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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 1, 2017 9:04:06 GMT -6
[OOC – This is going to be similar to past Halloween RPG events; roleplay as normal and brace yourselves for the likelihood of your OC meeting their demise.
You may post any length of a post as you wish, but please at least add a short OCC summary at the top so that I know what action your characters have taken. While exploring, groups may stay together or split up, and if referring to/interacting with another player, it is recommended that you Bold the name. Posts are limited to one per day, no specific turn order. Remember, powers/abilities are heavily nerfed and/or ineffective. You may make an attempt, but you would need to wait until the next event post to see if it actually worked. Otherwise, more traditional, human methods of action might be necessary. Find the Event Journal for general info Here
As an added bit of help for this game, I have developed some map visuals for new areas to help provide a simple reference for layout. However, tools within the map builder app is limited, so keep in mind, there are MANY details that are not shown in the map, so I would rely more on written posts for details, and as different areas are explored closer, more details will be described. Starting off, rooms are assigned in order that people post, Sten being number 1, other numbers correspond to their order in joining. #2 to post is #2 in the map, #3 post is room #3, etc.. See the map link at the bottom. Good luck, have fun!] A dim, yellow light strobed on…and off…..and on….and off…… flickering in between each throb of light, the buzzing of the wires within the long bulbs resonating loudly in the tight, rectangular room. The flickering light dimly lit across a mold speckled ceiling, which is the first thing eyes would see when they open in a haze, as if waking from a deep, drugged sleep. Black mildew darkened the edges of the room with thin, fingering strands reaching out from the corners and in between the pale, green tiles like creeping vines peeling through the porcelain squares. A reeking, decaying smell filled the room, creating a musty, wet taste in the back of the throat with each breath.
Upon awakening, you notice that you are lying on your backs, and unable to move. A cold, rusted metal surface scrapes against your back with every shifting movement, while hands and legs are splayed and tied to the corners of the raised surface by thick, canvas straps. Upon lifting heads, the room appears to be a rundown, decaying hospital room, with a dissolving curtain stretching around the metal operating bed, and a table of surgical cutting tools next to the bed. The straps give some room to shift and tug, held together by buckles around each wrist and ankle. The bed’s wheels squeak and scrap against the floor as you move.
Outside, the sounds of others waking might be heard, and all will feel a dragging sense of weakness from their head down to their limbs, inside and out. Besides the hushed sounds of others, there is one other sound. It is coming from somewhere far off, past the cracked metal cell door and somewhere further beyond. Distant, echoing footsteps, no more than the faint, uneven tapping of shoes on linoleum. It seemed very far off for now, but with each step, it seemed to get slightly louder.
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Stenson moans and blinks his eyes, dazed and alone. He’d run marathons before, but the extreme, weak exhaustion he felt now was overwhelming. It took everything he had not to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but the sight of the dim yellow room, rotting in every crack and crevice, prevented him. Instead, he felt a panicked fear growing and spreading to his strapped limbs and he lifted his head with a groggy, choked “Hello….? Wh-….where am I….” He struggled to remember where he'd been moments before and how he'd ended up in this strange, flickering room that stank of wet decay. His head fell heavily back onto the table with a metallic thunk, and he stared groggily at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of movement outside of the room.
[MAP: Click Here Rooms assigned in order that people post, Sten being number 1, other numbers correspond to their order in joining. #2 to post is #2 in the map, #3 post is room #3, etc..]
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Post by MP on Oct 1, 2017 10:00:27 GMT -6
[OOC: Sohl wakes up funny-eared and annoyed and attempts to warp off the bed. Failing that, he uses his teeth to hike his sweater sleeves out of the straps so he can pull his twiggy wrists out.]
It was the footsteps that woke him. They tugged at old instincts, nagging, insistent, urgent. Sohl opened his eyes with the old animal quickness - or tried to, through the sluggish haze. He blinked at the ceiling, consciousness struggling to some semblance of alertness. The air hit him a second later: an old, sour cave smell. He wrinkled his nose and looked around at the dingy space.
His wrists and feet were bound. Why were they bound? They could have at least let him have a mattress or a pillow. And who, come to think of it, was 'they?' The place may have looked a little like it through the mildew, but this wasn't the WDSA hospital. Wasn't headquarters at all. Thought seemed to return to him all at once, tumbling over itself in a tangle of confused questions. And there were the footsteps still.
Black-tipped ears flickered at the sounds. They were definitely getting closer. Sohl blinked black-rimmed eyes, puzzling. And then his unusual features registered. He tossed his head weakly, as if to shake the inhuman features off. Now he was annoyed. And he wanted out of these stupid straps.
He twisted his head to look down at them, one ear flattening irritatingly against the bed. He wrinkled his nose again and strained his wrists. No luck. His ears swiveled to track the footsteps again, and the sound made him uneasy. He'd try the quicker way.
He stared around at the room for a long moment, cementing the space in his mind until even the odd tools were fixed images. Then he closed his eyes. Concentrated with all his focus on a jump. He'd only need a few feet. Inches, even. Just to get off the bed. It wouldn't be hard, it wouldn't be hard, he could do this.
Failing that, he would turn to his wrists. The straps were secure, but fitted to woolen sleeves, not his wrist. He could grab the sleeve with his teeth, hike it up through the straps, and from there he thought he could pull his hands free and untie the rest himself.
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Post by tsukikoko on Oct 1, 2017 10:01:39 GMT -6
[OOC: Sara wakes up, thinks she's having a nightmare. When neither Kail nor Kitty comes to kill her she looks around and spots the surgical equipment, starts to freak out and tries to escape her bindings. First tries to shift (that doesn't work) and then by using her tail/body/dumping everything on the floor and cutting her restraints with the surgical tools.]
The first sensation Sara became aware of was a pressure around her wrists and ankles, preventing her from moving. The shifter keened, low in her throat, already anticipating a tearing sensation across the rest of her body, or a set of fangs at her throat. Yet another nightmare in a long line. No matter how many times she experienced them, the bone deep terror never faded, nor the screaming torment of her instincts, telling her that she was going to die. She kept her eyes screwed tight, not wanting to witness what was about to happen, or terrified that if she did look the torture would begin. Desperately, she reached out for Bruse, trying to call him from her side of the Bond. But there was nothing, no trace of him. That- that wasn't right. She could always at least feel him, even if she couldn't reach him through the fear. But she was completely, dreadfully, alone.
Still nothing happened. No claws sank into her flesh, no taunting voices laughed at her, there was only... a buzzing, like an old bulb that didn't function correctly. As time ticked by, Sara became aware of other sensations; a hard coolness beneath her spine, a flickering of yellow behind her closed eyelids, a permeating dank scent like an abandoned basement and a terrible, debilitating exhaustion that coated her limbs in a smothering blanket. Agonisingly slowly, she cracked open one eye, to find herself staring up at a tiled, dirtied ceiling. As both eyes opened, her gaze slid sideways, slowly focusing on the room she found herself in. Decayed and covered in grime, but with the tiling and the remnants of a plastic curtain nearby, it certainly looked every bit the hospital room. This wasn't anything like any of her previous nightmares...
What if it isn't a nightmare?
The shifter's heart lurched to a painful stop in her chest, then began to hammer beneath her ribs a moment later. Questions ricocheted inside her head; Where was Aaron? Was he here too, or had she been taken? What had happened, had he been hurt, he wouldn't have just let them take her would he? Or was she dreaming, unable to wake up? A cold sweat coated her skin, causing her to shiver uncontrollably from both terror and the chill. All she wore was a thin nightshirt that barely reached her knees and with her legs spread and tied down the way they were she felt extremely vulnerable. Her tail curled up between her legs reflexively, trying to put some kind of barrier between herself and-
Were those footsteps?
Sara's head snapped up from the bed, driven by an adrenaline-fueled surge of energy. She began to pant, hyperventilation threatening, as she stared towards the door at the other side of the room. It was then her eyes fell upon the table beside her, at the variety of surgical tools laying there in threatening silence, an ominous suggestion of what was to come. A scream of horror rose as choking bile in Sara's throat, escaping as a high-pitched whine as she desperately fought to keep it contained. She couldn't let them hear her scream, couldn't draw their attention, they couldn't know she was awake. Her skin rippled as she tried to shift, tried to force herself into a smaller form so she could slip free of her restraints; but nothing happened. The change would not come, even though fear usually made her transform even when she didn't want to. What was happening?! Panic gripped her, forced her to move despite the exhaustion still creeping through her body. She thrashed against her bindings, threw her bodyweight as best she could against the side of the bed. A spark of terror-induced clarity took a hold of her, latched on to a half-formed and potentially not very well thought out plan. But it was all she had. The tools were beside her, sharp and deadly, if she could just tip everything - including herself - on to the floor, perhaps she could saw through one of her restraints. If she could get a hand free, she could escape.
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Post by Sharei on Oct 1, 2017 10:29:32 GMT -6
[OOC: Kit screams, calms down, looks for solutions, and sits up in the bed. She then tries to undo the cuffs with her teeth.]
It came to her in pieces as consciousness slogged through the ever present weakness. The smell was first, old and unclean, like tarnished metal, yet heavy of rotted earth and mildew. Then came the feeling. Wet. Cool. Bitter. Her jeans and jacket did little to keep the chill away.
Eventually she opened her eyes. The world spun in the way it sometimes did when she didn't get enough sleep, when she'd come home from one job to shower and change and climb back into the truck to meet with Sohl. Exhaustion tugged at her mind and body, but the strange sensation of the changed world around her prevented her going back to sleep.
She listened. Eerie quiet floated back to her, punctuated with the sound of footsteps, and somewhere a pathetic, pitiful wine. The rattle of beds and old metal provided a backdrop for suffering.
Kit screamed.
It was the first thing she did, the only thing she could do, when the reality of her situation dawned like the slow creep of morning over a misty hill. Except that it wasn't pretty, and it wasn't bright. No, it was dark, and dank, and putrid, and the metallic tang of fear coated the back of her throat like old rust.
It was almost Halloween. The day was upon her. She was back.
In some ways expecting the transition from her life to the strange half-reality of the Maze had been almost as bad as the lingering memories of its horror. She hadn't been sure if the curse that had taken her and so many others the year before would return, and if it did, when exactly that would be if it didn't follow the same cycle of dates. It had made her paranoid, and frightened, and jumpy.
It had also ostracized her from everyone she knew and loved. Kit hadn't been answering Stenson's texts with more than half-sentence responses. She'd even declined coming over to his house. She'd done the same for Sara, and Sohl, and everyone else in her life. It had been a necessary evil. A safety precaution.
After all, if they weren't around when the curse took hold, maybe they wouldn't have to suffer the same terrible fate. Even though no one had actually believed her except for Aaron, she wanted to protect them.
Kit let the scream of terror trail off into quieter panic, but did not allow herself to linger long on it. She took a heavy, slow breath once, twice, three times, nostrils flaring with anxiety and alarm. She forced herself to control her frantic breathing. To calm. Then she began to move.
Keep calm. Stay alert. Get a visual of the area. Check for things you can use. Be aware of traps. You can do this. You can do this.
She strained to lift her head and took a long look around the room. This wasn't at all what the Maze had been like the first time she'd been in it, but maybe it was different this time? Maybe it changed, because they knew better now. Kit didn't know, and didn't especially care. The intricate workings of a death trap did not interest her so much as her survival through it.
Though, a large part of her that was terrified, told her that she wasn't going to. How could she? The nightmares of this world were out to get her, and they would inevitably win.
Don't think like that. Stay focused.
Kit tested the bindings on her wrists and feet. They didn't seem to budge. The buckles were rusted and tinged an ugly green. Despite their state of disrepair she didn't think that her pitiful strength would be enough to break them. No, she had to get a little more creative.
Come on abdominal muscles, don't fail me now...
Kit used the restraints on her feet as leverage, a little like hooking your toes beneath a sofa to do a sit up, and pulled her torso upward. The straps on her wrists came out of the sides of the bed at hip level and didn't prevent her sitting up, but it was a workout for the core muscles she would have appreciated not having to repeat.
Once she was up she set to work on trying to escape. This position gave her much more leeway, since the straps were not secured directly to the bed, but had a little bit of slack. Kit pulled her right hand up as high as it would go, then bent down to grab the leather with her teeth. It tasted rancid, and her ribs were screaming at her for the awkward bend, but she ignored it entirely and threaded the leather through the buckle for all she was worth.
I'm not going to die here. Not again. Not again. Not again.
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 1, 2017 11:32:38 GMT -6
{OOC: Pan wakes up, disoriented, with a pounding headache. As she tries to focus, she hears the footsteps and begins to move her arms, hoping to loosen the restraints. Loose restraints or not, she’ll try to wiggle her arms out. Aside from this, she freaks a bit out, as she isn't sure of where her box is.}
As soon as consciousness returned to the witch, as the faintest hint of awareness brushed against her psyche, eyes opened wide. She couldn't remember going to bed or even lying down for a short nap, it wouldn't be the first time she had forgotten something like that, but still, it was almost ridiculous. And something felt off about all this. It was almost like there was something in the air, spores of fungus of some sort or dust or something of the like, leaving a weird lingering taste in her mouth. Her throat knotted up. Blinking in the rhythm of the flickering light overhead, the young witch shook her head, trying to shake thoughts together, hoping to find something that made sense, anything at all. Trying to sort through heavy ideas that made no sense and thoughts without end or beginning. Mind heavy, she felt something similar to the exhaustion she had come to know. Blinking, each time barely opening her eyes again. But that blinking, the blinking of the lights above, rhythmical, assaulting her senses over and over. Blink- Blink- Blink. If it could just stop blinking. If it could just stop tearing into her brain, ripping apart nerves, over and over. Over. And over. It just kept going. Why did it have to keep going? It hurt. If it kept going, if the hurt kept going, if it kept blinking- “Stop it- just- Stop...”, the young witch groaned, shutting her eyes tightly, still seeing the blinking lights through her eyelids. Without thinking, she tried to turn. Why couldn't she move? Eyes snapping open far too fast, provoking black spots, the witch lifted her head. At first, she could barely see the restraints because of the flickering lights, barely able to focus. But then she saw them. Rough leather holding her down around her arms, her legs. “What the hell?”, she tried moving her arm, pulling up, trying to see if the restraints were even real. As they didn't budge, she could feel her heart slam against her rib cage. She shouldn't be here, didn't want to be here. Another futile attempt, harsher now, the leather burning into her skin making her grit her teeth. This- What- How- “Alright...”, Her head feel back, before she whispered quietly to herself “My name is Pandora Du Foix... it's... fuck- I have no idea what time it is and... where the hell am I?” It didn't work. It was meant to let her focus on herself on her situation. But that fucking light- Stop flickering-
Then she heard the footsteps, slowly approaching, growing louder, merging with the blinking of the lights, mixing up signals. For a moment her breath halted. Fuck. This wasn't good. Those footsteps didn't sound like anyone she knew. She bit down harshly on her tongue. She had to get out. She had to get out now. Right now! With one violent movement, she arched her back, thrashing. It didn't work, of course it didn't work. Why in the world would it fucking work?! Oh god, that light- “Ok, ok, calm.”, she told herself, taking a deep breath, “calm. Don't freak out. You have to get out, Pan.” Lifting her head again, she glared at the restraints. There had to be some way out. Had to be something. There was no way she could just be stuck here. Think! C’mon fucking think! Another deep breath. And she thrashed again, not caring as the restraints dug into her skin. Maybe she felt the leather give, maybe she didn't, she couldn't tell. For now, she just wanted to loosed the restrains enough to get her arms free, or rip her arms free, one way or another. That was what she needed to focus on, her first priority. If that light could just stop flickering- Just for a moment- The steps were so much louder now. Way too close for comfort. This wasn't good, not good at all. Where was magic when she needed it? Wait, speaking of- where was? Her breath hitched and dove blue eyes raced around the room. Where was it? No, no, no, no! It seemed like her chest imploded for a moment and her stuggles renewed. She didn't care if restraints ended up tearing through her skin, drawing blood. She had to get out.
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 1, 2017 11:47:21 GMT -6
[ OOC: Ari panics and pulls really hard against the wrist straps, trying to rip his way free. ]
Ari awoke to screaming, and tried to sit up with a start, his body tense. Tried being the key word here as it didn't succeed - something bound his limbs down, rough fabric against wrists and ankles, cold metal against his bare back. A sour smell filled his nostrils, and past the echoes of the scream, he thought he could hear footsteps.
He had expected this. As Fall had worn on, he had expected it. He had hid in his home, in his bed, with his mate - hid and hoped that it wouldn't happen again. The first two times had been coincidence, it wouldn't happen again. It couldn't happen again.
A keening sound filled his ears, distressingly loud - he realized it was himself, terror making his limbs tense further, making them cramp. Abruptly he wrenched to the side, pulling hard against his bonds, as hard as he could muster. He felt weak and lightheaded, the scent in the air making it hard to breathe, but he pulled all the same, hard enough to make his limbs hurt. He didn't care. He would heal and he'd heal fast, even if that rough cloth scraped his wrists raw.
He wouldn't die here again. Not again. He needed to get out, to get away. He couldn't stay here!
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 1, 2017 12:09:13 GMT -6
[OOC: Faolan puts panic on his to-do list, tries to twist his wrists out of the restraints and calls out to the others]
The dull drone of a flickering bulb was the first thing Faolan registered as he blearily awoke, blinking away the heavy fatigue that crawled sluggishly under his skin. The buzzing noise was irritatingly persistent, and almost as uncomfortable as the cold slab of metal pressing against his back. Faolan shivered in his thin theatre scrubs, golden eyes cracking open and staring, confused, at the dark mildew that stained the ceiling. The room smelt of stale air and mold, a creeping, stifling stench that crept over his skin and set his hair on end. Something was wrong.
A scream shattered the relative tranquility of the room, raw with terror and panic.
The doctor jolted upright. Tried too, anyway, only to have his head snap back as his body stubbornly stayed against the table. He was...he was strapped down, his wrists and ankles engulfed by damp canvas cuffs. The young adult glanced down at his hands, staring blankly at the bloody gloves and the green of his uniform. Why was he on the operating table? The surgery had just started, he should still be working.
The reality of the situation hit Faolan hard, a stab of bone-deep horror slicing through his very core. No. This wasn't happening, this wasn't real. It was just a dream. A nightmare. A choked whine rose in the humans throat as he squeezed his eyes shut, images of bloody skeletal teeth and dark, endless corridors flashing behind his eyelids. It wasn't a nightmare. God, he wished it was, but he knew better. It was Halloween. But this was even worse then last year - he couldn't even move, was strapped down and left to the mercy of whatever the hell was shuffling nearer and nearer. Worse still, he had appeared here when he was halfway through operating - concern for his patient flared up in his chest and added to his panic. The table rattled as he gasped for breath, the cloying, heavy scent of the room sticking to the back of his throat with each rasping inhale.
But he couldn't panic - not now. Faolans chest rose and fell unsteadily as he fought against his fear, slowing his breathing and ignoring - or trying to ignore - those scraping, lopsided footsteps. Ever so slowly he managed to calm down, and after a second of trepidation the blond opened his eyes and looked around the room. His gaze landed on the rusty surgical tools and flitted away immediately, to the straps, to the dimming light, the decaying curtain, the cuffs on his ankles and wrists. First, he needed to escape the restraints. Then he could panic.
The doctor began to twist his slim wrists within the cuffs, trying to find the best angle to slide his hands out and grimacing as his bloodied gloves slid slickly against the canvas. He could hear the muffled rattle of metal and the even fainter sound of whimpers and groans from what he assumed were surrounding rooms. There were others here. "Hello?! Who else is out there?" he yelled, voice tremulous and anxious as he shivered in the cold damp of the room, his splayed position making him feel exposed and more vulnerable then ever.
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 1, 2017 19:23:58 GMT -6
(OOC: Ilchymis wakes up, suffers a PTSD attack, screams bloody murder and tries to struggle free. But mostly screams. And cries. I'm a monster)
He became aware of the smell first, something damp and rotten, not at all the familiar fresh scent of clean linens or the warm spiced aromas from Stenson's kitchen. This was wet, sick, decayed... And it invaded his senses, forcing the blurry forms of his dreams to fade and tugging him awake with every breath.
Consciousness slowly stirred behind his eyelids as Ilchymis was drawn, reluctantly, from the emptiness of sleep. Light flickered lethargically somewhere overhead. Something cold and hard pressed at his back, where there should have been the warmth and comfort of a mattress and pillows. There was a dull, cramping pain where his wing was pinned beneath his body. He groaned and tried turn over to give it some relief. But, he couldn't... His whole body felt weak, heavy, but that wasn't all. He tried again, and found a pressure circling his wrists and legs that prevented him from moving.
Ilchymis immediately snapped awake. Fear ran fingers of ice down his spine as he struggled to sit up, to see what it was that held him. He only managed a glimpse of the restraints, of the rusted table surface he was bound to, but that was enough. Terror-stricken, Ilchymis screamed.
He struggled and squirmed on the table, pulling urgently at the restraints in an attempt to free himself. But his efforts were unfocused, frenzied, driven by a deep-seated fear and trauma he was desperate not to relive. They grew only more so as his panicked gaze took in more of the half-rotten room. The array of surgical implements next to the examination table only stoked the terror further, and he began to sob brokenly.
Already he could hear the approaching footsteps of what he assumed to be his captor, and his hysterical mind did the rest. He swore he could hear four feet - not two - coming his way; hear the faltered step of the prosthetic, metal claws scraping, heavy tail dragging... Reality and memory blurred as terrified tears streamed down his cheeks. He expected to hear the Patchwork's voice calling him any moment from the doorway, with sick promises and insincere apologies. Anticipated with horror the feeling of those hands on his body, blades on his skin, needles and shears and saws, all to pick him apart piece by piece... Between sobs, Ilchymis began to plead with the phantom of his memory. "No, please! P-Please let me go! I don't want this, I don't want it! I'll be good! I-I'll be good!"
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Post by Kurodaia on Oct 1, 2017 21:42:19 GMT -6
[OOC: Hui wakes up alone. Contemplates life for a bit and hears people screaming. He is tired of the spooky dying.]
He woke up, not to find himself on the couch but rather on some kind of metal bed. More strange things that hadn't quite occurred to him yet that he still hadn't quite figured out the situation he was in. It was dim and he could smell that it wasn't quite right but he couldn't put his finger on it. Not that he could anyways, his hands and legs were tied. This felt familiar.
He looked around the room, not really certain of where he was other than the fact it was disgusting. He tried to think of where he could possibly be but he had not enough interest in some horror films, after dying twice, to care about the genres and various types. He knew he was in a disgusting hospital but had no idea outside of that where he was. The room seemed empty, he assessed, but he could hear other people screaming as though someone stabbed them in the chest, funny this felt like home before he prohibited human sacrifices. Maybe Mictlan, finally found me.
Remembering things he forgot to do before he woke up here, like mail things off and picking up errands because he wanted to make some food for once. He rolled his eyes a little, listening to the sounds of people rising like the dead. He wanted to say it sounded like music, but at this point when this happened quite often in the year, he had no care at all for this thing. He wanted out but he couldn't figure out how to remove himself.
The feathers on his arms and face seemed to bristle when he squirmed a bit before relaxing, he didn't remember them being there. "I'd like to live for once but I'd rather die quickly..." He muttered under his breath. Hui was exhausted and he figured some kind of dark cloud had passed over him this past year, did he forget to put the milk back in the fridge? Who knows, hopefully a neighbour will come by and put it away.
As he would think about things and life, he would squirm about the restraints but not too aggressively.
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Post by jarahamee on Oct 1, 2017 21:42:37 GMT -6
(OOC: Cassius wakes up, then would try to grab and manipulate the straps with his teeth to free an arm so that he can free the rest of himself.)
Cassius lurches up violently, as if waking from a strange dream and feels the firm pressure of the restraints on his arms. He was wearing only a shirt and his sleep-shorts. He was vaguely glad he did not sleep in the nude.
It was lit in here, but not well. He didn't remember coming here. He didn't remember anything besides curling up in bed. The smell overwhelmed him. Dampness, rot. This looked like a hospital, but in such disrepair. He eyed the torture implements. So this was the game.
Was he in a prison again? Was he captured by his enemies? Images and thoughts flashed through his eyes, memories of being trapped in the Abyss. Sometimes he wasn't sure if the Abyss had been real or not. Perhaps it had all been in his mind. The Beast reminded him...it was not time to be lost in thought. It was time to survive. Think. Escape.
He looked at his hand restraints, considering what he could do, and then reached over and bit one of the strap ends firmly between his sharp white teeth. He pulled it back and then released it, manipulating it so he could seize it again. The Beast rejoiced, tempted him with the thought of chewing through the cloth and leather, but he reminded it, he was not equipped or desperate enough for that yet.
He put more force into it, ears catching the sound of coming footsteps and far off rustling. His eyes had a mad gleam as he worked.
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Post by Salandis on Oct 2, 2017 4:19:53 GMT -6
[OOC: Raine wakes up, growls at Faolan, and attempts to work his restraints free of the bedframe]
Raine groggily opened his eyes as someone screamed. His wandering mind struggled to answer the important questions, even as memory of that scream faded. Where was he? What the hell did he drink to end up this badly hammered? And where was the bathroom? He tried to remember just what had been going on. Something about approaching Halloween, and Marchelute and Ari both being on edge. Had he actually gone to join him, or had he just drunk himself into a stupor at his mansion? Either seemed likely, frankly, and that he couldn't remember anything suggested the latter.
His mouth felt like something had died in it, and he lifted his head to spit. He found himself actually tied to a bed, with the harsh metal on his back telling him he was on an un-padded gurney. The place looked... well, terrible. The design reminded him of the war triage tents in the Great War, except they looked approximately that old without maintenance. The sound of panicked breathing nearby told him he had a room mate, and as his head started to clear (But still ache) He realised something else.
He felt warm. A chill that was only fear lanced through him as he understood just what that meant. He could feel the air as temperate, as warm, a sensation almost unknown to him.
He was vulnerable.
Fear made his gorge rise, but he swallowed it back and stomped on the incipient panic. It wouldn't be the first or last time he would be capped out, and damned if he wouldn't survive... whatever this was. Some kind of drug maybe? It didn't matter. Two thousand years of survival wouldn't end in a shite caked cess pit like this. He tested his restraints cautiously, finding them reasonably secure. The bed was in disrepair, however, so he started feeling along the restraint bars. Maybe the straps could be worked off the bed.
"Hello?! Who else is out there?" Someone yelled next to him, making him wince. The voice was clearly panicked, and altogether too close for his developing headache.
"Keep yer voice down, yah wanker." he growled. "Mah head hurts, and ah frankly dinnae want tah meet whoever arranged this little operation until ah've a weapon in mah hands."
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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 2, 2017 17:00:40 GMT -6
The sounds of terrified screaming, voices calling out, whimpering, and struggling began to spill from the rooms. As the patients awoke and began to realize the dire situation they were in, the footsteps in the hallway halted at the loud sounds of their panicking. Above, light bulbs gave a deep, dark throb, almost threatening to go out entirely as they struggled to buzz back to life, and as they brightened again, almost instantly the footsteps began again, quickened with an erratic excitement and still shuffling ever closer. Whatever it was paused silently right before the threshold, a dark, hunched silhouette in the hallway of the larger area where all of the smaller rooms conjoined with. The only sound that could be heard was a soft, raspy whisper, muttering incomprehensible words to itself into the stale, musty air.
Luckily, some of the patients had managed to undo their restraints. Sohl's quick thinking of pulling his sleeves up from his wrist gave just enough space between the strap and his skin to allow him to wriggle free of the bindings, leaving only his ankles still bound. Once the ankle restraints were worked loose, Sohl was free to leave the cold metal operating table. Beside him, Cassius bit and pulled at the strap. The old, yellowed canvas had a bitter taste that would sour his mouth with every pull, but eventually the strap was reverse-thread from the loop of the buckle, leaving only the metal pin still in place. With one final pull, the pin came free and the wrist restraint became slack against Cassius' wrist. One down, three to go, and Cassius was free as well.
In the room next to Sohl and Cassius, there was a loud crash as Sara's tail successfully upended the tray of cutting instruments onto the floor, followed by the screech of metal wheels sliding sideways as the bed then tipped and came crashing down onto its side. Sara's shoulder and hip collided onto the hard, linoleum floor. Dirt and grit stuck to her exposed bare skin. She was in quite an uncomfortable position, with one ankle and wrist still strung up on the highest side of the bed, tighter now than ever. However, a metal scalpel tool lay gleaming with the pulsing yellow light from above just by her hand. With a few strained reaching attempts, she would eventually be able to pull the sharp instrument into her hand and begin cutting herself loose. Aside from the metal operating table and supplies, the only other thing in the small room was a pile of what appeared to be clothing in a corner to the left of the door. At first glance, the pile seemed to contain only old, worn articles of clothing, reeking of more mildew and splotched with reddish-brown stains.
In Kit's room, the rusted metal of the buckle's pin left an unsavory taste in the restrained woman's mouth, gritting against her teeth as she worked to undo the strap. With continued effort, the buckle eventually pulled free, releasing the pin and allowing the strap to be loosened enough for her wrist to slip out. Now that one arm was free, there were only 3 restraints left, allowing her an easier time at escaping the metal operating table. At the back left corner of the room, there was another dirty, moldy pile of reddish-brown stained clothing.
Meanwhile, Ari's violent struggle would prove successful....but not without a cost. The harsh, gripping texture of the canvas held tightly against the shifter's skin with each aggressive thrash of his arms. Even as he managed to rip his wrists free, the skin stayed behind, leaving two exposed, bright-red rings circling where the straps had once been that began to bead and darken with blood, along with a few other missing scrapes of skin along his knuckles and sides of his hands. A sharp, stinging pain burned across the open flesh, and the longer Ari waited for the pain to subside and the skin to stitch itself back together, the faster he would realize that...nothing was happening. Except for the beginnings of slight clotting, there was no instant healing, no relief. Where ever he was, it had stripped him of his ability to heal quickly, leaving only the hot, burning pain of mortal human flesh. Despite this, his arms were now free, and all that left was his ankles that he would need to unbuckle through the pain of his skinless wrists.
The patients in a few of the other rooms had much less luck. It would take much more than a little wiggling and crying out to escape the tight wrist and ankle straps holding Stenson, Pan, Faolan, Ilchymis, and Hui hostage. Above, the throbbing yellow light ticked on and off....and on and off....like a clock ticking down it's few final seconds. It seems even the air itself, with its foul odor, was becoming heavier as the moment dragged on...Ilchymis' attempts, although not quite as violent as Ari's, were also beginning to burn into the skin of his wrists as canvas rubbed against flesh. The area where the straps continuously pulled and twisted began to turn an inflamed, pink-red color. Although Raine was also left strapped to his table, he was able to feel around the edge of the metal frame. To his dismay, the wide canvas straps were not attached to the frame by any clip or hook, but were instead looped around the bars of the frame and fed back into the buckle which seemed to be the only releasing mechanism for the entire setup. However, he would notice that his left-hand fingers grazed across an unexpected opening in the metal, where rust had eaten through to form a gaping, dagger-like edge near the strap. Already the canvas threads had begun to catch and fray around the area where the strap rubbed against this part of the frame.
At the threshold of the area, a thin, high-pitched sound suddenly whirred to life, drowning out the rasping whispers. The shuffling footsteps began again, entering the area as they made their way past the first set of doors. Then the second. Then the third. Looking out of the small, rectangular windows, the prisoners may see a tall, hunched silhouette pass by, headed towards one of the farther rooms. It stopped just between Ari and Stenson's rooms, staring forward as if in a trance. Still the high-pitched metallic ring sang sharp and loud into the enclosed spaces, a harsh, needling sound that pierced into the ears of the victims. Something....like a metal edge spinning very....very fast.... Any brave enough to look or step out through their doors would see a twitching, angular form wearing a long, doctor's coat with yellow and green streaks running the length of it's off-white surface. The figure's head was hunched so low and heavily shadowed that its features were near impossible to make out in the low, pulsing light. It held something in its hands, the source of the piercing noise, and it seemed to jerk randomly, thin elbows poking out in bent triangles at its side, as if deciding which room it wanted to enter first. Left. Or right....
----------------------------------------------------------------- Stenson gave the restraints on his wrists and ankles a testing tug, noting that they were impossibly tight. Either he'd have to figure out a way to cut himself loose, or perhaps try to work the buckle free with his teeth. He leaned forward to try and examine them, sweat beading on his forehead when suddenly a number of cries and screams began to sound outside of his own room. A few of which, he definitely recognized. "Kit? Ilchymis? Is that you!? Who else is in here? Kit!" He shouted, heart hammering in his chest. If she and Ilchymis were in here too.... He pulled and worked at the straps more desperately now, twisting his arms to try and get a good angle at the buckles. Leaning forward as far as he could, he bit and pulled at the side of the strap, unable to reach the buckle itself but at least able to inch the canvas strap slightly from its loop. The feeling made his teeth hurt, and soon fatigue took over, forcing him to lay back for a moment to calm his burning core. He felt hot all over his body, the air and stench choking his lungs with a humid, sickly heat. The silence was broken just before his second attempt and he focused on the new sound with frozen terror. A high pitched whine, like some kind of mechanical tool....who was out there? What were they doing!? "Kit! Hold on!" The sound crept closer, it's sharp volume growing louder and louder, ringing painfully in his ears. Then he saw it, a strange hunched figure that was barely visible through the crack of the door. He strained his neck to look up and out of the room, breathing in a heavy, hyperventilating fashion. Whoever, or whatever, it was....they were there. They were right there.... [Map of the incoming mysterious figure: HereRed arrow shows its path of travel, red/black star shows where it has stopped]
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 2, 2017 18:01:52 GMT -6
[ Ari unbuckles his ankles, then grabs a scalpel off the tray. He checks out the door, realizes there's something terrible out there, and then retreats to hide behind the gurney. If the scary-bad-thing comes in he's gonna shove the gurney at it and then run. ]
Ari hissed with pain as his struggles paid off, the straps tearing but the coarse fabric of the cloth scraping his wrists raw in the process. It was fine. It would be fine. His arms were free, they would heal. He didn't stop to consider that they might not be healing - at least not yet. He sat up quickly and fumbled free the straps on his ankles, then pushed off the bed to the floor.
The floor felt sticky under his bare feet, and he flinched at the sensation. His panic-bright eyes scanned the room, spotted the tray of sharp implements to the side of his 'bed,' and then he lurched to the side to snatch one. Droplets of blood spattered the tray, distracting him a moment - it hadn't healed yet? He lifted his hands, turning his wrists to stare in confusion at the slowly clotting wounds. They hurt, but that was normal - that they hadn't closed yet though... that was different. Worrying.
He tightened his grip on the handle of the scalpel, drawing his other hand to his chest, raw wrist pressed to his chest close to his heart. He began to take a step toward the door when a high-pitched whine began in the hallway outside. He froze, his pointed ears twitching just slightly, trying to prick forward. This was... different from the other noises, mechanical, like the noise of a dentist's drill. He didn't like it. Not at all.
He murmured the key to a spell under his breath, asking to be made invisible, to be made unnoticeable. Usually he could feel it working but just now... he felt nothing. His hackles stood on end and his breathing quickened, fear spiking in his gut. He forced himself to stop, to hold his breath, and he crouched down, easing nearer to the door, toward the wall to the side of it, trying to peek around it without being see himself. The volume of that mechanical whine rose as he crept nearer the door, the footsteps - slightly dragging? - came to a halt.
He caught sight of a doctor's coat through the crack of opening between the door and the wall. His grip tightened on the scalpel and he withdrew as quickly as he could, still crouched, moving back toward the table and the gurney, intending to put those between him and the door. Whatever it was, it was right outside of his room. He released his held breath in a low hiss, tense and trembling. If whatever it was came in... maybe he could push the gurney at it, could distract it and bolt...
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Post by MP on Oct 2, 2017 19:49:12 GMT -6
[OOC: Sohl helps Cassius with his restraints, retrieves a scalpel, scissors, and a tin from the assembled tools, and attempts to open his door a little more. If this isn't noticed, he throws the tin down the hall the thing came from in an attempt to get it to follow the sound.]
Sohl jerked his arms free the second he felt open air around his wrists. He promptly attacked the restraints at his feet, tasseled ears pricking high and then pinning flat against his head as the first screams rose in the air. The footsteps were almost here. There was a harsh whine accompanying them that he associated with woodworking and power tools. Pupils dilating with growing lucidity and fear, he shook the straps off his ankles with a shudder and ran on bare, silent feet to help the other man with his restraints. The mad light in the stranger's eyes gave him only momentary pause. There was someone - something else outside, and more hands could only help their situation.
As soon as the others's straps were off, Sohl was back beside his own bed, picking through the tools. He spoke not a word to the other man. He was afraid of drawing their captor's attention and, more importantly, there wasn't time. Many of the voices had gone quiet as mice in the burrow, or else had turned to reasonable talk. But there was one still screaming and sobbing - a desperate, horribly familiar sound. A beacon of distress. Quiet. Be quiet, he thought desperately.
Sohl chose a scalpel and what looked like a small, delicate pair of scissors, testing their sharpness on his finger to ensure their quality. They were hardly weapon-worthy, but they were all he had. He crept to the door and crouched there, ears pricked intently. What floor he could see was unoccupied, but he could hear the whirring off to the left. Ilchymis' cries came from the opposite direction. Maybe - maybe he could sneak past, but...he wouldn't stand a chance against if he were caught. Sohl bit his lip, eyes flickering desperately over the floor in thought. Then he crept back to the gurney and grabbed the shallow tin from beside the tools. A bowl? He didn't know or care. He returned to the door. The whirring was stationary. No way to tell which way they were facing. And he didn't dare look.
Sohl put his shoulder to the door and eased it open, just a sliver. Ready to stop at the first hint of a creak, or worse, movement from the thing outside. With luck, the others' shouting would mute any noise. If his efforts went unnoticed, he risked a little farther. And farther still. He didn't need much space.
When he had the door almost a foot ajar, Sohl rose to his feet, satisfied. Raising the tin, he mimed a throw as a golfer would a pre-swing, gauging the distance with a critical, birdlike eye. He had trained with the spear and the knife and the sling. He had been taught to hit the eye of a great beast even as it charged. He thought he could handle a simple bowl.
Sohl stepped back with the balanced gait of a spear thrower, eyeing the narrow space. The open hallway was visible through the door, a yawning maw. He aimed for the very throat of it and hurled the tin. He wanted it to roll - to strike the wall and go clattering and bouncing down the corridor. Sounds like an escape, right? Turn around. Leave us alone. Let me go to him.
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Post by Kurodaia on Oct 2, 2017 20:01:06 GMT -6
[Hui tries to break loose from the bindings, realizing that he might need to get his butt into gear.]
As the screams and muffled sounds of people in other rooms didn't seem to faze him, what did was the ever growing panic that seemed to be laced in an undertone. That panic, fear was something he didn't really enjoy and it reminded him of the past.
A third year in this sort of torment for a month, what a way to go. He didn't want to die for once, at least a part of him didn't. What was that saying? Third times a charm? It was something of the sort that got him thinking a little more. However, it should be kept short. The gods awful smell of this place was frustrating him and it seemed to get worse? He wasn't imagining it, at least he thought he wasn't.
Laying under the flickering light, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "So be it.", he exhaled.
The man tried to force against the bindings, fighting both straps against his wrists as he did. Eventually twisting his body from side to side in an attempt to free both his hands. He yelled as he struggled and it almost encouraged him to keep trying. He wanted to get at least one of his arms free, pulling his weight around in hopes to even loosen the bindings. If trying to squirm would do nothing then force would be necessary. He continued to yell as he tried to force his way out and he was not about to die without trying.
"G E T O F F!"
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