ArchivedLogs:Belly of the Beast
| Belly of the Beast | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-03-14 Carnage eats mutants, prepares for assault on Village Lofts. Precedes Maximum Carnage. WARNING: Blood (obviously) |
| Location
Sewers | |
When Desiree next awakens, it is within the warm -- and suffocating -- folds of a protoplasmic blood sack. He came for her and the others at night. A distant skittering -- a thunderous crash, yells and screams -- and suddenly, nothing but red, /everywhere/, swallowing her up and stinging parts of her skin, sending her reeling into unconsciousness. And now, redness enfolds her on all sides, like some living, /breathing/ bag that just squeezes down on her and forces her to stay still. Scarcely any light gets through -- but thoughts do. Vague, whispery things -- just wisps of consciousness. Whatever she's been wrapped up in... it's alive, and it's thinking. But reading it is like fighting through some deep, endless fog. It's... some sort of monster. It calls itself 'Carnage'. It thinks of Desiree -- and others, yes, there are others in here too, all folded up in some sort of massive 'bag' its carrying on its back -- as food. Filled with delicious blood. And it wants, /so/ much, to drain every last drop. It's /trembling/ in anticipation. But for some reason, it can't. Not yet. It needs her -- and the others -- alive. For just a little while longer. But not /too/ long... just until it gets to its lair. Should she writhe and buck in that bizarre, binding-yet-squishy flesh, she'll soon find the edge of her wrist pressed up against something else -- an ankle. Someone /else's/ ankle. At which point, she'd catch the confused, dream-like thoughts of someone else in here. Someone still unconscious. Desiree /does/ writhe, quite a bit upon awakening. First shoving, pressing, fighting against that bag. But the writhing subsides, after a while, and she sits still and /focuses/. Picking out what threads of thought she can get through the fog. When she finds that other person, too, she holds her arm against that ankle, stretching out to try and discern who this Other Person is. Her own thoughts are -- rather panicked. But at least he is unconscious and doesn't have to be subjected to them too heavily. Peter's thoughts are sluggish and confused; there's the still-present memory of pain, and reddish appendages, and KNIVES ohGod so many KNIVES and a spider made of blood -- screaming children, swinging through the space between buildings -- then swinging /back/ -- then, more knives, walls being torn down, a chittering hiss -- then, redness. Desiree's own panic seems to infect him for a moment; at once, he's starting to stir, wriggle, as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. Though she's never been plugging about his brain before, it's probably not hard to figure out /who/ he is; the image of flying on webshooters is still prominent in his head. Desiree presses long enough to figure out who this Other Person is, but once recognizing Peter she doesn't explore very /deeply/; it's tiring, for one, and she's panicking, for two. Instead there is rather forceful mental prompting. Wake up. Wake up wake up. Wake up. Peter promptly does so. And gets a mouth full of PROTOPLASMIC OH SPLTpleh pleh pleh pleh he is spitting /so/ much and proceeding to wriggle and kick and << what the hell is this where am I what is going /ON/ why does it smell so BAD ugh ugh ugh >> << No idea. There was a lot of blood. Something horrible. It wants to drink our blood. We, uh. Need to get out of here. >> That's an understatement. << Don't know how many it took, >> comes with also-panicked mental images of Sera and Gaetan. << Before it eats all of us. >> << Oh, God. The spider. Oh, man, it /ATE/ me. >> Suddenly, there's a THWP. And another THWP. A few seconds later, yet another THWP. << Arm free. No, just my hand. I think it's poking... out? >> THWP. He pulls, briefly; the whole sack shudders. Desiree feels the creature's mounting frustration at the brief tug. Anger. Increase in hunger. At the flash of Gaetan and Sera, Peter's mind stirs. << They're okay. Calling for help. Telepath? Can you -- do something? >> << Spider? I thought /you're/ the Spider, >> Desiree answers, confused. << Kind of telepath. I don't know, its mind is. >> Foggy, unclear, she finishes this more in a burst of frustration than in a coherent word. << They're okay? Will they -- >> Images, here. Matt. Lucien. /Man/ does she want them right now. Preferably on the /outside/ of the bloodsack. She shifts again, wriggling a little in the bloodsack. /Stop/, comes her firmly pressed command to Carnage. Stop, stop, stop. Stop stop stop. << They're half-way down the block. I told them to... to call the police. I guess I should have told them to call... >> A confused flash of Jax. << I wasn't thinking. This is -- it's some sort of blood spider it was on the NEWS I think it's what's been eating people. >> Surprisingly enough, the bloodsack /responds/. The creature lurches, and suddenly... slows down. Halting beneath them. Desiree can feel its confusion swelling up through the blood, into her pores -- no words, but a mounting sense of frustration and hunger. And /anger/. But after a moment... it starts to move forward, again. Slower, more unsurely, but inevitably. << ...did you just do that? >> There's another THWP, now, but no tug. << I think I did. >> Desiree's not entirely certain, really. She's /trying/. But she's stressed and tired and more than a little scared and a whole lot confused. << ... the twins' dad? >> Her mental image is very glittery. Very cheerful. Very /artist/. Not very chasing bloodmonsters around the sewers. << You got the kids. >> Sera and Gaetan. This thought is thankful. Meanwhile, to Carnage, again: Stop. Stop, stop, stop. Stop, stop, stop, let us go, stop, let us go.
At the repeated barrage of commands, the creature beneath them /growls/. And stops. And starts to thrash, and twist, and kick, and /rumble/ with rage. Beneath them, a voice hisses: "WHO. WHO IS... NNGHRGH." The blood sack trembles and starts to spasm. Some of it is peeling back. Suddenly, Desiree can touch a sweet gasp of... well, maybe not sweet, but it's /air/. Sewer air. They're in the sewers. Her head's poking out of some sort of sack and they are on the back of some massive /blood/ spider that is as big as a U-Haul. And there are... it looks like half a dozen, maybe more, people wriggling around and beneath her, all attached. STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP LET US GO STOP. It's more forceful this time. Fueled by a whole lot of panick. << Oh gods I pissed it off Oh gods oh gods -- wait it was going to eat us anyway, fuck. >> Desiree takes a large gasp of air when the sack opens, immediately wrinkling her nose and regretting it. << I hate this city what is this thing when did I move into a horror movie. >> << it's okay! I think it's working! keep doing whatever you are doing I am pretty sure it is -- >> "PTEH! Pleh pleh," Peter exclaims, his (partially) masked face popping up out of its own sack, emerging as he struggles -- shoulders rolling with all the strength he can muster -- pushing the sack upward to expose his red hoodie, yellow goggles gleaming. The sack continues to slither out from around Desiree, too... but the creature is getting pissed. /So/ pissed. And it's changing beneath them -- legs sharpening into points, extra limbs beginning to emerge. "WHOOoooo...?!" it growls, and then -- with a shuddering convulsion of inevitable surrender -- the blood sack *SPLRTS* around Desiree -- *shoving* her out, off of its back, and on to the sewer floor. Like it just... /excreted/ her. Peter's head pops up... right before the folds *SNAP* back down like a mouse-trap. And suddenly, the creature -- no longer laboured with that interior voice -- is /charging/ down the passageway with a hissing, skittering snarl. While Peter -- with his head and arms out -- flails, firing THWPS as they go down -- splattering web-glue to the walls. "CALL JAX!" he shouts. "FOLLOW THE WEBBI--" The rest of his words are cut off by an /enraged/ snarl. It's booking it. "Oh gods," is all Desiree manages to say. She's lying on the floor kind of gooily. Staring in horror at the retreating monster. "Ohshit, ohshit, ohshit." | |
