[ Will had hoped - expected, in fact - that the next time he'd meet up with someone who could talk to him, he'd be ready. He's got a radio with him now, turned on and off periodically to listen to the white noise crackle at him. Will's found that if he leaves it on for too long, he starts to...see people who aren't there, who aren't the shadow-creatures, either. Once his heart starts rabbiting against his upper ribs and taking up the room that his lungs need, Will always flicks it off.
Bad enough to have been here long enough for routines to kick in. Lucky enough that...surviving, while tedious, hasn't been horrifically difficult. The fact that all the food he's been finding has been prepackaged, doomsday-level supplies has made Will feel like he's in a bad apocalypse film, or raiding campsite after campsite of its non-perishables. He feels like a stranger, except...
He doesn't. Not really. There's something here that doesn't strike him as being unwelcome, as picking up scraps the way he very much is. Will's worrying over all this, frowning as he climbs stairs from a second to a third story, when the stairs abruptly...melt under his feet. Like taffy, the stairwell suddenly stretches, and then - still unfortunately taffy-like - it snaps.
Will grabs for the ragged edge of the stairs with his hands as he falls through them, and feels his palms yell in protest. He thinks he might have sliced one of them, or at least scraped several layers of skin off, but pretty soon he's just trying to figure out how to land without putting his foot through the dresser he can look down and see below him--
When the dust clears, Will's radio is crackling static and his ears are ringing so high he almost misses the sound of a voice yelping on the other end. As if it's surprised.
Will rolls over onto his stomach, groans, and then shifts his ankles one by one. They don't feel broken. His knees, as he starts to rise onto them and his hands, feel very much bruised. ]
Dammit. [ His voice is still resolving in his ears, the incredible noise of his own fall still ringing in them. ] Is there-- is someone there?
have fun watching this happen, ben
Bad enough to have been here long enough for routines to kick in. Lucky enough that...surviving, while tedious, hasn't been horrifically difficult. The fact that all the food he's been finding has been prepackaged, doomsday-level supplies has made Will feel like he's in a bad apocalypse film, or raiding campsite after campsite of its non-perishables. He feels like a stranger, except...
He doesn't. Not really. There's something here that doesn't strike him as being unwelcome, as picking up scraps the way he very much is. Will's worrying over all this, frowning as he climbs stairs from a second to a third story, when the stairs abruptly...melt under his feet. Like taffy, the stairwell suddenly stretches, and then - still unfortunately taffy-like - it snaps.
Will grabs for the ragged edge of the stairs with his hands as he falls through them, and feels his palms yell in protest. He thinks he might have sliced one of them, or at least scraped several layers of skin off, but pretty soon he's just trying to figure out how to land without putting his foot through the dresser he can look down and see below him--
When the dust clears, Will's radio is crackling static and his ears are ringing so high he almost misses the sound of a voice yelping on the other end. As if it's surprised.
Will rolls over onto his stomach, groans, and then shifts his ankles one by one. They don't feel broken. His knees, as he starts to rise onto them and his hands, feel very much bruised. ]
Dammit. [ His voice is still resolving in his ears, the incredible noise of his own fall still ringing in them. ] Is there-- is someone there?