[It’s down, it’s fine. August leaves this room for the next and Wendy wanders a bit closer to the way he exited, still keeping an eye on the crumpled remains on the floor despite everything. Not wanting to get too close. He’ll be right back. He’s just a few feet away.
She turns her attention to the statue she’d been eyeballing before and -]
Hey August? [Wendy raises her voice, calling to him in the next room over. She approaches with careful steps.] I think I found something… [A big piece of paper, all rolled up and sticking out from a jar She grabs for it, gingerly removes it. Y’know - because places like this… they tend to have traps. Or whatever. In the movies, anyway. Why not extend the logic here?
She looks away from the open doorway entirely for the moment, busying herself with starting to unroll the - is this a map? Floor plan? Blueprints? She squints at the page, tilting it a few directions as more of the design is revealed to her.
And that’s when she realizes her mistake. Their mistake. The thing that was left for dead on the floor - it’s not on the floor anymore. The pool of blood is still there and it’s trailed through it, fresh footprints making a bee-line straight for her.]
AUGUST!!
[She screams and there’s a smashing noise as Wendy uses all her strength she didn’t know she had to push the statue down to the floor - anything to delay the second-time-reanimated corpse from reaching her. The statue is huge, much bigger than her - and heavier. She struggles with her first few attempts, gets frustrated and curses under her breath, but ultimately succeeds in tipping it over.
Why did it get back up? How did it get back up? Remove the head or destroy the brain and that’s it. No more zombie. That’s how it usually works, right? That’s how it’s always been. Unless - man-made. What she entertained before. Something involving a virus. That probably did this to this poor person.
Wendy’s head whips around, eyes desperately scanning for anything that could be used as a weapon as she backs away from danger. Key in pocket - that’s nothing. Map or blueprint currently crumpled in her stressed out, iron-clad grip - also nothing (but potentially something in terms of helping their escape… if… that… happens at this point in time). The table’s way over there - useless. Statue already smashed. She’s going to feel sore after that muscle strain.
Does she start running? She’s gonna start running. And try not to cry. This is bad.]
no subject
She turns her attention to the statue she’d been eyeballing before and -]
Hey August? [Wendy raises her voice, calling to him in the next room over. She approaches with careful steps.] I think I found something… [A big piece of paper, all rolled up and sticking out from a jar She grabs for it, gingerly removes it. Y’know - because places like this… they tend to have traps. Or whatever. In the movies, anyway. Why not extend the logic here?
She looks away from the open doorway entirely for the moment, busying herself with starting to unroll the - is this a map? Floor plan? Blueprints? She squints at the page, tilting it a few directions as more of the design is revealed to her.
And that’s when she realizes her mistake. Their mistake. The thing that was left for dead on the floor - it’s not on the floor anymore. The pool of blood is still there and it’s trailed through it, fresh footprints making a bee-line straight for her.]
AUGUST!!
[She screams and there’s a smashing noise as Wendy uses all her strength she didn’t know she had to push the statue down to the floor - anything to delay the second-time-reanimated corpse from reaching her. The statue is huge, much bigger than her - and heavier. She struggles with her first few attempts, gets frustrated and curses under her breath, but ultimately succeeds in tipping it over.
Why did it get back up? How did it get back up? Remove the head or destroy the brain and that’s it. No more zombie. That’s how it usually works, right? That’s how it’s always been. Unless - man-made. What she entertained before. Something involving a virus. That probably did this to this poor person.
Wendy’s head whips around, eyes desperately scanning for anything that could be used as a weapon as she backs away from danger. Key in pocket - that’s nothing. Map or blueprint currently crumpled in her stressed out, iron-clad grip - also nothing (but potentially something in terms of helping their escape… if… that… happens at this point in time). The table’s way over there - useless. Statue already smashed. She’s going to feel sore after that muscle strain.
Does she start running? She’s gonna start running. And try not to cry. This is bad.]