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

alphinaud leveilleur | ffxiv

[diplomatiste]

among the shadows — ota ;

[diplomatiste]

[ The shopping centre, a building typology that he isn't familiar with, is much larger than Alphinaud expects it to be. Not that he's had any precedent to follow, nor has any experience with multi-level buildings full of shops dedicated to all manner of things.

It's exciting however, whatever it is, because he's sixteen and curious and this building promises all manner of things to look at and — with some reluctance against his strong morals, but rather sparse coffers — salvage.

He'd arrived with his sister (you know, on account of their having to share the one car) and split the long driving time in half, but by the time you come across him, they'll have temporarily parted ways to cover more ground. They have a missing girl to look for, and even if they don't find her just yet, surely this place will provide clues as to her whereabouts.

Alphinaud can thus be found:

on ground level, strolling slowly past some storefronts with their wares still on display, if a little dusty — a shop with strange electronics that vaguely resemble any of the Allagan technology he's seen before has him pausing in his tracks (he spies the Walkman in particular);

heading up the escalator, and doing his best not to disturb any of the shadow corpses that seem to occupy his path with quietly muttered apologies;

in one of the clothing stores, sifting through racks of items with great interest. (He's never even considered donning some of these styles.) While he's currently dressed in a navy-blue leather jacket, dark-coloured loose-fitting cargo pants, and a pair of black Converse sneakers, it never hurts to acquire a few spare items just in case;

perusing one of the snack shops. There are a few recognizable items here, things he'd seen at the grocery store where Alisaie works, but some of the treats look different — new. He can't help but wonder if it's safe to sample them. ]

hello sön.

[carcajous]

[ Seeing as the drive wasn't short, Logan's stuck around, riding away a couple of hours here and there nearby but always returning to the mall. In part, he wants to see if it'll disappear on his watch. He's never witnessed one of these pocket dimensions vanish. Kinda wonders what it looks like. Or how long it'll take.

Longer than a few days, looks like. Guess that's always a risk—that it might all melt into a giant pool of lava or something any second—but, well. He'd survive that, too.

In the meantime, he's taken to strolling through the stores, avoiding the shadows that he knows not to touch. (Learned that one the hard way.) Sometimes, there's others. Most times, he's alone. This time, there's somebody he actually recognizes. Hasn't seen him since he brought them both back to the city but—yeah. Pointy ears, short, white hair. Must be the, uh...one of them. Not 'til he steps closer can he sort of figure out which of the twins he's looking at. Seriously, did they do that on purpose with the hair? Did their mother make them wear it identical?

Anyway.

Logan materializes without warning from behind the shelf. Old tapes and ancient electronics line the surface, some bloated with a sticky mess that bulges the packaging. ]

Run anybody else over on your way here? [ Hey, kid. ]

päpä!!!

[diplomatiste]

[ The answer to Logan's questions about their hair are 'yes' and 'yes'. Habits are hard to break after you spend your entire life being dressed and styled the same way, and at some point it simply becomes your look.

Their clothing choices and their expression of colour are different, at least.

Nevertheless, the sudden appearance and voice of Logan springing from seemingly nowhere has Alphinaud tensing, one hand already reaching for the grimmoire he always keeps at his side.

Upon recognition, his shoulders relax and he exhales. ]

Oh! You've given me quite the startle. I hadn't realized others were here.

[ It really wouldn't do to injure him — again. ]

But you'll be pleased to know we have since managed to avoid any further accidents. We've worked out something of a system with the car, in fact.

[carcajous]

[ For a second, Logan's attention is caught by where Alphinaud's hand goes: toward the book at his hip, almost as if it's a holstered weapon. Interesting. He's seen the girl's weapon, but not Alphinaud's. Guess it stands to reason they both have similar abilities, though you're gonna have to explain to him what a book's got to do with it.

He looks back up. God, this kid's so fuckin' sincere, it kinda hurts. ]

Oh, yeah? You take turns looking at the road?

[ Without a doubt, he's making fun, but there's a mildness to his tone and the distinct absence of any bite. He steps further around 'til he's next to the boy. What's the kid looking at, the music players?

He reaches over to pick one of them up, flipping it in his hands. Haven't seen these in decades. ]

[diplomatiste]

Something like that.

[ Ha-ha, yes, they probably deserve that one and any other joke referencing their first meeting in the future. Alphinaud's expression is a combination of wry and amused and apologetic, but the humour does not go past him.

Even if he has since become more apologetic than anything. ]

It relieves me to see that you appear to be hale and whole. Alisaie and I had meant to reach out sooner, but settling in to this strange world has proven to be quite a task on its own.

[ Finding a place to live and getting steady enough work to chip away at their surmounting debt, as well as investigating the diffusion zones, and more recently: the missing girl ...

Nevertheless ... Alphinaud now observes Logan investigating the strange handheld device, and a burst of questions comes out before he can think to be a little more polite about it. ]

Do you know what that is? Have you seen it before?

[carcajous]

[ Honestly? Logan's glad to see them in one piece, too. Place is big, unpredictable, and Wade bombarding him with a million texts had him switching numbers a couple of weeks ago. (For all the good that did.) Unless he knew where to find the person for a face-to-face, there were a few folks who fell through the cracks. Sheer coincidence, more than anything, that's gotten him to run into Alphinaud all the way out here.

He'll give the kid his number again later. ]

This? Yeah, it's [ he slides it over for Alphinaud to take a look ] a Walkman. Plays music. They used to be everywhere back in the day.

[ He'd say before new inventions took over, but it's a little more complicated than that. Nobody's really making that sort of thing anymore—mundane entertainment for the masses of no value to the war—haven't been for the past, hell, five? Six years? Not on his world, anyway. Whatever resources and engineers are around, they've all been recruited to advance the Sentinel program. ]

ground floor; sorry for mistaking you for a girl alphinaud

[retrievalist]

[ It's been a couple of hours of him searching this place for the missing girl and he thinks he's willing to admit to himself that for all that he's accomplished nothing at all.

He takes out his phone again, pulling up the forum post hoping that someone might have messaged to say that Millie's been found and all is well when just out of the corner of his eye he sees a kid head into the electronics store, white hair trailing behind them like a banner.

Is that...? ]

Hey, kid, wait up. [ but he's already moving just incase they don't stop, breaking into a jog to close the distance between them. ] Are you Millie?

lksdjlsf i'M CRYING thank you for this gift

[diplomatiste]

[ Alphinaud has just started his investigations by this point, having bid his sister Alisaie luck before she'd dashed off deeper into the mall's layout.

So far he hasn't seen anything that stands out to him as especially suspicious, only spooky and a little unnerving when he finds himself dodging odd shadow figures trapped in a moment of time. He's been wise to keep his distance and avoid touching them, but there are quite a number of them — the only real 'presence' he's seen thus far.

... right until he hears something behind him: the sound of a voice calling out, and footsteps hastening to follow.

Alphinaud isn't naturally the paranoid sort, but in a place like this, he must keep his senses alert. A hand goes to the closed book at his side, but he turns around to face the stranger who ... wait, what? ]

I beg your pardon?

[ Even with their individual style choices, the twins often get mistaken for each other, and this ... sadly isn't the first time he's been mistaken for his sister, who happens to be a girl.

His shoulders slump slightly. ]

No, no I'm not Millie. [ One day he will be broad shouldered and ten feet tall, but today is not that day. He quickly regains his composure. ] I, too, am in search of her.

[retrievalist]

[ He tracks the movement of the kid's hand automatically, tensing in case— but no, it's... just a book? Eliot resolves to figure that out later.

He can't help the way his shoulders slump a little at the answer but really, he should have known. When has his luck ever been that good?

Still, what's a kid doing out here all alone? Can she even reach the pedals of a car? ]

Was she a friend of yours then? Know anything about how she went missing?

[diplomatiste]

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

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

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

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

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

stop. technology time.

[seavere]

[ anne has seen approximately nothing close to any of this technology prior to arriving here, though the thing she's looking at currently (it's a boombox) vaguely makes her think of the radio and dashboard in her truck. ]

[ so... maybe it plays music? it doesn't feel like the worst leap of logic. ]

[ she runs her fingers along the buttons and finds one labeled 'on/off.' she presses it on, and it starts to play a song through tinny speakers. it's not loud, but it certainly echoes in the nearby vicinity for anyone to hear. ]

[ the disgruntlement on her face is not subtle, and she looks away from the device down the aisle towards the white haired kid playing around with the walkman - she learned what that was earlier. ]

[diplomatiste]

Are they speaking to us —

[ He can't quite make sense of the words, but he strains his ears to make any of the words out, even picks up the Walkman he'd been tinkering with to close the distance between him, Anne, and the boombox's music. It's a different accent, to be sure, and he can catch some of it but that doesn't mean much for actual understanding.

He's sure they're speaking about something .... well, obscene.

And then the beat starts and a man takes over, his own pattern of speech much more rhythmic at least. ]

Oh, that's quite the horrid sound.

[ You heard it here first, folks. Alphinaud is not a fan of early 90s rap. :c ]

[seavere]

[ she's heard worse. and probably said worse. but she still doesn't like the vibe very much. it's... jarring, she supposes. ]

[ the boy speaks and doesn't he just sound fucking fancy? anne grunts her initial commiserative response for the music, then reaches out to fiddle with the buttons. maybe she can change it, like she does the car radio. she looks for a similar enough knob... ]

Never fucking heard it before either.

[ she manages to turn the right dial, and the song changes to something more akin to smooth jazz. ]

[diplomatiste]

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

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

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

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

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

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

closed to alisaie ;

[diplomatiste]

[ In the weeks that follow, things progress from bad to worse since the Leveilleur twins had decided to venture to the abandoned mall ten hours out from the main city. The exploration had initially concerned the missing girl, but eventually a Forum notification informed them that she was safe and unharmed; a happy ending if ever there was one in this grim city.

Neither Elezen teen had ever seen a shopping district as enclosed and as large as this one, and so while they had the opportunity and the time (after such a long trek) further explorations were made.

In retrospect, Alphinaud supposes this is where they had gone wrong. Where he had gone wrong.

They lingered amongst the salvageables even with a sense of foreboding weighing heavy upon his shoulders, attempting to gather things to bring back to the city: mostly clothing and a few trinkets and items for their shared home, things he thought the Exarch might appreciate too. It happened all so quickly, the barest glimpse of movement from a featureless dummy, not unlike the practice ones back home, clustered amongst its kin. Could very well have been the result of gravity pushing down upon decay, and Alphinaud had thought nothing of it — not until he thought the formless shape had appeared in the backseat of their van, amidst their new found loot. But when he turned to glance over his shoulder ... nothing. ]

By the Twelve, I must be exhausted. The sooner we get back to the city, the better.

[ Ten long hours back to Panorama later, and their shared quarters and closets now occupied with items, life seemed to go on as it has since they arrived. Alphinaud returned to the hospital during the days to help and collect joolies for his efforts, and all thoughts of shapeless dummies were forgotten. But gradually, Alphinaud began to feel his movements grow clunkier, his limbs and joints growing stiffer as though suddenly caught up in some affliction he could not begin to explain. And the dummy he'd forgotten all about was somehow ... always there now. No longer formless, and no longer just a dummy ... it echoed his movements and his appearance, made him look and feel less like himself until the affliction in his limbs was too great that he'd had to stop going to the hospital all together. They felt hollow now ... and synthetic.

Alisaie suggested they drive back out to the abandoned mall where the mannequin originated and lock the damned thing up in a utilities closet somewhere, a plan that Alphinaud might have agreed with even a few days ago.

But it is becoming more and more apparent that immediate extermination may be their only solution. ]

I fear we have very little time before this — abomination makes to harm someone by feigning to be me. It already looks so much like me ... and it speaks and thinks like I do.

[ Still, Alisaie is so adamant about her plan that Alphinaud has neither the strength nor the heart to argue any further. ]

But I must confess I do not look forward to experiencing phantom burns.

[argumentiste]

[ When you've spent the better part of your life (read: all of it) beside someone who is not only your flesh and blood but quite literally the other half your soul, it is extremely difficult not to notice when something is wrong.

No matter Alphinaud's best attempts to hide whatever it was this creature was doing to him, Alisaie knew better. She'd sniffed it out quickly enough and that is what set her on the equivalent of a warpath in an attempt to find a way to cure her brother from this newfound affliction. Healing magicks is the most obvious route. Except when it becomes apparent that not even Alphinaud's healing magic can fix this, other alternatives suddenly became top of mind. No cure - no answer - is an outcome that she's never accepted in the past and she isn't about to begin now losing hope now. Because as far as she's concerned there is only room for one other person to look so similarly to her and that person is Alphinaud - not some horrendous, faceless creature that seems intent on trying to replace her brother.

It's what leads her to embarking on her own investigations (and how she ends up in that horrendous temple they had passed by on the way to that accursed mall - but that's neither here nor there). And while the trip to the temple probably could have been something she could have, should have, done without, the answers it seems, lie much closer to Panorama.

She can't deny that there's a certain vengeful appeal that comes with the thought of burning the abomination - but it would come at a cost. A cost that she's still stubbornly refusing to consider. Which explains why they're currently returning to their shared apartment with enough rope to wrangle a feral coeurl. ]

Then we'll simply drive fast - put the 'pedal to the metal' as they seem want to around here.

[ She unlocks the door, revealing a dark living room. Apparently the Exarch isn't home yet.

But something else is. ]

If you think I'll just willingly go along with a plan that also harms you then you clearly think less of me.

[diplomatiste]

You know that's not what I think at all.

[ But he could never express his gratitude for how adamantly against setting him on fire she is either, even if he's still convinced it's the only option they have left.

Nevertheless, Alphinaud steps into their living quarters with dogged movements, his joints their usual stiffness that has become his daily existence. How could he possibly hope to help the Warrior of Light if (when) becomes fully immobile, like the mannequin currently shrouded in the shadow just out of sight of the twins?

He lets out a heavy breath, but the words that follow aren't coming from his mouth.

'Welcome home, sister. I trust you had a productive afternoon?'

It still chills Alphinaud (the real one) to the bone, hearing his own voice being spoken while he remains silent and afraid. ]

Alisaie ...

[argumentiste]

[ That earns a somewhat indignant sniff from her - though it has noticeably far less heat than normally would when she's actually annoyed about something.

The affection and care for one another runs far deeper than words could ever convey. Or if they are conveyed then it's usually with far more huff and gruff than one might expect from a sibling. Regardless, Alisaie's adamant refusal to go a route that would be faster and quicker betrays just how much she cares for him.

As soon as the voice that is not Alphinaud's greets them she immediately tugs her brother inside and shuts the door barring at least one mode of escape. Her crystal flares out in the darkness as she makes a stand, putting herself between Alphinaud and his hitchhiker. Her voice drips with contempt; as if she's going to entertain this.]

Sister? In your wildest, eldritch creature dreams. [ The sound of metal being unsheathed sings out like a challenge in the darkness. ] If you're attempting to imitate my brother then you're making a poor attempt. He wouldn't act from the shadows. Come out. Now.

[diplomatiste]

[ A flawless duplicate of Alisaie's brother emerges from the darkness with more fluidity in his limbs and more expression in his countenance than the real Alphinaud is currently even capable of. He lifts his hands up in surrender, the same way he would were he in a similar position. His expression is soft and pleading.

'You wouldn't truly do harm to me, would you? Not when we spent our entire lives by each other's side.'

It even sounds like him, so much so that he feels like the imposter now, and that sets some uncomfortable weight in his chest not unlike dread mixed a little bit with sadness.

But Alphinaud (the real one) stays behind his sister, too slow and too weak to be of any use in a fight even if he wanted to join. ]

wildcard ;

[diplomatiste]

[ ooc: Alphinaud is here to help!

Aside from dealing with his own affliction, which can be slotted into the timeline either before or after dealing with another's mannequin (or, hey, maybe they can suffer together!), Alphinaud can be found:

at the hospital where he works, both helping victims, easing their pains, and doing a bit of research on the side;

exploring any of the other sites with mannequin sightings (aside from the above mall prompt);

dealing with his own mannequin in some way, probably not a terribly good one;

anywhere else in and around Panorama (grocery shopping, at the residential district, etc.) for your convenience!

I am good to go with the flow, so drop a prompt below and I'm happy to follow along. If you'd like to plot further, please reach out to me over on plurk (thwip) or PM me (because I failed at putting a plotting comment up last month BUT PLEASE KNOW I'm keen to discuss plans)! ]

[heritors]

[ She's not used to visiting the medical tent to be treated. It's less an act of pride or stubbornness — given the ... circumstances, if she did suffer from a grievous injury, she was usually treated on the spot with a heal staff. If she didn't, there were others who often needed the space more than her. So the necessity eased over the years until she was only really stopping by to lend them a helping hand, or help stock their supplies.

( And if Brady thought her injuries should be looked at, well — he ended up finding her in the end. So maybe there was a bit of stubbornness in this all along. )

But there's no Brady here to chase her down. No Laurent to tell her that her form is being affected by her injury. No one to tell her that if she should be worried about the ache in her back or if she should be worried about pain shooting up her right leg every time she takes a step a little differently. The thought of spending money isn't appealing, but — well. Her body is her most valuable asset. That doesn't change whether she's back home or here.

So, all this to say: she's in the hospital waiting room, looking simultaneously right at home ( bandages on her neck, her hand, and a small one on her cheek ), and out of place ( at least, based on her expression ) all at once. Her eyes keep darting to the door, then to the occasional gurney being pushed from one end of the hall to the other. She doesn't look as bad as some of the people nearby — maybe she comes back when things are less... busy. Whenever that ends up being. ]

[diplomatiste]

Right — so what have we got today?

[ A familiar enough figure (smaller of stature, bright white hair, dressed all in blue, with a mask over the lower part of his face) steps through the cozy little waiting room (a space only designated as such because it was out of the way enough from the hustle and bustle of patients being moved to and from other rooms, and those who were a little lower priority could have a quieter space to wait) with a set of notes in hand. Presumably these are a patient's files, but in a place like Panorama, they might very well be quickly jotted down notes to add to some haphazard archive listing people who had once been here before and who might return again some day.

It's been a learning experience for him, nevertheless, but the hospital does have more resources than a lot of the other places in the city and it's a place he feels the most comfortable in. He can help here in the immediacy in ways he feels he's still floundering elsewhere.

It also allows him to keep an observant eye out for any familiar faces — and hope that he won't find them wandering these halls so frequently. Or at all.

Alas, it's a bittersweet thing when he does. ]

Oh! — Lucina? [ He rushes forward — sorry, other people here! ] By the Twelve, are you all right?

[heritors]

[ She's still weighing the pros and cons of coming back later — brows furrowed and staring at a stain on the wall — when she hears her name. Her head turns to the source ... and pain shoots up from the injury before recognition dawns. Right. Stupid of her.

Still, she raises her hand to make a waving motion, the grimace appearing and disappearing with a blink of an eye.

Quickly— ] It's not as bad as it looks. [ In a voice that's clearly said those words in that order many, many times. Would this face lie to you, Alphinaud? ] I didn't realize you worked here.

[diplomatiste]

[ She might well believe it, but that doesn't mean it's quite the truth.

Alphinaud offers her a polite if humouring expression, mouth pressed into a thin line (he saw that wince earlier, okay, he is trained to catch these things), already gesturing for her to follow him to a better space away from eavesdropping and nosey eyes and ears.

The hallway sees plenty of people coming and going: those that work here, of course; some with injuries; others here to visit their own loved ones. Alphinaud moves forward like someone who has certainly learned the lay of the land here.

It's his first real 'job', after all. Working with the Scions is a different sort of occupation. ]

I was fortunate to secure a part-time position at the hospital, and while I suspect they may be short-changing my wages, I rather enjoy the work.

[ There's a small little examination room the size of a cozy utilities closet up ahead. Passing the other rooms along the way will demonstrate how short for space they really are, with each room already occupied with a patient and a member of the staff. It seems Alphinaud is lucky to take charge of the closet-space for today. ]

Just down here, if you please. You can tell me what happened if you'd like.