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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OOC INFO	premise | rules | faq | taken | applications | hiatus/drop/canon updates | activity check | reserves | mod contact
SETTING INFO	calendar | setting | housing | npcs | death and tranquilizing | the story so far | event suggestions/engagements

Comments

[sunborne]

I know, right? No need to fuss about when you need coffee right off the bat.

[ he passes the creamer to anduin, looking confident as possible about this terrible turn of events. since he started to make coffee for himself and agatha, he found that it’s a lot easier to put it all together. they’re all dry ingredients.

... technically? technically. you end up drinking it in the end. ]

Want me to start the coffee maker?

[ daylight begins to look through the cupboards for some clean mugs since he needs a cup of joe himself. the amount of midnight oil he’s been burning since setting up his and agatha’s house for others has been a lot and the sluggishness is showing. ]

[righthandstand]

[Okuyasu hooks his arms around Daylight and grips his hands together. There's nothing he can do but trust that Daylight will get him out to safety. Thankfully, he's pretty tall and strong.]

Yeah. [By now, Okuyasu has managed to catch his breath and focus on talking.] From home. I dunno how they know about him. [They must have seen Okuyasu hanging out with him before he showed up. Maybe they were targeting lots of people from Morioh.]

Did you see anyone you know?

[sunborne]

Daylight. [ he flashes her a smile. or, well, tries to. it’s been an exhausting several days and he thinks it’s a miracle that he’s still standing and having a coherent conversation with someone. ] It’s nice to meet you, Monika.

Wish we could have met under better circumstances but what can you do? [ besides plan ahead.

he adds a note of both april's fools, be careful! and bomb shelter — occupied, useful info(?) on the wall, looking thoughtful as he takes a step back to weigh their possible options for it. ]

So... The police are acting like nothing is wrong. The shelter still stands. [ he folds his arms over his chest, trying to rack his brain for ideas. ] I guess... We could try to clear it out. See what’s in there.

[sunborne]

Gotcha. [ daylight nods in understanding while he shrugs off his jacket, knowing they’re going to be working in the dark for a long while. he also doesn’t want to push kiara and the rest too hard in his quest for information and clues. they’ve been through a lot as is.

so, choosing his questions carefully while keeping an ear out for any sounds, daylight starts off with: ]

What did they do? To you and the others? [ he sees… the aftermath of what’s happened to her and the others but surely that’s not the only thing that’s been happening to them.

terrible as it is to say, there must have been more to this. especially with how big the group is.

while he waits for a reply, he offers his jacket to kiara if she needs extra warmth or covering. he’s a big guy. literally. he can handle the damp and chill down here. ]

[sunborne]

“It’s the least I can do for you guys,” is Daylight’s immediate reply, painfully honest as he tries to stretch out his arms to try and keep himself awake. The chair creaks in protest but it stays strong. ”I hate feeling like there’s nothing I can do, if I can be frank. Especially if you guys are involved.”

Considering their situation — trapped in a strange town, outnumbered by people who proven to not only capable of doing serious damage to them, but proven to not intervene if asked for help — it’s important they stick together. Working together with others, trying to overcome odds is something that Daylight is used to by now. Working on a fire team and working on missions to help those in need does that for you..

Granted, it was never as… perilous as this. Despite the looming threats, known and unknown, he tries his best to be confident and certain when speaking with his friend— He flashes a big smile, adding cheerfully, “If if there’s so much as a hint of being able to do something, I’ll do it! You’ve done a lot of us too, you know, so you deserve recognition for your work.

“I don’t know much medical stuff, practically at least, so you giving a hand here? A big boost for us here. So yeah. I wanna say thank you. Only fair, you know?”

[sunborne]

Yeah. [ he’s quiet for a second before he adds, ] Had a run-in with someone. I dealt with it before getting you and the others.

[ and that’s it. daylight is surprisingly clipped and short when he gives his response, suddenly a lot more focused on taking sharp turns. along with trying to juke/fake out the doppelganger in hopes they can confuse it.

it’s probably not something he wants to talk about. Which could explain why he tries to turn the subject back to okuyasu: ] Does it get aggressive? Shown any signs of attacking you or others? Gotta know in case there’s an upcoming scuffle.

[grice]

[ their steps echo in a way that makes falco turn his head to glance behind them, just to make sure nothing was in step with them like the last time he was in a muggy hallway. he wished he could tell her. ]

I told you, Miss . . . I really don't know what it is. Some kind of device, [ it was obvious that it was electronic; he abandons feeding information that's already overt and unzips the front of his jacket. ] someone put it there, under the muscle, I think. Or maybe deeper, 'cause . . . I can't feel it.

[grice]

[ oh— oh no, he's not big brain or bookworm enough to know the details! the little details he's sure erwin would like, and that makes falco falter for a second— i'll surprise him, he thinks to consider, to grab a book about steam engines in the library to be able to explain better. for now, he'd have to make do with the simplicity of knowing "basic" technology. ]

I think so, [ falco hovers his hands just above his lap and motions with them, one at a different time than the other but circling, side by side. ] they use coal to burn, and that heats up water enough to make steam. [ his hands stop, and he uses a compacting gesture, ] The pressure the steam makes moves the parts inside and powers the engine.

[grice]

Right—!

[ his words are breathless, but he now uses the silence in between to breathe and focus on three things: running, finding a latter, and scope the hurtling mannequins behind them. some literally hurl themselves all while twisting their voices into familiars, of a young girl that calls the boy's name sweetly to an older man that tries to remind him of their promise— he looks over his shoulder not to pay them mind, but to span out where they were and how many times he should consider checking with their speed. one of them said "lieutenant" before, and angelo has proved very well that he knows how to work a firearm, so it shouldn't be a slight to go with something short and (he hopes) universal:

your seven, half-left, and so on were the directions he gave to shoot, and angelo would find that they're accurate. it's just a long run over, and the time spent inhaling anesthetics didn't make falco feel at his most athletic. but, there, eventually there, directly ahead of them, something was shining differently than the grimy shelter walls. ]

There's something ahead!

[shalamayne]

I'm glad you decided to share that with me.

[ The smile Anduin gives may be tired, but it's legitimate and he nods when Daylight offers to help out. Sure, Anduin is meant to be making the coffee but ever since he's come back from the whole ordeal, it's been so easy to feel tired. Someone said it was simply fatigue catching up with him and Anduin would be inclined to agree.

It's easier than thinking too hard on how his right arm doesn't want to cooperate occasionally and true to form he knocks over a nearby bag of sugar, only just righting it before it spills all over.]

Yes please, that would be a big help. ....How have things been going here?

[peninhand]

[ That sounded familiar... Yes! Yes of course, the one who'd informed them all of the disappearances in the first place. ]

Oh! We've talked before. I was "lilmonix3" on the network. [Kind of an embarrassing handle to have picked.] It's nice meeting you too. Sorry if I worried you back then.

[ She nodded. ]

I agree. [A group could go in there, perhaps. With enough fighters to fend off any troubles.] We can't rely on the "natives" to help, so it's up to us if we want to see anything done. Except...

[ Rosemary. She could help. Had she forgotten, had she been brainwashed? She didn't know, but she was clearly important. ]

I think Rosemary is important. I don't think she's withholding information from us purposefully. [A pause.] She told me she feels as though something is wrong. As if her reality could fall apart anytime. And how unsettling she finds it to be the only one who feels that way. She's not like the other natives.

[apodictic]

[ accurate enough is good for something as dark as this shelter, and falco has enough presence of mind not to get in his way where fighting is concerned. they might just make it. he's optimistic, even if angelo feels like he's being stretched thin with stress.

no matter. he's not the one who actually suffered here; he'll bear with it.

if it weren't for the dolls calling to them they would've been out sooner. he hears voices. he doesn't like them. they call out to him in snippets of dialogues none of them should be aware of or know: This history has made us all refugees! What is our future reflecting on this tragic history? I firmly believe mankind must do everything to prevent war from rising up again. This is the true purpose behind our operation to drop Axis - it sounds like a broadcast he had heard a long time ago, about the coming universal century. a strange murmur -

it makes him pause. it almost makes him look. it's then he realizes that he's been standing where he was, transfixed, until falco turns back to him and he nods. ]

.... right. Good work.

[ how strange it is, to hear him just now. ] Let's hurry.

s t o p

[demonicmiracle]

[His gaze flicks down to the gun and an eyebrow goes up, before he remembers that not everyone here is dragged from contemporary Earth, so he supplies:]

It's a rifle. Projectile weapon.

[The basic summary, since they likely don't have time to get into a proper explanation of guns.]

You could've, you know, said something. Who goes about tackling random people?

[The voice, God's voice, interjects:

You had best come to me, Crowley, or you'll do worse than fall.

Crowley rolls his eyes.]

Fuck off, mum!

[hoshikiri]

"Mm." Jests aren't lost to Takame, but oftentimes he took them very seriously. He wished the case of finding liquor was one such time where he could. It wouldn't stop him from trying though, recalling what he's taken count of so far as Huaisang listed what was needed. What they were well stocked on and what they could use more of. His thoughts on the alcohol of this place were much like that of the tea: unfavorable. Though that was the last thing that was relevant.

"Understood." Said with a slow nod, the tiniest indicator of his fatigue. Words archaic to most were regular to Takame, so no matter what Huaisang described it was mostly familiar.

Seeing Huaisang pull out the handful of change, he shook his head. "'Tis kind of you to offer, but worry not. You may leave the payment to me." He'd already promised this to Daylight and he wouldn't break that promise.

[weifinder]

( When you can't rely on one sense, and you're in creepy echoing halls and tunnels, ears can be listening for more than just coaxing, pleading voices... though those are really too much, someone tell them this. )

There's plenty of somethings, just not all strictly helpful. If I knew what he sensed...

( What Huaisang senses down here, but they'd gotten separated, and he hasn't found his friend again yet. He shakes his head, glancing to Claude's face. )

Wuxian. Down that hall takes us toward more of the crawling puppets and the medical torture room. This... isn't the way I came in.

( Is all he says on the direction he'd been cautiously heading, given the state of the environment and what amounts to lighting and puppet attacks. As for his why, beyond the somewhat less frequent run ins with the creepy crawly dollies: )

I don't think everyone came in through the school.

[weifinder]

I feel that's the case with anyone aware enough to know something isn't right here. The ones who don't let themselves even acknowledge that much are dangerous in a slightly different manner.

( No one here is harmless is his real thought, which is... well. Harmless and innocent are two vastly different things. Returning the pen to her, he sighs. )

Along those lines, what were you thinking?

[thotsandprayers]

It's all right. I'm not sure if I could manage a quicker pace anyways.

[Okay, she probably could go a little faster than this and not get shocked, but she does appreciate what appears to be consideration for her condition.

Anyways, she'll follow along a little before speaking up.]

It's quite kind of you to see me home, really. If there's any way I can repay your kindness someday, please don't hesitate to ask.

[Kiara's been told a few times to not think of it that way, like she owes her friends for their help, but that really doesn't stop her from offering to return the favor.

Though she does hope nothing like this happens to anyone else any time soon.]

Exploring

[monalisasmile]

[Oh, this is a bad idea. But Kipo had been determined to check out this place, and well... chalk this one up to Da Vinci being impressed at the young girl's bravery. And perhaps she could be a voice of reason to pull her back before she did anything truly foolhardy. Plus, there's one person missing that's important to D-... important to Chaldea, she mentally corrects herself.

Still, she's here looking more like an out-of-place librarian than someone engaging in a rescue mission. Glasses, smart blouse and skirt, robotic bird perched on her shoulder - you know, normal librarian aesthetic. Despite herself, she grins just a bit at Kipo's enthusiasm.]

Just a simple rescue mission, right?

Please do be careful too, though. Don't get caught somewhere you can't defend yourself.

[She's noticing the small space too. If they can find a route that keeps them in more open areas, that would definitely benefit them... shame there doesn't seem to be anything much more open than this just yet.]

D

[monalisasmile]

[Da Vinci's seen a couple of the results of this kidnapping by now. Her outfit, once a smart little blouse and skirt combination that would have given away her librarian day job, is torn and disheveled from her encounters inside. But she's far better off than some of the others, all becoming what she could only describe as "experimental subjects". To what end, she has no idea; she's more concerned with the sheer horror and brutality of it right now.

And among the other escapees, outside, is a familiar figure. A bloodied familiar figure, with obvious signs of injury and mistreatment.

Da Vinci's face twists into a rare horrified look, her voice barely holding back a tremble. Even she can't mask it entirely.]

What... What the hell?!

[In an instant, she's by Kiara's side, torn between offering her support if she needs it and getting in closer to examine what's been done to her.]

What happened? And be careful... you might still be bleeding!

[It's not that she's more concerned for Kiara than the others, exactly. Not even because of the rough shape she seems to be in. It's just... complicated. Like it hits home more with someone who also used to be a Servant.]

[purplejaguareye]

Oh, I'll be okay. Even with the small space, I think I can handle it.

[Though she's not 100% sure. The Mega Jaguar had been shrunk down to eight feet, but even then that was kind of big for this space. If only she had her jaguar fists...

Well, too late to turn back. And she's not about to sit back while everyone else pitches in to form a rescue team.]

What about you? Who are you looking for down here?

[thotsandprayers]

[For a moment, Kiara's a little embarrassed about having another Servant show concern for her like this. Servants aren't supposed to go through this kind of thing, and if Servants aren't, then she's pretty sure Beast candidates are supposed to go through this kind of trauma even less. But without most of her powers, it really couldn't be helped.]

I appreciate the concern, but surely the others...

[She's going to say the others are worse off than her, and she truly does think that. But that doesn't really seem to be a popular argument with people worried about her, so that thought won't be completely voiced.]

...they've gone through similar experiences, and could use proper care as well.

[There, that's close enough to what she'd like to say without trying to downplay her own suffering. If Da Vinci wants to inspect the damage, she won't protest, but she also won't act like she received the worst from their captors.]

[monalisasmile]

[Well, that's a surprisingly complicated question, isn't it? She doesn't generally think in these terms, after all.]

Anyone we can find, naturally! Though, you could say I have a... friend from home, among the missing. I haven't seen my husband lately either, but he could just be avoiding me.

[She's a strange mix of perhaps seeming genuinely concerned and oddly casual about this at the same time.]

I was just about to ask you the same thing, in fact. Someone from your house disappeared?

[purplejaguareye]

My dad.

[She feels weird, calling Bruce Wayne that. It feels like a betrayal to her real dad.]

I'm pretty worried about what they're doing to him. Whoever "they" are.

[monalisasmile]

[She's not sure how she expected Kiara to respond. Altruistic concern for the other victims? Doesn't seem entirely likely, but then Kiara's surprised her a few times already since they came here.

She quickly pulls herself together, not entirely snapping back to the professional facade she's grown accustomed to putting up. But definitely closer to it.]

We'll do our best to help everyone, of course. [There's no one immediately nearby who desperately needs assistance, though, so she's going to indulge her curiosity.] For now, just... tell me what happened. Were you even aware of what they were doing?

[Even as she asks, she examines the obvious signs of surgery, with absolutely zero concern for Kiara's personal space. A replaced eye, bloodied cloth over her chest... was there anything else she was missing?]

[monalisasmile]

[Da Vinci hums softly, in acknowledgement and understanding.]

Even if we're not really families outside of this place... we are all in the same situation together. It's natural to worry.

[Suddenly, she seems thoughtful, as she glances around the hall.]

"They" don't seem to be very social, do they? Not that I'm going to complain about not running into any creepy kidnappers...

[It's just... weird, how empty this place feels aside from their group.]