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

abandoned mall ♦ OTA!

[primepool]

[Hell of a trip or not, Wade's not missing out on one of the great American experiences, even in the Void 2: Electric Boogaloo. He takes his bright yellow Beetle on the ride of her life, his arm hanging out the window as the wind slaps at him and the landscape rolls past. Thank god he had enough joolies to buy one of the most important things in his life: a old, crackling radio station that, while isn't playing music, is playing weird whale sounds, which is about as close to music as he's gonna get, apparently.

Good enough for him.

In the mall, he's basically a kid on a field trip. He takes his time wandering, commenting to the passing corpse-y shadow people as he goes. In the various clothing stores, he's fully dressed in his Deadpool costume but is trying on colourful blouses, Dad shirts covered in little illustrated screwdrivers, tying a tie with a houndstooth pattern. He can also be spotted posing in front of a floor-length mirror in a shoe store, sizing up the stiletto heels he's currently balancing on, his red boots thrown to the side.

Around the inside of a fabric store, bolts of fabric are being thrown into the air as he goes through them, muttering to himself.] Seriously, this shit looks like an arcade carpet! Where's the good stuff? [At points it appears he's trying to match materials to his suit, even though that shit is space TVA multiversal pleather or something, and the right shade of red isn't showing up.] How am I gonna patch Scott's stupid blaster hole up?

[Yes, his suit still has a burnt hole in the front from where Cyclops blasted him with his eyebeams. It happens.

In the food court, Wade pops out from behind the counter of a suspiciously retro looking Orange Julius, or its closest equivalent, where he's definitely making a mistake pouring expired orange juice and something that maybe, once, was ice cream into a cup. And drinking it. Strangely, it looks there's a mannequin nearby, almost like it's peeking around the corner to watch him. He clearly hasn't noticed, shrugging his shoulders to make a second drink.] What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

[Like the old vitamin C's gonna take him out.

At some point, he's also found an Walkman and has it attached to his utility belt, where he's definitely singing out loud a No Doubt song, headphones over his ears (over his mask? yeah,) while he has his sword out, pretending he's fighting one of the shadow corpses by nearly cutting it, backing off, flipping and coming back in for a second blow.

You know, your average mall experience.]

[churnback]

[ Amos is here for one thing only — trying to track down the girl who'd gone missing. (Almost) anything or anyone he has or might run across in pursuit of her wouldn't matter to him, save for a select few. But random strangers, things going wrong, weird shit happening on the way here — he doesn't care if someone gets themselves in trouble, he's not here to be a hero to anyone. Even this girl — this isn't heroic, in his mind, this is just what you do for kids. They don't have a say in so much of what happens to them and around them, and they deserve a better shot at life than a lot of people get. So while there's a chance to find her alive and safe, he'll take it.

As he wanders the mall, he comes across the people just — frozen. Here one second, gone the next. Dead or — what? They're just a passing thought for him, really, no more than, alright, that's shitty. Nothing he can do about it. That is, until he comes across the figure of a mother frozen in the act of picking up her child. It hadn't occurred to him before, but — maybe something like this happened to Millie? It's the only thing that actually compels him to linger a little, touching the mother's shoulder briefly. He's not expecting anything, doesn't get anything (seemingly), and so he just walks away. Just something else here that doesn't make sense. He thinks that's the end of it, until he's wandering out of a store a little while later, after grabbing a few necessary supplies.

It's when he turns a corner and sees something move in the dark that he stops, puts his back up against the wall, watches. There's a weird panic prickling at the base of his neck, like a whisper of something, a voice that isn't his. Wasn't a person moving (actually, it was). Something else. He's not the type to run and hide, but he also doesn't run right into a fight without having a sense of what or who he's up against. He hears someone singing (...really?) and that keeps that creeping dread and darkness from swallowing him suddenly, but there's something moving and getting bigger, and coming towards them. An innocent person just entering a shop up ahead looks like the worst of Amos' nightmares come to life, but he has no idea he's in the grip of something turning his thoughts against him. And not far from this creature, Amos also catches a glimpse of someone wearing a mask, wielding a sword, flipping around, just up ahead. Jesus, are they fucking oblivious? Probably didn't see the thing, so — though it's not out of any genuine concern for this person's welfare, Amos calls out — ]

Move now, or you're gonna get fucked.

[ Maybe more specifics would be helpful, like — describing what he's seeing, where to move exactly, why even, beyond just — fucked.

That's about all the effort he can muster up, though. If this person gets killed, they get killed. He offered a warning. He's only seconds away from advancing on the thing, though there's a weird feeling still gripping him. A feeling that's so unfamiliar he doesn't know what it even is yet. ]

[primepool]

[He barely hears the voice over the repeated Yooou and meee, we used to beee togETHer... and Wade supplying his own extra swooshing noises for the swords. Come on, it's not his fault there's not giant aliens or evil psychics or the IRS to fight around here. He's getting bored. And bored guys fight shadow people.

But he does stop, lowering his katanas as he perks his head up like an overexcited groundhog hearing a chainsaw.] Eh? [He pulls his headphones off, turning around just in time to see a glimpse of, uh. Someone. Not exactly John Wick subtlety.] Get fucked by who?

[Unless the guy's talking about himself, which -- there's a lot of less fun things to do in a mall. Wade looks around, gesturing up with a sword. It's just them, buddy!] If you're trying to assassinate me, you're doing a really bad job of it!

[churnback]

[ No fault of the other guy, and of course, Amos doesn't even know what he's seeing is only half real. Maybe less. But when that sword gets waved around, it looks — for just a minute — like one of those protomolecule fuckers. It transforms, somehow, with the mall lights bouncing off the edge of it, and now what should be a weapon easily capable of at least holding back whatever the fuck is coming at them instead becomes part something twisted he's seeing in his mind. It looked like something he's all too familiar with for a minute, but it can't really be that, can it? Out of nowhere like this? But it's capable of anything. ]

Jesus. We don't have time for this. [ It's quick, really, the way that singing becomes more ominous, the way he doesn't hear words so much as sounds. A snarl. He can still see the guy, mostly, but where he begins and ends is rapidly shifting.

So while in his right mind he wouldn't get closer to a guy waving around weapons, it's a free-for-all in his head now, loose thoughts and memories tied up in something having a hold over him. Enough of a hold that he starts to recognize that feeling for what it might actually be — something he hasn't felt in decades, something that could be fear. But it's so foreign to him, he doesn't understand that burning in his chest. And he starts to get closer to the guy, like he might attempt to grab him and haul him off, but stop just short. ]

It's like a fuckin' superweapon. Moves quick. Just get out of the damn way.

[ He doesn't necessarily give a shit about the guy as a general concept of preserving life, but even with his mind being like this, it doesn't sit right to ditch if he knows this monster well and how to take it down. Unfortunately, the innocent bystander hearing this commotion and trying to just leave the store and vacate the area ends up as an object of this hallucination, a thing advancing on them, seen out of the corner of his eye. And Amos moves swiftly, shoving the "creature" roughly up against the wall and beginning to hit them. ]

[primepool]

[Okay, it's not to say the mistake couldn't be made, considering Wade is also bald and stringy and has fucked up skin, but unfortunately he's completely suited and the horrors are being held back by TVA leather and velvet lining. And he also doesn't glow. Which is a downgrade, if you ask him.

Who the hell is "we"?] I'm tellin' you, I'm single as a Pringle! And this isn't the worst meet-cute I've been involved in --

[Man, why's he got this tingling in the back of his brain? Sort of like a sense... like a spider might have... before it gets squashed by a particularly large boot. Okay, okay. Keep it in your pants, Tobey.

Wade sheathes his swords, not because it's a good idea or he has any idea what's going on, but because something about sensing a threat makes him even more inclined to poke the bear. Call it... assassin senses. Eagle vision. Yeah, that sounds cooler.]

Hey, buddy. [Wade will start trying to cross the distance. Oooh, upgrading to Kill Bill sirens!] I'm all for superweapons in the bedroom, believe me, but at least take me on a first date --

[Annnd there he goes. And there he goes --] Holy shit, okay. Okay! No one panic! [No one else is here to panic; unfortunately he's the one who's standing here watching captain of the Fuck-You-Up team punching someone in the gut. That seems... bad(?)] Shit. What would Logan do?

[Uh, probably walk away all cool-y smoking a cigar? But then he'd have his moment of indecision, facing the camera, go "shit," but with a cool not-Australian drawl, and then finally turn around to be a hero, all while his hair never stops being perfect and he maybe keeps his claws in until the fight gets Real.

Okay. Let's go with that, minus the hair. Right. He just needs to be a hero. Someone who probably stops innocent bystanders from getting killed by, uh, the living embodiment of toxic masculinity. Who's the opposite of toxic masculinity, and a hero? It's sure as fuck not the Wolverine; he needs someone... nicer.

He's got it. I am the pretty guardian, the one who fights for... love. And justice!] In the name of the Moon!

[Wade bodily throws himself at Amos with a battle cry that sounds way less intimidating when you don't have special effects or a soundtrack, and also when you're a man dressed entirely in red and black pleather instead of a sailor uniform.] I'll punish your ass!

[This is probably gonna hurt.]

food court

[decussate]

[ Near... Tangerine Caesar, The Knave is snooping around. Mostly curious to know how expired any food lying around is, as a way of putting a timeline on whatever happened in this mall. She's was fully intent on ignoring the man in the strange red costume, but even she has to look over when she hears what he's saying.

Hm. Well, that's one way to gauge the state of the food. If his body starts rejecting that unholy orange juice/dairy concoction, that may be somewhat useful info(?). Though to be completely honest with herself, she's just fascinated by all of whatever this man's state of existence is. ]

How... cavalier of you. Is the taste intact?

[ Who knows, maybe it tastes bland or strange; anything can go in another world. And it might explain why the man would be willing to go for a second serving...

Unbeknownst to her, her own mannequin is also skulking about. It joins Wade's mannequin in peeking around a different yet conveniently adjacent corner to watch Arlecchino. ]

[primepool]

[She picked the worst test subject to be the gauge on the food, if only because a bit of food poisoning won't kill him. Or even make his tummy rumbly, honestly. Just one of the perks when you're dying, constantly, forever! Gotta make sure there's a silver lining somewhere.

Wade pauses in pouring out what might be an expired cream-like substance, or might be a permanently shelf-stable milk can. Comme si, comme sa. What he expects to see when looking up after hearing that voice is not the scariest human equivalent of a talking mime he's ever seen. Or maybe if someone personified a chess board -- with a little blood on it.

Okay, now he's swinging back around to appreciating the thought behind it. Classy, but dangerous. Hot!

Wait, hold on a second. He's no cunnilinguist, but that's --]

I know you mean that to be insulting, but I'm gonna take it as a compliment. [And also because he's not gonna think too hard about what it means.] Also... I mean, maybe if you sucked down an Orange Julius that's been soaked into an arcade carpet for a couple of years. Still slaps, though.

[As the kids say.]

Want some?

[As if his mannequin didn't have enough reasons to probably want him dead, it definitely has some now.]

[decussate]

Any why would I want to get slapped?

[ And what is a Julius... but she'll approach the counter so that she can see for herself how cursed the dairy looks. Blissfully unaware of how the cursed content is actually Wade's inner monologue.

The Knave normally errs on the side of skepticism when it comes to strange characters, or gives them wide berth rather than directly encumber herself with an annoying interaction. She considers her time valuable... and while she has much of it to spare when patience is warranted, she has not a second to waste on buffoonery. That she's still here is a minor miracle, but the eccentricity of this man wearing some sort of... diving suit(?) screams of eventfulness that may be worth witnessing. Like watching a train start up with half its wheels missing.

Meanwhile, her mannequin skitters in a bit closer, to the next nearest bit of cover. ]

[mechatheism]

[Viktor is not necessarily pleased to split from Jayce, after they share a ride here--but he can begrudgingly admit that they'll both cover more ground if they search different wings of the mall. They can both handle themselves, theoretically, and it will offer better chances of finding something useful that they can bring back to Panorama.

That leaves Viktor alone, stalking through rows of clothing (too small for him, and altogether too vibrant for either of them, if not for the layer of dust). He won't be mistaken for a mannequin, given his stature, but he's certainly too tall and strangely-shaped to be fully human. He wears a cloak with a hood, his line of defense against those that might find his appearance frightening.

He's about to give up on this particular store, finding nothing useful beyond garish clothing, when a noise alerts him to another presence. Viktor decides in that moment that he should duck out of sight until whoever or whatever it is goes away, and the easiest place to do that is a nearby changing cubicle. Still, Viktor is large and unweildy, and the clink of metal rings against a curtain rod is likely noise enough.]

[primepool]

[Dead Victorian adult ghosts, scary mime women, and that one guy who tried to kill him. What doesn't this mall have?

The answer's about to walk into frame while Wade is pulling on a Spongebob t-shirt over his suit to test if it's big enough (it is). At one point he's just trying to tug it on before remembering he's gotta take his scabbards off first (don't judge), then he's tugging it back over his head again, half-singing a Are yooou rrrready kids?! into the darkness, and then --

Pausing. Oh, okay.] Ohh, someone's playing hide and seek, huh? I gotta tell you, I'm a blackbelt in -- [Wade peeks out around a row of summer dresses just in time to catch a glimpse of something tall, and lithe, and... slender.

No fucking way.] Holy shit. Slenderman? I told Peter you were fucking real! C'mon out, buddy, you don't gotta hide! I'm not about to snitch!

[You know, if he's currently trying to kidnap another child and leave spooky drawings behind.]

Fabric store

[cryptsleeper]

[So...apparently this is the inevitable evolution of the market? Alucard isn't sure how he feels about it. The indoor part is fine, that makes it easier for everyone involved. But the rest is as unfamiliar as any other portion of this world and perhaps even more so. The escalators are uh. Okay he doesn't trust those at all. And the stores seem to produce the same generic items that simply do not appeal to the dhampir.

The fabric store is a welcome reprieve. It has the faint patina of the familiar, even if the synthetic fabrics are the embodiment of just touching a bad texture. There's cotton and linen, some in familiar colors and others in new and wild dyes.

There is, however, a tornado approaching him. A loud one, perhaps borne of true frustration.]

--Perhaps it'd help if you knew what type of fabric you needed? There is some organization over here.

[primepool]

[It's a good thing Alucard missed Wade laying down on the escalators and riding them up and down, then. Why not? It's not like he has hair that can get caught in the steps.

'Cause when he sees him, the first thing he does notice is all. That. Hair.

You know how sometimes, you watch a train go by and think about stepping in front of it? Wade has one of those, except his first thought is about scalping him and wearing his hair like a wig. It could work, if he's careful.

-- Right, right, Marvel heroes don't go around scalping people. Probably. He's not doing it, either! He just had a thought. An inclusive thought.]

Well, I didn't tailor this! It probably doesn't even exist in this fucking universe. [Yes, he's a little frustrated. Scott eye-blasting him was funny until he had to actually work on sewing his suit up.] What's soft and supple enough to not chafe my nipples? My theoretical nipples.

[He doesn't actually have any, long story. But maybe there would be phantom chafing.]

[cryptsleeper]

[Alucard tilts his head just slightly at the response. There's a certain level of brashness and intensity he has learned to expect from certain companions or those who are similar in some ways to the Belmonts. And then there is...whatever this is, although credit where credit is due, a wardrobe issue here is bound to drive anyone to some madness.

He considers the question with some genuine thought. Then realizes there's other factors.

The dhampir's voice is calm. Perhaps pointedly so.]

Well, do you need to match existing fabric or colors, or are you starting from the ground up?

[primepool]

["Whatever this is" is probably the most accurate description someone else has had of Wade so far. Also, it's a wardrobe malfunction. The malfunction being that... it got a little singed. It's fine. The TVA should've prepped for this.

(That's ignoring the the rest of the state of his suit, which is covered in what clearly looks like claw marks and holes, including several directly in the top of his head where the Wolverine stabbed him. Multiple times. It's also, definitely, stinking with the smell of old blood and sweat. And maybe cancer, if Alucard has doggy senses.)

Wade keeps staring at his hair. It might be hard to tell through the mask that it's a kind of lustful gaze, but maybe the vibes in the air have shifted enough.]

Ooh, no way am I sewing this thing back up from scratch. I'd rather go with patchwork if there's no better option. [He puts a hand on his hip, looking this Fabio motherfucker over.] What're you, anyway? A ghost tailor?

[You can't blame him. Look how pale that beauty is!]

[cryptsleeper]

Yes. Obviously.

[The ghost tailor joke is far, far too good an opportunity to tease someone and Alucard knows not to let it go to waste. This place is exhausting and scary in various measures. He needs harmless enrichment where he can.

But patchwork. Alucard frowns at that, eyes resting on the garment. There is...damage. There's so much damage. Blood is fine, that can wash out easily, but--]

I'd say a good portion of what you need is going to be intensive. I don't know if it'd create discomfort while being worn, which is presently my largest concern. Do you know what fabric it is?

[primepool]

Oh, the dead Victorian orphan invented sarcasm, okay.

[Look, there's no way that guy is alive, he's about as white as a line of coke on undriven snow. Look at him! Clearly he died in some tragic, pathetic way, like a housefire caused by a... by a ghost. Does getting murdered by a ghost make you become a ghost automatically? Is there like a ghost family tree?

Reminder to self: look up ghost genealogy. Or invent it, if necessary.

You know, usually the idea of a random ghost tailor coming up to him to mansplain about garment repair would warrant a whoopin', but Wade can't help but be fascinated not only by his strangely waifish appearance but by his willingness to offer sewing advice to a guy in a superhero costume.

Wade shrugs.] Not a chance. Got it from an inter-dimensional DMV, so as far as what materials they've got in their vault... basically infinite possibilities. Though judging by the budget, probably screen-printed Lycra. [Thanks, Google. He pulls off his mask -- still covered in holes and blood -- and tosses it to his new ghost tailor. Yeah, it exposes his fucked up face, but this guy might actually be useful.] Go on, give it a good stretch. And a sniff, if you're into that. I'm not judging.

[cryptsleeper]

[The sarcasm comment gets a very thin, wry smile. This is not the correct thread (pun intended) to pull right now. There will be time aplenty for the jokes, as well as the correction that he is from the 1700s, thank you, whenever the Victorians are, the dhampir predates them.

So he instead focuses on the task at hand. Once the mask is offered, Alucard does indeed give it a good pull. The blood doesn't matter. The holes do.]

This is definitely not natural fiber, that much is clear.

[His next step is to turn the mask inside out, taking careful note of where there are seams and how the garment actually works.]

Mm. So.

[He finally looks up at Wade, wholly unphased with his face. He's seen way worse, even on humans.]

If you're intent on repairs, the first step will be to wash the garments no matter what. You can't combine clean fabric with battleworn when mending to this extent. It could lead to imprecise repairs, and from everything I can gather, you'd not prefer that. The next step will be fabric matching, and that's where my concern lies. There may not be an exact twin of this material around this place. Is this something you need to be a perfect 1:1 match with, or is there flexibility?

[Alucard's tone is entirely practical. If he's going to be a tailor, then he can play at speaking to a client.]

mistaken identity

[magike]

( it's at the food court that rowena finds him, or rather the mannequin that's posing as him. she'd been looking along the different food places, trying to see if there was anything that might even be remotely interesting. and edible, given the abandoned state of the mall.

he'd been looking along the food court as well, catching her eye when he looked over, and though rowena doubted he knew much she approaches him anyway )

Is there a chance that something isn't expired?

[primepool]

[Luckily for her, he does know basically nothing. Life is a whole new concept, after all. Identity? Recently acquired. Really understanding those basic tenets? Still out of reach. His movements are still jerking, not entirely complete -- yet Wade(?) appears rather light on his feet, moving with a firm balance that is, over time, finding a sort of sinuous grace... if the sinews were being puppeted by some really arthritic fingers.

But he's got hair, he's got skin that isn't pockmarked -- no, this skin is smooth, so enticingly smooth that maybe she even caught him watching himself in a reflection, even the slightly distorted ones that reflect from shiny sandwich board signs.

And when a fine-looking human specimen comes up to him, of course he's all boyish smile and little dimples. Even if his eyes appear to be a bit flatter than most should.] Chances are. [He gives her a little bow with a flourish of his arm -- almost curtsy-like -- smoothing a hand up his leg like he's almost checking if something is still there. Maybe strapped there.] You had me at hello.

[frostfist]

[ i'm here for the stilettos

Wriothesley is not here for stilettos but he can still appreciate a man wearing them, even if they personally aren't for him. Don't mind him as he lets out a low whistle at the sight, though there's nothing suggestive about the sound, just awed. ]

Impressive.

[ The choice to wear stilettos? The ability to balance on them? Could be anything, really. ]

[primepool]

[It doesn't need to be suggestive for Wade to immediately think it is, because the way he turns, glancing coyly over his shoulder (it may be hard to parse it's a sexy glance when he's wearing a full-coverage mask) with a little shift of his ass is absolutely returning that kind of energy.

And for once, he's not getting harassed by Yakuza or rednecks, so that's a bonus! (Don't ask.)]

Well, well, look what the cat-who-likes-succulent-men dragged in. Liking what you're seeing, big boy? [Obviously he means Deadpool himself is impressive. Look at that skin-tight red, the tasteful black accents, the swords... the curvaceous ass. Seriously, why is it shaped like that? In a Marvel movie?] Wait a second. [He's staring, making his way closer with some surprisingly lithe steps. No shakiness on these babies.] Another cat-man? Goddamn, where are you all coming from? (I'm not complaining.)

[exarched]

[ Average mall experience indeed. G'raha has found that the shadowy figures are more dangerous than they otherwise appear, not simply monuments to a life that had been lived in its simplicity. As disheartening as it is to see entire families--children--stuck in this, the side effects have been...equally disconcerting.

Nothing is truly simple in this place. And as much as he enjoys a good puzzle, this presents more threats than answers thus far.

He assumes, of course, that the...strangely familiar masked man is under such effects when he seemingly goes for one of the shadows, but when he backs off, it gives G'raha some pause. Especially because he's...singing?

Holding his staff (not THAT kind, Wade), G'raha stands at a distance, looks to either side to see if anyone else is about and equally concerned, before calling out. ]

Is everything alright?

[primepool]

[It could be that kind! So easily!

But it's not. Wade's too busy grooving to ska and dodging blows that aren't actually coming to be thinking about dicks. There'll be plenty of time for that later, like when he actually notices G'raha. Which he hasn't, not at first.

And no one else is around, from what it looks like. Wade did come alone, after all. And if there's a mannequin staring in on them from a display window, then it's just another among many, right?

The only thing that catches Wade's attention is a flash of red. Maybe if he was a black cat, he wouldn't have been so... glaringly obvious.

Wade pulls his headphones off an ear (at least where one probably is under the mask) and raises a sword to wave.] Heeey, it's the cat-man! How're you doin', little buddy? Come for a cat tree or something? [No, those jokes won't stop.] Pretty sure I can find some Backstreet Boys CDs if you wanna find some shit to knock over and break!

[He may have already left a trail of destruction from a few stores himself already.]

[exarched]

[ He is...exactly as G'raha remembered. Very odd, very odd. But not bad. He is beginning to suspect the man may not actually fear much and enjoys playing it up for the bit. (Little does G'raha know...)

Needless to say, he believes everything is, in fact, alright. G'raha steps over closer, making a point to avoid running into any of the figures. His ears flatten at the very pointed cat remarks. G'raha had been surprised and subsequently relieved last time, but mayhaps he should explain... ]

There might have been a misunderstanding. I...I am not a cat.

[ Please let the jokes stop. ]

But I'm also unfamiliar with "backstreet boys see-dees".

shoe store

[heavymetals]

[ It's about as eerie as Erik would expect from an abandoned mall. Maybe a tad more so with the shadow corpses scattered about, but at least they don't seem to pose a threat. He's made more uncomfortable by the mannequins, often getting the sense that he's being watched by them as he explores the shops. He's here for a reason, after all, and he's not planning on going back to Panorama empty-handed.

Clothes are more of a priority for him, but he also still only has one pair of shoes, that being the old work boots he arrived in. It goes well with the plaid shirt and jeans look he's got going on these days, but maybe it's not the worst idea to get some backups. Maybe a nicer pair of shoes wouldn't hurt, either.

A faint sound from the other side of the store gets his attention, and though he's ready for a potential threat, he's expecting it to just be someone else looking for shoes themselves.

He's... not really sure what he's walked into, now. ]

Practical.

[ Said as he looks down at the heels pointedly, head tilted and an eyebrow raised. ]