2019-07-21 - The Start Of A Rough Week
Carver chills in the forest. Carver nearly dies in the forest. Carver... might still actually die in the forest.
IC Date: 2019-07-21
OOC Date: 2019-05-20
Location: The Veil/The Forest
Related Scenes: 2019-07-28 - An Alley Can Be Beautiful
Plot: None
Scene Number: 818
<FS3> Carver rolls Bullshittery (7 7 6 5 4 4 3 2 1 1) vs Please Speak English, Spider (a NPC)'s 6 (8 6 5 5 4 4 3 2)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Carver.
The Forest
Tangled, overgrown, seemingly impassable. The forest grows thick and close and dark, its skeletal trees arching overhead to blot out any glimpse of sky. No rhyme or reason governs the foliage here, with lush ferns grown right up against clumps of dandelions, with Spanish moss hanging in unlikely tendrils from fall-lit Aspens.
There is no sense of day or night or... anything. Overhead, the sky is a flat, blank greyish blue of timelessness, trailed shapes of shadow drifting in patterns like a bemused line of ants through the air.
"There are people coming for me. Probably. There usually are. It can take a little while for them to catch up, but when they do, you'd have food for weeks."
Carver leaned, becoated, betied, becigarette'd and bemused with his back up against a tree, fingers raising to scratch the stubble along his jaw in something of a standard nervous tic for the guy. "All I ask is you let my friend and I stay here for a little while more? You've a lovely... nest? and it seems far more pleasant here than elsewhere."
Melissa perched on a large rock, the granite extending in a slightly jagged outcropping lined with vine and fern that cast additional shadow into the cave below. Her outfit was the same as the last time she'd been seen outside of the veil, and she laughed and grasped at the single tarsus of a spider's limb that came out of the shadow to ruffle through her hair. That section of the leg alone cleared three feet, the hairs that dappled across it a mixture of ruddy brown and a shimmering emerald.
The leaves above shifted, and despite the lack of direct sunlight from a sky with no sun, eight seemingly iris-bereft eyes shone from within the cave. The chittering sounded like laughter.
At least to Carver.
"Yₒᵤ wₒᵤₗd gₗₐdₗy ₚₐy ₘₑ ₜᵤₑₛdₐy fₒᵣ ₐ ₕₐₘbᵤᵣgₑᵣ ₜₒdₐy, ₗᵢₜₜₗₑ ₘₐₙ?" Her voice was almost sonorous, and each word accompanied by the noise of fang against fang. It'd be best not to imagine the size of said fangs, considering the noise could be mistaken for a bamboo pole hitting stone. "Yₒᵤᵣ ₜₑᵣₘₛ ₐᵣₑ fₐᵢᵣ. ᵢ ₛₕₐₗₗ wₐᵢₜ. ₗᵢₛₜₑₙ. ₐₜ ₛₒₘₑ ₚₒᵢₙₜ, ᵢ ₛₕₐₗₗ ₑₐₜ.
ₗₐₜₑᵣ.
ₒᵣ ₛₒₒₙₑᵣ."
The leg retreated into the cave.
Only Melissa looked disappointed.
Carver sighed, his eyes closing for a moment as the back of a hand dragged across his forehead. Of course, he forgot he was still holding a lit cigarette, and found himself cutting a hiss of "Motherfu-" short as he burned a tiny pink dot to one side of his temple.
"Wait." His eyes opened. A finger rose to point in mel's direction, and his head began to tilt askew. "Did she just make a reference to fuckin' WIMPY, of all people?"
Priorities, Carver. Priorities.
"She also called you 'little man', Little man." Mels grinned, slipping down from her perch with the ease of someone who cared not for physics. Or knee bones. Boots hit the floor with nary a sound, although the gathered foliage that littered cave entrance stirred at her touch.
She looked tiny in front of the cavernous void, arms spreading wide as she blew a strand of hair away from her face. "So! What's the plan, Little man? You've got a Paramedic with a ghost, a girl with a ring making a huge mistake, a whole heap of trouble on the way, and the fucked up notion that the first two might actually give a damn about you stopping you from moving on like you normally do. You've got some-a-that juice back, Aly, and Victoria is just as thin as here!"
She walked forward as she spoke, carefree smile fading into impassioned plea by the end of it, her hands even going to far as to tug on his forearm, pulling Carver out of his tree-based lean.
<FS3> Carver rolls Disbelieving Lies (8 6 5 5 1) vs Trust Me, I'm Your Best Friend (a NPC)'s 6 (8 7 7 7 5 5 4 2)
<FS3> Victory for Trust Me, I'm Your Best Friend.
Carver's face dropped a little as she pulled him by the arm. He offered no resistance. Why would he? Melissa was right. What had he done of any purpose since arriving in town?
His arm tugged free of the grasp, but only so that he could begin biting at the thumbnail as he thought. Lilith was probably dead by now. He'd not gone looking. She'd seemed fine the last time they'd met. Nervous, stressed and probably more than a little frazzled, sure, but fine. And with things like that ring, 'fine' is the rousing, inspirational speech someone gives seconds before they're taken out by a sniper. Byron? They'd met a total of once, and it ended on the usual terms. That is to say, Carver had lied and screwed them over in the long run.
A month and a half and one person probably killed through his actions, another dragged in to it. That seemed about right. That felt about right.
The tall kid and his girlfriend he'd met at the park? He'd never seen them again. He'd like to, but he knew it was for selfish reasons.
The reporter? She was only interested in him because he seemed insane. Or creepy. Or both.
And then Sutton. The paramedic with whom he broke a promise to keep a promise, and then went ahead and broke that one too. He should stay, he thought. If only to tell her the truth. Help her see her brothe-
"She only puts up with you when she's drunk, and only listens to you for your accent. You wanna be friends with dear ol' Harry, but she's got more important things to think about, Aly. I mean, C'mon! "
Melissa interrupted with a roll of her eyes, and thumb and fingers ran across her forehead in disbelief. "You can't be thinking any of these people actually like you, you beautiful idiot. They put up with you when you show up because 'Oh, Look! It's Carver! He's quirky and weird!"
Her hand left her forehead.
Her hand brushed his cheek.
Her eyes met his, and she smiled in nothing but pity.
"But I promise you, Aly, you just thought about them far, far more than they think about you when you're not around."
<FS3> Carver rolls Believe In Them (8 6 6 3 2) vs No, Believe In Me (a NPC)'s 4 (7 3 3 3 2 1)
<FS3> Victory for Carver.
<FS3> Carver rolls Physical (8 7 6 5 4 4 4 1) vs Melissa (a NPC)'s 6 (8 5 5 4 4 2 1 1)
<FS3> Victory for Carver.
Carver leaned back against the tree at her truth.
Okay, that's not accurate. Carver slumped against the tree at her truth, unable to make any kind of eye contact with the girl as his shoes prodded away some thin vine creepers that had edged that little bit closer over the course of their conversation. She was right, of course. To say he was ever a second thought to any of those people would be optimistic. Most of his acquaintances in town would think about their next dentist appointment before they wondered how he was doing. Hell, it was only at Melissa's prodding that Sutton even bothered to text him in the first place.
Carver blinked.
His hand reached in to the pocket of his coat for his phone. Rummaged for a while. Reached into the right pocket for his phone, flicking it unlocked with a thumb as his free hand started to loosen his already-loose tie even more.
It took a little while, but he got there in the end. The messages log.
(TXT to Carver) Sutton : Want an eggy sandwich?
(TXT to Carver) Sutton : Are you ok?
(TXT to Carver) Sutton : Hey, can you come over?
(TXT to Carver) Sutton : ☹️
The loose tie around his neck, untouched by his hands, unfastened and whipped away in a flash...
...And coiled around Melissa's wrist, looping over, and over, and over, wrenching back a hand that was reaching up to ruffle through his hair, pulling her away.
"I... I don't think I'm going anywhere, Mels."
<FS3> Two People Arguing (a NPC) rolls 4 (7 5 4 4 4 2) vs Forgetting About That Spider (a NPC)'s 8 (8 8 7 7 5 5 4 3 2 1)
<FS3> Crushing Victory for Forgetting About That Spider.
| 𝒯𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓈 |
| 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈 |
Melissa stumbled back as the tie looped her wrist, jerking her away in awkward footfalls that threatened to send her stumbling over a vine or two as she went, her face flickering from surprise to rage to joy to hate in an instant. Hands grabbed at the wrap of nylon, pulling at it hard enough to tear, the sound of snapping stitches blending in with tree limbs bending in the breeze.
| 𝐵𝓊𝓇𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 |
| 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈 |
"You've got some of your shit back, Aly!" She screamed, the tie thrown to the ground as her foot planted into the dirt and leaves below. "We can go! I told you you would, and you did! Now we can move on to the next town, gain some more, and not have to worry about you being found out! None of these... people-" The word is almost spat, Melissa's face flushing red as her other foot joined the first in a solid plant against the floor. "-give a shit about you! They'll leave! They always leave! I've never left you! And I never will!"
Her anger passed.
Her rage passed.
Her worry remained.
| 𝑅𝑒𝓁𝑜𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓅𝑜𝓃𝓈 |
| 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒾𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓈 |
"We need to go, Aly." She pleaded, arm reaching out to beckon him over. "Before something eats you."
| 𝒞𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 |
| 𝒫𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 |
"ₜₕₐₜ ₛₒᵤₙdₛ ₗᵢₖₑ ₘy cᵤₑ"
Shereriti attacks Melissa with Long, Long Legs. Stopped by ARMOR on Chest.
Carver looked abashed. There's no doubting that. Whether she was right or not, Melissa was his friend. His face settled into the easy smile they both wear so well, arm starting to reach for her, mouth open to say something-
"Okay, let's stay for a while, and if-"
And that's as far as he gets, another voice breaking in to interrupt.
Carver's face dropped. The same leg that had been brushing Melissa's hair mere minutes ago rocketed forth from the cave, Three feet. Eight feet. Twelve feet.
And then slammed into Melissa's back, lead by sharp little hairs as thick as Carver's fingers that into her coat with force enough to surely puncture. Or, they would. Should. From the second the third voice chimed in, the two humans in the equation changed. Not by much, mind you, but they did. Something surrounds the both them just before impact, like heat haze from asphalt. And whatever the hell it is, it was enough to deflect the force of that leg. Turn back the puncturing hairs.
Of course, Newton is still a bitch, and Melissa went flying.
Carver ran. Not away, but to the tree he was slumped against before. His feet slammed into the ground, and he uttered a silent prayer that he'd make it to cover before the spider could pull back that limb.
Carver attacks Shereriti with Telekinesis+Small and HITS! Graze wound to Thorax.
Melissa attacks Shereriti with Pyrokinesis and NARROWLY MISSES!
Melissa hit the ground with a scattering of leaves, a grunt of pain, and a roll to her feet that would impress the hell of out Mr Kincaid, their old gym teacher.
The look of rage as a line of deep orange fire rushed along the ground like someone lit a gasoline trail would probably terrify him, though. Actually, hard to tell. Mr Kincaid was kind of a badass.
Unfortunately, Shereriti, For that is her name, avoids the flame. With the leg drawn back into the shadow of the cave, Mels would have a hard time finding the target to begin with. When the spider launched from the cave, it turned a hard time into an impossible one, and the wall of fire backlit her full form as she slammed into the clearing around her home. brown and shimmering emerald hairs covering the entirety of what appears to be a gigantic wolf spider, each leg twelve foot in length, her body the same.
Her scream hungry.
Her screech confused when a small hail of nickels brushes against her thorax.
Carver, his back planted up against the tree he managed to take cover behind, checks his wrist like someone else would check a watch.
He has no watch. He never wears a watch in the veil.
But right now, in place of a watch, the halo of rotating nickels circle his wrist like an eager buzz-saw.
Melissa attacks Shereriti with Pyrokinesis and NARROWLY MISSES!
Shereriti attacks Carver with Spider Mass. Stopped by ARMOR on Chest.
Carver attacks Shereriti with Telekinesis+Small and HITS! Graze wound to Abdomen.
The spider jumped once more.
Unfortunately for Carver, it came as he looked out from his cover to throw more.
The tree provided some protection, meaning that only a single leg clipped him as the Shereriti passed him. It still sent him skittering to the floor, a few more nickels loosed from his hand to graze off the side of the spider's form.
Shereriti skittered, landing in something of a skid before turning around to face the man once more, caring not about the small burst of flame that rushed underneath her raised body.
Somewhere in the distance, a teenager's voice screamed "OH FUCK RIGHT OFF."
Melissa attacks Shereriti with Pyrokinesis and HITS! Incapacitated wound to Pedicel.
Shereriti attacks Carver with Oh God Fangs and HITS! Incapacitated wound to Chest.
Shereriti has been *KO'd* ! (Damaged This Turn By: Melissa)
Carver has been *KO'd* ! (Damaged This Turn By: Shereriti)
Carver's back hit the ground when the leg hit him, and his nickels did clatter to the ground with the sound noise of... well, loose change.
Shereriti launched herself at him once more. And this time... This time, she struck home. The haze around Carver disintegrated like dust motes in a windowed attic as a fang plunged low below his rib. One inch wide.
Two inches.
Thr-
The fireball may well have been a miniature sun for the damage it did. It slammed into the spider's pedicel, almost perfectly bisecting the creature with wounds that immediately burned closed. A tree behind the two of them did not survive unscathed, the semi-circular hole extending over halfway through the trunk and leaving blackened scorching that began to fracture and crack as the sound of footfalls hurried in Carver's direction.
"Aw shit, shit, shit. Aly! Aly?!"
Her knees scraped along the rough forest floor as she almost collided with the man's prone form, half-baseball slide, half-shoulder barge with a little physical oomph to send what remained of the spider tumbling away. Sure, it also released the fang. Sure, you're not supposed to pull something out of a wound. But... y'know, weird circumstances. It's probably better this way, right? Right?!
Carver, his shirt stained black with soot and red with blood has zero argument in him.
And zero consciousness.
And quite the dark pallor to the veins running out from the collar of his shirt and over his face.
Her arm wrapped around his neck. Her face buried in his hair. She can't open a door out if he's not helping.
Not any more.
Not since he started claiming back what was his to begin with.
| 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒'𝓈 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 |
| 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝓊𝓉 |
Tags: