Tuesday, 29 November 2011

-Spencer- It’s all okay

Shut up, June.
You can't fucking tell me otherwise. You're dead.
Joel is dead.
Lucas is dead.
You don't have any fucking right to tell me anything.
… So we’re still alive, because what else can we do? The couriers have three years worth of always aiding, always abetting, never fucking interfering. Because we’d watch you all, always removed. We know we can’t afford to fall when the bodies start dropping.
(I know you can’t afford for me to lose it)
You all need us.
(I know you can’t afford for me to get attached)
So we’ll keep on going.
(Fat chance)
Considering how The House is a thinly veiled eldritch horror itself, it’s a little strange for me to realize we’re kind of a last refuge for those of you who have nowhere else to go. Elaine and crew have set up shop for a little while, and I’m glad I can at least give them a safe place to lay low.
(Until the branches started moving in, when we’d all wake up in the morning and the forests that always flanked the edges of the territory we could see would move closer and closer, until they started breaking windows and trying to fix it hurts it hurtsithurtsithurts)

I’m guessing it’s because of the forest kids; even if one of them isn’t here, the Loop they were in just… really did a number on them. The Loops get into your head, draw form from your thoughts, trap you in a maze because your brain just fuels the fire. There’s no way out at that point without help.
(… I should know)
But at this point, it’s as much a part of them as they are of it. That sort of thing follows you like a bad cold. So I’m over here, up to my neck in black leaves, trying to figure out how to make The House stop screaming at me like I’m late on handing in a report. My nose is a goddamn faucet, but I’m making progress. Sort of. I’m not sure if it’ll go back to normal after they leave, but that’s something to worry about later.
(I’ll avoid what I want to for as long as I want fuck off don’t tell me what to do)
this sums it up better than I could ever hope to. Lori was off like a fucking bullet. using her shirt as a tourniquet and carrying Elaine down to the infirmary with strength I didn’t know she had. It’s… Elaine’ll live. She’ll live because we can’t do much of anything else. I…

What else can I do?
I know a few things. I’ll catch up to that fucking snake one day, and paid someone who’s known as a good source of information a little bit of a… visit. Shame he’s on assignment. Would’ve liked to see his lease on what went on, even if we didn’t get anything of consequence from it.
(Every time he screamed I felt a little better)
… Shit. TL;DR is that I’m working my ass off at fixing The House and shit’s gone to hell but we’ll get better.
This’ll get better. It always does.

Friday, 25 November 2011

-Doc- Dr. Doc of Emergency Home Medicine, Checking In

God, I'm tired, but I thought I would give an update on the state of things at the House. We had a sudden influx of people: no prizes for guessing why. Several of them needed medical treatment, some far more than others. Those without physical injuries are so traumatized, they begged me for anything I could offer to ease their pain and make them forget for awhile.

I may no longer be in favor of using medicine when it isn't absolutely necessary, but I cannot deny that sort of request. Not in this situation.

In my infirmary, I currently have Dr. Rivers, Elliott, and Alex. All of them are currently sedated or otherwise asleep, so I have a bit of time to post. I gave Elliott quite a nice scare after I finished surgery on Dr. Rivers's legs last night: I must've looked like a demented axe murderer with how tired and covered in blood I was. Without sharing too many private details, they're all going to survive. The precise state of their survival, however, remains to be seen.

Despite all the people here, the House is very quiet. Last time things were like this, we were down to twenty couriers. All twelve of my infirmary beds were full of very sick and dying people, far sicker than anyone here now. I'm relieved that things aren't as dire now as they were back then.

I haven't spoken to Elaine yet, but I think I'll go track her down and make sure she's okay before I get some rest. Although I suppose I should also ask if Spencer would like some hair color, he's starting to look a bit stately for his age.

Take care, everyone.

Thursday, 24 November 2011

~Steele~ Stopping by.

Oh, we have fun, don't we?

From the veritable wreckage of Hope, myself, Rivers and Alex (one of those forest kids), are finding ourselves in possibly the second least hospitable place; right back in the House. (Ray was with us, but he ran off gibbering about something in Pennsylvania. Comes with the territory, I suppose.)

Hello Spencer, I am positively charmed to be in thy abode once more. Words cannot describe.

It's for a good reason, though...Rivers' injuries are...somewhat dire. We were taken by surprise, one second, everything was fine, the second, his bones were jutting out of his knees, and a black tentacle had pierced his right thigh, the tissue around the wound going necrotic before our eyes, thin black veins jutting from the skin exposed beneath the hole in his suit pants, eyes rolling back and shuddering in their sockets... I haven't had the courage to look at it, just to patch him up as best as I could and drive as fast as I could to the best ...pretend doctor around. (I say this, but she's probably had more field experience than any GP out there with their quaint little degree on their wall. Love you, Lori.)

So, I'm just passing through; once Rivers is as healthy as he can be, we're back off to DC. Couldn't leave August with this lot on Thanksgiving now, could I?

Monday, 21 November 2011


She won't leave.
I tried to....
She won't.
No matter what I said
Or what I threatened to do
she wouldn't.


She's going to kill herself
she's going to die.
Oh god.
Elaine's going to die.

And I...



Can't do anything but watch it all


to the



-August- Quiet

I feel as if somehow, somewhere, we're letting somebody down.

November's been a quiet month for us, it seems. I'd say no news is good news but to be honest, it feels strange. Not having posted makes me feels... disconnect? Almost... distant? Anyways, it's not really time for musing.

Doc and I left Hope the other day. Seeing everybody again was... probably the greatest thing to have happened to me in a while. I loved every moment I spent there, even if cooking for everybody was a hundred times harder than I thought it'd be and I didn't spend nearly as much time with everybody as I would have liked to. I almost feel like I missed out on something - so I guess that means I'll just have to go back again sometime.

Elaine, thank you for taking care of us . Konaa, Lis, Tia, Michael, Shaun, Lucas, Richard, Elliott... christ, I can't even begin to name everybody I visited. Some people I've never met before. Some old friends. Some new ones too, by the looks of it.

Lis gave me a wonderful scarf and I have to admit, I haven't taken it off since she handed it to me on the first day we arrived. It's gold and handmade and so, so soft.

We're still probably a day or so from home. I'm just throwing this post up now to say that we're safe, we're on our way back and yes, there's still life on this blog.

Not that we haven't gone for longer stretches without activity - if not ourselves, other Stalked. I kind of wonder sometimes if people worry as much about us as I do when I go without hearing from somebody for more than a week, and then I remember that that's just how things are in our business.

Be safe, everybody. More details to come, if necessary.

Friday, 11 November 2011

-Doc- Heading to Hope

Hey there. I haven't posted since I yelled at Steele. I take full responsibility for what I said, but I do regret posting when I was suffering from severe drug withdrawal. To those I've been speaking to privately, I'm happy to announce that my efforts haven't been fruitless. I've kicked my addictions and I'm now back in business.

If you want to request a delivery, however, it'll have to wait: I've been out of the House for a few days now, and I'm currently at a diner having a bite to eat on my way to Hope. Word has it that some very exhausted kids are going to be waiting there for medical attention, and I'm not going to turn them down. Not after they've been in that damned forest for so long, and not when Elaine requested I be there.

Good luck on the rescue mission, everyone. I should be there by the time you return.

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

-Amanda- Harper

I'm feelin lucid.
Also I figurd out msot of spellcheck.
So Harper.
Funcking Harper.
He was brilliant, yo uknow? Fucking brilliant. Practically Spencer's goddamn protege. Only one besides the boss man himself who regularly ventured into the Wing. Crazy motherfuckin bastards, the both of them, messing with that god forsaken place.
Goddamn unlikable asshole too. But all of us are, aren't we? Personally, thought he was an alright kid. Good taste in smokes. Alwaus a good sign in my book. Hell, he even shared sometimes. Fucking even better sign.
But Harper.
This scrawny little spitfuck with a mess of shaggy ass hair and the fucking clearest blue eyes. Probably the best Courier we've ever had. Mostly solo work but he did it fast and he did it well. All we ask for in this business. Keep your cooll, stay sane, get the fucking package where it has to go. And Harper did that fan-fucking-tastically. Effieccent as fuck, wouldn't let anything stop him. Was fucking magnificent.
Wasn't great at the team sport shit thpugh. But who can blame him. Doc was still off her goddamn rocker in the worst fuckign way when he joined us, Spencer is fucking Spencer the motherfucker, Steele is a goddamn prick, Todd's not all there. August is sweet, aklmost fucking saccharine, but fuck sometimes he tries too hard. And then there's fucing me. Really, it's fucking sad that I was the most normal when he joined ud.
Apparently he'd been running for four months when Spence found im. Not a record, but not easy either. Was a fucking pro too, not many peple can spend 4 months running and look as good as he did when he came to the House. Didn't look fucking great, buut not bad.
Don't think he liked us mcuh but in this business you can t' choose your friends. Gotta work with whatcha got. Like I said, at leasy he had good taste in smokes. Never got terribly cluse to any of us but could alway count on findin us smoking pack afte pack together. Only one who could rival my nicotine intake.
It was almost happy for awhiel.
Then shit hit the fucking fan.
We were doing a group delivery and that should've fucking warned us. Shit always goes wrong on fucking group delivetires.
So yeah, shit was going fucking smoothly for once when it all went wrong.
He showed up. God fucking dammit He showed up. Harper tripped, fell and HE WAS RIGHT FUCKING THERE.
Right on top of him.
I remember screaming. Screaming so hard blood ran down my throat. He was an insufferable prick but he was my fucking teammate.
I thin Todd had to carry me kicking and thrashing away.
Goddamit, m too sober for this

Sunday, 6 November 2011

We went to the forest.

The thing about loops is, I can tell when we're in them, cause I hear them. I hear a grizzly, inhuman voice, and a child's voice. I've learned to block them out.

We had been walking through that forest for fucking hours before we got a glimpse of blonde hair in the brush. Spencer said follow. Hope had taken heart, and we chased after, expecting a kid. I was expecting a face I've never laid eyes on before. We had caught up with him.

And he had words for us.

"... oh? So the Couriers finally get off their thrones in order to get involved?" A sick, fucking depraved laugh. "Took you long enough, granted, you never were the type to jump to action for others, were you, Fitzgerald~?"

Fucking Harper. The childish, juvenile, imbecilic, callow little titsucker that was one of ours. The guy who we thought we had left for dead. Sam had no idea who he was, and Spencer and I were both speechless.

His rant faded out in my mind, and I was enveloped in a stupor, because what happened in the past should have stayed in the past.

Without thinking, my hand went for my gun. As I raised it to aim, I could see in my peripheral, a face. Although, it wasn't really in my peripheral, it was as if it was actually in the corner of my eye. I moved, it moved. I pointed my gun towards it, and it became clear to me that this thing had sharp, pointed teeth. My fingers wrapped the trigger and I squeezed my entire hand.

Then I was staring into the sun. A flash of red appeared before my eyes, and it was so bright it burned. I closed my eyes, and when I opened it again, we weren't in the forest anymore. We were standing in front of it. The voices stopped. We were just back on earth.

Spencer wasn't too happy.

We can't go back. There's no saving them. They're trapped.

All because I was fucking trigger happy.

god, grant him the serenity to accept the things he cannot change,

courage to change the things he can,

and wisdom to know the difference.

Friday, 4 November 2011

-Todd- Some Shenanigans

Salamanders. That's it. We're like salamanders. We grow back limbs after traumatic experiences. Doesn't really matter what happens or how hard we hit, we're always willing to fill out another delivery. Or something. Apparently, we're gonna save some college kids who're stuck in a loop.

And it is obviously the best idea to put the guy who turns into a homicidal maniac when exposed to loops into a loop.

First off, and most important, Grosvenor is under control now. Still, I know that doesn't make up for those things he said. And things he's done. But I do understand that he is an asset to the Couriers and is definitely worth keeping.

Second off, yes, we are already heading off to another delivery. And by we, I mean me, Sam, and Spencer. And the exciting part is that by "heading off" I mean "flying out". Which is fun.
(I've never flown.)
But it's an interesting experience. Some old couple insisted we move so they could sit by the emergency exit, and then this one guy (?) with really long hair and a kind of high voice started hitting on Sam, and me and Spence, simultaneously said "She's with me." That was enough to scare him(?) off. So Sam is now a polygamist. That's fun.

We landed and hailed a cab to this really nice hotel that Spence rented for us. Came with room and board, fancy little bathroom soaps, and a closet full of guns, knives, and other assorted weaponry. Yeah, that part was weird.

"Uh, Spencer?" I called to him in another room. "There's some... stuff in the closet."

"You expect us to go empty handed?" he walks in. He has a sort of 'duh' expression on his face.

"Oh. Guess not." I observed the guns, slightly worried about leaving my fingerprints on any of them. "So, we just go in and shoot everything?"

"We'll see how it goes. Don't be trigger happy, but don't hesitate too much either." he turns, pauses. "Oh, and don't kill any of the kids, alright?"

"Spencer, I doubt you'll have to worry about me killing anyone. I mean, me, Todd. Remember? I cried the first time we met cause I thought I might have killed someone."

Spencer considers this. "Good point. But if you see someone with a ear to ear grin, unload the thing."

I picked one of the guns up. "Which one is mine?"

"Whichever one. I don't really use guns myself." he walks away.

"Course you don't..." I say under my breath. I mean, of course Spencer, the leader figure, the classy one, is the one who doesn't use guns. Eh, I'm trying to get myself mad over nothing.

I don't know, but I'm strangely optimistic about this. Those are some good last words, right?