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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▶ NAVIGATION ◀
COMMS	logs | network | ooc | memes
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

FAQ

[robbies]

Have a question about the event or any of the prompts we've listed? Throw us a line here. Make sure you check the FAQ on the plotting post to see if your question has already been answered.

DALE HARDING AND ROSEMARY CRAVEN

[robbies]

Leave a top-level here if you would like to speak with either Rosemary or Harding, and the mods will tag back to you. Please note that these interactions will take place before your character goes to the school.

The mods will accept a total of 10 threads, or 5 requests per NPC. Write in your header which NPC you would like to thread with (HARDING or ROSEMARY). You can only thread with one of them, so choose wisely!

[the_caped_crusader]

hi, mods! will old growth be normal when they emerge? or will the voices be present and/or will things escalate at all as they try to leave the forest?

[robbies]

Nope, the forest will be completely normal! Well, aside from the Ferthurs. They're still around. That said, if your character is lucky enough not to run into one of them, they won't meet any resistance or have difficulty making it back to town via one of the many trails found within Old Growth. That, or they can just keep walking and hope that they'll hit pavement eventually.

Re: FAQ

[purplejaguareye]

Can Kipo navigate the tunnels/basement in 8-ft jaguar form or would the space be too small for her?

Additional question: Can she break stuff in the lab?

[apodictic]

1. does the lab have any functioning radios that one can communicate with outside from inside the shelter ...
2. for characters (mine) who are going to take stuff do you want them listed here or in the other post?
3. if i'm reading this correctly - do the doppelgängers stay in the shelter, they don't venture into the old growth at all once characters escape?

[robbies]

While Kipo may be able to navigate the tunnels in her jaguar form, the better question might be if she'd want to: while a couple of the rooms are large enough that she'd have some space to navigate, many of the rooms are the size of what you'd find in a standard house and some of the hallways may feel cramped. Factoring in any furniture or equipment that may be around, it might be too difficult to navigate beyond the rooms nearest the entrance in jaguar form.

Kipo can absolutely break stuff that she finds in the lab. But beware; there are chemicals in flasks that may not mix well! Smashing everything indiscriminately may result in fire, noxious gases, or other effects that may go beyond what she intended...

[purplejaguareye]

Excellent, thanks mods!

Kipo | Kipo | OTA

[purplejaguareye]

[Exploring the tunnels]

[Kipo's followed a group down into the tunnels, looking around for any signs of the missing. In her mind, she's taking in how small the space is, how difficult it would be to turn into the Mega Jaguar if trouble came their way. Things aren't looking good...]

Okay, we just gotta find our friends, throttle the people holding them hostage, and get out of here. Easy!

[Laboratory]

[Kipo makes sure to look through all the equipment and papers she can find, trying to dig up any information on the missing or just what's going on with this town. Unfortunately, she can't find anything worthwhile.]

Well, only one thing left to do here...

[She smashes her fists together.]

Let's smash this place apart!

[Clearly an A+ plan. Normally she'd hate the idea of destroying anything science-related, but a secret lab under a school clearly means evil.]

[Doppelgangers]

[When the Doppelgangers attack, Kipo has one option - shift into her 8-ft tall purple jaguar form and fight back. She bats a few of them away, and she'll offer a paw to anyone who's struggling to fight them off.

But then she hears a familiar voice...

"Kipo! Help me!"

She shifts back into her human form, bolting in the direction of the voice. She doesn't think it's a trap, clearly her dad was trapped down here the whole time! And maybe her friends are down her, her mom-]

Dad! Dad, I'm coming!

[She turns a corner, and it's a doppelganger. She grunts in anger, shifting back into her jaguar form...

But the Doppelganger has lured her into a tight corner, and her jaguar form just doesn't fit very well in the cramped space. Pretty soon, more of then come out and swarm her.

She lets out a panicked roar.]

Harding

[feudalladyshandmaid]

["What the fuck did you just say?"

Cassandra's last few days have been quiet with anxiety, and fraught with weird occurrences. Who knew that strange message on the network was only the beginning? From her sheets being yanked off, drawers and books flying around, and that word. The one turning up on her mirror, and on the network the day before...

It's only natural that Cassandra starts searching around. But try as she might, no answers! Two words, so innocuous that they may as well have been gibberish. Any books she could get her hands on yielded no answers. The locals were no better, playing a range from polite confusion to just... confusion at her questioning. Would she ever find the answer?

...Well, the answer to that question came from a place she least expected.]

Officer Harding? [She turns on her feet, face him fully and letting the last poor robbie that she'd been questioning get on his merry way.] Uh, I said "Living Island".

Sans | OTA

[ribticklers]

A; The Shelter
[Sans, and whoever is with him, isn't the first to get there, but he is there before the school opens. You know how it is--the second mouse gets the cheese. Sans doesn't enjoy using the louder, more reckless, less patient people (not that he's feeling particularly patient himself today) like this, but if Papyrus is here, and then Sayori, too, that's the goal, and that's what's important. Let the whole town act as a distraction if it gets them out. Because he's not the first in, he doesn't have to go to the trouble of breaking in. Stay quiet, stay fast, stay focused. If everyone else does the hard stuff, better for him.

The clean boxes are of note. That means they were placed recently, maybe used recently. Sans dumps an assortment of first aid supplies into the red plaid satchel, decorated with bows, that he's brought down with him. It's Sayori's--he figured he'd need something to carry stuff in. Hopefully she doesn't mind, if she's still alive.

The next box, already opened--IV tubing. Syringes. Surgical tools. Sans goes still, forgets to even breathe. If it's new and open, it was used. This stuff was used. This stuff was used, so--

Sans's voice is clipped and soft:] We're going deeper in. [Now.]

B; The Operating Room; cw: surgical blood/gore remainders, panic attack vibes; dry heaving
[Sans starts to get a feel for navigation the deeper in they go, though that realization leaves a worse taste in his mouth than the cloying, spicy-sweet scent had. Travel with Sans through this place has been a mostly silent affair--Sans is stalking through this place more than he's walking--but his steps have become more sure of himself as he starts to be better able to anticipate what sorts of places are likely to be where. A converted laboratory, but he knows laboratories. That's why he flinches, just a little, before he even sees the operating theater, let alone walks into it. That song is playing, same as it had been on the television broadcast.

A turntable, the source of the music. Scalpels and tongs, washed but not dried. The operating table itself, under an assortment of lights. Blood smeared on tile. A bucket of blood and thick, disgusting mess. Grey pulp in the sink. He doesn't know what that is. His whole torso heaves violently, but his jaw is set nearly tight enough to crack his teeth, and nothing comes up. Sans doesn't know what's in the sink, doesn't know what's in the bucket besides blood, knows too much and not nearly enough of what's happening. His stomach clenches painfully again. Sans doesn't know what they did, if anyone is even alive anymore. He doesn't know why this is happening. Papyrus had never done anything to deserve any of this. Sans had never done anything to deserve this. This isn't fair. What did any of them do? It's not even--not even because of humans and monsters, it's--he doesn't even know, and--

The edge of the sink bites painfully into the palms of Sans's hands. He's gripping it tight enough to draw blood, but a little more on that sink hardly matters.]

C; The Doppelganger; cw: violence, doppelgangers, literal face masks
[It's Papyrus's voice that draws Sans away, because it was always going to be that. It's not even intent to separate himself; he moves toward the sound like he was magnetized to it. It's calling for him, after all--Brother and Sans in turn, and Sans doesn't stop to think that it's ridiculous for Papyrus to have any idea he's down here, let alone nearby.

Then, Papyrus's face at the dim end of a hallway.]

Papyrus? [Sans's voice is thin, wound tight with stress. The doppelganger is happy to reply. Brother! There you are! Could you come here? The Great Papyrus... May need just a tiny bit of assistance!

And of course Sans moves immediately, doesn't even think about it. There's a vague alarm in the backmost corner of his mind, the sense of something off, but so much is wrong here that he can dismiss it was the wrongness of the whole situation. He's halfway down the hallway. Three quarters. It's a long hallway--he's far closer to the dim end of the hallway now than the area he'd just left.

Two things happen almost at once. What happens first, what saves him, is that the face--slides, so it's sitting lopsided. The second thing that happens is that the doppelganger shifts its ball joints and lunges at him like a jungle cat--

Sans whips his left arm forward, holds it out like he intends to stop the screeching thing with one open palm. But it does stop, its torso slamming still in the air while its limbs bounce like it's hit an invisible wall. It's close enough to tear a whole new set of claw marks into Sans's left arm.

And then it flies back and slams into the wall hard enough that, as its porcelain-like elbow strikes before the rest of it, that bloody arm pops out of its socket.]

That's not your face. [It's not. It's not. That's. It's slid even farther now. Detached skin. It's a mask. And it's not Papyrus's face, either, not really but. It was.

Sans whips his arm out wide. The doppelganger slams into another wall. Its remaining arm shatters. And Sans just stands there, looking at it. Holding it there.]

That's not yours.

[ribticklers]

[Reserved for additional prompts. Please don't reply to this comment!]

c

[purplejaguareye]

Sans!

[Kipo comes running, ready to help Sans fend off the doppelganger - but before she can go jaguar mode, it looks like he's already got the situation under control.

... Maybe? Because he's just holding it there and - is that Papyrus' face?]

Sans? ... Are you okay?

[ribticklers]

[Sans's eyes flick in Kipo's direction, but his arm remains locked in place, dripping blood. If he lets go, even without arms, that thing might attack again. Even if it's not on right anymore, it still has--its face is still--

He can't hold it forever. It's a drain on his magic. But he doesn't let go yet.]

I've had better days. [He says it like it's a joke, but there's an undeniable dark current flowing through his tone. It is a joke. The worst joke. His voice only lilts more in that direction, that twist of mirth and darkness.] It's dangerous down here, y'know.

Reunion; closed to Papyrus but Monika and/or Sayori can pop in if they want

[ribticklers]

[Sans doesn't know if it's a shameful thought, seeing a single bit of bone magic he knows so well, to wonder if the doppelgangers are copying magic too. The coil in his chest isn't anywhere near hope. From the angle, that bone came around the corner.

He had a run-in with a Papyrus that wasn't, already. He doesn't know what he's going to do if this is another one with some other piece of him. Regardless, he turns the corner with a fatal sense of inevitability, because he was never going to make another choice once he saw that magic. Still, he guards his trembling soul by being quiet about the approach. His left arm, hastily-bandaged, is raised; magic being thrown around means a fight, regardless of what he sees.]

[purplejaguareye]

I’ll be fine.

[She sees Sans struggling, and she can’t imagine seeing one of these things with her parents’ faces on them.

But Sans can’t hold it there forever.]

Let me help you. I can hold it back and you can get back to finding the others.

[ribticklers]

[Does it matter if he finds anyone? He knows that thought is terrible. He knows. It pulses in his mind anyway. This thing has his brother's face. Is there a point to anything he's doing?

Here's another great joke: ultimately, he doesn't know what else to do. Might as well do this, right? What a brave hero. Fine.]

How about on three?

[purplejaguareye]

[Kipo gives a nod. Not the most ideal plan, but what else can they do? Kipo wasn’t counting on dolls that could mimic voices and faces.]

On three.

One...

Two...

[ribticklers]

Three. [Sans drops his hand and the magic at once. The doppelganger drops to the ground and scrambles forward on its legs alone, face sliding off and to the ground. Sans sidesteps the now much-clumsier creature neatly, with steps that are clearly practiced.]

[grice]

afterwards, how will neighbors and regular citizens react to those who’ve been physically modified? will they find it odd, will children laugh or bully, or will they act as if nothing has happened?

Rosemary

[peninhand]

[ Grocery shopping. Of all the things she had expected for Rosemary to be doing, that was the last one. No matter. She'd finally found her. Now was the time for things to get serious. Before approaching her, Monika sent two messages. She couldn't do this alone, she didn't have any "powers" to convince her if she was too stubborn to talk. Her "husband" though, he looked like he could hold his own in a fight. And the one who had informed her about Sayori's disappearance in the first place deserved to know, too.

Considering she's been looking for her non-stop for quite a few days by then, Monika is sleep-deprived, barely able to keep her eyes open. Only kept awake by the belief that finding that woman will somehow give her the answer ]

Rosemary... I mean, Mrs Craven.

[ She marked a pause, trying to get her bearings. Now wasn't the time to fall asleep. ]

She's gone... Sayori is gone. [Would that even make any sense to Rosemary? God only knew.] Not just her... Papyrus. Kiara. Okuyasu. So many others, they've all disappeared! You- Please help us...!

Harding

[sunborne]

[ daylight furious jots down the notes on the loose leafs of paper had grabbed from his house before he rushed out. when he finds that he's running out of space on the last piece of paper and still needs to note some things down, he just... tugs up his sleeve with his teeth to expose his forearm and starts writing there. he'll start sharing this with the others as soon as he can.

when he's done writing it all down and has tucked the paper away safely in his jacket, he looks back (and down) at Harding and nods in thanks for the information. ]

Thank you, Chief Harding. This will help me and the others a lot. [ he pauses, then decides to press on with something that's been on his mind for a while: ] I do want to ask you a couple of questions and bring something to your attention- All about your men.

HARDING

[blackscales]

[ Wrathion has, under Daylight's patient instructions, played nice.

He doesn't want to play nice, he wants to rip the entire town to shreds, but Daylight had pointed out doing so might lead to... repercussions. Ones that might impact Anduin, had he not been found by the end of the destructive spree.

Harding is, at least a blessing. He's not even caught out eating this time, just walking the roads on whatever passes for security detail in this place. Questioning other townsfolk had given him some basic information -- the symbol indicates a shelter, there are several in the area, the name means nothing. That's better progress than none, but so far the other shelters had been useless.

Wrathion is starting to feel desperate.

Harding, however, is a jackpot. He recognises the name. Wrathion repeats it, patiently, explains he believes some prank is being pulled on him. Foolish kids, you know how it is, they mentioned the name and planning to go there. He thought they might have invented it. Turns out the place does exist!

The smile Wrathion offers meets his eyes no more than Harding's sneer does.

Yet Harding does, at least, describe the location. It takes all of Wrathion's willpower not to immediately bolt, but he needs as much information as he can get. So her persists. ]

They told me it might be haunted.

[ Wrathion flicks a faint smile again, as if the idea is particularly funny -- of course it isn't haunted, how silly children are! ]

I'm sure that isn't true, but I'm worried if they find this island that it will be... dangerous. I wouldn't want them to get hurt.

Laboratory

[peninhand]

[ Monika's too focused on her own thoughts, until she hears someone propose what has to be the best idea she has heard in forever. Smash it... Yes, that's the best option. If they don't, then they may as well just send a message to whoever did this "hey, please do it again." ]

Yes. We must destroy all of their equipment. Ideally burn the place to the ground so they can never do it again.

[ Does anyone have a match? Though she's supposed to be the responsible one here, so... ]

But we can't do it till we're sure everyone's out. We also should take back anything that could be useful to identify who the kidnappers were and what their objective is.

B

[peninhand]

[ Whilst Sans explored this side of the laboratory, Monika rummaged through the books on the other side. Books were her domain, science not so much. So many volumes about psychology and the human brain. And all these hints about what experiments had been conducted here... They've been trying to understand humans. Perhaps not human as in the species, but humanity in the broader sense. Sentient beings sharing certain characteristics. After all, neither she nor Sayori were quite human. Unbeknownst to her, neither were many others amongst their ranks.

That reminded her of Huisang's theory that their "neighbors" may have once been people like them. What if they're trying to understand how to change, alter humans? If true, then... No, it would do no good to linger on the worst.

Monika came back from the other side of the room with two books in hand— One about human anatomy, one about psychology. She'd been putting on a brave face, but she has a hard time hiding just how afraid she is as to Sayori's fate. Seeing all that gore though, it's hard to keep any hope....

She stops next to Sans. He hadn't spoken a lot... Unsurprising, given the stakes. She'd been pretty silent too. ]

Sans... [She lowered her head.] Are we...

[ Are we too late? Before having a chance to finish her sentence, she spotted the blood dripping from Sans' hand on the edge of the sink. Her lips parted and eyes widened with surprise. And he didn't even show so much as a hint of pain... She wondered how close he and Papyrus really were? Probably much closer than she'd ever been to Sayori or anyone in her life. What good would it do him to have someone else add to his worries? This place had seen fit to slot her as an adult. A wife, a mother. Now if ever was the time to act as such. Fake it till you make it.

Thus she rose her head and spoke, this time with a more affirmative and confident tone. ]

... I'm sure Sayori and Papyrus are still alive.