Nobody is smart but Daryl Hockney (the_automaton) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-02-18 01:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | sherlock holmes |
Who: Daryl and Joseph (NPC)
What: A rat investigates the rattlesnake’s den and gets what a rat deserves
Where: Hamartia 301
When: 2/18 (Friday) around 2 o’clock
Warnings: Toaster abuse
The Hamartia complex was run-down, little to Daryl’s surprise. It looked as if it were waiting to be destroyed, honestly. It surprised her greatly that Sophie actually lived there, and her surprise only grew with every time she saw the place. But it didn’t matter. What her cousin did with her life was no concern of hers, she had decided. Even if Sophie did seem to, on occasion, insert herself in Daryl’s life. But she wasn’t going to think about that now. Wednesday was far behind her, and she wasn’t going to think about what Mr. Morgenstern may or may not have told her horrid cousin. Because she had a case to solve now, and tunnel vision was a wonderful thing.
She walked quickly up the stairs to the third floor, pausing just outside. Like with Tim’s apartment, she removed a glove and pressed bare fingers to the door frame. The present collapsed into the past, collapsed into dead silence and a door opening. The man she recognized from Tim’s documents walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. She pulled back, letting out a small sigh of victory. He was gone. Smirking, she pulled out her set of lockpicks, settling on her knees as she quickly got to work. The lock yielded quite easily, granting her access to the apartment. She tucked the tools away, removing her other glove as she slipped inside.
The apartment was dark, though that was to be expected - its occupant was gone. However, it wasn’t the normal sort of darkness that one would expect. There were thick curtains over the windows, obscuring the natural light that would have otherwise brightened the interior. The entire place smelled musty, the dank smell that often followed zoos. She looked about slowly, taking careful steps across the floor. At first, she clutched her messenger bag close, fingers twisted in the strap as she picked her way across the living room. Slowly, she relaxed, keeping her footsteps light and silent.
She started with the couch, brushing her fingertips over its cushions. She saw the same man, always the same man, moving about the apartment. The floor was covered in webs of snakes that moved and shifted, a topographic map that never stayed the same for long. She pulled away from the couch, eyes wide, and glanced about. Nothing. Cautious, she moved into the next room, down a very short corridor into the bathroom. She peered inside, touching the sink. Hygiene habits, nothing interesting. She frowned, moving forward into the bedroom.
It was sparse and dark, much like the rest of the apartment. But at the far end, there was a desk. She vaguely recognized the area from the documents, noting the old wood of the desk. Taking a sharp breath of anticipation, she crossed the room, giving the bed a wide berth. As she approached the desk, nearly close enough to touch, she felt a stabbing pain in her ankle. It was so sudden and horrendous that she tripped, falling flat on her face with a thud.
Groaning in pain, she turned, looking at her left leg. Her leggings were torn, she could see, with wells of blood peering out over the ragged edges of the tear. Though the room was dark, she could see a dark, legless body slither under the bed. Her breath caught in her chest as her heart thudded loud enough to be heard. There wasn’t time to debate whether or not the bite was toxic - she had to get out of the apartment fast. She began to crawl forward, bare fingers on the floor, with months of memories flooding her mind. She tried to push them back, but it was difficult. She saw snakes where there were none, and missed snakes that were there. She hadn’t made it a few yards before a sharp pain in her left hand caused her to recoil.
The angry red bite stared back at her, two distinct fang marks visible against her pale skin. She took a sharp breath, pressing her lips together thinly. She had to move quickly. As she made to stand, leg wobbly, she felt a sharp pain in her calf. Again, she was down, gagging on her own strangled scream. Dark bodies slithered around her, scales sliding over her bare hands. She tried crawling slowly, moving to avoid detection. She made it a few more yards before a pair of fangs pierced her jacket, clamping down on her arm. Abandoning care, she dragged her messenger bag along as she crawled quickly on all fours.
Her heart raced as she reached the doorway of the bedroom after sustaining two more bites to her arms and legs. Breath growing shallow, she started to leave the bedroom when her hand landed on a knot of live bodies. Fangs sank into her wrist, cool body wrapping around her arm. She fell, eyes half-open to see a surge of snakes, past and present, move towards her. This wasn’t normal animal behavior. Something was very wrong. They were coordinated, moving as a unit. It was as if they had one purpose, one goal in mind, and worked together to achieve it.
Bites landed on her legs, the pain racing up and down her body. She dragged herself forward, finding this a harder task as time passed. Her messenger bag started to feel like a cement block, her muscles lethargic and slow to act. She had to try twice as hard to move half as much, and everything hurt. Clenching her jaw, determined, she dragged herself forward beneath the weight of her bag and the writhing, biting snakes surrounding her. Halfway across the living room - she was almost there.