redstringtheories

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TDM #9

➥ Arrival

Photo of a modern office building from the outside. There is a manicured lawn with several trees and bushes. To the left side of the photo, there is a waterbody with reeds around the fringes. There is a purple gradient filter over everything.
(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.)

➥ The Road We All Must Travel

Photo of someone in blue jeans and brown boots walking along a path in the Dogtown forest. The trees do not have foliage, the sky is blue, and there is one of the Babson boulders to the left that reads 'study.'
(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.

➥ Prisoners of Consciousness

Photo of a woman of Asian descent banging her hands against a frosted glass pain. The woman looks distressed.
(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.

➥ A Trick of the Dark

Black and white photo of a woman on a cobblestone street at night. She is backlit by a street lamp and appears in silhouette, her features completely obscured. She is holding something in her left hand.
(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.

➥ Mod Notes

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.
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Threaded | Flat

I. Arrival:

[It was a long shift. A long line of shifts, actually, and without looking at the window he's honestly not sure if it's daytime or nighttime. They've all sort of run together in one big blur, and you know what, maybe a couple days off is exactly what he needs, but first he's just going to rest his eyes and lean against the doorframe for a second, just a second--

--except he opens them again and stumbles forward, slipping against the doorframe and what he sees is most certainly not the emergency room.

Uh.

He very slowly pauses, looks behind him--an office sits empty and silent--and very slowly looks ahead of him--a more open office space, which also sits empty and quiet. He's so used to the loudness of the hospital that the silence is almost just as loud, almost painful.

...maybe he really needs those days off. Did he accidentally find his way into the offices upstairs? He's never seen this place before. He picks his way gingerly through the office, heading towards the hallway, sticking his head out into it and looking around, his eyes wide with confusion.]

...hello?

II. The Road We All Must Travel: cw: graphic description of heart attack, death

[There's a body lying against the fence.

There's a short moment of surprise registering across his face--and then he's running, practically skidding against the snow and wet leaves until he's at their side. It's so strange though--for a moment, there's a brief flicker of recognition, but it's not something--someone he can place, exactly. Someone from home, perhaps? He tries to place them--an Asian man, late 40's, wearing a suit that looks fairly expensive and maybe tailored...]

Excuse me--sir? Sir, can you hear me?

[They don't respond. He can't seen any overt signs of injury, but their eyes are closed and he leans in to see if he can hear any breath sounds, before reaching over to take their pulse--

--he probably shouldn't have been so close. Because suddenly they burst into ash, and it crumbles away. He would have yelled out of sheer shock and surprise, but his yell turns into a cry of anguish when something awful sears into his mind.

It hurt. It hurt so much, much more than he'd ever thought possible, a crushing, awful pressure on his chest and he stumbles, knowing he needs to get to a hospital, knowing he needs help--

--but there's no one there. He collapses, all alone, clawing for his phone but he can't think, did he lose his phone, did he drop it, why isn't anyone coming to help him, it hurts so badly...

...but minutes pass, and pass, and pass, and no one ever comes. He's so scared.

Luka clutches his head, still knelt down over where the body had been, panting, unable to comprehend what just happened.]

III. Prisoners of Consciousness: cw: claustrophobia

[He's trapped.

He'd only gone into the room for a second to grab some supplies, that's all he needed, but the door is shut and locked and bolted--he's not sure how, it didn't look like that before, but he's too far gone to make sense of it now.]

Somebody help!

[Luka slams his fists against the door, frantic. The supply room is closing in--literally closing in, the walls seem to be getting closer and closer every passing second, and he can't breathe--he undoes his tie, his collar, trying to get air--his accent is clipped, thick with his fear--]

I need help! There's something wrong with this room!

IV. A Trick of The Dark: cw: blood

[He's at the lamppost, trying to catch his breath, completely and utterly done with this world.

He's being chased by a ghost lady, because that's a thing that just happens.]

What do you want from me!?

[She circles at the edge of the light, watching, waiting. He knows that if he gets out of the light she's going to get him, but then suddenly...she's gone. He frowns, wondering if it was a trick, or maybe he should use the chance to get back to ADI as fast as possible. Should he wait by this lamp all night?

...at this point he's 100% certain something worse will happen if he stays out here all night.

...so at least thirty minutes past, and when he's sure he hasn't seen or heard from her, he starts bolting towards the road.

...that's when she strikes.

Something slashes against his face, against his chest, and he howls in pain, trying to shove her away, but it's too late.

And then she's gone. Blood drips down his face and chest but he doesn't tend to it. He probably should?

But instead he starts running, desperately, trying to get back to ADI, certain she was chasing him again. Except it's too bright now, and it shouldn't make any sense but it does. He has to save everyone from her, right? He has to make sure that she can't come back, so he has to get rid of the lights.

He takes a rock and starts throwing it at a nearby house's porch lights--the lights go out with a satisfying crash of glass.

Luka can be found wandering outside throwing rocks at lights, sometimes even to the point of climbing street lamps and trying to smash bulbs. It's fine. He's saving you, see?]

V. Wildcard - Anything goes!

Edited 2022-03-01 17:38 (UTC)

➥ ARRIVAL
The thing is Jaskier doesn’t immediately realize something is wrong. He’s only been in Kaer Morhen for a few days, and it’s a maze in only the way a space meant to house hundreds of people and containing not even a dozen can be. He’s also spent a not insignificant amount of that time either a) drunk, b) concussed, or c) both.

He’s on the tail end of both, so sure, maybe he took a wrong turn and ended up in an unlit underground part of the keep? It’s so black his eyes simply can’t adjust for it, and the leftover liquor in his blood can account for why it’s not as cold as it should be. There’s the sound of someone else breathing in this space very close by and a tickling sensation against his neck, but reaching out to find a wall hits resistance far too close to be a proper corridor. Then a few things happen rather all at once.

Jaskier’s hand brushes against a strange hard notch in the wall that moves with a soft click and floods what he can see an instant later is some kind of storage space in light so bright it could be daylight. Before he can even get out a curse at the blinding unexpected light, he also realizes that tickling against his neck?

Very. Large. Spider.

“FUCK!”

Sometimes a large vocabulary is unnecessary to get across the proper feeling of dislike. In short order the bard is rapidly flailing and smacking at the arachnid to try to get it off of him and the fact that there’s barely enough space in the dusty, cobwebby storage room for him let alone a second person is taking the back seat.

➥ THE ROAD WE ALL MUST TRAVEL
If he was going to be transported to some magical other Continent, Jaskier would have hoped he could have at least gotten summer. Instead he’s left to stomp through snow up to his ankles, trying not to slip on every patch of ice his boots catch on.

And talking. Incessantly. Hopefully whoever he got stuck with is another chatter box.

“I’m not against helping, that’s not what I’m saying, I’m happy to be a helper,” Jaskier explains as he moves the flashlight around a little too much to be terribly efficient with it. He’s not really using it to search the darkness of the park in the time where it’s either late night or early morning depending on who you ask. He’s mainly just entertained by the flameless torch and how moving it quickly does not put it out at all. “I just think whatever Destiny Machine that brought me here was a little mis-aimed, a whole keep full of witchers and witches and the child surprise with her own strange abilities and you get the bard? I’m amazing in my own right but I promise you compared to my companions back home this was not a wise choice anyone would have made.”

Not that he’s without skills in his own right. For example, there’s a certain familiarity with corpses and thus how to recognize them in an instant that simply isn’t a common skill here.

“-Oh, that’s a body. Body. Body!” Jaskier calls out, snapping his fingers for attention as the flashlight beam falls upon what at a first glance just looks like a slightly larger mound of snow a stone’s throw off the path. Longer staring gives away the things Jaskier has practice to notice in an instant. The particular dips and hollows in the mound that signify a vaguely human shape. Almost completely snowed over dips that could be covered drag marks from the path leading to it. The black spots against the white nearby that particular shade blood gets in moonlight.

i. arrival

[So what do you do when you fall asleep in one place and wake up in another?

One moment Carter is getting some shut-eye in Exam 4 after an exhausting double. The next, he comes to on the couch of some office corner, getting dirt all over the upholstery and drooling into the very leathery, very non-absorbant material and thus all over his face. What...?

He sits up with sleepy bewilderment, wipes at his face and turns. Left. Right. Stares. Squeezes his eyes shut. Man, that was too long a shift, maybe he should just lie back down... But when he opens them again, it's still the same place. The same wrong place.

So there's only one explanation, really.

Prank.

It wouldn't be the first time his co-workers pulled something crazy like this but it's been a while since they've played any on him. Ugh. Today of all days? He is not in the mood. He has an entire desk of chart backlogs, he's hungry, he's been yelled at by difficult patients for 12 hours straight...

He tilts his head back and groans in annoyance before pushing himself off, rubbing at his eyes. It's only then he notices the other person nearby and lowers his hands, staring.]

Who are you?

[It's accusatory, annoyed. Someone has to be responsible for this stunt and right now? He's convinced you're in on it.]

ii. the road we all must travel cw: stab wounds, blood, ptsd

[He should have been more cautious. He likes to think that he is. Cautious. Prudent. Trying to adjust to a mad world that needs his help which is frightening and flattering. But mostly frightening. Granted, Carter hasn't been here long but long enough to get a feel for this place. And the feel is that everything is horrible and dangerous and out to get you.

Then again, there's really nothing else he could have done, is there? It's automatic. When they come across the slumped figure he doesn't really wait, doesn't really confer with his companion. It's immediate, innate routine, him rushing over and reaching out to search for a pulse, to check if there is still something he can do for them.

The moment he does, however, he freezes, images and sensations flooding him as the body crumbles away.

There are so many what ifs in his head. What if he had stayed longer to finish that e-mail? What if he had called in sick this morning like his wife told him to? What if he had taken the long way around to stop by at the supermarket? He's shaking so badly, he's so afraid he feels like he's going to throw up, but he manages to fish out the wallet and hand it over to the mugger. It's a relief when his attacker takes and pockets it. Take it. Take it all. It doesn't matter. He doesn't want any trouble.

But then the man comes at him and he only has a second to see the gleaming knife in the streetlight before it plunges into his stomach. And then his chest. In his shock he's frozen and he wonders, what did he do that for? It's so senseless? He has his wallet, he has his money-- and then the knife plunges into him again and the pain screams through the adrenaline in exploding patterns of neon and he screams--

-- and Carter screams, too, though it comes out more as a stifled gasp. He knows this, knows this so well, and he can't, can't, can't--

His back hurts. Music pounds in his head.

His companion is close, too close, they're right behind him and Carter whirls around, seeing them, not seeing them, swinging at them with the force of full-on panic.]

Get away from me!!

iii. prisoner of consciousness cw: claustrophobia, breathing difficulties, imprisonment

[When the room closes in on him, he tries to rationalize it.

He's tired. Overworked. Hallucinating. He's so sleep deprived it's easy to find excuses. Those ominous jailers out there? They're just his own guilt and trauma, manifesting after the incident on the assignment the other day that brought back memories of his own stabbing. But the walls keep coming and it's hard to breathe and no matter how much he squeezes his eyes shut and wills it away, it doesn't go away.

It's not real. It's not real. It can't be.

But he can only hold out so long and eventually the panic wins. He's not a very physical man but he grabs a floor lamp and crashes it against the door with wide, clumsy swings.]

iv. a trick of the dark

[So apparently everyone's gone mad. That's great, really. After the days he's had, he's almost tempted to join them.

Carter is trying to make his way over to the ADI headquarters before curfew but it's challenging tonight with more and more people on the rampage. He just managed to avoid two absolutely crazed men with giant bolt cutters in search for any cable they can get their hands on and Carter really doesn't want to find out what else they might cut with that.

Unfortunately, there seems to be someone else out here heading straight in their direction and Carter rushes over to hold them back.]

Nooo, no, no! Don't go that way. We gotta go, gotta go now anywhere but that way.

v. wildcard

[come at me!]

1. Arrival

[He might have miscalculated.

Maybe a little.

One moment he's swinging through the air, the next Peter is crashing into the vents. He could have slowed his descent through the maintenance ducts a little if he reacted quickly enough, but the teenager is too thrown off by not being in the air. The cacophony of human body colliding with metal is more than a little alarming to anyone walking by.

Followed by a groan as he realizes that actually really hurt. Sure a rough landing makes him twinge, but he usually doesn't actively hurt like this from it.]

Okay... This sucks. What... is going on?

[Peter pushes himself up onto his elbows, just patting at the metal awkwardly. Likely spooking anyone below him in the process.]

3. Prisoners of Consciousness

[Peter doesn't even really remember how he got in the room or why he was coming in here. He stepped over the threshold and suddenly he was just trapped in a small dark space, a green mist rolling under foot. Unlike last time everything is closing in around him.

He can hear Beck laughing in the background. The teenager is tense, his expression sharp and angry. He's trying to keep his breathing steady. He clings to being angry to avoid the fear rolling down his back. He can't let Quentin Beck know he's afraid. He won't give the man the satisfaction.]

You can't trick me anymore, Beck! I know you! I know all your dumb tricks!

[The next poor person to walks into the room is going to have to duck a punch from Peter. Because the seventeen year old is panicking. He doesn't go near the door, too scared to logic his way in that direction. He stays firmly in the middle of the room, thinking he's trapped in a small shrinking corner.]

Edited 2022-03-01 20:41 (UTC)

I. Arrival

A classy looking lobby was not what Senku was expecting, for many reasons and he stepped backwards awkwardly.

All of those gathered couldn’t help but stare, after all, it was not every day that an actual astronaut in a space suit showed up. “What…” The insignia on the suit itself was not familiar. The back of his pack said SENKU11, and the front of his suit had the rest of his name ‘S. Ishigami', once the helmet was removed. He was not a member of NASA, or JAXA for that matter. He was from somewhere else entirely.

Someone approached and spoke, it was muffled but from the way they were gesturing, they wanted him to remove his helmet, so he did. There were humans around, obviously he was not standing on the moon at the moment.

“Sir, if you would come right this way.”

Senku looked somewhat bewildered in general, but he was able to respond in English, already being fluent was apparently a bonus. His accent was fairly thick, but the words are correct. “Where am I?”

II. The Road We All Must Travel

Outside of his space suit, Senku looked a lot more like an ordinary thirty year old, his hair still stuck up easily from cowlicks and at his age? He could not care less.

They would be investigating some sort of paranormal situation. On a trail, in the middle of the woods. He’d seen movies in his youth that began like that.

He stretched his arms above his head. In his polo shirt and cargo pants, as well as hiking boots, he looked ready for a long walk.

“How long do you think this trail is?” He asked the person who joined him for the investigation.

III. Prisoners of Consciousness

Claustrophobia wasn’t something that bothered Senku, so he wasn’t likely to be caught up in the illusion. He had other fears that could be explored some other time.

However, focusing on his work it was interrupted by the words of a colleague.

He blinked a few times and glanced over. “What is it?”

He was new, he really had no idea.

IV. A Trick In The Dark

Senku did not see the lady at first. No, instead his instincts were screaming at him. Something was wrong. He was just walking back towards his ADI provided apartment. He could feel that gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He turned, standing under a street light to look. Nothing.

His breathing hitched slightly. There was still no one there, right? “Is anyone there?”

Wait. Did a shadow just move?

V. Wildcard

[Choose your own adventure!]

[ There are or will probably be mentions of cults / psychological abuse / mind control and body horror in Robin's introspection. CW for the prompts: cults, gore. ]

► Arrival

[ It's difficult to explain what fear feels like — the kind that Robin grew up with is not how others describe it, so integral to her formative years that it rests deep in her skin. Even after being saved from the The Family, the world outside, so vast, so directionless, didn't scare her. Left to fend for herself, Robin simply found safety in her freedom.

So when she blinks, wakes up and sees a place she does not recognize, eyes darting around the bathroom's cold walls, Robin does not take it well. She immediately gets on her feet, deep breaths escalating until she finds someone — anyone. It only takes a few seconds to see their reflection in the mirror. ]

You — where am I? Who are you?

[ Fragility in her expression, hostility in her tone, even she can't tell if she's terrified or angry. All she can think of is reaching out to grab the other newcomer's arms, either to keep them in place or to make sure they're looking at her. ]

► The Road We All Must Travel

[ She stands still when she finds it, waiting for her fellow traveler to catch up: a body flat on its back, head turned to her, eyes and tongue missing, stomach ripped open to feed the wildlife. The mouth is shaped like their death was a shock, frozen in the last moments of disbelief.

There's no sadness or pleasure in her eyes when she turns away — the body seems out of place, yes, but as with all other things, she imagines that there must have been a purpose, natural or otherwise.

Her sigh is soft. There's no point in fabricating empathy out here, so she lets herself feel empty instead. Robin won't stop her companion from approaching it if they want. Peacefully: ]

Do you think we should call the number first?

01. ARRIVAL.

[ She doesn't have time to react. When she's grabbed she goes in for a big elbow to the face but it's no use; she doesn't suspect this place she's woken up at has anything to do with her fatigue, however. Jill had been hit by the brunt of a rocket launcher blast only moments ago and her ears still ring to silence, blurred into a half-memory of slamming into a cargo freight, back and arms first. She hadn't blinked so much as let her eyes flutter closed and stay that way, heavy with the exhaustion of fighting against insurmountable odds.

A pessimist at heart, she doesn't believe that she's been saved by her people at the BSAA quite yet. The smells are too familiar, to astringent, dragging her back through the past few years without control of her own body and it has her continue to struggle back against her potential captors. Her vision flickers in and out before she finds herself upright and escorted to the basement levels. Her eyes dart, looking for any route of escape amid inner panic, but eventually she simple settles on looking at her companion as they're ushered into a room. ]

Are you alright? [ Her voice low, but not a whisper. Their escort can easily hear her. She's always at her best when she's taking care of others and it's a fair way to get the focus off her own worries. ] Do you know where we are?

[ Somehow, she's guessing they don't, but it seems answers are on the way. ]

02. NETWORK POST; TEXT, 2AM.

What's a skeleton's favorite musical instrument? :)

03. THE ROAD WE ALL MUST TRAVEL.

[ "Paranormal" is new to her, but documenting strange things and investigating what might very well be a crime scene is something that Jill is familiar with. It's in her bones, seeping into flesh and sinew. It's part of her life's work and it brings her to a familiar territory that stresses her out far less than it might have earlier. It's something she can use to distract herself from being here, from her other goals where she's come from and the eeriness of this place -- eerie isn't exactly something she's inexperienced with, after all.

Jill awaits her partner for the mission with slight, invisible impatience that rocks her on the inside. Thus far they aren't late, but she hates being the only one that's early. She's prepared enough for something solid and physical and real with the massive combat knife strapped at her calf and the gun holstered at her hip, but she makes no indication of readying either at the moment. They're precautionary measures, although for what she isn't quite sure. All she knows is they're the closest thing to feeling like home right now.

She taps her boot a touch, letting the impatience boil over to the exterior. ]

WILD CARD OPTION + OOC INFO.

[ Feel free to PM me or hit up my HMD to contact me! Jill is from the end of Desperate Escape and I'm open to a lot of things, whether action or SOL, so feel free to ask for an individualized starter or drop one of your own. Contact me for Discord or Plurk! ]

A - Paperwork (Arrival)

Tch… y’know, I was thinkin’ I was done with all this dimension nonsense. Except now instead of falling into one o’ those sparkly portal things, turns out you can just wake up one day, somewhere else?

[Slouched in a seemingly casual manner again the desk is nothing less than 300 pounds of furred and plated bulk, dressed in nothing more than a vest and tattered pants. The mutant twitched the tip of his giant crocodile tail irritably.]

Right, could I have your name… uh… sir?

[He sniffed loudly, the noise sounding remarkably pig-like. Or maybe that was just because he had to clear his sinuses at that moment.] Dingodile.

Of course. And this is the name you’re registering for your ID?

What are you tryin’ to say, mate? [Dingodile, as he called himself, showed zero hesitation about leering down at the worker.] That I should come up with somethin’ you wouldn’t bat an eye at? Pretend to be human so you can pretend I’m not what I am? Look at me! I ain’t no bloody human…!!!

[Not within ADI grounds, he sure doesn’t look it. Buuuuut….]

B - Sideshow (Prisoners of Consciousness)
[CW: Animal Experimentation/Abuse, Possible allusions to Discrimination]

[Dingodile can’t quite remember what he was prowling about the building for. Maybe it was to get a better sense of what the place was, maybe just for some grub before he went to check out the housing options.

But the sight of the extra reinforced door made him stop in his tracks. At first, he dimly thought it might just be one of those doors leading into a super secret area and the mutant turned about to go back the way he came- instead bumping into a (non-existent) wall that definitely wasn't there before.]

What the hell is this…? [Except he knows (thinks he knows) already. It's obvious. The hybrid laid his ears back and scrambled about the shrinking space and quickly turned his attention back towards the door- banging at it with his fists with a growl.]

Let me out! Call me a freak to my face, why don't ya?!

[Even on a perfectly normal door, it should have been easy for a mutant created for the purpose of taking over the world to smash through a thick yet simple piece of wood. But at the moment he wasn't. Not to mention his senses didn't stop feeling like he was stuck underwater.

But even with these pathetic "human" senses, the jeering that only he could hear burned in his canine ears. Anyone else would see a maddened creature snarling and growling with rage, however.]

… Bastards!!! You think I can't kick yer asses like this?

[With only further slews of colorful curses spit in a thick stereotypical Australian accent to betray his sapience.]

C - Wildcard!

[Got something else in mind? Come at me!]

OOC

Note

HMU on Ainsley's HMD / @ loyalwolf[#3540] on plurk[/discord] for something specific!

I. arrival

OTA

Ainsley wakes up in an unfamiliar office and is immediately guarded. She doesn't know how she got here, and it wouldn't be the first time in her life she's blacked out and been unable to remember what happened. She takes a second to get her bearings, check for any injuries she didn't remember having before, and inventories what she has on her person: not much, mostly just the clothes she was wearing and her phone. But it's something.

Ever the curious sort, Ainsley immediately starts rummaging through the desk inside the office, trying to get some sense of where the hell she is. She sees the letters "ADI" over and over again on the scattered paperwork on the desk, but it means nothing to her. The computer is password protected and the books on the shelves seem more to someone's personal taste than anything she could use.

Deciding there's nothing useful to be found here, she creeps over to the door and slowly opens it, peeking into the hallway which is... a perfectly normal office hallway, mostly empty, but there's a couple of people moving about, and she hesitates. Is she even supposed to be here? Is she supposed to be able to leave the office? In a moment of Whitly-shaped recklessness, Ainsley decides she doesn't care what her presumed kidnappers want, and she walks out of the door with purpose, chin lifted, and she absolutely looks like she belongs here.

She manages to discern from the list of offices on the wall what floor she's on, and finds the first elevator she can so she can get to the lobby. Maybe you're in the elevator, getting ready to exit onto this floor, maybe you run into her in the lobby and recognize that distinctly paranoid newbie look about her.

ii. A Trick of the Dark

OTA

Crazy shadow lady running around in the dark? Better believe Ainsley is going to try to find her. There's something more to that story and she's going to find out what it is herself. Ainsley Whitly: Action Reporter, at your service, folks.

She was out before it got dark, but she wasn't totally reckless, she found a flashlight in addition to the one on her phone, which she'll also be using to record any contact she manages to get.

That sense of being watched trickles up her spine and she holds her breath. She feels like she just stepped into a horror movie, and feels stupid for not at least telling Malcolm what she was planning, after the fact so he couldn't stop her before she had a chance to at least try.

OOC

Note

HMU on Toby's HMD / @ loyalwolf[#3540] on plurk[/discord] for something specific!

I. arrival

CLOSED to springgirl

Toby was in the airport in Boston, waiting in line to board his plane back to California. The weekend had been amazing, just what he needed to recharge. Samhain was always a good time, but there was something particularly special about celebrating it in the heart of Salem.

One minute, he was passing from the attached hallway into the plane, the next he was in a pristine, grey-blue-eggshell lobby of someplace he didn't recognize. "What the fuck?" he whispers, staring blankly around the room, trying to figure out what just happened.

He's barely got time to take it all in before he spots a very familiar face not far from him. "Cora?" He calls out to her, eyes wide as he moves to approach her, it's then that he notices the blood on her arms and panic rises into his voice, "Cora, what happened? Are yo–" he's cut off by two people in medical garb sweeping into the space between them and whisking her away with mutterings of, '...get you cleaned up...'. "Wha- Wait! Where are you taking her?"

They don't wait.
Toby darts into a sprint to keep up with them and, though he manages to keep up through the twists and turns in the hallways, they won't let him in, 'until we've done a preliminary check, but you're welcome to wait outside'.

He slumps against the wall outside the room they'd taken her into and hugs his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on top of them while he waits for these strangers to release his best friend.

ii. Prisoners of Consciousness

OTA

Toby barely understands what the hell he's been dragged into, even after the explanations from the people at the ADI. He's arbitrarily signed up for work in The Canteen because he needs to make money somehow, he doesn't particularly have any marketable skills otherwise because he's keeping his magic under wraps and to himself, and he doesn't want anything to do with the boots-to-ground jobs they offered.

Feeding people? Easy. You don't grow up the middle child of eight in a dinner together every Sunday sort of family and not know your way around a kitchen. ADI provides enough basic ingredients he can work with to give people something a little better than a hotpocket from the microwave.

Today, it's a simple baked ranch chicken and mashed potatoes. Nothing fancy, but it's laid out on one of the countertops for people to serve themselves. If he sees someone seeming to hover in debate of whether to try it or not he says, "I swear it's good, it's my mom's recipe." A beat passes and he adds, "But if it's not good, it's just because I don't have that touch all mom's seem to have that makes everything taste better." He chuckles lightly.

I. Arrival

In the library, between the stacks, there's a thud followed by a muffled grunt, as though someone has abruptly and unexpectedly fallen from a height of a couple feet - far enough to knock the wind out of them, but not quite far enough to do any significant damage unless they landed very poorly. Silence reigns for a moment, and then...rustling.

Should anyone come investigate the sounds, they will come upon a short, largely humanoid man dressed in the loose and many-pocketed clothing of a veteran traveler, crystal-tipped staff slung over one shoulder, feline tail that matches his red hair in colour lashing unhappily behind him. He picks up a book, rifles briefly through it, picks up another - then pauses. One catlike ear swivels towards his unanticipated company, and he turns, slit pupils widening slightly.

The expression isn't hostile, exactly - anyone not too unnerved by the inhuman characteristics and bloody crimson eyes might read wary puzzlement, and when he speaks, that's matched by his tone.

Unfortunately, he isn't speaking anything approaching English. Fortunately, the tone and body language for "where am I?" transcends the language barrier. It might take some pantomime to get the point across, but it's probably possible to convince him to come along quietly.

II. The Road We All Must Travel

Outside of the confines of the ADI facilities, G'raha Tia looks entirely human. He still stands out - at 5'2", he's decidedly short for an adult man, and his colouring remains dramatic - but with his feline attributes hidden and his bloody crimson eyes muted to warm brown (and wasn't that strange to see the first time he glanced in a mirror outside of headquarters?), he's merely visually interesting, not obviously alien.

He strides along the path, clearly at ease both in the snowy woods and with the idea of supernatural happenings, and while he doesn't talk non-stop, he's been an amiable enough companion, happy to trade anecdotes or observations about the forest.

That stops as he rounds the bend and sees someone slumped against a tree, slack-limbed, head bowed. There's something naggingly familiar about the form, he notes as he breaks into a run, and it's enough to set his teeth on edge.

Care to stop him before he does anything regrettable?

III. A Trick of the Dark

He makes it into the circle of light cast by the streetlamp, weak and watery, but so much brighter than the cloying dark beneath the bridge where the shadow-woman was lurking, and he isn't entirely certain whether it's just the wind that catches his scarf at the end, or if it's a set of talons that just barely miss rending flesh. He stoops to snatch up a crumpled can discarded by some daylight wanderer, and wheels back towards the bridge, towards the edge of the light, where a deeper slice of darkness paces like stalking beast, eyes burning.

He's always had good aim, and the piece of debris flies true. He isn't certain if it passes through the shadow creature, or simply disappears into her, as though flung into an abyss. Either way, it gives him the answer he needs, if not at all the one he wants: this isn't something he can fight with brute force. If he had his magic, this might be a trivial thing, but the cost of that...

The near-daily internal argument is interrupted by the scrape of a footfall, and his head whips around, ears pricking beneath the veil of ADI's illusion. Perhaps he recognizes the person approaching, if distantly, perhaps they're a complete stranger. Regardless, he calls out, his voice sharp with warning, "Stay in the light!"

[blanket cw: just a lot of swearing]

> 1. Arrival

The last thing Quentin remembers is the kid crashing through the floor of the walkway, lifting him up like a sack of potatoes. Cracking the helmet-interface like the reinforced glass was nothing. He can remember himself mentioning contingencies, EDITH, and then-

He can still feel a certain ringing in his ears as he drops with his eyes closed, stomach plummeting even further when his feet meet nothing. Right as he’s about to speak for a comm check the air is knocked out of him as he slams into something unexpectedly, thwacks his head on something big. The broken helmet does little to cushion the blow, as does his backpack on a harder surface as well.

Brushed metal on either side, the glimpse of something white and shiny out of the corner of his eye- porcelain? Oh, come the fuck on-

He kicks a bit weakly upwards, still mildly dazed, and the door in front of him doesn’t swing open with it. Fuck.

“This is one of the nicer bathrooms I’ve fucked up my back in,” Quentin says underneath his breath, wide-eyed and feeling surprisingly out of his depth as he presses his gloved hand to the dark tile. The attached interface is dark with no network to connect to. “What the fuck.”

Then, much louder, the man in the mocap suit repeats himself. “What the FUCK-”

Given enough time, Quentin will work himself up into a full-fledged tantrum. No mirrors will be safe from his wrath.

> 2. The Road We Must All Travel

Quentin tugs his tan jacket a bit tighter around himself as he walks down a dirt path off of the trailhead, running his tongue over his teeth absently. Wishes his borrowed clothing was far more insulated as he kicks some slush out of the way, still wearing the boots he’d come to this world in. They weren’t made for snow, but the traction was good. Better than wearing a pair of boots that didn’t fit at all.

“Are you done yet?” He asks his partner a bit pointedly, raising a single brow as he casts a glance at them over his shoulder. “If you can’t keep up, I’m more than happy to ask for somebody else to be partnered with me.” His verbal needling is far more overt than usual, spurred on by his own physical discomfort. Even the slant of his ‘kindly’ grin is more like something sharp to be jabbed between the ribs. “ Between you and me, I wanna waste my day doing this just as bad as you do, pal.”

If his partner doesn’t succeed in fucking this outing up, maybe Quentin will be nice and spring for coffee afterwards. Something to help warm them up, and hopefully help plaster over their recollection of any harshness on his part. He’s just testy because of the weather, not because he wants to verbally rip somebody to shreds to have control over something from the last few days. Absolutely not at all.

> 3. Prisoners of Consciousness [cw: anxiety, paranoia of being watched, claustrophobia]

Quentin breathes shallowly through his nose, trying to maintain a tight grip on the panic slowly threatening to choke him. His eyes dart from the windows to the door, to the upper corners of the room where he swears he can see the glint of cameras, like he’s being watched-

(Watched, weighed, measured, and always found goddamn wanting because he’s too sharp, too angry, too fucking much for them and their small little ideas-)

The space between his shoulders itches uncomfortably. He grinds his teeth, and wishes he could pop the sickening swell of relief in his chest, swallow the poisonous rage bubbling up into his throat.

Relief for finally being recognized for what he really is and locked up for it, a half-feral thing with sharp teeth and sharper claws who can’t be re-domesticated. Rage because they think they can cage him? Quentin Beck, the man who’d had SHIELD eating out of the palm of his hand? Held the keys to Stark’s kingdom after robbing them from the heir apparent, even if EDITH was no better than metal and glass in this fucking town-

“I’m not afraid of you!” he snaps, teeth bared as his expression turns vicious, eyes flat and cold even as he’s unable to focus them properly on anything actually in the room. His body language is that of a cornered beast, hackles raised. Ready to lash out and bite, rend and tear until there’s nothing but bone left behind. “You can’t pin shit on me, I’d like to see you try-”

The line of tension in his shoulders will snap the first time someone tries to challenge the illusion’s grasp on him, be it by speaking or touch. If they touch, that means they’ll be close enough for him to swing at. If they speak-

Well.

His hands bunch up at his sides as his eyes continue to dart around the room. Quentin doesn’t like getting messy, usually prefers the emotional distance afforded to him by using a bullet, but he’d be more than happy to try and shut someone up with his bare hands right now. Anything to distract himself as his skin itches with the room closing in on him, the darkness full of glinting electric eyes and the heavy weight of being truly seen resting on his shoulders.

cw for all threads: murder, violence, blood, PTSD, trauma, please see CW and Opt-Out for more info cause Villanelle is a Lot
I. Arrival:

[Huh.

She had walked into her apartment only to walk into a janitor's supply room.

That doesn't usually happen. She pauses, turns around, and walks right into the opposite wall, knocking over several mops.

Okay, so that doesn't work twice. She opens the door, expecting to see her apartment again, somehow, but...it's not. It's an office building.

...how odd. Well, she doesn't have a head injury or any injury, in fact, so it's not some kind of fever dream. Still, it could be some kind of trick--how someone managed to do this, she has no idea--technology was crazy nowadays anyway, so who really knows--so she grabs one of the mops, breaks it in half, and takes the pointiest piece for a weapon.

She carefully exits the door, scarcely making any noise as she moves along the outer edge of the office wall.

Probably a bad thing that she got surprised by the nearest person rounding the corner.]

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

[She's going to try stabbing them as much as she can if she gets close. Sorry about that?]

II. The Road We All Must Travel

[She's used to dead bodies. So it's really easy to identify the person as a dead body even from far away. She laughs, pointing in its general direction.]

Look, they must have been so surprised!

[She strolls up to it, but her pace slows when she realizes that she might actually know them from somewhere. She can't quite place it, though. Well, she's killed enough people that she really can't remember every single one...even though she does, it's not completely out of the question that she might have forgotten one or two. But still, why would they be here? If it was one of hers, they should be long-decomposed by now, since she hasn't exactly been doing that many jobs lately, nor wanted to...]

Something is strange about this.

[It's a perfectly non-descript white man in his 50s, completely exchangable with any businessman one might see on any day. Weirdly enough he kind of reminds her of Konstantin a little--

The moment she touches him there's a blast of memories, and she cries out in surprise and anger--

He was so afraid, so alone, and he never really thought about how lonely dying would be.

He's just so alone.

There's a trail of blood from the gunshot wound in his back. He thinks he deserves it though. There's so many people that could have done it, so many people he's wronged.

It's why he's alone.

It's good that he's alone.

And then he simply turns to ash.]

III. A Trick of The Dark:

[She's hacking into the side of a wooden house with an axe.

It's almost quiet, how studiously she's working, how quickly and how intently she seems on getting into the wall. When bits of wood start to break apart, she reaches in with her hands and yanks them out--she's fairly strong, so it doesn't take much, but it's still weirdly methodological, as if she's actively looking for something.

And then she's back at it again with the axe, chopping away.

It's probably fine. She's probably up for a conversation or two.]

VI. Wildcard - Anything goes!

Edited 2022-03-13 20:02 (UTC)

// arrival

( usually it's other things coming through the rift, not quill getting sucked through it herself. she's in her classroom one minute and then an incredibly small, dark space the next )

What the-

( even moving ever so slightly has quill knocking something over. she's close enough that putting her hands out feels the solid wall, moving along until she feels the door handle. turning it finds that it's locked, or at least won't open for her.

which might be why anyone walking down the hall hears some banging. some loud banging. she's hitting that door and hitting it hard )

// the road we all must travel

( this was stupid, or at least that was quill's belief. if people had been dumb enough to be caught up in something and killed than more fool them. this wasn't even her earth, she hadn't been forced to protect it whilst trying to just live a quiet life.

except she kind of had and she was grumpy about it, something that was almost murderous itself if you looked at her. sorry to the person stuck with her.

she had her phone at least, had eyes to find something weird. and she really did find something strange, a body upside down, leaned against a tree )

This is what we were dragged out for?

( touch it, she won't. then you'll find the weird )

Arrival
Common, luckily, is a whole lot like English, to the point where Jester could understand most of what she could hear people saying from under her in the vent she appeared in. Mostly just vague day to day conversations about 'catching the game last night' or filing reports. It's context she's missing. Basically all of the context really, since one moment she was on her way to Nicodranas to start an exciting new life as a pirate with her hunky half-orc boyfriend and the next she was crawling through what felt like one of the weird metal tubes in Aeor, though thankfully far less cold.

She moves for a little while on her hands and knees, stopping to peek through grates and see who she can see. A lot of humans mostly, all in weird clothes, but it doesn't take long for her to find someone who looks a little out of place like herself, even if they're in weird clothes too. Deciding to finally face her predicament head on, Jester pops the grate out of the air duct she's been crawling in and pokes her head out and down into the room upside down.

"Hi! I'm Jester!"

Have fun with an inverted blue girl with curled horns sprouting from the sides of her head suddenly greeting you from the ceiling, friend.

The Road We All Must Travel
It was hard enough figuring out how much gold was really worth once she'd gone out in the world back home. Now she has to figure out how much this place's paper money is worth too. It seems like its worth a lot less. Maybe like... silver? But there's three kinds of silver coins too, and the smaller one is worth more than the bigger one but the biggest one is worth more than both but the paper is worth...

Whatever. A hundred of anything has to be enough to get some cupcakes.

"So what exactly are we supposed to do with what we find? Just document it, right? I can do drawings, I'm really good at drawing." Of course she has her phone too but it's still not the first thing that comes to mind. Besides, she'll want to document all of this in her sketchbook anyway. She's already made drawings of the weird straight buildings and cars and a stray cat that was very fluffy and didn't look anything like Frumpkin but made her think of Frumpkin and Caleb and everyone all the same...

Her feeling of displacement is highlighted by how no one's really looked at her twice out on the street, leaving her to render her drawings of everything strange she sees but also failing to fulfil her nigh-desperate need for attention. The glamour is working though; she has the appearance of a human girl in her early twenties, completely devoid of horns and tail, freckles dotting her slightly plump cheeks. At least she's gotten to keep her hair, though they insisted on making the roots darker as if it had been dyed, and there's faint circles around her irises to simulate something called 'contacts' because apparently humans can't have violet eyes. Sounds fake, but okay. She finds it strange that everyone is human, but she supposes there's lots of worlds out there with arbitrary stupid differences. She'll try not to hold it against this George fellow. He seems like a normal kind of person.

"And what do you think we'll find anyway? Something spooky obviously, but spooky like a ghost or like a zombie or-" She gasps suddenly, alarmed. "Or a dead body?!"

There is absolutely a pair of legs sticking out of a pile of rocks and leaves, unmoving and missing one shoe.

Prisoners of Consciousness
Jester has no idea what's gone on in this building, but the chaos of reconstruction is like catnip to a prankster. Nothing harmful, or at least not intentionally so. A lewd scribble on some drywall here, a missing paintbrush or hammer only to be found in some worker's lunchbox there. She's not looking to get into real trouble after she's only just arrived. Well, that is until some jerk of a construction worker called her demon-spawn. She hadn't even done anything to him in particular! Just finished repainting the room he'd been working on with much more attractive colors than the drab plain beige he'd been using. It really does look so much better, and the ocean scene she'd painted with a very phallic looking kraken in the middle was a vast improvement! Yelling slurs and throwing things is highly uncalled for. In the face of that, she's willing to risk getting into maybe a little bit of trouble if it means she can get back at this jerk.

So she lays in wait, a pilfered paint sprayer in one hand as she crouches in the sliver of light from the ajar door of a half-completed office.

Or at least, she does until the door snaps shut on her own, startling her into dropping the sprayer.

Must be a draft.

She reaches up to open the door slightly and finds it locked. Bolted, even. Barred with a huge beam across the front of it and heavy iron locks in the metal rings holding it there.

"What...?" But it was just-

She whirls around, looking to the windows along the opposite wall, but they're now crossed with the same glass of the Chateau, locked and bolted. No, not the Chateau's windows, bars. Bars in a diamond grid all along their surface and as she hauls herself up to rush to them, they seem to shrink. The perspective shifts. And when she does reach them, none of them are wider than the spade at the end of her tail.

"Help!" she yells in real panic, running back to the door to pull at it uselessly. "Let me out!!"

Wildcard
[ Come at me, bro! I'm relatively new to playing Jester but I'm v. excited to have threads! Jester's disguise as given to her by the ADI is basically the same as her tiefling appearance physically only human, with freckles and skin on the darker side. She retains her blue hair, though it looks as if she's dyed it, and she appears to be wearing violet contacts. ]

Threaded | Flat

Luka Kovač | ER

Jaskier / The Witcher (Netflix)

John Carter | ER

Peter Parker | MCU | Far From Home