-- Heather's never been the type to scream from fear alone.]}

_{[When he breaks the skin the first time - and he takes his sweet time with it - that's when he's won.]

[And once that happens, he runs that finger along her cheek, smiling cruelly, before he lets her go by more or less throwing her to the ground.]

[There's silence, suddenly, in that unexpected way when all background noise that you hadn't even been aware of stops.]}

_{[The last time this happened, she caught herself and stayed upright. This time, she just hits the ground, rolling along the sidewalk and pushing herself up on her hands, coughing and gagging and spitting at the pavement-- a slimy rope of red is still hanging from her lip when she looks up at him, chest hitching.]

[There were tears in her eyes last time, too. Somehow that makes it all the worse that she wasn't able to change that this time around.]

[She's just as terrified as she was then. If not more.]}

_{[He walks up and makes a movement as if to cup her cheek, but it ends in a loose hold on her throat. It's not threatening. It's just showing that it could be.]}

I can have you whenever I want.

_{[And he says it with such absolute certainty.]

[Then he's gone, with no warning or fadeout or mirrors or smoke - just gone.]}

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foolishwren - 2012-12-23 21:07 (UTC) - Expand

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