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1st Attack . video & spam
[She wakes up in her own bed, Alvin, the palm-sized teddy bear, clasped tightly in one hand. There are stars outside the window, and everything is picture-perfect. Just as she left it. She coughs, her lungs aching, and she becomes aware of numerous aches and pains. Her shoulder, her knee. A handful of cuts and scrapes. She can still feel the scorching heat on her skin. - Or, no, wait; her nose is clogged, maybe she just has a fever.
For a long moment she waits for the crushing darkness to arrive, as it usually does in her dreams. The looming shadows. Or she waits for herself to slip out of bed and start killing things. She watches herself with a kind of detached dread.
But none of these things happen, and eventually she slips out of the bed, dragging the quilted blanket with her, Alvin held tight in her fist. She manages a few steps outside, and when she finds that it's not her house, she stops dead.
All of the exhaustion catches up with her, and she slides down, against the wall next to her door. The blanket is wrapped tight around her. She stares at the wall across, waiting to wake up. Waiting to walk out into a new Hell.]
[ video & infirmaryspam, later ]
[She is curled up under as many blankets as she could talk out of whoever is on duty, and she's still shivering. Her fever is high, and every part of her body hurts. And this is when she decides to try out the little device, like a handheld computer or something. She looks absolutely awful.]
So this is like a radio...? [Her accent is rough, rural Australian.]
Who's listening? And why's there doctors in the afterlife?
[A beat, then:] Why's there flu in the afterlife?
For a long moment she waits for the crushing darkness to arrive, as it usually does in her dreams. The looming shadows. Or she waits for herself to slip out of bed and start killing things. She watches herself with a kind of detached dread.
But none of these things happen, and eventually she slips out of the bed, dragging the quilted blanket with her, Alvin held tight in her fist. She manages a few steps outside, and when she finds that it's not her house, she stops dead.
All of the exhaustion catches up with her, and she slides down, against the wall next to her door. The blanket is wrapped tight around her. She stares at the wall across, waiting to wake up. Waiting to walk out into a new Hell.]
[ video & infirmaryspam, later ]
[She is curled up under as many blankets as she could talk out of whoever is on duty, and she's still shivering. Her fever is high, and every part of her body hurts. And this is when she decides to try out the little device, like a handheld computer or something. She looks absolutely awful.]
So this is like a radio...? [Her accent is rough, rural Australian.]
Who's listening? And why's there doctors in the afterlife?
[A beat, then:] Why's there flu in the afterlife?
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She budges over, making room for the dog. ]
Go on. Get up.
[ She remembers hugging the dogs for the sheep, when she was little, burying her face in their fur. ]
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The Piemaker seems to derive some comfort in people being comforted by his dog, when his powers dictate that he and Digby can never touch. He continues to stare at the floor, attempting to forget how close he came to losing his best and favorite companion this week]
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The Piemaker glances to Alpha's sleeping body and sinks into silence, letting Ellie have her comfort]
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Three. He's.
He's three.
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He died when he was three.
And he lived for twenty years after that.
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It's..me.
I did that. Before this place.
Please don't hate my dog.
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[ And this one is too sweet. Dogs that have gone bad, those you can tell. ]
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Digby's pretty smart. It's the age.
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I touch dead things and bring them back to life.
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