survivor.
{ @dimtrescu | plotted starter. }
THE SILENCE IS UNWELCOMING. SUFFOCATING. she feels like she’s DROWNING ; that she’s going to be swallowed whole. every breath she draws, every step she takes is sheer AGONY. her head throbs, her vision swims, & she’s pretty certain she’s still bleeding HEAVILY from the multitude of gashes left behind from that thing if the blood trickling down her cheek is anything to go by. she knows she’s FUCKED. knows that she’ll wind up forgotten, that she won’t be found. like hannah & beth. she supposes she DESERVES it. had it not been for her, the twins would still be here. that she wouldn’t be down here to begin with. butterfly effect. ❛ oh, god.. ❜ she CHOKES out, digits coiling around the shaft of a shovel she’d managed to find by some random chance. it makes her feel safe. somewhat. though by the SHRIEKS she hears in the distance, it’s only a matter of time before whatever dragged her to the mines returned to finish the job. she was easy PREY. a walking bruise. a liability if there was anyone else traipsing around in the darkness, unaware of the dangers LURKING in the shadows. she doesn’t know how long she’s been walking in circles for, ducking into rooms the moment she hears that fucking inhuman screech, jumping at the sight of her own shadow. god, emily would be having a field day if she caught the PATHETIC sight of her. covered in her own blood, donning a dusty miner’s coat that just barely covered her bare thighs, a lantern in one hand & an old shovel in the other. yeah, she’s the fucking poster child of perfection. she’s not going to make it out of here, is she? whatever attempts she makes at pushing forward are FRUITLESS, & yet, she wills herself to press on. perhaps she’ll find an exit SOMEWHERE, or much needed assistance. either or. preferably both, despite how POOR her luck is & has been throughout the night. just as she rounds a corner down another tunnel, she CATCHES a glimpse of something. she rears her hand back, SWINGS the shovel with all of her might ― not wasting any time at all to even see what she’s trying to hit. she doubts she’ll do much of a DENT, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t at least put up a fight. jessica riley is many things ; a QUITTER isn’t one of them.
blackwood mountain. the thought of such a vast span of land belonging to one family seems to promise trouble in and of itself. alcina dimitrescu rushes over as soon as she receives jack’s call. the place had long been a ticking time bomb, that much has always been clear. losses are to be expected -- anyone wandering through those woods at night stands the risk of a painful death. alcina comes prepared, flamethrower in hand, rifle slung over her shoulder. the conditions are far from ideal. thick snowflakes fall through the air, and a fine mist obscures her surroundings, white on white. but she doesn’t have much of a choice. time is of the essence.
moving swiftly, she follows the sound of horrific cries, screeches that seem to morph between human and animal. a blood trail soon follows, one that leads her to a severed head. alcina identifies the corpse with a sinking feeling in her gut. all of jack’s work -- and for what? with a light touch of her fingers, she closes his eyes--- and swiftly continues onward. no doubt the creature will soon return for its prey, and she has little fuel to spare.
the monster’s tracks lead her to the mines, where the air frosts around her and odd noises echo hauntingly in the distance. alcina silently runs through scenarios in her head as she moves along. the best she can do is minimize the threat and attempt to get the survivors out, though from what jack told her, it seems the odds are stacked against her. all of his work, undone through sheer foolishness.
as she approaches a fork in the tunnel, she hears a voice groaning distantly, soft and feminine. rounding the corner confirms her suspicions as a shovel is swung violently at her face. alcina side-steps the attack with grace, swiftly swinging out a gloved hand to catch the tool and muffle any potential resounding clatter. it’s a girl--- battered and bruised and barely standing. it seems she nearly had a run-in with death itself. the hunter can’t help but frown at the sight of her. their juxtaposition is almost comical, alcina dressed for snow and battle with her hair pinned back and a scowl on her face, while this young woman is hardly clothed at all. the fact that she is alive at all is a miracle. ❛ it’s okay, ❜ she utters, soon releasing the shovel. they’ll have to move quickly if they want to get out of there, though it seems that will be a challenge in their current state. ❛ i’m here to help. ❜ how many more are left? her gaze turns calculative as she reaches to set her weapons down. making it out of the mines will be difficult enough, but the blizzard will pose enough of a problem without the wendigos. alcina swiftly works on removing her coat. ❛ what’s your name? ❜
