[The last memory that Harry has is something akin to a dream.
Oh, dying was vivid in his mind. How could it not be? The sudden stabbing he'd suffered, bleeding out, and his last thoughts being oh, I don't want her to find me like this. But it was almost like there'd been more, walking, blood left behind, leaving his bedroom... No, that had to have been a dream, surely.
Yet, for all the thoughts of dreams and death, he's very much cold and damp, shivering as he pulls his shirt on after having found it, then reaches for his coat. Worn out, familiar, seems right. At least there doesn't appear to be any blood stains. He'd almost believe that he really dreamt up the whole thing if it wasn't for the scars he'd found on himself.
Blinking slowly, he looks up, trying to determine what to do next. This isn't anywhere near home, nor does it look to be that damned town either. So what then? Where is he?
Those thoughts are quickly stifled when he notices something on the shore. Is that... a an arm?
When he approaches, he's relieved to see that isn't the case, though he honestly isn't certain how tense he'd have been to see a real body part. A prosthetic is almost novel.]
Huh. [Absently, he picks up the arm, giving it a look. It could be lost, but that's an optimistic thought. Probably disposed of. Well, worst case scenario, he can hang onto it like the weird protagonist klepto he is for now until he finds a place for it.
Should you be in his vicinity, he awkwardly holds up the arm and says:]
Can I give you a hand...?
[oh god why did he say that please laugh jesus christ help]
📻 II. you wouldn't bee-lieve it
[Some people might hesitate even a little bit upon seeing someone covered in a swarm of stinging insects. Maybe it's old instinct of seeing some truly horrifying things when he'd been about 18 years younger, but he doesn't even really hesitate: instead, he's picking up the closest thing he can grab (tree branch obtained) and he's rushing in to help.
Swatting away at the insects, Harry is reaching in without thinking, grabbing for the swarmed person to free them.]
Come on, I have you!
[Only, he's thanked in probably the worst way possible: the victim lashes out, practically growling at Harry, but it's a weak enough swat that even someone of Harry's age is able to dodge, albeit clumsily.
Instead of being horrified at being attacked, instead Harry lets out a sigh and mutters with the most tired voice possible:] Yeah, of course.
[Well. He squares up, and holds up the branch like it's some kind of baseball bat.]
📻 III. network
text | un: radioshow Hello.
Sorry, I've never been big on using the internet to begin with so I'm not really sure what's the best way to go about this.
My name is Harry. I'm checking to see if my daughter is here That's the most important thing for me to know. Her name is Heather Short blonde hair She's a teenager just turned eighteen Thank you for your time.
Harry Mason | Silent Hill | Vileblood
[The last memory that Harry has is something akin to a dream.
Oh, dying was vivid in his mind. How could it not be? The sudden stabbing he'd suffered, bleeding out, and his last thoughts being oh, I don't want her to find me like this. But it was almost like there'd been more, walking, blood left behind, leaving his bedroom... No, that had to have been a dream, surely.
Yet, for all the thoughts of dreams and death, he's very much cold and damp, shivering as he pulls his shirt on after having found it, then reaches for his coat. Worn out, familiar, seems right. At least there doesn't appear to be any blood stains. He'd almost believe that he really dreamt up the whole thing if it wasn't for the scars he'd found on himself.
Blinking slowly, he looks up, trying to determine what to do next. This isn't anywhere near home, nor does it look to be that damned town either. So what then? Where is he?
Those thoughts are quickly stifled when he notices something on the shore. Is that... a an arm?
When he approaches, he's relieved to see that isn't the case, though he honestly isn't certain how tense he'd have been to see a real body part. A prosthetic is almost novel.]
Huh. [Absently, he picks up the arm, giving it a look. It could be lost, but that's an optimistic thought. Probably disposed of. Well, worst case scenario, he can hang onto it
like the weird protagonist klepto he isfor now until he finds a place for it.Should you be in his vicinity, he awkwardly holds up the arm and says:]
Can I give you a hand...?
[oh god why did he say that please laugh jesus christ help]
📻 II. you wouldn't bee-lieve it
[Some people might hesitate even a little bit upon seeing someone covered in a swarm of stinging insects. Maybe it's old instinct of seeing some truly horrifying things when he'd been about 18 years younger, but he doesn't even really hesitate: instead, he's picking up the closest thing he can grab (tree branch obtained) and he's rushing in to help.
Swatting away at the insects, Harry is reaching in without thinking, grabbing for the swarmed person to free them.]
Come on, I have you!
[Only, he's thanked in probably the worst way possible: the victim lashes out, practically growling at Harry, but it's a weak enough swat that even someone of Harry's age is able to dodge, albeit clumsily.
Instead of being horrified at being attacked, instead Harry lets out a sigh and mutters with the most tired voice possible:] Yeah, of course.
[Well. He squares up, and holds up the branch like it's some kind of baseball bat.]
📻 III. network
text | un: radioshow
Hello.
Sorry, I've never been big on using the internet to begin with so I'm not really sure what's the best way to go about this.
My name is Harry.
I'm checking to see if my daughter is here
That's the most important thing for me to know.
Her name is Heather
Short blonde hair
She's a teenager just turned eighteen
Thank you for your time.