Night 44: Main Hall, 2-West

[should-be-dead.livejournal.com]

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After reaching the top of the stairs, Tenzen slipped into the next hallway. This time, the hallway consisted out of a normal floor, ceiling and walls, as opposed to the pulsing flesh from last night.

Sliding his hand along the wall, the ninja kept his flashlight switched off as he headed East.

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[ninelivesonce]

Something had just brushed her shoulder; was this what had happened last night to turn this entire hall into an unholy mating of calamari and temporary pressurized walkway? One hand flicked at her shoulder, but nothing was there, and the wall her nails clicked against was still wall.

And then hair, darker and thicker than her own, curled around those fingers and knotted, and something that wasn't sweat traced the curve into the small of her back as she tensed and pulled away from the wall. She grabbed the hair on her left hand with her right and tugged, trying to slide it off before clawing with both hands at the strands that were suddenly everywhere on and under her shirt.

[deathrattling.livejournal.com]

So she'd finally noticed. Unfortunate, that it had taken this long -- thousands of strands of hair had already wound their way into her clothes, easing downward to curl around her legs. The hold of the hair wasn't tight initially, but Taura would find that the more that she struggled to try and pull away from its clutches, the tighter the stuff bound around her body, the more rapidly it seemed to try to wrap her fully in its masses.

Still, perhaps there was an end in sight: the hair had stopped issuing forth from the ceiling, what was left on the wall instead either heading towards Taura's body or piling onto the floor, seemingly harmless. But what was that faint sound that seemed to be coming from with the growing coils of hair? Something a little guttural, but not quite loud or clear enough to be distinguished just yet ...

[ninelivesonce]

Hair snarled and tightened when yanked; years of fighting with her own frizz had taught Taura that lesson many times over. But this was the hybrid offspring of hook-and-loop pressure seals and one of those finger-pull toys. Ugh. And this time she couldn't "accidentally" shred the thing with her nails before handing it back with an apologetic smile.

Ooh, there's an idea.

Deep breath in, and out. With the outrush of air from her lungs, she deliberately loosened her back, a slouch rippling up vertebrae like a zipper in reverse. Then she gently started to wriggle out of her shirt, pulling it up with both hands and tipping her head and neck backwards. This did nothing for the strands that had already started twining around her thighs, but the bulk of it was on her upper body; once that was clear she might have a shot at yanking herself free.

[deathrattling.livejournal.com]

It worked quite well, for the hair that was wound around her shirt: as Taura slipped out of the garment, the hair continued to bind itself tightly around the material until it essentially vanished amongst the heavy mass. For a moment, the only grip the hair had on the patient was the strands just working their way down her legs -- if she chose to leap away with enough force, she might be able to tug free.

Though whether that was by design on the part of her adversary was perhaps unclear. A low rattling sound had begun to fill the patch of hallway Taura was in, seeming to come from all directions at once before abruptly concentrating into one particular spot in the centre of the coils of hair.

And then from amongst the middle Kayako's head and twisted torso appeared, blue-pale and grotesque, eyes pupilless and mouth opened wide to show the blackened inside. Moving faster than it seemed something so unwieldy should, she lurched forward, a twining column of hair forming her lower body, white hand grabbing out towards Taura's head.

[ninelivesonce]

As soon as the shirt was over her wrists, Taura flung it at the wall, writhing hair and all; she didn't spare time to see where it fell before bounding backwards, back towards the staircase she'd come out of. Hair slid and pulled, a handful of stubborn strands clung longer, but a yank seemed to obviate the need for ditching more clothing.

Shit, what in the nine hells is that? Whatever it was, it was fast, and dangerous, and she took one step backwards, then another, before turning to run just as the hand neared her head -- too slow to dodge, but it would hit hair before it hit skin; her braid whipped around with her head as well, an unintentional weapon (or handle), without nerves but with momentum.

[stringless-doll.livejournal.com]

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/729936.html?thread=60682576#t60682576)]

As soon as he got close enough, Nataku leapt into the air, bringing his machette down hard on the place where the creature's hand gripped the woman's hair.

He didn't think he needed to say anything after that. Homura's voice could be heard clearly. He followed after it, keeping pace with the woman as they went.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/730364.html?thread=60744700#t60744700)]