Have mercy. Oh, have mercy.

[fatherlesskind]

Who: Alistair & Open | Alistair & Robyn
Where: Throughout the mansion
When: April 16th to 20th
Rating: PG-13 to start with, may be upped later
Summary: A Warden and some monsters that spread infection wherever they go. Business as usual really.
The Story:

April 16 to 18: Some people have no sense of personal space

These... things - Infected or whatever they were called - are enough like darkspawn that Alistair can't just hide out somewhere safe and hope everything will be OK. Even without that similarity he wouldn't feel right just sitting back while others might be in danger. Add to that the fact that he's not a hoarder by nature and has only what scraps of food the closet provides? He has no choice but to venture out sooner or later.

The important difference is, unlike darkspawn, he can't sense these. Hence, his current situation.

The deformed faces of the things that had ambushed him loom closer as he struggles to push them both off. His shield is keeping them off him for the moment but, off-balance and pinned against a wall, the weight of his own armour working against him, he can't easily force them back. His sword lays on the ground, just out of reach, where it had fallen when the creatures jumped him.

More worrying than his present situation - which really, he'll have completely in hand in just a second - is the sound of movement coming closer. If more are coming he... could be in trouble. Gritting his teeth he shoves harder against the snarling pair with designs on his nose. He just needs to get free before their friends arrive. If he can please manage that he'll be a good boy from now on and pray every day like he's supposed to. Just so long as he gets to keep his face.


Closed to Robyn: You are not the boss of me. She is.

Wardens on the whole are bad at staying home and avoiding danger. Maybe that's why they all have such shortened lives and it in fact has nothing to do with the taint. It's something to think about. Later. When there's not a pack of the creatures closing in on them with every clumsy step.

They haven't been detected yet but it's surely only a matter of time. Alistair has both sword and shield at the ready, peering around the corner to size up their opponents as they wander about the hall up ahead. Glancing over at Robyn questioningly he tilts his head towards them and asks softly, "Well? What do you think?"

She's by far the stealthier of them and knows what he's capable of while he's never seen her fight. If she thinks they should try to sneak around and avoid a fight then he'll be Mr Stealthy. Or he'll try. He makes no promises of success so if they are sneaking she's going first.


April 19: Nothing like a brush with death to make you... not like death much.

Once he'd recognised the infection for what it was and what it meant there had really only been one choice. He couldn't kill himself and it would be too much to ask anyone he knew to do so for him. Besides, he'd known since shortly after his Joining that sooner or later he'd succumb to the corruption in his veins and would become a monster if he didn't die first. This was just a different kind of monster with a different cause. But his course of action remained the same.

Alistair had shouldered his weapons and set out for the basement, searching out any of the creatures between him and it. If he runs into anyone fighting the things he throws himself into the fray, putting himself between them and danger with a blatant disregard for his own life or safety. On his own he engages the creatures without fear, slamming into one of the blind, deformed ones with a snarl, struggling to drive his blade into it as it forces him back.


(OOC: If he's not killed first Alistair will be turning on the last day so if anyone wants to run into him as one of the Infected feel free to throw something up or prod me for a starter. Prose or brackets are both fine, I'll match format.)

Comments

[radiopalkiller]

Definitely never mind then. This right there? Makes Philip really glad that he's mute, not silent. That when he rolls his eyes and snorts for a needlessly long amount of time, it actually takes, full effects and all.

-And that it takes some time to execute, because not that he's admitting to anything, but it's not his favourite insult. Too much time spent actually thinking that he was, too much time not knowing where he could draw the line between himself and the bloody voice in his head. Not his favourite holiday memory, despite past being past and all. He feels himself cringing at the reminder.

"What, you only caught on to that just now?"

Ha ha ha. Bit lackluster for a comeback this time, but he got it out. So far so good.

"If that's the best I can expect from your perception, then I'm not convinced you can help me with much of anything."

Except truthfully there's something he's really curious about now, and he does his best not to let on, because he thinks that'd substantially decrease his chance of getting an answer. And that'd be unfortunate, because if that answer happens to be 'Wanda', then he might need to drop a roll of dynamite down that guy's tin outfit.

"Except I guess you could introduce me to the other one. I'm trying to get a group of us together. We'll camp in the woods, hop on one leg, and laugh crazily. It'll be a grand time."

[fatherlesskind]

"What can I say? I thought you were evil the first time. Sorry for the mistake." It's so hard to tell the difference between crazy, evil and crazily evil. He can be forgiven the confusion.

Alistair eyes Philip up suspiciously, briefly considering putting aside his weapons so he can cross his arms and better show how suspect that request is. But he's not certain something won't come try and eat him again soon so he settles for sounding as dubious as possible when he answers.

"Riiight. Why is it I don't want to introduce you to the crazy mind-reading girl? Oh, right. Because I don't need two of you moving into my head." Even if River apparently couldn't help it - that just made it more not OK. He does not need this guy getting infected with mind-reading and there being two people he has to avoid so that no one is speaking aloud his every thought. That's just- No. No, not happening.

"I've got a better idea. Why don't we both just forget we ever saw each other and go our separate ways before something else tries to eat us? Oh, sorry, I forgot. Before you have to save me again." Which... alright, had been the case. Maybe he could have- He definitely could have broken free when those things had him pinned against the wall and killed them without help. But. It had made it a lot easier for him when they'd been distracted and let him up on their own.

But that had been entirely unintentional and so he did not owe the man anything. And Philip could clearly manage fine on his own and Alistair could definitely manage fine on his own so there would be no need to feel guilty for just turning his back and walking away so they could both face the hungry monsters alone.

[radiopalkiller]

"You say moving in like it'd be such a great place to stay. Looking at you it probably hasn't even got a bar."

And that doesn't answer his question at all. So, note to self: Ask the mind-reading girl he knows if she's made any ridiculous medieval acquaintances lately. If she has, ask her if she'd like to turn their brains into soup for calling her crazy. If she hasn't, look around for second mind-reading girl. Start an actual club. Rub it in that guy's face.

...All right, all right, getting ahead of yourself there. First step, survive this event. Which. Really shouldn't be too bloody hard by now, this isn't the first time they've been swarmed with zombies of some flavour or other.

"Anyway, you know what? That's a great idea. Because speaking of bar, I was just heading upstairs to--"

At first glance he thinks it's just one, stumbling up the set of stairs he didn't blow up. But the second follows suit just behind, and in the end there's three of them standing down the corridor. Just that, standing. Until they spot the two of them and charge.

Jesus Christ. Figures. Just. Figures, doesn't it?

"Well." He pats Alistair on the armored shoulder, and puts the guy between himself and the advancing infected. "Go get 'em, tiger."

[fatherlesskind]

So, not only is Philip going to keep talking in his head, he's going to insult the inside of said head while he does it? He's actually offended by that. The inside of his head is perfectly fine, if a little messy.

Not that he wants Philip inside his head. That's the whole point. So at least they can agree that going their separate ways is the best solution to the problem of the other man being an ass. Except nothing can ever be that simple, can it?

Alistair would really, really like to have some snappy comeback for the way Philip hides behind him and leaves him to handle the creatures that appear. But they're approaching too quickly for him to do much more than scowl before he's charging to meet them, coming in like a wrecking ball, he just closed his eyes and swung.

Although maybe Philip isn't being completely unreasonable in leaving them for Alistair to deal with, as an attempt to bite him scrapes harmlessly against one pauldron, likely doing more damage to the creature's teeth than to him. It takes a shield to the face for its trouble and he turns his attention to the next one while it's recovering.

Still, reasonable or not, if he ends up right back where he was before Philip showed up and the other man just leaves him to it he is going to seriously reconsider his view on the man's evilness. And hope he lives long enough to punch the crazy almost-blood mage after all this is over.

[radiopalkiller]

That's just about where it started, isn't it? An unfriendly set of teeth ahead, and the chance to get the hell out while some other guy is still looking like the better meal plan. Philip glances back at the stairs.

(Remember how great not running worked out last time? Sure, the cards are all on the table now, so there probably isn't much of a potential for nasty surprises, probably, but-- It's just three. Alistair can take them, right? Probably.)

Philip turns to the stairs. Cut this short and drink a pint for the two of them at the bar? Alistair isn't doing too badly so far, and-- Christ, really? It's just three, don't be-- Well. Don't be that much of an arse. Philip sighs. Right. Conscience. Ugh. Philip grabs his pickaxe.

--With some good timing, at least there's that, because when the first creature goes staggering Philip lifts the axe and takes a swing at its head, so it definitely doesn't recover again.

Much like last time the tool lodges itself unimpressively in the dead zombie's skull.

Unlike last time one of the remaining two creatures has rapidly lost interest in Alistair, and jumped straight to tackling Philip to the floor.

[fatherlesskind]

Alright. Maybe he was being a little uncharitable before. Because now there's two and he's not responsible for one of them not getting up. So maybe Philip is not the worst person ever but that was still at least half him so there shouldn't be any talk of saving him this time.

And definitely not when one of them realises Alistair is going to be a lot of work to eat whereas Philip is much more accessible and just as tasty. Or so he assumes on that second part.

With only one of the creatures to deal with now he can put all his attention into hacking away at it with his sword. The blade misses anything vital with the first swing, biting into the creature's shoulder and partially incapacitating it. The Infected still claws at him with its working arm, biting at his vambrace until Alistair slams his blade into it's neck on his second strike and comes close enough to decapitating the thing to do the job.

As it crumples he spins to where Philip and the last one are. He can't hit it when it's on top of someone, no matter who they are, lest he hurt them too. But he can drop his sword to grab it and attempt to physically haul it off before it starts chewing on the other man.

[radiopalkiller]

Huh. They've still got their eyes, is something that goes privately through Philip's head, when those eyes - bloodshot and wide as they are - hover so close to his face. Matching teeth, too, but his own Infected had plenty of those. Should probably focus on those. You don't want to catch anything. One virus is enough for anybody, isn't it, Clarence?

Philip holds on to the creature's shoulders, and keeps the mouth at bay. Glances with some concern at its arms, because if they stop flailing and start being useful he might be in trouble. But he lifts his knee against the weight on him, and kicks it into the air all the way off of his body oh wait never mind, you again.

It's a lot of scrambling after that. Scrambling out from under the creature, scrambling for the other's corpse. Scrambling to pull the pickaxe free as violently as he's got to, and maybe there's a bit of jawbone come flying, but all right.

And then he lifts the axe and catches Alistair's eyes long enough to tell him that he should really take a step back before Philip swings.

[fatherlesskind]

The thing comes up easily enough, Philip's kick dislodging it nicely but then Alistair is left unarmed and holding an angry Infected.

Should have thought this one out better.

Lucky for him Philip has a solution and he's stepping back a moment later as the pickaxe swings down and caves in another head. That thing is getting pretty filthy by now. To say nothing of its owner.

Picking up his sword again and wiping it on the body he looks up at Philip with reluctant gratitude. "Good job. Pleasure slaying monsters with you. I hope we never have to do it again." Not likely. And he definitely could have handled them all on his own. He could. But. Not abandoning someone to fight alone is the decent thing to do. So Philip's not completely terrible. But he's still weird and creepy.

Sliding his sword back in its sheath Alistair gets to his feet and glances back down the hall in case any more are coming. The coast is clear for now but he's not betting on how long that will last. "I don't know about you but I think I'm in the mood to be somewhere else where I'm not on the menu."