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The Big Applesauce Moderators ([personal profile] applesaucemod) wrote in [community profile] applesaucedream2015-07-31 06:16 pm

We Are Awakened With The Axe [Open to All]

 photo zombie dream party_zpsbb0hfksu.jpg


The city has been abandoned.

Its infrastructure has been slowly deteriorating for quite some time, now. Traffic has long since ground to a permanent halt, taxis and trucks rusting by the curbs or abandoned mid-intersection. Most of the ground-floor windows have been shattered. Electricity is spotty, if it can be found at all. The eerie silence is broken only by the wind, the calls of crows, or the gentle collapse of some structure or other. And, of course, the occasional screams.

The city has been abandoned, but it is not empty.

What caused the various outbreaks hardly matters. Viral infection, fungal infection, some new or ancient bacterium suddenly released into the general populace - who knows? What does matter is that the city has become home to thousands if zombies, some slow, some fast, some mindless, some retaining a savage kind of intelligence. And they are all so, so hungry.

There are weapons to be found or improvised, and places to hide if you're lucky enough to come across someplace well-fortified and otherwise empty. Others have clearly had the same idea, leaving hastily constructed barricades in some places. You might even take those as a blessing, if the conspicuous absence of the original builders doesn't bother you. They're probably living on a nice farm somewhere.

One thing is certain: if you don't want to succumb to whatever plagues have ravaged this place, you will have to fight for your survival.

[OOC: usual dream party rules apply; all are welcome to participate, and characters can remember or forget at the players' discretion. Also, usual zombie rules apply: if you get bitten, you'll be turned into the sort of zombie that bit you. Whether your characters deal with comically dim shamblers or the terrifying sprinty variety is up to you.

Finally, let's just go ahead and say tw: violence and gore for the post as a whole, because it's gonna get messy, folks.]
postictal: (behind you)

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 12:48 am (UTC)(link)
Of fucking course he'd end up in a hospital. It's his brain, and why would it pass up an opportunity to drag him through the worst possible memories available to it.

It's even the same old room. His room, burned and blackened with ash clinging to the walls. He pulls his arms around himself and - no. He's not retreating to the corner. He's not some scared kid.

Not usually, anyway.

A sound cuts over his morose little silence, like a screech or a dying animal or something, and Tim jumps reflexively, his heart in his throat. The fuck. What kind of nightmare is this? How could this get worse? There's no static or cameras or dark skinny thing in the corner of his head, so what's -

Something comes around the corner.

Something horrible, something he doesn't want to look at, its skin gray and its eyes veiled in the awful dark familiarity of a hood and its mouth dripping and it - it fucking hisses.

And it leaps at him.

Tim's shoulders burn as they collide harshly with the coal-darkened concrete, as the thing pins him to the ground, driving him into the choking ash and debris of his own making, and starts fucking tearing at him, clawlike hands making great long gashes down his front.

Tim screams.

Tim screams until his voice tears.

At least his old nightmare had the courtesy to bleach his mind into silence before it mentally eviscerated him.

The only thing worse than dying is knowing that it's happening when it happens.
deadeyedchild: I have no one (brave is just another word for stupid)

makin up some rules for how ghosts work bECAUSE I WANT TO AND I CAN

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-01 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
He's - dreaming?

He didn't even think he was capable of sleep anymore. He looks at his hands but he's still pretty damn invisible. Awesome.

This dream is, at a glance, a clusterfuck. It's actually probably really good news that he's a ghost right now. Oh yeah, those are zombies. Okay yeah.

He floats away as fast as he can, up and through the wall of a building. Should he just hide? Should he wander until he finds someone?

What if Tim is here? What about Greta, or Bee?

He keeps moving.

He hears the screaming from a distance, echoing darkly off these scraped up bloodied walls, and he knows it, he knows that voice too well, and even though Tim can't hear him he's already shouting his name, moving as fast as he can through walls, trying to follow the sound.

He banks sharply around a corner, starting to get the hang of building and releasing ghost-momentum, and he sees Tim at the end of a frighteningly familiar blackened hall, on the ground beneath one of those things.

"Tim!" he screams, gut reaction leaving him furious, like doesn't Tim have enough to dream about without the Rift making extra trouble for them, aren't things bad enough, and for a weird moment he swears he could hear himself echoing off the walls as well.

He flies forward, no idea what he's about to do, maybe if he makes contact with the thing he can distract it long enough for Tim to escape or get some kind of weapon.

He plunges his icy, intangible hands into the thing's chest.

It hesitates. It jerks up like it's been shocked, lifting its hooked fingers from Tim's chest. It ripples, and Jay can feel the reverberation in his hands. He's having an effect on it, something he can't begin to guess at, but whatever, it doesn't matter. He lets out a fierce grunt at the exertion of effort, pulling at the thing, like there is actually something there for him to grip onto, and after a moment it-

-it just comes apart.

It doesn't even explode. It just dissipates. He tore through it and it was gone.

He hovers there for a moment, stunned and distantly disturbed, then lowers himself down to his crumpled-up friend.

"Tim?" he says though he knows it's pointless. He brushes his hand over Tim's shoulder to let him know he's there, and - it was different that time, he sort of shifted the fabric of his shirt a little. Is he becoming solid? He tries again, and manages to actually rest his hand on, not through, Tim's arm.

"Tim, can you hear me?" he says desperately.
postictal: (hundred yard stare)

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 01:26 am (UTC)(link)
Tim wonders if he'll know when the flesh starts getting peeled from his bones, if he'll be able to feel it.

Then he stops wondering.

Then he doesn't have to.

The thing arches away from him, arms flailing back, and then makes its thrashing, screeching, spontaneous exit as it dissolves into the fucking ether. Tim has nothing to do but crab wildly back, half-supporting himself against the wall, coughing and pulling his arms around himself like that'll do anything against the blood that's just liberally spilling out from him. Fuck. Fuck, why does this have to hurt if it's not real.

His shoulder goes cold, and he dips his head, jaw clenching. Things don't have to be real to hurt. He'd know better than anyone.

Or - maybe that's not why his shoulder's cold.

Or why he can hear that voice shivering in one ear.

Tim looks up, blinking past the trickles of sweat and blood in his eyes, at the washed-out silhouette in front of him.

"Not you too," he groans, his head falling back.
deadeyedchild: Leave. Now. (I am not a hero)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-01 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
"Me too what?" says Jay, genuinely bewildered. "Fuck, Tim..." He moves his hands to Tim's chest, pressing down as best he can on the worst of the wounds. He can actually do it, too. "I think I'm getting solid?" he says, just hoping Tim can actually hear him. "I just - I just destroyed that - whatever. Zombie? Is this a fucking zombie nightmare?"

Honestly.

He grits his teeth, feeling the distant sensation of actually doing so, as he applies pressure to Tim's chest. "I'm gonna help you," he says doggedly, like he has any fucking idea how.
postictal: (yeah charlie we can be sneaky)

tw: suicide ideation, drug overdose mention

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 01:37 am (UTC)(link)
"Get out," Tim says, with far less rancor than he actually means to inject into his tone. "You shouldn't - be here."

You don't belong here.

This is better. Tim, lying here, in his old room, bleeding out. Almost peaceful. Or not, actually, seeing as he was just mauled by a zombie, but he'll take what he can damn well get.

Didn't he try this, once? Or was that the overflowing panic of the moment, a byproduct of his brain being too oxygen-starved and frantic and terrified to think that one pill would be enough?

Did it matter, if it never even worked?
deadeyedchild: when you say "trouble", do you mean...? (excuse the fuck out of you)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-01 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"Shut up," says Jay with no bite. "I shouldn't be anywhere. I'm stuck here just like you."

He frowns at the gashes in Tim's chest - they look terrible, but the bleeding is already slowing a bit. "I don't think you're dying, man," he says after a moment. "I think you're gonna be fine." He lifts his hands away, slow and careful. "Maybe it's just the dream, but if I can do that again, then I can help you. You pulled me out, and yeah, this is better than that was, okay? I'm not leaving you here. So just get up."

He holds out a semi-transparent hand, no idea if Tim can actually grip it or not. "Enough waiting to die."
Edited 2015-08-01 17:51 (UTC)
postictal: (how bout you go fuck yourself buddy)

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 06:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Go away.

"Great," grunts Tim, wincing as he braces one hand on the wall and one on the floor to tentatively heave himself into a sitting position. "You're dead, and everyone else is dead. Just figured I should try to fit in, y'know."

Why does he have to be a dick to anyone who tries to be even a little bit nice to him, especially when he doesn't deserve it.

Tim sucks in a breath between his teeth and screws up his face in preparation to look at the mangled mess of his front. He counts to three. He looks down.

It's - not so bad.

There's definitely damage and there's definitely a lot of it, but the scrapes are all shallow, bleeding sluggishly, and not at all like the pulpy mass of shredded flesh approximating raw hamburger meat that he assumed he'd find.

Tim's head falls back against the wall. That kind of leaves him with no choice but to keep going, complete with a fucking ghost side-kick.

He just wants to wake up.
deadeyedchild: Leave. Now. (I am not a hero)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-01 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Jay watches Tim sort himself out, drawing his hand back. "I'm less dead than I was," he says with the air of a half-assed joke. "That's something."

The sound of distant shuffling puts him on the immediate alert, and he turns his head sharply, listening.

"We should go," he says. "We should probably keep moving. I mean it's not safe fucking anywhere, but..." He floats ahead a bit to scope out the halls. "If you can walk we should probably like... do that."
postictal: (behind you)

tw: suicide ideation

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yeah?" He eyes his not-dead not-friend dubiously. "And go where? Can't we just - wake up and get this over with?"

It would mean walking right into a clump of those things and letting them tear into him.

Well, fine. Tim can stomach that. It's more immediate, not abstract or grounded in maybe-hallucinatory things stretched beyond human comprehension. He thinks he'd prefer that. It'd be easier. Better, even.
deadeyedchild: I know you're there (don't follow me)

tw suicide mention and hella body horror

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-01 07:00 pm (UTC)(link)
"We'll wake up when we wake up," says Jay tersely. He's not going to sit here and watch Tim kill himself and Tim's full of shit for thinking he would. Things are tenuous enough for both of them without that shit. "Look, I can do this, okay? Just - just let me do this for you."

He doesn't have an answer for the very valid question of go where. But it doesn't matter for very long because something scrambles out of the hall in his periphery, and he turns to face it with a startled "Shit!" It's moving toward him at breakneck speed, way too fast, its limbs spiderlike and wrong.

He raises his hands defensively, for a moment thinking what if it was just the one time, what if I'm too solid now, what if it just- when it tears straight through him. Like nothing. He barely even felt it.

"Tim!" he whips around, the thing is aiming for Tim, probably because Tim is the one here who smells human or whatever. The zombie has stopped sharply, shuddering, an animal trying to shrug off the experience of having passed through a ghost, and for a moment Jay thinks that's it, contact is all that needs to happen to kill them, but then no, it's recovered and lunging at Tim.

"Tim!" He scrambles forward as fast as he can, which is barely fast enough, catches the thing just before it gets its decaying hands on his friend, and he plunges a hand right through its head.

This is horrifying. He's going to not think about it. He lets himself act on instinct alone, stretching his fingers out and breaking the thing apart, however he's doing that, it doesn't matter. It disintegrates like the last one did, leaving Jay to pant over nothing, staring down at his hand.
Edited 2015-08-01 19:01 (UTC)
postictal: (what the fuck boy)

and continued

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)
"Why?" Tim snaps, incensed, because it's not like he owes him. Tim owes Jay, not the other damn way around. They should both know that.

And then, well.

Then Tim sort of loses track of that thread.

There's something scuttling toward him at breakneck speed, limbs twisted, its neck at an unnatural angle, oh god it's fucking putrid and it's bent over on itself like a spider, spines should not be able to bend like that, and it skitters at him with nailed hands outstretched.

Tim has no time to do anything else but shrink into the wall, arms snapping up to shield his face.

It dissolves like the first one before its clawlike fingers can even wrap around his wrists, crumbling to nothing around Jay's outstretched hand.

"What, you can fucking smite them now?" He stares at the other man in utter disbelief.
deadeyedchild: waiting on you (the fuck was that)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-01 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)
"I guess?!" Adrenaline has Jay's voice pitched and hot. He struggles to breathe normally, weird since he doesn't even have lungs right now. He feels these sensations, adrenaline, chest-tightening panic, without having the means to experience them. Which is totally awesome, really.

"That's what I did to the last one, that's what I mean," he says. "I don't know how I'm doing it, it's just like... pulling them apart or something, I - Do you mind if we don't get into that?"

There's more. There's always more. He can hear them scuttling around, growling like rabid animals. "I don't know where we're gonna go, but we have to go. Get up, Tim."
postictal: (how bout you go fuck yourself buddy)

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)
"Fine." He straightens fully upright, arms wrapped around his middle to alleviate the stinging of the lacerations down his chest and stomach. "Don't know where you think we should go. This place never lets me just leave."

He peers out into the hallway. Yep. Same hospital as always, corridors burned and darkened and crumbling with fire damage. Zombies were just the shit icing on the cake, really, even if he has no special fear of them. It's hard to be scared of shit like that when there's something there that can flay your mind past recognition.
deadeyedchild: so is this where Alex... (you are distorted)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-01 08:21 pm (UTC)(link)
"I just said I don't know where," mutters Jay mostly to himself, raising his voice to add, "This isn't your dream, it's everyone's. I came in here from post-apocalyptic Manhattan. I'm pretty sure we can get out."

He drifts down the hall slowly, affecting a dumb sort of defensive stance in case anything else feels like flying out at them. This must look so weird, now that Tim can actually see him, hovering just barely above the floor and floating around like Casper the friendly fuckin ghost.

"Just stay close, all right?" he says softly.
postictal: (that boy needs therapy)

tw: suicide ideation

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-01 08:29 pm (UTC)(link)
"So?" He looks at Jay, coldly withering. "Where d'you think this place came from? It took this from my head, I - I might not even be able to get out again."

Maybe he should've died here before. Maybe that's what the Rift or his subconscious is trying to tell him.

Or just his regular consciousness, straight-up. That feels about right. When hasn't he wished for this to finally be over? Isn't that what Alex wanted?

Well, he had it right to begin with.

"Great." He follows, pausing to shoot a glance over one shoulder to ensure they're not being stalked or anything. "So what's your plan, then?"
deadeyedchild: I'm going to find Tim (eyes open)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-02 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
"You're gonna get out," he says impatiently. "You do always get out, you always did, so just..."

He sighs, letting it sit. This is not the time for this conversation, if there ever is a time.

"What, so you can shit all over it?" He leans around a corner, cutting halfway through it. "Get out, keep you alive. That's pretty much it. And I can do it, okay, for once I can actually do something, so I'm gonna do it."

He pulls back to look at Tim, almost challenging him to argue.
postictal: (rethink that move son | smoking)

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-02 01:39 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh, you wanna keep me from waking up?" Tim glares, watching Jay clip through the crumbling brick-and-mortar like something out of a glitched video game. "Because, what, this is like the one place where you can be useful?"

He regrets saying it as soon as he does.

"Fine," he mutters, ruthlessly severing that line in conversation, hopefully before Jay can pounce on it. "Let's just - go, then."

He stops only to wrench one of the loose bits of rebar from the debris, hefting it in his grip, and ducks around the corner.
deadeyedchild: the number you have dialed (look closely)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-02 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
Jay expected Tim to argue, not quite that. A look of blindsided affront passes transiently across his pale, ghostly face, and then he just lowers his eyes. Tim's moving on, either because he's guilty or because he honestly doesn't give a shit, Jay can't guess which. No sense dragging it out, not when they have other shit to worry about.

Anyway he probably deserved it.

He lets Tim get a little ways ahead of him, hanging back to protect him from behind.

Keep you from waking up screaming, he wants to retort, and doesn't.

What do I have to do for you to cut me a break? he wants to ask, and doesn't.

"I just..." He huffs out a sigh. "I just don't want to watch you die."

Did he just conveniently allow himself to forget that whole embarrassing spill of honest fucking emotion, when Jay admitted he needed him? Is he doing everything in his power to not think about it? Probably.
postictal: (barely got a lid on it)

tw: strangulation and body horror

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-02 02:34 am (UTC)(link)
"Yeah." Tim stills, his shoulders stiff beneath the torn edges of his shirt. "I didn't wanna watch you die, either."

He can't place his own tone, whether it's meant to sound spiteful or vindictive or quietly resentful or laden with regret.

Then he stops worrying about that as he starts worrying about the sound of someone hacking their goddamn lungs out.

The sound is too alarmingly, chillingly familiar for Tim's reaction to be anything but immediate. He tears after it, rounding corners, desperately seeking the source and partly expecting some halfway-decomposed face of Alex or Sarah or Brian to come looming out from the fucking woodwork, coughing, regarding him balefully, wordlessly demanding why he couldn't help.

But up ahead, there's nothing but smoke.

"Someone else is in here," he calls over his shoulder. "Someone - "

The call resolves into a strangled yelp as something shoots out from the sheet of putrid green-gray smoke, dull and slimy and winding its way around his chest, around his neck, dragging him swiftly and inexorably to something hidden in the dense cloud.

Tim tries to yell, but he can only gag against the agony itching in his lungs and the rapidly constricting vice around his throat.
deadeyedchild: waiting on you (the fuck was that)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-02 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
"Tim, wait!" he yells, struggling to hurry after him, okay this the problem with staying behind him is you're not very fucking fast, are you, there he goes, wanting to help, reminds Jay of himself and look where that got Jay? You'd think Tim would know better.

That smoke cloud is nothing good and Jay's reaching out to protest again when something snaps out of it, slithering fast and taut around Tim and pulling him into the smoke, out of sight.

"Tim!" Fuckfuckfuck, he propels himself forward as fast as he can and dives right into the cloud. He can pass through it unharmed but he sure as fuck can't see anything, so he's just groping around blindly until his arm passes right through Tim, and he jerks it away sharply.

This creature is more repulsive than any of the others he's seen so far, but he doesn't hesitate before lunging at it, driving his hands into its hideous mass. "Let him go!" he growls fiercely, and tears the thing apart.

Not out of the woods yet (hah). Tim's released but he can't breathe in this smoke, on top of just being nearly choked to death. Jay drops down and seizes him around the chest, and he can grip but he can't move him. "Fuck!" he yells, releasing him and gripping his shirt, trying to pull. It barely makes a difference. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He's not letting this happen. He's not.

He plunges his hands into the floor and hey, what do you know, he can rend that apart too. It was about ready to give already. He seizes Tim again, arms locked around him, as the floor crumbles and they drop through it, into somewhat cleaner air. He can't fucking fly or anything, he can only let himself sink, and Tim's weight adds a fuckload of speed, so this wasn't exactly a great goddamn plan, but there's air here, and he manages to slow the fall just enough that Tim lands without breaking anything.

He'll call that a fucking win.
postictal: (yeah charlie we can be sneaky)

tw: strangulation, physical trauma

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-02 03:49 am (UTC)(link)
You goddamn moron.

He should've known there's no one in here but them. It's always just him, and now Jay. It was blind, stupid hope, and now he's getting burned for it.

Choked, rather, in a cloud of smoke by a thing that drags him back by something slippery and tentacle-esque as it seizes his shoulders with withered hands.

How fitting.

His fingers scrabble numbly over the appendage wrapped around his throat, his vision graying into shadows.

Even when Jay practically rips the thing off, he curls in on himself, lungs and chest aching like there's some impossible pressure levered over him, his throat raw, his shoulders quivering with each gasp. He can't breathe. He can't fucking see, he can't -

He's -

Falling.

Okay.

That's cool.

He hits burned-out wood and cement and brick and skids, tumbling over debris, sucking the mercifully, blissfully clean air into his lungs.

He's on his back, he's looking at the ceiling and the hole that's been torn clean through it, at the dissipating smoke, and trying to blink the kaleidoscopic blots of color from his eyes.

He hurts.

Kind of all over.

He rolls onto his side, coughing weakly. "Jay?"
deadeyedchild: so is this where Alex... (you are distorted)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-02 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
"I'm here." Jay winces at Tim's obvious pain and the coughing, though it's not as bad as what they're used to. "Sorry, I - didn't know what else to do." He reaches out and sets his hand on Tim's arm, not quite sure what to do with it, but feeling like he ought to anyway. "You okay? I mean, like... relatively speaking?"

You know, considering he just almost got choked out by a zombie's tongue and then fell an entire story down. Things could be worse.

He glances around quickly, taking in their new location. No enemies here, at least not yet. "This isn't your hospital anymore," he comments. "See, we did get out."
postictal: (uh huh sure | smoking)

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-02 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
Relative to what? To his life?

If they're going by that metric, Tim's never been fucking better.

His shoulders shudder with the effort to clear the dust and grit from his lungs as Tim transitions his weight to his hands, then shifts to his knees. His fingertips brush the dark welts on his throat where that thing's tongue-tentacle sunk into his skin. Wincing, he drops his hands.

"Oh hey," he rasps, his voice hoarse. "Look at that."

Fuck. And talking is painful. His hand goes back to his throat as he pushes himself to his feet with painstaking slowness, sending rubble clattering.
deadeyedchild: Leave. Now. (I am not a hero)

[personal profile] deadeyedchild 2015-08-02 06:42 am (UTC)(link)
Jay ignores the ongoing snark and gets up when Tim does, moving around to scout the place out.

"I don't think we should stay here either, though," he says. "Too many ways in. Hole in the ceiling."

He looks back at Tim. He looks terrible. "Are... are you okay to walk?"
postictal: (that boy needs therapy)

[personal profile] postictal 2015-08-02 04:35 pm (UTC)(link)
He puts his full weight on each leg experimentally and is rewarded by several stabs of pain up his spine. Tim winces.

"Yeah," he says, the word a pained scrape over his vocal cords. "Yeah, I'm good."

Sorta.

Kinda.

Mostly.

He plants one hand against the wall and starts hobbling forward, mouth set in a determined line.

"Okay," says Tim, trying to recover some of his missing wherewithal and authoritative outlook. "Let's get someplace not-here, then."

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