Categories > Games > Silent Hill > Story's End
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Silent Hill. Konami does. We've been through this before. This specific chapter holds a small surprise in it! Moroi Kagyuu and Growl belong to me.
Sin Sear
A SH Fic by Q
Moroi Kagyuu's stomach was pressed flat against the icy, damp floor. Her thin, cloth shirt had ridden up her hips as she scuttled under the hospital gurney, and now bunched just below her breasts. She shifted, tilting her hip up and reaching down to pull the firearm from her pants. After fumbling one handedly for many seconds, her small hands pulled the hammer back with awkwardness. But the hammer clicked quietly into place, and Moroi's eye twitched. Admittedly, Moroi really liked the sound of the gun, and knew she should have not. Guns were dangerous.
Soft thuds, moving in a smooth, rhythmic crescendo, were all but at her nose by the time they fell into their own silence.
"Grace-" Moroi's whole body caught itself in live rigor-mortis, muscles tensing into knots of fear. A click of a door locking in the nearby distance. The girl let a slow, ragged, stale breath pass her lips. As a dull spotlight haloed the blanket curtaining over the gurney, Moroi took note of a pair of large shoes. Men's shoes.
They squeaked against the tile as their owner turned from the bed, and Moroi, curiosity winning over her paranoia, tentatively moved the barrel of the gun to push the sheet aside. The Snailgirl peered at the person, eyes squinting, as all she could make out due to the glare of a small pocket light, was a silhouette.
She suddenly scrunched back into her little den as the figure once again moved towards the gurney.
And there Moroi stayed for nearly three whole minuts...
Then the stained sheet flew off of the bed.
In a blur of ethereal instinct, Moroi shoved the barrel of the firearm towards the feet, raising it to be roughly eye level.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" The usually quiet snail screamed, though she didn't recall screaming it. Moroi scarcely registered the fact that a pair of sleek, ebony barrels were pointed right at her head, even though she could feel the heat, and smell the burning discharge. In an effort to appear threatening, her lip twitched, trying to sculpt itself into a vicious sneer. "Get away from me or I- I'll..."
Moroi purposely let her words fade, knowing that the likelihood of seeing any threat through was minimal. Yet he stepped back, all the same, giving the young girl room to slither out from under the useless bed-fixture. She crawled out with squeaks of skin against tile, as puppy-guts painted her form rather liberally. Somehow, the gun's nose never left its target, even as her now bloodshot, golden eyes skated over his form analytically, twitching with a fervor, assessing the man. Finally her gazed snapped to his, eyes remaining serious and still.
"Who are you..?" She queried, gaze turning sideways at the disheveled young man. It was clear he's been through his own little "Brookhaven Bazaar", yet Moroi didn't recognize his face amongst patients or staff.
"I'm just looking-"
The young girl shook her head quickly, letting out a low sound of displeasure. "nnn!! No." Thin arms spasmed slightly, emphasizing the handgun pointed at Moroi's companion. "Who are you?"
"Please, I'm not going to hurt you...just put the gun down."
"Nneh-heh.." The asian could feel her twitchy lips curve into a sardonic, un-amused smile. Frayed, Moroi could be dangerous, and as much as she feared her own dark side, she knew what she could do. Her feet unrationally tapped out a fleshy, slappy song, just as a self-stableizing tactic. "That's a funny name. Kinda long though."
"My name is Jobe." He finally answered in deadpan, eyes partially lidding flatly.
Moroi looked 'Jobe' down, then up one last critical time, before slowly relaxing her arms and lowering her weapon. Her fingers twitched over it's black metal though, a subconscious indicator to Jobe that she indeed still had it, and was not going to back down, should he decide to snap, as happens so often here in Brookhaven.
"Oh. That's a bit easier to remember." With a smack, Moroi's feet fell still and silenced their tune. "Ok, Jobe, why are you here?" The residual scent of the gunpowder tickled the back of Moroi's throat, but so far, Jobe had left her in peace. Her hand's relaxed some on the gun, and a slightly more characteristically chipper tone seeped into her words.
"My friend an I, we...ran into some trouble." The man nodded his head in the direction of his leg, which was bandaged crudely and hurriedly.
She frowned at the wound, before flicking her look back to Jobe's face. "Where's your friend now?" Those slender, slanted eyes quietly scanned the hall. "They're not here now, are they?" Moroi's narrow shoulders wilted slightly as she noted that no, no one other then herself and Jobe were present.
"No, she's not. I lost her..."
Moroi looked up at the wounded man as she realized his voice drifted into nothingness. Her brows furrowed in empathetic concern. "Are you ok?"
She barely had time to move out of the way before the dark-skinned man collapsed on top of her like a bag of sand.
"Nnn!" She pulled against Jobe's weight, her pointless nails digging into the tile grout and making a valiant effort to give the girl support. Moving in an inch-worm like fashion, the patient strained, worming her way out from under the man. Moroi scrambled to her feet and hissed. Jobe was heavy, and was touching her rear end.
She sighed, gripping onto one of the man's strong shoulders. Tugging with all her little might, Moroi clumsily managed to turn Jobe onto his back. Dutifully, she checked his neck, feeling for any vitals. She gingerly padded her feet onto his chest, perching atop Jobe's ribcage like some sort of curious primate. The girl leaned forward, Jobe's acrid breath ghosting along her stained face and causing her weighed down hair to dance.
A groan emitted from the fallen young man, and Moroi blinked, observing the colour of his eyes as Jobe opened them.
"Are you ok?" She chirped with worry.
"No."
As Jobe rose, Moroi easily hopped off of his chest, offering a hand to help him rise. But her offer was dismissed, and Jobe simply headed for the nearest door. "What's wrong?"
"I was just feeling light-headed, that's all." Jobe yanked the door open, and the mind-splintering yelp it cried as the bottom dragged over the floor made Moroi cringe.
Yet she managed to regain her composure, and made a flippant observation.
"You're worse than that old Mr. Kaprow in M3. . .He's always asleep."
Jobe stopped, hanging onto the door.
"Room M3?" He echoed.
Moroi's eyes opened wide as a carousel, already knowing how this moment was going to progress."I wouldn't go there. Mr. Kaprow hates being disturbed-..." Her voice quivered in apprehension, knowing full well Kaprow's rap sheet. Never mind the fact that 'always asleep' was akin to Torpor, no telling what Hells his Torpor unleashed.
Unfortunately, her warnings fell on deaf ears, and Jobe strode purposefully into the shadows of the hallway. Even flicking on her light gave no hint to where the man had slipped off too.
Feeling rather rejected and needless, Moroi let out a breath of mirrored apathy. Yet for all the dismissive gestures Moroi was just targeted with, she could not entirely help her kind disposition, and wished Jobe well.
"I have a story to find." She muttered indignantly into the blackness. Padding over to the door and gripping its clammy handle, Moroi cast one last look at Jobe's path.
"..I hope you find what you're looking for too, Jobe..."
Tues, July 20th 2004
-Jobe is owned by Wrath and is from the Silent Hill fic "Sins of the Father". Go read it in Wrath's gallery. I don't own Jobe.
Sin Sear
A SH Fic by Q
Moroi Kagyuu's stomach was pressed flat against the icy, damp floor. Her thin, cloth shirt had ridden up her hips as she scuttled under the hospital gurney, and now bunched just below her breasts. She shifted, tilting her hip up and reaching down to pull the firearm from her pants. After fumbling one handedly for many seconds, her small hands pulled the hammer back with awkwardness. But the hammer clicked quietly into place, and Moroi's eye twitched. Admittedly, Moroi really liked the sound of the gun, and knew she should have not. Guns were dangerous.
Soft thuds, moving in a smooth, rhythmic crescendo, were all but at her nose by the time they fell into their own silence.
"Grace-" Moroi's whole body caught itself in live rigor-mortis, muscles tensing into knots of fear. A click of a door locking in the nearby distance. The girl let a slow, ragged, stale breath pass her lips. As a dull spotlight haloed the blanket curtaining over the gurney, Moroi took note of a pair of large shoes. Men's shoes.
They squeaked against the tile as their owner turned from the bed, and Moroi, curiosity winning over her paranoia, tentatively moved the barrel of the gun to push the sheet aside. The Snailgirl peered at the person, eyes squinting, as all she could make out due to the glare of a small pocket light, was a silhouette.
She suddenly scrunched back into her little den as the figure once again moved towards the gurney.
And there Moroi stayed for nearly three whole minuts...
Then the stained sheet flew off of the bed.
In a blur of ethereal instinct, Moroi shoved the barrel of the firearm towards the feet, raising it to be roughly eye level.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" The usually quiet snail screamed, though she didn't recall screaming it. Moroi scarcely registered the fact that a pair of sleek, ebony barrels were pointed right at her head, even though she could feel the heat, and smell the burning discharge. In an effort to appear threatening, her lip twitched, trying to sculpt itself into a vicious sneer. "Get away from me or I- I'll..."
Moroi purposely let her words fade, knowing that the likelihood of seeing any threat through was minimal. Yet he stepped back, all the same, giving the young girl room to slither out from under the useless bed-fixture. She crawled out with squeaks of skin against tile, as puppy-guts painted her form rather liberally. Somehow, the gun's nose never left its target, even as her now bloodshot, golden eyes skated over his form analytically, twitching with a fervor, assessing the man. Finally her gazed snapped to his, eyes remaining serious and still.
"Who are you..?" She queried, gaze turning sideways at the disheveled young man. It was clear he's been through his own little "Brookhaven Bazaar", yet Moroi didn't recognize his face amongst patients or staff.
"I'm just looking-"
The young girl shook her head quickly, letting out a low sound of displeasure. "nnn!! No." Thin arms spasmed slightly, emphasizing the handgun pointed at Moroi's companion. "Who are you?"
"Please, I'm not going to hurt you...just put the gun down."
"Nneh-heh.." The asian could feel her twitchy lips curve into a sardonic, un-amused smile. Frayed, Moroi could be dangerous, and as much as she feared her own dark side, she knew what she could do. Her feet unrationally tapped out a fleshy, slappy song, just as a self-stableizing tactic. "That's a funny name. Kinda long though."
"My name is Jobe." He finally answered in deadpan, eyes partially lidding flatly.
Moroi looked 'Jobe' down, then up one last critical time, before slowly relaxing her arms and lowering her weapon. Her fingers twitched over it's black metal though, a subconscious indicator to Jobe that she indeed still had it, and was not going to back down, should he decide to snap, as happens so often here in Brookhaven.
"Oh. That's a bit easier to remember." With a smack, Moroi's feet fell still and silenced their tune. "Ok, Jobe, why are you here?" The residual scent of the gunpowder tickled the back of Moroi's throat, but so far, Jobe had left her in peace. Her hand's relaxed some on the gun, and a slightly more characteristically chipper tone seeped into her words.
"My friend an I, we...ran into some trouble." The man nodded his head in the direction of his leg, which was bandaged crudely and hurriedly.
She frowned at the wound, before flicking her look back to Jobe's face. "Where's your friend now?" Those slender, slanted eyes quietly scanned the hall. "They're not here now, are they?" Moroi's narrow shoulders wilted slightly as she noted that no, no one other then herself and Jobe were present.
"No, she's not. I lost her..."
Moroi looked up at the wounded man as she realized his voice drifted into nothingness. Her brows furrowed in empathetic concern. "Are you ok?"
She barely had time to move out of the way before the dark-skinned man collapsed on top of her like a bag of sand.
"Nnn!" She pulled against Jobe's weight, her pointless nails digging into the tile grout and making a valiant effort to give the girl support. Moving in an inch-worm like fashion, the patient strained, worming her way out from under the man. Moroi scrambled to her feet and hissed. Jobe was heavy, and was touching her rear end.
She sighed, gripping onto one of the man's strong shoulders. Tugging with all her little might, Moroi clumsily managed to turn Jobe onto his back. Dutifully, she checked his neck, feeling for any vitals. She gingerly padded her feet onto his chest, perching atop Jobe's ribcage like some sort of curious primate. The girl leaned forward, Jobe's acrid breath ghosting along her stained face and causing her weighed down hair to dance.
A groan emitted from the fallen young man, and Moroi blinked, observing the colour of his eyes as Jobe opened them.
"Are you ok?" She chirped with worry.
"No."
As Jobe rose, Moroi easily hopped off of his chest, offering a hand to help him rise. But her offer was dismissed, and Jobe simply headed for the nearest door. "What's wrong?"
"I was just feeling light-headed, that's all." Jobe yanked the door open, and the mind-splintering yelp it cried as the bottom dragged over the floor made Moroi cringe.
Yet she managed to regain her composure, and made a flippant observation.
"You're worse than that old Mr. Kaprow in M3. . .He's always asleep."
Jobe stopped, hanging onto the door.
"Room M3?" He echoed.
Moroi's eyes opened wide as a carousel, already knowing how this moment was going to progress."I wouldn't go there. Mr. Kaprow hates being disturbed-..." Her voice quivered in apprehension, knowing full well Kaprow's rap sheet. Never mind the fact that 'always asleep' was akin to Torpor, no telling what Hells his Torpor unleashed.
Unfortunately, her warnings fell on deaf ears, and Jobe strode purposefully into the shadows of the hallway. Even flicking on her light gave no hint to where the man had slipped off too.
Feeling rather rejected and needless, Moroi let out a breath of mirrored apathy. Yet for all the dismissive gestures Moroi was just targeted with, she could not entirely help her kind disposition, and wished Jobe well.
"I have a story to find." She muttered indignantly into the blackness. Padding over to the door and gripping its clammy handle, Moroi cast one last look at Jobe's path.
"..I hope you find what you're looking for too, Jobe..."
Tues, July 20th 2004
-Jobe is owned by Wrath and is from the Silent Hill fic "Sins of the Father". Go read it in Wrath's gallery. I don't own Jobe.
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