snowblindrpg | [log] Happy Haunts Materialize [closed]

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[log] Happy Haunts Materialize [closed]

Characters: House and Miranda
Location R11 - Building 116
Date: Day 040, evening
Summary: House and Miranda tolerate each other for the night as something upstairs creaks and moans.
Warnings: Will add as necessary, but general House disclaimer for insensitivity about all things.

[ It's late when they make it to shelter, close to curfew, in fact. House had been traveling as quickly as he could, which means he's been relatively quiet to day and hurts more than usual. It's tolerable at the moment, though, as he's been taking his regular dose of Vicodin rather than halving it. The one very good thing about this place is work boots he's found. His cold, wet sneakers have been discarded in a corner of the living room to puddle and freeze over. He's lying of the sofa in the living room, blue blanket spread out across him. His reading glasses are out, and he's using the light of his tablet to illuminate the pages of a novel he'd found a few days before. If Miranda is in the room already, she might take note of the fact that it is not in English and he appears to be reading it backwards according to western traditions. If she happens to read Mandarin Chinese, the title on the spine is The Boat to Redemption by Su Tong. He smiles very occasionally as he reads, amused by the author's jabs at Maoist doctrine.

His attention is drawn away from reading when a particularly heavy gust of wind sweeps by. Up above, House hears clattering and what sounds like someone moaning pitifully. It's just the wind. He knows it's just the wind, but he can't help staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, he dogears the page, sets down his book and pulls out his pills. One last one for today. He dry swallows it before trying to go back to reading.

House is distracted now, though, and his attention is obviously wavering with each moan. ]

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[ Miranda had been quiet so long as House was, uninterested in conversation when it's increasingly clear that he'll be useless out of sheer contrarian spite should the need for him arise. He's redundant, anyway, with the presence of another doctor who has thus far presented himself as cooperative. In order to maintain that, though, she's being sent on a fool's errand across the town with the top candidate for her least favorite person.

(Someone had to take the slot now that her father's dead and Jack is... wherever Jack's gone. Best not to think about it.)

In any case, the moment they're safe inside she retreats to one of the bedrooms, as far away from House as possible. The wine in her backpack sloshes invitingly, but she ignores it because if ever she needs to keep her wits up it's now. Instead she decides to devote her time before sleeping to updating her notes on the situation. The latest medical aspect, following what could've been some form of indoctrination, was especially troubling.

She's absorbed in the task when the moaning starts up, but it's a sound that sends a chill down her spine. Husks? Here? It's plausible enough that she has her only weapon - a knitting needle - in her hand before the first round can finish. When it falls temporarily silent, she decides to go check on her companion.

She finds him in the living room, reading a book in - Chinese? Not one of Miranda's languages, and she's mildly impressed for a moment before she reminds herself who they're talking about here. Still gripping her knitting needle, she falls into one of the armchairs and regards him with suspicion.]

Please tell me that was you.

Edited 2015-09-26 22:12 (UTC)

[ She is regarded back with equal suspicion for a moment before House's gaze tracks upward again. ]

Not really the moaning type. Coming of age stories steeped in a critique of the Maoist Era don't really turn me on, even when there are feral girls in them. Rwar.

[ He raises the book he's been reading before placing it on an end table and sitting up more fully. ]

Sounds like the wind. [ In spite of himself, House can't help the slight note of question in his voice at that assessment. ] Afraid of ghosts, Janey?

[ It - could be the wind, she tells herself. There's certainly enough out there. Her own initial reaction was born of the paranoia that's kept her alive through more firefights than she can remember, though, and the memories of climbing aboard a dead machine god are fresh after the brush with the apparently possessed and probably controlled. There had been Husks aboard there, too, maybe the reanimated corpses of the Cerberus cell sent there to investigate the damn thing.

Miranda grips the needles tighter and looks up. ]

Don't be ridiculous.

[ But: ]

It's very localized. For the wind.

Edited 2015-09-27 01:00 (UTC)

I hear wood and other things can do this crazy thing. It's called funneling wind. Amazing what that can do for localizing a sound.

[ Said sound picks up again, this time very loudly, and sounding like someone in abject misery. The hairs on the back of House's neck prickle. ]

Did you... try checking upstairs at all?

[ Just in case it happens to be some idiot who'd gotten themselves trapped up there. Just in case. He doesn't think it is. The stairs had looked impassable after a certain point without concerted effort. ]

Stay here.

[ Or not. Regardless of if House tries to follow her, Miranda's taking her knitting needle and investigating the stairs. They seem solid enough under her feet up to a point, but the collapsed section is complete. Maybe if she had her biotics she could move the the debris without bringing more down on her head, but without her enhancements she's useless.

Story of her life.

Even so, she dutifully pokes at the rubble until she has to admit to herself that it's hopeless and returns downstairs. ]

There's no way to get up there. I might be able to make it onto the roof in the morning, but we don't have the time to spare if we want to make our rendezvous on time. If it is a person, they'll be long dead by then anyway.

[ House stays because he has no burning desire to get up. He does put his feet down on the ground and grabs his cane. It's the closest this he has to a weapon after the noble loss of his butter knife to Miranda's wall scaling attempts. When she comes back, he's tense, waiting for some worse news. ]

No way to get down, then. [ Except falling off the roof. Well, if something does do that, it will be a way to find out. ] And what's the matter, Janey? Don't want to spend an extra night together? I'm sure Epps wouldn't mind camping out.

[ He has no real interest in spending any extra time with her, but she's here now. He's been good all day. Mostly. Time to needle the woman with the needle. ]

Edited 2015-09-27 21:24 (UTC)

We're surrounded by fresh powder. I could make it back down. [ The response is absent-minded, though. Whatever she's worried about is more important than squabbling with House. ] - It's better to keep as many barriers between yourself and them as you can, anyway, to avoid mobbing.

Them...? [ House raises a brow, looking over at her. ] What, those monster shadow things? [ He supposes one could be up on the roof. Possibly. That's mildly troubling. ]

Er. Yes.

[ What else would she be talking about? Nothing, obviously. ]

Or anything that moves quickly and potentially in swarms. Keep enough cover between yourself and them to slow them down, but make sure you aren't in a position where they can corner you. Ideally you want a weapon with a high rate of fire so that you're not waiting for cool-down between each shot.

[ This is nice. This is distracting. This is probably giving far too much away, but it's more important to make sure he's not going to be a liability in a combat situation. ]

-Since we don't have any long-range weapons, though, something to stab them with quickly may be our best shot.

[ Well, that's a poorly executed dodge. Jesus. House pulls off his reading glasses and puts them back into his inside jacket pocket. ]

Are we talking bees? Wasps? Bats? Because I'm pretty sure those are the only things I know that 'swarm.'

Why would you be shooting bees? ...or stabbing them, for that matter.

[ Really, House, that is not one of your better efforts. Miranda tries to focus on that part. ]

Any enemy can swarm as long as there are enough of them that they don't care about one or two getting picked off while the rest overwhelm your position. Gigantic spiders seem like they would be good at it, for instance.

Because they're the devil? No. You're right. That's just wasps. My mistake. [ He also might have tried to block out anything and everything to do with military tactics thanks to his father. You're welcome, Miranda. ]

Unless you hadn't really noticed, G.I. Jane, I'm not the dodge and weave sort these days. Anything comes after us, I'm planning to push you at it and run.

That would almost certainly take more time and agility than just running, and likely to get you killed if there were more than one of them.

[ In other words: just try it. Miranda shifts restlessly, needle still clutched in her hand. ]

As far as I know, no one's actually been killed by one of these things directly. We don't know how soon after a kill they can move on.

Well, Timmy seems to think Jay sure was. [House's opinion of their collective sanity isn't at an all-time high, though.] Wanna volunteer? I can take notes. I'm really good at those.

But maybe you are, too. [He's trying to get his own mind off of the moaning still coming from up above, and as she's chosen to be conversational, that means probing.]

I always did very well in school.

[ The pokerface is probably unnecessary, since anyone with eyes can tell that she's been doing a lot more at night than reading up on the network, but at this point it's a matter of pride not to give anything up to House. ]

Being eaten might solve your little medication issue. Maybe even fix your leg.

[ He gives her a look, not bothering with a pokerface. ]

Has anyone told you that you're a real dick for a chick? I mean, some guys like that. Buddy of mine would probably be drooling over you... asking you to spank him like the naughty space administrator you are. It's really good for killing boners for most of us, though. I appreciate that in these environments.

So, are you gonna be ball-busting Epps, too? What are you getting out of this little adventure. You're an ice queen, so it's not his rugged charms that won you over. Or being worried about me. Supplies? Guy's going to be traveling light and you could probably get more on your own. Information? Okay. But golden boy seems like he'd share out most things that would be absolutely important. Or is this more one of those 'I've got a favor hanging over your head now' things?

[ Miranda can't help it: she laughs. Before he's even done speaking, even, since that was quite the interrogation. There's not a lot of mirth to it, exactly, but it is amusing how very similar the tone his insults take to the ones that have dogged her since she struck out on her own. Those might have stung once, nineteen years ago, but now? They roll off her back and leave his attempt at goading her remarkably transparent. ]

Congratulations on your excellent deductive skills. Yes, people with social skills - which may be a foreign concept to you- trade favors in a hostile environment. What next? Are you going to psychoanalyze me in order to figure out that I'm cold?

You're cold? Oh, my god! How could I have not seen it!? [ His tone is mocking, and he's not the least bit deterred by her brushing everything off. It wouldn't be fun if she were that easy, after all.]

Trade favors, though? Nah, that's not what you're doing. You're collecting favors. Saving up for a rainy day? Who else do you have?

Why, are you afraid of what I'd use them for? You are racking up a lot of enemies here already, though; I'd hardly need to beg anyone if I decided to do something about you.

[ The fact of the matter is she just has Clayton on her dance card, but he doesn't need to know that. Nor does he need to know that she wouldn't actually kill anyone here in cold blood unless her father or The Illusive Man showed up. Bloody unlikely, that. ]

But you don't have to worry. You've enough people feeling sorry for you that you're probably safe.

[ For the briefest moment, House's gaze flicks down to the knitting needle in her hand. He covers it by schooling his expression to something more unimpressed and slowly running his eyes over her. ]

Shaking in my new boots. I've worked with the mafia before, Nana Knit. You'll have to do better than that.

It is nice having people feel sorry or you, though. Opens so many doors - literally. Do you know, if you're crippled, and you step on someone's foot with your cane, they're the one who apologizes? [ He laughs humorlessly. ] It's great. But you're a breath of fresh air!

So. I'm just wondering why that is. You don't take bullshit, but not even a bit of sympathy for the guy with a cane? That's interesting. That part of your training as a space administrator-cum-super sailor soldier?

[ She saw that, and she wants him to know she saw that if the smirk on her face is anything to go by. ]

Initially, I was excited to speak with you. Seemed like you knew what you were doing. Like you might have the drive to do what it takes to survive in a situation like this. You're a lot more ruthless than Clayton, and you don't get people through a kidnapping situation with love and friendship.

But made yourself the biggest asshole on the block, refused to cooperate with anyone here, dismissed everything you've been told, and then spent every spare second needling me in a transparent attempt to find out what my issue is even though you wouldn't believe me if I told you.

So no, I don't have the slightest scrap of sympathy for you, doctor. The best I can do is not leaving you to be eaten by a Husk or freeze to death in a snowbank, and even that's on sufferance.

So, Husks are what you're worried about upstairs. [ He lets the rest of what she's said just slide right off of him. He's heard worse from people he respects far more. The continued threats, the aggression and general lack of affect would be consistent with a few different psychiatric issues he's kicking around in his head for her, but he'll get back to that later. ]

Why did you lie and say it was the shadows you were worried about earlier?

[ He's pretty damn sure they're different or she would have just called them that. House hasn't seen them referred to as such by anyone else. ]

Edited 2015-10-11 03:16 (UTC)

[ She lets out a huff; on another woman, it might've been a frustrated sob, but she's got better emotional control than that. Apparently none of it got through to him at all, though. ]

Shadows. Husks. Same thing. The Husks are back home, this is easy compared to that, as long as you can run.

[ Oh, it got through. She's not the only one who can play the mercilessly crush down your emotions game. He's been taking his regular dose of Vicodin, which makes it much easier. ]

Husks were what you believe you were fighting back in space, then, huh? It's still kinda weird, you not mentioning that. Any reason you've been hiding that, Janey? I know you aren't worried about people knowing how competent you are. Or incompetent as the day and ice wall might call for.

I wasn't in space, and I wasn't fighting them. I was surviving them. It hardly seemed relevant in the face of a new threat, until I had evidence they'd followed me here, which is bloody unlikely. I'm no one important.

[ That, at least, is true. Genetically perfect, exceptionally skilled, but on the galactic stage? Her biggest contribution had been resurrecting Shepard, and no one knew about that. ]

Since you're obviously dying for some kind of information, I'll let you have it: Husks are just one type of Reaper. Specifically, they're the type of Reaper you get when you take a human corpse and turn it cybernetic bit by bit. To get your juvenile comparison out of the way: yes, they're zombies.

Cybernetic zombies. Fun. Now, see, that's almost plausible. You only being a survivor, less so.

[ Well, it's a long night. Perhaps he can entertain whatever insane thing they brainwashed her into believing. At least it's not boring. ]

So, what other types of Reapers are there?

I'm not sure if I should be flattered or not. It's not as though you know me well enough to say what I can do.

[ Honestly, she's not sure if she wants to share anything more with him, but as another moan rocks their shelter it seems like a better option than any. She sighs softly and resigns herself to wasting her breath. ]

Husks are what the actual Reapers have made of humans. They're not particularly effective against anyone that's well-armed, but having to fight your own dead is a decent psychological weapon. The rest of the shock troops are similarly made from other sentient species across the galaxy: what we call Banshees are mutated Asari, Mauraderers from Turians, Ravagers from the Rachni...

...and of course that means nothing to you. By your time, you've not even discovered the archives on Mars.

Hey, I love to learn, anyway. So, other alien species. This world is getting expansive. Tell me at least one of those is some kind of lizard-person or insect-person.

And where did our Reaper buddies come from? Beyond known space?

[ She can tell he's mocking her but in for a penny, in for a pound. ] I'm sure the Salarians would be delighted to know they fascinated you. The Protheans were insectoid, I'm told, but were the last society that the Reapers harvested millennia ago. Sorry to disappoint.

I've heard a rumor they were built in the Milky Way, but it's only a rumor. They disappeared for fifty thousand years, we know frustratingly little about them.

Have enough to diagnose me yet?

Salarians, like salamanders. Cute. [ He's absolutely mocking. And of course there has to be a mysterious race from before with an appropriately Greek-esque name. ]

What am I diagnosing, though? Oh, right. Survivors guilt and PTSD. Boring. You're a headcase. Not my area. The Reapers sound like the Borg, by the way. Do they have a catch phrase like 'Resistance is futile?'

Does PTSD often come with persistent delusions about aliens in your time, or are you just a really terrible doctor? Maybe you're not a doctor at all.

[ She knows damn well he's a doctor, but deflection is about all Miranda's got going for her after painting herself into a conversational corner. ]

Would make sense. It gives you a certain degree of authority, which you clearly enjoy, and something that makes you worth keeping alive in this piss hole.

Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just the janitor who hangs out way too much on Wikipedia. [ House doesn't bother to address her dismissal of his diagnosis because her sneering and sniping, to him, only confirms it. ]

But let's think about this, Janey. How many people have I introduced myself as a doctor to? Sure seems like if I wanted that to be what's keeping me alive, I'd lead with that, hmm?

Edited 2015-10-19 14:58 (UTC)

It's called an ace in the hole. People don't usually want to kill you when they've just met you, that comes later, after you've endlessly antagonized them for no reason.

[ She shrugs. ]

You may have me all figured out, but we don't have the kind of time it would take for you. Enjoy your book, doctor, I'll take watch upstairs.

Burr! It got real cold in here.

[ House mock-shudders before picking up his book again. The conversation is over because she's upset. That's boring. His tablet comes out, as well. ]

Nighty night. Don't let the Husks bite.

I only have to run faster than you.

[ The door doesn't slam. It closes at a very normal volume, thank you very much. ]

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[log] Happy Haunts Materialize [closed]

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wow idk what was happening with those typos. o.o

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