#murkoffjanitor

[iblewthewhistle]

Nightmare Asylum

It’s a quiet night, when Waylon walks through the quiet halls of the asylum, trying to ignore the evil lurking within the bricks of the old building.

As he strides, the announcement system started to crackle, the sound harsh and aching his ears, covering them in an effort to dampen the sound.

When it stops, Waylon looks around, to see the halls looking broken, twisted, and rusted. There was the sound of metal groaning on metal, and when he looked over the edge of the railing, there was only fire and metal below.

A loud sound from somewhere behind him made him turn, and terror seized at his throat, as a monster stepped out onto the walkway ahead of him.

Big, and bulky, wearing a leather butcher’s apron, and dragging a sheet of metal bigger than Waylon himself, it took a step towards him. There was a giant helmet it wore on it’s head, big and red and triangular, riveted and sturdy, as it let out an odd, disjointed groan, a hand reaching out for him.

Waylon tried to back away, getting caught on a piece of jagged metal, trying to pull his torn shirt off the piece of pipe he was caught on, even as the clanging grew louder and louder.

An unbearable heat clamped down on the scruff of his shirt, pulling him free, like a kitten being dragged along by it’s mother.

Scrabbling for purchase on the behemoth’s wrists, Waylon managed to grab on, as he was hauled along, trying to find a way to walk. “Let me go!”

Another loud groan erupted from the thing, and it set him down, placed into a chair, groaning again behind him. Waylon jerked and gripped the edge of the chair, looking forwards at the wall in front of him.

Images flashed in front of him, and he groaned, doubling over himself to fight the rising nausea. A strong hand grabbed his chin, pulling him upright to continue looking at the images that swam in front of them, his skin almost burning from the contact.

A word started to form among the pictures, it burned just as much as the arm around him, and there came another low groan, closer behind him, as the word burned into his retinas.

Witness.

“What do you want me to see?” He asked, as the groan came again, as the word burned into his eyes, even as the rust seemed to flake away in front of him, the lingering, scalding touch on his jaw keeping him still.

A hand grasped at his shoulder, and Waylon jerked, staring at the computer monitor, with green text flowing in front of him. The program was busy compiling, he must have had a nightmare. Too many horror films. He looked up to see a concerned looking janitor.

“You okay there? Thought you were dead to the world.”

“S-sorry, Alex. I’ll be a little longer here.” He stretched, his back popping painfully. “I’ll clean in here, it’ll be okay. I can do it while I wait for this...” He turned to look at the monitor, that was still flowing with text.

He saw one more word as he looked over at the flowing text.

Witness

[ragewithinthestorm]

@murkoffjanitor

Kid was on deck, in fact he was stood beside the wheel talking with the captain, one of the crew called for him to come down onto the main deck. He looked over the edge and grinned when he saw their guest outside of his room for the first time. Usually he would just jump over and down to the deck, but he didn’t want to startle Alex, he wasn’t sure how steady he would be on his legs so wanted to avoid making him fall. Instead he quickly went down the stairs and walked over to Alex, “hey, what made you finally come up on deck?” He had been trying to talk Alex into coming out of the room for a week with no success. 

Kid had been working in the sun from early in the morning and it was now just gone mid-day, as a result he was covered in sweat and had long since abandoned his tshirt so he was just wearing jeans and boots. “How are you finding walking?” He had given Alex a pair of crutches when he first started trying to get him to come out and had shown him how to use them.

[v-a-t-s]

How about Danse from fallout 4?

dumb bitch energy

[swordsandmagic-blog]

/closed/ The pale one.

Walter gave a note to a crow for Alex, it landed on Alex’s open window ledge for a moment, spotting Alex by the mirror and flew over, landing on the vanity. It dropped the letter and waited to be thanked before leaving. The note read, ‘Alex this is an emergency. I found a baby in the snow, she’s an albino so I think she was abandoned to die. I need you to bring things for her, I think she’s around one year old so she should be able to eat some real food.’ Albino’s were viewed as bad omens and were often killed before they had a chance to really live, somehow this one had survived almost a year before being abandoned. Attached to the letter was a list of items that Alex would be able to get.

@murkoffjanitor

[amihumantoyou]

Where are the flowers? /closed/

Angel had been coming to the same spot near the flower shop every morning at 9 on the dot for three weeks now. It was a small patch of grass that usually had flowers on but due to the time of year there was no flowers, but he would sit and stare at it for an hour before leaving. Today during his usual staring he sighed and got up before his usual time was up and walked into the flower shop, he looked very upset and he looked at the flowers in the shop. “Why are these ones here but there’s none outside...” He said to himself near Alex.

@murkoffjanitor

[ifridiot]

“Who said that?”

There’s hardly a pause, hardly room for the words to fully leave his throat before the Other speaks. Is it right to call it speaking when it doesn’t make a sound, when it’s words are more a hijacking of his own thoughts? He doesn’t know whether to be frightened or excited -- it’s been over a week since the symbiote had found the energy to speak, after nearly burning away while its former host was tortured. 

“Why ask what you already know,” it demands wearily. “I promised I would not leave you alone, did I not, David?”

[radioactiveshitstorm]

5, 15, 21

(answering for Echo)

5. What is your OC’s first memory?

His parents fighting. Or, more specifically, his mum getting drunk, flying off the handle, and taking it out on his dad.

15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why?

DOG! A big solid fluffy dog that he could love and rely on, preferably a service dog that could help him with his PTSD.

21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves?

He’s got some trauma and anxiety problems, and chromesthesia. The latter causes his biggest pet peeve: people with unpleasant-coloured voices. Listening to someone with a sludge-y voice colour? Not happening!

[waylonwails]

How much coffee do you drink on a daily basis?

The Programmer looked at the chipped mug in his hand that read “COFFEE” in big bold letters on the font. He stood unresponsive for a moment before snapping out of his trance and looking up at the Janitor.“Well I would say I drink a normal amount.” He said, trying to stand up straight with a crooked smile before slumping over with a sigh “-Oh what am I kidding? I honestly drink too much coffee..” He grumbled in a nearly inaudible tone, looking down at the dark liquid in the mug.