ArchivedLogs:Not Safe Here!
| Not Safe Here! | |
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| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2015-11-17 "{You can't fight that thing alone.}" (Part of Flu Season.) |
| Location
<NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side | |
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. Teague wipes the back of his hand across his mouth at the same time as the other clumsily grabs hold of the toilet's handle, flushing. The teen resists the urge to lean forward into the porcelain bowl again, bringing both arms down to cradle his flat stomach. He'd come to the city with the intention of attempting to attend his regular class, which he's missed for much of the month due to ineffectiveness and illness. The medicine that he's one has rendered him quite incapable still of what is physically required. In fact, with chaos raging in the city, the young mutant didn't even think he had it in him to return to the island at all. Rising from his knees, Teague wraps his ostrich-trimmed dressing gown around himself and pitter-pats from the safe-house's second floor bathroom. The black-on-sheer-black garment is hardly enough to keep anyone warm, especially in a drafty old place such as this. The chaos in the city has driven Simon to seek refuge in the safehouse this evening. He'd ventured off the island to gather some supplies for the island but after encountering some zombies, he needed to take a break. Leaving one of the bedrooms where he'd been sleeping off a lot of phasing, Simon's dressed in black slacks and a deep purple button up shirt. Hair ruffled from sleep, he looks a little surprised when notices Teague. "{Oh, hello,}" he greets in German. "{Aren't you cold?}" Teague is a little surprised as well, having thought he was alone in the dark, quiet house. Shifting on the balls of his feet, he lets out a little gasp of breath. The object he'd been carrying for protection, a thick diamond rod, clatters to the ground. Its sound carries through the house. Teague shivers and hunches over, wearing little more than a pair of black boxer-briefs under the robe. Blinking at the German, he can only offer a gentle shake of his head to signify his own incomprehension. At the same time, he motions gingerly towards his mouth and ears. Simon jumps at the clattering sound, eyes flicking to the rod. Sharp eyes might catch his foot beginning to phase into the floor but when he sees what happened, Simon relaxes and unphases himself. He frowns when it seems Teague doesn't understand and changes to French. "{Do you understand me now? I had heard we should avoid speaking English to not make the sickness worse.}" Bending at both knees, Teague dips to retrieve the truncheon. He simultaneously nods and shakes his chin, "{Little French. From Ballet.}” It shouldn't take much to realize that the boy is considerably lacking in /conversational/ French. From one of the second floor bedrooms ...or perhaps it's the air vent, there comes the sound of a bang. Attracted to the loud noise created by Teague's fumble, the sounds are soon followed by the creaking of floorboards and an all too familiar, animalistic groan. The fact that Teague understands him brings a small smile to Simon's face. Letting out a breath of relief, Simon starts to ask something else but that bang makes him jump. Eyes wide and face pale, Simon turns around quickly. "{What was that?}"
Simon gives Teague a look like he may have lost his mind at the suggestion to move forward. He still follows though. Unarmed, he's nervous once more. The thought that he was sleeping not too far away from a zombie is something that's shaken him. The creaking of the floor makes him wince and look around. Leaning forward to peek into the room, he frowns deeply and then glances towards the next. The second groan and creak is almost too loud and too close to be real. Still a few steps inside the empty bedroom, Teague turns sharply on his foot to face -- Simon? He wide-eyes the young Swiss, having almost clubbed him. The teen wets his lips in confusion, peering out into the hallway and then back over his shoulder into the room. "{Where-}" Simon begins only to yelp when Teague almost clubs him. He stumbles back a step and looks pretty confused himself. He runs a hand through his hair nervously and his eyes dart around the room. "{Where is it coming from?}" Teague shakes his head, lips parted just slightly as he looks around the room again and again. The dressing gown falling open, he presses his palm against his bare stomach as if to stave off his nausea. There is another creak, and moan. Dust and ceiling particles, the largest of which being no larger than a penny, filter down onto the pair. Simon reaches out to place a concerned hand on Teague's shoulder at the reaction. Before he can ask what's wrong though, there's the small bits of debris falling from above. Paling once more, Simon looks up slowly towards the ceiling. Coping with the side effects of the cure, Teague takes a moment to process the situation. Delayed, he follows Simon's gaze up. Above them and coiling across the entire expanse of the ceiling is a truly monstrous thing to behold: an undead mutant man with the torso of a professional bodybuilder, and the lower half of some manner of scorpion-centipede hybrid. Crazed, saliva dribbles down the upside-down man's face as he bellows out another undead moan. Spiked legs dig into the charred ceiling and retract as the zombie mutant slithers forward. In the far corner of the bedroom, it may appear as though the end of his tail has dropped down lazily or out of some slip-up -- until gravity takes its course and the great barbed end begins hurtling down onto them. Simon's reaction is one of horror but no sound escapes his mouth even if he wants to yell. His experience with other mutants, especially physical ones, is limited and the idea of one as a zombie is not something he even imagined. When that big, dangerous tail comes their way though, Simon reacts on instinct. Pulling Teague closer, he phases them both into the floor itself. The re-emerge seconds later out in the hallway out of a wall, likely not doing Teague's nausea any favors. "{Oh god, we have to get out of here.}" Teague let's out a little gasp, grabbing hold of Simon's shirt in instinctual trust of the man as he phases them out of immediate harm. When Simon suggests fleeing, the dark haired teen wrinkles his nose and shakes his head in confusion and disgust. Surely, his understanding is just that poor -- which it very well may be. "{We move forward,}" he urges in a breathy tone, brandishing the truncheon and pressing it to Simon's chest in offering. His free hand opens and begins the glittering process of creating a new construct when, to no one's surprise the wall just beside the doorway gives in. Plaster and debris fly everywhere as the barbed-end of the mutant zombie crashes through. It's deadly barb twitches where it protrudes from the wall. Moaning, the zombie wrenches his tail this way and that to break it free. "{What?}" Simon's just astonished by this response. He didn't think someone that seems ill would want to fight. He looks down as he's handed the truncheon, not sure what he's expected to do with it. He curses in French when the tail crashes through the wall, shielding himself by raising his arms. He reaches blindly for Teague, trying to pull him towards the stairs. "{Not safe here!}" Teague curls over himself as he's pulled. He's too nauseated to argue at first but he does manage to wiggle out of his robe before they make it to the stairs. Free of Simon and empowered by a sudden surge of anger, he flourishes both hands. Warmth and specks of sparkling light wash over the safe house's landing. The sparkles condense into a single solid light as Teague produces a long, ultra-thin blade resembling a katana. The zombie, for all his power of intimidation, continues to struggle to free his tail. Simon almost falls when Teague slips free and leaves him pulling an empty robe. He looks over his shoulder and ends up having to shield his eyes against the sparkles. "{What are you doing?}" Simon asks, wondering if Teague's lost his mind. He looks from the other mutant to the stairs and then back again. Eventually he curses and follows after Teague. "{You can't fight that thing alone.}" It would be a nice moment, to come forth from a dazzling display of light, nearly naked and triumphantly wielding the sword of your destiny …instead of quivering, and curling over yourself in discomfort. The tip of the sword drags along the ground, leaving quite the impression, as Teague leans into the wall for support. He takes in a deliberate, deep breath before carefully letting it out. “{You will do the thing,}” he pants, eyeing Simon without much confidence. He brings up his free hand to make a slicing motion at his own throat, before pointing towards the bedroom with his sword. He makes a few more cutting and chopping motions at his head for dramatic effect. Simon at first looks confused by what 'thing' Teague wants him to do. When he figures it out, it’s Simon's turn to look a little sick. For a moment he looks like he's planning to decline but the noises from the zombie get him cursing again and reaching to take the sword. "{Fine. Get to safety.}" he says, pushing Teague gently towards the stairs. He takes a deep breath if given the sword and sinks back into the floor. Traveling through the building, he aims to travel back into the bedroom. Leaning halfway out of the far wall, he tries to see what the massive zombie is up to. Finally wrenching free his centi-scorpion tail, the zombie sends more chunks of plaster flying onto either side of the wall. The ceiling creaks under his weight as his hundreds of sharp feet punch more and more holes into it. With a moan and the wet snapping of his jaws, he crawls forward to peek out of the little window he's created beside the open door. For the moment, Simon goes unnoticed in the room. In the hallway, Teague pouts after Simon. He steps away to retrieve his robe and combs his fingers through his hair. Simon stays as quiet as he can, grip on the sword tight. He's trembling from nerves and outright fear watching the undead creature move. Palms sweaty, he sees an opening when the zombie peeks through the hole in the wall. Phasing back into the wall he's hanging out of, Simon again travels through the very structure of the safehouse. He positions himself under the massive zombie and says a quiet prayer before emerging straight up from the floor. Sword held up as well, he's aiming to stab it into the zombie's skull from below. Spotting only Teague, the zombie is preoccupied enough with his own sudden urge to plow through the small opening his tail has made in order to get to the teen, and his precious human flesh. Snapping his jaws and teeth, the undead mutant slams his broad shoulders into the opening again and again. He only ever succeeds in getting his head through until with a wet slicing sound, Simon’s diamond blade slips right through it. His arms go limp and hang down from the ceiling, though his centipede appendages seem to remain quite thoroughly lodged into the ceiling. Primping at the landing, Teague turns to regard the scene. He fluffs up his sheer dressing gown’s ostrich trim high up around his neck as he prowls closer. There’s a great flurry of feathers as he throws a hand forward. Quite stoically, he offers Simon: a big thumbs up. Simon stares, frozen on the spot as he sees the results of his attack. Eventually, he lets go of the sword and lets it stick in place or fall. He's too busy rising the rest of the way out of the floor and moving out from under any potential fall zones. The Swedish man looks at the thumbs up for just a moment and then promptly makes his way towards the bathroom. A few seconds later, the sound of someone throwing up echoes through the floor once again. | |
