kore_logs | You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

Entry tags:

You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

Who: Meg and OPEN
Where: All around the Science Centre
When: Day 154 - Day 158
What: Hellhounds are running amok and Meg is trying not to die – aka the catch-all Meg post
Warnings: Language, gore, violence and lots of it. Character death.

Meg doesn't need to sleep. Sometimes she sleeps for the joy of dreaming. Other times she doesn't bother. Same with food - she doesn't need to eat to sustain herself but sometimes she eats for the joy of it. This is one of those days where she is wide awake and looking for something to eat while the majority of the normal little squishy people at the Science Centre dream their little dreams of puppies and rainbows - or whatever the hell squishy human types dream of.

She's only about half way through her triple layer peanut butter, jelly and cheese sandwich when she hears the all too familiar and all too unwanted growling in the distance. At first she dismisses it; after all some of the foods in this place are said to do strange things and who's to say she didn't pick up weird alien lube instead of jelly? Hearing things could totally be the fault of the PB, J and cheese tower - right?

The snarls and the growls grow louder; and the closer and louder they get the more Meg begins to thing this is not the fault of the sandwich. Fuck. That can only mean one thing... Hellhounds.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

To be honest Meg isn't sure what effect the hot fiery breath of a dragon would have on a hound of Hell, and she doesn't really want to find out - in case it doesn't work and her pretty new pet becomes puppy chow.

She reaches out to pet him lightly. "Stay out of trouble."

"Ma'am, I don't know what kind of a place you come from. But I wasn't raised to go running off and leave a lady in that kind of a lurch."

As strong as his instinct for self preservation was. There were some things you just didn't do.

This woman had guts though, McCoy would give her that. He was no stranger to strong and capable sorts. No matter who it had been though, Uhura or Chekov or even that bastard Vulcan himself, Bones would have pitched a fit at that plan.

He might have agreed to leave Spock behind though. Maybe.

Well wasn't he just a total gentleman? Shame Meg was no lady. Oh well. Meg's eyes flickered black as she smirked at him. "Not exactly a lady, Sugar." A beat. "Hi, I'm Meg. A demon."

Her own sense of self preservation was pretty high as a general rule, but apparently sacrificing yourself was the in thing these days.

"So, ready to run?"

The Night Fury rumbles his assent. Fine, fine. He'll stay out of the way of these things. Whatever a hellhound is, it isn't pleasant. He rumbles instead of nodding because, well, Meg's petting him, and he doesn't want to disturb her hand. He far prefers the stroking of his snout to the absence of it.

She continues to pet him for a moment longer before her hand stills, her eyes turn black and she backs away from Toothless. She can hear the tell-tale growling of a hellhound, not to mention the padding of it's feet. Before long it comes into her line of sight.

"Run. Go."

"Yeah? So was my ex." Not literally, of course.

No actually either. The former Mrs McCoy had been a wonderful woman, but one was allow certain liberties of painting the past.

"I don't like it."

Bones doesn't see a way around it, unfortunately. He hopes that Meg is being more literal than he was when she described herself. Not that he's willing to believe her on the basis of two minutes and a mind for salt. But he's seen tougher things than Klingon's and there are more unknowns in the great big universe than anyone in the Federation is willing to admit.

"Come with me."

"We both run, we both get torn to pieces. Trust me, it hurts like a bitch." Meg was speaking from experience. While she hadn't had the full torn to shreds experience, but she had had her arm shredded and that was bad enough.

She spun her blade in her hand, slinking to a fighting stance.

"I've no plans on dying today. Break the line and run."

Garrett stares at the blade for a long moment, looking slack-jawed with surprise. Then he breaks into a sharp-toothed grin. "Lady, you have just become my most new favorite person."

He then not-so-subtly moves behind Meg. Hey, she's got the weapon, she can be the one facing the devil dogs.

What kind of man was he? McCoy was a doctor. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't built like a Vulcan tank and able to withstand the kinds of punishments that would end a poor human. Nor was he imbued with that cocksure luck that meant jumping off of a cliff and hanging by the edge would somehow always work out.

Jim would have stayed. Spock would have stayed.

Bones nodded and swiped the line of salt. Ducking out into the hallway and making a break for it.

Of course.

He was also a goddamn Starfleet Officer. Which was more paramilitary than military so the ideal of never leaving a man behind, or a woman in this case, wasn't always feasible. But it was an ideal none the less.

Leonard grabbed the first loose object he could find. Pieces of broken chair in this case, someone else must have tangled with this pooches prior to this. He ran back too. Maybe it was stupid.

"I sure as hell hope someone taught you bastards how to fetch!" Not that he could see them when he started throwing chair at the snarling whirl of air. He was going to run again, and this time hopefully one or more of them would follow. Killer dogs, or sacrificial demons, McCoy wasn't getting particular.

True to his (egotistical) word, the Night Fury is quick. He turns and is a few feet away with just a few lunging steps. But then he turns around, looks at Meg, eyes wide. What about you? he seems to be asking.

Were all human men so stubborn? Really? Stubborn and with a death wish. Meg thought it was just the Winchesters that went running moronically towards death but maybe it was just a male thing in general.

She rolled her eyes before lunging at one of the hellhounds, slicing it's throat. Of course, to someone who couldn't see the hounds it looked as though she was merely waving her blade in thin air - except for the pained howl and the gush of black blood.

"When I said 'run', I meant in the opposite direction."

Oh man. Nope. She can't handle the adorableness of the oversized lizard. Don't look at her like that. She's supposed to be a badass demon that tortures things for fun, not going all mushy over a pet.

"Go on."

She turns her back on him and steps towards the hellhounds, blade in hand.

Apparently people warm up to her demonic charms pretty damn quickly when she's the only thing standing between them and a bunch of hellhounds - good to know.

"You can make it up to me with alcohol or cookies. If we survive."

Ellen's been reliving Hell for the last four days. Between trying to outrun and out smart the hellhounds she's lost Jo to them again along the way. This time she wasn't even there to hold her. Or tell her she loved her.

It's an open, gaping wound inside of her. A raw pain that resonates in everything she does but she's still fighting to survive. Still struggling because if she did just give in to the despair and grief, she knows Jo would never forgive her.

She's got salt stashed in her room, but her supplies haven't lasted her as long as they should've. She was forced to go to the kitchen, which was a bad idea on her own. Which is why she's holding her bleeding right arm as she runs down the corridor looking for somewhere safe to wait temporarily until she can return to her room. If she can find a tight enough space, she's got enough salt to cover her ass.

Meg has been fighting the hellhounds morning, noon and night. They have her scent and they're not giving up. She's lost count of how many she's slain, and lost count of how many squishy innocents she's helped along the way - or she's blocking that part out because ew, when did she become such a hero?

Her thigh is badly torn, as is her arm. Her angel blade is dripping with black blood.

She presses herself against a wall to catch her breath - that's when she notices Ellen. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me..."

"Will remember it, Missus...?" His ears catch a sound that makes his whole body stiffen and go stock-still again. He swallows, trying to get rid of his nerves. "They are getting closer."

Toothless hesitates. Something in him wants to stay, wants to glue itself to Meg's side and claw at the invisible creatures until they leave the both of them alone. But it's not a loud voice. Not yet, at least.

He growls quietly in the back of his throat, not liking his options, and takes off at top speed. He'll find her later, he reasons to himself.

"The name's Meg." Just Meg. And definitely not a Missus anybody. Just plain ol' Meg. And even that isn't her real name. It was just the name of the last meatsuit she wore. It kinda stuck. She likes it. It's pretty.

Meg rolls her eyes at Garrett's comment. "I can see that, Sugar." Closer and very, very quickly.

"You gonna fight or run?" He rubs his hands over his staff in a manner than could be taken as either being nervous or eager. It's been far too long since he's had to fight for his life.

Meg readies her blade and slides into a fighting stance, bracing herself for the oncoming assault. She swipes her blade seemingly at thin air, but the sudden spray of black blood suggests otherwise.

"That answer your question?"

Garrett isn't ashamed that he makes a little squeak of terror and presses himself up against the wall, huddling there in terror as Meg goes on the attack. His knuckles are pressed so hard against his staff that they've gone white.

"Clear as the morning," he answers, his tone full of awe.

Ellen notices Meg with just about as much enthusiasm, managing an impressive glare despite the pain she's in. She takes in the angel blade and the state of her thigh.

"Never thought I'd have a reason to like these bitches," she bites out. But the one that did that to Meg? She thinks she just might. She glances over her shoulder at the sound of an approaching growl. She looks back at Meg, her eyes narrowing. "That blade does the trick?"

Would it be wrong to throw Ellen to the hounds and run? Yes. Yes it would. Very wrong. Normally Meg wouldn't care but since Ellen is one of the squishy meatsacks close to Dean and Meg had some disgusting feelings for Dean that she'd rather not think about, she has to play nice.

Sure is tempting though.

Meg rolls her eyes. "No, it's useless, I was using it to check my reflection." A beat. "Of course it does the trick."

Her eyes flicker black for a moment as the growling grows closer. "Run!"

Meg swiped again, taking down another hellhound, and another, getting her arm torn up in the process before pausing. She wiped the blade on her jeans.

"There will be more. We should run while we can..."

Ellen's eyes narrow at the flash of black, but also at the directive to run. She can't imagine why Meg would have her back, but it fully seems as if she's planning to hold back the hounds with her knife.

"No point," Ellen says, as she hears a growl coming in the only direction she's got to run. "Looks like we're surrounded."

She glances back at Meg, studying her expression. "Forget to feed your pets?"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 2 of 3

You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Day 158. So late.

Never late <3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject