louis bloom (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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maskormenace2015-02-14 12:46 am
nightcrawl) wrote in maskormenace2015-02-14 12:46 am
Entry tags:
video broadcast 001; this girl is on fire
[ The broadcast opens up on a sidewalk where citizens are lined up almost perfectly abreast of one another; a long collection of dark bodies with their faces lit in a low, warm, flickering glow. It casts strange, mottled shadows on them. Some faces register horror, some are blanched of everything in their shock. Some still are even screwed up in grief or indecision.
All rapt in the wake of the sound of sirens and the undercurrent of a grumbling. For... ]
Can you tell us what's going on, sir?
[ The camera is on an older gentleman in a brown trilby. The voice that prompts him is a male's only as loud as it needs to be, and it seems to shock the featured man out of looking at whatever is going on.
"Well, no, I came when I saw the smoke-- hey, is that-- you?"
But the camera is moving on, swift and remarkably steady. The quality of the picture is about as good as a communicator camera can get. For shit, in the eye of this particular cinematographer, but good enough to understand what's going on.
The view stops on a young woman behind the side of a parked car. Her hair is still in curlers and wrapped up - you can see the dark, frayed ends peeking out of the red red red cloth. At the end one arm and close to the hip of her bathrobe one can discern the top of a child's head. ]
Ma'am, what happened? Were you in there?
[ She turns her head, eyes owlish and gleaming. It takes her half a second.
"Th... There was a loud boom like thunder, so hard it shook the place near to bits. We were on the first floor but--"
Out of the corner of the frame, a man who has been standing there and wearing the face more along the lines of pain, suddenly darts out of the line and off the sidewalk. The cameraman apparently sees him too and runs around the car after him.
Swerving around the hood, the screen suddenly erupts in fire. Viewers pay witness to the building blackened by the night and the smoke, but flame still licks out of windows. The man running towards the fire is at first a distant silhouette, then a little larger as the cameraman is able to do his own sprinting.
They are almost close enough to reach out and grab when they reach the other sidewalk, but it's then that the camera stops. The man in question doesn't.
He lowers his head and runs right through the door, disappearing from sight.
And now here you stand, viewers, slowly panning up the facade of that building, up into the night sky where the stars are, in large part, blotted out by the smoke. ]
[ ooc; This is a broadcast of the fire in South Heropa. The tag reads Louis Bloom. It will be covering the rescue attempts that have been prearranged before the event and are now being logged here by parties that have given me permission to have Lou film them. If you're one of those parties that talked it out with me, please leave an ACTION post here describing what you'd like Lou to catch for everyone playing the home game!
Otherwise, this will essentially act as a witness reaction thread. Lou may or may not respond to things said to him, especially if they're repeats. As you can imagine, he's quite a busy man right now! ]
action; john tries
action; thomas, teresa & grey.
no subject
action; the one that got away
John was still conscious. The same couldn't be said for the man in his arms. He shrugs out of his jacket, smothering out the flames on the other man's body and then his own. He leans over to listen for breathing, and then pumps on his charred and unmoving chest with both hands, grimacing with the effort.
He shouldn't have been able to keep doing what he was doing, his face pale and blue from lack of oxygen where it wasn't burnt or blackened with soot, but he did. The unconscious effect of an ability that made you stronger, faster and tougher the more you were hurting- and John was hurting from head to toe.
In this case, all it could do was keep him conscious and still able to move, when his battered and exhausted body demand he lay still and shocked.
His burnt, chapped lips were met by considerably blacker and drier ones as he administered mouth to mouth. The taste of cooked human flesh was powerful and immediate, the man's lips were still sizzling and burnt his skin, but it wasn't enough to keep him from acting on auto-pilot. John hadn't risked everything just to let him slip away without a fight. ]
well you just can't catch all of the fish in the sea
Lou moves forward, his lens on John's hands as they pump this victim's chest in attempt to create a new rhythm for a heart to work by. Staying alive - not quite.
The man was pale with effort, yet tireless in his resolve. That was almost admirable in Lou's mind - he had to wonder if those paying witness now behind his camera felt the same. Surely someone's heart would bleed in time to John's efforts, even if it wasn't Lou's.
He stood there, a silent judge, if noncommittal. A watcher, a witness of more than just one, as John failed and failed.... and failed again. The man was clearly dead in Lou's mind long before the older man ran out of the strength to keep up the chest compressions. ]
He's gone.
[ Lou told him, not unkindly. ]
If you keep going, you're only going to hurt yourself, sir.
[ But there was no concern, either, at least not beyond the synthetic in Lou's voice. He is the narrator of this terrible, untimely end. ]
Sir...
this one was a flounder
Any sane man would have stopped the moment they tasted death, but if Lou couldn't tell by this point- John had great difficult letting people go.
He didn't like losing people.
He stops, finally, and drapes what was left over his jacket over the man. John's shirt had started out white and was now smoke-stained a dingy gray-brown, stuck to his skin with sweat and in some places with blood. He mops at his forehead with the back of his sleeve and coughs.
When he looks at Lou it's with haunted, vividly blue eyes. Demanding something from him. Acknowledgement of what had passed, or maybe just a moment of silence in respect for this life and the countless lives lost in the chaos.
Anything. ]
guess that's why he FLATlined on you so easy, eh? EH???
Lou didn't know what to say.
And so he drops his eyes, and drops the camera to frame that jacket which laid like a heavy veil, so solemn over that charred man's face. That moment of silence is something he can give. And from a cinematic perspective? It speaks for itself.
Well, Heroes? ]
I don't think anyone can say you didn't try.
[ What provoked this man to run in? What was the end to his means? Ultimately nothing, it seemed, if not to make someone follow him into the inferno. For nothing.
Lou could have stopped him, or at least tried, but he hadn't. He doesn't regret that, though he has the good sense to offer some condolence.
Right before he begins to step off to find something more interesting to film. ]
Out of the frying pan and into the-
Samaritan had flexed its muscles and killed more people in one day than John could save in a month, and now he was in this place, with no idea of who or what he was up against. What happened tonight couldn't be a coincidence, but was he in any position to figure it out?
All John could do was try, because the only thing worse than trying and failing was not trying at all. ]
You saw him, and you didn't try to stop him.
[ He didn't need to raise his voice to sound dangerous. There was a darkness to his words, burning hot and ice cold at the same time. Acidic.
It was easier to feel angry than helpless. To lash out instead of cry, and to seek retribution instead of answers. ]
You watched.
no subject
I just didn't think I would be very persuasive to a man who was determined to run into a burning building. [ He holds up a finger in a 'don't interrupt me' gesture. ] Now, sir? I understand you're upset this man is dead, but that is his own fault, not mine.
Now excuse me, but I have more work to do.
no subject
[ He rises. Even bloody and burned, his clothes falling off of his body and his skin streaked with sweat and soot. He's an imposing figure in his height and disarray, though it wasn't his physicality that was most threatening, it was the look in his eyes.
Accusatory, angry and beneath all that, wounded. It was the latter that made him dangerous. ]
Work? These are real people, real lives- not characters in some sick documentary!
[ John was exhausted, injured and had no real right to be on his feet. It had never stopped him before and it wouldn't stop him now. Hurting people was what he was made for, as second nature as breathing.
His hand lashes out, just a blur on film, and catches Lou's wagging finger- he breaks it with a simple twist. ]
Try being more persuasive next time.
no subject
He hadn't thought anyone could be this stupid.
Unseen by the camera is Lou's already wide eyes bulging impossibly larger, and the break of a grin as he stumbles back. Full of teeth. A scavenger at the edges, scared, but also triumphant. Like he'd managed to push John there, like he'd been playing towards this all along.
Jesus, but that hurts! ]
What is wrong with you?!
[ That flash of triumph and fury morphs into a mask of partial fear; his voice is much better at playing the game. ]
Jesus! I'm trying to bring -- oh god -- I'm trying to bring coverage to all the imPorts out there that could help and you...
What's your name, sir? Because I can assure you, you'll be hearing from my lawyer for an unprecedented act of battery.
[ He keeps stepping back, both arms clutched to his chest, though you can bet the camera on his communicator is now swung up on John's face.
The only thing that's kept him from going off on this man in turn has been the fact that they're in public and that there's a harder potential legal case against his offender if he doesn't hit back. But make no mistake, he certainly fucking wants to, and nearly did. ]
no subject
You're the one trying to gain from other people's suffering.
[ If the promise of legal action scared him, it didn't show on his face or affect the cool rumble of his voice. He almost seems more calm. As if the violence causes a metamorphosis within himself as well.
His expression is calm. Tranquil, even.
The heat was in his eyes. Burning like hot blue flames in his sooty, haggard face. The judgmental weight of his gaze was far more dangerous than anger or hatred. John isn't just a man lashing out in the heat of the moment or looking to get even.
He's deciding if he should kill Lou, or let him live.
Better men had died at his hands. Some people the world missed, but he doubted Lou would be one of them. John wouldn't be missed either, humanity would be better off with less of his kind, but he had made a promise to someone. It was his duty to protect the innocent from people like them. He had failed to save the man whose body was still smoking on the grass, but maybe John would do everyone a favour by taking out the trash who had watched him die.
His blood wanted blood. He could feel it singing in his veins, commanding him to do what would be easy. What would feel good and right.
He struck again. This time at Lou's face hovering over the communicator, aiming for his nose. Eager for the satisfying crack it would make beneath his knuckles when bone met bone. ]
no subject
[ But John does, and Lou deserves what's coming for him, if not for this time than for what he's already done to get ahead back home. Too bad the world doesn't always punish those who deserve it.
Now that he's had a taste of what John's willing to do, however, Lou isn't about to make the same mistake of letting the man get too close again. When it becomes clear that John's not thrown by the threat of legal action and is pushing for all in, that's when Lou is backpedaling away from him.
When the shot comes towards his face, he parries it up and back with his forearm, the one with the broken finger. The camera is flipped off in his mind, but he still has a death grip going on the communicator. That's for the moment he tries to kick John hard right in the kneecap. A little too ambitious a move, as either way he'll be stumbling back off-balance. All it'd take is an imperfect step or a push. ]
no subject
In the second it took for Lou to fall John could think of five different ways to kill him. Catching him around the neck with both hands and twisting would have done the job, stomping on his head as soon as it hit the curb, shoving his thumb into one eye-socket and hooking up until he encountered brain-
Doctors excelled at putting people back together. John excelled at breaking them, but he wasn't proud of it. Taking lives was a lot easier than saving them.
He was breathing raggedly now, the exhaustion and his injuries taking their toll on his body. It hurt to move and just standing was difficult. If he wanted to end Lou, he wouldn't have another chance- his strength would run out. ]
I do get it.
The difference between you and me is that I know I'm wrong, and you?
You still think you're right, or you just don't care.
[ That difference was what saved Lou's life.
Not because John cared about giving him a second chance, but because he didn't want to squander his own on a low-life like him. He looks down at him bitterly, kicking him once in the gut and again in the ribs. ]
no subject
The major concern doesn't even give him a moment, as John puts a foot right into his gut. Lou can't help crying out in pain - it's a rush of adrenaline, dizzying. He coils in on himself, but another kick lands on his ribs before he can properly block, and Lou can swear he feels something crack. How is this guy still going?
His second breath comes out in a wheeze, almost a laugh except Lou knows he needs to go, now. He's been jumped before, but this man doesn't want his money; there's no sense in playing dead until he reaches for a wallet. The people, the witnesses across the street, just look like lights to him, blurred and rippling like another tiny city. If anyone is coming to help, he just doesn't know, and doesn't count on it either. After all, all the heroes were already inside or burning.
He imagines himself getting up and flinging himself forward, even manages to start, physically, before the next kick falls. But then, for John, he just rolls over and disappears. No puff of smoke, no trail of blood. Gone.
Gone a block over, in fact, right in the middle of someone's living room, where materializing in full means throwing up club soda all over the carpet. ]