FEBRUARY 2021 EVENT: PART TWO

[robbies]

 

CHAPTER TWO, PART 2: THE LIVING ISLAND

Everything you never wanted to see.

YOU CAN’T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T DO ENOUGH | JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY | DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH | YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH | COME AND PLAY WITH ME

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YOU CAN'T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DO ENOUGH

Perhaps you’ve been on tenterhooks since you woke up to find that your friends, your family, your neighbors somehow went missing in the night. Perhaps you’ve been hitting the pavement and knocking on doors trying to find them. So far, your efforts have been for naught. There’s been neither hide nor hair of the missing, and every attempt to find them has met with a dead end.

Until February 13.

In the afternoon, a strange, unsigned message goes live on the network. What is the meaning of “Living Island”? Does it have anything to do with what’s going on? There’s no elaboration… until midnight, when every neighbor’s television set turns on at full volume, hissing static and garbled noise as the dials turn and adjust. Several disjointed clips follow, ending on a mural that depicts the same words from the post.

“Living Island.”

The following morning, you’ll find that stranger things are beginning to happen. Some of you will be woken up to the blankets and sheets being yanked off your sleeping bodies by a powerful force. Others will find that when they step out of their morning shower, a message has been written in the steam on their medicine cabinet's mirror. Depending on how quickly you shower, you may only be able to see part of the message — but running the hot water longer and allowing the steam to fill the room will reveal it in its entirety:

“LIVING ISLAND.”

As time passes, you’ll find that the same message shows up every time the bathroom steams up, whether you’re in the shower or not. The same force that turned your TV on seems to insist that you pay attention to what it’s trying to show you, and its behavior escalates the longer you refuse. Characters will find that books go flying off of bookshelves, drawers are yanked out of dressers and desks, and breakable objects are smashed. Trying to prevent the spirit from destruction won’t go your way: If you try to catch or grab something that’s about to be thrown, you’ll find it ripped out of your hands anew and smashed anyways. If you tried to take all of your chairs down from where they’ve been stacked on top of the dining room table, you’ll find they’re back atop it the instant you look away.

All that’s to say nothing of the rumbling. It doesn’t start until the end of the first day, but from time to time you’ll feel the house beginning to shake on its foundations, a dull groan as it struggles to keep itself from collapsing in under its own weight. As time goes on, this will get louder and louder until the house seems to roar of its own accord, an unyielding shriek that can’t be stopped until the force causing it backs down.

Attempts to make contact with the spirit will never go well. It does not seem to be able or willing to communicate with you beyond its own tantrums, and characters who try may find that the attempt rapidly goes out of control. Candles flare up and burn wildly, Ouija boards are ripped into pieces and planchettes go flying, offerings of food are knocked over or thrown, and the lights flicker manically in turns. While you may be able to get some sleep at night if you’re lucky, the only thing that will reduce the poltergeist activity is to pay attention to the message it’s sending you and figure out what it means.

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JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY

Living Island. If ever there were a first step to stopping this madness, it’s figuring out what those words mean. But starting is always the hardest part, and with nothing else to go by than two seemingly unrelated, nonsensical words left behind by a force you can’t see much less communicate with, an already arduous task seems even more impossible. This is furthered by the reactions you get when you hit the street and start asking people if they know anything about Living Island. Most of them can only look back at you blankly, as if waiting for a punchline that never comes. Others actually take you seriously enough to consider the question, and to their credit, they do take their time racking their brains to remember where they’ve heard that name before, why it sounds so familiar. But the most you’ll get back from them is a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and a reply that it sounds like something from TV. It gets to the point where their answers blend together, each one more unremarkable than the last. Save for the one you get from the last person you haven’t asked. Living Island. I’m sorry, what was that? What the fuck did you just say? Dale Harding and Rosemary Craven might be as far away from each other as possible, doing things around town that couldn’t be more different, but their reactions are the same. When they overhear you asking what feels like the hundredth person you’ve seen that day about Living Island, they look your way — Harding in the middle of his patrol or lunch break, Rosemary in the middle of grocery shopping. Harding looks honest-to-God surprised. Rosemary simply looks confused, even somewhat concerned. That's such a... strange name. Where did you hear that from? When they hear your explanation, they go quiet, mulling it over. Rosemary’s expression turns thoughtful. Harding’s, suspicious. If I remember correctly, that was a clubhouse the children around town used to play in. I haven’t heard about it in… goodness, I can’t even remember. Years, perhaps. It’s a play on “safety island” — another name for a bomb shelter — and the name of this… stupid kids show that used to be popular. I guess they thought it was cute, calling a place like that something fun. But where is it? Well, most of the shelters in town are still in use, and children aren’t allowed in them unless there’s an emergency. The only place I can think of is… The grade school. Administration ran out of funding before they could finish it, so they just scrapped it. Closed it off and just hoped for the best. Didn’t stop people from sneaking in. I used to bust them for playing down there all the time, the little shits. Harding’s mouth twists into a sneer that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are soft and miserable, while Rosemary waits patiently for any other questions and, when you have no others, excuses herself to go back to her groceries. Now you have something even better than an explanation: you have a destination.

Finding Santa Rosita Elementary is as easy as a fifteen minute drive from North Santa Rosita to Shadyside. Getting in is a different story. By day, the school is open for business and humming with activity, so you can’t very well go barging in and not expect to be reprimanded for disrupting class. This leaves you with three options: go before it opens, wait until school is over, or come in the middle of the night. Each have their own pros and cons, but all of them will get you the same result.

After hours, the school is desolate and still. The wind, the occasional slap of a naked branch against a window, and the squeak of your footsteps on the shiny, clean floors are the only sounds you’ll hear as you navigate the empty hallways. Most of the classrooms are locked, and the ones that aren’t don’t have anything any more unique or worthwhile to them than the occasional lunchbox left behind by a student or the classroom frog croaking in its tank. In a way, this is a good thing — it doesn’t leave that many places to investigate and makes your path that much more linear as you finally, inevitably and silently make your way downstairs into the bowels of the school.

The long corridor that awaits you in the basement is, in theory, not very different from the hallways upstairs. There are lockers lining both sides, dented and darkened with age and dust. The tiles are cracked, dirt and pieces of stone kicked up from exposed areas of the floor. Seemingly, this appears to lead to a dead end. But look closely at the wall and you’ll see the impression of a door, painted to match the walls. The lock is flimsy — in fact, depending on when you find it, someone may have already broken it. All that’s left is to enter and descend down the tiny room’s only feature: a ladder under a rusty steel hatch door, stretching down into darkness.

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DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH

CW: gore, surgery

Stepping into the old shelter, the first thing that hits you is the stale, uncomfortably moist air. This first room is cavernous and dark, and your footsteps and whispers echo in spite of how quiet you might try to be. There’s a faint smell in the air, a trace of copper and rubbing alcohol that might make your eyes water, making your mouth feel unpleasant as it hits your tongue. As you get your bearings and begin to pick your way through the dark, you’ll notice traces of another smell — something simultaneously spicy and cloyingly sweet, a scent that seems to assault your senses and leaves you with a headache pounding at the base of your skull. Thankfully, there isn’t enough to do more than make you nauseous, but the smells warn of what’s still yet to be found.

As you continue through the labyrinthine warren, you’ll begin to find signs of human presence — some of the trashed rooms may be fitted with tables and supplies one might expect to find in a laboratory, meticulously labeled with typewritten strips. Several of these boxes appear to be old, covered in grimy layers of dust, while others are fresh and clean. All of them contain medical supplies. Eagle-eyed investigators might note that the untouched supplies tend to be the type contained in first-aid kits — acetaminophen, antibiotic ointment, simple adhesive bandages — while the ones that have been opened are for heavy duty surgical work — coiled IV lines and tubing, empty syringes, surgical gloves. One room in particular seems to have been fitted out for someone’s personal use, boasting a stripped-down bed, a chair and desk, and a comfortable recliner.

The trickle of water can be heard in the depths of the shelter, and as you emerge from one corridor that filters into a large chamber, it becomes immediately obvious where you are: This is an operating theater, with a table stationed beneath all manner of lights that can be adjusted and moved. A faucet drips monotonously in the back of the room, over a sink stained with blood with bits of grey, pulpy matter stuck in the drain. A bucket filled with blood and viscera ferments on the ground beside it. There are smears of blood, both dried and fresh, on the cloudy tiles, and a cabinet full of surgical instruments is slightly ajar. Looking at the instruments, characters will find that a couple of scalpels and a pair of tongs have dotted blotches where the metal was cleaned with water; whoever used these tools last didn’t dry them before putting them away. A small table near the operating area has a turntable sitting atop it, with a record already set under the needle: a single of Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel.” There are a few other records sitting in the cabinet beneath it, including Big Mama Thornton’s “Hound Dog,” Frank Sinatra’s “Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely,” and James Brown and the Famous Flames’ “Think!”

In a separate area of this room, an oversized desk is piled with books and empty food containers that look as though they’ve been repurposed for one reason or another. These books are chiefly on anatomy and the medical sciences, though there are a number of books on psychology and how the brain functions. Though some of these books are water-spotted and dog-eared, there aren’t any notes written in the margins, nor are there any papers to be found. You can turn this area as much as you'd like, but all you’ll find is a couple empty cigarette boxes and some broken and bitten pens; the trash can next to the desk, filled with soggy ashes, seems to suggest that any papers that might have given you a lead were destroyed before you got here.

But the lab, with all its instruments, isn’t what you came here to find. There’s still at least one more room to be found…

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YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH

CW: gore, surgical trauma, amputation, lobotomy, brainwashing and interrogation, mouth trauma, eye trauma, ear trauma, body horror

The missing are being held in small, sturdy cages in a single room connected to the back of the operating room, dim and dank. The cages are placed equidistant around the room, ensuring that even if you try, you can’t reach out and make contact with your neighbors. The missing will find that they wake at approximately the same time, curled up on the ground in uncomfortable positions. Unlike your rescuers, your nightmare began far earlier than when you first awoke in this room, sore and disoriented. In fact, you could argue it started the moment you went to sleep on February 9th, leaving empty beds and concerned family members behind.

With no clocks or watches available to tell the time, you may not be able to tell how long you’ve been here. You sleep and wake, sometimes to a bowl of what looks like sticky rice lying in your cage that wasn’t there before. Sometimes, an overpowering smell will fill the room, faint at first; by the time you register it, it’s already overwhelmed you and sent you into a deep sleep. And when you wake, one cage will be empty. The inhabitant will be returned the next time you go to sleep and wake up, but not quite the same as they were before. They seem heavily drugged, discombobulated — or perhaps there's something visibly different about them. Whoever has taken you is doing a lot of work in their lab — and from the smell of things, meat work — and before long almost all of you will be sporting dressings of some type or other, fresh red seeping through the sterile cloth within a matter of hours.

Maybe you should try to keep each others’ spirits up. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, after all.

All of this goes on for a while — days, although it won’t be easy to count them given that there are no windows in the room. But nearly a week later… you wake to find that the front of your cage is unlocked. Unlatched. Open just an inch. Looking around the room, you’ll find that yours is not the only cage to have been opened — all of your cages have been unlocked.

Is it a mistake? Or are you really free?

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COME AND PLAY WITH ME

CW: blood and violence

Whether you’ve released yourself from your cage, or were discovered by a well-meaning friend before you could, or you’ve simply had your fill of exploring the shelter-turned-laboratory, the time has finally come to leave. Unfortunately, if things were that easy, you wouldn’t even be around by the time the scuttling sounds begin — somewhere down the hall, in the room behind you, fleeting and sly. It’s not an animal sound, a creature picking its way through the garbage and debris littered around the shelter. No, with the way it stops and starts every time you start and stop walking, this is a very deliberate, human sound. And if you don’t believe that, you’ll see soon enough when you see the naked, bone-white figure walk into view at the end of the hallway as casual as you please, their body smooth and sexless like a department store mannequin. They turn (your) their head and stare directly at you with (your) their wide, glassy eyes crinkled in thousand-yard delight. You hear your voice echoed back at you, airy and chirpy and so indescribably wrong it makes your blood run cold.

"Hi!"

Much like the Doppelgangers you encountered in January, these ones look and move like dolls, their limbs connected with ball-joints. However, whereas those ones were near perfect imitations of you and your friends, these ones look like they just fell off the assembly line. Their faces are unnaturally flat and plastic, like all the imperfections have been ironed out of them, but they are unmistakably yours. And when they open their mouths to squeal at you before running with all the unnatural speed not having a pair of lungs affords them, you’ll find that even their voices are perfect imitations — and not necessarily of your own either.

There’s no way to tell how many of these Doppelgangers are down here with you, hiding in the dark. They’re stealthy and sneaky, only coming out to attack when they’re sure you’re alone. Even if you’re not, they’re intelligent enough to come up with ways to separate you from your group, calling to you from another part of the shelter, mimicking a voice from someone they know you’ll listen to. Even if there’s no possible way they could be in Santa Rosita.

"Help me!"

"Is that you...? Oh thank God, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Please, don't leave me!"

Other times, they’ll take a more aggressive approach, allowing their limbs to pop out of place so they can sprawl on the ground, imitating a heap of discarded doll parts. Once you get close enough or turn your back on them, they’ll pull themselves together and attack, speeding towards you on fours like a crab.

There are two ways out of the shelter. The first one is the hardest: go back the way you came. With the low visibility, the number of Doppelgangers, and the confusing layout of the area, you’re more likely to get turned around and go in circles than you are to find your way back to the ladder — a location made even more difficult to discern since the hatch door has been lowered, blotting out all light from the room above.

The second way is the longest but also the easiest: head deeper into the shelter, past the operating room, through the rooms filled with broken furniture and ruined floors that are very easy to trip on — especially when you’re in the middle of running away. Eventually, you’ll come to another ladder, this one leading to an open hatch that deposits you into a dark passageway. The air up here is more fresh, but not necessarily pleasant smelling. There’s only one way to go — forward.

After what feels like an hour of walking, you’ll see a light at the end of the passage. Follow it and you’ll find yourself exiting a storm drain that drops you into the heart of Old Growth, just outside of West Santa Rosita.

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OOC INFO

Welcome to the second part of February’s event! You can use this entry to top-level for the event, but feel free to utilize the log and network communities as well.

There will be a top-level posted for NPC interaction tied to the second prompt below, wherein you can request to play out your character’s interaction with Harding or Rosemary. If you would like to have your character interact with either one of them, comment to the top-level with the name of the NPC you would like to thread with. You may only thread with one NPC. The mods will respond to NPC tags until February 28th.

Any questions can go in our FAQ thread below. Try to check and see if your question has already been answered on the plotting thread first here.

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SETTING INFO	calendar | setting | housing | npcs | death and tranquilizing | the story so far | event suggestions/engagements

Comments

IM—

[demonicmiracle]

[Well.

That certainly pulls Crowley up short, the ridiculousness of it enough to drag his attention away from the lull of hearing God's voice again, after so many millennia. It can't be real, can it? The voice. God isn't here, and even if She was, She wouldn't be talking to him.

Crowley blinks, glancing over at Wei Wuixan, then back at the rickety cart that really is just doing it's absolute best.

On the plus side, the gun remains lowered, and he doesn't look as if he's about to shoot anyone.]

What was — uh — what was the plan, here?

[From down the hall, the voice calls for him again, telling him not to disobey Her again.

Crowley ignores it, this time.]

[righthandstand]

[He had to respect someone who wasn't afraid to hold a knife to a monster, even if it was going to kill her regardless of what she did. Unfortunately for Monika, her heroic last stand had to wait. Okuyasu had attempted to run too far without air, and his single lung struggles to give him enough to walk.

He does pat her shoulder in appreciation.]

A

[righthandstand]

[Okuyasu sits in the corner of his cage with his eyes keeping watch on the dark room. Something might come out from there and attack them. Something new could try to kill them when they least expect it.

At least Rapunzel isn't freaking out. Not that Okuyasu wasn't freaking out at first.]

Hey. Can you see anything that can break these cages over there? [He shifts closer to her voice.] We can't sit here and wait.

HARDING

[m1895]

[ Their shifts overlap fairly routinely, now, but Vasiliy knows better than to push for interaction with a man who is disinterested on the whole. Such a violation of social norms would raise suspicion, and he wouldn't particularly enjoy it himself if he were in Harding's shoes. But this is different - judging by what happened on Halloween, this could very well be a mass casualty event, and there's something human and feeling behind his eyes that isn't apparent in the other neighbors' glassy stares.

He hooks the thumb of the hand that isn't occupied with mug and cigarette in the belt holding up his uniform pants, the same dark navy the others at the firehouse wear. And he approaches, keeping his voice low and sincere. ]

Chief Harding, I need you to help me.

[freeflight]

[ Don't-? That's not something he can accept so easily. Well, he can't be surprised that he looks like shit. There's no wonder he might get cautioned would to settle down. It hardly matters.

They're all so impossibly fucked up. This kid shouldn't be concerned about anyone else. ]

Not just lying around... [ His words drag together as he stubbornly forces a palm down flat against the cool floor. His over-stressed muscles resist, arm simply refusing to unbend as he tries to push himself up once again. His vision blurs out as he sags to the floor again. ]

[hoshikiri]

Huaisang may have caught a glimpse of Takame coming and going from the residence at all hours. He was no nurse or doctor, only knowing very basic first aid but he knew about gathering supplies and preparing. From his life as adventurer and soldier. Daylight requested his help long before the living island broadcast and he would do anything and everything to help the cause.

Though he's run himself just as ragged, taking stock of each bandage, water source, coffee bean and food source extremely meticulously and going out to the drug store when they seemed even the slightest bit low on anything. It's likely no one's seen him sleep not that it was very obvious unless one knew what to look for, the twitching tail and drag of his heels as he walked. He was either a master of masking pain or unable to process exhaustion. Recognizing Huaisang's face as being the closest thing to a chirurgeon they had, Takame approached him.

"Is there anything more you or the others require?"

[prodigalhairess]

[Rapunzel may be lowkey panicking. She's just... kinda good at hiding it, at least when it came to putting a brave face on for others.]

Breaking them open might not be good... the sound could alert whoever brought us here.

[She hms, looking around for a desk, a table, anything that might have some sort of equipment or general clutter scattered about.]

It might be better if we could try to pick the locks, but I'm not sure if there's anything around to do that...

[prodigalhairess]

[Ugh, seeing a child here... it makes something unpleasant curl in Rapunzel's gut, something she doesn't feel very often; not just fear, or worry, but anger. Caging anyone like this is horrible enough, but a kid? Whoever did this are utter monsters.

Ah, but she's not going to let that anger show. She has to try to be the calming force for everyone here, and the mention of a familiar name does catch her interest.]

I live down Carpenter Boulevard, but I know the man you're talking about! Tall, blonde, military type? My best friend, Cass, lives with him.

[Despite the nerves still gripping her, the smile on her face softens.]

I don't know Erwin all that well yet, but he seems determined in a way similar to Cass. Between just the two of them, I'm sure they'll be here in no time.

[purplejaguareye]

[Kipo shrinks down, especially after hearing that voice.]

Mr. Wayne! I was coming to save you - ahh!

[She pushes back against a doppelganger, pushing it into a small crowd of them.]

[purplejaguareye]

[Kipo shrinks down to normal size again, seeing the fire.]

Right, starting a fire in a place this small... might not be a good idea.

[She will help smother the flames before they get too big.]

[weifinder]

( He accepts the pen, making a noise of acknowledgement akin to an extended "ah" at her information. )

Are there any other related celebrations like those, or are those the only two linked in such a way?

( Next to Rosemary, he sketches out a short note: )

Interest in soothing particular spirits. Wishes for them to be at peace.

[weifinder]

You were.

( He switches his hold to one that's both obviously loose (and misleadingly so, given his training, but honest enough) and held at no advantageous angle to himself: an offer of peace considering one of his hands is certainly more full than both this young man's empty ones. )

Ah, fighting together it is! Or finding a way out together, given the situation.

( Spoken affably enough, Wei Wuxian favouring more of a murmur as he takes steps closer, careful in the placement of his feet. The both of them can manage to move quietly and slipping between shadows. It's worth remembering. )

Depending on how paranoid you're feeling, introductions can wait for later.

( Depending on who is listening, and if names have more importance or power here. He's not decided one way or another on this point, but his expression has slid into something more serious. )

Are you on your way out?

[weifinder]

( Wei Wuxian nods, acknowledging the statement regarding Daylight: fair enough, having a place in mind to head after is not unimportant. Particularly as that could mean sharing information, trying to understand more scope on what has been happening here.

Still, he's grim faced, eyeballing the school they're approaching from the side, not so much the front. It's easier to slink between shadows on this edge, and he's not planning to boldly go where others have gone before. Investigation without immediate censure is important, so he finds. The strange state people can be sent into here is one he'd prefer to avoid. What long term effects might it bring around? )

We'll know soon enough.

( He has faith in that, reaching out to touch his friend's arm, silent reassurance. The building looms before them, seeming taller in the early morning hours than in the harsh light of day. It's not really surprising to find the door gives under a touch; even here, it's not like they'd be alone approaching from this or that angle. )

If we do find anyone, how confident are you in helping get them out? Assuming they're not able to walk on their own.

[weifinder]

( He reaches out, trying to take hold of her arm to both steady her and propel her into running. )

This is why the running!

( He has to jerk himself to the side, possibly bringing her along with, to avoid the leaping swipe by one doppleganger, a vicious movement that leaves the creature flying past, all limbs akimbo. )

we're on a roll—

[weifinder]

( Wei Wuxian is still staring a little forlornly after the cart. He'd hoped that'd be slightly more dramatic, instead of... comedically underwhelming. When he looks back to Crowley, he lifts his hands, palms up, and sighs. )

To get you to stop without uh. Trying the ill advised idea of tackling... you... since the... whatever it is, and all.

( He gestures toward the gun. )

People get kind of, ah. Touchy. Over the voices.

( The cart, bless its metal frame, is still somehow rolling. Riiiiii-riiiiiiii-riiiiiii. )

[peninhand]

[ Excuse you, but she does intend on ripping that monster to piece and surviving. She may not be a good fighter, but she has something: the will to live and survive. And it does wonder to survive in horror situations.

She smiled at him and checked back at the creature... It was getting closer and closer... They could still get away without a fight, but he'd need to relax and breathe... ]

Breathe in slowly. Don't think about the monster. Just think about your bed at home and the waffles you'll have tomorrow morning.

[peninhand]

They're all related to a religion so there are more... But I doubt the religion itself is important here.

[ Unless it was, in which case... Well things were about to get a whole lot worse. She did notice what he wrote about Rosemary though. That was new. She clearly was aware on a subconscious level of what was going on. But on a conscious level? ]

I think Rosemary may be an ally... But we need to thread with caution. If we go about it the wrong way, she could feel threatened by us.

[righthandstand]

How about somethin' to hit them with?

[He sticks his hand between the bars to pat the surface around the cage.]

If they come to open this to give us food, we can hit 'em over the head and make a break for it!

[bowfaire]

Not enough, apparently.

(If Wei Wuxian was able to hear him. He supposed it can't be completely helped given the type of flooring and the area they're in. Sounds travel a little more in dark, creepy tunnels. )

Claude. (He gives his name easily but prefers to keep it to the point this time around,) We can get to know each other later.

(Save the casual conversations for another time..)

I was going to see what else was around here... whoever was here before us did a real good job at cleaning up after themselves but there has to be something...

aftercare, coffee attempts, ota

[shalamayne]

[ It's been a strange few days for everyone involved and yet Anduin finds it difficult to stay put after having been rescued from his own situation. When he catches wind of Daylight's set up he can't help but go over, wholly intent on helping out anyone who needs it. Back home he's a healer, a priest and a follower of the Light. He may not have those powers now but it would be awful of him not to offer.

There's just not much Anduin can do without his powers except listen to anyone who needs it and fetch things for those who require them Sometimes just a friendly presence can help and at the end of it all it takes Anduin's mind off of things. Staying at home would only have him overthinking it and instead he focuses his mind on the one thing in Daylight's house that seems to be besting him right now:

the coffee maker.

How does the confounded contraption work again? Anyone walking in may find the King of Stormwind squinting at it, bag of coffee in one hand as he tries to remember how he'd been shown it some time ago.]

Coffee? Or water?

[chromiums]

[ snacks are something she hadn't considered, but a good idea. when the mutant underground had still been running rescue missions they'd sometimes only had time to grab the basics - disguises, water, bandages - if they'd had time to grab anything at all. she wishes there had been a way to bring them water, but they'll have to worry about that later.

she nods to sans, starting down the hall and being mindful to keep her steps slow and feel things out. if they've got that many people, they're sure to be keeping them contained somehow, which means cages. and then there's all the medical equipment they've scavenged.

she keeps her feelers out, trying to see if she can sense an abundance of metal somewhere. ]

[sunborne]

[ daylight does not waste time - he grabs okuyasu's other arm and tosses it over his neck so his friend has a grip around it. after lifting his legs behind the knee, daylight starts to jog off towards what he thinks is the exit.

one unfortunate trade-off of this arrangement is that daylight needs to forsake his baseball bat. between wanting a weapon on him and ensuring that okuyasu is in his grasp, daylight chooses the latter. here's hoping it doesn't screw them over, he thinks as he tries to widen the distance between them and the doppelganger. ]

-So.... A friend of yours? [ daylight is bruised and battered from his attempts to get into the heart of this nightmare hell but he does his best to not sound winded. last thing okuyasu needs is to worry whether they get out of here or not. ]

[sunborne]

You don't need to thank me. [ that's the first thing that comes out of his mouth, his expression resolute and serious ] It's the least I can do for my friends. Especially in fucked up times like these.

[ he's been worried sick about them ever since they had vanished. since his messages and calls were unanswered for several days straight. if he wasn't willing to try and personally retrieve one or two of them, daylight wouldn't be able to look himself in the mirror.

when he gets closer to her and thinks he can see the extent of what happened, daylight flinches but doesn't pull away, repulsed, or anything like that. it's... a lot to take in, yeah, but that's for the future them. right now- ]

Let's get closer to the exit. [ that way, when they have to, they can book it and get out of here faster. ] Is it alright if I ask you a few questions? Or would you rather we do that later? I'm game either way.

[sunborne]

[ daylight is entering the study/room of information, as he's come to dubbed it, to quickly scribble something down. he catches most of what monika has to say and easter...?

oh.

oh fuck. she's right. he looks at the timeline of events and winces at the implications. if the pattern holds then next month will be a quiet one but the month after that- ] Something's going to happen. It's involving holidays or something maybe themed to the month. If it's Easter...

Urgh. [ he pinches the bridge of his nose as he walks up to the wall, grabbing a pencil along the way. he quickly jots down the possibility - april: next attack? - and dots question marks under it. ] If the next round of madness involves eggs, in any capacity, then I think I'm done.

[ it's a strange line to draw, daylight, but i guess you gotta have your lines drawn somewhere in the sand. ]

Thanks for pointing that out. [ he looks to her, clearly grateful but also clearly exhausted as he tries to stifle a loud yawn. ] I've been so preoccupied trying to check on the others and setting the house up, I didn't think of what might be coming up next.

[sunborne]

"You okay?"

Approaching Huaisang, making sure he's not waking up the poor guy from a nap or something, Daylight awkwardly offers a ham sandwich he quickly slapped together. It may not be the most appetising in terms of appearances but it's hefty. Daylight clearly did not skip the ham or the cheese for this one - He even went as far as to toast the bread slices so it's warm and crunchy.

After all- "Feel free to consider this a token of thanks, Huaisang. The many I gotta give to you after this." He grins down at his friend as he pulls out a chair, carefully folding himself into it. He has to resist the urge to throw himself onto it, exhausted or not. Most of the furniture in his house still finds his new height and weight ungainly.

"Noticed you were helping out a lot since I made the announcement on the network," Daylight continues once he's comfortable. "It means a lot to me and the others who are bunking down here."