Heather Mason (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foolishwren) wrote2010-09-17 09:34 pm
foolishwren) wrote2010-09-17 09:34 pm
Entry tags:
- action,
- all phobias: engage,
- are you afraid of the dark?,
- bad memories,
- cujo,
- event,
- fucking fuckity fuck,
- growlithe,
- i can't very well stab them one by one,
- i've got a bad feeling about this,
- ic,
- kshshhhhhhssfrrrzzzhhzhzlshhhshhkzfffffl,
- nightmares,
- nurses. nurses everywhere,
- officially freaked-out now,
- pokemon center,
- prose,
- scary stories to tell in the dark,
- the town that takes all
028. Action Prose.
[ooc: Backdated, the morning of the seventeenth.
Also, Heather... MAY NOT REPLY. XD; I understand everybody's doin' their own crazy thang for this plot, so I don't expect a whole lot of interaction tagging to happen (if it does, though, that's coo', that's coo'! But in the meantime, enjoy some tl;dr.]
So there were a lot of things you could hate about fog.
For one thing, it was wet. That alone was pretty much worth hatred. Or at least dislike. Even normal fog, relatively benign stuff that it was, had this unfortunate quality. It wasn't enough that it just hovered around being wet all by itself, it had to go and get you all cold and clammy, too. It sort of evoked the same primal DO NOT WANT response as a small child who'd just wet themselves trying to crawl into your lap without permission.
Or at least, that's what it felt like to Heather.
Her boots squeaked against the soaked pavement as she tromped down the main street of the white-shrouded Violet City, hands fitfully rubbing her bare shoulders. There were days it paid to remain compulsively sleeveless, and days it didn't. This? Was one of those days.
Behind her, with a series of soft clicks of blunt claws on asphalt, Cujo the Growlithe padded along, surprisingly solemn for... well, for being himself. His rusty coat was the only thing in the near vicinity that stood out against the ghostly mist.
That was the other thing she hated about fog.
It blinded you.
Humans were visual animals and if there was one thing that was enough to put even a big burly Neanderthal on edge, it was not being able to see what was in front of you. That was why kids were instinctively scared of the dark, and why the species as a whole hid away under blankets and pillows at night where they'd be safe, only to rise again when the sun did, too. Basic instinct. People were just programmed that way.
Of course, that was just what she was telling herself. Because she'd rather not think that the reason she kept hearing little rustly noises that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck and staring over her shoulder paranoidly as she walked, bag bouncing against her hip, was anything other than 'It happens to everyone'. She knew better than to think that, but hey, the effort counted for something, right?
When the shiny windows and cheerful red roof of the Pokemon Center loomed up out of the fog, Heather stopped briefly, letting out a gusty sigh. This wasn't exactly where she wanted to be, but camping in the damp meant that her dinky little sleeping bag was no longer adequate for keeping out the cold, so it was time to mooch some free supplies. From the nurses who hated her guts and probably thought she was a menace to society.
If there's a benevolent higher power, and it's actually listening, please grant me the strength to get out of this with blankets, and without ALL-CAPS confrontations with the staff.
And with that silent prayer stated, Heather stepped towards the door--
WHINE WHINE WHIIIIIIIIIIIINE.
"Wh-- ... no, Cooj. Stay."
The Growlithe's amber eyes proceeded to grow disproportionately enormous and woobly.
Heather remained unmoved.
"If those nurses see you in there again, they're probably gonna euthanize you. Sta-- no. The paw thing doesn't work on me, remember? STAY."
Cujo dropped his paw to the ground once more, having been pawing at the air in the universal canine 'handshake' gesture, and whimpered, but stayed put.
Rolling her eyes, Heather adjusted the bag's strap on her shoulder.
"Dumb mutt..."
The doors slid open with a sleek, mechanical whirr, and Heather stepped inside.
Lines.
Lines, why the hell were there LINES?
Did everybody SERIOUSLY need supplies today too? Why couldn't they all be at home or out standing around on random roads waiting for random passersby to ambush into a battle like they normally did?
At least it was bright and warm, the exact opposite of outside.
Grumbling audibly under her breath, Heather squeezed into the long, gaggling line of people waiting to get up to the front desk, all with Pokemon in various states of minor injury, or other general concerns. The normally-sterile air of the lobby smelled of wet fur and that nasty ammonia smell of a public bathroom that always seemed to crop up in big buildings on rainy days.
"Crazy lines, huh? Is there a sale on rectal thermometers today or something?" she remarked to the patron in the line behind her, cracking a tentative grin. When she received no reply, the grin faded and she huffed under her breath, turning back to face the front. So much for conversation. These losers were about as interesting as the blank fog outside.
But there was nothing to do but wait, so Heather fumbled the 'Gear out of her pocket, and idly started checking messages with cold fingers, eyes half shut. Great. Only 'bout fifty hundred-four shmucks in line ahead of me before I can just get my damn blankets and band-aids. This is the best day eve-- what the FUCK was that.
Something in the ground moved.
Not overtly-- it was...
... It was almost the suggestion of movement. A deep, far-off tremor. She could feel it in the soles of her feet and the bones of her shin. It straightened her up like an electric shock, eyes popping back open.
She looked around.
... No one else seemed to have noticed. The rest of the line was just continuing to stand there, coughing and rustling wet newspapers and squeaking their soaked shoes around on the tile. Sucking her lips inward and gazing up at the distracted, unconcerned faces for a moment, Heather leaned out of the line to peer warily back at the glass doors. Fuzzily, she could see the blurred red-orange shape sitting dutifully outside, face completely obscured by warm dog-breath mist on the glass except for one big greasy noseprint where he was pressing his snout against the door. Something in the general region of his butt started to wag furiously when he saw her face. Perfectly unbothered. Not, y'know, that he'd notice something out of the ordinary if it smacked him in the face and quoted Rocky Horror lyrics while turning slowly in circles, but still.
Brows furrowed, Heather turned back into the line again.
Maybe it had just been one of those weird things that happened when you started to fall asleep. She hadn't exactly been well-rested last night, after all. What were they called? Myclonic jerks? ... Something like that, anyway, Heather was no doctor. That's probably what it was. She was just falling asleep and--
well what the FUCK, there it was AGAIN!
Fighting off an alarmed gasp, Heather whipped around to check up on the reactions of her lobby companions.
... Nothing.
One of the men wiped his nose noisily and some middle-aged lady was busy rummaging through her purse while cradling a prissy-looking Vulpix in one arm.
No sign of 'hey, the floor totally just vibrated like a cheap electric toothbrush, might wanna look into that'.
"Hey, anybody else feel that?... Someone else had to've felt that," Heather tried prompting, forcing a crooked grin.
A couple of people glanced over at her, looking mildly irritated at the attempt to engage conversation on such a wet, miserable morning.
"Wh- ... c'mon, guys, I ca-- oh."
Over their heads, the fluorescent lights had begun to buzz and flicker.
Something shivery and multilegged crawled up Heather's spine, tensing every one of her muscles on its way past. Okay. I'm officially freaked out now. Uttering a low, nervous chuckle, Heather took a step backwards, out of the line, eyes fixated on the on-again-off-again glow of the lights.
"Okay, this is-- dude, are you friggin' serious. This can't be for real. Why aren't any of you NOTICING THIS--!"
And then she heard it.
The noise that could rake every hair on her body into standing on end like stroking the fur of a cat the wrong way, just from hearing it. The sound that sent phantom pains through her insides, even though there was a monster nothing in them to cause the pain.
KSSSHSHHHHhhhsssfrrrzzzhhzhzlshhhhhhssshhosssnHHH
SSSSHHHHKHKHHZZFfffflrrgltchqueeeee
eshhhhhhcchhhchchFFRRRRSHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
The PokeGear clattered from her suddenly-numb hands onto the wet tile floor, its little speaker still choking out the ear-shattering white noise like its tinny little life depended on it.
Heather backed away from it, heart banging against the inside of her ribcage like a claustrophobic bird, eyes growing wide. Her hands had come up to cover her ears against the piercing sound, but instead they just clutched at her hair, white-knuckled.
"Shut up... shut up, don't fucking do that..."
The lobby grew dim, then dark, then pitch black as the lights above ebbed away like water draining out of a bathtub. The only light now was the neon Pokemon Center logo behind the desk, its previously-cheery cherry-red now painting the reflective surfaces of the room in bloody hues.
The other people waiting in the line were gone.
Just gone.
Maybe they'd never been there at all.
But there was something there.
Behind the counters, movement stirred.
And another sound that Heather had hoped never to hear again (despite hearing it so often in those dreams) came echoing out across the lobby, a thousand times softer than the squealing static bursting from the PokeGear, but two thousand times more chilling to Heather's ears.
Oh, god.... oh god ... Oh god, oh god, oh...
They came shambling around the corners like half-broken marionettes, glints of sharp metal in their hands. Their capped, bob-cut heads hung and lolled like their necks were broken, and their porcelain skin was flaked and cracked through with rusty shades. Were those veins or cuts?
Heather had never been able to tell.
She'd never wanted to be able to tell.
Mouth and throat gone dry, Heather slowly leaned down to hit the 'Off' switch on the PokeGear.
She didn't need its helpful EAR-ASSAULT to know that there were monsters here. They were right in front of her.
Then she reached out and took up the closest weaponlike object in both hands, hefting it into a swinging position as the three wobbly forms came sliding and shuffling slowly towards her, their limbs and torsos contorting in spastic, involuntary movements.
Heather gritted her teeth and squared her feet.
I guess I never was meant to get away from this place.
"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!!"
_
[ooc: What's happening in real life is pretty much Heather going batshit insane in the middle of the Pokemon Center lobby and attacking the approaching concerned nurses with an IV pole. While obviously no one is SERIOUSLY injured, she does a fair amount of damage, and then will flee the scene. Tag if you want, but don't feel obliged! This is a big plot!]
Also, Heather... MAY NOT REPLY. XD; I understand everybody's doin' their own crazy thang for this plot, so I don't expect a whole lot of interaction tagging to happen (if it does, though, that's coo', that's coo'! But in the meantime, enjoy some tl;dr.]
So there were a lot of things you could hate about fog.
For one thing, it was wet. That alone was pretty much worth hatred. Or at least dislike. Even normal fog, relatively benign stuff that it was, had this unfortunate quality. It wasn't enough that it just hovered around being wet all by itself, it had to go and get you all cold and clammy, too. It sort of evoked the same primal DO NOT WANT response as a small child who'd just wet themselves trying to crawl into your lap without permission.
Or at least, that's what it felt like to Heather.
Her boots squeaked against the soaked pavement as she tromped down the main street of the white-shrouded Violet City, hands fitfully rubbing her bare shoulders. There were days it paid to remain compulsively sleeveless, and days it didn't. This? Was one of those days.
Behind her, with a series of soft clicks of blunt claws on asphalt, Cujo the Growlithe padded along, surprisingly solemn for... well, for being himself. His rusty coat was the only thing in the near vicinity that stood out against the ghostly mist.
That was the other thing she hated about fog.
It blinded you.
Humans were visual animals and if there was one thing that was enough to put even a big burly Neanderthal on edge, it was not being able to see what was in front of you. That was why kids were instinctively scared of the dark, and why the species as a whole hid away under blankets and pillows at night where they'd be safe, only to rise again when the sun did, too. Basic instinct. People were just programmed that way.
Of course, that was just what she was telling herself. Because she'd rather not think that the reason she kept hearing little rustly noises that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck and staring over her shoulder paranoidly as she walked, bag bouncing against her hip, was anything other than 'It happens to everyone'. She knew better than to think that, but hey, the effort counted for something, right?
When the shiny windows and cheerful red roof of the Pokemon Center loomed up out of the fog, Heather stopped briefly, letting out a gusty sigh. This wasn't exactly where she wanted to be, but camping in the damp meant that her dinky little sleeping bag was no longer adequate for keeping out the cold, so it was time to mooch some free supplies. From the nurses who hated her guts and probably thought she was a menace to society.
If there's a benevolent higher power, and it's actually listening, please grant me the strength to get out of this with blankets, and without ALL-CAPS confrontations with the staff.
And with that silent prayer stated, Heather stepped towards the door--
WHINE WHINE WHIIIIIIIIIIIINE.
"Wh-- ... no, Cooj. Stay."
The Growlithe's amber eyes proceeded to grow disproportionately enormous and woobly.
Heather remained unmoved.
"If those nurses see you in there again, they're probably gonna euthanize you. Sta-- no. The paw thing doesn't work on me, remember? STAY."
Cujo dropped his paw to the ground once more, having been pawing at the air in the universal canine 'handshake' gesture, and whimpered, but stayed put.
Rolling her eyes, Heather adjusted the bag's strap on her shoulder.
"Dumb mutt..."
The doors slid open with a sleek, mechanical whirr, and Heather stepped inside.
Lines.
Lines, why the hell were there LINES?
Did everybody SERIOUSLY need supplies today too? Why couldn't they all be at home or out standing around on random roads waiting for random passersby to ambush into a battle like they normally did?
At least it was bright and warm, the exact opposite of outside.
Grumbling audibly under her breath, Heather squeezed into the long, gaggling line of people waiting to get up to the front desk, all with Pokemon in various states of minor injury, or other general concerns. The normally-sterile air of the lobby smelled of wet fur and that nasty ammonia smell of a public bathroom that always seemed to crop up in big buildings on rainy days.
"Crazy lines, huh? Is there a sale on rectal thermometers today or something?" she remarked to the patron in the line behind her, cracking a tentative grin. When she received no reply, the grin faded and she huffed under her breath, turning back to face the front. So much for conversation. These losers were about as interesting as the blank fog outside.
But there was nothing to do but wait, so Heather fumbled the 'Gear out of her pocket, and idly started checking messages with cold fingers, eyes half shut. Great. Only 'bout fifty hundred-four shmucks in line ahead of me before I can just get my damn blankets and band-aids. This is the best day eve-- what the FUCK was that.
Something in the ground moved.
Not overtly-- it was...
... It was almost the suggestion of movement. A deep, far-off tremor. She could feel it in the soles of her feet and the bones of her shin. It straightened her up like an electric shock, eyes popping back open.
She looked around.
... No one else seemed to have noticed. The rest of the line was just continuing to stand there, coughing and rustling wet newspapers and squeaking their soaked shoes around on the tile. Sucking her lips inward and gazing up at the distracted, unconcerned faces for a moment, Heather leaned out of the line to peer warily back at the glass doors. Fuzzily, she could see the blurred red-orange shape sitting dutifully outside, face completely obscured by warm dog-breath mist on the glass except for one big greasy noseprint where he was pressing his snout against the door. Something in the general region of his butt started to wag furiously when he saw her face. Perfectly unbothered. Not, y'know, that he'd notice something out of the ordinary if it smacked him in the face and quoted Rocky Horror lyrics while turning slowly in circles, but still.
Brows furrowed, Heather turned back into the line again.
Maybe it had just been one of those weird things that happened when you started to fall asleep. She hadn't exactly been well-rested last night, after all. What were they called? Myclonic jerks? ... Something like that, anyway, Heather was no doctor. That's probably what it was. She was just falling asleep and--
well what the FUCK, there it was AGAIN!
Fighting off an alarmed gasp, Heather whipped around to check up on the reactions of her lobby companions.
... Nothing.
One of the men wiped his nose noisily and some middle-aged lady was busy rummaging through her purse while cradling a prissy-looking Vulpix in one arm.
No sign of 'hey, the floor totally just vibrated like a cheap electric toothbrush, might wanna look into that'.
"Hey, anybody else feel that?... Someone else had to've felt that," Heather tried prompting, forcing a crooked grin.
A couple of people glanced over at her, looking mildly irritated at the attempt to engage conversation on such a wet, miserable morning.
"Wh- ... c'mon, guys, I ca-- oh."
Over their heads, the fluorescent lights had begun to buzz and flicker.
Something shivery and multilegged crawled up Heather's spine, tensing every one of her muscles on its way past. Okay. I'm officially freaked out now. Uttering a low, nervous chuckle, Heather took a step backwards, out of the line, eyes fixated on the on-again-off-again glow of the lights.
"Okay, this is-- dude, are you friggin' serious. This can't be for real. Why aren't any of you NOTICING THIS--!"
And then she heard it.
The noise that could rake every hair on her body into standing on end like stroking the fur of a cat the wrong way, just from hearing it. The sound that sent phantom pains through her insides, even though there was a monster nothing in them to cause the pain.
KSSSHSHHHHhhhsssfrrrzzzhhzhzlshhhhhhssshhosssnHHH
SSSSHHHHKHKHHZZFfffflrrgltchqueeeee
eshhhhhhcchhhchchFFRRRRSHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
The PokeGear clattered from her suddenly-numb hands onto the wet tile floor, its little speaker still choking out the ear-shattering white noise like its tinny little life depended on it.
Heather backed away from it, heart banging against the inside of her ribcage like a claustrophobic bird, eyes growing wide. Her hands had come up to cover her ears against the piercing sound, but instead they just clutched at her hair, white-knuckled.
"Shut up... shut up, don't fucking do that..."
The lobby grew dim, then dark, then pitch black as the lights above ebbed away like water draining out of a bathtub. The only light now was the neon Pokemon Center logo behind the desk, its previously-cheery cherry-red now painting the reflective surfaces of the room in bloody hues.
The other people waiting in the line were gone.
Just gone.
Maybe they'd never been there at all.
But there was something there.
Behind the counters, movement stirred.
And another sound that Heather had hoped never to hear again (despite hearing it so often in those dreams) came echoing out across the lobby, a thousand times softer than the squealing static bursting from the PokeGear, but two thousand times more chilling to Heather's ears.
Oh, god.... oh god ... Oh god, oh god, oh...
They came shambling around the corners like half-broken marionettes, glints of sharp metal in their hands. Their capped, bob-cut heads hung and lolled like their necks were broken, and their porcelain skin was flaked and cracked through with rusty shades. Were those veins or cuts?
Heather had never been able to tell.
She'd never wanted to be able to tell.
Mouth and throat gone dry, Heather slowly leaned down to hit the 'Off' switch on the PokeGear.
She didn't need its helpful EAR-ASSAULT to know that there were monsters here. They were right in front of her.
Then she reached out and took up the closest weaponlike object in both hands, hefting it into a swinging position as the three wobbly forms came sliding and shuffling slowly towards her, their limbs and torsos contorting in spastic, involuntary movements.
Heather gritted her teeth and squared her feet.
I guess I never was meant to get away from this place.
"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!!"
_
[ooc: What's happening in real life is pretty much Heather going batshit insane in the middle of the Pokemon Center lobby and attacking the approaching concerned nurses with an IV pole. While obviously no one is SERIOUSLY injured, she does a fair amount of damage, and then will flee the scene. Tag if you want, but don't feel obliged! This is a big plot!]