|
Post by Tona on Jul 21, 2008 16:42:47 GMT -5
Later that night Ranger Mark found himself driving. The thing inside him needed a lot of time to figure out how to actually do it, but now, after at least an hour, it was capable of passing normally down the slow lane of the busy highway. Still, the city streets were more frustrating. Driving down them, Mark reflected a look of brooding anger as shadows flowed down the creases in his furrowed brow. By the time he'd made it to the slums and had started his search, he'd been driving for hours and it was almost midnight. Steam issued out of vents and man holes and blended the amber lights. Driving down these streets Mark saw a lot old dilapidated houses and bums were every where, but he gave them no mind. By chance, he turned up one wide alley, and then down another submerged in it. Here lay the houses of homeless people. They gathered around burning metal barrels and trash cans desperately clinging to the warmth. They also watched him ride by, confused at the state park symbol on the side of his green truck. At the end of his long alley was a small building situated at the backs of other, taller and more successful buildings. Right now it stood obviously condemned with boarded up windows, broken pains, and a front door that was bolted tight. But a fluid, orange light flickered on the second floor, behind the planks that boarded it up. Some one had gotten in there some how, and now lived comfortably enough to lite a fire and let every one know. Mark got out of the truck.
|
|
|
Post by Tona on Jul 21, 2008 18:26:56 GMT -5
Again he slammed his weight against the door, but it did not budge. He'd tried several things, from kicking it, to attempting the pry the wood off with his bare hands, to simply slamming himself against it. Now that his hands were sore and bloody he stopped and tried to find another way in. The windows were all boarded up too, and most were too high for him to climb to or other wise reach. He walked all around it but the building, for a condemned and crappy place, was sealed tight. Mark needed a break, but the thing inside him wanted to press on. Still, it saw his bloody hands and it's tiring, old physique, and allowed him a second to sit on the curb near the booth that marked the building's front entrance. Mark started out on the curb, but found he could move himself back to sit up against the wall of the building. Here there was a backrest and a way to hide from the strange looking bums who watched them with out shame. He could only take five minutes before the thing would want to get back up, so he soaked it up. Resting his head back against the building, he closed his eyes sighed deeply. Then, besides for the common noise of the city, there was quite. In that lack of sound Ranger Mark heard the unmistakable sound of moving water. At first he thought he was mistaken. He opened his eyes and looked around. It wasn't raining yet, so there were no puddles that would run so quickly into the storm drains, yet some how the sound of water continued to move. Instantly he was up and on his hands and knees, scrambling about for the source of the sound. It turns out, he was sitting near the window to the building's small basement. Situated basically level to the sidewalk, the portal was just a glass framed crack large enough to allow air in when open. Of course it was broken at parts, and strained and cracked in others. Mark scrambled to pull out his flash light and cast it's beam down into the basement below. He could see water flowing about as though the basement floor has some how collapsed into the sewers below. Now the two were one, and the way into the building was suddenly clear to Mark as well as his possessor. He would need to go through the sewers.
|
|
|
Post by archon13 on Jul 21, 2008 23:20:57 GMT -5
Previously. Feanaro had finally managed to finish up his tasks at the Ranger Station. There had been a number of minor disputes over this and that as well as a plugged up toilet in cabin number 3. But that was all finally over and it was time for him to get some dinner. He had been walking slowly back towards his cabin when Marks door opened. Feanaro had started foward to see what he was up to this late when Mark had looked sharply around with that same face dead of emotion. Feanaro had frozen unsure what to do. Mark then walked over to his car and carefully gotten inside, taking slightly exaggerated movements. Feanaro watched with growing concern as Mark slowly backed his truck over a potted plant. As he made his way out of the camp grounds he repeatedly reeved his engine and then put on the breaks. Considering his actions earlier that day Feanaro decided that he needed to figure out what was up with him. So he ran back to his cabin and got into his beat up honda. He then followed Mark from a distance, trailing him as he got on the high way and slowly made his way towards the city. As they got closer Feanaro felt that familiar queasiness that he got whenever he got closer to civilization. He continued to follow Mark for hours as they drove towards the city, then into it, and finally through it and towards the slums. When Mark finally turned down an alley Feanaro drove to the end of it and noticed that Mark had turned down another alley. He followed him slowly and continued driving by only to see Marks car stopped in front of a boarded up building. He drove to the end of the first alley and parked his car by the side of the street. He then walked quickly to the end of the second alley and peaked around the corner. He watched in confusion as Mark kicked, slammed and raked at the door to one of the buildings. Feanaro just held still and watched as Mark finally stopped attacking the door and began looking all over the building. When he stopped moving all together and took a deep breath Feanaro hoped he might have snapped out of whatever was happening, but then Mark fell to his knees and started scurrying around as though searching for something. When he stopped then rose and looked around Feanaro ducked back around the end of the alley and froze. A part of him quivvered wondering what insanity mark would do next.
|
|
|
Post by Tona on Jul 22, 2008 2:51:41 GMT -5
Ranger Mark stood up, but kept his flashlight and his glare trained at the basement window. "There must be a way through the drain ways..." he muttered to himself lowly, and then repeated it once; as though saying again some how made it more true. Then he looked up. Staring down this alley, he found himself quite alone; the bums must have moved. The thing inside him didn't know why he looked up. As the hairs on the back of his neck rose and Mark's human self registered the paranoid conclusion that some one was watching and following him. As this thought computed to him, he kept it down inside himself. The thing stayed focused on its task. Now Mark followed the street line. He walked a little bit away from the curb, looking for large drains or a man hole. His trek lead him around the side a building where, behind a large dumpster, was a man hole cover with what he could see were broken lines of rust that separated it from it's frame. He went back to his truck and pulled a crow bar out of the back.
|
|
|
Post by Tona on Jul 22, 2008 14:30:02 GMT -5
He was weary about returning to the man hole. He looked around or over his shoulder every so often, he would even take the time to stop dead in his tracks and get a good look before continuing. By the time he got to the man whole, he was confident that no one had followed him. Here at this corner there were no bums. It seemed the wind between these buildings picked up a little more, offering only an icier gale. He stationed himself behind the side of the dumpster and with his back against the metal thing it's self, he used his weight as leverage to get the man whole cover up. It came easily and he only needed to move it enough to squeeze through. There was a ladder underneath that he caught on to, then with the crow bar he readjusted the cover to fall back into it's place. Once it did there was only darkness. He let himself drop and with a splash he found himself knee deep in the filth. He set the crow bar up by the ladder, and instead took out his flashlight to continue towards the new entrance of that old building.
|
|
|
Post by Tona on Jul 22, 2008 15:09:21 GMT -5
The thing inside Ranger Mark didn't care about the filth all around them. It didn't care about what floated in the current or what scurried by on the side ledge, it was only determined at finding a new place to meet. They pressed on through the cold water, making their best guesses at where to turn or how to proceed. Eventually, they heard an unusual way for the water to drip. It slushed and came in and out with weird sucking noises. The sewers were getting more cramped and soon Mark knew he'd have to crawl. He directed the light over to the origin of the noise and a small hole, the top of which was visible above the water. 'This must be it.' he thought, and he moved over. To get through he'd have to pretty much fully submerge himself, but he didn't mind. First though, he took the revolver off his hip and held it, along with the flash light, above the surface. The cold water struck the rest of his body quickly and terribly. The submergence only lasted a few seconds, but he came out smelling of beer and vomit. To the thing it was worth it though. They know found themselves in the basement of that old dilapidated building. It's residence was right to find security here; if that was the only entrance, then few would bother him. Mark flashed the light around until he found a rickety old set of stairs leading up. He boarded them cautiously and crawled his way to the top. There was a door there that opened silently. He moved through and closed it behind him, warding off the sound of the water. There he rested for a second; setting down his flashlight and gun, he hugged his knees and shook. All he could hear over the chattering of his own teeth, was an odd mumbled seeing coming from a floor above.
|
|
|
Post by Tona on Jul 23, 2008 2:22:22 GMT -5
Again the human that was Mark felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the eerie sound of what he assumed was a bum, singing up on the second floor. Again the thing inside him took no heed to what it didn't know was a natural warning. It let Mark sit for another minute, but then commanded that he stand. The thing did not even need to command, but it liked to give Mark the concept of a choice in the manner, and it smiled to it's self as he complied. With the flashlight held before him in his left, and his revolver hanging lazily at his right, Mark started to inspect the first floor. His search was quick, and revealed little more than discarded drug paraphernalia, and evident infestation of what ever, and lots of water damage. He continued up the rickety looking stairs and upon reaching the top, had his attention absorbed by the room down the hall. The door was open just a crack, but the large, flickering light still passed through it. Mark could tell the origin of the creepy singing was in that direction, so he set off his flashlight and move towards the door. He stopped just behind it, his body pressed close but lightly to it's rotting wood. His hear almost glued against it, trained at the sound of a jumbled ditty.
|
|
|
Post by Tona on Jul 23, 2008 4:18:29 GMT -5
Whom ever was beyond the door did not break from his song. His voice was low and the rasp of years of smoking or constant illness tweaked it with an ever present pain. Quickly, Mark pushed the door open with his left shoulder, keeping the gun in his right hand out of the man's line of sight. As he entered the man did not stop singing; he only looked up to see the new resident. Mark saw the man with a second of disgust, both his own, and that of the thing inside him. The man had only one eye, the other was a milky, over-sized marble which had been stained from what must be years of neglect; among other things. His clothes were tattered. Old cloth jackets which had faded or been stained beyond recognition. His over coat used to be plaid, and under neat the old newspapers the man had stuffed on his body his shirt puffed out as though he wore some dirty sweater under neath. The man's gross eye was matched with teeth that seemed to reach for whomever he talked to and the palest black skin Mark had ever seen. Mark tried to ignore him. The thing inside him was more concerned with the state of the room any ways. Mark was made to nod, and said out loud "This will be our place." At that the man got up. Shakily he stood, using the wall at his back or the flaming metal barrel at his side as support. He grumbled in a fashion that was not in tune with his song all the way up. When he stood, he finally said, "Hey, this ain't no one's place but mine. Over my dead body will you ta-" His old, confused voice was cut off as Mark raised his right hand and fired the gun. The bum's blood spread wide against the wall and across the floor. There was a thud and the room was silent save for the cackling of the fire. Though Mark himself was terrified at what he had done, no expression remained on his face. He simple resumed his inspection of the room. The firelight showed no remorse in his lips, but his wet hair shaded his eyes; which were as dark as was what rested inside him.
|
|
|
Post by archon13 on Jul 23, 2008 4:39:18 GMT -5
When Feanaro peaked back around the building he saw Mark looking around and then grabbing a crow bar and then ducking into a man hole. Feanaro decided that it might be safer to just wait for him outside the building. He had been waiting there for a while when a gunshot rang out and Feanaro flung himself against the wall. He quivered and waited for some sign of who had been firing the gun. Had it been fired at Mark or did he fire it?
|
|
|
Post by Tona on Jul 23, 2008 4:48:54 GMT -5
Mark dragged the body back down the stairs and into the basement. There it rested under several feet of water, where the smell would not eventually get to any one. Then he headed back up to inspect the rest of the building. It was about three stories, though the actual third story didn't seem like it could stay intact for too much longer. The rest was just seamless stuff; old abandoned furniture, the ant-infested stock pile of food the bum left behind. Most of it was useless, but some of the food would survive in their wrappers for quite a while. Satisfied at what he saw, he started heading out. It took a while for him to get all they way back to the man hole, and in the process he dropped his gun. The dark thing allowed Mark to curse quietly, it had proved to be an efficient tool. Mark made his way back up to the streets, using the crow bar as he did before. Once up top he tucked his head low and tried to keep his eyes on his feet. He knew he smelt bad, but he didn't want to attract any more attention then he had to before he reached his truck.
|
|
|
Post by archon13 on Jul 24, 2008 1:18:03 GMT -5
When Feanaro saw Mark climp back out of the man hole he had disappeared into he felt relieved for a moment until he noticed that his holster was empty now. He ducked back around the corner and then ran for it when he heard Mark's truck door slam. He ran for his car and got inside and took off afraid of what might happen next. He just couldn't accept the repercussions of what it seemed like Mark had probably just done. There had been a gun shot and then Marks gun was gone with Mark still alive and unharmed. This wasn't good he needed to find someone to talk to.
|
|