Daryl Dixon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unsleeved) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-10-03 09:49 pm
unsleeved) wrote in entrancelogs2013-10-03 09:49 pm
[017] / [☢☢2] worms! why did it have to be worms?! [open]
Who: Daryl Dixon & Friends; Jesse Pinkman & Friends
Where: all along the watchtower. and by watchtower I mean mine shafts
When: 10/3-10/7
Rating: R, probably
Summary: In an effort to keep from spamming, only one post was made on that day...
The Story:
Daryl:
He should have expected this. He had expected this, actually, given the fact that he's learned by now that when them weirdos start popping up over the network, shit's about to get real bad real soon. And so he isn't exactly surprised to find the world he wakes up in different than the one he'd passed out in... But he's actually taken aback at how different it is. He'd fallen asleep outside, you see, in one of the many campsites he's got hanging out in various points in the woods; it's getting colder and so he'd figured he may as well take advantage of being able stay out there comfortably.
And so waking up underground with everything that entails- the air pressure, the cool, wet darkness of the tunnels, the echo as he shifts himself into a sitting postion and his boots scrape against the stones- is a little disorienting.
But only for a second. He's been through too much to let something like this paralyze him... Even if given recent events the last place he wants to be stuck is in a fucking cave.
Jesse:
The first thing that crosses Jesse's mind when he opens his eyes (because hey, the one that'd been swollen shut upon his arrival is functioning again! Hallelujah, amen, and praise to the headache he gets from adjusting to using both!) is "Jesus, again?", swiftly followed by the verbal form of "alkjsdhgklja"... Which probably doesn't sound much different from the kinds of noises the zombie dogs and huge, man-eating, fanged fleshlights will be making as they chase him down in just a few short days.
But that's skipping ahead a bit, and where's the fun in that? (Answer: there's no fun in any of this at all). He'd been warned about the events, of course, he'd even read the pamphlet like a good little newbie, but the reality of the situation had been mostly lost on him; when he'd asked about booby traps and spiked ceilings, he'd been thinking more along the lines of the figurative, kind of like when someone says they pissed themselves laughing. No one ever actually pisses themselves so why does he feel like he's stepped into some kind of bastardization of the Goonies? If he starts running into skeleton pirates and mob rejects and shit, there's gonna be a problem... After some hemming and hawing and general bitching to himself about wanting to talk to his lawyer- and a bit of figurative pants-pissing, too- he eventually decides that he'd really, really rather not die of starvation in a hole in the ground, and gets moving. There's gotta be a way out... And besides, Goonies never say die, yo. It's kind of a thing.
[[ooc: Subthreads by day below! (Unless you're looking at this and there aren't any, in which case GIMME A SEC I COCKED UP THE HTML.) If we had plans of any kind and you want me to set something up, I will definitely do that. Otherwise (or if you happen to feel like setting up something specific) HAVE AT IT.]]
Where: all along the watchtower. and by watchtower I mean mine shafts
When: 10/3-10/7
Rating: R, probably
Summary: In an effort to keep from spamming, only one post was made on that day...
The Story:
Daryl:
He should have expected this. He had expected this, actually, given the fact that he's learned by now that when them weirdos start popping up over the network, shit's about to get real bad real soon. And so he isn't exactly surprised to find the world he wakes up in different than the one he'd passed out in... But he's actually taken aback at how different it is. He'd fallen asleep outside, you see, in one of the many campsites he's got hanging out in various points in the woods; it's getting colder and so he'd figured he may as well take advantage of being able stay out there comfortably.
And so waking up underground with everything that entails- the air pressure, the cool, wet darkness of the tunnels, the echo as he shifts himself into a sitting postion and his boots scrape against the stones- is a little disorienting.
But only for a second. He's been through too much to let something like this paralyze him... Even if given recent events the last place he wants to be stuck is in a fucking cave.
Jesse:
The first thing that crosses Jesse's mind when he opens his eyes (because hey, the one that'd been swollen shut upon his arrival is functioning again! Hallelujah, amen, and praise to the headache he gets from adjusting to using both!) is "Jesus, again?", swiftly followed by the verbal form of "alkjsdhgklja"... Which probably doesn't sound much different from the kinds of noises the zombie dogs and huge, man-eating, fanged fleshlights will be making as they chase him down in just a few short days.
But that's skipping ahead a bit, and where's the fun in that? (Answer: there's no fun in any of this at all). He'd been warned about the events, of course, he'd even read the pamphlet like a good little newbie, but the reality of the situation had been mostly lost on him; when he'd asked about booby traps and spiked ceilings, he'd been thinking more along the lines of the figurative, kind of like when someone says they pissed themselves laughing. No one ever actually pisses themselves so why does he feel like he's stepped into some kind of bastardization of the Goonies? If he starts running into skeleton pirates and mob rejects and shit, there's gonna be a problem... After some hemming and hawing and general bitching to himself about wanting to talk to his lawyer- and a bit of figurative pants-pissing, too- he eventually decides that he'd really, really rather not die of starvation in a hole in the ground, and gets moving. There's gotta be a way out... And besides, Goonies never say die, yo. It's kind of a thing.
[[ooc: Subthreads by day below! (Unless you're looking at this and there aren't any, in which case GIMME A SEC I COCKED UP THE HTML.) If we had plans of any kind and you want me to set something up, I will definitely do that. Otherwise (or if you happen to feel like setting up something specific) HAVE AT IT.]]
Day 4!
Which, of course, makes it more alarming that they've gotten separated.
He's not really sure how it happened. One minute Souji was there and the next...had he taken a wrong turn? As a proud mapmaker, he's pretty sure that's not it, or that it at least wasn't his fault. Or maybe Souji had spotted another creature and wandered off (since he'd spent a good chunk of their time together trying to befriend the creatures). Either way, they aren't together now, and it is a problem.]
SOUJI? ...LILY? ...REMUS? HULLO? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?
[He's been relatively useless on his own, cut off from his magic. But if he runs into one of those monsters, he'll be a dead man, so finding anyone is completely necessary. He hates having to be so reliant on others, but all he can really do is try to smack them around with his hands or throw rocks at them, and neither of those are particularly effective alone. The rocks mostly make them angry.]
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It's been a long, tense few days, and as such the sound of a voice- no matter how familiar or friendly- bellowing through the tunnels isn't doing much to alleviate his aggravation.
If anything, between the dogs and the worms and the spiders, and the fact that keeping quiet and staying out of sight has been how he's kept more or less out of the way of them, someone yelling in his general vicinity is a cause for concern.
And he feels for James, he really does... But that isn't gonna stop him from sneaking up behind him, quietly as you please, and clapping a hand over his mouth. Sorry, but it's for your own protection, kid.]
Easy--
[And he's just gonna go right ahead and try to drag him back to the place he's been holing up in. Safer.]
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He pauses for a moment, but when he doesn't hear anyone he slowly presses forward, going through more names.]
DEAN? DAR-
[And the rest is muffled as someone grabs him from behind. James begins struggling immediately - he might not have magic, but whoever's got him isn't taking him without a fight. One hand grabs for the one on top of his mouth and tries to tug it off. He's also flailing a bit, trying to elbow whoever's behind him while he still has a free arm, but neither method is proving to be very effective from where he is. If he'd had his wand, or any kind of magic at all, his attacker would be dangling upside-down in the air by now.
But then, he's being tugged and dragged, and he tries to get some leverage but his feet just slide hopelessly against the ground. That's the moment James really begins to panic, and doubles his flailing efforts. Wherever he's going, he won't be going easily.]
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Okay, that may be an exaggeration. Still, the fact remains that making noise when there are predators around is a Very Bad Idea.
Hence the mouth grabbing and the dragging that are going on right now. Daryl appreciates the escape effort, James, but it's pretty much a no-go; his grip remains vice-like until they've reached the room he's been holing up in, elbow to the gut or not, and it's only then that he lets up, releasing James to go for the door to re-bolt it.]
What's the matter with you? You ain't seen those things crawlin' all over the place?
[He's a little peeved... But only because he'd rather not come across any mangled, James-shaped corpses down here.
Once the door is secured, he turns to face the kid, arms crossed. You got some splainin' to do, James.]
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And when he finds the words, he's yelling them.]
What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you? Where do you get off dragging me off to who-knows-where instead of saying hello like a normal person?
[He was pretty sure he was going to die just then, and the adrenaline of it all hasn't quite worn off yet. It doesn't click at all why Daryl would be the one pissed off here.]
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What he does intend on is getting in James's face.]
Ain't gonna be sayin' shit if you keep runnin' around down here carryin' on without a god damn weapon! You tryin' to get yourself killed or what?
[You're gonna have to forgive him, kid; he's extra sensitive about dying in caves these days considering what'd happened to him the last time he went for a stroll in one...]
The hell were you gonna do if you ran into one of them dogs? Or a damn spider?
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No, of course not!
[He snaps it out quickly without thinking about the rest of it. Daryl should know he doesn't want to get himself killed, just based on what he knows. That's the last thing James wants, so naturally the accusation twists in him.
But...what was he going to do if he ran into the creatures? His argument slips there, and James suddenly looks a little frustrated with himself.]
I...I don't know! I would have thought of something.
[He mutters that last bit, but it just feels childish. Because without his magic, he wouldn't have stood a chance.]
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You woulda got torn apart. [He still sounds... Stern, but he's letting up a bit; at this point it looks like James is coming around.
And he's still pissed off, but not so pissed off that he forgets what's really important here. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he turns away, moving to dig through one of the crates that line the walls of his little hideout. He pushes a few things aside before finally pulling out a rusty sickle-type... Thing, and lifting it for inspection. Honestly he isn't entirely sure what it's for, but it's been serving him well with the creatures down here and that's enough.]
Here. [He hold it out to James.] You gotta have somethin'. [He crosses his arms.] Your magic's gone, right?
[If an angel has nothing going for him down here, Daryl can't imagine James is faring much better.]
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But when Daryl asks about his magic, he lets out a heavy sigh.]
Right. And it's horrible. It feels like someone's blinded me, or...or cut off my hands or something!
[It sounds sort of silly, but that's exactly how it feels - crippling. Being a spoiled rotten Pureblood, he doesn't know very much about surviving as a Muggle. He relies on magic for tons of mundane things that Muggles have simple fixes for, and when an event zaps away his magic it leaves him entirely useless. It also leaves him with conflicting feelings on the matter - he's annoyed with himself for being so useless and he's filled with a horrible unease from having something he's had inside him since birth suddenly go missing.]
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Nor is that sigh and confirmation that things really are as bad as they seem.]
Can't imagine it. [That horrible moment in the ravine, when he'd reached for his crossbow and found it not strapped across his back, is the closest he can think of; that'd been disorienting enough, and god knows a weapon is nothing compared to something that's a part of you, like James's magic obviously is.] This kinda thing happen a lot? I'm guessin' this ain't the first time...
[He imagines there'd be more panic, otherwise.
Heading over to another part of the room, he rustles up what looks like a squishy brick; he taps at it lightly before blowing the dust and grime off, revealing some vaguely military-styled markings scribbled onto what was probably, at one point, a white wrapper. The mine's version of MREs, that's his guess. They've been working for him, in any case, he figures James could probably use something to eat.] Here.
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[He looks up and away from the sickle, trying to think of how to put it.]
Usually when it happens, it changes us too. Like that one that was in a city a few weeks ago - most of my magic was gone, aside from turning into a stag, but at the time I thought that was how I'd always been. Which is still awful and horribly invasive, of course, but it's not usually so....jarring. It's only outright taken it away like this once before, and I was completely panicked then. And honestly, I'm pretty sure I've only lasted this one because I found someone I know right away.
[Though Daryl's probably already gathered that much, given the kidnapping and the glaring and the handing him a funny-looking weapon. James has been more than useless this event - he's officially so useless that he's a liability.
When Daryl hands him the squishy brick, James squints at it and squishes it a little. There's absolutely nothing about it that registers as anything edible, but that's less his magical upbringing and more his snobby rich upbringing. Still he has to ask.]
Err. Thanks. ...What is it though?
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Hell with this place.]
Don't get the feelin' that's gonna stop any time soon, so you best learn how to manage without it. ...Easier said than done but it's gotta happen. [He makes a face at the "brick". Yeah, he feels you there, kid. Not his first choice either, but neither are the spiders, dogs, or man-eating worms.]
Anyway... That's... Food. Ain't great but it'll keep you from fallin' over.
[What's actually in those things? Hell if he knows.]
Ain't much else around, got some past-date garbanzo beans if you want those.
[Past-date but a good five years or so. This is a lesser of two evils situation they've got here...]
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[He stares at it in absolute horror and disgust. And then, in a morbid moment of masochism, he squishes again. Except now he's squishing it with the knowledge that whatever has that unnatural texture inside is supposed to be food.
He's about to complain, but his face goes green at the mention of spoiled beans and he thinks better of it.]
Err. Thanks...but I'll stick with this.
[He doesn't really look like he wants to stick with it though, and makes no immediate moves to open it. He'll save it for when he's really
desperatestarving, thanks.]I really should though. I meant to the last time, but then I just...I dunno. I got my magic back and it wasn't a priority any more, so I sort of forgot. [He shrugs - that's probably bad to admit, isn't it?] Honestly, I wouldn't even know where to begin. I've never had to do much at all the Muggle way.
[And it's certainly not that he's opposed or thinks it's beneath him - he's just a bit out of his league, that's all.]
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Well, actually, no, Daryl isn't in the position to promise anything of the sort. But death by nasty almost-food? Yeah, he can pretty much guarantee that's not in the cards.
Anyway, satisfied that isn't gonna be any more bellyaching, Daryl drops the sales pitch for likely-moldy military crap and moves on to more important things.]
Yeah? Well we're makin' it a priority, startin' now. [He nods at the sickle.] That ain't no magic wand but it'll work just as good. [...Or not. But it's as close to magic as James is gonna get down here.] ...Gonna need to get close to use it.
[Yes, James, his idea of teaching you important Muggle things is how to swing a rusted piece of metal at a rotting undead mutt. It's happening. Brace yourself.] ...C'mon. Leave that here- [He nods at the MRE as he heads for the door.] Got no idea how long we're gonna be down here, best get started with how to keep from gettin' ripped to pieces by them dogs.
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Daryl isn't much of a kidder though. So it seems pretty likely that yes, they are going to go seek these creatures out and fight them. The thought of doing so without magic at close range is more than a little terrifying, and for a second it leaves James looking his age - that is, it leaves him looking like a terrified teenager.
But...he does need to learn this sort of thing. And learning while things are nice and safe and cozy won't be as valuable as learning in a moment when he needs to know. Magic isn't all wands - he could see himself trying to practice something the Muggle way and then doing it wandlessly without thinking in a moment of panic.
Besides, even without magic he's still a Gryffindor. He can handle some undead pups if he has to.
His expression hardens and he nods, putting down the questionable food and trying to get a better grip on his weapon.]
...Right. Sure. Sounds good and useful and all that.
[Daryl had better appreciate all the bravery. It's a pretty good show, since James still isn't completely convinced that this won't get him killed. He's saying all of this, but he's looking at his sickle and realizing Daryl's absolutely right. He'll have to get really close to be able to use it.
He eventually makes himself follow, and he tries to walk tall and strong, as if he isn't worried in the slightest.]
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And it's not like Daryl's gonna throw him to the
wolvesundead dogs-- he'll be right there and he's not like Merle in that if it gets to be too much, he won't hesitate to get in there and help. But for the most part? This is it, James. He's not playing around.That bravery earns him a nod, and then it's back to business. Daryl wastes no time in opening the door, gesturing for James to step outside as he reaches for a pair of rusty knives he'd found on the way here. They're not great, but they're good enough to throw and since he's crossbowless down here, he'll take whatever ranged anything he can get. Truthfully, he isn't much a fan of close-quarters combat himself... But he manages.
Stepping out, he pulls the door shut behind him and turns to face James.]
Alright. Ain't too many around here, I took most of 'em out earlier... But that don't mean it's safe. [He crosses his arms.] Don't matter how many you get rid of, there's always gonna be more. Got it? Thinkin' like you're safe's only gonna get you killed.
[Even back at the prison with the wire and the concrete between them, they'd known better than to let their guard down.]
Let's go. Stay close, keep an eye out.... [He takes a few steps forward and then adds:] For them dogs and anything we can use. Food, weapons, whatever.
[Yep, this is happening.]
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That's what he's telling himself anyway. It will be useful experience to have. It will be useful and it will be worth it.
At least there shouldn't be too many, if Daryl already fought off most of them. To his credit, James is taking the whole thing seriously. He's sticking close, keeping an eye out, and trying not to freak himself out too much.]
Right. Got it.
[He thinks about that last bit for a second and quickly adds:] ...it's sort of strange there's been so much around, isn't it? It's like everyone just vanished.
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Regardless of the weapon, though, that good arm might wind up being the kid's saving grace; weapons are all well and good, but if you don't got the strength to use them- or some idea of how to make it work anyway- you may as well have nothing at all.
And the area is mostly clear, true... But Daryl makes it a point to take James down a tunnel with more than a few of the things lining the walls, pushed off to the side to clear the way. He's trying to measure James's level of tolerance for the kinds of things he'll be fighting against; if he can't handle them dead, how's he gonna deal with a live one? He's not gonna bring it up, but he is watching out of the corner of his eye...]
I was expectin' bodies when I woke up, figured there oughta be more'n a few lyin' around down here... Ain't seen one yet, though, just all them dogs... It don't add up. Had somethin' like that happen back home, town a couple states over... Weird.
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The walk is definitely...unsettling. James is visibly disturbed when he catches sight of the monster corpses. It's instinctive - ever since he learned about his fate death has made him more than a little uncomfortable.
But, it doesn't last. James comes from a world where the dead usually stay dead, so after the initial shock fades away he's fine. He never stopped moving forward.]
...Really? People just vanished like this?
[It's hard to imagine something even remotely similar to this happening in anyone's world. ...But, he is pretty attached to that crossbow. Maybe it isn't so surprising.]
So...what happened to them? Did you ever find out?
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[At least as far as he's aware- he isn't exactly a history buff and everything he knows about this particular mystery comes from Merle and his friends trying to scare the piss out of him on hunting trips. "Croatoan" his ass, those sons of bitches probably got run off by the locals...] Far's I know nobody's worked out what happened. Ain't too high on the priority list, not that it'd matter even if it was. Nobody's workin' nothin' out back there anymore.
[He should know why that is- all of the labs are gone, that's what Jenner'd said... But there's a piece missing, replaced by a blinding white light in his head where the memory should be, and so it's actually bothering him that he can't come up with a why...
He shakes it off.]
Ain't always an answer, I guess... Hold up--
[He holds a hand up, motioning for James to stop before lifting a finger to his lips and then pointing up ahead: a dog, just one, nosing and pawing at something on the ground that he can't quite make out.]
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And then, James' blood goes cold. He can feel the hair on his neck, and it has nothing to do with how dangerous the animal might be. Seeing one alive has made the reality of the situation set in, and he feels sick.
They're out here killing dogs.
He's never been much for hunting, that much Daryl should know. This is different though, since these aren't normal creatures and they've been attacking anything and everything they can get their paws on. They're monsters, but they're still dogs and James has a hard time looking at them without seeing Padfoot.
He doesn't make a sound. He barely breathes. But for the first time, he's not entirely sure he can just push through this and do it anyway. It's not just fear - he's looking a little green as is all sinks in, as if his target is another human being.]
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And that he understands. He still remembers his first kill-- it isn't the type of thing you forget. He'd been maybe seven and just thrilled at finally being deemed "old enough" to head out into the woods with his brother. He can never be sure if it was Merle's idea or the old man's, but whatever the case had been, they'd "forgotten" to pack enough food for the weekend and by the second day he'd been feeling it. How he'd managed to make the shot with his hands shaking the way they were out of hunger and fear and the need to not make a fool out of himself in front of his brother he'll never know... But he'd done it, somehow. It'd been less than perfect, of course, but then that's what the knife's for, ain't it...?
He remembers the resistance of the fur and skin and muscle, he remembers the blood... And once the deed was done he remembers that not even the coveted praise, the squeeze at his shoulder that'd seemed like the most important thing in the world at the time, had made him feel better about any of it.
But he'd gotten over it out of necessity, and so will James; without warning, Daryl lifts his fingers to his lips and lets out a sharp whistle, readying his own weapon as the dog bounds forward, just in case.
It's your show now, James.]
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There's no time after that. Suddenly the dog is running forward, right at them, and there's just no time. He has good reflexes, and he lifts his weapon over his head-!
But, he doesn't swing. He can't do it he can't swing. The dog lunges, and James uses the sickle and his upper body strength to hold the dog away from him, but his arms are only so long and the dog is snapping its teeth inches from James' face. But even then, his stomach is still turning.
Eventually he finds the strength to shove the dog off of him, to buy himself an extra couple of seconds. Every movement is defensive. There's still no time to think really, but...is there any way to take it out without killing it?
Probably not.
And then, it's rushing forward again, ready to tear James apart.]
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He isn't entirely disappointed. James succeeds in keeping the dog from biting his head off (which is more than enough for a start, all things considered...) but he misses a clear shot, and that's the kind of thing that's gonna get him killed.]
Brain, go for the brain-!
[He almost takes the thing out himself when James shoves it away- even lifts his knife his knife to aim- but while that'd solve the dog problem that isn't why he'd brought the kid out here.
And so he compromises: he crouches and scoops up a handful of sharp stones, which he flings at the dog to get its attention.] Hey! [He can handle himself, and James won't have to look it in the face when he buries the sickle in its skull.
...Hopefully.]
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For the brain.
The dog looks up at something, at Daryl, and James has exactly one shot. One shot to go for the brain, to kill the dog, and he's feeling sick all over again - like he's going to be sick right there. If he doesn't do it he's going to die but he's shaking but he's going to die if he does nothing.
In a swift motion, he raises his weapon. Grips it tight out of fear his nervous hands will drop it.
Swings.
And misses the skull.
Instead, the blade buries itself in the dog's shoulder - it's not a bad shot necessarily, but it's definitely not a killing blow. James goes to pull it out, but the shape of the blade and the dog's frantic movements make it extremely difficult. It's snarling and growling and trying to claw at James, but there's another noise too - loud whines of pain.
It distracts him for just a second, but a second is enough. The dog pulls just the right way and the handle of the sickle slips through James' hand so quickly it burns.
There's no time to even kick himself. The dog is already lunging forward with its good hind legs, and James only has enough time to duck down with his arms above his head and hope he'll be able to shove the dog away again.]
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