ashtreelane: (flashlight beam)
[personal profile] ashtreelane
unseelie does not give you reason to fear; it won’t show your senses a thing
The darkness doesn't seem to be any different here, at first. Except where there were walls to steady yourself, and feel your way along...there's nothing now.
you’ll never know why ancient language you cry when you open your mouth to sing
It's just endless, open space.

Date: 2006-11-10 04:45 am (UTC)
ladyfirestarter: (in the dark)
From: [personal profile] ladyfirestarter
One shaky blundering step forward, and another, and then Charlie forces herself to stop before she begins running in panic.

"Is anyone in here?"

Echoes chase themselves back to her: one in here, in here, here.

Date: 2006-11-10 04:51 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bev-marsh.livejournal.com
Bev shrieks, any composure she's managed to gain lost in a heartbeat as the floor tilts and her hands scrabble for purchase against a wall that's suddenly

(we all float down here)

not there anymore

(and you'll


float

too)


and she lands in a panicked sprawl on the ground.

Date: 2006-11-10 04:56 am (UTC)
ladyfirestarter: (in the dark)
From: [personal profile] ladyfirestarter
"Who's there?" (there? air?)

A woman's voice, struggling for evenness; footsteps, scraping the floor nearby.

Date: 2006-11-10 05:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bev-marsh.livejournal.com
Bev straightens up, grabbing the slingshot out of her pocket again--visibility or not, it's an automatic gesture.

"I'm Beverly Marsh," she calls in return, trying--and mostly failing--not to shake. "Who're you?"

Date: 2006-11-10 05:17 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] ladyfirestarter
"Bev? Bev Marsh?"

Startlement -- and a little relief.

"It's Charlie McGee. I'm over here."

Date: 2006-11-10 05:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bev-marsh.livejournal.com
"Charlie?" Bev moves toward the sound of Charlie's voice, her free hand outstretched.

"Um. Do you have any more idea than I do where 'here' is?"

Date: 2006-11-10 05:30 am (UTC)
ladyfirestarter: (in the dark)
From: [personal profile] ladyfirestarter
"I'm afraid not -- were you at Milliways? I was there, and then ... I was here."

They're close, getting closer; her questing hand finds the side of Bev's arm, almost at random.

"Are you all right?"

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Date: 2006-11-10 07:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-woodpecker.livejournal.com
Bernard lands on his ass, like he always seems to do, the wind knocked out of him, terrified.

When the woman and man started fighting, he was--

Impotent. Couldn't see, couldn't do, couldn't stop it. Didn't even really know who they were beyond a vague look, a quick word.

What the fuck kind of dinh is this useless?

He shuts his eyes against the dark, his eyes overdry in the cold air, and just concentrates on breathing for the moment.

Date: 2006-11-10 07:08 pm (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (suit:  loose tie)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
(inertia)
There is an alarming feeling of sudden movement (no floor, no walls) when he is thrown (into or away from) and he couldn't think of anything, not even with an action that requires no awareness, unconscious breathing.
an object in motion tends to stay in motion in a straight line at constant speed
Couldn't remember to do so until he finally lands on the floor (ceiling) hard and he starts coughing, and if he coughs up a little globule of phlegm onto the lapel of his virgin wool Armani overcoat, he doesn't notice. Instead, fingers lift to comb the hair away from his forehead. Back into place. Straightens his tie in the dark, picking himself up to standing.
unless acted upon by an outside force.
Starts laughing, raggedly.

Date: 2006-11-10 07:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-woodpecker.livejournal.com
Bernard jumps-- an inch? a mile?-- and curls into a ball, forcing himself upright.

The shift was scary enough; the laughter provokes a nameless, primal fear that he has to tamp down firmly.

"Hello?" he whispers, almost unwilling to let it his companion know he's there.

Date: 2006-11-10 07:34 pm (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (Default)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
Patrick twists his head to the side to catch the whisper, the vertebrae popping in his neck (do-re-mi) in a pleasant way to release tension, trying to recall the name (no faces, no names) that belongs to the voice he is hearing.

His hands slide down his sides, into pockets. He smiles (shiny teeth) and he feels better.

In a low voice, he returns, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer is a song performed by The Beatles, with Paul McCartney singing the lead, and is included on their album Abbey Road. . ."

Date: 2006-11-10 07:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-woodpecker.livejournal.com
Bernard's face screws up (if a bomb goes off in a vacuum, is it a bomb at all?) and he shuffles to his feet, disobeying every instinct that tells him ti run run run.

"Well, that puts me at ease."

Date: 2006-11-10 07:50 pm (UTC)
ext_442691: [icon by me] (psycho: ouch)
From: [identity profile] yuppie-trash.livejournal.com
"It is known that Paul had high hopes this song would become a single, and nearly drove the other Beatles mad in his trying to perfect the song. This was also John's first recording after recovering from his motorcycle accident," Patrick continues in his impassionate monotone.

Waits a beat. Removes his hands from his pockets. One hand reaching out toward the wall, fingers brushing against nothing but cold. Cold. The other, fisted around the wooden handle of his hammer. He convinces himself to walk forward (backward), and hums a little bit of the tune.

"Bernard? Right? Despite the grim subject matter, the song is bouncy and upbeat. Although thought by many fans to be a thinly-veiled allegory on the Charles Manson scandals, McCartney says it merely epitomizes the downfalls of life. Like today. Isn't that a laugh?"

Date: 2006-11-10 08:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-woodpecker.livejournal.com
Bernard, his mouth open to ask why the fuck are we talking about John fucking Lennon again? freezes.
(This is not for you.)
"Crowley?" He takes several shuffling steps, and stops.
(What seekest thou?)
"Crowley?" he repeats, louder, almost a shout. There is no echo off any wall.
(I seek my brethren.)
He runs a few steps. "Did you hear that?"

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Date: 2006-11-17 02:10 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (stop children what's that sound?)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
Got to go forward.

Got to keep moving.

His feet are - his feet are getting away from him, and he needs to keep his head down, watch from one step to the next.

(Like the floor won't go anywhere if he doesn't take his eyes off it.)




It takes Crowley a long time to realise that the
chittering
chittering,
chattering
chattering sound he can hear

isn't some trickery this place is pulling.

It's his own teeth, rattling in his head.

And when he clamps his mouth shut, and the echoes of it fade away in his ears as he keeps on putting

one                                                                                                                            s
     foot                                                                                                                     y
           in front                                                                                                       a
                     of the other                                                                                   w
                                                                                                                     e
he realises that that's all he can hear; one set of footsteps.                             d
                                                                                                               i
It's when he tries to spin around to look for Veronica that everything goes s,             
and his knees hit the floor with a solid whunk.



When the shivering is under control again, and he looks up, Crowley lets out a quiet moan of fear.

He can't see.
                  (This is not true; there is simply nothing left, in the vast and empty black, to look at.)

Date: 2006-11-17 03:07 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (stop children what's that sound?)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
Crowley tries to get up, until another wave of shivering hits. Less violent, this time. But enough to send him d
                 o
                   u
                     b
                     l
                     i
                    n
                   g

                 o
                v
               e
              r,
arms wrapped around himself, until his forehead touches the floor.



In the beginning, when God created the world, the Earth was formless and desolate.

A slow slip and slide, and Crowley's lying on his back. There's a ringing in his ears.

The raging ocean that covered everything was engulfed in total darkness. And then God commanded,

(fiat lux)


After a few minutes, the shivering slows, and slows, and then (this, too, shall pass) stops. In the dark, the corners of Crowley's mouth tilt up; he smiles in relief at the blackness.

It's better now.

He feels quite, quite warm.

Date: 2006-11-17 04:04 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (ice ice baby)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
It's quite nice, actually. Crowley doesn't know why he got so worked up, before.

He really wouldn't mind just taking a nap here, in fact.


ol' yellow eyes
says taste desire
fruit is knowledge
knowledge is power
i am snake
and i bring you fire
But some part, some hard
and ancient part of Crowley's hindbrain
registers... something.
Movement, perhaps.
And movement is life, and life is warmth.
And warmth is life.



But something's not quite right, exactly.

For going to sleep.

In the beginning, there was the formless and empty void. In the beginning, there was darkness. And in the beginning, there was the Word.


Crowley giggles.

Slurred, and slow:

"I could murder f'r a cup of tea."





With some difficulty, he pulls himself to his feet.

Date: 2006-11-17 04:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bev-marsh.livejournal.com
The fall is much, much shorter than the one Bev had braced herself for, and her shout gets choked off as she hits the ground.

She lies there for a moment, gradually taking in the fact that she's not falling anymore.

Then, she gives another shout, this one full of anger and frustration, and only just manages to keep from pounding her fist against the floor by remembering what happened last time she struck out.

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