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redstringtheories2023-02-01 08:50 am
TDM #19
(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.)
(cw: auditory hallucinations, decay, rot, filth, mold, blood, blood sacrifice, violence, brief allusion to self-harm and harm to animals)
Things seem to have quieted down in Gloucester after a rough January. Everyone is still recovering from the severe localized internet failures that took place last month and disrupted everything from basic research to every level of commerce. Life has stabilized, though, and it does the heart good.
Not just your heart, either. It doesn't happen to everyone. In fact, it seems random, and it's not confined to just off-worlders, but everyone living in Gloucester; though, most are loath to talk about it. There is a heart beating within the room that you take refuge in to sleep, and it is not your own or even that of a partner you might bed down with. It seems to be beating within the walls and under the floorboards, never in the same place twice, but definitely there.
Those plagued by the heartbeat will find that their living conditions begin to degrade night by night, seeming to coincide with a slowdown in the beats of the heart. You might wake with dust covering you, cobwebs in the corners, mold and rot spreading across the floor. Your sheets and clothes may degrade to rags, your body may be covered in filth. You know instinctively what this is. The heart is beginning to die. Your room is dying, and there is only one way to fix it: blood. Not just any blood, though. No, that would be too simple. Your own is insufficient. Animals will not work. You need the blood of another person marked upon the spot where the heart beats. Blood spilled willingly or taken without the knowledge of another may stave off one effect for the night, but it does nothing for the others, nor the worst of them. Blood spilled from an unwilling person, from someone who knows they've been taken from for this terrible purpose, is the most potent. The heart races with this and the room seems to be right and well, returning completely to normal and staying as such for several days. But the heart that beats is a weak and fickle one. Go too long without another blood-letting, and the decay will creep back in.
People who might wish to avoid this all together will find their options limited. There are some living spaces that aren't affected, but that means crowding into one place. Time to get cozy with the neighbors if you don't want to stab them and steal their blood. If you're one of the lucky ones with a heartbeat-free room? Get ready for an influx of potentially long-term house guests.
(cw: altered mental states; stalking; unwanted romantic advances; toxic romantic relationships)
Emotions can run high around the holidays, especially holidays that are all about displays of emotion. A small uptick in domestic altercations in Gloucester at the start of February initially goes unnoticed as anything significant. But then boxes of chocolates appear in break rooms around ADI, an early Valentine's Day gift from HR staffer Pam Ruan in lieu of an actual holiday party. And those romantic tensions that have been going around? Well, now they're coming around at ADI.
It starts as soon as you eat even one chocolate. At first it's just a flurry of affection for whomever you happen to lay eyes on next, or perhaps it's merely noticing them as a romantic prospect in a way you never did before. The more time you spend around that person, the more the feeling deepens. This is love, isn't it? This desire to be near them, to gaze upon them, to chatter and giggle with them like schoolchildren–that's love, isn't it?
Parting ways with the object of your affection can allow the feeling to fade over the next hour until it's forgotten, though they'll stay in your mind and the urge to seek them out remains for that time. Unless, of course, you had more than one chocolate! The intensity of the feeling, of the need to be near your person is exponentially more intense for every chocolate you've consumed, and to part with them hurts your soul. And why should you part with them? Why should you be denied your love?
Pairs who have both eaten chocolates and been "lucky" enough to mutually imprint on one another will find themselves practically glued to each other by the need to remain close, jealously guarding their new relationship against any potential interference. Those whose completely legitimate chocolate-induced love is unrequited, however, still feel the need to be close and the same possessiveness even if it's not returned.
Stalking, spying, and even kidnapping is going around, but within a day ADI's higher ups are aware of the situation. Staff are instructed to incinerate any chocolate found on the premises, and anyone caught stalking their coworkers or suddenly engaging in a codependent relationship is to be separated until the effects wear off–by force, if necessary.
[See Mod Notes below for an important message regarding this prompt.]
(cw: entomophobia, arachnophobia, bugs, bees)
Everyone’s abuzz about a new shop in town. Bumble Gum has opened its doors just in time for a season of sweets and sweethearts. A jaunty bee sits on the round sign over the door and as decals on the windows, but it’s hardly necessary with the bright white and pink-striped awning welcoming in the curious.
Inside, white wicker baskets decorated in large bows line a front table, each filled with a colored cellophane treat and labeled with a similarly-designed cute bug picture for easy identification.
Because it doesn’t take more than a sharp eye to notice what’s inside the cellophane.
The baskets hold an array of chocolate-covered, cinnamon-covered, and candied bugs, from butterflies to beetles to mealworms. Along the walls hang other enticing offerings including fried flies in charming pink and white bags, a ‘protein-rich potato chip alternative!’ Lollipops that hold whole insects like tasty nuggets of amber and even a tiered arrangement of ‘bug juice’ styled drinks line another wall. Go to the counter, and their fresh assortment of powdered-sugar moths, truffles garnished with ants and wasps, and even a sign inviting you to order some freshly steamed pupae are there to greet you. Along with, of course, a smiling and cheerful cashier dressed in a frilly pink and white uniform complete with a set of costume bee’s wings on their back. Why, what can they help you with today?
It certainly doesn’t seem like the kind of place that would get popular…niche as it is, but it’s new and gossip-worthy and offers free samples on Thursday and a couple of wary fishermen soon swear by it. Teens dare each other to buy something…and some of them come back again later. Even ADI isn’t immune as one day a carton of chocolate-dipped spider legs are left out with an open invitation to try them!
A little salty…a little crunchy…a little sweet! Who knew?
- ARRIVAL (February 1-28): Two people will almost 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.
- ARRHYTHMIA (February 5-15): Not every room will be afflicted with the heartbeat, but a lot of them will be. As mentioned in the prompt, this is not limited to just ADI housing or Bonnie's Flophouse; although, getting locals to admit to their experiences will be difficult for those who go investigating. Many are frightened, confused, and ashamed of themselves for what they're doing to try to keep their homes from becoming unlivable. They may even think they're hallucinating. The decay effects are visible to anyone who steps into a living space, though, and they do not disappear unless cleaned up or until the heart is 'fed.' Those who go looking for an actual heart will need to rip up floorboards or break through walls to try to get to it… and the heartbeat seems to always be a little off from where the person is investigating. Audible, but never visible. The heartbeats will fade after two weeks if they're left to their own devices. Those who have left their rooms to decay will find that their room is a disgusting and degraded mess to clean up afterwards. Time to get your spring cleaning on early!
- LOVE POTION NUMBER 9 (February 1-15): Reminder: As per the game's rules, the following types of plots/character interactions are not allowed: rape, sexual violence, underage sex, pregnancy. The effects of the chocolates do not include an urge to perpetrate acts of sexual violence. Threads with obsessive and unwanted romantic behaviors per this prompt must be clearly marked with content warnings.
- BUMBLE GUM (February 1-Onward): There’s all kinds of bugs to be had in Bumble Gum, if it’s feasibly edible, it’s feasibly found! Andrena is a friendly young adult who greets new friends with pep and enthusiasm, a true ‘kill them with kindness’ sort. If you have trouble choosing, they’re happy to help you find your new soilmate today! Hard scrutiny of the sweet and savory treats will reveal: they are, in fact, bugs. Enjoy!
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If Tim had paid attention days earlier, this wouldn't be as big of a shock as it is but... anyway, he sets off into town with a new awareness and a goal in mind. And the new-- candy store is conveniently placed enough that Tim passes by it on his way to the hardware store. He slows his steps, cautious and curious and stamping down a tidal wave of warm feeling when he calls out, "I'm not a fan of that store either but I think a bad review will do more good in shutting it down than, uhm, that."
Who the heck just stands there and glares at brick and mortar shops. Boomers, that's who. Boomer cops especially. --Gil.
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"Tim. Good to see you, kid. I was wondering when I would."
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And maybe hiding his face for a second felt childishly nice. If anything, now that Tim's claimed distance again, he at least doesn't have to cycle through the millions of thoughts before landing on what to say to Lieutenant Gil Arroyo.
"What do you think about the big news?"
Clearly, obviously, Arroyo isn't a robot or hallucination. But Tim needs to bait. New England's Februarys are bitterly cold. And water is wet.
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"Do you mean the fact that we apparently time-jumped or the fact that Malcolm is getting married, because they feel equally impossible to me at the moment."
It's one of the rare occasions where Gil's mouth gets ahead of the rest of him. He smiles crookedly to turn the truth into a joke.
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Preaching to the choir and superficially so.
Tim hesitates.
He rocks back on his heels, glances over the Lieutenant's shoulders to the streets beyond
and then at the man's cup of coffee. Feeling brittle in the chill, Tim can't help the tiny look of accusation he shoots him at having neglected Lukewarm Liquid In A Cup.
"But I don't know what to think of it either. They're through the moon. The optimism--"
is contagious, he wants to say, but then his gaze turns to the candy shop. And, y'know, it feels like a very obvious jinx if he says it aloud. Tim lets the wan smile do the job.
Brain to mouth filter: begone.
"You're really not used to being left out of the loop, huh?"
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Which is more honesty than Tim needs and more than he'll get. He's a kid. At the half-spoken comment on optimism, Gil smiles a sadly. "He deserves some optimism. It sounds like it's been... a rough little while."
He jerks his chin at the candy store. "Were you wanting to go in there, or would you be okay with going inside with me while I refresh my coffee?"
Yeah, he caught that look, and he's going to get you something warm to, Tim.
And he's also carefully not answering the question about being in or out of loops.
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"I hate bugs."
So yeah, he takes a step towards the aforementioned coffee shop. Which is a wild notion to him. Personally. He's, so far, been taking ADI's warning to not get chummy with the locals to a debatable extreme. Tim doesn't visit one place twice, not in succession. Back when he had his skateboard-- that was a lifetime ago, huh?-- he never stuck around his peers who would gather with their own boards and tricks.
Anyway.
He looks back to Gil.
Pressing questions need answers.
"Did you get the Narnia doors too?"
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"That's so much bullshit," the kid breathes in cold disbelief.
Not a blink later and Tim freezes, doe-wide eyes pleading for forgiveness. He ducks his head, sheepishly stepping past Gil, and explains. "I would open a door-- any door. And it wouldn't lead where it was supposed to. So I was in W-- and at my computer. And then the canteen. And then stairs. I was stuck in the stairs for... way, way too long."
There it is, his first admission to... time travel, or whatever the hell that was. Tim, looking lost in the cafe for no real reason, waits for Gil to lead on.
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“Where’s ‘wuh’?” He caught that aborted word. And he does lead, a gentle hand on Tim’s arm as he draws him over to a part of the cafe with good lines of sight and a spot where they can both have their backs to a wall. It’s the same kind of low-key physical direction he gives Malcolm when the younger man seems lost or overwhelmed or distracted.
cw mentions of barf because boys r dumb
But he's not that obvious
right?
That Tim innately prefers his back to a wall isn't that obvious, right?
Anyway.
Tim sighs, then shrugs and stares at the napkin dispenser on the table. Where's Wuh, indeed. "All in my head? I don't know," he deflects. And speaking of deflecting: "Malcolm found me and helped me out."
"He's good at that," Tim lies. Because Malcolm had planted the stupid idea in his head, and then Tim had stuck a finger down his throat to vomit up a breakfast he couldn't identify, and god that had been stupid. And the inconsiderate jerk had doubled down and barreled on, raving like nothing was ever amiss, about what's to come with the rest of his life. Tim is maybe still processing.
Coffee will help.
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His voice is soft instead of accusing, though. Acknowledging the sidestep without trying to shame Tim for it. He also gives the kid an out when he continues; "He tries his hardest."
He settles on the seat a little, watching Tim. He understands Malcolm, knows what Malcolm said and did when he found Gil himself and why. He keeps his tone free of judgement, if anything sounding a little sheepish about his own feelings. "His hardest can be a little overwhelming sometimes. It was for me. He was too happy about me being back for me to have any space to be upset about being gone. I don't mind it, though--it's part of my job, part of who I am for him." A half-smile.
He tugs a napkin out of the holder and spreads it on his lap. "How're you doing, kid?"
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Unconditionally.
Tim shyly looks on at his napkin and convinces himself to keep the words coming. Talking openly isn't his forte, not really. As a kid, it had been easier. Now, he only doesn't bolt at the gentle prodding because Tim knows he invited it.
"I'm alright," he says. "I'm keeping busy."
It's the canned response he'd let fly off his tongue with cameras and mics all up on his grill. He lamely wonders if the flat delivery is part of why Ives brushed him off so easily in that G-U campus diner. It partially sucks, because the words are true. This is yet another proof that honesty is in fact not always the best policy.
Tim soldiers on. "Rooming at ADI got shuffled for me. I'm in B-3. Neal made friends with one of my new roommates; they're both big on fashion and total saps over their significant others. They got along like a house on fire. I had to brew myself coffee just hearing them talk to get the taste outta my mouth, it was so gross."
Sweet, he means, and the tired and lazy, reluctant smile makes it obvious.
"I know I keep bringing them up. But it's a big deal. Malcolm's been going through-- I don't know what to think about the engagement sometimes. Their plans."
Mouth successfully running on its own accord, Tim lets it have at.
At some point the table is approached by wait staff and Tim reels back the talking to order something hot with caramel and he says his Thanks and waits until only Arroyo is in clean earshot once more.
Malcolm. Tim talks about Malcolm. It's succinct and often clipped information: observations on the man's demeanor and actions. Beginning at Wolf Pen- the friendship with George- the selflessness of digging him out of the landfill. Family, and Ainsley's disappearance. There's a stretch of know-how that Tim has gleaned from context, from Neal, from Kate, from the network, about Malcolm's wellbeing in the months Tim was gone. He tells Gill about George's funeral. How Tim had expected that hand of Malcolm's to shake a little more than it had that night, maybe, because Malcolm can't control that tell. He tells Gil that he's right about the... overwhelming positivity Malcolm can put forward. And how much of a headache Malcolm can be when he bluntly asks about Jeff, like that isn't also something deeply... complicated and...
Tim starts to lose steam, words failing him and he shrugs loosely and uselessly, poking at his napkin like it'll entertain him or make the ache of too much talking evaporate.
Report delivered.
Malcolm Bright's status: well, damn, he might actually make it out in one piece.
Gil did say he didn't like to be out of the loop. Big dog in the big city, not knowing details of his son was probably eating at the man's very soul.
Everyone in Gloucester is a dirty, dirty gossip. Tim never figured the itch would hit him this hard. He shrugs again, awkward and stiff. "I know you've been worried about him, and worried about what's happened to him. He'll be okay."
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Gil remembers one of their first conversations. Tim's aggressively protective attitude toward Malcolm, the relief Gil felt at the time, the chaos he and Malcolm had just appeared from and all the fears and confusion Gil had clouding his mind. The way he asked Tim to keep an eye on his kid.
He did to Tim then what he'd done to Ainsley for years. Got so caught up in the loudness of one boy's needs that he didn't see the other fragile spirits standing right in front of him needing attention, too.
"Thank you," he says softly. "I've got it from here."
It's not a seizure of territory or a dismissal of everything Tim has done to keep a promise Gil never should have asked him to make. It's appreciation and a changing of the guard. Assumption of first responsibility.
"Now how have you been? What's keeping you busy? Anything an old cop can help with?"
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Fired, again.
"10-4," he chirps, and he doesn't think he'll make his point that he does understand Arroyo and his intention for what it is unless he shows it. So Tim braves to meet the man's eyes. It's a dumb sort of intimidation that Tim feels, more so when it's laced with the confusing tug of nostalgia.
He leans back against the booth, drink warm against his hands. "I'm alright. I don't know what else to say. Been working out a deal with Security and keeping it under wraps is a pain. But..."
His eyes wander.
Outside the cafe, he spots it. He lights up. Lightens up. The whole shebang.
The next moment has Tim silently apologizing for getting distracted but, shyly, he points out that, "Sorry, that's just a really nice car and you really don't see those around here."
Behold: Corvette Sting Ray, possibly '63, a smooth cobalt body, lazily passing through.
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He cuts himself off when Tim lights up, shifting in his seat and half-expecting to see a movie star. At least until he spots the car pulling out of sight as Tim narrates. Gil’s expression has also lit up. “That,” he says with relish, “is an early sixties Corvette Sting Ray in Daytona Blue. A 63, I think. The 1963 Corvettes were two inches lower and four inches wider in wheelbase compared to the 1962 models.”
And if you copy and paste that last sentence into google you’ll find where I learned that.
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Mr. Arroyo likes cars.
"I'm a motorhead," Tim says. He sneaks a final look over his shoulder and hopes the car and its person are good. And safe. Back to Gil, Tim smiles. In triumph.
(It's the first time he has identified himself as something without doubt.)
"I was driving earlier than most-- hardship license, so I didn't even have a permit yet because of my age. But my first car is-- was this flame-red Countach. I named her Redbird. Modded her to hell and back, I was in love."
With the way the idiot is talking, that's not an exaggeration.
"A Porche is my-- was my ride back home, though. 911 Carrera. I get kits when I can, and I've souped up the motor to something insane. There's a garage full at my place. I would pretty much live there. I'd sniff out car shows and everything as a kid. I don't know where I got the itch from. But I miss it."