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

[shorthair]

You're going to get yourself killed. [Clementine doesn't slow down either. She grips hold of the ax. Normally, she might be more worried (more emotional) if it weren't for this place, bringing out the sharp survivor, all edges, violent and ready.] It's not safe out there, and you're walking out into it alone.

[choosetruth]

I won't be alone when my idiot brother gets his head out of his ass. [And Shaun will, she has no doubt, for as much as they're fighting right now she knows he'll always have her back.] And I'm not planning on doing anything stupid.

[shorthair]

It doesn't matter what you plan.

[and here's the thing clementine promised to take her out if it came to that. she meant it. she'll keep it. she doesn't want to have to.] Georgia, you're from a world like- somewhat like mine, you have to know that. This world doesn't give a shit about your plans.

[choosetruth]

That's why I brought the club. [It's not her weapon of choice, but it's simple enough that she should be able to use it for defense at least.] As you said, I'm from a world like yours. I do stuff like this all the time. It's literally my job.

[Well, technically doing stuff specifically for the sake of danger is Shaun's job. Georgia ends up in danger more often than non-journalists, but it's not like she seeks it out. Usually. Also she usually has a gun.]

[shorthair]

That club isn't going to save you. There are big monsters out there, and they want to eat you. [She can hear them roaring even from here. People return to the village with their scrapes and bites.

Her hand grips more tightly to her ax as she studies the horizon. The ground shakes. She tries to place herself in front of Georgia (but what is she? Clementine is no hero. She's a survivor even if that means leaving other people to die).] Your job is to die? This isn't your world. It's not mine either, and a club is a shitty weapon even against a walker and what's out there is worse.

[choosetruth]

[She smiles, faintly and a little sad. Georgia never set out to be a martyr. She set out to find a story. But she's not a survivor, she's a journalist, and she doesn't know when to quit and she doesn't think she could make any other choices even if she had the opportunity. Even now, her fingers itch to finish things even knowing what will happen.]

My job is to follow the stories. Sometimes that means risking death.

[shorthair]

No.

[Clementine's voice comes out sharp with edges, and now she reaches out, gripping hold of Georgia by the wrist. Her hold is not gentle. Her nails dig in like she can somehow stop this. The violence brought out with the same sheer refusal to lose anyone, to let death happen.

It's the sharp edges of someone who is used to holding on but losing.]

The story now is this is an Event. It's going to be over, and you don't have to be dead when it is. What good will it do if you're gone ?

[choosetruth]

[George freezes at the feeling of Clementine's nails and gives her a warning look.]

Careful. If I bleed, I'll turn into a walking hot zone, and we're not going to have access to bleach until the event is over.

[shorthair]

[Clementine freezes too, unaware she'd gripped on as tightly (violently) as she had. Her mouth parts. It's ingrained in her (She watched Kenny beat Carver's face in. It was her choice). She unlatches her grip carefully. Her hand shakes.]

What happens when you bleed out there? [She made Georgia a promise.]

[choosetruth]

Then I imagine the nice monsters will eat my brain along with the rest of me and we can hope they're not susceptible to the virus. [Though she's not sure they'd be that much scarier as zombies. They already want to eat everyone.]

Besides, like I said, Shaun'll catch up with me soon. He'd never let me hurt anyone. And this is still an if, not a when. I've been in the field before.

[shorthair]

[Clementine's hand becomes a fist at her side, and she doesn't know- She hopes Shaun gets out there too but if he doesn't or he can't find her. Ordinarily, she'd go out with her, watch her back, but that survival aspect (the violence that comes with it) is loudest, drowns out all the rest.] Seems like a pretty big damn hope.

And for what? The truth isn't going to help anyone if you die before you deliver it. Hell, the one truth here is we all have to survive until it's over, and it will be.

[choosetruth]

Again, the idea is not to die. [She turns to face Clementine fully, chin tilting up, mouth in a hardened, determined line.]

If I live, I can bring the truth home with me. I don't believe I will die this time, but if I do, it'll be worth the risk. The truth is worth dying for.

[It has to be, or she's lived an entirely wasted life.]

[shorthair]

[Clementine shakes her head. Her grip tightens on her own weapon. She doesn't look away, and she can't wrap her head around it: the idea that much can be done with truth beyond more survival.]

Good luck. [It's said in a low voice and then she swallows (How many people have died for her, because of her? She's not at fault here, but it's still hard to walk away even with survival screaming at her to get somewhere safe).

She walks back to the settlement. She doesn't look back.]