October 6 2008

Stand Off

Feeling:
bitchy

Who: Brett and Hannah
Where: The vicarage
When: Late afternoon

His wheelchair was still a piece of uncomfortable stained shit, but at least it got him where he wanted it to now without a lot of hard work and an annoying squeak. Most of the rust was gone from the wheels and it moved smoothly. Hell, the thing shone in places, but then Brett had worked like hell on the fucking thing all day. Or most of the day. It was easier than thinking about things anyway. Things like the fact that his room might be liveable, but the kitchen was a fucking death-trap and he couldn't get himself to go in there. The galley shape meant that he wasn't convinced he'd be able to turn round once he entered and it'd kicked up his claustrophobia like nothing else. So, right now, he was fucking starving. So far today he'd managed to find some food in his bags, along with the note from Eris. He'd balled it up and thrown it away. She was a fucking liar, she'd lied to him - he wouldn't put it past her to lie to him about not lying to him. People couldn't be trusted. People were just waiting for the angles. She'd even admitted it to his face. What she'd been - clearly what she still was. And he'd given her the benefit of the fucking doubt. He'd been understanding. He'd been a fucking fool who deserved everything he fucking got and it was better off that she was out of his fucking life.

He was sat out on the porch at the front of the house, recovering from his latest attempt to brave the kitchen. Latest failed attempt. He needed the air, so he was sat there, in his piece of crap chair, eyes closed, head back a little, just breathing. It was cold, but he'd lived through colder. There was the smell of impending snow in the air - he refused to think about what that would mean for her if all the houses were locked up. Or worry about whether she'd taken her meds today. Fuck her. Fuck all of them. He just wanted to be alone.

Posy's Theories.

Who: Posy and Open
When: Afternoon
Where: The Vicarage

It was just poetic justice, right?

Feeling:
cold

who: eris
where: middle of nowhere
when: late

She'd done what she'd wanted to do, which was drive until she was out of gas. She noticed, even, that the cars they'd ditched before weren't there anymore. Unless she just didn't get as far, which was entirely possible. Likely, even, considering she hadn't even had a full tank of gas to begin with. The engine coughed for a while, sputtered, died, and went quiet. Which left her with nothing but a dead car and...whatever she'd kept of her own possessions. Really, she probably should have taken a few more things. However, at the time, she'd just wanted out of there as fast as humanly possible.

As she leaned back in the seat of the car, she watched out the windshield, as the day faded into night. It got dark early, though she had no real concept of what time it might be. She didn't even know what time she'd woken up, or left. Vaguely, the question of whether or not she'd taken her medication flitted across the back of her mind, but she couldn't remember. And while she could have dug them out of her things, she couldn't be bothered. That sort of mentality was pushed more forward when it started to snow. Getting out of the vehicle to lean against it, head tilted back, she watched the flakes coming down. And they weren't little light fluffy things, it was heavy, serious snow.

As she shifted to push up onto the hood, leaning back against it like the day she and Brett had first taken off...she let it fall down on her, letting the snow drop onto her skin then melt. Her eyes fell shut, and it was with a surprising amount of detachment that she figured she was going to die. It was snowing now, and while she had her thermal sleeping bag, and something resembling shelter, there wasn't any real heat source. She'd die. She'd freeze to death.

I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay

Who: Scott and OPEN
When: Early afternoon
Where: Down on the farm

(Public) Check In Post

I don't know if this is going to work. I've tried this three times now, but the fucking power keeps going out. At any rate, I just thought maybe we should do a check-in thing on the computers to make sure everyone was accounted for, particularly if the storm gets bad outside.

Anyways. This is Esme, and it looks like we're at 2 Maple Street, although I don't think this street was here before. Unless there's still someone hiding out, there's 4 of us here: Me, Dale, Emma, and Jason. Is there anyone else out there or are we the only ones left?

What have we here?

Who: Posy
When: Late morning
Where: The creepy attic of terror (The Vicarage)

your personal ghost

who: everett and eris
when: afternoon
where: side streets

goodbye, sweetheart

who: eris and brett
when: early afternoon
where: spooky house of doom

Eris had gotten her shit together in her room, which really hadn't taken her that long. It wasn't as if she had a ton of stuff with her in the first place. Just things for their journey. Which...well, she didn't need anymore, now did she? Brett was pissed, and was probably disowning her, finally. Funny, how it was over something he got the truth over. She should have just lied to him like everyone else. Would have been easier. But no, she had her stupid truth thing with him. Fucking stupid.

scouting around town

who: jason and hannah
where: around town
when: early afternoon

house of shane

who: everyone at shane's house(jillian, jack & penny)
where: shane's house
when: morning

Shane, being that he lived there, was unaware anything was weird. Well...maybe that Jillian wasn't in bed with him, but she could have gotten up earlier than he had. Getting up and going to the bathroom that adjoined his room, he showered, then changed, heading downstairs to drop onto the sofa in the living room, turning video games on. Nothing like starting the day killing zombies. Or, that was his theory and he was sticking the fuck to it. It was that or really think about things, which he'd been steadfastly avoiding doing. Like the scratch on his cheek from that crazy girl. Or the fact that he'd pulled the trigger of his gun.

Sure, it hadn't gone off, but that was hardly the point, was it? The fact was it should have. Which meant he had the balls to pull the trigger on someone--something he had not known before? And really rather wished he didn't now, either. Thus--massive avoidance. And video games. Very much video games.