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redstringtheories2022-03-01 09:51 am
TDM #9
(cw: potential for severe disorientation/vertigo, claustrophobia, arachnophobia, body horror)
It happens in the blink of an eye. You may have been asleep. You may not have. You may have stepped through a door or turned a corner. You may have seen a flicker of something at the corner of your vision and turned to look. Or maybe you didn't.
It doesn't matter. What matters is that you find yourself somewhere entirely new and entirely unfamiliar. The arrival point is not always the same. (If you're lucky, it might be a canteen or an open office. If you're not, well... you aren't claustrophobic, are you? Or arachnophobic. These ducts do seem to be a bit cobwebby.) There is no one waiting for you but you don’t seem to be alone, either. Even in a janitor’s closet or the bathroom, you’ll find at least one person who seems to be just as out of place as you are.
If characters have arrived in a location devoid of NPCs, they may want to work together to figure out what is going on... or to avoid their 'kidnappers.' If you’ve arrived in the middle of the entry foyer or the gym, there may well be a few people who startle a bit at your arrival and try to approach (or discreetly leave the room... where are they going?). Will you cooperate or fight? Do you even understand what they're saying? You might need to find a translator, if you’re not immediately willing to follow a stranger.
After characters follow their new hosts (or are forcibly taken in) there will be a limited tour and the chance to settle in at the ADI-provided housing. (Do you enjoy living with strangers? Well. It's a new situation to navigate, anyway.)
(cw: death, child death, semi-graphic description of injury, existential terror, memory manipulation (adding memories))
Weird things happen in Dogtown, everyone knows it. The Apocalypse Disruption Initiative (ADI) is not above taking advantage of that to test out the waters for its newest arrivals. They're not looking to send anyone to their death, though, especially not with recent events that have transpired surrounding Dogtown. An employee gives you a number to call if anything truly dangerous happens and you've been left with another person at the trailhead. Maybe they're a new arrival, as well, or a more seasoned 'veteran.' Either way, you're together for the next while and you've been asked to find and record any paranormal activity in the park. You have your phones and any other equipment you might have brought with you. Those who succeed in documenting anything peculiar will receive a $100 reward to be used as they see fit.
There is a body on the side of the path. From a distance, it's hard to tell who it might be… apart from someone who's made terrible life choices about where to take a break. You might find the body propped up against a boulder, lying in the snow, or even slumped on a bench. Approaching, though, brings into view… someone. Maybe someone you recognize vaguely. Do you know them from- Where exactly do you know them from? Or maybe it's a complete stranger, someone foreign in face and form.
The body is never the same for any groups of people who might happen upon it. One time, it's a young white man dressed in what seems to be parachute pants, a boombox fallen or resting with him. Another, it's an Hispanic person, their clothes reminiscent of something out of a western. Still others, it might be a little black girl, looking like she's cosplaying one of the original settlers for Gloucester. People of all different races, ages, genders, times, all beside the path. Some of them look to be obviously dead, their heads caved in or blood splattered across the path. Others, it's harder to tell. They might be someone who's passed out? A drunk who's wandered here from town and could need help.
The moment anyone touches them, though, the body crumbles, something made of ash that simply wipes itself away. And in its place, it leaves memory. The person who touches the body will find themselves reliving the last horrified moments of this person's life. They will know precisely how and when this person died. Every death has some component of agony or fear. No one found passed quickly or painlessly.
Everyone dies, and it is never so kind a thing as they might have hoped. Never.
(cw: altered mental states, breathing difficulties, imprisonment, victim-blaming)
Repairs are going about as well as they can be at ADI; the building still bears the scars of last month's attack but day to day matters slump back toward the status quo now that the acute crisis has passed. For a few days it actually seems as though the press of unending needs and obligations has abated, like a massive crushing stone lifted from one's back to allow a gasp of breath, leaving workers and residents reeling in the exhausted aftermath.
It doesn't last, but when the pressure intensifies once more it takes on yet another new form. Things will seem to be back to normal when suddenly you realize that the room in which you find yourself is getting smaller–or perhaps the air has grown stale, perhaps that's why it's suddenly so hard to breathe. You're trapped in here, locked in, locked away. Windows seem to shrink and fortify into slitted openings too tight for escape; what might have been an ordinary office door is now a heavy metal thing fortified with deadbolts.
They've locked you in; they've decided that you're not to move about freely, that you're a danger to others. Are you a danger to others? You must be; you must have done something to deserve this. The question of who 'they' are is one without an answer, a nebulous sense of them, the ones who call the shots, the ones who must be looking out for everyone. They don't speak to you; there's no chance to plead your case, only this miserable, tiny cell and your own guilt over something you must have done. You hear them passing by your door at times, keys jangling, footsteps heavy, but there's no hope of aid from them.
None of it is real. The rooms don't shrink; the doors and windows don't change. To someone not caught up in the illusion, it will seem as though those caught in its grip have gone into hysterics over nothing at all, insisting that they're trapped when all they need to do is open the door.
(cw: monsters in the dark, altered mental states, semi-graphic description of injury)
When the crushing claustrophobia finally abates, this time seemingly for good, the shadow woman makes her first appearance. She is seen only in darkness at nighttime, silhouetted in a doorway or lurking in an underpass. Turn on the lights, and there's nothing there–it must have been a trick of the light, the mind making connections out of something seen from the corner of one's eye.
Turn off the lights, though, and there she is again.
She's patient at first, toying with her prey. Lights on, and you're safe. Lights off and the figure returns, still and staring and something you can almost convince yourself you've somehow imagined. But leave the lights on too long, play with the light switch too many times, or watch her too closely, and her patience has an end. When she finally moves, she's fast, charging across a darkened street or a darkened room, the only expression visible on her face is the inhuman light in her eyes, and there is nothing left except to run for the nearest patch of brightness in the night. Maybe you even get away–flee to the circle of sickly light under a lamppost and she must halt at the edge of the darkness, unable to follow. She might circle, waiting for you to make a run for it, or she might disappear back into the night. Will you chance a sprint to the next pool of light?
For those she catches, there is pain. There are rending claws that leave her mark, bleeding, on her victims–but the pain does not end in death. It ends in madness. You may descend into a state beyond thought, mind disappearing into a panicked fugue from which you will retain no memories. Or you may believe yourself to be still fighting off the creature of the night and legions like her, using your environment to protect yourself, to stave off attack.
Those unaffected will see what is truly happening: victims of the creature run rampant in frenzied efforts to bring more and more darkness to the nighttime city. Wild-eyed and unaware, they may start at something as simple as unscrewing a lightbulb, or engage in something as complex as cutting power to entire buildings. Regular citizens of Gloucester fall victim along with the people of ADI and sabotage runs rampant through the city, but it seems that above all else, ADI itself is the target of these attempts to turn out the lights. Panic begins to spread throughout the city as the attacks continue night after night.
- ARRIVAL (March 1 - 31): Two people will always arrive in the same general location together. Arrivals occur throughout the early month, not all on the same day or in the same place. Arrivals are not naturally fluent in English/other languages immediately upon arrival. Characters may attempt to evade capture, but they will eventually be snagged before they can leave the building. PC's already in-game are more than welcome to interact with and try to guide new PC's to get them oriented. Please refer to the Arrival page for details regarding the arrival and onboarding process.
- The Road We All Must Travel (March 1 - 31): The bodies found can be photographed, but they'll turn up blurred. There's nothing that can be gleaned about the bodies from a distance, only by moving close and touching them. The bodies can be anyone from any time and any place, even other worlds. Characters might even see non-human races represented. In every case, the body will disappear when touched and characters will pick up the final moments of the person's life. Players are welcome to make these final moments anything they want. The person could have died by mundane or supernatural means, but they will have died a painful or terrifying death in some way.
- Prisoners of Consciousness (March 4 - 12): Episodes in which characters believe themselves to be imprisoned will occur exclusively on ADI property and in the Flophouse. The hallucinations may last for minutes or hours, though characters are likely to perceive time as though they were imprisoned much longer. Characters not affected by the hallucination may help pull others out of it by grounding them in reality, but it is also possible for them to be drawn into the hallucination themselves if they become frightened.
- A Trick of the Dark (Nights of March 12 - 15) While people who have been caught by the apparition seem to focus their attacks on ADI property, the shadow woman herself never appears within ADI offices or apartments. She may sometimes appear in the Flophouse, and frequently appears outdoors, in darkened hallways of local businesses, and in the homes of locals. ADI housing curfew at 11:00 PM each night is still in effect; characters who stay out later may crash at HQ but will not be let into the apartments (they may also be able to get into the Flophouse…if its residents are kind enough to take them in). Characters caught by the shadow woman will experience confusion, terror, and compulsion to sabotage lighting, particularly in and around ADI property, until dawn of the next day. Characters who attempt to fight the shadow woman will find that she fights back (and that any scratch from her claws still causes the fugue state); if they manage to pin her down she will dissipate into shadows.
no subject
No wonder Malcolm isn't having any of his shit.
Tim refrains from sighing. See, he's polite.
"I told you it's a lot," he repeats, settling into something like resignation. Can't keep his trap shut lately, apparently, and Tim nods to one (of the many) cameras lining this hall alone. "I'm from Jersey. I don't know if you even know a Gotham City. Or Hightower. New York?"
Like he wouldn't know she screams New York City.
"And... then suddenly, we're in Massachusetts. The signs here all say Apex Detectives Incorporated. But this is the Apocalypse Disruption Initiative."
Huh, Tim muses, he sounds absolutely nuts.
"Elevators to the left. I'll go with you. Play up that 'intern' thing."
...
"I'm Tim."
no subject
She about to ask what that has to do with anything, only the, "Whu--" sound escaping before he's barreling into the deeper explanation. Or at least part of it. "Massachusetts?" Excuse her incredulity, but, what?
no subject
"I know, right?"
Solidarity.
Why Massachusetts. The greatest mystery of all. Something everybody here can collectively groan over. Tim waits for the elevator to announce its arrival, and he gestures the new unfortunate companion in with an open hand before both fists are stuffed into his pockets. He's harmless.
Really.
ADI has cameras everywhere on their property but they won't do a damn thing should someone get their butt beat inside said property.
(Ask him how he knows.)
Point being, Tim won't be taking chances. He knows her type, he thinks. He grew up with 'em.
He wonders what boarding school she attended, if it was all-girls or co-ed and suddenly
--it clicks.
Tim figures, well they've got a ways to go before hitting the lobby. "So," he drawls, "a quick question."
He must seem really freaking annoying right now? It's fine.
no subject
She perks an eyebrow at that. "Not sure I'll have any answers for you seeing as I just got here, but sure. I'll entertain it." Because now she's just curious what he thinks she could have to say at all.
no subject
--
"Maybe they tell the interns."
--okay, that was maybe mean. But. In the grand scheme of things
it's fine.
Tim's quick to smother the ghost of a smirk, an old remnant of a smug disposition he would like to think he'd long since buried. This isn't a gotcha he's happy for in the least, but he right about his suspicions. He's so damn sure of it. He's schooled his expression to something calm and open, not exactly neutral because that can be unnerving.
There's no way that brow line, that cupid's bow isn't familiar to Tim.
"'Bout 6 feet, has a thing for black turtlenecks, named after a fish organ? NYFD, I think? Ring a bell? They tend to hang out with a real basket case of a guy."
no subject
She squints at him as he starts rattling off vague characteristics of someone she can't possibly– "Gil? Gil Arroyo is here? NYPD, by the way, and that basket case is my brother, you absolute asshole." If she were less highbrow, she probably would have punched him, at least in the arm, just now. But her debutante training prevents it, and instead she just stares daggers at him.
"Take me to him." If Malcolm was here, that was the only thing that mattered now.
no subject
He opens his mouth in defense-- closes it. His one brain cell screams that he shouldn't volley back with you said it not me. The elevator chimes.
The lobby.
Tim steps out first, lifts those hands he had pocketed in lame surrender.
Three options.
None that she will like.
• She attempts to storm out the door. Gets caught.
• She attempts to track down Malcolm, clueless about her surroundings. Gets caught.
• She goes to Orientation.
"You will seriously need to get to Orientation first."
And as a thanks for not decking him (as a token for not having bottled up that possessive, protective outburst--): "Malcolm is in the ADI apartments. Unit B1. Lieutenant Arroyo's been staying there as well. They'll... be glad to see you're safe."
no subject
She walks out of the elevator, arms folded low across her middle as she stares at him. She's stubborn. She's reckless. She's not stupid. "They're not going to let me out if I don't, are they?"
She give a soft, annoyed huff and looks away. "Where is it?" Because she wants to get it over with and find her brother.
no subject
actually, hold that thought.
Tim bites at the inside of his cheek and, "Sorry, what was your name again?"
no subject
no subject
Tim's not sure when the jealousy started whispering at him. Is it this world? Is it really something he's had in him, festering for so long? "You'll go to floor B1," he explains. "You'll be guided to a room. In that room... is a poem. I can recite the words to you and nothing will happen, because it's the paper itself that..."
Sounds nuts, if Tim detaches himself enough from the absurdity to acknowledge it. He frowns for once, the expression not meaning any one strong emotion in particular on his face. It's just his own resting bitch face, the comfortable sort of dread of life's twists and turns finding its way home. Anyway.
"It's the artifact that opens your eyes to the magic happening here. ADI will do its best to help you adjust," he says. Anyway.
Home.
Tim fishes his room key out, and offers it to Ainsley Whitly. He tilts his head apologeticallydisarminglycasually in a half shrug. "Apartment B1. Feel free to let yourself in. Malcolm's usually there past this hour."
See, he's a good guy. Won't even mention anything about Neal. Though, "Maybe don't surprise him? He's ruthless when he's stabby."
no subject
She frowns a little and watching him curiously before he produces a key. "...you live with him." Weird how she asked that question like making a statement. But she doesn't hesitate to take the key. "I think I know my brother better than you."
Beat.
"Thanks." she says, voice a mixture of curt and genuinely appreciative.
no subject
It's that Drake-Wayne knee jerk reaction that makes him want to make more noise than she is, lay claim to a relationship that...
isn't his, maybe. But Malcolm's called him a brother and that's got to mean something.
(Gloucester is just his every insecurity thrown at his fucking face, and him failing to dodge any of them.)
"I probably won't be in today, so I'll let him know to keep an eye out. We have a third roommate. They're cool, though."
Tim's polite.
Distant.ish.
And not prone to name dropping, really.
--he shifts his weight.
"Any other questions?"
no subject
"I don't think so..." She has a mission to find her brother now, and that's what matters. "See you around... what's your name, again?" He never introduced himself at all, actually, despite asking her for her own name, a point she did not miss but did find curious.
no subject
Speaking of trying too hard, Tim wonders if he shouldn't let himself fall back to chatty. Get on her good side. Make it a good, clean, passable first impression.
With Malcolm, hitting below the belt is ever bringing up The Hand. Arroyo, maybe a dead wife.
For Ainsley?
"It's Tim," he says muted amusement bleeding through by sheer force of will. "You were really overwhelmed when I said so the first time. My bad."
Kid gloves?
He glances back to the elevators. Then ponders taking the stairs. Then offers a last, tired little smile and
"See you around."