For Science!
| For Science! | |
|---|---|
This is gonna be dope... | |
| Players |
Colt and Ethan decide to try an experimental weapon design against their friendly neighborhood ooze-monster, the Gloominator. Things don't go exactly as planned... |
Colt, it seems, is as good as his word. He finds a place not too far away, over in old West Pullman. The upshot about having a mostly rundown neighborhood all around you is that there are plenty of areas where you can go for illicit activity and not be seen. Colt has something of a knack for sniffing them out. Which is how they end up standing in the middle of a large room that might once have been a warehouse of a factory, now just a shell of bricks with more broken panes of glass than there are intact. In the middle of the room isn't a bathtub, like was planned. Instead, there's an old-style aluminum trough, the kind that often gets converted into planters, surrounded by bags and bags of ice to chill the liquid inside. The pig has already been prepared, the details of which are best left to the imagination, and made sure that it stays submerged. Really, the only thing left is to wait for the jello to firm up to 'ooze-like- consistency as the ice cools the aluminum and its contents. What could possibly go wrong? Colt looks to Ethan, a pair of goggles resting loosely over his neck, bright green kitchen gloves up to the middle of his forearms. "This is gonna be *dope*." If the guy at the grocery store is afraid of Colt because the Irraka radiates predator instinct, he is probably now afraid of Ethan because Ethan comes across as…well…*crazy.* Or at least, he sure did while he was having the guy ring up box…after box…after box…after box…of lime jello. He at least had the sense to go to other stores for each of the other items. Four fire extinguishers do sit near their garden tub…Home Depot. Flare Guns…get in the Zone with AutoZone. Etc. The butcher had accepted ‘big barbeque’ when asked to sell a whole pig, but nothing, not even a story about a wild jello shot party, could make *all that jello* seem sane. Especially when Ethan couldn’t stop grinning. He settles his own goggles into place and shoots that wild grin at Colt for his words. “I,” he announces, “don’t think I’ve ever done anything like this, and this is already the most fun I can remember having in…some time.” So yeah, strange ideas of fun, given *preparation of pig best left to imagination.* "What we're about to do is incredibly dangerous, fairly stupid, and likely illegal in just about every state." Colt looks at Ethan with some measure of seriousness. "But if it actually *works*, then we'll have discovered an ingenious way to deal with a very nasty spirit. If it doesn't -- well -- eyebrows regrow. Usually." He hands Ethan the flare gun. "Would you like to do the honors?" Naturally, of course, angle is something of an issue here. Firing too close to the tub is a Bad Idea. Firing from further away, though, blocks line of sight to the target. The trick is to fire downward from an angle at a safe distance. Which is why there is currently a small pyramid of milk crates about ten feet away from the target zone. It's the best that Colt could come up with on short notice, once the problem became apparent. Fortunately, the old brown plastic milk crates can be found just about everywhere, if you know where to look. “If it doesn’t,” Ethan says with a shrug, “we still looked for solutions. There’s value in that. In thinking outside the box and trying new things and looking for other solutions and being willing to take risks to try them out.” He takes the flare gun and pulls down his goggles and scrambles over the milk crate. “Good thing flare guns are made for people who have never shot a gun before,” he admits. But he takes a moment to take careful aim, waits for Colt to get far enough away from their phenomenally wonderful lime-and-pork-and-gas mess for…as much safety as this can possibly allow, adds, “This is what, criminal mischief at worse, right?” And pulls the trigger without waiting for a reply. Colt doesn't even get a chance to answer that before Ethan pulls the trigger. His mouth opens, and it looks like he's about to say something, and then FLASH! The flare shoots out of the gun like a tiny red rocket, rendering the rest of the room instantly dark by comparison. On the upside, it definitely hit its mark. Flares don't need oxygen to keep burning, so once it's in the jello, it stays lit. The downside is that it starts to melt the jello -- and knocks just enough gas loose that the small amount that escapes from the pig floats to the surface, being less dense, and starts to burn at a healthy rate. Including burning the sugar, and the fat that's starting to liquify from the pig carcass. It takes almost no time at all before there's a thick black smoke roiling out of the tub, rather than the flames that they were hoping to see, once again obscuring the room, even as their eyes strive to adjust from the bright flare. "Well." Colt coughs, trying to wave away the smoke -- which is quickly going to become a serious issue -- "Shit." “Auuuugh,” Ethan says, but he’s laughing. And pressing his arm against his mouth. And laughing. “Should we extinguish it?” He hops down from the crates, smoke-tears springing to his eyes as he also makes a futile effort to wave it all away, and then starts laughing harder. “Oh god this plan would have been such a disaster!” And this…isn’t? This big smoke beacon of abandoned building they’ve created. “The smell!” He starts laughing harder, even as he fumbles towards the fire extinguisher. Colt goes for his own fire extinguisher as well, moving over to where the tub is. He pulls the pin on his, letting out a thick cloud of white carbon dioxide and flame retardant powder at the same time as Ethan. This has a few interesting effects. It puts the gasoline fire out -- even if the Jello is still smoking. Why is the jello still smoking? Because the flare seems completely unaffected by the fire extinguishers. An interesting development! Colt reaches over, grabbing onto Ethan's shirt as the air starts to get harder to breathe, and it becomes increasingly difficult to see what's happening around them. "I think," he tells the other man, "that we can conclusively say this would have been a terrible idea." 'Would have been.' As if it's not a terrible idea right now. "We should maybe go." There's an edge of worry to his voice. Or maybe it's just tightness from smoke inhalation. The fact that it’s still on fire and the jello is still smoking and the room is still filling up cuts some of Ethan’s mirth. “Right,” he says, coughing now quite a bit as he blinks back the water in his eyes. It is definitely a terrible idea *right now,* but now he’s concentrated on both of them getting out of the building, and starts moving even as Colt urges him too, one arm still up against the smoke. And if he needs to kick a door out of their way, well, he’s certainly game to do that. All the rest of the crap inside just gets left behind of course, though he hasn’t moved the goggles. They are…gonna look like some real Bill Nye weirdos when they get out of there aren’t they? Colt, at least, seems to remember the general way that they came. But the man is moving slowly, careful to avoid broken flooring, even as he can't see -- or smell. The smoke is really doing a number on all of the senses that he's come to rely on since his first change. He doesn't let go of Ethan's shirt, though. Whatever else he might be feeling, he still feels responsible for Ethan. This was his idea. Ethan is his charge. And one way or another, they're both getting out of this, if Colt has anything to say about it. Fortunately for the pair, it doesn't take long to find the door. The smoke is thin here, and light shines through the cracks on the seams, giving them a clear indication of the way out. "There!" Colt says, pulling Ethan forward and moving him toward the door. "Outside!" Ethan was the one who pushed the fool plan, so he’s the one who feels responsible for *Colt.* Colt might find the man sort of has a hand held Keeanu Reeves-at-a-photoshoot style behind his back as if he’s going to catch him if he trips. And the elation is gone, the laughter, buried somewhere between the coughing. As highs went it was a quick one. The embarrassment and guilt are creeping back in, his own personal demons clawing at his soul as surely as the night’s monsters might claw at his flesh. Especially when he becomes conscious that they shouldn’t be seeing light. He raises his head and hand to squint at it, raising that one arm against it, swearing under his breath at the inevitable: *CPD! Freeze!* that someone shouts the very moment the two men stumble out into the open air. Especially as his eyes adjust to the fact that the light is red and blue, and the fact that weapons have been drawn. The response that Call elicits from Colt is practically Pavlovian. As soon as he hears the Cop Voice, he's grabbing Ethan's arm, pulling him down right next to him as he goes down to his knees. "Hands spread," he shows Ethan, moving his arms out wide, "and then behind your head." Is he -- grinning? He's *grinning*. A big, stupid, dopey, shit-eating grin, like he's having the time of his life. "This your first time?" he asks Ethan. Even then, though, he's slowly starting to bend forward, stretching out on the ground as he awaits the inevitable. The female officer moves up beside him, dropping down and putting her knee firmly in the space between his shoulderplades as she reaches for her cuffs. Not exactly an *orthodox* move, but an effective one. Colt gives a grunt of annoyance, but offers Ethan a little shake of his head. 'Just let this happen.' Ethan’s eyes are very wide. First at the instructions…which he follows…then at the grinning. “Sort of,” he mutters. “The last time was quick. I don’t really remember it. Or what I said.” Or what he *did.* But he definitely talked his way out of it the last time. Or 9000 yard stared his way out of it. He does just let it happen though. There are a few things he could think of to try, certainly, but Colt can watch them fly into and out of his head via the way his eyes spark and then dim. He’s not going to put Colt more at risk, grinning or no grinning…and, well, the smoking ruin behind them says that his grasp of ‘brilliant plans’ is maybe a little suspect at the moment. So he lets it happen, giving the officer no trouble at all. Not even to try to charm her. Colt is still grinning like an idiot. "Good," he tells Ethan. "Then shut the fuck up. Not a word, to anyone but me, when I tell you it's safe." The officer leans down, pressing more into Colt's back, causing him to wince as she says, "Shut. The fuck. Up." Apparently, he decides to take his own advice. Looking to Ethan -- he looks almost ... proud. Like some great rite of passage has now been achieved as they're both handcuffed and dragged to their feet, lead toward the awaiting squad car. Ethan desperately wants to ask *why* Colt is grinning and proud. But he keeps his mouth shut. His expression keeps shifting though, between chagrin and guilt and tension and worry to the tug of a grin at his own lips in answer to Colt’s; Colt’s wild pride is infectious and keeps creeping its way into his reaction even when everything else about being shoved into the back of a police car probably lends itself to the first. But after a moment, he rests his head against the window of the squad car and starts laughing silently. Silently, as if even letting the sound out might somehow waive the right-to-remain. Colt, though, has no such compunction. He sees Ethan's silent laugh, and his bubbles up as well, glancing to the smoking warehouse and god only knows what they're going to find in there. A pig and a flare and a bath tub, and the thought of whatever they write in their report... It's too much. Soon he's laughing merrily, unable to contain himself. They'll both have a very interesting story to tell their lawyer. Let's hope he finds it as amusing as they do. | |