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apocalypsehowcomm2022-05-16 08:09 am
- !event,
- !finale,
- !npc,
- bucky barnes (mcu),
- cornelius hickey (the terror),
- cortana (halo),
- edalyn clawthorne (owl house),
- hunter (owl house),
- kate cordello (original),
- katrina (siren),
- manji (blade of the immortal),
- zz_addison montgomery (grey's anatomy),
- zz_ade bennett (the wess'har wars),
- zz_ainsley whitly (prodigal son),
- zz_andrew jaeger (original),
- zz_beauregard lionett (critical role),
- zz_bruno madrigal (encanto),
- zz_callisto (xena: warrior princess),
- zz_donna noble (doctor who),
- zz_garner cinderbrooke (original),
- zz_george milton (of mice and men),
- zz_jeff calhoun (original),
- zz_john carter (er),
- zz_jonathan sims (tma),
- zz_luka kovač (er),
- zz_malcolm bright (prodigal son),
- zz_misty quigley (yellowjackets),
- zz_neal caffrey (white collar),
- zz_nick valentine (fallout),
- zz_orpheus (hadestown),
- zz_rye kalibash (original),
- zz_tim drake (dc comics)
Event - Appalachia: Into the Pines
Footage plays on the television as a new story comes on, showing a series of sweeping vistas, intercut with clips of wolves that have clearly been filmed at some local wildlife sanctuary. "As far as anyone knows it, the last wolf to ever freely roam the Allegheny Mountains was slain in West Virginia in 1897. Daniel Stoffer Hamrick saw to the beast's passing, and the woods in our part of the world have gone quieter ever since. Appalachia does not forget its history, though. It buries it beneath coal and flyash, debts and white powder and pills. And the blood of people taken before their time, by the mines, by the mountain, by things we don't have names for, just hurt. But Appalachia does not forget.
"This is Cindy Parsons with Channel 5, Wolf News." Footage cuts to a newscaster standing outside a gated apartment complex with FYRE's logo emblazoned on it. "As we know, our beloved Wolf Pen is home to one of the biggest FYRE worker housing complexes in Wyoming County. It is a monument to the history of our town, and this week, we'll be on the lookout for visitors from all over the country, coming to see the grand re-opening of the historic Bluestone Mine as a museum."
Footage cuts to a nondescript businessman, identified by the news footage as Carl Watts, CEO of FYRE. He's smiling blandly as he stands at a podium and gestures to the entrance of the mining tunnel behind him. "The Wolf Pen community has been a partner to us for decades now, and we knew it was finally time to give something back to all y’all. We'll have our soft opening on Monday with a full Rumble Down Under party in the old mines scheduled for June 15th. We'll have a live bluegrass concert and anticipate a huge influx of tourists to the area to help out our neighbors itching for a few more pocketbooks to tend to." A wink.
The footage returns to Cindy. "FYRE has stated that this new museum will provide an educational tool and tourist attraction for those wanting to learn about West Virginia, Wolf Pen, and the hard-working men and women who have made this beautiful part of our nation their home. Time will tell. Time is always telling when it comes to the promises of people who have used our land and our bodies to line their pocketbooks. They fill our blood and our lungs with black tar and-"
Cindy cuts out and is replaced by in-studio anchors. "Thank you, Cindy!" a blonde woman says, smile just a little strained. "I think we're all looking forward to seeing the big opening by FYRE on Sunday and that rocking good party next month. It should be a gneiss one! Now to Tim with the weather. Tim?"
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With the midday heat, Tim's at least glad it seems like the odd landfill worker has taken off to lunch. The expanse of waste at his back, he can't help the... slight... hesitation at the edge of the property. It's not that he's thinking of going back to root for what could be there. But the risk... of being wrong is...
"And... did you see anything else from your home? Right now? On the way back out?"
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"Nothing from the time I dropped what I'd picked up, in fact," he notes.
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But it's the piano; Tim can just know it.
He shakes his head and figures he's just going crazy. He shakes his head again to ward off some passing, pesky, fly.
"Guess that makes me a hoarder," the kid says, and it could be funny. He could fit everything material he gives a damn about in a backpack. A rucksack is overkill, he's learned.
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"Tim, they're messing with us. That's what they do. It's not you; it's them." He picks a piece of garbage out of Tim's hair and drops it on the ground. "Looked like the top of a pudding container."
no subject
Snaking down his skin.
Every step, he can kinda feel the squelch of moist socks. And that's unnerving, man.
"I know it's mind games, Malcolm, but..."
Maybe. Maybe.
Jesus Christ, his anxiety can't catch a break, huh? Tim dares to run his fingers through his hair. Sticky. Sticky. A gross tell to displace the churn of worry. "Did you see me pick up anything else? Besides the... throwing star?"
...
"Because... if you did. I need you to forget it. All of it."
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But it's gotta be said.
"You're such a jerk sometimes, you know that?"
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"Yeah; I've been told before," he admits. "More than once."
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(The futility of it all.)
"It's not funny," he mutters, doing his best to stay appropriately heated but... casual. "It's not a game, and what you saw isn't some puzzle for you to go around trying to piece together. Don't tell anyone. Please, Malcolm."
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“Why would I tell anyone?”
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Why would Malcolm tell anyone.
Tim feels lost.
It's too much responsibility for him to figure that out. It's too much.
"Even if you go back home before-- and not here, never here. Please just say that you won't, Malcolm. I don't want to have to worry about that, too."
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(He can't trust anybody.)
"I don't know," Tim points out, because Malcolm brings up a good idea but no, that's not it. He doesn't want to spend his life ruminating over why someone would turn their back on him. He does, but he doesn't want to.
Peace of mind is just a casualty of his war. It's fine. Tim looks as lost as he feels, and he says, "I would have asked anyone to keep the secret."
He'd do anything to keep the secret.
Yikes, a rational voice of wisdom hisses in his head. Tim valiantly ignores it. He starts walking again, unable to bear his stench much longer.
"But-- thanks. Thanks for everything. I mean--" words. Ugh.
"I owe you one."
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Tim doesn't miss that he just as easily agreed to the sentimentality of family, but he's past his attempts to dwell on it.
Nearing the Inn, he kinda has to fight back the belated urge to ask Malcolm what he thinks happened to Meredith. Is she back home, does she remember them at all? Is this all some bad dream to her,
did she ever want to remember them, this place?
Tim gets quiet when he's deep in his head. He just pads besides Malcolm and occassionally lifts a challenging brow at anyone who gives them funny looks.
no subject
"What is it?"