Rebirth Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fuckthistown2019-02-23 10:36 pm
rebirthorder) wrote in fuckthistown2019-02-23 10:36 pm
Entry tags:
Test Drive Meme #2
TEST DRIVE MEME
Well, I'm alone there now...
In our 'special place'...
Waiting for you...
Waiting for you to
come to see me.
In our 'special place'...
Waiting for you...
Waiting for you to
come to see me.
I. Blue Catfish Diner - Daytime
Supplies in the Inn and Hotel have run low, so what is there to do but search the town? And restaurants and diners seem a good place to find something to eat.
It may take some doing to force open the diner's door, and the inside of it smells of dust and rotted food. There are dishes still on tables, and a horrible smell floats in from the kitchen. The roof must have developed a leak in its years of abandonment, and the black-and-white tile floor has cracked and mildewed without care. What were once shiny golden ceiling tiles are now black and grimy with tarnish -- and quite possibly mold -- and even the jukebox that looms over one corner has seen better days.
In the kitchen, a few cabinets hang open with huge cans visible. A closer inspection reveals things like Spam, canned chicken, cream of mushroom soup, and creamed corn. Not appetizing, maybe, but edible. Maybe even plentiful.
Just as you finish your inventory, something in the main room blares out static, and then the jukebox snarls a gamut of sounds from the beginnings of songs. It eventually settles on Folsom Prison Blues, but every so often, the playback intercuts with something else entirely --
The music cuts out, interrupted by a woman screaming something incoherent and agonized, or a man begs some merciless other for his life, or somebody else wails for everyone in earshot to run, run, don't look back.
Just as suddenly as the screaming started, it stops, and Johnny Cash returns to singing about the train he watches going by. Considering the things that happen in this town, the real question here isn't what happened, or how, but whether the jukebox is worth investigating, and what it will do if you try to change the song.
Supplies in the Inn and Hotel have run low, so what is there to do but search the town? And restaurants and diners seem a good place to find something to eat.
It may take some doing to force open the diner's door, and the inside of it smells of dust and rotted food. There are dishes still on tables, and a horrible smell floats in from the kitchen. The roof must have developed a leak in its years of abandonment, and the black-and-white tile floor has cracked and mildewed without care. What were once shiny golden ceiling tiles are now black and grimy with tarnish -- and quite possibly mold -- and even the jukebox that looms over one corner has seen better days.
In the kitchen, a few cabinets hang open with huge cans visible. A closer inspection reveals things like Spam, canned chicken, cream of mushroom soup, and creamed corn. Not appetizing, maybe, but edible. Maybe even plentiful.
Just as you finish your inventory, something in the main room blares out static, and then the jukebox snarls a gamut of sounds from the beginnings of songs. It eventually settles on Folsom Prison Blues, but every so often, the playback intercuts with something else entirely --
The music cuts out, interrupted by a woman screaming something incoherent and agonized, or a man begs some merciless other for his life, or somebody else wails for everyone in earshot to run, run, don't look back.
Just as suddenly as the screaming started, it stops, and Johnny Cash returns to singing about the train he watches going by. Considering the things that happen in this town, the real question here isn't what happened, or how, but whether the jukebox is worth investigating, and what it will do if you try to change the song.
II. Lumber Yard - Daytime
There's only so much furniture you can break down for fires, not to mention only so many broken stairs anybody can skip and stay sane. Assuming anybody is still sane and you're not all having the same hallucinations.
For example: somebody closed the lumber yard's fence and chained it shut, and left a crucified man to watch over the entrance like some demented scarecrow. They left a mask and goggles on him -- or forced him to wear it, just to make his crucifixion more painful -- but if it was ever air-tight, something shattered the lenses in its eyepieces, and rather than eyes, dark, jagged holes stare sightlessly from where the lenses used to be. The person or persons who crucified him wrapped his wrists in barbed wire, and one clenched fist has fallen loose from its moorings. In his other hand, he clutches a knife, and somehow didn't let go, even in death.
What are the odds they promised they'd let him live, if he could cut himself free? Knowing this town, you probably shouldn't bet against it. Especially since it would take some serious strength to cut barbed wire with a single serrated blade.
Beneath the body, somebody painted the word O U R S in jagged white letters.
If you choose to enter the lumber yard despite this warning, you'll need to climb the fence. There is lumber here for the taking, though none of it looks high quality. But you're trying to stay warm and repair some stairs -- you're not exactly building your dream house.
Getting it out might prove to be a problem. You'll either need bolt cutters for that chain, or a key for the lock.
The corpse might not be a bad place to start, but neither would the dilapidated building.
There's only so much furniture you can break down for fires, not to mention only so many broken stairs anybody can skip and stay sane. Assuming anybody is still sane and you're not all having the same hallucinations.
For example: somebody closed the lumber yard's fence and chained it shut, and left a crucified man to watch over the entrance like some demented scarecrow. They left a mask and goggles on him -- or forced him to wear it, just to make his crucifixion more painful -- but if it was ever air-tight, something shattered the lenses in its eyepieces, and rather than eyes, dark, jagged holes stare sightlessly from where the lenses used to be. The person or persons who crucified him wrapped his wrists in barbed wire, and one clenched fist has fallen loose from its moorings. In his other hand, he clutches a knife, and somehow didn't let go, even in death.
What are the odds they promised they'd let him live, if he could cut himself free? Knowing this town, you probably shouldn't bet against it. Especially since it would take some serious strength to cut barbed wire with a single serrated blade.
Beneath the body, somebody painted the word O U R S in jagged white letters.
If you choose to enter the lumber yard despite this warning, you'll need to climb the fence. There is lumber here for the taking, though none of it looks high quality. But you're trying to stay warm and repair some stairs -- you're not exactly building your dream house.
Getting it out might prove to be a problem. You'll either need bolt cutters for that chain, or a key for the lock.
The corpse might not be a bad place to start, but neither would the dilapidated building.
III. Playing Field - Nightmare
The Playing Field overlooks the river, sloping gently down toward the water, but there are glints in the grass that hint at the presence of broken glass or maybe needles, and the river itself looks like a roiling mass of black sludge. Even under ordinary circumstances, the place might make you shiver. After all, is there anything worse than an abandoned playground?
Turns out yes: a not abandoned playground in Silent Hill's nightmares.
The worst part is the way they shake their heads: too quickly, so swiftly it's a surprise they don't snap their own necks. Back and forth, back and forth, like some sort of twisted bobbleheads, and the patches of hair still left to them bounce as they move.
No, the worst part is that as they move toward you, they scream with a noise that sounds like a baby's cry. It's a long, endless, almost gurgling wail, the kind of sound that would cut to the center of any parent's brain, right through the eardrums. The sound that means they need something. They need to eat. They need to be changed. They're scared and lonely and need to be held, to be reassured.
No, the worst part is their little shriveled gray fingers and how they end in what look almost like fishhooks. The better to catch you with and never let you go. At least not until they rip you to shreds.
No, the worst part is they know you're here, and they're toddling toward you, ungainly step after ungainly step. Slow, for now, but there's no guarantee they'll stay that way.
In the corner of the play yard, one of the swings is still moving sluggishly, back and forth, back and forth, creaking as it goes. It's the only swing left; the others all have rusted chains and have fallen to the ground.
Not a bad weapon. Just one problem: the children are between you and the chains.
The Playing Field overlooks the river, sloping gently down toward the water, but there are glints in the grass that hint at the presence of broken glass or maybe needles, and the river itself looks like a roiling mass of black sludge. Even under ordinary circumstances, the place might make you shiver. After all, is there anything worse than an abandoned playground?
Turns out yes: a not abandoned playground in Silent Hill's nightmares.
The worst part is the way they shake their heads: too quickly, so swiftly it's a surprise they don't snap their own necks. Back and forth, back and forth, like some sort of twisted bobbleheads, and the patches of hair still left to them bounce as they move.
No, the worst part is that as they move toward you, they scream with a noise that sounds like a baby's cry. It's a long, endless, almost gurgling wail, the kind of sound that would cut to the center of any parent's brain, right through the eardrums. The sound that means they need something. They need to eat. They need to be changed. They're scared and lonely and need to be held, to be reassured.
No, the worst part is their little shriveled gray fingers and how they end in what look almost like fishhooks. The better to catch you with and never let you go. At least not until they rip you to shreds.
No, the worst part is they know you're here, and they're toddling toward you, ungainly step after ungainly step. Slow, for now, but there's no guarantee they'll stay that way.
In the corner of the play yard, one of the swings is still moving sluggishly, back and forth, back and forth, creaking as it goes. It's the only swing left; the others all have rusted chains and have fallen to the ground.
Not a bad weapon. Just one problem: the children are between you and the chains.
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The gorilla crossed his arms, ||Also, gorillas don't eat meat and its brain is thoroughly disgusted by that idea, thanks. || Ew. Having an upset stomach as a gorilla. Yeesh. What was his life?
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"Don't act like I'm stupid because I didn't predict you could turn into an animal. That's abnormal. That weird as shit." She untangles her leg and starts to hack at the fence again, intent on making a hole actually big enough to squirm through this time. "At least I'm betting you can actually carry some firewood now. Most of these planks are bigger than you were."
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˂Like being here barely ranks on my weird-o meter. Look, will you at least let me rip the fence apart? I can't stay like this forever.˃
Sure, morphing was awesome, but without a clock (or an Andalite), Marco preferred to spend as little time in morph as possible. The last thing he needed was to get stuck. He didn't have nightmares about that. Nope. Not at all. He sighed, ˂Yeah, I'll carry your stupid wood, because for some reason I'm an idiot who thinks you shouldn't freeze to death.˃
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It's a total non sequitur, but it makes sense in her head. Grab wildly for the first weird thing she can think of in her life to prove her weirdness bona fides, so the literal talking gorilla doesn't think he has one over on her. It's lame, and she knows it's lame as soon as it's out of her mouth, but if anything the knowledge that she's not exactly proving herself competent just makes her knuckle down harder.
"Yeah, sure, fine, help me getting some stuff out of here." The sun's starting to come out, which means it's less immediately cold, but the glare of it is a reminder that its inverse tonight will be miserable. She'll need the wood. She scrambles through the fence, only getting a little scraped up, and then waits for the gorilla to rip it open enough to move his big monkey ass through.
That's when the pile of wood, about ten feet high, suddenly shudders and groans, like something moved around inside it and knocked some of the supports loose. Dee's eyes widen and her brow jumps up.
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He ducked inside just in time for the pile of wood to move. Figured. Was somebody or something living in there? Was the wood alive?
One way to find out.
˂Knock knock, who's there?˃ He telepathically projected. Then he 'spoke' privately to Dee, ˂How are those shoes for running?˃
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She hesitantly moves away from the wood pile, mentally rifling through the options: zombie, monster, maybe a cute little bunny rabbit that would scare the shit out of them and then make them feel like idiots for getting all worked up. She picks up a plank, ready to swing it and take something's head clean off.
She glances down at her shoes. They aren't a pair she'd want to run in, but they're already covered in gore, so as with so many things in her life: eh, fuck it. "They're a loss anyway."
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So the woman couldn't run. Alright. Or at least not any better than your average adult in average adult clothes, which wasn't great.˂Okay˃ He told her, ˂If we have to bail I'm going to pick you up. Just because if you lose a shoe and step on something and it gets infected, you're screwed.˃ Not a problem for him, but the lack of meds wasn't fun for most people.
Privately, he decided he liked her. Sure, she was a bitch. But she was a bitch whose reaction to danger was to prepare to beat it with whatever was in reach. And while it was insane, Marco had some kind of odd appreciation for that.
˂I'm one hundred percent on team 'beat the crap out of this thing', though.˃ The gorilla commented, picking up a plank of his own and hefting it in one beefy hand ˂You hit it and I'll either grab it or slam it if it tries anything. That way, if it's nice we won't knock it out, and if it's mean, I hit harder than you.˃
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"You're not picking me up." Dee says that with the sort of hiss that suggests that good idea or not, if he tries to save her life that way she'll claw his eyes out.
She grips the plank tighter, holding it over her shoulder like a too-thick baseball bat. The gorilla kid seems under the impression that Dee hitting whatever it is in the head would only stun it; Dee's fairly certain that her freakish upper body strength will result in whatever it is losing its head at the neck.
But she isn't going to tell him that; he wants to leave their options open in terms of taking the threat alive, and Dee's already resigned herself to assuming everything in this godforsaken ghost town deserves to get decapitated with prejudice. So she nods at him.
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If she got killed because of her own stupidity, that was on her.
At least it looked like she knew how to use the plank. Marco approved. His decision that he was stronger had nothing to do with her, and more to do with him being a freaking gorilla. Marco was pretty sure if they were both human, she'd beat his ass. Especially since she seemed like the sort to fight dirty. So was he, so he wasn't judging.
The gorilla looked over at her and nodded slightly. ˂Ladies first.˃
I feel like Rachel and Dee would get along for a hot minute.
The figure that emerges from the woodpile is blood-streaked and nude, looking more like an animated tumor than a living creature. Its face is nothing but a lamprey's gaping void ringed with teeth, and it moves with eye-dodging quickness. It's surprising enough that Dee reacts more out of reflex than intent.
She was, however, right about decapitation by plank.
It's as fleshy as it looks, with nothing but soft tissue and bone roping it together. When she hits it in the chest the head goes flying off, and the ribs shatter, bursting out of the torso in a spray of gore that gets all over her and potentially Marco. She hits it against for good measure and in retaliation, then stumbles back, covered and disgusting.
"God damn it! God damn, god-- fuck this place! What the fuck was that?"
The corpse is mutilated and mutated enough to offer her and the gorilla kid no answers besides "freaky as shit".
You are not incorrect
˂Yeah, 'fuck this place' about covers it.˃ Marco agreed, ˂Smells weird. And there is zero way anything evolved to look like that.˃ It was like a tinier, shittier Taxxon on a dog body. ˂ And aren't lampreys fish? How does that head even work?˃ Yes, Marco, because that was the most important thing right now. Ugh, he sounded like Cassie.
Shaking its head, the gorilla picked up several of the pieces of wood. It'd be more than enough to keep her warm for a while. ˂Where's your fire? Or wherever you're staying or whatever.˃
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"I'm holed up in some shithole bar down the road." She went looking for the bar first, naturally, partially for chemical reasons and partially because it was the environment that would most feel like home to her, like she's an amphibian returning to water. Or a vampire returning to its coffin at night. A robot returning to its battery port.
She hadn't found alcohol, and that seems like a cruel trick, but it makes her comfortable to hole up there instead of in an abandoned school or motel or anything like that. The back office even has a couch she can sleep on, although she has to dangle her feet over the armrest. Most importantly for now, it has a furnace they can heat the place with.
Although, looking at herself now, she wonders if she might have done better staking her claims on a clothing store. She picks a chunk of what appears to be skin out of her hair, nose wrinkling.
"I could use a lookout and you could probably use shoes. Once you're not, you know." She gestures at his gorilla body. He said he would only be like this for a while. "In case whatever this thing is has a mommy."
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Yeah. If it had a mommy. And a daddy. Hell, in this place it probably had third-cousins. She made a good point with regard to getting away, so he nodded and started walking back towards the fence ˂Lead the way.˃ And keep your eyes open, but given her instincts, Marco didn't think he needed to add that, ˂I'm good on shoes; can't morph them so the next time I have to change into an animal they'll get shredded. That's kind of a waste given how low on supplies we are.˃ Did not having them suck? Well, yeah. But he'd done it before, living in the woods with no shoes. He could do it again.
˂There's probably enough wood here to warm the bar and heat up some bath water, though. I don't know about you, but 'dead thing' isn't my preferred cologne.˃
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She's going to keep looking, because when she sets her mind to something there are few efforts she won't make, and because if anything's going to set her mind on something it's liquor. She kicked crack but she and liquor are in a longterm love affair.
She selects some good wood, retrieves her hands, and brings a bundle of boards to her chest. It's not an easy amount to carry around, especially with her fingers feeling frozen, but it's not a far walk.
"Hate to break it to you about baths here, but we're going to smell like dead thing for a while." She starts to walk. "So, do you have a name or do I get to keep calling you Midget?"
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<Water no good? I've only been drinking it as an animal, just in case, but good to know. No way to strain it out or clean it enough for a good wash?> Not as much of an issue for him since there were morphs he could use that could clean himself off, but sucked for her. He just didn't want to bring it up because then it would seem like he was just trying to get her to take a bath and while yeah, she was hot, the 'not dying' was way more important and Marco knew how nice doing one normal thing felt in weirdo-ville.
Plus he still had to smell her. So ew.
<Marco.> He answered, <You? Or should I just call you 'less-crazy Rachel'?>
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"No, the water's fine." At least, she hopes it's fine. She's in for a world of hurt if it isn't. "It's just that there's nowhere to take a bath, at least, not at the bar. Unless... "I mean, we could always try using one of the empty kegs?"
It wouldn't exactly be ideal, and she might be too gangly to fit all the way, but it would be a way to get at least partially submerged. And kegs are watertight by definition. She feels a flush of excitement, the first since she got here, at the idea of a lukewarm bath. It doesn't even have to be a good one, she just has to be able to get her hair wet and strip some of the gore and grease out of it.
"Deandra, but my friends call me Sweet Dee." Is it a sarcastic nickname? Did she used to be sweet and then evolve into the massive bitch she is today? Is her group of friends so horrific that she qualifies for noteworthy sweetness? Jury's out! "And I don't know who this Rachel chick is, but you need to just bang her already and get it out of your system."
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< Oh, you're one to talk about banging. > He shot back, < Nobody names their friends sweet anything unless they want some of that. Also, I'm sadly not into necrophilia, so I'll have to pass on banging Rachel. Besides, bird-boy would gouge my eyes out.>
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"Gross. My friends are my legal dad and my brother and a gay guy in the closet." And Charlie, which is about as stupid an idea, but she can't think of a way to neatly sum up 'illiterate janitor who probably thinks babies come from storks'.
When she says it out loud, it sounds really sad, because all her friends are related to her or are her brother's friends who don't even particularly like her. They don't even want to touch her; sometimes she wishes they did, just to have the power to tell them to get fucked. Payback for a twenty years of bird jokes and getting told she's ugly. She'd get so mean they'd need therapy if she could have just an inch of power over them. She'd grind their balls into dirt under her heels.
"Do you always talk like madlibs? I've got no idea who bird-boy is, and it's not my responsibility to know that your crush is dead."
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<Oh.> Marco said, < So it's more of a 'mocking the sister' thing. Gotcha. That was the worst part about being an only child: Nobody to tease without going over to someone else's house, and that's stupid.>
<I do. Choose noun here. Nah, she wasn't a crush. Maybe for a while, and don't get me wrong, if she wasn't dead I'd totally hit that, but she was Grade A nuts. Bird-Boy's her boyfriend. He just happens to be stuck as a bird. Don't even ask me how that worked.> Like, Tobias was 13 as a human. So ew, there. And as far as he knew, Rachel didn't have a red-tail morph.
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Dee hasn't been here long enough to start missing Dennis and their weird symbiosis. Right now, it's a bit of a blessed relief to be away from his constant belittling, his possessiveness, his need to cut her down all the damn time. She gets back at him, sometimes; no one knows someone's weak spots like a twin. She always just has to wait for the right moment to lunge in and stab that fleshy insecurity. She hasn't been here long enough to miss that thrill of the hunt.
She wobbles a little bit when her shoe catches something on the street, but doesn't fall. "Over there. Neely's Bar. Fuck Neely, it's mine now."
Sweet Dee's Bar. No. Sweet Dee's Standup Comedy Club.
Nothing of what Marco's saying seems to track very easily, and she imagine it probably all makes a lot more sense in context, like her dead cats. Only weirder.
"Yeah, well, sorry she's dead and sorry he's a bird, I guess." She doesn't sound sorry. "Where I'm from people don't turn into birds or gorillas."
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Hmm. Dee's Bar? Nah. <Your name sucks for owning a bar> The gorilla said bluntly.
<We didn't either, until aliens showed up. So no aliens in your universe. Cool.> That'd be nice, he guessed. Sometimes Cassie had tried to bring up what they'd be like without the war before she got the hint Marco did not want to talk about it. For someone so good with people, sometimes she was idiot. What, did she want Marco to say, 'I don't know, Cassie, since my life since I was 9 involved being raised by an alien overlord and then thinking my mom was dead and trying to keep my dad from hanging himself'?
He'd given up on 'what if' way before Elfangor showed up.
<And I'm pretty sure Tobias went bird half on purpose. His life sucked.> Which said something, coming from Marco.
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And if it's a standup bar, she'll be the main attraction. The fantasy unfolds in her head, the idea that there's going to be a moment where the world suddenly fills with luminous color, the way it does to Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Like any moment now it's going to happen. Any moment now.
Which is why she snorts when Marco brings up the absolutely ridiculous idea of turning into a bird to escape your problems. "Loser. Everyone's life sucks, that doesn't mean you should pussy out on it."
No one needs to know about her suicide attempt. No one would care anyway, usually, and that's an immense and perverse comfort.
She's starting to piece together Marco's whole gig in her head, the aliens and the dead chick and the bird guy. It's like she has the concepts more than the outline. "I'm guessing you're about to say that I'm lucky because my Philadelphia doesn't have alien abductions? We just have serial killers and toxic waste spills and the usual."
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Sense of appropriateness? What sense of appropriateness?
It luckily wasn't a long walk to the bar. Marco wasn't tired, but having to time his morphing was nerve-wracking and even moreso without any of the other Animorphs for backup. Still, he laughed when Dee judged Tobias < Yeah, shut up. You don't know the first thing about Tobias, lady.> Some 30 something year old hot lady who could walk out and live wherever she wanted, and didn't have to deal with her legal guardians abusing her? Yeah, she could shut it. Tobias was ridiculous, but he was not a pussy.
<I was.> He confirmed, <But then you told me you live in Philadelphia.> He joked.
Not that he knew anything about Philadelphia except it wasn't California, but whatever.
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She doesn't seem at all bothered by the inappropriateness of Marco talking about prostitution; she probably would've started talking about whores at some point too. It's a regular topic of conversation for her type: the weather, the price of milk, whores.
She gestures for him to come in and giggles to herself. An actress and a gorilla walk into a bar...The first thing to notice about the bar is that it's dusty as hell. Dee's shoes track steps into a wispy layer on the floor, and there are trails where she was walking around investigating stuff earlier. She coughs into her elbow.
"South Philly. Even worse." No one knocks their hometown better than the residents. "Our paper has a daily column for last night's stabbings."
And on the note of stabbings: "so where are you holing up? Because basically every animal...thing out here seems to have claws or a suckerface."
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"Me? I'd name it something awesome. Obviously." The fact that he had no better answer was blatantly obvious. Marco wrinkled his nose as they walked in. Initially, it looked like he might be disgusted, but in a few short seconds the teenager let out a giant sneeze. Well, better dust than things that want to eat your face, "Oooh, that's fun. Like when people would try to follow me home from the shitty 7-11. At least our shitty part of town was warm."
"Roofs on buildings with no access, mostly. You're not wrong about the animals. I'd try to acquire one, but no way am I getting close enough for that."
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