TDM #20

[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.) 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.)

➥ The Wheels on the Bus

(cw: spiders; spider eggs; swarms; uncanny valley; loss of bodily autonomy; full encasement)

Beware the bus.
His name is Gus.
Don't shout.
Don't run.
Don't make a fuss.
Gus the bus.
Bus the Gus.
He's big and bright.
A mean old cuss.

The sing-song rhymes haunt the streets of Gloucester this month with young people, in particular, muttering to each other about a haunted bus that just has 'G1_15' fixed on its scrolling route sign. They've taken to calling it Gus, and regaling each other with tales of seeing it picking up and dropping off vagrants late and night when no one else is around to see it.

Enough sleuthing will uncover that these sightings, such as they are, seem to happen around 2 AM along Dory Road, where the Dogtown Trailhead existed before ADI and the local police force had the park shut down. Gus doesn't appear most nights, but for the lucky few who do spot him prowling, two things will become immediately clear:

1. He only seems to turn up when there are two or fewer people around; and
2. Gus is not a bus.

The hulking form that 'rolls' down the street does, indeed, look like a bus… head on. But catch him from the corner of your eyes and you will see that he skitters. The 'wheels' seem to extend in arachnid legs with two poking out from each well. His headlights are fractured, as well, with eight distinct lights winking away in the darkness.

Should one be foolish enough to remain at the single bus stop on this street or approach when they see him coming, they'll find their muscles locking up and, whether they want it or not, their body will move to board Gus. He'll settle down and let you in, should this happen. Welcome to a ride you won't soon forget.

The interior of the bus is filled with webbing and enormous white egg sacks. Try as you might, you can't seem to stop yourself from walking down the aisle and settling upon one of the sacks. You can speak. You can even scream, if you'd like. One of your fellow passengers may be doing so as small spiders swarm across them, slowly wrapping them in silk. But you can't get up, can't move to get off or fight the forces holding you. And as you sit, the swarm finds you and begins to wrap you in your own cocoon.

Once a person has been fully encased in the webbing, they will find themselves slowly losing consciousness. Instead of death on the other end, though, they'll awaken the next morning at the bus stop on Dory Road. somewhere on their person they'll be sporting a new tattoo… one that looks like spider webs.

It's probably fine.

➥ Wax On, Wax Off

(cw: altered perception; characters given cause to doubt their reality)

A single disturbance at a supermarket wouldn't have been enough to grab ADI's attention–Karens will be Karens, after all. But when two videos pop up on social media in one week featuring individuals in the produce aisle of two different Gloucester stores having what appear to be very similar mental breakdowns, it's worth at least a casual investigation. It's a bonus assignment, with ADI offering anyone who is willing to check out the grocery stores in the area a small payment for time and reimbursement for any related purchases.

For the majority of investigators, this little assignment is a big dead end. Local supermarkets, including the two with known events, are to all appearances ordinary grocery stores selling ordinary produce. Just a few people will see an odd sheen to the fruit that's heaped up in the produce bins. Upon closer inspection by those select individuals, the fruit in question appears to be made of wax. Touching it, weighing it in one's hand, smelling it, cutting it open, or even eating it just confirms what they see: it's wax through and through, too lightweight to be real, too smooth and brightly colored and false, a mouthful of lies.

To the people around them, though, obliviously picking out what they believe to be real food, the fruit remains as real and as heavy with juice as one would expect from real, solid food grown from the earth. For the majority of people, both local and interdimensional, the fruit is fruit by every measure, including taste. It's not especially perfect or delicious, not anything out of the ordinary in today's world of hothouse agriculture: it's simply fruit from the supermarket, as one would expect to buy on any ordinary day.

Food or wax? Are you digging your teeth into your next meal, or into a lump of inedible decor? Is perceiving the fruit as wax a delusion, or a hidden truth? Who can say?

➥ Storied Susurrations

(cw: compulsion)

There are many who would claim to hear a siren’s call to their local library. The lure of knowledge, escapism, or simply a quiet nook to help maintain focus, there’s an appeal to wandering the stacks for all kinds of people. Even if you’re not usually such a bookworm you might feel a bit of a draw when you happen past the unassuming building just West of Downtown. It’s ignorable, if gut feelings really aren’t your thing, but the curious might find themselves called closer.

As soon as your shoes touch the floor of the open main room, the call you’ve been hearing becomes a little louder, if only a little. There’s a whisper near your ear, like someone just a bit behind you speaking too low to hear. Someone familiar. Someone trusted.

Delve deeper. The voice gets more distinct, the words recognizable even if they never go over a whisper. It coils through your ears and your mind and your limbs, a sweet ribbon of promise. Come closer, don’t you want to hear? Don’t you want to know? Look harder.

Towards the back of the main room, near where a cluster of tables stands vigil, sits the history section. Local, State, Country, World, a wide manner of options present their spines proudly, though not a one seems to lay claim to the source of the whisper. Best just to listen, then, to your dear friend’s message.

Those who listen to the words will find information is their reward, information about them. Information about home. Is it the secrets in your past? The concerns of the present? Knowledge impossible to confirm from your future? Perhaps you should listen longer. Perhaps come back and check again. Or maybe just ask your friend nearby, they certainly seem to be listening keenly.

➥ Mod Notes

• ARRIVAL (March 1-31): 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.
  
  
• THE WHEELS ON THE BUS (March 1-15): Gus will only appear when there are two or fewer people on the street. There is no way to stop yourself from boarding Gus should you become trapped in his control, nor can characters physically fight against remaining where they are in the bus. Gus does not affect the thoughts of anyone he meets, merely controls their bodies. Those who wind up riding him and earning a spider web tattoo are free to decide where this tattoo is and what, precisely, it looks like. For the moment, there doesn't appear to be any ill effect from the tattoo. Maybe your new friends just want to make sure you remember. Characters may ride Gus more than once. They will acquire additional tattoos for each ride.
  
  
• WAX ON, WAX OFF (March 1-15): Any characters who see the fruit as wax will see wax regardless of which stores in Gloucester they visit; characters who see the fruit as fruit will see real fruit regardless of the store they visit. Almost all members of the general public see real fruit; a smaller majority of ADI investigators see real fruit.
  
  
• STORIED SUSURRATIONS (March 1-15): Characters who go to listen to the books whisper to them will, indeed, be told of some canon information relevant to them either from their past, present, or future! Any characters grouped up will hear the same message as those nearby, as the whispers carry on individually in the voice of someone the character trusts. The message doesn’t seem to change with new or prolonged visits, just the same message offered over and over again without a source.
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Comments

QUESTIONS

[apocalypsehowmods]

Re: QUESTIONS

[worthallthis]

Not saying I'm necessarily gonna do it yet... but what WOULD happen if the guy with the Web-marked trinket living in his pocket investigated the Web-marked bus? Anything different?

[edalyn]

For the library voices, with it being "someone the character trusts" could they hear it as a castmate who is in the game but the character doesn't know that they're here?

cw: guns

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

What happens if someone tries to shoot at or harm Gus from a distance? (I'm sorry Gus ilu)

Query: Wax on, Wax off - cw for altered perception / doubting reality

[archonloaf]

Hello! Time for science:

If one were to take one of the wax fruit, melt it down and reform it into something else (a candle feels the obvious choice, because that's something that should be wax) and present it to someone who saw fruit, what would that person see then? I assume if they saw the process it would look Weird As Heck (if the process works at all, is there a point it stops being fruit and/or their brain breaks?), but what if they don't, just the finished item?

Relatedly, does a photograph or video of the "fruit" still appear as whichever version you originally saw?

(More than happy to take 'write the thing and we'll tag in with that information' as an answer if you'd rather, though it's probably useful for potential subjects to know what they're getting into...)

Follow up but slightly unrelated question

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

If a character who was cocooned by Gus and got a web-tattoo were to get a full body-scan (X-Ray and/or CAT Scan) and bloodwork, and inspected the tattoo closely, would there by any anomalies or anything of note?

Research: The Wheels On The Bus

[archonloaf]

Fruit post will go up, I promise <3 but since Urianger is using this as an excuse to hang around the History Section...

With the caveat he's absolutely mostly there to listen to the voice (though that shouldn't entirely derail him unless supernaturally compelling, because the voice in question is one that used to sit next to him while he studied and ramble so he's used to multitasking through that): incidences of the name Gus (or such names as Gus might reasonably be a derivative of) in the history of local crimes and tragedies, with a special focus on weird stuff (your basic 'did someone murder a vagrant called Gus?' / 'is Gus an angry dead witch?' / 'what real world tragedy has been mythologised into a spider bus?' horror movie folklorist stuff), please!

Belated Gus Query/ Observation Effort

[wewillwewill]

For those who might be monitoring the Dory Road stop in the morning (from a hopefully reasonable distance), would they see the arrival of riders being dropped off? If so, what would they see? Would the bus arrive at the same time on the dot when it does arrive or are there variations?

Johnny Summer | Lavender Jack

[defendwhatremains]

Wheels on the Bus
Since arriving, Johnny Summer has been walking most places. It's not that he wouldn't like a car, but the cars here are...a bit odd. Four wheels makes them recognizable enough, but they're not the vehicles he knows how to operate. Besides, he's missing one very important thing for the first time in a long time: capital. But it's dark and he doesn't exactly relish being out so late his patrons lock him out, so he decides to give this city's version of a bus stop a try. It was supposedly affordable and the odd shape safe and he's seen many use them in the prior days, so it should be educational as well as useful to his needs.

The bus that approaches catches his attention for it's odd movements at the corner of his eye...yet, when he looks at it trundling closer, all seems well. Must be tired. Being dumped in the wrong sort of Earth was certainly unnerving. He pats the golden cigarette case in the pocket of his white suit jacket to check it's there, but doesn't reach to light one. They were sensitive about where one smoked in this city, apparently. Any that join him might receive a polite nod and small comment on the weather, perhaps even a full conversation if they arrive early enough, but once the bus draws nearer, Johnny's attention becomes affixed.

In fact, all of him becomes affixed. Frozen to the spot, he can't move or draw back in mounting horror as that wrongness strikes him again and roots deep in his mind. That horror turns to chill dread as he finds himself moving toward the opening door regardless.

Wax on, Wax off
'Go shopping for fruit' is hardly an imposition, even if he weren't being paid for it. Gallery had seen a bit of an embargo on some resources, despite what the leadership would claim, and variations in fruit were a treat. Of course he'll go look at them. Buying them might be harder what with how staggering the inflation had become, but he could perhaps indulge a bit.

Still smartly dressed in all of his white suit but the coat, Johnny makes his way through the humble produce section of the store he's been sent to and finds...fruit. A decent array, but fruit all the same. After he performs his due diligence of checking each display, he returns to the clusters of bananas to pick one out. Perhaps with some pears...and maybe whatever this vaguely spikey fruit is? He stops here to contemplate the merits of a 'dragon fruit' he's holding up while the rest of his minor haul rests in the crook of his arm. The still form of someone nearby, however, has him glancing their direction. What a peculiar face they're making...

"Well, now. I can't say I remember the last time someone looked at me quite like that. Something the matter, friend?"

Storied Susurrations
Of course he knows better than to follow the whispers of an absent Mimley Bastrop into a library; he's a businessman and landlord, not the sort that follows mysticism..and yet it had been some years since he'd heard that voice. Anyone would follow it. Many had and did. Johnny was not special on that front.

Still, he follows it past the rows of books and into the section he'd come to more than once of his own volition in the hopes of finding familiar happenings to the world's history. What he finds instead is a smooth, charming voice even in whisper, where he could swear he could hear that devilish smile just by his ear.

"What ho, old boy! There you are. Listen close, Mr. Summer.
Soon. I will be back soon, I promise.
Together, we will see the city right for good."

No one's about just yet. Even as the voice starts in again, a loop like a poorly taken recording turns over the words and Johnny listens with far too much of his heart, a look of yearning on his face. Was that true? Would Gallery soon know the return of Lavender Jack? Would he be so lucky?

Not while he was trapped here.

Mimley's voice is soon overlapped by another and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to shift his focus to whoever was approaching and what seeming phantom followed in their wake.

Wheels on the Bus

[graveyounglady]

The woman who joins him at the bus stop as the night draws in is young and offers him a friendly smile. A look over her would show that she seems to be... a bit dirty. There are some stains on her knees and there's something dark under her nails, like she's maybe been gardening. She probably shouldn't be taking the bus back to Bonnie's place when she's a little less put together than she usually is, but with the ground still partly frozen, her little graverobbing excursion earlier had been harder than usual, and she's tired. It should be safe enough.

Or so she imagines. The man she's with seems like a fancy sort. "If you're looking for a taxi, sir, I don't think they got them 'round here. Closest might be a nice little restaurant they got the street over. Blue Fin's the name!"

Wax on, Wax off

[archonloaf]

Buy Some Fruit. It is hardly the kind of task of which the bards sing, but given what he hears of the forays into Dogtown perhaps that's for the best, and it is nice to be trusted with something outside the Library. Clearly, Urianger has this 'behaving like a normal person' thing down. The glamour helps with that, granted - brings his height down to simply tall, rather than gargantuan, rounds his ears - and while his manner of dress is eccentric it's the kind that makes little old ladies tut around kids these days with their new fangled gender-fluidity and thus the mostly-harmless sort.

The discovery that said fruit is fake, however, and moreover that he seems to be more-or-less the only person who knows that, is taxing that performance more than a little, brow furrowing as the cogs spin and fail to neatly mesh. If he had his goggles, or if he could just chance a few rudimentary (for him) glyphs, then maybe...

The voice startles him, and he blinks. Was he staring? Twelve, he was, wasn't he? Clumsy. Foolish. How Thancred would scold him, if he were here - though if he were here, it would not be Urianger dealing with Normal People, would it? With that in mind, then, what would Thancred do?

He smiles (good start), inclines his head in apology. "Prithee, forgive me. I simply had not seen such a... unique fruit, 'ere now."

Nailed it. Thank Nophica it's that odd spiky thing, and not, say, an orange, the man holds.

Raine Whispers | The Owl House | OTA

[rainestorms]

ARRIVAL

The first thing Raine noticed when they came to- besides the cool, hard floor, and how dark it was- was the smell. It was a sharp, moisture filled smell that hung in the back of their mouth, and ranged somewhere between sickeningly floral and overpoweringly aromatic. It made them gag as they inhaled too deeply, but Raine still sat up, and tried to gain their bearings. As their eyes adjust more, they spot something small, and rectangular, like a box. It looked to be something they could use to get up off the floor, and a sort of confidence befalls Raine as they position themself to try. They grabbed ahold of it, surprised when it moved easily, but decided they wouldn't let that prevent them from at least trying to stand.

It was a decision that Raine would quickly come to regret, though. The box tipped over, and a cold liquid that reeked of the same stuff they smelled a moment ago tipped over and onto them. Raine still tried to stand the rest of the way but couldn't keep balance, as their boots didn't give them much stability to work with. They run into what they can only assume is shelves behind them with a soft oof, things falling off the shelves around them and onto the floor.

The same thing happened as they tried to stabilize themself. This time, however, they're able to grab a hold of the shelf Raine feels it begin to tip forward, but they use their body weight to counter- it works well for them on the aspect of having been able to prevent their own fall, but the same thing couldn't be said for the object that fell, and landed on their head with a loud THUNK before it hit their boot.

“Ow,” Raine winced, thankful that though they were wet, they weren't on the floor.

So much for any attempt to be quiet, though. Most Janitor’s closets typically don't ruin themselves.

STORIED SUSURRATIONS

A library was the only thing that seemed to make sense in this place to Raine. A voice called them— it almost felt like Eda. It beckoned them almost inaudibly, but it told them to look for a book. The voice made the hair on the back of their neck raise, but the desperation to find something that made sense about.. anything that had happened to Raine in the past few days compelled them to listen, to venture deeper into the library.

The voice was painfully sweet to Raine, and it overpowered reason or rationale that would've told them to be smarter. But Eda’s voice led them to the history section, which they supposed made sense, so Raine followed. They dug through shelves of books to look for what they were promised; a vague smattering of information about home in a realm completely detached from theirs.

Despite their newfound obsession, however, Raine had a method to their madness- they took stacks of books from shelves, and picked through them one by one, so much that they’d surrounded themself with quite a few books at that point. On the table, chairs, even the floor— but still, nothing.

“Come on, Eda. Give me something else. What am I looking for?”

arrival.

[ruevealing]

Maybe surprisingly, it isn't the first time Rue's come face-to-face with someone in one of ADI's janitorial closets.

The thumping around draws the owlbear's attention as they are walking down the hallway back to their office after lunch. It's been an eventful day already - meetings and paperwork and an especially exciting paper jam in the fax machine that absolutely was hexed at some point in the past, but still, the soft groans of pain are more than enough to drag Rue from their thoughts.

The door opens on a mess of a scene, Rue peering down owlishly at where Raine is laying, no doubt wet and aching and bruised.

"...Raine?!"

Storied!

[byeeeeeeeee]

Hunter is on his way to check out his latest haul when he hears a familiar voice. He peeks around the bookshelf and that's...that's a lot of books. It puts the pile Hunter is carrying to shame. At first glance, he thinks that maybe someone is cleaning or reorganizing the shelves, because why else would they be littered all over the place like this? But then he spots Raine and...Well, no, it doesn't make any more sense.

Flapjack, who had been nestled up against his neck, abandons his perch to occupy one of the book stacks. Hunter follows, squinting to try and read some of the titles.

"Raine. Hi. Is, um..." He casts his gaze over the books strewn everywhere. "Everything okay?"

Gym >]

[edalyn]

Eda needed to burn off some stress. She hadn’t had a good week, and spending a night crying on Rue’s couch had helped, but after getting that out of her system… now she just felt angry with this place.

But burning the ADI to the ground wouldn’t help, especially when there was still no solid proof that they were behind anyone arriving or vanishing. And she still didn’t know how to attack the entities directly.

And so instead, because she had to do something with this restless energy, and because she needed a distraction, she’d challenged one of her friends to a sparring match–whoever happened to be free soonest.

Since she’d decided not to go further than the ADI gym, she wasn’t glamoured–and as such anyone who happened by would be met with a rather striking sight–at least if they hadn’t gotten used to seeing Eda around grounds in the last few months.

She stood a good seven and a half feet tall, in gym clothes that didn’t leave terribly much to the imagination–although what they showed off was covered in feathers. Said feathers didn’t hide the wiry muscle on her frame, though, especially in action.

She was fighting with a staff–though perhaps notably not Owlbert’s–and the talons on her birdlike feet. Her form likely wasn’t perfect to any particular style, but she made an impressive image all the same–fast and dangerous.

Although she wasn’t particularly holding back, the fight seemed more playful than serious; as did the rather flirty banter she was engaged in.

Finally she was hitting the point of tiring herself–and seemingly, her sparring partner–out. She caught them off guard with a sweep that took their feet from under them, and then simply offered them a hand up. They accepted the help, and brushed themselves off before giving her a little wave and being on their way out the nearest door.

Eda took a moment to stretch her wings, roll her shoulders and crack her neck to the side before running a hand through her short–and currently dishevelled--hair. She swiped the back of one of her hands across her forehead; she’d worked up a bit of a sweat.

It was just then that she noticed she had an audience–for she had no idea how long. But that wasn’t her concern at the moment. She was focused on the fact that this had been the last person she’d expected to see today.

“Raine?!” Normally she might have stopped to find it a little strange just how starstruck they looked, or the way they were blushing so much she suspected they’d discovered brand new shades of red–after all, even if she knew they liked how she looked as a harpy, they should have been used to it by now. Normally she might have stopped to think about the fact that while sometimes people came back with their same memories, sometimes they didn’t–not to mention the fact that if they’d vanished for more mundane reasons she was likely about to be very angry about it.

“I thought you were–” well, she could ask where they’d been later.

Right now she was simply happy to see them.

Without stopping to think, she rushed to sweep the bard up in a crushingly tight hug, before planting kisses first on their forehead and then on their cheek.

Peggy Carter | MCU | OTA (will match style)

[assays]

🎯 ARRIVAL

This was not the SSR office. The last thing that Peggy remembers was lounging in one of the other agent's chairs with a snack in hand. Her first thought was that she was drugged and kidnapped, then brought to wherever the hell this place was. But she didn't feel like she had been drugged. Her mind was clear, and her body was alert.

She searched her pockets for any clues, only finding the remainders of her snack, her SSR badge and her pistol. At least she had a weapon. Peggy ate the rest of the snack before withdrawing her pistol, prepared to shoot if necessary. She decided to look around the area first for any indication of where she might be, searching desks and drawers and finding absolutely nothing useful.

"Bloody hell!" She exclaimed mostly to herself, but the words do echo around the room.

The only other option that presented itself was to venture out of the office and explore in the hope of discovering more information.

Peggy has been in more harrowing situations than this. She's come close to dying on a few occasions so exploring an unfamiliar building in unfamiliar territory should be a breeze.

---

🎯STORIED SUSURRATIONS

Peggy was certain that she heard Sousa's voice ahead of her as she walked down the street. Had he been here the whole time and she hadn't realised? She couldn't make out what he was saying, but she continued to follow it until she's standing in front of a building with no sign stating what it was.

Eventually, she found the entrance and stepped inside, just as the voice started to get stronger, encouraging her to come in further. Peggy ventured deeper into the building and stood still for a moment, looking around for any sign of Sousa.

"A chief's work is never done."

The voice said. Now Peggy is even more certain it was him, but it didn't make much sense in the context of where she was.

"Daniel." She called out into the room, using his first name. "This isn't funny."

"Search the books." Came his voice again. "You'll find out what you want to know."

It's a vague instruction because there are a lot of shelves with lots of books and it would be much easier if she knew for certain that Daniel was real and this place wasn't messing with her.

"Fine." Peggy muttered to herself, turning to the nearest bookshelf and examined it closely, reading the spines to see if anything jumped out at her.

---

🎯WILDCARD
(ooc: Want another thing? Feel free to leave a prompt, DM me or poke me on plurk @ marymoo)

arrival

[heyunderoos]

It isn't a wild surprise to have new arrivals seemingly just pop into existence in this part of the building. At this point, Peter is aware enough of it he tries to avoiding this area. He didn't want to cloud any of Donnie's active readings for data collection with his presence by getting in the way.

Today he can't completely avoid it since he's kind of trying to weave his way through the building to the canteen. He's kind of having a late lunch after getting side tracked with a project.

A woman stalking out of an office gun in hand is enough to make Peter slow to a stop, warily looking at the weapon then back at her. The seventeen year old has to wonder why his luck is like this sometimes.

"Um, are you new-?" He questions warily, wondering if he's about to be shot. That would kind of suck actually. "Cause- there is like an orientation you can go to, they might be a little iffy about the gun thing though. No one really likes being shot, it's not really great! I mean, it hurts- not that I've been shot, I mean, no-" He has definitely been shot before, and has no idea how to stop talking

Wildcard AF because I do what I want!

[bossyboiler]

What's a secret organization without a little bureaucracy?

It is sometime after orientation that Miss Carter winds up in the Administration department. All newcomers do. It's where they get their housing assignments and take photographs for their ADI identification. It's an eventuality that all must succumb to.

Kate is working in administration that day when she sees Peggy approach the department. Having never seen the woman before, Kate automatically assumes that she is new. (But you know what happens to people who assume right?)

"Hi. You must be new. I'm Kate."

Arrival

[clavesregni]

Caitlyn's clutching a sheaf of notebooks and disorganized papers to her chest, and has her phone pressed to her ear. She's been making calls all day, and walking down the hallway isn't the best venue for it, but she was too loud for the library, the canteen was too loud for her, and there's a pile of dirty dishes looming in the apartment that she's not ready to face. So she's looking for an empty office.

"If you could just tell me the name of the suspect, I--" The man on the other end of the line cuts her off with a polite reminder that there is a strict chain of custody for evidence related to ongoing cases.

She's scowling about this when she suddenly finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"I. Um." Should she hang up? Even with the phone lowered away from her ear, she can clearly hear the man on the other end saying, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you, 'Officer Kiramman,' that impersonating a police officer is a federal offence. And then he solves one of her problems, albeit not the most pressing one, by hanging up.

Instinctively, she keeps her hand up around shoulder height, not wanting to make any dramatic or sudden movements lest she be shot. "I-is. Is there something I can do for you?"

Storied; this is post-WS Bucky who has very minimal memories, sorry Peggy :D

[worthallthis]

Winter is slowly replacing the books he lost in a recent event... thing... that destroyed his room, so it doesn't take much prompting to get him into the library, looking for the used book shelf.

He stops short, though, at the sight of that hair. That face. Jesus fucking Christ. "What are you doing here," he demands before he really thinks too hard about it, too startled to care that he's being rude.

Aki Hayakawa | Chainsaw Man | OTA, will match style!

[self_less]

ARRIVAL:

Although he is in an empty office, Aki doesn't really notice his surroundings. It could be said that he's not noticing much at all. He's sitting in a corner, having foregone all chairs. A few things stick out, such as the fact his clothing is tattered and some of it's bloody.

His eyes seem unfocused and unable to settle on anything. His gaze darts around the room, but not in a manic sort of way, but rather a lazy sort of way. You can just sort of tell that if he was standing, he'd be swaying.

This guy definitely isn't getting himself help. Anyone up to doing it for him?

The Wheels on the Bus:

Obviously, eventually, he comes back to himself. He starts working with the ADI, finding the pace of the job to be familiar and comforting. Not that any of the things involved in said job are actually comforting. Far from it, to be honest.

So when he's out at night and finds himself drawn to this odd bus, he is less like 'fuck no' and more like 'what, again?'. He just knows the feel of his body being controlled - he doesn't even think about it anymore. Boarding that bus is so easy, and the inward parts don't even make him flinch.

"Right," he says, because he does find himself able to speak, "Am I not to think this is the work of a devil?"

Well then. He'll figure out how to break through, soon - but for now, Aki is just going to observe everything around him.

Wax on, Wax Off:

Aki doesn't understand why they've been sent to investigate a grocery store, exactly. It doesn't seem real up the ADI's alley? But, while he's starting to learn how to question authority, he still has a problem with not following blindly.

So he goes. The fruit turns out to be wax, fake, an invention to mimic. And why is that? He picks up one and sniffs it, but obviously doesn't choose to bite in or anything. He's not Denji.

Aki feels like declaring this is pointless, but he can't bring himself to. So, dropping the fruit back down, and rolling up his sleeves, he looks at his companion.

"I suppose we better gather them up."

WILDCARD:

Anything you want!

arrival

[friendsfordinner]

Cornelius Hickey, a man somewhere vaguely in his twenties, wearing an ADI jumpsuit, looks at Aki. Then looks at his clothes. Then looks back at Aki.

"I'm not cleaning it up if you bleed everywhere," he points out. He barely does any cleaning as is, he doesn't want to do more of it!

Jane Margolis | Breaking Bad | OTA

[copacetic]

B. ARRIVAL.
CW: drug overdose, vomit, choking

A young woman appears suddenly in the middle of the mess hall, flat on her back, eyes open, glassy but blinking. She's quiet for maybe a second or two and then, like an eruption, there's a gurgling sound. Her upper-body convulses and she begins to spew up vomit.

Left alone, she will die in a matter of minutes. She's lucky to have appeared where and when she did.

Jane is barely, hazily aware of the screams as people rush to her side, medics trying to get close to her. Maybe you're one of them? Maybe she appeared suddenly right in front of you while you were eating?

Better do something! Quick, turn her on her side!


Wheels on the Bus
It's several days later, maybe even a week or two. Jane hasn't exactly been in the condition to be out and about until just now. It's around two-twenty A.M. The night air isn't cold, exactly, but it's crisp and cool, making Jane tug at her miniskirt like she's trying to stretch it out to cover more than it does. She sucks in air.

She turns to her companion, the only other person here with her, and edges closer. "So, okay," she says. There's no tremor in her voice; if anything, she sounds skeptical, even contemptuous. "We're waiting for, like, a bus?" But the little twitch of her hand as she reaches up to a curl a strand of dark hair around her ear betrays her nervousness and uncertainty. Her heartbeat pounds as she turns to squint into the dark, as if that's going to do any good.

This shit is all so crazy, so completely bizarre and outside her experience, that it almost feels like a nightmare or a hallucination she's going to wake up from any second now. She can't help voicing her thoughts to the other person there with her.

"What if this is just a folie au deux and we're both crazy and none of this is really happening?" she suggests wryly. "You ever think about that?"

Despite the halfhearted attempt at a joke, Jane doesn't actually think that's the case. There's a very real ache pulling at her muscles, a very faint but real sound when she kicks a pebble from the sidewalk and sends it bouncing into the road.

When does this bus or whatever show up, anyway? Jane hops nervously and takes another deep, deep breath.


NETWORK | TEXT | username: calamityjane
Hey. Just curious about something. If you're going to be a smart-ass, save it. I'll block with you with extreme prejudice. Don't try me.

If you're not going to be a jerk about it, though, here's my question. Wherever you come from, is magic normally considered real over there? Or is it just something that shows up in kids' stories that everybody knows is fake? Something else?

No reason. Just wondering.

((OOC: Happy to match style, bracket vs. prose, whatever!))

[text] un: cupkate

[bossyboiler]

Magic only exists in stories where I'm from. However, everyone on my Earth has abilities which might be considered magic by some.

THANCRED WATERS | FINAL FANTASY XIV | OTA

[breakguns]

ARRIVAL

It was a shift in the span of an instant. One moment, Thancred was throwing himself at Meteion, his ability to push past the need to breathe and a desperate drive to keep them safe (survive. survive. survive.) the only things that kept him on his feet at the others faltered around him. He was certain he was dying in that instant, but it was an acceptable sacrifice so long as the others somehow pulled through. Death was nothing in the face of more loss. He'd never been afraid to die.

The next, he was laying on his back admid rubble, staring up at a sky far more clear and blue than he had expected. No fire raining down from the heavens. No endless black. His thoughts went unbidden to Amh Araeng and a similar feeling of soul-deep exhaustion. And then to Ryne. Had he failed her yet again, as he so often failed those he loved? What of his dear friend, of Y'shtola and Urianger and the others? Had he protected them? Had he left them behind for nothing? Would he forever be grieving those he could not save? Would he ever be ineffectual when it mattered?

He forced himself to breathe past the ache in his chest and pushed himself to his feet. It didn't matter. Not really. No more than it ever mattered. He would carry on and push forward and find a way even if it turned out he was once more devoid of everyone he had ever fought to save. There was no other option. He'd never been one to give up, even when the odds seemed hopeless.

Dusting himself off, he tried to make sense of his surroundings, but there did not seem sense to be found. His gunblade was missing, which was something of a problem but he'd made do with far less. It was time to figure this out. And that meant finding someone who had answers.

STORIED SUSURRATIONS

Books were really more Urianger's thing.

It wasn't that Thancred wasn't learned or educated. He had, after all, attained the vaunted rank of Archon - and in spite of Louisoix's machinations, that was not simply handed out to just any wharf rat. But his skills were much more in the practical and he was well aware of his own limitations. He left the studying to those more clever than himself. Let them make use of knowledge and he would make use of his skills and hopefully it would all come together for the greater good.

Still, the whispers drew him further and further into the library. Faint and barely there but familiar in a way that made his gut twist. Slipping through the aisles until he reached a section that seemed to be about history. His fingers brushed the spines as the words became more clear, more distinct. The voice. Her voice.

"All will be well,." It was almost as though he could feel her breath against his neck and he wanted to turn but he knew that way lay madness. She wasn't there. She would never be there. This wasn't her. Just a trick of her mind. "Just have faith in them. You've done your part and they will finish what you all started. Just have faith in them as you always have."

"Ascilia," he said softly, closing his eyes as the name slipped out. The name she could never allow herself because she'd had to be more. Had to be what the star needed more than she could ever be herself. "Thank you."

Maybe it wasn't true, but it was a comfort all the same. The words repeated and repeated but he just stood and listened, taking more comfort in her faint voice than in the words themselves. Maybe he should leave but it had been so long and it surely couldn't hurt to stay a little longer.

Just a little longer

WILDCARD

(ooc: Want something else? Feel free to leave something else, or hit me up via DM or on plurk at tenofswords)

Storied

[defendwhatremains]

He knows it's foolish to come back to the books when the words never change, but it's less about the words, the cheery assurance Mimley would be arriving at the city soon, that all would be well again, 'just you wait, old boy!' They'd been etched into his mind like a pillar for his heart to rest on, even if he knew better than to trust strange whsipers from unknonw sources.

At this point, he went back to hear him. Two years and he'd nearly been afraid he'd forgotten the lyrical confidence to Lord Bastrop's voice and he didn't want that sort of doubt. Even if he was truly stuck here and didn't (or never) hear him again, Johnny wanted to be able to remember. So he returned, usually leaving again by the time someone else's whisper started in as they approached.

This time, he's the one intruding as a woman's voice, soft and gentle, joins Mimley's whisper like a quiet duet of assurance. He's not familiar with the white-haired man there either, but that's not odd considering his recent arrival. "It's hard to leave when it sounds like they're right there, isn't it? My apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt."

jonathan sims | the magnus archives

[eyediot]

arrival

[It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment, the world is burning around him and there's a sharp pain in his chest. The next, he's crushed into a metal box... no, not a box. Something small though.

For anyone wandering underneath a specific hallway not far from the canteen, they'll hear a few weak banging sounds. And a tired English voice, "Hello?"

Of course after a short few minutes, the banging is accompanied by a loud CRASH as a twiggy sort of nerd man falls to the floor. Where he then lays groaning and not moving for a few minutes.]

Oh god... What- Where is this?

gus the bus

What... in the world.

[Okay so like. You hear things sometimes. You get the hint of a song being sung around town and it just has That Jenna Se Quoi about it that you just GOT to go see about. Except the "jenna se quoi" is actually "fuck I think this is some entity bull shit and I should probably be a little responsible about it".

So Jon is patiently waiting at a bus stop. Checking the time on his phone. And then his watch. And then the schedule on the stop.]

I daresay... This thing is late. [Should that matter? He probably shouldn't be as calm about this as he feels. Just another fucking day that ends in 'y' for Archivist.]

storied susurrations

[It was bound to happen eventually. Jon would find himself at the library no matter what. The call is familiar even if he hates to admit it. He isn't drawn to it as strongly as others, perhaps, but it is alluring all the same.

And the urge, the impulse, to know what happened after they left is.... Well. That's a powerful incentive. He's around the library, looking at shelves and hesitating over some tomes before drawing his hand back without actually touching them. Seems he's indecisive.

He'll stop and ask the person next to him,]

I don't suppose you have any confirmation of what to find here?

wildcard

[Got a different idea? Hit me let's do it.]

storied susurrations

[breakguns]

It wasn't his first visit. For all that he had told Johnny that he knew it wasn't really Ascilia, he had found himself coming back to hear her. Was it healthy? Perhaps not. But he'd spent so long stewing in his grief and there was a comfort in hearing her voice again. She was gone, he knew she was gone, but this was something to hold on to.

When the man - scrawny and bookish and he wasn't going to think about Urianger right now but the parallels were there - spoke, he glanced over at him and considered the response. He must mean the strange whispers.

"If you're going to hear something," he said, "you should have already. Maybe it doesn't work for everyone." There was a moment's pause. "Unless you just meant you want someone to explain the concept of libraries, in which case pretend I didn't say anything."

eddie munson | stranger things

[bardsofprey]

wheels on the bus | open

[Eddie's missed curfew once before, and decided once was enough. Unfortunately, thanks to who he is as a human being, here he is again, speed walking in the complete pitch black, only a little lost, and more than a little scared.

When he rounds the corner onto Dory Road and sees the approaching headlights, Eddie is overcome with blissfully ignorant relief. He leans over and tries to catch his breath, where he can't see the increasingly obvious wrongness of the approaching vehicle, or anyone that might be standing nearby in the gloom.]

storied susurrations | closed

[They're only here because Eddie is hoping beyond hope to dig up some dungeons and dragons books. He has his head buried in the fiction stacks when he first hears it- a whisper (still too quiet to recognise, just yet) that freezes him in place and has Eddie's hands trembling before he even finishes his first thought- is this what it sounds like? The voice they all heard? The voice she would have heard?]

Steve? You still here?