week four | mingle

[showhost]

Welcome to your fourth and final week, teens!

There aren’t many changes around the house today: it seems everyone is dialed in on what needs to be done and the upcoming week. Everything that was on the fritz last week is now back to normal, aside from the Dress Up Your Blorbo curse. You can still do that at will.

Anyway, it's fine that all seems quiet.

There’s plenty going on anyway this week.

Dates | Embrace Space | Property Damage, etc | CR Event | A Thing
Truth Booth Voting | Match Ceremony Submissions

Comments

[newlugers]

[ it's not really clear if Steve understands Will or even recognizes him - he steps past Will with heavy thudding footsteps while he speaks, not glancing back, emitting a low groan from somewhere deep in his malformed throat. His focus is squarely on the next zombie, and he swings at it with a scream.

They're easy prey. Their skin is sallow and weak from ongoing decomposition, they're slow-moving, and any remnants of humanity have long since left them. They're not bio-weapons; they have neither coordination nor intellect. They're only victims, men reduced to husks of their former selves and driven purely by violent chemical instinct. They'll come for Will, and they might take a few well-placed blows to immobilize, but they won't be a challenge. They certainly aren't for Steve, who single-mindedly cuts them to pieces before him.

The good news is that it's a small, makeshift graveyard; there aren't more than eight or so of the monsters, so the fight won't last long. The bad news is that it's unclear if Steve will stop when they're gone. ]

[willandaway]

[Will finds himself wishing he had some light magic equipped to handle these enemies (the undead are usually weak to light), but even if it takes a bit more effort, his sword is still more than enough. he wields the blade with finesse, cleaving through the zombies that lunge at him with clean, even strikes. he keeps an eye on Steve as he does so. . . not so much out of fear, despite having been attacked earlier. more out of. . . concern]

[when the last zombie falls, Will swishes his blade through the air to flick the blood and guts off of his steel, turning to face Steve once again. his stance is battle-ready, but. . . defensive, not offensive. if this creature is a friend, then he doesn't wish to fight]

Steve!

Can you hear me?

[newlugers]

[ Will speaks, but Steve's already turning to him the moment the last zombie falls - after all, he's the only thing still moving in this area. His mismatched fingers tighten around the blood-soaked haft of his axe, and he takes one step towards the other boy, then another. He can't stop fighting now; he has to keep going. Anything to distract from the pain, even for a few seconds...

Only the sound of his name gives him pause. He lifts his head, bulging wet eyes staring dumbly through Will's face. Then, suddenly, his grip on the weapon loosens, and it falls into the mud with a plop, his hands flying to cover his face instead. ]

No...

[ the voice that comes out of him is distorted and guttural, but there's still something of Steve in it - unnervingly so. He sinks to his knees in the muck. ]

[willandaway]

[ah. . . his heart wrenches in his chest]

Steve. . .

[. . . Will may have no idea what is going on here, but he can recognize a creature in pain when he sees one. he lowers his sword to his side, before quickly sheathing it. . . and taking a few steps towards the fallen monster]

[they are cautious steps, but brave ones, too. he is not shying away from this. . . no matter what his friend may look like]

. . . it's me. It's Will.

It's okay.

[he reaches out with one hand, not quite close enough to touch just yet]

Do you recognize me?

[newlugers]

[ he doesn't seem to be on the attack anymore, at least for the moment; he stays in his hunched-over posture, continuing to hide his face. Part of it is shame, but most of it is fear. If he keeps looking at Will, he's afraid he'll lash out again, like a dog trying not to chase prey. In his current state, he can't entirely understand what's happening to him, nor does he completely remember who Will is. He only knows that he doesn't want to hurt this person, and if he does, he'll regret it. Will is speaking, but the words start to fade almost as soon as they enter his mind, incinerated by the fire in his bloodstream like everything else - and even as Steve tries to answer in some way, he can barely talk around the teeth that no longer fit in his mouth.

When he does manage to speak, it's a growled plea rather than an answer. ]

Help... me...

[ he doesn't want to do this again. Despite his massive frame, he quivers slightly in the rain. ]

[willandaway]

[. . . help, huh. . .]

[. . .]

[the shared memory is still fresh on his mind. the burning inferno that coursed through his veins, and the voice that soothed it by encouraging violence. this Steve. . . this version of him. . . that's what he's experiencing right now, isn't it?]

[an endless sea of pain and suffering. impulses that he cannot ignore]

[Wills heart breaks as he lays his hand on the creature's head. his touch is gentle and warm]

. . . I. . . can help.

[. . .]

Do you want me to stop the pain. . .?

executive decision to spare steve more trauma...... this time

[newlugers]

[ he can help, but he won't have to. When he sets his hand on Steve's head (blissfully, the only part of him that isn't completely abhorrent to touch, seeing as it stayed mockingly intact while the rest of his flesh mutated), the miniature world starts to come apart. It's like blearily waking from a dream. In a few seconds and a couple blinks of an eye, they're both back in the house, Steve kneeling on the ground with Will's hand resting on his head. He'd be more upset about being potentially filmed in this odd pose if he weren't so distraught from reliving what just happened. ]

Ah...

[ a small, surprised noise; his voice is back to normal, now, albeit thick with emotion. When he finally pulls his hands away from his face, they're pink and human, and his eyes are only red with tears. What just happened, he doesn't know; he only knows that it felt incredibly real, and, when he glances up, that Will probably experienced it, too. A look of great fear and shame passes over Steve's face, and he immediately starts getting to his feet. ]

I -- sorry --

[ the urge to run away is too strong to resist. He tries to turn around to leave as soon as he's standing again. ]

HE DESERVES GOOD THINGS!!!

[willandaway]

[oh]

[oh]

[Will's eyes are wide by the time the pocket dimension fades around them, leaving them standing open and bare in the middle of the house. he blinks down at Steve a few times, finding himself relieved that he didn't have to go through with what he was contemplating. but those red-rimmed eyes, brimming with moisture on the edges. . .]

[. . . gods. he knows that Steve had perished back home, but. . . knowing the how of it is so. . . it's so]

Steve-- wait!

[Will reaches out to grab the other contestant's arm before he can leave. there are no words, and Will knows it. there is nothing he can say to make those experiences, those memories, any better than they were when Steve was living through them]

[but. . . he can yank Steve into a tight embrace, hoping that the simple gesture can convey what Will's words cannot]

[newlugers]

[ he inhales sharply at the sudden contact, locked in place by Will's embrace - he doesn't have the motivation to fight it, despite the overwhelming mortification soaking him to the bone in place of the rain. No one should have had to see him like that again. Claire was bad enough the first time, but at least she knew what was happening, knew him, had won his trust. Will is a near-stranger. How can he possibly explain this? He's never felt so vulnerable in his life.

Or so tired. Before, it had happened so quickly, and then it was over; he hadn't had time to think about it much before he stopped thinking entirely. Even coming here, it's been nothing more than a vague memory, a specter of the past haunting him at night. Now it's all fresh and real again. He's still shaking. The pain is gone, but the sensation is seared so much deeper, and the fear has exhausted him completely. All he can do is stand there, heaving shaky, tear-choked breaths. ]

I - I didn't mean...