Stitches

Born in Brimstone

“How are YOU? Are you okay? You look like shit,” Molly responded as Abigail picked idly at her knees. She glanced up at her friend and then gave her a small grin, straightened up and rubbed her hands on her thighs.

“Nothing I can’t deal with. The only thing better than my looks is my pain tolerance,” Abigail quipped slyly as she offered her friend a disarming smile. “ ‘sides, I get the feeling we have bigger things to worry about than my imminent brush-in with tetanus. Starting with our good friend and local screw-up, Scotty.” Abigail looked down at the whimpering boy impassively, seeming much less worried than Molly was about the whole ordeal. “Eeeh, lookit him. He looks fine.” Abigail shrugged her shoulders. “His parents are gonna be around soon though and I don’t want to be the one explaining it to ‘em.” Whatever ‘it’ was, that is; Abigail wasn’t sure she could explain it herself.

“I’m scared Abigail.”

Abigail looked back at Molly and hesitated for a brief moment. Personally, Abigail didn’t look scared in the slightest; she had a grim look on her face though, her ‘thinking’ face...a dark expression that made her look so much older than she actually was. Just when it could’ve started to become unnerving, Abigail quickly turned away and stared at the window she was unceremoniously tossed out of. “Scared? No, no, don’t be scared. Definitely don’t be scared of the girl,” Abigail said reassuringly. When she looked around again she had her usual smile on her face. “She didn’t do much to me, did she? She didn’t kill anyone. Didn’t torture anyone.” Abigail looked away again. “You know who does torture and kill people, though? The police. Well, not our police. But the CIA, the FBI...if they think you know something, they’d do some pretty fucked up stuff until you decide to share it with them.” Abigail walked over to Molly now. Her gaze was cold, her voice was quiet but it held a new sort of menace.

“Because, y’know, everyone’s listening these days right? What with TV and Radio everywhere, Russia getting all up in America’s business...In the big cities, they think there’s spies everywhere. Now, if I was a fugitive, I wouldn’t bum around in somewhere like New York. I’d run off to a small-town and...and hide in the woods.” She took a shuddering breath and exhaled slowly. “Don’t be scared of the kid, Molly. I could’ve kicked her in the teeth and she would’ve been out like a light. I’m scared of whatever’s following her though - why else would she look so fucked up?” Abigail must’ve seen something in Molly’s face because she gently laid a hand on her shoulder and shook her head a little. Her usual smile seemed hollow.

“Good thing nothing happened here then, huh? Scotty’s delirious. You and me, we pulled a brilliant prank on him but it went wrong last minute. We’re both awfully sorry.” Abigail looked down at Scotty - he wasn’t saying much now. All of his friends had rushed off to either find his parents or avoid getting caught by their own, leaving only Molly and Abigail in the kitchen. “Scared those kids so hard they were seein’ ghosts n’ shit. Of course, Scotty was only seeing red...and he got so pissed he threw me out of the window. Remember that.” It didn’t sound like a question - it sounded like an order. Abigail looked over at Molly pleadingly. “Because that’s really, really what happened from now on out. I’d rather get yelled at by my uncle than a one-way trip to Guantanamo. You an’ me, we’re never going to talk about this again. Not even when we think we’re alone. NEVER again. You say anything about, about this shit, and I sweartofugginGOD Molly I will NOT defend you if some guys in kevlar come banging on your door. Understand?”

Abigail looked absolutely drained. She had gone pale and it made her look almost as filthy as the wildchild from the forest. “...Oh, and can you take me home?” she added meekly, rubbing her nose.

The Kingdom of Belvoir - Hunter's Guild (Taking Applications)

I'm just trying to figure out how to jump in this RP again, since I got stuck when Anastasia left. I might toss a PM to GM.

Born in Brimstone

Oof, can you tell I wrote that just as I woke up? Now for a more coherent response - I'm doing really well. Had a bit of a party last night for finishing all my coursework this semester, still a bit wobbly this morning but it'll get me through the first lecture today. I'm also using the characters in this RP as practice for my art, which usually doesn't show up here but on Instagram...I haven't finished any drawings because I was swamped in deadlines last week, so I'm hoping I'll get a couple finished and post them on here before they go up on insta. I think I've got a couple pics of Molly/Scotty lying about, because I'm in team fright night and I am incredibly hyped to see this scene through.

I've also got a question for you guys. It's the 80s, so what's your character's favourite song? And don't tell me they don't have one, everybody listens to the radio these days! Bonus points if you tell me why, too. I like to draw to music, so making a Brimstone playlist will help me out - and it'll obviously have to be 80s themed.

Abi's favorite is Hotel California - it's a proper road trip song, most likely the self same song she played on repeat coming to brimstone - and she has lots of good memories about coming here!

Born in Brimstone

Was thinking about putting a few drawings on here, when I get the time to get them done. It looks like everyone's waiting on each other though - I get the feeling default is very busy ATM, since I haven't seen them around recently. Don't mind waiting for a couple days bit I also don't want to lose momentum, you know?
Oh, and good news - I finished this year's deadlines yesterday, leaving me with loads of free time if people want to write collabs or something in the near future!

Born in Brimstone

Things quite abruptly stopped in both of the RPs I'm in - how is everyone?

Born in Brimstone

“...Did you just offer this bitch a cigarette,” Abigail asked flatly, staring at Molly in quiet disapproval. “And did you just call me Ab?” She was briefly distracted from the girl and when she looked back the kid was curled up in the corner, teary-eyed and vulnerable. Abigail’s brows furrowed in confusion. She turned to chastise Molly a bit more for spooking the girl (despite the fact she was obviously at fault here) when everything suddenly happened really fast. The first thing Abigail picked up on was that distinct wrongness in her gut - a split second later, an odd tugging sensation in her navel. The haunted house suddenly shifted underneath her and whirred past her vision, then she felt a burning sensation in her arm, and then she felt her body collide with a bunch of weeds and the sun-baked dirt of backwater Kansas. Abigail took a moment to register what happened. She stared up at the twilit sky in quiet contemplation, more stunned than winded, surrounded by little ants and beetles that scurried in the overgrowth. Her ribs hurt, and so did her arm, but neither of them were as bad as Scotty’s wailing made his wounds out to be. In fact, it was Scotty’s incessant screaming that snapped Abigail out of her reverie.

Everyone in town knew Abigail came from New Orleans, but not many could pick up on the accent, and only a special few had the honour of hearing her speak French - because she never said anything nice when she spoke French. As a result, it might’ve been a bit of a shock to Scotty (but not to Molly, who was never the recipient but often the witness) when Abigail’s head popped out of the bushes outside and she barked “Ta gueule, je m’en fous!” out of instinct. Moments later she hissed and grabbed her arm, hissing in pain, mumbling darkly under her breath - things like “fille chiante” and “putain de sorcière” were given extreme emphasis. She climbed back through the window with a long but shallow cut on her arm and a thunderous scowl. “Make him stop FUCKING crying, please, jesus, Molly I cannot deal with this right now,” Abigail groaned as she walked right past Scotty, right past Molly and out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

That was when she started to freak out. Her breath came out in short, sharp puffs. She paced the decrepit driveway until coherent thought started to filter in. It could’ve been an elaborate prank at first - everyone who saw it would’ve thought it was just a joke, just some wires hooked up in the kitchen - but Abigail was flung out of the window. It was impromptu acting too. There was no way Abigail could’ve been hooked up to anything in the brief moments between her standing at the front door to her approaching the girl. Not for a move as complex as that - there were no magnets, wires, mirrors...nothing that could’ve plausibly been set up for that specific action. It had to be real.

Abigail opened the door again, leant on the door-frame, ran a hand through her hair and stared at Molly, knowing full well that her friend was thinking the same thing. “Okay. That wasn’t-...yeah.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Her mind couldn’t wrap around the concept, let alone its execution. She rubbed her hands together and sighed. “Right. Fuck.” Abigail pushed off the doorframe and wandered back into the kitchen, shouting over Scotty’s wails of agony. “Molly, make sure he doesn’t move that fucking arm any more than he already has! Rest of you lousy fucks go get his mom or something - don’t just hide up there, show’s over!” She leant in and said, quieter, “I need to make a call. I’ll be back in a bit,” before jogging off out of the house.

Brimstone was despairingly deprived of forms of entertainment, but at least they had the common sense to ensure that there were enough payphones scattered across the road. Abigail wandered down the side of the tarmac in a daze, unable to really focus on anything. Her fingers fished into the pockets of her shorts to pull out a half-finished pack of gum, a paperclip-turned-lockpick, some lint and a couple of quarters. Even in the dusk, the payphone box was a veritable greenhouse and it was stiflingly warm inside of it. She pushed the coins into the slot and punched in a few numbers.

“Hey, Brooks. It’s me.” Her voice was hollow with shock. “Y-yeah, uh...everything’s fine. There was a bit of a…” she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want to say it. “...problem, at the fright night thing. I’m just letting you know that I’m going home early. Could you pick up some antiseptic wipes or something on your way home tonight?” Another pause. “You’re on night shift again?” she sighed irritably. “Fine.” She hung up.

Ten minutes later Abigail slammed the door open again. God, she looked a wreck - covered in grime, dirt and sweat, scabs on her knees, bruises on her arms and legs - she had her tank top raised up a little and was poking experimentally at a rapidly blossoming dark purple patch on her ribs, probably the biggest and most impressive bruise she had accumulated today. Not to mention that there was still this shallow gash on her arm that was half-heartedly dribbling blood down to her elbow. “I need a shower, Christ…” Abigail groaned, approaching Molly. “How is he? How are you?”

Born in Brimstone

I think we should wait to see what bubblegum and Dino end up doing first - default too, but I assume that he's part of this scenario so he can figure out his character and write to catch up to us. Oh, and I might make Abigail cut herself on some broken glass with her little flight - just because I highly doubt our knock-off eleven was trying to aim accurately.

Born in Brimstone

"Hey, I said I was a nice person. I never said I was a good one."

Born in Brimstone

Molly and Abi are the worst childminders ever. Why'd they get stuck with the psykid?

Born in Brimstone

@T risket If possible, could you write like...a couple sentences determining whether or not Abigail is promptly flung into a wall? It'll make Capn's post way easier than coming out of being stuck outside and into bullet time.