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

[ Ivan nearly whips around and summons his weapon right there when the mannequin jostles, but he calms down pretty quickly when he realizes it was just James bumping into one. ]

It says to sunder a friend's heart... so I've got to look for one of these things that looks familiar and stab it, I imagine.

Less of a puzzle and more of this place being... [Rude?] Well, symbolic, I guess.

[He doesn't know exactly how Ivan took lives to fuel his necromancy before—if knives and stabbing were involved at all—but James knows better than to ask so bluntly. He won't.

He'll just walk along, eying the mannequins still.]

See "anyone" familiar?

[They're all dressed in a myriad of ways, all modern clothing, though. How perceptive is Ivan right now?]

Not as of yet.

[ Rattled as he is by the presence of the book in the other room, Ivan's as sharp as ever.

Of course, the downside is that Ivan has met a lot of people in his 600 some odd years, and that includes people in the modern era. So the mannequin will have to be quite distinctive for him to know it's right. Apart from his burgeoning friendship with James, there's really only one other person Ivan might consider himself on friendly terms with. ]

[Well, luckily for the two of them, maybe the term "sunder" wasn't used randomly on the blade's inscription. Because, somewhere in the corner, there is a mannequin dressed in an army green jacket, a slate blue button-up with a belt and jeans. Even the shoes!

Perhaps it grabs Ivan's attention more so because it has a flickering flashlight sending out a weak beam of light, poking out from a jacket pocket.]

[ okay but does it look like it's reached into toilets at any point—?

The light does catch Ivan's attention first, and he glances over, stepping close to get a better look at the source.

Oh.

Looks at the mannequin. Looks at James. ]

The resemblance is uncanny.

[ Hilarious. ]

[NO 😭

He's just a step or two behind, stopping when Ivan finds the mannequin. Looks at it. Looks at Ivan.]

You're hilarious.

[Gestures at the flashlight. First and foremost-]

Hey, hand me that.

[ He reaches over and plucks the flashlight from the mannequin’s pocket easy enough, and hands it over. ]

Anything else you want before I go stabbing this thing? Change of clothes?

[He takes the flashlight and pockets it. Even if Ivan can summon up magical light, better safe than sorry.]

You think I want to wear anything that thing is wearing?

[Its clothes are dirtied and who knows where they've been, but he says it like he hasn't done far more questionably gross things in this town before.]

[ Ivan raises an eyebrow, very much aware of the questionable things James has told him about so far. ]

I don't know, do you?

[ Don't answer that. Ivan isn't really expecting a response in the affirmative anyway, given how he pulls that knife back out and gives the mannequin a poke with the point of the blade. He's checking for some kind of trap, but also he's making sure this doesn't actually affect James in any way. He wouldn't put it past this place to get all voodoo on him. ]

[HE WILL NOT DEIGN TO GIVE THAT A REPLY, ANYWAY

The mannequin doesn’t move. The knife’s tip hits its body from beneath the clothing it’s wearing, so its surface seems hard, at least. Breakable.

James sets his jaw, also half-expecting to feel some sting of pain, like this were some weird version of voodoo… But nothing.

But, he can’t help himself, despite the situation-]

Ow.

[ Ivan gives James yet another flat look in a long line of flat looks, before giving the knife a probably concerningly deft twirl in one hand, bringing the blade down on the mannequin's chest.

He doesn't have to try terribly hard, strong as he is and as brittle as these things are. The clothes are just kind of in the way, so he slices the fabric away as well.

What we got in here? ]

[Isn't he funny!

The cloth cuts away easily. The chest of the mannequin, though brittle, only cracks down the middle; a narrow fissure, which means that this might take one or two more attempts from Ivan to wrench it open.

Which might be a good thing, because at least they'll get a hint of what's to come. As soon as the mannequin cracks, water starts leaking out. A slow but steady stream, enough to soon soak the front of its shirt. A faint beam of light shines through the opening, and a very muffled, very distant... note of some kind sounds. Constant.]

Um. [He has a bad feeling about this.] What the hell?

Edited 2024-11-08 13:55 (UTC)

Took the words right out of my mouth.

[ What the hell!

Once he's cut enough of the shirt aside and chipped away at enough of the mannequin's body, Ivan pockets the knife to wedge his fingers into the fissure instead, pulling it apart enough to spill water everywhere, for one, but also enough that he can reach inside.

He gives James crap for reaching into any old hole around Silent Hill, but Ivan's clearly operating on the same level of "fuck it". ]

[That level of "fuck it" usually gets the job done, it's true, but there's something about the water spilling out from the mannequin that has James feeling uneasy. That light; that odd sound. It's familiar, but he doesn't exactly know why.

Ivan reaches in, and it's like he's reaching through a doorway rather than groping around the interior of a closed space. In fact, the more he opens up that fissure, the more he can glimpse, reflected back, the glimmering surface of water that he's stuck his hand in — the bright, bright shine of light hazy beneath it, but growing more luminous by the second. And defying all physics, the liquid continues to spill down, run over, splattering at both men's feet.]

Ivan... I don't-

[Know if he should keep his hand in there. James sets his jaw, worried.

The light draws closer to the "surface." Its form sharpening to reveal there are two of them; twin, circular beams. That single-note droning becomes louder. It almost sounds like-

A car horn?]

[ There is truly an impossible amount of water coming from this mannequin, but now that it's been cracked open, it's not like Ivan can put it back together again. Does he look like the Flex Tape guy to you? ]

Is that... a car?

[ What. JAMES IS THIS ONE OF YOUR ENDINGS— ]

[ 🙂

A car? James' heart jumps up and sticks in his throat, and he steps forward enough to peer over Ivan's shoulder, just in time to see those headlights careen up and up, closer to them. The horn's starting to blare, indicating the space between where it exists and where they stand is getting smaller and smaller.]

Ivan!

[James drops his chainsaw in favor of bodily tackling Ivan out of the way. Just in time, too, because in a truly, truly bizarre sight, the mannequin itself explodes in an impossible column of cold, oppressive water, as though a dam had just broken. Like a portal's just opened up, spilling an entire tidal wave into the room.

And the car—a 1977 Pontiac Ventura, painted a dull aqua green—bursts through this display of water like an unhinged, metal sea creature breaching the surface, chassis groaning and horn screeching as it rises in the air...

And splashes right back down into the lake again, slowly, slowly sinking. A perilous few feet away from them.

Wait— lake?]

Shit!

[The room is filling up with cold, churning water, all around them, worrisomely fast. The excess mannequins go swirling away, crashing into each other as they're pushed to the room's walls from the explosive sight in the center.]

[ That's noble and all James, but it sincerely wouldn't be the first time Ivan's been hit by a car, and for far less, too.

Well, what's done is done, and there are far, far more worrisome things to deal with. Like the sudden arrival of what is apparently the entire lake in this little room. Ivan will be fine, for a given definition of the word, but James is a mortal man who needs to breathe.

To that end, Ivan practically grabs the other man by the scruff and starts to haul ass toward the nearest window. Whatever's outside can deal with the deluge of water, too, and hopefully that will give James and Ivan a bit of breathing room.

Literal and metaphorical.

The reaper summons his scythe into his hand to slam the weapon into the glass. Let them out!!! ]

[He’ll find that James is dragged by the scruff easily enough, but stumbles clumsily through the sloshing water as he glances back, utterly in shock. Every nerve feeling cold as ice, and that has little to do with the chill of the water.

The water—

The Pontiac is already nearly submerged beneath it, which seems impossible for how deep it would already have to be, and why? Why is it here? Why is he seeing any of this? Is it because of the simple fact it was a mannequin dressed like him, and this is the imagery unearthed from his “heart?”

Ivan’s saying something. The water’s rising — already up to the bottom panes of the window he’s trying so hard to break. The glass seems oddly resistant, but it does crack… Might require another hit!]

What is… Why—

James! Stay with me!

[ It's almost like the other man has gone into some kind of shock — which is a sight that's not unfamiliar to a man in Ivan's line of work. ]

You can ask why— [ He rears back his weapon for another hit, putting all his inhuman strength into it, and another if the window should require it. ] —later!

[ But above all, he must live long enough to get there. It's a little ironic that a grim reaper of all things is the one trying so hard to keep James Sunderland among the living. ]

[Ivan's voice, and the way the window cracks angrily under duress of his weapon, is just enough to hook into his consciousness and bring James back to reality. He's breathless, and realizes he's lost his chainsaw, so he can't help with the glass, but thankfully one of the window panes finally shatter. Water gushes out through it.]

I'm here, I'm still here, it's just that car— It's—

[There is, without warning, the sensation of the floor disappearing out from beneath their feet. Quite literally. What exists under them must be only the cold depths of the lake, because both men will have to start treading water if they want to stay afloat and haul themselves out of that window.

James flails a little, startled, but at least he can swim. The water's rising but there's still plenty of air to breathe between it and the ceiling for now, and he steadies himself moments later.]

It was—

[Without any warning whatsoever, something drags him under, and then he's just gone beneath the dark surface.]

[ Ivan would ask what is happening, but there frankly isn't time. Water starts pouring out of the window, and he turns to James to grab him again so they can make their escape, but the floor literally goes out from under them, and Ivan finds himself submerged in the frigid water for a harrowing second. He surfaces with a sputter, and spots James just in time to watch him get dragged under. ]

Son of a—!

[ With like half a dozen curses in just as many languages running through his head, Ivan sucks in a breath he doesn't need and dives into the darkness. His little ball of flame follows him, unbothered by the water. ]

[Plunging beneath, it's all darkness. A cold, cold void. Ivan's ball of flame lights all around him in a small halo, but... there's nothing to see.

Except, perhaps at a very far distance below, a little sliver of light. A weak, flickering beam. Like that from a pocket flashlight, maybe.]

[ It's not much, but it's enough to follow. Ivan puts on a burst of speed, swimming deeper to chase that sliver of light. The dark and the cold are oppressive, but he's survived worse.

But James? God, he doesn't know why he's made it his mission to keep this man alive, but he's fucking doing it. Death can yell at him for interfering later. He's seen how long James has left, and though that time is far from concrete, a thing that fate and chance can change if they so will it, it hasn't changed yet. Ivan means to make sure it doesn't.

So, get back here James Sunderland. He's pulling you to the surface whether you like it or not! ]

[That would be the ideal, and James would appreciate it greatly... But it seems it'll not be so straightforward.

As Ivan draws closer to the light, he'll see that its shine outlines the shape of the sunken car, now resting in the silt of the "lake" — specifically, the car interior, with the shadowed figure of James somehow trapped within the driver side. Small bubbles eke and rise from the edges of the doors, firmly locked. Whatever air there used to be within has clearly long vanished, which isn't ideal for James Sunderland himself, who has his hands pressed to the glass, futilely seeking a way out.]

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