Erik Lehnsherr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhuman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
all_inclusive2015-04-14 01:23 pm
morethanhuman) wrote in all_inclusive2015-04-14 01:23 pm
choosing the impossible
In the dark, Erik ran, the sounds of skittering and and an eerie humming echoing, ambient, in the air around him. They didn't wear metal, any of them, except the ones who carried knives— but they didn't need knives to hurt, to kill. He'd seen that firsthand.
He rounded a corner into a long gallery space, one entire wall made of glass, an arresting view of the city's grandeur and the vastness of the ocean that surrounded it. Even after weeks of this, living in the half-light of flares and sputtering neon, it still caught at him— he was under water, miles from the sun or a breath of fresh air. Like the vastness of space outside his window on the Proserpina, the ocean was endless, and he was stuck in this tomb of a city trying like hell to find his way out. Looking out over the city with fish swimming like flocks of birds between the skyscrapers, Erik spared a thought to wish he could have visited it in its heyday.
Those seconds of distraction cost him. A splicer dropped in front of him, startling a shout from him as he reeled back, jerking himself out of reach as it swiped at him with something— not metal, glass perhaps?— he felt the pull on his upper arm, then the burn as the pain set in. Almost too fast to track, another one skittered out from the shadows, and Erik could hear the hyena laugh that signaled another wasn't far off. Fuck. Where was the goddamned door, anyway? He'd been working for an eternity to make his way back here, and he was so close—
"Find a better hiding place, monster," the one in front of him hissed, its teeth bared in an insane grin, and Erik didn't waste another second before lashing out. A cloud of slender blades hovered by his left shoulder like a wizard's familiar; his left hand shot out and the blades flew, zipping through the air like hornets to pierce the splicer's flesh, burrowing in and through and out, only to twist midair and come back for more.
Ignoring the screams, Erik gestured with his other hand to the hulking splicer advancing on him from the right. Lightning arced from his palm, tracing a parabola between him and his attacker, the purple light illuminating his own fierce satisfaction at the sight of the splicer writhing in agony. The swarm of blades finished their bloody work just in time for Erik to turn, wild-eyed, as the third splicer dropped to the ground behind him. His pulse was racing, the taste of ozone in his mouth, and he threw both his hands out in front of him, metal and electricity flying free.
Three splicers lay dead at his feet. His arm throbbing, blood seeping through his sweater, Erik reoriented himself and headed toward the bathysphere station. The door wasn't far— he'd be home before he knew it... as long as there were no more nasty surprises.
[Find him in Rapture during or after the splicers attack, or once he's come back through the door. He's singed and filthy and bleeding from a long cut on his left bicep. He's injected himself with the Electro Bolt plasmid, which gives him the ability to electrically charge or shock things at will. For those who see him regularly, he's been stuck in Rapture for over a month.]
He rounded a corner into a long gallery space, one entire wall made of glass, an arresting view of the city's grandeur and the vastness of the ocean that surrounded it. Even after weeks of this, living in the half-light of flares and sputtering neon, it still caught at him— he was under water, miles from the sun or a breath of fresh air. Like the vastness of space outside his window on the Proserpina, the ocean was endless, and he was stuck in this tomb of a city trying like hell to find his way out. Looking out over the city with fish swimming like flocks of birds between the skyscrapers, Erik spared a thought to wish he could have visited it in its heyday.
Those seconds of distraction cost him. A splicer dropped in front of him, startling a shout from him as he reeled back, jerking himself out of reach as it swiped at him with something— not metal, glass perhaps?— he felt the pull on his upper arm, then the burn as the pain set in. Almost too fast to track, another one skittered out from the shadows, and Erik could hear the hyena laugh that signaled another wasn't far off. Fuck. Where was the goddamned door, anyway? He'd been working for an eternity to make his way back here, and he was so close—
"Find a better hiding place, monster," the one in front of him hissed, its teeth bared in an insane grin, and Erik didn't waste another second before lashing out. A cloud of slender blades hovered by his left shoulder like a wizard's familiar; his left hand shot out and the blades flew, zipping through the air like hornets to pierce the splicer's flesh, burrowing in and through and out, only to twist midair and come back for more.
Ignoring the screams, Erik gestured with his other hand to the hulking splicer advancing on him from the right. Lightning arced from his palm, tracing a parabola between him and his attacker, the purple light illuminating his own fierce satisfaction at the sight of the splicer writhing in agony. The swarm of blades finished their bloody work just in time for Erik to turn, wild-eyed, as the third splicer dropped to the ground behind him. His pulse was racing, the taste of ozone in his mouth, and he threw both his hands out in front of him, metal and electricity flying free.
Three splicers lay dead at his feet. His arm throbbing, blood seeping through his sweater, Erik reoriented himself and headed toward the bathysphere station. The door wasn't far— he'd be home before he knew it... as long as there were no more nasty surprises.
[Find him in Rapture during or after the splicers attack, or once he's come back through the door. He's singed and filthy and bleeding from a long cut on his left bicep. He's injected himself with the Electro Bolt plasmid, which gives him the ability to electrically charge or shock things at will. For those who see him regularly, he's been stuck in Rapture for over a month.]
no subject
If anyone had asked, she wouldn't have been able to tell them exactly what she was reacting to. There was no obvious threat, just an exhausted man and an open door. Maybe it was the blood and dirt, maybe it was the smell of smoke and desperation. Maybe she'd been subconsciously expecting something dangerous to happen here. No place with so many doors to so many varied places could be as safe as this hotel seemed to be.
But one second she was walking down the hall as if she was safe, the next second she was crouching behind a service cart, her lovely new needler pointed half way between the man and the open door, not entirely sure which one was the threat. Or if there even was a threat.
Nothing more came through the door, so Peggy looked at the man. No immediate threat. But that cut...
"You'll want to have that looked at," Peggy said, automatically using her authoritative nurse voice, only slightly different from her authoritative general voice. "It probably needs stitches. Is anything dangerous going to come through that doorway?" Her needler never wavered.
no subject
The voice slapped him back into alertness, his mess of blades flying up off the floor to hover at the ready, a reflex to the wary tension humming through him as he looked for the attack— but it was just one woman, a strange pistol in one hand, coolly assessing him from ten feet away.
The metal shards fell to the floor again in a haphazard pile and Erik straightened, resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his grimy face. It took him a moment to get past the brisk Britishness of her voice and understand what she'd actually said. He looked down at his arm; the slice was bleeding only sluggishly now, though his sleeve was red almost to the wrist.
"I've had worse," he said, his voice hoarse. He didn't glance behind him before adding, "And no, nothing's coming."
no subject
Peggy waited a few seconds, alert for any further movement, either from mysteriously flying bits of metal or from the open door. But the metal remained inert and she saw no sign that the wounded man was wrong and the door might disgorge -- but she hadn't the slightest notion what that door might disgorge. She waited a few extra seconds on that thought, but when there was still nothing, she let out her breath and pushed the cart a few inches with her foot. She'd take the slightly better view, even with the trade-off of being slightly more exposed.
"You'll still want to get it looked at," Peggy said to the wounded man with a slight roll of her eyes for the tendency of men to downplay their wounds. The Howlers did that too.
"Are those yours?" she asked of the shards of metal on the floor. She might not know what was going on, but they'd hovered around him, so it seemed like a reasonable guess.
no subject
"Where should I go to get this looked at, then?" He'd never taken note of an infirmary— never stayed in a hotel that contained one either, though he suspected that whatever the Nexus was, it was better prepared than most places to handle the unexpected.
no subject
She holstered her needler. Good will on both sides, she thought.
"There's a clinic," she told him, competent as always. She'd explored the hotel thoroughly, and checked the parts that seemed stable a couple of times since then, so she knew the location well. At least, as well as anything in this hotel.
"I'll show you," she decided. She knew she could find it, but she wasn't sure about giving directions. And the nurse in her wanted to make sure he actually got it looked after.