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

hitchhikers — the "set this damn thing on fire" prompt (ota)

[reverso]

A)

[As much as he had planned to go back to the mall the next day, things had… escalated quickly. Verso’s barely had time to return and prepare for another trip by the time the mannequin has begun to sound like him. And his own body begins to feel stiff in the joints; not a good sign, but he trudges forward all the same.

He ignores the fact that it begins to even look like him, move like him. By the time morning rolls around, no matter where Verso goes, the damn thing trails behind like a shade, finding strangers and saying cruel things, vulnerable things. Things like:

Hey friend. Why don’t you do me a favor and kill me? It’d be a nice change of pace. or Why bother trusting someone like me? Everything’s always wrapped up in a pretty lie—]

Stop it.

[Verso tries to summon enough Chroma to use as a projectile to knock the thing over, but the gesture is halted mid-cast, as though he has no control over his own actions. It’s clear he’s not having a good time with any of this.]

B)

[It reaches the point where he feels like he can barely move, and summoning his sword does little to aid him when he can’t even swing it at his mannequin. Find Verso struggling, practically on his knees, continuing to try anyway.

By now, the news of the fire ridding someone of their mannequins—perhaps painfully—has reached his ears, and it isn’t a stretch to connect why he thinks his blade specifically might help with this issue. It’s imbued with fire, flames licking along the steel as… it clatters to the ground, Verso dropping it in this painful state.]

Aha… putain. A little help, please?

[PLEEK. HELP]

B, but i'll take a little A too if u want

[unsunder]

[ These mannequin-like creatures (because they are clearly not just mannequins) have been quite the pain, haven’t they? Emet-Selch considers himself quite lucky to have avoided picking one up himself, if only because a copy of him, at even a fraction of the power, might prove problematic without a certain hero of the star here to deal with it.

Plenty of other people have not fared so well.

Such as a by-now familiar figure hunched and struggling. Emet-Selch heaves a sigh and pads over, one eye on the mannequin. ]

Hells, you are a mess.

[ Hi Verso. ]

hi i'm here now

[reverso]

[The mannequin, for now, will blessedly leave both alone just long enough for Emet-Selch to get a grasp of what's happening, though this is unlikely to last. But every little moment of reprieve is welcome to Verso—at this point, though, nothing really feels much like a reprieve at all—and oddly enough, though the man's not exactly a ray of sunshine, seeing him here is something of a relief.

Anyway, hi.

He barks out a laugh; pained, overwrought, laden with wry humor.]

What else is new!

[Oh, but then he doubles over, joints feeling as though they might crack wrongly if he moves them, his palms splayed against the ground. Sputters out his next comment through grit teeth-]

Mind... lighting that awful thing on fire?

[His sword lays nearby, useless, but its blade lit. Of course, if Emet-Selch has some other way of dealing with the issue, by all means.]

[unsunder]

[ He’s still keeping an eye on Verso’s double, aware of the sword laying nearby but clearly seeing no reason to pick it up for himself. Verso has seen Emet-Selch in a fight – the weapon isn’t strictly needed. ]

You are aware of what you’re in for when I do, yes?

[ Just making sure, though Verso seems to be in plenty of pain already. What’s a little more? ]

e33 spoilers in here

[reverso]

S-sure... A lot of burning, a lot of pain, that sort of thing-

[Even now, Verso tries so hard to be flippant, as though anything sincere might leave him even more vulnerable to what's happening. But that part is the truth, at least — he is well-aware of how it'll very much hurt, to feel like he's being burned away. At least he needn't give voice to the utter, cruel irony of it.

Which is fine, because his mannequin will do that for him, anyway!

It chimes in, in a voice that sounds eerie like the low timbre of Verso's, cavalier nature and all. It strides forward, intending to get as close as Emet-Selch might allow, to step in between the two of them. Whether stopped short or otherwise, it smirks, a hand on its hip joint.

Oh, he'll just get to experience what the real Verso had to feel all those years ago. Burnt alive, charred to the bone, suffocating on ash and smoke. What a terrible way to go, and why should this copy have been spared of it, after all he's done? Do him a favor, mon ami.]

Please just make it... shut up.

[unsunder]

[ Well, so long as Verso knows what he’s in for, Emet-Selch has no objections with—

It is at that moment that Verso’s mannequin decides to step closer. Emet-Selch doesn’t let it get so close as to wedge itself between them, the ancient stepping to one side easily to block its path, expression impassive. He has little to fear from this thing.

Oh, but it’s really out here just saying things. Blabbing any old secret it wants. One pale brow lifts, but that’s about it. ]

My, my. If he is a copy, then what does that make you?

[ He leaves no room for the double to answer that question, cutting off whatever it might have to say with a snap of his fingers. Orange flame roars to life from nothing, a pillar of flame that springs from the ground and engulfs the mannequin, heat rolling off it in suffocating waves. It is brief, for a mercy, but far from painless. ]

[reverso]

[Yeah if this mannequin is supposed to take on his traits, it needs to stop spouting secrets. How terribly OOC of it!!

Brief, but far from painless. That’s a good general descriptor of what Verso undergoes when he watches his mannequin double surge with flames, and for a moment, a bit of relief and satisfaction greets him before anything else settles in. He’s grateful to Emet-Selch for the help, and he should let him know it—

Maybe after the pain part is over.

Verso’s undergone a lot of it over the years. He’s probably been set aflame by a Nevron at some point in his long life, after all, and is this really any different? But excruciating agony is still excruciating agony, no matter how often it’s experienced, and the pain is just as bright in every nerve ending as it would’ve been any other time.

It feels bone-deep, too, and all-encompassing. The heat comes off in waves from the mannequin, which begins to practically melt from the flames, but it’s eerily quiet as it is keenly obliterated by Emet-Selch’s magic. No, the man gets to hear Verso’s screaming, instead, as he gets the privilege of feeling seared alive for short-moments-that-feel-like-an-eternity, his entire body wracked with it.

But blessedly, it’s over soon enough. The relief is less relief and utter exhaustion—plus a bit of nausea from the intense pain—and he just sort of… officially crumples to the ground, on his side.

The mannequin, at least, is very much non-functional, falling over in a similar manner.]

[unsunder]

[ It's just as well that the mannequin doesn't have a parting shot to offer as the fire overtakes it. Emet-Selch isn't the audience for grand confessions of past sins and deep secrets — he has far too many of both to be bothered by someone else's. There is likely not a soul here who could match him in the sheer scale of the evils he has committed.

The pained cries of the man behind him are expected, and Verso knew going on what was going to happen. So, that golden gaze lingers on the mannequin instead, until it cannot remain upright any longer and it topples, melted and charred. It's then that he turns to find Verso collapsed, curled up on his side.

Emet-Selch crouches, forearms slung across his knees. ]

Still among the living, I hope.

[ He knows he's not dead. ]

[reverso]

[



groans]

Uh-huh.

[Unfortunately. Sorry. Give him a minute. Emet-Selch's form looms into his periphery, casting a shadow over Verso's still-fallen one. He angles his head to look up at him, appearing worse for wear; though once the leftover wave of receding pain finally dissipates, he'll note that the rest of the initial pain, caused by the mannequin, will no longer exist.]

Did you melt the damn thing...?

[unsunder]

Quite handily, if I do say so myself.

[ Whatever didn’t manage to melt is reduced to a charred mess. There’s nothing left of it to be a threat or a bother.

He gives Verso another few moments to gather his wits before offering him a hand up. Don’t draw attention to it, please. ]

[reverso]

[Unless Emet-Selch considers "drawing attention" to it by uttering-]

Thank you.

[-as he grasps his hand and pulls himself up to his feet, with great, wobbly effort, then no. He will not draw further attention to it.

Instinctively, he looks over at the smoldering pile which used to the mannequin. It's lost all of its features that made it look like an uncanny valley version of him, but that doesn't make it any less eerie to look at.]

Glad to be rid of it. Judging by its state, seems like this really is a more permanent solution to my problem, so- [Er. Thank you again, and all that.]

[unsunder]

[ He’ll allow a word of thanks, nodding in return. He keeps a grip on Verso for a few moments, at least until he’s certain the man won’t mimic his mannequin in toppling over. After a beat or two, his hand drops to his side. ]

‘Twas nothing. My role was quite easy.

[ A bit of paltry fire magic, barely a drop in the bucket. Verso had to endure the pain of burning, to say nothing of whatever the wretched creature had put him through before that.

He steps over to retrieve Verso’s fallen sword, plucking it up by the hilt and offering it back over. ]

Though, you know I must ask. Why did it call you a copy?

A potentially into B

[foretells]

[ Sciel's been looking for him. The plan had been to go to the mall, though Verso had been...oddly absent. It's not wholly unexpected, not really, but she's surprised he hasn't reached out to at least check in. The thought that maybe something's happened or he's been whisked away in the flux is what gets her looking for him.

That and, well, the putains de mimes following people around. These seem even more resilient than the ones from home.

When she does find Verso... It's not him she sees first, but the thing following him, because she hears it speaking first. Verso turns and Sciel moves, coming up alongside. ]

I'm here.

[ It's in lieu of her traditional hello, in lieu of straight up asking if he's all right because clearly he's not. Her gaze is narrowed on the creature, this other Verso, and the way its throat sounds just like him. ]

Come on, let's get you away from it—

[reverso]

[He hears her voice first, and he cannot help but feel relief — never mind all the baggage and Ugly Emotions that swell up within him when he comes across another Expeditioner in his world. Currently, any friendly face is welcome.

He turns to look at Sciel, and though he often pretends at being just fine, she's keen enough to know better; she always has been. There's a strain there at the edges of a forced smile, a tiredness that encircles his eyes more so than the usual. Verso's been harried by the wretched thing for far too long, now, and it's obvious to see.]

Sciel. I can't outrun or outride this damned thing.

[It just appears, even if he gets the hell out of the area, it's still somehow always there.

Sciel! the mannequin calls out, trailing behind. Are you sure you should be helping him?]

[foretells]

[ She’d been afraid of that. She’s seen them, now and again, trailing behind someone. Shadows moving. The fact that this one is acting so much like Verso is… It’s disturbing. Sciel’s gaze rakes over the creature and, not for the first time, she wishes she had her scythe so she could simply cut it down and that’d be the end of it.

Can it really be that simple? ]

D’you think we should fight it, then?

[ She’s outright ignoring the fact that it’s talking to her, needling into that bit of uncertainty she’s harbored. Lune has always rationalized the reasons why they brought Verso along, even after there was information about him and the white haired man. Sciel’s never pushed one way or another.

But how interesting, that it chooses to wheedle into that note. ]

We’ve beaten back those other ones before but—

[ They didn’t start talking before. And they didn’t follow quite like this. ]

[reverso]

[Were it only as simple as the experiences they know and know quite well: beating the tar out of some creepy mimes. plus they'd get a loot drop Yet somehow, this seems quite like a different situation.

As though in answer, Verso does his best to walk forward and away, but he'll still need to lean heavily upon Sciel to do so. Every joint feels so stiff; he feels like his knees might lock up at any moment.]

I can't. I try to raise my sword against it, and something stops me from striking.

[Literally.

Of course, this is when the mannequin pipes up again: Oh, but maybe you can manage it, Sciel? It would be a nice change of pace, dying.]

[foretells]

[ Her hand is already going out to steady him, but Verso looks like he's half-frozen in place. She mostly ignores the taunting voice, her attention on her companion instead. Fingers close around his arm and while she can feel flesh beneath his leathers, it feels stiff, locked up.

When that voice comes back, her other hand moves almost without thought: a card is summoned between her fingers, tossed right for its shoulder. ]

I'm not speaking to a putain d'imposteur.