[ There isn't much Simon can do in a straight-up fight against intelligent, rampaging monsters. The whole thing is rather overwhelming if he's honest, which, (honestly) he rarely is.
Just the same, he sticks to the city, doing his best to help quell the outbreak of looting, theft, and the general poor showing of humanity that sometimes occurs during crisis. He's got a bag of looted jewelry and is on his way to return it to its proper owners when he hears screaming from around the corner. People running away.
Simon being Simon, he runs toward the screams instead of away from them.
It's the monsters from this place's fence, looking larger and more ferocious than they did at a distance. He'd thought, somehow, that the problem was their numbers. Not each individual creature.
One of the things has a woman pinned underfoot and looks for all the world like it's about to tear her head off. He drops his reclaimed jewelry and pelts toward the woman, caught in the horror of the moment and the fear that he's about to see someone die in front of him.
The flying kick he lands on the creature's face does nothing but distract it, but honestly that's all he's hoping for. He yanks the woman out from underneath it and shoves her toward the sidewalk, away from danger.
And then he gets rammed with the side of the hog monster's head, flying a good six feet before he hits the ground and tumbles to a halt against the base of a lamppost. It advances on him, squealing in rage, and Simon scrabbles backward, one hand pressed to ribs that might well be cracked.
What a lovely start to his first week. ]
iii. ghosts from the past
[ It seems even when one tries to avoid trouble, here, it finds a person.
When he starts to hear them, he thinks ah, there it is, this whole thing is a dream. It would make a perverse kind of sense, given the revelations he had about his parents’ deaths only just before he arrived in this place. Except the sensations are too real for him to believe it. He cooks food, he buys groceries, he helps rebuild the areas in the city affected either by looting or by the attacks of animals that get past the people fighting them. His surroundings are truly, miserably real.
He's in the middle of helping a grocer put his storefront back together when he actually sees them, face to face. Standing in the middle of the street. Shades of his parents, holding hands. The half-broken shelving in his hands slips out of his grip and scuffs his Salvatore Ferragamos as it hits the shoes and rolls to one side.
The ghosts flicker and disappear, but Simon keeps staring at the spot, his throat tight and his eyes watering.
No, no, no. This place is bad enough without him going genuinely crazy.
From behind him, a voice he hasn’t heard in years. “I see you found my ring.”
Simon turns. There they are, incorporeal as wisps, their features barely visible. His mother speaks next.
“All that time and all that grief, and you couldn’t kill him.” She raises a hand, and Simon feels the cool of it press against his cheek. “My gentle boy.”
To that, his father’s ghost says nothing. ]
v. friendr
Friendr
«
»
» Age: youthfully vigorous » Seeking: anything » Preferences: bisexual » Interests: Fast cars, fine wine, and pretty faces. » Bio: Entrepreneurial world traveler who enjoys the good life. And sharing it.
[ The feed begins by broadcasting one of the private rooms in communal housing, a blank space without adornment, even the bed unused. This person is very new.
The person in question sits at the desk, bright-eyed and smiling. When he speaks it's with a posh British accent. ]
Hello my loves. How are we all doing today?
[ Simon turns in his chair, one way and then the other in increments. It's a perfectly natural movement, nothing odd, but it's a tell nonetheless. He's wired in spite of appearing relaxed, upset in spite of his smile.
No one who doesn't know him very well would be able to tell.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there's no one here who knows him that well. ]
This is an interesting situation in which we've found ourselves. Novel even for me.
[ A wink. ]
Anyone out there interested in a cocktail and a chat? I'd love to learn a bit more about our mercifully non-utilitarian surroundings.
Simon Templar || The Saint (2017)
ii. fertilizer hits the fan
[ There isn't much Simon can do in a straight-up fight against intelligent, rampaging monsters. The whole thing is rather overwhelming if he's honest, which, (honestly) he rarely is.
Just the same, he sticks to the city, doing his best to help quell the outbreak of looting, theft, and the general poor showing of humanity that sometimes occurs during crisis. He's got a bag of looted jewelry and is on his way to return it to its proper owners when he hears screaming from around the corner. People running away.
Simon being Simon, he runs toward the screams instead of away from them.
It's the monsters from this place's fence, looking larger and more ferocious than they did at a distance. He'd thought, somehow, that the problem was their numbers. Not each individual creature.
One of the things has a woman pinned underfoot and looks for all the world like it's about to tear her head off. He drops his reclaimed jewelry and pelts toward the woman, caught in the horror of the moment and the fear that he's about to see someone die in front of him.
The flying kick he lands on the creature's face does nothing but distract it, but honestly that's all he's hoping for. He yanks the woman out from underneath it and shoves her toward the sidewalk, away from danger.
And then he gets rammed with the side of the hog monster's head, flying a good six feet before he hits the ground and tumbles to a halt against the base of a lamppost. It advances on him, squealing in rage, and Simon scrabbles backward, one hand pressed to ribs that might well be cracked.
What a lovely start to his first week. ]
iii. ghosts from the past
[ It seems even when one tries to avoid trouble, here, it finds a person.
When he starts to hear them, he thinks ah, there it is, this whole thing is a dream. It would make a perverse kind of sense, given the revelations he had about his parents’ deaths only just before he arrived in this place. Except the sensations are too real for him to believe it. He cooks food, he buys groceries, he helps rebuild the areas in the city affected either by looting or by the attacks of animals that get past the people fighting them. His surroundings are truly, miserably real.
He's in the middle of helping a grocer put his storefront back together when he actually sees them, face to face. Standing in the middle of the street. Shades of his parents, holding hands. The half-broken shelving in his hands slips out of his grip and scuffs his Salvatore Ferragamos as it hits the shoes and rolls to one side.
The ghosts flicker and disappear, but Simon keeps staring at the spot, his throat tight and his eyes watering.
No, no, no. This place is bad enough without him going genuinely crazy.
From behind him, a voice he hasn’t heard in years. “I see you found my ring.”
Simon turns. There they are, incorporeal as wisps, their features barely visible. His mother speaks next.
“All that time and all that grief, and you couldn’t kill him.” She raises a hand, and Simon feels the cool of it press against his cheek. “My gentle boy.”
To that, his father’s ghost says nothing. ]
v. friendr
» Seeking: anything
» Preferences: bisexual
» Interests: Fast cars, fine wine, and pretty faces.
» Bio: Entrepreneurial world traveler who enjoys the good life. And sharing it.
vi. wildcard/network
[ The feed begins by broadcasting one of the private rooms in communal housing, a blank space without adornment, even the bed unused. This person is very new.
The person in question sits at the desk, bright-eyed and smiling. When he speaks it's with a posh British accent. ]
Hello my loves. How are we all doing today?
[ Simon turns in his chair, one way and then the other in increments. It's a perfectly natural movement, nothing odd, but it's a tell nonetheless. He's wired in spite of appearing relaxed, upset in spite of his smile.
No one who doesn't know him very well would be able to tell.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there's no one here who knows him that well. ]
This is an interesting situation in which we've found ourselves. Novel even for me.
[ A wink. ]
Anyone out there interested in a cocktail and a chat? I'd love to learn a bit more about our mercifully non-utilitarian surroundings.