ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Wake
| Vignette - Wake | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-12-12 "Sure you can, buddy." (Part of Flu Season TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> Harbor Commons - Guest Room 1 - Lower East Side | |
A cold mist hangs low over the city, making distant noises sound eerily close at hand. A thin shelf of ice clings to the bank of the river, breaking off every so often in the lapping waves to join the dark chunks of ice floating in the water. Steve picks his way down along the stream bank, his uniform stained dark with blood. The shield on his left arm drips steadily as he goes, and at length he stops. Stares around him. The shapes of trees and buildings loom indistinct beyond the fog, but there's no movement but the river. He kneels at the bank and dips the shield into the icy water. The blood billows beneath the surface -- far more blood than seems physically possible, really. But the shield comes out clean, and he replaces it on his arm, his movements slow and ponderous. As he turns to trudge back up the bank, a corpse-white hand shoots out of the water to grab his ankle. He loses his balance and falls sidelong into the frigid mud, twisting as he descends to look down at his assailant. The zombie levers itself up against the weight of waterlogged fatigues, its hair limp and plastered down against its decaying skull. Sunken blue-hazel eyes fix on Steve, piercing and intelligent and all too familiar. "No!" Steve cries, the word coming out ragged and broken as if torn from him. "No, it's not --" The zombie only answers with a long, gurgling groan. Filthy water bubbles from its mouth and spills down over its blue lips. It lifts one hand to grab the edge of Steve's shield, tugging it away so it can reach him. Icy, dead fingers close around his neck. Tears stream down Steve's face. He reaches his blood-stained hand to touch the zombie's head. "Please, God, no..." The zombie rattles again, but this time the noise resolves into croaking words. "Haven't you heard, my brother?" Ragged fingernails dig into Steve's neck until blood starts welling up from the indents. "Gott ist tot. Soon you'll be, too, if you don't take me down." Steve shakes his head fiercely. "I can't..." "Sure you can, buddy." The grip on his neck tightens. "Didn't have any trouble letting me fall." The zombie leans closer, teeth snapping inches from his face. "Didn't have trouble leaving me to die in the cold!" Its jaws open wide and descend on him. "Bucky!" The room is dark, the city outside so quiet that even Steve's choked cry sounds loud. He kicks the twisted blankets off, rolling to sit on the edge of the bed. Buries his face in his hands, broad shoulders shaking with silent sobs. | |
