111. Fourth Wall Post [VIDEO/ACTION FOR ANYWHERE]

[foolishwren]

_{[Static. Then, jumbled, chaotic video-- but through it all, there's the gruff, guttural voice of a Croconaw.]}

T-turn on the camera!

Hurry!!




How do I get her to let go?!

<sub>[Karma.]

[It takes awhile... but it eventually comes back around.]</sub>


[ooc: Heather has become Memory of Alessa for the duration of Fourth Wall! Feel free to tag if you want your character to interact with spooky semi-feral zombie-Heather, no matter where they are!]

Comments

[smotherswithlove]

Um.

[ James pulls the fish around to his front and clutches it against his chest, determined to swing the sad thing by its tail if Heather-but-not-quite-Heather decides it- she wants a literal piece of James. This defense, James decides, is the best defense because this squirmy fish probably hits harder than a wooden plank. ]

[ Then again, he doesn't really want to hit her at all, zombie or no zombie. So what's a James to do? He'll make friendly. That's what. ]

You've uh- got...something...

[ He motions to the corner of his mouth. You know what. Whatever. James fishes a pseudo-damp rag out of his inventory. Meanwhile the real fish meekly karps as it finds itself tucked, once again, under an arm. ]

[foolishwren]

<sub>[If nothing else, getting slapped with a fish is usually weird enough to at least make an attacker pause.]

[She doesn't approach, exactly, but she does edge somewhat closer, head turning even further as he starts to rummage in his pocket. Now it's almost at a 90 degree angle. The wonders of being an undead abomination!]

[When he pulls the rag out, she blinks again-- then slowly points at it with a blackened, clawlike finger. Then points to herself. For me?]</sub>

[smotherswithlove]

[ James blinks in return at the relative display of sentience. This is already going much better than that time with the wiggly acid spitting abomination. He regards her with a mix of dull curiosity and a quiet lick of fear. She reminds him of Silent Hill. She reminds him of Mary while her sickness ate her up. He breathes deep, chasing the thought away and with a nonchalant shrug (more for himself than for her), James raises the cloth up and holds it out to her. A water droplet sliding down the back of his hand and disappearing down the length of his sleeve. ]

Here. It's not much, but it's better than nothing.

[foolishwren]

<sub>[Very slowly, and with a series of unpleasant crackling sounds, she reaches out and takes the handkerchief with surprising delicacy. Then holds it in front of her face, emberlike eyes squinting.]

[What is it]

[What is she supposed to do with it]

[It's wet]

[She unfolds it slowly puts it over her head.]

[Yes.]</sub>

[smotherswithlove]

[ No. ]

[ No that's not right ]

[ Well it could be right, but it's not ]

[ at least he's pretty sure it's not right ]

Mmm. Let me.

[ James reaches out and readjusts the wet cloth, pulling it further down across her face. He gingerly pinches a corner of the rag and dabs it against an offending smear of...something. James doesn't really put much thought into what the dribble could be. That is very low on his list of things he wants to do right now. t h i n k i n g. ]

[foolishwren]

<sub>[James is a helper.]

[In a surprising feat of calm and level-headedness for a monster, she actually holds still while he removes the kerchief and wipes off of her face, although the way she's staring at him as he does so suggests it might be out of incredulous and mildly disdainful surprise more than obedience.]

[The 'something' turns out to be part of her face. Having skin like a melted candle isn't much fun.]

[But to her credit, she tolerates his ministrations for maybe eleven seconds.]

[Then she growls because okay that's enough. BI]</sub>

[smotherswithlove]

[ o h. ]

[ He lets go. The handkerchief drops on the tile with a wet splat. James stoops and picks the soggy thing up. He slaps it against the ground once to rid the shoddy thing of any stringy strands of...flesh. Eh. ]

[ Dully satisfied, James stands and pockets the dirty rag. He'll wash it later...if he remembers. He smears his hand his jeans. The wet imprint one more mark among the standing testaments to a week's worth of running around an abandoned town. He's pretty sure his pants could stand on their own if he shed them. ]

[ With a subdued smirk, James eyes the newly blotted spot on Heather's face. It's a gruesome sight, but...it could be worse. She could be spitting acid. Hell, she could be trying to eat him or whatever zombie things liked to do. James rubs his chin. ]

Well...thanks for not trying to eat me. It means a lot.

[foolishwren]

<sub>[Yeah, acid-spitting is pretty much always a downer. Can you imagine trying to brush your teeth if your saliva was acid? Not only would you probably need to get a new brush every single time, you'd melt a hole in the sink whenever you spit. ... Not that Memory of Alessa has probably ever brushed her teeth in her entire symbolic life, but there you go.]

[She tilts her head at his thanks, but lifts a hand and sort of flaps it a little bit as if to say, 'No big.' She doesn't eat people, anyway. Too gamey.]

[Actually she doesn't really eat anything. The ecosystem of Silent Hill was brutal and cut-throat, but while there was quite a bit of devouring going on, very few things actually needed to eat. In Silent Hill, starvation was being forgotten, not being unable to find enough to eat.]

[Deciding James didn't seem to be a threat, the creature promptly dropped down into a squat, reaching up to stroke her chin in a surprisingly contemplative-looking way. With the other, she reached out to tap at the buckle on one of his boots.]

[IT'S NOT RUSTY. THAT IS PRETTY WEIRD.]</sub>

[smotherswithlove]

[ NOPE, NOT RUSTY AT ALL. He's done a decent job keeping himself tidy. Suuure his shirt's a little crumpled and suuuure he's got blood stains dotting his shirt and coat, but it's just a little blood. Nothing chunky. ]

[ James watches her poke and prod at the buckle. On looking down at his feet it occurs to him that he's probably tracked mud everywhere. Mud and muck and, okay fine, maybe some entrails sticking to the heels. He'll have to find a nice patch of wet grass later. ]

[ James shifts his weight. ]

So...what happened to you?

[foolishwren]

<sub>[She can see her reflection! Sort of. More like an indistinct blobby version of herself.]

[... But, well, even an indistinct blobby version of herself is pretty unpleasant to look at, so she curls her lip slightly and decides to stand up again.]

[The question gets what might pass for a thoughtful look on her relatively emotionless face. How exactly can you articulate that sort of thing without speaking?]

[Finally she settles for pointing a blackened, clawlike finger at him and then shaking her head, as if to say You don't wanna know.]</sub>

[smotherswithlove]

[ He nods and holds a hand up.]

Alright, I won't bother you about it anymore.

[ That wont stop him from silently wondering how she'd ended up like this. He idles on a niggling thought that maybe she'd found her way back to Silent Hill; that something found her or...something. ]

[ he tenderly clasps her outstretched hand and eases it down. It's okay. I get it. ]

I guess first thing's first... do you remember me?

[foolishwren]

<sub>[It's surprising, the boldness with which he's willing to actually touch her. Those hands of hers are the talons of a goblin more than they are the fingers of a girl, but he's not shying away.]

[It's sort of refreshing, actually.]

[So she scratches her head, amiably enough.]

[She doesn't remember him-- not precisely... but he's got the stench of the town on him. She'd know it anywhere. And he hasn't escaped it yet, has he? Poor guy...]

[Holding up a finger to signal "Wait.", she bends down again and starts to scrape at the dirt. TIME FOR COMMUNICATION THROUGH DRAWING.]

[The scribbles are crude, but recognizable-- and there's several of them. A Halo of the Sun, a Seal of Metatron, and a question mark behind them both.]

[He doesn't seem like a member of the Order. But she might as well ask.]</sub>