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applesaucemod) wrote in
applesaucedream2015-07-31 06:16 pm
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Entry tags:
- character: asmodia antarion,
- character: daine sarrasri,
- character: eliot waugh,
- character: greta baker,
- character: iman asadi,
- character: johnny truant,
- character: peeta mellark,
- character: rashad durant,
- character: sunshine,
- character: the balladeer,
- dropped: daniel jackson,
- dropped: jay merrick,
- dropped: mako mori,
- dropped: nicholas rush,
- dropped: tim wright,
- party post,
- retired: aziraphale,
- retired: melanie,
- retired: peter vincent,
- retired: yuri kostoglodov
We Are Awakened With The Axe [Open to All]

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.
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.]
no subject
-what-
Her blood freezes, a leaden weight forming in her gut, how could she not have seen this, how could she - no, no, no no no
Greta doesn't know. Why would she know? She's never had to contend with anything like this before. She doesn't know what they are, how they infect.
"Greta," she says softly, her voice wavering. She doesn't let go of her hand. Oh god. She swallows, struggling to stay calm. "Let me see."
no subject
"Oh," Greta says with distant dismay. "It... it didn't look that bad before."
She didn't know. How could she not know?
Rita looks at Asadi, not saying a word. She knows what this means.
no subject
"No," she blurts, and she drops Greta's hand abruptly, pressing it instead over her mouth as she backs away, feeling like she's going to be sick. "No. No. No, this can't- I won't - no!"
She's being childish.
She's panicking.
She's not making this any fucking easier for Greta.
"There has to be something we can..." She runs out of breath, out of will to speak, before she can finish. She casts about desperately for a solution, when she knows there is none.
no subject
"What's going on?" she demands, releasing her skirt and letting it drop back over the wound. "What aren't you telling me?"
Rita looks at Iman for a moment, then meets Greta's gaze squarely. She doesn't look as upset as Iman, but her gaze isn't entirely devoid of pity. When she speaks, her voice is almost gentle. "It's the plague - the illness these things have." A twitch of her sword indicates the crumpled, bloody heap near the door. "That's how it spreads."
It spreads?
Oh, god. Greta slowly slides down to the floor, lifting a trembling hand to her face. She was so foolish. She knew there was something wrong with people, she'd seen healthy individuals dragged down by the horde, but she hadn't stopped to watch what happened next, she hadn't thought of it as--as catching. She doesn't know what she thought. She supposes she wasn't thinking at all, she'd been too scared to think, and now... and now...?
"Am I--I'm going to turn into...?" she can't bear to look at the remains of the thing, and she especially can't bear to look at Iman. She hides her face in her hands, gasping for air.
no subject
Fucking inadequate.
She should have seen. She should have gotten here sooner. She should be able to think of something. She's a fucking scientist, isn't she?
She should have told - should have told her. Really told her, meant it. Let her know she meant it. Like Rush said, when he - when they-
Her tear-streaked face takes on a look of distant bewilderment as she looks from Greta to the ground for a moment, trying to get her thoughts in order. It's like falling asleep and trying to grasp a thought, knowing you're slipping into-
"Dreaming," she whispers suddenly. "Greta, we're - we're dreaming. We're dreaming, this isn't real. Oh god, oh god, Greta-" She pulls her forward into another tight embrace, clinging to her in desperate relief. This isn't real. They're going to wake up and they're going to be okay.
no subject
(Yeah, that's all this is. The fact that seeing Asadi desperately entwined with a woman who looks just like Rita herself - or how she might look, if things had been different - has no bearing on her discomfort levels whatsoever.)
Asadi's conclusion that they're dreaming stops her cold, though, as does Greta's immediate and evident relief. "Oh my--" the other woman gasps out, throwing her arms around Asadi's shoulders and burying her face in her neck.
"Dreaming?" Rita repeats. It wouldn't be the first unlikely assertion of Asadi's that turned out to be true, but the odds of finding Greta - slim as they were - still have to be a hell of a lot higher than the odds of this whole damn thing being a dream. She's had more than her fair share of nightmares and flashbacks, but nothing as involved as this.
no subject
"Greta," she says, pulling back and cupping her hand around Greta's cheek. "Listen to me. There's no reason to think the dream won't make you experience - becoming one of-" She grits her teeth. This is going to fucking suck, real or no. "We're going to have to wake you up." She searches Greta's eyes. "Do you understand?"
no subject
Her relief doesn't last too long, though. Greta stares at Iman, the implication of 'wake you up' slowly sinking in. They don't mean pinching her. If what she's already been through hasn't been enough to rouse her from this awful nightmare, there's only one other option.
"I..." she looks away, her gaze landing on the sorry mess by the door, distantly aware that her heart is racing. What if this isn't a dream? It doesn't matter; it's the same conclusion either way. If she doesn't want to become one of those monsters, risk the awful memory of--of attacking people like some kind of rabid animal, of wanting to tear into the nearest living person (and look at who the nearest living people are, god, her dearest friend and a woman who shares her own face)... she has to die.
They'll have to kill her.
She pulls in a ragged breath, makes herself look back at Iman. "Yes," she says brokenly. "I... I understand." It's not real. It's not real. There's no reason for her to be shaking like this. "But I don't..." she looks up at Rita, easily the most stoic of the three of them, the least invested, and the other woman stares back before shifting a little, shoulders dropping in unspoken acquiescence. Greta bites her lip and shoots her a grateful look before looking back to Iman. "I don't want you to--to do it," she says, lifting a trembling hand to Iman's hijab, straightening out the creases. "I don't want to remember you doing it, I don't--I don't want you to have to..." she cuts herself off, unable to continue.
no subject
She stands up reluctantly, hanging onto Greta's hand as long as she can. She glances over at Rita, who's already made this implicit pact with Greta, apparently, and, well, this is about as fucked up as anything could be.
"I'll see you real soon," she whispers.
tw character death, EMOTIONS
But she doesn't want Iman to have to put her down like a dog, however temporary or necessary or--or merciful an act it might be. She can't ask that of her. She won't have her live with the memory of it. A small comfort, perhaps, but at least Greta and her odd twin can give her that much.
"As soon as I wake up," she says, wishing she could force it to happen on her own, wishing this didn't feel so solid and inescapably real. "The very moment, I... I promise."
As if she can promise Iman anything.
She gets to her feet, one hand braced on the wall for support, the other still clinging to Iman's. She finds herself running her thumb over Iman's knuckles, and it feels like a cruel parody of comfort, but it gives her something to focus on besides the subtle shift in Rita's stance or the alien whirring of all that machinery, and what it heralds.
She shuts her eyes, because she's not that brave, and quietly begs, "Please don't watch."
She hopes Rita will make it quick.
She's gone before she can hear the gunshot.