EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

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

∞ Prologue ∞

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

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

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

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

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

She freezes.

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

She screams.

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

Strange Visits

Panorama

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

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

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

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

⇅ Top

First Contact

The Fringes

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

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

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

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

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

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

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

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

Zone Effects

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

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⇅ Top

Hitchhikers

Anywhere

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

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

Unwanted Passenger

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

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

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

Or it goes like this:

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

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

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

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

Trading Places

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

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

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

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

Related Incidents

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

Return to Sender

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

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

Victimless Burn Victims

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

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

The Sculptor

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

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

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

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

∞ Notes ∞

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

Questions? Ask here

Main Navigation ::: ⇅ Top

Comments

[brandingproblem]

Shit. I still have my phone on me, [patting a pocket, where it's sitting there still] so at least it isn't making any calls or sending weird texts from my number. Not unless it's calling collect from a payphone.

[are there payphones here??? maybe don't think about that one too hard-]

I am not interested in seeing what happens when the rest of me starts going white. I can't touch it, though. Not in any way to make it hurt. We find it, if you wanna punch it right off your bike, be my guest. Give it two for me. Forum's got a lot of people scared or freaked out or trying all kinds of wacky things, can't sort out the bullshit from the real. I hear some people are cutting their arms off? No thanks, I know enough people with bionic limbs that I'm not altogether interested in joining the ranks.

[He knows one, technically, but that's not the point. One is too many when that one is (Used To Be) The Winter Soldier.

The car's got one passenger seat, and the tarp of a roof doesn't provide much shade, but he figures it's better than nothing. His gear is stowed in the space between the seats. Drums his fingers on the wheel for a moment while he tries to figure out where not-him would go.

Can't rely on the idea of going out there, somewhere, to go looting. Somewhere in the city, then. Could have gone back to haunt his worksite, maybe, but it's not something he figures it would do when Clint himself isn't there.] Ah, damn it. [He throws the car into drive at last.] We'll start at the Dome and go from there.

[viceps]

[ Her nose wrinkles, and she looks actually offended. ]

You think I want some half-baked Jayce clone running around making weapons? I was asking so we could stop it, asshole.

[ Vi gives him another, pointed, once-over. ]

Seeing as you clearly aren't doing so hot on your own.

[ Where is his tin can boyfriend, anyway? ]

[elriche]

You too, huh, [ he mutters in reply. Unsurprising that someone with power as concentrated as Emet-Selch's would normally have better venues of transportation, though Stephen doesn't have much mental capacity to think about what that might look like as he focuses every ounce of his not-inconsequential faculties on forming his next portal.

It sparks to life – but with a few more sputtering sparks than the last one, a little more hazy in how it renders the objects on the opposite end. A migraine starts up around Stephen's temples, which doesn't let up even as he and Emet-Selch step through the second portal and onto a new stretch of pavement. They're a little further out from the plaza where they started, surrounded by dilapidated buildings covered in peeling posters and graffiti. Stephen narrows his eyes at a – clearing? park? – another block down. ]

Maybe they're into cardio – or, uh, sponsored by... BP, [ he gets out, his typical quips a little less biting for the fact that he's fighting through a mental fog to make them. He grits his teeth, sets himself to opening a new portal – a simple spell, a signature spell, more familiar to him at this point than the sensation of sunlight on his cheek. And yet he struggles with it – ridiculous. Unfathomable. He turns toward Emet-Selch, keeps waving his arm despite the pounding of blood in his ears, the crack of unwanted plastic around his bones. ]

Might look a little different, [ he gets out, ] think it's imitating an, uh, [ he winces, scrunches his eyes, ] earlier – a younger version of me. From before the...

[ Too much information, Strange. Too disoriented. Too unguarded. He refocuses on the Emet-Selch as his portal finally crests a mountain of effort to come to life–

–and he realizes it's under their feet.

The ground disappears and then they're falling. ]

[brandingproblem]

What'd you teach? Before. [Before the apocalyptic pandemic. He imagines that when you're one of the last living teachers left, you kind of get to teach everything at that point.]

Listen, the idea that there were enough kids to even put in a classroom...that's something, anyway. [Means hope. Means there's other kids in other places across the world. Maybe humanity will die off, maybe it'll manage to survive and tough it out. Hard to say. His job was to stop apocalypses from happening.

And then one happened anyway. It's a miracle it got reversed, as far as he knows, far as he understands, Laura's voice confused and concerned on the other end of the line from a number that hadn't gotten used in five years. Does it still count as an apocalypse then? He doesn't know how that works.]

You got a place you can do teaching? Or are you just gonna do it out of your room and hope for the best?

[vestments]

( it's not funny, and the way that marc's head jerks and his eyes narrow says as much. don't mock his duty, adrian. what it does do, at least, is replace the vague bristling at adrian's I don't have your faith — marc would argue he doesn't have faith. he doesn't believe in khonshu, not like that, hasn't for a long time, and more than that, khonshu isn't worthy.

and yet here marc is, fist of khonshu, with nothing else to him. no title. no attempt to make another path for himself, even on a world where khonshu has made no attempt to reach out. khonshu has threatened it before — finding a new fist, of leaving marc to marc's own devices, to try and find a way to fill that void within him by himself — but it's never come to fruition. these days, marc thinks it's not as simple as all that; marc thinks he'll have to die before khonshu can replace him, and he knows this isn't where he ends up.

(he doesn't mention that it — gods abandoning their people — rubs him the wrong way for reasons other than that, other than khonshu. silence and a lack of answers had been why he'd abandoned the god he'd grown up with, his father's god; why he'd turned his back on his people, his history. it's guilt, then, and shame, not because he truly thinks that his father's god had abandoned them, but because he hadn't been able to put aside his ego and his pride and his shallowness to realise it until it was too late.

the doubt had been the point—.)

it's with irritation, then, that he answers adrian's question before moving on to anything else— ) I died. He made me an offer. I agreed. ( it's clipped and terse and it's obvious there are details missing, but marc makes no move to fill them in. ) With debt and duty agreed, Fists of Khonshu don't die.

( it's contradictory, and marc won't acknowledge it: he's died, countless times, and khonshu's brought him back, but saying he doesn't die reframes it, makes it less about the cost, about what he's given up each time.

perhaps fortunately for adrian, the conversation hasn't taken enough of a turn for marc to insist that he in spite of that, he's a dead man, a ghost, a spectre of the moon (get it—?) )

And my leg's fine. ( abrupt, with no attempt at a segue between the two topics. his leg, of course, is not fine, but.

he could ask what took possession of adrian's bond, but he doesn't; he doesn't ask what adrian's abilities are (curiosity is not an inherent trait). what he does say is— ) Where I'm from, Raphael's an angel. A healer. ( the question, then, of what raphael is to adrian, is implied. )

—Be careful with the offerings.

[churnback]

[ Well, that first idea's out. Cassian got stuck with one of those things, but he'd picked his up around that mall, so they'd dropped it back over there a few days ago. Ten hour drive means it wasn't a quick and easy solution, but the first thing that came to mind. But he gets it — not everyone's gonna know where one of them latched on. ]

Sure. I've seen plenty. Guy I know, his hitched a ride out by the mall and we were able to ditch it there. But — ain't the only option.

[ He's been reading things about people setting fire to theirs. Admittedly, the two viable options at the moment aren't great. ]

[elriche]

[ ooc: UH-HUH ok kids ]

[ There's something about the innocuous beep-beep that drags Stephen back to reality and settles him back on his feet. Memories of sidewalks, parking lots, grocery stores. Of mundane moments before the awful moment that the effigy in the passenger seat has replicated all too well. Stephen might be standing in the middle of a dimensional vortex desert with an elf boy in front of him and a possessed piece of plastic mimicking the worst moment of his life, but that kind of thing has all been par for the course since then, hasn't it? Not even the strangest thing that's happened today.

Stephen exhales, manages a weak smile back. ]

Me too, [ he replies to the kid's concern, just as sincere. After everything he's done, he's not sure why the image of this specific kid limp and bloody against the van's steering wheel sends a spike of guilt straight through his stomachs, but that's the power of the hippocampus over the ventromedial prefrontal cortex, he supposes. At the question, his eyes slide once again in the direction of the passenger's seat before dragging themselves back to the kid. ]

Maybe. [ The word isn't evasive so much as dry – a confirmation of the obvious. He reaches up to rub his eyes. ] If you're on your way to that mall the Storm Chasers broadcast about – be careful. Pretty sure whatever killed the people there is trying to attach itself to tourists, with these... mannequins as the conduit.

[ Not the real reason this particular hunk of plastic caused him to swerve and nearly crash, but – it's something. ]

[faithfall]

[ Adrian clears his throat in a way that's oddly suspicious, as if something Marc has said is funny and he knows that laughing would be inappropriate or insane. Fern would be glad to know that someone else has seen fit to warn him at a time like this, but he needn't have bothered. If all this god can offer is bounty, Adrian has no need of it... yet. He slips the apple into his his component pouch without trying to hide it.

Marc seems to jump between one topic and the next with no clear rhyme or reason, but Adrian doesn't mind, really. He can only loosely describe what he used to do with Raphael as 'talk' when his messages were so often feelings, dreams, and visions. Interpreting the disjointed flow of conversation isn't so difficult in comparison, even if it does still take him a several moments to sort through it all. ]

Raphael gave me the gift of healing, but that was my price for services rendered. For a being like him, the affliction of a single body is trivial, and evil is an infection in the world that must be purged. I understand, to a degree. For creatures like us, evil can change our very nature in a way that can't be reversed, but people are... complex. There should be redemption, for those who would seek it.

[ It's a slip of the tongue, us instead of them. In this particular way, he's more like Raphael than he is like Marc. ]

I suspect that he would like you. I also suspect that they share a name and an affinity, but my Raphael is not the same as yours. [ He turns back to Marc, a wave of his hand dismissing the idea. He doesn't know that really, but he knows how uncomfortable it makes people from Earth, if Martin's reaction is anything to go by. Marc seems to have more than enough on his plate in that regard.

Still, it's funny, hearing someone else describe nearly the exact same sequence of events that Adrian himself had once followed. When his dear friend had almost died, he'd finally given in and reached out to Raphael to plead for her life. He'd agreed to the path he had never wanted, with someone else's life in the balance, but he would be furious if anyone suggested it was anything but a choice... for him. For Marc, however— Adrian isn't above being a hypocrite. ]

It sounds like you were taken advantage of when you had no options left. To be committed only to violence and unable to die... is that not a curse? [ He really has no room to talk, but it's fine. Marc doesn't know. It's fine if it's him— it's not fine if it's someone else. ] Is your plan to wait until you die and hope that your god revives you, perhaps with limbs made of flesh again?

[ It's a gamble, of course, but Adrian has treated enough injuries to have a fair idea of what he's seeing. ]

[heritors]

[ None of them regret being born, just being left behind — but there wasn't anything to blame except the Fell Dragon that took everything away, as intangible as it felt at times. The bone-deep, all-consuming loneliness couldn't be cured by each other's company; it staved off the worst of it, but they've all heard each other cry for the parents they no longer had. It was a fact of life more constant their chances of living sometimes.

She remembers thinking no child should ever feel this way — least of all her own. If that means that ( her ) Ylisse would not see an heir, then so be it; her country is nothing but rubble and cinder, there's nothing for them to inherit. Nothing about it was a grand proclamation, no definitive decision she made about her life, but — well, it's not like she's had a lot of chance to think about it since.

... Nor is she really thinking about it now. The only thing that matters is that when it's born, it will not be alone. That it will have anything it needs ( everything she lost ). All else — whether or not she wanted this, or what's going on outside, or the girl they're supposed to be looking for — is superfluous. Irrelevant. Marc walking away makes her shoulders tense as the duty of protecting it ( from what? ) falls squarely on her shoulders. ]

Be safe. [ Not for her, a little for him, mostly for it. In the time he's gone, the rest of the temple is quiet.

And... by the time he comes back, she's holding her hand above the egg, fingers curled into a fist. Blood's dripping from the side of her palm. The Falchion's resting on the ground, her other hand over the hilt, the tip of it red ( it won't stain; never has ). Nothing about her face looks like she's in pain; in fact, she looks pleased. Serene. The little bit of anxiety from earlier finally dissipated now that it's being taken care of.

She looks up, then tilts her head. Quietly— ] It needed to eat. [ Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. ]

[littlemushroom]

[[Oh good. That was one thing correct.]]

Trouble?

[[An Zhe stared at the truck for a long moment, thoughtfully scratching his chin. The truth was that he'd crashed it nearly immediately after leaving the scrapyard, so he no longer remembered what condition it had been in before he got behind the wheel. Frankly he also just would not have known the difference.]]

Um... [[He peeked back up at them, looking very much like he needed a hint for this pop quiz.]]

What would you consider to be trouble?

[seavere]

[ anne doesn't quite grimace when the bird splatters in the light, because yes, it's gruesome, but better an animal than her. her jaw tightens. ]

[ she grunts her acquiescence to the vague plan, because no, it's not much, but it's not like she's got much else to offer. she can run along and in between trees easy enough, in theory. ]

[ there's a flash of confusion on her face when the man says he's got her back, one she isn't particularly concerned about hiding. he doesn't know her. she doesn't expect it from most people, least of all strangers. her gaze drops to the odd gun he pulls out, and she yanks out her cutlass - not as a threat so much as mimicry of being armed. it'll be a comfort, at the very least. ]

You watch it too hard and you'll miss the fucking slaughter lights. [ she pauses. ] Drop early, if there's a ditch between us and the trees.

02

[kitetsu]

[ ooc: I am so sorry again for the wait (this week was not it). if you want me to change or adjust anything, or if it doesn't work, please let me know. ;; ]

[ the scale of the building alone was enough for zoro to dislike it; he’d been in marine bases half this size, and between the open space and the scattering of motionless figures, it had him on edge. his arrival had been unintentional to start with, guided by the perpetually broken compass that was his sense of direction. initially, he might have considered it a happy accident, that he might find something useful among the myriad shops.

then again, zoro’s definition of ‘useful’ typically ranged between ‘edible and/or alcoholic’ and ‘capable of cutting someone.’

he really was beginning to wonder just how much luffy had rubbed off on him, however; it was the only real explanation for how he’d ended up in the company of the other man. his passing curiosity at how he had a functional tail aside, zoro still hadn’t warmed up to the idea of traveling with strangers – he’d quickly brushed it off as ‘partnership by circumstance’, and an extra set of eyes watching his back. nothing to say they couldn’t go their separate ways at any time.

and in some ways, g’raha’s enthusiasm reminded him some of his captain. a… smarter, less impulsive version, maybe, but no less inquisitive. or maybe zoro had just grown used to the noise of having someone else around. one or the other.

a hand rested on the hilt of his sword, he leaned closer to inspect a man who stood near the counter, unseeing eyes directed at the menu on the back wall. zoro might have thought it was the work of some kind of devil fruit, had he been back home – but here? hell if he knew.

couldn’t say he was particularly keen on finding out, either. ]

Guess so.

[ he raised a hand in front of the figure’s face, neutral expression cracking with a small frown. he wasn’t risking actual touch, fingers hovering just close enough to feel for any signs of life – breath, heat. anything that might distinguish them from unsettling statues.

after a few seconds of nothing, he withdrew, casting a sidelong glance at the much smaller shadow that his temporary companion had been examining. a far grimmer version of events had occurred to him also – the one where these people were still aware, yet incapable of movement.

yeah, he’d keep that one to himself for the time being. his jaw tightened as he measured his next words, before glancing away. ]

Probably doesn’t make them feel better.

[virtuose]

Please. Half the things we find barely function if we're lucky.

[Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration on her part. While Maelle hasn't picked up an actual job, she has taken it upon herself to gather a few functional items that she finds while she explored Panorama, selling them for however much or little they're worth. It was a frustrating endeavor, to say the least, leading to a similar expectation for their excursion.

She looks up from the journal, taking note of landmarks she could add to their map. Maelle shakes of her head in response.]

Is it? I haven't had much trouble. Riding on Esquie can be bumpier than any car I've been in.

[diametrically]

[ At least he sounded certain, right? But Softness turns to confusion. Mild exasperation threatens to rise and manifest like something that would probably look a lot like annoyance but thankfully he manages to quash it. Had he misinterpreted something? ...Or is this one of those situations when he was meant to say something to the contrary? This is probably the last thing that he should be worrying about.

A harsher man, a more selfish man by nature, probably wouldn't have stopped to think twice about where this was line of conversation was headed. But Cassian is neither of those things and he's always put others before himself. Arriving here hadn't changed that. And if turning to plastic isn't changing that then it's unlikely anything will. ]

What? No. I know you're here that isn't what -

[ He lets out a breath, trying to find the words to say that won't somehow make this worse. ]

I'm asking you to set me on fire. That's not exactly something people normally ask someone else to do. That's all.

[ And while what he says might not have made things worse, the mannequin stuffed in the trunk of his car has no qualms about feelings. A scoff comes from it and in a near exact match for his own tone and inflection he utters, "Come on. You should just tell her you think she's a coward. That you made a mistake." The softness in Cassian's gaze immediately hardens as his gaze whips down to the hitchhiker before back towards Lottie. ]

Lottie -

[seavere]

[ anne feels exposed, but she does appreciate the better vantage point. thus far she hasn't run into any overt threats... just a lot of weird, creepy vibes. at least here she'll see it coming. presumably. ]

[ she wrinkles her nose at the art. not because she finds it bad so much as it's just... bizarre and she can't figure out how this is music. at least she knows what a motorcycle is, even if they've merged it with some kind of sea creature. she's seen plenty of strange little sea beasts on maps before. ]

[ there's a lot going on here. ]

It doesn't tell me shit. I thought we were lookin' for music, not weird art.

[decussate]

[ Hm. Fool or not, The Knave supposes she should be glad that Adrian seems to have no intention of making things more complicated by stirring up a quarrel or demanding answers of her. She could, perhaps, make things easier on him by explaining simply that her mannequin was responsible for all the violence, but she doesn't make a habit of explaining things about herself without reason. And apparently, there's little reason now, because Adrian is perfectly content to keep interacting with her either way.

She watches as he sits himself up, quietly approving of his lack of complaint despite what must be a painful injury. She approves less of his strange smile when he looks up at her, but she supposes the shock of near-death can make any man a little strange in the head. ]

Extra holes in one's body normally makes one less cheeky.

[ But she has no good reason to refuse. Leaving him out here might mean her mannequin could come back around to finish the job, and then The Knave would be out a perfectly good(?) healer.

With a pointed sigh as if this were very much an inconvenience, she bends to scoop Adrian up under his knees and back. However, she stops just short of touching him, her eyes narrowing, then pivoting to search his. ]

You seem to be cursed.

[ Ever suspicious, her first thought is that he's tried to lead her into some sort of trap. But there are all manner of curses... ]

[carcajous]

[ His eyebrow cocks. Really? He lifts a hand, then drops it with a shrug. ]

Well, you tried to kill my friends, for one. Tried to kill a lot more than that, too. [ Several times. Or Erik would go on to do those things. Did do them? However you wanna think of it, it still happened to Logan, and the truth is, he just doesn't like Erik enough to give him that inch of grace that might've let him say, maybe this version could be different. Maybe this version could change. That's Charles' thing, not his.

Though if he's gonna be frank, he's not looking for Erik to change. Couldn't care less. 'Cause this, the flimsy little olive branch they've got between them here, the same one they had fifty years in the future born out of a common enemy, he's good with that. That, he does like. He likes the predictability. He likes knowing exactly what to expect out of a man like Magneto. ]

You wouldn't remember much of me, either way. You're a few decades behind, bub. But down the line, we wound up on the same side, so...guess there's always gonna be even bigger assholes than you out there.

[elriche]

Yeah, guess that'd be kind of hard to wrap your head around when you're a few decades behind anesthesia, [ Stephen mutters, more to himself than the babbling patient. Although – there's something in Jonathan's words that makes the hairs stand on the back of Stephen's neck, sends a wave of fire through his throat. Brought her back to life from the dead. ]

I bet that worked out great for her. [ The words come out more caustic than he intends, though it's all he can do to stop himself from shooting back that you can't bring the dead back to life – at least not in any way that matters. If it was, he would've done it – he, Stephen Strange, with the faculties to succeed where so many had failed.

And he had succeeded. In the most technical sense.

Keep it together, Strange. He grits his teeth, thinks of what she would do in a moment like this – grace under pressure, prioritizing the patient above all else. A finger reattachment should be easy, especially with the additional... talents he can leverage these days. The trick is– ]

Whoa, hey – over here, [ he grips Jonathan's shoulders and angles him away from the direction of the hospital, instead toward a nondescript doorway in the side of a brick building nearby. ] Have something else set up.

[ He opens the door with a telekinetic wave of the hand, revealing what looks to be a modern surgical suite, tiled in white, complete with adjustable lights, a tray of instruments on a rolling table, and a reclining chair for the patient. ]

[exarched]

[ They most certainly would end up in the middle of the beam, as well as their luck is going. G'raha assumes the only reason Emet-Selch hasn't tried it at all is due to the light beam. Avoiding a few raiders would have been nothing. Even if he only teleported a few fulms away, he could have taken them out in much the same manner. But whatever this thing is...it's a problem. And clearly not one they are going to free themselves from easily.

The raiders are clearly finding it out as well. Though G'raha has no particular soft-spot for a group of people who were primed to kill him for pocket lint, he is sympathetic to how the tides turn in the face of unmistakable horror. Not enough, it seems, to say much before Emet-Selch produces a gun of all things.

A gun.

G'raha does a double take, eyes wide. Emet-Selch and guns do conjure rather specific memories for him. And, admittedly, he never thought he would see one in Emet-Selch's hand pointed at someone else. ]

H-Hey, wait!!

[ The raider holds his hands up in surrender as he tries to right himself. G'raha manages to turn his shocked look away from the weapon and to said raider, pleading for his life. ]

Emet-Selch--...

[ G'raha keeps his voice low, uncertain if the thing can track them by sound. Does he want to help this man? People deserve second chances, yet... ]

I'm sorry, okay!? It wasn't personal. Wrong place, wrong time.

[exarched]

[ An interesting theory. He steps back, securing the cane on his back once more and smudges the soot onto the floor with the toe of his boot. It leaves a black arch, the color diluting as its pulled. It does not disappear, bound to this zone. ]

Some sort of remnant or shade of what inhabited these spaces as living people...or, worse, that they are stuck in some sort of stasis themselves?

[ Or a number of other things. He shakes his head. ]

It does make me think of the automations at that resort--they also were stuck in positions of life, unmoving and unresponsive.

[ Except for Thomas, but mayhap he is the true anomaly in all this? When he looks back to Sciel, he nods quickly in agreement. ]

Yes, let us make our way as planned. [ A pause as he gives one final glance to the old man. ] Though it likely needn't be said, if these are people, then it may be best we leave them be as well.

[ Which may not be easy. There are some long walkways that are empty, yet others hold thick crowds of people apparently lining up or shoving to get into some stores. Some posters advertising sales or new openings might be the draw. To think these people went out one day in hopes of a new lamp to find themselves here. ]

[diplomatiste]

Precisely like.

[ It's a good point.

Their phones are some of the first samples of advanced technology he's come into contact with, and possibly one of the most complicated. It reminds him of his Linkpearl back home, but with a few more extra features. ]

I don't think this device works or responds the same. [ Hmm. ] Perhaps its solitary function is to broadcast from one end.

[vestments]

( he does catch the 'us', and there's a slight shift to the angle he holds his head, gaze studious, curious. he's not certain it means much of anything about adrian beyond how he sees himself versus what he does and what he does it for, but there's no polite way to ask 'do you not see yourself as a person?' so for the immediate moment, he says nothing.

he says nothing still when adrian suggests that his raphael is not the raphael that marc's familiar with — marc imagines it's an interesting coincidence that might say something, but he's the last person to have an idea of what. while adrian's confirmed his is no god, and neither is the raphael marc knows of, that doesn't mean adrian's is an angel. doesn't even mean they have the same origins beyond a shared linguistic background, which— whatever, the multiverse has always been weird.

but all of that — the mild acceptance — dissipates as soon as adrian suggests marc didn't have a choice. while adrian had made an effort not to laugh — marc's painfully familiar with the way that a person clears their throat when they're trying not to react to something he's said, and he's long since stopped lingering on the whys — marc makes no similar attempt. his is a short, sharp heh, and the brief curve to his lips is less a smile and more a bitter twist as he retorts, ) I had options. ( he's had this conversation before. "no-one would blame you for wanting to live, marc", his doctor had said, and—

well. that's not true, is it?

he leans forward, weight resting on his knees as he looks up at adrian. his tone's low, firm — not cold, but decisive, like he's explaining something that's wholly factual. )

What you don't get, ( or don't have the benefit of knowing, ) is that I was committed to violence anyway. That was how I lived. I had the choice to leave that behind— ( by dying? sure. that's ... apparently a choice, if you're marc. ) —But I chose to continue it. ( unlike andrea, marc's therapist, adrian doesn't get the admission of what that'd meant. ) I wanted it. So if I'm cursed, ( enunciated carefully, like he finds the concept funny and ridiculous, ), I brought it on myself.

( rather pointedly and with a tight flick of his hand towards himself, he adds, )

I assume where you're from has mercenaries. ( or: get your pity out of here. which, that said— ) So that leaves the question of, what does that make you? You said 'creatures like us'.

( it's asked as he finally moves to stand back up, awkward and stiff, and it's frustrating, but not as irritating as adrian's dig. he dusts himself off, slowly and carefully, straightens his tie and for a beat, two, doesn't meet adrian's gaze. he hadn't sat down because of that, it was just more comfortable than standing—.

a little snapped, then, in the brief silence between them. )

Didn't you hear me the first time? Khonshu has no power here. If I die, I die. ( ...probably. he'd expected to be dead-dead before and, well. here he is. )

[heavymetals]

[ He doesn't remember much, about himself or this man, but he's still perceptive enough to pick up on the signs that he doesn't like him a whole lot. It makes it easier to listen to that, not especially bothered to hear that apparently his story isn't a nice one. He remembers just enough to know that much, at least.

It does prompt a question, though, his expression faintly puzzled, while he looks Logan up and down. ]

Why are you helping me, then?

[ Just because there are bigger assholes than him doesn't really explain Logan putting up with him now. Could've easily turned him away, given him someone else's name for Erik to reach out to. Instead he took him in and is bothering to take the time to explain what he can to him. ]

Or are you just worried I might do something bad again, because I've lost my memories?

[decussate]

[ Not the response she expected, but a prudent one. ]

Dear Lucina, you really would make a poor diplomat. There's far too much earnestness in even your most carefully crafted questions.

[ She thinks that a compliment in its own way, though she can't say if Lucina will take it that way. To answer the actual question... ]

Wanting or not wanting is irrelevant. It simply wasn't necessary.

[ There's very little practical reason to list all the people you've killed, after all, unless you're putting together a resume as an assassin. And even then, it seems to her in poor taste. ]

Though I suppose at this point, it can't be helped. Do you wish to know more?

[terrorisms]

( He pulls over. Probably for the best that Clint drilled it in so severely, otherwise he'd have wasted time demanding an explanation, a good reason, so he could decide for himself if it was warranted — but the urgency's enough to get him to follow through, to veer off the side, cut the engine, shut off the lights in a swift two-second maneuver. The car lurches with the abruptness of it, they press heavily into seatbelts until the forward momentum chills the hell out, but they've stopped.

The engine ticks quietly in the dark, a rhythmic clicking in the otherwise silent, ominous eternal night pressing down on them in a way that suddenly feels claustrophobic.

He leans forward over the wheel, peering out the windshield, eyes narrowed, squinting into the night to try and find that shape Clint's talking about. For a long second, there's nothing — and then the light sweeps around again just for an instant.

His lips turn down unhappily, thoughtfully. )

Search light?

( Like a flood light, or a security light, sweeping the perimeter? Could it be the raiders themselves? That'd be some really hefty, unwieldy equipment to haul out here for it to have such a range and such a high strength beam. It must be something that was already here, something that came with the town, with the storm.

Could they use it? Get to whatever that is, use it to spot their prey? What are the tactical advantages they could wring out of this, what are the disadvantages they need to be prepared for? In the quiet, his mind starts working the problem — until a glint of new light reflecting out of the rear view mirror distracts him. Headlights. )

We've got company.