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Entry tags:
- !plot: at the mountains of madness,
- batman,
- billy cranston,
- brenda,
- dustin silver,
- erwin fischer,
- fate testarossa harlaown,
- fletcher tringham,
- hellion,
- jamie mccrimmon,
- kang,
- katara,
- kaylee frye,
- lash,
- lex luthor,
- loren,
- lyle norg,
- miku hinasaki,
- plays-in-traffic,
- renne,
- robert donovan,
- robin,
- rtas 'vadum,
- russel tringham,
- samus aran,
- sawyer,
- sheeana,
- sofia mantega,
- stature,
- steve burnside,
- supergirl,
- superman,
- toph,
- yoshimi ito
The Battle That Ended The Century
People say that war is hell. This looked it.
Buildings and cars and bodies are scattered like broken toys as far as the eye can see, stretching out toward a dirty horizon. Even the clouds seems streaked with mud and blood, and they're taking it out on everyone below with a constant stream of cold, soaking rain.
The sounds of fighting seem to come from all directions, but at this moment, there's no one else in sight.
A breather. The calm before the storm.
[[OOC: This is for everyone who was involved with "The Lurking Fear". Questions go to Milo or Kaylin.]]
Buildings and cars and bodies are scattered like broken toys as far as the eye can see, stretching out toward a dirty horizon. Even the clouds seems streaked with mud and blood, and they're taking it out on everyone below with a constant stream of cold, soaking rain.
The sounds of fighting seem to come from all directions, but at this moment, there's no one else in sight.
A breather. The calm before the storm.
[[OOC: This is for everyone who was involved with "The Lurking Fear". Questions go to Milo or Kaylin.]]
no subject
No luck in the backpack, though. Dustin snarled angrily and kicked the dirty red bag into the shack, at least showing some compassion by getting the various electronics out of the rain, and he thought of possible alternatives.
Well, he could use her clothing, since she was wearing a plantsuit. Dustin thought it would grow back if he pulled off a section, but he didn’t want to run the risk of opening up new areas to infection if it didn’t. Otherwise he could use his clothing, but he wasn’t wearing a plantsuit in the first place. Then again, there was his overcoat…
No. No no no no. Dustin was not giving up his overcoat. Not even to Yoshimi. Not even to the first person who held competent conversations with him when he first awoke, or the one who forced his delirious ass to get some food and sleep after he suffered the most epic failure of his technological career, or the one who let him set up in their room no matter how rude and insensitive he could be at times; not even the one who, most recently, saved him from the most emotionally crippling nightmare in his conscious existence…
…Damnit. He was giving up the coat.
Dustin unceremoniously ushered Yoshimi into the shelter of the crude hut, shaking off his damp overcoat with several flicks towards the corner. The outside was pretty gross, yes, but the inside was sterilized. Don’t ask him how he knows that, or why that is—maybe later he’ll be able to explain why.
Part of him wanted to say something. Something thankful, you know—because Yoshimi really deserved it, after all the crap he’d put her through, without giving anything in return other than crude insults and commands. And, as he brought the large garment into position, gnawing a cut into the bottom section of cool gray fabric, Dustin steeled himself to say it. He paused and looked at her, determined yet confused, far too much going on behind those emerald green eyes to be able to read them.
And he said:
“…Hold still.”
Flinching, Dustin ripped the overcoat. He hurried to tie it around Yoshimi’s shoulder as if standing still was physically ailing for him; then he tore off a few more sections, using them for her shattered hands and other serious cuts in the vicinity.
She better be pretty damn thankful.
no subject
Still, she's not exactly planning on thanking him as he draws hisses of pain from her by applying too much pressure to that one - yeah, right there - gash across her forearm. Definitely not the worst of the wounds, but it's shallow enough that it's stinging like all hell, and she's really not sure if she prefers the stinging to the throbbing, mind-numbing pain radiating from her shoulder.
Within a few minutes, the fabric around her shoulder is fairly soaked, but the pressure has done a good job of stymying the would-be exsanguination. With a puff of breath, she flops to the floor, back against a wall, eyebrows knitted together.
"What now?" Ah, the sound of gratitude...
no subject
Dustin sighed heavily, staring at the tattered remains of his coat, before gingerly folding it up and placing it within his soaked backpack. He looked oddly naked without the garment, as he was wearing only a black and red t-shirt underneath, far too baggy for one with such a frail frame, and with his bushy brown hair substantially wet he gave a striking semblance to a drowned cat. Albeit, a drowned cat with an exposed forearm prosthetic twitching awkwardly by its junction, exposed, scarred, and still red from the uncountable procedures Dustin performed in order to attach it. The way the metal twisted, curving around insulation and bicep insertions, was, nevertheless, almost like a work of art.
And then he glanced back at the collapsed Yoshimi, gaze softening as he noticed her pain. Yes: despite popular belief, the man does indeed have a heart.
Not like he was about to show it, though. Dustin immediately bristled. “What, don’t you have any bright ideas?”
”…Because I don’t have any…”
no subject
"No, jackass. I'm not the one with the superhuman brain here. Though I can't say that you're using the damn thing too well right now." A careful inhale follows on the tail end of her words, and the tone that would ordinarily have been cutting and scornful is barely sarcastic with her in her current state. "What's up with that, anyway?"
no subject
He seemed to deflate, taking several deep breaths to calm down, narrowed eyes sliding to the opposite wall with ashamed reluctance. He shuffled there and sank to the ground.
“…I don’t know…”
There’s always a first for everything, right?
no subject
"Well, uh... what do you... feel?" There is concern in her voice despite its weakness, and she would move over to his side of the hut but for her own exhaustion. "I mean, you're you, that brain of yours is, like... I don't know. It's half of you. I'd assume that you could feel something weird if it was going on up there."
no subject
“Yeah, I do…” he muttered, kneading his temple experimentally, “It’s like…this noise, this constant static ringing in my ears, like…like my brain’s working, but I’m not getting a signal.”
Dustin was rambling—this was bad. “You know what I mean, right?”
no subject
"Is it... well, I mean... it sounds like this... this one time, I had to kind of... take down the Internet, and when I knocked out the final server, my VerID chip went... crazy. It was just white noise, and it wasn't that it wasn't letting me think, it was that I couldn't. Something about that noise breaks all capabilities of cogent thought...." Which had been bad at the time, as the facility housing the engine was going into shutdown, which really means explosion when it's an international military station that has been breached, and she hadn't been able to think clearly enough to get the hell out of there. She had some shiny, shiny scars from that one.
She would conjecture more, something about residual energy from the beginning of the Universe and white noise - because it's a commonly taught fact in the schools of her time that a very small percentage of white noise is radiation from the Big Bang, which proves helpful knowledge for programming some of the communication devices used in war... She would conjecture, but she's already looking pale from the memory of home, and her breath short from blood loss.
She settles, instead, for a query: "Anything like that?"