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

[carcajous]

[ He gathers the smaller bits of glass, plucking out tiny pieces she can't pick up as easily without cutting herself. Not much he can do about the stuff that's damaged, but maybe he can find her a new table or something. Or screw in a new hinge on that cabinet or closet. ]

Didn't make a sound. [ Wasn't all that tipped him off, but it played a hand. ] It smelled like you, though.

[ Smelled exactly like her. It was goddamn eerie. If it's been morphing that rapidly, though, how soon before it steals her voice, too? How soon before it's as much her as she is? Something about that unsettles him. It's not a shapeshifter. Not really. 'Cause even a shapeshifter's got an original form, personality, something that makes them them. When a shifter changes shape, they're only borrowing it. But this—it's a sponge. A pure mimic. He's never encountered anything like it.

Crouched beside Karen, he retraces her words. A few days. Logan catches her gaze. His tone softens. ] You should've told me.

[ He'd have come back sooner. If he'd known, he'd have checked on her days ago. ]

[pagings]

[ they work well together - efficient. in just a few more minutes the worst of it will all be picked up. it’s not fixed - one of the cabinet doors is hanging off, and there are gashes in the wood on all sides. but she supposes that really is all the can do.

it settles in her, belatedly, that after weeks- months now- that’s about all she has to show for it. all she had to show for it, until her clothes were stolen, her glasses broken. she tries not to let it bother her, but she keeps thinking about the bottle, watching it shatter over logan’s head.

the mention of it smelling like her bothers karen more than she’d like to admit, both because she sometimes forgets that logan can just do that, and how that is just part of him. it makes her think about these last few days a little more intensely, how she’s felt a little off, like she’s had to think through a thick fog. something about it feels connected, though she’s not sure how just yet.

karen shakes her head, moving on, and that’s when logan crouches low next to her. when his voice pitches low, soft. you should’ve told me. it clenches at something behind her ribs, because she should have. she knows she should have. but she didn’t. and now that she thinks back, she’s not entirely sure why. ]

You were on one of your drives. [ is what she says first. but then she softens in kind, tired. ] But I should’ve. I just didn’t think it was anything to tell. [ another moment passes before karen meets his eyes. ]

Next time I will. Promise.

[carcajous]

[ Yeah. Yeah, he was on one of his drives. Karen's not accusing him of anything, he knows that, but he hears the good guy sticks around echo in the back of his mind. When he's with her, he does want to stick around. He wants to be the one she can depend on, the one she knows she can come to if she needs him. That's not the problem. Just...it feels like what he wants and what ends up happening never lines up. What makes him think it'll be different this time? (What makes him think there's even a this time happening in the first place?)

But she keeps going, murmurs Next time I will. Logan takes the damp rag from her hands where she's been wiping up the spilled whiskey. Their fingers brush. He nods. Okay.

Exhaling, he sits back and rests an arm on his knee. ] I'm gonna need to come back for that cupboard.

[ At least the glass is cleaned up. She kept looking at that bottle, though, and it's only now that he finally recognizes where it's from. He'd figured it was expensive, that that's all it was, but when he sets the trash can back in its corner, the gold and blue label jogs his memory. The one they shared, yeah. Is that why she's kept it this whole time? 'Cause...when he first walked into the room and saw it, it didn't look like she'd drank out of it since.

He rights the picture frame on the wall. His hand drops back to his side. Pretty much all he can do here. ] You gonna be okay?

[ He's torn between hunting that thing down and staying with her. He doesn't like that she's lost her phone, that she can't call him or anyone if something happens. ]

[pagings]

[ he hears the good guy sticks around, meanwhile karen is thinking i don't know if i could handle the chance you might not pick up. and she knows that isn't fair, knows that she's projecting fears and insecurities that logan didn't ask for, and doesn't deserve. part of her is glad that he doesn't press, even if she feels immediately guilty once the words are out there.

next time I will, she says, and she means it. means it more than even she realizes in that moment. because what if she had called him? what if he was the first call she made when she woke up to the mannequin standing over her head. would she have slept any better? would this have been such a scare?

karen's mind is wandering when logan's fingers brush against her own, and while she doesn't jump, she does immediately turn her eyes to him. watches him nod. okay.

okay.

karen watches him for a moment, then a moment longer, before he mentions the cupboard and she pulls her eyes away. ]

There's no rush. You're the only guest I've had. [ and she means it as a joke, that the two times he's come in have been the only other body to occupy the space with her. which feels... karen's not entirely sure. because honestly, it feels right. it feels like this space is as much her's as it is somehow theirs. and maybe that's why her eyes are still falling on that bottle, on the (childish, maybe, she knows) way she feels like she was trying to hold onto something that had felt easy, had just been nice. but she knows she needs to move on, to either say something, or do something, or make this something, but it's not like now is the time when there's a mannequin out there that looks like her and is attacking people she cares about, and-

logan rights a picture frame on the wall, and karen feels a distinct, overwhelming urge to lean forward for a hug. feels the need for one, even if she won't quite take it for herself. you gonna be okay? she almost laughs, but she's glad to stop herself, worried the noise might be too angry. too sharp. ]

I will, yeah. [ she nods, letting out a breath and combing her fingers back through her hair. ]

But I do need to go. [ a pause, and then she reaches out squeezes his hand, once. ] Thank you for helping me pick up.

[carcajous]

[ Dubious honor, huh? Logan smiles, brief, but the air's taut with an energy he can't place. It's nothing that Karen's done, nothing that he's done, either, he thinks, but it hovers between them regardless. Her fingers tighten around his. He glances down, then back up. ]

Karen— [ He exhales through his nose, stopped short of saying something that doesn't make it past his lips. ] Be careful.

[ He leaves. In between everything else, he searches for her mannequin, a process that frustrates the hell out of him. He's a damn good tracker, has hunted down targets in bigger cities than this, but these things are different—their scent, the way they melt into a crowd and move around without rhyme or reason—and it puts him on the back foot in a way he hates. A couple of times, he pinpoints it. Once Karen gets a new phone, he texts its location. And each time, it narrowly slips away.

Until it doesn't.

He's perched on his motorcycle, pulled over on the side of a bridge overlooking the hazy neon lights below while he waits for an update. When his phone buzzes, he taps out a single message:

you home?

She doesn't say no. Logan doesn't plan on crowding her, doesn't mean to hover after everything she's been through; his plan's to head off to the bar down the road, have a few drinks, wait 'til tomorrow to see how she's doing. She can take care of herself, hasn't ever been shy about asking him to come over when she does want him there, and for all he knows, whoever helped her take down her mannequin for good's with her right now. But he can't shake the feeling that's clung to him ever since he left her place that night, a sense of...that she doesn't want him to leave her alone, that she's surprised each time he's worried enough to check up on her. Is he kidding himself? Is he just the biggest goddamn idiot on the planet? He might be, but he turns around and rides west.

At her door, he lifts his hand. He can hear her inside. A beat, and then he knocks, two gentle taps. ]

Karen? It's me.

[pagings]

[ be careful. it doesn't feel like that is what he means to say, and somewhere in the back of her head, she hears the word stay. she doesn't know if it's meant for her to ask of him, or if she's hoping he'll ask it of her, but she hovers in the feeling of it. lingers, somewhere, in that unsaid tension.

then logan leaves, and karen does too.

it's not easy, those next couple of weeks. she follows a wake of chaos, of her friends getting attacked, of shops being broken through, ransacked. it feels a lot like chaos is its only goal, though she runs into it enough times mid-attack that she thinks it might be more than that. logan helps her often during those weeks, finds a scent, tips her off, and it cycles back around again. a couple of times she manages to get the mannequin back into her room, tied up, locked away, only for it to escape a couple of days later.

( some part of her supposes, in a distant, disturbing kind of way, it feels validating. that, maybe, if she were put in the same situation, she'd be just as likely to get free. )

and then, the solution comes. it is not pretty, it is not easy, but part of karen expected as much. the moment she recognized that she couldn't do anything to it, she knew this would be tough, probably painful, maybe even haunting. and she was right (with these things, she often is).

by the time she texts logan that it's over, that the mannequin won't be an issue any longer, the ashes it left behind have been cold for a couple of hours. karen's needed the time to convince herself that her skin isn't boiled, that there are no lingering burns, no scars. still, she feels like it's happening to her, even after the embers have cooled.

logan responds you home? and karen says yeah - amos having left right about the time she texted logan in the first place, letting the door to her still somewhat mangled motel room close behind him. part of her knows that logan will stop by, though she's not exactly sure when. another part of her tells her that she's being ridiculous, that this has been happening all over the city and logan is probably out there helping everyone else, too.

still, she can't help the way she waits, sitting on the edge of her bed, head in her hands. she tries to convince herself to stop shaking, tries to settle how her heart is still fluttering, still panicked.

then come two gentle taps at the door.

karen stands- or rather, she jumps up, a little startled by the noise, and wipes at her face as she heads to the door. it's one deadbolt and locked doorknob later that she has the door open and logan is standing there, filling the doorway.

her smile is shaky, and even if she wanted to, she couldn't hide the relief in her face at seeing him. which is... god. this is bad. she knows this is bad. but she doesn't have it in herself to convince herself otherwise. ]

Hi.

[carcajous]

[ Through the door, Logan hears her thundering heartbeat, her unsteady breaths. He hasn't asked her how she got rid of that thing, but he can guess. He can guess because he did it for (to) Kimiko, and it sure as hell wasn't pretty. And while he isn't not concerned about Kimiko, it's...Karen's different. She isn't like them, for one. Hasn't spent her life with one wound after another stitching together, hasn't known what it is to feel the type of agonizing pain most never do and somehow walk away without a single scar to show for it.

It's not something he'd have ever wanted for her. ]

Hey. [ Seeing her standing in one piece is a relief for him, too. He takes her hands, thoughtless, curling his fingers around them. ] You alright? I've been—

[ Worried, he doesn't finish. Probably a stupid question; of course she's not alright. This time, he doesn't wait for an invitation, just steps through the door and closes it carefully behind him. Her place is still the same as when he'd left, cabinet door hanging off and a couple of items strewn around.

Honestly? He's not sure why he came. There isn't anything he can do, not really. He found her hitchhiker, she's gotten it taken care of, and physically, she's okay. The rest...the rest, he isn't good at. That's the truth.

But he still wanted to see her, so. Here he is. ]

[pagings]

[ it's hard to tell - exactly - if the movement startles her. she doesn't know she was expecting it from him, the immediate, comfortable way he steps through the door. the way he takes her hands in his and curls around them. he's worried about her, concern clearly written across his face even if he doesn't finish the statement. he's asked her if she's alright, and karen feels her breath kind of stutter in her throat.

the intention is there - to say I mean, as okay as I can or not really? what else is new or even, if she was feeling steady enough, yeah, I'm okay. even if it was a lie, it might have been more like what she should say. but logan steps inside and karen steps with her, not moving away from him so much as giving him the space in the small hallway to actually come in enough to close the door.

and for a moment, she just sort of stands there - logan quiet, a little uncomfortable, but wanting to be there. logan, being the one who asked to come over. she wonders if he knows what happened, what they had to do to really get rid of it, or if he's just worried because he knows she's been out there, freaked out about this, for weeks. karen isn't sure what makes more sense, or which of the two she would prefer, because no matter which of the two brought logan here, he is here. he is worried. he's looking at her and his fingers are curled around her hands and karen-

she does try to just take a breath, but it's sucked in more like a sob. she pulls her hands from his to cover her mouth, surprised by the way it broke through though not that surprised when the tears come. she still feels barely together, her skin somehow sensitive, raw. (part of her is actually surprised that she doesn't wince at his touch - but maybe that's just another sign, telling.)

before she thinks too much about it, karen tips forward into his chest, tucking her face down as each breath wracks through her. she's not too loud as she sobs, a few heavy breaths and tears, but she doesn't know if she can face him. so instead she keeps her face tucked against him, breathes in the smell of him as she tries to calm down. ]

[carcajous]

[ She's so obviously barely holding it together, he shouldn't be surprised when she collapses against him, but somehow he is. He is because—

Because it feels like a hell of a lot more trust than he thought she was ready to give.

His arms wrap around her. ] Hey, I'm here. I'm here, I promise.

[ Should he have arrived sooner? It feels like he should've, but at the same time, he recognizes she didn't ask him to...help her, not for that, and she must've had a reason. He doesn't need an explanation, it's not that. Just...

Guess he's tired of watching life gnaw away at people who don't deserve it. The people he cares about. She doesn't belong in this place. That's what he keeps coming back to. She should be wherever the fuck else, with her laptop open in a coffee shop, lounging by the pool with a fruity pink cocktail. Out for dinner with the friends she must've left behind. She shouldn't be crying on him, of all people—some asshole she met a couple of months ago—but even if he's not exactly what she's looking for, even if he's not what she needs, he's what's here.

And as he rests a hand in her hair, a part of him thinks, maybe that isn't nothing to her. ]

[pagings]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[carcajous]

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

Me, too.

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

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

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

[pagings]

[ she feels his fingers tuck back her hair, feels how he doesn't step back, or away, doesn't necessarily run from this, and that says a lot that karen hadn't necessarily realized she'd been listening for. he says me too and karen feels... nothing breaks, necessarily. but it does feel a bit like a last remaining piece of wall crumbling away.

the moments after are quiet, where the two of them are still just standing there, right in her doorway, before she - or them both - decide it's time to move. part of it is her nudging, or maybe she just takes a step back and then hesitates, waiting for him to follow. he gestures for the couch and she goes, sitting a little more center-spaced, and him settling a bit closer to her too - something she notices. something she relaxes into, too.

it's another few quiet moments later before he leans forward, and she can feel him watch her out of the corner of his eyes. you need anything? she exhales again, slower, a little steadier. ]

I should probably shower. Probably sleep, too. [ and still she doesn't move. if anything, she leans a little to her side, bumping her shoulder into his.

there's a kind of weight around how she says probably sleep. something that sounds a lot like she's not looking forward to it. her eyes fall to his hands, wondering what it means that she feels like she probably could reach out for his hand and he probably wouldn't pull away. what it means that she's thinking about it, right now.

she forces her eyes back to her own hands, and then feels a wave of phantom pain - something that sends a shudder through her. ] Sorry- [ she says again before logan can get to startles, putting her face in her hands and trying to tell herself to breathe through it.

it takes a moment, and then another, before it passes. ] I- [ her lips tighten together, exhaling through her nose. ] Have you seen what they’re saying? About burning the mannequins?

[carcajous]

[ Probably. His eyes follow hers. He doesn't quite reach for her hand, but his fingers twitch, and it's clear he's thinking about it as much as she is. Can't explain why he doesn't yet. Maybe it just feels like it might tip them over an edge he's not sure she wants to go down right now. Or maybe a part of him is still waiting to see what she does, what she actually wants, before he behaves in kind.

Then she shivers and he thinks: fuck it. His hand rests on top of hers, squeezing. His expression darkens, concerned but also knowing. ] Yeah.

[ He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't tell her why or how. He gets it, not only because he's seen what happened with Kimiko and Scott, but because he's been there, too. Not here, not now, but another time, a hundred times, piercing the gaps in his memories. ]

You don't have to explain. But if you want me here, I'll be here.

[ At least until she falls asleep. He's not...he's not inviting himself over, just. It sounds as though she could use the company. ]

[pagings]

[ his hand rests on top of hers, and karen deflates - not in defeat, but rather this overall sense that for all she keeps trying to put herself back together, for all she is trying to keep a hold, she doesn't really need to. or rather, she now doesn't feel like she needs to around logan.

she glances to him when he says that, his expression dark and understanding and heavy - all the things she feels tight in her chest - and it feels... suddenly a little lighter. she hopes that isn't the case, that he doesn't really know what it feels like, but something in the back of her head says that maybe he does. that's the thought that has her other hand reaching over, setting atop his own.

he tells her she doesn't have to explain, and she nods, the words turning to chalk somewhere in the back of her throat even before she has the chance to share them. but if you want me here, I'll be here.

karen fights the sudden, almost surprising urge to sob, again, and instead drops her head and falls against him, his cheek pressed to his shoulder. she considers not saying anything, feeling some kind of embarrassment over how pathetic it already makes her feel, but then she thinks about trying to go to sleep tonight alone, and the fear that grips her is worse. ]

Stay. Please.

[ yes, she could use the company. and yes, logan might be the only person in this city who she would admit as much to right now. might be the only one in the city she wants to be around, right now, too. ]

[carcajous]

[ He stays.

He steps outside while she showers, figures the place is so damn cramped she might want some privacy, and has a smoke while he's at it. When he comes back in, she's barefoot but dressed. Logan settles back on the couch 'cause it's about the only place he can go. He doesn't mind. But it does put him close to the bed, seeing as there's not much division of spaces anywhere in this room, pushed up next to it, a small lamp illuminating a dark wine stain on the carpet.

Maybe she watches a couple of shitty broadcasts with him—some fuzzy action he doesn't recognize in a language he doesn't understand—or maybe she climbs straight into bed. Eventually, Logan puts his feet up. He watches her. At some point, the TV stops playing the movie, turns into static. He waits 'til her eyes slip shut, her breathing evening out. He should go. He nearly does, might even imagine himself standing up and grabbing his jacket, but he never gets there. He plants practically face-down on the musty cushions, probably snores half the fuckin' night.

When Karen wakes up, that's where she'll find him: still on his stomach, one arm hanging off the couch, fingertips brushing the floor. ]

[pagings]

[ he stays, and minute by minute karen feels less and less like she's falling apart at the seams. she'd never call it settled, wouldn't even call it calm, but she breaks down only once more in the shower and then doesn't feel the need to anymore. when she walks back out after she's done with the shower, logan is gone and a part of karen holds her breath - wondering if that was that. if he was going to be that type, that person. she hates how her mind goes to matt, goes to waking up alone in his apartment, goes to-

logan steps back in as karen is still standing in the small space between her bed and the tv stands, lost in thought. they meet eyes, and karen feels her heart start beating again, a small smile, less on edge.

she does end up pulling out a shitty bottle of liquor that her mannequin hadn't totally destroyed. drinks half of it while watching some shitty broadcasts. truth is - karen doesn't even know if she is going to end up falling asleep, but when she glances over and sees logan getting settled on the couch, she actually starts to relax. some of them are almost funny, get a couple of reactions, a couple of snickers from karen and a snort or two from logan, and then before she knows it, she's fallen asleep propped up against the pillows.

she wakes up with a start, the dreams slipping from her memory as soon as she's awake, though the lingering heat on her skin tells her all she needs to know. it takes her a breath, and then another, for her heart rate to settle. when she looks over, that's when she sees the outline of him on the couch, the rise and fall of his chest. she sits up, realizing she hadn't actually expected him to still be there when she woke up, and then she feels a sudden, overwhelming warmth fill her chest. pink her cheeks.

calm down, karen. her eyes follow his arm, his fingertips brushing the floor, and then back up to find he's still passed out. that he's snoring. her smile is find when she slowly, carefully gets up and tip-toes over to the coffee maker. it's a miracle that he doesn't wake up beforehand, but by the time he does, karen is just picking up the second mug, maybe a little too proud of herself as she gives him a soft - albiet tired - smile. ]

Morning. Coffee? [ she hopes he says yes, or else the second mug she is now carrying will look a little ridiculous. ]

[carcajous]

[ The sun pierces straight into his skull. Logan opens his eyes, alert the moment he snaps awake and half-unsure of where the hell he is (did someone take him?) until he smells Karen nearby. And coffee.

His shoulders relax.

Oh. Shit. The week must've really worn him to the bone if he snored on her couch and didn't wake an inch while she was brewing a cup. He scratches the side of his neck. What time's it? He skims his phone just to be sure he hasn't missed anything from Rogue or, God forbid, Scott—'cause as much as he won't admit it, that's where they're at now, with Logan actually paying attention to what Scott might need. Sometimes. If he's in the mood.

When Karen reaches the couch, Logan flips his phone closed. ]

Hey. Morning. [ Yeah. Could use some coffee. The previous night filters back in: riding to her place, Karen in his arms, asking him to stay. Somehow passing out on her couch when he didn't mean to, but it's obvious she isn't bothered by his impromptu sleepover.

Neither is he, he realizes. He's okay waking up in Karen's room.

Steam warms his face. He sniffs the mug, then squints at the liquid. Well. Beggars can't be choosers. Not like they've got coffee fields growing out there in the cosmic wasteland. He's had shittier at a roadside diner. His gaze roams back toward her face. She looks...better. Rested. More than she did yesterday. ]

You're not [ he moves over so she can join him if she wants. ] thinking of going into work today, are you?

[ 'Cause she had a hell of a day. But that isn't the sole reason he brings it up, and he's not planning to convince her not to go if she says yes. No, it's. Something else. ]

[pagings]

[ he wakes with a start, just like she had, and karen looks over to him with a soft look. it also means that she sees the way he relaxes, like he remembers where he is, why he's still here, and it... swells something in her chest. something that makes her feel better, feel almost good. seeing how he wakes up in her room, how he stayed through the night. some part of him must have either been so exhausted by the last few weeks, or maybe just felt comfortable enough here, to sleep. to actually sleep.

it's something that karen is almost a little scared to think too much about, so she focuses instead on the cup in her hands, on the way he smells the coffee (and yes, she knows it's awful. it says something when the coffee at her workplace is better than whats he can make at home) and then how he shifts over on the couch. leaves a space for her.

it's... it's domestic, maybe. comforting, definitely.

she'd seen the way he checked his phone, and there's something equally comforting about how he has others who would check in on him. other people he's worried about. she settles on the couch next to him a little closer than she probably would have a couple of days before. sitting almost directly up against his tight.

her smile is apologetic about the coffee, and then at his question, she lets out a long breath. ]

I think I need to. [ she says after a moment, taking her own sip. she feels worn thin, but more together, more settled than last night. she's gone to work feeling worse, if not here then back in new york. it feels a little like she's lying, she doesn't need to be anywhere, and she's sure benny or wade would cover for her if need be, but also... ] I don't know if I can just hang around, you know? And I've still got the debt, and then. [ she looks around the room, the combination of destruction her mannequin has left behind. ]

I don't work until later, though, thankfully. [ a beat, and then- ] Wait- did you work last night? [ her eyes widen, suddenly worried. ] I didn't even ask, oh my god, Logan, I'm sorry-

[carcajous]

[ Her answer's not a shock. He'd wanna get the hell out of this room, too, be someplace where he could focus on something else. He's about to reply when she interrupts his thoughts. ]

No, I'm— [ He shakes his head. Nah. He didn't work, didn't need to work. ] I was gonna see what I could pick up today. If you wanted a ride.

[ He could drop her off, have some real breakfast. Besides, he isn't making an excuse. He does need to look for another job. Unlike Karen, he hasn't settled into a set position with regular hours. He leaves for the Fringes too often for that. Mostly what he does is grab something for a week or two, then when it ends, he takes off. Comes back, does it all over again.

Now and then, he thinks of searching for some work he can stay at. Jobs aren't hard for him to come by, seeing as he couldn't care less what he does, can do any hours, isn't picky about pay or coworkers or location. But the idea of settling into some plain old shift job, making deliveries, driving trucks, whatever the hell it might be, he just.

He isn't there yet. Doesn't know when he'll get to the point where he isn't waitin' for the other fucking shoe to drop. Where he can be okay sticking it out here for a bit while he tries to figure out whether he needs to fix whatever might've happened to their timelines. Or if...this is it. This is where they're gonna be for the next months, years. Thinking like that gives him a damn headache. Been easier to take it day by day.

(And what about Karen, huh? How permanent is he letting her become?) ]

[pagings]

[ he shakes his head and the anxiety slips away from her. she does realize, a bit belatedly, that she'd just assumed he had a normally scheduled job, which - now that she's had time to have more than a single thought about it - feels a little stupid. with how often he heads out into the diffusion zones? it makes sense that he would be on a more irregular schedule. still, she knows that he does usually work at night, that he doesn't sleep much, which...

karen's eyes go to his hair, then, for no other reason other than she's curious if he has some kind of bedhead. there's definitely a red spot where he hasn't yet gotten rid of the imprint of the couch cushion across his cheek, and his hair does seem a bit out of place. it makes her smile. more to herself than anything, and then her eyes are back on him at his offer. if you wanted a ride. ]

To work? [ which, again, feels a bit on the nose. but part of karen wants to say it as much as confirm it. so once the words are out, she softens a little more, smiling around her mug. ] That'd be amazing, actually. Yeah. [ she takes a sip, and god it's bad coffee. she huffs a bit before giving up and setting the mug on the nearest flat surface (the tv stand).

there is a sense that fills karen in that moment that she doesn't have to fill the silence between them. part of her wants to, if only to act on the fluttering in her chest, if only because she worries that she's making the silence awkward. it's right about then that she reminds herself it's logan, that he'd probably prefer the comfortable silence, that he'd probably be fine if they just sort of sat there for however long.

so instead of chattering away, nervously, karen takes a slightly different approach. she leans against his arm, reaching over to wrap a hand around his bicep. if she was feeling bolder, she might even lean a little further, set her chin atop his shoulder, but she stops herself just short. ]

If we leave a little early, I can buy you breakfast. [ she smiles - even if it's still a little tired, still a little too honest in terms of how she is only just barely keeping it together, but it's better than last night. and she'll take that. ] I know it's not dinner, but the eggs aren't half bad. [ a beat, and then she thinks about the disaster that was a couple of shifts ago. ] Most of the time.