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madkiska · 3 months

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Dead Weight

The crash. That they all were avoiding talking about. As if denying it could undo what had happened.

Contains spoilers for the beginning of Ordem Paranormal: The Death Flight. Warning for possible body horror.

The silence on the runway was unsettling. Roz kept checking her ears to make sure they had returned to something approaching normal. It felt like there were too many people for things to be so quiet. So many people. The regular passengers had remained in a huddle, staring at one another - except for Henry, who had been pulled away from the group by Darcy and Fiona for what must have been quite the conversation. Caroline and Co-Captain Navarro were talking to Xavier and Carina over by what was left of the nose of the plane. Probably taking inventory of what resources they had - salvageable electronics, emergency supplies, whatever luggage hadn’t been damaged in the crash… The crash. That they all were avoiding talking about. As if denying it could undo what had happened.

She gathered a few of the passengers with stronger stomachs to help her move the bodies out to the field on the other side of the plane. Not that everyone left hadn’t already seen what they had turned into (the Order would be having a lot of conversations when this was all over), but there was no need to subject them to anything more than they had to. Get the monsters that had once been the captain and passengers, and the poor madwoman that Fiona’d had to stop from charging the cockpit, out of sight. A few others broke off the sturdiest pieces of metal they can find, and wrapped the ‘handles’ in chair fabric at her orders. Makeshift shovels, to dig into the mud and dirt at the broken edge of the runway. They all seemed eager to grab a shovel and start digging - and to turn their backs on the bodies.

Six bodies. One woman, battered and bruised from a crash that had happened after she was already dead, having ripped off her mask screaming about the end of the world before Fiona took her to the ground, and asphyxiated on the descent. Her mind already had broken from the strain of what they all had seen. And Roz didn’t blame her, even as she didn’t blame Fiona for doing what had to be done. If she’d made it to the cockpit, or even close enough to throw a shoe at the controls, it might be none of them standing here right now. Five monsters. Twisted and bubbling humanoid forms, oozing a sluggish purple substance. Their skin was marbled and discolored, and jaws hung loose enough to open even with the head titled back. Thankfully someone had the presence of mind to close the vacant eyes. Roz’d heard someone - Xavier, probably - mutter something about Dissociateds and Energy, and she hadn’t quite caught all of it. To her, it looked like they’d been changed from the inside. Like that Existed fellow from the village in the mountains; except they hadn’t done this to themselves like he had. Just…the wrong place at the wrong time. One of them still wore the rags of the captain’s uniform, splashed with rust-shade. That one was different, more unsettling; the skin looked translucent, like it was burned out from the light that had shone from within, and the face Whatever spell Reggie had (apparently) done to shield himself from the former captain’s attack had left its mark. And they were past the point of holding onto being angry at him for doing it in front of the other passengers; if any of them had actually SEEN anything in the chaos of the crashing plane, it wasn’t any more exposure than the monstrous corpses that lay before them even now. Six bodies, and one more. Seven. Roz carried Juliana out herself, waving off a helping hand. The head lolled against her shoulder, as if trying to hide the jagged and still-open wound that ran down the collarbone. She was limp. Heavy. Dead weight.

It came back to her again, all at once, like a punch to the nose. The confusion about the plane after the stormcloud, and the carry-on compartments opening. Whispers in the back row by the man who’d been dreaming. A sense that something was wrong. A sense, too late. The passenger rising out of his seat. Flesh, twisting. The scream echoing through the cabin as teeth sank into Juliana’s collarbone. Roz’s feet aching from the landing as Carina threw her. The dull thud Xavier’s fist colliding with the thing’s skull. The rip of Juliana’s flesh as it reeled, still holding a mouthful. Roz’s hands wrapping the scarf tight over the wound, as much stabilization as she could afford before facing the rest.

Juliana on the bathroom floor, trying to push herself back to her side. Roz telling her to lay back down. Sharp, replacing confidence with focus to compensate. Reassuring her that they would have it under control, and reminding Juliana that she was in no shape to help, anyways. Wincing as the wound in her own neck pulled, and laughing to herself - if it hurt, it meant she survived, right? Telling Juliana it would be okay.

Roz felt the sunken pit in her stomach widen as she approached. She came to the last grave in the row, and finally let go of Juliana’s body, helping to lower it into the pit. The others followed suit. There was no talking. Just the soft thud of bodies hitting dirt below. The graves were shallow, but they didn’t exactly have the luxury of time. She grabbed a shovel and filled it with dirt, holding it over the grave in front of her. A deep breath to steel herself.

“I’m not a priest, or one for speeches.” Her voice was forcibly cold to keep under control. “And we’re not home yet. We mourn when it’s over. For now, we lay what’s left to rest.” Roz tossed the dirt in, watching in fall across Juliana’s closed eyes. “Amen.” A staggered chorus of “Amen” came from the gathered passengers, throwing their own shovelfuls back into the graves. The steady sound of digging mingled with mutterings - prayers of their own, quiet eulogies, curses. Whatever got them through. Roz felt the cross at her neck swing with every toss, thumping back against her chest. Heavier than it should be.

An explosion from the cockpit. The shift of the floor as the plane tilted. The taste of panic in the air. Roz cutting through it all, ordering everyone to the back of the plane. Trying to keep things under control. Her voice giving out. Fiona and Saniao stepping in where she failed. Getting them seated. Getting them ready for the oxygen masks before the plane even depressurized. Getting them to help each other, god dammit!

She did nothing. Her hands were sweaty, and betrayed her at every turn, the masks slipping out of her grasp. She did nothing. Juliana’s fingers missed the mask, and Roz didn’t notice there was no one else beside her. She did nothing. Roz stumbled to the front of the cabin, fighting to hold the air in her lungs from being ripped away. She did nothing. The mask held for a brief moment against Xavier’s slack face, before dropping as she fell to the floor. She did nothing. Xavier’s name came out in a gasp instead of a scream as she came to, the mask over her face instead of his.

She did nothing. Worse - she was a detriment, because they had to save her and cover all the people she’d failed. The ones that weren’t already gone.

Roz had told Juliana it would be okay. It wasn’t okay. She had been helpless. Useless. Dead weight.

“What…would make good markers?” One of the women next to Roz wrung her hands, looking at the filled mounds. The voice broke her from the memory. “Nothing.” Roz could feel her rough voice try to tremble, and clamped down on it as the eyes turned to her. Judging. Wanting. Needing answers. “We don’ mark them. Cover them with the leaves and branches, and break the shovels again. Leave no sign that they’re here.” The eyes weighed on her, confused. Turning, Roz handed off her shovel and grabbed a large rock off the ground, ignoring the scrape against her palm and the ache in her collarbone. “We think they fell into the ocean,” she stated, starting towards the wreckage. “One of the doors flew open when the plane depressurized, and by the time you could tell what was happenin’ when we landed, they were gone. That’s as much as you know. We tell everyone, and we stick to it.” “But-” One of the men faltered, looking back at the uneven dirt by his foot. “That’s not-” “Not what happened?” Roz cut him off with a look. “Do you want someone to come lookin’ for the bodies? Do you want them to find them, lookin’ like that?” A look back at the graves as some of the group started dragging broken branches over the dirt. “…if you were Captain Ricardão’s wife, would you want them bringing that home and tellin’ you it’s him?” The man paled and fell silent. After a moment, he joined the others. Roz turned back to the plane, pretending she didn’t feel the bile rising in her throat. She raised the rock, bashing it against the mechanical locks along the edge. Over and over, each dull thud reverberating up her arm, until they looked properly mangled. Enough to hold the story.

Tears pressed themselves against the corner of her eyes, burning fierce. It wasn’t right. They deserved proper burials. They deserved to have their families stand and toss the dirt in, and to send them on to a better place. Or whatever they believed. But they couldn’t afford that right now. They couldn’t risk the bodies being found by someone other than the Order, and they couldn’t take them onwards to bring them home. The crisis was still ongoing. Resources and energy were limited. They couldn’t afford any dead weight. Roz dropped the rock. She pressed the back of her arm against her face, until the wave of tears had passed. And then she climbed back into the plane, heading for the back of the wreckage, to see if there was anything salvageable that had been overlooked. Back to work. No dead weight.

#body horror cw #waagh... we had a session a few days ago and none of us have been able to stop thinking about it #i will cry over roz i s2g #writing #reblog #ordem paranormal #ordem paranormal oc #eo saniao #myboy....

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madkiska · 6 months

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The Drive Home

Nanowrimini/Month of Minific - November 1st.

The mission is over.

Contains minor spoilers for Ordem Paranormal: The Hands that Guide Us

It was no surprise that Fiona was asleep. Whatever last rush of adrenaline had kept her moving while the kids were being handed off to the clean-up crew had faded, and the poor girl had been through hell today, even more than the rest of them. She’d started to buckle in the knees at the sight of Vanessa pulling the van up; the job was finally over. Xavier had the supplies to pack away, so Roz took charge of getting Fiona settled down across the back seat. Seemed like she wasn’t the only agent who’d ever come back from a mission wanting a nap, either, considering the blanket they found tucked under the seat. No pillow, though. Fiona’s hair would have to do.

The van started up, the journey away from the town beginning. Roz took the chance to check over Fiona’s ribs, her touch gentle as she dared. The bones had snapped in the damn monster’s grip, and yet the skin was bloody, but unmarred. Everything felt in place. Whatever Saniao had done, it was…seamless. No sign that Fiona’d nearly been killed. Not even a scar - not one on the body, anyways. (No telling yet what the mission did to any of their heads, especially not poor Fiona.) Just a young lady, faintly smiling in her sleep, camera tucked in the crook of her arm. She was going to be okay.

Xavier was in the front passenger seat, muttering to himself. Probably checking over his notes for their report. Considering they’d gone against recommendation to continue investigating after confirming the paranormality of the case, not to mention having apparently new discoveries about Boogeymen, it was good to have all the facts in order for when they got back. Proving they’d done the job right might be the only way to remain in the job at all. Plus it seemed like his way of processing things. Convenient. Whatever he did before fit almost too well with the Order.

Leaning against the door as the road rumbled under her, Roz felt her eyes drift from Fiona to Saniao. He was propped against the window, gazing out at the landscape- No, she realized, seeing the eyes in the reflection. Shut tight. He was sleeping, too.

“Hey, Roz?” Vanessa’s voice was pitched low, though still clear enough over the rumbling of the engine. A glance in the rear-view. “Might wanna buckle up, we’re hitting the mountains.” Roz nodded thankfully, pulling a seatbelt across Fiona and moving into the empty seat next to Saniao. A small sigh, and she let herself zone out, even though sleep was the last thing on her mind. Tired? Sure, but too many things showed themselves when she closed her eyes. The mob at the clinic. Ash, on the windowsill. Candles in the basement. Burning golden words. Children, in cages. That Fucking Thing. Roz stared at the ceiling instead. She felt too old for this. She felt the others were too young for this. She felt that none of them had ever really had a choice, and there was no turning back now. Something had slid into place; a door, closing behind her.

As the road bent, Saniao’s head lolled from the window, falling onto Roz’s shoulder instead. He shook slightly, brow twisting. A wordless movement of his mouth. Something - a dream, a nightmare, plain anxiety? - had a hold of him. Roz took his hand in hers, trying to keep her shoulder steady as the road bounced. It felt too smooth against her own, but she kept her grip. Grounding. Watching his face furrow, and freeze, and relax just a little bit. Some part of him recognizing he was safe now. Saniao scared her, if she was honest. A stiff breeze would make a kite of him, and yet he’d not just stood in front of the Boogeyman, he’d fucking melted it. Corroded a nightmare with a touch of his hand; Roz had been shocked to see it hadn’t gotten onto him as well. It was no vial of acid, no jury-rigged solution like her bottle and lighter trick. The priest had done magic. Twice. One hand melted a monster, the other healed Fiona in a flash. She had no idea what else he could do, or even if he could control it. Yet Roz looked over as much as she could at the man sleeping on her shoulder, and Saniao looked so…fragile. So young. He’d seen the symbols in the television and nearly fallen apart on them for a moment. The Existed had paralyzed him into barely being able to throw the first sharp thing he found at it. Whatever power lurked within him was surrounded by fear.

Roz squeezed his hand gently, feeling the exhaustion creeping up her back. The clinic had been out of coffee before they left. It was catching up to her - and to Xavier, too, if the sound of a stifled yawn was anything to go off. The van rolled and rocked on the mountain road. Her eyes slid closed, and there was no sight of terror. Just the feeling, as she drifted, of something beginning. Of a job well done. Of belonging.

#reblog #ordem paranormal #i loved this module and i cant stop thinking about it #saniao sleeping on roz's shoulder...#my baby boy #and agh!!!!!!!#all of it!!!#all of them #Q_Q #writing

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