robbies: (pic#14482929)
TRANQUILIZERS ([personal profile] robbies) wrote in [community profile] logsville2021-02-15 07:02 pm

FEBRUARY 2021 EVENT: PART TWO

 

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

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.

▶ NAVIGATION ◀
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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
bowfaire: (Default)

A

[personal profile] bowfaire 2021-02-20 08:35 pm (UTC)(link)
(Claude reassures Sans that he'll be fine when they enter the school. He might be considered just a teenaged child in this town but he can take care of himself. Don't worry! Just watch yourself, old man! He acts confident and almost carefree at first but once they enter, his demeanor becomes more serious and focused.

He keeps close to Sans, careful to not make too much noise. Like his companion, he picks through the medical supplies, taking what he can and shoving them into a canvas bag. Bandages, ointment, and things he only vaguely recognizes from seeing them in the drugstore or another first aid kit around town prior.

When they get to the used supplies, his reaction only changes slightly. Levelheaded as ever, his mouth forms a tight line, and his eyes seem to harden, as he reaches for a used scalpel, thick with dried blood. Combine it with the smell in the air, the condition of the rooms, the tables...

(When he'd first arrived in Santa Rosita, he'd wondered if some experiment had been done to strip him of his Crest. He never could have imagined these experiments though. He still can't.)
)

I thought this was supposed to be a shelter.

(A safe place. He speaks rhetorically, not really expecting an answer he can't already figure out. Sans is already on the move anyway and Claude follows.)
peninhand: (gae 001)

[personal profile] peninhand 2021-02-20 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)
We can't really wait...

[ She realized it wasn't that easy... She didn't know what they'd done to him exactly. And she just wasn't up to the task of carrying him. He was too big and too heavy for her. Well, that left only one option... Thus she took a rather large and pointy knife from under her dress-- Did you really think she'd gone in there without a weapon? It would have been suicide.

She turned back and stared at the figure crawling on all four. If it was going to approach... ]


Take your breath. I'll keep it at bay.
fanoperator: (consternation)

Aftercare & Doing the Rounds

[personal profile] fanoperator 2021-02-20 09:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Huaisang is glad to help. Just like the makeshift shelter he and Daylight worked to set up at the Christmas Village to help with the worst of the teleportations to the lake, Huaisang wants to help with the victims because he knows it's only a matter of time before he's the one who will need help. If they're going to survive all of this, they need to be allies.

He knows some basic field medicine, so he visits rooms like a nurse, whether people need a change of bandages, a glass of water, or just someone to sit near them so that they don't have to be alone in the dark.

In between his rounds, he can be found in the dining room with watered-down coffee in hand, zoning out or half falling asleep in his chair. He hates the taste of coffee, but it's effective, and he needs the warmth and energy enough to be grateful for it.
apodictic: (pic#14175710)

[personal profile] apodictic 2021-02-20 10:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Don't be foolish.

[ he holds him back. he wants to be a bit firm with the way he does but he has no idea about the extent of his injuries yet; when falco starts moving, angelo clicks his tongue and hooks an arm around his waist. ]

This has happened before. Creatures pretending to have voices we recognize to lure you into trouble.

[ "brother", was it? that seems to be the word he said. angelo starts pulling him away. assuming that this kid has good relations with his relative - ] .... if your brother were here, why would he wait until you are suffering to announce himself? Is he the type to wait and see if you would live through all of that horror?

[ and it is a terrible sound, that voice. down to the nostalgia that is made more intense with the pain and loneliness and injustice the child feels. it is very human. it is something angelo can't quite grasp. but for his sake, he will try. ]
fanoperator: (worried)

[personal profile] fanoperator 2021-02-20 11:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Two handfuls, I think. [Huaisang can't say that he minds that they're in the later wave of people. The main rescue of the missing has already occurred, but Huaisang is hopeful that the two of them might pick up something that the others have missed. They have experience in these things, after all.] Daylight has put together a sort of emergency hospital in his house. I'll go and help after we... after we go and look. In case they missed anything. Or anyone.

[He shudders at the thought of it, stifling a whimper. He doesn't want to go down there. He doesn't want to be in this town, in this strange and modern place that is so often murderous.]
demonicmiracle: (082)

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2021-02-21 02:00 am (UTC)(link)
[Crowley flinches, ducking slightly as he whirls around, only for any concern to turn immediately to annoyance. Despite the gun pointed at him, he isn't actually worried about Archer shooting him, and takes a moment to holster his own pistol before coming closer.]

It's a bit different when I'm human. Doesn't look like you're faring much better.
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: SWEAT)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2021-02-21 02:37 am (UTC)(link)
A walk, huh...?

[That answers the question of if they got caught, at least. The prospect that only some had been taken and hurt, while the others... had they gone about their normal days? The closer Erwin gets, the more Papyrus averts his gaze. It was awkward enough, as they got out of the cages and into slightly-better lit halls, to see peoples' reactions to his face. But then they'd all been injured, so the trades of pitying glances were... well, trades.]

It's been a few more days since I walked... but I haven't forgotten how.

[He doesn't otherwise resist Erwin's taking his arm, beyond the bitter grumbling. If nothing else, it's a comfort to know somebody else is there and real, not a sourceless voice or hard plastic imitation.]
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: SWEAT)

ngl, I was tempted to tag Kiara's tranquilized prompt, but this works better

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2021-02-21 02:59 am (UTC)(link)
[With Sans as a brother, it's not as though Papyrus is unaccustomed to people not matching his tone even when he's upset. Not with how Sans almost never acknowledges serious situations for as serious as they are, when he's around. Maybe her tone isn't the warmest right now, but the words more than make up for it.]

That's... good. That's good.

[He gasps a little as he speaks, trying not to breathe so deeply that it puts even more pain on his sides. Another hiss, because as cramped and uncomfortable as the cell is, now he can't seem to find a position that doesn't hurt.]

Thank you, I'll... uh, try to return the favor. Maybe... I'll reread that first aid book...
spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: SLEEPY)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2021-02-21 03:22 am (UTC)(link)
Yeah, they just keep getting back up. [The first look-alikes did back up in town, and the ones in these tunnels do too. Breaking that other one into pieces slowed it, but he has no doubt it's scuttling about somehow. As durable as humans are, he guesses, with a sour laugh that turns into a cough.] And climbing in the ceiling... or something.
ribticklers: (123)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2021-02-21 03:51 am (UTC)(link)
Must be a whole tunnel network up there, then. [Sans half intends it as a joke, but actually the idea of countless doppelgangers crawling around in the ceiling is a bit too possible for Sans's taste. It's encouragement to get moving again, if nothing else.] They look sort of like dolls, so maybe someone made 'em.

[Someone who also did terrible surgical experiments on Papyrus? A theory Sans is going to have to keep in mind.]
thotsandprayers: (and dear lady please don't laugh)

honestly all I can think of is "It's dangerous to go alone! Take this!" from Zelda

[personal profile] thotsandprayers 2021-02-21 04:59 am (UTC)(link)
[Hey she'd take that lover's embrace too if she actually had one. Probably for the best that she doesn't though.

Whatever she was expecting certainly wasn't that. So she's also learning a bit more about others today too. She's certainly glad Monika came prepared, but what to do with this? It's not that she wouldn't know what to do with it (and honestly, while not her style, probably not the first time she would've done something along those lines with one), it's just that if she were to react honestly...she'd probably start laughing.

It's ridiculous, handing someone like her a knife and having others concerned about her safety. They can't help it of course, and she hasn't done a lot to help them understand, but it's just...funny. But she won't do that, she's done an okay job suppressing her true feelings here, so she can bury that impulse down deep too.]


Thank you, the gesture is appreciated, and I think I understand the sentiment behind it.

[She'll turn the knife around offering it back handle first to Monika, an appreciative look on her face, even if she is in fact, rejecting it.]

But I think I would be more comfortable with you keeping this. I might not look like it, especially not right now, but I'm quite capable of defending myself without such a thing.

[That might be up for debate given her current state, but Kiara also thinks that given that her regained power couldn't stop her from being taken, she doesn't think a knife would've helped much either.]
thotsandprayers: (is to become a human yourself)

[personal profile] thotsandprayers 2021-02-21 06:05 am (UTC)(link)
[She's going to try to not be too excited to see a helpful face since it would be incredibly unhelpful if her pacemaker were to zap her right now. Especially since he appears to have been through some sort of hell of his own too, she can't help her gaze being drawn to the bat because what exactly is going on out there?

But still, she's thrilled to see a familiar, mostly intact face.]


I'm stable, really. Compared to the others, I...

[That sentence really doesn't finish forming to make it out of her mouth. She doesn't want to say she got off lighter than the others because she's definitely still not looking great. While she's trying to think of what to say next, she'll place her hand against her face, it might look contemplative, but she's just trying to make sure that stupid glass eye stays in place because that's the last thing she needs right now.]

I can wait until we get out of here. I'm not in any immediate danger.

[There, that's an okay way of putting it. She wants to disinfect everything, without her Servant abilities, that's something to worry about. And she'd like to be rid of this pacemaker, but for now, she can manage.]

Thank you for coming to save us.
undiagnosed: (pic#14468695)

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2021-02-21 10:34 am (UTC)(link)
[he should be angry at that, but he just looks away. sterling, mi amigo! fucking idiot. he's dead. archer watched him die.]

I thought he-- [archer shakes his head, finishing up his own bandaging, pulling it a little overtight to distract himself.] Convenient excuse, asswipe.

[archer'll just redirect it back at crowley, like he probably expects him to.]

Come here. I have spares.
freeflight: (100)

[personal profile] freeflight 2021-02-21 12:51 pm (UTC)(link)
( ooc: oops, I screwed up about when the kidney beeping started, lemme write something to retcon that because I’m dumb. )

[ Levi doesn’t have it in him to be much help, but he doesn’t hinder Erwin either. Not deliberately, anyway. He doesn’t bring to his attention the fact that he’s got that nasty sutured incision on his gut, one that was done absolutely no favors by the man’s method of carrying him. Frankly, no one part of this seems to matter all that much when it all may as well be an extension of those earlier tortures.

He isn’t even given the mercy of passing out, starting conscious enough to haltingly respond to Erwin’s request.
] I was questioned. Don’t remember by who, but they got what they wanted.

[ All the while, that beeping that had started when they’d first left the room with the cages never recedes, something he hadn’t placed until now. Maybe he’d been to dazed to realize before.

It hadn’t in the room they’d entered. It moved with them. Him.
]
demonicmiracle: (107)

let's go monika > crowley > aziraphale if that's cool

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2021-02-21 06:25 pm (UTC)(link)
[So far, none of the locals have even acknowledged any differences between their groups, so Crowley feels confident enough taking Monika at her word, lowering the rifle.]

You're fine, we're not local.

[Not that she seems worried, but he'll offer the reassurance anyway, casting a glance at Aziraphale. He doesn't like the idea of a teenager wandering around here on her own, even though she obviously hasn't run into too much trouble yet.

He leaves the second question for Aziraphale, and goes to check the door, wanting to make sure nothing followed Monika.]
blackscales: Commission, Do Not Take! (11)

[personal profile] blackscales 2021-02-21 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Anduin's fingers dig into Wrathion's arm, and in response he grips the man tighter -- studying his face intently.

"They will not take you again," he assures him, "I will see them burn first."

Even if burning right now is limited to matches -- it's no matter. Wrathion believes in the sentiment strongly enough to make it happen. He would find a way. Straightening slowly he makes sure Anduin is steady on his feet, able to keep them under him as he gives the man another once over.

"I'm afraid that will have to wait," he admits finally, "Anduin, we must get you to safety while we still can."

There is, after all, a chance their captors may return -- that they both then might be in cages.
blackscales: Commission, Do Not Take! (25)

[personal profile] blackscales 2021-02-21 10:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Something about being heartbroken and lonely, I think.

[ Wrathion squints, taking in Harding's reaction. No bite, it seems. ]

I wondered if it might be familiar, since you say you've been down there before. If it might be the same people playing down there.
thotsandprayers: (the miserable lonely depressed pathetic)

[personal profile] thotsandprayers 2021-02-21 10:34 pm (UTC)(link)
I appreciate it, but I'm far more concerned with making sure you're okay.

[She's not going to pretend she isn't miserable right now, but nothing's happened to her so far that she know she can't manage and deal with. Hooray for past experience? Wait, no. That doesn't really make the eye thing any better.]

Try to breathe normally if you can. I'm not sure if pneumonia is a concern with in this situation, but it would be best not to find out.

[A frown crosses her face while she thinks back to her volunteer days, trying to think of anything similar or other things to keep in mind. Even in some of the less idea situations though, things were usually better than this.]

I'm just glad Louis isn't here.

[Though she has really no idea why they'd take her and Papyrus and leave him?]
helloneighbor: (harding.)

[personal profile] helloneighbor 2021-02-22 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
[Harding's gazing off in another direction while he faces Angelo, listening to him. He has a pensive, distracted look on his face like's only half paying attention, but his eyes come alive again when Angelo asks his question, sharply darting in his direction.]

Nothing.

[His shoulders rise and his head shakes again, like he's trying to shake the word off.]

You're asking me to remember something that happened decades ago. I think I'd remember— [he takes a final sip of the coffee he's been drinking and throws the cup out, tossing it into a trashcan they aren't standing far away from,] —if it was important.

[His tone turns brisk, back to business.]

Why do you care so much?
Edited 2021-02-22 00:29 (UTC)
helloneighbor: (harding.)

[personal profile] helloneighbor 2021-02-22 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
[Harding doesn't say anything for a long time, his expression unreadable. The closest word that could describe his demeanor is pensive, but his tone is oddly casual when he finally replies again, even neutral.]

Do you remember how it went? The song. Did a man or a woman sing it?
apodictic: (pic#14175718)

[personal profile] apodictic 2021-02-22 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
[ and if he didn't remember, despite everything else - either way, all is forgiven, isn't it? the appeal of this town is that that's possible, either way.

angelo considers his reply. he thinks harding lied, but he can't pinpoint out where exactly to start poking holes in it, and his captain isn't here to help him; a shame. his captain would've known. ]


.... I'm researching it for school. Somebody mentioned it in passing, and I became curious.

[ it's not quite a lie; he does have some rather superfluous homework at school about historical sites in santa rosita. but he's not about to mention the broadcast if none of their neighbours would even acknowledge that some of them are missing. or that something weird is going on.

so if harding says that 'nothing' happened, then he's acting more like them than he is himself. interesting. ]


Have there been any accidents at all in that shelter?
Edited 2021-02-22 01:28 (UTC)
blackscales: Commission, Do Not Take! (8)

[personal profile] blackscales 2021-02-22 02:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ Ah, a reaction at last! Wrathion considers that frowning and rubbing at his beard a moment. ]

It was a man.

[ And he thinks he can recall the tune. After a moments thought he begins to hum a slightly offbeat but still recognisable version of Heartbreak Hotel. ]
freeflight: (049)

[personal profile] freeflight 2021-02-22 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
If you see an opening, be ready to make a choice. [ Does that explain anything about what he'd just said? Eh... He's been actively watching for any chance, any slip that might work in their favor. ]

So what do you know about the building?
vampirella: (0062)

you asked for the monster i promise i will make you regret it

[personal profile] vampirella 2021-02-22 04:36 am (UTC)(link)
( while Carmilla can quite convincingly blend into the population like a picture of a 60s housewife (maybe a little on the dour side, but supposedly she's in mourning), but the second she opens her mouth it's a lot harder to sell. she sure doesn't talk like a townie. and honestly, "porn" is pretty tame for her. )

Sweetie, anything with the corset bursting on the cover is not about the 'romance'. ( she'll give him that one for free. this one seems to be about a pirate, she has to guess that's what the eye patch is about. she does seem to buy that he wasn't intentionally looking for porn, if only because he has to be like 10. )

Try Austen or Brontè. Those are classics. This is just gross. ( that said, she levels a serious look his way, eyes narrowed. ) What's the beeping? A radio? ( she is not going to be detracted, especially when the beeps have only gotten worse since the conversation started. is this little worm recording her somehow??? because she can and will wrestle with a child to break his recording device. )

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