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

[diplomatiste]

[ He can reach the pedals just fine, thank you very much. The van that he shares with his sister happens to have a customized seating arrangement to accommodate their ... particular stature.

And it's working out well for them!!!!

(It may have cost a little extra, but it's well worth it.) ]

On both counts, I'm afraid not. [ He shakes his head, blissfully unaware of this man's mistaking his identity. ] I've not had the pleasure of her acquaintance, only thought I might try to help locate her.

Like as not, I know just as much as you do if you too learned of her disappearance through the forum.

[diplomatiste]

[ The crassness of her speech only startles him slightly for its suddenness; after all, he's been exposed to so many people across his adventures now, his family (particularly his father) would be shocked to learn what he's seen and heard.

This city and its people from all over will only add to that — if and when he finally finds his way home. ]

Ah. That's ... better, I suppose.

[ It's not so sharp in its sound, anyway. ]

Are these one-way broadcasts then? I don't see a way of responding to it.

[ But then, there are a lot of buttons. ]

[exarched]

[ To say this is concerning would be an understatement. He watches as Sciel approaches one cautiously, readying himself to intervene should there be any sudden movements. Yet they stay frozen--every single figure in sight. He frowns, first moving closer to the figure she inspects, then pivots to another near by.

It has the likeness of an old man, hunched over and using a cane to help walk, if he were still in motion. G'raha can feel the phantom pains of old joints in his own limbs for a moment, but this shadow doesn't appear to be in any pain. At least not that can be communicated. ]

Mayhaps...they aren't real? [ A pause, then he shakes his head. ] Somehow that already feels false.

[ He removes the cane from where it's holstered on his back and uses the end to tap subsequently at the end of the old man's cane--notably, a piece that would not be considered living. Small bits of a powdery substance fall off onto the tiled floor. ]

It almost appears like soot.

[argumentiste]

[ Normally she might be more inclined. Despite coming off the tail end of a riveting adventure herself, even she isn't so easily distracted from other matters of import. Namely, racing against the clock to try and find a solution for her brother's plastic-y fate.

Getting out of here is the only thing on her mind. And then maybe once she finds a cure for Alphinaud's aliment and they get rid of his hitchhiker, then can she think about exploring a somewhat (very) suspicious temple that is both far too deserted and welcoming for her liking.

So focused on trying to puzzle out the safest route she misses the movement that Amos notices. Unafraid of taking point however she nods beginning to lead the way towards the left tunnel, the crystal that she pulls from her pocket shedding a little bit more light for them. The smell of food wafts from it ever more enticing, making her stomach rumble and reminding her that all she'd had in the last several hours had been a handful of trail mix. The grumble she gives is both an effort to ignore her ignore and put herself off the food. ]

Why would there be food here? It isn't as if there was anyone else around apart from the two of us?

[argumentiste]

[ The volume knob working would be all too easy, wouldn't it? She can't help but click her tongue annoyingly at that. Not to be deterred by this turn of events or the loud organ music that is more jarring than reverent however (she didn't have to spend very much time in Ishgard to know that organ music probably isn't going on her list of favourite instruments) she continues her search. ] 

Just because something isn't advanced doesn't mean that it isn't difficult to use. 
[ And sass, apparently. Not that the man's comment had been targeted at her ability to shut the damned thing off. Maybe the organ music is more grating on her than she'd realized. Anyway. 

She quickly comes to the conclusion that there's no hidden plug and that it doesn't seem very practical to tuck it behind a shelf full of other records, cassettes and CD's. Before she can announce her conclusion however another track blares, causing her to yelp and immediately bash her head on the edge of the shelf. Sadly, Ace of Base doesn't get their time to shine because Alisaie's head bashing against the shelf somehow nudges the track to the next one.

Alisaie emerges wincing and rubbing the spot on her head that had made contact with the shelf, exposing an ear to the loud music. ] 

Are you volunteering? You could have at least provided a warning before doing that! 

[sodark]

[Cable knows better than to try and stare information out of Logan, so he keeps his focus on Wade's organs. He's seen inside plenty of bodies so this should be an easy thing to barely focus on. He's listening to Logan's tone-- He's obviously frustrated. But he's not frustrated in a way that makes Cable think he wants to physically harm Wade.

Which is interesting, because everything he knows about The Wolverine lore suggests that he doesn't take kindly to being pissed off.

Cable allows himself a brief, discreet smile. Logan probably fell into the same trap he did. Probably the same reason they're both on their knees for Wade right now. It's nice not to be alone in the circus.

But on to more important things.]

You're welcome. [Because this time, Wade, he did do it for you. And he wants to do something else, too.]

In twenty-five words or less, how about you explain how and why this happened?

[foretells]

No, I think they're plenty real.

[ It's not unlike the petrified corpses she's seen on the Continent. Mountains upon mountains of them, unmoving, so many of them caught in a pantomime of their final moments. In some spaces, she's seen hundreds; across all of the locations they've visited, it must be in the thousands upon thousands. All of those Expeditioners lost... It's really no wonder that Lumiere is a shadow of its former self. She can't even blame them for trying.

But this... It's an echo of all of that. Her gaze falls on a few teenagers nearby, her heart twisting. And then Sciel looks back towards him, as he taps at the older man's cane. Her frown is a thinly pressed line on her face. ]

Perhaps they turned into this when the mall appeared here? When the...'transfer' happened. [ Across whatever space it was originally. ] We should find that little girl, in case this potentially happens to her.

[ They have no way of knowing the mechanism. But she can't allow this to happen to someone else, if there's a way to prevent it. ]

[kingsroads]

Guilty as charged, [ Strange admits, with a little shrug. ] I suspect I'm old-fashioned, but I mostly view music as something to either dance to or appreciate in concert. The woman has a lovely voice, but the piece itself feels a bit too over the top.

[ There's a wry smile on Strange's face as he points out, ] And, of course, it's quite rubbish to dance to. Music is supposed to be bright! Lively! You could hardly dance a scotch reel to something like this.

[kingsroads]

[ Not what he expects. Odd travel, being thrown hither and thither across realms, beyond the rain, past the stars, that is something Strange himself has been getting used to. Still, even he knows that it's a bit rude to argue against Arthur's statement like that. So instead, Strange simply shrugs before pointing out, ]

I doubt we'll be tossed through the universe like that again, but these little storms and fluxes all but assure us that our days here will be nothing close to 'normal.'

[messenger]

[ castiel stares at connor's folded clothes, marveling a bit at their neatness. he could perhaps achieve the same, if he put the effort forth to do so, but he rarely does. it feels like it means something, though he doesn't know what. ]

Do you think I should have brought mine?

[ he didn't he consider it.

it strikes him that connor is much more put together than him. ]

Do you think that I should...?

[ normally, he'd just steal them.

jokes? what are jokes? ]

[heritors]

[ No grocery stores in an apocalypse means that they had to make do with something, and jerky keeps. Once they've set up camp and started drying their latest game, they don't need to attend to it constantly. She's a touch too practical to really care what she eats, but there's a certain familiarity to the whole process that she enjoys at this point.

( Not that there's much else for her to do on the outskirts of the city while it dries. She trains, sometimes, but there's no camp to feed or clean or strategize with. No one wakes up in the middle of the night while she stands watch, the only thing keeping her company the cinders by her feet.

It's not foreign, just no less isolating than it was the first time. )

The ziploc opens, and she tilts the opening of the bag towards Sunday in a silent offer. It's really not much; he's the one driving, after all. ] Not this far out, no. The furthest I've driven out was still less than five hours from the city — though if I were to have traveled the same distance on foot, it would have taken no less than a day.

I only wish that the gas wasn't so... expensive. It's a worthwhile purchase more oftentimes than not, but... [ You know. ]

[heritors]

[ No she's just naturally a little dense, you can blame her dad for that one.

Fortunately, it's the same trait from Chrom that keeps the assessment from having much of an impact on her ego. There's being confident in her abilities, then being blind to the fact that she is outmatched compared to many of those that are here. She started on quite the back foot after all; their first meeting had her stranded on the side of the road until Arlecchino's crimson spikes literally lift her car so that she can replace her tire. If that's not powerful and intelligent, then what is?

So. She glances over in the direction the Hitchhiker went. Tries to determine if it's worth offering to chase after it, before she's beaten to the punch. Ah. About that. A hand raises to scratch her cheek. ]

It wasn't all that interested in harming me. Just ... [ You know. Said some shit. Which, speaking of— ] ... Did you hear what it was saying?

[churnback]

[ He's not as versed on either, dancing or just listening to music with a bunch of people around. He knows of them, sure. Dancing a little more. It ain't all bad out there in the black, and whenever they're stopped at one station or another, he's found plenty of entertainment in bars with varying levels of rowdy music, watching people dance around and with each other. Not so much his thing, the dancing, but — people do it. People enjoy it. That, he knows. Can't really do much appreciating of the music when it's just a lot of noise to fill the space.

Now that he thinks about it, the stuff he's been hearing here has more actual singing than he's heard in years. Even if the words are — overwrought. ]

You like her voice, you'd be into this — radio show, whatever they call it. Someone named... [ Slight pause, while he searches for her name. He'd only heard it a few times. ] Dee...Delilah, something? She plays a bunch of this, all like that. [ With a nod to the walkman. Of course, fully realizing the guy's said it's a bit over the top, so this is mostly not serious at all. ] Car radio got stuck on her for hours, maybe you'll get lucky.

[ Not that there seems to be any rhyme or reason to the random stuff that comes through when the radio's on. ]

So what's a scotch reel?

[pagings]

[ karen doesn't realize how much this is about trust. she's not really thinking all that much about it. these last few weeks have left her in a state of near-constant worry, with spikes of panic, an ongoing weight and sense of guilt.

she hasn't stopped moving because she couldn't. not when each time she turned her back for too long, something happened. her work shifts became elongated hours of trying to work and put up a front, and anxiously wondering if the mannequin would get out again. then, when she wasn't working, she was either trying to find ways to handle the mannequin or - more often than not - searching around the city for the traces of destruction it left behind.

with the mannequin now gone, for good, she feels a bit freer. feels like she can finally relax. but even with that unclenching of tension comes the release of everything she's been holding back. the flood of how much it hurt, and now that she doesn't need to keep it together for the sake of something more important, she just feels tired. just doesn't want to have to keep holding it together.

she's had breakdowns like this before, so it's not entirely a surprise, but generally these have been herself, in her apartment, or in her car, or somewhere where no one else can see her. the fact logan's walked in and it all bursts out says something - maybe about how much she doesn't want to go through this alone, maybe about how from the first day he's been nothing but support, nothing but help. maybe karen shouldn't be so quick to rely on someone she's just met a couple of months earlier, someone who so obviously has his own priorities, his own people. but-

it's not like this is the first time she's fallen apart in front of someone she's just met. and honestly, a couple of months in is a bit better than sleeping in matt's apartment days after meeting him.

and right now - logan's arms wrap around her, and his voice is soothing, comforting in a way she has been needing, in a way she wasn't even aware of how much she needed. she all but collapses into him, actually just feels all of it, and releases all of it.

its a few moments (minutes?) later that it settles, that she settles, and the thought that logan didn't ask for any of this really settles on her. she takes a breath, feeling more centered though her head is pounding and her face feels hot, and pulls away (even though she doesn't really want to. even though a part of her wants to stay right there for just a few moments longer, but she knows she shouldn't. can't). she wipes at her eyes with the backs of her hands, putting effort into calming her breaths. ]

Sorry- [ she starts, and then laughs - though it's a little wet, a little strung out. when she looks back up at him, her smile is shaky, but it is there. ] I'm glad you came by. I, uh- [ another breath, and then she looks down at her hands, at how close they are, at what may or may not be a wet stain on his shirt, and she feels a little embarrassed. especially when she doesn't really know what to say, after all of that. ]

[carcajous]

[ Well, he's probably not the best sounding board out there, but he's as good as she's gonna get at this hour. He's not too unfamiliar with it all; babysitting a bunch of teenagers at your local mutant academy will get you playing school counselor at some point, whether you asked for it or not.

Which he didn't. Ask for it, that is. But that kinda goes for every situation he finds himself in.

Keys jingling, he pops the top off his beer. Two blinks later, the tray of nachos hits the table. Five minutes, huh? He could do it. He's just...not gonna, but he does take a cheese-loaded chip off the small mountain they've been served. Don't worry—Logan's a master at getting people to talk about their feelings, a tried and true method where he barrels headfirst into the subject with all the elegance of a goddamn bear, causing people to either actually confess something or tell him to go fuck himself. ]

I ran into your brother in the Fringes. [ He brushes a fallen sliced olive off the grimy table. ] This got anything to do with him?

[carcajous]

[ Logan's eyes narrow, then drift up to the ceiling, the picture of a man who's not only never smoothed over a goddamn situation in his life, he's usually the reason a situation has actively become worse. He watches the other leave for a second, less over what was said and more 'cause he's realizing...

Well, it ain't the first pretty boy he's come across. Oughta let Summers know he's got competition.

Logan gets out of there fast, uninterested in mingling with the customers behind him, definitely not interested in seeing what sort of trouble might swing by if he stands around too long. They don't exactly take the same road, and Logan pulls ahead easily with the speed he goes at. An hour later, maybe two, a glimmer ahead catches his eye. He slows down, peering up at the flickering, glowing outline of a microphone and a little music note. Nearly blinds him, that neon fuchsia.

Right. It'll do. He needs somethin' to eat, and he might be able to pull some cables or batteries from the stuff inside. It's not 'til he's pushing open the door to the karaoke bar, music echoing from the staticky speakers, that he hears the rumble of an engine behind him, then a car door swinging shut.

He glances over his shoulder. You gotta be kidding him. ]

Really?

[vestments]

( the first question earns a sidelong glance. cleric isn't the word marc would use, although he supposes it's correct, and he meets adrian's canted head with a soft mm of acknowledgement. )

Sure. ( agreement in as much as it matters, punctuated by barely a breath as he adds, ) Khonshu. Egyptian god of the moon. ( a slightly longer beat this time, and a softer concession in the form of, ) Earth.

( he hadn't asked where adrian was from the last time they'd met, and it seems foolish to assume they're from the same place — not that it means he asks now. if adrian's not from earth, there's very little guarantee marc will have heard of the place he's from, and specifics seem far from relevant without context.

it's a not-especially-helpful answer that lingers in the momentary silence between them, as marc weighs up his response to the rest of it. maybe his answre would be different, if it were just the 'is your god so possessive?', because that's simple. khonshu is controlling and possessive in equal measure, jealous and tempestuous. marc and khonshu may rarely see eye-to-eye; khonshu may have threatened to replace marc more than once, but he'd still chosen marc. someone else deciding to take away his toy and play with it would be the swiftest, easiest way to discover just why khonshu's discovered the god of vengeance, too.

which, perhaps, ties into the rest of it—. )

He's a miserable bastard. ( blunt. to the point. not exactly bitter, not in the way it would have been some years ago, before marlene had left (for the final time) and jean-paul (for the final time), when gena had first decided that she was done with marc's shit, even if that meant being done with jake, too, but there is a chord of unhappiness. )

Violence is what he asks for.

( adrian isn't looking his way, his attention all but fixed on the statue, but that doesn't stop marc from studying him — the way he holds himself, the way his fingers curl. marc doesn't say that it's been a long process of trying to work out how to balance what khonshu wants with what marc's prepared to give and prepared to lose. that while questioning might have been how he'd abandoned one god before ending up at khonshu's feet, that didn't mean he'd stopped pushing back.

instead— )

And how many gods have you encountered that are reasonable?

[faithfall]

[ Is that a smile? Adrian wouldn't have guessed that Eliot was capable of such an expression directed at him, when he usually seems to be working through several variations of a scowl.

He isn't a terrible person, is the thing. They might have gotten off on the wrong foot (or to the wrong produce) but thus far his character has been demonstrably noble.

When Eliot doesn't argue, there's nothing left but to go through with it. Adrian nods, satisfied enough.

He removes one of his gloves and Morgan hops back down onto his arm so that he can presses the tips of his fingers to her forehead. ] Morgan is not affected by my curse; as my familiar, she can deliver spells that would otherwise require my touch. [ He doesn't know if Eliot cares about this sort of thing, but it seems only fair to explain when he's offered the trust to handle it. Adrian gives his familiar a little scratch on the head. ] I give my light to this soul. I burn the darkness from it.

[ Morgan's feathers glow; a white so pure it nearly burns to look at her. Adrian's breath catches, just briefly, and he rubs the back of his neck when he draws his hand away from Morgan. He's well accustomed to the pain of using his magic. He barely notices it, ordinarily... but excessive use makes it far more difficult to ignore, like when he's just finished his shift. Irritating. ]

This will not hurt the children, but the girl will need to touch Morgan for a few seconds, and I cannot easily veil her appearance while maintaining the spell. [ Morgan hops over to Eliot's shoulder at his silent command. All of her eyes roll to look at Eliot. One of them bats its eyelashes, and Adrian pretends not to see it. ] Just ask the girl to pet her. Morgan will do the rest.

[opticular]

[ Things happened so fast, Scott wasn't able to process much of the events that occurred. One moment they're making a break for it, finding the most accessible way to escape where they are right now. The next, Logan's shoving him away from something. He doesn't know exactly what's transpiring. Due to whatever funk he was in, the last thing he remembered was spotting "Jean" while he's on his bike.

Next thing he knows, something, or more accurately someone, exploded (or were they crushed?) and they're running from the ensuing commotion. Is someone actively pursuing them? Is the explosion going to come after them next? He doesn't know. Couldn't possibly know with how thick the mist is.

And it's frustrating him in ways he can't fathom because he's supposed to know everything that's happening from every angle, and yet for some reason, he was prey to something that captured his full attention, distracting him from his surroundings and lulling him to believe Jean's actually here.

But Scott doesn't have the luxury of actually processing his emotions because as soon as he's shoved away, he sees Logan pop like a balloon right before his eyes. ]

Logan-!!

[ Logan's blood splutters everywhere. On his face, on his visor, on his hair. On his white tank top. On his zip-up hoodie. On his jeans. Everywhere. He can even taste some of it in his mouth when he screamed the other's name. Scott's so shocked, so taken aback, that for a split second, the leader of the X-Men doesn't know what to do. What's even happening? What caused this? What are they fighting against? What are they running from?

He drops to his knees, gathering whatever pieces of Logan there is on the ground. The man heals quick, yes, but is he quick enough? He'll know right now. And, for a brief moment, he's reminded this could've been him had Logan not push him aside. Fuck. He's so out of his depth here. ]

Logan, come on- I'm here. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere- Fuck, what's happening?

[opticular]

[ For a moment, Scott doesn't understand what she's trying to say. It's a bit difficult to parse out when he's operating on few hours of sleep for days due to his pesky hitchhiker. Combine that to seeing Logan pop like a bubble during their encounter with the Light Guardian, and Scott's not really in the best of moods.

But, after a beat or two, he comes to understand it that he slowly nods to answer her. Scott doesn't stop there, though, because it's natural for him to worry about others that even while sleep-deprived and thinking he's gradually losing his sanity, his brows furrow in concern. ]

You don't have one too, do you?

[carcajous]

[ Time's not the first thing on his mind, either. He stays as long as she needs him, and it's only when she pulls away that it occurs to him they've both just been standing there. Part of him isn't sure where to start, but there's another, bigger part of him that isn't stuck on that. He's not thinking ahead, he's not thinking anything; he's just reacting—stepping back to give her space when she does, brushing back her tangled hair when she scrubs her eyes. ]

Me, too.

[ For a few heartbeats, it's quiet enough he can hear tires rolling over gravel outside, the dull thunk of a soda can hitting the bottom of a vending machine. In the end, whether it's her nudging him there or Logan telling her she oughta sit, they wind up on the small couch together. He sinks into the ancient cushions, old springs digging into his ass, and he doesn't put as much distance between them as he might've before. The TV, perched on its scratched up stand, reflects the lamp behind them on its empty screen.

He leans forward, watching her askew, his gaze drifting between her hands and her face. Something's happened, he realizes, between then and now, in how thoughtless it is to be close to her. He doesn't ask himself anymore if that's what she might want, doesn't ask if it's what he wants, what either of them wants. Because it is. It is. ]

I, um— [ Shit, what's there to say? He's glad she let him in. He's glad she's unhurt, even if it might not feel that way for a while. He's glad it's at least fucking over. (Even if it took far too long to get there.) ] You need anything?

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard doesn't need to be told twice. With the same inhuman speed that brought them both here, the dhampir appears in the passenger seat as if he had always been there.

There's no denying the way Alucard holds himself. He'd tense, holding himself taught like a bow string about to be released.

He inclines his head int he direction his car is in and then turns around in the seat, all the better to keep an eye out for the searchlight.]

[catharses]

[ That'll have to do since the if in that is enough to pull Sunday's attention back to the matter at hand. Forgetting about the gravity of what's waiting for them on the other side of walls which have seen better days for a second was nice - at least the unease of disturbing someone else's routines is something simpler than a being which aims to smite everything it sees.

It's quiet outside, at least. On top of that, it's not the alarming sort of quiet (yet) which suggests a turn in events towards something far more ominous still as he listens through other means to confirm that. For now it's enough to lean against the wall behind him in an attempt of ease (it'd be more successful coming from anyone but a guy who's never relaxed a day in his life). ]

Thank you. It's also been some time since I last played, but I suppose as they say it's one of those things when once learned cannot be forgotten. [ Extremely debatable whether anyone's said this about playing a harmonica, but - ] I cannot take all of the credit as some of it is likely to be from a lifelong connection with the Harmony.

[ Another time he might've simply taken the compliment but given it's unclear if Xipe's gaze has ever turned here - it seems prudent to not attract a spiteful version of said gaze if it can be avoided. A thought Sunday discards rather quickly in favor of another one. ]

I would be happy to teach you if you should like to learn.

[ That giant 'if' goes unsaid for now. ]

[catharses]

Of course. Should that change, you need only ask.

[ A standing offer for as long as they're here and especially should things change. Hopefully the only change will be being able to leave unscathed, though he supposes the offer will persist at that point. Not a thought Sunday wants to dwell on as he watches her get settled from the corner of his eye before turning to look at her properly at the introduction. ]

My name is Sunday. Normally I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but. [ Better circumstances would have been nice, like perhaps somewhere in town without fatal risk waiting immediately outside of where they are. Too late his own words replay in his mind after they're said, and he visibly winces a little at how that might sound if taken another way. ] Ah - not that I have anything against meeting you, of course. More than I wish the situation was something... different.

[ Well. Continuing to add more likely won't salvage that, so he lets it go. Instead Sunday occupies himself with taking a seat with his back very upright against the wall in what's a comfortable enough neutral position for him. ]

Have you also recently arrived as I have?

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard tracks everything quietly, his face a perfectly blank slate in case this deity thinks that he too is full of doubt. He doesn't. It's impossible to as he watches Strange reach out to touch invisible things that are clearly on the other side of the partition.

Then the blood starts.

The dhampir knows the smell of blood. He's grown up around it, he's spilt plenty of it, and he's watched magic force it out of others. This is the last version, and in Alucard's mind he thinks of the stories of maenads and the violence they performed in the rites.

He knows he can't step in. He can't step in as the wounds begin to deepen and the stench of blood fills the room. He can't step in even though he really, really ought to because there's a stronger chance now that this idiot is going to get himself killed.

That thought begs another: how the hell Strange survive this long in the first place?]