apocalypsehowcomm | Event

Entry tags:

Event - Aftermath

Aftermath

➥ Handle With Care

Six photographs arranged in two rows of three photos each depicting tanned hands performing a variety of shadow puppets.
(cw: arachnophobia, entomophobia, chirophobia, elafiphobia)

There is a reason Dogtown has been boarded up. The wicked do not rest and while the majority of ADI's manpower was out of town, those remaining were stretched thin. There simply weren't enough eyes to keep on the park. With too few people, the things that crawl inside crawled out. Most of them have been hunted down and dealt with, but not all. Not nearly all. Though it might not be apparent at first.

The weather is hot and a bit of humidity brings the bugs about. They might all be horrible, but some aren't so bad. Butterflies flit about in the air, their colorful wings offering an aerial show on your walk. Every now and then, however, one or two might catch your eye: there appear to be a few with an odd wing shape that seem to jerk and plunge in their flight. Keep an eye on these odd bugs and you might just finally place the shape: four long, spindly segments. Hands. Interlocked at what would be thumbs, fluttering sets of hands no bigger than the rest of the butterflies flutter about. Some land peacefully, some don't seem to land at all, but just dance about like a perverted wave from no one. Others still, like to land on faces and what a delight it is to be blessed with the gentle legs of a butterfly on your nose as it spreads and stretches its wings! At least until those wings clamp over the eyes under them.

You don't even have to go outside to find things that skitter and hide. Perhaps you've settled down to work on something or read or even check your phone. It'll only take a moment, really, but it has your attention. Enough so that, when you feel a gentle tickle at your neck, you might not even think much of it or reach up to scratch the spot. Except it happens again, slower, more careful; to the point it doesn't tickle, in fact, it feels almost like something is...stroking your neck? Like a tiny hand running along your skin. If you're fast enough, maybe you can brush whatever it is off, or maybe you simply turn your head to look at your shoulder and into the multiple eyes of an eight-legged friend. No, make that six. Six legs and two, long, arms ending in thin-fingered hands.

On the other hand, there are also those things that go bump in the night. Well after sunset, some areas of Gloucester titter with laughter or carry the steady sound of feet hitting the pavement, while some darker corners patter with a rhythmic slapping sound. Following the sound might just lead you through echoing alleyways until you come across the recognizable shape of a deer. A deer whose legs end in hands. Where they start is at the top: curved, gnarled, fingers jut from the top of its head like a perverted crown. Antagonize it or stare too long, and that slapping sound may turn your way, the charging deer aiming for you grasping-fingers-first.

➥ Shipping and Handling

Photo of a the underside of a bridge with a river flowing under it. There is an upside down, discarded bottle in the water and scum-like foam around it.
(cw: underwater threats, drowning, refuse/filth, squirmy things, human-caused environmental damage)

Known locally as the Cut, Blynman Canal in southwest Gloucester connects Gloucester Harbor to the Annisquam River. For over a hundred years the Blynman Bridge has spanned that opening, a busy drawbridge that has nonetheless been left to rust. The Cut is a deceptively treacherous little waterway, and it's not unheard of for locals with too much time on their hands to go down to the canalside and watch the boats in the hope of witnessing an entertaining misadventure or two. There's more than one local legend of boats going down in the canal, though no record of it in recent history, and people claim the water is a lot deeper than anyone might expect. But that's not quite why it's caught ADI's attention recently.

No, it's the wretched sobbing from under the bridge at sunset that's new and concerning…and the reports of boats striking something in the canal where there should have been open water. Several owners have reported thumping on the hull of their boats as though they were struck by some furious creature, but the official story is that they simply struck litter and debris that has recently clogged the canal's entrance. It's not a lot to go off of, but with the recent Dogtown troubles, any sudden change at locations of potential significance is worth an investigation.

In daytime it's difficult to see much of anything in the water, and investigators are discouraged from intruding too obviously on the scene during hours when locals are more likely to be present. As the sun sets, though, the water roils and crashes under the bridge for minutes on end. The motion dies down, the water calms, and the lamenting cries begin. There are no words, only broken sobbing in a human voice. Looking into the water in the dying light, one can see something down there, just below the surface now. Is that a face? Did a hand just breach the surface, reaching pitifully skyward before slipping back under?

Anyone who tries to enter the water will feel detritus brush against them, all manner of sunbleached plastic debris clogging the canal. The walls go straight down under the bridge and the water is deep. It won't be long before one finds oneself not just swimming in trash but entangled in it. It drags even the strongest swimmer down, snaring arms and legs. Fight and cut yourself free, hope for a rescue…or await the end.

➥ Say, Say, O Playmate

Photo of two little girls reflected in a large mirrored door. The younger girl's reflection does not match what she is actually doing.
(cw: hallucination, disorientation, synesthesia, altered mental states, breaking and entering)

There is someone in the mirror. They appear when you're alone. A childish, friendly face, or what you would consider friendly, interesting, someone you would be willing to play a game with… or at least entertain the possibility for. Your new playmate has something to show you. It's something good, and you should follow! Even those who might not usually be inclined, will find themselves drawn in. This playmate seems to be tailor made for you, someone you could get along with. Someone who whispers into your mind and no one but you can see, even if they have their own playmate.

There are too many reflective surfaces in Gloucester, and you'll find your playmate flitting easily between them, like they're stuck in a world beyond the glass. Maybe they are. They might even tell you that's the case. Help them, please! They've been trapped here by some monster for so long.

Those drawn into the chase will find themselves directed to all sorts of places around Gloucester, from publicly open buildings to private residences to other buildings they really shouldn't be going into without a very good reason, like the police station. Maybe try getting in there under the cover of night? Your playmate is insistent that wherever they're leading you, it's important to the trail. And you can feel that they really mean it. This is important, this is vital. It might be harder than usual to say no. Maybe you can make yourself believe this isn't as dangerous as it seems. That's far too easy.

It's a trail that does seem to have an end for those willing to stick it out… and who aren't arrested in the middle of all this for breaking and entering or trespassing. A tiny mirror shard, something no bigger than a fingernail. That's what you've been looking for. Grab it! Grab it! Those unfortunate enough to take their playmate's advice will find themselves experiencing sudden and intense disorientation followed by a 24-hr bout of synesthesia. Ever wondered what gray smells like? What flavor your favorite song is? The color of a burger wafting under your nose? All yours for the price of a mirror shard!

Destroying smashing the shard to even smaller pieces seems to end the disorientation, at least, but synesthesia is something that persists for at least a day after. One thing that becomes immediately apparent, though, as soon as you find the mirror, whatever you do with it, your playmate disappears.

➥ Let's Have a Tea Party

Photo of a smiling caucasian woman holding up a smiling babydoll that is partially destroyed and covered in sand.
(cw: death; drowning; choking; claustrophobia; nausea; emetophobia/vomiting; disorientation/vertigo; body horror)

It begins with a news headline: Lost Baby Dolls Cry Foul On Beach! The article details strange new visitors to Gloucester's beaches, and the residents making efforts to clean up the dolls along with other debris from recent 4th of July fireworks displays. The leader of the local non-profit, I Love a Clean Gloucester, leading the clean-up is quoted as saying some volunteers have been experiencing some unpleasant side-effects from contact with the dolls, clearly indicating there may be something toxic in them. Paul Rudder encourages everyone to be vigilant to pollution and wear thick gloves when assisting.

But ADI digs deeper. It seems those 'toxic' effects aren't what they first appear. There is something supernatural going on. Two dedicated beach clean-up volunteers have been found dead in their homes, drowned on dry land. The police are puzzled. The lungs of both bodies are filled with seawater.

ADI takes over investigating as a stretch of beach is closed to the public. Perhaps you're brave enough to check on these dolls for yourself. Perhaps you're just here to try to bury the things deep where no one can reach them. Those who pick up the dolls, even those wearing gloves, will feel a strange, rocking sensation that grows more intense the longer they hold and manipulate the dolls.

Regardless of actually touching the dolls, those who visit the beach will find themselves dreaming. They are out at sea, exhausted, struggling to keep afloat, their articulated ball joints ache. They can feel the last of their energy reserves bleeding away, their mouth, something they can never close, filling with water as they sink down, deep, deeper, the weight of the water pressing in around them, constricting their body.

Waking up might just be nauseating or a violently unpleasant affair as you'll find the ground still lurching like you're trapped out at sea for minutes or even more than an hour, or hacking up seawater. Repeated visits to the beach worsens the effect, and if the clean-up volunteers are anything to go by, too much dedication might well be deadly.

➥ Mod Notes

GENERAL - Players are welcome to play background NPCs for themselves when they are needed in a thread. If you need more information on general behavior for these types of NPCs, please feel free to ask! In general, the information provided in the prompts should be sufficient and ordinary people will act like… ordinary people! Although, the people of Gloucester seem to be becoming more and more aware of supernatural phenomenon and they are frightened by it. You're welcome to make up any details beyond that for your specific scene. Also, please remember that character deaths are permanent and plan accordingly!
HANDLE WITH CARE (16-20 July) - All creatures can be killed similar to their normal counterparts, but smashing the butterflies or spiders will result in smashed blood, skin, and bone (on whatever instrument you use to smash them with). The deer itself can cause potential harm as it will attempt to gouge, scratch, or even strangle those who threaten it.
SHIPPING AND HANDLING (28-31 July) - From above the water it will not be possible to make out the full shape of whatever is in the canal regardless of the quality of light. Anyone who enters the water and keeps their eyes open will get an impression of a long, eel-like creature with a human-like face; it also has many hands on short, jointless arms all down the sides of its body. It is the garbage, not the creature, that drags characters down–the creature also seems to be entangled.
SAY, SAY, O PLAYMATE (16-25 July) - Your character's playmate can interact only with your character, no others. But two people might see different playmates in the same reflective surface who could be telling them wildly different things. The playmate is someone who will be specifically tailored to appear as non-threatening and friendly as possible to your character. If that means they're a small scared child claiming to be trapped in the mirror, or an older teen or young adult with a rakish air and charming wink. This is about your character's perceptions, not any consistency. Their appeals to 'play' will also be tailored to your character. They might be requesting help, asking for a favor with the promise of a payback, encouraging some silly game, or whatever might motivate your character. The mirror shards will continue to induce synesthesia and disorientation if they are not destroyed. Any shards brought back to ADI will be examined and then ordered destroyed. The playmates will all disappear when all of the shards have been collected, whether your character has successfully collected one they were on the trail of, or not.
LET'S HAVE A TEA PARTY (16-31 July) - Not every doll induces the rocking sensation, but many do. Characters will have a hell of a time trying to pinpoint any source for the dolls. More of them keep washing up, seemingly at random; though, they definitely seem to be coming in batches, and any time a stretch of beach is fully cleaned up, more appear, like something has been watching and waiting to unleash more of the things. Multiple visits to the beach may result in significant lung damage, akin to what you might experience from having partially drowned.

↬ Main Navigation

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Malcolm?" Misty asks as he brushes past her, intent on following... well, something that she clearly can't see, because try as she might, those windows look like plain old windows to her. Still, this is interesting, and so she follows.

"Excuse me! Would you stop for a second and explain what's going on?"

Malcolm glances over his shoulder at her, but doesn't stop. He can't lose her.

"My sister wants to show me something," he tells her.

"Are you sure it's your sister? I mean... this has the fingerprints of a trap all over it."

Is that going to stop her from following, though? Of course not.

"Where is she? Up ahead? I don't see anybody."

Malcolm frowns at her over his shoulder.

"I think I know my own sister." He gestures towards her but she exits the window only to appear from the edge of the next one. "There!" he points. He laughs and runs to catch up.

"Oh, you're hallucinating," says Misty, sounding both fascinated and delighted. She picks up her speed too, trotting down the sidewalk.

"What exactly is she saying? And is she always only showing up inside windows? Has she told you to hurt anyone?"

"I'm not hallucinating," he informs her almost indignantly. "I know what that's like."

He does it all the time.

"She wants me to follow her, that's all. It's a game."

"Malcolm, you're totally hallucinating," Misty says. "But it's okay! I won't judge. I--"

She cuts herself off, very abruptly, and stares intently at the window nearest to them.

"Okay," she says slowly, her brow furrowing as she addresses somebody who most definitely isn't there. "It's a little weird, but, sure, if you say so."

Turning back to Malcolm, she adds, "Okay, new plan; we're following them."

Malcolm looks over at her.

"...What do you mean 'them'?"

"Your hallucination and my, uh..."

She glances back at the window, where Natalie Scatorccio glowers at her, tapping her foot impatiently. Realistically, this is probably a hallucination, too. It has to be, right?

But damn if she doesn't feel the urge to follow her anyway. It's about ten times more powerful an urge than it usually is.

"Look, Malcolm, the specifics don't really matter right now. You're seeing your sister, I'm seeing my friend! Now, let's help them out."

"Uh-huh. So now it's not an hallucination, huh?" Malcolm says, raising an eyebrow.

"It might be, or it might not," she says, making a face. "I'm keeping an open mind. Come on, someone--"

She directs a meaningful look at the window.

"-- is being grumpy and impatient."

Malcolm glances at the window, laughs and takes off running again.

"I'm coming! Wait up!"

"What did she say?" Misty asks, jogging a little to catch up - she's not much of a runner, these days, but she's not about to be left behind.

"She said 'come on, slowpoke!'," he calls over his shoulder. "And then she said 'race you' and took off!"

"Do you think you can convince her not to run the whole way...? And did she tell you where she's going?"

"It's a game," he tells her, as though that makes the answer obvious. "Ains! Don't get too far ahead. Dad said you have to stay with me!" he calls after her, sprinting around the corner of a building.

"Is she a child?" Misty asks, her brow crinkling. "Do you think you're a child?"

She means it as a genuine question, not an insult - that kind of mental fuckery feels very much within the realm of possibility here, and Dad says you have to stay with me has the air of something said between kids, not adults.

"I'm not a child," he protests almost petulantly, but the question seems to throw him off for a moment, before Ainsley says something that catches his attention.

"That's doesn't count," he chides, dashing after her again. "You cheated!"

"I'm just saying, you sound like a child," Misty says, reluctantly breaking into a jog again. "I don't mean it as an insult! I'm just being obser-- Natalie, I'm talking to him; wait your turn."

Malcolm stops short and looks down at something glinting on the ground. He screws up his features in confusion.

"What is it?"

Tearing her eyes away from the reflective window, Misty comes up next to him and bends, peering down at the sidewalk.

"It looks like a piece of glass."

Malcolm frowns at it.

"Ains, what..." His voice trails off as he looks around. She's gone. He looks at the glass again. "She wanted me to see that," he tells Misty.

"Why?" Misty asks - assuming, naturally, that Ainsley is still there and talking to him. "What's she saying now?"

Malcolm looks at Misty.

"Nothing. She's gone. I don't know why it's important."

"When you touched that?" Misty asks, taking a quick step back from it. She feels its pull, feels the niggling sensation that it's exactly what she's here for, and that she should grab for it, too - but she ignores all that.

Say, Say, O Playmate

no subject

no subject

no subject

god i'm sorry, how does time keep getting away from me

everything just happens so much

indeed

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject