COLLAB: Abigail and Brooks, Introduction Post
[hider=Collab][i]There was a low, rumbling noise. Abigail opened her eyes - dim shapes and sounds started to form around her...screaming, yells and horrific bangs. Blood and viscera coated the corridor. Someone had just turned the corner at the end in a frantic bid to escape, and the air was heavy with smoke and the smell of charred flesh. Abigail was aware of a pressure on her arm, gripping on tight and dragging her down an endless labyrinth of ornate wallpaper and plush carpet.  She looked over her shoulder once more, then back towards the ragged, torn shirt and familiar portly belly. “Th’fuck is going on…” she murmured, feeling heavy and sick. It took most of her concentration just to keep up with the long strides and avoid falling flat onto her face.

“Kid! You back with us? Good.” Brooks was tearing down the hallways with determination, hauling Abigail’s slight figure behind him like a particularly heavy duffle bag. Every twist and turn revealed a new nightmare...people were fighting each other, bursting into flames. There were lances of ice and rocks like some sort of messed-up new superhero movie. “C’mon, keep moving!” shouted Brooks with urgency, shoving Abigail towards a flight of stairs as there was another explosion and a corpse whizzed right past her, rubble and beams jutting out where there should’ve been a corridor. Abigail screamed, taking the steps three at a time. She waited on the landing, her heart pounding so hard that she thought it was going to rip through her throat. There was blood...everywhere. It was oozing from the walls, it soaked her clothes, the railings were slippery with it. A small, weak jolt of relief surfaced in her mind as Brooks stumbled through the doorway and down the steps towards Abigail, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her dead in the eyes.

“Listen to me, Abigail. Take the stairs and go out the fire exit.” Abigail registered Brooks’ instructions, but she couldn’t shake off the overwhelming fear and confusion. Her throat was dry and she started to shake horribly.

“Wh-...what’s happening, Boss? Why are we here? T-..” a wave of nausea hit Abigail and she took a deep, shuddering breath. “There’s-....so much...I can’t, I can’t,” she whined frantically. Brooks gave her a little shake.

“GET TO THE FIRE EXIT. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t stop moving.” With another push, Abigail was half-stumbling, half-running down the steps. Every door to an identical corridor was wide open and all sorts of madness brewed within - Abigail heard the clatter of bullets as a police barricade blocked one doorway, and she could see the red-blue glimmer of police cars in the hallway. The floor below was on fire. The floor after that revealed an ice-cold corridor, people were hung up on chains like...like an abattoir. Abigail ran, even though she didn’t know what she was running for. Tears blurred her vision and the noise was ever present. She could hear her Boss’ laboured breathing right behind her. Then there was an ear-splitting holler, and Abigail crashed into the wall. She spun around and saw-...

“BROOKS!” screamed Abigail, grabbing a hold of his limp hand. “P-please, no, don’t leave me on my own…!” she begged, tugging meekly at his arm the same way he dragged her. “Wake up, wakeupwakeupwakeup!” She pulled and pulled, but he was dead weight...Abigail’s grip faltered and she tumbled down the steps head-over-heels, falling deeper and deeper into the enveloping darkness. “No, no-...no...p-please, help!”[/i]

Abigail squirmed and groaned under Brooks’ relentless shaking. “Noooh, no…” she protested, as she had been doing for around five minutes now. Ever since the Gala, the young girl was plagued with nightmares; despite her tendency to be a light sleeper, she seemed trapped within them when they cropped up. The result was a very grumpy, very tired teenage girl slumped against the passenger window of the renovated pickup truck, talking and twisting in her seat.

Brooks had just stifled another yawn,  keeping a firm hand on the steering wheel, as the other reached over for Abigail, shaking her shoulder in more of an annoyed manner then worried “Ey’! Abbey, quit that, wake up!” he exclaimed, harshly and firmly. The girl’s nightmares had been so consecutive that it had begun taking a toll on him as well. Long hours of driving on dark roads as it was safest then, naps for mere hours when he’s lucky and minutes when he could spare them, all topped off with a mumbling and fidgeting girl that shouldn’t have been here in the first place. 

The guy was as much of a mess as her, unkempt greasy hair, a five o'clock shadow forming into stubble, stuck in a truck littered with newspapers and fast-food wrappers and their suffocating odor to accompany it. This wasn’t the first time he found himself in a situation like this, though he wasn’t a regular enough to call it home. However the stakes were raised; not only did he have to look out for himself but he’d put Abigail in danger as well, and felt responsible for her safety. He wished he was the iron-willed escape artist that Abigail thought he was, but he knew better. It was all just a facade to make sure a girl, one he wished he never brought along to the Gala, has hope.

Abigail eventually opened her eyes and wiped at them hastily, pushing away the shining tears in the corners of her vision. She quickly pulled the brim of her baseball cap right the way down, the way she usually does when she’s in a sulk, and remained like that for a painfully long time. The air was not only thick with BO and stale McDonalds; there was a strained tension in the air. Abigail usually got on very well with her employer but their relationship was sustained through frequent breaks from each others’ company. They both had their own lives, after all. This time there was nowhere to hide in the truck, and they were forced into regular interaction. Brooks may easily go for hours on end without saying a word, but Abigail hated the long and awkward silences and always found some topic of discussion - however menial - to break the ice. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled sullenly, but it sounded hollow.

Minutes passed.


Abigail pushed up the brim of her hat ever-so-slightly and took in Brooks’ weary features with guilt. She sighed and turned away again, watching the craggy rock face roll past her window. The view was awe-inspiring for a few hours beforehand, but quickly lost its allure and became monotonous as time dragged on. She had run out of things to do; all of the puzzles on the newspaper (“GALA SURVIVORS MISSING”) were completed save for a single crossword. She had already argued with Brooks over the single missing word at least twice through the duration of their journey and Abigail was almost certain that if she brought it up again, heads will roll. She checked the clock, and then noted the time down in an A5 notepad, sealed up in a ziploc bag in the inner pocket of windbreaker. She also noted down ‘travelling to Nobles’, just like she did throughout the last page and a half. “Hey, boss,” started Abigail tentatively. “Don’t-...don’t you think maybe I should drive for a bit? The road’s abandoned.”

He didn’t reply, hoping she’d get the message. His scowl fixating itself back onto the barely visible tarmac. After hearing the usual sigh, he felt it safe to change the topic: “You remember who we are, yeah?” He knew she knew, he was really just trying to keep his mind from falling asleep on the wheel, feeling strained as he managed to keep his focus on the ever creeping road.

Abigail smirked, giving a thumbs up. “Abigail Thornton. Don’t worry, I’ve got this all sussed out...dad.” She said it teasingly then, but there were a few occasions when she had practised using it and it just ended up sounding awkward. Their disguises were painfully simple, but it was the best they could do on such short notice...it wasn’t like anyone outside of their little corner in Buckhead would know who they were, anyway. Abigail highly doubted some of the people in Harlan have even heard of Buckhead. Giving up on the prospect of driving entirely she went to check the roadmap as the dark silhouette of a road sign loomed in the distance. “Oh come on,” she snapped irritably as Brooks zoomed past it before the headlights could provide enough light to read it.

Time stretched under the endless road and Abigail watched the sun rise out of the window, putting their filthy appearances into sharp relief. She cringed a little when she saw her face in the wing mirror; she looked like a tramp and smelt like one too. Whilst the girl couldn’t bring the nerve to admit it, Brooks looked just as bad as she did, if not worse...at least Abigail was getting some form of sleep. The moment they passed a road sign Abigail lurched back for the roadmap, having a breakfast of cold french fries as she used a chewed ballpoint pen to mark their position on the map. 

“Jesus, we’re close.” A knot of fear started to form in her stomach and she offered the box of fries out to Brooks as she read the map. “It’s the third road on your right...we’re going to have to go right through the town to get to the mineshaft. Jimmy said we’d be the only white people in town so...uh, let’s hope we don’t draw attention as we go in.” A hopeless endeavour nonetheless, the town itself looked like it hadn’t seen a tourist in decades. As the old truck turned up the road towards Nobles, Abigail suddenly said “Pull over. Brooks, pull over right now.”

Brooks continued to drive on for a few meters, eventually pulling over as per requested. He remained silent all throughout the next process. Twisting the key to turn off the headlights as he let Abigail proceed with her nitpick-action. Letting out a tired yet patient groan, he snatched up the packet of cigarettes discarded on the dashboard, furrowing his brows as he found them to be empty. “Think ‘em Black Chappies got a convenience store?” he voiced over his shoulder at Abigail, hands idly drumming the steering wheel before wandering to his face to give himself a wake-up rub. It felt cold, even with the windows rolled up he could almost feel the cool country-side wind blowing against him.

Abigail proceeded to get rid of all the rubbish. Her meticulous care when it came to the little things and discarding their objects was quite admirable, especially since she had something of an obsession with getting rid of evidence and covering her tracks; a trait which has undoubtedly saved her life multiple times. She grouped all the litter into ‘flammable’ and ‘nonflammable’ and ‘biodegradable’ piles on the back seat, tossing the flammable wrappers into a heap at the bottom of a muddy ditch and setting them alight. The fire was short lived and barely produced any smoke, but it was enough to distort and char most of the food wrappers and destroy any fingerprints, hair or saliva. She pushed the nonflammable plastic containers into the thick mud of the ditch, burying them to the best of her ability, before hiding the biodegradable waste in some bushes.

Abigail seemed...distracted and restless. Her cold eyes looked through Brooks as she tried her best to tidy herself up in the reflection of the passenger window, lost in thought. Her lips were pursed and she kept fidgeting with her hair and clothes, rocking from the balls of her feet to her heels, barely able to keep still.

Brooks watched her fix herself up in silence, not caring much for his own apparel. What was the point anyway? As far as he knew they’re about to drive into a town that can’t even spell the word “Suit” yet alone know what one is. “You don’t talk to no one, you let me know if people get too close, and most importantly-” he paused, snapping his fingers once and pointing his index finger at her menacingly, making sure she’s aware of the seriousness of his last point. “- You keep. Your Shit. Together.” snapped Brooks, his trademark scowl plastered to his weary face. Abigail grinned weakly in return.

After being sure that Abigail got the point, he turned to reach for the key once more. Giving it a twist and letting the engine of the Chevrolet C/K roar. He took his time, idly rolling up his sleeves up to his forearm and cranking down the window on his side. With one elbow hanging out, and the other hand casually latching onto the top of the steering wheel, he drove their way into the town. Fingers gently tugging on the hairs grown on his chin, eyes lazily drifting from one building to the other, he kept driving onwards with no real clue as to where the rat Jimmy’s “Mineshaft” actually was, silently praying for a massive sign pointing ‘THIS WAY’. Luckily Abigail cleared her throat a little as they approached a smaller lane to their right, bringing him out his thoughts.

Abigail was used to the attention, but she was also used to waving, winking and pulling poses as a reaction, and now she pretended to be asleep in the hopes nobody would pay her any mind. Brooks was a broad-shouldered brute of a man in Abigail’s eyes; all eyes were on him as the truck crawled through the town and onto the gravelly side road towards the mineshaft. “Well this looks inconspicuous,” whispered Abigail sarcastically.

“Uh-oh~” chimed Abigail as she noticed the small crowd outside of the mineshaft. It was moments like these where she was extremely grateful for having someone else around to do the talking; Abigail was nice and safe on the passenger side, fake-sleeping her way out of trouble. From the looks of things, the crowd consisted of a man covered in tattoos, his skinny tanned girlfriend and a pale scruffy boy with a pair of goggles. She thought she saw another girl on the outskirts but couldn’t lift her head up enough to see.

Brooks came to a slow crawling stop, lighters of the truck pointing in the groups direction, speaking to himself out loud, “What the fuuuuck is this…?” before letting out a curse under his breath. “Who the fuck are those? Jimmy tell you anythin’? I’m gonna’ fucking kill that weasel-...” he stops himself, cautiously eyeing the group in front of them. He speaks again, this time to Abigail: “Reach for the pistol, i’m gonna’ try and call one over, see what the hell’s going on.” In response, Abigail let out an irritated sigh as Brooks blew her cover. She opened the glove box and slid the loaded pistol out and well within reach whilst her other hand pushed the baseball cap up and rubbed at one eye drowsily.

Brooks reached up for his own snub-nosed, tucked into a holster in the dashboard above the steering wheel. He takes in a deep breath before eyeing the group ahead one more time, making sure to leave the engine running for safe measures.

Leaning out of the window he lets loose a yell, low enough to not awake the whole town but loud enough to hopefully catch someone's attention. “ ‘EY! What the hell’s goin’ on? What’re you doin’ here?”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Subtle,” she remarked idly.
Brooks continued scowling, one hand gripping onto the steering wheel as he leans back from the window,ready to bail if it’s a bad one. His other hand adjusted his rear-view mirror, whilst he rested the snub-nosed on his lap, waiting calmly.[/hider]