⚜ savannah, a freaking brave idiot. (shadowbinder) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2012-11-12 00:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! plot: horror, mikael eiriksson, savannah bordeaux, ~ horror: seaside village |
LOG.
WHO: Mikael Eiriksson [ICELAND] & Savannah Bordeaux [USA].
WHAT: Some straight-up Cthulhu shit is going down. Savannah and Mikael, both angry and sick of George Cooper's crap, end up teaming together to bring down some octopuses and/or creepy old people.
WHEN: Day 4, shortly before the dream begins to crumble.
WHERE: Seaside Village.
WARNINGS: Gore!
STATUS: Complete.
Savannah was never taking people who brushed their teeth for granted again. The woman who was standing--no, looming--quite literally above her had her mouth open, putrid saliva slipping down her tongue as she breathed the handful of inches down into Savannah’s face. The Louisianan cringed visibly, turning her head away from both the woman’s yellowed maw and the bloodied skinning knife she kept attempting to bring down on Savannah’s head. Jab. Savannah gritted her teeth, visibly physically strained, one of her hands occupied with grasping the woman’s, and the other attempting to free both itself and her machete. It was pinned under the dead weight of one of the villagers, who unfortunately had a girth to complement the weight and stiffness of his onset rigor mortis. Jab. “FUDGE---” Savannah growled through her clenched, full set of teeth, “---OFF.” Her knees were drawn up far enough to keep the woman suspended in the air as she continued attempting to stab downward, but apart from the exercises she’d perfected in training, Savannah was not athletic. Mikael heard Savannah's sweet lilting voice and turned his head to help her out. Really, Savannah was the type of girl who could handle her own and let everybody know it, and Mikael never doubted that, but she had promised to come back and get him, and she had done it, so he felt he owed it to her to help her with the creepy villagers. He had a long ice pick that one of the village's fishermen had possessed; that is, until Mikael shoved him at the dreadful old ones and seen him get devoured by the weird, octopus-like creature with the mouth that smelled like death. Using the ice pick, Mikael stabbed the woman in the butt (hey, it was right there) and tried to push her off of Savannah. He said nothing during this exchange, as this was Mikael and words were wasted in the moment of combat. The woman howled--but in rage, it seemed, rather than pain--as she rolled off Savannah, clutching at her backside. Seizing the opportunity, Savannah clenched her jaw again, ignoring the strain on her tendons as she wrenched her hand out from underneath the dead man. To her brief horror, she found her hand covered in blood. It seemed that as the man had fallen onto her machete, he’d also partially impaled himself, opening a wound that dripped down Savannah’s arm and onto her already dirtied shirt. Nevertheless, she didn’t let go of the machete as she leapt to her feet as best she could, cringing from the number of bruises she’d collected in the fight. Still unwilling to give up her prey, the fisherwoman swiped savagely at Savannah’s ankle, shredding the denim and slicing some of her skin in the process. “Are you KIDDIN’ me?” she erupted in frustration. She’d been thrown, punched, everything under the sun in this fight so far, but this was going to hurt her running, which she needed. Savannah wasn’t sure who she was angrier at--George Cooper or his persistent nightmares--but whichever one was responsible had earned her wrath. Aiming a ruthless kick at the woman’s head, Savannah yelled, “No!” Thud. “NO!” Thud. “You QUIT it!” Thunk. “NO!” Schlunk. “Are you okay?” she yelled over her shoulder at Mikael, raising her machete and bringing it down in a mercy blow, then cringing at the spurt of blood that sprayed her in the face. “Ugh, are you kiddin’ me?” Rarely unladylike, Savannah spat, pulling a grimace at the taste of blood that was not only coppery, but fishy. "Holy shit," was all Mikael could say in response to all of it. Holy shit, a man had fallen on a fucking machete. Holy shit, Savannah just massacred that lady. Holy shit, she was covered in blood, and holy shit, she spat out a glob of bloody spit. It was pretty hot. Not that Mikael was going to say that, not here, not now, not in the middle of this struggle for their lives. Mikael nudged the fisherwoman with his sneakered foot. When she didn't move, Mikael glanced up at Savannah, an impressed look on his face. "I think you got her." He laughed, out of relief. Finally, something was going their way. "Are you--" He began to ask, but grunted in surprise as another fisherman barreled into him, babbling insanely about needing death for the old ones. Mikael screamed at him, trying to push him off of him, to punch him, anything to get the fisherman off of himself. "Sav!" He screamed, grabbing the attention of the fiery redhead. In the interest of full disclosure, killing--even hurting things at all, in any way--was not Savannah’s thing, but two key elements had changed that. One, they weren’t real. They’re not real, she reminded herself fiercely, prying the machete from the old lady and hoisting it up again. They’re not. They’re NOT. There were no real-world consequences for defending yourself from homicidal dream creations, so she shouldn’t feel bad about it. Nonetheless, the reason for Savannah’s every yell, every scream, was to empower herself with anger, because otherwise, she was afraid she couldn’t get the job done. Two, it was either her and her friends, or them and George Cooper, and while Savannah was still a gentle enough soul to find the idea of killing imaginary people to save her own skin appalling, she could sure as heck envision herself taking the fall for the others. It was an almost comically intense combination of pure terror that any of them could die, for real, any moment; of anger that they were in this stupid fudging crap because some guy on a power trip decided he had the right to kill them all; and of undiluted adrenaline that drove Savannah to charge the fisherman as he barreled down on Mikael, yelling as she swung her new favorite weapon in untrained arcs. She had to do something--anything--and so, she did. “Hold on a sec!” she called out to Mikael. Savannah’s mind raced, and then, she did what was quite possibly the most insane thing she’d thought of during the entire nightmare trip, and she ran straight for it, letting out a scream of horror as she leapt onto the fisherman’s back, stabbing into his old--and weirdly sturdy--shoulders. “I,” she hollered. Schluck. “HATE.” Sching. “THIS.” Thunk. “DREAM!” Mikael joined in, pummeling the old bearded man with a wooden plank he had found nearby, slapping him upside the head and across the face and accidentally puncturing the man in the eye with a nail that had been protruding from the board. Mikael was panting then, entirely out of breath from all of the running around he had been doing. And, hey, nearly being the sacrificial lamb made your heart race a bit, too. "You're my hero," Mikael said in a faux breathless voice as he let off of the old man and turned to Savannah. Savannah had leapt off the man’s crumpling form before he’d collapsed, and now, she couldn’t help grinning--a nervous, even wild grin with her face spattered in blood droplets, but a grin nonetheless. It was more positive emotion than she’d demonstrated since they’d entered the nightmarescape, shaky, but genuine. “I can’t believe I’m doin’ this!” she confessed, raising her voice significantly to be heard over the din. “When we get back, nobody’s gonna believe we were this crazy--oh.” Hair whipping around in the wind like unfurling red banners, Savannah turned in time to see the octopus gods shudder as one, then buckle at the knees and begin to drop, down, down into a chasm of suddenly-appearing whiteness, nothingness. Somehow shaken by this, despite all that had happened to them (after all, at least throughout the dream, the scenery had remained constant), Savannah reached instinctively for Mikael’s arm, grabbing it in apprehension. “What’s happening?” she yelled out to him, feeling her heart thudding even amidst the roar of the chaotic scape. “Where do you think we’re goin’ now?” Mikael had no clue what was happening but it scared the shit out of him and he instinctively stepped closer to Savannah, who had grabbed his arm. He didn't even mind the physical contact, as he had become so accustomed to Savannah in such a brief period of time and, really, he wanted to cling to her, too. His heart rate increased and he could practically feel his heart pumping in his ears, a heavy rushing sound that flooded through his head. Mikael thought he might be sick from nerves over it all, but he never had a chance, as the dream finally collapsed, dissolving around them and bringing them into the abandoned fairgrounds. Mikael swore aloud in icelandic and gripped Savannah even tighter as the frightening carnival formulated around them. “Oh, my God,” Savannah breathed, her knuckles white from where they held onto Mikael’s arm, his shoulder. Underneath her feet, the ground was shaking violently, and their surroundings were melting away. Gone was the seaside, with the rocks and the waves. Grass now lay beneath them, and crude shadows loomed up around them like suddenly-sprouting, terrifying plants. One of the tallest shapes seemed to warp before her eyes, into a large circle. A ferris wheel, she realized suddenly. The dream isn’t over. “Stay with me!” she pleaded, her voice going up an octave in her oddly concentrated hysteria. “Mikael, promise me you’re gonna hold on!” It wasn’t a terribly articulate demand, but a new, fresh fear was rising amidst the chaos: If they got separated, they might never find each other again, and then they’d never get back to IVI. Where did people go when they got lost in dreams? |