EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

Jump ⇅ :: Visits — First Contact — Hitchhikers — Notes

∞ Prologue ∞

It's not real, it's not real.

Somewhere in the Blocks, late at night, a young woman repeats the words over and over, fumbling with her room key. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder again, begging her hand to obey. Her fingers are stiff and smooth, and it makes each movement more difficult. Eventually, the door gives way. She stumbles into the apartment, slamming it behind her and locking several bolts.

Leaning back on the door, she lets her key ring fall to the linoleum as she holds her hand up to her face. It isn't just her fingers now. Painted plastic has taken over her entire right hand, spreading up her forearm toward a ball-jointed elbow that creaks painfully. She grabs her neck with her flesh hand, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to steady her heart.

It's not real, it's not real...

She takes another breath, then turns on the light. The bulb flickers. Hazy light flood the room with an incessant buzz.

She freezes.

A figure stands in the opposite doorway. It doesn't move, stuck in a pose with an outstretched hand—one made of flesh and bone. Her hand.

She screams.

Info & Mechanics — NPC Forum Post — Event Interaction ::: ⇅ Top

Strange Visits

Panorama

For the first week or two of July, life goes on as usual. You have a lot on your plate—jobs, loans, rent, that creep who won't stop staring at you when you're filling up your car—and the last thing you've got time for is other people's problems. Or maybe you find room to listen, anyway? Whatever the case, it's mostly a lot of stories and pointing fingers: a shopkeeper accuses his friend of stealing from him, somebody claims their boss must've skipped town to avoid paying the employees, and a woman is frantic about her missing husband. He never goes anywhere without telling her.

If you decide to look into it, none of the incidents seem connected. After all, people frequently go missing in the Diadem, friends betray each other, and businesses often go bankrupt, leaving their workers to pick up the pieces. Funny thing, though: here and there, you swear you glimpse a figure who isn't entirely flesh. Their features are just...a bit odd. Is it your imagination? When you move in for a closer look, something gets in your way and the figure disappears.

On the other hand, you think to yourself, it's not as though everybody on this planet looks standard. If a man can have horns, why can't his skin also be a bit plasticky?

Use the Event Interaction comment any time you need specifics or some direction for an element you're engaging within the event. This can be an NPC victim your character is questioning, an aspect of the diffusion zone your character is testing, or anything along those veins. While you're encouraged to make things up on your own, too, if you're ever unsure of the results or the answers you might get, approach us there!

⇅ Top

First Contact

The Fringes

Inevitably, you take the risk and head back into the Fringes. It has what you need, and the bizarreness in Panorama isn't making the city feel like much of a refuge, either. Besides, long trips aren't unusual for anyone in the Diadem. As you drive, you might even find yourself reluctant to return to the city. After all, there's so much across the multitude of diffusion zones that regardless of how dangerous it can be, perhaps some part of you is attracted to the thrill of the unknown.

If the promise of loot isn't enough, a note on the Forum might be. Here, you'll scroll across a brief message from who else but the ever-eager Felix Bjurstrom, joined by his daughter, Olive "Ollie" Bjurstrom. (Looks like he's got a new phone again!) If nothing else, the investigative or curious nature in you gets you going. What if this is a piece of the puzzle you need to go home?

If you want your character to scavenge items, check how that works. The Map identifies where each Quadrant is located.

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 10-hour drive from Panorama, a standard American shopping mall rises through the cracked and broken highway. A portion of its vast parking lot melts into the road ahead and behind. There are cars in the parking lot, each one perfectly preserved: no rust, no dust, nothing.

The mall's lights are on. The moment you step inside, you'll notice that you're not alone. Inside, shadow corpses are everywhere, frozen in time. Their bodies show no signs of distress. If you try to touch them, a dark, ashy residue coats your fingers. You see a young couple linking arms, a mother bending over to pick up her child, and a man ordering his last meal at the KFC. It's as though they all just...stopped. While eerie, whatever force swept through here is long gone.

The upside is that nobody will bother you while you look around—aside from other fluxdrifts, of course. The shops and their offerings are stuck in the 90's. Big electronics are cosmic touched, rendering them worthless, but smaller electronics like cassette tapes, CDs, and Walkmans are all viable. You can also grab clothes, snacks, and (cheap) jewelry.

And, as you pass by the store windows, you see many mannequins on display. That's normal, so you don't think twice. At least, until you swear one of them keeps moving around the store. Though its pose never changes, it almost appears to...follow you? That can't be right. You must be seeing things.

Zone Effects
Touching any of the frozen shadows will cause the victim to believe that their companion(s) have transformed into monstrous creatures. Attempts to approach you will only register as an attack rather than placating gestures, while words will sound like snarls or spoken threats. An induced panic will make it more difficult to think logically and see through the hallucination. The illusory creatures can take the form of anything that might frighten or threaten you the most.

You can break free of the illusion through a variety of methods, including your own willpower, being knocked out by your friends, or seeing/hearing something that makes you realize it isn't real. The hallucination isn't overly intense, but it can cause a bit of havoc among you and your companions...and increase the likelihood a mannequin might make contact unnoticed.

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 6-hour drive from Panorama—and on the way to the abandoned mall above—stands a geometric structure made of metal and stone. Sharp angles shoot up from the ground to form a distorted hexagon. The gateway is littered with sigils: some weathered by time, others freshly carved into the rocky surface. They glow when you drive forward, beckoning you closer. Come in, whispers an unknown compulsion in your mind. You are home.

You may succumb to the whispers for any number of reasons: sleep deprivation, desperation for a place to rest overnight, or a need to hide from raiders or dangerous creatures lurking in another nearby zone. Regardless, you give in and enter the triangular entrance. The stone gate lifts to grant you passage, revealing an effigy of a multi-limbed being. A deity? A symbol of power? Though you're unsure, you continue deeper. Your footsteps echo across the cavernous halls.

Behind you, the heavy gate slowly closes with a rumbling finality. Despite the chilly entranceway, the interior of the temple is warm and inviting. Candles line the walls. Fountains flow peacefully. You can enter one of the many rooms to find a soft bed, fresh cakes, succulent meat, and fine wine available for you. Behind a silk curtain is a steaming bath lined with soothing floral herbs and oils.

Meanwhile, throughout your explorations, you might sense a figure or a shadow in the passageway. A glimpse of shiny plastic appears oddly out of place in a temple of this kind.

Zone Effects

• If you are a believer and decide to trust the gifts bestowed upon you, then you may safely indulge. The wine will warm you up, the food will fill your belly, and you can sleep through the night. When you awaken, you can safely leave the temple refreshed. Your vehicle will be outside, untouched, as if some power within was protecting your belongings.
• If you are a heretic and doubt the offerings you've been graciously given, the gifts will begin to rot and all amenities will crumble to dust. The more your cynicism betrays you, the more the temple will take until nothing remains except the oddly textured walls bearing down on you. As you examine the surface, you realize the stone is built from a manifold of dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted bodies. Their arms are raised in reverence, piled upon each other like human bricks. Their gaping mouths are frozen in a silent scream. As for you and your companions...what fate will await the nonbeliever?

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

In Quadrant 4, about a 3-hour drive from Panorama, east of the currently unused train tracks, a thick mist rolls through the highway. Here, the sky darkens rapidly into night and the temperature drops. If you've traveled unprepared, presuming the heat in Panorama spreads into the Fringes, you'll find that's not so. A chill spreads into your bones and creeps up the back of your neck.

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors shake your vehicle. Maybe it even makes you lose control briefly or sends you swerving off-road, straight into the fields. And in the middle of the fog, you see it: a figure standing in the middle of the field. Behind it are a few houses, making up a tiny rural town. The houses are dilapidated, many crumbling. Supplies within are minimal, and many items are broken or spoiled.

Do you approach? Do you drive past? Merely staring for a second too long will be enough for the hitchhiker to choose you as its ride, but its appearance may not be all that keeps you in place. In the distance is another bigger shadow. A much bigger shadow. It looms in the distance without true mass or form. Within the void of its body, a searchlight sweeps over the misty town. It does not move. It simply looks while the ground shakes. Each time its light catches a glimpse of something that doesn't belong—an animal, a vehicle that drove too deep into the tall grass, a raider that went too far into town—a sonorous howl reverberates through the zone.

Then the shadow will teleport to its target and crush the intruder without mercy before retreating back to its watchful post. And the intruder is indeed crushed: any living organism caught by the Light Guardian will be flattened with a horrifying crunch of broken bones and squished organs.

Zone Effects
While the Light Guardian can't be defeated or confronted, you can outrun or hide from its sweeping beam. If you stop far enough on the side of the road, it won't notice you...but you can still watch as it mangles an unfortunate raider or traveler. Possibly, you see the spray of blood or hear the screams before you run. Perhaps you realize how easily you could've met your own gory fate.

If you've left your car and gone too deep into the town before you realize the danger, you can do one of two things: you can risk hiding in an abandoned house in the town and hope that the sunrise comes. In zones like this, the day/night cycle is unpredictable, and many places are permanently cast in darkness. Or, you can try to run back to your vehicle and pray you don't get caught.

Alternatively, you've plowed directly into the field when raiders in pursuit force you into the zone. Should fortune favor you, they'll be obliterated by the Light Guardian while you flee. The beam tracks quickly, but can only shine in one direction at a time so the key is to bob and weave.

⇅ Top

Hitchhikers

Anywhere

Not everyone who enters the diffusion zone will pick up a mannequin, but the possibility is there. Once you make first contact, you will gain a hitchhiker. Unlike most aspects of the diffusion zones, this one has gathered into a storm, meaning the effects will breach even normally stable and anchored strongholds like Panorama.

Some fluxdrifts will brush off your problems while a few might believe you. Others will offer solutions in their own way, including a doctor who'll pay to obtain strange plastic limbs. Not everyone will pitch in to help. The city's big, populated, and somebody on the street turning doll-like doesn't affect them (...until it does). They've got a job to get to and mouths to feed.

Unwanted Passenger

When do you first notice your passenger? At any point, really. Perhaps it goes like this:

You glance in the rearview mirror and glimpse a figure in the backseat. When you spin around, there's nobody there. Then it happens again. This time, you realize it's not a person, but a dummy. A mannequin. It's sitting upright. And is it...wearing a seatbelt? Or maybe it's thrown itself across the back bench as though somebody tossed it there, uncaring.

This time, when you look back, it's still there. You pull over and dump it on the side of the road. That's taken care of, you think. You drive some more. For a few hours or even a day or two—depending on how long you've traveled—you don't think much of it. Then suddenly, it's back. And it keeps coming back no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

Or it goes like this:

You return from a standard trip into a diffusion zone. It went pretty well, you think. You found some clothes at a creepy mall and now you're ready to get some sleep. When you open your trunk to retrieve your belongings, you notice a mannequin stuffed inside, limbs bent at odd angles. You're a little weirded out, but you decide to dump it on the street and move on.

You shower. In the bathroom mirror, the mannequin suddenly appears behind you. Over the next few days, this continues. The mannequin appears in a booth across the diner as you're eating your eggs. It's behind a shelf in the corner store. It's in your closet. Each time you check, it vanishes...but then, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's right there in plain view. It'll even let you throw it away, burn it, anything you can think of. But it always comes back.

However it plays out, you realize that people around you do notice it...sometimes. That doesn't mean anyone will believe you that things are just that weird. Most people have better things to do. They don't know you, after all, and even if they did, well, this place does have a habit of driving people a little crazy. Witnesses casually push the mannequin aside and tell you that's a funny prank. Your regular waitress pats your shoulder and suggests you get some sleep. You're not looking well. The shopkeeper demands you take that thing before you go. He's not responsible for your junk.

But there's a small chance you run into someone who seems to be going through what you are. Unfortunately, they seem to actually have it worse and aren't making much sense. Still, you can try questioning them and see what answers you get. At least, before you lose them for good. For some of you, the victim you run into is in especially bad shape...and you have to wonder how long before you end up the same.

Trading Places

For some of you, the mannequins might not do more than be a nuisance. While that's not ideal, either, it doesn't completely upend your life. Others are less fortunate. If you're one of the latter, you'll begin to notice symptoms.

The first time it happens, you're startled to hear the mannequin speak. To begin with, its voice might be guttural and unnatural, incapable of stringing more than a few words together. Then it seems to learn. It talks in full sentences. Its voice smooths out. It starts to sound more and more like you...right down to your speech patterns and accent. As symptoms progress with varying intensity—over days or weeks—you realize with dawning horror that you're losing parts of yourself. When you wash your hands, you notice a part of your skin is smooth and shiny. The next time the mannequin appears, its previously plasticky appearance is more flesh and blood.

Eventually, the mannequin becomes independent. It shops with your money. It steals while wearing a face that looks nearly identical to yours, especially from a distance. It calls your friend and says the things you would never say out loud to them. They're thoughts you've had, sure, but you know better than to hurt your friend's feelings...except apparently, you have. And now you can't even use your own voice to explain yourself. Your leg has been getting stiff. Your joints don't bend properly.

Meanwhile, the mannequin is now striding around smoothly. Its appearance is still uncanny and odd if anyone pays attention, but at a glance, it easily passes as a part of the crowd. As its final act, it's even absorbed small bits of your abilities if you have any. Not all of them, but enough to cause trouble. Throughout everything, you cannot harm your hitchhiker. Some unknown force stops you any time you think about it. You simply can't.

Related Incidents

The impact isn't contained only to those directly affected. The hitchhikers' influence spreads through the city. For some incidents, it's difficult to trace back to the source. For others, that's a little easier. Regardless, these occurrences could help you determine how to solve your own situation. Alternatively, if you've escaped unscathed, you can still find yourself dragged into a situation involving someone else.

Return to Sender

July 11 — The Forum: An anonymous poster contributes this bit of information that might catch the eye of those affected. You can try the same method, but it's a risk going back into the diffusion zones. No one can guarantee the specific zone you found the mannequin in is still standing. Further, you have to remember where you made contact to begin with.

If you decide to try it, be sure to take a friend. The less independent the hitchhiker, the more likely it will stick to your side even as you return it home. If the assimilation has progressed too far, though, you might have to utilize methods such as duct taping inside your trunk or strapping it down with ropes. It may struggle and say vile things to you or your companion.

Victimless Burn Victims

July 14 @ 03:00 — The Pavilion (East End): A handful of troublemakers grabbed some freaky mannequins wandering the street and, in a drunken stroke of genius, set them all on fire for no reason other than that they wanted to. Not only has this resulted in damage to the corner store nearby, but Enforcers have linked the incident to four hospitalizations at roughly the same time. Doctors from Saint Margery's Hospital (located in the Blocks) report that all four individuals suffered massive shock and claim to have endured unimaginable agony as if they had been "set on fire."

Curiously, none of them bear any physical wounds and, by all accounts, are completely fine (trauma aside). Notably, all four individuals were also suffering from various stages of "joint stiffness" and "hallucinations"...which have since completely vanished. You might wonder, is this the solution? Or perhaps the better question would be, is it worth it?

The Sculptor

July 15 — The Pavilion (Medical Clinic): Around July 14 onward, word begins to spread that a Dr. Maggie Wright (who insists on being called the Sculptor, though nobody seems to heed this request) will not only do an amputation for free, she will pay you for your limb if you are boasting an "unusual trophic change to the skin, resulting in a smooth and shiny texture." All she asks is she gets to keep the sample. Her promise is that she will study it to find a more permanent cure and, if she does, she will return the limb to you for reattachment.

Some end up trusting her. You wonder, maybe she could help? Dr. Wright will happily accept you as her patient if you agree. Her methods are indeed proper and sterile: she'll put you under and provide you with plenty of pain meds. She appears to have all of the equipment required to preserve the limb, too.

If you're suspicious, you can also pay her a visit, but you won't have much luck getting her in trouble or sniffing out any evidence of nefarious deeds. Her office hasn't got anything strange, she is indeed a real surgeon, and there are testimonials from patients who've had success under her care in the past. Plus, nobody's going to her who isn't doing so voluntarily (they've signed waivers)—even if you could argue how much desperation plays into their decision. Still...the thing about her "title" is a bit weird, right?

Dr. Maggie Wright is 5'2, Caucasian with a light Northeastern accent and silver hair often worn in a bun. She's in her 50s and looks fairly good for her age. Her voice is soothing. She has intense, wide blue eyes, which some might find unnerving, but that's not necessarily her fault.

∞ Notes ∞

• Mannequin contact is not required. Not everybody who goes into the diffusion will make first contact, and many won't. Characters can explore the mall, the temple, and the foggy field without ever picking up a hitchhiker.
• The diffusion zones described are only examples. Others will exist where mannequins can be found, including grocery stores, gas stations, abandoned parks, and more. You can make up your own, but check with us if you have any questions about limitations!
• The speed and intensity of all mechanics are entirely up to you. Generally, the earlier a character makes first contact, the more severe their consequences.
• Investigating the zones or helping others are perfectly fine ways to participate! Since the hitchhikers are meant to be more insidious, it won't be strange if your character isn't in the middle of the action right away or notices things a bit late.

Questions? Ask here

Main Navigation ::: ⇅ Top

Comments

kimiko miyashiro | the boys

[pse]

( Plotting comment! Hit me up there, via PM, or at rannoch. Starters below. )

☼ / ⏾ — closed to sciel.

[pse]

[ Jimothy "Tornado" Warren, age 43, is a man's man. He wears plaid button up shirts that highlight both his carpet of chest hair and the upper swell of his arms, brought to you by always skipping leg day. He has a beard anyone who's ever memorised whole passages of The Communist Manifesto would envy. When he speaks, his accent is right out of a Guy Ritchie film. (Not that one, though.) Even his adoptive mother calls him Tornado.

He's also been a storm chaser for the last fifteen years, give or take. His car is fully paid off and he's tricked it out with all sorts of nifty gadgets, like a homebrewed sensor that can dictate an influx of diffusion zone energy building up. Also, air conditioning.

As he drives Kimiko and Sciel to the temple, he gives a quick explanation of what he wants them to do. Take pictures, take notes. Measure the interior of the temple as well as the interior. Don't, he warns carefully, take anything back. When they leave, nothing should be in their pockets that wasn't there when they arrived.

Kimiko, bumping around in the backseat as the car bounces over what must be the fiftieth pot hole, listens attentively and nods.

She's relieved to be able to stretch her legs once they arrive. Tornado is kind enough to hand her the measuring tape, a heavy thing held in a shiny silver casing. Both her and Sciel are given protein bars. ]

🔮 — closed to rowena.

[pse]

[ At some point, Kimiko thought it might be difficult to get her mannequin back to the mall. She was delightfully incorrect in that regard; the thing refuses to be less than ten feet away from her at all times. If she had opened the passenger door of her vehicle and dumped it onto the road mid-trip, it would have somehow reappeared in her backseat in under five minutes.

How does she know this?

Well, at one point, Kimiko opened the passenger door of her vehicle and dumped it onto the road mid-trip. The mannequin reappeared in her backseat in under five minutes.

In the mall, she calmly carries it up the escalator, across the second level, and to a chic bathing suit store. She sets it in the window display, among others of its kind. She even gives it a condescending pat on the head before walking away.

Kimiko only gets a few feet away before it appears to her left, sliding into view at the same time her head turns slightly.

(If anyone was watching, they would not be able to name the exact moment it moved. It was more like world itself shifted around the mannequin.)

With a displeased little grunt and a truly theatrical eyeroll, Kimiko tucks the mannequin under an arm and stomps back to the storefront. ]

mimicry is the sincerest form of something — open!

[pse]

[ To put it simply, Kimiko has not enjoying her time with her hitchhiker.

By the time it has helped itself to her appearance, her clothing, bits and pieces of her life and memories, Kimiko is barely holding it together. She's on edge, missing her scheduled fights to tend to this problem with gritted teeth. The worst part is the voice coming out of the hitchhiker's mouth. It isn't her own; if Kimiko had considered that, she wouldn't be surprised by it. She has no sense of her own voice as an adult. Instead, it plucks something treasured from her memory and holds it aloft.

When the hitchhiker speaks, it does so with Annie January's voice. It's too bad Kimiko doesn't recognise that name anymore.

There are plenty of places where the two might be found:
• Kimiko stomping silently through a store. Hitchhiker, now identical, following after her and chattering on incessantly — possibly bumping into someone, utterly distracted.
• Xiao Xue Dumpling House, where Hitchhiker is chatting animatedly with Sophie while Kimiko stews in her own personal hell of jealousy. If Hitchhiker notices anyone watching, she will happily wave them over.
• In the Dome's green room, biding their time before "Loudmouth" (Kimiko) is called for her match. If Hitchhiker tries to go first, Kimiko will grab her collar and hold her in place like a mother cat picking up its kitten by the scruff.
• And, as always, the wildcard option! Why is the silent twin being so mean to her gregarious twin? Uh-oh, this could get messy. ]

Agent 8 - Splatoon

[flyoctofly]

[Open starters in comments!]

Mall

[flyoctofly]

∞Mall // [Shoes. Shoes. Shoes. Ohmigod. Shoes.]∞

i. ['Cause we got a little 'ole convoy rockin' through the night]

[Eight is trying hard to be extremely strict with his budget.

The problem is, that's just not how his society works. There is simply nothing worse in Inkopolis than not being Fresh (shopkeepers won't even serve you if they sense you aren't cool enough) so keeping up with the latest fads and fashions is a must. It's something he's never had access to in his youth, Octarian society being so strictly regimented and oppressed. He wore a soldier's uniform all day every day for 14 years and diving into a world where he got to pick what he wanted to wear...

The first time he put on a hoodie, he was emotional enough to write a poem about it. It's a big deal.

Fast forward to now, where he's been in the same outfit for the last two months. He's a common fixture in the laundromat. His clothes are clean, but spiritually, they itch.

So the mall is a must. Saving the money to pay back the loan he's been forced into is a priority, but hopefully there will be something to scavenge. And he's made a little investment: saddlebags. They didn't quite fit on the back of his weird motorcycle but he's nothing if not resourceful. A few ties under and around the handlebars and some reworking of the straps to keep them out of the way of his knees, and he has some storage space.

He's also taken the liberty of painting a little octopus on each side. Icons, unlike fashion, never goes out of style.

Carpooling is out of the question for his personal mission: to get enough clothes to quiet his itch. He does, however pull up alongside and signal to other drivers on the road that he's not a threat, putting his palm up a gesture that indicates he means no harm. It's probably better to travel in packs here. Of course, he has no way of knowing if they're friendly until they signal back that he can travel with them...]

ii. [If Man is still alive, if Woman survived]

[Eight takes his time through the mall, quiet and slow. He can't bring himself to look too long at the shadows, only what it takes to determine that they aren't going to come to life and attack him. They aren't Inkfish, but they do things that inkfish do, live the way they lived...and were taken out in the middle of an ordinary day, by the looks of it.

It hits close to home. All they were trying to do was live.

His eyes feel wet and itchy. He turns his face away to wipe them with the arm not holding his Octobrush. Hopefully whoever he's with doesn't notice...]

iii. [Cause every girl crazy bout a sharp-dressed man]

[Look at all these human fashions, ripe for the picking. Long drive, rough arrival, but he's still getting what he wanted. Eight has no way of knowing which ones are considered the Freshest in human terms, which means he's on his own to choose what he wants.

Humans...really like plaid huh?

...And denim. Lots of denim. Denim overalls, too which haven't been in fashion in Inkopolis for as long as he's lived there. And...wow, everything is so baggy. So very very baggy.

Even beyond the fact that he's 5 feet tall.

He's swimming in the graphic tee with a weird logo on it and a pair of the biggest jeans he has ever been in in his life. Is it weird to try stuff on in this situation? It would be weird not to, if you ask Eight.

He mutters something to himself as he tries on a snapback, which would be a normal hat if it weren't for the giant brim]

I...don't know what I expected from human Freshness but it wasn't this...I could have sworn this was my size...

amos burton | the expanse

[churnback]

[ ooc: hit me up at geekorthodox or in the discord server if you want to plan anything! ]

— alisaie

[churnback]

[ More than almost anything else, the reports of a missing girl are what ultimately motivate Amos to make the drive out from the city. If this were any other type of 'rescue' mission, he wouldn't be the one heading right into it. Doesn't concern him. But a kid — he'll do whatever it takes. It kind of works out that it's a long drive, gives him the chance to get more comfortable with his jeep — this...vehicle he's still learning, getting used to. The long stretch of road to himself is just fine, and he's entertained enough by the varied broadcasts and songs flickering in and out on the radio.

Couple hours into it, though, his jeep starts to make rattling noises, the throttle's a bit shaky. When he sees a little steam coming off the front hood, it's an immediate sign to pull over and let the thing rest, reset. He'll have to work on it before he can get going, but he's gotta let it cool off first. Seems to be he's broken down right in front of a — alright, well, that's sure something. Just from the outside looking at it, it gives him that vibe of stay away, especially when he starts to hear something poking at him, like whispers in his mind. He should just get in his jeep, wait for it to cool off, and be ready to go soon as he can. But it's like he can't move almost, like something else draws him forward, even while the rest of his mind says, fuck no.

There's another part of him saying, that girl could be here, and as much as he does not want to get himself stuck here, trapped, or worse, his mind keeps going to — the kid could be here, and he can't risk the thought of it. So he goes forward, whether by his own compulsion or something else. He's just stepped through the gate when he sees a figure up ahead, but — not the missing girl, exactly, though someone he recognizes, and he calls out. ]

Hey — you here alone?

[ It would be useless saying, you shouldn't be here even if he thinks she shouldn't be. She is, so, what's he gonna do about it? Before either of them has the chance to say or do anything else, that gate behind them suddenly closes. ]

Nadine Cross | The Stand

[nadine_he_loves]

[Starters down below!]

The Mall

[nadine_he_loves]

Abandoned Mall - Entrance

[Nadine does not often venture near diffusion zones. The danger doesn't quite seem worth it, and despite the odd circumstances of this world, it's allowed her a break from weirdness. Why invite more back into her life?

But it's been a while now of living frugally and going without. She has three shirts, two of which she arrived with. She's washing things in the sink every other day. Her room is devoid of personal items because she won't spend money on them. After much debate, she takes her day off and makes the drive out to where there's supposedly a shopping mall. If nothing else, she can get clothes.

It doesn't take her long to remember exactly why she doesn't come to these places. What the hell are the shadow people? Backpack slung over her shoulder, Nadine is hesitant to venture deeper into the mall - promise of free clothes and knick-knacks or not.]

Abandoned Mall - Stores

[The shadow people are given a wide berth. They don't seem to do anything, other than exist and be extremely unsettling. Much more unsettling than the robots at that empty resort.

But the spoils are also much better. She already has a new pair of jeans and a couple of nightgowns stuffed into her pack. She ought to grab a few more basic t-shirts, so she doesn't have to keep washing the same two over and over again.

But she pauses in front of a display of 'trendy' - for the 90s - blouses and dresses. The sort of stuff she'd worn in her first years of teaching. And, well, more years of teaching. Fashion had never been something she bothered with - she wanted to be ignored and unnoticed. Baggy, out of date clothes helped a lot with that. And now...she spends her days as a janitor. She still has no social life, she doesn't go anywhere. There's no point to caring what she looks like.

Even so, she lets out a little sigh as she shifts her pack and begins to move on, seeking more practical options.]

Wild Card

[Up for anything, toss a starter or idea at me!]

Around Panorama

[nadine_he_loves]

Motel

[It must be the heat. It had a way of shortening tempers and putting people on edge. Nadine has noticed more arguments lately, more paranoia. She kept her head down and her mouth shut at work, going about her cleaning duties and trying to stay out of everyone's way. Whatever petty issues other people were having, it wasn't her problem.

Now she stands by the parking lot of her motel building, leaning against the wall and enjoying her after work cigarette and cola. It's her daily treat. There's a cold shower and a nut butter sandwich in her near future, but for now she's quietly observing a scuffle across the parking lot. The argument between two middle aged men is progressing to blows. She's pretty sure she heard one yelling at the other about his wife, an accusation of adultery and abandonment.

Who needed TV?]

Running Errands

[Something is definitely going on.

Nadine has heard enough rumors and weird stories to know they can't be dismissed as nonsense or exaggeration. It's gotten her on edge now, and she can't help but look over her shoulder as she moves through the aisles of a recently stocked grocery store. This is different. The weirdness has so far stayed contained, and this is her first time experiencing it encroaching on the city. And no one seems to have any solid - or consistent - answers.

That doesn't stop her from looking for them. Frowning slightly she approaches whoever else is in the aisle with her.]

Hey..uh...do you know anything about what's going on?

Adrian Silverleaf | Original Character (D&D)

[faithfall]

[ plotting comment 👁️ PM or themightysra ]

eliot.

[faithfall]

[ This whole situation with the mannequins only seems to be getting more and more out of hand. Though he's spent most of the evening working at the clinic, Adrian makes his way to the markets to see if any of the salvage shops still remain open at this late hour. Thus far, there have been only wild rumors regarding how one might sever the connection between mannequin and person, and he has some vain hope that he might be able to study it if he can acquire the right spell ingredients. Surely, someone will be willing to sell him a single pearl.

He's just about to duck into a storefront when he hears the sound of someone crying nearby, and then a familiar voice, far more soothing than he would have expected it to be capable of. Adrian pauses, listening for a few moments before he steps away from the doorway and moves toward the alley.

Someone has managed to stuff a narrow little toy shop into the alleyway by stretching a colorful tarp between one building and the next. It's lined all the way down with large machines covered in once-bright paint that seem to accept joolies in exchange for cheerful-looking prizes. Another time, it might have been charming, but Adrian can see that the lights on many of the machines are broken, and the tune that plays from one of them is slow and discordant.

There are three people only a few feet into the alley. A boy who couldn't be more than twelve summers, and an even younger girl, who is holding tightly to his hand — the source of the sobbing, from the puffy look to her eyes. Eliot has crouched in front of them, and the girl is nodding along while the boy speaks.

...usually cheers her up, but that's when we saw it. Do you know how to get rid of it, mister?

Eliot's gaze keeps shifting to one of the machines, and Adrian follows it. Inside, a mannequin the size of a child has pressed its hands against the glass, its featureless face angled toward the pair of children, intent.

Adrian steps forward, one hand curled in front of his chest, absently wishing his fingers would close on the spellcasting focus he no longer carries. ]

If there's anyone who can help you, it's Eliot. [ Adrian smiles warmly despite his exhaustion, turning on all the charm he has left. The boy regards him with the wry suspicion of a child who has grown up far too quickly, but seems to decide that he's no immediate danger. ] Could I speak to you for just a moment, Mr. Spenser? I have... something that might be useful.

lottie person | snotgirl

[oomfies]

[ open + closed starters below. plotting comment is over here!! if you'd like to plan something feel free to comment there or pp snottie ❤️ ]

open starters

[oomfies]

🏬 first contact, among the shadows (mall)

a. [ It's hard to enjoy the mall when there's — corpses?? — shadow people standing. Menacing. Vaguely smelly. It's stupidly foreboding and distracting her from getting this earring into her— ]

Ow!

[ She's in a jewelry store, one that has seen better days and more hygienic product. Beside her is a couple frozen to time, leaning over a case like they're ready to pick out a matching set of rings. The spirit of it is romantic, but the only thing it's doing for her is killing the vibe of trying this earring on: a stud. Definitely fake, but it's big and bright and shiny enough to make her feel good wearing it (even if it's only on one ear — the right). She's leaned towards a mirror stand, soothing the fresh prick to her ear because she missed the hole, checking for any signs of blood or Instantaneous Infection™. ]

b. [ Or, you can find Lottie throughout different stores inside the dusty mall. Fiddling with walk-mans and cassette tapes with only mild success. CD's are easier for her, putting them into beaten and aged players and practically shoving the headphones into her ears to catch a tune.

Or even standing in front of the least dirty mirror she can find, putting top after top up to her body like she's trying to see how it'd look (without changing). ]


🕴 mannequin nonsense (panorama)


[ Since Lottie's return from The Mall™ there's been gradual, then frequent sightings of a Lottie Look-A-Like except 1) this one is wildly competent at her job, and 2) constantly rotating through different hats and scarves, and 3) doing evil on the side. There's different ways you can spot her, or see her:

— Working at the local dumpling spot except, oh man, she definitely spilled something on you and never apologized? Oops?

— Or.. Did she bump into you, and now you have someone's missing scarf attached to your bag?! She's keen on setting people up for social failure, so watch out!

— Is that a text from 213 – 5663? It just might be! Lottie's phone will go missing for periods of time, which she will chalk up to stress from work. What it really is, is her mannequin pocketing it to send you texts (some of it entirely personal and catty, other scathing for no reason). Or, to call random numbers to see who picks up. Sorry! ]

Arthur Hastings | We Happy Few | OTA

[smilefornow]

Foggy Town

[Oh. Dear.

This has, Arthur reflects, likely been a mistake.

A town had seemed a brilliant idea for scavenging. All sorts of things in a town! And the diffusion zones, so far, haven't been beyond his ability to handle. Of course they're weird, but he's used to weird! And he can take care of himself. Not a problem!

This is a problem. His bus is stopped dead in the street. The dark, cold street. It was like he'd suddenly found himself a Jean Ray protagonist, slipping from one reality to the next along the road. The comparison is only heightened by the shadowy figure stood in the center of the street. He's read plenty of Tales of the Strange. He knows where this goes. He's about to get cursed or driven mad or eaten by a shapeshifter.

He can't see the thing's eyes, but he is certain it is looking directly at him.]

Not today....

[He's getting out of here. Nothing is worth this. He hits the reverse pedal...only to see an approaching vehicle in his rearview mirror. Damn and blast it! He lays on his horn, turning his wheel to use his bus to block the road. He leans out his window to wave his hands frantically, hoping to get across the point that danger lies further ahead. Turn back before it's too late!]


Panorama - Unwanted Passenger

[The thing from the town followed him home.

Arthur doesn't know how, he doesn't know why, but it's following him. He'd thought he was just having lingering hallucinations when he'd caught what he swore was a glimpse of it in the back of the bus. In his home. But he'd had a terrible fright and the brain threw out all sorts of madness when it was in a panic. Perfectly normal.

It's there right now. He's in a alley with no outlet, his sawhorse out and his tools scattered around as he makes the sides for cabinets in the bus. There's a wooden, hand painted sign propped up by him - Carpentry and Car Maintenance - CHEAP & CHEERFUL SERVICE! - and the back of the bus is open. He has further tools sitting there, waiting to be used.

And there's a mannequin across from the mouth of the alley. He knows it will be gone when he looks back up from sawing, the alley mouth will empty and he'll doubt his sanity. But when isn't he doubting his sanity? This has been happening for the last few days. He truly is starring in his very own horror story, and one of these nights he's going to wake up with it leaning over him. It will have a mouth it didn't have before, with great sharp teeth and breath like a wet cemetery.]

Aha!

[He looks up suddenly, eyes narrowed, intending to catch it.... but it's gone.]

Oh bugger!


Panorama - Trading Places

[Alright, so he's being haunted by a mannequin. So far, it's simply been distressing. It lurks about. It's there.

But that's all it does. Arthur can deal with that. Very eerie, very unsettling, but relatively harmless. The only thing damaged has been his nerves, and those were already shot after years of Wellington Wells after the war.

Only...he could swear it just made a sound.

Frowning, Arthur turns and eyes the thing intently. It had been a sort of groaning noise. Almost words. There'd been a cadence to them. A disturbingly familiar cadence... but surely he's just mistaking. All sorts of things could have made a noise, he's on a public sidewalk in a populated city. Jangled nerves, that's all. Surely that's all. It's just standing there, all useless and stiff. Just taking up space on the sidewalk behind him, like some sort of store display the staff forgot to dress that morning.

Fuck a duck, he's going to get to the bottom of this.]

Er...excuse me...

[He tries to flag down someone on the sidewalk. A second opinion, that's what he needs! As long as the mannequin doesn't disappear in the next two minutes...]

trading places

[vecna]

[How fortunate for Henry that he has not found himself accosted by those eerie-looking mannequins, but the news of them abounds. He must admit, he’s curious — he’s not seen one personally until today, when he spots a familiar face coming at him along the sidewalk, his brows raising.

His eyes immediately rest on the unnerving figure not terribly far behind him, standing still, and… groaning, maybe? It’s hard to say in a place as busy and bustling as this one, but no doubt that it is not a sight that most want to be burdened with. Henry, too, would feel a sort of annoyance, a furor towards something that he could not control and be rid of, but as it’s not happening to him… he merely hikes up a brow as Arthur draws near, eyes flicking back to him.]

Hey. Been a while.

[He smiles peaceably, letting him say his part. He has an idea, of course, what it might be about. (Spoiler: that creepy mannequin just over there.)]

laszlo cravensworth / what we do in the shadows

[haemophile]

AMONG THE SHADOWS - QUADRANT 1 - ABANDONED SHOPPING MALL. EARLY JULY.

Malls are fascinating places, full of fascinating things. Of course, the last time Laszlo was at one, it was considerably more lively than this—not that he's complaining. The lack of shopkeepers and bystanders makes it a hell of a lot easier to just walk out with whatever goods he finds interesting, without bothering with the fuss of hypnosis.

The fact that everything is about thirty years behind in terms of technology and fashion doesn't seem to bother him, as he indiscriminately chucks various items out of each storefront into piles. This is theoretically so he can sort through everything later, though he mostly forgets to go back and do this, just leaving heaps of random items strewn about the promenade—a variety of hats outside Lids; books and magazines haphazardly stacked outside B. Daltons', including a generous amount of 'gentlemen's magazines'; an extremely pungent minefield of candles outside Bath & Body Works.

When he's not adding to his little magpie piles, he is loudly messing with the keyboards and guitars in what appears to be a multimedia-and-musical-instrument store, something that is his own personal Garden of Earthly Delights. He makes a note to find the owner of the establishment, this Goodman Sam, and congratulate him on his business acumen.

PLASTIC SURGERY - PANORAMA - THE BLOCKS. MID TO LATE JULY.

Beginning mid-month, you may start to notice flyers posted up around the Blocks, offering a medical solution to any recent Sudden and Strange Changes to your limbs—simply put, it's amputation-for-hire.

This is in direct competition to 'the Sculptor' down in the Pavilion, with a not very subtle suggestion that it's weird and suspicious she's paying people to keep their limbs. In fact, the flyer states that if you choose this service over the Sculptor's, you'll get to keep your bizarre, plasticky limb with no extra charge! What a bargain. (You think? There is no actual price listed, just a note that states, rather opportunistically, that IOUs aren't accepted.)

You could text or call the phone number at the bottom of the flyer—whether you're in need of emergency amputation or just suspicious. Or, if you happen to the motel room Laszlo stays in, you could just knock on the door; it isn't as though he is particularly cautious about concealing where he lives. If you visit at night, there's about a fifty-fifty chance of him being home, though there is invariably no answer whatsoever during the day.

WILD CARD! THROUGHOUT JULY.

[ if none of these work for you, just tag me with whatever. happy to write custom starters as well; hmu at bloodmoney or on my plotting comment. ofc as always, i will match format! ]

The Mall, help him pick out a gift for Nandor looool

[godjr]

Jack came to the mall to look for the missing girl but then he got completely enraptured by it. It's an extraordinary place and yes, technically creepy with all the shadow people, but he's never seen anything like it. He's explored all of it so far and he found a nice backpack to start storing items in it. He's been a bit of a magpie himself, especially with clothes, but then he started to look for little gadgets or gifts that he could bring back to his loved ones.

He's actually very focused at the moment in a boutique (made mostly for teenage girls) looking at the wide variety of hair decorations. Jack's never had long hair or worn anything in his, so he feels like he's far out of his depth. It's only by pure chance that he spots Laszlo go by exploring too.

"Laszlo! Hello!" Jack lifts his hand in a wave. Outside of his bedazzled backpack, he's wearing three flannel shirts, all much too large on him, and three sets of sunglasses on top of each other on his head. "I could use your help, do you have a moment, please?"

nashua whelan | oc

[nashua]

( No plotting comment; hit me up by PM or at rannoch if you would like to do anything! )

⚖️ — closed to karen.

[nashua]

[ It’s a rare day that Nash isn’t rushing from her morning job to her evening job; it took stars, and calendars, aligning for her to have a whole twenty-four hours off. The answer to such freedom? Laundry, of course! She doesn’t own many clothes that don’t come threadbare from thrift stores dotted around Panorama or, worse, the lost-n-found at the bar where she works, but they’ve all found their way into a hamper and are being chauffeured down the sidewalk to the closest laundromat like precious, if musty, cargo.

Seeing Karen coming up the path, she pauses to say hi. Adjusting the hamper to be supported (awkwardly) on a hand, she waves with the other, smiling lightly. ]

Hey—

[ A swinging fist causes her to abort her greeting.

On instinct, she leans back slightly and lifts the hamper to use as a shield. This leads to the cheap plastic cracking and the topmost skim of her dirty clothes falling about her feet. ]

Shit—

[ She only just dodges the second swing, this time by abandoning the cumbersome hamper entirely. Clothes fall without much art or flourish, dumping flatly across the sidewalk and into the street. One item ends up snagged on the bumper of a passing car and, sadly, is lost forever. ]

What the hell? Karen, you okay?

[ A third dodge, skipping backward on a toe. She bumps into someone attempting to cut through, mutters an awkward apology at their retreating back. ]

viktor | arcane | open and closed starters below

[mechatheism]

[hello I’ll do anything you like. Viktor has a machine repair job in Panorama and can fix your car if you need it. he's getting a mannequin for the event that sort of looks the way he used to. he can also explode yours. Plotting post is here, powers opt-in (if you're interested) is here. hit me up on plurk at whitticus for anything else.]

panorama - ota

[mechatheism]

a. around town

[Viktor and Jayce settle into the city, as best as they can. They find a room to rent in the Blocks, pick up machine repair jobs with the hope of eventually taking on mechanic work in the Scrapyard. It’s comforting, in a way, to return to tinkering roots, especially as the both of them still recover from the events of their home.

He wears a long cloak with a hood—it does nothing to disguise his stature, but it obfuscates an appearance that he knows some might find upsetting. They have no storefront, but on days when he and Jayce aren’t working for someone else, he’ll set up shop wherever their vehicle is parked, sorting through the junk haul in the pickup truck, fixing anything that anyone brings to him. His third arm works as a multi-tool—on approach, you might see it emitting a pinpoint beam of light, a magic soldering iron. He’ll tuck it away through a slit in the back of his cloak if he hears someone approach.]

Do you need something repaired? Or—we could trade.

[He sure does have a lot of junk in the back of that pickup truck! Viktor might even sound hopeful for something interesting.]

b. strange visits

[He pays little attention to the rumors, any investigation conducted on his part more focused on talking to storm chasers. Viktor’s knowledge is vast, but a place like this and its happenings are still foreign to him, and if he’s going to learn about the nature of the diffusion zones and the cosmic storms, he needs to start somewhere.

Even he, however, cannot study around the clock. Viktor has taken to patrolling the Blocks while Jayce sleeps, telling himself that it’s in service of keeping his partner safe. He expects not to be bothered, given his intimidating stature, but it is possible to find him making the rounds, surprisingly deferential if and when he encounters another Fluxdrift.]

Can't sleep?

[It's a joke, almost. Viktor is well aware he is perched outside a motel room like a strange gargoyle at a strange hour of the night.]

nandor the relentless | what we do in the shadows

[delaurentiis]

a. What We Do (Among) the Shadows
i. Mall
Nandor is very excited to visit the Mall. Even more so when he learns it is abandoned. He has a great need of clean clothes, his are terribly hard to launder.

Nandor can be found in various clothing stores, trying on a variety of styles. Punk, Goth, Divorced Father of Four and the Tony Soprano. Which is to say, he has mistaken plush dressing gowns and for fine, Gentleman's robes.

He has absolutely no idea what he looks like, because he cannot see himself in a mirror. His arms are heavy with clothing that he sets down when he comes upon someone. Currently, he's bare-legged in black slipper boots and a silk, leopard print dressing gown that is tied extremely precariously around his waist.

"Excuse me, could I trouble you for just a moment?" He stops the person short of wherever they're headed so he does a small twirl.

"What do you think of this? Do I look very gay or extremely gay?"

ii. Mall
Nandor's arms are laden with bags of clothing. If he thinks he's alone, these bags may drift behind him in the air as plods along. When he notices someone approach, they'll all drop at the same time.

His next destination is a gift shop. He spends a lot of time ogling gifts that are not practical or useful. In particular, he seems to be purloining anything that says Jack. For no reason.

Excited beyond belief, he wriggles himself into a shirt that reads I'M WITH STUPID. He may be noticed looming behind a fellow patron, waiting for them to notice that the arrow on his shirt is pointed at them.

b. Blockbusters (Nannequin)
i. Hunting
On his travels home from the Great and Wonderful Mall, Nandor has picked up a friend. He's spent a considerable amount of time with them, so much so that they truly are starting to resemble him. He names the stranger Tandor for his deceased twin brother and he dotes on him.

Late at night, Nandor takes Tandor to The Blocks. He must be trained how to hunt and feed. This is difficult, since Tandor has little inclination and Nandor's body feels increasingly stiff and uncomfortable.

Although Nandor is subtle, it is possible that he may be caught trying to mime to his mannequin. Nandor will drift ominously after strangers in the night, looking for someone to feed on. So he can show Tandor.

He may be found mid-feed. He may even ask if Tandor wants a turn.

ii. Protecting
Despite being a terror of the night himself, Nandor will come running if he hears someone scream. He may or may not have Tandor immediately by his side.

When danger is apparent, Nandor is weaponless-- except for his fists. One of which has become hardened and useless.

With a terrible tearing sound, Nandor rips his plasticed arm off his torso and wields it like a weapon. He charges forward with a powerful battle cry, here to help the helpless.

c. wildcard
Nandor can be found around the blocks. He works the graveyard shift at the supermarket. Tandor follows him everywhere and dresses like him. People who have interacted with Nandor may get bizarre messages at strange hours reading: eye am nandoor :) r we frend??

It is possible Tandor may attempt to seduce Nandor's CR.

Wildcard - Their shift

[godjr]

Jack is a little excited to go to work tonight. Not just because he likes to work, he does, but because he has a little box with him and he's hopeful it will make Nandor happy. Everything has been very strange in the city and he has a new friend, a mannequin by the name of Frank. Jack's taken to simply carrying him everywhere he goes because it makes more sense to him than Frank constantly just showing up and following him. This way they are a team.

Frank doesn't walk on his own yet, they haven't gotten to that point of it yet, so Jack is carrying him easily under one arm with the box in the other. It occurs to him he should have wrapped it like a gift but he doesn't have paper to do that with. Hopefully the intent will be the same. It's very quiet in the supermarket as it usually is at this time and he smiles brightly when he sees Nandor.

"I got you things at the mall, can I show you?" He does curiously look at Tandor too and sets Frank down so he can use that hand to wave at him. "Hello!"

nathan "cable" summers | xmcu

[sodark]

i. Mall
Cable is no stranger to a little bit of looting out of necessity. He has a very specific shopping list, and he works methodically through it.

a) He can be found in a music shop, loudly smashing guitars so he can pry the thick strings off them.
b) He can be found in homeware stores, helping himself to the sharp objects available in the cutlery sections. Also bedsheets. Although initially he seeks sturdy and thick for multi-purpose use, he can't help admiring the feel of egyptian cotton. He looks like he's considering it.
c) A camping store is a given and, without irony, is knocking over a mannequin to steal the pants off it.
d) He's heard about a missing girl, so he does poke around "girly" stores. It leads him to something like a Build-a-Bear. He can help fondly inspecting one of the bears, but he sets it back down. He doesn't need another one.

ii. Mall
Cable gives the shadowy figures a wide berth, though he analyses them curiously from afar. There's a ruckus that draws his attention. He steps out into the mall, peering over one of the glass ledges to watch as someone seems to lose themselves in terror and panic.

They're so frenzied it seems hazardous, prompting Cable to climb down and drop in front of them to study them curiously.

"You're hallucinating."

Which is exactly what a hallucination would say.

iii. Foggy Town
Everything about the scene Cable pulls up on is a big "Fuck No" for him, particularly when he watches someone get their ass crushed. He's about ready to kick his truck in reverse and make an exit, until he catches sight of another person ducking and weaving.

That delay is long enough for him to gain a passenger, who he is immediately suspicious of. When it doesn't listen to him barking at it to get out of his car, he feels he has a wonderful place to leave it. Two birds with one stone.

Cable jumps out of his truck, he climbs up the tray so he can grab the fucked up creature by the leg and yank them out. He drags them uselessly behind him as he approaches, darting behind or inside buildings as he searches for the living person he's sure he saw.

He's not quiet or subtle when he enters, calling out:

"Anyone here?"

i.

[kidproof]

Looking for the girl?

[ Considering the size and the whole vibe the guy has, Joel's hoping it's something like that or nostalgia and not something weirder or worse. He's got a tote bag from one of the book stores over one shoulder filled with a myriad of different things he's picked up.

He's gone through a couple of stores himself for both resources and the girl, but Build-A-Bear felt like a last-ditch effort, a little too open for a hiding place. ]

I was gonna hit Justice and the Arts and Crafts section of one of the Depot stores next if you haven't covered those and want to run point with me.

[ Two heads were better than one, even if Joel was more than capable of covering the joint himself. ]

erik lehnsherr — xmcu

[heavymetals]

(( starters in comments ))

— wanda

[heavymetals]

[ A longer drive is a greater risk, but Erik also hopes for greater reward. Of all the diffusion zones they've heard about, he thinks the abandoned mall might just be the most profitable option, even if it is considerably farther away than the others. Clothes, batteries, basic supplies— so much they might be able to find there, even if they can't actually figure out anything new about this place.

Wanda's in the passenger seat of a particularly small yet surprisingly sturdy car, which for the past nearly ten hours has done pretty well out on the open road. It had been a rather spontaneous meeting that led to this trip, but if they're both headed out here, this far from Panorama, it's for the best that they're not going on their own, even with their unique abilities. ]

Wanda.

[ Checking that she is awake, or calling to her in case she's fallen asleep. It's been a long drive, and he won't mind driving all the way back once they're done exploring the place, but just in case, he's also packed some food and blankets should they need to stop and rest for a few hours before driving back. ]

Just ahead.

[ He nods to the road, in the distance the abandoned mall coming into view. It looks about as eerie as he was expecting, and getting closer doesn't really help. A few minutes later and they're coming closer to the parking lot, and he pulls up from the road, parking as close to the entrance as possible, looking over the structure once he's climbed out of the car. ]

Jason Todd — DC comics

[tirejacked]

First Contact: The Mall

[It's all very ominous. The very still air of the mall. The shadowy stagnant people scattered like statues inside. But he's a long ride from his last brush with civilization, there’s the whole missing-persons thing to look into, and the promise of a few stocked stores is too good to pass up.

The tried-and-true list of things you need to travel light and get by is always pretty simple. He's here keeping an eye out for anything that fits the bill. Durable clothes, tools, spare batteries. Maybe a couple actual creature comforts, for use or for barter. (Toothpaste.  Fresh socks. A book or two to pass the time.) ]

a: [He is, to his credit, too well-trained in paranoia to touch the sooty shadows bare-handed. At least, straight off the (hah) bat. But, well. Curiosity killed the cat, et cetera, and he's been there and done that. Sooner or later he's crouched in front of a frozen, shadowy couple sitting together on a bench in front of a (miraculously) still-functioning fountain.]

What d'you think? Bets that anyone's home?

[Are they ghosts? Magically imprisoned, frozen in time, chemically altered? Or just...illusions of some kind? Makes you wonder.]

b: [At some point he has, actually, unearthed a few of those creature comforts. One of the little holes in the walls on the second floor has some yellowing books with vintage-looking covers. Dusty hardcovers. Cheesy detective comics. There's even a goopy-looking vending machine tipped over on its side. Should be comforting. But the sound of a footstep picks at his nerves, makes him spin and draw a gun on—

...Just another would-be shopper trying to go about their business. He exhales slowly, drops the pistol down, looking a little harried.]

Christ.

[What he means is "whoops. Sorry." He's not usually so jumpy. It's just that he hasn't been able to shake the feeling he keeps missing something out of the corner of his eye. Can't shake the feeling of being watched.]

Trading Places

[Jason had opted for a motorbike for a lot of reasons.  More flexible for maneuvering, easier to fuel up, easier to tuck away out of sight if he had to up and leave it somewhere for a while.  Et cetera.

But his preferred method of transportation does have its downsides.  Doesn’t make much of a shelter when the weather is bad or you're out of luck on places to stay.   And, of course, it's a lot harder to haul six feet of haunted nightmare hitchhiker back where it came from on a bike.  And at the moment, after skimming the forums and the news posts, before the arson hits the airwaves, it seems the best bet for trial and error.]

c. [So: He's sitting at a picnic table outside a moderately well-trafficked gas station on the edge of town, keeping an eye out for anyone who looks like they might be on their way out of the city. 

It’s largely dismembered, limbs tied together (at least, for the moment, thanks in no small part to some helpful stranger.) Twitching under a tarp hidden under the table, soas not to scare the locals. It doesn't really do a great job—most people are giving him a pretty wide berth. But, well. If they're that easily spooked they're probably not going to take him up on his offer in the first place.

For Jason's part, he's perched on the side of the table, boots braced on the dry, battered wood of the bench seating. Hood up to shadow his face, walking a cigarette along his knuckles absently as he looks out for takers.  It's dexterous, absent, like it’s a thing that doesn’t need a lot of attention on his part.  But every now and then his fingers spasm a little. The whole limb locks up. The cig drops to the table and rolls just out of reach.

(His jaw locks tight with frustration. As if sensing it, the thing under the table laughs, muffled.)

Come close enough, though, and—]

Headed out?  Couple joolies in it for you if I can hitch a ride. 

[(Here's hoping you've got room in the backseat.  He has…cargo.)]

d. [Or: say you do have a car (or a way to borrow one, or a willingness to help him "borrow" one, he's not picky.)  The farther they get from the city, the more the imposter's heckling from the backsteat starts to pick up in frequency and intensity, struggling its way upright with its limbs bound behind it.  Throwing jabs about being second rate and replaceable. Jason's mostly quiet, at first.  Apparently exhausted by whatever effort to solve this problem has taken out of him, but...tense.   Folded into a sullen lean into the passenger seat window, his posture practically humming with restrained violence. Boiling over with nowhere to go. Some hours into the ride, it seems to pick up on his mood (or the impending danger to its being, or both) and doubles down on the needling.  There's a rough grating sound to the Hitchicker's voice that gives it away as a fake.  Too unnatural and scratchy to be mistaken for him, not yet.  But it's got the Jersey edges of it down pretty good already.

"I’ll just come back, y'know." It says. The edge on it is vicious. Confident as anything, pointed, like a promise. "I’ll come back worse.  Finish what we both started. I'll be you. But better. Think they'd even notice? S'not like they really put humpty-dumpty back together again quite right the first time—"

Jason's patience cracks, all at once. His hands slam against the dashboard, but he braces himself against it instead of giving in to the impulse to twist to face the thing in the backseat. Yet. Instead, his fit of pique gets directed at the driver's seat. Ground out through grit teeth.]

Think you could hurry the fuck up?

[Are we there yet?]

a/n: as always feel free to wildcard me with a surprise/ping me for plotting via pm or at ambigem ! I'm late to the party so I'll be tagging out asap as well! feel free to point me at your posts if you'd rather I come to you (ง •̀_•́)ง

trading places: c

[retrievalist]

[ He'd like to say that things around here have been weird lately, but honestly the weird hasn't really stopped from the moment he first woke up here. Still, he can't help but feel like something's brewing here, little odd moments pointing towards something larger. It's why he's been spending more time out here and less time in his room; he's gotta run it down. Feeling will drive him crazy otherwise.

It also means that he happens to be pulling into the very same gas station that Jason has set up shop in, gets the dubious honour of being the one that Jason pitches his deal to. ]

I can be. Where're we going, and [ here he nods towards the package under the table ] what are we cleaning up?

scott summers ⨂ xmcu

[opticular]

( starters in comments. hmu at justinify or justinifying if u wanna plot something! )

⨂ kimiko - later, logan

[opticular]

[ To say things have turned even stranger after this encounter he had with Logan and "Jean" would be an understatement. Scott has never felt so out of his depth during the days after it. Sometimes, he even wonders if his own sanity is slipping.

At first, the instances were pretty mild but no less surprising and disturbing. He sees the mannequin everywhere. In the mirror after he takes a shower. Outside when he's about to ride on his motorcycle and explore for the day. During his odd shifts at work. Every time, it appears to be inching closer and closer to him and Scott doesn't know if that's just his imagination or a fact.

One instance, he's had enough and tossed the mannequin onto the nearest bin, only for it to come back the next day. In the mirror. After his shower. Again. Rinse and repeat, that at one point, Scott doesn't know how many times he has tried to get rid of the damn thing.

Something fortuitous happened recently, though. He heard some troublemakers burned their own mannequins, and while they ended up in the hospital for doing so after they thought they were also being burned alive, Scott sees this as an opportunity. How bad can it be?

He's in this line of thought when he accidentally bumps into Kimiko. His hair is slightly disheveled, brown curls sticking to his slick forehead, and by all accounts, he really seems to be worse for wear. As if he's trying to shake off something. ]

Sorry, Kimiko- I was just... [ He clears his throat. ] In the middle of something.

gustave ✴︎ clair obscur: e33

[stonethrow]

CLOSED STARTERS ✴︎ CONTACT TO PLOT ✴︎ BE WARY OF THREADS MARKED FOR SPOILERS
no spoilers for co:e33 will be mentioned in tags with non-canonmates, unless player is okay with them!

✴︎ MAELLE

[stonethrow]

That's mine.

( gustave says with the ease of someone whose authoritative statement will be rebuked in many different ways but will ultimately be respected. especially with him grabbing at the keys that maelle was spinning around her finger, while leaning in wait against his car. the trip they'll be making isn't a long one, from what he can tell, but it'll be enough to satiate this inertia towards curiosity that spills not just from maelle, but from gustave, too.

the same itch of needing to understand the impossible, back in lumière, resides here in this world. panorama is an easy enough city to pretend to understand, but whatever lies in its fringes—

gustave walks around to the driver's side, pops the door open. there's a bag in the backseat of the car, set there some minutes earlier, with some snacks and bottled water for their journey, sitting nicely alongside gustave's expedition backpack, journal, pens, and a few tints in hand.

he smiles at maelle, and before disappearing inside the car, he adds, )

You can work on tracing a map while I drive.

Sam Winchester | Supernatural | OTA

[hellunbounded]

JULY 6th ( I feel it in the corners of the room )

( It was only a matter of time before Sam was going to explore one of those mysterious diffusion zones. Even if it feels like he's walking into the belly of the beast, he's well aware that those spots are his best shot at scavenging, and he's hurting for some proper weapons. When news of a mall appearing reaches his ears, it's not hard to get in touch with others who are interested in investigating it. He could take Jack and Rowena, but he's not eager to drive them directly into what might be a disaster, so he decides to travel with his fellow curious strangers instead. If they're lucky, it will be an incredibly boring day, and they'll come back with loot to spare.

The mall itself is clearly abandoned, but Sam still keeps his pistol raised as he explores, refusing to be taken by surprise. Whoever he's traveling with might be, though, considering Sam can hear them curse from down the hall. When Sam goes to find who he traveled here with, he finds them unharmed and standing next to - a mannequin? Weird.

They get back to the task at hand, gathering a few supplies before meeting back up in the lobby to walk back to the car. As they start to walk, however, a figure appears from the shadows out of nowhere. It's a mannequin again, appearing out of thin air, and this time, it looks a lot like...

All of a sudden, Sam is overwhelmed by a sharp pain digging into his skull. He tries to push through it, but he fails almost immediately, collapsing to his knees. The hand not holding his pistol grabs at his head uselessly, as if he can remove the migraine that easily, but it only intensifies in retaliation. The only thing stronger than the main crippling him is the gnawing feeling that he'd experienced this before, a very long time ago.

No - the only coherent thought in Sam's mind as the realization overtakes him. It's been nearly a decade since he'd had a vision of the future, this can't be--

Images flash before him, sharp and precise. His companion on this outing turning to plastic, inch by inch, while this creature takes more and more of their form, turning into skin and bone. Next, the familiar face of the double smiling too widely, its hands coated in blood, bodies littered around it like a scene from a horror movie. Finally, someone - the original or the double, it's impossible to tell -- encased in flames, their hands outstretched towards him, their scream ringing in Sam's ears as they melt to the floor. Molten plastic.

Then, just as quickly, the visions disappear. As the pain abates, Sam opens his eyes. They're wide in disbelief, something like terror encroaching into them as he stares out into the middle distance for a few long seconds. Then, he whips his head up, and decisively points towards the mannequin. )

We need to destroy it.

JULY 19th ( If I was any closer, I could only lose me )

( It's been almost two weeks, and Sam is no closer to learning what these mannequin-looking creatures are, but he knows what he saw in his vision - why are they coming back, what the fuck is wrong with me this time, I haven't been near demon blood, what the fuck, the torturous chorus in his head rang, but Sam is well-versed in pushing aside his mental breakdowns at this point - and after destroying Rowena's clone by setting it on fire (after watching her scream in agony, feeling everything her copy could feel, and feeling his own heart break at the sight of her reliving Lucifer's torture), he now knows his vision was correct. These creatures need to be destroyed, before they can take over the people they copied and replace them completely.

Unfortunately, the hitchhiker that Sam picked up in a diffusion zone had disappeared fairly quickly after Sam got back into town. Its pointed absence is much worse than its first random appearance in his car, then his apartment: its stalking was unsettling, but Sam could keep tabs on his target. But for the past few days, ever since he helped Rowena destroy hers, his double has disappeared. This is bad news, as Sam's right hand is already completely encoded in plastic; he's running out of time.

Across the city, by some run-down shops and flickering traffic lights, a figure that looks a lot like Sam stands in the middle of the road. It squeezes its eyes shut, then shakes its head faster than a human would be able to, almost rotating a full 360 degrees. It mutters to itself as it paces the street, long hair covering its face, its nails digging into the palm of its now-soft flesh. Periodically, it will freeze completely, then start moving again, its limbs twisted in all the wrong directions before it rights itself - almost like it's glitching - but anyone who sees this will assume it's a trick of their mind. It's been doing this for a few days, unnerving the locals, but he's done nothing worse than what an average city dweller might do.

That changes on a sweltering evening in July. As the sun begins to set, the hitch-hiker suddenly freezes mid-step, mimicking the mannequin it originally resembled. A moment passes, and nothing can be heard but the noise of the city. And then, all at once, the creature holds its head in its hand, and screams.

Suddenly, the hulking copy picks up a nearby milk carton, then hurls it towards the nearest shop window, shattering the glass as it makes impact. His eyes are wide but unseeing as he runs through the shop and begins to destroy everything in sight: toppling shelves, punching glass and throwing items in the direction of anyone who gets too close.
It then rips off a piece of a broken shelf, its metal sharp and gleaming, and the hitchhiker holds it as a weapon. In a language no one but maybe one of this dimension's residents would recognize as High Enchocian, it screams as it destroys everything around it, over and over again: "Leave me alone! )

july 19th

[messenger]

[ castiel hasn't been doing much since he arrived in the city. he's made a few excursions to different diffusion zones, rolling across the flickering countryside in his rusting impala. he's made feeble attempts at finding and keeping a job, at the grocery store, the gas station— hoping the familiarity will give his actions some weight. none of it sticks. he always ends up back in his motel room, in his sagging bed, wishing he was somewhere, someone, else. he'd remain there, effortlessly burdenless, until the city crumbled to dust. but he can't help how human he's become, can't help that he gets restless. that's how be begins wandering the city, like he might have done back when he still had his wings.

his altercation with jack weighs on him.

when he hears the screaming in high enochian, he runs. but it isn't jack who he finds when he discovers the scene of the crime.

his first instinct is to destroy this wrong thing that is so clearly not sam winchester. but something halts him before he closes the distance. these creatures, whether spirit or monster, are a complete and utter unknown, even to him. what if the damage is mirrored on the host? he can't discount the possibility.

so he leaves, and he finds sam. he doesn't remember exactly which room that he's been staying in, but he knows the building, so he finds himself going door to door, knocking, waiting for the right person to answer. it's more than a little exhausting. it's the most he's done since he got here. ]

Sam? Sam?!