toastysocks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
toastysocks) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2018-06-17 10:03 pm
toastysocks) wrote in bakerstreet2018-06-17 10:03 pm
the predators meme
You wake up in the middle of a steaming jungle. You don't know where you are, or how you got there, but there's an unfamiliar sun in the sky and all signs suggest that you're not in Kansas any more. You need to survive; figure out what's going on; and maybe, just maybe, find a way to go home. There's just one problem.
Something is hunting you.
Prompts
1. Consciousness to sarcasm in five seconds. Rise and shine, you've just woken up in the middle of nowhere with no idea how you got there. On the bright side, you're not alone. Get to know your fellow
2. The road to nowhere. Have fun trudging through the jungle. How long 'til someone notices that it's been daylight for about 48 hours now, or that there's the wrong number of moons in the sky? Kiss your worldview goodbye.
3. Cry havoc! The hunters have set their dogs on you. Their deformed, alien monstrosity dogs. Do you run or fight? Work together or leave the others to their fate?
4. On a scale of one to "fucked"-- One of you is injured. Maybe it's fixable, or maybe it's fatal. Does the other choose to stay and help, to leave you for dead, or to put you out of your misery...?
5. Let's hope they last the night. Night has finally fallen. Time to find somewhere to hole up, grab some shuteye, and hope nothing sneaks up on you in the darkness. Sweet dreams.
6. The great escape. Here's your chance - whether by skill or luck, you've found where the hunters have set up camp. Think you've got what it takes to fly an alien ship? Of course that's assuming you live long enough to get inside. Maybe you should come up with a plan b, just in case...
7. But you've always been here. Congratulations, you're not dead yet. You've evaded the hunters for long enough that they've apparently assumed you starved, or fell into a swamp, or maybe they've just plain lost interest. And now there's fresh meat on the planet - a new batch of game for the hunters. You could help. The question is, will you?
8. Wildcard.
Kit | Predator 2 | OTA
Keith Kogane // VLD
Loretta | D&D OC
jill valentine | resident evil | ota
no subject
I was imagining strangers deposited somewhere to be hunted for sport, and deciding to work together to increase their odds of survival. We could start at a point while they’re actively trying to escape a nearby predator and have gone through their basic introductions to each other, if you want to hit the ground running, but I’m open to pretty much anything. ]
no subject
I definitely am happy to go with CRAU route and avoid the chit-chat and minor things (and you got the gist of Jill now OOC, which she'd be happy to reveal). I think I'd prefer the traditional jungle setting, but if you want to go with say, some kind of abandoned island that's less tropical or something like that I'd be game.
(Might be a touch slower than usual, our air conditioner broke and I currently want to just nestle myself in the freezer!) ]
no subject
Jungle setting all works for me! And don't worry about speed - my own tends to be haphazard, so apologies in advance. Let me know if this starter needs anything changed! ]
Sleeping in shifts is hard to adjust to.
It's not that Will can't wake himself up for his turns to watch their camps. It's that his brain is too keen to recognize this world as unsafe to fall asleep in, and by the time he's managed to pass out, it's time to wake up. The first several nights are the worst. By the time his first week in the thick jungle is drawing to a close, he's almost gotten himself to sleep for more than a handful of hours a night.
Or so he assumes. His watch had been destroyed the first time he'd submerged under water escaping a hunter. Keeping track of time relies entirely on the sun now, which is distant through the tree tops but always oppressively hot.
Will's sitting in their secluded site with his pistol and a canteen, waiting. His shirt's stuck to his lower back - has been pretty much since he arrived. He's past the point of wiping sweat off his forehead until it's tracking into his eyes.
An echo of movement that could be a reptile skittering, but the pace repeats itself too cleanly. Too carefully. Will sits up straighter against the tree he picked earlier. He tilts his face away back towards the camp, keenly aware of where Jill's lying, under plenty of foliage cover.
"Valentine." Is a hushed whisper, eyes on the trees in front of him. Will gets a better grip on his gun, but doesn't bother saying anything more. If he's right about hearing one, he doesn't want to give away their position that quickly.
no subject
She hates the whole sleep-shift thing. It's better when you're in larger groups, but most of the time she'd rather just force herself to stay awake for days on end. Jill also knows it's not always a viable -- especially in a situation like this one. There's no ETA on this, no way to gauge how long it may take them to reach their goal of getting the hell out of here so they'd need to take what they can get, even if it meant just relaxing with their eyes closed. She remembers someone telling her that it was better than nothing once, but she can't recall. Might just be bullshit, come to think of it.
But bullshit can work the same way placebos can. Better than nothing.
It's too hot to be wearing the layers she's got on, but she knows once she removes the first compression top she might not have it later. It was valuable if they were here for a while -- could be used to catch water or dress a wound. And it wasn't so thick that she couldn't breathe. Damned if she didn't want to whip it off and dump the rest of her remaining water on her head, though. Her baseball cap is tucked down to help shield her eyes and keep the sweat from trickling down, but she's just barely asleep. No REM, dancing on that thin edge of awareness of her surroundings.
Her shifting is slight, the kind of minute and carefully trained twitch starting at her side while her fingers slip downward to clasp the hilt of her combat knife. With the way these things can't be seen, it isn't preferable but the lack of sound can't be beat. If it's just an animal they won't draw attention to themselves the same way as if a gunshot is heard. Even muffled by the surroundings, the damn thing still seemed to track them somehow.
Legs up and into a crouching position, her shoulders roll but not harsh enough to get the popping she craves. Her eyes on him, then toward where he has the sidearm aimed, she starts to crawl toward the sound. Not quite crunching, no heavy footing. But they hadn't heard it the last time. What the hell is it? Her fingers split through the foliage, hoping to make a large enough opening that either of them could get a better look.
no subject
Will’s trained, but there’s a variety of reasons he tried to stray away from field work years ago. One of them is this—the rushing adrenaline, the breathless waiting. Having to keep aware of both himself and his partner—something he hasn’t had to worry about since he lived in Louisiana and was part of state police.
He just equally knows that not relying on his ‘partner’ right now could get both of them killed. Jill’s almost silent next to him, sneaking forward past him, pressing against the foliage. Everything makes sound out here—the rain, the breeze. Every small animal. And especially the two of them, no matter how silent they try to be. There’s too much vegetation, packed too densely together, to avoid snapping all twigs or crunching all leaves.
It’s still impressive how silent Jill is, as she leans around to look. Will watches her upper back, waiting for any tensing of her shoulders that might signify she’s seen something.
Maybe it’s just instinct. Maybe it’s a noise. Will thinks it’s a breeze, a slight change in air pressure; whatever it is, he looks over his shoulder just in time for the scenery to...ripple. In a space about as wide as his own shoulders, at a height a bit taller than he’d be standing up, Will watches the foliage disrupt.
It’s easy to make the link to it being vaguely person-shaped. Even if he can’t reason out the how of what he’s seeing, Will can instinctively feel the what set off a primal alarm. “Valentine!” Is a slightly-louder hiss, and in the split second of hesitation while he aims but doesn’t fire—worried about the noise if he’s wrong—there’s a roaring of its weapon discharging.
Cloud Strife | FFVII (crisis core)
Will Graham | Hannibal NBC
1
Will is the latest person he's come across. He's either sleeping or unconscious. Arkin can't tell which; he just knows here is not safe. He tentatively approaches, scanning for possible traps - badly hoping the things aren't trying to bait him out.
"Hey," he says in a hushed tone. He creeps closer, pausing after each step to look for any signs of danger. Once closer, he crouches down, reaching a hand out to shake his shoulder. "Hey. You gotta get up, man." His voice somehow manages to sound urgent and controlled but still fucking terrified.
no subject
Will comes awake with a jolt, hand going for his waist. His gun is actually there - it isn't always in his nightmares - and he unfastens the strap holding it in place. It's in his hands even as Will is registering foreign terrain: he's outside. His forehead tickles with the coils of his own hair plastered there with sweat. His clothes are damp with it, his shirt sticking to him at the elbows as his arms bend.
And then straighten, as he aims the gun.
Stranger. Dark hair, dark eyes. Wide, blown pupils. Blood smeared across his cheek.
Will's breath is erratic as he finishes sitting up, gun still aimed but some of the certainty deflating from his posture. "Who-- Who are you?" The buzz of insects around them distracts him. It's not a seasonal sound. Will swallows and stares over at this man who radiates fear, and his gun lowers an inch. "Where are we?"
no subject
"Woah... easy, man." Arkin has already backed away, showing both his hands and the fact his only weapon is a folding knife. Said knife is covered in very not human blood.
"Arkin." He answers his name first. He's keeping himself very still even if it appears Will isn't going to shoot. No telling how jumpy he is and he's not about to take any chances.
"Uh, Amazon, I think?" his voice cracks a little. "Buncha piranhas in the water but those aren't what we got to worry about. There's people hunting us. Not even sure they're people -- but we gotta get out of here. They're gonna come through here any minute." His voice is desperate to have him listen. With urgent motions he indicates behind him. It's not super safe the way he came but it's safer than here.
no subject
Green blinking lights, above Will's head. Clicking noises behind him that he could never turn around to see. He blinks hard against the memories of a nightmare - of reality? - and looks at his own wrist out of sudden instinct.
The face of his watch is cracked, but not broken yet. 4:38pm. 4:38pm, and he's in 'the Amazon'. Potentially, assuming he really isn't dreaming...
It doesn't feel like a dream. Will's lowering his pistol, inch by inch until he's suddenly tucking it back into its holster, snapping the strap back in place to hold it steady. There's disorientation that's almost a dizziness, but Will finds he recognizes it now. "I was drugged." Is said to himself, thoughtful. He looks back up, gradually shifting to get his hands on the ground, push himself up.
"You were taken here, too?" Who has this kind of money? And malicious, dramatic intent? Mason's dead. Who's left that hates Will that much - and who hates Arkin so much, too? Or is this random? Will finds himself looking over the scenery, ignoring Arkin's desperate motions for him to follow.
no subject
In this case, being ignored isn't bad. If Will is looking around that means his chances of survival go up. It's the only reason Arkin stayed alive this long. "They got this camouflage that makes 'em blend in wherever they are. There's a shimmer gives them away."
Arkin takes another measured step closer. Close enough now he can try to reach out and grab Will by the arm. "We have to leave now." The whole time Arkin scans the tree-tops between glancing at Will and re-checking the route out of the area. If he can, he'll just pull Will along back the way he came.
no subject
Hunting grounds. Will stiffens when Arkin touches his arm, but he looks in the same direction Arkin does, searching the tree tops, rather than fight his grip. The air in this place is tense, unreal. It's so full of noise from the slow wind and the wildlife and their own feet on the foliage-dense ground that Will wonders if he'd hear anyone coming towards them.
"Did you say there's people hunting-- us?" He's following, though. The tension in the air and the way Arkin's gaze jerkily looks for something dangerous urges Will on.
no subject
He pauses to answer. "Yeah. Not sure they're people though. And we aren't the only ones, we're just the ones who are alive." The place he was taking them turns out to be a crevice in the ground between two large trees. Branches cover the opening, which Arkin push aside. It's about the space of a jail cell. The dirt has been compacted with use. There are clear signs someone, Arkin, has spent a lot of time there.
no subject
"Do they know how to track us? I mean they-- they drugged us. They took us here without us noticing, without anyone we know having come to find us yet-- What if they put...trackers in us, on our clothing?" Will thinks he's going to spend a lot of time patting himself down, even if the small dirt cavern that Arkin leads him to has barely enough room for both of them to stretch out and turn around.
no subject
"They aren't human. I don't mean they're sick fucks, I could deal with that if they where." He'd been avoiding eye contact up until now, this is important and he needs to see how serious he is. "They aren't from here. They're physically not human." He pulls his knife back out and holds it out hilt first for Will to look at. "That isn't human blood. And no person screams like that thing did."
The Grand Highblood ♑ Homestuck
Mr. Wrench | Fargo
daniels | alien: covenant