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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.

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It's only reluctantly that Jaeger turns off his own light, with the memories of threatening shadows lingering so close to memory. But he does, and for a minute there's just the sigh of waves.

Sobbing, the sound of a woman in heart-rending distress. Careful not to lean too far over the edge, Jaeger peers down into the water, then back at George with a deep frown only barely illuminated in the moonlight.

"It sounds like it's coming from the bridge," he says after a moment, his voice calm and flat in the hush of the waves and the thread of stark distrust ruling his emotions.

The water is not to be trusted. The town has proved that over and over again, and Jaeger frowns, moving to the other side of the boat to peer over that side, too. Then straight ahead, and that's when he sees the light. A soft, distorted glow, barely-there amid the waves and churning of the channel.

"That might be what we're looking for."

As piteous as the sobbing sounds, he doesn't trust it. Maybe too many spooky stories in the bunkhouse some nights when the workers were restless because of an oncoming storm or recent accident or death. Besides, being where they are now, he knows it's more than stories.

"Yeah. Think you're right. Let's get movin' that way. Jes' real slow like." He spots the glow, too.

"'Cause I sure don't like the look a' that."

Jaeger has been drawn in before by seemingly harmless calls for attention. He knows the threat of what lurks in the woods and the seas entirely too well, so while he's okay with investigating, he's also a fan of being very, very careful.

He's armed, though not particular armored, and at George's confirmation, he casts his gaze to the light again before turning the boat toward it.

"We'll skirt the bridge, the current gets stronger near the pillars and I don't think it's wise to risk it." His frown deepens, and he pats his pocket for his phone. He's not risking his camera on the open water, but the phone will do just fine for catching a few photographs if needed.

He has no intentions of ending up in the water if he doesn't have to.

"I ain't the boat man. I'm jes' here for everything else." Taking pictures, taking samples, helping them fight their way away from whatever they might need to.

He has his phone at the ready and goes ahead to set it up for taking some video, nodding at Jaeger to indicate he's ready. He has the lens pointed toward where they say the flash of light. And he's pretty sure he's picking up good sound with it.

If it does turn out to be someone trapped or in need of help, he can always set the phone aside then. "Can't tell for sure," he says softly, "but looks like there's a bunch a' trash in the water jes' up ahead. You sees it?"

"I'll do my best not to drown us," he remarks wryly. He's not a boat expert, but he's competent enough to handle the small craft for this bit of expedition. Flexibility has always been a key aspect of his occupation, and the occasional leisure boating hasn't hurt, either. Wealth hath its privileges.

Jaeger squints into the shadows, then nods with that ever-deepening frown. With George managing the camera, that leaves the big man free to scope out their surroundings.

"There's something," he agrees, letting the boat drift a little closer. Jaeger pulls his maglight from his hip and flicks it on, shining the beam on the water closest to them. Searching, scanning the dark shapes of debris. He's damn sure going to see what it is before they move past it.

And nearly jumping out of his skin when there's a splash from within the tangle, a there-and-gone flash of motion that's too quick to be the rolling waves. The shape under the water shifts, moves, struggles amid the floating mass of trash, and something slender and pale breaks the surface for a moment before slipping beneath again. It gives Jaeger immediate pause, a quick exchanged glance with his companion.

"Shit," George says tersely. He saw it, too. He sets his phone aside and quickly kicks off his shoes.

"I'm probly gonna regret this." There's no time to debate it. Jaeger has to keep the boat steady, and he at least is a strong swimmer, although if he could maybe not have to pull more people out of dangerous water in his lifetime, that'd be swell.

He goes over the edge feet first, the water surprisingly cold for the time of year. There's all kinds of trash in the water. He tries not to think about what he might be touching or what it is he can feel tangling around his legs.

His next, "Shit!" is much sharper just before he's yanked violently under.

jaeger isn't the happiest in the least to see George go into the water, but if one of them has to, Jaeger is strong and steady enough to pull him back out. Keeping the boat in one place is important, too, and Jaeger shifts his weight with the motion of the small craft, shining his light where the other man enters the water.

Which is not helpful at all when George is suddenly dragged under. Jaeger curses, too, loops the light back into his belt and scrambles to the side of the boat, gazing into the water where he saw George go down.

Come back up, please come back up. There's a moment where he's sure he's going to have to go into the water after him, and wouldn't it be hilarious if they both drowned? No. No, it would not, but for right now Jaeger stays hanging over the edge, looking for something to grasp, something to fight.

A gout of bubbles breaks the oily surface, popping up between all the floating trash. Deep in the inky depths something white waves, possibly a man's hand, possibly something else altogether.

For George's part, he can't see a thing, can't untangle himself, and feels as though he's fighting against a barrel of eels wrapping his legs and one arm. He tries to hit and kick to no avail. So much for being a good swimmer.

Fighting through the rising panic, he remembers his folding knife in his back pocket, if he can just squirm a hand around to get to it. How deep is he now? How long can he hold his breath? His burning lungs seem to be saying, Not long.

The bubbles are exactly what Jaeger needs to get his bearings, and he plunges his hands into the water, feeling for something to grab that might be attached to George. The wreckage and trash is an entangling trap, but most of his body weight is still firmly in the boat as he tries to give George something to grab onto.

Jaeger's own knife is still at his belt, but he doesn't dare take a stab yet, not until he has a more concrete idea of what's under there. For now, he's reliant on his greater weight to keep steady, and hopefully give George a chance to surface and breathe. A curse slips from him as the boat rocks, a heavy thump of something banging against the small craft, but first things first.

George feels something brush his outstretched hand once, twice. The second time he cottons onto the fact it's a hand, likely Jaeger's, and he scrambles to grab it with the strength of years of hard work plus desperation. It isn't enough to yank him free of whatever is winding around his legs and lower torso. It is enough to allow him to break the surface of the water and take in a huge gulp of air.

"Somethin's around my legs," he manages before going under again. This time, he has his hand on his folding knife and uses his teeth to get it open, keeping hold of Jaeger's grip and trying to curl himself up higher and tighter to start to saw at whatever it is dragging at him. Sure would help if he could see!

Jaeger has the awful feeling that if he lets go of George, he'll never see the man again, so he holds on with all his strength, the muscle in his back and shoulders taut with the effort of trying to haul him out of the water. Or at least, keep him above the waves.

The six-inch combat knife at his belt would be better for this, and he fumbles for it without being entirely certain what to cut. He can't see under the water, either, aside from the drifting shadowy shapes of debris in the dark. Maybe the whole thing will come up and in, if he manages to pull George into the boat. It's something to hold onto, and with a quick, decisive flip, he shifts the knife to offer the hilt first. If the other man can grab it, it will be a better weapon for sawing through rope and netting, worth what small risk it presents.

It's not a hard decision to let go of the flip knife, another piece of home, when it could mean the difference between cutting himself loose or drowning. It sinks away and he reaches up with strength born of desperation to grasp the hilt. "Thanks."

He's under again, but this time by choice, and this time anchored by a tight grip, the better to saw away at the tendrils. As he begins cutting them, he feels them recoiling on their own, which only doubles his need to free himself. This is more than trash, whatever it is. He hears an eerie scream carried underwater.

Kicking roughly, he feels the last of the hold loosening, and then he's surging for the boat, tossing the knife into the bottom of it with a clatter and grabbing for this side with his free hand. He kicks a leg up to hook his foot, trusting that Jaeger can help drag him in the rest of the way.

That shriek is going to stay with Jaeger for nights to come, paired with the occasional frenzied thumping against the side of the boat. His grip on George is white-knuckle tight, giving him as much chance to surface as possible when he needs to come up for air.

It feels like forever, but it can't be that long. The thought of a spell crosses Jaeger's mind, a quick fleeting temptation, but the rational part of him knows very well that there's no way to cast without shredding George, too. Very much counterproductive. He keeps breathing, keeps steady, even as the muscles in his leg start to ache with the strain and a wound that he's never actually suffered in this world.

Jaeger's as strong as his size implies, and when he feels the jerk of George's weight shifting, coming up onto the boat, he hauls with all his might to get him up and over the edge. Something flickers, fleeting, under the water as though making a last grab for its prey, but Jaeger pays it no mind, focused instead on getting George safely out of the water.

"Shit." It's a rare profanity from the quiet man, but heartfelt.

He just lies in the bottom of the boat for a few minutes, catching his breath in heaving gulps and trying to rub his hair back out of his eyes. "You said it," he pants.

Eventually, he's able to sit up, stripping off his shirt to wring over the side and then straightening it out to tug it back on again. "Couldn't see nothin' down there. It was pitch black. Whatever got me was movin'."

It wasn't just floating trash. He'd go to his grave swearing that much. "You hear that scream when I started cuttin'?"

There might be some humor in the whole thing, somewhere, but Jaeger isn't seeing it right now. He's too steeped in worry at their near-miss, and at the precarious position they still hold.

Being in a small boat amidst something supernatural and quite obviously baleful isn't ideal by any means. A small, entirely-too-easily-tipped boat, amid a hostile force.

Jaeger gives himself a moment to catch his breath, too, watching as George straightens himself out. After a moment, he nods sharp agreement, casting his gaze to the water again. There's still thumping against the boat, an ominous scratch and scrabble that still manages to resolve itself as nothing more than clutter, clumped debris washing against the side.

"I heard the scream. There's something down there, and I don't think it's up to any good." He frowns, and retrieves his knife to slide it back into its sheath. Better to have it close. "I saw...I don't know if it was arms or not. But it seems something alive and moving."

"I don't think we's in any position to do nothin' about it 'sides make a report and try to get more investigators out here. A bigger boat." He's all too aware of how precarious their position is in the water. What he'd felt didn't seem like anything either of them could hope to fight to any good conclusion, especially not in the damned dark.

"Either way, I ain't going back into that water on my own." Not if he has any say in it at all.

"Lost my knife." It's not overly sentimental. He'd have liked to keep it, but it wasn't special or expensive. It served its purpose back home and here for a while. It's replaceable.

His eyes glitter where they catch light. "You saved my bacon there. Thanks." Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the shakes are starting. He hugs himself with a tight grip to both sets of biceps, knowing that the only way out of that is through it and getting out of his wet clothes.

Jaeger breathes out slowly, schooling his body and racing heart back into calm.

"Agreed. We have some pictures, we have an eyewitness statement that we agree on, I think heading back is the wisest choice." He moves to do exactly that, getting the boat headed in the direction away from the menacing light and the dark clumps of debris. One last baleful look at the bridge, the current, and the soft phantom light, before he shakes it off in favor of concentration on steering them safely.

He pauses for a moment, just breathing, still, before he nods briefly at George. They deserve a moment to just...collect themselves. It was a close call, and adrenaline hits the worst on the fading, that thin brittle aftermath of survival that leaves one drained and shaking. "I'm sorry about your knife," he offers. "It won't be the same but we'll make sure to get you another one."

The last comes with a small smile, the brief spare expression that's about the most Jaeger tends to show. Rare humor, even, though his faded blue-gray eyes are tired. "We got lucky. I'm glad I wasn't the one in the water, that might have been a problem."

He nods, feeling a little better when the prow is pointing in the right direction. He fumbles around until he finds his phone again and holds it in his grip instead of tucking it away into sopping wet pockets.

"Probly manage to get me one better," he says. "Got me the cheapest thing I could afford at the time that wasn't jes' a piece a' garbage." It had to be sturdy enough for ranch chores and whatever he required of it when he and Lennie were roughing it. That was about it.

"Might'a. I could'a probly held onto you. All that'd mean would be me gettin' yanked down into the water, too." He's a little less hard living lean than he was when he arrived. He's still not quite 140 pounds yet.

"A good knife is very valuable in the field. One that will hold a sharp edge, and stays solid in your hand when you're cutting something." He nods approval, being very much the sort of man who invests in quality where possible.

Of course, coming from a wealthy background helps with that, but his father had always taught practicality and frugality as a balance. It was part of how the family got rich and stayed that way: simple, well-made things without ostentation or excess.

He fixes his eyes on the path ahead, scanning for threats even as he keeps up the conversation. The water is still and dark, and aside from the occasional thump against the sides, the boat glides along. Even in the quiet and sudden stillness, Jaeger isn't reassured- is it really peaceful, or just biding its time? He won't feel better until they're back on dry land, for sure.

There's a hundred pounds of difference between George and Jaeger, and he feels a deep flutter of relief that things happened the way they did. Not that he has any lack of faith in George, but the reality of the situation is entirely too clear. "It would have been better if neither of us were in the water, but we got lucky." And skilled. But mostly lucky.

"A bigger boat with more crew could go back out and examine some of the debris. But better to be safe."

"Yep. I ain't gone anywhere without a knife since I was five or so." Young. Old enough not to cut himself when the old man was expecting him to follow around helping with the farm chores.

The shaking from adrenaline is starting to ease. Now he thinks he's probably just a little cold. The weather is starting to turn a little, at least at night. Days are still plenty hot.

"Got that right." Anything everybody can walk away from, he'll definitely call lucky. "Think it's pretty safe to say whatever was doin' that screaming wasn't no person. Not nothin' I'd call a person, at least."

Small, handy, practical things: Jaeger can appreciate that. Especially with the sort of life that demands that kind of care and preparation. Jaeger hadn't been born into that, but he'd learned it as he grew, as he moved from sheltered academic to hard and decisive man of action.

On the water there's always a bit more of a chill, especially after dark. Jaeger ignores it as best he can- he's not as soaked as George is, but still wet enough to decide that hot tea and a jacket sound good after this little...adventure.

"I don't think it was human, either. I know there's been dangerous water creatures here before, just before I arrived actually. Whether this is that, rearing its ugly head, or something new, we'll have to find out." The corners of his mouth pull tight in worry, and he shoots a glance back toward the bridge, the faint light and the dark, oily surface of the water. "I expect with Dogtown out of control in particular, we should be prepared for things to spill over, to start appearing in new places."

"Yeah." George's bleak agreement comes a little short only because he's fighting the chill, body shivering and cutting breath to save for his own reserves.

Nothing good has come of water since he got here. Avoiding it would be shirking his work, but nights like this he wishes he could.

"We get some coffee in me first and let me change clothes, I'll work on that report with you," he says finally. "Get to it while it's fresh in our heads." It always works best for him that way. Besides, he doubts he's sleeping tonight.

Jaeger isn't bothered in the least by lack of commentary, because they've just had a shock and it takes time to settle. Warming up and getting dry and clean is a good way to help with processing the shock, and he's in full agreement there.

"Coffee, definitely. We can work the report up and have a look at what photos we have, and go from there." He gives a nod of assent, gaze casting out to the water again and the approaching safe shore. He glances back to George after a moment, a tight smile that he doesn't really feel touching the corners of his mouth.

Hey, they survived. That's always a plus, but it will be a while before Jaeger wants anything to do with the water again, either.

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Event - Aftermath

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