Now or Never

On Tour

Cybil was pissed, she was so angry it appeared as if she had been downing vindaloos and had the worst ring sting of her life. The redness of her face was one which any hick hillybilly would be jealous to behold. She’d gone all the way to that fucking asylum on her bike and they’d just released her… just like that? Granted that backwater didn’t even start to describe how much this place was bumfuck USA but the fact they knew she was on her way and then had no records? She was going to stalk every fucking one of them until they broke the law and they’d all spend a night in the cells. She was angry enough to seriously considering setting the whole building on fire. Fuck those bastards and their smarmy note about ‘all beginning in silent hill meh!’ While no expert she could have quite easily given that advice, as sage as it truly was.

Giving a short, sharp kick to the side of the building as she passed it helped quicken the pace at which the anger left her. While the staff here were obviously in good need of a higher percentage of lead in their blood it was something that would have to wait. There was no rational reason as to why this nutjob would open the gate for her but since her last trip there, the lady cop had learned to trust her instincts. Maybe this would be another one of the veritable wealth of dead ends which had plagued her the last several years. There was something in the air this time and she was unsure of what but regardless she’d not be travelling anywhere without her piece and enough ammo to shoot dead a whole school of children.

we come grinning... cont'd.

Altho Claudia's passing him registered with Vincent, it took him a few more to wake from his rapt trance, or whatever you'd consider it; a few more beyond that to reacclimate to his surroundings.
By then there was the sound of glass breaking and monsterous growling, and he made his way to the source, just to see the whole thing ending.

Vincent had never seen anything like PyramidHead before, so the sight of the huge man-shaped creature with the dark triangular head at first floored him. He gawped at Pyramid; and from the angle of its rakish helmet, it no doubt 'saw' him as well.

Then it had gathered up the unconscious? dead?? body of Walter Sullivan -who was, in fact, not exactly the smallest of guys either- and carried him off like a rag doll....

Vincent stared at the devastation a moment longer and then, finally, remembered Claudia.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.
She had been right here, in this room as it had all gone on. Surely she'd have some take on the strange events he had just witnessed...

Rush of emotion

Heather felt as if she had been driving for days as she navigated through the fog infested town. The familiarity of the town sent her stomach in knots. She hadn't really thought about where she was headed until she slowed her car down in front of Midwich Elementary School.

Heather got out of her car and locked the door after she exited. There was something here, something that called to her silently. Although she had never been there before, it was all to familiar. She made her way slowly toward the school entrance and stopped in front of the doors. With a little apprehension she pushed the door open and entered. The school had the feeling of dead air all around. It seems no one had been here for quite sometime. Heather tucked her hair behind her ear and kept on down the corridor.

She had passed numerous vacant classrooms, all uniform in apperance. After walking a few corridors she stopped in front of one of the rooms. She went inside the classroom and suddenly became overwhelmed with emotions. Heather couldn't help the tears that flooded down her face as she felt, oddly, upset. She knelt down and placed her face in her hands and sobbed loudly. What was going on here?

After a moment the feeling subsided and she knew somehow. It was the emotions of Alessa, these were her tears. Heather stood and wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and looked down at the desk in front of her. The name tag read;

Alessa Gillespie

Heather traced her hand along the desk and stared at the name tag. What did this all mean?

we come grinning into your paradise

Walter wasn't overly afraid of dying; he'd done it before, after all.

The Ritual of Assumption insured that, unless Valtiel, or the Mother, or whosoever granted powers to the Conjurer willed it, he could not die.

After all, you can't kill something that's already dead.

Unfortunately, as many the individual who's made a devil's bargain for immortality can attest, eternal life isn't bonded to the guarantee of eternal health.

Not much fun to be unkillable if you're still quite cuttable. Not at ALL fun to be hacked into pieces if all the pieces can still feel.

Walter was getting the hell away from PyramidHead as fast as his legs could take him.

He pounded through another backyard, opening the garden gate and slamming it hard. Somehow he doubted the monster would bother with latches, and stomping that down would take it a little more time. He shoved various things into the path- lawn chairs, a grill, a child's bike- and noticed a bit late there was a spunky little poodle dog looking up at him.

Walter yowled as the damn pooch bit into the ball of his thumb, causing him to drop his tire iron.
The damn thing would not let go and for a moment or two he ran blind, howling all sorts of choice epitephs while the dog hung from his hand like a rat-trap. Finally he found a wall to bash it against, and flung the whimpering mess of dog guts into the inground swimming pool.

The pool gave him an idea.
He could not stop PyramidHead, no, but perhaps he could give it a bit of a headache.
Walter snaked his bloodied arm out and over the pool water, letting droplets taint the water, and then bellyflopped in. There was a loud splash as he did so, and he surfaced, half walking half swimming to the other side. There was a glass sliding door leading into the house, and he tried the handle.
Found it locked. Cursing his already rotten luck, he punched his way through the glass; hissed as a few pieces embedded in his already hurting hand, and undid the latch.
He stomped, boots squelching, into the dark of kitchen and began to hunt for usable objects.
This time his luck held.

Lighter fluid for the BBQ, a can of gasoline at the door of the garage, some lamp oil...all of these Walter managed to open one handed, and pour into the pool.

He found a hair dryer and an extension cord, and waited until PyramidHead was finally visible, then turned on the dryer and tossed it in the pool.

A wall of fire failed entirely to burst up between them as Walter had hoped. He rolled his eyes, cursed.
The few slick puddles on the pool surface burned, but they were small, unimpressive fires.
Still. if PH walked in there to make it to the house the fastest, he might at least get a nasty zap.

Walter bolted thru the length of the house, and back out onto the street.

The motel was only a block away now,and Walter cried out loudly, a wordless roar, as much to warn whoever was there that someone was coming as to let the world know how absolutely unhappy he was.
  • Current Mood
    scared aaaah!!! PH is after me!!!

(no subject) will awake now...
It was conceivable, certainly, that at least some of the voices in the din that made up Walter Sullivan's mind were not his own.
He had taken to himself a number of victims, a number he scarcely remembered as, having what? failed at completing the 21 Sacraments? or perhaps, succeeding but being unaware of the fruit of his success? he did not know if he had in fact taken all 21 or perhaps less.
Times were he could make out the voices of his victims; they flitted around like dull gray shadows, trapped in there. The bats in his belfry. Some of them sobbing, reliving their deaths and their pain, others unbelieving, residing inside as tho still alive. None of them liked him very much, obviously.
All of them believed if Walter could be somehow broken, they still had a chance at redemption. Therefore they echoed and amplified his emotions, the scared ones shrieking at his fears, the angry ones stirring up his angers like hornets.

But one voice was strident, clear about the others.

Rumor had it the voice was Valtiel's; that once, some time back The then-priests James Stone and George Rosten had chosen Sullivan as a vessel and had, after dosing him on the white claudia based drug PTV, somehow introduced the god into his consciousness. Possession? or just some drug trip taken too far? Walter had never been the same after.

Wasn't the same now.
He had been lounging about in one spot or another of the town, observing, from quiet corners, the convergence of the others.
As when he had been homeless, sleeping in the subway station in Ashfield, he could exude a sort of mild invisibility. For who truly notices the homeless, the mad? Who looks at them for more than a moment's glance. They are seen in peripheral, judged, forgotten. Pity or derision or most, often indifference their lot.
So it was with Walter, and he preferred it this way.
all the better to bleed you with, he thought as he rose from the grating he'd slept warmly upon. He rolled up his blanket in an almost military fold- tight, so it took up precious little space- and stuffed it down the small of his back. There was an interior pocket back there in his famous blue raincoat; these pockets were usually only found in hunter's coats.
A pouch for game.

Walter began to walk.
He was good at that too; if you belong nowhere, you have to be somewhere, and oft as not if he was noticed he'd be run off for loitering. It was so much easier, in the small city of Ashfield, to drive away the transients than actually get to know and help them...

But this. Silent Hill. It was different.
There was plenty of ground to cover in Silent Hill, and a goodly amount of it vacant. Even if there wasn't this strange fog, these odd creatures, the town was often empty in the off-season; no reason to be in Silent Hill if it wasn't time for the resort to do business.

Walter didn't mind. Less people meant more places for him. This town was his; a vast playground he was free to twist to his own purpose.

Well. except, now as you mentioned it, the monsters.

Walter'd seen monsters before. After all, he'd been young, yeh, but he remembered Alessa. He knew what had happened to her, too; he hadn't been there of course, but like most of the others that fateful night he had borne witness to what could be seen from the place that he was.

When he'd think back on it, he remembered what he called it: The Night of the Insane Sky.

It felt...well, when he smelled the air and thought about the emptiness of the streets, it seemed to him maybe another night like that was coming on. Soon, maybe. Maybe real soon.

Walter wasn't quite religious in the way the Order had intended him to be, but he had a real reverence for his own twisted sense of the Mother. If he was here for another ill formed apocalypse, he'd be honored to have seen such things.
Better still if this was the great moment which he'd been waiting for.

See, beastly upbringing or nae, Walter hadn't had to be told by Dahlia Gillespie he had some importance. In spite of every beating, every psychological damage dumped upon him by the Wish House guards, Walter knew he was special. Chosen, for something. Maybe not greatness but...something.

Walter was waiting for his great moment. He would seize the moment. And squeeze it til it bled.

Walter was walking down Nathan Avenue. His path would take him past the motel soon.

He wondered if there was anyone there.
If it's empty, like everywhere else? Walter thought, maybe I shall sleep in a real bed for once..

He moved now with intention.

for better or for worse...

or, Vincent and Claudia in da Hill.
*L* a whole mess of AIM posts.))

He looked almost as shocked to see her as she was him. Was this an illusion dreamt up by the town, or real? He was asking her if she was a ghost? As he stammered out "How?", all she could do was stare. A mixture of relief and anger welled up inside her. When she'd driven that knife into him, it had haunted her for ever after, as though, when the clarity and calm after the storm kicked in as she lay in Brahms hospital, she realised that she had killed a part of herself, that it was not simply "nothing important".
"I could ask you the same question!" she blurted out. On both counts, she thought. She shook her head and took a step backwards and mumbled, more to herself than to him, "You can't be real. You can't be real, Vincent. I killed you. This is...this is just the town...reminding me of my sins..."

Vincent stepped away, turning his head and pretending to adjust his glasses so as she wouldn't see him stifle a bitter laugh.So. Claudia. Here. Not dead.
and still zealous after all these years. "oh," he said, "I'm real alright. I'm really the town, reminding you of your sins." he made a 'scary' face. "BOO!"
and stepped back, cautiously, lest she take him serious.
Scared people could be pretty unpredictable, and he may have survived once, but he didn't know if she was armed or not, and last thing he needed now was a repeat performance of his 'murder'...
Collapse )

in which Vincent gets religion.

Vincent stepped up onto the platform of the merry go round, suddenly nervous. The ride was faded and peeling, but the colors that remained were still garish; the horses faces looked crazed, not friendly. If they were real horses, they'd be horses whipped so hard and so often they'd be frenzied, frothing at the mouth as they chewed the bridle bit.
Once long ago Vincent could swear he'd seen them looking dead, great hooks in their backs, red mist outlining their breath.
But that had been a trick of the light, right?
For a moment the platform lurched, a single calliope note sounding.
He managed to keep his balance, his heart suddenly beating too fast again.
He coughed. straightened his glasses. "coincidence," he muttered, "faulty old thing..." he started towards the exit ramp, the false front in the wall.

He had actually had the back door built as a sort of 'just in case'; until this church had been built the Order had met, like the catacomb Christians before them, in secrecy. Hiding like churchmice...little basement get togethers with little makeshift altars. It had annoyed Vincent, really. Wasn't the Order supposed to be the real power in this town? Then why weren't they acting it? No reason to hide from the world they commanded...still. Just in case. Long long ago in the town's history the Puritan Christians had burnt some of the Order's 'saints' as witches. which is how they became saints in the first place, Vincent thought as he traversed broken beams as he made his way down the tunnel, ironic one has to die before people think you are 'special'.Anyway. Just in case someone in the town suddenly decided the Order was evil, he knew he, anyway, knew where and how to beat a hasty retreat.

He looked at the writings on the tunnel walls. Old grafitti. NOT his. Claudia's obsessive last minute madness, no doubt. Scribblings Heather'd probably not even bothered to read. He stopped to read one himself. "'The beauty of the withering flower and the last struggles of the dying man, they are my blessings,'" he read aloud,"'God took endless time away from the people so that they can die'.How lovely." and what a double edged blessing that had been...

Entering the actual church, Vincent suddenly felt that little frisson of fear again. Had somebody been here recently? The altar had been set up again, and the candles, tho burned down to mere puddles of wax, still looked newish.There was a faint smell in the air- incense? perfume? and Vincent began to tread quieter, more cautiously. Suddenly he wasn't sure visiting here was such a good idea....

Truth? Trick of the light? He thought he saw a silohuette against one of the stained glass panels. A woman's profile, head bowed in reverence....

Vincent's courage left him all at once, and he almost tripped over a broken beam in his haste to get out of there.
Anyone truly in that church would hear his hurried footfalls as he ran away back down the tunnel...

...and ran all the way back to the park's entrance. "Heatherrrr!" now that he was back in the outside air he dared to breathe, dared to cry out. "Heather, are you there, it's me, Vincent. I've suddenly remembered I have some urgent business in another part of town..." but of course, she'd have driven on. He was on his own.

Shaking. He looked at his hand to notice how badly he'd rattled himself. There was nothing here, was there? Nothing but the ever present fog.

He took a flannel from his pocket and wiped the fear-sweat from his brow."I need a drink." he said aloud, and pondered the long walk to Heaven's Night.

((and if anyone IS there, now'd be the time to make him scream like a girly...))
  • Current Mood
    weird ooh, spoooky.

(no subject)

Heather looked down at the stearing wheel as Vincent collected his things from the backseat. After he turned and said a few things, things that kind of stuck to her.

She glanced over to Vincent and responded.

"I know things with us before were wavering from the start. I still don't know how to treat our encounters, things are just kind of unsolved, I guess. I really don't even know why I even took us to this place after what had happend last time. But somehow I just had the drive to go and before I knew it we were in Silent Hill again." Heather almost seemed chilled by the thought of being back in this town. " I will let you go to the church by yourself, I think it is only right for you to do this on your own. Plus...I don't think I am ready to go back and visit that place yet. I think I just want to collect my thoughts anyway.... I will be back a little while later."

She gave him a small wave as he left her car and began his descent toward the remnants of the church. Heather watched as he disappered into the thick fog and became invisible from sight.

Heather looked ahead into the abyss of fog that laid stretched across the road ahead of her. The realization of being back at this place uneased her. Not knowing what lied ahead of her frightend her and she almost just turned the car around and sped the hell out of town. But something seemed to make her want to stay. As if she had some un-finished business to attend to. A lost piece to the giant jigsaw puzzle that plagued her mind and dreams night after night. She didn't want the wounds of last times' encounter to shred open and bleed her dry. But.....any kind of resolve was maybe worth a couple of gashes.

She pulled her car out of park and drove on through the fog that seemed to invite her in. She had no clue where she was headed but felt it was in the right direction.

silence to listen in

((ya may note from the thread below Vincent and Cheryl did some interacting.. (check replies)
We were driving into town. I can assume we may very well have passed James and Maria and Walter at some point, if anyone wants to note seeing a functioning car go by and maybe come looking for one or the other of us...
I won't be on again til this evening, so I figured I'd write this little solo in the meantime... Claudia? take note; Vincent is likely to be in your area quite soon if you're still at the church...))

There wasn't a lot more to say, really, or at least no more that Vincent wanted to talk about.Heather had asked him nothing of what he had done after the stabwounds had healed, and that was fine...some of those things burned in his memory, eating away at him like acid, festering nearly as terribly as the events that had occurred at Silent Hill once had.

One might say, perhaps, he had had a few moments of clarity since the end of those events. A bit more perspective on his place in the world, and how much or how little Silent Hill actually inhabited that world. There was a hole here, he thought, and no matter how much others had ridiculed him for his mad tale, he knew that here, anyway, that hole had teeth. Stare into the abyss long enough, someone had once said, and one day you might find the abyss is staring right back thru you...

"I'd like to get out here," he said softly as Heather reached the Lakeside Amusement Park. She would know, as he had also remembered- there was an entrance to the church thru here. A secret entrance.

The church that had fallen to rubble in the descent of the God.

It had been his once. Parts of it even built with his own hands, and most of it built with his money. That church. Had meant everything to him once, and now it was junk.

He chuckled dryly, in spite of himself, and then glanced at Heather, wondering if she had heard the laugh, been startled by it.

"Home sweet home," he muttered and then, getting his satchel from the backseat, added, "Thanks for the lift. You didn't have to stop...but you did.
I know you never trusted me, not until the end. And by then it was too late for any of us...I can't say with any degree of honesty my motives were pure. If somehow I could have stopped you...stopped Claudia... none of this would ever have happened. My life would have gone on as regular. Safe. Secure. Predictable.

Now it's all gone to pieces, and I'm still trying to make something of what's left.
You don't have to follow me; I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But I need to see it again, what's left of the church. It was my home for so long. Maybe it's better if you didn't, so I could have quiet for awhile.
They say, after all, you need silence to listen to your ghosts."
  • Current Mood
    silly by all means, join in!

Your not here...

The plastic chair in the diner began to give Heather a cramp in her leg. She shifted, rather ungracefully, and let out a small sigh. It has only been a short time since the incident in Silent Hill, but Heather could not let her mind rest. Everything seemed rather surreal and could not tell what was real and what was made up. As well as which memories were hers and which were Alessa's.

Heather pushed the basket of french fries away from her as she lost interest in them. She slumped back in her seat and stared out of the window to the outside world. She wondered if anything would finally place itself in the right spot, would anything ever be normal again. Heather almost smiled at the thought. /How could anything be normal anymore, not after what I witnessed and what I am a part of/. Heather just closed her eyes breifly and fought back the urge to scream. She so longed for things to be right again with her mind. She had feared that she was going to crack and end up in an asylum somewhere. She was feeling rather alone in the present world.

After she paid her check, Heather left the diner and stepped out into the cool air of twilight. She walked to her car and got into the driver seat and closed the door behind her. Before she started the car she sat back and looked at herself in the rearview mirror.

"My name is Cheryl, not Heather anymore. Cheryl is who I really am." Saying this to herself seemed to ease her mind and logically appeared to be a good place to start on the road to making things right with her mind.

She started the ignition and began her car ride home. She flipped through some CD's she had and came across one of her favorites. She smiled as the lyrics started.

"Blue sky to forever,
Green grass blows in the wind,
It would be a much better sight with you,
with me...."

::I know a bit short but I will get more length to it as the plot develops::