[OPEN] I can't see that thief that lives inside of your head....

[dotsanddashes]

Who: Rosalind, Zombie!Robert, and YOU!
What: Catch-all - while Rosalind tries to bring her "brother" back to himself (unsuccessfully).
Where: Wandering the town, either in the old buildings or moving between them.
When: Week 5
Warnings/Notes: Zombie!Robert, a Rosalind on the edge, and perhaps some language. Watch this space, edited as necessary. Feel free to happen upon her however you'd like! You can catch them walking or her caring for him.


He had come out of the fog in the the blink of an eye.

Rosalind had been moving along, searching out anything she could use, keeping an ear to the ground...and then she had realized she had company. She had been poised to strike, raising her makeshift weapon as the figure came closer, closer, parting the haze in the air and entering her line of sight - and her heart nearly stopped. The weapon had slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed down the street.

"Robert?"

Wasting no time, she had run to him, nearly jumping into his arms before realizing that something was wrong. He was listless, unresponsive, pale...simple-minded. It was a red flag, of course, but not for the same reason as the other Tributes - she knew these symptoms. She had seen them before. Displacement sickness, the backlash of the mind against the body for moving from one world to another. This is how he had been when he first came through into her dimension...and she had pulled him through it then. She could pull him through this now.

So through the week, she leads him around - making him rest in abandoned buildings, trying to get him to eat (at the expense of food for herself), and singing to him. Music is what brought him around before; it must certainly work again now.

And so a voice cuts through the quiet now and again, softly insinuating songs old and new.

She WILL bring him back to himself.

He's here with her - that's what really matters.

Comments

[riddledwith]

There was more than one language in which Eddie internalized his trauma and fear and frustration. Figurative swears that only had rough meanings across languages. Harsher, vague and yet clearly understood ones in his native language. All unspoken because he was above such crude language. But it ran through his head, trying to cope with what he'd just experienced. Hints of blood still remained, staining the underside of his nails even if he had wiped his hands compulsively clean.

He had hoped that it might have felt satisfying to destroy the image of his father, but the violent and base destruction only made him more afraid of why he was here. To die or to kill. He hadn't necessarily wanted to kill anyone, at the end of the day. People died at his hands (in the loosest of technicalities and however indirectly) because they deserved it. He had wanted to best and break others to show off his intellectual superiority and that was more what he'd wanted in his core.

He felt disgusting, like an animal no better than the flesh that brought him life.

The sound of singing reaches his ears through a window of a nearby building. It doesn't belong here amongst the sounds of distorted howling, insects clicking in the dark, and wind turning all these sounds into a deep and chilling moan. Despite whatever logic that would say "Avoid the sound that implies another human, possibly dangerous," he moves towards the source, finding the safest way inside and climbing in. He makes away with a few cuts and a splinter from climbing through a broken window. It's not enough to stop him from investigating further.

Despite his attempts to be mindful of his footing, a loud creak gives him away. He retreats back a few paces, around a corner for cover. Whoever was here would know of his presence now, and he had to be ready. His hand runs over his pocket and pulls out his crude shank made of steel eating utensils and wire, gripping it tightly. Just in case.

[dotsanddashes]

The building was dilapidated, filthy - but she had at least found a bed upon which to lay Robert. She was perched at his side now, makeshift nail bat slung against one shoulder while the opposite hand held a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. Her lips parted in a parched, wordless melody, trying desperately to work itself into his mind.

When she heard the creak, she did not stop singing - she merely glanced up, blue eyes like ice. She was on guard. She would protect him.

At all costs.

[riddledwith]

He feels the wire of his tool pressing into his palm, a danger of cutting into the flesh, and re-situates his grip. It was pathetic and tiny, and the range required opened up a world of risk, especially if any dangers he faced were better equipped.

"Inappropriate venue for singing lullabies, don't you think?" he calls out in the direction from where he thinks the sound is carrying, but the acoustics were horrible in nearly every building here. The wetness and rot warped the sounds, accentuating every ounce of dread he had been rudely forced to accept as a grim fate.

He still had an ounce of confidence that he'd get through this, and that would carry him through this, surely. He hoped knew, hoping perhaps he could bait whoever was present to a more vulnerable location.

[dotsanddashes]

When there were words, Rosalind stopped singing - going silent for a beat before speaking up, sharp-tongued and matter-of-fact. She's not the kind of woman to skirt around the point, least of all to some strange man who may or may not be creeping in to kill them. The hand around the edge of the nail bat tightened its grip.

"I am tending to my brother. The resonance of song helps."

Her voice echoes down the halls towards Edward - but she makes no other sound. Ragged breathing can be heard, but it isn't hers. She looks down for a moment, checking the rate of blood flow from the prone man's nose before silently setting the bloodied rag aside.

"If you are looking to scavenge, there's very little here. Go away."

what say you to sirens into hellrena in the next couple of tags?

[riddledwith]

He hears the breathing and her words and due to his own recent familial circumstances, there's only one question in his mind.

"Is he a tribute or did he appear from the fog?" You can practically hear his eyes narrowed in the way he speaks as he asks. He doesn't move out from where he is, just waits, hugging his corner. He can hear some more warped howling in the distance, and honestly he'd rather risk a scuffle here than go back out there right now.

His concern here though is if the woman's brother is one of the things spawned here from who knows where, and if so, when he will slip into being a monster.

If you don't do it next post, I'll start it in my next!

[dotsanddashes]

More curt silence. She doesn't appreciate the distrust in that comment, not one bit - she knows Robert, knows this situation, and knows she can fix this. She has to fix this. It's going to be okay.

"...That isn't any of your business," she barks, no doubt confirming Edward's suspicions without actually answering his question. "He's not well and I am mending him. I won't say it again - GO. AWAY."

Her words echo through the desolate house, ringing against the rundown walls. There is desperation in them, as much as she tries to filter it out.

on it mon ami

[riddledwith]

Ohoho, well, someone is either desperate or in denial about the situation.

He opens his mouth, about to reply when sirens fill the arena, reaching them in a chilling reverberation that causes him to jump in a very undignified fashion. The sound does strange things with the acoustics of the house, but the most unsettling part may be how striking the cold in his bones is as heat begins to make the traces of fog feel like steam instead. The environment begins to change, and there's all sorts of not sure what to feel circling around in his head. He wouldn't let fear get a grip on him again, not yet, but this- was- not- natural!

But he was sure it was safer in here than it was outside.

"Th-this is a big enough house for three, I'm sure!" He would just make sure to keep a safe distance away from her and her "brother" and things should be okay...

Ohoho

[dotsanddashes]

The sirens.

Rosalind jumped up from Robert in surprise, the sound of her feet connecting with the floor lost in the echo and wail ringing out through the air. For the moment, she watched the room instead of Robert...narrowing her eyes as the very substance of the walls and floors peeled away, replacing crumbling plaster with rusted metal grates. The heat was becoming heavy, too much, and she threw her jacket off to one side in a hurry.

"I'm not about to trust someone who will not show themselves," she barked, loudly, hackles up. "Least of all at this moment. Step out where I can see you, or I will assume you are waiting to ambush me."

It may have sounded a bit paranoid - but she had to protect Robert.

She had to.

His ragged breathing slowly shifted into a low snarl, but it was buried against the sounds of the sirens.

[riddledwith]

"That's a fair request," and one he'll honor, words shaky as the breath he takes in through his teeth. He moves away from the wall he was holding himself so close to moments before (half because he said he would, half because he didn't want to be close to something peeling away to all manner of unsanitary things), backing into Rosalind's view.

This also meant that Rosalind and the "man" beside her was also in his view, and he honestly was convinced that she must be crazy to think that thing was safer to be around than himself.

His grip tightens further on the little makeshift weapon in his hand, moving up to a defensive position in front of his chest. The terror is plain on his face, Rosalind, and his eyes aren't on you.

[dotsanddashes]

Seeing her opponent was reassuring - he didn't exactly look like the type who could best her in a scrap, and he was being compliant, anyhow. She wasn't, however, fond of him brandishing the knife; she stood in a defensive stance, brandishing the bat, face glistening now with sweat.

"Lower. Your. Weapon." Loud, commanding. Her face was a sneer. "I will attack if you do not-"

It was then, too late, that she realized he was not looking at her. Before she could even turn around, Robert was grabbing at her from behind, snarling like a wild animal. She struggled in his grip, pushing him back, away, the rare expression of pure fear wiping away all malice from her face.

"Robert - Robert, please, stop - it's me, it's Rosa-"

She spun around to throw him off, leaping up onto the bed with tears running down her face.

And then he noticed Eddie.

[riddledwith]

Well, this could have gone better. Like if he hadn't been curious. That might have let him live to see another day.

With his zombie father, he had all of the negative feelings swirling around that had been the fuel of his fighting spirit. Here, there was no unresolved conflict that he could vent his frustrations towards. It was simply a stranger, a monster, and unmeasurable amounts of fear and afterthoughts.

He tries to keep Rob-Zombie at arms length, but all the hunger in the beast won out, and Edward buckled under the weight of it. Teeth tore away flesh and muscle from his throat, an injury where there was no chance or hope of survival.

The little makeshift weapon fell from his hand, clinking against the metal grating the floor had become.

[dotsanddashes]

Rosalind watched in horror as what she had thought was her brother launch himself at the stranger, teeth sinking into his flesh. It was horrifying - almost moreso than if it were firsthand - watching the image of her dear Robert turn into this savage thing. Her heart was tying knots in her throat as she stood up on the bed, hands shaking as she hoisted her nail bat.

Not Robert. And even if it were, he wouldn't want to live like this, right? Out of the two of them, Robert had always been the more kindhearted.

He wouldn't abide by this.

He wouldn't.

Biting down on her lip, she sprang from the mattress, striking the monster with the nail bat against the side of the head. He resisted, grabbed at her - but she kept hitting, driving him away from the other man, striking over and over and over again until his blood was splattered all over her front.

Numb, she turned towards Edward, regarding him with a hollow expression that reflected the zombie's.

[riddledwith]

There's still a few breaths left in him, a small bit of light left in his eyes, but it's more of a fire that would continue to burn. He'd remember her. This had only just begun.

He gives her the simultaneously weakest and most smug grin a dying man could give.

It was so very I told you so. "F-" he coughs, some blood running over his lips and down his cheeks to drip onto the metal floor, "-fog." He coughs more, the exposed and half-torn muscles of his throat visible as they flex with the movement.

You could finish him or leave him to die, Rosalind. At this point, he really doesn't care either way. At least he's not being completely eaten alive.

[dotsanddashes]

Presently, Rosalind is reeling with the abject panic of bludgeoning the image of Robert to death with a plank. The gore is all over her as she staggers towards Edward, standing over him, regarding his bleeding form with a steely stare.

And then he grins. She sees red, and it isn't just his blood.

"Shut up," she hisses, raising the bloody bat above her head...and then bringing it down hard on Edward's.

"...Shut up."

end thread?

[riddledwith]

He asked for this, really, but the final sensation as the nails puncture his eyeball, pierce through the flesh and muscle of his face and into his skull, before the impact reaches his brain is truly horrifying to experience. Time seems to slow, and the level of awareness he has of the soft pop from his eye as the cornea and iris are broken through by rusted metal is a level of awareness that no one should probably ever have.

The blackness that comes can't come soon enough, and through all the fear he embraces it, wanting to be free of this hell, even if it means going to another.

Yep!

[dotsanddashes]

When the blow lands, she does not flinch. She pulls the bat back, bringing it down again. And again.

Tears roll hot down her cheeks.

Again. Again.

Stop.

The nails come to a stop in the side of Edward's crushed head, the board standing straight up despite no longer being held.

Rosalind is on the metal floor, crumpled and sobbing as the blood from the two corpses dribbles down through the grates.

She is alone.

In spite of herself, she reaches out and holds 'Robert's' hand.