[ david protests the help with a tired shove, but he's exhausted and in pain and smart enough to know he's not getting far under his own steam right now. and as many times as he's died, it never stops being a harrowing experience, thinks he remembers élodie saying it's like that on purpose, but david never really cared all that much about the 'why's of the fog, when they figured out something actionable, that's when he'd be helpful ]
[ not that any of that matters right now, as david staggers along with steve's help, mindful as he can be of any sign the killer's approaching so he can shove steve away because like hell is he letting the kid take the fall for him. ]
You don't know what 'let's get the fuck out of here' means?
( Steve is hauling a brick wall of a man through a spooky foggy wrecking lot and he still spares the oxygen and energy for a sarcastic laugh. ) You're hilarious, ( he says, in the you aren't at all hilarious sort of way. ) No, man, no mither. What's that mean?
( keep the guy distracted, and less likely to shove him off! though, David seems to have accepted the help, which is for the best. he's not nearly steady enough to get anywhere fast on his own. and fast is always sort of the best choice if you want to stay alive around here.
Steve is not the most aware, compared to the other survivors often running point with him. he's not a noticer, wasn't even back home in Indiana. more the type to get dragged into things by his impeccable hair. still, even if he's not great at spotting trouble before it finds him, Steve is unbearably determined when it comes to getting others out. they're either both getting out of here or he'll die trying. at least if it's the killer clown, that guy announces himself with his smokers rasp before you even see him. maybe they'd have time to run.
[ probably doesn't help that david's never been the quietest. jake tried giving him pointers on it but it's just not him. he's big and he's loud and before this fucking place that was fine because he could take most of what anyone had to dish out. ]
[ he casts a glance over his shoulder and makes a noise of complaint when it makes his head throb insistently, having to wait for that to recede back to a manageable level of agony before he answers steve's question. ]
Mither's like... Bother. If someone's getting on your tits you might say they're mitherin' you, right?
[ he's slowing down his speech a little. hearing himself in contrast to steve makes him aware how pronounced his accent is getting, and he's too worn out to do anything about that, but if he slows down like 10% that might compensate, right? either that or he sounds concussed, but to be fair he might be. ]
( well, Steve isn't quiet when he's hurt, either. or when he's hooked. dear god is he the opposite of quiet when he's hooked. luckily one of them isn't openly bleeding everywhere, so only one of them is heavily grunting audibly in pain. then again the conversation is probably not the most inconspicuous it could possibly be. they could be in trouble if the Clown (or any of the other multitudes of murderers) are skulking around.
Steve is really hoping they're not because a flashlight and a bleeding out brit is not gonna help him much against a giant lady with an axe or a crazy chainsaw murderer. )
No mither, ( Steve mutters, a little breathless. ) That's cool. No mither. Okay. ( Nancy is going to roll her eyes if he tries new cool british lingo out on her, but, it's kinda cool to know. the different walks of life in the fog is about the only thing about it that isn't entirely terrible. ) We said "that's chill". No mither sounds cooler.
[ oh christ he's gonna have this american kid trying out his regional slang. the groan from david isn't phsyical pain this time, but it is a complaint, even if a weak one. ]
Yeah, we say that too. Mither's a, uh-- [ he stops suddenly when he thinks he hears the rising thump of a heartbeat, but it fades just as quick. killer must've gone the other way. ] It's a Manc thing. They don't say it in the rest of the country.
( rest assured, David, Steve probably won't be trying no mither on for size. he's intensely concerned about appearances, even if sometimes he has to go into battle in a Donald Duck costume. it would be too weird to drop British slang into his 80s lingo. that said he may try and impress Nancy with how he learned no mither means no bother during a talk with the angry meat slab of a man David King, because he's scary and kind of cool. in a Sylvester Stallone Rocky sort of way. but Nancy has enough brain cells to rub together that she could already guess what no mither means in the first place. )
A what thing? ( Steve says in a heavy huff of air. poor David, every other thing he says makes no sense to an Indiana boy. said Indiana Boy might not be the most aware in a trial but his shoulders still uncomfortably knot under David's arm at the ominous thrum of something dangerous close. ) N-nevermind. We gotta haul ass, buddy. No talking, just walking.
( and hauling solid block of beefcake, in Steve's instance. when they get to the campfire he's going to lay down and not move for about 3 hours. unless he gets zorped into a trial, and RIP if that happens. but it means that they move a little faster (and a little quieter) toward the exit gate. ) H-here, ( Steve mutters, lungs protesting, as he offers David his toxic flashlight so he can work the door. it's not like they can do much if something shows up. but David can give the approaching murder better lighting, maybe! )
[ he opens his mouth to explain, but picking up the pace is a plan david can get behind. a little, anyway. it jostles him a lot more and every now and then steve's shoulder digs into him painfully but he'd rather that than the alternative so he doesn't complain any more than the grunts and groans of pain he can't help. ]
[ when they get to the door david props himself up, back pressed to the wall, and looks at the flashlight that steve's passed off to him. he hates these fucking things. could swear he's seen nea blind a killer from 10 feet away but when he tries to use them he might as well be shining it in his own face for all the good it does. ]
Manc, 's short for Manchester. [ he wipes a layer of sweat and blood off his forehead with the back of his hand, trying not to think about how heavy he's breathing right now ] It's where I'm from.
(David is gonna regret telling him he's from Manchester. to use the hulking block of brooding boxer as proof the tiny teenage girl is avoiding murdering you is probably against the spirit of this tenuous partnership. oh well. too late!! David can regret it all he wants. if Steve goes momma bear on something once, that's it, too late. he's invested now. can you mom friend a fully grown man? well they're gonna find out.
he hauls the heavy switch down, the first light glowing like a tired, mocking red eye. Steve ignores it. he both does and doesn't remember that he's done this dozen, hundreds of times before. he can tell how many seconds the gate is from open just by the jarring klaxon it makes as the electronics slowly whirr to life. ) I'm from Indiana. ( a huff of a tired laugh. ) It's cool if you don't know where that is, I don't have a clue where Manchester is, either. ( across the pond is about all he can guess. is that a part of London? a completely different city? he's got no clue. and there's probably not gonna be a geography test on where all the lost souls the Entity dragged into endless murder trials from, so Steve isn't too worried he doesn't know where Manchester is. )
[ people loved to run to america to avoid their debts. america, mexico, spain. like trying to escape a shark meant it was time for a fucking holiday. meant david got plenty of holidays, beat the shit out of folks all over the planet. ]
Never been, heard it's a shithole.
[ funny that, it would've been a good place to get lost now he thinks about it. wasn't the midwest about 80% corn or something? he doesn't care. david starts the mental countdown when steve pulls the switch, wishing, like always, that it would hurry the hell up. the killers usually beeline for the doors when someone's-- ]
[ hm. ]
[ he flips the switch on the flashlight a couple times — on, off. on, off. just making sure it works — and then pushes himself off the wall with a grunt. ]
Back in a sec. Keep on it.
[ he's already going, steve. just try and stop him. ]
Right, right. ( even though the midwest is such a huge chunk of the states it hardly defines much of anything, besides Indiana not being California, Texas, or New York. whatever, it is true, he's from the Midwest. more crops than people. ) It is a shithole. Small and scared and stupid, and determined to stay that way.
( damn, a pretty cold thing to say about your hometown, Steven. it's the truth, though, even though there are good things about small town Indiana. Steve knows that, too. he's just a little disillusioned by the place, that's all. he still misses it, even if it was a dead end town full of sheltered assholes.
Steve has mostly caught his breath, regained his bearings, leaning on this goddamn switch. he's not paying David as much mind as he should, though, because the guy announces he's got better shit to do and starts to wander away. ) What the hell, man! ( Steve hisses, craning his neck to try and spot where he's going, before he battles with the eternal struggle. 99% the gate or just open the damn thing, and hope for the best??? leave it where he is and struggle with the russian bear of a man who decided to take a detour when they're literally standing at salvation's door?
lots to decide, and quickly. Steve decides on a 99, and then releases, turning to try and spot where David lumbered off to with his beamer. goddamnit, Dave, that was a purple one! ) Hey, asshole! Let's fucking hit the bricks, huh? ( it is hard to yell and urgently whisper at the same time, but Steve almost manages. )
[ david pokes his head through one of those windows in this little maze of walls to give steve a look like he can't understand why he sounds so annoyed, as if he wouldn't throw the damn kid over his shoulder if their positions were reversed and steve wandered off like this. ]
You got the door?
[ huh. his count was only up to fifteen seconds, but maybe he's a little slow on account of the concussion and the powerful cocktail of drugs. he glances back at a locker — he was planning to make a ruckus a ways away from the door just in case any killer was on their way to investigate — but if the door's ready to go then fuck it. ]
What're you huffing and puffing about then? Let's go.
( the man looks like one of those cranky muppets that heckle from a little balcony. the practically bald head and extra ears is not helping on that front. luckily Steve is too annoyed with him to be amused by it. he'll be amused by it later. for the record, he looks like this one, specifically. maybe when David isn't wigged out on clown juice, Steve will even tell him so. )
What the hell, man, ( Steve admonishes, because it is not like they had anyone on their heels, so it was safe enough to stay by the switch. let's go then, David says, and Steve anxiously switches his grip on the handle, before deciding, fuck it. he'll throw it down and then shoo the Manc through the door. it's still heavily falling open behind him as Steve heads in David's direction.
and of course, like the fat bastard has a psychic link to flashing red lights (or maybe it's the loud siren as it slowly opens, who can say?) the telltale wheezing, chuckling shuffle of a certain jolly old clown echoes from not-that-far away. the heartbeat is pulsing in his ears (his own? the clowns? Steve has never understood that part) and while yes, Steve could just turn around and high tail it out the gate and hope the best for David, why the hell did he come this far to just let David get his fingers sucked on, after all?
Steve might get stabbed for it, but he still bum rushes through the window David is clowning around behind, doesn't bother being quiet, they've already been made. fast vault that shit and bodily shove David in the right direction. ) Go go gogogo, please. ( there's only so many hits he can take for you before he can't follow behind, tough guy!! )
[ david opens his mouth to protest steve's tone, explain that actually he's very smart and it was a great idea, but he sees the gate past him and, well. it's less of a decision so much as he's only capable of holding one thought in his head at a time right now-- ]
[ and then he hears his heart (his? sources seem to disagree) pounding in his ears followed by approaching wheezes and warped carnival music, and steve doesn't have to push him for him to get moving. checks over his shoulder to make sure steve's behind him as he sprints for the gate. ]
[ thank fuck it's a straight shot, because he can barely see a thing with the way that pink fog warps his vision and makes him scream. god he hates this fucking guy. ]
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hardlydead) wrote2021-11-01 05:44 am
i thought i replied but i was just lying to myself
[ not that any of that matters right now, as david staggers along with steve's help, mindful as he can be of any sign the killer's approaching so he can shove steve away because like hell is he letting the kid take the fall for him. ]
You don't know what 'let's get the fuck out of here' means?
[ top tier jokes with david king ]
lmfao it happens to the best of us........
( keep the guy distracted, and less likely to shove him off! though, David seems to have accepted the help, which is for the best. he's not nearly steady enough to get anywhere fast on his own. and fast is always sort of the best choice if you want to stay alive around here.
Steve is not the most aware, compared to the other survivors often running point with him. he's not a noticer, wasn't even back home in Indiana. more the type to get dragged into things by his impeccable hair. still, even if he's not great at spotting trouble before it finds him, Steve is unbearably determined when it comes to getting others out. they're either both getting out of here or he'll die trying. at least if it's the killer clown, that guy announces himself with his smokers rasp before you even see him. maybe they'd have time to run.
hopefully they won't have to find out. )
no subject
[ he casts a glance over his shoulder and makes a noise of complaint when it makes his head throb insistently, having to wait for that to recede back to a manageable level of agony before he answers steve's question. ]
Mither's like... Bother. If someone's getting on your tits you might say they're mitherin' you, right?
[ he's slowing down his speech a little. hearing himself in contrast to steve makes him aware how pronounced his accent is getting, and he's too worn out to do anything about that, but if he slows down like 10% that might compensate, right? either that or he sounds concussed, but to be fair he might be. ]
No mither just means it's no bother.
no subject
Steve is really hoping they're not because a flashlight and a bleeding out brit is not gonna help him much against a giant lady with an axe or a crazy chainsaw murderer. )
No mither, ( Steve mutters, a little breathless. ) That's cool. No mither. Okay. ( Nancy is going to roll her eyes if he tries new cool british lingo out on her, but, it's kinda cool to know. the different walks of life in the fog is about the only thing about it that isn't entirely terrible. ) We said "that's chill". No mither sounds cooler.
i wasn't at all prepared for that video omfg
Yeah, we say that too. Mither's a, uh-- [ he stops suddenly when he thinks he hears the rising thump of a heartbeat, but it fades just as quick. killer must've gone the other way. ] It's a Manc thing. They don't say it in the rest of the country.
no subject
A what thing? ( Steve says in a heavy huff of air. poor David, every other thing he says makes no sense to an Indiana boy. said Indiana Boy might not be the most aware in a trial but his shoulders still uncomfortably knot under David's arm at the ominous thrum of something dangerous close. ) N-nevermind. We gotta haul ass, buddy. No talking, just walking.
( and hauling solid block of beefcake, in Steve's instance. when they get to the campfire he's going to lay down and not move for about 3 hours. unless he gets zorped into a trial, and RIP if that happens. but it means that they move a little faster (and a little quieter) toward the exit gate. ) H-here, ( Steve mutters, lungs protesting, as he offers David his toxic flashlight so he can work the door. it's not like they can do much if something shows up. but David can give the approaching murder better lighting, maybe! )
no subject
[ when they get to the door david props himself up, back pressed to the wall, and looks at the flashlight that steve's passed off to him. he hates these fucking things. could swear he's seen nea blind a killer from 10 feet away but when he tries to use them he might as well be shining it in his own face for all the good it does. ]
Manc, 's short for Manchester. [ he wipes a layer of sweat and blood off his forehead with the back of his hand, trying not to think about how heavy he's breathing right now ] It's where I'm from.
no subject
he hauls the heavy switch down, the first light glowing like a tired, mocking red eye. Steve ignores it. he both does and doesn't remember that he's done this dozen, hundreds of times before. he can tell how many seconds the gate is from open just by the jarring klaxon it makes as the electronics slowly whirr to life. ) I'm from Indiana. ( a huff of a tired laugh. ) It's cool if you don't know where that is, I don't have a clue where Manchester is, either. ( across the pond is about all he can guess. is that a part of London? a completely different city? he's got no clue. and there's probably not gonna be a geography test on where all the lost souls the Entity dragged into endless murder trials from, so Steve isn't too worried he doesn't know where Manchester is. )
plot twist i'm still alive bitch
[ people loved to run to america to avoid their debts. america, mexico, spain. like trying to escape a shark meant it was time for a fucking holiday. meant david got plenty of holidays, beat the shit out of folks all over the planet. ]
Never been, heard it's a shithole.
[ funny that, it would've been a good place to get lost now he thinks about it. wasn't the midwest about 80% corn or something? he doesn't care. david starts the mental countdown when steve pulls the switch, wishing, like always, that it would hurry the hell up. the killers usually beeline for the doors when someone's-- ]
[ hm. ]
[ he flips the switch on the flashlight a couple times — on, off. on, off. just making sure it works — and then pushes himself off the wall with a grunt. ]
Back in a sec. Keep on it.
[ he's already going, steve. just try and stop him. ]
running hope and comin' in clutch in endgame
( damn, a pretty cold thing to say about your hometown, Steven. it's the truth, though, even though there are good things about small town Indiana. Steve knows that, too. he's just a little disillusioned by the place, that's all. he still misses it, even if it was a dead end town full of sheltered assholes.
Steve has mostly caught his breath, regained his bearings, leaning on this goddamn switch. he's not paying David as much mind as he should, though, because the guy announces he's got better shit to do and starts to wander away. ) What the hell, man! ( Steve hisses, craning his neck to try and spot where he's going, before he battles with the eternal struggle. 99% the gate or just open the damn thing, and hope for the best??? leave it where he is and struggle with the russian bear of a man who decided to take a detour when they're literally standing at salvation's door?
lots to decide, and quickly. Steve decides on a 99, and then releases, turning to try and spot where David lumbered off to with his beamer. goddamnit, Dave, that was a purple one! ) Hey, asshole! Let's fucking hit the bricks, huh? ( it is hard to yell and urgently whisper at the same time, but Steve almost manages. )
no subject
You got the door?
[ huh. his count was only up to fifteen seconds, but maybe he's a little slow on account of the concussion and the powerful cocktail of drugs. he glances back at a locker — he was planning to make a ruckus a ways away from the door just in case any killer was on their way to investigate — but if the door's ready to go then fuck it. ]
What're you huffing and puffing about then? Let's go.
no subject
What the hell, man, ( Steve admonishes, because it is not like they had anyone on their heels, so it was safe enough to stay by the switch. let's go then, David says, and Steve anxiously switches his grip on the handle, before deciding, fuck it. he'll throw it down and then shoo the Manc through the door. it's still heavily falling open behind him as Steve heads in David's direction.
and of course, like the fat bastard has a psychic link to flashing red lights (or maybe it's the loud siren as it slowly opens, who can say?) the telltale wheezing, chuckling shuffle of a certain jolly old clown echoes from not-that-far away. the heartbeat is pulsing in his ears (his own? the clowns? Steve has never understood that part) and while yes, Steve could just turn around and high tail it out the gate and hope the best for David, why the hell did he come this far to just let David get his fingers sucked on, after all?
Steve might get stabbed for it, but he still bum rushes through the window David is clowning around behind, doesn't bother being quiet, they've already been made. fast vault that shit and bodily shove David in the right direction. ) Go go gogogo, please. ( there's only so many hits he can take for you before he can't follow behind, tough guy!! )
no subject
[ and then he hears his heart (his? sources seem to disagree) pounding in his ears followed by approaching wheezes and warped carnival music, and steve doesn't have to push him for him to get moving. checks over his shoulder to make sure steve's behind him as he sprints for the gate. ]
[ thank fuck it's a straight shot, because he can barely see a thing with the way that pink fog warps his vision and makes him scream. god he hates this fucking guy. ]