Moondance Disco/Subway (Nightmare World)
Jul. 13th, 2009 04:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scribble_puppetA fenced-in alley leads her across to an employees-only entrance to (according to the sign hanging by one corner) Moondance Disco.
The inside reeks of smoke and ash. Getting through is tough- the floor in many areas is missing, revealing empty blackness beneath. Amber thinks very hard about everything but that as she gets across on the thin planks some helpful soul nailed over as something that might pass for bridges. She has to duck under a sagging ceiling at several parts.
The band stage is barred, a giant jail cell strung with rusty, bloody chains. The dance floor is gone, but more gibbets hang in the space where it was, their own chains creaking gently.
Her flashlight picks out a glint of white and silver across the room.
Against all common sense, there's a subway car in the wall, backside sticking out, like it'd rumbled through the disco and tried to plunge through.
She pulls the rear door open.
It's a plain car, the kind she rode in Ashfield all the time.
Well. The ones she rode didn't usually have parts falling off all over the place. And they were lit.
Her foot hits something that rattles heavily. A box of bullets. A second one sits on the seat nearby.
"What the fuck...?" That: definitely not allowed on the subway.
She goes back for them after she finds the empty handgun at the other end. There hasn't been a whole lot of gun training in her life, but it's got one distinct advantage over the pipe: distance.
The end leads to another car, and a chance to practice with her new weapon when a pair of Needle Things appears. Her aim is not the best, but they're big and the car is narrow. They fall.
She breathes, and reloads.
"fuck yeah..."
A third car supplies a hand-bound book, frayed and cracking and musty, with pages stuck together from moisture. It's weird enough for a second look.
She kicks the book away as hard as she can.
"How about a map out?" she growls to the emptiness. "How about something fucking other than fucked-up bullshit and fuckin'..." Anger wins over vocabulary, and she stalks forward, ready to kick the next door down.
She doesn't get that far. The floor gives way beneath her.
The inside reeks of smoke and ash. Getting through is tough- the floor in many areas is missing, revealing empty blackness beneath. Amber thinks very hard about everything but that as she gets across on the thin planks some helpful soul nailed over as something that might pass for bridges. She has to duck under a sagging ceiling at several parts.
The band stage is barred, a giant jail cell strung with rusty, bloody chains. The dance floor is gone, but more gibbets hang in the space where it was, their own chains creaking gently.
Her flashlight picks out a glint of white and silver across the room.
Against all common sense, there's a subway car in the wall, backside sticking out, like it'd rumbled through the disco and tried to plunge through.
She pulls the rear door open.
It's a plain car, the kind she rode in Ashfield all the time.
Well. The ones she rode didn't usually have parts falling off all over the place. And they were lit.
Her foot hits something that rattles heavily. A box of bullets. A second one sits on the seat nearby.
"What the fuck...?" That: definitely not allowed on the subway.
She goes back for them after she finds the empty handgun at the other end. There hasn't been a whole lot of gun training in her life, but it's got one distinct advantage over the pipe: distance.
The end leads to another car, and a chance to practice with her new weapon when a pair of Needle Things appears. Her aim is not the best, but they're big and the car is narrow. They fall.
She breathes, and reloads.
"fuck yeah..."
A third car supplies a hand-bound book, frayed and cracking and musty, with pages stuck together from moisture. It's weird enough for a second look.
She kicks the book away as hard as she can.
"How about a map out?" she growls to the emptiness. "How about something fucking other than fucked-up bullshit and fuckin'..." Anger wins over vocabulary, and she stalks forward, ready to kick the next door down.
She doesn't get that far. The floor gives way beneath her.
