there's a monster at the end of this post

[ewestmarch]

Who: New arrivals and you.
What: Moving in
When: Monday
Where: On the grounds of the resort
Notes & Warnings: Maggots and gore.

The smell of formaldehyde is overpowering in the main atrium. Jeffers has three robots scrubbing patiently at the brown stains on the marble, undoubtedly the source.

The trail of dripping, roughly discernible as dragging bipedal footprints, winds around the halls and amenities. Parts of the walls are scraped in its path, lamps knocked off the tables. Flies buzz. Maggots squirm in the carpeting. Judging by the size, whatever made the footprints can't have been less than twelve feet tall.

At the end of the trail is a short, skinny woman perched in an armchair with her datapad. She is papery and dessicated, wearing wool and leather embroidered with black. The source of the dripping is nowhere in sight.

Comments

[andiwillfollow]

Charon had noticed the stench on one of his patrols, stopping briefly to glance at the three robots crouched on the floor scrubbing away. When he noticed the trail he instinctively followed it, not sure what to expect as he spotted the scratched walls, the flies, the maggots in the carpeting. He's seen some gruesome things -- hell, he is a gruesome thing, so it's not as if he's disturbed by it any. It was just a strange sight in a place like this. Inside the resort, anyway.

When he spots the woman he doesn't say anything straight away, walking towards her until he stops only a few feet away, taking in her appearance. She looked like she was going through the beginning stages of ghoulification, almost. He doesn't seem particularly bothered or surprised, but given he's a six foot rotting monstrosity himself, it's not surprising.

When he finally speaks, his abnormally gruff and gravely voice sounds more cautious than anything. "What happened here?"

Though he can guess where the maggots and flies came from, the lamps and damage to the walls made it seem like some sort of scuffle occurred.

[ewestmarch]

The woman looks up, startled, which quickly evolves into outright wariness. Her eyes are luminous yellow. She clears her throat then annunciates something carefully into her journal in a guttural language.

"I don't understand," it squawks in Jeffers' cheerful tones.

[andiwillfollow]

The eyes remind him a bit of the irradiated glow of some ghouls -- the "Glowing Ones". Charon watches as she writes something down, expecting her to hold it up for him to read since he clearly can't understand her. But as the journal speaks, the muscles where his brows would be if he had any rose slightly.

"Did you do this?"

He points back towards the general mess of the area, not sure what she's not understanding.

[ewestmarch]

She rasps irritably and scrawls with a stylus this time instead of dictating - then stands, gathers her skirts, and thrusts the journal and stylus at Charon.

It's a translator, says the journal in neat print underneath her scratchy handwriting. I don't know what the hell you are saying. Write.

oops i can read i swear

[andiwillfollow]

It's Charon's turn to make an irritated grumble of a noise when the journal and stylus are shoved at him. He takes the stylus and journal, scribbling something down in a hurry -- not that he had anywhere he needed to be urgently, but he was still on duty (when is he not, really?) and he just wanted to know what happened.

He holds it back out to her. His handwriting isn't very neat, but it's legible.

What happened here? It's a damn mess, it says.

sorry for the delay, irl emergencies

[ewestmarch]

Emilia takes the pad back, reads it and snorts - look who's talking - then holds up her new message for him to see.

He said it wasn't a problem. Are you with the Dark Lady?

no problem!

[andiwillfollow]

"The dark lady"? Charon can't tell if that's a description or some kind of title. He grabs the stylus and doesn't bother taking the pad since she's holding it up anyway, and writes something down.

Don't know who you're talking about. I'm security.

[ewestmarch]

"Sir ras wo-"

She snarls, pulls the pad closer and scribbles - Not Forsaken? What world? - then pushes it back.

[andiwillfollow]

Charon stares for a second, trying to decipher what the hell she's asking. He's already not the smartest tool in the shed, trying to figure out what the hell this woman wants to know is frustrating. What world are they on? Does she not know? He mutters in frustration, whatever he's saying not really clear enough to understand as he scribbles his reply down.

What the hell are you asking?

[ewestmarch]

She glares a hole in him before underlining What world? with a little more force than necessary.