entrancelogs | 'cause you thought you'd escaped

Entry tags:

'cause you thought you'd escaped

Who: Alex Kralie and anyone/everyone
Where: All around Gravity Falls
When: February 5th-9th (specify which day in the subject header)
Rating: Let's say PG-13. Alex is a foulmouth
Summary: Fairies and gremloblins and tourist traps, oh my!
The Story: beneath the cut!

February 5th and 6th; Mystery Mansion

God, he is so bored.

Alex thinks he might be starting to have an allergic reaction to how much obnoxiously fake stuff there is scattered all around this place. And people actually buy this crap? He turns over the price tag on one of the dubiously-named "attractions" and snorts. What a scam.

But man, he can't remember when he last had two hundred bucks in cold hard cash to just spend however he sees fit. Ordinarily that'd go to a savings account, or to chip away at those student loans, or would be added to his private stockpile devoted to the Production-Level Movie Equipment Investment Fund, but he sincerely doubts the money will linger past the event's end. So, with a sigh, Alex submits to the thrall of capitalist purchase. He might put forth some money for a tour just to see what all the fuss is about. He might even buy something other than a disposable camera, just to shake things up. He's gotta use up this cash somehow, right?

February 7th; Fairies

Of course, what should he walk into within five minutes of venturing into the woods but a swarm, a literal swarm, of winged little pests? He swats at them furiously, stumbling blind through the semi-thick woodland, practically snarling under his breath as those bright fluttering pains in the ass dodge every clumsy swipe of his hand. This place had better not have poison oak, or Alex will have words. He'll have angry words, furious words, as soon as he gets - these - things - off - his -

Crash.

That's roughly the point in time where Alex trips over a root and faceplants, possibly onto a rock or sharp object of some kind. You might trip over him as he lies there, surrounded by a dancing halo of colorful chirping lights, wondering where in his life he went so wrong.

February 8th; Gremloblins

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, HOLY SHIT - "

Running at breakneck speed through the woods. Yep, this sounds familiar. Only instead of some ghostly-thin spectre-like faceless nightmare, this thing is a hulking, lumbering, snarling...well, he doesn't really have a word for it. He just knows it apparently doesn't like cameras or bright flashes, and it's currently fixated on him and mad. Oh, joy. Too far, Alex. You went too far, and now you're going to suffer for it.

He barely manages to duck a swipe of the thing's massive claws just as its jaws part in a furious roar.

"For the love of - help! Can anyone - " The rest of that sentence is lost as Alex once again has to devote the rest of his attention to keeping those wickedly curved claws from taking a sizable chunk out of him. No other choice here but to keep running and hope he crashes into someone who knows how to kill or maim or otherwise get rid of this thing. Dignity be damned. Pride be damned. He lost all claims to pride the minute he started shrieking to help at the top of his goddamn lungs.

Speaking of which -

"Help!?"

Alex Kralie, the only man who can manage to make a desperate entreaty for aid sound utterly and deeply sarcastic.

February 9th; the Hide Behind

He's been camped in the same spot for hours. His palms are slick with sweat, his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration, hunched in scattered underbrush as he waits for the telltale rattle-hiss of the thing he knows is after him. Stalking him.

"Come on," he whispers, eyes narrowed at the empty air in front of him. "Come on, you stupid son of a bitch. I know you're out there. I heard you. I heard you. Come on out."

And so it goes, a quiet, ongoing litany as he waits and waits and waits and waits for the thing behind him to show its goddamn self. He's had enough of things he can't see. He's going to chase this one down, wallpaper every tree in the forest with its ugly mug.

There it is. The rattle. The click-clack-click of the beast drawing near.

Alex grins faintly, poised to spin around and catch it in the click and flash of a shutter. 1/500th of a second. That's all it'll take. Come on. Not so mysterious now, are you, Mr. Monster?

[ooc: prose or brackets are good, will match accordingly]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Alistair is fascinated by the bright, fluttering little creatures darting everywhere about the forest. According to the announcement made when they got here most everything is supposed to be harmless and not going to kill them. While he'd still been a little wary in the beginning, the fairies at least haven't tried to attack or lure him to his death yet so he figures he's safe. They're actually kind of pretty even if he occasionally has to shake one out of his hair.

There's a whole group of them hovering over... something sprawled out on the floor of the forest as he tramps about exploring. A something that resolves into a someone as he gets closer, scattering the swarm as he looms over them.

"Are you alright?" He nudges the prone body with the toe of his boot, peering down at them curiously. "Did you get-" The question is rudely interrupted by one of the creatures flying straight into his face in what seems an awful lot like an attempt to choke him.

"Ack!" Coughing, he spits out the now damp fairy and swats madly at the reformed swarm. "Maker! What is wrong with these things?"

Alex is fine. His nose is throbbing with the impact against the ground, sure, and he's disgruntled by the fact that he has the Gravity Falls equivalent of stars dancing around his head as he lies here, but sometimes you just have to take a minute to examine the bleak empty pit of despair your life has become. And hence, the lifeless lying on the ground.

But eventually someone has to come along, and Alex realizes he'll have to try to move again, so he wearily drags himself to his feet. There's a sluggish ooze of blood trailing from his nose to his upper lip. Is it broken? He doesn't care.

"Buddy, they've been doing this all day," he says with the world-weary dullness that comes with being pursued by these fuckers for literal hours, then stops. Hang on a second, it's That Guy. "Wait, uh - do I know you?"

"Are you sure it's not just you?" Are there more of them coming? There must be more of them coming. Thousands and thousands of them must have joined them by now. Surely just a handful of pretty, fluttery little creatures can't be this annoying as they dance around them both. "I swear it wasn't this bad for me earlier. Maybe they like you."

He turns a suspicious look on the stranger and stops, blinking in surprise at the question. Now that Alistair can see his face he is familiar. Bloodied nose aside. Where has he seen him before- Oh!

Snapping his fingers he points at the other man. "You're- uh." He pauses, grins as he recalls precisely how his companion had first introduced himself. And then scowls, swatting a fairy off his nose. "The Queen. Of Sheba, right? Looking lovely today, your majesty."

Of course they like him. He's a nummy fairy treat. Apparently. Christ, these are worse than mosquitoes. At least mosquitoes don't blaze with fiery neon-colored passion as they whiz around your head.

"You got me," he says dryly, scrubbing at the smear of blood with the heel of his palm. "Queen of Sheba. Or you can call me Alex, which is what everyone else calls me, 'cause that's actually my name."

His face screws up for a moment as he tries to recall the name the other guy got saddled with during the last event.

"And you are - well, you were the Prince of Something-Or-Other. I'm guessing you gotta real name."

It could be far worse. They could leave brightly coloured fairy... dust. Everywhere they're swarming over them.

Alistair gives a mournful sigh and shakes his head. "No, sadly I don't. Or not one you want to know about. The wild dogs who raised me didn't have much use for names. It was all about how you smell for them. It took me the longest time to figure out why people got offended whenever I greeted them."

Hmm, that hadn't come out quite right. Better move on fast before Alex could take advantage of that particular opening.

"I'm Alistair. Nice to be able to talk to you like a normal person."

Alex squints at the guy for a second, trying to puzzle that. Like, okay, he's pretty sure medieval fantasy period people didn't have AXE or whatever (they probably had plenty of axes, though, yuk yuk yuk), but whatever. Alistair. Hell of a name. Has a real princely ring to it, which might be the reason for the princely title he introduced himself with last event.

"Pleasure's all mine," says Alex dryly, then, after a moment's consideration, "well, it would be if these damn things weren't - ksckxxk!"

Anything else he has to say is lost in an explosive sneeze as some of that dust gets up his recently bloodied nose. Alex swats at the cluster of bright lights bobbing enthusiastically around his head, annoyance recalibrating into something much more palpable. "Fuck these things, honestly. D'you have these where you come from?"

Alistair snorts, unsuccessfully fighting back laughter at that. They definitely like Alex. A lot. Maybe he should be Queen of the Fairies instead.

"No, no tiny flying... things. Except bugs. We have bugs. But not these. They're..." He pauses, searching for a word as what feels like a small family of them start trying to make a nest from his hair. They're not being gentle about it, prompting a wince with every yank, but if they're up there they're not trying to choke him. Or get their dust up his nose. "Getting kind of annoying."

There's an especially hard yank and with a wince he rakes a hand through his hair to comb the creatures out. It's worth the choking risk if it means he won't end up bald.

"That looks painful." Nodding at the trickle of blood oozing down from his nose. Not that Alistair himself can offer much help there. But it does.

"Not as painful as - whatever you've got going on up there." He waves vaguely at the top of Alistair's head, where his hair is starting to take some interesting formations. Is it being braided up there? "What the hell are they doing?"

Pixies, fairies, goddamn mutant mosquitoes - fuck it, he doesn't care. He's two seconds from swatting them all flat with the heel of his palm. Or he would, if the suckers weren't zipping around quicker than his eye can track them.

"These're worse than mosquitoes," he grumbles, and smacks the tickling on one of his arms. Ah. Ow. He missed, and that hurt.

"I'm trying not to think about it. So long as they're not making attempts on my life or ruining my rugged good looks I'm not complaining. Much."

Alistair pulls a face as he feels them pulling again, apparently having gone right back to what they were doing after he chased them out.

"You think if we make a run for it we can get to shelter without them following us inside?" He sounds pretty doubtful about their odds and, glancing over to where they seem to be playing a game of keep away with Alex, adds thoughtfully, "Or maybe I can convince them you're better company and escape while they're distracted with you. Hmm."

"Can you not sick your pixie overlords on me?" Alex punctuates the remark with an irritable wave that doesn't succeed in fanning his fairy infestation away so much as it simply encourages them to flock to the other side of his head. "I was looking for the Mystery Place, but it's pretty hard to navigate with these things - "

Alex starts coughing, and for a moment he's back on the film set again, hacking his lungs out, lips flecked with blood while that thing looms over him, but no, false alarm, one of those things just managed to fly right the fuck into his open mouth while he was talking and it does not taste nice.

"God I hate this event," he manages between efforts to seize control of his windpipe.

"Maker, these things have a death wish!" Alistair reaches over to thump Alex on the back and hopefully dislodge the fairy that has seemingly tired of life from his windpipe.

"You know, I've seen something like this before. A witch I know. She turns into a whole swarm of insects and then things start dying and I think we should find somewhere else to be." Yes, the creatures here weren't supposed to be malicious but choking to death on a fairy just seems a very embarrassing way to go. And still fatal, regardless of why it happened.

"I-Ow!" Flailing at another one trying to steal his ear now, he nods off into the trees. "I think I remember which way it is?" Hopefully. Either way, maybe they could outrun them.

Maker sounds like a fantasy dragon world's equivalent of Jesus fucking christ so Alex lets that slide, because frankly he's feeling the same. He manages to hack up what resembles a single soggy Christmas light, which promptly makes an indignant, high-pitched sound that drills into the soft and delicate parts of Alex's brain and forces him to smoosh the thing on the spot.

Hey, no one ever said these things were rare or important. He doesn't give a shit what kind of mythological creature they're supposed to be. He wants them gone.

"You got witches in your world too?" Ugh. That sounds like some straight-up seven plagues bullshit. Which, nope. Not going there. "Yeah, let's get gone. I got no idea where we are."

"Evil witches." It's important to clarify that point. Because she really is. And also, "Eww." The little creature was all smooshed and just...ewww. Not that he can blame Alex for it but still.

"Um. This way? I think." Starting towards where he hopes the Mystery Manor, or whatever it's called, is he stops after just a couple of steps. Raking his hands through his hair and flailing his arms about, Alistair does his best to clear the area of flying pests for a few precious seconds. Enough for a head start maybe.

"Come on, before I have to try smiting them." Here's hoping he hasn't gotten turned around himself. Or that the fairy dust they've both been breathing in isn't some kind of poison and it's all been a clever plot so they eat them.

"You can smite them?" Alex shoots him an incredulous look. "Are you the pope?" In his experience, the only types of people to have single names like Alistair are popes or tryhard DJs. Yeah, explaining that one will be fun.

He tails after Alistair, taking periodic swipes at the air to shoo away the little pests. His fingers are still wet with whatever kind of fairy gunk these things spew upon death, which is something he's going to very aggressively not think about right now. He wipes his fingers on his jeans. Gross, but it's better than parading around with literal pixie blood on his hands.

"The who?" Oh wait, he's got it. "It's what it's called but it's not smiting in the 'wrath of the Maker striking down non-believers' kind of way. Not that that wouldn't be handy sometimes." But that's more like magic which comes with its own problems. He'll stick with what he's got, thanks.

"Is the pope what you call the Maker?" If they can smite people then it's the only thing he can think of that makes sense being as he's already met other people with different names for their creator.

Either way, he'd really rather not have to resort to that sort of thing against a bunch of tiny fairies. It just seems a bit embarrassing, no matter how unintentionally lethal they try to be.

"Nah." Alex isn't really a theologian - at least, no more or less than anyone else in the crazed shotgun-toting state of Alabama. He doesn't exactly think highly of his hometown. "I think your maker's more along the lines of Jesus, or something. Pope's like...the official Jesus representative, maybe. I dunno, man. I didn't pay attention when they were teaching that bit."

Sure would be handy to have a couple dozen lightning bolts to dispatch these little pixie bastards, though, that's for sure. Pity Alex can't static them all to death, because he'd be great at doing that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

'cause you thought you'd escaped

February 7th - Fairies

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject