caughtinflight:

The people before her are certainly a curious bunch: a friendly man of middle-eastern descent and young appearance; a pink-haired, sleepy looking young woman; and lastly, the woman of tidy appearance who had served as a beacon with her voice. The four of them stood there; an odd, varied group, it could be said at the very least.

Introduce ourselves? Kes thought about that. It would be nice to share some names, to at least familiarize herself with something somehow. And meeting these new people seemed to be a fun idea, if anything; Kes could always be a bit bubbly, even in a situation like this. Chewing on the thought of sharing names, she concocted one of sorts for herself to use just for this purpose.

“You can call me Mercury! Merc, for short.” There was genuine cheer in her voice and an authentic smile on her face. It was fairly difficult to get her down in the dumps. She raised her arm and showed the other three her bracelet, the [ 1 ] burning hot in bright red on its reflective face. “Uh, that’s a nickname. I figure, y’know, since we don’t seem to know a lot about what’s going on, it’s as good as anything to go by.”

Mercury, the planet closest to the Sun. The first planet, among its other usages. It seemed suitable enough, a plausible mock name considering the [ 1 ] she had been given. Glancing at the bracelets the others were wearing, it seemed they all had numbers of their own as well.

Huh, that other lady seemed pretty offended by her question— the lady with the 4 bracelet? Well it’s not like Bernie was trying to be rude… ah, misunderstandings. She would have explained herself, had the taller guy not interrupted with his weird footsteps— they threw off the rhythm in her head. She loses her concentration, wandering off towards the staircase until she’s drawn back to the conversation by the tall guy with the 1 bracelet.

“I don’t know,” he says brightly, “if we were kidnapped by serial killers I think we’d already be dead.”

“Yeah, probably—” she rocked back on her heels, fiddling with her fingers as her eyes wandered skyward. “But what if we’re really all mice, and the serial killers are actually cats? Ah, but it was probably the janitor… or the butler, it’s always the service staff in the movies…”

She noticeably trails off, color draining from her already pale face and a fist coiled tight to her stomach until the four are called to introduce themselves. ‘Merc’, huh? She craned her head a little to see the bracelet face as ‘Merc’ flashed the number— she was a 1 like the tall guy too? Bernie examined her own bracelet, tapping idly at the 9 emblazoned on it.

“Hey, hey, I wanna be Beacon. See, I have a [9].” She rolled up her pink striped sleeve, thrusting her arm in the middle of the conversation in progress. “It kind of looks like a lighthouse light… if a lighthouse light looked like a 9— and it kinda sounds like bacon.”

(Source: pearlsbe4swine)

pearlsbe4swine:

The satisfaction of her flawlessly executed (in her opinion) escape is dampened quite a bit by the seemingly endless and incredibly ominous hallway before her. She begins with a start, but eventually her curiousity catches up with her and shes observing the strangely marked doors that line the hallway.

They aren’t much different from the one that she came out of aside from the letter haphazardly marked on their faces. All these rooms.. did that mean there were more people here?

It’s at that exact moment that the sound of footsteps reach her ears. She tenses, hand curling into a fist instinctively.

“H-Hello..?” She calls towards the other end of the dimly lit hallway. No, that wouldn’t do. “Who’s there?!” This time her voice is more confident— despite the fact that she was currently in the process of possibly emptying her bladder right then and there.

And they were squeaking, one-footed rubber footsteps— hopping as she struggled to ‘reequip’ her boot, as it were. She pauses, settling her heel into the heel of the boot, tapping her new toy on the walls as she responds to the echoes down the hallway.

“Probably monsters,” She said airily, “or serial killers— but otherwise it’s just me.”

“Who’s there?” Bernadette parroted back, inflection turning to turn the question back at Marjorie— an empty, sleepy stare met the other woman’s gaze.

Ow.

Tiny, fragile fingers wormed into Bernadette’s hair, worrying her at first until she finally realized that they were her own tiny fingers. She groaned, once, gingerly pressing the small bump on the back of her head— was it this that woke her up? The pain here, or was it the pain there…? No, that was a long time ago. It was probably the pain here.

Was she seated in that chair, above her? Probably, yeah. The snag in her sweater and the matching yarn caught in the wood of the chair suggested the very thing. Bernie stood, dusted her jeans (despite all of the muck on her pants already, but what’s a little dust on top of ash and mud?), and glanced about the room, taking note of the view.

Two beds, a sink, and a shelf? Somebody’s living pretty high.

She shot a furrowed, confused look at the shelf, walking over and reaching up high for the briefcase on top. Sleeves slid down, and there was her bracelet, bare on her wrist. Hm— it looked neat. She clicked the button, out of curiosity, raising an eyebrow at the numbers. 27 WP was interesting, but it wasn’t as interesting as the shock white lettering on the watch. It was a rare color for digital displays.

She brushed it off as she reached into the briefcase, retrieving the information and reading it over. If she’s trying to escape this room, she wonders idly if she’s going to need to defend herself… but the thought soon disappears from her head, as she examines the door. She wonders, idly again, if she could break the key card mechanism— looking for the cards that the digital root sheet mentioned sounds like such a chore… none of the stuff in this room is actually hers, she could probably smash something to use to smash the machine, right?

She walks to the bunk bed, wrapping a hand around the pole, cold metal. It could probably smash something really good, if she could break it. It looked nice and rusty.

She grabbed one pole, and then the other, and jumped, swinging into the little jailbar headboard of the bottom bunk, metal creaking and a loose bar or two popping out of their frames. She continued to spring off the headboard, the bed rocking like someone was having a lot of fun. Eventually, she knocked out a good sized rod of metal, and made her dismount, only to knock the entire bunk bed off balance, sending it smashing to the floor.

Oops.

She sloppily rights it, the heavy thing, and makes her way over to the card mechanism, stopping to spare a dismissive, confused glance to another briefcase on the floor. She kicked it out of the way with a boot.

Speaking of boots, she removes one, after searching her pockets for a pair of yellow rubber gloves— a must when dealing with live electronics, and especially when you’re going to be driving a metal stake into them. She wraps the boot around the rod, winds up, and drives it into the panel.

The lock breaks— or overloads, or something, she doesn’t have time to look at the inner workings, really— and she kicks open the door with her bare foot, walking with a “ooh, cold” limp into the hallway.