theresnodoor | OOM - The Labyrinth Part I

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OOM - The Labyrinth Part I

There is boredom. There is restlessness. There is anxiety. And there is recklessness. Stages of reactions following the common phrase of There's nothing to do. If left alone for too long, this condition can result in conversation, conflict, experimentation, explosions, discovery, and death.

Among others.

But sometimes, Fate steps in. Someone looks down and notices the ever-increasing stages and says, Hey. That looks kind of dull. Let me help you out there.

The common reaction to such politeness is gratitude.

Well into the stages of boredom, Rachel opens her eyes and finds herself not in her bedroom, her apartment, or even the Bar's couch. Instead of soft fabric, there are hard, rough stones beneath her back. Instead of open space, the walls are close and dingy and the ceiling is low. And when she sits up, sharp and sudden, she is staring out of an archway that leads into the darkest of dark hallways, despite the flickering torch on the wall.

Blue eyes dart in every direction and not a single one of them makes sense - including the other person, crumpled on the stones nearby.

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The temptation to shoot the bear isn't horribly high.
But it's also in there. Living in Milliways isn't easy.
Even when it's becoming something that's nearer to normal.

And some part of her still questions if it really is Rachel.
Or some truly new brand of fucked-up Milliways is jerking.

At least she's not in front. And she has a gun.

Huh. And the hallway starts dividing before them.
"Oh, joy, options." Pathways going forward, right and left.

Whereas Rachel is meditating fiercely on how quickly she'll be able to turn and attack, should she hear the cocking of that rifle.

At Jo's words, she lifts her head and sniffs. Bear sight is nothing to brag about - she hadn't noticed the divide at all until it was pointed out and her nose told her there was now air coming from three different directions.

<Eenie Meenie Minie Mo,> Rachel mutters - technically outloud, though she isn't waiting for an answer before edging forward.

None of them look all that different, trying to lean forward and not into a bear, with a torch. It's just areas with light and shadows dancing.

Any one of them is about the same as any other right now.

So she'll following the lead of, erm, Rachel.

Which is no help to either of them, as each direction smells how it looks - exactly the same.

And leading is not Rachel's strong suit.

There is a moment of very obvious hesitation before she starts moving forward. Straight ahead. Her favorite direction.

Jo knows next to nothing about bears.

Except that one would not stand this close to real one.

"Can you, I don't know, hear anything?"
Jo frowned at the darkness as they moved.

Rachel knows about as much about guns as Jo knows about bears.

<No.>

Though a more correct answer would probably be Not yet.

<But packs of wolves generally don't hang out in dark ugly castles.> She shuffles alone, trying to listen, to smell. There is nothing and that is more nerve-wracking than the fight they just came out of.

The fight and the pain in her front leg. The blood trail she's leaving behind.

Rachel stops.

"I don't think anyone should be."
Hanging out in stupid dark ugly castles.

"Especially since Milliway's didn't have one last--"

Jo had to stop suddenly, all but running into the back of a bear.
She was hating that whole darkness thing even more, as she asked, "What?"

<I'm bleeding.>

Yes, she just noticed. And Rachel makes no further explanation before the unpleasant sounds begin again and this time, there's enough room and light with Jo standing just behind her to get a full view of the demorph. Though from the back, bear to human isn't that disgusting. Just mildly hilarious when the first thing to change is the grizzly bear sprouting long blonde hair.

"Well, you did just get attacked by wolves."

And god she had mentioned that she didn't know anything med-wise.

Jo can't exactly cut through all the space.
But she's sliding up one of the sides.
Between bear and the hard wall.

"How bad? Do you need stitches?"

There is no answer. At this point in the morph, Rachel isn't capable of it until her throat and lips shift some more.

Though she does eventually turn to glance at Jo, very human once again. And lifts her left arm, the one the wolf had been chewing on.

No blood. No mark. No scarring of any kind.

Once again. Creepy.

Also. Not totally sold on Not!EvilRachel.

"Impressive." Was that about being dead or her...whatever?

Rachel lifts an eyebrow. Either for the word or the tone isn't immediately clear, but she shrugs and steps aside. Peering down the hall again, the complete lack of light that even the torch can barely help with.

Owl or cat would solve that problem. But those aren't exactly battle morphs, if something else comes at them. If Jo comes at her, for that matter. Her best shot to hit the right morph at the right time means walking around barefoot and weak in a dark hallway.

She glances at Jo and holds a hand out for the torch. "I can take it, for now."

It was thrust at Rachel without any fanfare.
So much easier to hold on to the rifle then.

"So. That's. Special. And as awkward questions go."

Because she's walking, with a gun, down a dark hallway.
And not standing behind a bar being entertained and paid.

"Were you born with that?"

Such eloquent conversation skills are met with narrowed blue eyes, but Rachel holds the torch in front of them and keeps pace. Even though the hallway is drafty and the stones beneath her feet are cold and Jo gets clothes and a weapon and Rachel thinks she can knock off the tone, if not the questions themselves.

"No."

Rachel is not unfamiliar with banter during the downtimes of danger.

It's just that at the moment, she prefers to be annoying instead.

At least the girl isn't naked.

"Then?"

Jo's half paying attention, half not.

Her tone isn't very loud and she frowns at another split.

A very good point, admittedly.

Most of Rachel's attention is focused on the hallway split, lifting the torch and scowling at the utter lack of signal from doing so.

"Then what?" she demands, irritation at the situation translating into irritation with Jo.

"Right." The direction first.
Nothing looks different. Irritatingly.

"Then, where did it come from."

She turns without thinking and stops the part of her mind that wants to question it. The torch illuminates... more stone. More dark passageway ahead.

Rachel scowls and glares into the darkness as they walk, speaking over her shoulder. "Can we maybe save the getting to know all about me game for later?"

"Nope." Clear, cut.

But then she paused staring.

A light was shimmering at the end of the hall.

Rachel stops at almost the exact same moment. A shimmering light that is definitely not a torch. And squinting into the hall does little but blur the light.

Holding the torch up is equally useless.

"Thoughts would be appreciated."

"Light is better than darkness."

Jo's pace picked up.

"At least then I'll see what's coming at me."

There was something fuzzy coming into view.

Rachel glances at her but says nothing, keeping pace beside her.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like her cousin is pointing out that whatever it is might not come at them if they don't go poking at it.

Rachel holds the torch out anyway.

And as they get closer, they find another archway which they pass under to find...

A room identical to the one they woke up in.

The shimmering light being another torch on the wall.

Rachel stares at the new source of light for a moment before turning her gaze on Jo. "Careful," she says, in her best deadpan, eyeing the woman. "It could attack at any moment."

"You never know with Milliways."

She was sucker punched her first free night by one innocuous little drink.

But there's nothing in here. Walls and fire light.
And she doesn't want to carry her own torch.

"Back to the left?" But she's heading.

Rachel turns in a slow circle, inspecting the room. But she, too, finds nothing of note. By the time she's finished frowning and nodding, Jo is already a few steps down the corridor.

Backtracking. Backtracking sucks.

"How many bullets does a rifle hold, anyway?"

"Fifteen."

"Thirteen, now."

Beat. "If it was full."

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