entrancelogs | + Your imagination can't hurt you! +

Entry tags:

+ Your imagination can't hurt you! +

Who: YOU!
Where: The Mindscape
When: starting November 11th
Rating: may be up to R for character deaths
Summary: Navigate challenges to learn valuable lessons about nonviolence, cooperation, and self-sacrifice! Release your inner animal! Read more about the event here, and on the bulletin board.
The Story:

"If you know yourself, you have nothing to fear."
"Working together is the only way."
"Deaths are a necessary part of life, but not all deaths are necessary."
"The needs of the many outweigh the life of just one."

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[....she can hear that rasp. It doesn't stop her from moving, but it makes her frown, and glance backwards as much as she can under the circumstances.]

You doing all right back there? Cause if you need a break you should say something.

[The last thing she wants is to stop and be like this for longer than absolutely necessary. Well, that's the second to last thing she wants. Taking a break would be better than falling and having to start over again, assuming they didn't end up too injured to go on.]

[He almost shakes his head before realizing that'd be the most useless gesture possible when she's facing away from him, so he sucks in a deep breath before responding, painful as it is.]

No. No, it'll just - it'll make it harder to keep going if we stop.

[Forward momentum. Get it over with as quick as possible.]

Okay, but if you do need one, tell me. I don't want to fall because you couldn't get over your stupid pride or something.

[One step at a time. Don't think about how he's wheezing. Just focus on moving.]

'S not pride.

[It's just - it's strategy, isn't it? It's basic science. It's costs versus benefits. It's not gonna get better, he already knows it. It's not gonna get better. He's just gonna have to keep going and hope that he makes it to the top before anything worse happens.

Not that he'd call himself an optimist. But he can keep going, can't he? He can keep going, so he will. He'll keep going.]

I don't care what it is. I'm not fucking dying because you can't hack it and don't know how to pace yourself.

[At this height, she doubts they'd actually die, but she's also not risking it.]

You're not gonna die.

[He'd say we're not gonna die, but that'd be placing unfair expectations on both their shoulders.]

I got - bad lungs. It'll pass.

[Not that being a regular chain-smoker helps him any. But he was already born all wrong, so it's not like he can make it much worse than it already is.]

[She rolls her eyes, continuing to move upwards.] Just tell me you won't be stupid about this. That's all I want to hear.

Yeah, I'll try not to be stupid about my medical condition.

[He'd roll his eyes too, but seeing as she can't see his face, it'd be a pointless waste of energy. Just - focus on moving up. Yeah. Good. They're about halfway up, and this is hell, and he just wants this to be over.]

You have heard of zombies, right, Tim? Cause I'm betting my medical condition's the scary one. You know, the one where if I die, I get right back up again and start biting people.

[The bickering is honestly helping her, though considering he seems to be having enough trouble breathing without adding conversation to the mix, it might not be very thoughtful. But it lets her focus on something other than how far from the ground they are, or how uncomfortable she is with the whole touching thing or how her legs are burning from the uncomfortable position.

Something like the high potential of this being a disaster. But zombies are familiar ground, at least.]

Fall from this height probably wouldn't kill me, but it might make me bleed, and that would probably kill you. So forgive me for being overly fucking cautious.

[He'd laugh, but he wasn't born with a sense of humor. That sounds like absolute shit, he's sure, and it can't be easy - he knows better than to trivialize something like that. But it's hard to imagine that anything can be scarier than that thing and what it did to him. How it made him. How he was born.

How he can't claw it out of him. How it'll keep coming, and coming, and coming, and making him do things that he can't shake. Not even death's a courtesy for old Timothy Wright, no. And you can trust him on that one: he's tried it more than once, and It always finds a way to stop him, every time.

He keeps his mouth shut. If he says anything, she'll just latch onto it. He knows her type. He knows enough to know that's what she'd want - an admission of some kind. Something to dig into when this over.]

Sorry, [he has to hiss the word out between clenched teeth, but if a distraction is what she wants, a distraction is what she'll damn well get.] Didn't realize we were participating in an illness Olympics here. You wanna compare symptoms? Play a game of "pass the medication"? I'm sure there's a whole lotta hospital-themed activities out there.

[He's wrong, actually, though she's certainly gathered threads to dig into later if she chooses. But the truth, though normally what she focuses on above all else, can wait. Her concerns are a little more pressing than that.]

I'm not telling you because I want pity.

[She practically snarls out the word, annoyed that he'd even think that was what this was about. She's never wanted pity a day in her life, and if she did, she'd use her eyes, not the zombie disease everyone on the planet has.]

You panicked when I pulled out my gun. I can't trust you to shoot me if it becomes necessary. I don't think it will become an issue, but I'm willing to take the extra step to make sure.

[Well, at least they can agree there - on two points. The first, that pity is bullshit. It's complete and absolute bullshit. He'll wallow in it well enough on his own, sure, but that's his agenda. From anyone else, it's just nauseating.

The second, that he wouldn't trust himself with a gun either. It chafes to admit it, but yeah. She's gotta point.

He grits his teeth.]

We'll be fine. Just keep pushing. We'll make it.

[It's vague, but that's all he has. No evidence, nothing to summon up to throw back in her direction. He can keep some semblance of composure.]

[She also wasn't looking for empty reassurances, but he's trying to help, and she supposes that counts for something. And he seems to hopefully understand the gravity of the situation now. She grits her teeth and focuses on the climb. When she gets out, she can complain to Shaun about all this. It'll be soon enough. She just has to keep moving.]

[It's starting to ache with every step, but that's not new. He knows how to lock it down. He's had to do this before, do things a thousand times more terrifying than this. He doesn't look down (he can't look down) and he just puts one foot in front of the next. Don't visualize It standing in front of him, looming there with Its head to one side, the way every step had torn him apart and sent another stab of pain into his skull.

Just keep going.]

Almost there.

[It's not much in the way of encouragement, but they're a few feet from the top now - close to being over and done with this.]

Fucking. Great. [She wishes she were a better liar so she could believe Shaun would be waiting at the top. But if Shaun was anywhere nearby, she'd have heard him by now. He'd have brought rope. All she can tell herself is that once she's out of here, she can go try and find him.

Another step. Another step. Her legs burn, but intolerably. And now they're almost there and she realizes there's another piece to the puzzle she hasn't really considered.]

What the fuck do we do at the top? Fall over sideways?

[At least he's got that going for him, huh? A fantastic liar. About the only good thing about him, really. He's already turning the conundrum of what to do when they reach the top over and over in his head, and doing his damn best not to completely slip and make them both fall in the process.]

Working on it.

[And yeah, he's got no clue either.]

Might be we can push away from each other hard enough - but I kinda don't wanna risk that.

Yeah, no. [She doesn't think that science works out and it would be dangerous as hell. At this height they might not die from the fall, but they'd almost certainly break something.

She can reach the top with her toes now. She stops moving, experimentally trying to get her legs up.]

Can you stretch your legs out? Maybe we can scoot to the side or something.

[He's kinda on the shorter side, and the hole is really only just big enough to accommodate the pair of them. Goddamnit. He's not sure how much longer he can hold this position.

Might as well give it a shot, in the absence of any other suggestions.]

All right. Let's just...try to move to the side, then.

Get your leg on the ground as fast as possible. [This is no more comfortable than the rest of it has been, but they shouldn't have to go ver far at least.] And tip over when you can. I'm okay with a few bruises if we get out.

[So close. She stretches her leg out, reaching for the side of the pit.]

[He hooks the back of his heel over the top of the hole, wincing at the way the action twists awkwardly at the muscles in his back, already overtaxed. It's excruciating, but if he can just - if he can just lever himself upright.

He's arched at an incredibly uncomfortable angle, but he manages to get one foot braced flat against the ground at the top.]

Side. Get to the side.

[Because he can already feel himself beginning to overbalance and tip to the left.]

[He's losing it. Georgia lets out an angry grunt and throws herself to the side, lugging Tim with her. Her shoulder hits the ground and she lets out a sharp breath, scrabbling away from the pit and, just as importantly, away from Tim. She's out, they don't have to be touching anymore.]

You good?

[He lands heavily on his side in an abrupt jerk of motion that knocks the breath out of him, the air tight and pained in his lungs. He's just gonna...lie there for a little bit, yeah. He feels her pull sharply away, and that's just fine by him. Just fine.]

Yeah. [Takes him a moment to get the words out, rasping and wheezing, but he nods.] Yeah. I'm good.

[She draws back, tugging her sleeves down and nods sharply.] Good. Okay, we're good.

[And before she can follow up on that at all, or tell Tim that he wasn't as bad to work with as she'd anticipated, she's gone, waking up in her next challenge.

Oh well, maybe she'll mention it later.]

[Likewise, the second Tim's able to regain enough break to prop himself up on his elbows and glance in her direction, she's not there anymore - and neither is he where he was either.

So that's...awesome.]

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+ Your imagination can't hurt you! +

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cw suicide mentions

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