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I'll Be Home For Christmas

Discussion in 'AU Board' started by Irene Adler, Dec 22, 2017.

  1. Irene Adler

    Irene Adler BBC Sherlock

    Pandora Town
    Chaotic Neutral

    It was agony to watch the hole being dug. Meticulous, it felt like ages until he ordered her to get the re-dead corpse. She decided that she would absolutely not be fetching it but simply nodded and went inside. Her blue eyes searched for James as she turned toward the house but saw nothing. They bore into the dark house hard before the silent attack came. Irene barely had time to turn away and put up her hands in defense before James realized it was her and backed down.

    "Are you okay? What's-- what are we gonna do??"

    She didn't have a proper answer for either question so she softly shook her head, her mind still addled by the grave and The Governor's greedy hands and mouth, "Lock him out." She whispered, finally, though she had no idea if that was a good plan. A tiger could probably break through any door and she did not want to bring the tiger out.

    She assumed he'd called the police, "Is help on the way?" She whispered, her blue eyes searching James' desperately. She finally felt her head clear quite suddenly and began to look for a weapon. Though, stepping forward, she spotted Penny again and her new friend and instantly tasted bile as her stomach lurched forward. Turning away again, she went into the kitchen with her hand over her mouth, headed toward the collection of kitchen knives displayed on the counter and pulling one out.

    @James McGill
    @The Governor
    The Governor and James McGill like this.
  2. The Governor

    The Governor The Walking Dead
    You kill or you die.

    Anna & Apollo's Pet

    That was big enough. Philip backed up from the ragged hole in the iron hard ground, a light sheen of sweat on his skin despite the biting cold. He panted hoarsely, both hands resting on top of the shovel, its square steel head sinking into the dense layer of snow.

    What was taking Sarah so damn long? She should’ve been back by now, Penny bundled up and cradled in her arms, just like she’d been as a baby. A newborn. He had to clench his jaw to stop a sob, a small, sharp blade twisting itself deep into the tough flesh of his heart.

    Somethin’ was wrong.

    Tightening his grip on the shovel, he stalked back into the cabin, freezing up at the sight of his wife in the kitchen, a knife clutched in her hand. He tilted his head at her questioningly, scowling in suspicion. Somethin’ was nagging at his mind. Warning him.

    He opened his mouth to demand why the hell she hadn’t got Penny, why the hell she’d got a knife instead, when he heard the wet crunching of teeth. He knew that sound. All those times he’d brought his sick little girl a bucket of sopping body parts and organs, let her root around in ‘em like a pig at its trough, while he gently brushed the tangles out her lank, greasy hair or murmured her favorite song. She wasn’t dead. Just sick.

    “Penny!” he called out hopefully, staring in teary, wide-eyed wonder at Sarah.

    He crossed back into the dining room, but jerked rigid at what lay before him. A huge rat was crouched over the withered corpse of his little girl, eating her sallow nose and lips. That monster had desecrated Penny’s body, ruined the dignity of her death.

    The Governor’s vision turned red, heat sizzling through his skull. He hefted up the shovel, then brought the broad, flat side of the steel down on the rat as though it was a fly swatter targeting an oversized housefly. Rat guts splattered across the dining room.
    James McGill likes this.