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

[postictal]

[As a completely random example, huh? Yeah. He'll believe it when he sees it. That is to say, never.]

Good to know. I can pick up zombie-teasing if this Wonderland thing doesn't pan out.

[choosetruth]

You'd die. [It's said completely flatly, emotionlessly. She's been sure he wouldn't survive an outbreak since she saw his reaction to her gun. And that was without knowing how much running would take out of him. Bullets and running are about the only advantages humans have on the undead, and he'd have neither of those.]

[postictal]

Bonus.

[Sorry, is it typical to flatly pronounce your longing for some sense of finality without a second of hesitation? Sorry, he kinda stopped caring about what's socially acceptable here.]

[choosetruth]

[That gets her to pause, though her expression is more pensive than anything else. When she speaks, her voice is quieter, though as emotionless as ever. She is not about to go around feeling things. She can't afford it.]

Ah. So that's why you ran out into hell unarmed and unprepared.

cw suicide mention

[postictal]

[Yeah, she and Jay would get along fantastically. Only Jay could watch and painstakingly edit together the parts of his evident suicide attempt without batting an eye. Or maybe he did bat an eye. Who cares, right? He saw fit to broadcast it to the entire Internet either way.]

Not particularly, no. Sure as hell wasn't my goal.

[choosetruth]

But it's a bonus, right?

[She tilts her head, expression still neutral. It helps that her eyes are covered. She hates the migraines that come with her weird eyes but God does she love how unreadable they are. Especially with opaque sunglasses.

She would never print this. There's chasing a story and there's airing someone's dirty laundry for cheap hits. She doesn't run a tabloid.

Damn, she is not equipped to deal with this.]

[postictal]

Sure.

[He makes sure to liberally drench the word in sarcasm. Not that it'll convince her one way or another, but it'll at least prove that he's the sort to - what? Make light of it? Not be bothered?

Sure. Let's go with that.]

Call it severance pay. Whatever.

[choosetruth]

[She huffs out a sharp, sudden breath that probably qualifies as a laugh. Sue her, half her jokes are gallows humor too. Side effect of working in a career with such a high death rate. You make light of it to stay sane.

It's... probably the worst possible response to someone joking about committing suicide by monster, but she's... really got no idea how to deal with that. She's not warm enough or understanding enough to try and comfort him or try and tell him life's worth living, and she's pretty sure he'd just be confused if she did.]

...don't pull that crap with zombies. More than just you could get hurt.

[And with that she just turns and stalks off. That... probably could have gone better.]

[postictal]

[Well, whatever. It's better than telling him to suck it up and deal with it. He's fine with letting her go on her own way. He lets it happen, and starts heading back to the settlement.

For what it's worth, he's got no intention of pulling any sort of thing with zombies. He's done being puppeteered about by things beyond his control.]