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[crittersheep]

WHO: all
WHERE: all
WHEN: Day 9, evening into night

[the sun goes down; the two moons rise.

it all looks...quite different. the laundromat lengthens and transforms the silhouette of Woolietown in the distance. the lighthouse beacon comes to life for the first time, throwing strong, brilliant light and stark shadows across the meadow and into the barns. the lazy river encircles the pasture in a glittering band, the bobbing shapes of the pool toys a little bit eerie until they drift into full view.

perhaps some of you are winding down. perhaps some of you are just gearing up for a wild adventure in the shadows. perhaps some of you, regardless of if you sleep or stay up, find your dreams and nightmares crawling out beyond the bounds of your own head tonight, drawing others in...

the night is full of possibilities.]

Comments

[ohlord]

[it sure is good camouflage. not that there's really anything to hide from currently (although a giant sandworm might be out in the dunes way out there, but y'know. this is why you don't live in the dunes).

being low to the ground, though, may mean the birdie does hear a sound that could be mistaken for wind or maybe something the kids are doing inside the church.]

[electricflock]

[pauses and cocks his head to one side then the other. peep? sound? peep?]

[ohlord]

[sound! no peeps, but instead a sound not dissimilar to metal scraping against stone. muffled but getting more distinct nearer to the grave.]

[electricflock]

[looks around, double-checking his surroundings, then scampers over to the grave

:v

peck]

[ohlord]

[quiet.

then a scraping tap.]

[electricflock]

[...

pecks a quick "shave-and-a-haircut"

just in case. maybe it's not a person under there.]

[ohlord]

[you know what, I bet Gunsmoke people know that one.

two. bits. knocking back]

[electricflock]

[OH NO]

Hold on!

[raps a sharp staccato and hops off the gravestone to turn into his human shape. he doesn't try budging the stone, he's five-foot-nothing, but he drops to his knees and starts scrabbling in the sand next to it, aiming to dig his way underneath]

[ohlord]

[the topmost layer is sand, of course, but under that is sun-baked hard earth and stone. it'll be hard going, but you find the edge of the tombstone and there's that scraping sound, less muffled, closer, moving quicker like a desperate plea--get me out!]

[electricflock]

[he gives himself claws knowing the hard ground will wear them dull— a gryphon's talons aren't meant for digging —but he'll take any advantage. he just has to reach that noise, just needs to connect that small sound of life to the outside air.]

[ohlord]

[bloodied pale fingers reaching through the small hole where you're digging. hi.]

[electricflock]

[TOUCHES THE FINGERS hi hi hi]

We see you, we'll get you out!

[ohlord]

[fingers GRABBING HOLD OF WHATEVER THEY CAN REACH AND PULLING]

[electricflock]

[HEY THAT'S MY HAND?? braces his feet against the tombstone]

Wait—!

[ohlord]

[YOUR HAND ARE BELONG TO WHATEVER'S IN THIS GRAVE or at least it's pulling hard on the arm but really it's less like it's trying to drag you in and more like it's desperately trying to use the grip to get out get out--!]

[electricflock]

[scrabbles at the hole until he can get his other hand in there to grab at the grave arm, HEAVE HO]

[ohlord]

[unfortunately, the hole is too small for much heave-hoing and clearly the person inside the grave's been trying very hard not to get too panicked up until this points, because the sound coming from inside the hole is definitely someone trying to yell or scream and choking on the dirt...]

[electricflock]

[stops pulling to grab the person's hand and squeeze it instead]

Stop, stop, wait! Hold still, okay? Will try something, will get you out.