29: [Audio] Counting Bodies Like Sheep
Oct. 28th, 2011 12:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dashboardliteHe types because he can. Not to send, just...to type. Dean isn't sure when it really started. Maybe when he woke up. Maybe it was always there. Maybe it's just cabin fever, the stress of being stuck in one place for too long. Being trapped. Trapped. Trapped.
It feels to wrong to just...jusssssssssst just sit around. Waiting. Waiting. People to see. Places to go. Rooms to visit. The hallways are filthy with the promising stench of blood, so much blood he can taste it. I'm not gonna hurt you, no, no, I'd never, I'm just gonna bash your brains in, sweetheart, just hold sti-
He switches the radio on, clears his throat, and becomes the dull boy.
"Hey! There anyone out there? It's Dean." He sighs, careful not to oversell the act. "The hallways are pretty tricked out, and I got a feeling that none of this is gonna end well for any of us since it ain't like we've got any clues yet. I'm thinkin' we oughta stick together to stay safe. If anybody needs help, radio me. I've dealt with almost everything, so we might as well be prepared."
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
"Over and out."
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 03:49 pm (UTC)Don't...
[ The situation comes to him in fragments, but the pieces refuse to connect. There is-- something he doesn't even want to think about, God, please don't let him think about it and Evie and Dan are in danger and judging by the shaking he must not be particularly well either and something else, details, don't want them, just-- Just reach for the revolver.
His other hand reaches down to his belt. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 04:02 pm (UTC)[He inquires mildly, tracing a thin red cut down Philip's jaw with the knife.]
It won't take long, I'll go easy on them. Salt and burn. We have a furnace in the basement, don't w- Ah ah ah...
[The staccato sounds are amused, reprimanding, and Dean slides his free hand up under a bloody sweater, fingers wrapping around the handle of Philip's gun.]
I'll take that. Can't have you plugging me with lead, can we? [He pulls it free and tucks it into the back of his own jeans.] Little pig, little pig, you didn't even think before letting me in, did you?
[Dean chuckles, gripping Philip's shirt and yanking him closer, leaning in to murmur in his ear.]
How do you want them to die? I'll let you pick.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 04:20 pm (UTC)[ The pain from the shot slowly ebbs away and Philip is left with a situation that should be clear-cut (much like that line across his face, really).
The mansion made them into rabbits and wolves. Dean ended up a wolf.
...Only the last time they were subjected to such cruel casting Philip was allowed to play a part as well.
It's for that reason he fails- he refuses to comprehend. If he didn't feel any different, if he wasn't aware of the game, of being a rabbit, then how... then why is it so different for Dean?
It's for that reason he does what he does best when an ugly thought rears its head. ]
It's not real, it can't be real.
[ Deny everything and blame it all on Clarence. ]
Can't be real, it's not... not happening, it's not happening, it's not real...
[ The virus regained his abilities it seems. And Philip was worried, nervous. He let his guard down.
But he can fix this. He just has to focus. Take deep breaths. Breathe through the pain that doesn't really exist. Remove fake Dean's hand from his shirt and push himself into a standing position. Breathe. Snap out of it. Breathe. Snap out of it. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 07:28 pm (UTC)[Flipping the knife back in, Dean leans away and stands up as Philip does the same, shakily. His famous crooked, charming smile is back as he rests his hands on his hips, shaking his head.]
Phil, Phil, Phil. All work and no play makes Philip a dull boy.
[Something about his grin twitches and shifts, and he moves to the table to rustle through his blades again. The ax does nicely. Hefting it, Dean moves closer predatorily.]
I don't...really like to play with my food, not really, no, it's not- It's just not my thing, y'know? I wish we could chat longer, but I wanted to have a friend for dinner.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 08:24 pm (UTC)Everything else would be the bad news and his blood (the quantity not soaking his sweater at any rate) chills at the thought that this is actually happening. ]
{ }
Dean, it's- it's just the event, you don't want-- Dean, please--
[ But if Philip had anything else to say then it gets stuck in his throat the moment he looks up to see Dean advancing with an axe.
He stumbles back, looking frantically for something to use as a weapon. Because words, as the knot in his stomach informs him helpfully, are probably not going to cut it after all.
(But Dean's axe will, if he doesn't find a way out of this stat.) ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 08:48 pm (UTC)[He shrugs, tone light and conversational.]
I want a lotta things, but right now? Right now we should take this slow. What's your hurry?
[The ax swings at his side like a pendulum, and Dean follows Philip down through the aisle of tables with the air of a man who has all the time in the world.]
All good things to those who wait.
[Toying with Philip is more of an additional amusement, if anything, but he might as well make this moderately challenging. It isn't fun when they don't even fight back.]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 09:01 pm (UTC)[ It's a voiced thought rather than a genuine request, not one he expects Dean to oblige at any rate.
But the talking is the worst.
A bloodthirsty killer he can live with (or not), but Dean who still looks like Dean, Dean who pulls the same references, the same ridiculous puns, only now--
If meeting Clarence was anything like that then he has to wonder how Tim, Daniel and Dean could possibly stand to stay friends with him after it.
Yet another step back.
The shotgun is lying on the table. He doesn't trust himself to speed forward and grab it, but maybe if he backs down further and circles around to the other side of the table he can get to it.
Or maybe he won't even have to. ]
{ }
[ Philip takes back another step. And another. And another... ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 09:09 pm (UTC)[Manic, ax gaining momentum, he tests his memory.]
Fee.
[A step.]
Fi.
[Another step.]
Fo.
[And another.]
Fum.
[He jerks his head to the side, cracking his neck. There's an audible POP.]
I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive or be he dead-
[Dean lifts the ax and snarls, bolting forwards.]
I'll crush his bones to make my bread.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 09:45 pm (UTC)With relief he smiles at the lucky dodge, until he realises that the pain in his chest has little to do with the sudden shock and everything to do with the gash Dean's axe left there.
It's not very deep would be a fortunate discovery, were it not for his left arm which took most of the blow.
(He knows because it refuses to move when he tries to bring it up to inspect the wound.)
Mind, none of those things register in order or detail. All Philip has to go by is the cold pain and teeth clenched together tightly in his stubborn refusal to let the agonised groan that escapes his throat turn into a scream.
And then it all but stops and there is a peculiar numbness where the throbbing of his wounds should be.
He remembers the feeling. And it's not a good sign.
Eyes wide Philip lunges forward and pulls at a chair with his good hand, half slamming half throwing it towards the hunter before swaying, swaying and running like hell.]
1/2
Date: 2011-10-29 10:25 pm (UTC)[Dean exclaims gleefully as his ax hits home, slicing deep into Philip's forearm. He almost felt that one himself, it was so satisfying.]
Now hold still, you're like a goddamn jackrabbiiiihhhhahhahahahaahahaha!
[Laughing hysterically at his own horrible joke, he lifts the weapon up to take another swing when Philip lurches in and grabs a chair. He slam-dunks it like Michael Jordan back when he was a part of the Chicago Bulls, and Dean isn't sure whether it's wood splintering or one of his ribs.]
2/2
Date: 2011-10-29 10:28 pm (UTC)Phil.
[He rasps, clambering to his feet slowly.]
That...thaaaat was a good- [HACKcough] -one, Phil. Reeeal clever.
[On his knees, Dean chortles and mumbles something disjointedly before fumbling for his ax.]
Gonna cut off your fucking feet first, buddy, and- and we're gonna have a nice chat.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 10:58 pm (UTC)Stumbling across the dining hall as fast as his increasingly leaden legs will carry him Philip turns over the occasional chair where he remembers to, hoping the fancy furniture obstacle course will buy him time.
The shotgun is left forgotten on the table as Philip sprints past it, almost crashes into the door and fumbles with the lock until it clicks and the door swings open into freedom. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-29 11:36 pm (UTC)But his prey is escaping. Too fast, far too fast. Fortunately, he's leaving a pleasant, bright-red trail of breadcrumbs behind him.]
Leaving so soon?
[Dean shouts after him, kicking the dining room door open completely and watching as Philip disappears around a corner. He gives pursuit hurriedly.]
Where ya goin', huh? [Oooh, somebody's a fast sprinter.] Party ain't over yet!
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 12:07 am (UTC)But the noise of chairs being kicked behind him reminds him that this is far from over.
He pushes himself to his feet painfully and runs, runs, runs and runs, frantically and further and further away until he finds himself in what must have been the entrance hall and for all he knows he is back in Greenland, running through the Shelter's corridors with the Infected on his trail.
The first door he pulls open leads downstairs and before he can slow down another wave of dizziness washes over him and he loses his balance, tumbling down the stairs.
When he crashes down at the bottom he swears he heard something rip, swears the rest of his arm just tore off (and he certainly has the pain to back up that theory).
At this point it's questionable whether he is even aware who he is running from or why.
All he knows is that he can't stop, that no matter how many times those bloody knees give away under his weight, he has to make himself stand up and GO and disappear into the darkness of the mansion's underground cave. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 01:03 am (UTC)The cellar.
He runs faster. Down the stairs, into the darkness where he slaughtered that sweet little girl not but a few hours before, hop-skipping over the nail-gun, sliding into the shadows.]
Phiiiiiiiiiil.
[Dean croons quietly. There's only one place Philip could go.
So he follows.]
You can't hide down here forever, man.
[His voice really echoes in here. Just for kicks, Dean laughs. The reverberations bounce off the walls back to him, and the barking sounds devolve into deep chuckles.]
I'm gonna fiiiiiind you...
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 01:43 am (UTC)In the distance a voice calls out to him. ]
[ The relief gets stuck in his throat and he clasps his hand around his mouth. Just like that every single echo of his friend's name turns into a sharp jab of panic, makes everything around him spin worse than before.
The other way. It was the other way around. Dean isn't about to deliver a heroic rescue in the nick of time, everything is not going to be all right, he isn't the solution, he is the problem, he is the monster Philip was running from.
(Disoriented as he was Philip let go of that little factoid all too gladly, if only for a second.)
His legs stand by their decision.
But he can still move.
And he can disappear in the caves, no matter how slowly, he can take it step by step and let the comforting darkness swallow him. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 02:33 am (UTC)[Dean smirks, edging around a stalagmite. His boots aren't too quiet, but it doesn't matter. It shouldn't be that difficult to find him, just because it's dark and-
Oh, right. The light on his communicator. Dean switches it on and flashes it over the ground in front of him.
More red.
He switches it off again.]
You don't want me to get bored, do you? [Dean growls, slamming his ax into the nearest rock. It sparks for an instant and then goes out.] If I do, I'm gonna find someone else.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 02:43 am (UTC)Not a line of thinking that is likely to work on Philip, even if he was in the right state of mind to pay attention to Dean's words in the first place.
But he's not and Dean's voice is sounding further and further away and
And Philip wonders if that's a very good or a very bad sign.
Either way he moves on, rounding corner after corner in the underground maze. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 03:12 am (UTC)...nothing.]
Phil.
[It's quiet. Something drips. It echoes.]
Phil.
[Dean scrapes the flat of his ax over the rocks, and it screeeeeeeeeeeches in the silence.]
Phil.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 04:01 am (UTC)Philip's earlier slip-up is not about to repeat itself.
And it's not just because he's currently lying in one of the cave's corners, all but unconscious. ]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-30 05:14 am (UTC)[How immeasurably disappointing.
Thoroughly pissed, Dean flicks the light of his communicator back on and follows its beam out of the cave. The blood trail got cold once puddles of water started showing up in the caverns, and he has better things to do than flail around in the dark like a fucking Muppet when he could be gouging someone's eyes out.
Good day, sir.]