open } choose your words and etch them on your soul make them heard when crowds drown out your call

[transmutate]

Who: Edward, Georgia, YOU
Where: Actual Hell
When: over the course of the event
Rating: PG-13, possibly verging into R
Summary: Ed's arm and leg and superpowers don't work, but that's not going to stop him. ....or yes, actually, it is. Meanwhile Georgia's going to interview the shit out of everything.
The Story:

Ed

[Edward wakes up and everything is definitely even more wrong than it's been ever since he arrived here. They're clearly somewhere... different, not somewhere he knows from home or from Wonderland. He starts to stand up, ready to try and figure out what's going on, but before he can get very far, he flops over as his automail arm doesn't react to his mental commands.]

What...?

[Ed tries to move it again, to know avail. He pushes himself up with his left arm, then tries to move his leg. It works, right up until he gets to the automail part. He tries to move his toes and they don't react at all. His leg may as well be a metal block for all the reactivity he's getting from it.]

No, no, this can't happen now!

[He claps his left hand against his limp right hand and touches it to the back of the limb, trying to at least straighten it into a more useful position. Nothing.]

What? No.

[He claps again and touches the ground, with no result.]

NO!

[Eventually, he forms a makeshift sling for his useless automail arm and finds a stick long enough to help him hobble around. But alchemy still isn't working, even when he draws a circle rather than clapping. It doesn't stop him from leaving the settlement area, but it does keep him from going very far. Because he literally can't. His leg and arm are never very light, but they're not doing anything but weighing him down like this. It's impossible, and he's weak and helpless and he hates it.]

Georgia

[There's an itch Georgia has that never goes away. She's had it ever since she took her first journalism class, maybe even since before that. The News is an addiction, one that generally leads to pain, frustration, and ratings that aren't as good as the people who put on a show rather than tell the truth, but it's one she can't kick. The truth is out there, and it will set you free.

Of course, there's a hell of a lot of monsters between her and the truth right now, and her gun and tape recorder both don't work. Not that it's going to stop her. She's never craved danger like Shaun does, but she's no coward. Sometimes getting to the truth involves a hell of a lot of taking risks.

So she's quick to wander out of the compound, armed with nothing but a notepad, a pen, and a heavy stick, ready to find out everything she can about this strange place.]

Comments

for george of course

[postictal]

[Luckily for Georgia and unluckily for one Timothy Wright, here's one persons-shaped mystery on the horizon - or, more specifically, here comes Tim, running for his goddamned life as a massive goatlike kangaroo thing with ram's horns comes bounding after him.

He glimpses someone just ahead, and he doesn't give his heart time to plummet to his feet in disappointed exasperation. He simply flaps a hand at George, sucking in a wheezing breath long enough to bellow out a frantic yelp of:]

Move! Move!

[choosetruth]

[He doesn't need to tell her twice. She's got a club, but her upper body strength isn't enough that she's ready to play baseball with a goat-kangaroo's head.]

What the fuck did you do?

[She starts running. She misses having a working gun so badly.]

[postictal]

Apparently? Found out where it lives.

[He only pauses briefly to glance over his shoulder before kicking up dirt his frenzy to scramble away from the thing.]

Did I know anything lived there? No!

[choosetruth]

[She doesn't waste time giving him a skeptical look, but the fact is, he lies enough that she isn't sure she believes him.

Doesn't matter. She doesn't want either of them to die, and that means no time to waste arguing.]

Head for the river.

[It's made of acid and could be a good way to get rid of a tail. At least, assuming they can find a way to cross themselves.]

[postictal]

[He doesn't need telling twice. He makes for the river directly, scanning the length of it in search for a protruding branch or rock or log they could use to cross. When none seems to be forthcoming, he braces himself to make a leap or a painful slog.]

No way across unless we make a jump.

[choosetruth]

I have really got to stop hanging out with you.

[She's pretty sure he wouldn't disagree. She wishes she had her bike right now, but the physics of this are roughly the same. Keep moving. Don't hesitate. Hope that gravity, which never has much love for the terminally stupid, cooperates. swing your hands back and launch yourself forward and--

--she lands, knees jarring enough that she stumbles, but stumbles forward, thankfully, and keeps moving, only sparing a glance back to see if Tim's still alive.]

[postictal]

[He'd say this wasn't his fault, but it probably is in some way, and in any case - he really can't disagree with her. He charges forward even as his lungs ache with the effort. He doesn't hesitate - if he stops, he loses momentum. He launches himself into the air in an attempt to clear the gap.

He mostly makes it. One foot slips on a puddle of acid, burning the sole of his shoe, and he hisses in annoyance, but he keeps scrambling onward. He can't waste time worrying about what happens if it eats through to his foot.]

Let's hope it doesn't like jumping.

[choosetruth]

Let's hope.

[She spares a glance at the hiss but keeps running. She's made a career of outrunning zombies, and speed is one of the only things living humans have in their favor in that battle. Well, that and bullets, but those aren't working right now.]

Don't stop to find out!

[Wait til the sounds of being pursued die down. If they die down. Hopefully they'll die down.]

[postictal]

[He's played through worse pain before, and he does it now all the same. It burns and blisters, but he'll stomach it. He can get the burn, if there is one, checked out later. For now, he's not about to look back.

He just keeps booking it behind her, and mercifully enough, the thing's tramping grinds to a halt just as it reaches the edge of the river, snarling its evident annoyance.]

Thank god.

[choosetruth]

Don't stop.

[She certainly isn't. They're probably safe, but she's not Shaun. She doesn't take crazy risks and taunt things that could kill her for fun. On the off chance that it's either trying to lull them into a false sense of security or just gearing up for a jump, she's going to keep running for at least another two minutes.]

[postictal]

[Excuse you George, but does he look like he's stopping? Maybe slowing down some, but with the way his lungs feel like they're about to collapse any second, can you blame him?

He's practically wheezing by the time he actually does stop in earnest, groping for the nearest withered stump of a tree for support.]

[choosetruth]

[Hey, she's just making sure. Once they do stop, she crosses her arm. She's breathing hard too--sprinting takes it out of you even when you are in good shape--but it's nothing near as bad as his gasping.]

You should take up running. Way this place works, you're going to have to run for your life again soon, and you're more likely to survive if you've practiced.

[postictal]

Not a question of practice.

[He opens his mouth to say more but it dissolves into a series of hard, barking coughs, his hand cupped over his mouth in a doomed attempt to hold them in. When his lungs finally clear, reasonably, he slumps against his impromptu support and flicks his eyes up to stare at George, wryly.]

Got problems with my lungs.

[choosetruth]

[Her expression doesn't change. If she shows any flickers of sympathy in her eyes under her sunglasses, he'll never know. She's got problems with her eyes. She knows it sucks. But it doesn't change the fact that he's got to get better at running if he's going to not die.]

I'm sure if you tell the monsters that, they'll take it easy on you.

[postictal]

[Lucky for her - for both of them - Tim doesn't deal in sympathy. He got used to hugging himself a long time ago because he learned quickly that no one else was going to do it. George is no exception.]

Yeah, you know what? I'll just work myself to the point of collapse. Good idea. At least then I can get used to it, right?

[choosetruth]

[She cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow. He can't see her eyeroll, but she can communicate the feeling effectively enough.]

Yeah, and then when you need to do it in real emergencies, you can get further. Cause you're used to it. And cause even if your lungs stay weak, the rest of your muscles will get stronger and you'll be able to move faster. That's how practice works.

[postictal]

[What do you know? "Audible eyerolling" just so happens to be a skill, and she just rolled a critical on a D20.

Fuck his life, seriously.]

Gee, thanks. Your unconventional wisdom has literally never been said to me, ever. I've definitely never tried anything like that. Nope.

[The fact that he immediately lapses into another fit of disgruntled coughing defangs the words somewhat, but the point still stands.]

[choosetruth]

Or don't, but I might not be there to save your ass next time.

[He's free, as everyone is, to make his own choices. And there's only so much energy she'll put into saving someone she doesn't much like.]

What were you doing out there anyway?

[postictal]

[Here's hoping there won't have to be a "next time." In George's vicinity or anyone else's. If he goes out, he's going out on his own terms. Preferably, anyway, but since when has that ever played out, huh?]

Looking for supplies. Water was running low back at the settlement.

[choosetruth]

Did you consider asking for help from someone a little more suited to the task?

[It's probably not the nicest thing to say, but she's not the nicest person, and she's pragmatic enough that she's not going to sugarcoat it when survival is at stake. And it's not just his survival, either. Everyone needs water.]

[postictal]

Obviously I didn't think it was going to end up like this.

[He doesn't bother to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Courtesy has been thrown to the winds at this point, and Shepard's impromptu protective force is spread thin enough as it is.]

[choosetruth]

[Georgia generally makes a point of showing as little emotion as possible, but she'll always allow disapproving scorn to shine through.]

What did you think was going to happen?

[postictal]

Namely? I get water, I head back. Demon-free.

[What answer was she expecting here, really?]

So I'm really sorry I didn't fit that expectation, but I guess the fact that this place is crawling with things ready to eat my face off is just - my fault, right?

[choosetruth]

No, but not preparing for those things is your fault.

[Shaun had been yelling at her for the exact same thing earlier, but she had known what she was getting into. She had hoped not to run into demons, but she certainly hadn't counted on it.]

Tell me you at least brought a weapon.

[postictal]

I don't do that.

[Carry weapons, that is. He's got a switchblade secreted in one of his pockets, but that's not for fighting. It's not for anything important, and it's definitely not anything George needs to know about.]

Like I said, I didn't expect things to go that way.