Afterthought (Silas, Tiffany, & Ionone)
Quote from Indy on April 11, 2020, 11:46 amThe small canvas pack scarcely larger than a child’s schoolbag sank heavily in Silas’ grip. At the top lay a few curious, plastic containers with small, hollow eggs; if opened, a strange smell not unlike pepper and iron would have offended the senses. There was no further labeling in regards to their intended usage. A zipper in the lining of the flap yielded discovery to a small lighter, a handful of granola bars, and a few hand warmers. One sideflap held a large kanai dagger and the other throwing stars. Further down the layers was a small first aid kit made of bright red, waterproof fabric enclosed with metal buttons as found in any grocery store; and yet upon opening, while the traditional fare could be found, so to was a small suture kit, two hypodermic needles, and a handful of small, labeled vials intended more for harm than aid.
And still the further down the satchel that was traveled, the fare became stranger. There was a canteen of water in a flexible animal-skin pouch, and another length of durable rope thicker than the one Ionone had brought along with her; a sharp, metal grappling hook was tied securely to the far end. At this layer, the bulk of the weight would have become apparent: a grey package as large as a hefty history book was labeled “CHARGED DEMOLITION M112”, along with a matching transponder and receiver.
The small canvas pack scarcely larger than a child’s schoolbag sank heavily in Silas’ grip. At the top lay a few curious, plastic containers with small, hollow eggs; if opened, a strange smell not unlike pepper and iron would have offended the senses. There was no further labeling in regards to their intended usage. A zipper in the lining of the flap yielded discovery to a small lighter, a handful of granola bars, and a few hand warmers. One sideflap held a large kanai dagger and the other throwing stars. Further down the layers was a small first aid kit made of bright red, waterproof fabric enclosed with metal buttons as found in any grocery store; and yet upon opening, while the traditional fare could be found, so to was a small suture kit, two hypodermic needles, and a handful of small, labeled vials intended more for harm than aid.
And still the further down the satchel that was traveled, the fare became stranger. There was a canteen of water in a flexible animal-skin pouch, and another length of durable rope thicker than the one Ionone had brought along with her; a sharp, metal grappling hook was tied securely to the far end. At this layer, the bulk of the weight would have become apparent: a grey package as large as a hefty history book was labeled “CHARGED DEMOLITION M112”, along with a matching transponder and receiver.
Quote from Adriana on April 11, 2020, 9:55 pmSilas examined each item, but some more briefly than others. He pocketed the small lighter for now. He wrapped the rope around his shoulder. If he needed it, which he wouldn't know why he would- but IF he did- it was more useful out of the bag. He opened the canteen of water and sniffed it, then took a small sip and swished it in his mouth, before deciding it was good, clean water. Atlas may need that. He kept it on his lap.
The vials were another matter. With a knit brow he read the labels of each, then withdrew the needles and filled each with a little bit of each liquid. Then he capped the needles and put them in his pocket, opposite of the lighter. He left the explosives, the knife and the throwing knives, none of which could he see benefiting him. If the man got close enough to use a knife, the needle was much more discreet and probably many times more potent. The knives he was unskilled with, if he knew what they were. "Blender replacement blades?" he had mumbled, putting them back in the bag. Then the explosive - that was a last resort. Everyone was dead, he was going down, and he intended to take the hunter down with him. Last ditch effort. Action movie style.
But the real world was seldom like that. His was marginally closer to an action movie than anyone else's. And still most of the time, he felt no more excited than a business man behind a desk, learning to flip a pen in his fingers. It was a lot of wait and see.
Maybe.
Silas twiddled his thumbs. He looked up at the timber support beams overhead. Then considered the ropes on his shoulder. He handed the bag of objects to the man, certain to grab the detonator for the explosives, and then took another long look up at the timber. Then he took the rope off of his shoulder and began to swing the end before letting it loose up into the timber rafters overhead. It wrapped around two parallel beams and hooked onto itself and the board. Silas tested it. The boards had a bit of give but otherwise seemed that they would hold his way. Without a second thought, he began to pull himself up the rope and climb into the beams up above-his build made it easy, with a strong upper body and relatively slim overall structure. Then he climbed onto one of the 2x4 beams and unhooked the rope, drawing it up and wrapping it around his shoulder again.
It's times like this he was glad for his family genes. His tail made balancing that much easier. He began across the rafters carefully, watching for faults in the wood, and he worked his way towards the lighting... wire by wire he began to unhook the lighting...
Silas examined each item, but some more briefly than others. He pocketed the small lighter for now. He wrapped the rope around his shoulder. If he needed it, which he wouldn't know why he would- but IF he did- it was more useful out of the bag. He opened the canteen of water and sniffed it, then took a small sip and swished it in his mouth, before deciding it was good, clean water. Atlas may need that. He kept it on his lap.
The vials were another matter. With a knit brow he read the labels of each, then withdrew the needles and filled each with a little bit of each liquid. Then he capped the needles and put them in his pocket, opposite of the lighter. He left the explosives, the knife and the throwing knives, none of which could he see benefiting him. If the man got close enough to use a knife, the needle was much more discreet and probably many times more potent. The knives he was unskilled with, if he knew what they were. "Blender replacement blades?" he had mumbled, putting them back in the bag. Then the explosive - that was a last resort. Everyone was dead, he was going down, and he intended to take the hunter down with him. Last ditch effort. Action movie style.
But the real world was seldom like that. His was marginally closer to an action movie than anyone else's. And still most of the time, he felt no more excited than a business man behind a desk, learning to flip a pen in his fingers. It was a lot of wait and see.
Maybe.
Silas twiddled his thumbs. He looked up at the timber support beams overhead. Then considered the ropes on his shoulder. He handed the bag of objects to the man, certain to grab the detonator for the explosives, and then took another long look up at the timber. Then he took the rope off of his shoulder and began to swing the end before letting it loose up into the timber rafters overhead. It wrapped around two parallel beams and hooked onto itself and the board. Silas tested it. The boards had a bit of give but otherwise seemed that they would hold his way. Without a second thought, he began to pull himself up the rope and climb into the beams up above-his build made it easy, with a strong upper body and relatively slim overall structure. Then he climbed onto one of the 2x4 beams and unhooked the rope, drawing it up and wrapping it around his shoulder again.
It's times like this he was glad for his family genes. His tail made balancing that much easier. He began across the rafters carefully, watching for faults in the wood, and he worked his way towards the lighting... wire by wire he began to unhook the lighting...
Quote from Mae on April 16, 2020, 12:44 amOn the lower levels, a heavy earth smell was mixed with the damp taste of mold. Light was scarce, but one needn't see to know the wood was rotten down here. The tunnels continued to diverge. The length of the lines was unknown, as a sudden bend appeared to bring about a sudden end in all directions. Another sump on the lower level permitted further descent.
On the lower levels, a heavy earth smell was mixed with the damp taste of mold. Light was scarce, but one needn't see to know the wood was rotten down here. The tunnels continued to diverge. The length of the lines was unknown, as a sudden bend appeared to bring about a sudden end in all directions. Another sump on the lower level permitted further descent.
Quote from Indy on April 16, 2020, 8:37 pmDown down Ionone went... it was easy to imagine herself a single dot in an infinite expanse, beyond the reaches of the dim lighting. She felt so vulnerable without her toolset at her disposal, limited only to what could fit conveniently beneath her sash... the thin, lightweight rope seemed such a delicate tether to return her to the land of the living.
.. and deeper down still she went, finding her way down the sump and bracing herself for the cool embrace of water.
Down down Ionone went... it was easy to imagine herself a single dot in an infinite expanse, beyond the reaches of the dim lighting. She felt so vulnerable without her toolset at her disposal, limited only to what could fit conveniently beneath her sash... the thin, lightweight rope seemed such a delicate tether to return her to the land of the living.
.. and deeper down still she went, finding her way down the sump and bracing herself for the cool embrace of water.
Quote from Mae on April 16, 2020, 9:52 pmNote:
The following reply may disturb sensitive readers and can be skipped without consequence to the story. Readers advised to skip this post if they have any aversion to death, decaying matter, ghosts, real life elements, or hostage scenarios.Reply Summary:
"Tiffany, suffering from an acute fear of the dark, is haunted by her imagination and stories from her past. When the lights in the mine finally come back on, she stands face to face with Douglas Hampshire - a dangerous werewolf hunter. Fearing for her life, Tiffany is taken prisoner without a fight."
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Click to continue reading.
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"Just one word. That's all we are." Slowly, he let her breathe again. "One word in a long story; hardly seen as the page is turned, then forgotten. The end of a word is not marked, - not by a comma; not by a question."
Tiffany drew each new breath slowly, as if it were her first and last together. She felt the hunter's knees pressed against her ribs with every breath. His weight beard down on her neck, shoulders, and back. His head was bent low. She could feel the warmth of his breath on the fur in her ear. She lay still, staring across the gravelly floor with her mouth and eyes open.
"... you're going to change back now." He whispered. "Or its the end of a word."
****
Earlier...
Tiffany traveled in darkness for more than an hour. It was her own personal torment. Long ago, when she was a child, her adopted brothers delighted in plaguing her. She would come home from school, having braved bullies, teachers, and mathamatics only to be caught by the big boys at the door. They would carry her off and lock her in a closet, or a chest, or the trunk of the old Volkswagen behind the house. There she would wait in the dark until someone asked about her at dinner. But if momma Tycoon was taking medicine again, or daddy Tycoon was drunk, dinner would never be set. The boys never came for her unless beaten, and if no one else came looking she would wait there til morning.
In that sense, Tiffany was right at home in the mine. No one was coming. She went on alone.
All while she walked she found herself encircled about in the throngs of terror. Having worked under Beta Talkane and Gabriel, Tiffany knew the dark secrets they kept. And without light, she could see it vividly as one who had spent many hours with their imagination, making pictures in the dark. Haunting wisps and shadows plagued every step into the abyss; every direction was barred by some gruesome face, some marred corpse, or some scene of violence Tiffany had seen long ago. She saw them standing, staring at her, in the same posture she saw them last. And those things she never witnessed, she dreamt just the same - she knew that the flesh of every man and woman she helped send to the grave soon decayed, withering away to a thin crusty paper, peeling back from the bone and leaving the skeletal remains. In such decay they watched her, and followed her. She walked on them and through them, knowing she had no other choice. Like every other instance in her life, it didn't matter what she suffered as long as she got through it. Yet, like a pain that never relents, it grew gradually more and more unbearable, until -
A sound moved through the tunnels, and Tiffany saw the ghosts stumble... then the shadows peeled away and every thin figure stood motionless in the light. Every elusive person, every ashen cold and smoky form slid back against the walls with their thin grey fingers splayed. Silent as the grave, their countenances distorted, and their bodies dissipating, they sank into the cracks in the walls and vanished from sight. They were gone in an instant. - All except one. One stood in the center of the hall, staring at Tiffany with a hard gaze. His eyes were dark, almost black. His face was thin. Tiffany stared at him hardly daring to breathe as she examined the gun in his hand. Then all at once it dawned on her. This person, the worst of all of the ghosts in her past stood in front of her, not a figment of imagination or a haunting apparition. He stood before her in the flesh, a solid part of cruel reality.
Tiffany did not know how he caught hold of her, only that he did. She found herself overcome and pressed against the mine floor. Just as she was realizing the dark was gone, she found it returning gradually at the edge of her vision. Tiffany could see the pale greedy faces of her tormentors again, pressing their way back out of the stone cracks; squeezing their foreheads flat through the walls. She became afraid; afraid of that which awaited behind eyes closed in a final sleep; Fear of death overpowered her will to fight. She relented to her captor. That was when he whispered in her ear. That was how he coerced her to surrender.
Note:
The following reply may disturb sensitive readers and can be skipped without consequence to the story. Readers advised to skip this post if they have any aversion to death, decaying matter, ghosts, real life elements, or hostage scenarios.
Reply Summary:
"Tiffany, suffering from an acute fear of the dark, is haunted by her imagination and stories from her past. When the lights in the mine finally come back on, she stands face to face with Douglas Hampshire - a dangerous werewolf hunter. Fearing for her life, Tiffany is taken prisoner without a fight."
***
The post has been hidden in quotation for the convenience of the reader.
***
Click to continue reading.
*********************************************
"Just one word. That's all we are." Slowly, he let her breathe again. "One word in a long story; hardly seen as the page is turned, then forgotten. The end of a word is not marked, - not by a comma; not by a question."
Tiffany drew each new breath slowly, as if it were her first and last together. She felt the hunter's knees pressed against her ribs with every breath. His weight beard down on her neck, shoulders, and back. His head was bent low. She could feel the warmth of his breath on the fur in her ear. She lay still, staring across the gravelly floor with her mouth and eyes open.
"... you're going to change back now." He whispered. "Or its the end of a word."
****
Earlier...
Tiffany traveled in darkness for more than an hour. It was her own personal torment. Long ago, when she was a child, her adopted brothers delighted in plaguing her. She would come home from school, having braved bullies, teachers, and mathamatics only to be caught by the big boys at the door. They would carry her off and lock her in a closet, or a chest, or the trunk of the old Volkswagen behind the house. There she would wait in the dark until someone asked about her at dinner. But if momma Tycoon was taking medicine again, or daddy Tycoon was drunk, dinner would never be set. The boys never came for her unless beaten, and if no one else came looking she would wait there til morning.
In that sense, Tiffany was right at home in the mine. No one was coming. She went on alone.
All while she walked she found herself encircled about in the throngs of terror. Having worked under Beta Talkane and Gabriel, Tiffany knew the dark secrets they kept. And without light, she could see it vividly as one who had spent many hours with their imagination, making pictures in the dark. Haunting wisps and shadows plagued every step into the abyss; every direction was barred by some gruesome face, some marred corpse, or some scene of violence Tiffany had seen long ago. She saw them standing, staring at her, in the same posture she saw them last. And those things she never witnessed, she dreamt just the same - she knew that the flesh of every man and woman she helped send to the grave soon decayed, withering away to a thin crusty paper, peeling back from the bone and leaving the skeletal remains. In such decay they watched her, and followed her. She walked on them and through them, knowing she had no other choice. Like every other instance in her life, it didn't matter what she suffered as long as she got through it. Yet, like a pain that never relents, it grew gradually more and more unbearable, until -
A sound moved through the tunnels, and Tiffany saw the ghosts stumble... then the shadows peeled away and every thin figure stood motionless in the light. Every elusive person, every ashen cold and smoky form slid back against the walls with their thin grey fingers splayed. Silent as the grave, their countenances distorted, and their bodies dissipating, they sank into the cracks in the walls and vanished from sight. They were gone in an instant. - All except one. One stood in the center of the hall, staring at Tiffany with a hard gaze. His eyes were dark, almost black. His face was thin. Tiffany stared at him hardly daring to breathe as she examined the gun in his hand. Then all at once it dawned on her. This person, the worst of all of the ghosts in her past stood in front of her, not a figment of imagination or a haunting apparition. He stood before her in the flesh, a solid part of cruel reality.
Tiffany did not know how he caught hold of her, only that he did. She found herself overcome and pressed against the mine floor. Just as she was realizing the dark was gone, she found it returning gradually at the edge of her vision. Tiffany could see the pale greedy faces of her tormentors again, pressing their way back out of the stone cracks; squeezing their foreheads flat through the walls. She became afraid; afraid of that which awaited behind eyes closed in a final sleep; Fear of death overpowered her will to fight. She relented to her captor. That was when he whispered in her ear. That was how he coerced her to surrender.
Quote from Indy on April 16, 2020, 10:48 pmAtlas stayed where he'd been placed, the rise and fall of his breath the only appreciable note from him. If he thought anything of Silas' new vantage, he did not let on, and fell so still it was as if he was sleeping....
Something awake there in the dark. He was sure. Something lurking, like a snake, in the shadows, waiting... be quiet, the mountain told him, and he won't see you. Move, and he'll snap you up.
But she'll die....
Let her die, the mountain said. Let her become the bones of my caverns and blood to my body. She will never be alone, never hunger, never fear, never weep, never hurt... a bullet is mercy, in a place like this.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing abruptly increasing as he shivered deeply into the blanket.
But it never was just a bullet, was it? The mountain fell silent.
He gasped sharply, standing up so abruptly it would be missed if he wasn't being watched. Shortly thereafter he scurried like the adept underground creature he was on as much 4 legs as 2, heading back the way he and Silas had initially come.
Atlas stayed where he'd been placed, the rise and fall of his breath the only appreciable note from him. If he thought anything of Silas' new vantage, he did not let on, and fell so still it was as if he was sleeping....
Something awake there in the dark. He was sure. Something lurking, like a snake, in the shadows, waiting... be quiet, the mountain told him, and he won't see you. Move, and he'll snap you up.
But she'll die....
Let her die, the mountain said. Let her become the bones of my caverns and blood to my body. She will never be alone, never hunger, never fear, never weep, never hurt... a bullet is mercy, in a place like this.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing abruptly increasing as he shivered deeply into the blanket.
But it never was just a bullet, was it? The mountain fell silent.
He gasped sharply, standing up so abruptly it would be missed if he wasn't being watched. Shortly thereafter he scurried like the adept underground creature he was on as much 4 legs as 2, heading back the way he and Silas had initially come.
Quote from Adriana on April 17, 2020, 8:00 pmSilas watched as his charge once again bolted off into the tedium of the mines. His ears twitched back and he whined to himself, looking down at the hole in which Ionone had gone, and back up in the direction his guide was quickly disappearing... with a frustrated breath, he climbed back down from the rafters and began to follow Atlas, but with far less enthusiasm. He'd stay on Atlas' trail until it led, somewhere...
Silas watched as his charge once again bolted off into the tedium of the mines. His ears twitched back and he whined to himself, looking down at the hole in which Ionone had gone, and back up in the direction his guide was quickly disappearing... with a frustrated breath, he climbed back down from the rafters and began to follow Atlas, but with far less enthusiasm. He'd stay on Atlas' trail until it led, somewhere...
Quote from Mae on April 17, 2020, 8:48 pmDown the black, winding tunnels with the strange whirring noise growing ever less faint. The long, hallow earthen walls carried the sound from one end of the mine to the other. What was the electricity source deep in the mine? How did it operate, and why after so many years of silence? The answer to these questions would not be found, but the source of the noise was upon them presently.
A large screeching wheel, pulling miles of thick metal wire out of the earth ground its motion to a halt just as Silas and Atlas rounded the corner. It sat over the darkest vertical shaft one had ever seen; - a straight drop into the belly of the earth. And now one could begin to imagine why the mountain was so cold and cruel, for mount Turbulence was hallowed out through its core. Somewhere at the bottom of that shaft, be there water or miles of sound-consuming darkness, the hunter surely waited...
Down the black, winding tunnels with the strange whirring noise growing ever less faint. The long, hallow earthen walls carried the sound from one end of the mine to the other. What was the electricity source deep in the mine? How did it operate, and why after so many years of silence? The answer to these questions would not be found, but the source of the noise was upon them presently.
A large screeching wheel, pulling miles of thick metal wire out of the earth ground its motion to a halt just as Silas and Atlas rounded the corner. It sat over the darkest vertical shaft one had ever seen; - a straight drop into the belly of the earth. And now one could begin to imagine why the mountain was so cold and cruel, for mount Turbulence was hallowed out through its core. Somewhere at the bottom of that shaft, be there water or miles of sound-consuming darkness, the hunter surely waited...
Quote from Adriana on April 17, 2020, 9:55 pmSilas was a corpse. His eyes were glazed over, his walk was lifeless and mostly aimless. If he was surprised to see the lift dangling over the abyss to the underworld, it didn't register as anything more than a blink, and a "huh".
He could smell Tiffany on the air. It was vague; mingled with mold and water, the scent of another. The hunter. As always, the hunter was a step ahead - he had the upper hand; he knew the tunnels, the tools within them.
If anything kept the zombie animated, it was the thought that even if they all died down here, Curls shouldn't have to die in the hands of a creepy hunter. Already he felt ill at the thought of her being in the center of the world alone with him. Self preservation was never at the top of his list of things to do, but this was different.
They would hear the elevator. The hunter would. He would count on it. And when it arrived to open up, they'd be sitting ducks; probably have more holes in them than Swiss cheese. Maybe the lift was rigged with a detonator.
Maybe it was all a long, bad dream.
Silas opened the door to the lift and stepped inside, lighting a cigarette as he waited for Atlas, slumping against the back wall of the lift.
"Geronimo," he mumbled. Even in his secondary form the bags on his eyes had gotten so heavy you could use them to carry things. The line between reality and his hallucinations was getting increasingly blurred, but he wasn't about to tell that to his spidery friend, who certainly had his own slew of spooks. It could have been the next day, they would have no idea to know. He continued to pull on his cigarette, his last anchor to any sort of reality. His beloved car, his shoes and clothes, the idea of seeing Diane again - it was all just an afterthought by now.
Silas was a corpse. His eyes were glazed over, his walk was lifeless and mostly aimless. If he was surprised to see the lift dangling over the abyss to the underworld, it didn't register as anything more than a blink, and a "huh".
He could smell Tiffany on the air. It was vague; mingled with mold and water, the scent of another. The hunter. As always, the hunter was a step ahead - he had the upper hand; he knew the tunnels, the tools within them.
If anything kept the zombie animated, it was the thought that even if they all died down here, Curls shouldn't have to die in the hands of a creepy hunter. Already he felt ill at the thought of her being in the center of the world alone with him. Self preservation was never at the top of his list of things to do, but this was different.
They would hear the elevator. The hunter would. He would count on it. And when it arrived to open up, they'd be sitting ducks; probably have more holes in them than Swiss cheese. Maybe the lift was rigged with a detonator.
Maybe it was all a long, bad dream.
Silas opened the door to the lift and stepped inside, lighting a cigarette as he waited for Atlas, slumping against the back wall of the lift.
"Geronimo," he mumbled. Even in his secondary form the bags on his eyes had gotten so heavy you could use them to carry things. The line between reality and his hallucinations was getting increasingly blurred, but he wasn't about to tell that to his spidery friend, who certainly had his own slew of spooks. It could have been the next day, they would have no idea to know. He continued to pull on his cigarette, his last anchor to any sort of reality. His beloved car, his shoes and clothes, the idea of seeing Diane again - it was all just an afterthought by now.
Quote from Indy on April 17, 2020, 10:52 pmIonone found herself lapping at the edge of the dark waters, starring off into the dying ends of the light. Beyond the narrow sphere of illumination there was only darkness, only the unknown. A breath caught in her throat as the cold touch of the water tickled at the pawpads on her feet. Carefully, she eased her snout over the cold, rotted iron of the sump to secure herself as she tied one end of the lightweight rope-- scarcely thicker than yarn, really -- onto the rail.
It was her lifeline, her route home. The mark of her cowardice in the dark shadows, because she was too afraid to be lost in them. Grandfather starred onwards from the shadows. He knew her well. When she'd been younger, Tiffany had always been her heart, the beating thing inside her. But that had been so long ago...
She was different now. She'd forgotten her heart. The child in her would have defended her to her last breath, pulling her up with every inch of her strength even if they both should falter beneath it. But the woman in her had not; she'd conserved the effort, knowing it far more likely she'd have fallen in after her than executed the rescue.
She let herself go from the rail all at once, the water shock-cold. She gasped involuntarily against it before pushing herself off the railing. She tried to imagine what Tiffany had been thinking, where she'd been gone, all the while reflecting it must by now be too little too late...
Ionone found herself lapping at the edge of the dark waters, starring off into the dying ends of the light. Beyond the narrow sphere of illumination there was only darkness, only the unknown. A breath caught in her throat as the cold touch of the water tickled at the pawpads on her feet. Carefully, she eased her snout over the cold, rotted iron of the sump to secure herself as she tied one end of the lightweight rope-- scarcely thicker than yarn, really -- onto the rail.
It was her lifeline, her route home. The mark of her cowardice in the dark shadows, because she was too afraid to be lost in them. Grandfather starred onwards from the shadows. He knew her well. When she'd been younger, Tiffany had always been her heart, the beating thing inside her. But that had been so long ago...
She was different now. She'd forgotten her heart. The child in her would have defended her to her last breath, pulling her up with every inch of her strength even if they both should falter beneath it. But the woman in her had not; she'd conserved the effort, knowing it far more likely she'd have fallen in after her than executed the rescue.
She let herself go from the rail all at once, the water shock-cold. She gasped involuntarily against it before pushing herself off the railing. She tried to imagine what Tiffany had been thinking, where she'd been gone, all the while reflecting it must by now be too little too late...
