redshiftrp | video; @Qubit

[With his eyes still locked on the ground -- as they have been the entire walk over -- Carlisle responds, his voice hushed and hurried as though it, too, were trying to hide from the open sky and the burning suns and the stinging sands pelting his radiation suit.]

N- no. No we do not. There are markets, but there is- there is nothing remarkable about them. I would not describe them as s- 'super' in any way.

[As they near the building, he picks up his pace, eager to get inside -- or maybe just to the building itself. He passes Qubit with a few quick steps, pressing a hand to the wall as he reaches it as though to test its tangibility before putting his back to it a second later. He sighs audibly, grateful for its existence -- and for the way it blocks some of his view of the rest of this miserable, barren world.]

[ Qubit waits nearby, keeping an eye on him. Good lord, the poor bastard's nothing but nerves. He'll give Carlisle a moment to collect himself - assuming he'll actually be able to. It could be dicey if he decides to have a panic attack in combat. (Because panic attacks are a thing you decide to have, I guess.) ]

... You going to be all right?

[Carlisle closes his eyes, taking several seconds to piece his composure back together; when he opens them, his gaze is affixed on the ground once more, focusing on it as though it'd anchor him. It's easier to handle what's there rather than what's not. He utters between slow, methodical breaths, his words quick so they'll fit in the gap:]

It's too open.

[Maybe he's reminding himself of that more than explaining it to Qubit, but either way, it does help give him direction that isn't "stay there and stave off panic for as long as possible."]

I'll be fine once inside. After you.

[Just show him the door, and he's ready to bolt.]

[ He's agoraphobic? Well, now Qubit feels a little shitty for inflicting that on him, but there's not much they can do about it now. ]

Ah, sorry. Didn't realize. [ And he'll promptly show him the way to the automatic door. It's actually switched off at the moment - he did that himself, last time, to prevent anything from roaming outside - so he slides it open manually. ] Next time we can take one of the vehicles, if you prefer. Though I'm not sure you'd enjoy that much more...

[ Once they're inside, he pushes the door shut behind them. Welcome to Whole Foods Market! For a mercy, the place still has power, somehow, so at least they won't be fighting zombies in the dark. The lights are on, and some indistinct, tinny music can be heard from overhead. It's some 80s indie track, not a song Qubit knows. ]

[The second Qubit gets that door open (and what a peculiar door it is), Carlisle slides inside, taking another deep breath as his companion closes the entrance behind them. He is equal parts relieved and confused as he reads the letters emblazoned on the wall to himself:]

'Whole Foods Market.'

[His body is still trembling as he takes a gander at the words toward his left, etched near the ceiling above some illuminated shelves:]

'Organic Produce.' As opposed to... hm.

[Deciding he doesn't like the implication of what else there is besides organic produce, he cuts his thoughts off there, instead deciding to answer Qubit's suggestion.]

Right. Vehicles. Let's... consider our exit options once we are done here. I think I'd rather not dwell on our journey, if that's all right with you.

Edited 2019-09-11 22:44 (UTC)

Fine by me. [ Worst comes to worst, he can always wheel you back in a shopping cart, right? ]

It's as opposed to inorganic produce, obviously. The kind made from rocks.

[ That's a joke. Look, he's all for sustainable farming and fair trade, but the ubiquitous "organic" label is nonsense, and what Whole Foods really sells is elitism. He would be even saltier if he knew about the Amazon buyout. The idea of looting the place is oddly cathartic.

But first, zombies! There aren't any right by the door, thankfully, so he slips into one of the checkout lanes to scout out the main aisle, keeping his voice low. ]

Looks like just a couple of them milling around at the deli, on this end. Last time I was here most of them were bunched up toward the back, so that may be the case again.

[Carlisle gives Qubit a scrutinizing look, unsure if that's a joke or a half-truth; his tone says he jests, given Carlisle is an undead who has been dragged into a wasteland of a world filled with terrifying technology, he's not about to make that assumption with 100% certainty.

He looks over Qubit's shoulder, trying to get an eye on the undead for himself. Indeed there are a couple of shamblers at the far end; he moves along the aisles himself, trying to pick out more. He can sense them around with his magic, but all he hears is near-silence, any footsteps largely covered by the music.]

Another over here. And one that seems to have reached from one aisle to the other, only to get stuck.

[He digs into his bag for supplies, pulling out some chalk.]

If there aren't very many, we can deal with them one by one. Otherwise, it might be best to get them all into one area to destroy them with a glyph.

[ Hah. Dumbass zombie's got his top half stuck in the crisps. Okay but for real- ]

I haven't gone close enough for a headcount, but there're at least a few dozen. Could be more in the stockroom. How many can you take out at once?

However many I can fit in the glyph.

[He looks down to the floor, trying to gauge the space, the chalk in his fingers moving as he mentally draws the circle before him. Pushing a few carts out of the way gives him more room; he tries to shove a display, but it doesn't budge. Guess that's all the room he's getting for now.]

Assuming they're all standing—

[He crouches to draw out a wide circle on the floor -- it's more of an oval, and one with a few crooked bits, as his hands are still shaking -- but it'll do.]

As many will fit in there. Ten, maybe twelve. The energy required shouldn't... be a problem.

[Shouldn't. It wouldn't have been before, given he was still alive. However, now he'll be working with a glyph that harnesses the type of magic used to kill undeads, and he is one presently... but he won't actually be in the glyph, so...?

Hm. Maybe he should have considered this before agreeing to come out here. He can curse his lack of foresight and desperate need for any semblance of his old life later. As for now, it's nothing ventured, nothing gained, he supposes.]

[ Qubit puts a hand to his chin, thinking. The tricky thing in that case is the capacity - even if Carlisle can reuse the same glyph multiple times, he's not fully confident he can pull ten without pulling them all. He might be able to bait the ones outside the main cluster in ones and twos, but that's barely more efficient than just sniping them. ]

What if we set up a series of these along this main aisle? Anything that doesn't fit in the first one, you can take out with the second, and so on.

[ Depends on how long they take to set up, though, and how rapidly he can trigger them in succession. And also the zombies might trip over their fallen brethren, if the bodies aren't vaporized... but is that a bug or a feature? ]

[Carlisle glances down the main aisle, trying to picture funneling them through it.]

A novel idea, actually. Granted I can draw them all before we start luring them toward the aisle... and on that note, how are we going to go about baiting them this way?

[He knows the obvious answer, but would vastly prefer not to risk their hides -- or Qubit's hide, rather. He's well aware of how little interest the undead take in him... or how little they used to when he was alive. He can't imagine they'll be any more interested now that he's not.]

[ The obvious answer has also occurred to Qubit, don't worry. ]

They seem to respond to sound, so a loud enough noise ought to get their attention. [ Normally he could just gut a cash register or two and slap together whatever they need, but if he's not careful he could put himself out of commission at the worst possible moment. So he shrugs. ] If we can't find anything suitable, I could always run up and yell at them.

I would prefer my escort in this awful world not risk his life, lest I have to walk myself back to the Anchor. [And they both know how well that would likely go.

His eyes flick to Qubit, a moment of guilt flashing across him.] I... should admit now that they are likely to take no interest in me.

[ Pfft. Well, at least he's honest about his motives.

That admission prompts a raised eyebrow. Why wouldn't they take interest? One noisemaker's as good as another, right? Unless...

He has a pretty strong hunch about the answer, but he asks anyway. ] No? Why's that?

[Annnd he averts his eyes, fumbling with the chalk between his fingers, getting dust on his gloves.]

I cannot say for certain —[well, he could now]— but I have my guesses. I... I have an affliction that is said to taint the aura of the affected, among other things. I believe this makes me imperceptible to them in some way, as when I have neared them before, they paid me no heed. That, or perhaps they thought me not worth the effort.

[But given how mindless they are, he doubts that. At least all of what he says is technically true, even if he leaves out a vital part toward the end. The twice-cursed are said to have an aural taint, and he has been largely ignored by shamblers when faced with them in his work. He finds himself as reluctant to talk about his current status as one of them as he was of his curse when he was alive; however, given their current undertaking and the fact Qubit might be putting himself in danger because of it... well, even he realizes that full disclosure might be best.

Or partial disclosure, in this case. Selective disclosure.]

Edited 2019-09-13 08:00 (UTC)

[ Qubit folds his arms. That explanation conspicuously fails to disprove his hunch - that Carlisle's "affliction" is a bad case of the undeath - and in fact rather supports it. He's dealt with the reanimated dead on a few occasions, and one of those odd truth-in-television details is that, pretty consistently, they recognize or at least ignore members of their own "species."

But he won't press the issue right now. Even if it does turn out Carlisle's a walking corpse or something, what's relevant at the moment is what it means for the plan. ]

All right. So if this goes pear-shaped, you may not be able to draw them off me. [ He takes a more thorough look around, weighing his options. The lone zombie down one of the aisles, apparently noticing him, starts shambling their way; Qubit shoulders his laser gun and aims down the sights at it. ] May not be necessary, though, I think I can stay ahead of this lot. One second.

[ He fires! It does make a sound, but not a loud one, just a reasonable pew pew. It takes two shots to the head to drop the thing - not ideal - but it does drop, and the others don't seem to notice anything amiss. ]

[Carlisle, having been looking elsewhere to examine their options in tandem with Qubit, doesn't see him draw his weapon; the blast may just be a reasonable pew pew, but it's still a surprise for the skittish clergyman. He jumps backwards with all the energy of a spooked cat, but none of the grace, stumbling into the display he'd tried to push earlier. Walnuts from the stand go clattering to the floor, their uneven shapes giving them unpredictable trajectories as they bounce and roll in every direction.

He looks from the walnuts on the floor to the undeads in sight, and only one from the "Organic Produce" section seems to have noticed. No wait, two. Three as another comes out from around one of the aisles. Oh dear.]

Right. I'll draw, you distract.

[With that, he darts to the center aisle and crouches, scribbling with his chalk. In good news, he's well-practiced at writing this particular glyph, and despite the unsteadiness of his hand, it should work. The main problem is he needs to draw several of these, and he's not sure how long it'll be until more undeads notice their presence.]

Edited 2019-09-14 03:20 (UTC)

[ The sudden clattering doesn't startle Qubit as badly as he startled Carlisle, but to be fair, that's a pretty low bar to clear. He whirls to look, but then drops his shoulders, shooting the man an exasperated look. Really? ]

Well, that narrows our options a bit.

[ Nothing for it now, though. He walks briskly toward the three zombies, planning as he goes. Really, all he has to do is keep them out of the way for a minute or two, yeah? That should be fairly easy - as predicted, they're already paying no attention to Carlisle, fixating on Qubit exclusively. He could probably just shoot them, but with only a couple dozen shots and no way to reload, that's best saved for a real emergency.

Before they get too close, he makes up his mind and climbs one of the shelving units. It's a bit tricky in radiation gear, and it's not the most stable perch, but it holds him. Just in time, too; by the time he's situated, the trio of zombies are already congregated around the endcap, snarling ineffectually and swiping upwards at him. ]

That's right, eyes on me. - Or "eye," in your case. [ Since one of them is missing one. ]

[One sigil. Evocation. He moves to the next: Reparation. Then to the third and the fourth, all with measured movements: he has done this before, knows this particular glyph by heart. His circles may be wobbly and uneven, but when it comes to their contents, he cannot help but relax as he works more from muscle memory than conscious thought. This world and his undead form are unfamiliar, but this? This is what he's used to. For the brief moment he is working, he feels like himself again.

Of the three zombies gnashing their teeth at Qubit, one suddenly stops, the feral wrath dissipating from his expression. Whatever hunger motivated him seems gone, his arms dropping to his sides. Several seconds later, a second one follows suit, no longer interested in Qubit in favor of... just standing there. Eyeball continues to gnash his teeth, and flail uselessly at his prey, but the other two loiter nearby, having seemingly forgotten what drew them over there in the first place.

Carlisle finishes his glyphs, four identical sets of circles and symbols lining the main aisle. Straightening up, he tucks his chalk away, giving his handiwork one more lookover before he turns his attention to his companion, polite worry weaving into his brow.]

Are you all right up there?

[Eyeball continues to hiss and spit at Qubit, but the other two turn toward Carlisle's voice, their heads lolling left and right as they try to detect the source of the sound. Though he's standing well within their visual range, they seem unable to determine where he is, as predicted.]

[ At first, the zombies losing interest is worrying - but when all they do is go idle, he tentatively relaxes. He debates provoking them again, but there's really no need. He's safe enough up here for the moment, and they aren't going after Carlisle. Odd that it's only two of them, though. Why's Eyeball behaving differently?

Well, he'll keep an eye on them. It's not as if undead behavior is his area of expertise. He keeps half an eye on Carlisle's work, too, though. It's interesting in its own way, despite his generalized distaste for magic. By all the laws of nature, those sigils ought to have no more power than a child's sidewalk doodles - but he's seen similar rituals bring about real, measurable effects far too many times to dismiss them.

Offhand, he finds himself wondering how Carlisle's glyphs might compare to Reynir's runes? Not that he'd expect them to follow anything like the same logic, since magic is wildly inconsistent by definition, but still...

... Oh, he's done. That was quick. ]

Never better. [ His knees aren't crazy about how he's kneeling up here, but whatever. ] You're done? Just in time, I think these two are getting bored.

Edited 2019-09-19 05:07 (UTC)

[Carlisle tucks his chalk away, dusting off his hands as he meanders over. 'Bored' is an apt description of the pair loitering near the shelves, whatever interest they had in Qubit seemingly gone as they idle beside their one-eyed companion.]

I don't believe they're capable of being bored, but they certainly do look the part.

[He flexes his fingers, raising his hands as he figures out where best to place them. What was once quick work for him -- dispatching the undead through use of his healing arts -- now makes him nervous, as he's not sure what the outcome will be given his current state. He suspects unpleasant for all parties involved.

He steels himself with a breath. Better to figure this out now rather than in a real emergency. He sets a hand upon the neck of one of the bored shamblers, bringing his palm to rest along the nape, and channels.

The reaction is immediate, and far more intense than he'd anticipated: his eyes ignite with light, bright like white-hot fire, his entire frame stiffening as that same light appears in the eyes of the zombie, transferred from one body to the other. It's there and gone in an instant, the walking corpse shriveling, crumbling, and collapsing into not much more than dust in the span of a second.

Carlisle steps back, retracting his arm with a pained grunt -- he had anticipated it wouldn't feel good, but the shock from it catches him off-guard. He grips his seizing limb from the wrist, his fingers digging into his radiation suit as he tries to regain his composure. Reacting to something unseen, the two remaining zombies suddenly come alive with furious energy, growling as they slam into the shelving, making the whole unit rock.]

[ Now that was effective! Initially Qubit wasn't sure what he was doing, or how that was going to draw them into the sigils, but wow. His enthusiasm lasts only a split second, though, as Carlisle recoils in obvious pain - and the remaining zombies choose this exact moment to go back on the offensive.

The shelves shake from the impact, and he has to grab hold of the edge to avoid falling. But that's just delaying the inevitable. One way or another, he's not going to be up here much longer. ]

Carlisle! Agh- What was that? Are you hurt?

[ Can they continue, or will something on the scale of the sigil hurt him even worse? That's Qubit's main concern. ]

Fine! I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I just- desth, I was not expecting that to hurt so much!

[He swears again under his breath, grabbing hold of the other, once-idle zombie with his good hand, not bothering to wait for his seized arm to relax. No time for such things, unfortunately. Maybe this will hurt less with a larger pack on the glyphs, he considers, as channeling energy into a glyph is a less direct method of dispatching them; however, for individual undeads, this is likely not the best way to go about taking care of them. If nothing else, it is effective, the zombie crumbling to dust beneath his hand like the one before.

Grinding his teeth, Carlisle shakes his limbs, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to block out the searing sting of volatile, opposing energies coursing through him. The restorative ones used to obliterate the undead butt against those keeping him animated, and he considers briefly that he's very, very lucky the manipulation of such magic doesn't cause a similar reaction in him, given what he is. He could be lying in a pile of ashen dust on the ground rather than some nameless shamblers, destroyed from the inside-out through improper control of his own energy. Maybe it is his level of expertise with healing arts that allows him to—

He shakes his head, interrupting his train of thought to consider that later, perhaps when they're not on a mission. For now, Eyeball remains furious, slamming into the shelf again, this time with his body, as one arm -- his right one, the first one Carlisle used -- hangs limply by his sides, deadened. He's too mindless to care, but Carlisle takes notice of it, his eyes narrowing. Was he like that before? Surely.

But there's that nagging feeling at the back of Carlisle's mind that he's not imagining things, and he doesn't like it one bit.]

Edited 2019-09-19 06:44 (UTC)

[ Oh! Okay! It hurt a lot, so obviously you should immediately do it again! That makes sense! (Never mind that that's exactly how Qubit reacted the first time his powers backfired, too. Do as I say, not as I do...)

He knows then that he can't let Carlisle keep doing this. It's echoing his own experience pretty hard - unexpected pain, a formerly reliable power turning against its wielder. Yesterday, though, he pushed his luck too far, incapacitated himself, and had to be bailed out by the very person he was trying to save. If this continues, he really might have to wheel Carlisle's corpse back to Anchor in a shopping cart. ]

Stop! It's not worth it!

[ He can take care of the last one himself. He stands and aims his gun into Eyeball's eyeball, but as he's trying to line up the shot - well, you know why you're not supposed to climb these shelves? Because they're not designed to support a human's weight. With a clang, the top shelf collapses under him.

He slides down as much as falls, and his legs get tangled with the zombie's, dragging them both to the floor. Eyeball ends up on top, pinning him, and goes straight to clawing at his radiation suit - though when it's only bringing one arm to bear, Qubit can kind of fend it off by interposing the gun - enough that he has time to wonder, why only one arm? And it's the same arm Carlisle injured...

Wait a second. Are they-? Okay "while pinned under an enraged zombie" is perhaps not the best time to analyze this, but it seems like, just maybe... ]

[Carlisle would argue whether or not slaying an undead and potentially saving his companion from being mauled by said undead is worth a minute or two of searing pain and seizing joints, but he doesn't get the chance as the shelving collapses, sending both Qubit and Eyeball to the floor. Hissing through his teeth, he shakes the tension out of his other arm, needing both to hoist the the zombie off Qubit. In good news, Eyeball only has one working arm, hindering his chances of escape from Carlisle's grasp; however, he is still flailing around, and Carlisle is not the sturdiest fellow. He might have considered other options in any other circumstance, but desperate times call for desperate measures... or ill-conceived improvisation.]

Oh no you donaugh!

[They both nearly go tumbling backwards as Eyeball lurches, trying to get away from a threat he's incapable of perceiving; Carlisle releases him just in time to catch himself, not wanting to end up pinned himself. Eyeball hits the floor, where Carlisle unceremoniously dispatches him by stomping directly on his skull. It's not the most elegant way of dealing with a shambler, and he immediately regrets his decision as Eyeball's skull caves in beneath his boot, crumpling with a sickening, wet crunch.

Carlisle stiffens, lifting his foot out of the mess and giving it a horrified look. His voice matches.]

All right. Never do that again. It looked a lot more impressive in my head, but in practice, I'm left with a shoe that will never be fully cleaned. Probably stained forever. Noted. But at least they're dead. Again.

Edited 2019-09-19 17:04 (UTC)

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