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whiskeyandwalnuts-blog1 · 6 years

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Carnal Sins - Closed

Margot sat in her chair, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes examining all the features of her face. Her skin seemed paler than usual but not enough that it would be noticed by most of the clients. She had not slept well during the day, her period of rest being interrupted by the stinging lash of memories from a past she had long tried to forget. It had been years since she had taken her destiny into her own hands and fled the place that had been a home only in name. After the demise of her mother, Margot’s life had become a living hell on earth and she had decided that she wasn’t going to stick it out and see if it improved. She knew well enough to know that the longer she waited, the worse it would become. When her breasts had started to swell, a shadow of fuzz had appeared on her groin and she had been blessed with the beginning of her monthly courses, she knew that she was becoming a woman and being a woman was dangerous.

She had packed the few possessions that she cared to take with her, had stolen what money she could from the house and had fled in the night. She had timed her escape attempt for a time when her father had taken Mason to a livestock fair. She had known that they were going to be away for a few days and it was a case of either then or never.

Her heart had been in her throat as she had fled and she fully expected, in the first few days, to be found by the long reach of the Verger’s and their resources. It had been a supreme delight and pleasure to her that she had been wrong. She had rejoiced in the freedom that she had snatched from the sky, the hopes that she had plucked from the stars had come to pass but staying in America was too risky. The Verger’s were strong in the USA but their reach would only stretch so far and the shores beyond America, across the vast ocean, were lands of promise where Margot fully believed that she would be safe.

When she had first arrived in Europe, she did not know exactly where she would go but one thing had led to another and she had found herself in Munich, a city that she had instantly grown to love. Margot knew bits and pieces of European History and she found Bavaria to be as beautiful a place as she had thought it would be. She found it difficult to begin with to integrate herself within the population, her terrible German being a hindrance. She had picked up a few strands of the language here and there and over the course of the next few years she had devoted herself to embracing the culture of the city she now called home. A small apartment block shared with many other people was more of a home to her than the vast estate of Muskrat Farm had ever been.

To be sure, it was not a charmed life that she lived for life was not a fairy tale, a fact she had learned in her formative years. Her apartment was small with only the basic amenities and her mattress groaned in protest every time she sat or lay on it. The wall’s were easily smudged with dirt and were thin enough that she could hear any disagreements that her neighbours would share. Her’s was not a life of luxury but it was a life of safety. Here, nobody knew her name or where she had come from other than she had been born in America and had come to Germany to find her remaining family after the passing of her parents. Nobody had ever asked her for more information than that and Margot was secretive, keeping potential friendships at bay and focusing on maintaining her life and her safety. She did not know if her family would have given up looking for her or if they would still be searching. The idea of Mason or her father finding her was enough to force a shiver down her spine. If they found her, they would drag her back and her life would not be worth living anymore.

The job that Margot had secured was in a lap dancing club, a place by the name of Carnal Sins. There were many such establishments in Munich and they suited her down to the ground. The least likely place that anyone would look for Margot Verger was in a club where sex was the product branded and sold, in as many words. She had insisted when she had first procured the job that she would only work as a waitress but, over time, she became aware that more could easily be asked of her. She had learned many tricks in her time at Carnal Sins and she used them to great effect whenever she needed to.

Margot’s fingers reached up to tidy her hair, straight, long and brown. She had dyed her hair in the early days, a reaction to the fear she felt of discovery but, as time passed and she became more comfortable, she relented and allowed her natural colours to come through. Her eyes were the same as they had always been having found contact lenses to be more of a hindrance than anything else. When she spoke, she spoke with a faint accent that was a reflection of the time that she had been in Munich, her american twang blending to create a unique voice that many of the usual clientele had grown to like. It would not be the first time Margot had spent an evening speaking with one particular client and gently encouraging him to spend all the euros in his pocket on drinks and on the beautiful girls that she worked with.

“You better not be late again Yvana otherwise Ernst won’t be happy.” The sing song voice of Helena, a longer time colleague of Margot’s intruded into her thoughts and Margot turned in her seat, a smile resting lightly on her lips.

“I was just checking the shadows under my eyes, that’s all. I’m ready.” She replied, standing up and smoothing her hands down her black, semi transparent dress with opaque stripes across the breast and the hips, preserving some semblance of her dignity. She wore the dress like a piece of armour, it showing enough skin to encourage their clients desires but not to give them fully what they wanted. She was the bar girl after all, it wasn’t her job to walk around in a bra, thong and heels. Her dress was cut respectably halfway down the thigh.

Margot crossed the dressing room and pushed open the door, the music from the club forcing it’s way into the room as she passed from the private world of the workers and into the public eye of Carnal Sins. She crossed the floor, smiling brightly with the youth that was her saving grace, as clients caught her eye. She reached the bar, picked up her pen and pad, placing them on her tray and winking at Andre, the barman. He had a soft spot for her and she always made sure to exploit it when it was required.

She began her circuit around the room, asking clients who were not preoccupied with the dancers for their drink orders. She had collected the orders of two regular clients when she came upon a man who was not familiar to her.

“Hallo, ich bin Yvana.” She always introduced herself in the native tongue. “What’s your poison for tonight hmm?” She asked, pen poised, pad on the tray, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes inviting conversation.

@nigellecter

#nigellecter #beschütze mich #//hope this is alright

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mortyandcarlsbespokesalvage · 4 years

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Day 1 Sequence 2

They hadn’t yet reached the vault, and already they knew something was very wrong.

It had taken precious minutes to check on the status of all members of Squad 13 and regroup to continue the mission. Their encounter with the Doom Rat had given them bumps and bruises. But worst of all, it had cost them time. They felt that dearly as they made their approach to Vault 213.

A few yards from the vault door, the scorch marks started. Spattered splashes of dragonfire residue where it had flamed out. There were just a few at first. Maybe they’d come upon a Walker with an exceptionally wide Loop? But as they got closer to the door, the number and concentration of marks grew. In some places the white phosphorous liquid still burned. And then they found a Walker. And another. And another. Metal bodies had been melted, hacked, and fused to the tunnel floor. Some of them still groaned softly as they struggled in vain to move.

Squad 13 moved forward, stepping lightly and listening closely. There was no rearguard to be seen in the tunnel outside the vault. But from within… Light shone from the open door, casting shadows that crawled across the far tunnel wall. Something was moving in the vault.

As they made their approach, Rosie’s lights hit Muskrat’s rig, Alphonse. It was empty, abandoned, and the plating showed signs of the Walkers attack; palm sized dents and claw marks where metal fingers had dug into the side.

A shiver ran down Raven’s spine. He knew how tough the rigs were. And he had thought he knew how strong Walkers were. But seeing the evidence of their clash left him unsettled. All those dents, the crumpled corners, and gouges made by grasping metal hands. His own armor wouldn’t stand up to that sort of attack. And he’d nearly rushed two.

“No bodies.” Came the voice of Sweeper Ko. “Muskrat must have disengaged.”

“They can only have gone for the vault.” Chimed in Sweeper Li.

It was clear from the carnage that Squad Muskrat had put up a fight, and as Ko had pointed out, no Sweepers were among the molten Walkers. The vault would have been their only escape route, and they had not reestablished a guard outside, so the fight had not ended. Or at least Muskrat had not been the winner…

Raven shook the thought from his head. If Cortez was smart enough to disengage for two Walkers, then surely Muskrat must have found a way out. He looked ahead to the shadows cast from the vault door. It seemed to Raven that it was unlikely that they would find Squad Muskrat idly milling around with the research team inside. But if all that remained inside were Walkers that Muskrat had escaped or succumb to, then what would his squad do if they had to face the same odds?

“I guess we might end up being a cleanup crew after all.” Said Cortez flatly. It seemed that Raven was not alone in his appraisal of the situation.

“Can it, Sweeper.” The Captain snapped. “Vanguard, form up. Burners to the front. Li. Give me eyes on whatever’s inside that vault.”

Sweeper Li nodded curtly and moved swiftly and silently to the vault door. Raven briefly marveled at how his senior officer managed to move without a sound while loaded down with nearly 60 lbs of heavy scaled armor, an air tank, and a belt and pack full of gear. Not to mention her axe.

Li positioned herself squatting just outside the corner of the doorway and pulled a mirror on a telescoping rod from her belt. She held it out into the large open doorway, turning it to see from several angles what awaited them. After a moment, Li stood and leaned into the doorway to look into the vault.

“Li. What are we looking at?” Captain Mendoza softly barked over the crackling radio channel.

No response. Li simply stood, looking into the open door.

“Li! Respond! Are we clear?!” The Captain sounded anxious.

“We… Affirmative! Clear, sir.” Li sounded uncertain. “But, I’m not sure what… something is off.”

The Captain waved the squad forward and Raven and the rest of the vanguard moved to the door. They approached Li, who nodded and gestured them inside. Together they passed under the heavy brace that held the huge door open, entered the vault, and Raven stood for a moment, both relieved and agape at the strange scene before him.

All twelve members of Squad 11 could be seen, alongside another dozen or so scientists and engineers. Everyone was working, excavating piles of ancient trash. Researchers stood over tables, carefully studying artifacts retrieved. On the ground Raven could see the melted, lacerated bodies of the final four Walkers. Counting the ones outside, that meant that Muskrat had brought down ten of the metal horrors.

Raven and the vanguard stepped further into the vault. Cortez knelt down near the bodies of the Walkers, touching his gloved fingers to the iridescent fluid that spilled from the axe wounds. He took a moment and whistled in appreciation of a job well done. A wave of relief passed through the squad. But Captain Mendoza was still visibly tense as she sternly surveyed the scene. Raven wondered for a moment at the cause of the look of consternation on his Captain’s face. It did not take long however for him to register the wrongness of the scene. Sweepers did not dig. Engineers were not research assistants.

What was going on here?

“Hell of a mess you guys made down here!” Cortez laughed. Raven too looked at the extent of the splatter from the bodies of the Walkers. The luminous blue-green bile was everywhere. It stained the armor of the Sweepers in great washes, and it even seemed to have spread in trickles across the floor to the researchers and engineers, staining their clothing and skin. No wonder a quarantine had been called, thought Raven. Even he knew that direct contact with Verdigris was the surest way to contract the dread sickness.

“Trash Panda! Hold!” Captain Mendoza commanded, just as Li and Howell approached Muskrat’s captain as he heaved a large piece of detritus and tossed it away. Raven thought he had almost put the pieces together when the captain shouted, “Don’t interrupt the loops!”

Squad 13 froze. Yes, Raven could see it now. There was no conversation. No casual interaction. Only silent work. Their movements were stiff, halting, and completely synchronized. Sweepers excavated and stopped to pull particular items from the piles. They handed them off to Engineers or NOIR researchers, and passed them to tables. Silently, efficiently. Moving together like a hive.

Raven stood in silent awe and counted. More than two dozen Walkers, all working together. This could not be real, he thought.

“Howell?” Raven spoke into his headset, his voice near to breaking. “What does protocol say to do here?”

“Sorry kid. We are officially off the map.” The senior Sweeper said flatly.

“Everyone fall back,” Captain Mendoza ordered. “Carefully. Take it slow, but get back to the vault door.”

Raven suddenly realized how far into the vault he and Cortez had ventured, and how far it was to the door. He was pulled from his thoughts as a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him hard. Raven spun round, hand on his axe, just in time to see Cortez pointing across him to the Walker that had very nearly bumped into him. It was as if he and Cortez were not even there, he thought. On the one hand it was a relief. If they had been Shamblers, this would already have descended into a life or death fight. On the other hand, he and Cortez now seemed to be trapped halfway across a minefield as the Walkers crossed back and forth across the vault platform between the two men and the only exit. Cortez pointed at an opening past one of the tables of artifacts where no Walkers seemed to be working. They began edging carefully between bodies. They could do this, Raven thought with manufactured confidence. They’d do this and get topside and he’d tell Abby all about it over waffles. Maybe she’d even treat him! (No. She would not. He knew this.)

The crash echoed across the platform, the sound so loud Raven thought they’d hear it topside. His thoughts scattered in panic. The first articulate thought was ‘no waffles after all.’ The second was ‘wait, we’re not dead?’

Raven had knocked over something, he realized with chagrin - it could’ve been Cortez, but Raven was mature enough to admit it was probably him. He’d thought the Walkers would’ve been on them in a second. But there he was, comparing them to Shamblers again. He’d made a racket, but he hadn’t interrupted the loop. They were still oka-

“Mess! Mess everywhere!” a voice muttered. “Can I not have a moment’s peace to work?”

The voice came from behind them, deeper into the vault. Looking back, Raven could see what looked like a cable car suspended from some sort of track among the beams above the platform. From the open door stepped a disheveled older man, thin and sickly looking. Raven thought he looked like he could use a whole stack of waffles, and maybe a nap. He was being ridiculous, he realized. Absurdity was a new response to panic. He looked closer at the old man’s face. He seemed to still be human, but this shift had already gone very differently than he’d ever imagined.

Bright eyes burned in dark sockets ringed by dark circles. The old man’s skin seemed to have a metallic sheen. And peeking out from his shirt collar were veins of iridescent blue-green. He wasn’t a Walker, Raven guessed. But he was definitely ill.

The rest of the Squad had already gathered at the door. Cortez was ahead of him. Raven wondered if any of them had noticed the man in the cable car? Was he even real?

“Hello?” Raven called back across the wide space. His voice echoing into the dark expanse. “Sir? It’s not safe here! Come with us and we can get you to a doctor! You can get across if you just don’t touch them.”

“Kid, what in the Hells are you yammering at?” Cortez groused and turned to check on Raven. Raven could tell when he saw the man in the tram, his face making a complicated expression of surprise and disbelief. So the man really was there. That was good, Raven thought. He wasn’t seeing things. Cortez opened his mouth. “Hey,” he began to say something but the old man cut him off.

“Get them out of here,” the man muttered as he waved them away, before turning around and disappearing into the dark of the tram.

Suddenly, the loops stopped. Footsteps and the soft rustling of excavation that had previously filled the space went silent, and Raven’s blood ran cold as every Walker turned their fiery gaze upon them. The nearest Walker turned and picked up Cortez in one swift, sure movement. Cortez couldn’t even get breath to shout, it happened so quickly. Raven could only watch in horror as the Walker threw him bodily towards the vault door.

He hit the wall with a sonorous impact, the metal scales of his armor reverberating against metal wall. Raven’s thoughts went back to the jumper as Cortez’ body landed with another crash and crumpled on the floor. The Walker had taken direction but not well; it had aimed Cortez at the right wall, but still several meters from the door. Cortez was down and as far from help as ever.

Time slowed again. Raven saw the Captain shouting in a drawn out motion that carried no sound. His squadmates slowly readied their axes in the face of the throng of Walkers that lurched towards them. But Raven’s eyes returned to Cortez, lying on the floor at the base of the wall. Raven once again found his body already in motion, making great strides toward the older man. He saw Cortez move, weakly pushing at the ground to roll over while another Walker, a former Sweeper, closed on him.

The Walker grew closer and larger and time resumed as Raven threw his body against it, knocking it off its feet away from Cortez.

Raven’s shoulder hurt. His whole side hurt where he had body-checked the Walker. It had not given way easily and he felt like he had thrown himself against a wall. He could still move however, and he rushed to Cortez, who coughed and gasped in a great breath as he rolled onto his back.

“Cortez!” Shouted Raven as he pulled at the older man.

“Looks like I get to be the one with the concussion, rook,” Cortez chuckled weakly. “Somebody told me once that you aren’t supposed to move someone with a head injury. Maybe I should lie down for a minute.” The Sweeper smiled weakly and his eyes closed in a wince.

Cortez was barely conscious, and his breathing was labored. Raven did not want to think about the injuries the old Sweeper would have under his armor. His helmet was visibly cracked, and the air tank on his back was loudly hissing from a broken valve. Time. There was no time, thought Raven. The Walker Raven had knocked over was rising to its feet, and more were closing in. He had to get them to safety.

Suddenly there came a bellowing shout from the door - “EYES!” the Captain screamed. Raven barely had time to pull down his and Cortez’s eyeshields before the white flare of dragonfire burners lit up the platform, bathing the nearest Walkers in blinding liquid flame. Raven shook off his surprise and dragged Cortez to his feet, shouldering the bigger man and carrying him roughly towards the door. Sweepers from the Vanguard, Li, Ko, and Howell rushed forward and struck at the burning Walkers, one to a man in defiance of protocol. The recently turned walkers crumpled easily as the dragonfire burned away the flesh that had yet to metamorphose into metal. They met Raven halfway and he handed Cortez to them. They hurried him back towards the door, Raven trailing close behind them.

Ahead, Raven saw the rest of his squad closing in on the vault door as well. It looked like Cortez had taken the biggest hit; everyone else was running on their own steam. For a thrilling minute, Raven realized they’d make it.

And then he heard the clomping of metal feet behind them. Realized that Rosie was big and strong, but how fast was she? He remembered the state of Alphonse just outside. Time. It all came down to time. They needed more of it.

The thought struck Raven like lightning.

“The Door!” Raven shouted at Captain Mendoza. “We gotta close the door!”

The Captain paused for only a moment, then nodded. “Move it people!” she bellowed as she ushered them past her through the door. Li and Howell carried Cortez through the opening. Raven was only steps behind and closing fast.

The Verdigris infected Sweeper grabbed Raven by the armor at his shoulder and he felt it crumple as the Walker lifted him and threw him backwards away from the door. He saw Captain Mendoza move to help, but she was blocked by the wall of Walkers closing on them at the door. Raven was cut off, his Squad was pinned by a group of Walkers at the door and he could see their axes battering against the brace. They would make it in time, but not if they waited for him.

Raven knew what he had to do. He had to close the door. From inside.

Raven rolled forward and slashed in a wide arc with his axe, striking the Sweeper-Walker across the shins and bringing it to its knees. He wasted no time, leaping forward and using the Walker as a springboard to launch himself into the air above the throng that closed on the door. He would only have one chance. He had time for one breath and he heaved his axe overhead as he flew, bringing it down hard onto the brace that held the door.

The brace buckled for an instant, then screamed as it bent and flew out from the doorway, knocking down a row of the closest walkers. Raven landed with the same grace Cortez had displayed as he bounced off the far wall, managing just barely to roll as he hit the ground. He watched the Captain yell something he could not hear as the heavy door slammed shut in front of her. Raven was on his own, but his Squad was safe.

He thought his dad would be proud. Raven would probably be able to ask him in a minute.

No. Stop that. He wasn’t dead yet. Thinking that way would only make him dead. Cortez had specifically told him to not get dead. If he got dead, Abby would kill him. So dying was off the table. Think, Raven.

The Walkers were strong, and sometimes fast, but they could be evaded. He’d managed to do that much already. Frantically Raven scanned the platform looking for any way to go that would take him away from the closed vault door and the throng of Walkers that were gathering there. The Tram, thought Raven.

He looked at the encroaching crowd, saw their eyes that were dead, but burned. Veins of verdigris fluid pulsed beneath their exposed skin; skin that was still unmistakably flesh. He hoped that lingering human frailty went down to the bone too. There was one Walker at the edge of the group that seemed spaced just a bit farther out. He took a breath as he singled it out. It would be a gamble.

Raven threw himself forward, across the encroaching arms, and towards the furthermost Walker. He hefted his axe at his side as soon as he landed and swung in an upward arc, contacting the Walker’s side just below the arm. It struck with a hacking sound against something that was clearly not meat, but not metal either. He put his hips and back into the follow-through on his swing, and felt the great blade give as it sliced upward, cleaving the Walker’s arm at the shoulder, and knocking it to the side. A gush of green fluid sprayed out as the Walker fell. With an economy of movement, Raven dodged to avoid the splatter of bright verdigris, then he ran.

Raven bolted past the larger group of Walkers. Not like Shamblers, he thought. Same stiff movements, but terribly fast when you got close. Raven thanked the Four Kings that the terrifying things seemed slow to react as he sprinted away from them towards the cable car. Whatever the sick old man was, he was not a throng of undead copper ghouls with superhuman strength. Raven would take his chances.

As he approached the car there came a loud thunk, followed by a steady hum as the lights on the tram came on. A tremor ran through the platform, causing Raven to stumble and fall against the side of the car. He righted himself and made towards the open door, gripping the frame and swinging himself inside. But he was stopped as he crashed against a human form. Both fell to the floor.

As Raven struggled to rise, he recognized the uniform of a Mechanical Engineering Corpsman. Then saw the Burning eyes. Another Walker. Staggering to his feet in the doorway, Raven took stock of the tram. The Walker Engineer remained on the ground but a second was standing to his left. And on his right was something - someone - else.

“Young man, these interruptions are intolerable,” came the old man’s voice. It had a strange metallic resonance, as if the pipe organ from the Undercity Market Carnival had learned to speak. Raven turned to see him, and what appeared to be another figure behind him. “I don’t know if you can appreciate the significance of what we have discovered here, but I do not have time to suffer delays on your account.”

The old man looked terribly frail and ill, but he stood straight and stared down at Raven with eyes that burned with the same fire as those of the Walkers. “Remove him please, and let us be on our way.”

The second engineer on his left side quickly moved before him and with a single hand pushed Raven hard out the tram door. Raven felt the breath rush out of him as he flew backward. Even when he hit the ground, he kept sliding away from the car. When he came to a stop, he gasped for breath and strained to get back on his feet. Meanwhile, the doors closed and the tram lurched forward, moving away from the platform. Looking through the tram windows, he could see the two engineers, the old man, and the shorter figure of what he guessed was a researcher in the yellow light. Then the car sped away along the overhead rail, disappearing into the darkness of the canyon-like shafts.

The sound of heavy footfalls brought Raven back to the moment, reminding him of the remaining crowd of Walkers closing on him from behind. How many were there? Where could he go? He looked around desperately. The vault door was closed and he had no hope of opening it on his own. The cable car had disappeared into the darkness. All that was left was the impenetrable deep dark of the shaft at the edge of the platform. The Platform. Suddenly Raven saw what the tram had obscured. A scaffold, reaching upwards into the dark of the beams above. He could not see how far up it went, but for the moment, it was the best path away from the Walkers.

Raven ran and kept running. His armor seemed to become heavier with each breath as he reached the stairs and ladders of the scaffold and began climbing. He could take the time to breathe properly once he got away. Every flight, he paused to listen for the clambering of the Walkers. They were coming, but they were slow. The Walkers did not climb very well or very quickly. At least not as quickly as he could. Raven wondered if they even needed to breathe.

Stupid. Of course they didn’t need to breathe. They were dead. Not only were they dead, but their lungs and other organs were made of metal. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was stupider than usual. There wasn’t enough oxygen reaching his brain to think clearly. Stupid stairs. Just how many flights did it go up? Stupid Walkers. How long did they plan to chase him? The old man had said to ‘remove’ him, but what did that even mean to them? How would a corpse with a copper plated brain parse those instructions? Stupid old man. And for that matter, who was that man and why did the Walkers obey him?

Stupid. The entire situation was stupid, and Abby would make fun of him later for it. Percy was right to avoid the undercity. There was no way Abby would spring for waffles, but maybe Percy could be convinced….

Raven was breathing heavily now. Gulping for air. Positively heaving in fact. How much time had passed? It felt like he had been running for hours. He pushed up the cuff of his glove to check a watch. Ten minutes. He looked down to see the distant floodlights of the platform below. In the darkness it seemed that he could even see the shape of the pipe from the outside. He wondered how many Sweepers could say that they had seen the tunnels from the outside?

His attention was torn from the view by the shaking of the scaffold. Then the metal groaned and Raven was nearly thrown off his feet as the landing jerked wildly. He looked down and saw burning eyes against the dark. A great mass of them were clustered near the platform, still slowly climbing. But two pairs were ascending fast, practically leaping up the scaffold, graceful even with their heavy, stiffening bodies.

Engineers.

Well that’s just not fair, Raven thought plaintively.

He thought of how many games of tag he’d lost to Abby over the years, the limber way she’d twist and leap and climb. And that was before she’d had proper training as an engineer to make all those movements finer, faster, ever more precise. All to better service the machines in the heights of the barrier wall and the towering buildings of the inner ring. Raven knew he was slowing; it was only a matter of time before these Engineer Walkers caught up to him. And that was if the scaffolding didn’t collapse first under their combined weight-

Wait a minute.

He looked up. Yes! Above him was another platform sitting atop another pipe. He could just make out the outline in the fading light of the flood lamps.There was his escape. Below him, the scaffolding was beginning to warp more as more Walkers began to climb. The joints that connected the steps to the landing he was on were noticeably disfigured, the left one especially. He saw the burning eyes of the Engineers right below him, rising. There was no time to doubt. He wrapped his left arm around the railing, and with his right, he swung his axe down hard on the weak joint. It gave easily and with a hard kick to the top step, it swung away from the landing.

Raven heard one of the Engineers hit the landing below, felt the scaffold sway dangerously. Then with a great whining moan, the scaffolding began to collapse. Raven saw some of it hit the vault platform, heard the crash as it and the Walkers fell. The rest of it swung out over the shaft and fell and fell and fell.

Meanwhile Raven hung from the steps by a single arm. But the steps held, as did the rest of the scaffold. He took a deep breath, sheathed his axe across his back, and began to finish the climb.

He did not look back again.

At the top of the upper pipe, Raven turned his headlamp on. The platform was smaller than the one he’d just fled, and it connected to paths that led deep outward into the darkness. A junction between Bridges perhaps. But bridges to where? Now that he was out of danger, Raven was acutely aware of how lost he was. No one had ever been so far out of the pipes before - no one that had lived to tell about it, anyway. Looking up, he could see the Gears, but that was only passingly helpful. Of course the Gears were above him, the Gears sat above the Pipes. But he had not imagined that he had risen so many levels toward the upper undercity.

Okay, okay, so he wasn’t that lost. He still knew these structures, he was just looking at them from a new perspective. He had to make for a pylon, one of the massive pillars that held up the city. All sorts of things converged at the pylons. If he found one and went up, he was bound to eventually reach something familiar. Of course he needed to find his way to a Pylon first.

In the darkness of the pipes, it was all too easy to become lost or disoriented. Compasses were of no use in the Deep Down. The only way that Sweepers ever found their way home again was through radio beacons placed along the charted routes, using them to retrace their paths. So far from the pipes, he was unsure whether his radio would be able to pick them up, but it was worth checking to see.

The results weren’t promising. His radio wasn’t picking up anything more than blips of static, and he couldn’t tell if the uneven signal was because he was so far out, or if his equipment had been damaged in the conflict. Raven wracked his brain for a moment, trying to think past the lingering adrenaline. He laid out the facts as he knew them; he was in an uncharted part of the undercity, his headlamp was the only source of light, his communications equipment was unreliable, and he had the biggest craving for waffles after running up, what was that, 70 flights of stairs?

What he did have were the pipes. It had been a straightforward path from the lift through the pipes to the vault. Just the single turn. If he could follow the pipe back to the lift, he’d be that much closer to the beacons. Maybe he’d be able to get back inside - that Doom Rat had chewed a pretty big hole, after all.

Raven immediately regretted thinking about the Doom Rat.

Still, Raven had survived a great number of horrors from the Deep Shaft today with a shockingly small amount of damage to his gear and person. He figured that as long as he didn’t take anymore obviously bone-headed chances, he should be able to get back to the lift in one piece. He’d take it slowly, and keep his senses attuned for rats, giant tunnel worms, or anything else that could end him in a matter of bites. And he could always go up.

For a while, this plan seemed to work nicely. By his own estimation, he’d made it halfway back following the bridges along the pipe below. But as he retraced his steps he kept looking for the large hole chewed by the Doom Rat, but he could not find it. He began to feel anxious. Was he even following the right pipe? No. How could he be? He had climbed how many flights of stairs on the scaffold? He was easily hundreds of feet above the pipe his Squad had followed. He could only hope that the pipe below also had beacons that he could tune into. He checked to see if the signal was any better - nope, still static - then doubled back to the last connecting bridge. At the end of it was a ladder going up to meet yet another pipe. Raven’s breath caught at the sight. It was just as big as the pipe he’d come from, but it curved and twisted, wrapping around a straighter pipe like a knot.

He’d heard about pipes like this: pipes that were just huge, hellish slants that people fell down and never climbed out of. A few of the crazier salvage operators occasionally tried to send people down them - they were just as full of junk as everywhere else in the undercity - but the mortality rate didn’t bear thinking about. Death pay alone would’ve bankrupt any company that stuck with it. Raven spared a thought for the dead that may rest in that pipe, then began to climb. He didn’t have time to be dead. He’d have to work his way up and around.

Except once he was up, there wasn’t a way back down. He tried to keep moving toward the lift, but there was no way for him to see it in the dark. He could only guess and keep moving. And so it went for hours. He would head in what he hoped was the right direction, and when that failed, he went up. In this way, Raven quickly moved through the gears. He had to stop completely only once; it had started raining, making the catwalks and ladders were too wet to try. Had he ever heard of rain in the Deep Shafts?

It was yet one more mystery of Artisan; the undercity apparently had its own weather. At least, Raven thought optimistically, it wasn’t a deluge like what was happening topside. He took shelter under an especially large bevel gear and waited it out. He nearly napped. He was tired enough for it. But the sooner he got back to his squad, the better. Besides, the barracks had beds. The rain lasted less than half an hour - Raven was timing everything to include in his report later - and after sitting another half hour to let things dry out, he carried on.

Finally, he reached a wall. And on the wall, Raven found a hatch. It was oval, and set a foot up from the floor. A small round window looked into the next chamber, but the glass was murky with age. Still, he had to try it. At least it wasn’t another ladder or flight of stairs.

The hatch was secured with a wheel lock, and it didn’t budge easily or quietly, but if Raven couldn’t brute force a door, the Sanitation Corps wouldn’t have let him look at an axe let alone wield one. The minute it was open, Raven was assaulted with sound. Rushing water thundered past him. He’d reached a canal. And he could see it, too! Maintenance lights dotted the walls, rendering his headlight unnecessary. A good thing too; Raven had done his best to conserve power, but even so he didn’t think his battery would’ve lasted much longer.

He was giddy with relief as he stepped through the door onto the slick catwalk. Canals always led to the surface. He could just follow the path and check hatches or ladders (he shuddered) as he went. The black market could usually be found along the canals, and the market always had people, no matter the time of day. It would be the easiest thing in the world to get back to the barracks if he found the market.

Just as he was thinking happy thoughts about the barracks cots and how many waffles he could eat and taking off his father’s armor for a minute, the sound changed.

It was still water. Still rushing. But it was louder. Angrier. Storm surge, Raven realized with dismay. He turned back at a run, trying to reach the hatch he’d come through. If he could just wait out the surge-

The water was on him, swiftly rising and filling the whole of the canal and the tunnel above. He was too far from the hatch, and as he looked towards the source of the angry sound, he saw the wall of water surging towards him. He had only a moment to remember his air tank and open up the valve to the breathing mask in his helmet before he was swept away. The wall of water hit him with a force that reminded him of being thrown from the tram by the Engineer Walker. His feet left the catwalk and suddenly he had no bearing, no ground to stand on. Raven flailed, reaching for something, anything, that could keep him in place. But the water was too strong and he was too tired after his long night.

Raven fell in and out of consciousness as the water buffeted him this way and that. He had no way of knowing how far it had taken him, or how much farther it would carry him. Maybe to the ocean? He mused. It was hard to think. He could feel himself in freefall at one point, but in the dark water he could only just barely focus on breathing. He was grateful for the air tank, for without it he would surely have drowned by now.

He was tired. So, very, tired. Even breathing through his mask seemed to take effort and concentration. The effort was the only thing that kept him awake as he faded in and out of consciousness.

A sudden, harsh stop brought him back to himself. He’d been thrust against a drainage grate, one of many that ringed the island to dump excess water back into the sea. Raven could see a light, and the ceiling of the drainage tunnel. He could hear the wind of the storm outside, and the wind whistled against his helmet. He was at the surface, no longer submerged in the surging waters. He sputtered and removed his mask and visor. He smelled sea air. With the last of his strength, he raised a hand to pull himself up against the grate. Nothing. He could not pull himself up or out of the water. He had nothing left. And he was so tired.

Raven struggled to keep his eyes open. He tried to call out, but no sound escaped his lips. After all he had been through, was this how it ended? He felt himself fading into sleep. He worried about what would come next, but the fatigue erased the last of his worries. He felt a shadow pass over him. Was someone there? Could someone help him? No, only sleep mattered now. Raven closed his eyes and knew nothing more.

----

#arpage #children of the storm #Raven Daniels #a cliffhanger two chapters in?#madness

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winchestersinthedrift · 7 years

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-prompts you with rainy night motel room feels after one of the boys gets pretty decently cut up on a hunt-

They run out of peroxide partway through, and Sam has to duck out and go to the drugstore two blocks down, it’s faster than driving and finding a parking spot, and he knows he doesn’t have to run, really, it’s not so bad, not that bad, but he does anyway, slows down and swallows down the air for a second when he gets back outside the motel door.

Dean’s on the bed, of course, where Sam left him, and mostly done bleeding - he’s holding a pad down firm over one thigh and there’s some red seeping up under his fingers, fabric soaked through, but it’s - under control, it’s not the silent pulsing gush that means or else. Sam finishes cleaning up Dean’s chest, two long lacerations across his ribs, messy but not clear through to the muscle, and Sam’s good at this, neat and quick with the sutures, tying his brother’s freckled skin back together, a line of puckered gut-kisses running up almost under one nipple, across the swell of his pecs. Dean breathes through his teeth but doesn’t make a sound, not till Sam ties off the last one and lets his hand rest a minute over the line of Dean’s ribs, little finger slipping down, unconscious caress.

‘OK, Florence Nightengale,’ Dean says then, grumbling relief, and lifts his hand a little off the pad on his thigh. It sticks to his palm, crusted with blood, and he hisses a little pulling it off the wound. It’s a deep gouge, two levels of suturing, muscle and skin, and before Sam starts, just before, old habits (don’t take it too early, boys, it’ll thin out the blood, and only if you need it) Dean takes two long swigs of whiskey.

Sam keeps his head down, doesn’t talk till he’s finished, muscles tensing up in visceral sympathy. When he clips the last suture Dean uncurls his fingers from the edge of the mattress and lets his breath out ragged. The muscles in his thigh are jumping, shock-response trembling, tiny fresh pricks of blood pulled around the stitches. Sam looks up, and their eyes meet, relief and fatigue.

‘We got any good stuff?’ says Dean, blows an exaggerated raspberry, pretends it hurts less than it does. Sam tosses him the bottle of pills from the duffel spilled hasty out on the table, looks at him, considers a minute.

‘Whatta we think,’ he says, ‘three days?’ They’ve only paid up past tonight, so far. Dean looks down at his thigh, licks his lips.

‘Two,’ he says.

On the way back from the motel office Sam stops at the vending machines and gets orange juice and saltine crackers, eight in a plastic wrapper, and -of all things - applesauce, plastic cups with peel-off foil tops. Dean throws him an inscrutable look when he gets back and dumps it out on the bed, but he eats the applesauce, gingerly, drinks some ginger ale, and that’s about it - it takes awhile, with the pain and the whiskey and the physical shock, to be able to eat. They both know.

It starts to rain, battering slanted against the windows, cool and fresh through the screen where the glass is open a little. Dean’s still wound tight, shaking a little, but he breathes the rain in deep and leans back into the pillows, feels the painkillers start to take the edge off. Sam’s sitting at the end of the bed, eating the saltine crackers and toeing off his boots. The room smells like wet socks and blood and summer-humid rain. Sam finishes the crackers and shifts forward on the edge of the mattress, puts his hands briefly over his face, drags them down quick enough that it passes, almost, as a gesture of simple fatigue. Dean’s watching him, head tipped back against the pillow.

‘Gimme the remote,’ he says, eyes not leaving Sam. ‘Let’s find us somethin’ to watch for awhile.’ The tone is light but when Sam glances at him he smiles, the boyish bonfire-eyed grin that takes the years off his face. ‘I’ll even watch that thing about - badgers, y’know. The one.’

‘They were muskrats,’ says Sam, with dignity, ‘and I highly doubt it will be on repeat, but yeah, thanks, Gandhi,’ and he throws the remote at Dean and goes into the bathroom and holds white-knuckled onto the sink for awhile.

‘

#wehunt-monsters-whatthehell #idk if this is what you had in mind #but - here's something #zmediaoutlet #baronsamediswife #angst #a bit #hc #maybe?#injury #ok this is apparently impossible to tag #post-hunt #my writing #thanks for the prompt erin leigh!

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fatal-fic · 7 years

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Service with a Smile

I was stuck with my other fics, so I wrote a snippet of the Marlana coffee shop AU that’s been swirling around my head, because damn if I don’t love a good cliché. I’ll probably write a few ficlets in this verse, some Marlana, some Hannigram, some gen or other pairings. (Ondatra is French for muskrat, by the way. ;P)

Inspired by the delicious double entendre fest that was Margot and Alana’s first meeting. Why yes, this could be your entrance.

@blind-inviting-alleys @pragneto @willowbilly @dalmiostagno @drhanniballectermd

Swearing under her breath, Alana shoved the door to the cafe open, one eye on the late afternoon crowd, another on her phone. Eight minutes late for her meeting with her advisor. What a fucking fantastic show of professionalism. A-plus work, Bloom.

To her shock, Doctor Lecter was nowhere in sight. She looked around again, then a third time. Not a scrap of paisley to be seen.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, letting her shoulders relax and adjusting the leather strap on her messenger bag. Café Ondatra was surprisingly welcoming, with charmingly rustic hardwood tables and plush chairs that seemed made for long afternoons reading in the sunlight. She ran her hand over the back of a wingback chair covered in deep red brocade. It was almost criminally soft.

Setting her bag on the seat to claim it, she walked to the counter, a long slab of beaten copper. A display case was filled with pastries, raspberry tarts, buttery croissants, and delicate madeleines.

“What can I do for you?”

Alana looked up and felt her mouth go dry.

The first thing she noticed was the mouth: soft, pouty lips the color of dried blood. Her skin was porcelain-pale, setting off a pair of clever green eyes. Her scarlet apron had the name Margot embroidered in gold.

“I, uh—” Alana said intelligently.

Margot smiled, which made Alana's heart race and other parts feel uncomfortably warm. Alana bit her lip.

“I, um. I don't know a lot about coffee.” she admitted.

“That's perfect. Neither do I.”

Alana stared for another moment before they both started laughing: Margot with a sound like a bubbling stream in a forest, Alana with awkward snorts and giggles.

“What do you like?”

You, Alana thought. “Um. Nothing too sweet, I guess?”

“I have just the thing for you,” Margot said. “A macchiato.”

Alana wrinkled her nose. “Aren't those the frou-frou milkshake things from Starbucks?”

“We don't say that name here,” a voice piped up from the back. Alana glanced up at the jet-haired woman poking her head out the kitchen door. “Also, Reba says we're out of powdered sugar.”

“Thanks, Beverly.”

The woman winked and ducked back into the kitchen.

“Trust me, you'll like it. Or your money back.” Margot smiled, and Alana found herself opening her wallet.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she read the text as she walked back to her chair.

Dear Alana, it read. Please forgive me for the inconvenience, but I am experiencing an emergency with a patient and will need to reschedule. Regards, Hannibal Lecter.

She snorted. Leave it to Dr. Lecter to text as if he were writing a telegram. At least it gave her more time to tinker with her grant proposal. After shooting off a reply, she slid her laptop out of her bag, cracking her knuckles as she considered a particularly tricky bit of phrasing.

“Your macchiato,” a voice interrupted, “and your receipt.”

Alana looked up to see Margot holding a delicately wrought teacup on a saucer. Instead of white china, it was a deep, translucent red. Steam rose invitingly from the surface of the cup.

“Thank you,” Alana said, reaching to take the cup with one hand and to cram the receipt in her pocket with the other. The woman stood there expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

“Aren't you going to try it?”

Alana lifted the cup to her lips, then stopped. “Oh my god. I can't drink this. It's too beautiful.”

Somehow she had poured the milk so that it formed a rose on the surface of the coffee, delicate petals curling over a thorned stem .

“Beautiful things are meant to be tasted,” Margot murmured, eyes locked on Alana's. She licked her lips, slowly and without looking away.

Heat bloomed between Alana's thighs. Two can play that game. Settling back in the chair, she let her knees fall open, watching as Margot's gaze was drawn up the fitted charcoal fabric of her slacks.

Pursing her lips, Alana blew on the foamy surface of the drink. A dollop of foam clung to the rim of the mug. She swiped at it with a fingertip, raising it to her mouth to lick it clean.

“Delicious,” she said, watching Margot inhale sharply. Finally, she raised the cup to her lips.

Fuck was her first thought. Followed by: yes. The coffee was hot and rich, with an earthy bitterness perfectly balanced by the thin layer of cream and a hint of—

“Honey,” Margot said.

Alana blinked, distracted from her haze of caffeinated bliss. “What?”

“I added a bit of honey,” she repeated. “For sweetness.”

Alana closed her eyes, taking another sip of the miraculous drink. She was pretty sure it had added months to her life and made her skin clearer. She would gladly marry this coffee.

“If I drank this drink every day forever,” Alana said, “I would remember this time.”

Margot smiled. “So no refunds necessary?”

Alana shook her head, too blissful for words.

“Good,” Margot said. “I always aim for satisfaction.”

With that, she turned on her Louboutin heels and headed back to the counter. Her tailored skirt hugged the curve of her ass, and her stockings had thin black lines on the back that made Alana want to run her hands up them.

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Alana forced her attention back to her grant proposal.

An hour or so later, the coffee was gone, and so was Alana's will to write. She glanced up at the counter. A curly-haired guy with glasses was taking orders with a bored expression on his face. She felt a stab of regret at losing any chance she had to get Margot's number.

Nothing to do about it, she thought with a sigh.

Days later, Alana was sorting laundry when she felt something crinkle. Blinking, she reached into the pocket of her slacks and drew out a receipt with the stylized outline of a muskrat at the top. There was her order, with a code for a “friends and family” discount she didn't remember being told about.

And at the bottom, three X's and a phone number scrawled in red ink.

#marlana #alana bloom/margot verger #femslash #hannibal fic #coffee shop au

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ishahbazkhanstuff · 4 years

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Ucatch

Mouse and Rat Poison

Eeek! It's a mouse! Nasty little bacteria-laden, disease-carrying critter; hop in the car and down to the local hardware we go. Shelves full of 'death in a box' all with familiar labels: Hot Shot, d-Con, Generation, Rozol, etc. are conveniently stacked for easy selection. What the heck, just pick one. Home again, and read the instructions: "Keep out of reach of children and pets". No problem, we'll tuck the bait way back under that bottom shelf out of harm's way. There, that mouse will soon be toast!

Most people can identify with this scenario. Little do they know that the warning should also read "Keep out of reach of all things great and small, bright and beautiful", because it really is death in a box. The manufacturers are not required to divulge just exactly how lethal their toxic chemical concoction really is.

What Are Rodents?

Almost all rodents share teeth in common. That is, they have both upper and lower incisors that continue to grow. As you might imagine, to keep their teeth from overgrowing they must continually gnaw on something. Unfortunately, that usually means roots, fruits, seeds and plant stems fall victim to their dental needs. It can also mean your walls, floors and household electric and vehicle wiring will suffer expensive damage. There are a few rodents that are the exception to the rule and only eat fish or insects.

In my neck of the woods the rodents include deer mice, brown mice, voles, moles, possums, black and brown rats, grey, red and flying squirrels, chipmunks, wild mink, ferrets, shrews, beavers, muskrats, ground hogs and gophers. I'm sure there are others; I just haven't seen them yet.

Why Do We Need to Kill Rodents?

If you own a vineyard, for example, gophers can mean big bucks down the drain. Their burrowing messes up your root and soil systems, and they gnaw on your grapevine stems causing the plants to die. Rats and mice can spread infectious diseases, like Hantavirus. They carry lice, fleas, mites, ticks and other tiny critters on their skin and fur. As you can see, getting rid of mice and rats in our homes and on our farms is beneficial in many ways.

First Generation Rodent Poison

Also known as Rodenticides, they contain chemicals that specifically inhibit Vitamin K, preventing blood from clotting naturally. Warfarin is an active ingredient used in rodent bait. If you've ever had surgery and had to take a blood thinner to prevent clots afterwards, then you have most likely ingested that chemical. When used to kill rodents, the animal's blood becomes so thin that it cannot carry necessary oxygen to the brain, nervous system and organs and it dies.

First generation concoctions have a good kill rate; however it was thought that the critters might develop a tolerance to it. Thus the World Health Organization became involved and requested the manufacture of something much more toxic. Imperial Chemical Industries of London obliged and developed the new 'super rodent killer', also known as second generation rodenticide.

The second generation mouse and rat poisons kill much more slowly, but employ the same strategy: vitamin K is inhibited to keep blood from clotting. The rodent will go back for seconds, thirds, fourths and so on. By the time the rodent actually dies, it will have ingested many times the lethal dose. It then becomes a weapon of collateral destruction. There is nothing quite as tempting as a rat that is stumbling and slow to run away. Any of their natural predators will also be poisoned after ingesting them. Those include owls, hawks, vultures, eagles, raccoons, foxes; and yes, even the family dog or cat! Wild birds that feed on rodents, and our pets are especially vulnerable; but all animals die horrible deaths after ingesting second generation rodent killers.

What's more, the rate of rodent kill is high for the first 2 years or so of use of second generation poisons. After that the tolerance level is quickly reached and rodents multiply faster than ever! There is no backup plan.

Birds of prey that eat the poisoned rodents, or feed them to their young, develop tumors, bleed through their skin, become too lethargic to hunt, and either die from the effects of the poison, or starve to death. Our natural biological controls, specifically owls, hawks and vultures, badgers, coyotes, mountain lions, bobcats and skunks, among others, are being killed off by poison at an alarming rate. In fact, 79.1 percent of birds and mammals tested by Wildcare, a rehabilitation facility in San Rafael, California, were positive for rodenticides (according to Audubon Magazine, January-February, 2013 issue.)

What They're Not Telling Us

Our precious children are being poisoned by this stuff. Keeping the bait out of their immediate reach is no guarantee kids will not come in contact with it. The rodents are so slow to die that they move around the house for days, all the while trailing the bait along with them on their feet, tails and fur. This stuff remains stored in the liver, so there's no telling how far-reaching its affects will be on our future generations.

Veterinarians will tell you about the high poisoning rate in the pets they see due to the use of these lethal chemical concoctions. Our pets are members of our family. Losing them this way and knowing it could have been prevented is just unbearable. It's a very sad lesson to be learned.

In 2008, the EPA (Environmental Protection Agency) declared that: "Second generation rodenticides posed an unreasonable risk to children, pets and wildlife." It gave manufacturers 3 years to stop selling the more lethal rodent poison directly to households. New York City is solidly behind this order, and agrees that the use of second generation rodenticides as a rodent control is unnecessarily risky to humans and wildlife. This is a strong endorsement coming from a rodent-infested metropolitan area!

BUT, the EPA left a giant loophole you could drive a train through: large quantity sales such as those to farmers, and tamper-proof bait boxes that are used by exterminators were exempted from the cease-to-sell order. The result is that predators and scavengers are just as poisoned from those rodents that have eaten from exterminators' 'sealed bait boxes', or bait set out by farmers.

To date, 26 out of 29 manufacturers of second generation mouse and rat baits have complied with the EPA order. The 3 that have refused to cease production of these poisons are:

1. Spectrum Group, a maker of pet care products (ironically) as well as 'Hot Shot' mouse and rat baits with the active ingredient BRODIFACOUM, which is the most deadly to pets and wildlife.

2. Liphatech, producer of 'Generation', 'Maki', 'Rozol'and 'd-Con' which contains BRODIFACOUM.

They also make Lysol, Woolite and French's Mustard!

3. Reckitt Benckiser, which is trying to drag this out in court, while innocents continue to die.

How We Can Help Stop the Killing of Our Natural Rodent Controls and the Poisoning of our Children and Pets:

Rodent Traps:

· USE safe alternatives to poison baits like old fashioned multi-use snap traps or covered disposable snap traps (so you don't have to see or handle the dead critter), which are available at the same store where the toxic chemicals are found!

· Humane pest traps-- that's what I use. Add peanut butter as bait, and take the live rodent to a location at least a mile away to release. You don't want them to end up back at your house! Also domake sure the release location is away from homes or farms. Be sure not to make problems for someone else!

· Electronic rodent killers. These seem to have mixed results depending upon where they are placed in conjunction with the actual rodent point of entry. More than one is usually needed to cover the area in question. Quite often our attic is mouse central, especially in the autumn and springtime. In order to make sure the whole area will receive the electronic shockwave that is the rodent repellent, we need to set up 6 devices. The use of a surge protector with 6 outlets is convenient in this case.

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