ANOTHER NOTE: The important bit's at the bottom of the collab. Because I doubt anyone would take the time to read through all that. (if you do though, you have our eternal adoration.)
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!”
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.
In reality people shouldn't need to be spoon-fed, but you're all hovering around the entrance and not saying anything. Hopefully our arrival will give some content, something to chew on and elaborate.
Name: Abigail Harlow Gender: Female Age: 18 Place of Birth: Buckhead Sexuality: Undecided Relationship Status: Single Occupation: Assistant
Power: Telekinesis - manipulating objects with your mind, ranging from making the nearest teacup float a few inches in the air to slowing down bullets. Cost of powers use: Memories. She systematically loses her memories from the latest to the earliest the moment she starts using her powers. The strength and exertion of her powers decides the rate at which she forgets the recent (and then not so recent) past. A sort of self-preservation technique kicks in as the mental strain can exhaust Abigail and stop her from losing too many memories too quickly.
Appearance: A short, scrawny woman with pale blonde hair which reaches a little ways down her spine. Abigail’s nose is small and tilted upwards a little; she has dark blonde eyebrows, flawless teeth and thin lips to give her a bright and dazzling smile. Her eyes are the most notable feature - deep blue, exuding a false warmth. When her facade is shattered, those eyes turn cold and her intellect shines through them. They’re the eyes of a cunning rogue. Abigail’s body is frail and flat - she has pale skin, bony wrists and small extremities. She’s almost entirely flat-chested - an A cup on a good day - and she has a multitude of faint nicks and scratches along her elbows, knees, hands, ankles, and feet. Standing at 5’2, she’s hardly an imposing figure.
Skills:
Stealth: Undeniably the most useful skill Abigail has in her arsenal. Forced to learn the ways of being neither seen nor heard at a young age, Abigail’s ability to move undetected is nothing short of awe-inspiring at times. She’s light, small and agile; coupled with her sharp observational skills, Abigail has practically mastered the art of sneakiness.
Agility: Ties in closely with stealth. She may not be the fastest sprinter but when it comes to twists, turns, dodges and climbing you know Abigail will be in her element. In order to be agile in the first place Abigail has her observational skills and a quick reaction time.
Intelligence: Being one of the top strategists in a crime syndicate requires an incredibly sharp mind. Abigail plans ahead and makes sure to cover her tracks, requiring a fair bit of mindpower to be able to outsmart people who were older, stronger and stupider than her. She uses every trick in the book to deceive, lie, pretend and bargain her way out of situations that may well end up getting her killed.
Criminality: Abigail took a more ‘hands-on’ approach to her new life, making full use of her sneakiness to learn some other dubious (but admittedly very useful) tricks from her co-workers. Basic lock-picking, light fingers, car hijacking and disabling simple alarms are some of her skills. Essentially, if it’s not legal, she could probably do it - but there’s an equal chance she’ll be pretty bad at it or get caught. She only uses these skills when she really has to.
Abigail looks seemingly overpowered at the moment with her strong skillset towards being a sneaky bitch. However, it is important to remember that Abigail is pretty much crap at everything else; she is rather frail when hit, she has little to no brute strength to rely on, her skills when it comes to survival are limited to cooking and sticking band-aids onto things...She’s simply not cut-out for close-quarters combat or living in the wild. Unfortunately for Abigail, close-quarters combat and living the way nature intended seems to be increasingly popular for The Unwanted.
Personality: Confident and outgoing, Abigail borders on childish with her boundless amounts of enthusiasm and optimism. Do not let her bubbly personality and restless, animated movements fool you; the rumours circulating the great Abigail Harlow are intense and highly exaggerated. Her wide and encouraging smile is encompassed by the lips of a fluent liar who does not even begin to show the slightest amount of respect for honour or morality. Abigail does what she wants, when she wants; she is rumoured to hold no loyalty save for her own and that of the highest bidder. This does not mean that her cheeriness is an elaborate ruse - she is genuinely just a happy person - but she'll be just as happy to blackmail a widow or steal from a beggar if the situation calls for it.
Since her mystery is upheld by the outrageous amount of gossip surrounding her, she holds true to her perceived persona - a chaotic neutral with a reckless and impulsive behaviour spurred on by a constant state of hyperactivity. However, she is not as nonchalant about whose side she is on; if someone manages to lower their guard and truly attempt to protect and comfort Abigail, becoming the closest allies with her and actually trusting her, then she will extend her loyalty in return and use her skills to look out for those she cares about. When displeased, Abigail has a horrible habit of sulking, pulling faces and not-so-subtly trying to garner pity or attention from others.
History:
Dear Future Abigail,
I’m writing this and giving it to the Boss so that we’ve got a backup copy just in case everything goes to shit and you manage to forget everything. The real copy is...hell, you don’t need to know that since you’re already reading this. Okay, no messing around, we’ll go from the start.
You don’t need to know the names of your parents. They were heroin addicts and overall assholes who gave birth to an even bigger asshole - yours truly. You were an only child and apparently a mistake as well, so that must be pretty comforting...but don’t worry, your biological mother and father weren’t worth the grit in their sneakers. Know why? The moment you were old enough to understand the concept of money, you got suckered into smuggling stuff into your school for the older kids in order to raise a bit of extra cash. Hell, sometimes I’m even grateful for it - if you didn’t get manipulated into that high-risk low-reward drudge work and didn’t get a taste for breaking the rules early on then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten to where you are today. Started off with contraband, things like sweets and gum, then mommy’s dealer sent you in with little packets of ‘sherbet’. That little job kept you going for around 4 years. You made a bunch of friends out of it and started to learn a fair bit about business, if I do say so myself. Then it all changed.
You were just a kid when it all happened, some snot-nose little working class brat who had her ego inflated by her so-called ‘shady business’ in the corridors of that state school. The door was kicked in, your dad got a well-deserved kick in the jaw, those goons grabbed the dealer and shoulder-barged your mom on the way out again. I don’t know what possessed you to do it - maybe we’re just a little crazy after all - but seeing your only known family snivelling on the floor is enough to pull a few heartstrings, even if they were wastes of space. And-...maybe it’s a bit of curiosity too. I can’t remember; so much happened since then. Long story short, you took in the make, licence plate and colour of the car and tailed it all the way back to their hideout. Maybe we were trying to be noble? All I remember is how foolish we were. Got in through the top floor window and spied on these men until someone grabbed you from behind, dragged you kicking and screaming down to the other thugs and then clasped a hand over your mouth and nose.
Brought you straight up to Boss. To be perfectly honest, we’re both pretty lucky those dimwits didn’t slit your throat and leave you in the gutter...anyway, the Boss saw some potential in you. God knows you weren’t satisfied with trying to look after those deadbeat drug addicts, and whilst your little salesmanship game at school made you feel important, he asked you if you wanted to expand your horizons. You said yes. Here’s where the tutoring began.
I really hope it’s been ingrained into your psyche by now because I worked my ass off to get where I am today. There aren’t any exams for this line of work - if you don’t pass these tests you wind up dead. Luckily, it turns out you had a real knack for being a deceitful little girl and with the right tips and lessons, you learnt how to run a proper business. The Boss taught you everything he knows, and you’ve done awe-inspiring things under his wing. You had a penthouse suite, everyone knew your name, you mingled with the rich and famous but you never ever let it get in the way of your job. You’ve made a lot of money.
Hopefully you’re still smart enough to notice I just used the past tense. Guess what? I’m writing this in the back seat of a rusty old pick-up truck deep in the arse end of nowhere! Here’s the second big shocker; you went to the Wildlife Charity Gala with Boss and, well...things went south. It got real bad. You barely made it out in one piece and the moment we’d turned the corner away from the street the two of you started executing Plan F. Almost immediately after the Gala we lost employees left and right, things got pretty stressy...We took it in shifts to handle our job and the preparations for plan F, loads of paperwork and coffee. When we lost Stevens the Boss went right up to your apartment personally and we both got out of the city.
Since then it’s been hell. I haven’t had a proper sleep in days, I look like a tramp...I had to cut my goddamn hair too, and this baseball cap itches. In all my years of planning and preparation for the “Just In Case” scenario, well...I guess I didn’t think it through that much because who honestly believes that everything would come crashing down the way it has? Things just got scary too. We’ve been knocked off our ivory towers. No more bodyguards or hired thugs to keep us safe, no average-joe looking workers to do all the menial stuff for us...every moment we spend in the public eye is a fucking nightmare because it only takes one person to point and mutter. If our cover’s blown, we’re worse than dead.
But hey, relax. If you’re reading this letter then you’ve got the Boss with you. He’ll tell you what to do. And...if you’re reading this letter and Boss is dead?
There does seem to be a bit of a "WTF now?" vibe going on here, the lack of IC posts makes me wonder. In reality me and Biscuits are working on one VERY long intro collab which is...oh, 90-95% finished? Hopefully it'll be done tonight. Essentially we're going to display the dynamic, and then drive right up to the mineshaft and ask what the hell is going on. I can post my CS onto the accepted tab now. I feel I should note that if there's a posting order coming up me and Biscuits will bail on this RP...we really, really hate posting orders. They're the slow death of an RP.
Ah, damn. Eli went into the mine - we'll have to change our collab a fair bit, then. Who's still outside? Also could someone explain where precisely we're staying? Because the shack looks like the most likely option, but Eli's post suggested that there was somewhere better deeper within the mine.
Sorry @Rawk - we're already typing out a collab. We'll be rolling up to the mine shaft directly instead of going through Nobles; speaking of, we might need Eli out there to meet us.
Bazmund