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❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 1
Each year in this town, the winters seem to get harder and the summers seem to get hotter, and this was no exception. After several months of sweltering afternoons and sweaty nights, fall is finally starting to break the town’s fever, although with the cooler weather comes the death of the horseflies, leaving many of the town’s flat surfaces coated in bug carcasses. The sky is overcast, the air remains humid, and in the distance thunderstorms can be heard almost every hour of the day.
During the day, people go about their usual routines, working primarily at the slaughterhouse or mines during the weekdays, vegetating in front of the television on Saturdays, and sitting straightbacked and paranoid in the pews on Sunday, fearful less of the wrath of God than the ire of the neighbors. Evenings for the average person are filled with drinking at Nog’s or Auntie’s or peering at the TV until bedtime.
This is where our heroes find themselves, waking with a new lifestory that integrates them into this, the shitty little town.
PROMPTS
a) NOG'S
Nog's bar is the preferred haunt of most of the miners and slaughterhouse workers in this town, who meet to drink their woes away, complain about their supervisors and speculate on the personal lives of the people around them. Despite Mr. Goluboy's constant harassment, Nog has managed to keep his liquor license, and as such is one of the few successful businesses in town on account of all the stress-induced alcoholism. While one won't find fancy cocktails here, if they're just looking for a beer and some scuttlebutt, this is the place.
Nog's bar is the preferred haunt of most of the miners and slaughterhouse workers in this town, who meet to drink their woes away, complain about their supervisors and speculate on the personal lives of the people around them. Despite Mr. Goluboy's constant harassment, Nog has managed to keep his liquor license, and as such is one of the few successful businesses in town on account of all the stress-induced alcoholism. While one won't find fancy cocktails here, if they're just looking for a beer and some scuttlebutt, this is the place.
b) AUNTIE'S
"Auntie's" is the name of the old-school, 1950's-esque, 24-hour diner in the middle of downtown, with big red pleather booths, checkerboard floors and a jukebox. Typically, the only difference in clientele between Auntie’s and Nog's is that the people at Auntie’s wanted a burger or a stack of pancakes alongside their beer – but unlike Nog's, Auntie’s is only barely hanging on, constantly getting ticketed for waterspots on the silverware and not having enough napkins. Thankfully, one can get a full breakfast meal at Auntie's any time of day for a few dollars.
"Auntie's" is the name of the old-school, 1950's-esque, 24-hour diner in the middle of downtown, with big red pleather booths, checkerboard floors and a jukebox. Typically, the only difference in clientele between Auntie’s and Nog's is that the people at Auntie’s wanted a burger or a stack of pancakes alongside their beer – but unlike Nog's, Auntie’s is only barely hanging on, constantly getting ticketed for waterspots on the silverware and not having enough napkins. Thankfully, one can get a full breakfast meal at Auntie's any time of day for a few dollars.
c) THE DOCKS
The town is alongside a lake, and once upon a time there was enough fish to sustain a modest fishing economy and a river that allowed for trade by boat with other nearby towns. However, with the mines' pollution, fish are no longer considered safe to eat, and only the water immediately adjacent to the springhead on the Warren Family Farm is safe to swim in. Draining from the mines has lowered the level of the river enough that it's no longer navigable. Residents will still occasionally use the lake for boating recreation, but fees at the marina keep going up (into Goluboy's pocket) and mothers are increasingly worried about letting their children get wet in that water.
The town is alongside a lake, and once upon a time there was enough fish to sustain a modest fishing economy and a river that allowed for trade by boat with other nearby towns. However, with the mines' pollution, fish are no longer considered safe to eat, and only the water immediately adjacent to the springhead on the Warren Family Farm is safe to swim in. Draining from the mines has lowered the level of the river enough that it's no longer navigable. Residents will still occasionally use the lake for boating recreation, but fees at the marina keep going up (into Goluboy's pocket) and mothers are increasingly worried about letting their children get wet in that water.
d) THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE
The other major employer, owned by Ms. Cygne. Most of the locals who don't work at the mines work at the slaughterhouse, where the work is disgusting, dreary and grueling. Sometimes people get promoted out of the trenches and into admin. Yay.
The other major employer, owned by Ms. Cygne. Most of the locals who don't work at the mines work at the slaughterhouse, where the work is disgusting, dreary and grueling. Sometimes people get promoted out of the trenches and into admin. Yay.
e) BIG TOP CIRCUS COFFEE
Dick's Coffeeshop is in the bottom floor of an apartment building, and many locals have no idea how it hasn't been shut down yet, given that the owner is famously generous with his resources in a way that clearly irritates the city council. Dick offers jobs to those who Goluboy and Cygne won't hire at the mines or slaughterhouse and frequently sneaks day-old pastries to the hungry. The coffeeshop is one of the few areas where artists tend to converge, usually at the weekly open mic night; however, whatever one expresses at the coffeeshop is likely to be picked up by the town gossips, mocked relentlessly, distorted and spread around.
Dick's Coffeeshop is in the bottom floor of an apartment building, and many locals have no idea how it hasn't been shut down yet, given that the owner is famously generous with his resources in a way that clearly irritates the city council. Dick offers jobs to those who Goluboy and Cygne won't hire at the mines or slaughterhouse and frequently sneaks day-old pastries to the hungry. The coffeeshop is one of the few areas where artists tend to converge, usually at the weekly open mic night; however, whatever one expresses at the coffeeshop is likely to be picked up by the town gossips, mocked relentlessly, distorted and spread around.
f) THE FARMER'S MARKET
Because Mr. Goluboy's malicious prosecution of small businesses has essentially shut down any legal avenue for a farmer's market, a few of the residents of the town have established a black market for homegrown fruits and vegetables, small-batch soaps and candles, and other small products. Words gets out through a whisper network, and a few times a month everyone in the know meets in a parking lot, opens their trunk, and does some bartering and selling with each other until they get found out. Sheriff Mallard and her deputies have arrested many people at these pop-ups and confiscated their products. By now, these pop-ups have around forty people trading and selling at a time, and the city council has announced that out of concerns for food safety the sentence for being caught vending homegrown produce will be increased to a misdemeanor with jail time.
Because Mr. Goluboy's malicious prosecution of small businesses has essentially shut down any legal avenue for a farmer's market, a few of the residents of the town have established a black market for homegrown fruits and vegetables, small-batch soaps and candles, and other small products. Words gets out through a whisper network, and a few times a month everyone in the know meets in a parking lot, opens their trunk, and does some bartering and selling with each other until they get found out. Sheriff Mallard and her deputies have arrested many people at these pop-ups and confiscated their products. By now, these pop-ups have around forty people trading and selling at a time, and the city council has announced that out of concerns for food safety the sentence for being caught vending homegrown produce will be increased to a misdemeanor with jail time.
g) THE LIBRARY
The library, once well-stocked and indulgently funded, is now kept alive sheerly by the passion of the one paid librarian, Aziraphale, and the volunteers who work there. There is no interlibrary loan program and there have been no new books in years. The library is reduced to loaning damaged copies missing pages, and story hours or public events are difficult to organize due to the complete lack of resources. The city council has also forced Aziraphale to put up a sign against loitering or using the library "for any purposes besides the borrowing of books." An organization of local busybodies drops in frequently to comb through the stacks for "objectionable material," which is then destroyed at Ms. Cygne's behest.
The library, once well-stocked and indulgently funded, is now kept alive sheerly by the passion of the one paid librarian, Aziraphale, and the volunteers who work there. There is no interlibrary loan program and there have been no new books in years. The library is reduced to loaning damaged copies missing pages, and story hours or public events are difficult to organize due to the complete lack of resources. The city council has also forced Aziraphale to put up a sign against loitering or using the library "for any purposes besides the borrowing of books." An organization of local busybodies drops in frequently to comb through the stacks for "objectionable material," which is then destroyed at Ms. Cygne's behest.
h) WILDCARD/NEW LOCATION
Feel free to set things around town anywhere you want or make up new locations.
Feel free to set things around town anywhere you want or make up new locations.
i) THE SPOOKY WOODS
Outside the town, there are foggy, dense woods, difficult to navigate by foot due to thickets and brambles that come up to a grown man's waist. The city council has done what they can to ban people from going into the woods, and the gruesome animal maulings are a compelling disincentive.
Note: Let the plot mods know when your characters are going into the spooky woods.
Outside the town, there are foggy, dense woods, difficult to navigate by foot due to thickets and brambles that come up to a grown man's waist. The city council has done what they can to ban people from going into the woods, and the gruesome animal maulings are a compelling disincentive.
Note: Let the plot mods know when your characters are going into the spooky woods.
❅ OOC Plotting: Here. More locations can be found there. You can also ask the players running the plot questions there.
❅ Event Length: This part of the plot is to establish CR and characters' roles in town. It will last about a week and half before future parts that allow the characters to start digging into the mysteries of the town.
❅ New Characters: If your character is introing at this time, assume they arrived just in time at the location the plot takes place in to be caught up in the magic drawing everyone in. They would have gotten the Man in the Moon's spiel from the welcome page right before being magically sucked in.
❅ Opt-out: Anyone that doesn't want to play in the plot can handwave their character didn't go on the mission that put the characters in the location where they were sucked in. You can thread your characters back at the Pole or send them on another smaller mission with other characters.
no subject
He was expecting maybe an oversized shirt to cover up in while his clothes are in the machine. He didn't realize he'd be getting his pick of some clothing that mostly all fits, and looks through it wondering who it belonged to. He tries to find any trace of the person who used to own this clothing, finding a hole from a skinned knee in the jeans, dirt stains on the cuffs of one of the sweaters, and thinks of someone who must have worked this land while Aster was in Asia and Costa Rica. He chooses some clothing that fits and sets the rest aside, folded back up neatly.
"Not to ask you for more generosity, but do you might could have a first aid kit?" he asks as he comes out to join Aster, wondering if Aster's going to see him or merely the absence of whomever owned these clothes. He holds a hand out; now that they're clean and the waterlogging has peeled away several scabs, the open sores from biting his hands are angry and pink and weeping, some looking like they're courting infection. When they're settled in, he takes a seat.
"I know what it sounds like, but I swear I wouldn't could never have done nothing to hurt her. She was on the run already when I met her. She was an eleven year old in foster care and- Ellie. I should could tell you her name. Eliora. She got taken away from her parents for something violent and then she started imitating that behavior in the home they put her in and she killed another little kid living in her foster home."
And rather than face her foster parents, rather than facing "justice", she ran, and she was lucky enough to run into someone who would never consider hurting her.
"I raised her after that. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't would turn her over to the authorities, and she didn't have no one else looking out for her. That's what I meant when I said we didn't have many good options." Dan pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales long, slow and deep, trying to let the emotion slip out rather than choke him. "And I didn't want to tell no one why she was running, just in case- just in case they ever try to prove she did it. I'd rather they think the worst of me even if it's wrong than think the worst of her."
no subject
When Dan shows his raw knuckles, Aster's flooded with a mix of pity and bewilderment as he recognizes that the wounds are self-inflicted, that Dan gnaws his knuckles like an animal with anxiety grooming itself raw. He doesn't get how every single way Dan wears his indignities and his sadness and his wounds bypass his logic and go straight to his soft core of empathy.
He doesn't have to go inside for the first aid kit - he just grabs the one that's stashed with the garden tools on the workbench and opens it up, looking for the things Dan's going to need, and realizing that without help all those knuckles are going to be very awkward to bandage one handed. He doesn't offer the help before he gives it, just holds out his hand with a stern look, because if Dan's going to be using his supplies, the job might as well be done correctly.
"You're going to give yourself gangrene," he mutters, unrolling bandage to place over Dan's antiseptic-doused wounds. He frowns the whole time he's bandaging Dan's hands, thinking that no matter what, this interaction's going to go poorly for him - either Dan's going to confirm that he's a child predator and Aster will have to deal with the fallout of having given a child predator any kind of comfort, or Dan will somehow successfully turn his opinion of him around and then Aster will still have to deal with the community watching him give support to an alleged predator that only he knows isn't.
No matter what, this is a bad move for him, socially. No matter what, he just doesn't see the ethical high ground in letting anyone in the community, even an alleged predator, die of exposure or infection on the streets. No matter what, the community isn't going to agree with him that his intentions are prosocial, isn't going to make it easier for him to make this place better in the long run.
This place could still turn around. He's unwilling to believe otherwise. But the course correction is proving so hard, when he feels like the only one pulling on the wheel.
They settle in and Aster's relieved when Dan's story, in an unlikely twist, makes sense. And then he's annoyed that he's relieved to hear something so awful as the tale Dan's telling. One kid from a violent home murdering another and then running from the law, ending up in the unlikely hands of someone who wouldn't hurt her - why does he find it so easy to believe Dan wouldn't hurt a kid? Why does he find it so easy to believe that Dan would meet a kid who'd committed a murder and think he could give her a second chance that the authorities wouldn't, legally, be able to, that the family of the other kid wouldn't, emotionally, be able to?
He draws his hands across his face, heaving a big sigh.
"Well, I don't think the cops ought to hear that story either," he says, slowly. "It's gonna be impossible for you to ever be anything other than an alleged child abuser in this town." When that story is so unsharable. He pauses, before he launches into problem-solving, when he can solve this problem, but solving it is going to damage his reputation even more than it already is. "I'm sorry." It feels very insufficient, but what else can he say to that? "I believe you."
And that makes him having been no better than the rest of the town, who lean as eagerly into vilifying him as he leaned into vilifying Dan.
no subject
It's hard when he doesn't have clean places to eat or sleep or bathe, when chewing his hands is the only thing he can do to ease stress when he's out of cigarettes and drugs and booze. It's hard when this town keeps giving him so many reasons to want to distract himself from getting lost in his thoughts, and at least the rhythm of pain and damage is a break from feeling so discouraged and lonely that it's like a physical weight pressing him down into the earth.
He doesn't think he wasn't expecting Aster to believe him, but somehow, when Aster says he does Dan all but sobs. For weeks and weeks, he's felt it was either dangerous or futile to tell his side of the story, and in part that's because he doesn't think anyone would believe him, and in another part because he doesn't think anyone would understand why he made the choices he did. It was only after getting to know Aster a little better than he realized there was anyone in this town who would understand why he would choose to shelter an unrelated, underage runaway murderer, why he would come to love her like a daughter, and why the world wouldn't believe anyone would do that.
"The authorities can't never know what I know about it. She'll be an adult soon. I don't know what that'll mean for her in the legal system, wherever she is now." Dan doesn't know if that means she'll be tried as an adult, doesn't know if they successfully tied the crime back to her, doesn't understand any of it except that he last saw her when he was getting arrested and that keeping her secrets is the only way he can still protect her. "I know ain't no rehabilitating my reputation here, but I'm stuck for now. Reckon we both are."
no subject
But that's not the problem before them. And it's a problem he can solve - maybe.
"Can you drive?" he asks, out of nowhere. "I can't."
But there's obviously a garage on this house. A big one, that a farming family of two dozen would obviously need, for a variety of transportational needs.
"I can't leave this town too long before Goluboy - I don't know, lights my house or my fields on fire, but I could - I need to get out of here, at least for a weekend. I'll get my lawyer to check up on the place for a few days, and we can probably be at the border tomorrow if you're well rested now. You could be back in Costa Rica before the weekend's out."
He's jealous. He's so jealous. He loves this farm like anyone who lives here couldn't help but do - but the way Goluboy has tied him to it as its only defender makes it feel like a chain around his ankle, and the thought of a long drive to Mexico and Costa Rica with someone he actually wants to talk to is enough to overcome his motion sickness.
no subject
He has to take a moment to breathe through the feeling of loss, the way his heart breaks that he'll never see her again, that there's nothing he can do at all that would help her from here. He's glad Aster gives him that space to collect himself.
When he looks at Aster again, there's excitement on his face for the first time in weeks. "Yeah, I can drive. I- look, wouldn't could a weekend away, seeing the heartland, be exactly what the doctor ordered for both of us? I ain't no more high maintenance than you are. We can sleep under the stars. I know some berry patches along the route here. We can make it nice."
There's such a difference between foraging for food and sleeping under the stars in this town, forced to by circumstance and stranded, and doing it with a friend because of the love of the natural world and the intoxication of freedom.
"You'd probably could be saving my life." He sighs. "I ain't saying that to pressure you. It's just what it is."
no subject
But they can't do anything about Ellie. They can do something about getting Dan to Costa Rica.
"Yeah, I figured. I don't want you to die." And it's pretty clear Dan will if he stays here.
The idea of sleeping under the stars in berry patches is too good to pass up. Aster can taste those berries, can feel that space around him like breathing room, finally. He has never been anything but a wanderer, and this town has stuck him in place in a way that makes him want to tear his hair out.
He stands up to pull Dan out of his chair so they can get to the garage. "No time like the present. I'll call Sam and meet you in the garage. Keys are by the door -"
One phone call to his lawyer later, Aster's in the garage with Dan's pick of the farm vehicles, with a bag full of apple turnovers and bread and butter from the farmer's market, strawberries and chocolate from his own store. "This ought to get us through the night," he says, tossing the bag in the back and hopping into the passenger seat. He hates being driven anywhere. But he hates being tied down to one place even more. "You need to get anything?"
For the first time in a long time, he feels excited about the next steps. Something interesting is finally happening, and the handful of days he can afford to have something interesting happen in look so good in front of him.
no subject
While Aster goes inside to grab some food, Dan takes the initiative to walk over to the farmhouse's garage, where he makes sure that the car that makes the most sense to take - the one that isn't particularly helpful on a farm, that's clearly just for getting around, not hauling equipment or produce - is up for the journey. It's clear that Aster hasn't even touched these vehicles in a while, so Dan has to make sure the brakes work and there's enough gas to get them to the next town.
"No. There's a camp setup in the treeline near your property, just a tarp and a hammock and few other supplies. They might could come in handy at some point for someone if, you know...if things keep going the way they're going in this town." Dan, like Aster, can see the incoming wave of evictions and homelessness that'll hit this town when Goluboy and Cygne really dig their claws in. Maybe a tarp and a hammock are what he's able to give to a town he really wishes he had been able to give more to, wishes had been more able to receive what generosity he did have to offer.
For the first time in a while, Dan feels a sense of hope. He woke up this morning thinking he'd drag himself through another way shambling and crawling towards an ignominious grave, and now he may be back to the life he knows, the difficult life he's come to love, in someplace warm and new.
"Let's go. Don't reckon nobody will miss us."
no subject
It's unbelievable that out of nowhere, Aster not only has met someone he would have missed, he's leaving town with that someone. He's been craving an adventure since before he made the worst phonecall of his life that time in the Philippines when he couldn't reach anyone here at the farm and reached out to Sam, who had to tell him the news - and now here's one, and he feels about to bust with the promise of it all.
"Hey, uh, I get carsick, if you don't mind driving careful," he mumbles, as Dan pulls out of the garage, and they make their way out of town.
The miles roll away. They put the farmland behind them, passing burnt out, overgrown skeletons of other cars that didn't make it out of town, into the winding two-lane only road out of town. The hills rise up tall around them. The woods get spookier, as a dense mist that seems to swallow light, into the trees that have already lost their leaves.
A few miles into the hill valley, something loud pops under the hood of the car and it coasts to a stop.
no subject
It feels good to drive again, and Dan finds himself imagining reaching over and holding Aster's hand as they drive away from this godforsaken town. He's going to miss Aster. He won't be caught dead coming back to this town that he hates, that hates him, so he's sure that this will probably be the last time he and Aster see each other. Maybe they can stay in touch, maybe Aster can come out for weekends with him whenever Dan's in this part of the continent.
Dan vaguely remembers the way that this road went, although he realizes that his memory of this place is blurry. The switchbacks seem to go on forever, and by the time the car comes to a stop the fog is so thick that Dan has to keep the headlights off to see better.
"That don't sound right." Dan sets the car in neutral. "Alright, can you help me push it to the side of the road?"
Dan's still easily fatigued from how worn down being homeless and underfed and underslept has left him. He can push the car, but even getting it a few feet in neutral wears him out.
no subject
"Does that mean anything to you?" Aster asks, looking at the strips of rubber broken in the compartment. He looks around the dim woods, calculating the amount of miles they've put behind them, the amount of time til sunset.
He doesn't mind sleeping outside, but this part of the woods makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"We got a spare for that?"
no subject
He closes the hood and rests his elbows on it, resting his head in his hands. "I need a second."
He feels as if he was an idiot to let himself get his hopes up. He should know better by now. He let his thoughts fill up with a future in Costa Rica, a lovely weekend getting away from this cultural cesspit, of having his autonomy back again, and now they're trapped. Now that bit of hope that he had has turned out to just be yet another thing to lose, and he's losing it now.
He tries to hide that he wipes some tears of frustration away. "Okay. We can see if we can find a trail through the woods for a bit. If we don't, we can turn back and walk to town. We're only ten miles out. We can make it back."
no subject
"If we just keep the road on our left we'll be fine," he agrees. They can't not get out of town. They're only a few miles from the town limits. "We can check for parts in the next town over, get a ride back to fix it and get back on the road." Turning around completely is nearly unthinkable. "We're not washed out yet." He has never given up on anything this fast, and he's not about to start.
They get on their walk alongside the road - Aster looks away from it for what seems like two steps, and all of a sudden, the woods and mist to their left are too thick to see the road anymore. The hair on the back of his neck is still standing up, but he's not willing to tell Dan it doesn't feel right in this place when that would look and sound an awful lot like cowardice.
There can't be anything to be afraid of. The worst thing they might run into is a bear, and there are two of them to ward a bear off with. The worst thing that might be following them is a cougar, and Aster keeps looking over his shoulder expecting to see one.
no subject
But he'd rather Aster not think of him as just someone who gives up when things get hard. Life's been hard, and Dan's considered giving up several times a day for years, and he hasn't done it yet. A car part isn't going to break him if losing his family didn't. This town isn't going to break him if losing his daughter didn't.
"I grew up on a farm, but I spent a lot of time in the woods growing up. I can navigate us." He digs through Aster's glove compartment and finds a compass to set a bearing, although that's difficult to do in such thick fog. He also finds himself disoriented by the way he seems to be navigating correctly, but the compass doesn't seem to agree with him, almost like every step he takes is more to the right than it looked. "Stay close."
He comes to a stop after he takes a few steps to the left to try and find the road again and finds a stream, which means they aren't anywhere near the road anymore. He isn't sure how that happened, when they're going so slowly.
"You get the sense that something don't want us to leave?" he jokes to try and cover that he's embarrassed that they're lost.
no subject
"Let me see that." he holds his hand out for the compass, trying to second-check Dan's calculations, and finding the same problems with the compass that Dan had.
A few more steps leads them back to the road. Aster recognizes the shell of the burnt out VW bus that is the land marker five miles out of town.
"That - that doesn't make sense. We haven't been walking for long enough to be back here."
Dread is pinpricking in his stomach. Every one of his instincts is screaming at him to take the navigational cue and go back into town. They could check the farmhouse for spare parts. They could take another car.
And yet, the very fact of feeling pushed back into the town makes him want that much harder not to go back into it.
"How many miles you think you got in you today?" he asks Dan, mindful of Dan's exhaustion. "If we just stay on the road, we can't possibly get lost." Could get hit by a car, except, the road's been so empty that it doesn't seem possible that they wouldn't hear one coming.
no subject
"I reckon that depends on on how far you think you might could carry me." Dan winces. "I can go maybe half an hour without stopping to take breaks."
He feels embarrassed about that, too, because some part of him really thinks that having eaten some of Aster's produce and eggs and had a good shower should have replenished him back to full capacity. But instead he's just tired and stiff and hurting still.
But Aster's clear anxiety indicates to Dan that he needs to step up. Aster's already given him a lot of generosity and a lot of latitude, and the least Dan can do is dig deep into whatever pep and energy and cleverness he has and bring it to the surface.
"How far is the next town? If it's less than ten miles I'm sure I might could make it." He pats Aster on the shoulder. "Is it going to alarm you or make you feel safer to know I've had a weapon on me this whole time? Just, you know, in case an unfriendly animal comes our way."
no subject
"No. That's a good idea. I ought to do the same." He casts his gaze around for anything suitable, picks up a fallen branch and starts testing it for hardness and durability. It isn't as good as a baseball bat or a tonfa, but it's better than a handful of nothing.
They take to the road and the fog thickens with every mile. Crows are croaking in the mist, fluttering unseen, and Aster jerks toward each sound like a startled animal, hating how hard he's having to work to keep his heart rate down with each mile ticking on. The crows calls begin drifting higher, harder, towards the arena of screeching, and when Aster looks over his shoulder the fog is so thick he almost can't see Dan as anything but a smallish blur beside him.
Every nerve of his body is suddenly flooded with alarm, like something inside him is trying to use his own voice to scream at him to run. He reaches out to take Dan's hand to get his attention, to tell him he thinks they should turn back after all, but the blur in the fog is already reaching for his hand, fingers long and sharp-nailed.
Aster yelps and jumps back. He bumps into Dan, who was standing to his other side. The figure in the mist is flanked by two others. She lunges for him, skin pale and emaciated, a thin white veil over eyes black as a sharks and a mouth open with bloody, sharpened teeth. The figures flanking her are flanked by more. No less than five lunge at them.
Aster lashes out with his branch and clocks two on the sides of their heads. They stumble and trip the others, and Aster bolts back down the road, grabbing for Dan's hand, missing, running anyway.
He cannot be here. He cannot find out what would have happened if whatever that was had touched him.
no subject
Dan's been keeping pretty close to Aster, but he trips over something and catches himself on his hands. He gets to his feet just in time for Aster to leap backwards into him, and then sees a moment later the things that are lunging for them, intentions all too easy to glean.
"Go, run! I'm right behind you!" he yells at Aster, giving Aster a few seconds to get clear of potential hearing damage and stumbling backwards before he fires off a shot into one creature's knee in a splash of blood. He doesn't know what they are, but he doesn't want to kill them, but the bullet seems to just piss them off more than scare them. He fires three more times, nailing the one closest to him in and through the shoulder, and then he turns tail and runs too.
He's so tired that he feels like he's running through water, like his muscles are made of wet sand, like the fog is painfully insufficient for the amount of air he needs, but somehow he hits the stream they reached earlier and when he crosses it, he doesn't see the creatures following him. He sees some blurry forms in the fog on the other side, but as he gets further away from them they're swallowed up in the dim monotone of the misty woods.
"Aster? Aster?" He doesn't just sit. He lays on his back, catching his breath, staring up at where tree trunks disappear into fog. He checks his gun; with the speedloaders he has, he isn't short of ammunition, so he aims the gun at a mulchy, mossy patch of earth that'll absorb a bullet rather than ricochet.
Aster ran a few moments ago when they were in trouble, so Dan doesn't know for sure if Aster will come towards the sound of a gunshot, and yet he trusts that Aster's unlikely to find him just by listening to the pitiful caw of Dan's voice calling. He shoots the earth and listens to the woods.
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But he's left Dan behind. The terror that dropped the bottom out of his stomach convinced him that if he stayed in reach of whatever that was in the woods, her touch would spell death, and with every fiber of his being he said no. And ran.
He's sick with himself. Dan is tired and hungry and has that voice that indicates a lifetime of ruining his lungs with smoking, and Aster left him. The black eyed women in the woods will probably kill him.
The gunshot gives him hope again, and he barrels back into the mist as unthinkingly as he barrelled out of it. This time he stops to grab every rock he sees, filling his pockets, and a stick for each hand. "Dan!" he bangs the sticks together, trying to save his voice, knowing he's gone in the direction of the gunshot but no longer sure how far away it was. The mist gets thicker, until he's once again in danger of stumbling directly on top of whatever it is that's been hiding out here.
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'Animal maulings.' Dan always doubted that explanation; there aren't enough bears here to explain that many deaths over the years, bobcats aren't aggressive enough, and mountain lions would eat their prey. Somehow, monsters makes so much more sense, even if it's harder to wrap his head around.
His hearing doesn't extend far on account of too much exposure to firearms, but he's very good at discerning through what he can hear. He lets the ringing in his ears from the gunshot die down and listens to the forest, the ripples of birdcall, the sound of humidity dripping from the trees, trying to make out footsteps, either Aster's or those creatures'.
"Here!" he tries to shout when he thinks he hears movement, wood being smacked together. He sits up and grabs a stick and hits a rock next to him. "I don't reckon they like crossing water!"
cw: body horror
Here, he hears Dan's unmistakable rasp, to his left, and then, wood hitting rock to his right, and he holds in place, hearing Dan's voice from two sides, but the wood hitting rock only on one. To his lift, a Dan-shaped shadow stumbles through the trees. Aster holds his sticks and waits for what emerges from the fog.
Here she comes again, flanked by her sisters, all of them in white that is shredded and filthy and stained from the woods, eyes black and tracks in the dirt on their faces from weeping. Her mouth snarls for vengeance and her eyes weep, who can tell for what. Aster backs up slowly, yells, "Get up, get ready to run," so Dan can hear him wherever he is, and the lead veiled woman opens up her mouth for Dan's voice to pour out like a recording. Aster, I'm here, I'm here Aster -
She lunges for him and she's faster than a person ought to be. He strikes with one stick and another, a cracking blow across her face and the second along her outstretched arm.
The flesh shears off in a dry strip. The bone underneath, like an overcooked chicken wing that dry flesh has been ripped off, browned and unbleached. The flesh doesn't bleed, but hangs like leather. Aster is already jogging away as she smooths the flesh into place. It doesn't heal, it only sticks in place like it has to because it belongs there.
There must be a dozen looming in the fog. A whole pack. A whole company. Some of them, reaching out, have lost flesh on their fingers, and the bones of their hands are white and bleached the way their flesh-covered bones have not yet become.
"Run!" he shouts into the fog, as he sprints in a zigzag to lose them. "They mimic! Don't listen to anything else, just run!"
He stumbles directly across Dan's hiding place, tosses one of his sticks aside and grabs Dan's hand to pull him closer to the clear light out of the fog.
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It takes her a decent amount of time to actually reach the boundaries of the fog (does it usually form such a distinct wall? Another question to look into, she'll have to ask Aziraphale if he has any books about meteorology for her to borrow). She shines her flashlight into it, suddenly feeling some trepidation about actually crossing the line.
Right when she musters up the courage to move forward, she hears panicked shouting.
Her brain barely takes the time register the voices as masculine and vaguely familiar. There's no hesitation-- she sprints forward into the mists.
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He isn't expecting to nearly clothesline a young woman as he does so. He lets go of Aster's hand just in time to avoid Red Rover-ing Lady, skidding to a stop in the mud and grabbing a tree trunk to avoid falling over entirely.
"They ain't coming from your direction, are they?" he asks Lady, raising his firearm and keeping it ready to point it back the way he and Aster came, expecting that the beings are right on their heels.
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"What the - go the other way!" he shouts, looking over his shoulder. The crow calls intensify as the figures loom in the mist, leaping with the grace of deer, unhindered by brambles, unslowed by the branches that rip their desiccated skin and filthy garments.
Aster throws his branch side-handed. The heavy stick whips around and strikes the two in the lead at once, knocking them over, but others bound past them with sharp-nailed hands outstretched.
"Sorry," Aster mutters before he picks Lady up and throws her over his shoulder, sprinting for the edge of the fog. He doesn't stop when he's reached the full light, only stops in the open, setting sun when he doesn't hear Dan's gunshots anymore.
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Lady doesn't even get the chance to answer the first man's question or start moving the other way before she's lifted off the ground.
"What the fuck!"
The air leaves her lungs as her gut presses against the other man's-- Ash? Aston?-- shoulder. By the time she's able to respond they're already in the light, but she still jams her knee as hard as she can into his chest. Her leg strength is considerable.
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The bullets do seem to slow them down, although Dan gets the sense that it's more about the noise than about the physical damage. Dan takes off towards where he heard Aster run, catching a glimpse over his shoulder of one of the monsters doing a full jeté, not bothering to process that bizarre sight because he needs to focus on his feet and not getting tripped up in brambles and fallen pine. He scrambles and slides, but he's getting away.
He makes it to the light just as he feels one of those clawed, bony hands grab the hoodie to his sweatshirt, and then he hears a hiss and a shriek as the hand retracts. He whips around to try and see what happened, but the blurs are already fading back into the fog.
He looks around and sees Aster carrying Lady, Lady struggling mightily. He holsters his gun and runs over. "It's okay, we ain't trying to do no harm!"
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cw: bugs, light body horror, light passive suicidal ideation
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