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

first contact — OTA

[catharses]

a. among the shadows

[ It's a long trip to have made by the time the mall's lights beckon, his car is parked, and Sunday steps into the mall. The building is both familiar and isn't; it's lacking the distinct layer of glamour of Penacony's shopping districts but it's unmistakably one all the same as he walks through the corridor of shops immediately by the entrance. One difference, though: the shadows of people frozen into place are... disconcerting.

Enough that he'll stop to study a group of teenagers looking carefree with laughter still on their faces. Perhaps he's concentrating with a furrow in his brow with the air rippling around him in the suggestion something else is taking place. Beyond that, Sunday's concentration might be so strong he doesn't notice anyone else approaching whether he's standing in place or slowly walking around the group with hands clasped behind his back. A mystery worth investigating - but how?

After moving on, the shops catch his attention to browse what's inside. A large television whose shape reminds him of the Dreamjolt Troupe has him pausing in an electronics store though it seems to not be sentient so much as covered in something which has him stepping away. A glance to another aisle reveals rows upon rows of CDs which Sunday also wanders through until something in particular catches his attention: a display of CDs available for preview. Sunday presses the first album's button expecting it to play through the headphones as he reaches to pick them up, but instead music abruptly blares from some unseen speakers. He hastily presses the button again but that doesn't seem to do anything. Surely there's some way to adjust the volume on this.

More successful is going through a clothes store next to a long abandoned food court. If he comes across anyone else also looking for a new outfit, he'll nod in greeting but leave them to their task since finding something to wear is Important and he wastes no time in doing the same.

Fortunately there's a large mirror nearby more than tall enough to show someone's entire reflection without having to go into the dressing rooms right away. When it's unoccupied Sunday heads towards it to hold up one item of clothing after another in appraisal, frowning some at more than others. ]

I suppose I should learn to embrace more patterns.

[ His current clothes (solid colors, immaculately maintained) are rather plain in comparison to some of the very 90s patterns on whatever's in his hands or yet to be appraised. Sunday's also probably talking to himself, but any fashion advice would be welcome. ]

b. the last stop

[ Each howl tells him everything he needs to know even before witnessing what happens after.

Predictable, really, Sunday thinks wryly to himself as he dashes across an open area scanning for cover beyond a single wall that's left of a rotting building or a crumbling fence. That transition from day to night with the plummeting temperature should have been enough reason to turn back to somewhere - anywhere more familiar than where others once alive are suddenly crushed into the ground.

Hubris to think he was prepared to investigate this, but there'll be time to dwell on that later. Like maybe when there's time to think of a plan beyond not being seen.

Suddenly, a house with at least two, possibly three walls and a roof mostly still there emerges from the mist. That'll do. ]

Over here!

[ Perhaps they've only just stumbled across each other or arrived together before realizing the danger lurking here, but this is a team effort now. Your choice of whether Sunday calls that out aloud or if it's sent via telepathy but either way, he holds the door to the house open after stumbling through it for whoever might follow. ]

b. the last stop

[decussate]

[ The Knave is used to being around forces vastly greater than herself, but this is undeniably something new. There's no thinking mind apparent to appeal to or maneuver against; this hulking shadow is as sure and dispassionate as a natural disaster.

She moves surely despite the darkness and tremors that blur the ground. Even now, she thinks of pressing on. A fearsome guardian surely protects a fearsome secret. But as a man's voice hails her through the fog, she recognizes that there's no wisdom in rushing. Wait and watch, rest and assess — she's always subscribed to the power of patience, and she'll let that guide her again now.

She spots the house, and then the man holding the door open. She's seen him scuttling about just as he's perhaps seen her, but the lack of hostility in his demeanor has made her content to leave him well enough alone. (More bodies around mean more distractions for the guardian, after all.) There's always a chance that his attitude will change behind closed doors, so to speak... but that's something she can deal with if it comes. For now, she slips through the door and waits for him to close it.

The house isn't intact, but some walls are a better shield than none against the searchlight. The Knave positions herself to remain in the shadows should the light sweep over the building, taking a chair against one wall. She looks to ensure that her new companion is doing the same; the monster crushing him will easily crush her too. ]

Well. This has been a stimulating excursion.

[ Severe understatement delivered as casually as you please, though she is a bit out of breath. For now she focuses on slowing her heart rate as she peers out the corner of a window, monitoring the hulking shadow's movements. ]

[catharses]

That is certainly one word for it.

[ From that one might get the impression that were this not quite so dire there might've been a bit of humor in such a statement, but instead it leaves Sunday's mouth as something rather dry. Not mocking, however; what other way is there to describe this as the light beam shifts directions with a glimmer of it catching briefly one some long broken glass at their feet? It's more the normalcy of hearing those words despite their surroundings which nearly tempts him to laugh.

He doesn't, if only because it's unclear if noise factors in at all to the light's tracking to where even Sunday opts not to embellish his words with even more (for once, possibly the first time in a long time). The same for what's normally unfailing etiquette in introducing himself, but that hardly seems as important as remaining tucked into the corner where two of the crumbling walls meet while he also catches his breath.

In another life his plans had rather high stakes, but none quite like this. Voices carry as they echo across space muffled by distance and the remaining structures around. The raiders he'd seen earlier, Sunday thinks, but less of them now thanks to the light. While a possible threat he'd deemed them ones easily handled should the need arise, they're less pressing now than fortifying this shelter until it's safe to move again. He's choosing to believe it will be at some point.

His gaze catches on what might've been a bookcase once before the shelves rotted away leaving only the frame. It'll serve well enough to block the conveniently same sized break in the exterior wall just a couple feet from where it stands and Sunday nods to it to catch her attention. ]

If we're able to move that, it would give us nearly another wall.

[ Sort of - that's admittedly an exaggeration. At the most it'd be one less line of sight to worry about, and he'll take that. ]

[decussate]

[ In times of stress, it becomes even more important to keep a tight rein on one's emotions. Sometimes, even the driest bit of levity can help others do the same.

The Knave peers through the darkness with sharp eyes, looking for the owners of those voices on the wind. Even if she hadn't noticed them earlier, it would be easy to guess that the distant figures might not have the best of intentions; very few good samaritans travel in bands.

She's drawn from her surveillance by her new companion's comment. Her gaze flickers to the bookshelf, then to the conveniently sized break in the wall. Far be it from her to reject a rational plan. She watches the searchlight for a moment longer, ensuring that its sweep is traveling away from the house, before answering. ]

Quickly, then.

[ It wouldn't do for them to take so long that they get caught in the light with an entire bookshelf in their hands. She crosses to one side of it and readies to lift once her companion does the same. The Knave is strong enough that she could move it by herself in a pinch, but its shape is too unwieldy to do so gracefully. She can do the bulk of the lifting as long as the other end is held steady.

And since time is of the essence, she looks across the bookshelf at the her companion. ]

I hope you understand that we must be selective about who else is allowed to approach the house.

[ Not something she would normally bother discussing, especially in an urgent matter of survival. But it's in both of their interests that they're of one mind. ]

[catharses]

[ He's about to lift the bookshelf and put what average strength he has to use when she speaks and he pauses. There is a moment where Sunday presses his mouth into a thin line which is momentarily all the displeasure offered in response. It can't be his only response, however, in a situation quite so dire where they cannot afford to not be clear with each other. ]

I understand the sentiment. [ Because he does, even if it pains him a little not not offer assistance even in an entire hypothetical which has yet to come true. There's no avoiding the reality which makes this something unavoidable. It isn't a risk they can take. Recent events have made him painfully aware of the scale of his naivety, but even Sunday would like to believe he's not quite so gullible so as to invite further danger in. Maybe. Hopefully. ] There are other shelters that can be sought, and should they approach I will send them that way quickly and away from us without hesitation.

[ This moment will be his only reservation about it should that come to pass, because the powers granted by the Harmony will make it so. Whether whoever it is makes it to safety from there is their own responsibility when his is to keeping the both of them safe.

Sunday listens again, this time reaching out for the resonances belonging to the voices for something more exact no matter how faint it might be as they move the bookshelf. ]

They do not seem to be moving our direction currently, but I cannot tell where they've gone.

[ Not far enough for voices to not be audible now and again, but not close enough for him to find their thoughts to offer any clues about intentions. In the distance there's a sound suspiciously like a crunch and Sunday grimaces as he steps back into the shelter of the partial wall to stay hidden as best he can if the searchlight comes their way. ]

[decussate]

Excellent.

[ She's satisfied with the sentiment behind his answer, though her gaze on him grows keen over the confidence in his assertions. But she'll leave her questions for later; let the adrenaline wear away first. The bookshelf is neatly slotted in place, and she casts an eye about for what else can be done.

She saw the man's small flash of discontent. Not unexpected in a decent person -- and she's not unaware of how she might come across as a single person who was offered this bastion, only to turn around and demand that the gates be shut behind her against the many who might seek the same refuge. In truth, she didn't expect the man to agree quite so readily. But The Knave is nothing if not comfortable with harsh decisions, and she puts the potential demise of the raiders outside swiftly out of mind.

She moves to the safe wall next to her companion, hefting with her a low table with its legs smashed in. ]

Don't be alarmed.

[ A long crimson knife that emanates faintly in the dim slithers into solidity in her hand. This she uses to cut the table deftly to size, the blade easily eating through wood. The ends of the table burn where they meet the blade, but The Knave quickly smooths the infant flames out with her black hands before proceeding to the next side.

It isn't a minute before she wedges the resulting square of wood into the window frame she'd been peering out of earlier, offering just a few more precious feet of cover. With that done, she finally settles against the wall next to her companion. Closer than she normally would with a stranger, but the space they have doesn't allow for polite amounts of elbow room. ]

Well then. How are you?

[catharses]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[decussate]

[ That's the sort of straight-faced delivery that reminds her of other well-meaning but socially awkward people... or person, singular, actually. It isn't something that bothers her, though; on the contrary, it's an impression in his favor.

To his question, she responds politely. ]

I'm quite alright. But the offer is appreciated.

[ She's used to operating in the dark, so the low visibility hasn't hampered her overmuch. The situation here isn't ideal, but in some respects she is ideally suited to it. Patience, too, is her forte; she crosses her legs and sits straight against the wall, settling in to wait for however long they need to.

She looks askance at her neighbor. Now's as good a time as any to chat. ]

I am The Knave. And you are?

[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?

a

[argumentiste]

[ Everything about the mall is unsettling. The way it had risen over the horizon like some looming behemoth, the cars that sat in the parking lot untouched, the shadows that filled the space - all of culminated in a strange film on her skin akin to discomfort. But what really bothers her most is the silence.

She hadn't realized that was the case until about ten minutes ago - mostly because she had been with Alphinaud up until they agreed that splitting up was going to help them cover more ground. But if there's a little girl missing then that was the priority over anything she might have been feeling.

Being on alert and keeping an eye out for a lost girl has her on edge already - but the sudden loud pluck of strings on the speakers overhead has her immediately jumping and covering her ears. The music is only made louder due to the fact that Elezen ears are particularly sensitive. Embarrassingly for her she startles again when she turns realizing that the source of the sound is coming from a man frantically trying to turn down the music. ]

By the Twelve - !

[ Immediately she's closing the space between them, hands still clamped over her ears and speaking louder than she probably needs to. ]

Are you purposefully trying to attract attention? Because I dare say that would draw out a missing girl and whatever creatures might be lurking here.

[catharses]

[ This is absolutely mortifying, he thinks to himself with no shortage of said mortification. The only relief is that he's the only one witnessing it.

Of course, that's when he hears someone else speak. Sunday turns towards the sound of the voice scolding him and then... looks down, which is an odd experience for a man who isn't very tall to begin with. Her displeasure is just, and yet - ]

Does it honestly strike you as this being on purpose?

[ Snappier than he intends or would've allowed for at any other time in keeping his (near) infinite composure, but the music really is terribly loud. She's right, too, that it absolutely will attract attention when it's the last thing they need. They can't be the only ones wandering the mall - the shadows not withstanding.

Now that his one lone plan of pressing the same button again failed, it's time to think of something else. A little difficult to do with both the music still playing and being judged for it, but maybe two of them will have an easier job of figuring it out than how he was doing on his own. ]

Assist me with looking for some way to turn this off, please. [ Maybe some belated politeness will help. ] There must be a source of power somewhere.

[ It has not yet dawned on Sunday to check for a power cord of some kind when items in Penacony run on so many other things. This time he's more distracted by the sudden shift in the music's instruments to ones which weren't there before. Is that an organ...? ]

[argumentiste]

[ Snippy or not, it doesn't seem to phase Alisaie. Mostly because she has no problem being snippy right back. There was some level of survivability that they had to consider here. ]

Well I wouldn't want to assume anyone's intentions. And it isn't as if I said it was a bad idea either.

[ Surely there are more embarrassing things than being the reason to blast Enya throughout an abandoned music shop. She could think of several, one of which includes being mistaken for her brother and having someone comment that, "he looks more rugged than he last saw him." Arguably, that's pretty embarrassing (for the man who had said that in question).

Although...maybe not being able to turn off the music despite his best attempts is equally embarrassing. Despite the earlier sass she seems to take pity on him. Even with the very pointed stare at what she has to assume is her height. Or lack of. With her hands still held over her ears she crouches, but not without offering her own suggestion. ]

Are you certain the volume button or knob doesn't work? This looks built into the wall. If there is a plug, I doubt it will be very easy for us to just unplug it.

[catharses]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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! 

[catharses]

I don't believe I said it couldn't still be difficult.

[ Mostly patient - mostly. Fortunately for everyone involved, even Sunday recognizes now is no time to be pedantic and he shakes his head. ]

More that it matters not what either one of us know when we're still struggling with this before us.

[ The actual point he was attempting to make before his attitude got in the way, and - whatever thought Sunday was going to add next is forgotten as he winces in tandem, but his wince is out of sympathy when the sound of her head colliding with the device can be heard even over the next song starting in the same instant like something inside the jukebox(?) skipped. ]

Here, allow me.

[ She's suffered enough between actual injury and his lack of manners, so if she steps aside Sunday will step forward to not press any further buttons (literally or metaphorically) unless it looks like one which could solve their conundrum. He crouches down on the opposite side not yet searched to give it a visual check first. Or means to, but the music is distracting as he tilts his head while listening. ]

Is anything that's played so far music you recognize?

[ The quizzical tone in his voice might give his answer that it's all unfamiliar to him. ]

[argumentiste]

[ Despite his restrained response she can't help but huff all the same. That she doesn't say anything snippy in response is nothing short of a miracle. But perhaps that's a testament to how she's clearly trying to prioritize their current situation which is preventing their ears from bleeding.

(This isn't nearly loud enough for that to happen, but he'll have to forgive a sixteen year old girl for being dramatic.)

With one ear exposed to the elements as it were she all but gives up on her futile attempt to muffle the sound. She's about to dive right back in to find a solution to this problem when he ushers her aside. Still crouched, she shuffles over to make room for him. ]

Not in the least. I'd argue that our music is more...traditional than this.

[ Traditional. Old school. They're both kind of the same thing. But short of not having any frame of reference for music (and being admittedly quite bad at it herself), she doesn't even know where to begin. ]

And if there is anything like this, I don't know what a "scrub" would refer to. Isn't that a verb to describe an action? Why sing about that?

[catharses]

The same for me. Or, well... the same for what I prefer to listen to most. My sister's music shares some similarities with other music I've heard here.

[ Different enough, at least for Robin's songs, but still similarities between other music from across the cosmos. Sunday won't claim to know them all - especially as he'd meant it about preferring other music. Things more orchestral, as one example. There's always the chance it's in this machine somewhere, but Sunday's learned a lesson about not pressing random buttons.

For now, anyway. Debatable on whether it'll apply to the next unfamiliar machine he comes across while exploring here or anywhere else.

No luck with anything on the panel he's investigating, so onto the next part closer to the wall but not without casting a glance her way first. ]

I thought the same. There must certainly be some meaning besides what we know it as especially as it seems to have been popular.

[ There's a poster around here somewhere by other CDs about hit music so he's grouping the two together. There's more he could expound upon - music always has been one of his favorite topics for the way it can span the stars - but it's at that moment Sunday spots a promising looking switch between a couple of cables. Said switch is also conveniently wedged just out of reach thanks to a lack of space, so he sits back on his heels to look at her. ]

There's a switch back here that might help us if we can manage to move this a couple inches forward.

[ Hopefully it's actually an off switch and not something to make the speakers even louder, since that's how his luck has been as of late. ]

b.

[frostfist]

[ He's experienced a lot during his brief time in Diadem, to be sure, but a voice in his head certainly is a new one. The only saving grace is that both tone and lilt are vaguely familiar, enough that when his head snaps up and around in search of the source, he doesn't freeze in place long enough to become that dangerous search light's next unlucky victim.

As it stands, he only hesitates the briefest moment before he's loping along in compliance with the command, running as fast as his legs can take him towards that open door and the figure shrouded within. Behind him, he can see the faint aura of light beginning to change directions and veer back centerward, but both Sunday's quick searching and the momentum of his own steps are enough to send him through that door (immediatedly closed behind him) with several seconds to spare.

He's panting by the time he makes it in, though not enough to stop him from quirking a half-smile at his savior. ]

You know, I was going to ask you about that music you keep playing, but not quite like this.

[ In a life or death situation, mostly. ]

so sorry for the wait!!

[catharses]

[ There's just enough time to consider what's outside the door - a scene no less ominous than it was a second ago - before it shuts and leaves it mostly to the imagination. If the light involves being seen, however, then this will be enough of a barrier for long enough to regroup. He hopes.

Sunday moves his focus from taking in their new surroundings back to Wriothesley, but whatever he was going to say next is forgotten. It's not often that Sunday gets anywhere close to flustered or even shows it on the rare occasions it does happen, but there's a trace of something between that and sheepishness which flickers across his face there and gone in an instant. ]

I-- ah, apologize if it was distracting. [ Which it might've been considering there's a particular part of the song where he's been going back and forth between possible keys to find what fits best for what he'd had in mine, and while it might not have been out of tune there would have been... a lot of it... repeatedly. When he clears his throat it's with minor self-consciousness, too. ] It's been some time since I've written anything so I thought I would try it. A harmonica was more easily obtained than a piano.

[ For space, but also: money. He's still working on his understanding of that. Sunday's expression shifts again back to seriousness unrelated to their current situation. One more thing to add that's more important than that (debatably). ]

The walls of the rooms are rather thinner than I'm used to, so I can change when I practice.

all good!

[frostfist]

[ The sincerity of the answer catches him off-guard; not so much the emotion itself but the ability to feel such a thing in the middle of a crisis. After the initial blip of surprise, he can't help but laugh, a quick exhale of breath. If he had any complaints - and there might have been one or two in the weeks leading up to this moment - they certainly aren't present now. ]

It's alright. If we both make it through this, we can figure it out then.

[ Life is short. It's not like he can't adjust his own schedule to suit, anyway. With the door firmly closed behind him, he steps further into the cabin, dusting off the stray leaves and pine needles that had attached to his clothes during his rapid escape. ]

I'm more impressed than anything. You're quite talented, even with such a small instrument. I don't have a musical bone in my body, so all I know how to do is appreciate good music when I hear it.

[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. ]

a. abrupt music

[carmesi]

( this mall is loud, but perhaps not in the way other regular, non-telepaths would deem it. wanda struggles with this feeling that crawls under her skin, this bad feeling, and so does her utmost to put up walls in her mind. for the most part, it works, but these diffusion zones aren't all too kind the farther they are from panorama, so she finds it working now and then. not to mention how tiring it gets.

erik's gone his own way, as has wanda, figuring that they might as well make the most of their time here now and get some things for themselves; they'll meet in three hours, but will keep in touch through text. all perfectly fine with wanda, to keep in touch, and she's already gotten herself a backpack where she's put in some clothes and other items she's found.

there's a jewelry store right beside the electronic store, and she's making her way there — except stopped by the sudden sound of music blaring, then stopping. is there someone else here? she's caught sight of other fluxdrifts in and out, but she's mostly kept her distance.

the reason why this one intrigues her is because there's a light push to her mind, and it makes her think — perhaps it's henry.

except, when she walks up to the aisle with the CD display, she doesn't see henry. )

Uhm.

( there's no shot he doesn't feel her too. she's caught somewhat off guard. )

I thought you were someone else.

( ?? she'll promptly start walking back where she came. don't perceive her. )

[catharses]

[ If asked, Sunday couldn't have said which button exactly turned off the music given when the initial one didn't work he pressed several others in rapid succession. But the music shuts off and leaves quiet rather than music at a level that made his head pound even for the few seconds it was on, and he rests both hands on the panel before him for a short exhale of relief. Well. Lesson learned to not trust headphones will actually work as intended.

In the same moment he senses someone else behind him who wasn't there before and turns, halfway between wariness since the music could've drawn anyone here and apologizing for the sound in the first place. Before he can speak, however, the woman is already leaving and he blinks in surprise. ]

Wait.

[ Though whether she waits or not, Sunday will step away from the machine to avoid setting off any of its other options having already once pressed his luck to take a couple of steps towards her. Slow ones with an air of caution - less so because of her, and more so for himself. ]

What did you mean by that?

[ Could another Halovian be here? The thought makes his throat tighten as he both hopes it is and isn't Robin. Wanting to set a path for her means he should go through these troubles first, not to protect her as he's always wanted to when he should've realized long ago she's more than capable of anything and everything. But - he also cannot deny a wish to see his sister again even if this separation is for the best.

More than that initial thought to himself, though, is something else. Something he recognizes from the resonances in the air which is what causes him to finally pause a short distance away from her so as not to alarm. The possibility of something shared that she might've not intended, even as he knows of at least one other telepath here though that isn't his to reveal if it wasn't who she meant. ]

[carmesi]

( the plan is simple: to just walk away and continue towards the jewelry store, pretend the interaction didn't happen, and they could both go on their merry way. it's not the most thought-out idea she's had, but it should be enough, and all this guy has to do is play along—

wait, is he following after her?

wanda stops when he speaks, turning to look at him properly. his hair is... very soft-looking. also, are those feathers?

it's undeniable at this point, the resonance in the air, the way his mind pushes against her own and viceversa, this understanding that this ability of theirs can't be entirely turned off, and which maneuvers usually unbidden into the minds of those with no such protections against it. it's with some hesitation that she lingers, hands tight on the straps of her backpack. )

I thought I heard—

( no, that's a lame reasoning. )

I didn't mean to interrupt you from your ... music.

[catharses]

[ When she pauses to look back at him, Sunday is glad he stopped farther away. Better to not alarm her further since it shows in her posture and the way she studies him, or so he thinks. Possibly even feels, though being studied doesn't bother him so much when it's something he's familiar with both from home and now here while meeting others.

Ah - so she'd heard that unfortunate musical outburst. He winces ever so slightly, though the majority of it will surface in a small ruffle going through his wing feathers not like a bird attempting to shake something off. Which is just what he's going to do... metaphorically, anyway.

Also because her answer doesn't really answer him, and old habits of wanting to know something are difficult for him to let go. It does clarify she didn't mean another Halovian, at the very least, and he tells himself he's not disappointed while smoothing whatever trace there is of that feeling away. ]

I wasn't expecting it to be quite so... loud.

[ The chagrin in his voice is quite real as it's a misstep and a witnessed one at that. Can't take it back, though, and it isn't what Sunday wants to dwell on. He studies her in turn but moves no closer as he stands with his hands clasped before him in an oddly formal posture for where they are. ]

I don't believe we have met before.

[ He's quite certain of that, but there's always a chance pressing further about everything else might make her leave even quicker. ]