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TDM #16

➥ 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.) You might even arrive in a section of building that has been demolished, leaving a pit of rubble open to the sky–hope you're up on your tetanus shots! 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. The one exception is the demolition zone off what used to be one corner of the building: it seems the security teams are keeping a particularly close eye on that area to document new arrivals and bring them in quickly.

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.)

➥ You Are what You Eat

Photo of a roll of toilet paper covered in a thick reddish goop. A set of fair-skinned hands holds a knife and fork as if preparing to cut into the roll.
(cw: pica, eating disorders, altered mental states, rhythmic grating sound in link)

Weird things happen in Dogtown, everyone knows it. And the weird things have been getting worse. Much worse. The rise in dangerous rather than merely uncomfortable or startling phenomena has put an end to ADI's use of Dogtown as a testing ground for new recruits. Under ADI's advisement, the City of Gloucester has officially and indefinitely closed Dogtown to the public, and work is ongoing to construct barriers around the entire park to prevent trespassing. Dogtown's borders are now patrolled by Gloucester law enforcement as well as ADI employees from the Investigations and Security divisions, who document phenomena visible from outside its borders and actively keep people out. New arrivals who volunteer for the work may still find themselves dropped off outside the borders of Dogtown in order to beef up patrols and help document paranormal activity while receiving an introduction to the kind of work ADI does. An employee will give 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, explicitly instruct you not to actually enter Dogtown, and leave you with another person at the edge of the park. 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 record any paranormal activity visible from outside the park. Those who succeed in documenting anything peculiar will receive a $100 reward to be used as they see fit, but those who are caught entering Dogtown in pursuit of such proof will be reprimanded and receive no reward.

It’s been quiet for some time now, the looming things too easily mistaken for signal towers linger around the edges of town or even brazenly within the city blocks when the night is at its deepest and few people still walk the streets. At least nothing new seems to have slipped the fence recently, but those towers still shift every so often. At least until they go suddenly very still, planted where they’ve stopped for more than a week. Still, it’s quiet.

What breaks the silence starts insidiously low, like it’s not meant to be noticed, but it builds until it feels like it’s all that can be heard, rattling and thrumming through bones and veins in a way that nearly burns until all at once it ends.

For some, the change might be sudden, like a tight, twisting, hunger in the pit of your stomach that no ‘traditional food’ will abate. Perhaps it’s gradual, as the taste of things you love turn gray and ashy in your mouth. Maybe you don’t even realize it, as you find a rogue snack laying out on your counter. Who left this pretzel stick here? Your pretzel stick now, even if it’s tougher than you might expect when you go to bite into it. A pencil snaps within your determined bite and whether you notice the inconsistency then or not, it’s…really not half bad.

For a few days after hearing the signal, food just isn’t the same anymore, or at least not the same definition. Anything inedible can be edible if you try hard enough, never mind the bloody gums or lacerated tongue. Careful not to chip a tooth on your bowl of nuts and bolts…but at least it’s almost as good as cereal!

➥ Pieces of You and Pieces of Me

Photo of miscellaneous doll parts in a wooden box.
(cw: supernaturally induced paranoia and obsession; creepy dolls; unnatural pain; burn injuries; memory loss)

It begins with a scuffed and torn paper package in your mailbox. The label is handwritten, addressed to you personally at your apartment (or at Bonnie's address), the stamps mismatched and the postal mark smudged beyond readability, with no return address to be found. It feels important. It feels like something you should open in private, and the urge to hide it away lest someone take it from you is strong even before it's opened.

Inside is one piece of a disassembled doll. Perhaps it's a delicate ceramic arm, or a dingy plastic head with empty eye sockets. There isn't any rhyme or reason to the type of doll part one receives, but all of them are well worn and look like they're at least a few decades old. There's an immediate feeling of connection, a lizard brain fear of losing the piece. And then the next day there's another package, another piece that clearly belongs to the same toy, a renewed urge to keep the delivery secret and safe…and an urge to begin assembling the toy as more parts arrive over the course of the week.

Those who give in and put their dolls together as the pieces arrive will seem to suffer no harm as the days go by and their doll nears completion, but their thoughts will only grow more obsessive and protective of the toy the closer it becomes to completion. Those who resist the urge to put the parts together will feel a bone-deep ache in each part of their body that corresponds to one of the pieces they've received, like that part of their body is dying. Anyone who destroys, throws away, or surrenders a piece of their toy will feel an immediate, sharp burning like that part of their own body is being seared away. The pain may dull down after a while, but it doesn't go away unless they are able to retrieve the discarded piece and put it together with the others they've received.

Just one week after it all began, the final package arrives. Here it is: the last piece you need, the last piece to complete the doll and make it yours, keep it safe, keep yourself safe from some unknown, dreaded danger. As soon as the last piece pops into place, though, the doll bursts into flames in your hands, rapidly burning away to ashes. With it goes something important, but it's impossible to say what. It was a memory, wasn't it? Some vital piece of knowledge? You knew something before the doll burned that you don't know now and the loss is an aching gap in your psyche.

ADI tries to intervene, of course, after a few people manage to resist the dolls' compulsion and turn in the parts they've received for study and destruction (this is the most physically painful option of all and an incredible act of will). A bulletin goes out advising everyone to turn in any unexpected packages, and offering support for anyone who's already received pieces and is willing to hand them over. But those are all just lies and tricks so they can steal from you and carve you to pieces–best find a way to hide your doll from their prying eyes until you have all of its parts.

➥ The Heart of the Cards

Photo of various tarot cards spread out across as surface
(cw: potential for car accidents, broken bones/injuries, supernatural compulsion/personality alterations)

With Halloween passing this year without a proper celebration or anything horrific happening, HR Woman, Pam Ruan, is on a mission to retake another holiday from the Fears (and her own fear): Thanksgiving. She's coordinated for a grand feast to be held at Hammond Castle with the castle's caretaker, Simone Clark. It seems Simone owes Pam a favor and Pam is ready to collect with a private event registration.

However, she needs assistance with preparations, including scoping out the kitchen, deciding on how to set up in the Great Hall, and finding good places for decorations. Those agreeing to assist will find themselves unleashed upon the castle and advised that it's currently operating as a museum, so please try to be respectful as you do your work.

In addition to the castle's usual fare of interesting 'supernatural artifacts' and medieval weapons and armor, there is an exhibit on the history and practice of tarot readings. Poster-sized cards of the Major Arcana can be found scattered around the museum, and a more concentrated exhibit can be found in one of the side halls. There are informational plaques and diagrams showing how various tarot spreads might be placed and interpreted. There are also some tarot decks scattered around the area with tables that have outlines of different card reading options. Try your hand with a friend! There are helpful booklets providing information on the deeper meaning of each card.

For those less inclined to test out the available decks, there are still those poster-sized versions. Invariably, those who spend any length of time within the castle will find themselves drawn to one of the cards. Perhaps it's the Tower, that harbinger of some sudden change. Perhaps it's the Hermit, a marker for contemplation and a search for something. Whatever the card, those drawn to it will find themselves experiencing… something in the museum or after they leave related to the more dangerous, horrific, or negative aspects of that particular card. Those drawn to the Tower may experience a personal disaster on their way home: struck by a car, tripping and breaking something, losing a large sum of money on a bet. Whatever would be a disaster to them. Those drawn to the Hermit may find themselves feeling increasingly lonely, even when around others. They might feel compelled to act on that, to try to stave off the loneliness as best they can with connection… whether the other person wants them or not. Or perhaps they have a sense that they've lost direction in what they're doing and need assurances or a guide to help them.

The cause of these misfortunes may be difficult to pin down as the effects of the tarot cards may not manifest for a few days up to a week. It seems Fate is waiting for the right moment to touch its prey.

➥ Mod Notes

ARRIVAL (November 1 - 30): 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 (or the rubble that used to be part of 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, as well as information about the state of ADI Headquarters.
YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT (November 1-15): The signal can happen randomly and more than once, it’s fed through character’s phones and sometimes even random car radios. Characters will find themselves drawn to eating things that absolutely isn’t food, inanimate objects, dirt, leaves, anything that does not consist of a normal or healthy diet. It is up to players whether this comes with hallucinations of it being proper food or if they know full well what they’re eating and simply can’t stop. Other characters can see the ‘food’ for what it is and try to help. While there is a low-level compulsion to eat things that aren’t typically food, characters can resist the urge, they’ll simply find regular food holds no appeal to them while afflicted.
PIECES OF YOU AND PIECES OF ME (November 1-8): Not all characters will receive packages, and there is no apparent pattern to who does or does not receive doll parts. Everyone will be generally encouraged to speak up if they know someone is hiding doll parts, and characters may be asked to help take doll parts away from a known recipient (whether by diplomacy or by force). Everyone who does receive the packages will receive them over the course of a single week, one part per package, with multiple packages sometimes arriving in the same day. Everyone who receives doll parts will receive all the matching parts they need to assemble a single doll. When the dolls burn they may cause injuries to characters' hands and so forth; the severity of injuries is up to player discretion. ADI's medical department will do their best to treat wounds, but will not authorize the use of any kind of healing magic for non-fatal burns.
THE HEART OF THE CARDS (November 1-21): Characters are welcome to have been cheerfully wrangled for assisting Pam whether they would be the sort to generally assist or not. She is a woman on a mission and will use her Disapproving Grandma face on you if you try to weasel out of helping. For the tarot cards, players may choose whichever Major Arcana card they would like to play with, in terms of effects. It does not necessarily need to be the card you believe represents your character; although, it can be! In terms of interpreting the negative effects of each card, we will leave that up to the players. We simply ask that someone who gets, say, the Tower Card, doesn't have part of ADI HQ suddenly collapse. A restaurant they're in, though? Sure! Go for it. Make everyone around town suffer with you. For those with cards that have more cerebral misfortunes, we encourage folks to think about how those can be used to facilitate CR. E.g., someone who gets the Strength card may experience severe insecurity, leading them to beg others for reassurance. Someone who gets the Empress card may find themselves acting in an overbearing and smothering way toward people, even those they don't know. Someone who gets the Fool may find themselves being especially inconsiderate or starting fights they know they can't win. The tarot card exhibit will disappear after the 21st, off to some other town. The effect on an individual from the tarot cards may be a single instance of something happening or could last up to a few days/a week if the effect is more cerebral/personality-related.
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Neal is on a preferred bench in a quiet corner of a pocket park, he thinks safe enough to take out and examine the delicate ceramic limb he got in the mail a day ago. It makes him think of the beach from a few months back, the endless wash of dolls onto the shore, the way he started having nightmares when he tried to help pick them up. But there are no nightmares specifically triggered by these that he's noticed. It just makes him anxious. Makes him... he's not sure.

At the sound of someone else's voice at close quarters, Neal closes his hand around the foot like that will make it disappear. He looks up to meet Jesus's eyes with a smile--and then immediately falters at the familiarity of the face under the beard. His grip on the doll's ceramic foot tightens.

It's not Jesus's fault that he's showed up a mere month after Neal tried and failed to kill his own evil twin. After Malcolm had to do it for him.

"Where did I get what?" Like this man could be referring to anything but the broken piece of something dangeorus squeezed in Neal's fingers.

Edited 2022-11-04 00:44 (UTC)

He sees that subtle reaction--not the surprise at seeing him, but the way the man's fingers tighten around the doll. Where Jesus is from, the movement of hands is infinitely more telling than the expression on a face, so you start there first: what weapon do they have, what are they doing with it, then decide if they're looking any particular way at you.

"Just curious about the doll," he says, his own hands open, almost placating. "I got one in the mail. Is it some sort of welcome package?"

Neal exhales sharply. "No. It's not."

Welcome package. That seems to indicate the guy is new here, or pretending to be new here. Evil twin or not, it can't be that harmful to tell him something that many of them already know. "Don't trust the weird things that happen here."

No, that's not right. Neal exhales hard through his nose, the sound not really amused. "Let me rephrase. If something around here is weird, it's probably going to lead to something terrible in pretty short order."

He frowns and looks at the doll leg in his hand. He resists the urge to hide it in one of his many pockets. "What, like these are going to come at us? Child's Play come to life?"

"Never saw that movie," Neal says, tone mildly ironic. "I was never much of a horror guy. But it's on the table."

He gestures at their surroundings. "A while back we had dolls washing up on the beach and anyone who picked them up started getting sick. Having dreams of drowning, coughing up sea water."

He clears his own throat, the tell small but present. His chest still aches sometimes if he's putting too much energy into a run, even months later. He hates it. "Anything you can think of, it'll probably be worse."

A pause. "Hi, by the way. You're new?"

To Gloucester, to this world... he's pretty sure the guy will get the gist if he actually is new.

Bad dreams are nothing new to him, so he nods slightly in sympathy.

"Yeah, I just got here a couple of days ago. I'm Jesus." And then, remembering his doppelganger's cautious but earnest question he chuckles slightly and amends, "Paul. But everyone calls me Jesus."

Neal can’t help a little smile. “I think quite a few religious scholars would be surprised if you claimed the former in any formal way.”

Not an evil twin, then. He’s not trying to pass himself off as Malcolm, doesn’t inexplicably have Malcolm’s knowledge. “Neal.”

He offers the hand that isn’t holding a foot, still smiling as he adds, “I’m very sorry to meet you.”

Then, because he can’t help himself, “Do you have a last name?”

"Scholars are fine. It's the psychiatrists I'd worry about," he agrees with a little grin.

He shakes Neal's hand. "Rovia. How long have you been here, Neal?"

Rovia. Not Whitly. There’s an odd relief in that. Neal finally relaxes, or at least settles back into the facade of relaxation, tucking his doll foot into his pocket and gesturing at the rest of the open bench. “Just over a year now.”

Strange to say it out loud to someone new. “You don’t seem particularly fazed by the idea of killer dolls or supernatural weirdness. It seems like it’s about fifty-fifty, people who have dealt with this kind of thing back home and those who haven’t.”

Ah, well. He looks down, hiding a sheepish smile. "I'm still banking on this being some kind of mass hysteria issue. But not a lot surprises me. I thought I was dead; instead here I am."

Here he is, chest still aching where he was stabbed, but alive. Somehow alive.

"What's 'back home' like for you?"

Neal snorts. “Fair enough. There’s been some of that, too. The mass hysteria.”

He settles back a little against the bench, looking across the park, watching pedestrians. “Honestly, like this, minus the weirdness. No magic. No Entities. No end of the world. I was in a very ordinary Paris helping with museum and gallery security.”

He studies Jesus with curiosity. “What happened to make you think you were dead?”

Security? He looks up at Neal and finds he's being studied, too. He's used to some level of scrutiny--people looking him over for weapons, mostly. He's not so used to the curiosity.

He decides Neal probably wasn't wearing a uniform and a walkie talkie. Management, maybe? Didn't management wear nice clothes back then?

"I was stabbed," he says, and nods at the bench. It hurts to stand. "Can I sit?"

“Please do.” The stabbing comment is less surprising than it might have been a year ago. He keeps a subtle eye on the way Jesus moves, gauging his level of injury, looking for similarities with certain other people, unable to help himself.

Finally, almost like a kid blurting out an answer to something when he’s been told to stay quiet, Neal says, “Have you met Malcolm Bright yet?”

There are a surprising number of muscles that move when you go from standing to sitting, many of them through the chest, and so he moves gingerly, carefully.

And all that gets sort of wasted, because the question makes him laugh lightly--and that hurts, too. "Ow. Yeah. I wondered when we'd get there. You're the third person to ask me that." And he's still not sure how to answer in a way that makes sense to himself. "I met him. I don't know why he looks like me. I think I'm older than he is?" Malcolm looks less weather-worn, less like he's survived an apocalypse.

Neal grins sheepishly at the laugh, his expression apologetic. “He was 33 when we got here, so at least 34 now, depending on how his birthday lines up with the time of year where he was versus the time of year when he arrived—”

Neal cuts himself off. He may have been trying to figure out Malcolm’s actual birthday recently, based on passage of time instead of the dates that don’t match up with the reality Malcolm came from. It’s a thing.

“Which I guess makes me 38 now. That’s uncomfortable.”

It’s so close to 40. Neal shakes it off. “How old are you?”

Jesus does seem more careworn overall, Malcolm’s persistent exhaustion notwithstanding.

You know what he actually hasn't been asked in a good long time? That.

He does some quick math. "37. Almost, probably."

Neal is openly fascinated. It shouldn’t be unusual—just because the guy shares Malcolm’s features doesn’t mean they share anything else, from background to decade. But still.

“Twins with three years between you,” he says. Then, because it feels like Jesus should know to prevent future weirdness: “We’re together. Malcolm and I. Just…”

A pause. “I thought you should know in case you saw us together later and it made your brain hurt.”

Edited (I can math) 2022-11-05 02:51 (UTC)

He smiles, shakes his head. "It's fine. One of us should be settling in well here, right?"

Neal runs a hand through his hair. "I guess."

He doesn't like the idea that he's settled here. Even if there's a part of it that's true. He studies Jesus again, curious. "What's it like where you're from? Is this place an improvement or downgrade so far?"

"It's different." The number of people here, the lack of walls, make him more edgy than he would have ever guessed.

"I'm from DC. Originally. The last few years were spent in a camp called the Hilltop; we have 107 people. And the world..." He trails off. "There was a virus. The Wildfire Virus. It wiped out about ninety percent of the world's population in a matter of months. It reanimates the dead, makes them eat anything warm and living. I managed to get out of the city alive but the dead outnumber us so every day for a while there was spent fighting them. That's what I was doing right before I was brought here."

"Jesus," he says, realizes the irony, and flicks a smile at the other man. Humorless, but a smile.

Neal turns the doll foot in his pocket over between his fingers, trying to imagine that world. It makes him feel sick. It makes him think of the avatars in Wolf Pen, trying to bring about the end of this world.

"It won't be restful here," he says, almost an apology. "I mean, you don't have to work at helping people, you're not required to, but even if you keep to yourself, this place... Things happen here, and they'll get to you."

"I don't want to be the sort of person who could live through some of this and not still feel it," he admits. But he's one of very few in his world who still winces at executions, who still believes people deserve second chances and who doesn't absorb his grief into anger.

"Where are you from?"

"You and Malcolm have that in common," Neal says softly. It's one of the things he loves, that Malcolm still cares, that he still can. It's one of the things he's terrified of losing himself, even though the terror of it should be an indicator that it's not as likely.

As for where he's from, that's complicated, but the answer has always been easy. "New York City, though like I said, I was in Paris before this. Similar line of of work though. I consulted with the FBI on white collar crime cases that involved my areas of expertise."

"You're the first consultants I've ever met," he says, smiling wryly. White collar people didn't survive very long, generally speaking, and Jesus is from a very different socioeconomic class to begin with. "I never would've guessed it'd be here. ... How often do people die here?"

“We’re a rarified breed, I guess.” It doesn’t occur to him that his skills in particular aren’t suited to the apocalypse. Not one like Jesus’s world went through anyway.

At the death question… “Too much. And if it’s not happening in the real world, it’s happening in a dream that feels too real, or a pocket reality that you can only get out of the one way.”

He shivers, touching his throat, resisting the urge to touch his stomach. “I’ve died in dreams a few times now. The scars stay, every once in a while. Mercifully not the time someone cut my throat open, but sometimes.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TDM #16

hi jesus have your posh doppelganger's posh boyfriend

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