Heather Mason (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foolishwren) wrote2013-10-29 07:55 pm
foolishwren) wrote2013-10-29 07:55 pm
Entry tags:
110. [Action for NIGHTMARE EVENT, backdated]
The low moan of the wind was practically alive in these drafty stone corridors, and the sound of her boots on the floor seemed almost deafening.
And it was cold.
Those were a few of the many differences between this and the Otherworld, which had been cramped and often grotesquely warm, with her footfalls echoing only dully on the dusty (or sometimes meaty) floors.
It wasn't really a question of which she liked better, because frankly, she didn't like EITHER.
But the similarities were, weirdly, more comforting than the differences.
She stopped as a non-windy sound drifted towards her from down the hallway, her steadily-bouncing flashlight beam stilling.
That was something that was similar. The light by her collar (not in her pocket this time-- but close enough) and the knife in her hand and the familiar buzz of adrenaline to sharpen her senses and mind.
And the creatures, whose eyes were now visible, gleaming in the gloom ahead.
They were perhaps, the most familiar of all, even though it had been years since she'd seen a real one and not one of the magical creatures inhabiting her new home. Magical creatures that she, in fact, was LOOKING for now.
But these weren't Pokemon.
And they could be killed.
Her grip tightened on the knife and she started forward once again.
[OOC: This is a catch-all log for all the nighttime adventures Heather had in the Nightmare Castle, whether it's fighting monsters or finding her Pokemon. Open to all, feel free to start any scenario you want. Doesn't have to be connected to the prose above!]
And it was cold.
Those were a few of the many differences between this and the Otherworld, which had been cramped and often grotesquely warm, with her footfalls echoing only dully on the dusty (or sometimes meaty) floors.
It wasn't really a question of which she liked better, because frankly, she didn't like EITHER.
But the similarities were, weirdly, more comforting than the differences.
She stopped as a non-windy sound drifted towards her from down the hallway, her steadily-bouncing flashlight beam stilling.
That was something that was similar. The light by her collar (not in her pocket this time-- but close enough) and the knife in her hand and the familiar buzz of adrenaline to sharpen her senses and mind.
And the creatures, whose eyes were now visible, gleaming in the gloom ahead.
They were perhaps, the most familiar of all, even though it had been years since she'd seen a real one and not one of the magical creatures inhabiting her new home. Magical creatures that she, in fact, was LOOKING for now.
But these weren't Pokemon.
And they could be killed.
Her grip tightened on the knife and she started forward once again.
[OOC: This is a catch-all log for all the nighttime adventures Heather had in the Nightmare Castle, whether it's fighting monsters or finding her Pokemon. Open to all, feel free to start any scenario you want. Doesn't have to be connected to the prose above!]
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He paused long enough to reach out and clasp her on the shoulder. He meant it -- every word. She'd done well. More than just "well". Not that eve ever really expected her to run from a fight, or balk at the sight of a monster.
Even so... seeing it in action.
It made him oddly proud.
"Yeah. Might as well follow the creatures... maybe they are guarding something."
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Even if it didn't always seem that way at first.
Without further ado, she began to walk.
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"And the bigger they get, the closer you get."
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She tucked the light (which she carried everywhere-- in a pocket or even tucked into a belt-loop on her pants if she had to. You never knew when the world was going to suddenly go dark) into her breast-pocket an adjusted it so that it would shine ahead of them.
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"You think anyone found an exit yet?"
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But then again, people were selfish. Who knows. Maybe they WOULD slip off into the night. She was already a little irritated that people had split up so thoroughly, even though she knew she was just as guilty as the rest of them. She was used to being alone in places like this, and in the end it WAS a little easier to make her way without having to think about a pack of frightened, panicky people who couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag behind her.
Still... none of them HAD to go alone. Maybe it WOULD have been better if they'd all gone together.
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Heather might have been used to being alone, but he was used to being the backup. Protecting something, in situations like this, was second nature to him. Her being prepared to fight was a bonus.
"Hopefully," was all he said, marching grimly through the dark hallways.
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Sadly, when the time came that she needed it in the literal rather than the abstract, he was dead.
So this was nice.
Now she had a lot of backup.
... The trouble was she didn't always know how to handle that.
"So you seen any monsters that aren't just blobs of flesh yet?"
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But it is nice to have something to look after again. He'll say that much.
Her question earns a sharp look.
"They look like blobs of flesh to you...?"
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"Yeah. ... They look kinda like the things from home, actually. ... You've seen 'em. You know what they're like."
Then, suddenly looking a little pale, she asks, "... Why? Do they look different to you?"
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How sad is that, it's a legitimate question? Either one would be a bad sign, in his opinion. He can't exactly hit them like he did.
Her expression isn't what he wants to see. Even though this conversation is... odd, since what else would they look like? He blinks at her.
"Yeah... like... hn."
How does he even describe this? "As if a human being were made of metal. And flesh. All mixed."
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She stares at him for a moment, face ghostly in the light of the flashlight.
"... That's not what they look like to me."
We know, Heather. You just TOLD him what they looked like to you.
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He stares back, his good eye narrowed and concerned. Lines etched a little deeper into his skin.
"... right, so... That is unusual."
But, then again, so is this whole thing. His tone is calm, hopefully said calm is contagious. Look, Heather, he's not worried about it.
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She hated to resort to thinking of things like that. Monsters were REAL. She knew it!
But man, two people looking at the same thing and seeing entirely different creatures was... unsettling.
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He had one of his own, after all. It wasn't something he really wanted to remember. But... at the same time, it would explain why they were seeing different things.
Hopefully.
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His good eye swept over the dimness. They had to find an exit eventually, right? A house couldn't have no exit.
And if all else failed, he'd just make one. Through a window.
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They walked in silence for some time.
"... So the things look like cyborg people to you, huh? ... Surprised you let me fight 'em. Not that I'm complaining."
Her tone was a little forced-bright.
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He lets that sit for a minute, before he shakes his head, holding up his hand in case she's going to start protesting, violently.
"Kidding." There's a few steps of cautious silence. "I was right behind you, kid. If you needed a hand, I was there."
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"I know."
She shot him a wan smile over her shoulder.
"You've never let me down, Ironhide."
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He stepped forward, one long step, and settled his hand on her shoulder, scarred fingers catching on her clothing.
"I am with you, Heather."
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"You always have been. ... I don't think I've ever really thanked you for that."
... And their little bonding moment could continue, but a low groan drifted around the corner-- along with a shuffling of limbs that may or may not have been feet.
Heather tightened her grip on the poker again.
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He meant that, too. Why should he expect thanks for doing his duty? He'd taken up said duty on his own -- he wasn't doing it for thanks, or reward.
Fortunately, he didn't have to explain. He glanced at her, then down the hall, his teeth bared.
"C'mon. Time to move."
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She had no problem with more fighting... but she also knew the importance of picking one's battles.
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Which was possibly the worst battle plan he'd had in a while. Or, at least, since he'd become human. He knew human beings couldn't take the punishment his usual body could. Not even a fraction of it.
But he'd let her have all the glory a moment ago. His turn.
He marched forward, with slow, measured steps, his body poised, either to fight or flee. Whichever it turned out to be.
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