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The Woodland Wounds Read 9465 times

Ara

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #60 on: August 26, 2015, 03:30:02 pm »
His chest moved under her palm. Under her touch. She probably should have pulled away then but she didn't. Looking back, there were many times when Astrid should have pulled away from Tor but hadn't. Her lips peeled back from teeth when he said that Tor was dead and then Grim as well, as though they were different people, as though one death would not be enough, as though either meant that he was not standing their in front of her now.

Vera was still close, still leaning on his shoulder and looking up at Astrid who did not look back. “It isn't him.” The ghost whispered. “Not much of him anyway.”

Astrid watched his face tremble and change. The hand not held captive by his chest reached up between them to brush fingertips across his cheekbone. He asked for a kiss and her love. Those were things she'd never really taken away from him. Kindness had been robbed of him. Kindness that she showed so few. “I'm not like you.” She whispered the words she'd screamed when they broke up. It broke her heart every time because it was so horribly true.

“No.” Vera whispered back. “You really aren't anymore.”

“Why can't I be like you?” The blond asked, that deep voice quiet with mourning, watching his face change, losing him under those new plates of bone.

Vera reached between them to grab at her wrist, icecold fingers pushing at her veins to remind fire what death felt like. “Because I saved you, even though you would not save me.” She hissed like a curse. “Because you are different, always. And you, willful, hateful, horrible Astrid, made them different too.” The dead girl spoke and Astrid knew who she meant by them. Lovisa wasn't like Tor. Trixie wouldn't be either. She could feel them both where they stood. Lovisa like a fragment of herself, like a limb that shouldn't be but was. And Trixie like a vessel, a product of a necessity she didn't yet recognize.

Lovisa was watching the scene and straining to hear that conversation as well as Damien's words. She was nodding. Yes. Yes. Grim had saved him. Grim was good. Damien squeezed at her hand and she turned her head to look at him, lips beginning to curl in irritation when she saw the desperation in his eyes. “He can't be with us.” He said and her heart clenched in her chest. Grim had saved him. Grim had died saving him.

She jerked her hands free of them and slapped the inhaler from Damien's clutches. She hated it because some part of her was certain he didn't need it. But that didn't stop her from doing what he wanted, what he needed. She pushed past them both to swallow those steps to Astrid's side and jerked to a stop at the sight of what looked like moving bone clutching Astrid's fingers to Grim's chest. Some of those fingers had broken, palm pushed too deep to be on the surface anymore.

Astrid stared back at him. Tor. Grim. Neither. She felt still and calm and horrible. She felt transfixed with the shape of his face, forgetting her own body. “Who are you?” Astrid asked, voice indifferent but quiet. She inhaled sharply when that cold hand clutching her wrist became ice biting at her skin. It jarred her from that transe, her eyes tearing from his when her head snapped down to look at her arm and see the hand holding it. Not the ghostly one of Vera's but the very real one of her sister's with a bruise to match the one she had just been given.

Without letting go, Lovisa reached out with her other hand, grabbing at the digits grown from Grim's chest to hold on to her sister and pulled. She cried when she cracked those bones, tears leaving trails of frost down her cheek before falling as bits of ice. She pulled with both arms until she'd broken Astrid free. She'd heard the last question her sister had asked. The one that told her all the things she needed to know. He wasn't Grim.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #61 on: August 26, 2015, 06:25:03 pm »
The Bone Wyvern liked that she seemed to address if directly when she traced his cheek. It was a good thing that she was not like it, or Torgrim, or both of them at the same time. That was why it wanted her. Things that are shaped like serpents can easily devour themselves, and know not to. It wanted to expand itself. It wanted to be able to be like this fire creature. Some unrest in his chest when suddenly it suspected that perhaps she was not talking to it at all. She had her own demon. It built itself outside of the skin to keep her to it, bone clutching her hard.

Damien had yelped, some of the anxiety let out with the small pain brought by her slap on his hand and the snap of the thread that kept the inhaler around his neck. He shook his head when he looked at Lovisa, forgetting she was a lifeline to her stronger sister, as he put every syllable of the sentiment ‘you are crazy, too’ in his eyes. But then his shoulders dropped, hand holding the one she’d attacked, when shame came over him.

Torgim’s eyes had turned slightly to look at the other sister when she came. The little lights welcomed her. What a perfect contrast she was to her sister. He could not have one without the other. The Wyvern understood the gravitation between the three. Before it could speak an invitation to Lovisa, Astrid demanded to know who he was now, body of Torgrim, and mind of something else. He turned to tell her just as Lovisa touched The Wyvern, where it had exposed itself on his chest. It stood steady for the jerking, until the bones gave, and the two girls fell back. The jagged things shrunk back into his chest, leaving no mark. Under the skin something with ridges slithered around, like some frustrated animal debating whether to pounce.

“I am a little boy who loved in all directions.” Because it was part its host. “And I am a weapon older than your first impulse of malice or self-defense.” Because it was mostly that. The plates on his face breathed, inflated outward, as though of different matter and unobstructed by his skin, until that hard mask retreated into his face to leave the features women of Pineland adored so much. He came closer to the girls that had stumbled. “Do you know what happens to weapons that don’t carry out their purpose?” it asked. “Let the boy tell you.” It suggested.

Torgrim resurfaced through all the schematics he was being shown by The Wyvern of the weaknesses in the human structure applied on everyone present. He bent forward and coughed. Dry powder, cloud. Pulverized bone. A seal broken. They would be mistaken if they thought it was anything but intentional from The Wyvern. He held his chest and breathed as though he had the same affliction in him as Damien. “It becomes frustrated.” He said with some effort, looking at them. He smiled, apologetic, as though he’d spilled food and not hosted a monster.

Damien came out of nowhere, holding a heavy branch, and cracked it across the back of Torgrim’s head. “Crazy!” he called out as he used the remains of the wood in his hands to pummel the toppled Avanson. “He’s crazy!” Damien continued. “Run!” A few kicks to his side for good measure. he felt like a hero, and reveled in the strength he'd given himself, and wanted more of it, and took more of it by lifting and landing the jagged wood hard on the body.

Ara

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #62 on: August 27, 2015, 10:26:07 am »
Astrid shook out her hand absently, fingers cracking back into place, almost glowing red when the bones set and yet she didn't notice. She couldn't notice. Not with Tor in front of her. He looked like himself for a moment but she couldn't trust it. Astrid couldn't trust anything but herself.

Lovisa jumped at her side when Damien took a swing, no longer holding onto Astrid's arm pocessively, but for some sort of support again. “W-Wait.” Lovisa exhaled, eyes wide and watching, unsure how to feel. Grim wasn't Grim but she cringed with every swing Damien took down at that familiar body.

Astrid stood still a second longer, watching wood splinter and that body crumble. “Stop.” She said, not loud but with heat rolling off her lips. Her right arm was glowing red and a flare of light whisped off one iris, smearing the air when she moved forward. When Damien lifted the branch again she grabbed it. She barely had her hand on it before it was gone, her hand closing completely and thick ash rolling through the air, raining down on Torgrim and her legs, soon painting her naked feet.

She was about to push Damien back with that same hand, no idea what it would do to him, but Lovisa grabbed at his arm, tugging him to the side. “He's right.” Lovisa said uneasily, always keeping an eye on Grim now even as she spoke to Astrid. “We should go.”

“Go where?” Astrid and Vera asked at the same time. “Go home?” Astrid almost laughed. Almost.

Trixie started coughing behind them, taking a few sloppy steps closer and moaning about not feeling well before doubling over. Her hands pushed to her knees and her short hair fell over her eyes. Her mouth opened wide and her body heaved, vomitting up thick red onto the pavement.

Lovisa inhaled sharply at the sight. “Shit.”

Astrid didn't look, still watching Tor. “She'll be fine.” She said under her breath, certain without knowing why. “What happened to us?” She asked Tor, or rather the thing residing in Tor, and it had nothing to do with romance and teenage hearts and everything to do with monsters and death.

Trixie gasped for air between heaves of blood, body falling forward into her mess when her legs were too weak to stay standing. She was struggling for air now, body twitching, bones cracking, skin soaking up the blood she'd vomitted out, staining herself a deep red starting with hands and knees and spreading upward. She was crying and trying to call out for help but couldn't seem to get the words together.

“Astrid.” Lovisa shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. She grabbed at her sister's arm and the glowing heat flickered out. “Something's really wrong. She's… I don't know. We need to call mom.” Mom was the doctor. Mention of mom made Astrid's cheek twist and lip curl.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #63 on: August 27, 2015, 04:48:18 pm »
Damien had looked his appropriate frightened self when Astrid caught his weapon. He tried to pull it loose before it was turned into cinder, eaten by whatever spell she controlled. He almost stumbled forward without the support of the heavy branch. He didn’t have time to wonder over the implications of Astrid catching him before Lovisa did, pulling him back, saving him. Large eyes were on the older sister. She was something as well. He coughed as he looked to his side, at Lovisa. She too? Was he surrounded by monsters? Home, Astrid said. He wouldn’t mind being home, theirs or his, it didn’t matter. Maybe things would make sense again if they left this accursed road. He coughed.

Then Trixie did, as well. Hers seemed more terminal. He watched her spill her insides over the ground where she laid, and had to step aside for the blood not to wash his shoes. Some of that puddle wet Torgrim’s body. Somehow that brought out some sympathy from Damien, when beating the boy down had not.

Torgrim’s fingers awakened when the touch of red came to them. Underneath the back of the shirt there was life, something living moving around to mend the trauma wrought on by the stick. Lastly, the creature slithered up his spine, visible, in some sense, when it lifted the skin of his neck on its way to the back of his head, coiling around the round of the skull, probably to soothe whatever Damien’s first blow had caused. Eventually it moved down into the back again. Torgrim moved, moaning and sitting with the push of his hands. “Unn…” he held his head, printing some of Trixie’s blood over his forehead and eye. There were no lights in his eyes when he looked up at Astrid.

“We were born out of the water.” He said, eyes darting from side to side and then down, seemingly confused by the emergence of his own voice. And then the lanterns returned, swirling and crowding his irises. He looked at Astrid fully, then, the Bone Wyvern. “A second time.” He stood, a plate of bone run through by a few seams of red visible in the shotgun hole in his shirt. He looked at Lovisa as he stood. Contrasts. Compassion, aggression. Whistles from his throat, sound of wind over bottle mouths. The Bone Wyvern was laughing inside. “And you were created enemies.” It said.

Suddenly Boy Grim woke, some of those lanterns going out as he slapped a hand over his former lips. He shook his head for them not to listen. The right eye became purged of fire, and it let go a few tears, as though that liquid had put the fire out. Before more of his bravado could commence, the second set of jaws pushed his muting hand away, so they could speak. “Does the fire eat the ice, Astrid Finnian?” it asked as Torgrim tried to turn away. “Or does the ice engulf the fire?”

His hands came back to pull at the two jaws, trying to rid of them by bending them open over his own mouth. His fingers were bleeding in their attempt to pry the predatory mask agape. Suddenly he was able to jerk hard, and the bone dissipated as he stumbled back without falling. He panted, looking down at his cut digits before looking at Lovisa, who had said something about their mother.

Ara

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #64 on: August 28, 2015, 09:26:01 am »
Lovisa had gone to Trixie. She barely knew the girl but she couldn't ignore her now, screaming and vomiting blood on the street. Panic was making her heart beat violent in her chest, eyes constantly flickering between the struggling girl whose shoulder's she tried to brace and up to Astrid's back. “We need to do something!” She shouted now. “Mom's office.” She tried again at something else. The doctor's office. “It's just around the corner. We could go there!” She pleaded.

Astrid was watching Torgrim. Watching the struggle between shades of what him and what was no occupying his body.

It called her and her sister enemies and she could not resist considering it. Was that what they were? It made sense didn't it? Astrid's love was hateful and she loved no one more than Lovisa. She could barely look at her. Barely talk to her. Barely do more than sneer and cut with words at the girl she'd loved since the day they brought her home swaddled in that duck print blankie. Astrid was hot. She was fire and impulse. She was bold and just as unforgiving as she was unapologetic. Lovisa was cold. She was quiet and patient. She was calculating and considerate. What else could they be, but enemies?

“Astrid!” Her sister's voice was pitched with fear. She was waiting. She needed the okay. Where Astrid would have decided and gone, Lovisa was waiting, pushing, needing the group to move with her. She was weak.

Astrid stared down at Torgrim  and his broken face. Not the parts she knew as him, but parts he had grown. Sirens sounded somewhere far away in the night turned early morning. It was still too earlier for anyone to be out but the sheriffs that had been raiding the camp grounds and the parents picking up their children from the sheriff's office.

For a moment the sirens sounded like a challenge and a part of her, a large part of her, wanted to stay and meet them. But looking down at what Tor had become, she worried that it might not be entirely her that wanted that. For the first time, Astrid didn't trust herself either.

Vera giggled, standing on the sidewalk near the face of a building, her back leaned to the bricks.

Astrid spoke just as Lovisa was sucking in another breath to shout at her. “Get her up then.” She ordered sharply before taking that step to stand over Torgrim.

Lovisa didn't need more encouragement, wrapping an arm around Trixie's back and pulling her up against the side of her body. Trixie was gasping at air, her teeth colored by her blood like her chin and neck, like her arms and legs. And when her bangs fell back her eyes matched as well, so deeply red that they were almost a wash of black.

“Leave him.”
Vera commanded, stepping away from the wall as Lovisa walked by with Trixie, aiming for a corner of the next street.

Astrid stood where she was a moment longer, looking down at Tor.

“It isn't him anymore.” Vera warned, voice low and far too serious for a dead girl.

“It's him enough.” Astrid decided under her breath and leaned down, grabbing his arm and pulling, intending to haul him to his feet and drag him along to the empty doctor's office.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #65 on: August 28, 2015, 01:18:22 pm »
Torgrim watched her, her hair slightly lifted, long since dry, by the heat she emitted. Trixie continued her march to death, violently, loudly, like some parade, screaming its own purpose. There was a struggle between the sisters, a struggle Lovisa would take, if it was for others. Then Astrid struggled alone, as she looked back down at him. He had blood on his person, courtesy of Trixie. The Wyvern hurried to the arm she held when she pulled him up on his feet. Neither the boy nor the monster fought her when she started moving.

Around the corner, Lovisa had said. He’d been there a few times. Mrs. Finnian always took time to small talk, making sure he felt like a person who knew her daughter, and not another patient she saw. The Wyvern was amused by the thought of treatment. What kind of magic would this mother have to possess to sever the bond it had with Torgrim Avanson now? The ridges on its nose came back, along with cartilage feathers to elongate the ears, like stoic wings of a small bird.

“This is not just a scrubbed knee.” It said and smiled at her, bone caps growing on his cheekbones, also. It stayed like this, little bone bedazzling on Torgrim’s face and head, for a few steps before the it started to shrink back once again. It seemed a restless creature. Torgrim hung his head, now free of other things than his own features. “Maybe you should not take me to your mother. She probably has a lot on her plate, Astrid.” He said, arm lax over her shoulder.

Damien followed Lovisa, but didn’t want to touch Trixie. He would like to go to the doctor’s office. They had people there, real people. He coughed, and it tasted strange, like the sweet pollen from one of those flowers he’d suck at as a kid. His fingers came to where Lovisa had licked him, a blush on his cheek for the memory as he scratched at the spot until it bled again. He huffed at himself and pushed his finger to quell the bleeding. “Are you alright Trixie?” he asked, wanting Lovisa’s approval again. Obviously they should leave Trixie behind as well, but for now he should feign sympathy.

He lifted his eyebrows when they came closer to the office. He’d spent time there. Usually he was too careful to be injured, but that did not meant he didn’t get sick. Mother took him here once or twice a year. He knew he had a weak body, but he also saw this building as an extension of his health. It gave Damien some hope. He would hurry to run and open the doors for them, which he did by the push of a panel. He tried to hold on to a smile as the sister’s passed with their human cargo. There were more people inside. Perhaps they’d have him.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #66 on: August 29, 2015, 11:25:27 am »
Astrid glanced at him every so often on their way down the street and around the corner, gaging the state of his mind by the bones of his face. They turned the sleepy corner just as lights burst onto that street behind them. The cops drove to the car they had flipped on the other street while Lovisa led the way to the little doctor's office. The lights were on. The nurse was probably already in to do the Saturday morning paperwork.

Astrid grinned a little at Tor's words, because they were perhaps his words this time. “I'm not taking you to my mom.” She said almost grimly, as though he would not get that kindness. “She's in the city for the weekend.” The last truth came out quieter because she wondered if she would ever see her again. It didn't feel like she would, or like she wanted to. They weren't exactly close. Too much alike in their hearts and too different on the surface.

Trixie was burbling but not talking. Her hair was over her eyes again, clinging to her sweaty temples. She hung against Lovisa's side, fingers twisting in the front of the girl's shirt.

Damien held the door and Lovisa walked in first, following by Astrid. The Finnian's totted their human cargo easily enough, receiving Jordan's immediate gasp of alarm from behind the counter where he sat. He knocked over his cup of coffee when he jumped to his feet at the sight of Trixie. “Holy shit.”

“We were in a car accident.” Lovisa answered. He came around from the secluded office space to grab Trixie, leading her into the back and to one of the rooms there with a bed. Trixie let out a mangled cry, arching and twisting on the bed when he laid her down. Her ribs made cracking sounds and Lovisa looked on in shock when the other girl's chest shook and reshaped, shoulders pushing back impossible.

Jordan had started to go about his standard training, trying to stabilize the patient. “Lo. Call Carry and then your mom.” He ordered, pointing a gloved and already bloody hand at the phone in the hallway. Carry was the other nurse in town.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #67 on: August 29, 2015, 10:50:24 pm »
"Really?" Torgrim had said with disappointment. "Aw. I had my heart set on the last color of lolipop." He'd had yellow and orange, hoping for citrus and getting -- sour. He'd not had a chance to pick the blue flavor, whatever it was, since he aged out and was no longer offered the big clear tube. "Besides, I think I'm better now." he said as they walked through the door, though his arm didn't leave her frame. The scent of this place was reassuring. There were still some things that were as they had been, in Pineland.

The commotion that Jordan stirred over Trixie, however, was sobering. This place was a place of attempted healing. Not a clinic, but 'not a damned playhouse' either. They would not be here if things weren't grave. The paintings were friendly and the softcore anatomical posters were homely. Their small town medical office. But their small town had undergone a change tonight. More importantly, he had.

Damien followed Lovisa and watched Jordan go to work. He took a step back to see it all unfold. Jordan put Trixie on a gurney. There wasn't anyone else here. He supposed that was to be expected, at this hour, but hadn't they started trickling in from the lake? Damien fiddled with his fingers as he looked from the convulsing Trixie to Lovisa, and then Astrid still helping that dangerous Torgrim as though he wasn't very likely to end them all. She had seen those growths on him. Why wasn't she kicking him to the curb?

"Do you think you'll get away from this alright, Astrid?" he asked as he sat them down on one of the offered benches. He looked at the numbed on the board. Good thing they weren't waiting. He used to hate those red digits and the angry buzz that came with them. Now he wouldn't mind so much. "Usually the strong female makes it pretty far in the bad movies." he laughed. They had watched a few together when they watched things together. "And the sexy, cocky guy doesn't." he said, and pointed a thumb to himself.

Damien was bent over the gurney, looking at Trixie, and was then shooed back by the man fussing over her. Jordan. Damien looked at the other male and then at Lovisa again before coughing into the crook of his arm. The silver eyes widened when he saw what the fold of skin had caught and he quickly wiped it against his shirt, the yellow powder smearing and then behaving like dust, in that it somehow dissipated the more he rubbed and patted. "Do you know what's wrong with her yet?" he asked, suddenly interested.

Ara

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #68 on: August 30, 2015, 04:05:44 pm »
Astrid leaned her back to the wall not far from where Torgrim sat. He seemed himself for the moment. Whatever that meant now. She looked down at him when he spoke of movies and survival. She liked those movies. The ones where everyone died in the end and the effects were so bad you had to laugh. “You're still thinking about it as though we're the people.” She found herself saying, her gaze moving from him to watch Vera where she sat across from him, one heel bobbing with her legs crossed and wet fingers paging through a magazine. “I'm pretty sure we're the monsters.”

Lovisa hurried passed Damien and out of the room and into the hall where Grim sat with Astrid leaning to the wall beside him. She came to her sister's side only to grab the heavy phone off the wall, the cord slapping against her forearm when she held the receiver up to her ear. She'd only pushed the first two numbers of their mom's emergency cellphone when the tone went dead. Astrid's fingers had pushed the cradle of the phone to kill the line.

Lovisa looked back at her, mouth opening to argue but those dark eyes- dark like her own, stared back. Astrid shook her head once and then let go of the cradle. Lovisa heard the dial tone return, low and present under the panic in the other room. She continued to stare back at her sister but hung up the phone. “Astrid...” Lovisa almost pleaded.

“Do you really want her to come here?” Astrid asked quietly, looking away when it became unbearable to look at her sister any longer. “Do you want what happened to the others at the lake, what happened to Tor, what happened to us, to happen to her?”

“Us?” Lovisa whispered, desperate not to know.

Jordan had put an IV in Trixie's arm after struggling to find a vein in that now deep red flesh. He kept shaking his head, going through the motions to stabilize her but mind racing as he struggled to figure out what was wrong with her. “No. It was a car accident?” He asked Damien. Internal bleeding, maybe? That could explain the blood she'd vomited up because there were no other wounds. But then her chest moved, cracking, his body jerked back when she arched, her shoulders cracking back and her jaw growing right before his eyes. Her mouth opened wide to scream but no sound came out, saliva and blood making those teeth shine when they grew.

The deep red continued to spread up her arms and legs, over her torso and chest and shoulders until it slowly swallowed her face. She went rigid still for a moment before sitting upright and letting out a howl. Not a scream or a sob but a guttural, eardrum piercing howl.

Lovisa dropped the phone and twisted around to look through the doorway, passed Damien's shoulder at the scene.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #69 on: August 31, 2015, 06:32:17 am »
He agreed with Astrid. Monsters. Which meant that in a fictional setting he would be defeated, probably, and that in the real world he would not. He was sure there were no heroes made when he caught this new affliction. A happy thought, if he wanted to survive. Of course, he'd not known many things to survive mankind, and if he was no longer a part of that team, perhaps he should worry. He'd felt invincible on his bone legs, and with his predatory mask, but could he outrun a bullet, or eat it?

Lovisa and her intentions of helping came barraging to them, claiming the phone and dialing a number. Or starting to, until Astrid put a stop to it. He made sure to scoot away a little on the bench, to try and give them some privacy. Somehow getting up would seem too disruptive. The sisters argued. Astrid was always so firm on her points. Lovisa still treated her like someone who could be reasoned with. He was sure they'd be grateful if he got in between them and pointed that out. Everyone loves critique.

Damien was staring at what had become of Trixie. It was frightening because he didn't know if he had the same thing inside him. He coughed again, this time in his hand, so he could get rid of the evidence faster. Golden soot. He shook his head to make it all go away. When he opened his eyes things had not heeded his wish. He turned to look back at Lovisa. "She's getting worse!" he called. Hopefully Jordan would know to kill Trixie. She couldn't survive this, how could she, so it was better she be dead.

"She's a doctor. Do you really think she'll be left out of this?" Torgrim asked Astrid. Perhaps some part of him wanted the mother here. He should worry about that impulse, but could not. He put his hand on her arm, as though touch had ever swayed the older sister. "Either Lovisa does it, or Jordan will have to do it with his bloody hands." It was probably true. With what had been going on at the lake, it wasn't inconceivable that the woman was already on her way back.

Damien kept his eyes on the monster on the gurney. He swallowed as he snuck around it, a wide circle, to find the fire extinguisher at the wall while Jordan busied himself with useless attempts at giving her treatment. Treatment were for people and animals. This was neither. Couldn't he see that? The lithe boy suddenly had the red cylinder raised, and then suddenly lowered. He'd swung it down across the back of Trixie's head. He looked at Jordan before doing it again. "She's not human anymore!" he called out, gold on his lips, pretenses at sympathy gone for the panic.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #70 on: August 31, 2015, 09:33:07 pm »
The scene developed and what a scene it was. Why didn't it surprise her? Astrid sighed and tasted disappointment, watching Trixie's skull cave and her body flop forward onto her legs only to have that heavy red metal crash down on her helpless shape again. Astrid wasn't sure what she had been hoping for, but it wasn't this. Trixie was infected. She had known it because she had been the one to infect her. Had she been curious to see what would happen? Had she been driven to make another like herself? Or had she been curious to see if it could be cured or killed?

Lovisa's eyes were wide, bulging at the scene, her hands coming up to her mouth to push back sounds. Jordan let out a string of curses and tackled Damien, wrestling with him to get the fire extinguisher away and restrain him. “Call the police!” Jordan shouted from that room turned nightmare.

It had been sterile and clean only a short while ago. A room where old ladies sat to get their flu shots and children came for their check ups. It was a room where Astrid had been that time she broke her arm in the third grade and where Lovisa had slept when she had a high fever at six years old. Now it was a room of blood and death and failure.

“Call whoever you like, Lo. But they'll either end up like us or dead.” She said grimly and turned to look at Tor. “What do we do? There might have been others infected from the campsite. It won't be long before someone knows.”

Lovisa was still watching the struggle before twisting to glare at her sister's back. She had turned form her. Turned to him. And he was always there, waiting for Astrid to turn. Lovisa let out a low curse and picked up the phone again. This time she dialed the emergency number. Two rings before dispatch picked up. It was Grace Fillman. She volunteered when needed. There were voices in the background and from them all, Lovisa heard her mother's. A serious voice speaking over others that pitched in panic. Someone was screaming at the police station.

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #71 on: September 01, 2015, 07:13:48 pm »
Astrid would be turning to a Torgrim with dropped shoulders and elongated neck, just as he would look when there was something in the vicinity he wanted. It wasn’t a predatory change, not entirely, it was light, the kind of interest a boy exudes when he wants a girl, but doesn’t want to appear too committed. It was Trixie in the air. She smelled a little like Astrid, herself. But when he had Astrid’s attention, he smirked wider. “Let them come.” He suggested as his hand crawled through the little distance between them, up her thigh to look for her fingers.

Damien kicked and struggled against Jordan. Jordan was a bigger person, which was frustrating to Damien, trying without success to throw him off. The yellow spores that weren’t being coughed out, now that the white haired host was otherwise occupied, spread with the oxygen in his blood. Soon the granular mass spread into his eyes, that were also filled with angered tears at his own inability to fight the other male. “You saw it! She was becoming dangerous! Damn it! Let me go!” he called, mortified by what image he was now projecting in front of Lovisa, as though her thoughts of him weren’t low enough after what he’d done to Trixie.

The girl, undone on the gurney, stayed still while the one-sided struggle went on. The corpse could not listen for long, and soon cracks, muted by the skin of her skull, announced her cranium repairing itself suddenly, violently. She gasped life back into her lungs as she grabbed the back of her head, sitting up. She would seem confused, new, with tears washing some of the blood that had stained her face.

When Torgrim had gathered what was happening from the air, he returned his eyes to Astrid. She’d come around. His other hand reached for her cheek, to see if she’d let him touch her there. Her allowing touch did not always mean you had her affection. He thought of species of fish that let their prey nibble on them to get them close. “Part of me wants to be with you, run with you, and part of me wants to lance and break the people that will be chasing us.” He nodded at the idea, a kind of peace between the boy and the Bone Wyvern. It was of course miserably so from Torgrim’s side.

“Well, Lo.” He said, mimicking her sister’s nickname for her. “Who is coming? Or are we going to them?” Lovisa, it seemed, had not accessed her inner wickedness. The bone Wyvern wondered what it would take. Torgrim’s modest opinions of her seemed to suggest there should be a desperation for Astrid’s love there, and perhaps a deeply rooted frustration, watered by love. It wanted to nurture this. If it could have warm, then it would also want cold. “well?” he said, the Wyvern moving inside him, slithering around his organs in excitement. It was not famished, still drunk on Terrance, but it wanted the sport of more mayhem. Would they have someone here soon, or several? Would he play innocent or would be wreak his havoc with hem?

Verse

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Re: The Woodland Wounds
« Reply #72 on: September 03, 2015, 06:58:49 pm »
They had gone into the police car, the Avason son and the Finnian girls. The officer had said something about how Torgrim should have a stamp card, since he’d been in earlier. They had sent the car from the station because the kids were witnesses, and because Lovisa had a reputation of being a good, clam person. Damien, crazed and with contaminated eyes, had wanted to come with them, confessed to the murder of Trixie who was obviously alright. The officer, Alex Thomson, had not been keen on taking him.

So there they sat, Torgrim in the middle. And then he was not in the middle, stars plentiful in his green eyes when he reached through the fence between the backseat and that of the driver. Spines pushed out of his fingertips before Alex could slam the breaks and ask what it was. Those bone pipes curled and cracked all the way around Alex’s face, and invaded his nostrils and ears until they could swim around in his brain, at cost of its structural integrity. The car rolled, at first on the road, then in the air, and lastly in the ditch before it was nearly broken in half by a tree.

Torgrim had fought wildly, inside, when The Wyvern had dragged the girls out from the hissing wreckage. At one point, when it held Astrid’s hair, one of the eyes had gone out, spring green again, before the thing that used to be Torgrim blinked, and a new gathering of fire rested over of his irises. He could see from inside those eyes as it pulled the beautiful girl closer. To Torgrim’s dismay she tasted well, like eating the surface of the sun. The secondary bone jaws did not burn from her heat. Tears flowed freely while it continued to push her limbs and flesh into itself. It was easier to restrain him physically than it was to keep him from crying.

Then it came over to Lovisa, her skin frosted, and started at her stomach. Bone grew over the boy that wanted to be a boy again. He was dressed in an armor soon, flesh imprisoned inside. He fought for Lovisa too, but was exhausted. The monster of two jaws had a frost beard on its calcium chin when it stood. The wings on its ears were larger now, and several cars would swerve and crash seeing it, thinking it was a blood painted angel. The daylight was humming, warm and welcoming, drawing its shadow long at first.

By the time The Bone Wyvern had reached the station, crowded with worried parents and afflicted kids, it was full morning. It turned to the side, to look at Vera. She whispered about what people it might find inside, and who in there meant anything to the people it had already eaten. The feathers of the wings spread excitedly to make a spiked halo as it took the few stairs into the station, elevating the noise in there into a gurgled, curdled, and eventually dry orchestra of strained throats.