rosswood: but my lust for blood is (ghosts aren't real)
Alex Kralie ([personal profile] rosswood) wrote in [community profile] entrancelogs2015-12-17 10:42 am

candy canes candy canes lick them in a spear and kill your enemies [open to some]

Who: Alex Kralie and anyone who wants to watch him flail
Where: The Forest, and then wherever
When: 12/16 and 12/20 onward
Rating: PG-13 because Alex is a foulmouth. Also possibilities for horror and trauma.
Summary: Alex meets a Wendigo, and then he meets some goblins. Lucky Alex.
The Story: Beneath the cut!

12/16; closed to Philip
He's got his phone out of habit, mostly, because even a few days stuck in his room has him crawling the walls like a dog anxious to be let out. He smacks the side of the device a few times, like that'll keep the static from screwing up the crappy visual he'll get.

Wonderland has a forest, and as bad of a bad idea it is - the thought itches under his skin - he can't seem to keep himself away.

There's nothing in the woods. That's what Philip said. But.

But Alex has to make sure.

The woods are pretty standard, as far as woods go. The trees are dense but not suffocatingly so, branches laden with snow. His breath mists in front of him in frosty puffs and he huddles a little deeper into his woefully thin jacket. He should've asked his closet for something a little thicker, but either his is defective or it's got a cruel sense of humor.

When something first darts in the corner of his eye, he jerks around reflexively, heart in his mouth.

Can't look, can't look -

Can't look if it's only a memory.

Alex fumbles at his device, movements made clumsy by the numbness settling deep and red into his fingers, trying desperately to switch the recording function on in time to snatch a glimpse of whatever it was that just flitted past. He swears under his breath, teeth chattering. Come on come on come on.

He swears he can see something moving. Maybe it's behind him.

It's always behind him.

It's not here it's not here it's not here it's not here it's not here

12/20 and onwards; open to all
Alex has absolutely zero awareness of his surroundings right now, mostly because his attention is completely devoted to sprinting at full tilt after the little shit that's stolen one of the few things he had on him when he arrived. His blue-striped jacket flaps cheerfully behind the goblin as it zigzags, dodging every attempt to pin it down, darting easily out from between Alex's outstretched fingers. He practically snarls at it when he misses for the umpteenth time and, finally, in a fit of outrage, hurls himself at the fucker like a football player going for a hard tackle.

Fortunately for the goblin and unfortunately for Alex, he isn't remotely adept at football or tackling or athletics in general except when the situation sorely requires it and he lands flat on his face in an ungainly sprawl. He oofs furiously and tries to roll to his feet only to immediately faceplant again because someone - he doesn't even need to ask who - has tied his shoelaces together.

[Alex will be harassed by the goblins until the event's end, so you are absolutely free to run into him chasing after the suckers at any point.]
radiopalkiller: (just look behind you)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2015-12-17 10:34 pm (UTC)(link)
"I know what day it is, I'm not asking you to drop everything right this second, but Jesus Christ, could you just check with his department sometime this year, because I haven't been able to get him on the phone for months, and this morning I got back my card and it..."

Philip watches the vision for a while, watches the brunette on the phone, the Christmas decorations in the background. Watches somebody else's Christmas present, and a future he knows he'll never have. There's something morbidly fascinating to it, and he wonders if it could be true, if this scene could actually play out in his universe.

It gets tiring after the third repeat, and he leaves the mirage behind in his room. There's a kitchen to escape to, and a meal to prepare; for the sake of passing time, rather than fighting off hunger. In no time he cuts carrots by the window, and looks out into the snow. Towards the forest, and the footsteps leading into it, the last glimpse of a silhouette disappearing--

Oh, crap!

The steps run through his mind like a program designed to report on the worst possible outcome. One person. Familiar. Not one of the hunters. Alex, but was it really him? Had to be. The bloody forest, Philip should have known. Should have known he'd want to make sure, like a wound you can't stop picking at. Should've remembered to warn him, because--

The thing he fears is long gone. That doesn't make the forest safe by any stretch of the imagination, at least not right now.

He drops the knife on the counter, but something cruel steadies him. He's not your problem anymore. He doesn't remember you now, and he'll be gone again before you know it. He'll come back to life, why even bother? Why ever bother? Philip shakes his head irritably. Where he sees himself reflected in the window he scowls, because it's as close as he'll get to scolding his own thoughts.

Then he quickly turns on his heels, heads for the nearest closet, and runs out the door.
radiopalkiller: (know what you did)

WHOOPS very sorry for the festive delay there but the holidays ate me

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2015-12-27 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
He didn't have a chance to retrieve his own gun, still somewhere in the snow, in the forest, didn't think going back was such a bright idea, too many people reporting on that thing, one thing, at least he won't probably won't face a pack, but it respawns, Christ, if he did calculations-- He doesn't do calculations. He grabs a flare gun. Better option, by a long and burning shot.

--And what good would whistling do, now that he's at the edge of the forest, looking down into the snow where fresh footsteps lead, because he can only run after them, not like he could call out loud, not like his thing would work while he doesn't know where Alex is, while he can't even see him, right past this tree, right, right, left once, jump over those roots, trampled ground now, crap, which direction, he's got to-- To follow the scream. That'll do.

He rushes ahead, a sound closer than he cares to hear it, cringing, why don't you run towards them for a change, but that's neither here nor-- There. Like a tall branch, an odd vertical line running through a very realistic painting, a looming fragment that doesn't do the horror justice. He's not looking forward to seeing the frontal view again. But his knees are already bent, the small rock already in his hand. Thrown in the creature's direction, as much as he can do to get its attention.

--to get both their attention, because he needs to tell Alex to run. To run back, and get out of the forest as fast as he can. And he can see him now, use what he has to make up for the sound of his actual voice.

"You just couldn't wait to waltz in here, could you?!"

Only the message doesn't come out quite right, all things considered.
radiopalkiller: (a man who's crueler than me)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2015-12-27 10:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Part one accomplished; can't aim for the stick, can aim for the broad side once it turns, because it'd better. And Philip pulls the flare gun from his belt, loaded fire, extra shots. Might not make it to murder, but it should be enough to get them both out. It'll be enough to get them both out.

He lifts his good arm and aims and for the love of Jesus Christ right in his line of fire between him and the charging creature already well-recovered from Philip's greeting already bent on not letting them get away already sprinting behind Alex and goddamnit Alex-- "Get out of the way, I can't get a--"

--clear shot, you know what, never mind. Philip darts forward towards Alex, right at Alex, right past Alex, lifting the gun again and when did it get so close?! The stench slams into him already, the creature not just yet. It snarls. He pulls the trigger. The sparks singe his hairs a bit. They burn the creatures chest a lot.

Philip stumbles back. Glowing fire between bones, like embers glowing underneath a stack of firewood. Don't look, run. Don't look, run! Philip turns on his heels and runs.
radiopalkiller: (a good helper)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2015-12-28 09:50 pm (UTC)(link)
He doesn't have to be told twice, let alone one two three four, Philip turns around and watches the thing burn. Orange sparks on the ground, on some branches. Too cold and wet for the fire to spread further. But the thing still burns, writhes, thrashes- recovers, roaring. Runs. Philip reloads.

"It doesn't leave the forest, we've just got to make it past the trees!"

Fires the second flare, a sizzling trail like a shooting star. Aimed just a little too high, just a little too far to the right. The wendigo hisses at the red sparks lashing past its head, hitting the bushes behind it. Philip mutters a silent curse, and picks up the pace faster.

Having enough ammunition left is one thing. Getting to it before that thing catches up is another.
radiopalkiller: (I need the darkness)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2015-12-31 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)
He stops shooting. He runs.

Until the next cartridge clicks into place.

The stench is different now, rotten flesh crisp and burning, a sickening sense of déjà-vu. Heavy gasps, and his hot breath swirling visibly through the cold air. Heavy gasps back then, grit teeth forcing silence while he was hiding in the dark. Heroics are for hollywood actors and fairy tales, he remembers. But that never quite worked out either, did it?

Philip turns back around, braces himself. He expects it to have almost caught up now. He doesn't quite expect to see it mid-lunge towards him. His finger, at least, is indifferent towards the surprise. He feels it press down on the trigger just before claws tear the gun out of his hand.

Philip stumbles back. The creature lashes out, at its own face. If it thought Philip tasted bad, then a burning flare was sure to be no improvement. It thrashes. Philip almost wonders if the shot was enough. But his empty hands catch up to him. If it wasn't, then there won't be another. Run. Run. Just run.

He turns again, finally running for good.

"Almost there!"

Finally seeing the treeline in the distance.
radiopalkiller: (hit solid ground)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2015-12-31 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)
It comes easier to him, after years of this. Jogging between the trees, making a game of it. Morning run, obstacle course. It comes harder now, with actual stakes and the clattering hisses behind him. Heavy. Loud. Uncoordinated. That's got to be a good sign. He doesn't turn around to make sure.

The trees open into snowy meadows just ahead. Philip steps on a sheet of ice, and the last steps are slithering, stumbling. It's an undignified end to the final stretch; when he finally trips he's already out. Rolls a distance further, just to be sure.

And watches furious eyes glare at him from beneath the trees.

And when their glow disappears he rolls on his back, and breathes a deep sigh of relief.

"By the way, I forgot to tell you this when we texted, but." He turns his head to look for Alex. "Don't go into the forest. We've got a wendigo in there."
radiopalkiller: (tell me some bad news)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-01 12:17 am (UTC)(link)
Huh. Slowly the calm sinks in, as does the bottom line of their situation. Alex isn't dead. Philip himself isn't dead. That is... roughly 100% better than 90% of his rescue missions usually go. But oh no, please, stop it, you're embarrassing him, how's he supposed to take all that gratitude at once?

"Right, so I've got those amazing things called 'eyes', and they allow me to perceive many things by sight, such as for example people walking into the forest. I know that sounds tremendously beyond belief, so I'll give you a moment to process."

He sits up. Somehow he can't help but think that this is the kind of moment he'd rather spend on the ground. But that's not quite the occasion he's dressed for, even if the chill takes its time to set in. He gets to his feet, and brushes the snow off of his jeans.

"And I'm not psychic, just slightly telepathic."
radiopalkiller: (anything to make you smile)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-01 09:36 pm (UTC)(link)
R i g h t, because he loves risking his neck for things he could really sense early enough to just send a warning via text message instead. Of course he does. Philip rolls his eyes.

"...Anyway. If you absolutely have to explore the forest, wait until next year. That thing isn't usually around, so given its timing I reckon it's part of the local Christmas magic. Should clear up after the holidays."

A beat.

"I'm Philip, by the way. We texted when you arrived."

All that said with a straight face and unmoving lips, for all the good the information probably does.
radiopalkiller: (an odd light surrounding it)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-02 10:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Philip arches an eyebrow. It's catching, that nickname, the way you perk up at an old song you haven't heard in so long, you almost forgot it existed. His lips twitch into a fleeting smile.

"I would have, if I'd known that it explains anything. Just figured you might want to hang on to your complete set of lives for longer than a month."

Unconsciously his hand mimics the motion, rubbing the back of his neck, the scar tissue at the top of his spine. Trying to remember how much Alex ever knew about... everything. Trying to decide how much he ought to know now.

He shakes his head, anyway. At least that part's easy.

"Anyway, no, I can't read your thoughts. Or control them. Or... do anything to or with them. It's just a plain-- glorified sound transmission, without. Without the actual sound part."
radiopalkiller: (this accomplishes nothing)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-03 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
He wears a light blue button-down shirt, dressed for the warmth indoors. Dressed like somebody who all but froze to death once, and never quite felt the bite of cold air afterwards. He forgets, sometimes, the way it gets to other people. Philip smiles lopsidedly.

"That about covers it. I've died here five times. The last time my voice didn't make it back."

There are secrets guarded more closely than this, but not everyone gets to hear the story. It comes a lot more easily, when the awkward silence of compassion is not something you expect to worry about. His gaze wanders off towards the forest.

"Wendigo. And what I said was that it was currently safe from things from your world. Not from things from other people's worlds. Or this world, for that matter."
radiopalkiller: (um... bugger.)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-05 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Philip looks back at him blankly, not quite knowing how to read the expression. Not quite thinking it matters enough to try harder. He shrugs.

"Probably plenty, but I wouldn't want to spoil them."

But really he ought to, because why render his own heroic rescue (hah) moot? And anyway, tour guide, that's a comfortable skin to wear these days. He thinks for a moment, floor after floor, and ultimately shakes his head.

"Nothing you shouldn't have heard about already. The Mirrors and the events, those are your main catches. Plus the occasional crazy resident. Well. Crazier. Currently Wonderland's gearing up for Christmas, in other words, lots of weird at the same time. That thing in the woods is part of it, so are a handful of... odd flying critters, you'll know them when you see them. More obnoxious than dangerous though. And--"

He scowls. Will you look at that, he almost forgot about the flicker of nostalgia waiting for him in his room.

"And you might start seeing holographic projections of your Christmas past, present, and future. Not sure what triggers those, but try not to say 'humbug' too much, just in case."

His eyes follow their breaths floating through the cold air, Alex's hands slipping into his pockets. The apology. Not actually the best place to chat, is it?

"...Right, don't mention it. You'll have a chance to check when the forest is clear again. Reckon we should head back inside now?"
radiopalkiller: (can't see the end)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-09 06:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Philip follows suit, idly looking at the tracks in the snow. Not too many fresh ones in this area. He finds his own a little ways away, further apart than they are now, a reminder of his run into the forest.

Still can't believe they actually both made it back out.

"Right. I got here at the end of September, wasn't too long until my first one. Still freaked me out at the time. People got aged back into children, we had reindeer attacks outside, and I was- well, I was told I was under some compulsion to do Christmas baking, but since I also had frequent black-outs during the whole thing I wouldn't really know for sure."

He shrugs.

"This is number six. It gets easier."
radiopalkiller: (crawling into the fire)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-10 11:47 pm (UTC)(link)
"Reindeer attacks," comes the confirmation, the unspoken voice just as flat in its resignation to the absurdity. Reindeer attacks, honestly, but nowadays those don't even graze his personal top fifty of weird anymore. But he understands. He remembers.

He listens to the sound of crunching snow underneath his feet, because the thought -- like home -- tempts a quick and easy answer, but what is it really? A better choice than is own world, that's for sure, which really isn't much of a choice, much of a life anymore at all. An end to accept, he used to think that. Opportunities to escape someplace else, he used to think about those too.

Not anymore now, those urges are gone. Philip nods deliberately.

"Home, yeah. You could say that, it-- It is."
radiopalkiller: (he never learns)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-18 07:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Home, not like warm bed and the kitchen you personally saved up for and finally got. Not like the smell of that laundry detergent you always use, and the smile of that woman next door, because you just so happen to leave the house at the same time every Tuesday.

Home like your face on the news, hotel room after hotel room paid in cash, eyes hidden in darkness under a hood as best as you can. Home like a cardboard box under a bridge, because your house burnt down and the ends for a fresh start just won't meet. Home like 'home is wherever you are', because there's nowhere left to welcome you with open arms ever again.

It's still as good as it gets, isn't it? He waits for Alex to cut through the silence.

"You didn't really get out, did you?"

Got out. Settled down. He said that. Said that to a weird stranger the day they first talked, it's not a premise that lends itself to blame. Guess he'd be lying too. Well. More than he already does.

"Because if that's the sort of question you ask after some rotten monster tries to eat you alive during your first week here-- Well, that sort of defines your standard for 'better', doesn't it?"

Or maybe it's the loose ends he doesn't want to go back to tie. Couldn't rightly guess, not after all this time. Past Philip's pay grade now, anyway, these sort of thoughts. He didn't mean to make it sound like a bad question, that's what matters.

Because Philip knows what his own answer would be, in a heartbeat.

"...I wouldn't choose to go back, even if I could."
radiopalkiller: (can't see the end)

fade out to post cannibalism escape bruch y/n/lobster?

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-21 04:32 pm (UTC)(link)
It hadn't at first, but later it did? But some day it still might? But better safe in the weird multiverse pot than sorry at home? Philip isn't sure he gets it- it, Alex's personal reason, not... not the rest. Because there's one thing Wonderland is absolutely incredible at: Giving second chances to screw-ups.

"It's better." And here they are. He stops at the entrance. "Plus, unlimited supply of free drinks."

Philip props the door open as he passes through.

"Speaking of which, I had something cooking in the kitchen before. I'll be picking that up again, any chance you're in the mood for something not served by the magical dining hall elves?"
radiopalkiller: (an odd light surrounding it)

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-21 07:32 pm (UTC)(link)
"Tell you what, you get the camera rolling, and I'll see about luring the wendigo into the mansion. Then I let it chase me while I cook the food, and you just keep filming from cover."

Philip takes one last glance outside, but nothing stirs by the treeline.

"We'll call the result 'Literal Kitchen Nightmares : Wonderland Edition'."

He watches the door fall shut behind them, and heads off into the kitchen.
radiopalkiller: (this is the fancy icon things are fancy)

[ cue curtains and applause ]

[personal profile] radiopalkiller 2016-01-21 07:45 pm (UTC)(link)