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]

[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.]