Game Posts

"See what?" Barry also turns to look.

Marv stops his vehicle in the middle of the street, parking it and gets out, leaving his door open and the engine running. He walks in the direction of the woman, smiling slightly and waves to her.

"Hi! I'm Marv. What's your name?" This being the first person the group has come across, Marv hopes to see if she has any information on the missing expedition.

Dutch spots the tailing car slowing down and then parking so that Marv can get out and speak to a broad that just wandered out of the woods.

"Christ!" he curses, shaking his head in disbelief. "A skirt way out here in the boonies..."

He pulls over and puts his vehicle in park, watching the interaction by twisting his rear view mirror.

Barry stays in the car, not willing to interfere with Marv's prized vehicle nor take any risks with their means of getting the hell out of this place. He keeps an eye on the conversation as best as he can, occasionally scanning the surroundings.

Marv starts for a second, then turns to look at the others. He shakes his head and shrugs, walking back to the car. "I must have been seeing things. You know..." As he moves back to the vehicle, it's obvious that there's no one back where he was walking.

"Are you alright? What was that about?" Barry asks Marv with a searching look.

Marv looks at Barry, his brows furrowed, "I must've been seeing stuff, you know?" he says, then immediately asks, "Did you see a woman back there waving?" He grips the wheel of his car, his knuckles going white as he feels his muscles tremble a little at the fright he experienced.

"There was a woman there, I started to talk, then she looked at me, opened her sharp-toothed throat and disappeared." He gives a forced smile. "You saw her too, right? I'm not seeing things, am I?"

"Marv, I don't know what you saw, but there's no-one there."

Marv just says, "Damn," then puts the vehicle back in gear and starts moving toward the nearby town. He spends the journey staring hard at the road, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he drives, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the wheel. His speed climbs until his tires squeal on a slight turn and he eases back on the gas, letting his speed drop a bit.

Dutch grimaces angrily, trying to concentrate on the road, even as terror grips his heart.

Dutch hammers the steering wheel with both fists, screaming, "Fitta!"

He sits for a minute, screaming unfamiliar syllables which can only be some kind of cursing in another tongue.

Eventually, he opens the door and gets out, his red face radiating hot anger. After circumnavigating the car once, he checks the trunk for a spare and whatever jack or tools might be stowed away back there.