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!

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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.

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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

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Comments

[kingsroads]

[ In the background, Celine continues on, slightly tinny yet still audible through the headphones. BABY, BABY, BABY WHEN YOU TOUCH ME LIKE THIS and so on and so forth. Despite the fact that Amos doesn't seem to be a fan, Strange seemingly has no intention of turning the music off. ]

It's far better when you have the device on your head, with those padded parts over your ears. The problem with that is then the music damn near overtakes any other sounds. I can see myself enjoying that in the privacy of my own home. But considering the circumstances....

[ 'The circumstances' is accompanied with an idle gesture to the abandoned mall as a whole. Considering the circumstances, it's best to be on one's guard. ]

[cryptsleeper]

[With no protests registered, the dhampir moves ever on. He accidentally takes bad turns of course - he did not have time to truly explore - but a car soon comes into view. The dhampir nearly slams into it, stopping right in front of the hood.

This is the easy part, so far as he is concerned. Once the car makes noise, the searchlight will find them. He has no doubt of that.

So rather than ask or even make a sound, the dhampir simply looks over his shoulder for confirmation that this is the right vehicle.]

[cryptsleeper]

Temples? Yes. Ones with offerings of this sort? Not as such.

[Alucard keeps a quiet pace with Fern, considering it all.]

Most places of worship for either mono- or polytheistic religions in my world do not lay out their magic so clearly. They assume faith is enough to bring one through the door. I am far more likely to have an encounter similar to yours - entering a home or other private place and having a desire laid out in front of me.

[messenger]

The motorcycle. Jack told him, but Castiel had forgotten. He slows to a stop at the side of the road next to Jack and stands next to his car with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders slumped but stiff.

"He would be mad at me, too." Castiel says, chin tiled up, staring off in the direction of the no longer visible temple. Frankly, he thinks he probably should be. He's angry with himself. He took the coward's way out, running and leaving someone else to deal with the problem. But it's just fact that Jack is stronger, and what were his alternatives? To sit and hash it out while they were hunted down like dogs? To find out once and for all if the creatures here are burnt at the taste of grace or if all their godly power means nothing so far from Heaven?

He sighs out through his nose, a sharp huff of dissatisfaction.

Then he looks to Jack again, refocusing.

"What even happened? The temple was fine until you arrived."

It isn't meant as an accusation, but it sounds like one.

1/2

[pse]

[ A tension that’s been buried between her neck and her shoulder blades since— well, since arriving in Panorama and being alone again, slowly dissolves. It’s tucked tidily aside by Charles’s reassurance, his gentle certainty. She exhales slowly, the faint stirrings of a tentative smile settling somewhere about the corners of her mouth.

Not even a few feet away, the hitchhiker has had enough.

Ceramic chopsticks gleam matte as they whistle through the air, an improbably quick swipe, and... ]

2/2

[pse]

[ Kimiko has been living this little pocket nightmare long enough to know that she can’t do anything. Can’t take a swing, can’t unleash the claws, can’t even hold it back from its intentions once it starts moving. The inaction is teeth-grindingly grating.

Charles’s presence forces no such parameters on her, though. Not by itself.

If she can’t stop her hitchhiker from aiming the weaponised chopsticks at his throat, she can at least push herself between him and the attack.

It all happens in a split second, in the time it takes an ordinary person to glance up. Kimiko has always had a talent for making improvised weaponry work in her favour and to brutal effect. Why should her hitchhiker be any different? The deadly combination of artificially enhanced strength and speed and a penchant for violence make her — it, them — a weapon in themselves. She springs out her seat to throw herself toward Charles. The intention isn’t to knock him out of his chair, but she’ll hardly be in control of that once the chopsticks puncture the back of her head and protrude out through her mouth like a grotesque facsimile of tusks, her teeth and lips now smeared with blood. Eyes open and unseeing, her body goes slack. Maybe it ragdolls across his lap.

If he touches her thoughts, he won’t find the static of flatlining, the absence of life. Despite what should be a life-ending skull injury, her brain waves are faint, but inarguable. Already, her eyelashes tremble, her fingers twitch.

Already, her throat moves with the faintest of breaths. ]

[kingsroads]

[ Strange pales a little at the suggestion. It makes sense, of course. And there's no direct intent of harm. But something about that makes his stomach squirm—though whether it's due to that mannequin or his own dislike of burying alive something that looks like him, he can't exactly tell.

(His mind flashes back to the peninsula, hands made of mud and earth pulling down enemy horses carrying enemy soldiers, he knew the other cavalry would not stop, he knew the men would be trampled, but it was either him or them, that's how it was in war, and Jonathan Strange knew that he could not die—)

His mind comes back to reality as he looks over at John. Idly, Strange places his hands in his coat pocket as he continues, ]

I could dig a hole, certainly. But the idea of sealing it up in the hole...I do not know. Something in me rebels against the idea, though whether it is due to that thing's influence or my own hesitance, I cannot say.

[catharses]

[ Alarmed by what is on the tip of his tongue almost immediately when such a statement lends itself to being asked exactly what she means. The answer comes right as Sunday inhales to voice that thought and he pauses when the knife appears. Alarm isn't exactly what he feels - it reminds him just slightly of others' weapons he's seen appear from hidden places. Like the blast of light he can call forth himself, but this is far more deadly at a first glance.

What Sunday ends up watching with is something a few degrees off from polite fascination as the table is dismantled into a cover which provides them some additional invaluable space where the searchlight can't reach. After its completion Sunday glances briefly to where the flames once burned before shifting his gaze to her at that question which puts his other thoughts on pause temporarily. ]

I believe I could safely venture a guess that we have both been better than right now, all things considered.

[ This might his idea of a joke even if it isn't much of one by... any standards though there's the slightest edge of dry humor to it. Debatable on whether it's recognizable as such since Sunday also makes no attempt to make it any clearer. There's also the fact that he's more or less stating the obvious working against him. But! Being well aware of his ability to twist even the slightest bit of humor into something far too serious, that's all the more reason to not dwell on that line of thought but rather move on. ]

Were you unharmed on your way here? I cannot say I can offer much in the way of aid but I have, [ with a gesture to the small pack resting at his feet where he'd dropped it in the shuffle of finding places to remain hidden, ] some supplies with me. The same for limited things which might make it more comfortable to wait here.

[ Since how long they'll spend here is yet to be determined unless something abruptly changes. ]

[kingsroads]

Jonathan Strange, [ he says, with a little nod. ] Pleasure to meet you as well, Hastings. Have you been in this world for a while or were you one of the recent lot, deposited here without so much as a by-your-leave a few weeks ago?

[ If it's the latter, it's nice to chit-chat and have someone in similar straits. If it's the former, Strange has so many questions that he'd love answered. ]

[catharses]

It doesn't seem to have any affect, regretfully. One would think that'd be a critical component to this even if the headphones were working.

[ Naturally, this situation comes with Sunday offering critiques since htere's never a time where those aren't helpful... even if they also presently do exactly nothing for solving anything about the music blaring.

Or the organ playing somewhere in this track since he's more certain than ever that he hears it, and it's the cause of the grimace on his face rather than the volume. The volume still contributes, however. ]

This doesn't seem to be particularly advanced technology - [ to him, anyway - ] and yet there are no other obvious buttons.

[ Except ones with other numbers that are almost certainly for the remaining albums rather than anything which will assist with the volume, but the louder the organ grows the more he hopes changing it to something else will make it easier to think. Here goes a press of button #2 which immediately begins blasting a song with an entirely different vibe. It's perhaps louder but is also more upbeat. A bonus? ]

What are the odds there's a switch hidden on one of the sides?

[ He now has to speak even louder, but maybe that'll be easier to find than wherever it's plugged in. ]

[elriche]

[ If Stephen notices the instinctive aversion of the man in front of him, he doesn't do anything to indicate it – or maybe is too focused on the potential patient to notice. He frowns, presses two fingers to the unconscious man's carotid, then hovers his hand over the man's legs and waves it, slowly, up and down. He frowns, gestures again and apparates what look to be two medical-grade tourniquets made of bright blue nylon. ]

Heart rate's up, which means he's lost enough blood for it to be a concern – here, [ he says, as he indicates the other man should adjust the patient in his arms. As soon as he does, Stephen twists his wrist once more, and the tourniquets fly toward the unconscious man to wrap tightly around the topmost portions of his upper thighs, belting themselves closed and clipping securely on plastic tension rods. ] Concussing him probably wasn't ideal, but we can deal with that too – just... keep his head elevated and follow me.

[ Stephen turns and gestures once again – this time toward the vacant warehouse nearby. After a moment of concentration, he nods and walks toward its side door, then whips it open to an oddly white interior. ]

[pse]

[ The hitchhiker is startled enough by the sudden series of events that it ends up slung across Logan’s shoulder without much contest. Once it’s there, however, that’s when the fangs come out — only slightly metaphorically, as it bites down with several pounds of pressure and takes out a gruesome chunk of skin and shirt in a purely animal display of unhappy resistance. Everything that ends up in its mouth, including a mouthful of thin polyester, is chewed and chewed and chewed in large and heinous clacks of teeth against meat. It only just progresses to truly offensive lip smacking and the blissful, breathy ahhh of a much enjoyed drink when it is tossed bodily into the trunk of the car.

As the trunk lid slams shut, Kimiko isn’t sure she’s ever been more relieved by a sight.

She settles into the passenger seat without bothering to buckle her seatbelt (or, indeed, even acknowledge its existence). She’s immediately hiding from his gaze, peering out the window and keeping one ear pricked for any sign the hitchhiker is escaping the trunk.

Hey, at least the silence is back.

Good ol’ quiet Kimiko. ]

[pse]

[ With a glance over her shoulder, Kimiko tries to read Sciel’s expression, to get some sort of foothold whether or not her comrade is suspicious of this room. Her own is a curious little frown as she peers back into the room.

It’s warm. That’s the first way she can think to describe it. There’s a warmth, a personableness of unquestionable invitation; something that catches the eye and draws the feet to move. Pale gauze curtains twitch softly over an unlikely breeze, masking invisible windows. The bed looks soft, the cakes sweet-smelling and covered in delectable frosting. She longs to sit down, rest somewhere more comfortable than the backseat of Tornado’s hectic and leaping vehicle, dig her fingers into the frosting—

Tornado continues to crawl around the opposite wall like Gollum, pressing his fingers into the etchings on the wall with uncomfortable reverence.

Kimiko takes a step into the room, her feet tensely arched — coiled to move, in case of a trap — but when nothing happens, she relaxes.

She scribbles a small message on her notepad and holds it out for Sciel to read. ]

Who could have put this here?

[ That is the question, isn’t it? It doesn’t seem like anyone lives here. Shouldn’t this bedding be damp and fungal with exposure? Shouldn’t the cake be covered in ants or something? ]

[nashua]

[ Shadow people is an odd thing for him to explain so casually, and Nash opens her mouth to inquire further—

The pencils, as well as the charmingly enthusiastic greeting, distract her almost immediately. The patterns on the pencils are lazy and mildly eye-searing in their coating; she falls in love with them at first sight, accepting the gift with a big smile that touches her eyes. ]

Thanks, Cap’n! These are so cool.

[ They’re dropped, quite carefully, inside her own tote bag of goodies. ]

You know, the diffusion zones don’t belong to any government. This mall is basically uncharted international waters.

[ And he’s stealing from it! Which is the definition of piracy, is it not? Something like that, anyway. ]

[faithfall]

[ Adrian shrugs, as if to say why not? It's not really surprising that a god would ignore a warlock like Adrian, but surely it's different for someone like Marc, with his vestments. Even violence is a form of devotion, and higher powers want nothing less than that.

The only god of Asgard that he knows is Tyr, who now belongs to Faerûn's pantheon in truth. Still, it's curious that they have any commonality. He's noticed that with more than one person. Adrian cocks his head to the side. ] I've been meaning to ask — are you a cleric of some sort? Who is this god of yours?

[ He doesn't think the question is forward in the least. Most religious men love to speak of their gods, given the chance.

Even despite his casual tone, Adrian's gaze seems to catch on Marc's arm, on his knee. A life steeped in violence is often haunted by an echo of pain, so he can't be entirely certain that these are new injuries and not old ones, but the flash of something he'd thought he'd seen earlier lingers at the back of his mind.

One thing at a time. He suspects that Marc will get fussy once he asks after those injuries, and he wants to indulge his curiosity first.

Adrian turns back to the statue, though he's still addressing Marc. He folds his arms, but one of his hands rises to rest at the center of his chest, fingers slightly curled, as if they mean to hold something that isn't there. He can feel his pact mark hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt, cold even now. ] Is your god so possessive of you that they would come into conflict with others? You certainly live dangerously, for someone so coveted...

[pse]

[ Being jostled on her way down the street was more common in New York than it is in Panorama; when her shoulder is tossed to the left, her eyes lift.

The last time she saw Scott, she was quietly fleeing from him at the poolside bar after his enthusiasm had proven to be slightly overwhelming. Having a response to being overwhelmed that didn't end with someone's face being ripped off is a big step forward, and she had been proud of herself at the time for recognising a boundary. In hindsight, she's a bit ashamed by her rudeness, and is relieved to see he's still speaking to her kindly.

He doesn't look to be in the happiest of attitudes, which gets her to stop and give him her undivided attention. In the middle of something? That sounds familiar. She holds up her pointer finger toward the sky, other fingers on that hand curled together. Her other pointer finger indicates him and then the upward-facing pointer. Him. Then, she does the exact same thing with the other hand. Also him. The two fingers do a bit of wagging back and forward in unison. Same.

To put it bluntly, she's asking if he has a hitchhiker. ]

[hexcurse]

A scientist without equipment, a lab...

[ He mostly mutters this to himself, then sighs. That's an excuse, and not actual the reason he's been avoiding getting any closer to study the shadow-people, though.

Jayce pulls himself to his feet, lifting his pack over his shoulder as he approaches, eyeing the shadow and its new hole. Also the jar in Laszlo's hand, curious what he intends to do with his sample. ]

Have you taken samples of the electronics soup yet?

[ He means the goo-filled televisions. ]

[hexcurse]

[ Jayce stops in his tracks when he recognizes the figure with the gauntlet, his gaze darting from it to Vi's face with a frustrated expression for a second before his shoulders droop. He's cradling one arm to his chest, his left eye clouded over. ]

... would you believe a mannequin that stole my face is running amok and attempting to recreate my work?

[ His gaze flits to the tragic gauntlet. ]

- poorly?

[ He almost seems insulted, though there's a tinge of guilt in his tone. At least it didn't explode when she dropped it... ]

[churnback]

Yeah. Bad idea. [ Wandering around with those things on when they got who knows what else lurking around here. ] Maybe it's a good thing you're the only one who can hear the 'far better' though.

[ Really this is just him taking note of the fact that maybe there's a good reason for the other devices not working and making this all available to the masses. Then again, who the fuck knows, maybe they're all missing out by not hearing this on surround sound of some kind.

About the time the chorus really kicks up and it's clear the singer is — passionate about who she's singing to, he offers the most flat-toned commentary — ]

Jesus. She really means it.

[littlemushroom]

Thank you for not immediately clocking him. An Zhe could tell just from this brief connection that it would have gone rather badly.

Though it might have been better than whatever it was happening in the depths of the fog. "I don't know." His fingers gave a small twitch on the stranger's arm. An Zhe really was not used to feeling this nervous but, ah... He let go, eyes darting briefly towards the way he'd come.

"It isn't safe."

[churnback]

[ For Amos, caring about other people doesn't come naturally to him in most cases. He knows what he should do to show it, what good people do, so he tends to follow that and fill in the rest, even if the feeling of care and concern about almost anyone is such a foreign thing to him. Even more with someone he barely knows.

But he applies what he's learned from people like Holden and Naomi, the way they'd think through what they could do to help, the way they'd check out every possibility, the way they'd reach back out.

He does these kinds of things enough, maybe it could become more instinctive. That's what he tries for. But then he thinks more often than not, he's too far gone for that. Maybe he lost too many parts of himself too long ago now. All he's got is mirroring good people. Holden would check the forums, Holden would have Cassian's back. So Amos will, too.

Some fraction of time later — an hour or two — he texts back: ]

You went to the mall. That's where it started.
So — we go back there. Kick it out where it latched on.

[decussate]

Any why would I want to get slapped?

[ And what is a Julius... but she'll approach the counter so that she can see for herself how cursed the dairy looks. Blissfully unaware of how the cursed content is actually Wade's inner monologue.

The Knave normally errs on the side of skepticism when it comes to strange characters, or gives them wide berth rather than directly encumber herself with an annoying interaction. She considers her time valuable... and while she has much of it to spare when patience is warranted, she has not a second to waste on buffoonery. That she's still here is a minor miracle, but the eccentricity of this man wearing some sort of... diving suit(?) screams of eventfulness that may be worth witnessing. Like watching a train start up with half its wheels missing.

Meanwhile, her mannequin skitters in a bit closer, to the next nearest bit of cover. ]

[pagings]

[ but that's just it, isn't it - cassian did show her his heart, the same one he wears on her sleeve, and maybe this is her way of pulling back her own sleeve just a little more. their thoughts are in the same place, their hearts along the same line. and yes, maybe they will feel a little ridiculous, but it is better than staying awake for days, wondering if they had simply done one thing differently, if only they had left a little sooner.

in the end, this option will turn out to be better, despite what the two of them might bring home.

still - karen's just relieved to know she isn't going into this alone. were there other's she could have probably called? yes. but cassian was the first one who she didn't feel somewhat paranoid asking, who didn't think her request sounded a little too worried for a girl they didn't even know. cassian, she had thought, would be just as worried. maybe just worried enough to join (as long as he didn't have work tomorrow).

see you soon. she's smiling a bit to herself, responds with a quick- ]

See you soon!

[ and then she's frantically packing away anything she might need. truthfully, karen hasn't been around nearly enough to have much to her name beyond a few sets of clothes and a couple of key items, ammo for her gun, and a small first aid kit. but before she realizes it, her bag is full and she is heading outside, finding cassian already there, opening up the car door for her.

she laughs a little, nodding in thanks as she climbs in and sets her bag behind the seat with his, buckling up. ]

Hopefully she hasn't gone far. Thanks for driving, too.

[ it's going to be a long one, after all. but she's okay with that, okay to fill the time with easy chatter, reading cassian aloud any other comments on the forum posts, any chatter that may or may not have come through. as people make it out into the diffusion zones, they start hearing more and more, and karen keeps them both up to date.

figures it's the least she can do, since he's the one driving. unless he decides to switch - something she offers to do more than once.

it's some time in, but not the full 10 hours, that things start to get dark. karen sits up in her chair, leaning forward towards the windshield when she notices it. ]

Do you see that?

[hexcurse]

[ Jayce lowers his arm, fixing his attention on the walkman again instead of her, before venturing: ]

We don't have these in my world either. A phonograph is about as close as you would get, but it's much larger. You can't exactly carry it with you like these.

[ Jayce isn't necessarily someone who needs to fill up every single moment of silence with chatter, even less so these days. If he was once someone with an excitable, almost manic energy about new discovery, that's no longer as readily apparent. But her frustration is - well, very apparent, and this is something he does enjoy talking about, quite a bit.

It a distraction, too. ]

I thought I might look at the tapes here. See if they have anything familiar.

[ He nods toward another aisle over, brow furrowing with the offer to come along with him. ]

[frostfist]

[ How poetic. The words certainly aren't doing much to convince him that this young man isn't some sort of starstruck, but he can keep his mouth shut about that. If he's learned anything, it's that most people don't enjoy him interfering with their (supposed) love lives. ]

Alright. I've met a few people with green eyes, but I'm not sure if any of them are who you're looking for. Do you have a name to go along with those eyes?