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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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."

Re: storied susurrations

[eyediot]

The assertion that Jon might not be familiar with libraries is almost enough to make him laugh. But then, there's the chance others might not actually be so he stifles it down after a moment. He keeps his eyes on the books in front of him.

"I've heard some. I was more curious to someone else's experience if they'd tested it yet." It's an easy thing to say. Someone else's home may not be under the same condition his own is- was- when he was... vacated from it. He won't admit readily how afraid he is of what he'd possibly find if he went looking.

"Have you tried looking yourself?"

Re: storied susurrations

[breakguns]

"It's less looking and more...proximity, I suppose."

Thancred wasn't the academic of his associates. His studies had been entirely in espionage, and that didn't require quite the same level of book study as aetherology or lithomancy. He had enough experience with Urianger - because apparently he couldn't simply not think about him - to know when someone was hungry for information, and he couldn't see the harm in filling the man in.

"In my experience, it's quite faint from a distance," he explained, "and clearer the closer you get, though it never seems to get especially loud. You don't seem to have to actually interact with books for anything to happen. And I certainly haven't tried. If there is a specific book causing this, then messing around with odd tomes with strange powers seems like a phenomenally stupid idea that I am happy to leave to other people with less sense than I."

Re: storied susurrations

[eyediot]

"I see."

He doesn't, not really. But it does explain a few things in here. Jon looks the man over once, seeing a few things that are not really his business to know before turning his gaze away again. Back to the books, that's safer.

"You have a stronger sense of self preservation than most, I suppose."

Re: storied susurrations

[breakguns]

Thancred couldn't help but snort at the insinuation that he had any self-preservation instinct to speak of. It had never been a 'self' he intended to preserve. While he didn't believe in doing recklessly idiotic things, he had spent most of his life throwing himself in front of the threat in the defense of others. Taking the blow so they wouldn't have to. He couldn't say he'd ever particularly much cared for himself.

"You would be the first person to say so," he assured the man, remembering too many lectures from - nope, nope, nope - other people about his tendency to take more harm than they considered necessary. Their ideal had ever been "not at all" and that was hardly practical.

"I just don't see a point in being stupid about it."

i mean u know i gotta do arrival

[lowficharm]

[It's almost unfortunate that Martin can say it's at least a weekly occurance that someone falls out of the ceiling. So the banging isn't too odd, nor is someone falling out of the ceiling. The person falling out of it though, well, that's different. That's a heart attack. That's Martin's entire psyche having a seizure. So instead, he rounds the corner, sees him on the floor, and yells probably MUCH too loud--]

Jon!!!

[Oop here he comes he's hauling him up by the face to check for injuries and conciousness. And, y'know, to prove it's actually Him and he isn't having a very elaborate mental breakdown.]

[eyediot]

[By the time Martin rounds the corner, Jon's sitting up, dusting himself off muttering to himself because it really is just a day that ends in "y" he supposes.

But hearing his name, that voice, he spins right as Martin's getting to him.]

Martin-

[Oh he's up on his feet now and Martin has a VERY good grip on his face. He'll let that check up happen since it's Martin but-]

I-i'm fine, what- Where is this?

[lowficharm]

[He has a feeling his eyes look completely insane, but he really doesn't have the patience or sanity to fix that. Instead, Jon speaks and he just looks somehow even more tired than he did previously. He doesn't look much different, of course, but his hair is a little longer, his clothes something Jon's never seen him wear before. Small, but important things to discuss later.]

Wh-- What are you-- what do you mean, it's the ADI offices, how did you get up there? Don't tell me you were trying to get into somewhere you're not supposed to by climbing through the vents, that's an awful plan and I'm sure Reyes would let us in anyway if we just asked!

[eyediot]

[Jon's busy doing his own fussing, touching just lightly at Martin's elbows to make sure- yes, real. Physical and not jsut something he's imagining or anything. But what then? What happened? And why the differences? Did Hilltop spit them out at different points? Possibly. He'll have to talk to him somewhere a little more private about that than out in the middle of a hallway.]

I'm. [DEEP BREATH.] I think we'll have to discuss some things to figure out the finer details. But to answer the easier question, I just popped into there. I wasn't trying to sneak into somewhere.

[lowficharm]

[He acts the same, doesn't seem hurt, but that doesn't explain any of it. Martin takes a few seconds to try and get his mind into place, and his brow furrows.]

You... you really don't know where this is. You're not just-- ADI, Gloucester, none of it at all?

[At the very least he's got enough sense about him to start peeling himself, and Jon, off the floor while they're talking.]

[eyediot]

[Once he's on his feet, his clothes are.... not in the best shape. Still covered in the muck of where they were, the blood from everyone else, the dust and ash from the building collapsing. His shirt still having the tear over the heart with a lot of blood stains splattered across his front. But he's staring at Martin a little bewildered and a lot concerned.]

...No. No, none of it. I think we do need to talk. [But he'll go where Martin leads for now.]

[lowficharm]

[Oh, Martin knows that blood. Knows it well, considering it's his fault it's there. But he knew it better almost two years ago, when it was also down the front of his sweater, when he was holding Jon close with the knife forgotten.

It's still him, though. He knows it's still him. He just knows, and if he refuses to be told otherwise it must be true.]

Come on, let's, uhm-- this is going to sound weird, but we can go back to. Uhm. Our flat.

[Thankfully, the ADI apartments aren't actually far, and Martin can lead Jon easily to the second block and open the door to theirs with a key in his pocket. It looks like what Jon might expect from a place lived in by both of them- there's a ton of mugs in the cabinets, a kettle waiting on the stove, and when they turn into a bedroom, he can see a desk that looks unmistakably like something he'd keep. There's papers everywhere but somehow organized, notes on notes of scrawl and books, and a bed that is severely unmade in the center. Martin is sure to close the door behind him.]

So, uhm... welcome home? Kind of? I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to go totally mental on you, it's been-- it's been, uhm. A lot. Lately.

[eyediot]

['Our'. The word definitely sticks out. Jon watches where they go carefully, not one step of it familiar to him. But the inside itself? Of this flat? Is exactly how he would have decorated, the exact sort of everything he would've picked out before the end there. Maybe in Scotland. Maybe if they'd gotten to have what they wanted-

Focus. Breathe. Even as Jon's hand touches at the bare spot in his shirt over his heart, he can feel his heart racing.]

I- I can see. Or, guess really. Martin, what- What is all of this?

[lowficharm]

[He has no way of knowing if this is any comfort, anything even remotely good or nice about this experience. He hoped maybe that seeing the atmosphere might do-- something, make him remember, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Instead, he just walks over, takes Jon's hand and sits him on the end of the bed together.]

It's... i-it's somewhere else, Jon. We sent the Entities away and it's... here. And we came with them. This is, uhm-- this is an institute, in America, working to prevent the apocalypse, and taking care of people who've started falling in from other worlds.

[A sigh, because now he has to get to the hard part.]

And... we both showed up, right after everything happened. Almost two years ago. And you were here, with me, until a few weeks ago.

[eyediot]

[Jon keeps his eyes focused on Martin's face, squeezing his hand once he has it. The bed is soft, not horrific or threatening to swallow them up or bite them somehow.

It's normal. It's normal, even with what Martin is saying.]

Two... Two years. Martin, I-

[What does he even say to that? This is... so much. And why wouldn't he remember any of it? His voice is low, careful to not disturb the quiet peace that Martin's built here.]

I'm sorry. I don't.. Understand what happened here, but. I'm sorry, Martin.

[lowficharm]

[He holds on to Jon like his life depends on it, like at any moment it will be revealed this was all some sort of trick and he'll be alone in here again. But when Jon starts to get quiet, Martin almost yells as he squeezes the hands in his.]

No! I-- I mean-- I... you don't have to be sorry, it's not like it's your fault, it's just... you know. New and terrible ways for the Entities to do what they... do. Besides, you're the one that lost things, I, I'm-- I'm fine.

[Says the man who is making no indication of letting Jon go anytime this century.]