| text message ; alistair and sophie |
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September 1st,
2011 10:14 pm
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( NEW TXT MSG )
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| you're all by yourself, but you're not alone. |
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September 1st,
2011 11:25 pm
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Alessandro was not ready for the earthquake that racked Boston without warning. As the building above and around him groaned and trembled and the lights flickered erratically, as the earth screamed and tossed and bucked, Alessandro was unprepared but calm enough; he was old enough to not be frightened by sudden seismic activity, abrupt and brutal as it was. Dust rained down from the ceiling and bottles and jars tumbled form shelves and cabinets to shatter loudly against the cold, hard floor. The scent of chemicals struck the air in a potent rush and Alessandro coughed despite himself, bracing himself by the doorway as the quake ran its course. From beyond the preparation room in the blackness as the lights failed completely, there came a deafening crash and the sound of splintering wood. Something had collapsed. With that, almost as abruptly as it had started, it was over, and the house fell quiet again save for the last wounded groans of the beams and foundation. Vampires had no need of air, but Alessandro heard himself breathing heavily all the same. Old habits died hard, especially in those who still clung to life, no matter how secretively they did so.
The tube lights in the ceiling flickered weakly, came back on for a few seconds, and then one died completely, leaving the other with a weak glow that came and went. There was glass all over the floor, but by some small miracle the body on which he had been working before the quake had struck was still on the table. With unsteady hands Alessandro removed his preparation clothes, the apron and the gloves, setting them aside on a bench that was strewn with spilled chemicals and supplies. He would clean up later. Right now he had more important things to do, such as assess the damage. From what he could see of the prep room there was minimal damage downstairs. It was the upper floors that concerned him. When he turned and opened the door leading out to the short corridor to the staircase to the first floor, he was met with a cloud of dust that had a heavy weight settling in his chest. Cautiously he moved down the corridor and stopped at the foot of the staircase. Half of the steps were gone, crushed beneath the weight of the air conditioning unit that had collapsed through the floor from above. When he set a foot on the bottom step, it creaked ominously beneath his weight, but he ascended anyway, coming to a stop at the large metal shape that had buckled downward and now blocked his passage up from the basement. Taking a deep breath he did not need, he turned and moved back down the steps, walking quicker now with longer strides. His cell phone was in the prep room, he always took it out of his pocket when he worked and set it to one side, within reach so he could take calls on speaker.
( As he swung through the doorway, he came face to face with a man who did not belong there, at least not standing on his own two legs. )
[ CARMELLA ]
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| demons talk to me, so that's who i'm leaving with. [plot narrative] |
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September 1st,
2011 2:04 pm
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When the rumble and groan of shifting concrete finally faded, when the dust ground from the building itself had settled in a thick, gritty coat across everything, when the hiss of sparks flying each time a lightbulb burst in its socket in a shower of glass died into silence, Estella was still alive. More or less. She was faintly aware of coughing up grains that burned in her throat and nose, dizziness roaring through her in heady waves that made her want to retch on the coppery thickness coating her tongue. But deep in the basement of the S.I.D. headquarters, the ceiling of the tech lab was still intact. She wasn't pinned, and though she felt weak when she tested each limb, her mobility was fine. Nothing broken. Nothing agonizing. Just the sound of her own heartbeat pounding painfully inside her skull. She wiped the dust from her face, felt the wet trail from her nose that she couldn't see but could taste with perfect clarity, and slowly pushed herself up to her feet. Fishing in the pocket of her jeans, she pulled her cellphone free and brought the screen to life. Faint blue light washed over everything -- broken slides, samples in their vials cracked and leaking puddles of dark liquid across the surface of her work table, her microscope on the floor by her feet. She must have cracked her face against the viewfinder, but she couldn't recall. Precious seconds lost. One filing cabinet had tipped over, but the path to the door was clear, and she willed herself to cross the room through her dizziness. It would fade. She had to get out of here. There were so many other people in the building -- technicians, agents, filing clerks -- who knew how many had been less fortunate than herself, how many of them were trapped under desks or collapsed ceilings?
Nobody was out in the hallway. Broken glass everywhere, but some of the overhead lights were humming and flickering erratically, enough for her to see where she was going. She slid along the wall for support. Past evidence storage, where the door hung open on one hinge and no one responded to her hoarse call. The janitor's closet had spilled open, with mops and brooms laying in a broken tangle of bent handles on the ground. The acrid stench of bleach filled her nose, and Estella coughed again as she skirted the mess. The morgue was next. Had the medical examiner been caught inside? What if an agent had come down at precisely the wrong moment to see one of the cadavers for themselves? As much as she desperately wanted to get to the surface, up to the air and the light and other people, she had to check. The green metal door swam in her vision as she drew closer, and she reached out gratefully to press her hands against its cool surface for support.
Every single bone in her body was crushed and ground to nothingness with fragments working their way deep into her nerves. Agony ripping through her muscles. Iron spikes of rebarb puncturing her shoulders, goring her stomach, her thighs, stabbing holes through her lungs that made breathing difficult and screaming impossible. Hands, fingers, her ear was torn free, bits of her lit on fire and then running icy cold with shock. The pain shifted through her, one deadly injury after another, smashing her and crucifying her and slamming into her with the force of a car crash. A hundred instant deaths in the span of a heartbeat.
( And then it was gone. )
[ PLOT NARRATIVE ]
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| you wake up to the sound of alarms ( plot narrative ) |
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September 1st,
2011 10:02 pm
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One earthquake wasn't so unusual. Two was pushing it. Three was a freakshow.
After the recent bad weather it seemed nothing out of the ordinary. Denizens of Boston were nothing short of irascible in the face of the festering clouds but when the shakes came their sneers were shaken right off their faces. It hit mid afternoon when the roiling black rain clouds had congealed over the city of Boston and smothered the sun completely, turning day to night. Rain came down in a torrential downpour and the earth trembled in horror. It was biblical, the End of Days.
Casualties were widespread. Within the space of the first thirty seconds of the earthquake there were at least thirty car crashes, minor and major, fenders crumpled and windshields shattered,blood on metal and glass and bodies in the deluged roads. A handful of buildings submitted completely to the vicious shaking of the earth which would later describe the earthquake as a 7.8 that lasted for nearly three minutes. Foundations cracked, debris fell breaking bones in arms and legs and necks across the city. Animals and humans were trapped alike in basements and subterranean garages, more similar than many would have liked to imagine as they scrabbled at doorways or moaned for help from beneath mountains of rubble. Those lucky enough to have their lives when the shaking finally stopped would find themselves without power as most of the city, if not all, was plunged into darkness.
And still no one knew that the worst was yet to come.
[ PLOT NARRATIVE ]
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| Text Message: Sophie and Yasmina |
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August 24th,
2011 10:04 am
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( One New Message )
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August 21st,
2011 1:58 am
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Who: Robin Hardy and Sophie Allbright
When/Where: Saturday night at a hotel
What: After dinner, sex, and experiencing being bitten for the first time, Robin hangs out with Sophie for a bit.
Warning: Potential for suggestive material.
( ...what a night... )
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