#I ONLY HAVE 3 DAYS OF OBJECTOBER LEFT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doodlebeeberry · 1 year ago

Text

Hourly

(for objectober day 6: city)

It wasn't even a bad thing, inherently. They—he—had been waiting months to get back home. Or back to Earth, at least. Their own respective Earths. It had just been sudden. Too sudden. Bryce hadn't known what to make of it.

In which Bryce is left waiting in San Fransisco, and the consequences of having to be patient.

inspired by this drawing by @/sodabottlehfjone that i had life three separate ideas for a while back. admittedly this left the scope of my original idea a bit but still.

Also theyre humanizied here for consistency sake btw

2:58 a.m. An alley off 13th and Cabrillo, tucked between a shooting range decorated with little more than sun bleached targets and a diner sporting a crooked, half lit sign. Clear sky overhead. A dumpster half full of garbage and a skinny grey alley cat sniffing around near its base, where a few scraps had slipped through a torn bag and sprinkled the ground like an inverse confetti. No stars, not with the city light. In red and green blinks, though, an airplane crawled across the sky. The faint roar of its distant engines played Foley over the night.

It took one minute for the monotony to break. Kind of. Sixty seconds, the cat investigated a napkin and an empty grape jelly packet. The plane flew further eastward. Then, 2:59 on the dot, to the second, the millisecond even, and Bryce was there. Not there, then there, in an act so devoid of fanfare that, for several seconds afterwards—fifteen, to be exact—neither he nor the world itself seemed to have processed his appearance. Six months of grass stains were hidden only just by the green of his jacket. One hundred and eighty three days worth of wear showed on his pants, his shoes, his face tilted up and frozen mid one—sided—conversation. Longer hair with faded dye dripped down his head and shoulders and around his cheeks. The very first thing he saw, upon returning to Earth, was the plane retreating over the rooftops. Its green lights winked at him. Sixteen seconds after his appearance the wind blew stiff into his hair. Several strands tickled his nose. His mouth shut—clicked, with the tap of his teeth against each other so suddenly—and he took a deep breath in. It came back out heavy, something between a sigh and a growl and a groan.

"That idiot," he said. The cat looked up at him, his words alerting it to his presence for the very first time.

At 2:59 and twenty one seconds, the cat scampered around and away from him down the street. In the following thirty nine seconds the engine whirr faded from the air, and by 3:00 a.m on the dot Bryce was well and truly alone.

There were two ways he took that. On the one hand, he'd been alone a lot over the past six months or so. The plane wasn't massive really, but it was plenty big enough that he could wander far enough in the plug's direction for the silence to swallow him up. On the other, it never struck him as actual 'alone time'. Not like it was in his apartment, or his car, or the whole of Bridgeport, or now, with the smell of garbage starting to reach his nose. On the plane it was just separate. Quiet space. Maybe it was Liam that made it feel that way. Invisible and, if he wanted to be, inaudible above them in Airy's world.

Or was he besides them? Was that how Liam had described it?

At 3:01 a.m, Bryce decided not to sweat the details. He fished around in his pockets instead, pulling out first a blue sticky note and looking it over the same way he checked his phone for the time. It did not tell him the time. It read him a couple phone numbers, a couple names, a couple different handwritings, a couple too many crinkles along the corners from living in his jacket for so long. He stuck it back in his pocket. Next a few dollar bills. Some coins. 16.65 total, lucky him. They all went back in his pocket. Then came a receipt, a torn scrap of cardboard packaging. 'Charger' was the only thing of note written on both of them. With purpose Bryce tucked them away. By 3:03 a.m he had taken a full, meticulous stock of his pockets. He wasn't expecting to find his phone, having lost it multiverse jumping months back, but the lack of it still disappointed him. Even if he wasn't sure what messages he would've been coming back to.

A car drove past the alley. Headlights cast out around him, the LED kind that were brighter than the sun, and peeled away just as quickly without ever quite reaching him. Just an inch or two too far. The car in question had been red, he thought, and small.

3:04 a.m, he realized he could see the reflection of the sign next door on the windows across the street. He couldn't tell what the buildings were—shops, restaurants, apartments. Whatever it was, the lights inside were dark. From the distance, Bryce couldn't see his reflection.

3:05 a.m, he resisted the urge to pace. It was tempting, but he bit it back. He turned a pocket nickel in his fingers instead.

3:06 a.m, someone walked by. Tall, but not thin, with hair up in a bun. He guessed it was blonde, or white.

3:07 a.m, nothing happened. He cursed. "That idiot," Bryce hissed again.

3:08 a.m, He began to pace.

3:09 a.m, Bryce replayed their last interaction. 'Stop' wasn't what he'd meant to say, but everyone had vanished, one by one, and shouting Liam's name had hardly seemed to work. He'd given them no warning. Bryce had been telling Amelia a story. Then, Amelia was gone. Subway followed. Then Charlotte. Atom.

Quiet. A slight shuffle in the air. "Did you—"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did"

"are you gonna... can you send yourself back?"

Pause. "Maybe. Probably."

2:59 a.m. Keyboard clacking.

"You've gotta go back"

Less a pause, more a breath. "I—"

"Go home , Liam."

3:10 a.m, Liam was never good at listening to him, not in Bridgeport and not now. Bryce didn't know what he was waiting for.

3:11 a.m, he considered leaving the alley.

3:11 a.m and one second.

3:11 a.m and two seconds.

3:11 a.m and four seconds.

3:11 a.m and eight seconds.

3:11 a.m and sixteen seconds.

3:11 a.m and twenty-one seconds.

3:11 a.m and twenty-two seconds, on the dot. To the millisecond, even. And Liam was there. Bryce was no longer alone.

They stared at each other. Liam clutched the strap of his backpack.

"Sorry," Liam said, simply. Another car passed, this one blue. Bryce could make out a baseline thumping through it's doors. diner—scent wafted above the garbage, slightly. The tense energy wound up in his gut lessened, tired.

3:11 a.m and fifty-nine seconds. "Come on," Bryce walked around a proper reply, "let's eat."

* * *

The diner itself was fine. Small. A little dimly lit. Empty save for one guy in a worn-out suit jacket slowly chewing on a hot dog while watching a lets play on his phone. A counter with some assorted old barstools and booths that ran along the walls. Glancing at the bored server behind the counter—short and older with an abstract tattoo running along their neck—they sat at a booth beside a window. From this angle, Bryce could spot the moon hanging over them. Yellowed and crescent thin.

He wasn't all that hungry, honestly. He wasn't sure why he'd brought them here, beyond the promise of coffee that would chase away the sleepiness hanging over him. Regardless, he traded away the majority of his 16.65 in pocket money and contemplated swiping a bite or two of Liam's waffle—lightly syruped, and unbuttered—while waiting for his coffee—sweetened, but without milk—to cool, if only to keep hunger from catching up to him. He knew it would, sooner or later.

Bryce set his chin on the table, slowly but surely giving in to sleep. They hadn't said much since they'd walked in, and it was the quiet between them that kept him from slipping under completely. He shut his eyes.

Liam, moments later, was the first to break that quiet.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Tired," Bryce replied, halfway to a mumble. Liam hummed. There was music playing in the diner, a dad-rock sounding band Bryce didn't know the name of, just loud enough to hear and acknowledge before it faded to the back of his awareness. If he bothered to listen closer, he could hear the sound of people shuffling around in the kitchen. Above all that, though, came the sound of ceramics across laminate. Bryce pried his eyes open. The waffle sat in front of his nose. Glancing up, he found Liam looking back. A scrap of waffle was pierced on his fork. He glanced between it, the plate, Bryce. Bryce, for his part, flicked his eyes towards his still steaming mug, then back to Liam. Liam bit off his waffle scrap and gestured with his fork. Bryce scoffed a bit. Once again, Liam was never particularly good at listening to him. Still though, he sat up and snatched his fork from its resting place on the table, his pinkie brushing the warm mug in the process.

"You never know when to quit," Bryce told him.

Liam held out his knife. "It's been six months"

"So?" Bryce took it, "plus, they burned it"

True to his word, the left side of the waffle was overdone. Less of a golden shade of brown and more of a dark, dark one.

"So?" Liam returned. Bryce didn't argue with him. Instead, He focused on cutting up one of the better looking sections he'd been offered. It gave fairly easily under the knife, soft and springy. He came away with a single square, a tiny puddle of syrup pooled within it. Sticky threads followed it some ways from the plate as he lifted it. The song faded out, shifting from electric guitars to acoustic, different in tone but not inherently more mellow. The waffle piece sat patiently on his fork. Bryce did not bite it.

"What took you so long?" he asked. Liam, once again, paused. "to get here,"

A singer began, voice low. Liam looked just left of Bryce, like he was looking at his ear instead, or the counter behind them.

"I had to get Texty," he began, patting his backpack, "for one"

"That took ten minutes?"

"It could've"

Quiet seeped back over them. Bryce leveled him, disbelieving, but Liam still didn't meet his eye. Bryce dipped his piece in a thin syrup streak on the plate. He took his time, dragging it through, gathering up a heap of what was most likely artificial maple onto his piece. With one final glance at Liam that, once again, missed him, he bit into it. Sweetness filled his mouth, sweetness and the taste of maple. He couldn't remember maple flavour enough to speak to the authenticity of it—even before everything, maple syrup had never exactly been a frequent part of his diet. The syrup hadn't soaked the waffle completely. It was springy, relatively soft, thankfully devoid of burnt flavour. All told, it broke over him like a wave. He still wasn't hungry, but his body knew he hadn't eaten in months. The dissonance shook up his senses as he swallowed, foreign, familiar, a good reminder that he was on Earth again, even if he wasn't home, all at once. It all must've shown on his face, because he found Liam looking at him again, slightly puzzled.

"God, that's weird," Bryce summed up, "how did you put up with eating again, the first time?"

Liam shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I was so focused on getting to Bridgeport I just didn't think about how long it'd been." He pierced another piece with his fork, glancing out the window. "Honestly, seeing the sunrise again threw me off more than anything"

Bryce followed his gaze. It wasn't even 4 a.m; the sun wasn't rising yet. The moon hadn't moved much. It still watched them from the sky. Another plane was slowly making its way across the sky, though. Blinking, red and green. The door swung open, shut. Less than three seconds later the suited man walked past their window, leaving them the only patrons inside.

"I guess I can see that," Bryce said. They watched the city sleep a little longer.

A minute passed in this quiet.

Then another.

And another.

Then, as Bryce's eyes began to droop again—

"You told me to go home," Liam said, suddenly. Bryce looked at him, but caught the fading green of his hair rather than his eyes once again.

"Yeah?"

"You said I had to go home"

"Yeah, what's your point?"

"Why?"

Bryce blinked.

"Why?" he parroted.

Liam turned to him. "Why?"

Bryce shifted, leaning away from the window to look at him fully.

"What kind of question is that?"

Liam, following his lead, turned away from the window as well. He shrugged.

"It was over," Bryce said, "you stopped Airy, you sent us home, you didn't need to be there anymore." He grabbed his coffee, which had finally cooled enough to drink. Sipping it, he found it much less sweet and much more burnt than the waffle had been. Like he was sipping from the same pot they'd prepped the morning before—a likely bet, if he was to guess. At the very least he could appreciate its warmth.

He watched Liam's expression shift, and somewhere along the line he began fidgeting with a stained blue sleeve. Setting his mug down, Bryce nudged the half eaten, half forgotten plate into Liam's hands.

"You needed to go home," He said, "That's it. End of story." Bryce tried to keep his voice firm, certain, as though his thoughts on the matter began and ended here. Consciously, he didn't think of 2:59 a.m, how he'd felt when he'd opened his mouth. The coulds and woulds and formless opinions he had on Liam's fate. Either way, he'd known and still knew now, Bryce wouldn't have been able to do anything about it, not really. So instead, he picked up his fork. It left a sticky spot on the table where he'd left it.

Liam looked at him. His lips were pressed thin and his look measured. Almost like he didn't believe him, or had more to share. But whatever it was stayed in his head.

Without another word, he grabbed his fork and began, again, to eat.

#shout out to the dinkus. ive always used dashes for things like that but now i think i may swap sides #objectober #objectober 2023 #hfjone #hjfone liam #hfjone bryce #writin and ravin #im not that happy with the ending of this. or the inconsistent voice. or the fact that i didnt proofread it (cause its 3am again)#BUT. i had fun. and i like the concept. and also i like it. so. you know.

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doodlebeeberry · 2 years ago

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Time Sits Paused

Most emotions were a bit odd for her to process, CoCo had learned quickly. Really, she processed them twice.

In which CoCo and co, now down a member, are left to face a manticore.

technically written for objectober day 3-horror but it has nothing to do with object shows actually, its just another chapter of String Theory cause i love these girls so. like the first chapter, warnings for violence, blood, some gore, and animal death.

(ao3 link in source)

Silence. A terrible relative silence stilled her. Trapped her, beneath the thump that filled the barn completely from mere meters away and the thready, off-kilter whispering of Runnings and Marnie. CoCo stared across the distance, forgetting, for a moment, the sedative and the other girls at her back, locked on the red now smeared across the floorboards in chunks. Goldie's hair was half-yanked from its wispy bun, dampening slowly in the puddle beneath her. CoCo looked no lower down her body than her eyes, dulled and wide and staring right at her, just as she had been when the manticore’s claws had smashed through Goldie like she were no more than wet paper. The creature, still standing on her, slipped and struggled over the viscera that once was her friend. CoCo whined, slight and quiet and so very robotic in nature. If it noticed, it gave no indication.

Most emotions were a bit odd for her to process, CoCo had learned quickly. Really, she processed them twice. Her inherent roboticism, built of logical systems and countless lines of code, did simulate a variety of general emotions to the best of its ability, mainly from a preservationist standpoint. Certain stimuli and situations were hard-wired into her to read as happy or sad or painful or what have you, forming the ifs to a variety of then statements: if: pain then: avoid; repair damage, if: angry then: diffuse, if: happy then: file data for future repetition. A very flat perspective. Her soul, though it had first sparked from this, had developed in time to explore the grey areas in between emotions: contentment versus ecstaticness, mild confusion versus dumbfoundedness. It reacted…emotionally. Less rational, its responses tended to be in comparison, but more accommodating. It was really just a matter of finding ways to mesh the two responses together.

Neither, however, knew what to do with this. She struggled to name it—grief? Disgust? She was certain, were she capable, she would be sick at the sight of this. Broken bits of bone stuck out white among the mess. Blood and tissue forced from her friend’s mouth at the impact. Hands wet. Fingers curled. They’d spoken, what, five minutes ago? Ten? Less than that? The wooden netting Goldie had strung up between the beams cut them off from one another, but CoCo wasn’t sure, even if she could, if she’d try to get closer. To do…something. What was she supposed to do?

Feather answered that question first.

“We need to move.” She whispered quickly, “We need to move. Now.”

Bell’s high voice wavered, “She’s—Feather, she’s—”

“I know. We will be too if it spots us again. She can’t keep that net up anymore.”

CoCo remained with her back to them, half listening. She still couldn’t quite place it. Dread, perhaps? It pulled itself unsteadily to its paws. Drool dripped pink from its chin.

“May I remind you,” Marnie butted in, abandoning the incantation, “That that..thing is currently barring off our only exit? Where, exactly, would you have us go?”

“Just—”

It stood, suddenly, very straight and very still, its tail thumping limply to the ground. CoCo tensed. Her processors whirred like an old motor. The manticore’s ears twitched.

“Hide.” Feather said, almost too quiet to hear. “Hide. Somewhere. Go, go!” The wood creaked slightly as the four of them began to scramble. CoCo watched its tail move slowly and unevenly across the floorboards. It left shallow scratches, bits of venom dripping from the broken end and pooling in the divots, mingling with the blood that quickly followed. Goldie was still caught beneath its massive paws. Squished beneath the weight. A hand wrapped around CoCo’s arm, tugging her slightly.

“Co, we’ve gotta move” Feather pleaded with her, knocking her from her stupor. Its eyes flicked over, meeting hers. CoCo mumbled something in reply, some affirmation made incomprehensible even to herself. Slowly, she began to pull herself to her feet.

The manticore sprung to life. Thumping paws, splashing towards them. A not-quite yowl ripped from its throat. CoCo scrabbled, forced by pre-programmed self-preservation. Grasping Feather’s arm, the two stumbled back, just as the beast collided with the netting. Its teeth caught on the wooden threads, bending under the pressure as it pushed. It forced half a paw through, clawing at nothing. They heard only the creaking wood above its growling croons, backs turned to it, seeking cover. Feather and CoCo tumbled into a disused stall after Runnings waved them over. Marnie and Bell sat behind her, staring at them worriedly over the spirit’s little shoulders. Bell trembled slightly. Once more, CoCo sat at the front of the group, turning her back to them. She looked back the way they’d come, unable to see the manticore from her angle. The sound of its struggles still reached her clearly.

“You two alright?” Runnings whispered.

“I’m ok,” Feather replied, panting and wincing slightly, “though the bad knee is getting really tired of all the running.” A brief moment of not quite silence followed. Only the slight sound of movement behind CoCo punctuated it.

“Co—”

“I’m fine,” CoCo responded before Feather could ask. She turned back to the group, failing to school the emotion on her face. Unsettledness? She still wasn’t sure what it was. “What do we do?”

Feather blinked at that. In the dim, CoCo’s screen alone seemed to light them, washing the four in a purple-tinted glow.

“Well, we certainly can’t get close to it,” Marnie began, a slight waver in her voice, “We can’t risk it again. Perhaps we should simply wait it out? In that state, it’ll surely tire itself soon”

“I’m not sure that's a safe bet, not if it’s been going this long.” a particularly loud yowl cut through the air. Feather lowered her voice further before continuing “Isn’t there a way to sedate it from a distance?”

“There might be, but nobody grabbed the salve.” Runnings said. Slight annoyance tinted her tone.

“Can’t you two make more?”

“I barely had enough herbs for the first batch!” Marnie cried, throwing her arms up, “Honestly, how much do you think—”

A loud splintering cut them off. Clattering on the floor alongside clumsy, thudding paws. Marnie’s hands flew to her mouth, clasping tight over it. Their eyes all widened. CoCo turned, again, spotting wood splinters scattered across the floor outside the stall, having been sent flying once the net broke. Her processor roared once more. Pawsteps. An uneven growl, growing louder. Closer. Slowly, so very slowly. The image of Goldie on the floor flooded CoCo’s mind once more, unbidden. She crept back. They all did, pressing themselves back against the wall.

It dragged itself into view. Head lolling on its shoulders. Blood on its fur, marking its path. Glassy eyes settled on her. By the light of her screen, it was lit purple, too. CoCo froze. Her processors stopped, suddenly, flooded once more by that emotion.

Horror, her soul finally supplied. It’s horror.

The manticore’s muscles bunched. Claws out. Limp jawed. Teeth stained. Glinting. She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t even flinch—

But she didn’t have to, as thin threads pulled from its body. With a rising hum like violins, by the dozens, like stitching come undone, its abdomen seemed to unravel into string, drifting in long endless lines out of view. The air seemed to vibrate. It stumbled, tangling itself in its own threads. The disentanglement spread up to its chest, then its throat, turning its roars into dreadful gurgles. Blood dripped to the floor as its skin and muscles came apart, and, after several struggling seconds its eyes rolled back and it collapsed, huffing a few weak breaths before falling still, torn open and spilling onto the floor.

Now, from their angle, most of the girls couldn’t quite see where the threads were going, tucked much to far back in the stall. But CoCo sat at the front of the group. And as the threads finally cut themselves off from its body, out of the corner of her left camera, she spotted the mass of threads tethering themselves to…something. Someone—a figure, too dark and shrouded in ribbons to make out clearly in her periphery. The vibration reached a fever pitch, then, buzzing deep around and within her. The noise climbed high; it seemed as though CoCo was sitting in the center of a stringed orchestra, all playing a single, deafening note. And, before she could process what she was sensing, let alone turn to the vague figure in the edge of her vision, it stopped. The air was still. Silent. Deafeningly so. CoCo couldn’t really think. She couldn’t process anything. Not with her programming and not with her soul. She sat for a minute, then two, unmoving. Behind her, the girls all but held their breaths. Eventually, though, Runnings rose, drifting around CoCo as though she were hardly there, and hovering just before the felled beast. She studied it as much as she dared without getting close.

“...It’s dead” Runnings said.

Feather crept into her view next.

“How?” She asked, despite having just watched it keel over.

“Not sure” CoCo, in all the years she’s known her, had never heard Runnings voice sound so tense, “It’s like something just pulled it apart.”

CoCo tuned them out. Leaning forward slightly, she looked left, out towards the entrance. But in the moonlight flitting in through the door, she saw only the blood and smushed bits of viscera left smeared on the floor. Nobody was there. Nothing was. Not even Goldie.

#love murder. very fun #not putting this in the prompt tag cause uhhh dont feel like it #blood #violence #oc #writin and ravin

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