(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
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. ]