[ the first thing he wakes to is darkness, the oppressive kind that makes it hard to make out the lines of his own hands, and it takes him jerking forward to realize that he’s strapped into something. something that feels like a seatbelt, and he follows the strip of material with his hands, feels where it attaches to a clip and releases it after a moment of fumbling. it takes him a minute more, to find an indent in the container’s ( for the lack of a better term ) walls that might be a door. he pushes, and the hatch opens to reveal—
a dismally gray sky. a torrent of rain, that hits him square in the face, makes him wish he had windshield wipers attached to his glasses because the continuing fall of water makes it impossible to see anything. he scrubs at the lenses furiously with the edge of his sleeve, half soaked already and resigned to be fully drenched in no time. there’s a backpack, now visible inside the pod, tucked neatly under his eat which he picks up, slings over his shoulder.
and tries to think. mostly about the benefits of staying here, inside his nice moderately warm pod versus going out into the storm. is leaning towards the former, because he doesn’t even know where he is, how he got here, and which direction he would even start towards. besides his mother always told him and clary both, if you’re lost don’t go anywhere. stay put.
but that had been when they were five, and was said on entering a grocery store, not a… jungle.
grocery store logic, he thinks, doesn’t apply here.
he squints out into the darkness, because there’s a shape, something—or rather someone coming his way. and he huffs out a sigh of relief, because a person means getting answers, which at the moment he’s a bit short on. the first thing to tip him off, that maybe this person is bad news, is the moaning which is pitched low and cuts through the sound of the rain.
and then, of course, is the fact that the person’s skin is the same shade of gray as the sky, and it seems to be falling off. molting. and it’s still coming his way. there’s a moment where he’s still, frozen, before he moves. jerks to a standing position, hitting his head on the top of the pod with a resounding thud, before taking a couple steps out of it, the heels of his boots sinking into the mud on the ground.
and when he tries to take another step, gearing to run, of course he slips. falling backwards, palms of his hands slicked with mud, the back of his jeans covered with it and now the thing is so close he can see that it’s teeth are yellow-hued and rotting—
and he screams.
save the damsel in distress? ]
ɴᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ . ᴀᴜᴅɪᴏ
Okay— okay.
[ the voice that comes through the audio channel is breathless, pitched high, and is punctuated with the sound of hail hitting the ground hard. there’s a deep breath before : ] Can someone just tell me that I’m not actually going insane right now. That I’ve been dropped here in a space pod with—
[ a moment. rustling, and then a bit of laughter that is more forced than anything. ] A flashlight, and trail mix that doesn’t even have M&Ms. What’s up with that?
[ a beat. ]
I just got hit by a golf ball size piece of hail, and I’m not waking up so. Not a dream? An hallucination? A very vivid hallucination?
simon lewis . shadowhunters
[ the first thing he wakes to is darkness, the oppressive kind that makes it hard to make out the lines of his own hands, and it takes him jerking forward to realize that he’s strapped into something. something that feels like a seatbelt, and he follows the strip of material with his hands, feels where it attaches to a clip and releases it after a moment of fumbling. it takes him a minute more, to find an indent in the container’s ( for the lack of a better term ) walls that might be a door. he pushes, and the hatch opens to reveal—
a dismally gray sky. a torrent of rain, that hits him square in the face, makes him wish he had windshield wipers attached to his glasses because the continuing fall of water makes it impossible to see anything. he scrubs at the lenses furiously with the edge of his sleeve, half soaked already and resigned to be fully drenched in no time. there’s a backpack, now visible inside the pod, tucked neatly under his eat which he picks up, slings over his shoulder.
and tries to think. mostly about the benefits of staying here, inside his nice moderately warm pod versus going out into the storm. is leaning towards the former, because he doesn’t even know where he is, how he got here, and which direction he would even start towards. besides his mother always told him and clary both, if you’re lost don’t go anywhere. stay put.
but that had been when they were five, and was said on entering a grocery store, not a… jungle.
grocery store logic, he thinks, doesn’t apply here.
he squints out into the darkness, because there’s a shape, something—or rather someone coming his way. and he huffs out a sigh of relief, because a person means getting answers, which at the moment he’s a bit short on. the first thing to tip him off, that maybe this person is bad news, is the moaning which is pitched low and cuts through the sound of the rain.
and then, of course, is the fact that the person’s skin is the same shade of gray as the sky, and it seems to be falling off. molting. and it’s still coming his way. there’s a moment where he’s still, frozen, before he moves. jerks to a standing position, hitting his head on the top of the pod with a resounding thud, before taking a couple steps out of it, the heels of his boots sinking into the mud on the ground.
and when he tries to take another step, gearing to run, of course he slips. falling backwards, palms of his hands slicked with mud, the back of his jeans covered with it and now the thing is so close he can see that it’s teeth are yellow-hued and rotting—
and he screams.
save the damsel in distress? ]
ɴᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ . ᴀᴜᴅɪᴏ
Okay— okay.
[ the voice that comes through the audio channel is breathless, pitched high, and is punctuated with the sound of hail hitting the ground hard. there’s a deep breath before : ] Can someone just tell me that I’m not actually going insane right now. That I’ve been dropped here in a space pod with—
[ a moment. rustling, and then a bit of laughter that is more forced than anything. ] A flashlight, and trail mix that doesn’t even have M&Ms. What’s up with that?
[ a beat. ]
I just got hit by a golf ball size piece of hail, and I’m not waking up so. Not a dream? An hallucination? A very vivid hallucination?
Anyone?