Event | Turtle Dive | January 20 - 23 | Underwater zombies crave your briiiiiines

[ironwood]

Characters: Any and all PCs
Date: January 20th - 23rd
Location: All Sectors
Situation: Tu Vishan continues swimming along the ocean floor after his monumental dive, but it turns out there are a whole bunch of undead that want in on the party!
Warnings/Rating: Underwater situations, violence, potential gore; to be updated as noted.

>See the comments of this post for various situations and areas available for tagging.
>Each header will be set for a date and/or area.
>Feel free to start your own header for specific situations.
>The Palace subplot will be run in a separate log.
>Refer to the two OOC posts for further details. 01 | 02

Comments

[traumatizing]

With what? My piercing gaze and a magnifying glass?

[All sass aside, Terry defers to Albel on this. His approach has mostly been hitting them in the face with something heavy and running in a different direction while they're dazed - he hasn't even given any real thought to what could actually kill these things, pretty certain they'd be able to take him out first before he got the chance. Unafraid of death he may be, but he's not particularly keen on giving it a second go if it can be avoided.

Frowning deeply, he turns on his heels and looks around until he spots one of the torches that had been put out when the turtle submerged and sprints off to get it, coming back with it in hand as quickly as his legs will allow.]

Are they even flammable?

[His tone is a touch derisive - they're mostly flesh and have been hanging out in the water for ages, right? - but the look he gives Albel is genuinely questioning. He seems like the kind of guy who knows approximately a million times more about killing things than Terry could ever hope to.]

[heinously]

Easily, [ Albel exhales sharply, giving himself several strides of space. To take down the zombies using conventional attacks weren't worth a snowball's chance in these parts. In hindsight, this battle would've probably been over before it had even really began.

His personal history was enough to suggest that to underestimate the power of fire was to make a very, very big mistake.

And his past history also suggested that he wasn't enough of a masochist to handle flame when the opportunity arose for another person to do it for him. His facial features hardens, even as his head tilts towards the jiangshi approaching from just having been thrown forward, even as he still held the hilt of his sword with a white-knuckled grip. ] Go.

[traumatizing]

Sir, yes sir.

[Terry grumbles under his breath, but there's no time to argue about how much he doesn't want to do this or how quickly it could go wrong. His habit of recklessly throwing himself into dangerous situations was successful about 50% of the time anyway. ("Successful" meaning he was usually able to get up and walk away afterwards.)

Instead he steels himself and runs towards the thing, relying on the fact that he is a) much easier prey, and b) closer to it now, to draw its attention. The things he learned from the Initiative are mostly endurance and stamina, but right now he's really hoping his reflexes are good enough as he waits until until it's close enough.

And smacks that zombie in the head with the torch.

Normally he'd take a moment to celebrate, but instead he opts for thrusting the torch at its abdomen for good measure and running to put some distance between them without even checking to see if the flame took.]

[heinously]

[ And by golly, it did.

The fire rages across the abdomen first before spreading like hot oil. It isn't long before the creature's body gives a sickly lurch, sagging forwards on a crumpling gait before collapsing in a heap of ashes into the earth. ]

Potential, [ Albel murmurs in amusement, drowned out by the din of the roaring flame. And if Terry happened to hear him, well, that would register a solid 0.0 on his care-o-meter. Left much to be desired in the matters of grace, yes, but the boy could play the needed part to the hilt during a crisis.

In more immediate and practical terms, this meant that Terry wasn't completely within the realm of uselessness. After a moment's pause, Albel approaches the scalded carcass before stopping in his tracks. Nothing better than the bittersweet scent of sizzling zombie-flesh in the morning. The captain had scarcely ever seen anything else so splendidly beautiful. ]

Perhaps I should give you some pointers. You seem to need them.

[traumatizing]

[Terry, on the other hand, is thoroughly grossed out. He sighs a bit in relief first, knowing that did the job and there don't seem to be any more zombies in their immediate vicinity, he is a hell of a lot more alert than he was 20 minutes ago - adrenaline letting him ignore the fact tat his whole body aches and he really should consider doing things like sleeping or eating. That's going to leave him soon and when it does it'll be sudden and probably at a bad time if he doesn't get himself to safety soon, but he elects to ignore that bit of common sense for the moment.

Instead, focusing on the now, he wrinkles his nose in disgust when the smell hits him, opting for covering his face with his jacket when simply trying to will the stench of burning, rotted flesh away doesn't seem to be doing the trick. His voice comes out a bit muffled through the fabric, but hopefully he's speaking up enough to compensate.]

It'd probably just be a waste of your time.

[Dude's almost as bad at taking advice as he is at respecting authority.]

[heinously]

It may be.

[ Albel finally releases the zombie from his gaze, directing it back behind him. His voice isn't raised, but it carries just as much mock-disdain as the light shrug that accompanies it. ]

Don't mistaken that as a declaration of intent. You're hardly a rival for a raw recruit.

[traumatizing]

I'm sorry, I wasn't aware "pointers" was code for "training."

[SCOFF.] You may as well save your breath and your casual derision - I'm not interested and I'm pretty sure you're not either.

[heinously]

[ Sweet Apris; he's never heard this much snark since Fayt got his hand stuck in a ballistic capsule and wouldn't admit it to anyone.

Albel looks at Terry closely for a moment before snorting in contemptuous satisfaction. He was probably right; it seems many of these modern fools would rather chew their own heart first and eat it while it still pumped blood before they'd take up the sword. ]

You off-wordlers are all the same. [ Perhaps it came from their modern luxuries. Nevertheless, Albel sheaths his sword in one swift motion before slinking away from the corpse. He stops to a quiet halt in directly in front of Terry, ultimately to fire an excepting stare to meet that glower of his head-on.

Might as well clip some heels for shits and giggles. ]

Well?