finalflight | OPEN POST; [ JAMES SUNDERLAND / SILENT HILL 2 ]

[ Probably not, but like. He doesn't really care at the end of the day. What's it going to do, kill him?

(He of all people should know there are worse things than death.) ]

So you've demonstrated.

[ Well, he'll wander after James once he starts moving. ]

If this place is so bad, what are you doing here?

[The monsters can definitely maim and kill... But in many ways, the mental toll they take really feels worse. But maybe that's just James.

He does begin moving, through the fog as they trail down the sidewalk. There are several shops with large, glass window storefronts. Maybe Ivan can find a nice melee weapon if he keeps a keen eye out.]

I didn't think it would be like this again.

[He doesn't quite expound upon why.]

So I came back. To... [Pause.] Give my wife an update on how I'm doing, I guess.

[ He'll look around, mostly out of curiosity. The idea of finding a weapon is already slid right out of his head, so James will have to do any looking for him. Maybe a nice crowbar is this guy's speed.

A frown. ]

What is your wife doing here?

[He’s a survival horror protagonist, he’s always looking for useful items laying around.

In fact, there does happen to be a crowbar as they pass by what appears to be an auto parts shop, and James just… hits the window hard with his pipe, smashing the glass, casual as ever. He doesn’t look at Ivan as he answers, but he does gesture to the item inside.]

She’s not… not really. She’s dead. It’s more that I want to talk to the memory of her.

I know it sounds overly sentimental.

[ Bruh what are you breaking a window for- oh, right. Weapon.

Ivan takes a long-legged step through the broken window to retrieve the crowbar, even if it's just for show. ]

Oh.

[ He goes a bit quiet... quietern rather, expression softening with the sort of melancholy that comes from understanding. ]

My condolences. I don't think it's overly sentimental... I lost my wife some time ago. I understand.

[For James, this is still a raw subject. A… thorny subject, especially when discussed with a stranger. He shouldn’t, but he still cleaves away some of the details in his mind in case the questions come. He should feel guilty for that, too — he does, but he’ll carry that on his shoulders for now.

Still, he’s met with condolences instead. James watches silently as Ivan picks up the crowbar.]

Not really something you ever want to share in common with anyone else. I’m… sorry, too, though.

[It’s strange, to feel like someone can empathize; and that maybe the empathy is only unknowingly surface level without having the full story. Still, it’s not what he expected.]

The… the person you’re looking for, they’re not somehow related to your wife, are they?

[Not necessarily blood related. But any kind of connection — it’s what this town would play with.]

[ If he were to ask Ivan, he'd say that hurt never fully goes away. Ivan has been alive a long time — longer than any person should — and he still caries an ache in the depths of his heart.

Ivan gives a small nod of acknowledgement for the condolences, but he knows better than to prod. The moment of understanding passes, and Ivan steps out through the broken window back onto the street. ]

I highly doubt it.

[ He might have taken "related" a bit literally. Any family either of them had left were ferried to the other side a long, long time ago. ]

Why do you ask?

[James doesn't meet his gaze until he returns. He's technically moved past the horrors he saw in this town the last time he visited, but nonetheless, such things weigh heavy even with passing recollection.]

That was the reason I was brought here last time. I received a letter from Mary, which was impossible because she had already died.

[But it was the town's doing; his mind's doing? Both are true in Silent Hill.]

What I mean to say is that most people have personal reasons for finding themselves in this town.

I'm here for work.

[ SIR??

And that is true, though whether or not the town will mess with them in the meantime remains to be seen. ]

Uh-huh.

[If he sounds dubious, it's because he is. Not that he doubts the veracity of that claim, but the town doesn't just go foggy for no real reason!!

...But he continues walking.]

What kind of work?

I'm a mortician.

[ BOY DOESN'T HE LOOK IT. ]

A... traveling mortician.

[ Hm. He really needs to rethink his cover story a bit better.

Maybe this is a good time for something to jump out of the fog at them. Wouldn't that be nice? You wanna talk about trauma... this place is probably crawling with weird death imagery by now. ]

[YOUR AWKWARD COVER STORY WON'T BE SAVED BY MONSTERS JUST YET, BUDDY

But maybe soon. The fog is getting thick, and it's only because James has the layout of this town seared into his brain that he's fairly certain they're heading the right way. Are those... moths he sees, fluttering in his periphery?]

You're a... traveling mortician.

[Help??? On one hand: yeah he can see it. On the other: what.]

...Sounds to me like someone who deals in death would be drawn to this town on principle alone.

[Up ahead, there is the sound of wings fluttering. Very, very faint for now. He assumes it's just the moths. This would be weird if he'd not experienced it before, and he tenses, but not enough to be worrisome just yet.]

[ Of course he's not going to get off that easily, but a man can hope. It's not often he has to make small talk with some random person on the street on his way to a job who isn't also dying. He's forgotten how! ]

You think so?

[ Maybe that's why he's all turned around. ]

Sounds to me like they have a bad bug problem going on.

[ All the moths, he means. ]

[James isn't exactly the master of small talk, either, so he's in good company. Or bad company. Awkward vibes might be off the charts sometimes, but he's doing okay right now.]

The moths. I think it's a sign of someone... [Dying.] Fading away.

[Whether that's because there's someone else here, or the town is picking apart notions from Ivan's mind... it's hard to say.]

Fading away?

[ Surely not dying, or he'd be able to sense it. One of the very cruel ironies of his station. He, a man who once feared death above all else, is now intrinsically tied to it. ]

Weakening. Diseased. Dying.

[Moths are symbolic of all of the above; he's sure of that. There's no room for doubt in his mind, after what he's seen.]

I saw a lot of them when I was here because... You know.

[Dead wife and all.]

[And maybe there would be more time to turn that over in their heads, but suddenly that sound of wings is louder, louder, and cutting through the fog is a whole swath of moths coming straight towards them.

There's nothing dangerous about just the bugs, though, other than how they nastily pelt into both men, one by one, as they try to wheel away. But no doubt they herald something even more dangerous, a large, dark figure approaching. Just hazy through the mist right now, but not for much longer.]

Ivan... Be careful!

Surely not-

[ Dying.

Well, the monsters are a bit late to save him from awkwardly explaining his occupation. Ivan throws his arms in front of his face to shield it from the onslaught of insects, but there's clearly something else lurking in the fog. Something that has James crying out a warning. Something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck prick in that way they do when he's speaking directly to Death.

Somehow, he doesn't think it's his boss here to give him a scolding for getting lost. ]

Stay behind me.

[ A strangely firm order coming from such a sleepy looking man. He beckons James behind him with one lanky arm, his other held at the ready for... something. He dropped his crowbar at some point when the moths started going crazy, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. ]

[Here's the thing about James: he's pretty brave for a pathetic, wet, sad man. Or perhaps he's just reckless, but either way, the result is the same.

The shape of whatever he sees is unlike anything he's experienced in this town before, but it's not enough to send him cowering behind Ivan. No, he survived Silent Hill and its baleful truths so that he could live for himself and others — how's he going to fulfill the latter by just letting someone else get hurt while he takes safety behind them?]

No, just— Keep on your toes!

[He will, in fact, take two steps closer to the thing in the fog. Which soon unveils itself to be a very awful-looking creature, indeed, stalking towards them with glowing red eyes. The look of it could not be farther removed from the monsters he's fought in the past.]

What the hell?

I said—

[ Hopefully James isn't keen on getting his ridiculous bangs cut, because the blade of a scythe swings down to block his path to the monster in the fog. ]

Stay behind me.

[ For his part, Ivan eyes the monster coolly, scythe in hand. It looks like something he might have conjured in another lifetime, a creature born of necromancy and desperation. That explains why it feels like death. It's made of death.

The beast stares at both men with glowing eyes, maw dropping open to exhale a puff of steam against the cool, foggy air. ]

Have you seen anything like this before?

[Leave his stupid bangs alone!

The sudden appearance of a scythe's blade makes James come to a sudden halt, digging his heels into the pavement of the sidewalk. A flash of confusion darkens his features... because where the hell did Ivan get something like that?

His fingers grip harder around the iron pipe, now held in both hands.]

No, nothing like that. [The ones he always saw looked made of raw flesh, distorted and writhing and faceless. Or it was something worse, dragging a giant knife behind each purposeful step—]

And I don't know where you got a scythe, but you need to let me help you!

I'll be fine.

[ Trying to keep James out of harm's way will ultimately be a distraction in the end. He can tell it isn't the other man's time to die, and he'd hate to have something happen to disrupt that timeline.

The creature tenses as if to pounce, but Ivan moves first, and quickly, to close the gap. He's fast, but so is the monster. It's also quite apparent that Ivan clearly does not give a damn about whether or not he gets hurt. In the course of their quick and brutal dance, he simply leave himself open to attack in order to get an attack off himself. He takes the thing's head off eventually, but not before he takes a couple of thorny vines right through the shoulder. They're still there even as the monster drops dead. ]

[James has seen monsters display strength and speed that shocks and terrifies; he's even been on the wrong end of both. But he's never seen a human wield the same against an enemy, ending the threat before them with a quick beheading. It stuns him to watch it. He does little more than stand there with his heart beating his chest for a few long moments, gawking as a bit of blood ekes into Ivan's clothing at his shoulder.

Then, once more, his mind catches up to him, whip-like, and he grips his iron pipe harder — for what little good it might do, regardless of what's actually happening now.]

How did you—

[-do that? Is he even... human? Unease coils tightly around his stomach.]

What are you?

[Suddenly, the dead and crumpling monster is not the priority here.]

[ Still with scythe in hand and breathing hard, Ivan lifts his free one to grasp the vines puncturing his shoulder. He grits his teeth against the pain, against the sting of thorns slicing into his palm to draw blood anew. ]

The hand of Death.

[ With a grunt, he tugs the vines free, sending a fresh splatter of blood across the pavement. He tosses the vines aside, and they land with a soft, wet sound. ]

Come to take those who meet their end.

[ A beat. ]

Don't worry. I'm not here for you.

[He watches with the same frown and now a grimace as those vines tug free. The blood and violence doesn’t really faze him as much as this information does — something so succinctly spoken but also somehow tells him not much at all.]

Of Death?

[What. The actual fuck.]

You’re going to have to explain more than that, Ivan.

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