29: [Audio] Counting Bodies Like Sheep
All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy.
He types because he can. Not to send, just...to type. Dean isn't sure when it really started. Maybe when he woke up. Maybe it was always there. Maybe it's just cabin fever, the stress of being stuck in one place for too long. Being trapped. Trapped. Trapped.
All work and no play makes Dean a ( Read more... )
He types because he can. Not to send, just...to type. Dean isn't sure when it really started. Maybe when he woke up. Maybe it was always there. Maybe it's just cabin fever, the stress of being stuck in one place for too long. Being trapped. Trapped. Trapped.
All work and no play makes Dean a ( Read more... )
...At least Philip really hopes that that's the reason why she doesn't pick up. ]
Hey, um... Evie, it's me, Philip. I went to the dining hall with Dean, if you're not safe with somebody else-- Um, just call back when you- when you get this, all right? I hope you're all right.
Reply
Setting his bag on the table, expression and tone of voice calm, mild, surgical, Dean peruses the contents and asks:]
D'you think she'll be okay? Defending herself, I mean.
[He rather doubts it.
Ax, Bowie, stiletto, Butterfly knife, machete...He already gave his first machete away to the Medicine Seller, his partner in crime, who is likely wreaking havoc somewhere else at the moment.
It's so hard to decide what he wants to use first.]
Reply
Maybe she isn't even alone. And she's good with a bat. [ He laughs weakly. ] At least I hope she is, but...
[ But then again, she's already put too much faith into somebody who has confessed to being part wolf, so to speak. It doesn't bode well for the healthy dose of paranoia Philip believes everyone should have.
And as he trails off he realises that this is not a train of thought he wants to buy a ticket for, so he concludes with determination: ]
She'll be fine.
[ And now to business, so he can get out of here and find her... and Daniel as soon as possible. ]
...Anyway, do we still need to do anything? Move the tables or... or something?
Reply
Nah, leave 'em.
[And speaking of shotguns...
Dean pulls his out, cocks it, aims at Philip's chest, and fires.]
Reply
In one instant Philip turns to ask whether Daniel wrote back yet and in the next he falls back hard, crashing into the chair before he hits the floor, searing pain sealing a scream inside his bleeding chest. ]
{ Whoa, whoa, whoa. Low blow there, monkey! }
[ Gasping for air in quiet agony Philip isn't sure what hurts more, the betrayal or--
...No, actually he's pretty sure. It's the rock salt. Right now it's deeefinitely the rock salt. Ow. ]
Reply
Deftly, he flips it open and twirls it around his hand before it snaps into place. Crouching next to Philip, Dean pats the flat of the blade against his dear friend's cheek.]
Rise and shine, sweetheart.
[Dean contemplates the expression of pain on Philip's face for a moment before allowing a - pardon the term, but - wolfish grin to stretch across his own.]
Stings, doesn't it? [A sympathetic nod.] Don't worry, I'll make sure to use real bullets when I shoot your lady friend. Dan...well, he might get special treatment, too.
Reply
Don't...
[ The situation comes to him in fragments, but the pieces refuse to connect. There is-- something he doesn't even want to think about, God, please don't let him think about it and Evie and Dan are in danger and judging by the shaking he must not be particularly well either and something else, details, don't want them, just-- Just reach for the revolver.
His other hand reaches down to his belt. ]
Reply
[He inquires mildly, tracing a thin red cut down Philip's jaw with the knife.]
It won't take long, I'll go easy on them. Salt and burn. We have a furnace in the basement, don't w- Ah ah ah...
[The staccato sounds are amused, reprimanding, and Dean slides his free hand up under a bloody sweater, fingers wrapping around the handle of Philip's gun.]
I'll take that. Can't have you plugging me with lead, can we? [He pulls it free and tucks it into the back of his own jeans.] Little pig, little pig, you didn't even think before letting me in, did you?
[Dean chuckles, gripping Philip's shirt and yanking him closer, leaning in to murmur in his ear.]
How do you want them to die? I'll let you pick.
Reply
[ The pain from the shot slowly ebbs away and Philip is left with a situation that should be clear-cut (much like that line across his face, really).
The mansion made them into rabbits and wolves. Dean ended up a wolf.
...Only the last time they were subjected to such cruel casting Philip was allowed to play a part as well.
It's for that reason he fails- he refuses to comprehend. If he didn't feel any different, if he wasn't aware of the game, of being a rabbit, then how... then why is it so different for Dean?
It's for that reason he does what he does best when an ugly thought rears its head. ]
It's not real, it can't be real.
[ Deny everything and blame it all on Clarence. ]
Can't be real, it's not... not happening, it's not happening, it's not real...
[ The virus regained his abilities it seems. And Philip was worried, nervous. He let his guard down ( ... )
Reply
[Flipping the knife back in, Dean leans away and stands up as Philip does the same, shakily. His famous crooked, charming smile is back as he rests his hands on his hips, shaking his head.]
Phil, Phil, Phil. All work and no play makes Philip a dull boy.
[Something about his grin twitches and shifts, and he moves to the table to rustle through his blades again. The ax does nicely. Hefting it, Dean moves closer predatorily.]
I don't...really like to play with my food, not really, no, it's not- It's just not my thing, y'know? I wish we could chat longer, but I wanted to have a friend for dinner.
Reply
Everything else would be the bad news and his blood (the quantity not soaking his sweater at any rate) chills at the thought that this is actually happening. ]
{ Oh good, so you're done puttin' it all on me, now what say we two book it, unless you wanna try your luck and appeal to Mister Torrance's reason? }
Dean, it's- it's just the event, you don't want-- Dean, please--
[ But if Philip had anything else to say then it gets stuck in his throat the moment he looks up to see Dean advancing with an axe.
He stumbles back, looking frantically for something to use as a weapon. Because words, as the knot in his stomach informs him helpfully, are probably not going to cut it after all.
(But Dean's axe will, if he doesn't find a way out of this stat.) ]
Reply
[He shrugs, tone light and conversational.]
I want a lotta things, but right now? Right now we should take this slow. What's your hurry?
[The ax swings at his side like a pendulum, and Dean follows Philip down through the aisle of tables with the air of a man who has all the time in the world.]
All good things to those who wait.
[Toying with Philip is more of an additional amusement, if anything, but he might as well make this moderately challenging. It isn't fun when they don't even fight back.]
Reply
[ It's a voiced thought rather than a genuine request, not one he expects Dean to oblige at any rate.
But the talking is the worst.
A bloodthirsty killer he can live with (or not), but Dean who still looks like Dean, Dean who pulls the same references, the same ridiculous puns, only now--
If meeting Clarence was anything like that then he has to wonder how Tim, Daniel and Dean could possibly stand to stay friends with him after it.
Yet another step back.
The shotgun is lying on the table. He doesn't trust himself to speed forward and grab it, but maybe if he backs down further and circles around to the other side of the table he can get to it.
Or maybe he won't even have to. ]
{Nope, pretty sure you will. Heard him lock the door while you're on the phone, so unless you can break that thing down before he catches up... }
[ Philip takes back another step. And another. And another... ]
Reply
[Manic, ax gaining momentum, he tests his memory.]
Fee.
[A step.]
Fi.
[Another step.]
Fo.
[And another.]
Fum.
[He jerks his head to the side, cracking his neck. There's an audible POP.]
I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive or be he dead-
[Dean lifts the ax and snarls, bolting forwards.]
I'll crush his bones to make my bread.
Reply
With relief he smiles at the lucky dodge, until he realises that the pain in his chest has little to do with the sudden shock and everything to do with the gash Dean's axe left there.
It's not very deep would be a fortunate discovery, were it not for his left arm which took most of the blow.
(He knows because it refuses to move when he tries to bring it up to inspect the wound.)
Mind, none of those things register in order or detail. All Philip has to go by is the cold pain and teeth clenched together tightly in his stubborn refusal to let the agonised groan that escapes his throat turn into a scream.
And then it all but stops and there is a peculiar numbness where the throbbing of his wounds should be.
He remembers the feeling. And it's not a good sign.
Eyes wide Philip lunges forward and pulls at a chair with his good hand, half slamming half throwing it towards the hunter before swaying, swaying and running like hell.
Reply
[Dean exclaims gleefully as his ax hits home, slicing deep into Philip's forearm. He almost felt that one himself, it was so satisfying.]
Now hold still, you're like a goddamn jackrabbiiiihhhhahhahahahaahahaha!
[Laughing hysterically at his own horrible joke, he lifts the weapon up to take another swing when Philip lurches in and grabs a chair. He slam-dunks it like Michael Jordan back when he was a part of the Chicago Bulls, and Dean isn't sure whether it's wood splintering or one of his ribs.]
Reply
Leave a comment