"You know, this is only a step off the beaten path of suburban horror. Surrounded by the trappings of civility made terrifying by the very nature of its broad-stroke mundanity..."
The tall, reed-thin man in slacks and a tweed jacket with elbow patches doesn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular - maybe to himself, if one has to guess - until he looks up, making uncomfortably unbroken eye-contact.
"Do you know what the Stepford Wives are?" He asks in a tone that suggests it may be rhetorical, tugging the lei from around his neck and holding it up to sniff with a suspicious expression.
"I think this is Hell. Has to be, right?"
b.
Salt has started turning up in darkened corners, sprinkled here and there, the gritty piles really only a problem for whatever mysterious cleaning services exist. There's no explanation for it until one day, there is.
A coppery-haired man stares at an armed crab as it scuttles along, dipping fingers into the palm of one hand whereupon a pile of salt sits. He flicks salt at the creature, scowling as it goes, before turning to pour the remaining salt from his hand into the corner. A few chaotic hand gestures and finger-wigglings later he seems satisfied with the work he's done, glancing up and around in precisely the sort of manner one expects to see in someone pantomiming innocence.
c.
"Oh, piss off!" the Brit hisses, yanking his hand away from the fountain drink machine. Reaching in gingerly, he taps the cup beneath the service spigot, flinching in expectation of new pain, only to mutter a curse under his breath and snatch the half-filled drink up, immediately sipping from the contents as he glares at the offending buttons.
"Half a mind to break everything that offers up a shock at this point. Probably some sort of Milgram Experiment adjacent bollocks. Someone somewhere else is getting a biscuit and I'm here getting a zap," he grumbles, placing his cup back on the tray to try filling it properly; only this time he's attempting to use his elbow to press the button, as though it would change anything.
Dr. Hallewell | Dead By Daylight OC |
"You know, this is only a step off the beaten path of suburban horror. Surrounded by the trappings of civility made terrifying by the very nature of its broad-stroke mundanity..."
The tall, reed-thin man in slacks and a tweed jacket with elbow patches doesn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular - maybe to himself, if one has to guess - until he looks up, making uncomfortably unbroken eye-contact.
"Do you know what the Stepford Wives are?" He asks in a tone that suggests it may be rhetorical, tugging the lei from around his neck and holding it up to sniff with a suspicious expression.
"I think this is Hell. Has to be, right?"
b.
Salt has started turning up in darkened corners, sprinkled here and there, the gritty piles really only a problem for whatever mysterious cleaning services exist. There's no explanation for it until one day, there is.
A coppery-haired man stares at an armed crab as it scuttles along, dipping fingers into the palm of one hand whereupon a pile of salt sits. He flicks salt at the creature, scowling as it goes, before turning to pour the remaining salt from his hand into the corner. A few chaotic hand gestures and finger-wigglings later he seems satisfied with the work he's done, glancing up and around in precisely the sort of manner one expects to see in someone pantomiming innocence.
c.
"Oh, piss off!" the Brit hisses, yanking his hand away from the fountain drink machine. Reaching in gingerly, he taps the cup beneath the service spigot, flinching in expectation of new pain, only to mutter a curse under his breath and snatch the half-filled drink up, immediately sipping from the contents as he glares at the offending buttons.
"Half a mind to break everything that offers up a shock at this point. Probably some sort of Milgram Experiment adjacent bollocks. Someone somewhere else is getting a biscuit and I'm here getting a zap," he grumbles, placing his cup back on the tray to try filling it properly; only this time he's attempting to use his elbow to press the button, as though it would change anything.