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pennysheets2023-01-17 10:21 pm
fightingevilbymoonknight) wrote in pennysheets2023-01-17 10:21 pm
Entry tags:
At the End of All Things - Marc et al and Daisy
It's been six months since the asteroid punched through the atmosphere over Asia, and left behind the cold, the darkness, and the outbreak. They're calling it an outbreak, but nobody actually knows what it is that's turned two out of three humans and half the animals into weird mutated monsters, whether it's an actual disease or something magic or even something from some dead god attached to the space rock. Or if they have, Marc hasn't heard about it. Even Khonshu doesn't have any answers, on the rare occasions he shows his stupid beak these days. Apparently apocalypses aren't great for gods, even cranky skeletal ones.
The suit still works, though, and Marc and the others have been doing what they can with it. They don't know a damn thing about farming or herding animals or making clothes, but they're nearly indestructible and can get into a lot of places most people can't, to either take out the mutated, rescue idiots who got in over their head, or scavenge for tools. It keeps him fed, anyway, doing work for the enclaves of survivors who do know how to eke out a living from what's left of the land.
Mostly, though, they keep moving. Ever since Layla mutated, despite Taweret's supposed protection, staying in one place feels... wrong. It's too likely someone will realize something's off about them, and without backup that's not safe. Scared people aren't going to take well to a guy who's technically crazy, for all they three of them are getting along okay these days. Also... there's too much of a temptation to get attached. Steven in particular badly wants friends (and a home, and a fireplace, and a bed, and lots of books), but Marc and Jake are, for once, in agreement that it's not a great idea.
There were rumors of another enhanced person outside of the old DC area, though, and nobody could tell them if it's someone helping or hurting the locals, so Marc packed up for another trek through the dim wastelands of the former suburbs, bundled up against the cold since the suit doesn't do much for that, to find out. He's currently sitting on top of the old Lincoln Memorial, which is somehow mostly still standing even if the statue's been smashed to hell and he'd had to clear out a nest of flying, biting things that might once have been bats before it was safe to perch here. Right now he's in his ceremonial armor suit-- it's the warmest of the suits, if also the most ostentatious-- and trying to get a good view of what's left of the city.
"Anybody see anything?" he asks the night air.
(There's some lights in the buildings to the north.)
Steven, of course, looking for signs of people.
(And something's been cracking the ground and digging in the remains to the west.)
Jake, looking for signs of danger. Typical of both of them.
"But no people yet," Marc sighs, and makes to swing down.
The suit still works, though, and Marc and the others have been doing what they can with it. They don't know a damn thing about farming or herding animals or making clothes, but they're nearly indestructible and can get into a lot of places most people can't, to either take out the mutated, rescue idiots who got in over their head, or scavenge for tools. It keeps him fed, anyway, doing work for the enclaves of survivors who do know how to eke out a living from what's left of the land.
Mostly, though, they keep moving. Ever since Layla mutated, despite Taweret's supposed protection, staying in one place feels... wrong. It's too likely someone will realize something's off about them, and without backup that's not safe. Scared people aren't going to take well to a guy who's technically crazy, for all they three of them are getting along okay these days. Also... there's too much of a temptation to get attached. Steven in particular badly wants friends (and a home, and a fireplace, and a bed, and lots of books), but Marc and Jake are, for once, in agreement that it's not a great idea.
There were rumors of another enhanced person outside of the old DC area, though, and nobody could tell them if it's someone helping or hurting the locals, so Marc packed up for another trek through the dim wastelands of the former suburbs, bundled up against the cold since the suit doesn't do much for that, to find out. He's currently sitting on top of the old Lincoln Memorial, which is somehow mostly still standing even if the statue's been smashed to hell and he'd had to clear out a nest of flying, biting things that might once have been bats before it was safe to perch here. Right now he's in his ceremonial armor suit-- it's the warmest of the suits, if also the most ostentatious-- and trying to get a good view of what's left of the city.
"Anybody see anything?" he asks the night air.
(There's some lights in the buildings to the north.)
Steven, of course, looking for signs of people.
(And something's been cracking the ground and digging in the remains to the west.)
Jake, looking for signs of danger. Typical of both of them.
"But no people yet," Marc sighs, and makes to swing down.