"Doesn't matter where you go, where you hide, I'll always find you." She winks and chuckles darkly, struggling against the restraints once again to reach for anything dangerous in reach.
As she does so, she actually answers. "And you'd care, because if dear little wifey discovered you were torturing little high school girls for your own sick pleasure, she might just end your little 'research project' of horror. Violently."
"You know, flattering as it is, I really don't need you hitting on me right now," Konicek says, rubbing his temple. "You're not my type. I... ugh."
He retches once. "Hurk... oh crap. I think I'm gonna hurl."
A look of intense concentration crosses his face, though it's only visible on his eyes, as if he's trying to stave off the feeling of nausea. Predictably, it doesn't really work, and the next retch is backed up by much more material than the previous, his bandana growing wet from the vomit, bits of his dinner landing over his clothes and the floor. He tries to pull the bandana off, and manages it halfway through the next retch, losing yet more of his dinner in the process. As his face is uncovered, it becomes clear that he does indeed have the face of a baby, a set of facial features clumping together around the center of the face, leaving quite a bit of free space around the edges. Not a handsome man, certainly. As he vomits until he seems to have no more in him, you notice a smell. A smell that you can unquestionably identify, but it's not quite the type you could smell until this point. He seems to have lost control of his bladder. And also his bowels.
Konicek, still retching, starts to get up, flailing for support, and stumbles on, one of his arms twitching and jerking, followed by his body undergoing spasms. He doesn't even get to the door before he collapses, dragging himself forward a few feet, hardly breathing at all at the moment.
"...Dad"
((FYI Dad is not like abusive or anything just divorced and incredibly unpleasant without realizing it and one of the main reasons Dave lost all faith in humanity. He's also a blacksmith.))
Your father seems a sensible choice, yes. Unpleasant, but sensible. Now it's just a question of you calling him up and telling him you want something. Or maybe just dropping by. You're sure he'd love that.
So my power can only protect me. Jake thinks to himself. Well, he could still test his power out more. He takes off running through the woods at a sprint, maintaining his power. He wondered how long he could keep his power going, and would resist the urge to let go at least once if he could, also checking his watch to see how long it took to feel that urge after activating his power. He also tried to see if he felt tired at all while sprinting. If he managed to sprint for ten minutes without stopping, he would rest against a tree and let go to see the effects.
You begin to run like hell in no direction in particular, and in about two minutes or so of running you start getting a strangely bad feeling, and before you can properly process what it may be, your hand suddenly cracks, two of your fingers breaking, pain shooting throughout your body as you plummet downward, rolling along the forest floor while screaming in pain. Impacting the ground doesn't really hurt all that much, you find.
A moment passes as you reflect on what this could mean, but your reflection is interrupted by what feels like if the entire front of your body was kicked with a heavy, sandpaper-covered boot, and you immediately curl up, and sort of
let go despite yourself, lying on the ground both in a great deal of pain and feeling quite mentally exhausted.
Carrie looks a little disappointed. "Oh, okay. Yeah, lets go home Dad."
She had been hoping to at least meet a protectorate member, but maybe next time.
You go on home, in what is sure to be a very awkward and/or depressing evening.
Alex would think for a second, calming down without the pain. The first thing they would do if he showed up to the hospital was call the police. He would reach into his pocket, looking for his phone. If he didn't have that from the police, he would search for a car or a person.
They seem to have taken your phone away, just like your guns. You guess that's standard procedure. It is very unfortunate for you, however. So you desperately move out to find someone driving through town - and soon enough, somebody does stop as you stand out on the street, holding a very bloody neck while obviously being a little lightheaded. It seems to be a young woman of some sort, though you can't see any details due to the way the headlights are shining at you and it's pretty dark otherwise.
Trying a different approach steven attempts to direct all of the energy equally between two opposite directions.
It is a bit hard to conceptualize for you at first - concentrating all of your power in opposite directions seems counterintuitive for some reason, despite you thinking it to be a perfectly sensible idea, so you need to wrack your brain a little to think about it the right way. And after a moment, you think you have it. You imagine the energy as a bubble of sorts, a sphere. Maybe a ball of putty. It doesn't matter. What matters is, you imagine taking this sphere around you, and stretching it in opposite directions. And this seems a bit more understandable to you. You try to focus your power in this manner, and it works! You blast at a tree, nearly splintering it, while also nearly destroying a tree behind you. All without significant recoil, though there is a little, pushing you in one of your chosen directions - frontward in this case. It does feel a little disorienting, though.
Swearing helped. A little. Throwing a chair across the room helped a little more. But I couldn't waste time on stupid shit like this, that wasn't how I did things...I sighed, trying to calm down when the doorbell rang.
"Fuck, what now..."
"Hey, Ser..."
Jake. Right. I'd asked him to come over.
Jake is indeed out there, ready to lend his no doubt impressive skill at detection to your cause. While you examine him through the peephole, you notice that he seems bothered. This, you would guess, is an appropriate reaction. But he also seems to have a thought of some kind about all this. One that he cannot wait to tell you about. Without further ado, you open the door. And there he is. He doesn't really look like a detective. This is probably a good thing.
Can you predict what he is going to tell you?
Author
Topic: Worm: Edwardstown (Read 135542 times)