shootstars: (Default)
there's a river running wild. ([personal profile] shootstars) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2017-02-16 12:04 pm

the picture prompt meme

the picture prompt meme

I — Comment with your character.
II — Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
III — Reply to them with a setting based on the picture.
IV — Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
V — Be aware that this meme will be image-heavy.

Link to an image:

Embed image in your reply:

Image width and height:

nostalgiabomb: (☆005)

hope this is ok!

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-17 10:22 am (UTC)(link)
[ When they arrive in the Oros system several days after that kind of fucked up meeting with Pyrien Lan, when they find Parten—

It's empty.

Or at least, from orbit, it looks empty, and more than that, uninhabitable. No breathable atmosphere, says their scans. An ice storm raging near constantly on the moon's surface, sub-zero temperatures that would kill most lifeforms.

Logic says, There's no fucking way anyone could be here.

But a strange blip on the sensors shrugs and says, Well, I dunno. Maybe?

So they risk it. What have they got to lose, right? The four of them are already bound to face who the fuck knows how much time in prison, if they're caught – and that's the best cast scenario. (Peter might get away with, like, spending half of his life behind bars, considering he's only aiding fugitives, but that's hardly consolation.) They fly in low at Peter's suggestion – a paranoid, distrustful part of him chants, just in case – putting the newly repaired and retrofitted Gibraltar through its paces through the storm. Ice and hail and gale force winds batter the ship as they seek out that anomaly.

And they find it: a bunker built into the rock face, where the temperatures rise just enough to not kill a man within fifteen minutes.

They split up after that, with Peter and Brae suiting up, intent on fishing Owen out of this godforsaken place – assuming he's there to begin with; failing that, gathering what clues they could and fucking off to follow whatever breadcrumbs they can find. Fallon and Pam stay behind to guard the ship – likely the only getaway vehicle they're bound to have, if things go pear-shaped.

(When things go pear-shaped, Peter thinks darkly. He hits the trigger for his mask, lets the light solidify into metal around his face, and tugs the hood of his thick jacket over his head.)

By the time they get through the front door – a mix of hacking and old-fashioned lock picking – Peter already feels half-frozen and pissy. The doors slam shut behind them, and already the temperature difference is stark. The inside is far warmer than the outside, though on the best of days, Peter's pretty sure it'd still feel chilly.

But nothing and no one greets them, here. No alarms go off overhead. The only thing of note is the single, long, dark, clammy corridor in which they find themselves, and they risk allowing themselves a few moments to warm up, chafing their hands to coax life back into frozen fingers, despite the thick gloves they had come in with.

The walls are slightly damp to the touch, marred by water stains. And from somewhere, Peter hears the distant drip, drip, drip of a leaking pipe. The lights flicker and hum overhead, casting the hall in a buzzing yellowish white that makes his head ache.

He smells something slightly metallic in the air, something cloyingly sweet. Definitely blood, he thinks, and his suspicions are only confirmed when he sees a dark blue splotch staining the concrete floor. Old, he decides, judging by the way the stain has flaked and darkened, but that's little consolation once he spies a fresher-looking blue smear on the wall, further along the corridor.

They leave their heavy coats and gear at the entrance, their things clomping heavily to the floor as they drop them. Peter keeps his mask fixed firmly in place, though, and keeps one hand resting against the grip of his blaster. (That chant in his head: just in case. just in case. just in case.) The hallway leads to a single elevator – broken, because of fucking course it's broken – with a set of stairs to one side.

Apparently there's nowhere to go but down.

Their footfalls echo in the stairwell as they descend, eerie and disorienting in the relative quiet.

Which is why Peter softly offers, ]

This place is giving me the fucking creeps.
outruns: (064)

perfect as always u beautiful tropical fish

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 05:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ of course owen would find the single most unpleasant, inhospitable, and wholly fucking awful moon to shove his disgusting little operation into.

of course he would.

brae is not, and has never been (never will be), a fan of the cold. so as they scan parten and get back the atmospheric and environmental data, she's muttering under her breath the entire time — and it only gets worse when she takes the ship in for a closer look, which allows her to get an eyeful of the snow and ice and otherwise disgustingly cold bullshit the moon has going for it.

awesome. just real fucking great.

at least it all pays off, however, when they find that bunker set into a cliff, and brae finds herself filled with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation (and that rage that's been boiling just under the surface for a good long while now). the closer they get to owen, the harder it is for her to keep it completely under wraps as the promise of wrapping her fingers around his slimy little neck grows even more imminent.

(she knows she can't kill him, and she's already accepted that much, but she also just wants the satisfaction at this point of getting to owen.

because she wants to beat his face in.

she wants to scream at him.

she wants to know fucking why.)

once they're inside the bunker, brae is almost reluctant to ditch her gear. it's still cold as hell, but the heavy coats and gloves are cumbersome, obnoxious by this point, and if they're going to be quiet and steady, they have to leave the extra cold protection behind. but, really, as soon as they drop their stuff, brae is shivering and running her hands down her arms.

...the faster they get in and out, the better.

almost worse than the cold, however, is how goddamn silent the bunker feels. not a whisper of activity, no security in sight (yet), but the blood on the floor sets brae on edge. nothing feels right, and the further down they go, the darker and danker everything seems to get.

she glances over at peter when he speaks, the light from his mask some of the only glow provided in the dimly lit stairwell. ]

Not like he could have a stupid bunker somewhere warm and nice. It's like a creepy fucking murder house in here.

[ what it is, she realizes belatedly, and that makes her stomach turn. ]

Swear to god, if Lan gave us the wrong location, I'm going back and breaking the rest of his fingers.

[ ha...ha...ha...

she really shouldn't do that, but it's tempting.

unfortunately, she gets the feeling they're in the right place with all of that blood, with that fresh and nauseating smell clinging to the air.

if she hadn't spent more than her fair share of time around gore of all kinds, she might actually get a little sick — because the deeper they go, the worse the smell is. more blue stains as the air around them feels oppressive and thick, and god, how the hell does owen camp out in this place?

swallowing around the lump in her throat, brae's hand finds her blaster when they reach the bottom of the stairs. there's a few proper lights waiting up ahead, different halls to check, and at first, she hangs back, glancing up at peter.

a pause before they push forward.

her voice is low, barely a whisper as she starts to ask, ]

Do you think—

[ she finds herself interrupted by a deep, vicious growl reverberating off of the walls, filling the corridor immediately. her spine goes ramrod straight, and her fingers clamp around the butt of her blaster, drawn and aimed in a heartbeat, in time to watch something disgustingly huge come around the corner. it almost resembles an oversized bulldog, stocky and muscular and way too fucking big, but its head is made of nearly nothing but teeth, each dripping with something viscous and— well, apparently acidic, as the saliva makes contact with the floor and leaves a sizzling hole in its wake.

that's just fucking awesome.

the creature continues to snarl from down the hall, presumably watching them (where the fuck are its eyes?).

after another tense, poised second, it starts to bound towards them. ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆002)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 06:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ Brae's unease is practically a pit in his chest – a near carbon copy of his own – but he does his best to ignore it. Tries to suppress, too, that anticipation coiling through their link, that cold fury threatening to boil over, but he keeps an eye on it. Someone has to keep the two of them in check.

And considering he's the only one with any sort of distance on this shitfest, it might as well be him.

Down they go, and into another corridor, just as creepy as the goddamn first – maybe even more so, with that scent of blood thick in the air. When Brae speaks in a whisper, Peter's hardly surprised; they haven't seen or heard anyone or anything yet, but the strange, oppressive atmosphere would've made him whisper, too.

But she doesn't get to finish, because there is a thing at the end of the hall, and he and Brae freeze, guns drawn and staring, and—

Oh, good. It's fast.

Peter starts firing first, blasts of electricity lighting up the hallway as the creature charges. The first blast catches it in the shoulder, but does little more than stagger it. The second, in the chest, that gives it pause. The third it shrugs off entirely, and Peter curses, quickly backing up back toward the stairs. ]

The fuck— [ A fourth and fifth shot. ]is that thing?
outruns: (069)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 06:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ brae scrambles back with peter as the weird-whatever-the-fuck-guarddog keeps loping down the hall, only barely fazed by the shots from peter's blaster, closely accompanied by her own. ]

Great fucking question.

[ another shot that hits one of the sharp teeth, and this time, one of them breaks from the creatures mass of jagged fangs, falling to the ground and searing a hole right into the concrete. the beast pauses to howl with pain and unmistakable rage, more of that acidic saliva welling up where the tooth used to be. ]

...oh fuck, I think that made it mad.

[ because while the creature stopped for a moment, it doesn't seem genuinely deterred.

brae keeps backing up the stairs as quickly as possible without tripping, tearing her eyes away from the toothy asshole advancing long enough to glance at peter. ]

Got any tricks in your purse, Star-Lord? Because I'll take anything right about no—ohshit—!

[ because the creature takes that instant to leap onto the bottom step, shaking the metal stairwell enough that brae nearly loses her balance. ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆012)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 06:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ With a level of exasperation that clearly shows this is not the first time he's had this argument, ]

It's not a purse—

[ But he doesn't get to finish – and neither does Brae – as the eyeless, toothy thing crashes onto the staircase, sends the whole thing juddering. Peter manages to grab hold of the railing with his free hand before he overbalances, and he hears Brae behind him, stumbling but not falling.

Fire this time, he decides, hitting the second trigger to shoot a blast of flame into its mouth.

That seems to piss it off, but it stumbles back, loses its balance as it falls off the steps. The next fireball hits it in the side of its head, burning skin and gums, and it paws at its head, gnashing its teeth. ]

Oh. [ This, brightly. ] Fire works.
outruns: (065)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 07:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ brae watches with something between being impressed and disgusted as the heat of the fire melts flesh away from the creature. ]

Fuck, I didn't think that thing could get uglier.

[ but with the way it burns and howls, it's proving an incredibly potent point that, yes, that big fucker could somehow look worse.

she fires again from a few steps higher, but the better vantage lets her see— ]

Dude, eyes on its forelegs. Those weird little blinky things— see 'em?

[ and indeed, there are small, black spots dotting the creature's legs; brae hadn't paid attention at first (because getting the fuck away from the ugly son of a bitch took precedence), but the small eyes are blinking at intervals. ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆002)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 07:57 am (UTC)(link)
[ Peter cringes behind his mask, nearly feels sorry for the thing, but—

Well, in their defense, this weird thing started it. Totally on it, for being all, I'm gonna melt and burn your skin off, probably before or after I chomp into you with my five million teeth. So Peter tries not to feel too guilty.

At Brae's direction, Peter blinks, makes another pinched face as he spots the eyes on its legs, and— ]

Jesus tap-dancing Christ. What the fuck? [ Then to the weird creature, ] Why are you like this?

[ But he shoots at its legs, and the thing howls, reels back. ]
outruns: (066)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 08:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ any other time, brae might fucking laugh, but for now, she's far more preoccupied with the creature, and she fires a few more times at the thing's legs, until she can't even see the black spots anymore.

hopefully that means it's blind?

must be, because it knocks into the stairs, rather than climbing them, still snarling and snapping and dripping acid from its massive fangs. ]

Man, would you just barbecue this thing already? It's being way too loud.

[ god, if people didn't know they were here already, this asshole would sure be cluing them in. ]
nostalgiabomb: (131)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 08:24 am (UTC)(link)
Nag, nag, nag—

[ But Peter descends the steps again, and while the creature can't see him, it still seems to hear him – or sense him, maybe, maybe feel the vibrations in the steps as he climbs down. It bares its teeth – because what can it do but bare its teeth? – and tries to lunge forward as it opens its mouth—

But Peter was waiting for that, and his next shot is a ball of flame that shoots straight down the creature's gullet.

No screams, this time, no howls, but a sad little wheeze as the fire burns down its throat. It stumbles back, careens off a wall, and Peter fires again. The fireball punches out a fistful of teeth, but it burns away at the gums, keeping its acidic drool from flowing out.

Peter feels bad for it for another second before he steps up to it, shoots it point blank, straight in the head. The flame punches into its skull, and it stands for only a second longer before it finally collapses, unmoving. He keeps his blaster fixed on it for a second longer, the acid remaining in its mouth sizzling and popping against the concrete floor, and when it doesn't seem inclined to rise, Peter lets himself shudder in revulsion. ]

What the fuck, man.
outruns: (Default)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 08:35 am (UTC)(link)
[ peter's the one with the fire, which...seems to be the most useful thing at the moment, so brae stands back on the stairs, watching carefully with her gun trained on the creature, though her attention keeps flicking up to the corridor, making sure they haven't drawn any extra attention (and to make sure there isn't a pack of those gross things waiting for them).

but in the wake of the beast's howls and snarls, everything is still again, other than the crackle of acid and the occasional pop of singed flesh.

...because that really does a lot for the disgusting smell in the whole place. ]

Of course Owen has something fucking awful like this here. Of course he does.

[ she descends the stairs, careful to give the alien a wide berth in favor of the rest of the hall. ]

C'mon, let's keep moving.
nostalgiabomb: (☆004)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 08:40 am (UTC)(link)

[ He clicks his second gun out of its holster at his hip, hefts in his hand for a second, as if thinking it over. It's only a split second of deliberation, though, because soon enough he holds it out to her, grip first. ]

Top trigger is electricity. Bottom is for fire.

Take it.
outruns: (Default)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 08:42 am (UTC)(link)
[ brae halts mid-step, watching closely as peter takes the second gun, and then—

—offers it to her.

she looks from the gun to his mask (because that sure is fucking helpful to know what's going on with his face), then back to the gun again. ]

Dude, you sure? I have mine, I'm good, seriously.

[ but damn if it isn't tempting. ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆008)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 08:47 am (UTC)(link)
I'm sure.

[ And there's a steadiness to his voice that speaks of certainty, and he keeps the gun held out to her. ]

If we're gonna keep running into more things like Cujo, over here— [ Punctuated by nudging at the creature with the toe of his boot, he remains limp and very dead and sizzling. ] —then bullets aren't gonna help very much.

[ Then, a little more insistently, ]

Take it. Okay?
outruns: (071)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 09:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ another second of hesitation, and then brae nods, reaching out to take the blaster from peter. ]


[ and there's gratitude in brae's expression, something warmer in her smile, because fuck, she knows what a big deal this is, and the fact that he's trusting her with something of his, with one of his guns, even, is impressive.

warms her heart, really. ]


[ she tucks her own gun back into its holster (easily drawn, if she needs it later), then jerks her head down the hall. ]

Let's go already. The faster we get through this place, the faster we can friggin' leave.
nostalgiabomb: (026)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 10:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ He very quickly nods. ]

This place sucks.

[ In place of a proper agreement.

But he's not wrong.

He steps around the creature, gives it one last little kick to make sure it's not playing dead, though he's careful to avoid kicking it in any spot where its spit still sizzles and corrodes the floor. No further movement, and he heads up the hall. The main corridor shoots off into other halls, other rooms. A proper floor, unlike the one they've just left, though considering all the noise they just made with Scrappy-Doo, it's apparently deserted.

Lights are on, but it seems like no one's home. ]
Edited (when u spot typos a million hours later) 2017-02-19 05:05 (UTC)
outruns: (060)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-19 07:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ yeah, he is definitely not wrong.

everything is uncomfortably still around them, and at first, she keeps holding her breath for another one of those creepy teeth monsters, but nothing even moves. she finally just picks a hall leading off to the left, pausing by each open doorway.

slow, careful, peering into one and— nothing.

next door?

nothing. not even a goddamn rat.

but as they approach the third door, that smell of blood and flesh just slams into brae, and she pauses mid-step. ]

—the fuck is that?

[ she presses a hand over her nose and mouth, peter's blaster at ready, before she finally looks into the third room.

the place has been torn apart. blood coats the walls, the floor, and...the piles of body parts littering the entire space. ]

Holy shit.

[ ...that is absolutely not a squeak out of her as she stands in the doorway, her eyes flickering from one piece of gore to the next. the bodies look like they've been shredded, with jagged, ripped edges and what seem to be teeth marks with accompanying acid burns.

fuck, that guarddog clearly didn't care what it sunk its fangs into, apparently. had the stupid thing just been let loose in the bunker? did it get out? and what the fuck? ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆003)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-19 09:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ They alternate opening doors, one covering the other as the doors swing open.

Nothing. Nothing.

They empty rooms, the silent hall, set Peter's teeth on edge, makes that unease grow and grow and grow. He might literally hate this, the feeling of dread and anticipation at war with each other in his chest.

The stench of blood and viscera makes Peter grimace, though, and maybe it doesn't hit him quite as hard, thanks to his mask, but the way Brae covers her nose tells him it's probably just as bad as he thinks it is. He almost tells her not to open the third door, but—

... Yeah. You know, Peter doesn't know what he was expecting, but when the third door opens on this, he can't bring himself to feel too surprised. Still, he lets a soft, ]

Fucking Christ.

[ But Peter had been wondering. Why was a creature like the one they'd just seen simply wandering the facility? With acid dripping from its mouth, traveling corridors with floors and walls that clearly weren't treated to handle how corrosive that substance was? Either an escaped subject, or—

Or, well. Someone let it loose, and Peter only has a couple of theories as to the why of it. None of them are very good. ]

... C'mon.

[ This, when he can find his voice again, jerking his head back to the hallway. ]

I don't think we're gonna find much on this floor. We should keep heading down.
outruns: (Default)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-19 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
[ when brae can finally move again, she reaches out to very purposefully close the door, shutting out the disgusting scene in favor of the hall instead.

peter's right, and with the way the whole floor just smells, she doesn't really want to think about what other gruesome areas might be waiting for them.

not like anyone's probably alive, anyway. ]


[ she clears her throat, taking a few steps back. ]

Let's keep going. Can't run into much worse than that, right?

[ an attempt at levity she doesn't really feel, but she's content to retrace their steps to the main corridor, to another stairwell that leads deeper into the bunker. her grip is probably a little tighter than necessary on the blaster as anxiety and anger bounces through her in equal measures, but fuck, she's glad peter is here — a fact she only distantly realizes, because the reality is that having him around eases something in her (as much as it can, given the current circumstances). ]
nostalgiabomb: (203)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-19 11:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He feels that tight coil in his chest, emotions that aren't his, that aren't easily picked apart. Flashes of anger, in there, nervousness, anticipation, and a whole mess of other things he's not quite sure how to read, but they're there.

And as they climb down the next stairwell, Peter pauses, turns and hesitantly puts his hand on Brae's shoulder. ]


[ Softly, with all the reassurance he can muster. ]

Take a breath. We've got this handled, okay?
outruns: (059)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-19 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)
[ there's an automatic flare of relief when peter's hand settles on her shoulder, that unavoidable warmth that comes with contact, and she forces a slow, steadying breath. ]

Dude, what if he's not here?

[ part of her is terrified that owen already bolted, and they're going to pour over this place to dig up nothing. ]

Swear to god, if Lan tipped him off, I'm gonna break the rest of that guy's fingers.
nostalgiabomb: (209)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-20 12:17 am (UTC)(link)
If he's gone, then we look for clues. Evidence. Track him down again.

We just keep houndin' him till he gets sloppy or exhausted or both.

[ He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ]

Just like tracking down any other bounty, dude. You've done this before. Knowing this particularly turd-monger personally doesn't make it any different.
outruns: (072)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-20 12:20 am (UTC)(link)
[ brae hesitates, then nods. ]

You're right. Fuck, I'm just— super off right now.

[ she scrubs a hand over her face with a short huff. ]

I— yeah, okay. I'm good, we've got this.
nostalgiabomb: (☆008)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-20 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ Peter gives her shoulder one last squeeze. ]

That's my girl.

[ Then, he gives her cheek a gentle little pat, leaving the whorls of his fingerprints against her skin, before quickly hurrying down the steps. He casts back over his shoulder, ]

You've got something on your face, by the way!
outruns: (071)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-20 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
[ brae starts a bit at the words out of peter's mouth, leaving her legitimately stunned—

—until he totally ruins it by lighting up her face. ]

Dude! Are you kidding me?

[ but there's a genuine grin as she follows him down the stairs, two at a time. ]

That is so unprofessional!

[ pot, meet kettle. ]
nostalgiabomb: (001)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-20 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ His grin goes hidden behind his mask. ]

Yeah, probably.

[ Because professionalism is so boring.

But they both need the little pick-me-up, considering how fucked this place is, and the mood will probably be shattered in the next ten seconds as they reach the next floor, but— oh well. It's something, for now. ]

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