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

— karen.

[carcajous]

[ Karen does, in fact, tell hin when she finds a new job-one of dozens of diners doting the city—and Logan shows up about two days later for a cup of coffee. She looks good. Surprisingly at home behind the counter. That was Tuesday. He disappears for a week after that, drawn to the desolate mall in the wasteland for reasons he can't fully blame on the missing girl. He wanted to find her, sure. There's that. But if he's gonna be honest with himself, it's more than that. He stuck around longer than he meant for more than that.

(Maybe he's running again. Briefly.)

Not that he overstays his welcome. He knows better. By Monday, he's back in Panorama. What he finds on returning is unsettling. Nothing big, just small bits here and there. The bar he was at last weekend is boarded up, owner missing. When he stops into a corner store for a few smokes, the girl behind the counter stinks of fear, won't look him in the eye.

So Karen's text comes as a relief. Familiar. He has missed her. The normality, mostly. Somebody he can talk to without the tons of fuckin' baggage he can't seem to shed.

Still want me to buy you dinner?

Yeah, he decides. Yeah, he does.

He finishes his shift driving around the city to toss out packages, then rides home to the same shitty motel he's gone in and out of for the past six, seven weeks. He makes sure Charles is okay, then walks three rooms down, across shards of broken glass and old cigarette butts, to knock on Karen's door. The intense sweltering heat's not so bad anymore, but it's still warm enough that he's left his flannel shirt slung over his motorcycle's handlebars.

Even before he walks up to her door, though, uncertainty ripples up the back of his neck. Something about her text. He can't pinpoint what it is. Just that the invitation feels...off. ]

It's me. [ No answer. He pauses, then twists the door knob. To his surprise, it gives way under his hand, hinges creaking. Karen never leaves her door unlocked. ] Karen?

[ He peers around the comer. Light shines from under the crack of the closed bathroom door. ]

[pagings]

[ karen does tell him. and actually- he happens to be the first, and only, person she ends up telling. it's a passive sort of realization, that he's the only person she feels like she can update with details about her day-to-day, about her schedules. it's less that she doesn't have anyone else to tell, and more that he's the only one she finds herself thinking of.

and yes - she knows what that means. knows what that says about the little flutter she gets whenever he comes around. but she also knows that after that night in her room, after they came back from the resort, when she'd told him about vermont (though not all of it) and he told her about himself (though not all of it), she'd had a feeling there was something else. maybe a sprinkle of something more.

still - he comes by two days later, and she is excited about it, in a better mood for her entire shift, so much that her face is a bit sore by the end of it. and then he's gone for about a week. she's not sure exactly, noticing it more by the way she doesn't see him around the motel, how he doesn't take that initial invite as something open, and karen... honestly, karen gets a little swept up in the job. in the new people she meets working there, new faces who she's working alongside and then the patrons of the diner itself.

it's while she's working that she starts to hear the stories. about neighbors, friends, violence, missing people. it bothers her, way more than it should, because some part of it feels... too familiar, in a way. it doesn't take long before she's heading out there herself. even less time before she's bringing something back. part of her had planned to ask logan is this is where he'd gone, if this is the same mess he'd gotten wrapped up in, but-

truth is, karen was just trying to get through each day.

she is back in the city, as is her mannequin. she hasn't quite figured out what it's meant to be, or do, but she's starting to worry more and more as each day passes. it just... it looks too different, picking up habits, mannerisms, starting to find its way out of rooms. karen doesn't know if she's really slept since all this started, but she hasn't missed a shift at work.

which is where she is when she realizes she left her phone at home. there's a kind of drop in her stomach, but she's almost at the end of her shift. they might let her leave a few minutes early if she finishes clearing her tables and no one else shows up, but-

meanwhile, back in her motel room, the shower is running. longer than it needs to, really, bit it goes - loose, a complete lack of pressure, and then directly down the drain. there's always the question as to why- what purpose does a running shower serve for a not-so-empty room. but it's also possible that something, or rather, a not quite someone, recognizes the benefit to covering what noises there are, or might not be.

(like a potential lack of a heartbeat).

all this to say, once the door opens, there is a kind of sense of forced still. the door knob turns, the slight creak as it opens. karen? at first there is nothing, no reaction, no sound, except for the running water.

there is a bottle of whiskey sitting out - one that logan might recognize from the resort - and a couple of glasses, not yet filled. it's possible logan could see them as an invitation, to pour them both a glass. there is movement from inside the bathroom, possibly the sounds of the shower turning off, something that could be someone moving inside, drying off, getting ready.

but it also might sound a little too intentional. it all depends on how high alert logan is, and if he'll take the bait. ]

[carcajous]

[ Unlike the others, Logan's only been back for a day, hasn't checked the Forum—he barely glances at his phone unless it buzzes as it is—so he's got no idea something weirder than the usual is going on. He doesn't know that Karen might've been in danger. If she tried to tell him at any point, the message didn't get through, riding out there as he was.

The only thing he's aware of when he enters her room is that the air's stifling, not 'cause of the heat but something else. It's interesting, the way you don't realize how well you know somebody 'til nothing they're doing is quite right. He can't put his finger on it. Not at first. Then his gaze lands back on the whiskey. He frowns. The bottle, the running shower that signals clear anticipation. She asked him over, didn't she? She knew when he'd show up, and the commute from his work to the Blocks isn't a short one. None of this feels like her. She's never been so deliberate around him. He likes her for that reason. She doesn't seem to want anything from him except his company.

And this feels, suddenly, like she wants something.

She's also not answering him.

This time, he knocks on her bathroom door. He can smell her shampoo, the light scent of her makeup or hair products. The things that make her her, in part because he's standing directly in her room, surrounded by her clothes and her things. ]

Karen? [ Deciding decorum isn't his first priority right now, he tries the doorknob and, if it isn't locked, starts to nudge open the door. ] You okay?

[ What's going on in there? ]

[pagings]

[ it is possible she tried to text him, but it's also possible that her own time, out there, made that impossible too. she thankfully wasn't alone, but the rest gets a little more complicated.

still - she's making it work. or, rather, thinks she's making it work. what she'll find out as soon as her shift is over is a different conversation entirely.

the air is stifling- even more humid than the hallway, with how long the water's been running. steam is seeping out through the crack under the door, but dissipates into the air of the room. logan is possibly on to something, though, in how he notices the bottle of whiskey. the glasses. the way the room seems a little too clean, the bed a little too made up. logan's been in karen's space enough times to at least notice that. she's clean, maybe, but not this together. not this sterile.

the knock on the bathroom door is met with a more silence, distinct silence, now that the water has been turned off. karen?

the doorknob turns, slowly, and logan will find it unlocked. will find nothing in his way as he nudges it open. it won't be until the door is very nearly fully open that a figure rushes him, the same size, height, even weight as karen. there's also a mop of long blonde hair, the same length, but tousled - falling mostly in its face. its plan has a lot more to do with the element of surprise and general momentum than anything else, flailing wildly at his face, his chest, singularly focused on doing any damage at all. ]

[carcajous]

[ The door swings open to reveal a glimpse of Karen before she slams into him with her full weight, startling him straight onto his ass. He knocks his head against the edge of a dresser. The lamp wobbles, falls, toppling onto his head. In the instant it takes for him to bat the thing out of the way, she's already on top of him.

What the fuck. ]

Karen—

[ It's obviously not Karen. Not as he knows her. He doesn't know who or what this is. Did somebody fuck with her head? Where's the real Karen?

Her nails take a chunk out of his arms; he ignores the scratches, scrambles to grab a hold of her flailing hands instead. So he can look at her. Keep her still. See if he can get through to her or figure out if this is...hell, he isn't sure. An imposter? A mimic? It smells like her, though. That's the thing. Even up close, it smells like her. But he realizes, now that he's actively listening for it, now that he's not distracted, that she's got no heartbeat.

(What?)

He doesn't get long to think about it. She struggles in his grasp with the mindless tenacity of a badger in a trap—twisting 'til he's afraid she's gonna break her damn wrists.

He lets go. ]

[pagings]

[ what's, perhaps, the most eerie part of this interaction is the fact that other than logan's own surprise noises and whatever crashing his done as he slams into dresser, there is no sound. no feral screaming, no grunts or frustrated hisses. the figure that looks like karen slams into logan and sends him sprawing, digging into any span of skin it can reach, and there is no sound coming from it.

when he gets his hands around its wrists, it jerks - trying to pull free, trying to get out of his grip, no matter how strong it might be. it starts to drive its knees into logan's chest, gut, very nearly jerking its arm clean off with the force of it until he lets go. the moment throws it back into the wall near the bathroom door, before it lunges over him, to the other side of the room before it turns back to where it expects logan to have gotten up by now.

its shoulders are hunched, hair still covering its face, and it is wearing karen's clothes - a shirt that logan might recognize, a pair of jeans, socks, covering enough of it that it wouldn't be obvious, even if logan (if he has the second to really look) might notice that there's something unnatural about the way her arms and legs look under the fabric. a little too firm, hard. its head jerks from one side, then to the other, before it reaches for one of the glasses it had set out and throws it at logan's face.

if logan's distracted enough by the glass, it might try and dive closer again, tucking its head down and attempting to drive its shoulder into logan's gut. ]

[carcajous]

[ In hindsight, he should've taken a rain check.

And in hindsight, he'll notice all the tiny details that are wrong, but in the moment, all he registers is that something which isn't Karen but is somehow shaped identical to her is on his ass like a fucking pit bull. He feels it, the hardness, the sharp movements. He's too preoccupied—a natural urge to defend himself warring the knowledge that he might hurt her if he does. He doesn't want that.

But he also can't let her—this thing—run off, either. He ducks. The glass shatters against the wall. When she barrels at him, he lets her, wrapping his arms around her as they crash against the other side of the room. Shit is falling, cracking. The bottle of whiskey rattles on the table. She might be silent, but he sure as fuck isn't; they're lucky this is the kinda place nobody wants to call the cops or check up on their neighbour.

He digs one leg under her to try and flip her over, aiming to pin her down with his weight. ]

[pagings]

[ logan isn't silent, which might make the whole ordeal even more haunting - the figure doesn't make a sound except for the crashing of glass, the thump of his body against furniture. when it throws the cup and he dodges it - letting the glass shatter against the thin drywall, it dives directly into his gut.

with his leg going under it, it will dip, almost like it's weakening, letting him think that he is getting under it with his strength. and its body does lift off the ground, very nearly flipping, but then something cracks - like a joint coming out, or changing direction. it's hard to tell exactly what happens, but it does get its legs under it before logan can get it down on its back, and it twists, as if its trying to twist his own arm out of its socket. it doesn't have the strength, or momentum, or even a solid enough grip despite the way its fingers still dig crevices into his arms, but it tries.

its trying to get free, and after a bit more flailing, after a bit more resistance, it will - climbing around and attempting to get onto logan's back with its arms tight around his neck, the plastic unforgiving and thick.

meanwhile, karen has finally packed things up from her shift, and is behind the wheel of her truck, unable to shake the growing feeling that something has gone wrong. she hadn't noticed during her shift that the phone was missing, so hadn't been aware she needed to be worried. but now it feels like it comes upon her like a wave, the anxiety and worry building, and building.

she tells herself there's no use until she gets home and sees what happened - if something has happened, or if the reason her phone wasn't where she always keeps it is because of the mannequin, and if all of this is about to be much, much worse.

it's only a couple more minutes before she'll get back. what else could go wrong? ]

[carcajous]

[ Christ, it's slippery. It, she, he doesn't know what this thing is, but he's holding back too much and he knows it. He still doesn't want to hurt it, doesn't wanna crack its plastic body or split it in half without knowing what the consequences are. If he'll—

He shoves back hard while its arms are around him, knocks the back of his skull against its forehead. Little less effective when there's no brain inside that plastic casing to rattle around. For a few tense seconds, he's caught in a tangle of limbs, knocking and grabbing at him; a plastic finger drifts toward his face and he bites down on reflex with a snarl, tasting only bitter plastic and whatever acrid chemical has stuck to the surface.

That's the scene Karen'll walk in on: the two of them on the ground, shit strewn across the dark carpet with a fuckin' Karen imitation wrapped around him like a goddamn octopus. He's trying to worm free without breaking her arm or her face, an attempt that goes sideways when their scuffle bumps the table, the bottle rolls off, the door opens. His head snaps up. Karen. Karen?

Fuck, not now. ]

Karen!

[ Glass rains over his head. His ears ring. Motherfucker— ]

[pagings]

[ it reels back - even if there is no pain receptors, even if it doesn't feel its skull cracking, the noise of it loud in the room. it continues to scramble, to rake its fingers into his skin. logan bites down on a finger, the plastic cracks, and it jerks an elbow into his neck. the scuffle does continue, scrapes and bumps, flailing limbs, a stubborn refusal to stop.

karen notices the door, first - how it's unlocked, when her fingers wrap around the gold doorknob. it's unlocked, which she never does. she never does. and that's when she jumps at the crack from inside, the sound of bodies moving, a struggle.

the door opens, silent compared to the rest of the chaos, and she sees it - logan on the ground with something wearing her clothes. there is blood smeared on her bedspread, on the carpet, there is logan, tangled up in limbs and glass shards. karen gasps, logan meets her eyes and says her name, and the figure grabs the neck of the bottle of whiskey - the whiskey, from the resort, the nice bottle that she'd brought back with her because it was good but also because it was what they both shared that night - and crashes it over the top of logan's head.

there is a second, not even a whole second but long enough that it's not purely reflexes, where karen watches, horrified. logan is fighting with something wearing her clothes. there is something wearing her clothes, and has her hair, and is- fuck. fuck.

that's when she stops thinking. logan is still struggling, though he seems to make some kind of decision, and things start moving faster. he starts moving faster, and so does the figure. karen can barely keep up, but she does reach over and grab the iron out of her closet near the front door and turns to take a step, to come after her, and stops. tries to take another step, tries with everything she has to take a step, and can't.

it stills, just for a moment, turning to meet karen's eyes and she feels her heart stop, terrified, and then it bolts for the door that karen left open behind her - pushing karen to the ground as it does. ]

[carcajous]

[ Logan scrambles to his feet. His impulse is to chase the thing down before it's lost to the streets, and he nearly does exactly that 'til he sees Karen, frozen. Sees her fall. He changes tracks immediately and drops down by her side. His blood is thrumming, adrenaline surging as much as his own confusion, his brain finally struggling to catch up with everything now that he's got a second to catch his breath.

But first, he pulls Karen to her feet. For a second, he takes her in, making sure she isn't hurt. ] You alright? [ Then, to himself more than her: ] What the hell was that?

[ Although, does she know? Is she as at a loss as he is or...? What's been going on around here? Folks have talked about this place getting screwed up now and then, but the past times he's left and come back, nothing's actually been wrong. Not that he could see. Nothing like this.

Fuck. He keeps a hold on her arm in case she steps too far into the room. ]

Careful, there's glass everywhere.

[ Glass buried in the ground, glass buried in his forehead. He pulls a shard out of his cheek, his temple, dropping them onto the table. A wet patch of whiskey stains the floor. Not how he was looking forward to their date going. Except, that wasn't her at all who texted him, was it? ]

[pagings]

[ it shocks her more than anything, knocking her off her feet and startling her that she's suddenly on the ground. part of her actually expects logan to keep going after whatever that was, and karen knows they should, that she needs to go after it, because if logan and whatever that mannequin has become were fighting, then-

that's when logan's hands are on her, pulling her to her feet. she didn't even notice her breathing had sped up until he asked if she was alright, and karen had a moment to actually take stock. ] Yeah- yeah I'm okay. Are- [ her hands move to his face, but she pulls them back from actually touching any of the glass. ] Oh my god, Logan. Are you okay?

[ he'd asked her, or maybe was asking himself, what that was. and karen shakes her head - she doesn't really know, not fully, but some of the pieces are starting to feel like they're falling into place. and the answers she's getting aren't good. she worries at her lower lip. ]

I don't know. I went out to look for that missing girl- but ended up in this zone. It was a town, with all these mannequins standing around. When we were headed back in, to Panorama, it just... appeared in the back seat. I thought it was harmless! It was just a mannequin, you know? Like from a store, and it kept appearing in places I was in, but it didn't really do anything. But over the last couple of days it's started moving on its own, doing things like I do, and I don't know. I was going to see if I could figure out what was going on, but I was at work and realized my phone wasn't in my bag, and when I came back- [ karen't voice is moving faster by the moment, a little bit of panic and fear and a sudden realization that she has probably fucked this whole thing up, somehow, by doing any of this. she brought this hitchhiker back, and now it's... what? attacking people she cares about?

logan's hand on her arm is the only thing keeping her from really spiraling, but as she watches him reach up and pull shards of glass from his cheek and temple, she frowns - upset, guilty, as her free hand lifts back up to where pieces are still embedded in his skin. she watches as he pulls out chunks as the skin knits back together, and even if she doesn't really understand it, there are still more pieces - things that, in another circumstance, she wouldn't even ask before helping, but somehow feels like she has to. ]

Let me help. I know you heal fast, but. Please?

[carcajous]

[ Words start spilling out of her. Logan's head is throbbing, not from getting smashed in the face but from keeping up with what she's telling him. Kept appearing. So what, it just started to look like her? How the fuck did it know about him? Or was that a fluke, picking up her phone and texting any number it found?

No, he decides. The message was deliberate. Bait.

He hates feeling baited like an animal.

Before he can answer, she's reaching for him, hands hovering. The smaller shards are plink-plinking to the carpet as she speaks, worked out of his flesh within seconds, leaving no sign except a few streaks of blood. Fast might've undersold it.

He can't say what compels him. They both know he doesn't need any kind of patching up. But she's shaken. He can hear it in her voice, etched clear across her face, and that bothers him more than what might be infesting the city right this second. So he opens his hand where a piece of drinking glass buried itself there, too deep to unstick, probably deep enough that it might've been a hospital visit for anybody else. Hadn't noticed until now.

A distracted frown tugs at his lips. ] Whatever that thing is, it knows me.

[ The real, immediate question is, how do they get rid of it? Except, as Karen's hand brushes his, he realizes that isn't his first concern, after all.

Reaching past her shoulder, he closes the door before the neighbours start sticking their noses into business that isn't theirs. He can look for it once he makes sure she's okay. No point in chasing ghosts. Hell, nothing says it hasn't shifted into something else already.

Shit, this place is a fuckin' mess. He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. ] Sorry about breaking all your shit.

[pagings]

[ she rattles on, more than he asked for and more than she probably needs to say, mostly because she realizes she hasn't really talked to anyone about all of this yet. instead, it's just been building, an unsettling, uncomfortable realization that has built up over the last few days. she knows she isn't the only one, knows that cassian brought back one of these mannequins with him too, and that coupled with all the stories, the things she's heard from people at the diner and outside of it...

logan didn't ask for this, and the fact that something she's done (whether that's the fact this mannequin followed her home at all, the fact that she walked in watching that mannequin beating him over the head, the fact that she hadn't warned him this might be going on...) has put him in this place at all wrings at her gut. she feels sick, honestly, reaching for his forehead and watching the glass all but jump from his skin, her eyes a bit wide as it happens in front of her, in real time, close enough that she can really see.

karen bites at her lower lip, realizing that she's too late again, when he lifts his hand - shows off the more substantial piece wedged into the muscle of his palm. it's- her stomach twists, her first thought thinking hospital, but when her eyes meet his she realizes that isn't really the case here, is it?

logan is giving her something to do, something she'd just asked for, and there's something in the way he's looking at her that tells her normally he wouldn't have offered even this. so instead of getting too wrapped up in it, karen swallows, nods, and pulls one of the towels she keeps in the closet. her next glance to him is apologetic, a kind of 'i know this is about to hurt' and she reaches in with the fabric to get a hold on the wedge of glass and pull it free. it feels... it feels like something else, the way her left hand holds the back of his larger one, gently, cupping his knuckles, the callouses on the back of his hand, and then digging into the meat of it. it isn't until the glass is out of him that she watches it happen, the way the tissue stitches back together, and once it's done, she can't help how her eyes linger, and then how she runs a finger - gently, almost in awe - across where there had been a piece of glass instead of skin. his hand is warm, she notices, and the skin soft in his palm. not new, exactly, but still.

karen takes a breath and realizes he's said something, it knows me. it's not any better. ]

Is that why you're here? Did it contact you?

[ logan moves, then - closing the door behind her to make sure no one comes peeking out of their apartments to try and get a better idea of what's happening. it's not until after the door is closed that she realizes how much she hadn't been thinking about it. she blinks, and he's already rubbing at the back of his neck, his hand already healed and karen is still holding the bloody fragment.

she exhales, and sets that and the towel in the small trash can near the door. ]

You're kidding, right? [ her eyes glance back to her room, and she hates it - hates how disappointed she feels seeing the glass shards of the whiskey bottle on the floor. but she shakes her head. ] I brought back some kind of violent think that I'm pretty sure just attacked you, and you're trying to apologize? Come on. [ a beat, and then she finally drops her other hand from his. ]

I'm sorry. For whatever that thing did.

[carcajous]

[ She's more careful with it than she needs to be. Maybe he's just used to people knowing he regenerates, expecting it, often even taking advantage of it—not cruelly, not like that, but he's the guy on the team who can tank a grenade to the chest. If they need a shield, he's all theirs. They don't gotta worry about him as much. It's how he wants it.

But Karen looks upset over one piece of glass. Suddenly, he has no idea what to do with that. Yeah, it stings (it does more then sting) when she pulls it out, but not any worse than when he pops his claws. The kinda pain he's learned to live with. When her fingers linger, Logan allows it, watching for a moment until he finally pulls away, discomfort rising in the face of her attention over what amounts to—for him—little more than a paper cut. Something about her gaze, her touch, makes him feel exposed. It's not bad, exactly. It's not good, either. He's...

He's uncertain. Waiting.

Then she breathes out and so does he. He shakes his head. It's not her fault. She didn't know. Not as though she took it home like how you'd bring home a rabid dog or something. ]

Hey listen, you didn't do this. Okay? [ He doesn't realize she's caught a hold of his other hand again until the door's closed and she drops it. He hovers, eyes returning to her face. ] I'm fine. Didn't even hit that hard, I just... [ He studies the small bruise hidden under her tousled hair. Before he can think twice, he reaches up and brushes back her bangs. ] Wasn't sure if I'd be hurting you, too.

[ The admission swells in the air, a balloon about to pop. He shifts his weight. It's his turn to drop his hand, glancing down at his feet before he looks back up, a wry twist to his lips. ]

I was kinda looking forward to that dinner, though.

[pagings]

[ she can't help but be careful. he hasn't really clarified it with her, but he never said that he didn't feel it, hasn't mentioned if the pain is any different. she has to assume he does, it's ingrained in her to think of how much it'll hurt, and so she is careful with him. wants to be careful with him, especially as she notices the way his eyes follow her, like he doesn't know what to do with her attention. and when he pulls away, it isn't with a reason, it wasn't a jerk, or a problem. he seems to be... waiting? for something?

but it's okay, because they both seem to need the exhale. she knows he means well, knows that he's right in one way, but a larger part of her can't fully extract herself from the guilt, either. he says okay? and the smile she offers is half-size, and waning. he says he's fine, and he does look it, any trace of whatever happened in here gone from him, but scattered across the room. her eyes are on the rest of the room when he reaches up, brushing back her bangs, and karen's attention is back on him, her eyes a little wide as he confesses he'd been worried about her, and a good amount of the tension in her shoulders fade.

the room does feel warmer, something filling her chest. it might be her heart, suddenly fluttering, as their eyes meet. or maybe it's something else. karen's smile is... genuine, now. a shift from moments before. ] I'm fine, too, you know. I didn't even know this was happening. I just...

[ karen shakes her head, and logan's hand drops to his side.

I was kinda looking forward to that dinner, though.

for a moment she pauses, her heart fluttering again before she huffs out a soft laugh. she feels a little stupid, realizing where they are. that apparently this animated mannequin that is now starting to look scarily like her had used dinner, had used inviting logan to dinner as a way to get logan's attention.

( if she'd known it would be that easy, she should have asked before now. ) ]

Me too. [ and she means it. ] And I didn't even know it was happening. [ a beat, and then her eyes drift back to the mess in the room. the glass shattered, the broken ends to the tv stand. a part of her deflates. ]

Guess I'm not getting that deposit back.

[carcajous]

[ She didn't? So that mannequin's only just taken her face? Go figure he somehow ends up the one who ran into it first, though he supposes better him than anybody else.

He exhales with a faint chuckle. His gaze flicks to her face, searches her smile. Me, too. Is he imagining it? Might be, but he doesn't think so. He doesn't think he's imagining the promise he sees in it. ] Maybe next time.

[ Yeah. It was that easy. It was inevitably gonna be that easy 'cause from the moment he met her, she was inviting him over, inviting him to stay, and Logan never found a reason to turn her down or shut her out. She's gonna need a new phone, though. Unless she can find that thing to bring it back. Which Logan wants to help her do, keeps wondering where the hell he should start searching, but she glances around the shattered room and Logan—for once, before she can ask him this time—decides to stay. ]

C'mon. [ He picks up the trashcan in the corner and starts to clean the glass from the ground. Good time as any to redecorate, right? At least her TV didn't break, just the stand. ] You remember anything else about that thing? Where it might be going? We can't leave it running around lookin' like you.

[ Logan might know it wasn't her, but some stranger halfway across the city isn't gonna. Last thing she needs is her twin getting her in trouble for jumping somebody on the street. ]

[pagings]

[ taken her face, taken her phone, taken her clothes. karen feels uncomfortable, feels almost violated, thinking about something looking like her doing...god knows what. thinking about what it was trying to do to logan.

maybe next time keeps her from falling too far down that train of thought, and when he says c'mon, turns and picks up the trashcan, and she realizes what he's offering. ]

You don't have to- [ but he's already moving, already leaning over, and karen lets out a breath, recognizing how much she is actually glad for his help. she walks in with him, leaning over and running her finger down the gash taken out of the side of the tv stand before collecting some some of the scattered papers.

she steps around him, leaning down to help him with the glass, hovering at the neck of the whiskey bottle. ] Nothing that stands out. [ she picks it up and leans over to drop it into the trashcan in his hand, swallowing back the disappointment. ]

It's mostly been in here, though it kept appearing behind me when I was in the middle of chores. It's hard to tell, though. It was just a plastic mannequin for the last few days. Did it say anything to you? [ she sighs, and picks up some more pieces from under the bed, dropping them into the can. ] I need to find it before it hurts someone else. And get my phone, I guess.

[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. ]