[log] Event: Metamorphosis, Part Three

[snowblindmods]

Characters: everyone
Location: all around town; note location in subject line
Date: Night 415 onward; note time in subject line
Summary: They break out and they wake up.
Warnings: extreme body horror, unreality, eldritch horror, absolutely definitely 100% include warnings in subject lines/before your comment if the subject line isn't long enough

Comments

[jumpthegun]

[John startles when the vine wraps around his wrist and there's a sudden wave of dizziness that hits him as his nose starts bleeding profusely. It takes the doctor a moment to reorient, but when he does, he yanks against the anomaly's grip and slams the rubble he has down onto the vine where it's stretched tight.]

[cahooted]

Wha-- ow!?

[Flynn flails in irritation when a sharp pain shoots up his vine. Black ink starts seeping out where the rubble hits and then Sherlock runs into him and it's a bit much and really not cool?]

What the hell are you guys doing!?

[He reaches out with his free hand to wrap it around Sherlock's neck, trying to push him away and into the ground. More vines lash out at John irritably in an attempt to slap the rubble out of his hand and yank him off his feet.]

[holmesice]

[Mycroft waves his umbrella in alarm as Sherlock and John manage to fight off the vine, but then Sherlock goes crashing into Flynn and--

--he tries to stab the pointy-end of his rubble-brella at what's wrapping itself around Sherlock's neck--]

Unhand him you monstrous fiend!

[jumpthegun]

Mycroft run!

[The idiot! His nose is bleeding heavily, he feels dizzy, and the rubble is slapped away quickly. John finds himself face down in the snow a moment later as he's jerked by the vines. He grapples with Flynn now, going so far as to attempt to bite the vine holding him.]

[howdull]

[Damn.

Sherlock feels a sudden wave of nausea as the vine snaps around his neck, his vision blurring and his limbs feeling weak. He does his best to claw at the vines, but his hands feel heavy and clumsy, and it's getting inordinately hard to breathe.

He can hear John and deduce from that that Mycroft is still free, and so he kicks snow in his brother's general direction to try and make him back off.]

[cahooted]

[And there's the umbrella. Seriously? Again!? Genuine anger flashes on Flynn's face at Mycroft's intervention and the pointy end stabbing him. Again.]

I told you to keep that thing away from me!

[Another of Flynn's vines wraps itself around the handle and Mycroft's wrist. He tugs at both, spinning it around and forcefully rams the umbrella back into Mycroft's shoulder. There, how do you like that? Not so fun having a piece of dirty rubble embedded in you, is it?! Jerk!

Except he also yelps in indignant irritation when John bites him. Come on! Flynn lashes out, striking him across the face and the back, the vines cracking like whips while the grip around Sherlock's neck tightens.]

You lied to me, didn't you! You don't really care about my plants either!

[The saplings and spores on the ground keep spreading, taking root, proceeding to climb over the icy ground and creeping up legs and whatever other unlucky body parts happen to be close to the ground.]

Why can't you guys just trust me!? I know what I'm doing!

[holmesice]

[No, this can't be happening? The vines wrap around the handle of his umbrella and then suddenly--]

AAAUUUUGGGHHH--

[The rubble's now sticking in his shoulder and his attack has failed, considerably. Now he's too distracted, trying to get the damn thing unstuck. Probably going to get infected too--]

Damn you!

cw: body horror/parasitism

[jumpthegun]

[John's attention is split between Sherlock, his own predicament, and Mycroft's. He cries out in pain when he's lashed in the face--his back is protected by many coats, thankfully--but that's nothing compared to when the roots reach his hand. He's aware of them as a searing pain, like multiple needles piercing into him.

The doctor's attention snaps to that hand, and he sees what's happening. Fear rips through him, threatening to take over, but John locks it down. Need to warn the others, then get this off. He can do this. He has to do this. He and Sherlock are almost certainly dead. Mycroft doesn't have to be.]

Roots! Stay away from the ro-agh!

[They're they're spreading up his arm, sinking thorough, even as John tries to get his other hand free from Flynn and rip at the things before they can consume him. It just gets them all over his other hands where the roots start burrowing in.]

cw: body horror/parasitism

[howdull]

[It's too late for him.

Logical analysis if the situation tells him that much, the vine is too tightly wrapped around his throat and he can feel his vision blacking out, taste the blood on his lips where it's streaming down from his nose.

But he can still attempt to distract it long enough to save John and Mycroft.

So he twists as he best he can and hurls himself, feet first, at Flynn's head even if it means the vines tighten around his throat.]

cw: body horror/parasitism

[cahooted]

Why can't you just accept that I'm good at this? I've got 22 degrees! I know what I'm doing! Just look at these plants, I made them! I can save this town!

[It's angry and petulant but also uncomprehending, almost like a child that doesn't get his way.]

I'll prove it to you!

[He turns towards John, the flowers on his shoulders opening, spewing more outgrowths and pollen, spreading them everywhere, on arms, legs, face.

He also yanks the umbrella out of Mycroft's shoulder only to ram it right back in. Like you even deserve his flowers.

Only then Sherlock's feet ram into him and his head snaps back. He stumbles back, sputtering, more out of shock than actual effect.]

D-did you... did you just kick me in the face!? You're such a jerk!

[As suspected, the vines tighten around Sherlock's throat and Flynn pulls him up by the neck only to slam him back down into the icy ground.]

cw: body horror/parasitism, eye horror

[jumpthegun]

[John Watson is a brave man, someone who is cool under pressure. He is also a human being, though, and roots burrowing into his skin, through flesh and bone, through his eyes? That's too much for him. By the time panic wraps it's far enough around his mind to just start screaming in pain, the roots have already pierced through his neck in multiple places. The sound is choked, his body convulses, and the last thing he sees before a vine pushes its way in through his remaining eye is Sherlock, trying to kick.

The doctor reaches a hand toward his friend as best he can, but the roots and greenery curl around him. Small flowers begin to sprout as John goes still.]