Gabriel Reyes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hellshot) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-04-16 12:28 pm
hellshot) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-04-16 12:28 pm
Entry tags:
adieu to the fuckers
who: Reaper and Wikus
what: Man turning into an alien meets up with a guy who looks like a zombie. Possible understanding through similar experiences in living with visible body horror.
when: Middle of the month.
where: Floor 8, communal.
warnings: Fucked up body horror and mentions of possible gore and gross stuff. Reaper's dead face, Wikus' half-human half-prawn physiology.
There was something he far preferred about being out in space. And that was the fact that in that giant space fleet, he had his own quarters. A place where he could relax with his mask off without worry that someone would pop in and freak out over sharing space with a man who looked like the walking dead. A place he could shower and change clothing in peace without constantly checking around corners for anyone who still might be up and wandering at the same (odd) hours that Reaper keeps.
It's one of the more quiet nights when he decides to risk hopping into the shower. Most of the communal floor are either out on jobs or whatever the hell they get themselves up to after hours--or they're asleep. It's deadly quiet on floor 8, so he decides it's a better change than any. And it's a success, in the end, too--managing to claim the shower for himself without having to explain why the water turns an inky black as it swirls the drain, like he's washing dirt from being in a fire off his skin, and why he breathes black smoke that mingles with the steam all the while.
Drying his hair with a towel, he's even become relaxed as he stands, half-clothed in just a pair of slacks when someone else walks in. He's not so nervous to do something like jump or tear away behind something of fear of being seen--but he does make an attempt to cover the bottom half of his face with a towel when turning round to face whomever the hell had walked in on him.
What meets his eyes is something that's startling enough to forget the fact that he's standing there, a living breathing zombie with chunks of flesh missing from his arms and chest--ribs showing under grey, pallid flesh and wounds glowing a light red as if they're burning. A man who doesn't look so much like a man and more like something from a well-animated live action horror film. His eyes just don't match, and it looks like he's an alien who is in the process of shedding a human skin to return to its true form.
To put it in the simplest words:
"...Thought I was the only freakshow in the building."
what: Man turning into an alien meets up with a guy who looks like a zombie. Possible understanding through similar experiences in living with visible body horror.
when: Middle of the month.
where: Floor 8, communal.
warnings: Fucked up body horror and mentions of possible gore and gross stuff. Reaper's dead face, Wikus' half-human half-prawn physiology.
There was something he far preferred about being out in space. And that was the fact that in that giant space fleet, he had his own quarters. A place where he could relax with his mask off without worry that someone would pop in and freak out over sharing space with a man who looked like the walking dead. A place he could shower and change clothing in peace without constantly checking around corners for anyone who still might be up and wandering at the same (odd) hours that Reaper keeps.
It's one of the more quiet nights when he decides to risk hopping into the shower. Most of the communal floor are either out on jobs or whatever the hell they get themselves up to after hours--or they're asleep. It's deadly quiet on floor 8, so he decides it's a better change than any. And it's a success, in the end, too--managing to claim the shower for himself without having to explain why the water turns an inky black as it swirls the drain, like he's washing dirt from being in a fire off his skin, and why he breathes black smoke that mingles with the steam all the while.
Drying his hair with a towel, he's even become relaxed as he stands, half-clothed in just a pair of slacks when someone else walks in. He's not so nervous to do something like jump or tear away behind something of fear of being seen--but he does make an attempt to cover the bottom half of his face with a towel when turning round to face whomever the hell had walked in on him.
What meets his eyes is something that's startling enough to forget the fact that he's standing there, a living breathing zombie with chunks of flesh missing from his arms and chest--ribs showing under grey, pallid flesh and wounds glowing a light red as if they're burning. A man who doesn't look so much like a man and more like something from a well-animated live action horror film. His eyes just don't match, and it looks like he's an alien who is in the process of shedding a human skin to return to its true form.
To put it in the simplest words:
"...Thought I was the only freakshow in the building."
no subject
He's about to snap out some response to being called a freak, when he actually gets a good look at Reaper. His mouth hangs open instead.
His first thought is 'are you a zombie?' which his mind informs him would probably be a rude thing to ask. Unfortunately his second thought slips around his brain-to-mouth filter. "I hope you don't eat brains."
no subject
He drops the towel away from his face, raising up both hands in a nearly 'I surrender' sort of gesture. A sort of snide, cheeky grin on his face as he tips his head to one side, red eyes backed in void black giving the other a good head-to-foot study before he answers.
"Lucky for you. No, I don't eat brains." His tone is weirdly calm, almost dry--his throat a rough rasp as if he's been smoking for years. "And what about you? Feels like I'm looking at the star of one of those Invasion of the Body Snatchers films."
no subject
"I'm, uh, just turning into an alien, you know-" As you do. He gives his best casual shrug, but his mismatched hands clench nervously in his shirt.
no subject
He seems to contemplate this with a furrow of his eyebrows, black smoke leaking out from his skin as he shifts. As if movement looses more of the black, acrid vapour when he moves, like something that's constantly burning.
"Going to ask and hope that you didn't contract that shit here. Because I have enough problems as it is."
He pauses. This is ... oddly not as uncomfortable a situation as it should be. Given they're both pretty fucked up physically. Someone who can understand--even if the situation is different--he's suddenly relieved about it.
no subject
It is... really weird to watch a guy leak black smoke. But Wikus has bled blue-black from his nose, so he doesn't have a lot of room to judge. Honestly, it's kind of reassuring to find someone who looks at least as horrifying as he does. He lets his shirt drop to dangle idly from his Prawn hand, scratching idly at an inflamed patch on his chest with nail-less human fingers.
"So what's your story, man?"
no subject
"Guessing the doctors here can't help reverse it, huh."
That's rough, buddy. He rolls his shoulder a bit, fingers of his hand moving to cover up a patch of himself that exposes a few ribs to the air, as if helping the view not be quite as gruesome.
"Long story. Short of it? I died. Burnt to death after a bomb collapsed a building down on top of my head." Paints a pretty picture, doesn't it. "Don't know exactly what happened after that, but it involved nanobiology and someone really desperate to bring me back to life."
He drops his hand away from his side, more of a 'and voila' gesture before he shrugs again. "The result is yours truly."
no subject
His head snaps back around to Reaper. "You burned to death?!"
The fact that he died and was resurrected should probably be more of a surprise but, well, shit's been weird and the guy looks undead...
"Fok, man, that must have hurt."
no subject
Because honestly, the thing that Wikus is turning into? He's not sure if it's an improvement. It looks like ... an insect, of sorts. He idly wonders what kind of effects that might have on his organs or everything related. Honestly, it was amazing his body would even survive such an intense metamorphosis.
"From what I remember, it wasn't pleasant. But I can't really remember, I think I passed out from smoke inhalation first. But still wouldn't recommend it." He shrugs. He could mention that the pain of death wasn't so bad when he remembered it, vision blurry and body stunned with shock, and that what hurt worse was the pain that never went away, burning just under the surface of his skin that never stopped--
But hey. He's actually having a good conversation with someone. Why ruin it by being morbid.
"Most men don't get a second chance. I'm living with it."
no subject
He's not actually sure he deserves a second chance, but he'd do anything to turn back the clock to before the transformation started. There are a lot of things that just getting his body back won't fix.
"Aside from those, uh, holes, you don't even look half bad, man." Spooky and a bit terrifying, but not, y'know. Turning into a bug-alien ugly. He frowns at his reflection again and strains to scratch at a patch of skin still clinging to the shell encasing his shoulder. Disgusting.