((Nicole Husher continued from Look Out!))
Nicole's feet were aching as she ran through the jungle, each step feeling as though she was pressing down on a particularly nasty bruise, but she kept going, her breath burning in her throat as she pushed herself ever harder, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. Her lungs were aching, and she had a stitch burning in her side, but it didn't matter. All the pain in the world wouldn't matter, as long as she got away. It didn't matter that she stumbled over a patch of loose undergrowth. It didn't matter when a branch caught her arm. All that mattered was that, for the first time in memory, she was pretty sure he wasn't hot on her heels.
She didn't stop running.
Her eyes stung, but she didn't blink, didn't rub them. He was still behind her, even if he wasn't so close as before. Somehow, he was still behind her, and she'd been moving all night. She'd barely heard the announcements, but they had been enough to nearly prompt a ragged laugh from her. So many dangers, and she'd run straight into one of her own.
In her right hand, she still clutched the rock. She didn’t want to look at her left arm. There was nothing but pain, there. Her throat was burning, and breathing agitated the bruises on her neck, right below her collar, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her water was gone. Everything was gone. Even the path she'd seen a few minutes ago had vanished, swallowed up or lost when she veered wildly to try to keep trees between her and her pursuer. Her shirt was sticky on her back, damp with sweat and blood. Her head was pounding in time with her heartbeat, aching in time with her feet. She couldn't hear anyone, but that didn't mean there was nobody here. She hadn't heard anything the first time he'd snuck up on her.
Nicole turned and swept the area with her gaze, but she saw nothing except jungle. The adrenaline was making it hard to think. She had been moving for so long she couldn't remember what resting felt like. She knew she couldn't keep it up forever. She needed somewhere to go to ground, to pull herself together and get her bearing back, somewhere to snatch a moment's rest and get off the defensive. There was nothing but jungle, though, jungle all around, each bit indistinguishable from all the others. She tried not to tear up at the thought that she could've been running in circles.
She pushed further, suddenly stumbling clear of the treeline. Blinking, panting, she found herself in front of a small building with a red cross on the side, clearly a small hospital of some sort. She could have almost cried from relief. She could hide here, could hide and maybe even find something to help patch up her arm. Maybe she wouldn't be found. She just wanted to be someplace safe. She could at least pretend that this offered a temporary haven.
Ignoring everything else, she headed straight for the entrance. It was something different from the jungle, and right now that made it the most welcoming place on the island.
As she slowly made her way through the doors, she could almost imagine that things could be okay again. Her heart was still thumping too strongly, though, her body still aching, and she still felt the urge to jump at imagined footsteps behind her.
Still, she pushed that aside and continued on. It would be worth it, if she could just have a few moments to recover and pull herself together.
Pursuit
Private, sorry! Gotta get this death done.
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MurderWeasel
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(Let's just get this moving.)
((Adam Reeves continued from The Natural Advantage))
It wasn't long after that when something hit the door.
Something big. Something hurting. Something angry.
((Adam Reeves continued from The Natural Advantage))
It wasn't long after that when something hit the door.
Something big. Something hurting. Something angry.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Nicole had thought that this place would bring some semblance of safety or respite. Apparently, she was wrong.
She'd been searching through the makeshift hospital, trying to find anything in the way of medical supplies. There was nothing to be had. She didn't have her first aid kit anymore, either. As soon as she heard the noise, her eyes widened. She looked around, trying to find something to defend herself with, but there was nothing of any use. There were a few cots, though.
With a small exhalation of pain as she moved wrong, Nicole squeezed under one of the cots, hoping that she'd managed to make it before the new arrival could have seen her. She tried to hold her breath, and failing that attempted to breath quietly and shallowly. The floor felt cool under her hands, but she was still sweating. Maybe he would leave. Maybe he would miss her and just go look somewhere else.
She'd been searching through the makeshift hospital, trying to find anything in the way of medical supplies. There was nothing to be had. She didn't have her first aid kit anymore, either. As soon as she heard the noise, her eyes widened. She looked around, trying to find something to defend herself with, but there was nothing of any use. There were a few cots, though.
With a small exhalation of pain as she moved wrong, Nicole squeezed under one of the cots, hoping that she'd managed to make it before the new arrival could have seen her. She tried to hold her breath, and failing that attempted to breath quietly and shallowly. The floor felt cool under her hands, but she was still sweating. Maybe he would leave. Maybe he would miss her and just go look somewhere else.
The door finally gave way. Damn thing. His head hurt like a spear of heat digging through his skull, throbbing violently with each step and breath, sending a rippling explosion through his mind with the noise of splintering wood and buckling hinges. Warm blood matted in his hair, tiny streams occasionally escaping and flowing down to his collar, the damn thing that had been all but choking him since he woke up. He paused, leaning against the doorway. His stomach rolled, a faint burning in his throat.
No. Keep going. Fight it down. Take a breath. Say nothing; who knew who was in here.
In. Out. In. Out.
That red-haired bitch had done this to him. She had some steel to her after all. He'd been so, so sick of her taunting him just by existing back at school, flaunting herself and wasting her time with that useless baseballer instead of a real athlete, and he'd got... carried away. Careless. Somehow missed that in her struggles, writhing around under him, she'd found a massive rock and swung it at his head.
Fate smiled on him. It was a wonder he hadn't died right there. He had no idea where she'd gone, the trail in the jungle would've gone cold quickly even if the world weren't spinning around him, but what he needed right now was a chance to rest and get his bearings, patch himself up quickly. This place, this old hospital, had been on the map. Worth trying, maybe.
He stumbled inside, gun up. He looked side to side, trying to think through the pounding in his head and the urge to just stand there gulping in mouthfuls of air. The place looked like someone'd gone through it pretty recently, to no avail.
That, or they'd found everything already. He stumbled inside, slamming the door behind him with a wince as the world shook again. If he ended up throwing up, he was going to hate himself. He had a kit, he just needed a second to sit down and fix himself up. That cot looked nice. He dropped on to it, setting the pack on the floor and trying to ground himself.
God, did his head hurt.
No. Keep going. Fight it down. Take a breath. Say nothing; who knew who was in here.
In. Out. In. Out.
That red-haired bitch had done this to him. She had some steel to her after all. He'd been so, so sick of her taunting him just by existing back at school, flaunting herself and wasting her time with that useless baseballer instead of a real athlete, and he'd got... carried away. Careless. Somehow missed that in her struggles, writhing around under him, she'd found a massive rock and swung it at his head.
Fate smiled on him. It was a wonder he hadn't died right there. He had no idea where she'd gone, the trail in the jungle would've gone cold quickly even if the world weren't spinning around him, but what he needed right now was a chance to rest and get his bearings, patch himself up quickly. This place, this old hospital, had been on the map. Worth trying, maybe.
He stumbled inside, gun up. He looked side to side, trying to think through the pounding in his head and the urge to just stand there gulping in mouthfuls of air. The place looked like someone'd gone through it pretty recently, to no avail.
That, or they'd found everything already. He stumbled inside, slamming the door behind him with a wince as the world shook again. If he ended up throwing up, he was going to hate himself. He had a kit, he just needed a second to sit down and fix himself up. That cot looked nice. He dropped on to it, setting the pack on the floor and trying to ground himself.
God, did his head hurt.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
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MurderWeasel
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Nicole tried to keep her breathing quiet. It was him. Maybe he'd followed her here. Maybe this was the worst coincidence of all time. The cause wasn't important. It seemed like he wasn't looking for her, at least not directly. He was wandering around, but he seemed almost cautious, which meant he didn't know what to expect. There was still no way to relax. Nicole tried not to move at all. Any sound could give her away. One wrong move and she'd most likely end up dead.
She tried to assess her chances of slipping out through the door while his back was turned, but she kept getting distracted by his footfalls. It wouldn't have worked anyways. She didn't think she'd have enough of a head start to get anywhere safe, especially if he had her gun.
Then he sat down on the cot, and there was nothing else she could think about, nothing except how close to disaster she was. She tried to pull in closer, to take up less space, to melt into the floor. She watched his feet, hoping that they would move, would leave her field of view. The dust tickled her nose, but she reached up and pinched it. She would not sneeze. She would not give herself away. He might find her anyways, but she wasn't going to make it easy on him. She certainly wasn't going to give up so easily.
She tried to assess her chances of slipping out through the door while his back was turned, but she kept getting distracted by his footfalls. It wouldn't have worked anyways. She didn't think she'd have enough of a head start to get anywhere safe, especially if he had her gun.
Then he sat down on the cot, and there was nothing else she could think about, nothing except how close to disaster she was. She tried to pull in closer, to take up less space, to melt into the floor. She watched his feet, hoping that they would move, would leave her field of view. The dust tickled her nose, but she reached up and pinched it. She would not sneeze. She would not give herself away. He might find her anyways, but she wasn't going to make it easy on him. She certainly wasn't going to give up so easily.
It felt good to be sitting down on something that wasn't dirt or rocks. For a moment it was tempting to just lay down and close his eyes for a bit, but that screamed "bad idea".
He'd have to, eventually, but not right now. It was comfortable here, but only enough so the room stopped spinning after a while. He could find his bearings, eventually get himself patched up...
When a strange, coppery smell struck him, from somewhere nearby. Then, as he looked down, something seemed to nudge his pack.
Had he been hit so hard his brain was damaged, and he was hallucinating? What next? Just to make sure he hadn't completely lost his mind, he got off the cot and went to a knee, reaching his hand under the hospital bed.
He'd have to, eventually, but not right now. It was comfortable here, but only enough so the room stopped spinning after a while. He could find his bearings, eventually get himself patched up...
When a strange, coppery smell struck him, from somewhere nearby. Then, as he looked down, something seemed to nudge his pack.
Had he been hit so hard his brain was damaged, and he was hallucinating? What next? Just to make sure he hadn't completely lost his mind, he got off the cot and went to a knee, reaching his hand under the hospital bed.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
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It was almost okay. Nicole was able to keep quiet. She didn't sneeze. Her muscles ached, from exertion and from holding one position, but she didn't move. She tried to track the passage of time by counting seconds, then breaths, but she couldn't focus on that. It was hard to think of anything except what was mere inches above her head. Still, she didn't move.
At least, she didn't move for some time. The bag was there, though. She noticed that while searching for things to distract her. He'd left his bag at her level. Maybe he'd left the gun in it. Maybe there was something else of use. She could turn this around, if she pulled it off just right. Maybe she could shoot him through the cot. It was a little horrifying, how she was actually thinking of shooting someone. She'd do it, though. If she could, she would do it.
Still, that was a last ditch choice. Her nose was still tickling. Her leg was cramping, trembling a little. She wouldn't be able to stay still forever. She heard the cot creak a bit as he shifted, but he did not get up. She reached out, slowly, carefully, and jostled the bag ever so slightly.
Then the hand was there, reaching for her, and Nicole couldn't move quickly enough to get out of the way. As it brushed her arm, she jerked backwards, bumping against the bottom of the cot and letting out a little cough. In that instant, she knew that things were not going to end well. His hand closed around her arm, and she tried to pull away, to kick or claw, but her position was all wrong. Nicole felt a tug, and then she was being wrenched out of her hiding place, and there was nothing she could do about it.
At least, she didn't move for some time. The bag was there, though. She noticed that while searching for things to distract her. He'd left his bag at her level. Maybe he'd left the gun in it. Maybe there was something else of use. She could turn this around, if she pulled it off just right. Maybe she could shoot him through the cot. It was a little horrifying, how she was actually thinking of shooting someone. She'd do it, though. If she could, she would do it.
Still, that was a last ditch choice. Her nose was still tickling. Her leg was cramping, trembling a little. She wouldn't be able to stay still forever. She heard the cot creak a bit as he shifted, but he did not get up. She reached out, slowly, carefully, and jostled the bag ever so slightly.
Then the hand was there, reaching for her, and Nicole couldn't move quickly enough to get out of the way. As it brushed her arm, she jerked backwards, bumping against the bottom of the cot and letting out a little cough. In that instant, she knew that things were not going to end well. His hand closed around her arm, and she tried to pull away, to kick or claw, but her position was all wrong. Nicole felt a tug, and then she was being wrenched out of her hiding place, and there was nothing she could do about it.
(GMing with permission.)
A few more wraps and the bandage was tight around his head, pressing the gauze to his cut. The pain had faded by now. He'd taken his time, and when all was said and done made sure to wash himself off and patch himself up just right. It had wasted some water, but he had more, and he would have regretted leaving himself... unclean, amidst the grime covering every surface.
What happened here was filthy enough as it was. The coppery smell was even stronger, now, as the haze of anger faded. The cot was covered in huge, red-brown stains which trailed to the edge like a rather large paint roller had been dragged over it. Idly, he brushed some scraps of yellow and black fabric off the mattress before putting his first aid kit back in the pack. He saw without seeing that his fingers were stained like the cot. He felt it on his teeth, too. It hadn't washed away so easily there as elsewhere. He'd given up on washing it out of his beard.
He closed his eyes, but his body remembered the press and warmth and struggle. His ears still rang with the noise of an arm breaking, the rustling and tearing of fabric, and screams, and muffled whimpers, yelps and sobs. Eventually loud gurgling and gasps for air. Rattling.
He still felt the tear-filled gaze on him, terrified and pleading and accusing. The eyes of someone who was too soft for the world in the end, still burning through his soul. Why?
What happened here was filthy, driven by pain and rage and the need not to leave any witnesses... and somewhere down there, the simple inability to comprehend anyone daring to reject him. The alpha had his pick of anyone in the pack, didn't he? It wasn't anyone's place to say no, unless they meant to challenge him for his position.
His stomach roiled. The grime everywhere felt like it was seeping through his pores. Was this survival? Was this keeping himself the alpha?
Was this necessary? To survive this way, preying on his own pack... would he even be human any more if he got out of here?
Don't blame me, blame the Fates...
He had to move on. Think about that later. His daypack was starting to get wet, and he hoisted it up with a frown. The gun - a Single Action Army, one of the greats - was in there, packed away for safety. It had enough ammo to last him, and the additional supplies helped, too. He stood, making sure the revolver wasn't cocked and tucking it into the waistband of his shorts - luckily only a little stained - before he closed up the pack.
This was tempting shelter, but if he stayed he feared he'd get sick, of all ironies. Or just go mad, or incur a spirit's wrath. Or maybe all three. He ignored the footprints he tracked to the door, taking one last look back at the spreading pool of blood from his mangled handiwork, shoved under the cot in hopes of delaying discovery.
Then he was gone, trying to put the look on that girl's face out of mind.
G16: NICOLE HUSHER: DECEASED
(Adam Reeves continued in Will I Never Be Lonely Again?.)
A few more wraps and the bandage was tight around his head, pressing the gauze to his cut. The pain had faded by now. He'd taken his time, and when all was said and done made sure to wash himself off and patch himself up just right. It had wasted some water, but he had more, and he would have regretted leaving himself... unclean, amidst the grime covering every surface.
What happened here was filthy enough as it was. The coppery smell was even stronger, now, as the haze of anger faded. The cot was covered in huge, red-brown stains which trailed to the edge like a rather large paint roller had been dragged over it. Idly, he brushed some scraps of yellow and black fabric off the mattress before putting his first aid kit back in the pack. He saw without seeing that his fingers were stained like the cot. He felt it on his teeth, too. It hadn't washed away so easily there as elsewhere. He'd given up on washing it out of his beard.
He closed his eyes, but his body remembered the press and warmth and struggle. His ears still rang with the noise of an arm breaking, the rustling and tearing of fabric, and screams, and muffled whimpers, yelps and sobs. Eventually loud gurgling and gasps for air. Rattling.
He still felt the tear-filled gaze on him, terrified and pleading and accusing. The eyes of someone who was too soft for the world in the end, still burning through his soul. Why?
What happened here was filthy, driven by pain and rage and the need not to leave any witnesses... and somewhere down there, the simple inability to comprehend anyone daring to reject him. The alpha had his pick of anyone in the pack, didn't he? It wasn't anyone's place to say no, unless they meant to challenge him for his position.
His stomach roiled. The grime everywhere felt like it was seeping through his pores. Was this survival? Was this keeping himself the alpha?
Was this necessary? To survive this way, preying on his own pack... would he even be human any more if he got out of here?
Don't blame me, blame the Fates...
He had to move on. Think about that later. His daypack was starting to get wet, and he hoisted it up with a frown. The gun - a Single Action Army, one of the greats - was in there, packed away for safety. It had enough ammo to last him, and the additional supplies helped, too. He stood, making sure the revolver wasn't cocked and tucking it into the waistband of his shorts - luckily only a little stained - before he closed up the pack.
This was tempting shelter, but if he stayed he feared he'd get sick, of all ironies. Or just go mad, or incur a spirit's wrath. Or maybe all three. He ignored the footprints he tracked to the door, taking one last look back at the spreading pool of blood from his mangled handiwork, shoved under the cot in hopes of delaying discovery.
Then he was gone, trying to put the look on that girl's face out of mind.
G16: NICOLE HUSHER: DECEASED
(Adam Reeves continued in Will I Never Be Lonely Again?.)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.