[Shannon] Sorry, Charlie....
Jun. 21st, 2007 06:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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crossing_lostrpWho: Shannon-in-Charlie
When: Day 29, 1 p.m. (approx.)
Where: The Storage Room
Invited: Shannon/Charlie, a Very Special Guest Star, anyone else
Status: Complete
Shannon reeled away from Soldier Boy and ducked around a corner. Her vision blurred, signaling that tears were imminent. As if she didn't already know that. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears and she was trembling with the need to lash out.
She wanted to scream and cry and...hit something. Or someone. Maybe anyone. No, not anyone--she wanted to strike back at the source of all her pain, but she couldn't. It was the island. "I hate this fucking island!" she said aloud, uncaring of who might or might not be listening. "I fucking hate it!"
'Hate' was really an inadequate word for the depth of Shannon's loathing. She curled her fingers, wanting so badly to wrap them around the throat of someone she could make pay for all the indignities she'd suffered since buying a ticket for Flight 815. From the day they'd crashed on this god forsaken rock her life had been hell--a living hell--in every conceivable way.
For a month now she'd been living in a goddamned grass hut like some bare-breasted third world native in one of Boone's National Geographics. Washing in a creek, using whatever scraps of soap they could salvage from the plane. Wearing cast-off clothes scavenged from the dead. Using a fly-infested, stench-filled primitive latrine that made a Porta-Potty look like the Hilton. Shannon shuddered at the thought.
And everyone hated her. She knew it, though she'd never admitted it. She hadn't missed all the sidelong glances and rolled eyes when she complained--as if they never did! The sadistic glee she sensed when she unwillingly joined in to wash dishes or clothing, or cook, or clean fish. Some few had had the gall to laugh at her! As if she should have known how to do these things!
Losing her memory had almost been a blessing. She might not have known who she was, but at least they were all in the same boat. But that was over and now--now she was trapped in the body of this drug-addled loser! And he was using hers like a goddamned playground! Shannon stopped abruptly and pounded the wall once with her fist.
She could feel a crying jag coming on and she wanted privacy. If Charlie had a room anywhere in this building, she had no idea where. So she ducked through the door marked Storage, slamming it behind her and leaning against it. The storage room was pitch black and cool. There was a light switch somewhere, she was certain but she didn't care. She slid down the door to huddle on the floor and let the tears come.
Shannon wasn't sure how long she cried, but it wasn't long. She paused in mid-sniffle and raised her head, though she still couldn't see shit. The room felt colder suddenly, or maybe it was just a chill. She felt an odd prickling along her arms, realizing only slowly that it was the hairs--hairs on her arms!--standing up. As were the hairs on the back of her--Charlie's--neck.
Shannon felt the first stirrings of fear then. She sensed that she wasn't alone any longer. But she was leaning against the only door. Had someone already been in here? Had they been listening and silently enjoying the sound of her misery?
"Is someone there?" Shannon asked.
No reply. But she sensed that she was the focus of someone's undivided attention. She swallowed hard with a suddenly dry throat. The feeling of being watched grew stronger. "Who's there?" she asked, struggingling awkwardly to get her feet under her and stand up. The silent attention was scaring her now. She wanted to find the light switch and see which asshole was scaring her.
Shannon laid her hand against the wall and slid her arm upward, feeling for the switch--and flinched at the sharp tug she felt on he wrist. Then shrieked as the pain followed. She clutched her injured arm to her chest and gasped in surprise at the hot, salty splash of blood against her mouth and chin, blood that pumped from the raw stump of her wrist.
Her next scream tore her throat as red hot blades slashed across her belly, shredding her flesh. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the stink of shit filled the air. Hot liquid poured down across her bare legs and Shannon knew in a moment of crystalline clarity that she was bleeding out. She felt it when the mass of her intestines slithered out of her abdominal cavity and puddled on the floor at her feet. Then the claws and teeth were at her again, buffeting her and knocking her to the floor, where they tore at her with impossible speed and ferocity.
After the first few moments of stunned shock, Shannon tried to defend herself but there was nothing to strike at, nothing to push away. Only the teeth and claws were real, and only when they scored her flesh, raked at her, worried chunks of meat from her bones.
Shannon screamed and struggled for longer than she imagined possible before she ended.
OOC: Yes, boys and girls, it's a Grue. All anyone will find is a thoroughly dismembered body in a room awash and splattered in blood and gore. No sign of how it got in or out, no footprints, no forensic evidence--other than claw/tooth marks in bone and shredded flesh--of what killed Shannon/Charlie. All will be revealed in due time but for now, it's a locked room mystery with no solution.
When: Day 29, 1 p.m. (approx.)
Where: The Storage Room
Invited: Shannon/Charlie, a Very Special Guest Star, anyone else
Status: Complete
Shannon reeled away from Soldier Boy and ducked around a corner. Her vision blurred, signaling that tears were imminent. As if she didn't already know that. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears and she was trembling with the need to lash out.
She wanted to scream and cry and...hit something. Or someone. Maybe anyone. No, not anyone--she wanted to strike back at the source of all her pain, but she couldn't. It was the island. "I hate this fucking island!" she said aloud, uncaring of who might or might not be listening. "I fucking hate it!"
'Hate' was really an inadequate word for the depth of Shannon's loathing. She curled her fingers, wanting so badly to wrap them around the throat of someone she could make pay for all the indignities she'd suffered since buying a ticket for Flight 815. From the day they'd crashed on this god forsaken rock her life had been hell--a living hell--in every conceivable way.
For a month now she'd been living in a goddamned grass hut like some bare-breasted third world native in one of Boone's National Geographics. Washing in a creek, using whatever scraps of soap they could salvage from the plane. Wearing cast-off clothes scavenged from the dead. Using a fly-infested, stench-filled primitive latrine that made a Porta-Potty look like the Hilton. Shannon shuddered at the thought.
And everyone hated her. She knew it, though she'd never admitted it. She hadn't missed all the sidelong glances and rolled eyes when she complained--as if they never did! The sadistic glee she sensed when she unwillingly joined in to wash dishes or clothing, or cook, or clean fish. Some few had had the gall to laugh at her! As if she should have known how to do these things!
Losing her memory had almost been a blessing. She might not have known who she was, but at least they were all in the same boat. But that was over and now--now she was trapped in the body of this drug-addled loser! And he was using hers like a goddamned playground! Shannon stopped abruptly and pounded the wall once with her fist.
She could feel a crying jag coming on and she wanted privacy. If Charlie had a room anywhere in this building, she had no idea where. So she ducked through the door marked Storage, slamming it behind her and leaning against it. The storage room was pitch black and cool. There was a light switch somewhere, she was certain but she didn't care. She slid down the door to huddle on the floor and let the tears come.
Shannon wasn't sure how long she cried, but it wasn't long. She paused in mid-sniffle and raised her head, though she still couldn't see shit. The room felt colder suddenly, or maybe it was just a chill. She felt an odd prickling along her arms, realizing only slowly that it was the hairs--hairs on her arms!--standing up. As were the hairs on the back of her--Charlie's--neck.
Shannon felt the first stirrings of fear then. She sensed that she wasn't alone any longer. But she was leaning against the only door. Had someone already been in here? Had they been listening and silently enjoying the sound of her misery?
"Is someone there?" Shannon asked.
No reply. But she sensed that she was the focus of someone's undivided attention. She swallowed hard with a suddenly dry throat. The feeling of being watched grew stronger. "Who's there?" she asked, struggingling awkwardly to get her feet under her and stand up. The silent attention was scaring her now. She wanted to find the light switch and see which asshole was scaring her.
Shannon laid her hand against the wall and slid her arm upward, feeling for the switch--and flinched at the sharp tug she felt on he wrist. Then shrieked as the pain followed. She clutched her injured arm to her chest and gasped in surprise at the hot, salty splash of blood against her mouth and chin, blood that pumped from the raw stump of her wrist.
Her next scream tore her throat as red hot blades slashed across her belly, shredding her flesh. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the stink of shit filled the air. Hot liquid poured down across her bare legs and Shannon knew in a moment of crystalline clarity that she was bleeding out. She felt it when the mass of her intestines slithered out of her abdominal cavity and puddled on the floor at her feet. Then the claws and teeth were at her again, buffeting her and knocking her to the floor, where they tore at her with impossible speed and ferocity.
After the first few moments of stunned shock, Shannon tried to defend herself but there was nothing to strike at, nothing to push away. Only the teeth and claws were real, and only when they scored her flesh, raked at her, worried chunks of meat from her bones.
Shannon screamed and struggled for longer than she imagined possible before she ended.
OOC: Yes, boys and girls, it's a Grue. All anyone will find is a thoroughly dismembered body in a room awash and splattered in blood and gore. No sign of how it got in or out, no footprints, no forensic evidence--other than claw/tooth marks in bone and shredded flesh--of what killed Shannon/Charlie. All will be revealed in due time but for now, it's a locked room mystery with no solution.
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[Jack]
Date: 2007-06-22 04:09 pm (UTC)He reached for his wrist and suddenly realized George had his wristcom on his body.
"Right. Doctor Jackson. Be right back." Jack upholstered his revolver and handed it to Blaise, unaware of any reservation he might have in Ami. After all, the man was military. "Watch you back."
Jack heard the whine behind him and scooped up the puppy as he took off. He'd always liked dogs, and this little gal had been frightened enough.
"Doctor Jackson! Danny!" Jack half skidded around the corner as he headed to the last place he'd seen the Doctor's form.
He saw him moving away from a bunch of people talking to May. No, may was in the asian guy. No time for that.
He shoved Oorie into Rose's arms. "Watch her and STAY HERE." He issued the order in George's voice, but the command was clear.
"Daniel, you have to come with me. NOW." He grabbed the man's arm. "Someone get George. She's in my body. Send her to storage closet the end of second left. Send the Doctor or House as well. No one else come down there, or I'll kneecap them."
[Scott] Wha?
Date: 2007-06-22 05:33 pm (UTC)Footsteps pounded past his and Ami's room.
"Ami?" Scott wrenched his eyes open and sat up. He was alone.
Despite being completely and utterly un-psychic at the moment, Scott's gut told him that something was wrong. Ignoring his various aches and pains he grabbed House's cane and made his way to the door. The hall on the other side was quiet, so Scott opened the door and stuck his head out. He looked around, wanting to call for Ami, but hesitated. If there was trouble, he didn't want to draw it to him in his currently defenseless state.
[Blaise] Did I Mention I'm Psychic Now?
Date: 2007-06-22 07:26 pm (UTC)--Blaise was leaning against a door, the metal cool against his skin. It was pitch black and he was terrified and screaming as claws and teeth tore him apart--
--and Rodney was staring at a computer monitor, eyes wide with fear. "It's not working," he mumbled, typing frantically. "It's not working!"--
--Walt Lloyd clung to his father's hand, leaning backward, trying to pull him along. "We have to go, dad! We have to go now!"--
--The signal fire, neglected after a month with no results, gutters out in the rain. Heavy cloud cover blots out the stars. Darkness envelops the camp. And then the screaming starts--
--The Doctor pauses in the middle of chaos to address the stranger in their midst. "Hello, Hiro Nakamura. I'm the Doctor. Now run for your life!" And suiting words to deeds, the Doctor does just that--
--Strangers groan and sit up in the jungle, sleepy-eyed and wondering, beneath a massive stone carved like a great mushroom five feet high and ten feet across. Blaise doesn't know any of them. But he will--
--Blaise is running, along with everyone else, fleeing from they know not what. Behind them sounds of destruction. They run, spilling things as they go--those who are carrying burdens--with no idea how far away safety might lie--
--A great bonfire burns on the beach in a new camp. Survivors huddle around it as if their lives depend upon it. Many faces are missing. Some are new. All are haunted--
--George stands on the beach, arms crossed, staring out at the rising sun. Ami is beside her. Behind them a camp rises. George turns to Ami. "Isn't this where we started?"
--Blaise woke up with people clustered around him. He was lying on the floor...by the door of the storage room. He felt warm, tacky blood on his outstretched arm and soaking into the back of his--Ami's--shirt. "What--what happened?"
"You fainted."
[Aeryn]
Date: 2007-06-22 09:19 pm (UTC)Aeryn looked up as the sound of a distressed dog reached her ears.
"What was that?" she glanced to John, seeing a puzzled look in his eyes.
"That, my dear, is a dog. Furry thing, usually only makes noises like that when there's trouble."
The two of them stood, working as one to create a movement that looked more like a dance. Aeryn took her peacekeeper pistol and holstered it, then she took one of the handguns and slid it into her waistband, then grabbed her coat.
John, on the other hand, touched Winona, then reached for another pistol. Just in case.
Together, they moved into the corridor, led by the whimpering of the dog, but as they grew closer, Aeryn paused, then licked her lips and put out a warning hand to slow John down. "I smell blood." she whispered. "Lots of blood and death."
She'd caused many massacres in her time, leading the peacekeeper troops under her command. But even in that there was mercy. This smelt like a butcher's job.
Cautiously they now approached and Aeryn made sure not to stand in the slick blood that pooled on the floor. "What happened?" she asked of the first person she saw.
[Scott, NPC Ripley]
Date: 2007-06-23 02:46 am (UTC)"Scott," she said quietly. "Get Ami. We're gathering in the small cafeteria."
Scott gulped. "Ami's not here. What's going on?"
"Someone's dead. Messily." Ripley pushed the door open and pulled one of House's arms around Sam's shoulders. "C'mon."
Nodding, Scott limped along as fast as he could. He prayed that Ami had gotten to the cafeteria safely.
[Ami]
Date: 2007-06-24 08:31 pm (UTC)Plus, what could she do? She might have Blaise's body, but she didn't have his skills.
She was distracted by DI Tyler leading Scott-in-House in her direction.
"Daniel wants us all to go the cafeteria," the body language and tone reminded Ami that it was Ripley, not Tyler.
Ami automatically moved to Scott's other side to offer him support and assitance. "What? Why? What's happened?"
(Or should that be what else has happened?)
[Scott, Ripley, Ami]
Date: 2007-06-27 02:20 pm (UTC)