The bus trip out across New England and across the Midwest is long. It was pretty mundane. Strangers on the bus going where they need to. A woman going to see her brother in jail taking wisdom from the older woman leaving to live with her oldest son to help him out. There was plenty of glamour to be gained on a Greyhound bus. Everyone mired in their worldview, insecurities, and getting irritated and slowly disgusted in the close confines of the people around them. Kinda like a reality TV show performance dinner car. What was odd was that occasionally on the bus something would brush past Zillah's ankles revealing nothing there. It wasn't persistent. But it was subtle with the stops to the rest areas for people to stretch their limbs on the connecting bus. There was a faint hiss to the wind and that feeling of being utterly watched.
In truth, Zillah is a better listener than a talker at times. But when a hit of glamour is what she needs, she helpfully offered to the woman visiting her brother in jail, "Tell him not to drop the soap." Ah, yes, there it is. Disgust. Tasty. She does plenty napping, the hood over her head so that the sun is never directly on her. She's much more comfortable in her shadows. Those brushes have her mildly paranoid, when the feeling of being watched comes along. It's only really paranoia if they aren't out to get you, right? But the weird feeling persists in her. And has her wishing a certain bug was with her.
The wind was not her friend, and the sun seemed to spite the Fairest for spending too long in the arms of her shadows. It almost felt like a spite like I made them, without me there are no shadows only cold darkness.Jealous, fickle sun shining on the child of Moon. Was it not the Sun's light the moon reflected? Why didn't it get any love as Zillah hid from it under her parasols? Still it was the trees that hissed and it wasn't the Sun that was watching, but the air itself seemed to sigh with anticipation. The restroom was the usual concrete damp confines with fluorescent lighting and a clean but ultimately desolate feel. That there were lights on and a stocked vending machine outside were the only signs of life that people remembered it was there at all. Then? A shriek. One of the other women a few sinks over was pressed with her back to the wall hyperventilating as people often do when confronted with the unexpected. in the sink was a garter snake chilling out minding its own business, and really more disturbed from its nap than anything else. Its head lowered slightly and seemed to idly be pointed in Zillah's direction. She neither really talked to snakes and it wasn't supernatural in any capacity to do so. Somehow? Somehow there was a quiet conversation like 'what the shit, why am I being screamed at for minding my own business. That lady okay?'
A big, floppy hat is employed against the sun, trying to keep out of it. There's a little sound that comes out of her as she works at staying out of direct sunlight, without any protection at all. Because that, that is not something the shadow liked at all. No, for a shadow to exist, there must be something between it and the sun. /Must/. She skitters to the restroom, and is just getting ready to check and make sure that her eyeliner game is still on point when the shriek happens, and the snake isn't the only one giving the woman a 'what the shit' expression. She takes those few steps to see what's in the sink worthy of such a fuss, and when it's not even someone's spare right hand, she exhales a breath through her nose. "Seriously," she muses, more towards the snake than the woman, before actually turning towards her. "Calm yourself. It's just a little garter snake. Harmless, unless you really piss him off. Then the bite just hurts a bit. You're fine." A gentle cooing, and she holds her hand out to the snake. "Hey sleepyhead. That's a bad place for a nap. Might be safe from birds, but not old biddies."
The serpent in the sink flicked its tongue a few times, likely not understanding speech. It's a snake. Still it seemed okay with being handled and curiously started to idly move about and up her arm almost sliding off. These things happened. Still it did as she asked either due to some cosmic connection or it was tired of being stuck in the sink being shouted at. Possibly both. As she stepped closer to the door the shadows seemed to shorten and recede from her a bit. That's... that's not right. Maybe it was an angle of the outer door opening and closing casting a glare off the glass where it was unwelcome? Who knows. Still it was time to get back on that bus that was congested with people and all the fantastic glamour of the wyrd and reviled in close proximity. Yeah, a bus trip to New York for two Moon Court? Might actually be a real rush.
Good little snek. There's another little coo given towards the serpent, as she starts to make her way for the door. Perfectly okay, everything's just peachy, until things go a little weird. Her shadows move and shrink, and there's a tilt to her head. "The hell?," she murmurs to herself, before continuing on out. Her snake friend, she drops off in a nice little spot. Or at least thinks she does.
The snake seemed like it was just perfectly fine. The bus ride was long and eventually got to Chicago. It was worth napping through. Over the next few days nothing extraordinary or spectacular happened. But it was ... strange. The city parks had eyes. Shadows seemed to drag on the ground faintly towards Zillah which with her mantle was not really a new thing. THere were small occurrences; hydraulic compressors hissing off the construction equipment that seemed to whisper instead of settle. Her hotel AC sounded DISTINCTLY like it had something in the air ducts dragging round, though showed no evidence of anything remarkable happening. Had her bug been there she could stuff him in the grate to look around but there was... nothing just whispers like she was Harry Fucking Potter.
It all has Zillah on edge, as things start becoming stranger and stranger. When she speaks to her little bug, she doesn't mention it, of course. No reason to get him worried, when he's already got his own shit going on. She peeks into the vents, but she's no roach to go scuttling around inside of such things. "Did I lick the wrong part of him?," she wonders to herself, as that slithering sound continues.
Hey, that was as valid question as any. When you live with someone that has a half-life and glows in the dark one might start to question their own cellular health. There was nothing in the ducts, and it didn't help that; wait was it her sleep schedule being all over the place? Maybe she was tired. She texted Damon's phone knowing well that if she wasn't there her Bug-a-boo would be staying with him. It was a pretty absolute certainty. He was overjoyed to hear from her though THe news that they had lost a friend most assuredly a fellow Harvestman. That job was dangerous, but he insisted on doing it for his reasons and seemed happy to take solace in talking to her about her daily finds. Overly eager to do something for her with the lights she found that day. . There was a long talk about plans and wants for her trip and the strange lady on the bug with the funny smell that was making the work of harvesting glamour on a trip so much easier and YES, he loved her and was wanting to take a trip with her to New York. She was surrounded by weirdness, but across the distance she wasn't forgotten or alone and still, very much reached for by someone that would never admit how hard the day was because she had her own shit she was working through.
Oh if only one or the other knew. but that's not how these things worked out.
Late night came and sleep to be ready for talking to people in the fuckig day was a stupid but necessary thing. And her dreams, though guarded, were still strange. It would be the first of many nights she'd dream of being chased by birds, and dodging through tall grass that grew like corn. Everything normal but somehow off scale. The screeching too sharp and the whispers in the shadows too sinewy and following here where she ran. She may not know what the words were if there were even words. The message was clear: They are coming for you. Wait and strike it down.
Strange dreams are not too unusual a thing. At least they are not nearly as bad as they could be - half memories of a life gone. Of her time on the steps, tarot cards looming over her. No, this time it's...birds? What the fuck. That's a new one for her, though being chased is not. She moves through the grass like anything that might be used to trying for quick escapes, and she zigs and zags like it's her job. Words mean less than intent. And intent has her turning, so that she might be ready to strike. Curving, coiling. Waiting. She doesn't even notice the hiss that comes up from her own throat, in the waking world.
Birds cast long unfriendly shadows that darted for her and let her sink into the ground like tar almost. Running became harder until she woke. And from the AC? There was a valve that popped and was making a punctuated hiss into the room. The front desk promised that when she returned later in the day it'd be fixed. Several small things along the week which kept climbing to a build. By Thursday it was nearly impossible not to snag on things, purse straps, the cloth table skirts in eh department displays, curtain, the door chimes that hung on the cords from a few smaller venues at the front door and that beaded curtain in the antiquities place? Lawdy! It was... really it was a bit much. It'd be better if the sun didn't seem hellbent on finding her at every turn up to and including breaking through the slats at the restaurant by bouncing off a windshield outside to change trajectory. Bastard!
It's all so much. Too much. It's pushing Zillah right up to the breaking point - or at least her clarity's. Ahem. Stuck to things, and then the sun, it has the usually bright shadow glowering. She has that New York Scowl down just right, and a sneer that Billy Idol would be envious of. She turns away from the sun, and then finally just gets up out of her booth. There had to be -somewhere- that the sun wasn't so awful in. ...right?
A construction site was not uncommon through the park. There was a gap in the fence and it was a bit more overgrown on the waterfront. In the late afternoon the shadows got long but so did the sun's reach. And it was then somehow she tripped in a divot in the ground. Something waiting, lurking, lashing out at her striking from the darkness with a hissing flash of teeth that slid like two stilettos through her pants and into her leg. At first it stuck and was hot before starting to rapidly cool, perhaps too much. Seriously what was this shit!?
Sweet, blessed shadows. Zillah has a moment of bliss as she's saved from the cruel Chicago sun and joins her more natural habitat. Yes, this could be just....oh shit. She plants face into the ground, landing in the dirt as those two sharp teeth manage to get through her favorite pair of skinny jeans and into her skin. "Moooootherrrrfuuuuccckkerrrrrr," she gasps out as that pain, that heat, moves through her. And then...cold? The hell? Is it so hot that it's cold? That's a thing, right? Isn't that a thing?" She twists around, trying to see what it is that bit her. Trying to find the wound on herself.
There was some... sort of serpentine thing. Rattlesnake...s... a small clutch of serpents cloying at her. The sun crept into the yard and it. burned. Limbs were getting lethargic, heavy, laggy. How many snakes were in that clutch? Who knew it was entirely a surreal moment. But there she was, growing paralyzed and heavy, the sun looking to blind her flesh edging at the horizon like a creepy neighbour stalking her along the fenceline with a menacing glare. This was not how her story should end.
Snakes? Why did it always have to be snakes? And after she rescued that little dude at the rest stop a few days ago. Hmph. She tries to struggle against it. The venom, the heaviness in her limbs. And then the sun goes and adds insult to injury, getting the little shadow to rage, screaming at the sky with a, "FUCK YOU, DAY STAR!" Of course, her heart beating faster in her rage doesn't do anything good for what's going through her veins.
The snakes though? Kept coming and while she was slowly rendered inert they likewise weren't...feasting on her but slowly coiling on her like a rock or... a blanket? They were trying to cover her. Or at least very slowly the burning started to fade. And then it was dark, light of the dusk star sinking fast; the light between the coils dimming. The snakes though stayed for what seemed like forever. Limbs lay heavy. The few in the clutch stayed with her though waiting to see if she'd become lunch or what, perhaps. Skin felt, from the inside anyways, hard as stone but really that was just muscles seizing for a bit reducing breaking by a significant amount. Over what might be (and was) several hours of laying there, nearly alone in the dark, with the moon poking back out, some semblance of movement started to return as her body painstakingly, refused to yield, but instead started to adapt.
A snake blanket is not what Zillah was expecting. Not that she can feel much, right now, as that paralysis takes hold. Little sounds come from the shadow, as everything slips into sweet, sweet darkness. With the sun above, she's almost glad for the blackness that suddenly surrounds her. Time passes, in that weird way that it does when you're not aware of anything. How long had she been out? Hours? A day? A twitch of fingers. A wriggle of toes. But she can't get up just yet, not fully, even as she lifts her arms up.
The sun just cooked her until its spiteful dying breath. Skin crisped. Would they find her singed and ash in the ruins of the construction site? What would the headline read? How would anyone know? Was that her fate, to escape being an anonymous shadow in Arcadia to perish a nameless, faceless woman on the street buried in the headlines as ‘Jane Doe’? Wasn’t that a bullshit fate if there ever was one. Slowly as the moon bathed the world in its pale glow her little friends, well most of them, went off to hunt and to give up on her being a food. She wasn’t dissolving properly. The sky on the distant horizon was starting to turn a pale blue and now? Now it was an act of attrition: Force limbs out of lethargy, or be scorched a second time, this time without reprieve. A small serpent nearby flicked its tongue watching curiously.
This. This is why the sun is the Enemy. All of that paranoia about being in the sun directly, this is why. The sun will always betray you, when you don't have something between it and you. When you don't have a shadow to escape in. The Moon doesn't do this shit, it doesn't burn you. Stars burn hot, but who ever heard of starburn? These are the thoughts that Zillah has, as she cracks, withers, burns, peels. As she's covered by snakes. Good snakes. Cool snakes. Nevermind the fact that they're probably just waiting to eat her, or steal her warmz. "Mrrghggh," is far from a pleasant sound. Throat dry, lips cracked and bleeding. She's a stubborn thing. Willful. And bit by bit, she starts to force herself into motion. Rolling onto her stomach, that's step one. Step two, that's getting to hands and knees and trying not to dry heave.
Tiny serpent was disappointed. Disappointed but proud of her. Snakes were sun creatures; of heat and warmth, but also survivors. Zillah was a mess and needed to move before light punctured the lovely even shade of all things. The serpent turned and worked its way back under the door of a nearby supply room , maybe a sub basement? Looking down her skin was blistered like an overcooked hot dog. This wasn’t the reaction a normal woman would have. This was the reaction a dissolving shadow got, but still, she was moving. Sort of. Her skin was tight, and for now, not very relenting feeling more like a tight carapace than one’s arms and legs, belly and back ought to have. Horribly her skin felt chapped and hardened like it wanted to come ‘off’ like a bad sunburn and just as tender.
Whimperwhine. Everything hurt and nothing was beautiful, least of her now right in this moment. Why is her buggo several states away, when she needs someone to pet her hair and give her something to focus on, other than the pain? Dark eyes find the little serpent, looking all not crispy and nimble, little jerk. But he gives her eyes something to follow, and her mind a thought. Yes. Yes time to break in and find a dark, cool place. She crawls, on hands and knees, and it hurts so fucking bad. But standing up sounds like a worse idea. She can practically hear her skin cracking with every move that she makes. What she needs right now is a bathtub filled with aloe. Yes. That sounds good.
The cement room was dark and cool, and had a drip that persisted from a spigot long rusted shut. The cinder block had an odd sort of flat, scratchy appeal to it. The tiny serpent seemed to keep its own company, but was it? Was it showing her the room or following its own instincts and she following hers? She needed aloe, she needed her bug. Neither were here. There were a couple ants and a beetle, but a beetle does not a man sized Roach make. Who knew this would ever have been a life concern? Still the water was cold and though incidental not brown with rust and neglect. And the day was… awful. There were things in here like dusty cardboard boxes, basic tools, and some pipes but none of this screamed aloe, shade or reprieve. Still she was able to find respite and that was a start. After a little time she even started peeling just a bit. Worst. Sunburn. Ever.
Water, water is good. And once it's clear that the water isn't full of rust and awfulness, she sets her face under it. Drops for her tongue, for her face. Has anything ever felt as good as this? Just when she starts feeling good, the rest of her front half reminds her that ow, pain, ow burn. She's so itchy, and very carefully she peels away her clothing. "Too bad the hive mind isn't continental," she muses to the little beetle. "Because this suuuuucks." The room is dark and cool, though, and there's a little snake guy keeping her company. "Fetch aloe, Lassie," she tries, with a hopeful little look. "Or coconut oil. Maybe that." Absent thoughts, as she rubs her palms against the itchy spots, looks down at her arms.
The bug was… a bug was a bug, and it went about as most bugs do wiggling their antennae and moving into one direction until it bumped into something, tried again, made new plan, tried to figure out if thing bumped into was labeled under ‘to eat’ or ‘obstruction’ and planned accordingly. The serpent though watched her just try to find some working reprieve with the faucet. It blinked, horizontally first then laterally with twin sets of eyelids and slithered off. Did it understand? Huh. It was some time later it came back with a Hello Kitty sticker stuck to it and a mouse. Apparently aloe and hello might be close in nature. The water, though very slow, was sort of nice. It was workable. Her skin though was very dry and very flaky and a dead mouse and a sticker were not much help. Skin flaked, and beneath was raw, and blood and sore and hand… a pattern? That wasn’t normal. Well, at least her Buggo was already covered a bit in radiation burns was not likely to pass judgement on this.
Bugs are cute little things. Maybe Zillah had become biased, considering how smitten she had become with her own little radroach. But when the serpent slithered off, she watched it disappear and let out a sigh. More water, yes. Drinking drops and running her now not-so-dry tongue over her cracked, bleeding lips. One thing she did know - the bus trip home was going to suuuuuck. And she'd probably look like the damned mummy, with how she was going to have to wrap up. When she hears the slithering of the snake's return, she slowblinks at the sticker, and the dead rat. "Well shit. Good try, little guy." Carefully, she peels the sticker off of the good little snake, and just eyes the rat. "Not hungry, thanks though." Rubrubitchitchohgodow. She stops as she manages to rub her skin raw, and..."What?" The pattern's not normal. "Fuckin' sun," is hissed out. Holding to the wall, after a moment, she gets to her feet. Looking at the boxes, in hopes that one was marked 'clothes' or 'sheets'.
It sorta got… okay nowhere close but to be fair she had a heavy accent. At the pass, which was a different sort of courtesy all together, the snake ate the small mouse with a crunch crunch crunch. Her skin though, seemed to be, and not easily, sloughing off slowly. Transformation was so much prettier in films where things like biology just are conveniently not a thing. Her mortal shell had a mildly peeling sunburn, her mein? Her mein was something out of a house of wax film where it proceeded to start and keep peeling back in sheets and layers. The cooler air hitting the moistened new scale of flesh beneath the itchy and dry surface that wanted to let go. Where she peeled the air was cooler taking away the trapped hate of the sun, and the itching at least subsided.
The boxes seemed to have spare parts though there was a tarp and her clothes? While dirty were not unusable until she got back to her hotel room at least.
This is not the persona the shadow wanted to present! Not at all. "Jesus, I look like a bad monster makeup," she bemoans, as she slowly sheds another hunk of skin from her arm. "I want like, one of those bristle brushes, and to just roll around on it." The concrete works well enough, as she rubs herself up against it to get some of the worst of the dead, crispy skin off of herself. She looks miserable. She feels worse. But she shakes out her clothes before putting them back on, and grabs the tarp. Just in case. "All right, little guy. I need to get out of here while it's still dark and no one notices that I look like The Creature." She puts the Hello Kitty sticker on her chest.
It was about dusk when she finally left, haphazardly exfoliated, with the tarp, and clothes that were spruced to pass. The small serpent that looked pregnant from it’s meal weirdly followed. Maybe it was until waiting for her to die and be a snack, or perhaps not. Were she to try to pick it up it was fed and amicable. The tarp itself was a bit dusty with the dust of construction plaster an age past but was sturdy enough to form a mobile shade if it so needed to be employed. On the downside the meeting was past. On the upshot she still had access to her hotel room and her belongings not put to the curb. This was not the glorious Chicago experience from the pamphlet!
This is hardly the trip that Zillah expected. There was supposed to be deep dish pizza! And...other Chicago type stuff. Nowhere in the brochure did it say that she'd end up with the worst sunburn of her life and a snake following her around. It's about a block before Zee reaches down to pick up the snake, and place him on her shoulder. "No funny business up there," she remarks, as she carries on to her hotel.Leaving the tarp outside, and promptly drinking a bottle of water and shedding her clothes. And more skin. "Maybe there's a loofah in the shower," she says to the snake, like he'd understand her. It's worked so far. Grabbing a towel, and heading that way.
The snake didn’t seem to overtly understand spoken language, but what it did do was curl up on the concierge hotel pamphlet after slithering over to the nightstand that had the phone. She could… make someone do it if she wanted? It was possible. Maybe the little fella understood her intent, though how it knew about concierge services was another mystery entirely! The shower was good. Cool. Dark, and completely shut off from windows with the only light being from the other side of the shower curtain. It came off, with scrubbing and a judicious application of a wash cloth, all of her old skin was shed in a most inglorious process. Thankfully the shower helped with itchy scalp and toes. When she was finished there was a very different image that greeted her in the fogged mirror. When she looked down her phone had a few messages on it.
- ++TXT from Rorschach: Hey, hope today went alright. Things weird here so I crashed at D's place.
- ++TXT from Rorschach: Check it out you can make faces with the letters and shit
- ++TXT from Rorschach: :D That's me smiling at you
- ++TXT from Rorschach: =:D okay that looks more like a dick piercing than I'd hoped for
- ++TXT from Rorschach: :) :) :) :) :) :) :)
- ++TXT from Rorschach: Love you. I dunno what holding down a fort means. They're heavy. They don't move. But we're making sure the shop is okay <3 That's a heart, not a butt.
- ++TXT from Rorschach: <3 <3 <3
Someone was discovering texting. At least some part of the world wasn't flipped onto its back like a turtle.
The shower feels so good, that Zillah almost doesn't want to leave it. Ever. Maybe Rorschach could come here instead and there could be this shower and all the itchy hurty skin would just go away. Room service had been ordered, pizza and too expensive beer for the 'convenience' of it. Whatever, she was hungry and hurting. Lotion is applied after she gets out, and when she looks into the mirror, there's a long, slow blink from the little shadow. One of the towels that she wouldn't need is used to wipe down the mirror, to try and better see herself, even as she read the texts from her buggo, replied.
- ++TXT from Zillah: Today went differently than planned. <3 your cute smile and butt/heart. No piercing your dick without me there.
And then she's looking at herself in the mirror again. Those patches of patterning, exposed. Dark, but iridescent, all at once. It's when she goes to brush her teeth that she notices the little fangs. Shit.
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