hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dead Men Walking

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dead Men Walking

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Dead Men Walking event!
Where: All around the city
When: September 14th-September 20th
Warnings: Zombies. Walkers. The Infected. Zeds. The undead. Risen.

Everything seems more or less normal in Hadriel on the 14th - at least at first. But wait, who's that over there? Why are they walking so weird? Are they feeling okay? Wow, did they just try to bite you? Oh shit, you might've seen a movie like this before. That was definitely a zombie.

But hey, it's no big deal. A few zombies here and there are pretty easy to avoid, especially when you can outrun them without too much trouble. They're only really dangerous if they're fast or if there are a lot of them, and they sure aren't fast! Only - well, before long, there are a lot of them. You can hardly go outside without running into one, and mobs form quickly. Went out for supplies? Let's hope they didn't follow you - you might get stuck in that shop, mobile corpses pounding on the door. Oh, and don't stand too close to the windows of your house. They'll be more than happy to smash the glass trying to get you.

Don't worry, though! A hard blow to the head will take these zombies out, and you'll be sitting pretty, as long as none of them bite you. None of them bit you... right? Wow, what a relief. We're all glad you're not concealing a life-threatening zombie bite from your friends! Who would do that, anyway? Now if you can manage that until the 20th, you'll be safe and sound as the zombies shamble out of the city. Hopefully you won't be shambling with them.

► This log covers September 14th-September 20th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you join the zombie party, please let us know here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Is he eating ketchup out of the packet? Not that Rey is one to judge; she's perfectly fine with slurping jelly out of its packet or from a jar. With her fingers. No fucks given.

It takes a moment for the joke to land, and then she huffs. "You're awfully calm about all of this."

Of course, was Sans in any real danger to begin with? He doesn't quite have the meats for those things to gnaw on. Perhaps she was overreacting. But he did seem rather distressed at the time.

Her arms fold over her chest as he points out the duplicity of her sentiment.

"Most buddies don't tend to be fireproof. Have always been better utilized on solo ops."

"Meh." He shrugs. "Not really one for panicking."

Closest he ever got to it was, uh. Well, that wasn't a great time, he'll just say. Doesn't bode well to dwell on it. Mostly it just has him stuck going down that mental spiral that he hates.

But, y'know. She likes working solo, and that's fine. He's not gonna judge that. He's got his hands full judging everything else.

"Fair enough. Guess you bought us some, uh, some time. Nice of ya." Especially with that boom seeming to draw their attention away from where they're at currently.

"Good."

Rey is virtually useless when it comes to calming scared, panicked people. Offering solace through words is hardly her strongest suit. And she's more or less just demonstrated on what she excels best at.

She checks over her shoulder, in the direction she had just charged out from.

"Did it because it was the more tactful thing to do, not because it was nice." There used to be a part of her that would've entertained the idea of using an individual as a distraction and/or bait for the fun of it. Such a notion isn't a gamble she's even willing to humor right now, regardless of the tiny voice niggling in the back of her mind. "Anyway, do you have an actual direction you're headed?"

"Delight's housing, more or less." He'll end up there eventually, he figures, but it'd be awful nice if he could make it there in one go rather than this staggered thing he's been having to pull off since he's got a dearth of actual energy. He's always got a dearth of actual energy, technically, but copious sleepin' tends to keep a little on reserve somewhat.

Not so right now. Turns out having these things chewing at your tailbone makes it a little difficult to get any decent shut-eye.

"Glad to know you're hardy in a crisis," Sans adds, his tone utterly neutral - whether that's a commendation or a judgment is up to her.

Delight's housing. Rey's mouth tightens when she hears that, recalling the fact that the homes are somewhat underground. It isn't a living situation that she would deem appealing. But hey, so long as Sans isn't asking for a sleepover...

Knowing that dawdling in one location for too long leaves you just as liable to run into those undead bastards as that bomb she'd thrown, Rey starts moving in the direction of the underground neighborhood. She figures that, if Sans doesn't want to be carried, he's just as capable of moving his own feet along.

"Was only ever any good at fighting. At least that skillset is being put to use here."

Much as some she knows would argue over whether or not combat is the only thing she's good for, it's all Rey has ever really known. Hard to beat the bad habit out of an old dog, as the saying goes.

He starts shambling along, threading his way through the streets while keepin' an eyesocket out for any suspiciously grayed-out undead silhouettes. The nice things about these guys - and that's maybe a list with two bullet-points on it, frankly, because there ain't much really nice about 'em - but the nice things boils down to two factors: they're slow, and they're loud. He always sees and hears 'em comin' before they actually show up, and his sight ain't even that great (though compared to a human's, he's heard it's pretty damn good, especially since he don't have retinas that require light to see).

"Only ever good at fighting?" he says in a tone that ain't skeptical so much as it's just...well, mildly dubious that said skillset is really all she's got to her name. He doesn't generally believe in that kinda thing. Not - fuck, not for the kid, not for either of the kids, and not for her either.

Nah, fighting ain't requisite. It is never requisite in his book. People lash out if they're scared, people are taught that this is the only thing they've got of value, and people are raised to believe the world is a cruel and terrible place full of things that will push, and the only way to survive is to push at 'em first.

Despite walking and chatting, Rey is more alert of her surroundings than she would appear. Not only with her eyes, but her hearing and other senses as well. When you've been on so many battlefields, you get a knack for detecting when danger is imminent.

In this case, there are none. Yet. Which means that she has to dignify Sans' query with a response.

"Yes," she says firmly. "Wasn't intended for anything else, really."

While that may not be true in the slightest, Rey has lived with that philosophy for so long that it's like a bad tick that's left its mark on her skin. Old habits die hard. Especially ones you've been living with for as long as Rey has.

"And?" He arches one of his supraorbital ridges at her in such a way that definitely implies skepticism. "You realize that intention don't mean much in the grand scheme of things, right?"

Not anybody, he thinks, can every truly be built solely for destruction. Or heck, maybe they can, but that don't ever mean they can't be more than that. Because, uh, honestly, that notion of "fate" and bein' destined for one thing and one thing only? Fuck that.

At least when it comes to people who aren't stuck in perpetually resetting temporal loops. 'Cause, y'know, at least Sans has that excuse going for him.

Edited (MAN I LOVE HTML I L O V E IT) 2016-09-24 04:32 (UTC)

Funny, Sans isn't the first person to mention something like that. And something tells Rey that he won't be the last, either.

"It doesn't matter," she says flatly, hardly compelled to justify the bleakness of her philosophy.

Rey has made her peace with the fact that her final death will probably end as she's lived: Violently and alone. At the very least she can make sure that she takes down as many motherfuckers as she can before that day comes. Because there are some back home who are sure as hell asking for it.

It doesn't matter.

Ain't that sound familiar. He'd laugh, but it's really not that funny. As it is, it's just kinda - a little too relatable, maybe, not that he'd be the type to mention it. Nah, things're weird enough as it is.

So he simply shrugs, and keeps going. Stepping over some, uh, what appear to be some disembodied limbs now. A few fingers still twitching at the ends of some of 'em. That's - fine, though. He took the kid's arm off more than a few times, it doesn't rattle him. Just a little unsettlin' is all.

"Well," says Sans at last, "you're entitled to your opinion."

Similarly, Rey weaves around and steps across the streets of riddled body parts and rotting corpses. Not even the smell sends her into olfactory overload, if only because she's traveled through much worse. Walking over mountains of death along with the stench of it filling the air is miles more preferable to trying to explain her opinion, though. Especially when it's the opinion regarding her place in the universe, because there's always that someone with something to say about it.

But not Sans', apparently. And for that reason, Rey finds it somewhat peculiar. Granted, he doesn't strike her as the type willing to initiate a heated debate at great length. That would require energy that he doesn't care to expend, it seems.

"Suppose we all are. Even if it sounds like yours is different."

It isn't a challenge. Just an observation.

"Sounds like it, yeah." He dips his skull in concession to her point. "Personally, I don't think fightin' is ever the only thing someone can do with their life. But, heh, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree, huh?"

He wonders idly how high her LOVE would be, had she existed in a world where such things were quantifiable. Where the pain inflicted on others was a numerical value to be adjusted at will.

He stops wondering.

No point in hypotheticals. A stimulating thought experiment at best.

Oh, rest assured Rey would have plenty of LOVE, if her world worked in such a way.

"Have never really known much else. Don't see the point in wishful that things could be any different."

It's how she's always lived and how she's always died. Even her old selves that were more hopeful than the others eventually resigned themselves to loneliness. Far as Rey is concerned, that's all there is for her outside of Hadriel. It's a sad, terrible thought.

"Did I mention wishing anytime in there?" he says, one ridge arching upwards in the approximation of a raised eyebrow. "Nah. Thing is, you got more of a say in what you are than anybody's 'intentions.' You dig?"

Can't imagine she hasn't heard those words before. But it's somethin' that's just kinda...rote, he thinks, at this point. Gotta hold to that core of morality like the fucking hypocrite he is. Gotta at least make the effort. Even if he eschews effort at every opportunity.

Naturally, Sans has a point. Of fucking course he has a point, and he's hardly the first person to ever offer such pearls of common sense. Actually acknowledging that everything Rey had known throughout her many lives, however, is another story.

Despite actually considering the aforementioned point, Rey makes a rather unflattering snort, her eyes rolling.

"Nice. You get that one out of a fortune cookie? Liked them better when they just gave you 'lucky numbers'."

And you can bet your damned breeches that she completes that sentence with air quotes.

"What's a fortune cookie?"

There's about a fifty-fifty chance that he's joking and that he's being utterly, one-hundred-percent sincere. Alphys could probably tell him better, but he looks at Rey with a look of utter, genuine innocence - possibly too much to actually be innocent?

Who can tell?

"Well. Anyway. Don't make it any less true."

Seriously?

"A cookie, with a fortune inside of it. It's in the name."

Duh, Sans. Even if he is just yanking Rey's chain, there's no harm in humoring him a little.

She shrugs. "Whatever. You're entitled to your opinion," she echoes his earlier comment. "Let's just find your brother."

Uh-huh. He'd kinda been expecting a response like that, so he leaves the conversation where it is. Not likely to make any ground now, and he's a bit preoccupied by the fact that they've just rounded a corner to come face-to-face with a whole fresh mess of things.

"Ah," says Sans by way of warning, about-facing smoothy around in one fluid motion. "Nope. Not that way."

At this point it almost feels like they're on a fool's errand. Trying to track down a single person in this damned place is no easier than finding a black cat in a coal cellar.

Confusion's little gimmick is starting to sound more and more appealing now.

Sans' immediate reversal sparks curiosity as Rey checks around the corner anyway.

Definitely not that way.

She huffs and swings around as well, before pausing to hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling from deep within a nearby alley.

"If we are surrounded," Sans says with a sort of weary acceptance that this is just his lot in life, "that would be a really bad way to end the day. I'm just gonna put that out there."

And he kinda hates to say it but - well, if he can get them both outta here, he will. If he can't?

He, uh.

Well, he already knows he's a selfish ass. He'll save his own lack of skin before anyone else's. Rey's capable, she's competent. She can handle herself. He can't really afford to see if he can.

"No shit."

As their luck would have it, the culprits behind that mess around the corner emerge from the shadows. More shuffle towards the scene, drawn by the voices.

Drawing both kukris back out from her belt, Rey glances around to estimate between how many enemies there are and any possible openings for escape. The odds aren't looking too kindly, at least not without the risk of trapping themselves into a corner. Too many unknowns. But these things are stupid and predictable enough. Nothing like thinking, tactical soldiers trained for the fight. And Rey?

Rey herself is just the type of gun a soldier needs to handle big numbers.

Her eyes then dart down to Sans. "Think you can run this time?"

"I can get us outta here," he says, eyeing the weapons Rey draws that he can't put a name to with no small degree of wariness. "Maybe not, uh, conventionally, but I can."

He's gonna feel it like hell tomorrow but, uh, that's secondary. He can mentally kick himself later, when they're not being swarmed by the groaning mass of dead flesh that draws nearer and nearer. Because he's fairly sure that as shitty as overtaxing him and his magic ability feels, getting chomped on and dusted is gonna feel a whole lot worse.

He's kinda wondering if she's just gonna up and throw herself into the carnage.

He's kinda hopin' that her plan is a little more nuanced than that.

Unconventional tends to imply an ability of some type. Rey can't imagine Sans having an aptitude for super speed, so it has to be something else.

She glances from the kukri in her left hand to the herds emerging from the alleyways and surrounding streets. If there was any chance for an opening before, there sure as hell isn't one now. Hurling herself into the fray wouldn't be very tactical, as letting Sans out of her sight probably isn't the best idea either.

"Let's hold off on that for now."

The blades fall on either side of her, clattering over the ground when they land. Her fingers squeeze into fists. She turns, and starts to loop around the area they seem to be trapped within.

As she does this, a black trail seems to be following her. Dripping from her hands, the substance falls, forming a circle. Red veins pulse under her skin as the black fluid starts seeping from up to her elbows.

Whatever she's planning, she doesn't see it as something worthy of explanation.

Oooooooookay so this might as well be happening now. Sans starts edging back, giving her as wide a berth as possible as she prepares whatever it is she's preparing. Looks a lot like how a monster would ready a magical attack. A special attack, as it were.

Whatever it is, he's kinda hopin' it kicks in soon. The things are shuffling closer and closer and he kinda wants to ensure he's not gonna get caught in the crossfire in the meantime.

It occurs to him that, uh, he could just kinda...leave her to it. Chances are she'll be makin' quite a ruckus here. Good cover if he wanted to - nah. Nah, he likes to think he's got some standards after all.

And Papyrus wouldn't be able to stomach it. So, yeah. He doesn't move.

"Okie dokes," says Sans lightly. "Whenever you're ready, then."

What Rey is preparing for isn't magical by her world's standards. It also isn't something that can be done by a normal human or with the aid of modern science. She has never seen anyone or anything naturally produce this substance the same way her vessels have.

When she's finishes, she realizes that Sans is still here. Something in her mannerisms change with every passing second. A demeanor which she usually keeps buried under monotones and a robotic disposition.

"I was inspired," she says, devoid of the emotionless tone that she normally possesses. "There was this song that my brother really liked. He used to hum it, but I rarely ever heard the words. I know that it's an old song, though."

As she speaks, she finishes making the circle out of the black liquid secreting from her hand.

Stopping at the center, she cants her head at the approaching herd behind the black line. She squints. "How did those lyrics go...?"

Her eyes shut and she starts humming herself, remembering her brother's voice. The undead corpses touch the barrier.

"Mmmmmm, 'but the fire went wild.'"

With that, a wall erupts around them with a burst of flame. The wave of the heat sends the wrinkles of her clothes rippling and her hair flicking as the intense rise in temperature is immediate.

Eyes still shut, Rey waves a hand, allowing the flames to bend to her whim as she continues to sing in a hushed timbre: "I fell in to a burning ring of fire--" She flicks a wrist, as though conducting a symphony. Instead, the bodies walking through the wall of flames erupt upon crossing the border. Or perish trying to. Barely visible ripples in the air swing and throw them to the ground with an unseen force. "'I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher...'"

More bodies collapse to the street with the weight comparable to anvils falling on their backs. Left to burn furiously before they're even able to pass the wall.

"'And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire...'"

One by one and in droves, the flaming corpses collapse. Some while trying to pass the fiery barrier. Others explode with one final pulse of heat, throwing them back with a monstrous energy as what's left of their insides turn to hot mush. Including their brains, converted into soup in their skulls.

All the while the inner circle remains a perfect sanctuary from the oppressive heat. Sure, one may feel like they're being cooked inside a dutch oven, but at least they wouldn't be dead.

In a final flare eliminating the remaining numbers, Rey finally opens her eyes to witness the damage she's done. "'The ring of fire.'"

Event Log: Dead Men Walking

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