[identity profile] wetandbothered5.livejournal.com
~ In some ways, their motley foursome of travelers have a lot in common - three out of the four, in fact, have the same Mark on their forearms. If being apart of the same criminal organisation and working together for genocide isn't a uniting factor, nothing is. However, their former membership to the Death Eater party most certainly does not guarantee the same motivations for being there in the first place, nor does it guarantee they all left for the same reasons. Not at all.
Tension is high as the terror of being a bamboo planter fades into the past. The three ex-Hogwarts students might share the same brand on their flesh, might come from the same school and the same House no less, but apparently much between Barty and Snape has happened from the time Regulus was alive and now, and he isn't entirely sure how to act because of this.

Snape, Wesley, Barty, and Regulus have all remained camped out in the many twisting tunnels of Four to prune their shoots together in the dim until they stopped growing back. Now, with the threat of new plantlife subsiding, Regulus sits on the least pointed rock he can find and worries that Snape and Wesley's generous aid will not do anything to dissuade Barty's notorious need for revenge. ~
[identity profile] bigredanhorny9.livejournal.com
~ Though the bamboo remains entrenched within flesh, once they are pruned and pulled for the final, time muscles and organs heal and the treacherous plant-life does not grow back. However, even in amidst the relief and healing, all across Hell something strange is beginning to occur.

It's most apparent in those from affluent backgrounds - the once higher class. Though, if one were to really observe keenly, everyone is being effected in small, nearly insignificant ways. Posture slumps, walking becomes heavy and ungraceful and those who once prided themselves on impeccable mannerism find they've begun, quite absent-mindedly, to pick up perfectly disgusting habits. ~
[identity profile] beautysleep4.livejournal.com
~Beauty had almost time to reflect on how gallant a knight Hal was in tending to her before the next wave of horrid stabbing pains had taken them both. She had taken the next opportunity to suggest that they leave while they still could.

Now they sit in a dark recess of the outermost building in the city. She is completely exhausted from the now relentless pain, knowing he must be the same and she has never missed the comforting touch of her mother so clearly as now. She turns to Hal and opening her mouth to speak gives instead a piercing scream which reverberates off of each bull and building. The cause of the scream is evident as small green shoots erupt from her midsection, chest and even her open throat. The scream is replaced by choking and gagging as with a desperation that none have been witness to before she grabs hold of the quickly growing stalk and tears it from her throat. The screaming is back, along with a spattering of blood. She looks to Hal, knowing what she will see but hoping with that small glimmer of optimism she still clings to that he may somehow have escaped the worst of the punishment.~
[identity profile] severus-snape1.livejournal.com
~Snape has listened to Wesley's theory on what's happening to them now and must accept it as plausible. He's never experienced, or even seen, what Wesley has described, but his first thought is, Doesn't Hell already have enough demons running around? Why do we have to spawn more? But from what Wesley describes concerning some demon births, the symptoms fit. He's somewhat wishing now that he'd let Barty kill him, because he's fairly certain it would have been a quicker and more merciful death, and with luck, he would have missed this particular torment and not had this..._thing_...growing inside him.

He wonders if it will hollow him out inside like a human pumpkin gutted for Halloween carving. And when it emerges? Wesley's descriptions on that varied from one species to another, with several distinct potential exits. Wesley described scenes of creatures eating exit holes or things wriggling out of the body through the mouth and leaving the remnants like a mangled, discarded snake skin. Then there was the one that Snape is almost hoping for; the quick, furious and literal burst from the body that Wesley has assured him is so fast that Snape probably won't realize what's going on before he's burst asunder. Wesley certainly knows how to comfort.

A sharp pain bursts across his back; it's finally happening. Snape drops to his knees, gasping from pain and fear. He's about to give birth to a demon. He hurriedly takes his cloak and frock coat off and pulls up his shirt.~

What is it? What can I expect? ~he asks nervously.~

oh, HELL!

Feb. 26th, 2010 07:37 pm
[identity profile] noshoesinhell8.livejournal.com
~She's fucked, and she knows it. Lilah had stormed out of the library and into the street, ignoring the horrid tearing sensation that eerily put her in mind of when the Beast eviscerated her and she SURVIVED it, only to find she couldn't stop the wound from bleeding. This was kinda like that, only WORSE.

She staggered down the street, hopelessy searching for some USEFUL building but only finding... spots. Black ones. The kind you see when you're about to-

And when she comes to? She's a GODDAMN DECORATIVE PLANTER! She rips with blind rage at the shoots tearing through her flesh, out the corners of her eyes, everywhere, and hurls the stems to the street with trembling fists and tears of rage and pain. She drops to her knees, screaming defiance to anyone who might hear her. Let 'em hear, she doesn't care. There's no way she's going out without someone going deaf.~
[identity profile] bigredanhorny9.livejournal.com
~ There are few, if any, benefits of being a human pincushion. No matter the circumstances. The odd, hard things felt under the flesh push their way up and out in what would be a spectacular display of speed if one did not consider their origin - after all, bamboo is the fastest growing plant on Earth, and the strangest thing about them isn't even that they exist, it's what they are made out of. Up they blossom, though organs, though muscle, though fat, though skin, poking green and live from bodies and turning them into some kind of sick, skewered garden.

The living have debated if bamboo torture was indeed practiced, but to the shades of Hell this internal version is all too real. Plus, as devastating as removing them can be, they had better pull them out before they start to get thicker and harden. Then again, who knows if that is better or worse, seeing as they WILL grow back . ~
[identity profile] severus-snape1.livejournal.com
~Snape and Wesley are now both headed down the same tunnel that Barty and Reg had taken, but they are no longer running. The demons have been left far behind, but in their place is the newest of the pains of Hell, internal stabbings from their midsections that sometimes force them to stop.

Snape is hopeful that Barty and Regulus haven't turned around to backtrack back towards them; he rather thinks Barty would _want_ to turn around and make sure that he was devoured by at least one of the demons. He's also not sure that they won't suddenly appear from any one of the many subtunnels; any time they have to pass one, he gets nervous. He has to avoid confronting Barty right now; the stabbing pains tell him that fighting is probably one thing he shouldn't do, even if he wanted to in the first place, which he doesn't.

A sudden, sharp explosion from the area of his spleen makes him stop and lean against the rough rocky wall, sliding slowly and helplessly down it while clutching his side.~

Would you mind terribly if we rest for a moment? ~he moans softly, clutching his side.~
[identity profile] eternalhost7.livejournal.com
~It's with a groan that he slumps into the marsh of Level Five, arms folded over his middle. He's just felt something burst, and it's a horrible sensation. He can picture it in his mind- a membrane, veins bulging around it, suddenly expanding like a balloon grasped in the middle and exploding with mucus to line his insides. He curses his own ever-colourful imagination. That's probably not even what's happened; everyone extrapolates their problems. He's probably pulled something, is all.

Still, he's starting to hope for some company that doesn't come from those drowning nearby. He's never wanted a nurse before, but now he'd love a nubile young male nurse to fawn over him. Some palm leaves, maybe a glass of good wine. While he's at it, he'd like a long warm bath and a fluffy dressing-gown too.

A large tentacle rears up from the depths a few feet from him and it's with an unbecoming yelp that he jumps up and legs it to higher ground.~

Pain, pain, pain, ow.

~He limps to the top of a small hill and uses the vantage point to survey his surroundings, really hoping for that nurse to show up.~
[identity profile] noshoesinhell8.livejournal.com
~Hal had asked Lilah what she was doing, and she had forced a flippant "nothing at all, handsome, just keep walking," but the truth was she was just a bit shaken at that particular moment. Things didn't really get any better as the three came into Town Proper. Lilah didn't know what she expected but the rows and rows of buildings so similar and featureless as to be as dizzying as the maze of Bulls was so NOT IT. She forced on through the streets with her two companions, dodging into alleys as demons passed them in the streets and peering into window after window, seeing way too many things inside they really hadn't wanted to ever see in their lives or their afterlives. Becoming frustrated, Lilah pushed the other two on, becoming more and more reckless in her desperation until her perserverence paid off. Finally, Lilah found what seemed to be a library. It was obvious the demons didn't use the library very often; in fact, it didn't appear there was anyone who even worked there, which seemed like a wonderful stroke of luck until they made it inside.~

What the HOLY FUCK?! ~Lilah stares about her, doubled over as a wave of pain like her frustration made physical makes her gasp.~ WHAT THE FUCK?! WHERE ARE THE BOOKS?!

~It's true. The space they're faced with appears to be a cavernous library, complete with tables, bookshelves, card catalogues, and devoid of the one thing which defines a library. Nor is there any sign of computers. She rushes to the card catalogue only to find it is empty of all but several rats who leap at her face. She screams and throws herself back, then sinks sobbing to the floor. She's momentarily completely at a loss.~
[identity profile] bigredanhorny9.livejournal.com
~ Something is not right. It's not clear what, nothing visible seems to be the problem, no open sores or outward signs of disease. But the strange little prickling feelings that had originated deep inside the stomachs of the shades has become far more noticeable.
Regardless of if a person is confined to their Level and under watchful eyes or if they have escaped to wander, existence in Hell is far from easy. Running or defending oneself at a moments notice is just a part of daily life, so it were. Now, though, those prickles have evolved, growing more and more uncomfortable and strange until a sudden movement causes everything to change. Something as simple as ducking down to avoid being seen can be ruined by sudden stabbing pain. A wrong move at any moment can cause a lung to collapse, or a spleen to puncture, and no one can understand why. Of course in the afterlife there is no chance of dying and remaining dead, that would make it too easy, but waiting for an organ to heal itself isn't exactly a pleasant experience even if the fear of death is removed.

No one is sure what is causing their suddenly kamikaze organs, but as time stretches on and moving becomes more and more dangerous, it becomes clear that this isn't simply organ failure... something is in there. And if someone were stupid enough to go feeling around their body, depending on how long it had been since they first felt the prickling and how little muscle or fat separates their insides from their outsides, they could feel them. Something that shouldn't be poking toward the surface from deep inside them, getting more and more noticeable as time passes. Something growing, up and out. ~
[identity profile] deadwesley1.livejournal.com
~The mucus secreting monster is wholly dedicated to its pursuit of the unfortunate shades in the narrow tunnel. Snape says he knows one of them, a Mr. Barty Crouch Jr., whom he claims to be not worth liberating. But it's clear this Crouch has a companion, and there's no telling what sort of person he or she might be. Wesley and Snape can't hear the other shade, they just assume Barty's not just talking to himself.

At any rate, judging by Snape's assessment of Barty's character, Wesley can't be certain that Snape's not the slightest bit prejudiced regarding this man. Was he a student of Snape's? What sort of relationship did they have? It's possible that Barty might indeed be deserving of some punishment, but does he deserve what he's receiving in Hell? And Wesley can't stomach the idea of abandoning the other shade about whom they know nothing. He or she could be anyone...

Wesley takes Snape's pickaxe firmly in his left hand, his own in his right, and gives Snape a determined nod. When he was alive, Wesley had slain a demon of this species, but only with Angel's and Gunn's assistance. He didn't really need to slay it here, simply distract it long enough to enable Snape to remove the others to relative safety. He draws in a long, slow, calming breath, shuts his eyes, and focuses his energies. He'd give anything for a high powered cross bow instead of two rusty pickaxes. Actually, he'd really love a high powered rifle. But this is Hell, and one must always be able to work with what's at hand. He checks Snape's position and exhales, slowly, releasing all tension, fear, and self preservation. Here goes, he thinks, and with all his might, he hurls himself at the rear of the putrid demon, sinking both picks deep into its rubbery, viscous hide, and is slightly disgusted by the squelch as he attempts to draw them back out, before his hands are claimed by the beast's body. The corrosive ooze sizzles his flesh and he curses, screaming a challenge to the beast.~ Don't be such a coward! Come out and defend yourself, or I'll open you up to the worms!
[identity profile] beautysleep4.livejournal.com
~Beauty had had enough. When the horror of the violence had given way to the helplessness of relearning the simplest motor skills she had been to shocked, to overwhelmed for any defiance of Lilah's tirade. Their journey into Dis had been anything but companionable with Lilah dragging her relentlessly and with increasing speed.

Now at last they halt and Beauty takes a moment to look around them. What she sees fills her with dismay. The two women stand surrounded by giant brass bulls whose fierce countenances seem to glare malevolently from all directions. The bulls are set so that they form a labrynth, a foul smelling, horrific maze intended to keep one crazed and disoriented if they should happen to escape their own personal bull. There is no end of the great metal creatures in sight, they loom on all sides like a giant forest of grotesque sculpture. A crawling feeling tickles the pit of Beauty's stomach, centuries in this place still has not left her immune. A sudden blast of heat is given off by a group of the bulls followed by shrieks and stench as the occupants are incinerated for who knows what time.~

We have to get out. If we stay to long we will be discovered and if that happens... This is your scheme Lilah ~the name comes unfamilarly off her tounge it has a base sound to it~ Where do we go and what do we do?
[identity profile] deadwesley1.livejournal.com
~Crawling, then toddling, and finally walking upright through the tunnels of Four was a bit like learning to walk through a minefield of body parts and sharp toothed rocks... well, actually, it was exactly like that. Wesley was imminently relieved not only to be in complete control of himself once more, but also to be over the embarrassing impediment of the self-inflicted concussion. He hopes he didn't say anything too incriminating to Snape.

Once he's feeling clear headed, he does halt their progress in a nicely open grotto in the tunnels and introduces Snape to some rudimentaries of self defence. He finds Snape an apt pupil, and if he doesn't exactly have time to develop much in the way of form, he is a quick study and easily grasps the basics. At least he'll know how to protect himself from most physical attacks, even if he can't yet fend them off. Wesley can't help but slide into Watcher mode as he instructs, and Snape can see familiar instructional qualilties in Wesley's teaching style. Wesley's a strict perfectionist and is quick to admonish if Snape doesn't achieve a pose or posture just so in a "suitable" time. It is during one such correction, Wesley bent over Snape adjusting the wizard's defensive crouch to best deflect an opponent's aerial assault, when shades of various stages of morbid come pouring into the grotto, pickaxes over their shoulders and lunchpails in their hands. Their mining helmets' light momentarily blinds Snape and Wesley, but Wesley doesn't need to see to know they are accompanied by their supervisor, a demon Wesley can easily identify by it's distinctive odor. He knows they're in trouble.

It isn't long before the demon has both of them in a chain gang, picking away at the bleeding walls of the tunnel. The demon's corrosive mucous membrane still strings their skin where he touched them, but Wesley tells Snape that they won't be there long.~

I have a plan.
[identity profile] bigredanhorny9.livejournal.com
~ As the shades of Hell regain full and comfortable control of their limbs, nothing new appears to be amiss - well, more amiss then usual, anyway. There is, of course, a curious sort of prickling - a slight shift under muscles and within the pits of bellies. However, it is only detectable if one concentrates very hard and the norm for any wishing to stay sane has become concentrating on anything BUT their physical states.

Regardless, even to those perceptive enough to take notice, the prickling doesn't seem to be particularly dire, not after the last few rounds of torture. It would be impossible to guess its origin either way, the threat truly at hand so bizarre not even the denizens of the underworld would believe it if they knew. ~
[identity profile] wetandbothered5.livejournal.com
~ Something shrieks through the sticky bogs of Five. It almost sounds like a bird or something more reptilian but it could be anything, really, or anyone. It's quite hard to tell one noise from the other in here. Sounds carry strangely over the water and through the gnarled trees, becoming directionally ambiguous and all the more eerie.
As the cry dies down there is mostly silence apart from some small native creatures slipping at the edge of a pit of filthy water not far off. Away from the agitated splashing of angry shades that can be found in the deeper waters of the swamp, this expanse of mud and tree roots oozes through forever fairly quietly when left undisturbed. That's why the noise stands out when it happens. The little creatures lift their jelly-like heads when they hear it, a slow sucking noise from somewhere deep. Something is moving under the mud.

When the hand claws it's way up, the creatures scatter. It's every man for himself in Hell, even if you're a jelly creature. The hand scrapes at the surface with sluggish, jerking, oxygen-deprived movements. It seems to take ages until finally what the hand is attached to unearths itself like something out of a horror film to claw for air at where it's face should be. It is coated in slick green-brown mud from head to toe, and from all the muck it's near impossible to see the boy underneath. Birthed from his self-dug grave, this gasping monstrosity that calls himself Regulus surveys the area around him... then promptly begins retching up sick, slimy earth. ~
[identity profile] severus-snape1.livejournal.com
~Snape returns to consciousness slowly. Unlike before, when he fell from the edge of Level 3, he's not sure whether he'd died. Everything is a bit fuzzy, and the pains he feels are mostly dull and throbbing, almost separate from him. But the most noticeable thing isn't what's happening, it's what isn't. He's lying completely still--no thrashing, no strangling, no unexpected, unplanned movements. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest as he lies on his back, breathing in shallow breaths. The cycle must have reached its end, and Snape reasons that he must have control again. Either that, or his neck is now truly broken and he's paralyzed to the point where not even his rebellious muscles can move him.

He takes a deep breath and instantly regrets the attempt; his throat is still too damaged to allow for much more than the shallow breaths he's been taking, and certainly not well enough to call out loudly for Wesley. So, he'll just have to find Wesley first, which turns out to be easier said than done, even for Snape.

It takes him a long time to coordinate and command enough muscles to roll him to his side, but even this small achievement feel wonderful, since he can confirm that he is indeed his body's master again. He sees Wesley now, further down the tunnel and lying as still as Snape had been. Slowly and carefully, Snape starts to try to get to his hands and knees, but finds that concentrating on moving legs and arms together is too much, especially when his legs in particular seem less willing to submit to his control again. In the end he drags himself laboriously, inch by inch, resting frequently when his struggles increase his breathing rate enough to bother his throat, to Wesley's side, where he promptly collapses. While resting his upper body, however, he practices exerting dominance over the lower, flexing ankles and knees until he feels them begin to respond as they should.

His neck is still relatively unresponsive; it lists to the left so that he feels like the RCA dog pictured on some of his muggle father's phonograph records. However, he feels compelled to check on Wesley, so he heaves himself up on one arm, head tipped to the side, and clumsily puts the other on Wesley's shoulder.~

Pryce? ~he queries, the name coming out hoarse and painful.~
[identity profile] noshoesinhell8.livejournal.com
~If the pen really were mightier than the sword, then Lilah figures she wouldn't be at such a disadvantage in this ridiculous place. She has a sharp way with words, but hand to hand combat? They pretty much skipped over that part in law school. She figures she's screwed, cause this twig in princess clothing definitely knows something about fighting, and while they're not in control of their actions, her body has that motor memory thing going for it, and Lilah's only knows the nail and bite and kick tactic. But when Lilah's frantic clawing becomes cringing, cowering defense, she realizes immediately that she's gaining back some self control. And as wonderful a revelation as that is, it also leaves her wondering why it takes her so long to articulate it to the Punching Princess. Maybe it's the head trauma.

Lilah sees Toothpick is recovering, too, and tries to grab at her wrist before the little coward takes off, but while her hand reaches out, it's slow and her fingers feel fat and uncoordinated. What, did Her Royal Bitch screw up a nerve or two dishing out someone else's dirty work?~

Hey, Pollyana, we need to freshen up. Two ladies like you and me can't go walking anywhere looking like this. Come with me down to the city; we can use those lumbering furnaces as mirrors. C'mon.
[identity profile] bigredanhorny9.livejournal.com
~ With the puppeteered bodies of the damned doing their jobs for their jobs for them, Hell's demons might as well have taken some time off.
When every moment is an uncontrollable and ill-fated surprise, shades feel trapped in a perpetual loop of agony and nerves. Only a few have managed to stay together during this bodysnatching epidemic, very few. The lucky ones have simply lost their companions, been separated by their wandering bodies, but the vast majority have watched through their own eyes as their bodies do the most horrible things imaginable to those around them, to friends and to foes and to themselves alike.
Until one day, that is, when someone makes to reach into one of the red-hot Bulls in Seven but this time when their mind screams no, their hand pauses. It's not a single incident - all over every Level desperate commands directed to hands, to feet, start working. From then on it's as though everyone's body is a toddler, it doesn't want to behave but slowly it starts to listen to direction, to recognise right and wrong. It's like learning to walk all over again, as whatever curse had come over them lifts. ~
[identity profile] madlymirthful9.livejournal.com
~ Barty is digging. Feverishly and obsessively digging. If his hands weren't already black from frost-bite then perhaps the skin would have completely worn away by now, it's difficult to tell. The wet mud freezes to his hands in filthy frozen clumps, making it appear as though he's wearing a pair of lumpy mittens. Yet still he continues, unable to stop his limbs as they tunnel him deep into a collapsing, makeshift shaft.

He hasn't a clue where Regulus is, or even where he is any more - everything is damp and black - his eyes clamped as tight as iron, unwilling to budge. Hurting himself or even Reg - that would have been understandable, even acceptable, but this self-made mudprison has overreached some critical boundary.

It's reasonably certain that Barty Crouch, Jr. has long since surpassed anyone's trapped-in-their-own-mind-horrifically quota, and, presently, with mud freezing in his hair as it slops down around him with the threat of imminent entombment, he decides that Hell has officially become overkill.

He screams, though he's fairly certain he's been doing that all along. ~
[identity profile] beautysleep4.livejournal.com
~When Lilah releases her hold Beauty has every intention of making a hasty retreat back into the garbage piles of 7. She has never wanted to seek attention in this place and Lilah's scheme of strolling into a city populated by demons strikes her as being slightly mad. It is not an uncommon condition here and she thinks no worse of her for it but neither does she intend to subject herself to it. But even as she climbs to her feet, she finds herself launching her entire body at Lilah slamming into her and throwing them both over the edge. They roll and tumble and bump down the steep precipice and Beauty finds she has turned into a spitting, clawing, kicking creature who seems intent on inflicting as much trauma on herself and Lilah as she can manage. She is reviled by her own violent actions, calling out even as she inflicts the damage.~

I'm Sorry. ~A yank and she tosses away a fistful of hair.~ I beg your forgiveness. ~A shriek as she claws at Lilah's face.~

And Lilah is certainly fighting back. She can feel the skin bleeding, the bruises forming, one ankle is throbbing and her head is pounding. She finally falls back and to her surprise, realizes that Lilah has ceased as well.~


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