Striking in complete silence / devastating, isolating, until I lose control

[gotbottle]

Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
What: Saving the day! Aaaand opening up a CR can of worms.
Where: Champion's Walk, Griss Twist.
When: Backdated a few days, in the midst of monster madness.
Notes: N/A
Warnings: Violence against monsters.

She'd been driven from her apartment three days ago, driven from her neighborhood a day after that. Rachel had managed to pack a bag on her way out, slung across her body now, full of what meager first-aid supplies she could gather and everything she could possibly use as a light source.

...Not that she intends to go that route. Ever. But better to be prepared for something you don't have to do than to be pushed into that corner and not be ready.

She's been moving through the city, doing what she can, sleeping when she can. She's hardly prepared for this; she's been a book editor and a tea house waitress and a low-level volunteer for a political party, there's nothing in her background to ready her for circumstances like these. But she couldn't just hide somewhere and not try.

The side streets tonight are reasonably quiet, if demolished here and there, bearing scars of earlier skirmishes. She makes note of buildings that look like they'll stay standing, and when she comes across the odd person wandering the street, she checks to make sure they don't need medical attention and then she shoos them off to the nearest safe place.

But as she nears Champion's Walk, the odd people become groups of people, and they're not wandering, they're fleeing. She catches the ones she can, directing them to a safe place, unable to get much out of them besides "monster" and "didn't want to be trapped."

There's a knot of people running through the open back door of a business that faces Champion's Walk. She fights her way through, dodging people, and she gets out the front door. She still can't see much--there's a group of people coming toward her, and some more, lit by the few street lamps still working, congregating by some buildings on the next block.

And then a shape moves between her and a lamp, flitting by so fast there's only a silhouette, and an impression of size. Great size.

She can't just stand here and do nothing.

Back through the shop she goes, back out the back door, but instead of joining the others fleeing onto the side streets, she takes one that parallels Champion's Walk. She sees another stream of people coming down an alley, and she squeezes through, popping out into the crowd of people gathered there.

"Who's in charge?" she asks the nearest person. "Is there anyone helping you guys right now?"

Comments

[gotbottle]

"Yeah, it seems like--"

She's cut short by the crash of a garbage can beside a building just ahead. She reaches over and puts a hand on Raylan's arm, both to warn him and to steel her nerves.

And then a cat saunters out from the toppled can, shoots them both a filthy look, and stalks off. Rachel laughs in spite herself. "That was, like. The worst horror movie cliche right there. God."

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs too, shaking his head. "All we need now is a creepy little kid singing a nursery rhyme or something."

[gotbottle]

There's a brief, faintly horrified silence as Rachel contemplates this.

"Raylan." Her voice is grave, her expression matching. "I want you to know that I genuinely love children. I might even manage to have a few of my own, someday. I would never want to see one come to harm. However. If we see what you just described, you have my permission to shoot it, because that never ends well in the movies."

She presses her lips together slightly, almost managing to keep up that mask of seriousness.

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs harder, though he keeps it quiet. "I will keep that in mind. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

He's not sure if he could shoot something that looked like a child, even if he knew better. He'd rather not find out.

[gotbottle]

She sure couldn't do it. Which was probably the complete evil genius of such an idea--what decent person could?

"You got any ideas on where we should head, or should we just keep moving?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Non particular. Sobek Croix or thereabouts? I'm open if you've got any better ideas." As far as he could tell, no where seemed particularly safe.

[gotbottle]

She thinks on this a moment before nodding. "Sobek Croix is a good idea. Hellsing's probably the best equipped to deal with this kinda thing; being in their neighborhood is probably the best bet for us, right now."

[toooldforlosing]

"Also, besides the militia, I think they're most likely to have shotgun shells." Or another weapon. "Over the river and through the woods, then. Damn, I miss cars."

[gotbottle]

"Right?" She shakes her head. "I'd even settle for, like, some rickety city bus with trash under the seat and grease on the widow pane from where somebody fell asleep with their head against it.

...God, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd miss that."

[toooldforlosing]

"Sitting in freeway traffic, not moving at all," he adds with a small laugh. "Blowing a tire a hundred miles from anywhere."

[gotbottle]

"That's right--traffic. Never thought I'd miss traffic." She laughs, shaking her head.

"I see people on horses all the time, here. Maybe I should learn how to ride."

[toooldforlosing]

"Maybe. You may be shocked to know that I'm not much of a rider myself." He knows how, more or less, but it's been years and years since he was on one. Hat and Kentucky heritage aside.

[gotbottle]

She flashes him a grin. "I didn't expect there was, like, much horse riding going on in Miami, no. If anything you'd think I'd have some better idea how--Santa Barbara's full or ranches and farms but we didn't live on one."

[toooldforlosing]

"People have assumed before. The hat." He pauses, considering whether he's heard a noise, but decides it's nothing to worry about for now. "I guess we could both stand to learn."

"At least I can drive a stick. Not that it does me much good here."

[gotbottle]

"You're way ahead of me, then," she replies; but he pauses, and so does she, eyebrows raised. He doesn't seem to think anything of whatever made him pause in the first place, so she carries on.

"I mean, like. I can drive a stick? But it's not pretty. Tell you what, though, if I find somebody decent for horse-riding lessons, I'll let you know."

[toooldforlosing]

"Alright. I talked with a guy on a horse once, when I was jogging. I think he was a Hellsing type."

Unfortunately, he is also dead, but Raylan didn't know Boromir well enough to put that together.

[gotbottle]

"They seem like they're the most likely people to be riding horses, yeah."
She grins. "I know a couple of guys who work with or for them. I can make discreet inquiries."

Hush, she so can.

"If they can't do it they can probably recommend someone who can."

[toooldforlosing]

"Probably. If they're as corrupt as the militia," he says, after a moment, "least they're smart enough to hide it better."

Or, more likely, the militia just didn't care.

[gotbottle]

Rachel thinks on this a moment. "The guys I know who work for them don't strike me as being corrupt, or even tolerant of corruption at all," she offers, thinking of Sol, Hellboy, and Dr. McCoy. "But like you say, they may be skilled at hiding it. I guess that's something else I can look into."

[toooldforlosing]

"Or maybe I'm just a paranoid - " He cuts off. "Do you hear anything?"

He can't tell if they're being followed, or if he's still just sleep-deprived.

[gotbottle]

She stops, listening. She doesn't hear anything, but it's significant, to her, that he does. He's trained for this sort of thing.

Rachel holds a finger to her mouth, and then she says, with some exaggerated casualness, "No? Come on."

She takes his arm, coaxing him into walking with her, but she pays sharp attention to their surroundings. This time, she thinks she does hear something, heavy footfalls somewhere behind them, maybe? Her hand tightens around Raylan's arm, a warnng.

It's daylight, and it's overcast. She casts no shadow right now, so if there is something out there, she can't do much about it.

[toooldforlosing]

He hears it too and gives her a slight nod. He looks around for a place that's defensible but there's not much - they can chance going into a building, but without knowing what's inside, it's a gamble.

He slows their pace a bit, to see if the sound slows too.

[gotbottle]

It does slow, matching their new pace. There are plenty of places for something to hide, but nothing where its footsteps should still be within earshot.

But when has anything in this place ever made good sense?

She pulls the large flashlight out of her bag; it's useless for any repeat of what she did last night, but at least--God forbid--if something gets close enough she can try to bludgeon it.

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan makes a snap judgment. He nods toward a sturdy-looking building on the left, and hopes she can read "make a break for it when the moment comes" in the terse gesture.

And then he turns, leveling the shotgun at about chest height for something adult and humanish.

"Alright, I've had enough of this creeping shit."

[gotbottle]

Rachel gives him a quick, single nod in return. She gets it, she'll run for that building when the moment's right.

But the right moment can't come until they know what they're dealing with, until she knows that taking off in that direction isn't running straight into danger. They heard it shuffling somewhere nearby, but she can't tell where it is.

She waits. And then the shuffling starts up again, just to their right. The footsteps grow more loud, more solid, and then it appears, seeming to fade in from thin air, some unholy cross between an alien and a zombie, gaunt and rotting, its limbs and features nightmarishly wrong.

"Oh, my God," she breathes. It keeps advancing, slow and steady. She's pretty sure it can't block her path, so she does as Raylan suggested, and she breaks into a run toward the building.