2019-06-08 - Into the Woods

Those new to the town, tourists or recent transplants, are urged to go see the Firefly Woods in the summer evenings. It's fun! It's part of Gray Harbor's natural beauty!

And, on this summer evening, it seems all those things are true. The sun has just set, but the woods closest to Gray Pond are quite busy. Families are out, letting the children run around with jars to try and scoop up the tiny little sparks that are the many many insects which light up the night. Lovers stroll under the low-hanging branches, or have found quite little copses among the ferns in which to settle in for a night of making out and watching what they can see of the stars. Even the weather is cooperating - it's warm, cloudless, and beautiful out tonight, with the only music in the woods being the sound of children's laughter and the chirps of frogs and crickets in the underbrush. The air smells warm and wet and green, with hints of wild flowers and sweet green moss.

Alex has been in this town long enough to know better than to take a stroll through the woods after dark. Like, it should only take about forty-five seconds in Gray Harbor to understand that this is a Very Bad Idea. But here he is anyway, walking with his hands clasped behind his back, coming across the bridge from the park, still dressed from work. It's a nice night, he could use the air, plus 'discretion is the better part of valor' makes RP very boring.

Aidan has been in this town, what, mayyybe a month? He should still probably know better than to take a stroll through the woods after dark. On the other hand, knowing better than to do things is not always his specialist subject, and it's a really nice night! Plus, so far the actual woods have entirely behaved the times he's gone through them, and look at all the families and stuff. And couples. Clearly fine. He takes a picture of some fireflies among the trees with his phone, and texts it off to someone who clearly should also be here so he could just plain point them out, but is not. Tch.

Woolen overcoat, comfortable walking boots, Hawaiian shirt and slightly dirt-covered slacks: Check. Shovel with a suspicious amount of dirt on it: Check. Brown paper bag-wrapped bottle in his left hand: Check.

Making sure that the rest of the forest was not filled with families and children trying to catch fireflies? Mark did not check. That would be why, coming down from deeper in the forest with that shovel propped over his shoulder, Mark squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and then counts to five. Mentally. You can tell because of the five-second pause before there's a noise not unlike that of a coffee pot percolating from somewhere deep in his throat.

Hannah is out for an evening stroll, ALONE, and doesn't know any better. She's new. Some old lady who lives next door told her to come out here for a lovely walk. And so she did, a little shadow picking her way among the copses and admiring the fireflies but not trying to capture any.

The four wind their way through the lovely evening woods, all on separate paths. And yet, all do seem to be on paths under their feet. Not wide paths, or something clearly marked for trail, but it's just a little easier to walk, especially in the dark, than trying to crash themselves through the wilderness. And, hey, bonus - their paths seem to take them around the group gathered near the lake shore, into the quieter, more serene parts of the woods. It's a little darker here, perhaps. The fireflies are calmer, staying lit for longer - each a tiny, bright burning beacon that only winks out when someone draws close enough to touch them. But it's soothing, and it's private. For thinking, or texting, or hiding bodies.

The forest doesn't judge.

Alex thinks about texting someone to help him hide some bodies? Actually, he starts to think about the walk back to the park, turning amid all the pretty fireflies to mentally retrace his steps, counting the minutes it's going to take to get back to civilization. Then he leans into a bit more strolling, because it's so pretty, and apparently he's found the single-most secluded path in the whole entire forest, which is awesome! And the fireflies and stuff. He takes out his phone, since no one is around, and unsuccessfully tries to capture the magic with his camera. The flash goes off, he curses quietly, starts walking again and deleting the useless picture.

Hannah isn't paying any attention to where her feet are going, even if she should be. Even if she should be thinking better of it. She almost certainly has a phone on her somewhere but she doesn't take it out. She definitely does not have a shovel.

Aidan sends off another text, probably about whether or not he'd be sexier if he could make his ass light up, and should he get on learning that or something, and slides the phone away again, hands settling into his pockets as he wanders. Looking like a proper adult who pays proper attention to the scenery while wandering scenic sorta-paths in scenic areas. Albeit a proper adult who wears bright yellow jeans and white lace shirts with biker jackets. He also does not have a shovel. Or a bottle in a bag, although he does have a plastic bottle that claims to contain pink grapefruit Fanta. It probably does. Why would you claim that if you didn't have to?

Mark, recovering from the initial surprise of there being, you know, occupants in the forest, grits his teeth. And eyes. The noise of laughter and joy is obviously hitting him a little hard. Shuffling forward a couple of steps, he shakes his head like a boxer shaking off a solid overhand, lips flapping audibly before he seems to blink his way into something approaching lucidity once more. Sure, when a firefly drifts past his initial reaction is to try and bite at it, but that's probably because of the bottle in his hand. Which he proceeds to drink from when the glow bug escapes his attempt.

And y'all need shovels.

Luckily for Mark, the sounds of the children have faded in the distance, until they can barely be heard. And wait, that might just be enthusiastic tree frogs, after all. Or crickets. Not anything human. The paths each has wandered are also joining together, in a small, moonlit clearing. It's a lovely little place, ringed by fireflies in a circling, blinking ring. Must be some weird insect mating dance. But hey, look! People.

Alex's cursing persists, most of it in Spanish, though there's one moment where he mutters, "What the fuck," in English. Surely, there's a Spanish equivalent, but that one just slips out. Though he's very nearly to the terminus of his path, he veers back, turning on the phone flashlight and shining it at a tree just off the trail-thingie. This is very smart, Alex; he should definitely be doing this, reaching out with fingertips toward the bark with his phone-free hand.

Hannah shoves her hands in her pockets and, realizing she can no longer hear the frolicking children, comes to a stop with the intention to turn back. But now she's at the juncture of the paths, the firefly ring and she looks around. Maybe she'll stick around just a couple more minutes.

Moonlit clearings are great! And this one doesn't even have people making out in it, which is also generally a plus when you aren't one of them. It's the fireflies that really get Aidan's immediate attention, though, 'cause that's strange and also pretty. Does he have any idea what firefly mating rituals are beyond butt-lighting? No. So the phone comes out again to take a picture of this, but pauses when he glances at it. Last text failed? Huh. Doesn't stop him taking another photo, anyway. Handily he already turned the flash off after his first attempt at firefly-snapping, so the others approaching aren't blinded. Not by that, anyway. And speaking of others: "Oh, hey. Evening! This is kinda cool, right?"

His shovel banging slightly against a tree as he half-shuffles, half-stumbles into the edge of the clearing, Mark can finally been seen clearly. With that bottle pinned firmly against his lips. There's a chug. Two. Three. Four...

A hand raises, forefinger extended out to the other three as he adds five, six, seven and eight to that count, then drops the bottle down by his feet to let out a hefty, hefty belch. It actually burns more on the way up than the drink did on the way down. And then he blinks. His eyes are not in unison on that particular effort. There's the mealy, liquid sound of his tongue running around the roof of his mouth before his lips purse up at the site of the fireflies dancing. To which his entire reaction would be a gravel-laden "Well... I'm lost."

That's weird. Everyone can distinctly remember following a path to get here. Sure, it's dark, and it was a faint path, but it was a /path/. But when Hannah looks back, there is no path. Just a carpet of green ferns, studded with flirting fireflies and shrouded under dark, moss-choked trees. The only other light comes from what they brought with them, and the waxing moon overhead, throwing down its cool, silver light.

Wait, no. There is something. In the far distance, each of them can hear a buzzing sound.

The issue with the paths isn't on Alex's radar yet. The buzzing - well, that's annoying, and he looks in that direction, which causes his eyes to glance across the other people who are here. "This tree - " But there's no appropriate way to phrase this, so he just blurts out, " - has a pulse." Then something about that noise penetrates his brain, and he drops his hand off the tree, skittering a few steps backward. He hasn't so much as recognized one of these people (sorry, Hannah) but he points back in the direction he's pretty sure he came from and suggests, "We need to leave."

Time to go! Hannah turns to wander back down her path...which is...gone. Her expression resolves into a puzzled little frown, which resolves into an even more frowny frown when Alex skitters her way. "What?" Though she's tensed, perfectly ready to leave whether or not the 'what' gets answered or not.

Do... do fireflies buzz? Aidan's reasonably sure fireflies don't buzz. And he's surer that tree thing's weird. He reaches out to touch the nearest tree to check on this. "I guess they do kind of circulate sap, don't they?" he says, but sounds dubious about it. He's touched a lot of trees. They don't generally pulse. He turns to glance the way he came, and-- yeah, that's a lot of not-path right there. He sighs, shoulders dropping slightly, and mutters something about knowing it couldn't last. "Yeah," he agrees louder, "we should probably go," and scans for whether one way looks more go-away-able than others.

Bending down, Mark immediately re-scoops that bottle up into his hand. A little weirdly, it comes even before there's a voice telling him to leave. And that a tree has a pulse. By the time Hannah's asking for a little more information, he's taken at least two more swigs, pulled a ratty old handkerchief from the pocket of his coat, and is dutifully stuffing it into the neck of what was once a drink. Just a hint of his tongue pokes from the corner of his mouth during the entire process. He's got the bottle flipped upside-down to encourage the rag to soak a little faster when the confirmation of going is echoed by Aidan.

And stares. "Huh." Cement-mixer with a brick thrown into it. That's his voice. "Where exactly are you planning to run, kids?" Yes, that includes Alex.

There's a path! Must have missed it when looking for it before. It might lead back to the pond, and the people. Surely it would. Never mind that the fireflies are starting to wink out, one by one, dying stars fading into the blackness under the canopy. At least the moon is still there, and the buzz in the background remains steady and industrious.

Alex answers Hannah like her question was literal and not just the sort of thing that people say in situations such as these. "I said, we need to leave." More info: "This tree has a pulse, and that sound? Is a bone saw." He shares this information like it's going to be helpful to them, like anyone needed to know that other than Alex himself. He turns his phone-flashlight-thingie toward Mark, sweeps him briefly with the glow, then wheels it around toward the one remaining path: "That way." He starts walking that way, though the heartbeat-tree gets one more wary look over his shoulder... followed by him walking just a little faster. People will follow him, or they won't.

But you guys probably should. He seems smart.

Much better, all the words together in two neat sentences. "Bone saw. Right. Okay." Hannah will follow him. Maybe she's not a raving fan but that doesn't mean she won't follow solid advice. "Come on," she says to the others, in case they weren't already planning to.

"I was mostly going with 'away'," Aidan admits, giving that tree he touched an uneasy look, and an even uneasier one to the sole path that presents itself. "Only I was planning to walk until something starts chasing me." Not unless. He glances back the way he's reasonably certain he came, and then to that path, and sighs again, squaring his shoulders and starting to follow Alex. And listening for where that bonesaw sound seems to be coming from, and whether the answer's 'closer'. "Also hi, I'm Aidan. Nice night for it."

Shielding his eyes from the GUY SHINING A PHONE FLASHLIGHT IN HIS FACE, Mark responds with the dulcet tone that is his impression of a chainsaw failing to start. His throat is a one-man foley studio, for real. "Bone saw. Right." He repeats Hannah almost verbatim, although God knows it'd be impossible to mistake one for the other. Actually, one little thing might make that a little easier: Joining the group in following the path, he actually jogs a little to catch up with the woman, holding out the shovel in her direction. "Be a star, hold this?"

The path is an easy one to follow. It winds through the trees. The large trees that lean over them. Curious how their upstretched limbs resemble human arms in the light - arms twisted and tortured, but arms nonetheless. How the moonlight shining down creates curious little shadows and crevices in the bark that resemble faces, human faces, begging silently for rescue or forgiveness. The bonesaw doesn't seem to receeding. Or increasing. It just stays as a steady background noise. But there's another sound that IS growing louder as they walk the path. The thwock, thwock, thwock, of an axe striking wood in a steady, professional rhythm.

It's not hard to see why: the path rounds a large tree, and further down it, they can see a pair of woodsmen working on felling one of the trees. Their backs are mostly turned away from the four, and they're wearing hoodies. They're powerfully built, with shoulders and arms equal to the large axes they wield. They take turns, each one swinging, sinking the axe deep into the meat of the tree, then yanking it back and taking a breath while the partner takes his swing. It's very industrious, and dark sap oozes briskly from the wounds they're making.

Look, at least Alex isn't the GUY IN THE FOREST AT NIGHT WITH A SHOVEL, okay? Regardless, he kills the flashlight after a few steps, since the path is walkable. And has to ask, "Why are you carrying a shovel?" Yes, he gives Mark an even warier once-over after that realization sinks in - then scuttles to an abrupt stop in the middle of the path when they come around the tree and upon the scene of the guys with axes. He turns at the waist, looking back the way they came, and nope. That's all he's got.

Is this her punishment for not bringing her own shovel? Hannah pulls her hands from her pockets and reaches for it. Now she's the guy in the forest at night with a shovel. "Hannah," she provides, for Mark and Aiden both. And Alex too, if he's forgotten. As they make their way down the ever so convenient single path, her gaze is drawn to the trees and their dark shapes, and she draws to a halt when Alex does.

"Iiiii don't like this," Aidan murmurs as they wander through those trees, and a little more clearly to the others, "Do those look like faces in the bark there or am I just imagining things?" 'cause sometimes he imagines things. Now and then. A glance over his shoulder checks whether something's rolling up the path behind him, and at least things aren't being that ominous. Yet. Just big loggers with hoodies and axes. "So. I guess we go past those dudes, go back the way we came, or start blazing a trail out... not here. Or go back and try making a trail from there, I guess," he adds, eyeing the nearby trees. Which are creepy as fuck. "Votes?" He doesn't currently care why Mark's got a shovel, particularly now that Hannah's actually the one who's got it.

"Eh." Mark takes the question in stride, slipping the impromptu molotov into one of the bulky pockets on that thick coat of his. "Decided it was nice weather for some night shoveling." You know, that party sensation that's sweeping the nation. Hannah gets a little nod. Hell, she even gets what passes for a smile from the guy. That'd probably be in response to her name, and actually taking the shovel. In that order.

When the group come to a halt, he's a couple of steps too late, focusing more on the sight of Hannah and the shovel that actually out-heights her by about two inches. That'd be why Aidan's out-loud tactician attempts are completely ignored. Mark doesn't mean to be rude. He... he just is. He even spits on the floor. "Ah, hell. Canadians."

The chopping stops. The lumberjacks straighten up, and turn towards the group. Their faces are the faces in the trees - bark-covered and frozen in silent expressions of agony. They start to approach, each step deliberate, the axes rising up to come to rest on their shoulders, stained with dark red sap.

Faces vs imagining things: "They're not mutually exclusive." Alex happens to answer Aidan right when the tree-faced lumberjacks turn to face this little cluster of people, and he takes a step backward. He is literally voting with his feet right now, and his vote is on going back the way they came. Mind you, he looks terrifically composed while doing this, just keeps a weather eye on the guys that clearly aren't axe-murderers and shuffles backward nice and casually.

"Back is good." Hannah adjusts her grip on the shovel, handled a little bit awkwardly, and edges away from the lumberjacks. "Should we maybe start running at some point?" It's a serious question. She's still learning how to deal with this place's weirdassness.

Aidan is not generally much of a leader. Handily, that's not necessary right now, because two out of three people are already going with his current vote, which involves getting further away from the lumberjacks. Backward-walking, right now, though it's a bit tense. "Possibly," he answers Hannah, helpfully. "Only sometimes it's not a good idea to turn your back. But other times..." He looks fairly ready to get faster if necessary. So that's an answer too.

Fun fact: Mark freed up his hands. Another fun fact: Mark is wearing a large coat. In this lovely weather. Or, at least, what -was- lovely weather. Have you ever seen Hot Fuzz? And the scene where they're discussing why Mr. Treacher wears such a big coat, and in the final act it turns out to be because he's got a lever action shotgun underneath it? There are some distinct similarities here. Replace the lever action with a pistol grip, short-barrel 870 that showed signs of being slung around his back, and you're on the right track. Also, Treacher didn't declare "Fuckin' Canadians. Seattle 2021!" while three people started retreating behind him. Because that would have been weird.

Wait, three people retreating behind him? Mark's head turns. "Ah, c'mon." Democracy, apparently, sucks.

The lumberjacks continue to advance. It's actually rather easy to keep ahead of them without running - their legs are long (and now that they're getting closer, they can see the ends of branches peeking through the thick denim of their work pants) but not swift. The shotgun doesn't seem to bother them when it is revealed. Then again, how would you tell?

This may not be the best time to ask this, but - when the shotgun comes out, with a look at the shovel that was previously foisted off onto Hannah - Alex really can't not ask of Mark, "Are you a real person?" It's a legitimate question! He just keeps backing up, maybe waiting for someone else to start sprinting first? Or maybe - "Gentlemen," tree-lumberjacks, "do you happen to know The Way Out?" The title-caps are audible. He still backs up while he asks this question, mind.

"It's a real shovel," Hannah says helpfully, hefting it a little. She doesn't look like she's going to be the sprinter, especially once Alex starts trying to talk to the creepy tree lumberjacks. She does sort of look incredulous at that particular choice though.

"Are you?" Mark's reply to Alex is instantaneous, slowly lowering the shotgun to hang from its sling by his hip as he too backpedals away. And then gives Alex a second, more intrusive appraisal. There's eye narrowing and everything. "No.. really. Are you? The doc said I shouldn't be mixing my nitro and 151, but..." A little bit of a shrug, a tiny faltering handwave. "Here we are." It might be rapidly becoming clear he is either more acutely aware of where 'Here' is than the rest of them combined...

Or he has NO IDEA AT ALL.

Aidan blinks at the revealing of the shotgun, and honestly at the declaration, too. The important part gets addressed: "They're kinda far south for Canadians." Probably entirely Washingtonian tree-logger-monsters. While Hannah may look incredulous, Aidan looks slightly brighter at Alex's gambit, 'cause at least that means he's not the only one who tries that kind of thing. It never works, mind. But even so. "Either way, you can go on back to work, we'll just get out of your hair." He reconsiders. "Leaves." Mark gets another glance there, this one a little more appraising. Oh. ...oh. Well, shit. "We're real." Should he try to explain anything else? Maybe not right now.

The lumberjacks' heads turn slightly as Alex addresses them. Their malformed, wooden mouths don't attempt to make sounds, but they do point, helpfully, down the path. They continue to stalk forward at the same time. As the group retreats from the advancing lumberjacks, they notice - whether they want to or not - that the trees have become progressively more human. Humans that have been bent and broken, twisted and stretched in to bizarre arboreal parodies, their skin opened up and laying in strips as 'leaves'. Here and there, they're marked by the axes of the woodmen, and the wedges cut out of them bleed and heave. The trees, despite their mutilation, are alive. And now? Now they can SMELL them, the sickly sweet odor of rot on a massive scale, rising from the bloody loam. Oh, and as they continue to move backwards, parts of this path start to look familiar to Aidan, and anyone else who has visited the old, abandoned sawmill.

Which, judging by the sound of the saw as it resolves and locates itself behind them, may not be so abandoned after all.

Fuck it. Alex is going to run, guys. He passes a look among the four supposedly real people, and then he turns and sprints back the way he came. Since apparently these guys aren't down to chit-chat, and they smell like awful death. He's very heroic. Sure, he's running toward the sounds of bonesaws, but at least he's running away from the tree-corpses.

Okay, cool. We got a runner. Hannah skips backwards a few steps and then turns and follows Alex. It's not like she can ever hope to keep up, but she's only a little bit slower. It's almost kinda impressive for a short person. AND she has the shovel still.

Alex is also a short person and he has on nice shoes, Hannah will be fiiiine.

"This is-- that's gonna be the sawmill," Aidan says, the familiar bits of the path settling themselves into shape in his head, but it doesn't stop him turning to run that way when Alex does. He's not a short person, but his boots slide on-- oh god let's just call it fallen foliage and not think about it too hard, that's what Aidan's going to do in any case, and there's a moment of not-quite-cartoon lead-up before he actually manages to run as well. It doesn't help that for some reason he finds himself replying to the gestured answer with a "Thank you!" as they try to go. It probably doesn't help that he's kind of trying not to breathe, either.

"Augh. Aw.. God. GOD." Yup, Mark just caught the smell. He's having flashbacks to the last time he used the toilets at the Cracker Barrel. Covering his face with the thick sleeve of his coat, he turns to join the rest in bailing the hell out, heavy hiking boots slamming against the ground as he goes. There's actually even a moment where he catches up to Aidan, lowering that arm to finally reply "That just makes it worse. Victoria Canadians on a Tourist visa. No logging permit!"

Does he feel bad about Hannah having to heft the shovel with her? Probably not.

There's the deep 'click-hum' of flourescent lights coming on as the group turns and runs down the sawmill path. The gate, usually closed and locked, is wide open and welcoming, and beyond it, a well-lit yard where more of the lumberjacks are industriously working to chuck people-trees into the giant trough leading to the great blade of the saws. The people-trees try, feebly, to struggle, their bone-and-flesh branches waving, their skin-leaves rustling, but nothing helps. They disappear into the depths of the sawmill, and the grinding whirr of sawblades going through flesh and bone can be heard all too easily. When the group runs past the gates, the workers pause in their duties. They turn and look at the group - a half dozen working the saw, and of course, the two approaching from behind. They reach out to grab lumber axes, every movement unhurried.

This is fine. This is a fine place to run to. Alex is not made for running, and his shoes aren't made for running, so - as soon as he reaches the gates and the well-lit yard? He stops running, skidding to a halt with the grabby trees behind him. Holding his hand against a stitch in his side, he looks at all these NEW PEOPLE with axes and finally suggests, "Someone else," puff, "should probably," huff, "make some kind of decision." Since he was like 'let's go down this path,' and it led to axe-murderers. Then he was like 'let's run away,' and it led to even more axe-murderers.

"Not it?" Hannah wheezes, propping herself up with the shovel. These are surper handy to have around, as it turns out! She'll never venture out without one again. "Uh...so maybe we should go back to where there are fewer of those...things?" So...back out.

Aidan skids to a slightly-flailing stop as they reach those gates, given what lies beyond them. "Nope." It is a decision. It's a very firm decision. It's the one Alex is also making, though, so it doesn't really fulfill his request. Or come after it. What does come after it is a quick look at their options, which all really deeply suck. "Okay, either we try running through the people-trees that way," he says, pointing off to the side, which is dark and foreboding and rot-smelling and probably requires getting through the loggers following them in any case, "or I think we gotta fight. Which probably we gotta anyway. Can you guys fight?" This is more to Alex and Hannah than the dude who comes complete with shotgun and shovel, but he's already trying to get into a better sort of fightingish position. "Or I can just start setting shit on fire but everything around us is wood. Kinda. Kinda wood."

"Kinda wood is good. Plan 'F' it is." Mark starts to whistle. Sure, it's a ragged, breathy sort of whistle as he pulls up next to Hannah and her shovel, but at least the tune is somewhat jaunty. That rag-capped bottle is pulled from his pocket in a most casual of fashions to meet up with the golden flip-cap lighter taken from another pocket. That rag's had plenty of time to soak by now. "If you wanna run..." He starts, but then his eye gets a small gleam.

"I am the Lorax..." He mutters, taking a couple of attempts to spark the flame of the lighter in to life. As soon as it does, he drags it over to the hanging rag. "I speak for the trees." The rag catches. His arm cocks back. "WHICH YOU SEEM TO BE CHOPPING AS FAST AS YOU PLEASE!"

The arc of flame heads roughly Sawmill-wards. Should he have asked first? Oh, absolutely. Would he have asked first? Never. Element of surprise, and all that.

The bottle arcs through the night, almost like one of the fireflies itself. The big, incendiary firefly brother, maybe. And it crashes into the side of the sawmill, splashing it with burning alcohol. The woodmen stop. They turn as one, their heads swiveling with the snapping pop of strained wood. Their mouths don't move, but there's a horrid screaming sound as the wood starts to catch. Their heads snap back (literally snap) to the four, and all eight raise their axes high. As one, they begin to race forward. And the saw grinds, hungrily, hungrily!

Alex looks back the way they came. He's done that a lot so far, and it hasn't served him well at all. But then that fire starts happening, and the lumberjack guys seem to have an axe to grind (get it?), and his shoulders slump forward unhappily. He works his fingers behind the knot of his tie, loosening it from his throat, and glances at the other three with him. His muttering is in Spanish; only Hannah will get the gist, but here it is for posterity: "Why wouldn't this town have a haunted fucking sawmill."

Hannah mutters a dry, "I didn't know we had a plan F." And Mark unleashes plan F. She lets out a little humorless cough of a laugh at Alex's remark, she can't help herself, and then a good-sized hunk of wood shivers and rises to about knee-height.

You know what? Mark looks satisfied. Sure, there are now... let him count... seven angry tree people with axes stalking towards the group, buuuut... They're Canadian. How bad can it be? He's raising the shotgun and stepping out to one side, away from the mill and the group before drawing down on the nearest axeman approaching him. "Ah, SHADDUP, SAW! I'LL GET TO YOU IN A MINUTE."

"'Good' kinda depends what..." Aidan glances over to Mark just about in time to catch what's going on, but not in time to make any argument against it. And he has a GOOD argument against it, one that involves wind and flammability and things you can and can't control and unfortunately Mark is definitely one of the latter and now the sawmill's on fire and the axeguys are running at them. So. Burning times, then. He looks around at the logger-logs lumbering toward them, and focuses on the one that seems likely to get there first, drawing his hands back and hurling a ball of fire at it from between them.

The levitating wood shouldn't surprise Alex like it does, but he jumps a little and pulls away from that, eyeing it like he fully expects it to come over and beat him in the brains. It doesn't - it goes over and kneecaps one of the axeguys, and he gapes at it stupidly for a solid three seconds. Yes, Alex learns something new every day. For example, he learns to fall over in the process of ducking out of the way of an axe swinging at him, landing in the dirt and skittering backward on hands-and-knees. His lashing out manages to randomly slice one of the guys in the arm, and he hisses in a breath afterward, still backing the fuck out of the way.

The woodsmen spread out to surround the wayward little saplings, their axes out and ready. One is immediately hit by Aidan's fireball, and goes up in flames, crackling and roaring and falling to the grass to thrash. Another is kneecapped by flying wood. This one makes no sound, but continues to try and swing. For the most part, the group is able to avoid the swings - only one axe is able to get through, cutting a narrow gash down Mark's leg.

Hannah seems loathe to give up the shovel, it’s that chunk of wood that goes flying instead. It hits, and another chunk hovers, quivering slightly before it’s directed to a target.

Aidan yelps as three axe-swings come at him, but somehow manages to vertical-limbo nimbly between two of them, and the third... well, that tree-dude's thoroughly on fire, now, and it doesn't do anything for his aim. Okay! Good... good start? Not really time to think about it, so he just twists and makes that hadouken gesture at one of the others that slashed at him.

Oh Mark. You set fire to a sawmill, enjoyed the sight of the flames, watched an Axeman suddenly explode in fire and the other get his leg taken out by a flying chunk of wood, thus realising the folks you are with are them creepy-ass magical people... And then got completely thrown off your game by an axe to the leg.

His shotgun blast goes wide as he grunts something about "Motherfucking treants.", then aims for the guy who just ruined his pants. And a bit of his leg. That were totally already ruined by dirt, but still.

Alex takes an axe to the stomach. His very nice shirt is ruined, a tear ripped out of it and blood happily gooshing out of the bruised gash on his abdomen. He's already on the ground, so at least he doesn't have to fall to his knees, but he does curl around himself for a second. While things are erupting in flames around him and the guy he wasn't sure is real is getting hacked at like he's so much kindling. Pale but determined, he grits his teeth, takes small satisfaction in the more notable slice that opens across his target's belly in return, and tries to scrabble away from his own axeguy.

The mill is burning merrily in the background. It's burning /brightly/, burning fast, as well, the flames racing up the sides and consuming the working wood. Sparks jump like fireflies, carrying it to the trees, which catch much faster than something made out of...what they're made out of, should. Hannah's next thrown piece of wood catches one of the woodguys in the stomach, impaling him neatly. He falls backwards, and wriggles, twisting and grunting but out of the fight. Aidan's next target is DEFINITELY out of the fight, on account of being on fire. On all the fire. He falls, creating another spreading pool of flame. Meanwhile, Mark is coming under the worst of the attack, axes flashing with deadly intent and coming back red.

MOAR FIRE. Aidan pretty much dances away from one axe-swing, although again it's probably because the tree-guy attempting it is bursting into flames at the time and that's often fairly distracting. He manages to avoid the other axe as well, and there's fire, SO MUCH FIRE. There probably shouldn't be more fire. It's probably already too much fire. There's a fractional hesitation, but there's also still a bunch of treants trying to kill them, so... more fire, at one of the ones that seems to be going for the bleedingest of the group. Future-Aidan will just have to figure out how to deal with it.

Ow. Axe.

Ow. Another Axe.

Mark? Not having a great day. Two great ragged gouges running, naturally, in opposite directions down his torso cause him to drop his shotgun, letting it clatter to the floor. A heart powered mostly by high-proof alcohol causes him to grab on to that axe that made the second swing, pulling it towards him as he sends his forehead flying towards the assailant with all the strength he has left to muster. That and a cry, once again, of "FUCKIN' CANADIANS!"

That thing about being on fire being very distracting as far as aim? Turns out, so's getting an axe to the chest. Aidan zigs when he really, really should've zagged, and that next fireball goes wide, only searing down the arm of the lumber-jackass that's turned from Mark to him. The treant stays standing. Aidan doesn't, hitting the ground like that slice cut his puppet strings as well as large portions of his torso.

The Axeguys seem motivated by the fact that their workplace, their forest, and their friends are all burning down. The flames are roaring down, the entire clearing where the mill is, it's surrounded by flames, shedding red-gold light on the battle. Hannah's wood spears stab another woodsman, sticking deep but not quite taking the guy out, but they're holding their own, as poor Aidan finds out. "Toss him in," a voice without a mouth commands, echoing in the sky. "More lumber for the saw!"

Alex takes a slice across the chest - not good, but not as bad as having a chunk taken out of his side - while he's trying to crabwalk backward toward the fence caging in this massacre. The fireball-guy whose name he heard but now can't remember has just taken a solid chomp to the chest, and one wonders what exactly Alex intends to do about this, but obviously it's something. Doubled over, he uses the fence to help haul himself to his feet, and - with the Axeguy still on him 🙁 - goes over to do doctor-things. Probably, it just means he rips off parts of Aidan's clothes and jams them into open wounds; 'keep pressure on it' seems like something that will help. Maybe he can make the guy not bleed-out right here, anyway. We'll find out!

Mark? Guess what? He's still not having a good day. All jumping up to try and headbutt his own assailant did was drive his leg along the blade of an axe. Which, y'know. Kinda sucks. Especially as it was the opposite leg. There's a bellow, a belch, and a swing for the Axeman's face.

Mark Not Here Right Now. Mark in a land of pain and nitroglycerin and rage. Please Leave Message. That Means You, Sky Voice.

Hannah looks around, finally, only to discover that all of her comrades in arms are bleeding out and she's...not. MORE WOOD! Her cute little face is screwed into a determined expression and a hefty log...is this some tree-guy's body part? zips to her hand.

Aidan takes a big breath as Alex's tending brings him around, and immediately regrets it. Mostly the breath, but also a little bit the coming 'round. "Thanks," he manages, and also attempts a quick look at the situation. Lots of fire. Still axe-guys. He aims at the one that looks like the one that just slashed him. Not that easy to tell apart, but that one's got a burn down one arm. Not enough burn.

The treeguys are going to get revenge for the use of their brother in such a fashion! Only one gets close to succeeding, though, tearing a narrow gash down her arm. Somehow, the twisted wooden face manages to look a weeee bit smug. The other axeguys fair worse, with only one getting a slight hit on Mark, barely enough to notice, considering all the OTHER hits on Mark.

The nod is quick, distracted, but Alex still gets out, "You're welcome. Just - " What, Alex? Take it easy? Be careful? He leaves the thought unfinished, holding a hand on the wad of cloth on Aidan's chest, and slumping against the fence. It's not the most defensible position, but at least the fence keeps anyone from coming up behind and hacking at him? He's ready to take another axe to his vital parts, guy, all while trying to mind-slice this deranged monster.

This plan isn't working. A goddamned man made out of wood and sap and axe just rope-a-doped Mark's punch, sending it whistling through the air. And then hit him with an axe! AGAIN! What the shit.

New play, new tactic, new target. Evade the apparent Ali of Lumberjacks, beeline for the one that looks relatively unhurt and is ganging up on Hannah, and tackle the son-of-a-birch to the floor. Does he leave a trail of blood the entire way? Absolutely. Does he seem to care? Not a jot.

There's a set to the jaw, a nostril flare, a swallowed yelp of pain when Hannah gets caught in the arm, why is it always the arm? At least this time Alex isn't going to creepy x-ray her over it, right? Have some more pieces of your brethren, nasty treeses.

Dammit! Trees should not be that agile! Actually they shouldn't be agile at all. Or wielding axes. 'Should' kinda got left behind a couple forest paths ago, and Aidan's just going to have to accept it. He tries to shift position at least enough to help guard the dude trying to help keep the bits of his body that ought to be inside inside it, and then squints, trying to focus enough to fire better this time.

And down goes another Axeman! There are only three left, and they've reoriented to focus on poor Hannah for the most part, although one of them seems /obsessed/ with bringing down Mark. Maybe he's really, really sore about the mill. Which is now only a skeleton of itself, a skeleton wreathed in flame. But still the saw is going, the buzzing growing /louder/, if possible. It's competing with the flames in sheer volume and menace. The saw itself can be seen as the walls start to collapse - against all odds, it is still going, still untouched by fire. Stained with gore and terrible bits, and still very, very hungry.

Alex will just stay back here, leaning against the fence, letting it do the heavy lifting. He looks very sorry for Hannah, with those two closing in on her, but not sorry enough to jump into the fray. Nobody wants their healer on the front lines, anyway. That's a recipe for disaster.

Mark's diving tackle of a treeman turns more into a weak-limbed flail at the guy's leg in passing. Completely and utterly failing to stop the Axe that says 'Hiiiii!' and graze's Hannah's leg.

And then, just for a moment? Laying there on the floor? Mark is very. Very. Very comfortable. And you just know he considered staying there and waiting for the axe. It'd stop the searing pain he's feeling through two limbs and most of his ribs, at least.

The grunted "Ah, fuck it. COME ON, PRECIOUS!" Before he picks himself up and gives that axeman another go? Probably liquid courage. Or just a stubborn refusal to do what's best for him.

"Ow. OW!" A treedude swipes Hannah in the leg and she hops awkwardly to one side; another slices her across the chest, but the nice thing about wearing dark clothes is that they're slimming and they hide bloodstains. She'll keep going as long as she's standing and as long as she's got stuff to throw. The shovel makes a nice prop. The buzzsaw is studiously ignored for the time being.

Alex doesn't have any GRAND FASHION abilities. 🙁 No fireballs or severed tree bodyparts from him. He just sags against the fence and wishes hateful things on these guys and is rewarded when their bodies get all ripped up. It's very unChristian, but he's too busy holding his blood inside his body to worry about going to Hell right this second.

Mark continues his streak of not hitting a damn thing. Really, that first axe to the chest kinda threw off his gameplan. A gameplan that largely consisted of 'Not getting axed in the chest.' It was doomed from the start. Hitting nothing but air in a wild, un-controlled fist, the man's momentum carries himself over, spinning him sideways and letting his balance leave him completely as he pirouettes to the floor in a bloody, wrecked, slightly oozing mess.

But at least his shovel's in good hands. "S'what I get." He murmurs. "Never. Quote. Dr. Seuss." ... "Oh man that's a lot of blood."

Aidan's target seems to have entirely moved on from considering him a threat and focused wholly on Hannah, which is both handy and maybe just a tiny bit insulting. Let's focus on handy, though, because Aidan makes a rather less impressive gesture this time, closing his hand into a fist beside his head and then flicking the fingers out sharply. His nails scrape across the heel of his hand like matches on a striker, and another of those balls of fire breaks free. This one's smaller, but fast and direct, hitting the axe-dude in the chest and almost exploding into a stronger wave of flame, one that moves eagerly outward from the impact. Very flammable hoodie on that one, perhaps.

Aidan gives a sharp little exhalation when the fire hits its mark this time, and kind of regrets that movement too. One left? One left. And the sound of that saw in the almost-destroyed mill.

A log flies through the air and lands a solid hit on one of the treeguys, essentially snapping him in half. It's very satisfying to watch, for Hannah anyway. One more to go. This next and hopefully final chunk of wood is lightly charred. A flaming one would be cooler but that's perhaps still a bridge too far, to her mind.

Only one woodsman remains, and the fire is curling in closer to them, red and gold waves that smell like burning flesh. The last guy? Well, it's the flames or going out in a blaze of glory, and he chooses the latter. He advances on Mark, raising the axe above his head.

There, now Alex can push himself off the fence and... look, I'm still not exactly clear what he's going to do to make Mark not die, but it's obviously something. He probably does something not unlike what he did to Aidan - here, he'll take off his tie and roll it up, reaching up (fuck Mark for being so tall) to mash the wadded article of clothing against his gaping head-wound. "Hold this there so you don't bleed to death." Fuck bedside manner.

Hannah has no handy mending abilities (unless you're an android), she can only wreck shit. So once the shit's been wrecked she'll lean on 'her' shovel for a few minutes to catch her breath, then awkwardly tries to help with bandages. "We should probably get out of here." She doesn't need to say it, but she does.

Aidan follows Alex's lead, because hauling himself up by the fence seems a lot easier than just plain getting to his feet right now. With both hands and a quiet whimper. Big baby, he's only even got ONE wound, tch. A breath, looking at the burning mill and the burning axeguys and the burning trees and-- the really, really bloody-looking Mark, who is at least not burning. He moves over to try to help him up, and also to see if he can do anything about just how damaged the guy is. Which apparently he can, since one of those definitely starts deciding it ought to heal faster than it originally had in mind. "So, uh. Everyone okay? 'cause I think we--" A nod. "What she said. Probably kind of fast." 'cause they're all equipped for 'fast' right now.

Still comfortably laying on the floor and holding the makeshift tie-bandage to his head, Mark blinks a couple of times when Aidan does his little trick. And removes the tie. And his head is fine?

Neat, that means the tie can go over his chest, and press against one of two gaping wounds there instead. Probably the one that if you squint, you might see a hint of rib. If it wasn't all so red, anyway. Instead of words, there is just noise. Like a gurgling faucet that hasn't been turned to open for a few years. And he sits up. Straight up. Staring at Aidan. "One. Thanks. Two. I'm sober now, so fuck you. Three... We're leaving."

So, yes, he accepts the help up.

'Getting out of here' is harder than it looks. Or perhaps easier. They are surrounded in hungry flames. The flames close in, rising over them like a tidal wave. And yet, even as it crashes down, they can still hear the saw. It's still hungry.

The world goes white and gold. Then clears, and they find themselves...in the yard of the old sawmill. The very abandoned and non-functional sawmill. The night is quiet, warm, and filled with fireflies.

Alex, to the 'everyone okay' question, "That's definitely an overstatement." But he takes a look at Aidan, a look at Mark, a look at himself, and decides, "Getting out of here would be advisable." It's on the tip of his tongue to ask if anyone has any ideas about how they should do that (since all his ideas are what got them here in the first place), and then - that happens. With the flames disappearing and the fireflies coming back. We're back to Spanish again, "What the fuck was the reason that couldn't happen before we got attacked by axe-murderers?" RABBLE RABBLE.

Hannah looks up as the flames sweep over them and leave them with the quiet ruins of the sawmill that was hungering for them not moments before. "Does anyone know where we are? Because I am completely lost."

Aidan does not scream when the flames crash over them like a wave. But it's a close thing, one hell of a strong tension that washes through him before they're-- just standing outside the sawmill. The normal but still frankly kind of creepy sawmill. He's quiet for a moment, with both arms wrapped around his chest, before he lowers them and straightens. "...I know where we are," he says, glancing back at it, "so... yeah. This way." Mark gets what might be a faintly apologetic look for the sobriety, but everyone gets led to a hole in the chainlink, and back out into the woods. The proper woods, which are just trees, which are just wood. And home before dark?