A prompt, inspired by real life events that I am currently experiencing:
Vertigo. Specifically BPPV (benign paroxysmal positional vertigo). Whumpee unable to lay down or roll over without setting it off. The nausea that comes with it. Feeling off and the general malaise. Fatigue. Nystagmus.
And the treatment for it? Epley maneuver, aka purposefully triggering it to try to get the ear crystals back into place. Feeling hot and flushed during/right after completion. And having to do it multiple times a day until it goes away. Which can take weeks or months.
Whumpee’s breath was sharp and shallow as he pressed himself against the rough stone of the cliffside. The narrow path beneath his feet threatened to crumble no matter how cautiously he stepped. More than ones he heard loose gravel dislodging and tumbling downward.
Heard, not saw. He didn’t dare to look down after his initial glance, knowing the drop was dizzying—a sheer plunge into rocks and brambles that seemed impossibly far down.
Even while taking such care not to look down, the world still swayed, leaving his head aching and stomach churning. Everything tilted and swam in his vision. He would have preferred to keep his eyes closed, to just stand still, pressed into the cliff, waiting for the world to steady itself before attempting another step.
But above him, the sounds of heavy footfalls in the dust and dirt reminded him why that wasn’t an option. The closer he stayed to the top, the more likely that Whumper would catch him.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to take another step. One step, then another. He could make it. He had no choice.
But as he reached for the next handhold, the dizziness surged, a wave of nausea and disorientation that made him stumble. His foot slipped, sending more stones cascading down the cliffside. He clawed desperately at the rock to maintain balance, to regain his grip, but he was no match for gravity.
Before he even had time for this horrific turn to sink in, he was falling full speed, body knocking and scraping along the rocky cliffside, battering him as he plummeted. The cracks and crags in the rock raced past him, blurring and shaking.
At least now, Whumpee could close his eyes against it. It was the only thing he could do to brace himself for the end.
@whumperless-whump-event Prompt 3: Like A Record, Baby!
*Late to the party again, but I"m catching up!
Your ears began to pressurize as the elevator continued to climb. Facing the doors, the satellite dish held neatly in front of you, you didn’t bear witness to the ever-shrinking wasteland through the crumbling walls of the Washington Monument. It was a wonder the elevator was still in the shaft in one piece, nevermind fully functional, working, and clean.
“They really did a decent job on this, huh?”
Charon glanced at you from the corner of his eye, nodding once without offering any comment. That had been his way, as long as you’d known him. You met him in Underworld just a month ago, just a building away from here by some kind of irony, where he’d been an enslaved guard at the Ninth Circle bar. The only way to free him from that abusive predicament had been to take on his contract yourself–but even after you handed him the paperwork, he’d silently stayed by your side, and woe be him if anything hurt you.
Yet, he hardly ever spoke. You could count on both hands the number of sentences he’d uttered since you’d met. Hell, you could probably count on one. His first to you, telling you to take anything up with Azhrukal, his owner. Then the one where he acknowledged that you’d taken over his contract, and politely informed you that he needed to take care of one thing before leaving; then proceeded to blow Azhrukal’s head off with his combat shotgun. The only explanation for that was another single sentence to inform you that Azhrukal was an evil bastard. Since then, he’d proven to be a man of very, very few words–and so it was here, too. You knew he had no reason to like the Brotherhood of Steel, who flashed him nasty looks and threw insults–and who had been rumored to hunt ghouls for sport. But you’d always thrown insults back in his defense, knowing he wouldn’t say anything for himself to them…and besides, the elevator really was impressive in this day and age.
It dinged, and the doors slid open. Charon followed you out, footsteps padding softly behind you like a large cat. It was a wonder he was so quiet with how tall he was.
“Let’s see,” you murmured to yourself, looking over the relay console. “Looks like the wires go in here, and go up there…then hook in there, there, and right in the back.”
“Hmm.” Charon leaned against a wall, watching you work.
“If I deconstruct this, then attach this…shit, this would be easier with a solder gun,” you muttered, pulling the old wires out of the old, shot up dish, and twisting them into place on the new one. “But here we are. Aaaand…there.”
Charon raised his eyebrow muscles when you stood, dragging the new dish over to the hole in the wall. Carefully climbing over the huge pieces of wiring that looped up onto the floor from the outside like great snakes, you balanced precariously, carefully hanging the new dish where the old one had been. When you slowly took your hands away, it stayed in place perfectly, as if it was always meant to be there.
“Perfect!”
That was when it clicked where you were.
Looking down to your right, you saw the tiny wasteland before you. All the trenches and debris looked as small as post-meal crumb patterns on a table. Super mutants that towered over you, and even Charon, crawled about through it like miniature ants. Suddenly, you became very aware that it was a very, very long way down between you and the ground. Staring at the dirt down below, you also came to the realization of what exactly you’d risked by getting into a restored elevator in a half-crumbled many-stories-tall monument.
“Is the room spinning, or is it just me?” you said, half to yourself. Were you getting tunnel vision, or was the ground actually starting to get a little closer?
A strong arm slammed around your waist just as you began to fall over the edge of the wall. Charon carried you back to the relative safety of the solid concrete floor, slung over his arm like a temporarily unused jacket. He set you on your feet again, but the dizziness caught up, and you immediately stumbled into the wall. Bile crawled up your throat as your brain went fuzzy, and the world seemed to spin around you, even with your eyes shut.
“What is wrong with you?” he growled, eyes flitting over you. “You could have died.”
All you could do was stare at him in shock. He’d just spoken to you for the first time in weeks–
“If you get dizzy at heights, it’s irresponsible to then do maintenance work at heights.”
“Hey,” you interrupted. Not that you wanted to–who knew if or when he’d speak again if you did. “I didn’t know. It’s not like I have a lot of climbing opportunities involving that kind of height.”
He simply blinked his foggy eyes at you. “Doesn’t Rivet City have heights?”
“Well, yeah. But those are different. None of them are up as high as this.”
“I see.” You couldn’t explain it, but something in his expression told you that he was filing this information away for later. “Can you walk now?”
“Maybe.”
Pushing off the dirty floor, you tried to stand, but your brain decided that this was the optimal time to remind you of the scope of your current height despite not seeing the ground. Just the thought of the elevator, and how far of a drop it would be if those old cables snapped, was enough to give you jelly legs. You sank back down to the floor. “I guess not. At least not until I can stop thinking about heights.”
In saying this, you’d been prepared to spend the night up here on the roof of the Washington Monument, listening to the newly-restored Galaxy News Radio and sleeping on the mattresses that lay over in the corner next to an emergency lamp. You were not expecting what happened next, when Charon simply scooped you up bridal-style, and began walking towards the elevator as if you weighed nothing.
“Let’s go, then. Won’t get better by sitting up here.”
