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dated: Oct 5/6

It's been over a week, and nothing has happened. Nothing bad, anyway. Her family is getting used to the idea of her strange, uninvited friends crashing with them. So far, everyone's followed the rules, and most of the people who'd followed her here have enough of a grasp on Sign Language to hold and follow silent conversations.

And thanks to her mom, Regan's able to keep people somewhat entertained with board games that won't make a racket.

But it's still weird. Regan still doesn't know how she's here, or how all of her friends are here, too. She's come home, but she remembers Darrow. She didn't think that was supposed to be possible.

And yet here she is, standing off to the side while she watches all of these people that she's grown to love and care for, trying to adapt to this new, silent life. How long will they be here for? Is this forever?

It's time to get more fish, because the incredible excess of mouths to feed means they're going through their food much faster. Some of the people who'd come along are more than capable of fending for themselves, so Dad organizes them into groups, with whoever he decides is trustworthy and smart enough to keep people safe and quiet to lead each one. Regan can tell Marcus is relieved he doesn't have to go.

But she still wants to. There are enough people that she allows herself to get easily lost into one of the groups, and they make their ways out, each going in different directions. It's just smarter that way. The fewer people going through the same sandy path, the less likely they'll be to make a fatal mistake.

At least, that's the plan.

It's nice to get out of the yard for awhile, anyway. Some people have stayed behind to help Mom and Marcus get more sleeping areas set up. If they start to think this is permanent, then they'll probably have to find a way to house everyone. They can't all cramp into one space. That's a surefire way to get killed. But for now, spreading out beds is a good move. People need their privacy, and their space.

She doesn't know how it happens. She doesn't know the cause. But suddenly, people are trying to scatter, trying to hide.

And there's a creature. They move so fast, it's easy to overlook them, but she sees it. She'd recognize those movements anywhere, she thinks. And her body responds in instinct, hands clamping over her mouth and staying stockstill.

[ Another gathering! As before, jump in at any point in the post that you want to. Be one of the hunting/foraging parties that gets attacked by one of the creatures, or stay at home and maybe have an encounter of your own! Tag each other, tag around, utilize the NPC Abbott family as needed. Whichever group you want Regan to be apart of, she will be, because Darrow is MAGIC and reality is what we make of it XD be the reason the creature hears your group, or be part of a group completely unscathed and just have a nice little vacation trip to the waterfall! As before, any questions you have can be directed here, and I'll do my best to answer them! ]

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Marcus smiles up at him, and Regan feels a twang of fondness that she'll probably deny if asked about. She shakes her head and grabs a handful of pillowcases to fold them, instead of trying to wrestle with a giant flat sheet, or even the fitted ones, with their stupid elastics that never fold right. She leaves that bit to her brother and Martin.

It's weird. She has no idea who this guy is, or why he'd follow her from Darrow to here. But he's a nice guy, kind of cute in a soft sort of way. And he knows Greta, which is a point in his favor. Greta doesn't like people who are assholes, she's learned.

Martin takes it upon himself to wrangle the fitted sheet, looking up at Regan idly at she works on the pillowcases. Once he catches her eye, he signs a bit awkwardly, "You okay?"

He hopes that his face and his general manner communicate what would have been the underlying tone of the question if he could ask it aloud: that he knows she's not okay, how could she be; that he wonders more if there's anything she should like to talk about. A bit of a difficult ask in front of her little brother, he's sure, but it's hard to get people alone here, and he knows Regan is fairly alone in the current situation - the only person tied between two places that have been so unceremoniously brought together.

She offers a shrug, and a wan smile, when she bobs her fist. She's about as okay as she can be, she supposes. This whole situation is still weird, but they're adapting, and for right now, that's something she can be grateful for.

"You?" she asks. It's weird for her, sure, but it has to be weirder for him. They'd never met before he woke up here. This has to be weird and terrifying for him, and he's handling it pretty well.

He smiles faintly in acknowledgment of her understandably half-hearted answer, and repeats "OK" when she turns the question on him. It's not really true, but the truth is complicated and there's nothing she or anyone can do to fix it. Here, folding laundry with her and her brother, he's as okay as he can hope to be.

"My home," he signs, and hesitates a bit, not sure how to explain. "It's strange. I've seen a lot of weird things. Scary things."

His vocabulary is simple and childlike, but a lot of the signs he's learned are applicable to his own world, too. "This isn't so different," he adds a bit ruefully.

Marcus watches their conversation a bit surreptitiously, seeming curious. This all must be so strange for him, all these strangers from all kinds of different places.

He's handling it well, too, she realizes, glancing at her brother when she grabs another pillowcase. She folds it, then drapes it atop the other one.

"Where... are you from?" she asks. She's bolder than she used to be, bolder than Marcus remembers. She's not sure if she has Richie, or Greta, or Saoirse to thank for that. But it has to be Darrow, at least.

Martin frowns at the question, though not because it troubles him exactly - he's just not sure how to answer, either practically or with the limited vocabulary at his disposal. He starts to reply a bit hesitantly, spelling out "London" to start with, when any further thought of explanation is abruptly quashed by something rustling in the corn.

He freezes and stares out at it, and feels Marcus go similarly rigid beside him. Martin hasn't actually caught a solid glimpse of these creatures - he's seen the news clippings and other paraphernalia Lee's collected, but nothing in person - and he has no desire to start now. It could be anything, another person, an animal of some kind, but regardless, he knows the noise is dangerous all on its own.

Regan's curious, hopeful expression sinks when Martin trails off, and she feels her back go stiff when Martin lifts his finger to his mouth. She turns slowly, and her stomach clenches when she sees it moving through the corn.

"Marcus, go inside," she says, and she's not looking at him, so she doesn't see his protest: that they'll hear him, that they'll find him, and kill them, and everyone else here. He's shaking, eyebrows a tight, tragic arc.

Martin glances to Regan as she signs something quick and curt to her brother, he doesn't catch the words but the meaning is clear enough. Marcus fires back, terrified, quaking, and covers his own mouth to try and quiet his rapid breathing. Martin is far too familiar with both that paralytic fear and the refusal to leave when leaving is the only thing to do. His gut twists uncomfortably at the too-close memory of being trapped in his flat, Prentiss pounding steadily on the door, the little scratch of tiny squirming bodies clamoring to get in. He remembers being in the tunnels, getting ahead of Tim and John, thinking he'd left them both for dead; losing himself in the Spiral's awful corridors because he wouldn't abandon John down there, not a second time. He knows what it is to be told to run, and to refuse to do it. Just as well as he knows that nothing could be more important to Regan than her little brother's safety.

So he inches forward, as softly as he knows how, though he's shaking like a bloody leaf. He shifts in front of Marcus, tucking his hand behind him to rest on the boy's chest, trying to urge him to go. Maybe Regan will be more inclined to it; she can grab him and run with him, they can warn everyone inside. And Martin can stay here.

And do what, exactly?

He hadn't really gotten that far.

Regan swallows hard. She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want Marcus to die. And she doesn't know Martin very well, but she doesn't want him to die, either.

"Inside," she repeats. She takes slow, careful steps towards the barn. They can't draw attention to their movements. They can't lead the creature in. That'll just put everyone at risk.

The creature clicks and chitters, as if it can echolocate. The sound sends chills down Marcus's spine, and he finds himself freezing again. He can't move. Regan's hands press against his shoulder blades, but he can't move. It'll hear him.

Martin follows Regan's lead, even though he feels like it should be him leading - she's the one with experience here. It's incredible how strong the urge to scream is - instinct just rises up, to try to startle the creature off, to shout for help, something. He can hear blood pounding in his ears, can feel his heart hammering against his chest and the throb of his pulse all across his body. How much can they hear? If he breathes just a little louder? If even the tiniest little gasp should escape?

Marcus has gone frozen again, and Regan is struggling to keep him moving, but he's just white with terror, pinned before the knowledge the thing that's stalking them. Martin looks at them, his palms itching with sweat, trying to decide what to do. And then the tall stalks of corn shift and part, snapping his attention back, and the creature emerges, fully visible, his body an awful sort of carapaced monstrosity. It casts about slowly, moving spider-like enough that he feels, for the first time, like he understands why people might be afraid of those. He sways dizzily as it slinks closer, searching, listening; it's all he can do to keep his balance. He doesn't think there's time to get to the barn now. There is no escape but stillness and patience. Christ he almost wishes he could just go sort of foglike and invisible, though he barely had a grip on that before coming to Darrow and hasn't been able to do it since. It doesn't matter either way; it wouldn't protect the kids, and he's not about to leave them. So he just he holds his breath and prays Marcus can keep himself together. Don't move. Don't move. Don't make a sound.

The creature swings its head to the side, and its scalp... opens. Regan doesn't know how else to describe it. She's heard about it before, glimpses of a conversation her parents were having, but seeing it is... It's something else.

She gasps softly.

Not softly enough.

The creature's head snaps towards them, its carapace closing with a clap. But it can't see them, and Regan covers her mouth. It chitters again, moving forward with a grace impossible for its long, spindly form. It's coming closer. It heard her, and now it's coming closer.

It is Regan, in the end, who lets out a breath, and Martin stiffens as the creature's focus narrows instantly, its horrible form rearranging itself in ways that bring Martin to mind of too many Statements about meat. He's panicking, distantly, and Marcus is panicking beside him, his hands pressed over his mouth but his breathing growing more and more difficult to quell. It's coming toward them. Unless it hears something else, Martin is sure it's going to keep coming toward him.

There is no one else here and no way to alert anyone to their predicament without giving them fully away. There is only Martin and two children who are terrified, the smaller of them inching steadily toward a scream.

He has never considered himself a particularly brave person, and it's not entirely bravery that motivates him. It's mostly a kind of sick desperation for the tension to snap, a frantic desire to do something. He barely thinks about it at all, really. There isn't time for that. There isn't time for the consequences, the pros or cons, or the thought that this is really it, not at the hands of a known monster, not the sacrifice he'd planned that might save the world, as if that ever sounded anything like him - just this, lonely in this strange place, to save some children he barely knows. There isn't time to think that maybe that's enough, which is already a truth lodged somewhere in his gut instincts. Most of all there isn't time to think about how he's never going to see John again.

Martin breaks into a run, faster than he thought himself capable, cutting directly past the monster and for the corn behind it. He doesn't try to be quiet. He tries not to be quiet. He feels the creature turn its head, and only then does he really let go.

There's no words. Just shouting. Screaming, really. Just a panicked, raw cacophony intended to make himself the sole target, intended, he realizes like it hadn't been wholly obvious, to end his life.

Martin runs. Not towards the house or the barn, like he's trying to hide. He runs towards the corn. Marcus claps his hand around Regan's wrist, because even if this is a terrible moment, he's going to take it for the chance that it is. Martin might be okay. He might manage to escape.

Maybe.

Regan follows her brother, reluctantly at first. Her free hand swings out towards Martin, like she can pull him back on will alone. But of course, she can't, and too soon, she's disappearing into the barn to hide with her brother.

The creature shrieks as it turns to chase the sudden explosion of sound rushing its ears. Its long limbs eat the distance between it and its new quarry.

It is, somehow, both arrestingly sudden and agonizingly slow.

Martin feels it all - the sharp piercing ache in his lungs, the burn of strained muscles not used to this much exertion, the blinding terror of his actions, the knowledge that he is going to die, there is no uncertainty, that in a fragment of a second he has made the decision to die so that Regan and her little brother may live. He hears his own shouting at a great distance, the unexpected noise violently puncturing what had become an accustomed silence as he draws the creature away from the children, inevitably toward himself.

The impact hits him hard in the back, reducing him to breathless gasping as it leaps, dragging him up and hurling him back down to the ground at least three meters from where he'd been caught. He feels the rip of teeth or claws or whatever these creatures have as it comes down on top of him and begins to tear him apart. He might still be screaming but he doesn't think so. In a few seconds it doesn't matter anymore.

Then he wakes up.

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cw: violent death