Event - Aftermath

[apocalypsehowmods]

↬ Main Navigation

Aftermath

➥ Handle With Care

(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

(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

(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

(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

Comments

Let's Have a Tea Party

[conning]

Neal is getting used to nightmares. Or at least, he thought he was. This one is different. He's had a couple of versions of it while helping clean up the beach, but not like this. Not so intense. Not so hopelessly terrifying.

He wakes up curled up with Malcolm, but he doesn't feel awake. The world is still see-sawing around him, still crushing in on him, and he sits up enough to cover his mouth with both hands to keep from throwing up on his bedmate. Except it's not vomit--it's seawater. He can taste the bile-sharp salt of it as he hacks it into his mouth, and he instinctively spits the liquid out onto the sheets.

He turns away from Malcolm as he heaves again, another mouthful of seawater splattering onto the bed. This one at least on Neal's side.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm startles awake and, honestly, he’s not sure he’s not dreaming.

His brow creases.

“…Neal?” he asks warily.

[conning]

He's not sure either, to be honest. It could be a dream. He has no idea any more.

The relief of hearing Malcolm's voice--knowing on a primal level that he's not drowning too--gets subsumed by fresh panic as Neal gags on more water. He scrambles out of bed, loses his balance, and nearly knocks the side table over as he goes down on all fours. He drags in a desperate breath, manages a half-syllable, but it gets lost in a watery gargle as he spits more water onto the floor.

He sucks air into his lungs desperately—and somehow, somewhere between his mouth and his throat, it turns to seawater. Or that’s what it feels like at least. He manages to get to the waste bin before coughing out another aching lungful of water. He looks at Malcolm, eyes wide and frightened.

“Help,” Neal gasps, before he feels his mouth filling with saltwater again.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm fumbles at his restraints, giving up on unbuckling them in his panic and he just unhooks the cuffs, scrambling out of bed to get to him, but he’s helpless as Neal chokes.

“What’s going on?”

He can see it isn’t vomit. He can smell it isn’t vomit.

[conning]

Neal makes a helpless noise and shakes his head. The world tilts violently with the motion.

“Dunno,” he manages, gasps in another breath, and spits more seawater into the bin.

It feels like it lasts forever, the desperation, the struggle for air. The truth is, it lasts for a minute or two at most. But they still have half a bin of sea water by the time Neal’s breathing starts to even out.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm almost calls emergency services, but Neal is still breathing in between and he puts his phone down once he seems to stop choking to kneel beside him.

"That isn't vomit."

Let's start with the obvious.

[conning]

“No it’s not,” Neal croaks, shifting back and away from the garbage now that he can breathe with some confidence. He rests his back against the wall, sweating and shaky, muscles feeling like he’s been—well, trying to stay afloat in choppy water for hours.

[abrightboy]

It looks like water. But lots of things do. Maybe Neal has more insight.

"What is it?"

[conning]

Neal shakes his head, clueless and exhausted. He sounds like he’s been gargling gravel. “Tasted like sea water. That kind of salty. And I was dreaming about drowning.”

He coughs, then winces. “My chest hurts.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm takes a shaken step backwards like someone has punched him in the chest.

"Sea.... sea water?" he confirms weakly.

[conning]

That look on Malcolm’s face isn’t comforting. He nods, still seated on the floor with his back against the wall. “Been having dreams about being out on the ocean, nightmares really, but that was. Something else.”

He massages his throat lightly, trying not to panic at Malcolm’s expression. “What is it?”

[abrightboy]

"The case I've been working on. ...Two people who died in their own homes. Drowned on dry land. In sea water," he explains. "What... what have you been doing the past couple of days? Where have you been going?"

[conning]

Neal pales, stomach yawning into emptiness at the thought of dying again. Dying more permanently. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. "Helping at the beach, cleaning up the weird dolls that washed up. That keep washing up. I thought the dreams were from that, my subconscious deciding to be an asshole."

[abrightboy]

“The dreams were from that,” Malcolm says uneasily. “The dead people were volunteers at the beach clean up.” He practically lunges at Neal, grabbing his shoulders. “Don’t go to the beach anymore. Promise me,” he implores.

[conning]

"I won't," he whispers. It's an easy promise. The prospect of dying is bad enough. The prospect of dying and leaving Malcolm alone? Much worse. "We have to warn people. We have to get everyone away. Even if it's not happening to everyone that goes there, that's still..."

It's already two people too many.

[abrightboy]

“How do we tell them? I don’t have any actual proof,” Malcolm tells him. “I just know. I know. You can’t go back there.”

[conning]

“I won’t,” Neal says again. “I promise. I won’t go anywhere near it.” He grabs on to Malcolm’s wrists lightly with both hands. “I’m not leaving you. But we can’t do nothing. We have to at least tell someone at the ADI.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods, his hand shaking when he lets go of Neal to stand up, though he doesn’t notice it.

“Maybe we should go on the network.”

[conning]

Neal gets up slowly, aching all over. He tries to take a deep breath and coughs again. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea.”

He spots Malcolm’s shaking hand and laces his fingers through it, giving him a little squeeze. “I’m not going back there. Not within a mile.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks up at his face and lets go of his hand, only to throw his arms around his neck.

“You’re all I have left,” he whispers.

[conning]

Neal clings back, the weight of that responsibility making his scalp tingle with anxiety. But he doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to go anywhere. He definitely doesn’t want to die.

“I’m not leaving you,” Neal says again, like a spell as much as a promise. “When we go home we’re going together.”

[abrightboy]

“You still want me to go with you?” Malcolm murmurs. “To your world with you?”

[conning]

For a second he lets himself stand there and drink in the full-bodied contact. The way the smaller man fits against him, every bump and angle and curve.

“If you want to come.” A pause. “If you really want to come, and not just because I’m all you’ve got and you feel like you need to. If you’d really rather be with me than go back to your world. And you don’t have to say one way or another right now.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s next breath is a little ragged and he swallows hard.

“I want to go. With you.”

[conning]

It’s heady, hearing Malcolm say it. Being chosen like that. There’s a small, lingering terror in it too, the possibility of letting Malcolm down somehow.

Right now though, after waking up like that, he’ll choose the comfort over the worry.

He still needs to tell Malcolm what he’d really walk into, but that can wait. It can wait until they’re both feeling steadier.

He clears his throat and winces again at the scrape of air into his lungs. “I think maybe I should go to medical.”