| Kay's Diner | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 25 2016, 01:35 AM (130 Views) | |
| Cambrysiel | Apr 25 2016, 01:35 AM Post #1 |
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![]() The old warehouse on Main Street has hosted Kay's Diner for as long as anyone can remember. In fact, even town records are a little hazy on exactly when the odd little restaurant opened up in the current location. If you don't know what you're looking for, you may just pass it by. |
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| Cambrysiel | Apr 25 2016, 01:40 AM Post #2 |
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Darkness...it wrapped around Bethany like a blanket, consuming her entire form and giving little room to breathe... In her dream, Bethany was at her first campout. She and her friends had managed to persuade themselves that there was a boogie-monster outside the tent, until they got so scared they rushed into the house screaming and refused to go out there again. The scene changes, and Bethany and her boyfriend were laying in their tent, sucking on tubes of toothpaste and vodka. Another time in the same tent they pretended they were married, and they kissed and felt each other the way they imagined married people did. They heard something outside of the tent, but didn't pay it much mind. It was only an animal, they'd said. And then it fall into the tent, and Beth screamed -- Breathe! She inhaled sharply, tasting the bitter dampness in the air. Her eyes were open and she was awake but she could not see. She could not see anything. The noise of her sudden inhale rolled forwards, echoing lazily throughout the room. The girl could feel the cold, it clung to her lower half and her back...It seemed she was laying on a floor. Her arms slowly pulled themselves upwards and reached out. The woman yelped as her left hand graced something cool and smooth and she grasped hurriedly at the object after swiftly determining it wasn’t going to eat her, or something equally dramatic. Lucky for little Beth, it was only the underside of the table of the booth where she had fallen asleep. For the first time since waking suddenly - Bethany relaxed. Rolling so she's facing the booth, Beth removes her arms from under the blanket and checks that her gun is still tucked into the wall. Affirmative, it seemingly hadn't been touched. Beth draws her arms back into her sleeping bag and rolls her sleeves up. So many scars littered her body: A thin semi-circle near her ankle where she'd whacked herself with the back end of a scooter, a row of dots where she'd gotten stitches below her chin after falling out of a tree, a series of lines across her calves from when she ran from the first corpse, another semi-circle at her ribs where she had been too slow, too slow. And, of course, the self-inflicted wounds along both arms. Carefully, as to not disturb the fresher marks there, she rubs her thumbs along the back of either forearm, lost in thought... Edited by Cambrysiel, May 2 2016, 08:02 PM.
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| FeelsGoodMan | May 2 2016, 08:41 PM Post #3 |
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"Mark thirteen. Two inches to the right." "Mark fourteen. One up." "That's good. Straight shootin', Stan." Whispered to himself so he wouldn't fall asleep. Not that he hadn't tried to, but couldn't--he could reach an uncomfortable half-sleep, but nothing deeper. So, Stanislaw set his mind upon watching the road ahead...some hours ago. Enough for the brunette to fall asleep. Maintained alertness by repeating whatever came into memory--compliments given to him always took precedent (even though the above quotations were only at fifty yards, so it wasn't all that impressive). Also occasionally made finger pistols towards her. But had to stop after she stirred in her sleep--scared the dickens out of him. He always had a hard time sleeping. It was like that when he left high school, before he found Leonard and Viktor. Leaving his arms spread out when falling asleep was almost painful to him. It made Stanislaw feel as if he stood before the whole of humanity and allowed them to peer into his insides. So he kept his arms tight around his chest. But that was unbearable, too. A hugging motion, with nobody being hugged. Some people say that wrapping your arms around your chest is "holding" yourself. That is false. You aren't holding anybody, not even yourself. It's like covering a gaping hole, thinking that you've got it completely sealed, but the little bits of air rushing in and out through the tiny holes tells you otherwise. For Stanislaw, it was thus. He didn't know how to name that feeling before he had the Cult, but it dissipated once he knew he had friends--no matter how imbecilic they were. Leonard and Viktor had filled that gap for a time, but the yawning maw spread wide once more. So he sat, and the hours passed. He had seen some figures in the distance, too slow to be anything other than walking corpses or frostbite victims, but they never came this way. He was upwind, so the former probably wouldn't be attracted(the corpse's sense of smell--he knew it was likely a fiction, but didn't want to test). The area...tranquil. Until she stirred. Stanislaw had just finished reciting the previous praise when the shuffling caught him. An instinctive hand ran for his SKS, gripping the visible barrel. But a yelp assured him that the demure creature--which he could now pinpoint beneath the booth--posed no harm. Couldn't hold back a contemptuous grinning at how pathetic it was. She didn't seem to emerge, either. His gaze gradually shifted from what little bits of her sleeping bag were visible to the gray-and-white landscape before him. Inaudibly muttered something and awaited a response. Didn't get one, so he muttered audibly. "Are you awake yet?" A neutral tone. Edited by FeelsGoodMan, May 2 2016, 08:43 PM.
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| Cambrysiel | May 2 2016, 09:06 PM Post #4 |
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Beth had been lost in her thoughts when the voice rang out to her. So lost, in fact, that she had forgotten where she was. Her instinct is to sit up and grab her gun, and when she tries -- -- her forehead smacks right into the dirty underside of the table and she gasps in shock, then pain. Back to the ground she goes, the palms of her hands coming up to press against the sore spot on her head. At least her disgruntled groans would be enough to let Stan know she was awake, and alive. How Bethany had survived these past few months was a good question, according to the author. She was book smart, but not street smart, and the only thing she seemed to have going to her was luck. Lucky she had made it to a safe place during the initial outbreak, lucky she was taught how to use a gun when she was young, lucky she never stepped on any of the mines while doing her runs... but luck was such a fickle thing, and who could know how long hers would last? Eventually, Bethany readjusts her jacket and crawls out from beneath the booth, into the open floor of the diner. She rubs her head, still, and her gaze falls first to the windows. It had slurried most of the night, leaving a fresh layer of ice on the roads and covering their tracks around the minefield. She mutters an inaudible "Fuck," at that realization, and pulls herself up onto her feet. Her arms stretch up above her head as she looks around for Stan. Ah, there he was. Sat in a booth across the way, catty-cornered to my own. He was sat up and staring out the window, into the white and grey landscape outside. Rather than immediately pack up, Bethany shuffles over, yawns, and drops into the booth. "G'mornin'." She grumbles, whilst rubbing her eyes. She had never been a morning person, even before. |
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| FeelsGoodMan | May 2 2016, 09:37 PM Post #5 |
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The rude little shit. Had the audacity to interrupt his serene (Stanislaw's definition of serene included the grody gray landscape outside--what the hell?) morning, but not only that: she ruined the view. Her presence pleased him much more when it was purely audial. The contrast between these clumsy waking bumblings and the lithe grace with which she moved about campus--where she stood queen in Stanislaw's rightful throne--provided him with great vindication. The view obstructed, he glances towards his SKS, its butt sitting by his feet (probably not visible to her), for only a second. They were on equal footing here. He could've killed her in the night. Nobody knew he was here; he had left the group without being noticed. Surely that thought rang somewhere in her head. Stanislaw did not realize how presumptuous he was. She probably did not even realize that she was the object of his verdant envy, much less remember the humiliating scene by the fire. She had no reason to doubt him--this, he hoped. Looking at his rifle proved awkward, for some reason beyond him. He now moved his gaze towards her face. "Good morning," without any drawl. Stanislaw was well-equipped to deal with the lacking of sleep. He had at least another nine hours before shutting off. "Not much happened out here. Some in the distance, but I didn't bother to say hello. How did you sleep?" Edited by FeelsGoodMan, May 2 2016, 09:42 PM.
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| Cambrysiel | May 2 2016, 10:02 PM Post #6 |
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Of course, she hadn't known she was intruding. Beth just thought she was being friendly. She was always being friendly, even when she was barking orders at her classmates. To the point that some people thought it was annoying, how pristine and perfect she seemed. Never faltering under pressure, never breaking down, even after everything that'd happened and was happening around them... of course, they didn't know of Bethany's vices - who could? She took care in keeping her addictions a secret. Perhaps that's why she was always running off. Perhaps that's why she sat in the booth, her gaze flickering between Stan and the view outside, her fingers coiling a pinch of her jacket sleeve over, then under, then over again. Then she stops fidgeting - well, not really, she begins rubbing her ankles together below the table. But her hands are suddenly up in her hair and she'd tying the long, brown and gold strands back from her face. Bethany was... pretty, but not too pretty. The kind of pretty you see in an indie film, where the actress stands out more because she's got stunning acting skills rather than a strong jawline and pouty lips. Not that Beth didn't have a strong jawline, or pouty lips... the author figures her point has been made. "Slept like I usually do:" She answers, her voice back to its normal volume. "Restlessly." One hand falls to the table, the other to the window, and she uses her sleeve to wipe off the layer of frost that'd formed on the glass. Peering out, she spots a few bodies in the distance - they seemed to just be shuffling along, with no real destination, so Beth didn't think much of it. "Did you sleep at all?" A look of concern - genuine concern - crosses her features as she turns her gaze back to Stan. There is a brief glance to his gun, which sat within arms reach, Bethany noted. She knew fairly well that she could've been killed in the night, and found some relief that she hadn't been. Though, it wasn't like to her to argue or plead for her life. The way Beth saw it, if it was her time, it was her time. |
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| FeelsGoodMan | May 2 2016, 10:31 PM Post #7 |
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"What, and let any shambler in? I bit the bullet." A curt response, close to acerbic--but lacking in outright malefic intent. What did she know about restless sleep, lonely sleep? A popular one like her could be in the arms of any football-hunk (Stanislaw used the term for the straw dummies on the farm) with the snap of a finger. Didn't feel like he had actually done that much, as he managed to enjoy the night, reminiscing of his glories. Should be a in a better mood considering that, he thought. He wouldn't act on the suggestion, though. Stanislaw was not accustomed to self-introspection, much less putting it into effect. He removes his eyes from her groggy countenance, gradually inching them over her hair--he pauses, noting the difference in color of some, and attempts to discern whether they're artificial or not (he fails) before continuing--towards the erect corpses outside. They were still quite a ways off, just far enough to discern their hideous nature by their jerky, stiff movements. "Why are we here?" Stanislaw suddenly--but by no means quickly--remarked, his intonation not leaving much room for hints as to whether the question regarded life, the earth, the outbreak, or the diner. With that, his head now rests upon an open palm, propped up by a willing elbow, once more staring at her with the dull green marbles in his eye sockets. He had caught Bethany's eyes upon his rifle--it did not occur to him that perhaps the vile stench (sacred, in Stanislaw's mind) Cosmoline had caught her attention--and knew. He didn't know how to process that piece of information. A mental impasse, but he took his mind off it by waiting for her response. Edited by FeelsGoodMan, May 2 2016, 10:32 PM.
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| Cambrysiel | May 2 2016, 10:54 PM Post #8 |
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Bethany knew the smell well, that much was apparent by the way she scrunched her nose up at the smell of it, the turn of her head and the distant look that overtook her. “I-I just found you there…Y-You tried to-” Elliot paused to compose himself, looking away from the hospital bed and the girl laying lifelessly in it. More tears threatened to fall from his eyes, but he held them back in fear that they would just upset the girl more. “Why? Why did you do that? I love you. I would have helped you. I’m so sorry…” "It's not about you." The girl replied after a long, silent pause. "We're waiting for the weather to clear. Can't run when the snow is fresh, you'll get stuck." Beth responds. Stress tensed the lines of her shoulders, her fingertips tapping incessantly at the counter-top beneath them — which, in hindsight, was probably increasingly annoying Stan — but for a rare moment, Bethany couldn’t be bothered to consider his feelings. Her palms flatten against the table and she pushes herself up with some force, clattering the leftover tray of multi-flavored jellies that was nestled against the wall. "Sorry, I just - Excuse me." She mumbles, not even sure what she was apologizing for - and then she was gone. Well, kind of. She'd just ducked into the back room again. Carefully, Bethany eases the door shut, but cracked!! to ensure she wasn't going to be locked in the room at any point, by anybody. In her secluded safety she makes quick work of tearing the bandage from her hand. She has to - She has to - There! Bethany drops in between the long-since-forgotten deep fryer and the wall. She presses the thumb of her opposite hand against the wound and s c r a p e s the scabby, bloody mess with her fingernail. Not too much! Not too hard. Just enough to get her endorphins flowing again, and to get the memories out of her head. After several minutes pass, her head leaning against the wall while the rush flooded through her, Bethany rewraps her hand and mumbles an inaudible curse. She steps out of the back room and to her things, where she crouches and begins to roll up her sleeping bag. They'd need to leave soon to make it back to the school before the next snowfall. Beth doesn't wait for Stan. Doesn't wait long enough for the blood to seep through the bandage and give away her vices. She hauls her bag over one shoulder, grabs her AR15, and is out the door. Hood up, scarf up, gone. For real this time. Edited by Cambrysiel, May 3 2016, 08:14 PM.
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2:27 AM Jul 11