[ 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. ]
[ 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.
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?
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-
[ 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? ]
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!]
[ 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.]
[ 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. ]
[ 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.]
Ivan swims as fast as he's able, grabbing hold of the car's side mirror as soon as he's close enough. The water presents a problem, since it's not like Ivan can get the momentum to swing something as large and cumbersome as a scythe while he's here, and the clock is rapidly ticking.
Maybe it's the panic that compels him, maybe it's this town's way of getting under his skin and digging up old ghosts. Whatever it is, Ivan finds himself calling on abilities he long thought he left behind. He lifts a hand and frantically scratches a rune into the air — well, the water, light the color of sapphire trailing from his fingertips. The glass of the window fractures and bursts outward.
Ivan snaps a hand into the car to help pull James free, and once he is, the reaper slings an arm around him and kicks for the surface with all he's worth. ]
[Lucky him, getting to see Ivan's old magic at work. It's too bad James can't fully appreciate it right now; his body is in panic mode, and his mind is pulled in too many directions at once. The latter is also a haze, because he's pretty sure he's swallowed water, and oxygen is a rare commodity.
But ultimately, his magic works. The window shatters, and James is dragged out it, both of them trying to kick clumsily at the car to grant them momentum upwards. (His attempt is clumsier and weaker.) But there's nothing to stop them — up they go towards the surface, propelled mostly by Ivan's efforts. The swim feels like it's miles long.
Yet once they break the surface, they're not greeted by the interior of that tiny room anymore, but rather the wide expanse of more water all around. Fog ghosting along the surface. The sun above, trying to pierce through the thick layer of clouds in the grey sky. They're treading water right in the middle of Toluca Lake.
James reaches out to hook an arm onto the first floating object he sees nearby: a rowboat. He begins retching and coughing up lakewater miserably. His lungs burn like fire. Give him a moment.]
[ They can both sit back and ponder what it is they’ve just witnessed once the worst has passed. For now, they surface in the frigid waters of the lake, and Ivan clings to the boat (how convenient) with one hand while keeping the other on Jame’s back, ready to grab him again in case something else should happen.
He can take all the time he needs to remember how to breathe. Once it seems he’s done coughing and retching, Ivan gives his back a little pat. ]
[Oh, James won't have to ponder too hard on that one. He knows exactly what all of that was.
After a moment, he finds he can breathe despite the lake's chill making it extra hard. Fingernails bite into the wood of the rowboat, and he finally registers what it is, automatically trying to haul himself out of the water and into the rickety little thing.
Then he's on his knees once he manages it, soaked to the bone and looking as he should: wet and pathetic. He presses the heels of both palms into his eyes, shuddering.]
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redsquares) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2024-10-17 12:29 pm
no subject
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. ]
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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.
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Anything else you want before I go stabbing this thing? Change of clothes?
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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.]
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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. ]
no subject
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.
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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? ]
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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". ]
no subject
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?]
no subject
Is that... a car?
[ What. JAMES IS THIS ONE OF YOUR ENDINGS— ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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!!! ]
no subject
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—
no subject
[ 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. ]
1/2
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—
no subject
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Except, perhaps at a very far distance below, a little sliver of light. A weak, flickering beam. Like that from a pocket flashlight, maybe.]
no subject
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! ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
Ivan swims as fast as he's able, grabbing hold of the car's side mirror as soon as he's close enough. The water presents a problem, since it's not like Ivan can get the momentum to swing something as large and cumbersome as a scythe while he's here, and the clock is rapidly ticking.
Maybe it's the panic that compels him, maybe it's this town's way of getting under his skin and digging up old ghosts. Whatever it is, Ivan finds himself calling on abilities he long thought he left behind. He lifts a hand and frantically scratches a rune into the air — well, the water, light the color of sapphire trailing from his fingertips. The glass of the window fractures and bursts outward.
Ivan snaps a hand into the car to help pull James free, and once he is, the reaper slings an arm around him and kicks for the surface with all he's worth. ]
no subject
But ultimately, his magic works. The window shatters, and James is dragged out it, both of them trying to kick clumsily at the car to grant them momentum upwards. (His attempt is clumsier and weaker.) But there's nothing to stop them — up they go towards the surface, propelled mostly by Ivan's efforts. The swim feels like it's miles long.
Yet once they break the surface, they're not greeted by the interior of that tiny room anymore, but rather the wide expanse of more water all around. Fog ghosting along the surface. The sun above, trying to pierce through the thick layer of clouds in the grey sky. They're treading water right in the middle of Toluca Lake.
James reaches out to hook an arm onto the first floating object he sees nearby: a rowboat. He begins retching and coughing up lakewater miserably. His lungs burn like fire. Give him a moment.]
no subject
He can take all the time he needs to remember how to breathe. Once it seems he’s done coughing and retching, Ivan gives his back a little pat. ]
You okay?
no subject
After a moment, he finds he can breathe despite the lake's chill making it extra hard. Fingernails bite into the wood of the rowboat, and he finally registers what it is, automatically trying to haul himself out of the water and into the rickety little thing.
Then he's on his knees once he manages it, soaked to the bone and looking as he should: wet and pathetic. He presses the heels of both palms into his eyes, shuddering.]
Fuck!
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