TDM #11

[apocalypsehowmods]

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➥ Arrival

(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.)

➥ Rivertouched

(cw: supernaturally affected mood changes, supernatural compulsion, hallucination, potential for suicidal ideations and drowning)

Weird things happen in Dogtown, everyone knows it. And the weird things have been getting worse. The Apocalypse Disruption Initiative (ADI) is not above taking advantage of that to test out the waters for its newest arrivals, but they're far more conscientious about it than early days. They're not looking to send anyone to their death, especially not with recent events that have transpired surrounding Dogtown and in Gloucester proper. An employee gives you a GPS device where you need only press a button to alert ADI there is severe danger and someone needs to come help you right away, 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.

This month, late April rain showers have swollen the streams in Dogtown, leading to slightly more treacherous conditions, particularly at low trail-crossings. Anyone who needs them has been issued some waterproof boots for their walk to help with that. Some pairs who go wandering may find themselves getting split up unexpectedly, though. A fork in a path leads off and each person may find themselves drawn to a different trail.

One path continues on as normal. The other is a bit more overgrown, wild with flowers spilling over the sides of the dirt path. It is quieter here, a little darker as the trees begin to close in overhead. The sound of birds begins to fade, even the swaying of grasses. Soon, it might be only the sound of your own breath and footsteps that carry you down the path. But there's nothing that appears to be dangerous, just strange. And then you come to the river.

There are no rivers in Dogtown. There are a few small creeks that run into Strangman Pond or the Babson Reservoir, but nothing like this. It is a wide, slow-moving thing with dark water. Anyone touching it will find that the water is actually warm, more like a pleasant bath than the freezing spring it should be. There's also an urge to step into the water, to lie down in it and just… float away. You're so tired and aching and this is a place of peace and quiet, no one around to bother you. You could stay and float along the river forever.

Or you could if it weren't for your companion finding you. Those who took the other path and return to try to find their wayward partner will not find a place of peace and quiet. They will, instead, find their companion near a mudpit. Potentially, said companion will be lowering themselves into it, turning over to be facedown, as the mud slowly embraces them.

➥ Well Read

(cw: gaslighting, supernatural compulsion)

Spring is in the air, and with the success of the recent flower festival, Gloucester's library system has decided to host a book fair to get people interested in reading. They've acquired a large number of new books with a particular bend toward the paranormal and local legends. This might have something to do with a recent, large donation from a mysterious local benefactor who wishes to remain nameless, but who can really say? Books!

Flyers advertising the fair go up around town and seem, somehow, especially enticing, even to people who might not be regular readers. Those to come will be offered the chance to sign up for a free library card that can be used at either of the two libraries in Gloucester and in the wider Cape Ann library network, which encompasses a further seven libraries. Strangely, members of ADI who try to sign up for a card will find that they are already in the library system. In fact, they've already checked out and returned several books. Don't they remember? They've been coming here for months now!

Reviewing their own lists, people will find that their checked out books seem to be filled with titles that they probably would have checked out, if given the opportunity. There's something more, though. Comparing lists with others, every single member of ADI from another world will find that they appear to have checked out Philip Dick's Eye in the Sky novel. That novel cannot be found in any library in the Gloucester or Cape Ann system, though. There's no record of its acquisition, nor is there a record of where it might have gone to. Anyone asking very confused librarians will be assured that they'll try to get it in again. It seems to be something of a rarity, though, and the system will have a bit of trouble acquiring a copy. They promise to have it within a month. Two at the very most! If you like existential sci-fi horror, though, can they interest you in these other titles?

The fair itself will feature a wide variety of books to suit any genre. There are also prizes on offer for anyone who wants to test their reading knowledge. Laptops have been set up in one area with quizzes to test your knowledge of a particular book. The questions begin in a benign and sensible way and stay that way for some. For others… the questions start getting to be more about opinion, then more about you. The questions are phrased as hypotheticals, but there's no way this thing could know to pose that specific hypothetical to you. It can't possibly know about that horrible thing you did or said. Why is it asking? Why can't you not answer? Why can't you leave? Those faced with these questions will be forced to answer them with error messages popping up if they try to lie. The only way to escape is to get through the full quiz or to have someone else rescue you. Of course, this might entail them reading over your shoulder and seeing just what sort of things you've done.

➥ Training Wheels Off

(cw: hallucinations, nyctophobia, claustrophobia, severe injuries to fingernails, severe burns, dead bodies, superstition)

The word comes down from Nia Lehrer, Warden of ADI, that they have a strong lead on a ritual attempt at this point. Between the information collected by native ADI agents and the visitors from other worlds, they know there's going to be an attempt involving the Dark avatar, Katie Dunn, and the Buried avatar Deepthi Anand. There's also something strange going on with FYRE, a mining company headquartered and operating in Appalachia. All hands are needed on the ground given the amount of area they need to cover and the potentially short timeframe to stop something from happening. ADI requests volunteers from the off-world visitors, including new arrivals, offering a substantial bonus for their involvement, and promising not everyone is going to be engaged in some pitched battle. An army marches on its stomach, after all, and moving, housing, and caring for so many people a state away is a major logistics undertaking, not to mention the need for PR experts who can help deal with the locals while ADI sorts out what needs doing.

A train is chartered, heading everyone toward Wolf Pen, West Virginia. It's a standard train, one that will ferry the entirety of ADI's personnel and equipment to Wolf Pen in just about 18 hours. It's a ride that takes them through some towns, but predominantly sticks to what remains of the wild parts of the eastern seaboard and Appalachia. There's a dining car, cars for luggage, some cars that are just seats, and some cars that have bunk beds in them. Bags are packed, people loaded in, and the journey begins. Of course, no journey with the Apocalypse Disruption Initiative would be complete without some oddities along the way.

Scratchmarks
The train isn't making any stops, just plowing onward, which means people who want to get a little exercise will be forced to roam between cars. The space between the two carriage doors shudders with the motion of the train. The walls are made of metal and thick, accordion-esque plastic that stretches and bends. Very occasionally, the doors between the carriages seem to simply lock up. Tugging on them does nothing and this is a very small, unstable place that only seems to grow smaller and hotter the longer you're in there. Less than a minute may feel like hours, but that's not all. Those who are trapped might begin to see scratchmarks, places where the walls have been gouged, maybe even partially ripped open. There are fingernails still embedded in some places. Seeing this prompts an overwhelming need to escape, to be out of this place because something terrible is coming. You might need to be let out by someone or you might get out yourself. Either way, inspecting the space between cars turns up… nothing. No scratchmarks, no tears, no locking doors. Maybe you should just sit down and stick to one car. It was only a few seconds, after all.

Fearful Tunnel Syndrome
As they move out of Massachusetts, the coastal wetlands and plains give way to thick forests and then mountains. The Blue Ridge Mountains thrust their way toward the sky, carving a new horizon as the day fades to night and the sun disappears far earlier than it might usually do for this time of year. The Blue Ridge Mountains might not be so impressive as the Rockies, no peaks piercing the heavens. They're older than that, worn by more time than anything living on the earth now could comprehend. But they rise up, imposing in a landscape that has known only these mountains as their forebears.

The train slows as it starts chugging up passes, forcing its way deeper into the heart of these rocky monuments. It begins passing through tunnels. Mutters go through the carriage, old superstitions that you ought to hold your breath going through these tunnels. There might be a wish if you make it to the other end. Or there might just be safety from whatever specters might have died in those dark places beneath the earth.

But someone doesn't hold their breath.

It happens sometime around 9 PM. The train enters into one of the tunnels and very suddenly, every electronic light goes out in the carriages. No phones seem to be working, no flashlights, not even those for people who are made of technology. The world is plunged into blackness… and then something begins tapping along the windows. It will be impossible to see what it is, but for five minutes the tunnel stretches on and on and on, far longer than it should be. Longer than it could be. Nothing attacks, there is simply the dark and the tapping before light is restored and the conductor comes over the speaker to apologize for the issue. Just some internal malfunction that's been sorted out. Really, there's nothing to worry about.

Burned Bridges
The morning sun rises late in this part of the country, shadows stretching out from the mountains and tall pines that surround the tracks. Still, those keeping vigil at the windows will see the occasional point of interest. Animals rushing by, small towns, even the odd campsite that's almost certainly illegal. But there's one thing in particular the eye:

The charred remains of a person have been positioned along the side of the tracks. This person cannot be seen by anyone except individuals, and no one will see the exact same person in the same spot. The bodies are stood with a tattered red flag on a pole. Those who have been involved with certain happenings or who have been reading the news might well recognize the insignia of the "Shadowcats." This is a cult made up by members of ADI in an effort to frame them for the murder of a Desolation avatar and his circus troupe. Someone or something seems to have taken notice. Maybe? It's hard to say, after all, when the bodies simply disappear from one blink to the next.

➥ Mod Notes

• ARRIVAL (Apr 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.
  
  
• RIVERTOUCHED (May 1 - 12): Please keep in mind that death is permanent in the game. If your character dies in this prompt during the TDM, they will be dead. A version of them who did not experience that event on the TDM can be apped in, instead. Characters who try to walk away from the quiet/river after reaching it will find that moving away is like trying to move through molasses. It becomes harder and harder until they reach whatever personal limit they have. Moving back toward the river will be much easier with no resistance. There is no way to collect the river water for later. Characters who attempt to do so will find they just have some mud that appears to be wholly mundane. Characters caught in the hallucination may be snapped out of it immediately by the return of their partner, or may not be able to perceive them for a time, at player discretion.
  
  
• WELL READ (May 1 - 12): Characters may be able to obtain their own copy of Eye in the Sky from somewhere like Ebay or similar, but it doesn't appear to be available through any existing publisher. Whatever copy they obtain will follow the summary provided in the Wikipedia link for the prompt. Characters will be issued a new library card if they attend the fair and wish to obtain one. The quiz questions are up to players to decide on the specifics, but they should become increasingly invasive about personal details regarding the character. Any PCs looking over their shoulders will be able to see the invasive questions, but regular, non-ADI natives will just see an ordinary book quiz question.
  
  
• TRAINING WHEELS OFF (May 13 - 14): Characters who note and report suspicious activity will be taken seriously and native ADI personnel aboard the train will investigate. They will not be able to replicate the effects that characters experience, though. Or see what the characters might have seen with the exception of the blackout. Everyone will have experienced that and ADI will be on high alert. They will ask for volunteer guards at either side of the train cars to make sure no one actually gets locked between sections after a few people experience the Scratchmarks sub-prompt. Characters will have assigned sleeping accommodations (up to four to a sleeping car room, but can wander the train, otherwise. Food and non-alcoholic beverages on the train will be free.
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Comments

QUESTIONS

[apocalypsehowmods]

[dreadstring]

For the Fearful Tunnel Syndrome prompt, would characters who have darkvision as one of their powers (and who've been naughty children who feed their patrons) be able to see anything during the blackout, or is it impenetrable supernatural darkness?

[outofthepast]

For the purposes of human disguises on non-human characters, does the train count as an extension of HQ? (Or put more simply, will people like Nick appear human on the train, or look like their real selves?)

[canofmanji]

If someone stole a prototype light sword that was designed to try and kill Katie Dunn and took it on the train with them - is it safe to assume that also doesn't work during the black out? Or would ADI have found some way to prevent their new tech from failing?

Rye Kalibash | Original Character

[jup1t3r]

➥ Rivertouched

[ It starts as a desire to prove he doesn't need anybody. Whoever's company he'd been assigned at the trailhead he's keen to sever ties, to forge ahead alone and make it bloody well clear that he can look after himself, thanks.

And so he gets drawn down a path that's wild, the canopies of trees knitting together overhead as though he's wandering into a tunnel and who knows what he'll find at the end. The absence of noise should feel off to a man who's used to cities, and storms, and yet...

There's nothing that strikes him as strange about how willing he is to approach that dark water as though it's an invitation he can't possibly pass up. And who wouldn't? Stooping down he runs his fingers through, digits moving with the eddies of enjoyably warm water, desire to slip down beneath the surface a powerful urge he doesn't want to deny. And so he tips forward, face rushing towards that surface as though he can't wait to be enveloped in the water like a long, hot bath. ]

➥ Well Read

--and I can assure you I've never borrowed a bloody book here.

[ Anybody standing close by will hear a decidedly argumentative tone framed by a rather southern English accent. Clearly Rye is having none of this, and it's unfortunate that the librarian is getting the brunt of his ire. ]

No, no. I know how easy it is to create false records. I have been the person creating those false records.

[ There's barely a pause for breath - either his own or the librarian's - before he clarifies. He doesn't have time for some idiot to take his words literally. ]

No, not these false records. Somebody else's handiwork. Clearly they didn't think this whole con through.

For god's sake, I think I'd know if I'd checked out a book in a place I've barely just arrived in, don't you?

[ The lack of useful reaction from the librarian has rubbed Rye up the wrong way and, with a huff of irritation and a 'oh forget it, I have other means to get to the bottom of this', he turns on his heel and heads for the laptops he's been told about. At least he can get some sensible answers out of those.

Though apparently not before somebody who's already hogging one of the bloody things seems to just be sitting there staring at pop-ups. This is painful. ]

Christ, what questionable shit have you been clicking on? Are you going to close those popups or... just keep staring vacantly at them?

[ Such a charmer, really. ]

➥ Training Wheels Off - Scratchmarks
( cw: claustrophobia)

[ It seems like a terrible fucking idea to get onto this train with what feels like not enough information in the slightest, but Rye needs something to keep his mind busy. It seems like an even worse idea to be weighing in on a fight that doesn't yet feel like his, but he finds himself aboard the train all the same, carriage rattling in a way that feels strangely reminiscent of home.

The longest he's ever spent on a train was from London to Edinburgh, and that was a sleeper train for a grand total of six hours. Eighteen is an entirely different kettle of fish, and it's scarcely two hours in the need to stretch his legs troubles him. His knees - a decade older than they should be, fucking joint problems - feel as though they need to be cracked to relieve the growing ache in them.

It all happens despite him feeling fairly confident about wandering between one car and the next. This train feels like the old slamdoor trains that used to be in service, and he's surely quick enough to get the door to the next car open before the other one snaps shut behind him.

His brain takes a moment, then another to process the information - the door is jammed, must go back. But the door behind him, the way he came, is also jammed, it seems and Rye exhales in heavy disapproval. For fuck's sake.

Of course he's not claustrophobic, that kind of thing has never bothered him. And yet the air suddenly seems to grow thick, too warm, and loosening the collar of his shirt seems to do nothing at all. Then there's the dark terror that starts to grow at the back of his mind, and literally at his back as he can feel the walls shrink until the space is nothing more than the size of a coffin and he's stuck inside.

Oh god, is that fingernails buried into the wall?

He's barely aware of how hard he's pounding on the door, doesn't know what he's screaming at the top of his lungs that are struggling to suck down the soupy air. His words are nonsensical to anybody close enough to hear, but Rye's convinced he's shouting for aid, shouting for somebody to let him the fuck out. Why can't anybody hear him? Why isn't anybody coming to open the door?

He's going to die here, isn't he? This is where he's finally going to die. Not some bullet to the head via sniper. Not in a prison cell of her majesty's choosing for cyber terrorism. No, he's going to die between two fucking train carriages that got jammed shut. ]

( ooc: feel free to wildcard if there's anything that takes your fancy! I'm on pms or over at edgerunner for any questions!)

Scratchmarks

[musicdied]

[It's been nearly half an hour since the last person passed through from another car, and while Yelena isn't completely absorbed in her book - is never completely absorbed in so public a space, with so many unknown variables - neither is she expecting someone to start pounding on the door. She jerks to her feet, book tumbling from her fingers.

Even with caution slowing her steps - because it can't possibly just be the muffling quality of the door and her own lingering injuries that renders the shouting that accompanies the thud of fists incoherent - it doesn't take her more than perhaps fifteen seconds to reach the door.

So, approximately an eternity.

When she sets her weight against the thing and heaves, the door rockets open as though it had never jammed at all, leaving her blinking in puzzlement at a man she distantly recognizes from the briefing prior to departure. She tilts her head slightly, leaning to the side to check that there isn't, say, something horrible clawing the door to the previous car open before asking mildly:]

What the fuck?

Rivertouched

[whisperedone]

[Rye was...independent. He wanted to go down the quieter path, so be it. Really, Garner had come through this park enough, he was reasonably certain the direction they were headed would meet back up. Well, assumedly. Last month, the park had turned into a hellscape briefly, so who could say?

Which was why, after a bit of walking, Garner paused on his path. The butt of his glaive dug into the ground a moment as he listened for another pair of footsteps....and turned his thought over in the silence.

No, he didn't trust it. If he ran, he might be able to catch up before Rye would conceivably find him.

He turns back, using memory and sound to find his way to the fork and head down the other path. It's more overgrown and his hastened steps are a little more treacherous, but he quickly comes to the emptier sound of a clearing and the thick gurgle of mud.]

Rye?

[There's no response, but there is a sound of bubbles escaping the thick goop rapidly, something sinking. He doesn't second guess, just heads for the sound of the weight slipping deeper into the pit, braces the blade of the glaive into the sturdier muck at the 'shore' and swipes a hand over the mud's surface. A warm mound of clothing puts a jolt of alarm through him and he grips tight the clothing to yank the body free. Mud is thick and doesn't like to let go easily, but Garner is stubborn and measurably stronger than an average man and the mud begins to give a wet schlop sound as he pulls.]

lois lane | superman & lois

[smallvillegazette]

➥ rivertouched

[The best way to solve a mystery is to get into the thick of it, so here Lois is, having volunteered for a trip into the forest so she can do some actual research, not just flick through books and scour the internet.

She's amicable enough with her assigned partner, despite clearly being focused on the investigation, at least until the path splits. She could have sworn she heard footsteps beside her, but when she turns again, she's alone. Lois hesitates, unsure whether to continue or turn back, unsure how long she's been alone, but decides it's best to retrace her steps than carrying on alone.

It was a good decision, apparently, because she comes across her partner again, as they start to sink into the mud.]

Hey! What are you doing? Get out of there!

[She breaks into a run immediately. If they don't listen, she'll have to drag them out herself.]

➥ scratchmarks

[It was a simple case of restlessness that drove Lois to stretch her legs, wandering the length of the train, hoping to shake off some of the tension.

When she passes between two carriages and one of the doors seems to catch, she doesn't panic. When she turns back around to return the way she came and that door is stuck, she still tries to keep her calm, telling herself it's fine, that someone else will need to pass through sooner or later.

But then the walls start to feel — closer, the space tighter. That's when she notices the fingernails caught in the metal, the gouges in the plastic, and panic rises up like bile, choking her.]

Help! Someone help! [She bangs her fist against the doors a few times to no avail, which only serves to make the fear worse. Suddenly she's on the farm again, hearing Jon beg for help and powerless to save him.] Someone! Anyone! Clark! Please! CLARK!

[She knows he isn't here, but fear is a funny thing.]

➥ fearful tunnel syndrome

[The lights go out.

Lois fumbles for her phone, pressing the power button to no avail, trying several times to unlock it when she can't see a single thing, before realizing that it's not going to work.]

Shit.

[When the tapping starts, she forces herself to take a calm breath, not wanting a repeat of her earlier incident.

If anyone nearby sounds panicked, she'll do her best to direct herself towards them, reaching out into the dark with a gentle hand.]

It's okay, we're safe in here, I'm sure of it.

[No she isn't.]

scratchmarks

[bindlestifflost]

[This is the biggest train he has been on by far, but even so sooner or later the need to be up and moving around hits. He's less exploring than doing a little aimless wandering when he hears the commotion from the other side of the door and hurries the rest of the way.]

Hang on!

[It's a strong, deep voice that answers her. He's expecting the door to be stuck, so when he yanks it, it flies open and he stumbles backward a few steps before catching himself.]

You awwright there? What is it?

[He immediately starts forward again. She'd sounded panicked.]

rivertouched

[dreadstring]

[Laudna neither answers nor obeys. She continues to sink into the mud, face submerged up to her ears, bubbles forming around her as though she's a child attempting to blow all the air out of her lungs to see how fast she can touch the bottom of a pool. There's nothing particularly defiant about her - she seems perfectly relaxed, sprawled loose-limbed in the chilly muck, as though unaware of both her surroundings and of Lois's distress.

In her own mind, she floats in warm, clear water, cocooned in quiet that is, for once, welcoming rather than hostile.

It's fortunate that even when coated in mud, she weighs approximately as much as a bundle of dry sticks, because hauling her out is probably going to be necessary.]

somebody saaaave meeee (fearful tunnel)

[ployboy]

[No she isn't sure, Tim wants to correct, because he's fairly certain that she's a fresh transplant. Even with his own nerves on edge, he can also piece together some certain panicked hollering from earlier and this particular section of the car--

anyway. It seems his own hushed growls and mutterings have gotten her concerned (with that dash of spooky ambient tap-tap-tapping). Tim draws in a breath, defeated more than anything.] This isn't the first time this happens.

[The darkness, the technological blackout. (Tim feels a headache budding.) But to his credit he doesn't continue to list all of the previously accompanying bad news; this woman's green, remember?

It's hard to see a damn thing. It's best to stay put. It's not like he can pin any familiarity to the woman just yet. He moves just enough to position himself between her and the nearest window, a shadow himself.] There's a lot of things here that feed on fear. [---] Singular focus on them makes the moments pass... slower. [Makes the hungers grow.] So how about you tell me about yourself, and I'll tell you about me. [Later, he'll pat himself on the back for this... stellar introduction.]

I'm Tim.

fearful tunnel syndrome

[trestle]

[ The dark is one thing Pope does not fear. Both because of his enhanced vision that gives him much better vision through the doom and gloom than some, but also because of one simple fact. He is a being of the night.

Kneeling on one of the seats, he's peering out into the dark, trying to catch a glimpse of something. Anyone watching him might notice the slight gleam to his eyes as he presses close enough to the glass that his breath fogs up the glass. ]

There's somethin out there.

[ Not thinking about how much that could worry others, his voice one of curiosity. ]

Wonder if they're hoping if they tap long enough, someone will let them in.

scratchmarks

[outofthepast]

[Did you know they don't have smoking cars anymore? Or smoking anything, really. It's all well and good, since smoking's bad for the human body, but it does create a bit of a dilemma for a synth with the habit. See, Nick's not the type to flagrantly flout the rules, or to discourteously make other people huff his cigarette smoke. So he has to go off looking for a good place to light up whenever he gets the itch.

Maybe it's good in this situation though. He's just on his way back in from an outdoor railing near the back of the train when he hears it from the next car up. Screaming. Banging. A woman in panic.

Of course, he wastes no time rushing up to the door and giving it a tug. Stuck tight.]

Easy there! I'm coming.

[Nick pulls again, putting extra pressure on the latch. Is it jammed, or is she holding it shut?]

Seems like it's sticky. Can you hear me?

Hunter | The Owl House

[cardinalrule]

Arrival

[It's fairly late when Hunter suddenly appears in this realm. Late enough that most of the employees who usually work in the cubicles he's popping into existence near have headed home, but not quite late enough that the whole building has been locked for the night. The sun is starting to go down, it's a lovely evening, overall.

For most people, anyway. One second Hunter is in his room, having just finished a meeting with the other Coven Heads and about to get started on some paperwork, and the next he's here, in a bizarre looking office that would look thoroughly out of place in the Boiling Isles. He's still in his uniform, Flapjack tucked safely inside his cloak, though the sudden jolt is setting the bird off. That means there's one cardinal flying out from his hiding spot, slapping around the ceiling and tweeting frantically.

Of course, the first thing Hunter does is get his gold owl mask back on and his hood up, before reaching for his artificial staff. Obviously, this is some sort of trap, maybe another attempt on his life by Kikimora, and he just needs to handle i -

He reaches for his staff, and it isn't there. The one thing potentially keeping him from being dead is gone - ]

What is this?!

[He's shouting that at nothing in particular, his voice cracking a tiny bit as teenage voices tend to do when agitated and upset. If he doesn't have his staff then he at least needs to exert some authority, use his position as the right hand of the Emperor to stop whatever this is. As a last resort he could use Flapjack, but he doesn't know how safe it is for the bird.

Regardless he's looking around, ready to defend himself or start ordering scouts around, when the view outside the nearby window catches his attention. He stops and stares, then stares some more, his anger draining away to a hollow kind of horror. Slowly, he steps over to the window.

The trees outside are green.

The trees there are green, the nights are quiet....

Belos' words echo in his mind as he stares out at the human realm.]

Well Read - A.

[For a huge nerd like Hunter, a book fair seems like the perfect starting point for his exploration into the human realm. He's shown up, reluctantly without his mask and cloak and outer armour, and Flapjack hanging out in the trees surrounding the library to eat some bugs and pester the other birds.

He isn't really sure what to expect, but the library system claiming he already has a card and has signed books out isn't it. Baffled and a little affronted, he figures the logical thing to do is investigate the books he's supposedly read. He goes and gathers them, and it isn't long before there is one beat up-looking kid with some books in his arms:

A Pocket History of Human Evolution: How We Became Sapiens by Silvana Condemi
Occult Science in Medicine by Franz Hartmann
Witchcraft Medicine: Healing Arts, Shamanic Practices, and Forbidden Plants by Claudia Müller-Ebeling, Christian Rätsch, and Wolf-Dieter Storl
Folk Medicine in Modern Egypt: Being the Relevant Parts of the Tibb al-rukka or Old wives' medicine of Abd al-Rahman Isma'il by ʻAbd al-Raḥmān Ismāʻīl
Plagues Upon the Earth: Disease and the Course of Human History by Kyle Harper
The Boundless Sea: A Human History of the Oceans by David Abulafia

He's having more trouble tracking down Eye in the Sky.]

Training Wheels Off - Burned Bridges

[Hunter has never been on a train before. Trains aren't even a thing in the Boiling Isles, so this is new and exciting and kind of terrifying. A big metal tube on rails? It seems like a minecart on a whole ton of wild magic. Weird and fascinating all at the same time.

So he's wandering up and down the cars, in his full uniform including the mask, one cardinal with a scarred eye perched on his shoulder. Occasionally he just stops and finds a seat next to a window to stare out at it, baffled by the environment that is the human realm. No bones of an ancient corpse jutting out of the earth and into the air, no boiling rain, no suspiciously carnivorous foliage. Belos was right, it is peaceful.

He's still staring out the window when he catches sight of what looks like a charred body along the edges of the train tracks. It's enough to make him sit up, furrowing his brow from behind his mask as he watches it and some flag go by.

Then it disappears, and his first reaction is to turn his head away from the window.]

What was that? That couldn't have been a person, they don't have boiling rain here.

[He's directing that question to the bird on his shoulder, who just cheeps in response.]

burned bridges

[twicelost]

[ Sitting a row behind him, Katrina is calm but on alert. She doesn't feel safe, but she thinks no one is in any immediate danger. It's the besr anyone can ask for, with the Entities and their avatars wreaking havoc.

His question makes her turn to look out the window, and she sees a charred corpse too. It's the flag that draws her attention more, though. She's not terribly familiar with it (she's been more than a little preoccupied with the news about the state of life in the ocean, naturally, being that it's like what's happening back home and what drove her and the other sirens to work with humans and... look, it's been on her mind a lot). All she knows is that it isn't what it seems to be. Or at least, back in Gloucester, it wasn't.

So, this newcomer with the red bird on his shoulder may not be asking her that questiom, but she responds anyway, her tone and accent distinctly not local. What was it Ryn's friends had them pass as? Finnish? Humans are strange. Her gaze is steady, sharp. Her face is neutral otherwise. ]

Human. Murder. Or... maybe warning. Not boiling rain.

[ Which sounds awful, to her. ]

Flag is strange. Should not be here. It belong in Gloucester.

Well Read | Eda

[edalyn]

[Eda still didn’t like any of this one bit, but if she was going to figure out what was happening she might as well poke around the town. That, and it couldn’t hurt to read up on the human realm if she was stuck there.

Except, of course, nothing could be that simple. She’d just gotten into an argument with a tired-seeming librarian about how she definitely hadn’t signed up already, before eventually giving up and reading through the list of books she’d supposedly borrowed.

She has to admit they all seem like things she would have checked out, though the length of the list gives her the feeling that someone is calling her a nerd.

With some vague grumbling, she wanders away from the front desk and begins to see if she can find any of the books on her list. It doesn’t take her long to get frustrated with the fact that the first few she looks for don’t appear to be on the shelves.

Turning a corner, she almost bumps into someone carrying, among other things, a copy of Witchcraft Medicine.]

Hey, I was looking for tha–

[Her tone starts off irritable, before she actually looks at the person. Then she trails off, looking more than a little surprised.]

Wait… blondie?

[She wasn’t expecting to see anyone from home, and it isn’t the specific teenager that she might have been hoping for, but it is nice to see the boy appears to be, well, alive.

While she isn’t sure she likes the kid, Luz does, and Willow does, and he was just that, a kid. One who had apparently been treated horribly, and one who was dealing with a lot recently. The last time she’d seen him, that look of absolute panic and betrayal on his face had been painful. Her first instinct is to ask what Hunter’s doing here, but that doesn’t seem like a thing anyone knows for sure, so she goes with her other concern instead.]

How ya holding up, kid? [she asks, her voice suddenly gentler as she thinks about that night. Her tone probably comes off somewhere between ‘concerned parent’ and ‘trying not to scare a small wild animal.’]

G'raha Tia | Final Fantasy XIV

[corvosi]

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. Well Read

"--I've only just arrived," G'raha Tia is in the middle of protesting when someone passing by - that's you - catches his eye.

He turns to flag down the familiar face (and it might take a moment to recognize him for anyone who's only ever met him on ADI property, because out here he looks purely human, feline attributes hidden and colouring muted), brow knit in a wary sort of puzzlement. He doesn't object to having an account at the local library - quite the opposite - but it's strange. Particularly as that wasn't in the packet of information and identification he'd been issued to make him seem like he belongs, however tenuously, to this star.

"Have they insisted you already have a lending account too?"

III. Burned Bridges

The sight of the landscape streaming by the train windows is lulling, almost meditative, and G'raha has been drifting, lost in thought, for the better part of half an hour when something grabs his attention and yanks. He jerks upright with a sharp intake of breath, then half-rises, turning to follow the shape of the charred body as the train thunders past.

It's possible that if anyone happens to be dozing in the seat next to or in front of him, he might clip them with elbow or tail, the latter invisible, but a solid weight.

Wildcard
(If you have an idea for something else, hit me! Or PM if you want to plot something.)

i. arrival

[ricordi]

His built-in translator is not working as intended, and Cassius thinks he may have to force a reboot once he finds a safe place to do so. Instead, his speech is coming out as his own native language, unintelligible to anyone except those from his homeland. Trying to negotiate with anyone else doesn't work when no one can understand each other.

And clearly he is not the only one disoriented by this welcome, when there's someone who looks like an Erune nearby. An Erune with a tail-- unusual, he has never seen any of them with one.

Cassius moves closer to him, as if to protect in case something happens.

Pope Creek | oc

[trestle]

( arrival )

It's not as if Pope hasn't known some maddening things through the years. Hell, he is a maddening thing, but suddenly finding himself emerging from beneath the trestle that's his home and finding himself suddenly swept up in some agency and talks of needing his help and he's not sure what to make of it all.

But then they hand him a device and send him off with another to a stream. This he can handle, it's like home.

Foregoing the boots, he leaves his shoes on the banks and rolls up his jeans as he wades into the water.

"This is great," he says, even though he suspects from their expression they don't feel the same.

There's no hesitation, heading off further down the creek with a laugh and a splash as he finds himself in his element. So caught up he loses track of another, meandering deeper and deeper into the wilds until he finds himself at a river, wide and smooth and warm.

"Okay, I could really get used to this place," he sighs, shucking off his shirt and tossing it aside figuring why not take a swim?

( well read )

Years of being alone and Pope has read just about any book he can get his hands on. So the idea of showing off kind of excites him.

He should have known better.

Does being a monster make you a killer?

"What the hell? No." He rolls his eyes at that question. It goes on.

So why are you a monster?

"Fuck this," he mutters, moving to shut the computer off. "Whatever. I'm not." He types that answer.

Error.
Why are you a monster?

He pushes back from the laptop with a clatter of his chair, shaking his head. "Fuck this shit."

( scratchmarks )

Pope loves trains. The sound of them. The speed of them. Even the sharp scent of metal and gears and oil. He loves it all.

Except for being inside of one.

He's already been pacing the trains they have, not finding much peace in the compartment. At nearly six and a half feet he feels trapped in the space.

Which is fitting as he starts finding scratch marks, moving to jerk on the door, wanting to be out of that room. Now. When he can't manage to open it, he bangs his fist against the door, a heavy pounding of more than his building and weight.

( fearful tunnel )

This is why Pope will never volunteer for a damn thing again. He should have known better. Once more everything seems fine as they move through the the mountains. There's memories here for him, things far removed but then don't the Appalachians always call to their own?

When the lights go out, he's not scared like he was before. He's pissed.

Moving to the windows as the tapping starts, leaning in close. His eyes seem to reflect light that isn't there as he taps back at the glass.

"You want to play? Bring it," he growls, his voice gruffer than it's been, his soft lilting Kentucky Appalachian accent deeper in that moment.

well read

[jup1t3r]

[ It's hardly surprising that Rye has been skulking around the laptops, waiting for somebody to finish. His reliance on anything digital was already questionable, and that was before he inherited magic and created the ability to put himself inside the machines with all those ones and zeros.

That's a party trick he's keeping under wraps for now, something he forgets he's thinking about as somebody slides their chair out without warning and he catches his hip. ]

Watch out. Some of us have no love for being thrown around like a ragdoll.

[ Perhaps a smidge dramatic, and so are the arms that fold defensively over his chest as his eyes automatically drop down to the laptop screen still on the desk. ]

...funny kind of survey. Why is it asking you that?

You don't really fit the profile of somebody I'd be expecting to take a What Monster Am I quiz. Not goth enough. And certainly not teenage girl enough.

Orpheus | Ulysses Dies at Dawn

[all_is_hushed]

( blanket CWs: Orpheus comes from a canon that features a Matrix-like supercomputer that runs on the forced labor of the disembodied brains of the dead, and is likely to bring it up in conversation, especially the arrival prompt. He also suffers from an emotional and chemical dependence on a fictional drug called Lotus, and has a history of suicidal thoughts. More details can be found in his Opt-Out. Please be careful if any of this is potentially upsetting to you, and feel free to let me know if I need to back off any subjects in my tags. )

I. Arrival ( cw: near-fatal wound/slit throat aftermath, brain/body horror discussion )

Orpheus stands in front of the mirror in one of the ADI building's bathrooms, head tilted back as he examines the fresh scar tissue drawing an unnaturally straight pink line across his throat. That should have killed me, he thinks. A clean shot from a laser pistol through the jugulars? Would have cauterized and cut off circulation immediately. He wouldn't have bled out, but it should have been impossible to repair. He should be in the Acheron already, and - maybe he is. Maybe this is some bizarre orientation process. It's not like the non-volunteers can report back about what any of that is like.

Except, no. He's seen other people. The medical team that brought him back to consciousness, the people who ushered him into the basement and bombarded him with information that he only half-understood through the haze of trying to process what had just happened. But he's sure of that much. The Acheron is an eternity of toil and, perhaps more importantly, isolation, for everyone who doesn't "donate" early. If he were really dead, he wouldn't be afforded the privilege of seeing or hearing another person ever again.

He notices he's gripping the counter with both hands, white-knuckled and trembling, and takes a deep breath before letting go. It's fine. Everything's fine. He doesn't understand what's going on, but he needs to go talk to someone else right now, even if it's about something stupid and pointless. Leaving the bathroom, he casts about for the nearest person willing to make eye contact and flags them down.

"Excuse me?" he says, looking at once incredibly anxious and incredibly relieved, no matter who it is he's talking to. "Have you got a moment?"

II. Rivertouched ( cw: potential suicidal ideation )

Orpheus is not a person prone to sensory overload. If anything he's chronically understimulated, always seeking out new and novel distractions from the horrors that lurk in his mind and the harshness of reality. But, being outside? Outside outside, not even in one of the grand auditoriums and coliseums of the City's entertainment districts, those grand and noisy affairs that make up the largest swathes of open space available to the public but under unoccupied, unroofed sky? That's threatening to do it.

It's not that it's loud out here, as far down the trail as Orpheus has wandered. But the sounds are all so unfamiliar that they seem almost deafening as he tries to pick them out from each other. Birdsong, said the handler who ushered him out here. And frogsong, and then they didn't explain what a 'bird' or a 'frog' was and just left him there with instructions to document anything peculiar when all of this is peculiar to him. What the fuck is this? What the fuck is he looking at? It's green and it's a flattened spiky shape and he's afraid to touch it and he feels like if Eurydice were here she'd know but as soon as that thought crosses his mind he stands up from where he'd been crouching next to it and abruptly walks away, because if he lets himself start thinking about Eurydice then it's all going to go to hell.

In his hurry to put as much distance between himself and the green spiky thing as possible, he manages to step directly in a puddle of ankle-deep water, having been too distracted trying not to think about her all alone in the Acheron who knows how far away to watch where he was going. It's - warm? Like bathwater, and he pauses briefly before looking out over what looks like a wide, dark canal cutting through the open field, but without any brick or concrete walling it in. Eyes wide, he takes a shuddering breath and unthinkingly takes another step, and another, up to his knees, his waist, his elbows. He's never seen anything like this. It's beautiful. He doesn't want to leave.

I

[whisperedone]

The eye contact is an accident on Garner's behalf. Where he's stopped in his patrol, glaive in the holster at his back, he's listening to what movement there might be in the hall and for anything odd to note.

A young man with a fair voice calling to him from the direction of the restrooms certainly is cause to catch his attention and he turns his face slightly from him so his ear is more in the man's direction. As Orpheus gets closer, it likely becomes more obvious that the pale eyes he'd met are like that unnaturally, both clouded and sightless with the right one sporting a scar from cheek to brow.

Still, Garner greets him with a low, soft voice and concern in his expression. There's a waver in the man's voice, something like relief, if he had to guess. "Of course. Is something the matter?"

addison montgomery / greys anatomy

[neonatal]

➥ Well Read
"Is this on yours too?"

She'd made them do a printout of the list, grabbing a pen from one of the desks and scribbling notes on it. It was weird, having a list that had her name attached to it but without any memory of having read any of the books. Not that she'd had time to read a book lately, her last vacation had gotten sidetracked and well-- apparently she was now in Gloucester.

So she was ignoring it, analysing lists and trying to do something that felt fine and normal when nothing really felt fine and normal. As if her life was normal anymore anyway.

"I can't say I recognise the name... Which is weird, right? Reading a book you don't know you've read and probably haven't actually read? Right?"

➥ Training Wheels Off
Addison's been walking through the carriages, feeling a little crazy with just sitting and waiting. She'd stopped and talked to a couple of people before it had felt too awkward and she'd moved on, walking through the next carriage.

Until the door doesn't open. She hits the button again in case it didn't register or it was a little stuck but still it doesn't move. Stuck.

"Oh come on."

She taps it again, then taps on the glass of the door. All she wanted to do was find someone else to talk to not get stuck between carriages.

Well Read - *yeets an ER doc at*

[cuttypie]

Luka nods, holding up his list, thought there's a definite air of resignation about him. Not that he's not afraid--nope, this is terrifying in its own way. But it's also expected.

"Somehow I'm not surprised."

It's wry, though he knows it's got to be a lot harder when you're new to this place and find out that you can't just...trust anything.

"It's possible that you have read it, or it's possible that someone's tricking us. Either way, whatever this is?" He points to the list. "There could be a message in it. Someone--or something, maybe--wants us to believe that we've read these things."

Cornelius Hickey | AMC's The Terror

[friendsfordinner]

( blanket cws: Cornelius Hickey is from the AMC show The Terror and has a laundry list of content warnings tied to his character including gore, self-mutilation, intense physical violence, & cannibalism. plz check out his opt-out post here if you don't want me to mention any of them! )

well-read
What can defeat a gaslighting uquiz? A technologically illiterate Englishman. Hickey's smart enough to change out of his ye olde timey 1840s sailor clothes to something more modern so he blends in with the crowd in that regard. What makes him stand out, however, is the fact that he has no goddamn clue how computers work. It takes him a bit. But eventually, after people watch grandpa struggle with computers, he gets to the actual questions.

...and then almost shuts down the laptop entirely when things get a little more personal. He'll answer a few questions. But as the quiz pops up with one question in particular, Hickey can't help but frown.

You're trapped in the Arctic and your boyfriend isn't long for the world! Do you:
A: try to help him survive as long as possible.
B: enter into a suicide pact.
C: wait for nature to take it's course.
D: put him out of his misery.

"Oi," he calls, gesturing for someone to come bother him. "How d'you exit out of this thing?"

fearful tunnel syndrome
Hickey doesn't hold his breath. On the one hand, this seems like it's just an old wives tale, something told to keep children busy and out of mummy's hair. On the other hand...if there is something out there, he wants to see what it is.

He's thankful that the car is shrouded in darkness when the tapping starts. It makes it harder to see the little smirk on his face as he looks around at the windows.

"Well," he calls out, loud enough so that anybody else in the car can hear him. "Any ideas on just what that is?"

well-read

[cuttypie]

...that certainly sounds like a cry for help.

Luka hasn't really been paying attention to the computers, so he's not sure what's going on or that they're evil probably, somehow. He has a small stack of books under his arm, medical journals and books, and while he's right out of the early 2000's, he can still work a modern laptop. Mostly. With lots of curses in Croatian under his breath.

"What seems to be the trouble?" Luka asks, amiably.

Orpheus | Hadestown

[themuseabandonsyou]

I. Arrival

Well, the good news is it isn't claustrophobia, with Orpheus. The bad news is waking up in a cold, dark place on what should be a warm spring morning is absolutely terrifying to him for completely unrelated reasons. There's a great scuffling and banging from one of the air vents, before a tall, slender man with a guitar on his back falls out of it, covered in dust and cobwebs and looking deeply upset. He looks around, wide-eyed and wild, trying to get his bearings before it occurs to him to pull the instrument off his back and give it a once-over. It's all in one piece, thankfully - small mercy that he didn't land on it in his graceless descent - and he gives a sigh of relief before returning to examining the room with slightly more clarity.

It's... deeply unfamiliar! Orpheus's familiarity with office buildings begins and ends with having seen a few skyscrapers from the outside during jaunts into the city with Mister Hermes, when his uncle would take him along on business trips as a child, and he's more than a little out of his depth here. Frowning, he picks up a stapler and clicks it a few times before putting it down and wandering over towards one of the windows, glancing out at the parking lot with an equal level of confusion. It's only then that he notices someone else in the room with him.

"Oh!" He jolts, taking a step back in surprise after the silhouette of another person finally catches his eye. "Um, hello. Is this your..." he trails off, unsure of how to end the question, and looks on with all the confused guilt of a dog that's just been caught with something it shouldn't have.

II. Well Read ( cw: grief, recent loss of a loved one )

This is the largest number of books Orpheus has seen in one place in a very long time, and he's a little overwhelmed by all of it. He's always loved stories and storytelling in all its forms - it's quite literally in his blood, given his mother's domain - but novels have a tendency to escape him a little bit. When he's lucky he can sit down and devour one in its entirety in one or two sittings, but more often than not no matter how engaging he finds them he's just had trouble sitting down and focusing on them for extended periods of time.

Which makes it all the more confusing that he has such a long list of them checked out. Biographies of early jazz and blues musicians, speculative fiction, a large number of dimestore romance novels... They look interesting, but he's not sure he could read this much in a decade, much less the time he's been here. But before he can delve too deep into that particular conundrum, one of the employees notices him standing around and ushers him to the glowing typewriter-like device on one of the tables.

It proves distracting enough - Orpheus doesn't entirely forget about what his problem was, but the questions let him shove that aside for the moment as he tries to recall the details of the books he has read. He gets a number of them wrong - seems like even familiar authors are a little different, in this strange world? But slowly as the quiz goes on he finds himself growing more and more uneasy.

What is the purpose of tragedy?

Does a tragic hero's fatal flaw make their story's outcome an inevitability?

Can one mistake define a character's narrative?

What happens when you fail your loved ones at the most critical moment?

He worries his lip, staring at the questions. Dread settles heavy in his chest, blocking out all thought. There's nothing in him, just darkness and fear and doubt.

well read

[setthetone]

"Are you okay?"

With people more or less in a frenzy to get their own share of books it's not hard to spot the man who looks absolutely miserable in front of the computer. Carter steps closer, his own stack of supernatural reading fodder balancing on his arms. He actually wants to go and get more but his willingness to help and medical instinct tell him to at least check on the guy and pulls him away from his compulsion.

He glances over his shoulder and whistles.

"Wow, that's heavy stuff. I'm getting flashbacks to high school and essay writing. They should warn for this sort of content, huh?"

Kurogiri | My Hero Academia

[villaintender]

ARRIVAL

[ Well. Though he’s reluctant to admit it, Kurogiri has to admit that he’s… rather confused.

The last thing he remembers is being captured and taken to Tartarus. But as luck would have it, he’s suddenly found himself in a completely different location – and he certainly would’ve remembered if he’d warped there himself.

It had happened in an instant. And while Kurogiri is cautious, knowing that this very well be the result of a trap or some other dangerous interference… he must say, he’s also rather relieved to have escaped capture.

Quickly, he leaves the supply closet he’s in. Warping away and back to the League would be a good idea, and yet… something stops him. Perhaps it’s mere curiosity, or maybe it’s the desire to learn about who – or what – it is that’s brought him here and why. Perhaps he could find a new ally for Shigaraki, if he’s lucky. Either way… Kurogiri locates the first person he finds, and when he does, approaches them casually before clearing his throat to speak – in perfect Japanese. ]

Excuse me. I apologize for my rudeness, but… would you happen to know where it is I am right now?

RIVERTOUCHED

[ Kurogiri sees no reason not to work with the ADI, and so the transition process for him into this new world, after his initial arrival, is quite smooth. Finding out that he’s found himself in a new world - one without Quirks, but instead full of the supernatural – was surprising, and something Kurogiri hadn’t even known was possible, but… it changes nothing about he has to do.

So he’d quickly come to a conclusion. Though he’s not particularly invested in the continued existence of this world, working with the ADI would likely be the most effective and efficient way of finding a way back home. Luckily, his status as a Villain doesn’t seem to be known here, so he doesn’t need to worry about wary looks or being caught – which in some ways, is a rather refreshing feeling.

But… he still feels distinctly anxious. Unease and frustration boil within him as he sets out on his first mission for the ADI, and he thinks – as always – about Shigaraki Tomura. How is he doing? Will he be okay without Kurogiri present? What will he think of Kurogiri’s sudden absence, and how will he move forward without him there to assist him? It’s all rather… unsettling to think about, and though Kurogiri knows that worrying will do no good, he can’t seem to help it nonetheless.

The feeling that overcomes him when he encounters the river is… strange. Kurogiri’s never quite experienced anything like it before – the need to lie down on the water’s surface, to feel the ache in his body melt away… it would be peaceful, he thinks. Distantly, he feels some kind of confusion about his own thoughts, but the river still calls to him, seeming to draw him in like a moth to the flame – and he thinks, it couldn’t hurt, could it? It would just be for a moment. Kurogiri can’t recall the last time he did something for himself, so it’s a bizarre sensation when he begins to lower himself down to the water, wondering what it’ll feel like to just… float. He doesn’t even notice your presence as he’s drawn deeper and deeper in.

Just float. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, just to float? ]

WILDCARD

[ Feel free to throw anything at Kurogiri here! I'm available at Rivenix if you want to plot!

Rivertouched

[dreadstring]

[Laudna isn't entirely certain where she lost her partner, but the fork in the path seems a good bet. Between backtracking and following the second path - darker and far more overgrown - it takes her maybe ten minutes to catch back up to Kurogiri.

Just in time to see him lowering himself into a pit of mud, swampy and foul-smelling. There's probably a reason, she tells herself. Something he spotted before she got there. Still, there's something unnerving about the whole scene, not least the fact that he hasn't reacted to her approach, in spite of the fact that she's probably made as much noise as a small herd of horses.]

Are you sure you really want to go in there?

Laudna | Critical Role C3

[dreadstring]

I. Arrival
Laudna hasn't been afraid of the dark since she was a very little girl. Of course, Laudna has also been able to see in the dark since she was a very little girl, which may have something to do with the lack of dread it holds for her.

So to find herself suddenly in darkness thick enough that she can't see her hand in front of her face - and she tries, waving it back and forth in front of her eyes as though willing it to appear - with only the glow from the thin crack beneath the door to tell her that she hasn't been abruptly robbed of her senses is, to say the least, disorienting as hell.

"Hello?" she says. Then, "This isn't funny."

When there's no response, she heads towards that line of light - only to walk directly into something hard and metallic, with edges sharp enough to bruise. She stumbles back, course corrects, and abruptly trips over...she's pretty sure that's a mop bucket, if only because she's also pretty sure she landed on the mop.

II. Well Read
a) Laudna isn't particularly bothered when the librarian informs her that she already has a library card. Her immediate assumption is that someone at ADI had set it up for her, and while it's unlikely that this library has any of the answers Imogen was looking for - or any of the answers she herself might be interested in - it's still a kind gesture.

She assumes.

Being informed that she's also already checked out several books is a little strange, but no stranger than anything else about the past several days, and after the librarian insists several times that no, it really is her list, she opts to take it as a set of recommendations instead. Most of what's on there is easy enough to find, but that last book...

"Have you seen this one?" she asks of the nearest person, tapping Eye in the Sky on the list.

b) It takes her a while tire of browsing and approach one of the laptops, just recently vacated by a small knot of local teens. The first few questions of the quiz go well enough, in that while she doesn't know the answers, the questions aren't particularly unsettling.

That doesn't last.

How did you die?

Do you still hear your murderer's voice?

How does it feel to have no soul?

Those definitely aren't about any book.

III. Fearful Tunnel Syndrome cw: implied skinning, body horror
This time, when darkness falls, Laudna isn't blind. Not entirely, at least - she can make out the chairs, her seatmate, and the people a few seats down, though that far out, the edges blur, as though the train car had filled with fog or smoke the moment the lights went out. She waves her hand through the air to see if it might dispel some of the murky quality to the gloom - and nothing.

"Huh," she says quietly.

Then jumps as something taps against the window.

She turns, seeing a shape move outside - or maybe it's just a reflection, someone moving down the length of the car? But no, when she looks, there's no one on the inside of the train who's in the right position.

She turns back to the window, pressing her nose almost to the glass and squinting through the too-thick darkness. A face floats into focus. The features are oddly distorted, as though they're a poorly-fitted mask worn over something that isn't remotely human, but still familiar, and she knows that the hair that falls in matted clumps would be pale purple if seen in the light. The milky-white eyes are too large, filling too much of the stretched sockets, but the colour, too, is entirely too familiar.

She scrambles to her feet and away from the window with a strangled cry of horror, haste tangling her footsteps and spilling her to the floor - or, if they're particularly unlucky, into her seatmate's lap.

(Prose or brackets are fine, I'm happy to match. Feel free to throw something else at me if you have any ideas.)

I because it's tradition and also hilarious

[worthallthis]

There's someone else in the broom closet that she trips over next. He yelps, scrambles out of the way, and then lunges for the lightswitch. Because there is a lightswitch in here, he just hadn't been using it because the darkness helped against the panic attack he'd been in the middle of when he dove in here.

Thankfully, he's done panicking, but he did not expect another person just randomly appearing in here.

steven grant (and potentially marc spector) / moon knight

[mizan]

well read

[ This isn't the first time something like this has happened to Steven — he’s reminded of his recent date at the steak restaurant, among other things — and without Layla by his side, without Khonshu bellowing in his ear, and with Marc silent, it’s easy to slip back into the role of the mild-mannered gift-shoppist. It’s as if his sudden life of adventure and newfound sense of self had slipped away just as quickly as he’d found himself here.

He doesn’t remember borrowing these books. He doesn’t even remember ever visiting this library before. But, if anyone was going to read 26 entire books on Egyptology (plus one… scifi? cosmic horror? novel), he’d be the guy.

He forces a wobbly sort of smile and looks up at the librarian. Questioning this mess hasn’t worked — time to shift to abrupt, bewildered compliance. ]

Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I- I mean, it all sounds like stuff I’d borrow so I had to have done it, right?

[ He gingerly takes the list of books he knows he’s never read (or perhaps he has) and turns to go. As he does, he flashes a sheepish smile at the next person in line. ]

Sorry, [ he says, ] Didn’t mean to hold up the queue there. Seems I’ve been here already and didn’t realize.

[ He waves the piece of paper in his hand in a bemused sort of way. ]

You’d think I’d remember borrowing twenty-seven books, wouldn’t you?

[ His hand drops back to his side as he shrugs. ] Well, you’d be wrong, apparently.

well read, but a second time

[ Later on, Steven sits at a table filling out a questionnaire to replace his lost library card. Doesn’t matter that he’s pretty sure he never had one in the first place, they said. He’s got to fill out the form like everyone else. So he does.

Or, he tries.

He’s hung up on the first question because it doesn’t make any sense, and has precious little to do with anything library-related. He’s read it at least ten times without the slightest clue how to move on.

Something about the question itches at the back of his mind. It’s not an entirely unfamiliar feeling, that, and therefore it’s easy to ignore, curiously enough. It's not a conscious decision, to remain deliberately oblivious, but it comes sort of naturally. At least in regards to the question at hand.

He sighs and looks up at the person across from him, wondering if they’re saddled with the same bizarre quiz as he is. ]

Are these questions proper weird or is it just me? I didn’t think I’d have to win a round of Weakest bloody Link just to get a library card.

[ His pencil taps idly on the tabletop as he pours over question one for the umpteenth time. ]

I can’t get past the first one, can you? “Do you ever wonder why your mother never answers?” What’s that even supposed to mean?

scratchmarks

[ Steven is trapped.

He doesn’t know how long. As soon as he realized he couldn’t open the door all sense of time seemed to drain away, replaced instead with a raw and sickening fear.

The fear doesn’t give way to full blown panic right away though. He’s calm at first as he surveys the compartment. It’s dark. Stuffy. Horrible.

Familiar? In a curious way.

He thinks he can make out scratches in the walls. Scratches, and bloodied, torn fingernails.

And that’s when the panic sets in. The stuffy air is suddenly stifling, and it might be in his head but he swears he just caught a stomach-curdling whiff of death stench.

Use the suit a little voice urges in his mind and he knows it must be Marc but he can barely listen. He’s too busy trying to wrench the door off its hinges. ]

Help! Please!

[ He kicks the door, slaps it, strikes it with his fists, but it doesn’t budge.

His panic rises. ]

Please, anyone! I’m trapped in here!


(( prose or brackets are fine! I’ll match style ))

scratchmarks

[friendsfordinner]

Scream loud enough and whatever's out there might hear you, [ Hickey says, his voice piercing the darkness. Where Steven's panicking, he's keeping calm—though there's nothing to hide the hint of sheer, unrestrained interest in his voice.

There's something out there. He wants to know what it is. ]

Doubt you'd want that, wouldn't you?

[ He's perched on one of the seats, eyes cast towards the windows and the darkness, as if he can see whatever the hell's out there. He can't, of course. But he's still trying. ]