Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][ROUND ONE: TELEVISION LAND]
01-29-2012, 10:09 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.
"Mister O!" Darren called through the empty halls of the hotel. His voice carried a tone of urgency that brought the hotelier at a far brisker pace than he usually moved at. The thing that had caught Darren's attention was difficult to miss, as Mister O rounded the corner he slowed to a stop and regarded it in silence. "What's going on Mister O?" Darren asked. Mister O did not respond. He stared at the wall of static that had made this particular corridor of the hotel impassable without a word, and then in silence he turned and walked back to the dining room. Darren glanced between Mister O and the inexplicable wall of static, and then rather anxiously, he followed Mister O at a jog.
The dining room looked more homey now. It had mattresses on the floor, and the broken debris of the tables had been cleared away into some other room. The television had been taken into the kitchen, where Mister O claimed it had better reception, though as it still just broadcast static that was debateable. Sara's bed had been made up in more or less the middle of the room, surrounded by a selection of empty bottles and wrappers that Darren had not had the wherewithal to tidy up after himself. Mister O strode straight through the room, heading for the door at the back that led to the kitchen. Darren slowed to a stop beside Sara's sleeping form. From the kitchen there was the rattle of drawers.
"What is it? What's happening?" He asked; a hint of desperation in his voice. He couldn't think about what would happen should this channel begin to destroy itself as the last one had, not while they were trapped here by that same destructive force.
The door swung open and Mister O stepped out, his pale face set into a rueful frown, his wild dark hair hanging over his eyes. Held tightly by his side was a kitchen knife. Darren's eyes narrowed in confusion.
"Are you suggesting we just cut our way through the static?"
"No." Mister O replied simply, his gaze falling to the unconscious maid. Darren followed his gaze and though the implication seemed to be clear, it seemed so absurd, so outlandish that it took him a moment to comprehend it. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened. "Darren, this is inevitable." He said, in a tone that was not exactly soothing. "She is the problem. She is the reason we are stuck here, and she is bringing the static down upon us."
"No." Darren stared down at Sara's sleeping form. There was pain in that statement. It was the statement of someone who does not really believe what he is saying but cannot bear to admit it.
"She is part of the static now." Mister O said. "She is not the woman you dreamed of. That woman is dead." There was a long pause. Darren could not tear his eyes away from her, but he was certain that Mister O was staring at him, gauging his reaction.
"No." He repeated. There was still pain in there, but it was undercut by resolve. It was a 'no' that said that whatever was happening, whatever he believed, he would not let Sara come to any harm. He stepped in between her and Mister O, finally taking his eyes from her unconscious form. The drama of the moment was rather unfortunately ruined by the fact that a third person chose this moment to clear her throat. A woman stood in the doorway, her head shaved, the lower half of her face obscured by a bandana, a pair of studs in her left eyebrow. She wore a camo vest, a pale leather jacket, torn and stained denim jeans and fingerless gloves. In her hand a crossbow, though it hung limply by her side rather than being aimed at either of the inhabitants of the Traveller's Rest.
"'Sup?" she asked. Her sudden arrival caught them both off guard. Though Mister O would later reflect that it wouldn't make sense to have a television channel with no people whatsoever, he had at that point been expecting that it was populated with nothing but zombies.
Darren used the momentary distraction to pull away Sara's covers and lift her from her bed. It was probably adrenaline that allowed him to lift her without trouble. He didn't wait for Mister O's reaction, which was not likely to be favourable. He just ran, not knowing, not thinking of where he was going or what he would do when he got there. All he knew was that he had to get her away from Mister O. He couldn't go outside. Not with the zombies. He just ran. Down the corridors, his heart pounding, his heavy footfalls echoing through the hotel. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was running through the static.
It was everywhere, an assault upon his senses.
It blinded him.
It deafened him.
It scratched along his skin, suffocating him.
Sara seemed to be melting away.
He screwed his eyes shut,
gritted his teeth
and gripped her tighter.
And then he was somewhere else entirely. It was recognisably a hospital waiting room. One of those where there is a row of seats and a television mounted on the wall. It was the kind of waiting room that seemed to imply you would be doing a lot of waiting. Darren was not sure what had just happened, but he was not about to question whatever twist of fate had brought him here; somewhere he could find treatment for Sara. He carried her over to the hospital desk, with little heed that the television had began to broadcast static.
--------
In the kitchen of the Traveller's Rest the picture cleared and was showing some kind of confusing news spaceship, but Mister O was not there to witness this. Whatever irritation he might have felt about the incident with Sara and Darren, it was gone now. He was talking to the newcomer, a scout for a party of survivors who had been looking for somewhere defensible to spend the night. He smiled.
"Mister O!" Darren called through the empty halls of the hotel. His voice carried a tone of urgency that brought the hotelier at a far brisker pace than he usually moved at. The thing that had caught Darren's attention was difficult to miss, as Mister O rounded the corner he slowed to a stop and regarded it in silence. "What's going on Mister O?" Darren asked. Mister O did not respond. He stared at the wall of static that had made this particular corridor of the hotel impassable without a word, and then in silence he turned and walked back to the dining room. Darren glanced between Mister O and the inexplicable wall of static, and then rather anxiously, he followed Mister O at a jog.
The dining room looked more homey now. It had mattresses on the floor, and the broken debris of the tables had been cleared away into some other room. The television had been taken into the kitchen, where Mister O claimed it had better reception, though as it still just broadcast static that was debateable. Sara's bed had been made up in more or less the middle of the room, surrounded by a selection of empty bottles and wrappers that Darren had not had the wherewithal to tidy up after himself. Mister O strode straight through the room, heading for the door at the back that led to the kitchen. Darren slowed to a stop beside Sara's sleeping form. From the kitchen there was the rattle of drawers.
"What is it? What's happening?" He asked; a hint of desperation in his voice. He couldn't think about what would happen should this channel begin to destroy itself as the last one had, not while they were trapped here by that same destructive force.
The door swung open and Mister O stepped out, his pale face set into a rueful frown, his wild dark hair hanging over his eyes. Held tightly by his side was a kitchen knife. Darren's eyes narrowed in confusion.
"Are you suggesting we just cut our way through the static?"
"No." Mister O replied simply, his gaze falling to the unconscious maid. Darren followed his gaze and though the implication seemed to be clear, it seemed so absurd, so outlandish that it took him a moment to comprehend it. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened. "Darren, this is inevitable." He said, in a tone that was not exactly soothing. "She is the problem. She is the reason we are stuck here, and she is bringing the static down upon us."
"No." Darren stared down at Sara's sleeping form. There was pain in that statement. It was the statement of someone who does not really believe what he is saying but cannot bear to admit it.
"She is part of the static now." Mister O said. "She is not the woman you dreamed of. That woman is dead." There was a long pause. Darren could not tear his eyes away from her, but he was certain that Mister O was staring at him, gauging his reaction.
"No." He repeated. There was still pain in there, but it was undercut by resolve. It was a 'no' that said that whatever was happening, whatever he believed, he would not let Sara come to any harm. He stepped in between her and Mister O, finally taking his eyes from her unconscious form. The drama of the moment was rather unfortunately ruined by the fact that a third person chose this moment to clear her throat. A woman stood in the doorway, her head shaved, the lower half of her face obscured by a bandana, a pair of studs in her left eyebrow. She wore a camo vest, a pale leather jacket, torn and stained denim jeans and fingerless gloves. In her hand a crossbow, though it hung limply by her side rather than being aimed at either of the inhabitants of the Traveller's Rest.
"'Sup?" she asked. Her sudden arrival caught them both off guard. Though Mister O would later reflect that it wouldn't make sense to have a television channel with no people whatsoever, he had at that point been expecting that it was populated with nothing but zombies.
Darren used the momentary distraction to pull away Sara's covers and lift her from her bed. It was probably adrenaline that allowed him to lift her without trouble. He didn't wait for Mister O's reaction, which was not likely to be favourable. He just ran, not knowing, not thinking of where he was going or what he would do when he got there. All he knew was that he had to get her away from Mister O. He couldn't go outside. Not with the zombies. He just ran. Down the corridors, his heart pounding, his heavy footfalls echoing through the hotel. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was running through the static.
It was everywhere, an assault upon his senses.
It blinded him.
It deafened him.
It scratched along his skin, suffocating him.
Sara seemed to be melting away.
He screwed his eyes shut,
gritted his teeth
and gripped her tighter.
And then he was somewhere else entirely. It was recognisably a hospital waiting room. One of those where there is a row of seats and a television mounted on the wall. It was the kind of waiting room that seemed to imply you would be doing a lot of waiting. Darren was not sure what had just happened, but he was not about to question whatever twist of fate had brought him here; somewhere he could find treatment for Sara. He carried her over to the hospital desk, with little heed that the television had began to broadcast static.
--------
In the kitchen of the Traveller's Rest the picture cleared and was showing some kind of confusing news spaceship, but Mister O was not there to witness this. Whatever irritation he might have felt about the incident with Sara and Darren, it was gone now. He was talking to the newcomer, a scout for a party of survivors who had been looking for somewhere defensible to spend the night. He smiled.
Heaven Help Us | Make Room!!!! | I'm Not Okay (I Promise)
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You
Hang 'Em High | The Only Hope For Me Is You | Zero Percent | Early Sunsets Over Monroeville | DESTROYA | Demolition Lovers | To The End
Surrender The Night | Disenchanted | The Ghost Of You | Party Poison | Vampires Will Never Hurt You | The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You