come_sailaway | [SEMI-CLOSED] i am the crawling dead

Entry tags:

[SEMI-CLOSED] i am the crawling dead

Who: "Jeff" & friends. Contact me if you want to get in on this, but please read the notes first!
What: Violence and magic, mostly
When: Mid-month?? A few days after this post probably
Where: SPIRIT HALLOWEEN, Bellona Theater, Stairwells, other places where a guy can commit acts of violence in peace
Warnings: Violence, possession, character death, and potential warnings for emotional manipulation / magical mind fuckery, spiders, needles, fire, blinding, blight / poison / decay effects

Notes: well okay so "Jeff's" totally innocent slice of life catch-all was cut short by his boyfriend rudely exposing him as a ghost possessing the body of actual Jeff. So it's time to go out and enact some violence while he can get away with it. He will be going all out with magic, and character death is a possibility (provided all parties agree to it OOC etc). Encounters can also end with either party running away or getting interrupted. Ultimately, Jack will be taking him out!

Per the warnings, he can (potentially!) attack with emotional manipulation magic, light tricks (very minor/simple illusions to blinding flashes), telekinesis (could lead to blunt force trauma or throwing sharp objects), fire, and blight (who the fuck knows what that'll do to a person, let's find out!). Let me know if you'd like to avoid any of these coming up in a fight.

more human than human
He could hide. Stick to the shadows, lurk in the Spirit Halloween, set up camp under a bunch of cheap Grim Reaper capes. Or he could lie. Tell everyone Bash is acting weird, and he's so worried for him, worried he's going to wind up hurting himself or others.

But why should he do that? If the cat isn't out of the bag already, it's going to be, and then what? It's a freaking boat! He can't go anywhere, they can't go anywhere, they're all stuck together. All he can do, right now, is use what time he has, while he's still mostly under everyone's radar, to do as much damage as he can.

Besides, this body's got Power. It's different, sure, from the power he knew in life; it needs to be coaxed out through song and melody and that part's totally lame, but power is power, magic is magic, and this is his now.

There's a memory in his head. Jeff (younger, a teenager) and his loser burnout friends, wasted and making grass angels in an empty football field. He's singing, laughing gleefully, and the grass is wilting beneath him-- beneath all of them. It looks wild when they're done, imprints of celestial bodies burned into the field. That's all he ever used this spell for, little pranks and parlor tricks.

Blight. There's a song for that spell, and he knows that now, too. He knows everything Jeff knew. All those secrets of magic (who knew that idiot could retain so much), just waiting for someone sharp enough to piece them together into something useful.

Did you know that illusions are one step off from light tricks? All it takes is a little bit of finessing, finding juuuust the right notes in a song, and suddenly, all those cute little fairy lights of Jeff's start to look, and move, a lot more like a swarm of spiders. It's not Creation magic, and it doesn't scratch the itch, but at least he can take the bard's magic and make it resemble his own.

He'll learn to Create again one day, but in the meantime, this'll do. And yeah, okay, illusions can't do anything, but they can hide something. Add an extra note here, change the pitch there, and he can mask some sewing needles in the spiders. Is it necessary? No. But hey! If there's one thing he's got in common with the real Jeff, it's a love of pointless drama and theatrics! Why simply throw needles at people when you can float them inside illusory spiders?

Anyway. He won't be hiding. Anyone who wants a piece of Jeff will be able to find him-- assuming he doesn't get to them first. Just follow the sound of singing. He's most likely to be found in the theater, or a stairwell, the Infinite Spirit Halloween (you know, for the atmosphere!), anywhere a person could stumble upon him, while still offering enough privacy to have some real fun.

It doesn't even matter if you're looking for a fight. He's absolutely going to start one. But for now, just enjoy the melody coming out of the bard and-- hey, is that a spider skittering past your feet? Or maybe you start to feel something tugging in the back of your mind, the beginnings of fear, or confusion, or some other, indefinable feeling stirring up. Or maybe nothing's happening yet, look, just step right up for some magic bullshit!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jack hears something unusual from the theater: Activity.

More specifically, it sounds like someone is singing in there. Jack is a curious man, perhaps too curious, and while his relationship with the arts is... .... ..... Rocky, this ship has sort of forced a new beginning on everyone here. Why not indulge it?

Everyone on this ship has been pretty decent so far... Honestly, more than that, honestly. People here are reasonable, and most critically, not one person has made an attempt on his life since he got here. What's there to worry about now, and in a theater no less?

So he enters it as quietly as he can, so as not to bother whoever's performing.

There's definitely nothing suspicious going on here. It's just another totally normal, reasonable, decent passenger, sitting on the edge of the stage, singing-- then stopping-- then singing something slightly different-- then stopping again--

--and so on.

He's looking a little disheveled, some scrapes here and there, a fresh-looking bruise blooming around one eye (thanks to taking an elbow to the face), and a bandage on the bridge of his nose (thanks to taking a head to the face), which is bruised, tender, and cut. But hey, he can't be that bad off if he's still singing!

As for what he's singing... It's Britney, bitch. What, he's got layers!

Anyway, as he sings, his attention seems pretty solidly fixed on something-- a lot of somethings, actually-- skittering around him on the stage. Looks like spiders, but don't worry: they're not real!

He's still trying to figure out if he can cobble together some approximation of his spiders, okay? A tiny light illusion, a little needle to mimic a bite-- which doesn't have any strategic use, it's just for fun-- now all he needs to figure out is how to work that Blight spell in, for venom...

(...ugh. This is stupid. He should just stick to throwing Halloween decorations at people.)

For now, at least, he seems pretty distracted. And aside from the scrapes and bruises, he has such a sweet, angelic face. Totally harmless!

Edited 2022-10-12 22:54 (UTC)

Jack, none the wiser, pauses just at the start of the audience area. At first, it's just to listen to the man singing long enough to hear the lyrics. Not that the guy is singing for very long between breaks, but that's the difference between practice, rehearsal, and recital, right?

Smiling a little, he heads down the main aisle thing between the seats, though he slows as he registers that bandage and remembers that while the ship is falling apart, he's actually not in a crumbling ocean-adjacent society again.

Then he stops the second time when he notices the movement on the stage and registers them as spiders.

There are no animals on the ship, Jack remembers, but what he blurts out all the same is: "Are those your spiders?"

He looks over at the stranger (okay, sure, every passenger's a stranger to him, technically, but he can't place the guy in Jeff's memories, either) and waves in greeting, still singing as a spider skitters along the palm of his hand.

"Mmmm--" Just gonna draw that hum out to let the spiders linger a little longer, annnnd-- "Yeah."

They vanish. There are a few, scattered needles on the stage where some of the spiders had been, but otherwise, there's not a single trace of them left.

"Don't worry, man. They're not real." There's an unspoken unfortunately dangling at the end of that remark.

Despite the disappointment in the man's voice, and despite never having had strong feelings about spiders before this very moment, Jack's kind of glad that none of those spiders were real. Yeesh.

"Yeah, no, yeah, I figured." Jack says since everybody knows there's no normal animals on this boat, ha ha, he totally wasn't fooled for a second there.

His hands end up on his hips and he gives a nod to the guy. "That's a neat trick. Uh... Magic, right?"

Which, the whole ship runs on that, there were notes about it in the information session, one of his earliest conversations on this ship was with a flying talking skeleton, and yet it still feels weird to just say that out loud and have it be an actual, real thing.

It is a neat trick, isn't it? The real thing's better, but of course, stupid Jeff's stupid magic isn't powerful enough to Create, so here he is, cobbling together a pale imitation of his familiars like some magical Macguyver.

Abruptly, his expression lights up, infused with all that vapid sunshine Jeff tried so desperately to hide behind, in a mocking imitation of his host body. "That's right!" Jazz hands! "Magic! Wanna see another trick?"

There's a feeling creeping up the back of Jack's skull, prickling and cold, that tells him to be on-edge. He's been on the ship longer than he (remembers) being in Rapture, yet the abrupt swing in the guy's voice and the state of the ship tells him that there's danger somewhere out there, and he needs to be ready.

The near two-months on this ship remind him that people are just friendly here. Yeah there's still blood in the promenade, but the otger passengers have looked nervous and sad at worst, not ready for a fight, and present in what smalltalk there's been instead of forgetting where and when they are. Plus, it's only a few places wrecked; this theater is fine, after all.

So Jack makes his shoulders ease and he smiles and says "Sure!", an offer forming in his mind to share his non-magical tricks in return.

What is it about Jeff that puts everyone at ease? Is it the innocent face, or the weak, skinny body, or... or is there just some aura around this guy that screams 'I'm harmless!'

It's completely baffling. Advantageous, sure, but also frustrating, like it gets under his (well, Jeff's) skin in a way he can't even pinpoint, fills him with some poisonous mixture of disgust and envy. His expression falters briefly, just for a fraction of a moment where that smile looks more like a snarl, and then it passes.

"Okay. Hang on--" He holds up both hands, pointing up at the lights. "Gotta set the stage."

And as he sings a wordless tune, the lights in the theater dim to almost nothing. His singing picks up, and soon, fairy lights begin to sparkle in the darkness. They look like they're floating, dancing, in a whimsical display of magic, before they begin to converge at one point--

--and if he's watching him and not the lights, Jack may notice Jeff... lifting his arm to cover his eyes.

And then he raises his voice, and there's a bright, blinding flash where the fairy lights once were.

Edited 2022-10-14 13:20 (UTC)

For a moment, Jack completely, utterly falls for it. The lights are pretty, the singing is nice, and it's a neat trick.

He's lucky in that he sees the lights gathering in the center stage and assumes that's the end of their performance, and with a stupid entranced smile on his face, he lowers his gaze to the guy on stage, ready to give his compliments. He sees the arm over his own face and while he's confused on the surface, that part of him deep at the back of his skull, hardwired into his brain through experience or maybe even by design, recognizes that something is wrong. His face falls, the alarms in his head ring, and the theater fills with light.

"Fuck!" Jack exclaims, shutting his eyes a fraction of a second too late, the rest of that second wasted in turning away and swinging his arm over his face.

Having his eyes almost-averted is his only saving grace, leaving him with a glaring afterimage in his vision instead of utter blindness.

What erupts in the aftermath is a sharp, giddy laugh, as the bard hops to his feet and backs up on the stage. Having covered his own eyes, of course, he's got no idea that Jack didn't take the full brunt of his little prank, so somebody's operating under even more hubris than is warranted, here.

(Is any amount of hubris warranted, really?)

In the dim light, he moves his hand like a conductor, kind of, sort of, as he begins to sing another song. With it, one of the light fixtures breaks from the ceiling and-- with a point of his finger-- goes flying towards Jack. Jeff doesn't even wait to see if it hits before he begins to break off another to line up his next shot.

Jack hears the whooshing of air too late to do anything, taking the first light fixture directly to his body. He's knocked clear off his feet and onto the ground in what seems like an easy win.

There's a lot Jack hasn't said about his time in Rapture. For example, he avoided, whenever possible, any mention of the Little Sisters. By association - other than in a few drunk brag contests, maybe - he's left out talk of their guardians, the Big Daddies.

There was one type of them, the Bouncer, that fought close-ranged. Which meant that if, say, you took shots at it or were hoping your electro-bolts would keep you safe, you would find yourself violently corrected into the wall by a charging mountain of muscle and steel. And sure, you learn to play bull-fighter after awhile, but if you're in a city where genetic modification can be bought out of a vending machine, you splice yourself a safety net.

Which is to say, while another man might be down for the count after having a box of metal and glass slammed into him, Jack has had and is built to take worse. And now that he knows what's coming, he throws his arm out and reaches out with his mind for the second projectile - there's always a second one - before he even opens his eyes.

The second light seems to speed up for a second as Jack's telekinesis yanks it in line with his palm, stopping a few inches in front of that. And, blinking quickly, slowly clawing his eyesight back, Jack starts to get up.

Edited 2022-10-14 18:01 (UTC)

Oh...

As Jack stops the fixture dead in its path, he watches with bright, hungry eyes, the song and all the magic it was generating dying on his lips.

"Okay," he laughs. "Wasn't expecting that. This is about to get a lot more fun."

Okay. Remember. Note to self. Don't kill this one. Don't let him escape. Do incapacitate him enough that he won't be a problem anymore. You got this. You're the biggest, baddest witch of all. You can do it.

"So, big guy." He spreads his arms in invitation. "What else ya got?"

Laughter: Check. Inappropriate attitude to the situation: Check. Expectation of entertainment from his 'performance': Check. A desire to hurt him for no clear reason: Check. Unchecked hubris: Check. Furniture and/or fixtures flying at him: Check. All of the above in a fucking theater, now in pieces, in a closed-off inescapable area too close to the ocean: Check.

"If I had a fucking nickel..." Jack mutters under his breath. Some part of him feels humiliated, even though there's no one to hear 'I told you so' from but his own thoughts.

Jack stands straight and in answer to what else he has, he lets go of the light fixture.

The thing about his telekinesis, is that it's less like picking something up and carrying it around, and more like pulling back the stone of a slingshot.

So when he lets go, the light zooms across the theater right for the man at center stage.

Of course, Jack knows it's never that easy, so he's already moving, already reaching with his telekinesis to draw back what's left of the first fixture that heard him while he weaves into the audience seating.

Edited 2022-10-14 20:48 (UTC)

Hey, hey, hey, Jack. Hey. Are you implying Chase (that's his name, his name's Chase, we all know this by now) isn't 100% original and unique here? Not cool, man.

What's also not cool is throwing that light fixture back at him, because while Jack can take a lot of damage, Chase knows, with absolute certainty, that this noodly body won't be able to keep up if they match each other blow for blow. Dodging and running are pretty much his only options, and he manages to scramble out of the way of the first projectile, making a break in a sort of frantic zig-zag, away from center stage.

Exit, pursued by light fixture.

That's what he envisions, anyway. What actually happens is that second one collides with his side, and sends him skidding across the stage.

Ow??? How's a guy supposed to sing under these conditions?

He hears the sound of a body hitting the stage and sliding, and the thoughts fall into line in his head: hop the seats, grab your wrench, rush the stage, hit him with the one-two punch of electrobolt and the wrench-

But he gets his foot on the back of the seats in front of him and pauses just as he pushes down.

This isn't a splicer, it's a fellow passenger. One who's attacking him for no reason, but who possibly can still reason, and isn't - isn't everything else about splicers he used to justify what he did in Rapture to get out of there.

So he hesitates, hand over the handle of his wrench. What should he do? Negotiate? Leave would be the smarter option, but the exit of the theater is so far away.

Or maybe - maybe he can figure out a way to end this at a stop before death. Incapacitate, somehow. Can he even do that? Or did they build him with no way of toning himself down?

He continues the motion of hopping the seats, but he's taken too long to do so, plenty of time for his opponent to recover. The electric blue sparks dancing up arm, however, might indicate that Jack doesn't have to get too close for his next move.

Breathe, breathe, find his voice again... If he were in his own body, that little hit wouldn't have even been a problem. He could bounce back and hit him with something-- anything-- with a twitch of a finger. But this is Jeff's body, with Jeff's magic, and okay, maybe he's starting to get why the guy was such a pacifist.

Because what self-respecting witch wants to sing their way through a fight?! He feels like an extra in West Side Story.

He picks himself up to a crouch, takes a sharp breath in (hurts, but hey, at least the wind's not totally knocked out of him anymore) and begins to hum, sing, just... make some noises, any noises, that resemble a melody enough to tap into the bard's magic. He's watching Jack, and where he's heading, and the intention behind the frantic tune is to set the chairs in his path on fire, turn it into a raging fucking inferno, and catch the man in an invisible grip. All he'd have to do is hold the guy in place and roast him until he isn't a problem anymore. Easy.

All that actually happens is the seats begin to smolder with the beginnings of a fire, like, a hint, or a suggestion of fire, more than anything. (Which really means: a convenient map of where to avoid, should he actually get his shit together and coax the flames out.)

He doesn't even manage to get a grip on Jack. If he's lucky, it'll be enough to deal an abrupt, jerking tug, that might, at best, throw the guy off balance. But it's easy to shake off, and that's going to be a problem for Chase.

Well. Time for Plan B. He quickly scans the broken fixtures, looking for a piece of glass big enough, sharp enough, to do some damage.

Edited (REDUNDANT WORDS) 2022-10-16 02:01 (UTC)

Yep, that's sign enough - Jack stops trying to crawl over the hurdles of the audience seats, and the tug is encouragement to move again. He looks for a way out - the aisle is too open in his mind after that opening attack, so he weaves through the seats to the outside aisle.

As for sharp things, well - Jack's splicing protected him against the blunt force of the light fixture, but the glass and metal from it have left cuts in his shirt, and some of them were deep enough to bleed.

But other than a longer one from the metal flap of the light fixture, they're all small. Fortunately for Chase, there's plenty of glass and metal left on the stage and the floor of the theater from the damaged light fixtures. Numbers might make up for size, at least.

Jack raises his sparking arm, training it on Chase as he advances to the stage. He should say something, though, maybe a warning, something that gives him a chance-

"I don't know what I did or what your problem is, but you better stand down now." Jack says, sounding stern as he can. "I've fought a lot worse than you and walked away. Don't push it."

There's a witty (well, "witty") retort on the tip of his tongue, some sarcastic, teenage defiance. But... he's got an opportunity to surrender. He'd be a total idiot to pass that down, right?

So he looks at Jack, and he looks at that sparking arm (and boy is he curious about the story behind that, because none of this feels like magic--), and he sighs, putting his hands up in surrender.

"Sorry. I just lash out sometimes. My dad was never around, I'm adopted, my parents are dead--" Yadda yadda yadda. "I know when I'm outclassed."

And he starts to hum, softly, establishing a tune, feeling out the magic, before he raises his voice to sing something... Not melodic, exactly (he may have Jeff's pipes, but he doesn't have his musicality), but it's languid, easy, with the cadence of a lullaby.

Of course, there's magic in his voice. This isn't his usual type of spell, but it's something Jeff's got a lot of experience in, and he can draw on that knowledge to infuse the song with an overwhelming compulsion to just... Relax.

Everything's fine.

And then:

"Hit me with your best shot!" Is it a little too on the nose? Who cares. It's a simple, memorable song, easy to imbue with intention, and that alone seems to give it more power than the mellowing lullaby. He sings (and keeps on singing, even if he's just repeating the chorus, because fuck if he can remember the other verses), and those little pieces of broken glass and debris go flying off stage like a burst of shrapnel. He's not aiming for Jack, specifically, so much as looking to spread the projectiles and force him to move, disrupt his aim, distract him, make him bleed, anything to throw him off his game.

And as the glass shoots out, he goes to jump off the stage in, like, a really cool, badass pose.

...it doesn't quite land. Like, he doesn't hurt himself or anything, but he looks really lame.

Jack's guard is up while the guy talks, since he doesn't actually sound sorry. But... He is surrendering. His hands are raised, and he's not throwing anything at him, so while Jack's arm is still sparking, he doesn't throw anything yet. In fact, he keeps moving towards the stage, to - apprehend him? Maybe? Or maybe to just ask up close what his problem is.

Whatever it is, he at least has the sense to listen to him, more than could be said of any splicer in Jack's life. His humming is a lot better than any splicer he ever heard either, so it's a relief to see this end without a body count. Jack sighs and feels his shoulders ease as he finally reaches the stage, glad that this can be over with (and there's something nagging at him, some pattern he feels like he's missing), and that's about when Chase changes his tune.

Jack's arm goes over his face out of reflex, but that's all he can do before he's showered in glass and metal. He cries out and stumbles backwards against the front row, his chest and legs and arm a scattershot of pain. Many of the cuts are shallow, but there are a few larger pieces of debris that are still stuck in Jack. Nothing he's not used to, and again, he spliced himself a few different tonics to make his body tougher and raise his pain tolerance, but definitely something he should probably get looked at after this fight, if he can get a second.

He's close now, and it's reckless, totally reckless, to get within reach of Jack, but it's not like Chase was ever really known for restraint or a sound tactical mind. This body, Jeff's body, isn't built for fighting, and if Jack lands even a single punch on him-- with or without his freaking taser hands-- he's totally screwed. KO'd. Down for the count.

But if this works... It could weaken the guy enough to work out in Chase's favor. Besides, it's better to try it now, while Jack's distracted, because who knows if he's going to get another shot like this?

He changes his tune-- literally-- as he reaches for the other man's arm, just trying to make contact as he puts all his focus in this spell. It's a song of rot and decay, spreading sickness from his fingertips as it searches for any in through scrapes, cuts, and broken skin. Blight. He's been wanting to see what this spell will do to a person.

He feels the grip on his arm, and just as he realizes he should - should charge himself up again, use that point of contact to shock him and end this, but something - something's wrong. Something's wrong.

It starts as a sudden absence of feeling around the fresh cuts and glass in his body, not like the pain has been relieved, not even like going numb, but like there's just - nothing there where there should be. Like the skin of a blister. And then following it - or ahead of it - is a cold feeling, a stinging feeling, a creeping mix of pain and numbness like frostbite, and despite how invisible it is, how subtle it feels, there's a strange weakness starting to spread through him. Like shock, but isn't that reserved for worse injuries than just some glass?

It's a thought that crosses Jack's mind as he struggles to get back up, and gasps from the duelling sensations of pain from the glass and metal cutting into him and that creeping, shivering loss of feeling tunnelling through his wounds. He feels dizzy. Something is wrong.

What's happening to him?

Edited 2022-10-22 21:29 (UTC)

It's working. He can practically see the life draining out of Jack, and it's such a rush, Chase can't stop himself from laughing in triumph.

"Ooh. You're looking a little..." He pulls back, putting a hand to his chest in feigned concern. He's not singing, he's not maintaining contact, but it's fine, the blight's surely still spreading, pushing through with all the momentum leftover from the spell. "...green around the gills there. You okay?" He smiles with (totally-not-premature) smug satisfaction. "Blink twice if you wanna tap out."

Jack raises his head, feeling sick, feeling exhausted, and his vision is a little fuzzy around the edges as he focuses on the guy who attacked him who - who's killing him.

Because he thinks his body's failing. Maybe he isn't at full organ failure yet, and Code Yellow was more dramatic than this, but he's come close to freezing to death many times, and he's let infections fester under the logic he'd be going through a vita-chamber soon anyway. There's no vita-chambers on the ship, though they come back anyway, but -

He's dizzy, he's confused, he's squinting at the guy above him, how his laugh rings through the theater, remembering a dozen other voices who had cackled in triumph above him like this. He feels like he's dying, and like asphyxiation, no matter how prepared you are for it your body has instincts that override any rational part of your brain.

And Jack's hardly rational right now: Whatever's spreading through him has stopped, or maybe just slowed, but in either case he has enough room to move a little more, and he needs to use it. He needs to hit this guy with something, anything, but - electricity might arc the wrong way if he can't focus enough, there's nothing big enough in view he can grab with telekinesis, and he'll need his all if he's going to make enough fire or ice to stop him. There's an ache in his veins and temples independent from whatever's killing him, and it means he has one, maybe two more plasmid attacks left in him before he needs a recharge, and like an idiot he left both EVE hypos he had on him in his room because he felt safe here. He needs something that can be a guaranteed hit on the guy, that he can land without needing to aim.

It takes him less than a second for his mind to calculate all this, and as a last ditch effort he shuts his eyes tight, flexes his hand, and shifts plasmids.

The skin of his arm gets redder, shinier in places, and -

We'll rewind for a second. Among the many marvels of Rapture's construction and upkeep at the bottom of the ocean were its gardens and parks. Of course, all those pretty flowers and delicious produce grown down there couldn't thrive without bees, which Rapture scientists found a way to adapt to Rapture's restrictive, pressurized conditions. In what is one of the strongest arguments for having some form of regulation in the scientific field, somewhere down this development pipeline one of Rapture's budding mad scientists got the bright idea to create a plasmid known as 'Insect Swarm', for some reason under the impression that what Rapture really needed was the ability to spawn bees out of your hand, and at no point were they stopped from creating it and distributing it to select plasmid vending machines where any stupid sweater-wearing son of a bitch might try splicing it just what it does.

Back to the present - there are are a few holes like open bug bites on Jack's arm, and a few bees fanning their wings out on his hand. Not a lot, not with the amount of EVE he has left on him, but he's not thinking beyond just doing anything.

They're not true bees, having only a lifespan of about two minutes tops before crumbling to dust and missing most of the instincts a real bee comes programmed with. Mostly, they swarm whatever danger Jack feels scared or aggressive towards, and pursue if that danger tries to get away. Perhaps in Rapture they could act a little more realistically like bees, but on the Serena Eterna they are little more than bee-sized auto-targeting darts.

The half-dozen or so bees on Jack's arm take flight, heading towards the noise and motion above them. Bee-lining, if you will.

Edited 2022-10-23 00:35 (UTC)

Chase thinks he's won. Hell, he knows he's won, so there's no reason to worry about Jack getting back up after this. The Blight spell may be fading faster, the longer he goes without singing (not that he's aware of that, shhh), but the way he figures: if this doesn't make Jack tap out, then he'll just throw a chair at him, or a mic stand, just a little flex of magic to crack him upside the head and knock him out cold.

Easy. The fight's already over, even if the guy's too fucking stubborn to realize it.

Chase isn't paying enough attention to notice those little changes, the way Jack's arm starts to open up here and there, not until he sees movement--

"What the--"

ARE THOSE BEES??

Fuck fuck-- Chase jumps back, starts swatting around him, tries to think of a song-- just... sing something to knock them away, or set them on fire or, hell, anything to save his skin. Okay, okay, he's just going to open his mouth and here comes the most panicky rendition of the first song he can think of. It was his go-to karaoke beat back on his cruise. (Thanks, Eleanor.) It goes something like...

"Uh-- Um-- This is the part when I say I don't want ya, I'm stronger than I've been bef-- agh!"

What follows is a sound very similar to a cat hacking up a hairball, as a bee flies right down his fucking throat.

Maybe it's because the guy finally shut the hell up entirely - not just the killer song, or maybe whatever was killing him passed completely, because Jack feels like he can breathe clearer.

He breathes in deep, even if it hurts, braces himself mentally, and then lurches upright.

His arm swings wide as he claps his hand onto Chase's arm, relying on him being too busy choking to move, and in that moment of contact Jack pumps the last of his EVE into an electric charge.

It's not a lot he has left, which is lucky for both of them because Jack is hardly in a state of mind or health to carefully control it. Chase is, effectively, tased by hell's joy buzzer.

Given the state Jack's in though, he'll call them square.

Panting, Jack slowly lets go of Chase, lowering him to the ground, and then staggers forward a few steps until he can brace himself against the edge of the stage and bend over, catching his breath. His chest is scatter of sharp pain and worrying numbness, and he still feels sick and exhausted. But fuck, at least that's over with.

... Until he looks over at the fallen passenger again, and realizes he should probably do something with him. Right?

Edited (and scene!) 2022-11-05 23:44 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[SEMI-CLOSED] i am the crawling dead

Theater, for the new hit show 'If I Had A Nickel...'

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

CW near the end for bugs where they shouldn't be

no subject

no subject