foolishwren | 110. [Action for NIGHTMARE EVENT, backdated]

Current Mood: awake
Current Location: Nightmare Castle

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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!]

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SHE MEANS ANY OF THEM, IRONHIDE.

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.

BE MORE SPECIFIC, HEATHER.

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.

"... So... collective hallucination?"

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.

"... Maybe. Or maybe this is like the time we were in your dream."

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.

"... I dunno. I don't like it, whatever it is," Heather muttered darkly to herself, turning her eyes ahead again and trudging onward.

"Makes two of us," he grunted.

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.

Just watch, the windows would empty out into a bottomless abyss or something.

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.

"You just got there first."

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."

In this place, her violence was reserved for monsters.

"I know."

She shot him a wan smile over her shoulder.

"You've never let me down, Ironhide."

"And I am not going to."

He stepped forward, one long step, and settled his hand on her shoulder, scarred fingers catching on her clothing.

"I am with you, Heather."

The smile grew a little more heartfelt.

"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.

"No need to."

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."

"Towards or away?"

She had no problem with more fighting... but she also knew the importance of picking one's battles.

"Let you know when I see it."

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.

The groaning grew louder.

Heather followed behind, willing to fall back if only because trying to squeeze past him in the narrowing hallway while there was something unknown and potentially dangerous ahead was definitely a bad idea.

But her flashlight flickered around him, illuminating what lay ahead somewhat.

This turned out to be a potentially bad thing.

"... God damn."

Around the corner, the hallway ceased to be a hallway, because it was crammed tight with flesh. A pair of pallid eyes turned up to look at them when they approached, suspended above a taut, useless mouth and what might have been ears at some point. Stubby limbs protruded in strange places and scraped futilely at the ground.

Ironhide would probably see some metal in there, but for the most part, it was just Body Horror: the Hallway.

"Yeah. I know."

More than just some metal. It was all metal. A hallway warped into what could only loosely be labeled a "prison". More appropriately, it could have been called a "trophy room". There were, indeed, limbs attached to strange places -- spitting sparks and twitching feebly. A head dangled from the ceiling, suspended on cabling and wires. Other body parts decorated walls, formed bars over doorways.

Ironhide marched through it without so much as blinking an eye. As if he didn't see it at all.

"Keep up. This is bad territory."

... Or maybe it was out of habit.

"Bad territory?"

FUCK 'BAD', try SATAN'S ASSHOLE.

"No way. We're not going down that way. What do you see?"

"Yeah."

He kept on walking. His eyes focused on the far end of the hallway.

"You do not want to hear of it. I do not want to remember it."

But he would not be defeated by it.

She didn't move. She was too busy watching the flesh pulse and squish around him as he walked forward, as though it wasn't there-- which she had to assume that yes, it WASN'T, for him.

"... Nnno. No way. There was another hallway back there. Can't we go that way?!"

He stopped. About halfway down the hall, he simply stopped. A wire spat out fat white sparks beside his head, and he twitched it away, staring at the far door.

Slowly, he glanced back at her.

"Who is to say this will not follow? Hm? Or that the next hall will not be something worse?"

She stood at the threshold, staring at him grimly. She was trying not to look at the faces in the walls.

"And who's to say THIS one leads anywhere good?!"

"No one."

He shrugged. He kept on walking, determined to put one foot in front of the other, as if stopping would mean having to face the corpses decorating the walls.

"But I have come this far. I will not allow a hallway to stop me."

The urge to stamp her feet and shout BUT IRONHIDE was almost overwhelming.

"... WELL, I'm not going down this one! I- ... I'll find another way around!"