apocalypsehowcomm | Event

Entry tags:

Event - Twice Shy

Twice Shy

➥ Touched

Photo of a taxidermied gray wolf. Its ears are back and its teeth are bared.
(cw: taxidermied animals, gaslighting, mental/memory manipulation, loss of bodily autonomy, hand injuries)

Preparations for the Thanksgiving Day Feast at Hammond Castle are well underway with the castle being closed to the public on Thursday, the big Turkey Day. Pam Ruan, HR Woman and Holiday Party Planner with a Vengeance, has been on a tear with recruiting helpers. You might be conscripted to carry dishes or final decorations over to the castle. Maybe you need some help or want to assist someone who's struggling under their own load. Pam's commandeering car space for only the largest things.

Once there and everything's set out, you might have a chance to wander the tarot card exhibit is still on display with poster-sized Major Arcana cards decorating the walls. Those aren't the only notable things around, though. There seem to be a number of taxidermied animals that have appeared around the castle. When asked about it, the caretaker, Simone, says they've always been there. Haven't they? Her expression may be a bit glassy as she explains, but that explanation is strangely compelling. They have always lived in the castle.

Been in the castle. Taxidermied creatures certainly aren't alive. Probably.

You could swear you've noticed some of them moving around the place, though. You never see the movement, but that wolf was in the other corner before, wasn't it? Next to the suits of armor. Is the elk head looking a different direction? Maybe it's someone trying to mess with you. That's probably it.

For those more suspicious souls who decide to investigate the taxidermied animals, they will seem wholly ordinary, if uncanny in the way of all taxidermy, upon a visual review. Touch them, though? Well, nothing seems to happen. They don't spring to life for an attack, but they do feel unnaturally warm, almost like there is some life still in them.

The day moves to evening, and as everyone sits down to eat, those who have touched the taxidermied animals will find their hands beginning to wander when they aren't paying attention to them. While you're digging in with your fork, the hand holding your knife might shift to the side and attempt to stab the person next to you. That steaming hot bowl of gravy you're trying to pass down the line without thinking much of it? Well, now you're pouring it into your neighbor's lap. When your full focus isn't on your hands, they seem to want to get up to their own mischief. Maybe it's time to start tying them together… and ask a friend to feed you?

➥ Fuel to the Fire

Photo of an overhead view looking straight down on a Thanksgiving feast. Hands are linked around the plates of food.
(cw: supernatural thirst, blood-drinking, toxic personalities)

It's not just troubling taxidermied animals and wayward hands that are an issue with this particular Thanksgiving feast. A few sets of cursed salt and pepper shakers seem to have made their way into the decorations and supplies. They're set out on the tables and wait as the seats fill up with people. With the salt and pepper being passed around up and down and even between the two long tables, it's not difficult for them to find their way to you.

Anyone who sprinkles their food with the salt will find themselves hit with an unquenchable thirst, no matter how much they drinks. All drinks also taste stale or otherwise rancid. The only thing that makes the need abate for even the moment is the taste of blood. That might not be so hard to discover when shoving drinks in your mouth hard enough to cut your lips. Are there any people willing to lend a vein?

Anyone who sprinkles their food with the pepper will find themselves hit with an insatiable need for attention. Is the person across from you speaking to someone else? The person to your left or right? Unacceptable. You need attention like you need air, and you will do anything to get it back on you. Negative attention is still attention, right?

➥ Strike A Match

Photo of a freshly struck match against a black background.
(cw: Injury to children, pyromania, light compulsion)

The first one is small, a trash can at the end of an alley lit ablaze with no perpetrator to be found. It doesn’t even make news. The old abandoned building at the edges of downtown makes the second page, no one was injured and some local teens are purportedly suspected in the incident. It’s not until the dive bar a couple blocks from the main street catches fire that things begin to stir. The bartender says there were no fire shots served that night, but the fire certainly seems to have started by the bartop. At least there seem to be a few witnesses, even if their testimony leaves something to be desired.

Little fires start up here and there, another trash can, a park bench, the dry goods aisle of a popular general store, the back row of a nearly full movie theatre. The police and city board rally to start up a local firewatch ad campaign but the few times a suspect is captured, local minors make most of the leads turn cold. Firebugs, people craving attention, poor home situation, whatever the blame of the week, the impulse to set something alight seems to be spreading, especially among that same group who had so loudly protested the closing of Dogtown.

It’s the playground in the middle of the day on a weekend that really puts everyone on alert. With at least two children and an adult treated for burns, reports say there’s one suspect in custody, a seventeen year old who happily claims the fires are his. All his. Because sometimes the world just needs to have a little more beauty in it and what could possibly be more beautiful than a flame? Funny how the little fires and that odd impulse continue all the same, even among some at ADI.

➥ Watch Him Burn

Photo of a building on fire at night. A dark silhouette is visible in the bottom left corner.
(cw: body horror, including bodily dissolution, fluids, bloating, eyes where there shouldn't be eyes, and severe burn injuries; arson; self harm)

It won't be until days later that it will become clear in hindsight that the string of arson ended at Holy Light Church on the night of Thanksgiving, in no small part because small acts of arson continue to crop up throughout the city afterward (and likely will for months to come, now that the idea has been planted in certain impressionable minds). But that urge to watch it all burn suddenly ebbs away on the morning of November 25, leaving only the normal human (or inhuman) amount of pyromania tucked away in any given person's brain. Local papers report that the fire apparently started in the kitchen of the church's community hall and was prevented from spreading further by the quick-thinking of church members attending a community dinner. Officially no one's even certain whether it was actually arson at all, or merely a very unfortunately-timed accident.

Nor is the connection immediately clear when reports start coming in on Black Friday about some kind of blob or slime monster in the streets of Gloucester (and when ADI, naturally, shoulders the work of suppressing those reports). The sight of the thing is, apparently, horrendous: witnesses report something less human-shaped than trying to be so, with jiggling, boneless limbs and weeping, bloodshot eyes that seem to float within its mass, surfacing at random points on the thin, stretched skin that encases the creature. The creature favors dark, out of the way spots–indeed, the more clear-headed witnesses indicate that the monster was more keen to run (or rather, ooze) away than attack.

Patrolling to find the creature takes immediate precedence, but even those not actively searching may be lucky (or unlucky) enough to come across it over the next few days as it eludes capture. That sound in the alley–that's someone in pain, breathing through clenched teeth and occasionally sobbing as something drip-drip-drips onto the pavement. Come closer and you'll see it: something that can't be human, that mustn't be human, pressing itself under a restaurant's heat vent or holding a lighter against its own skin with clumsy, fused fingers. The air reeks of acetone, blood, and wax, and when the creature sees that it's not alone it snaps to attention, both eyes surfacing and a mouth splitting the shape of its head where there was none a moment ago. Its voice is one that some members of ADI have heard before, though the humor and warmth in Pyre's tone is gone now, leaving only raw anger and fear.

"Get away from me!"

➥ Mod Notes

GENERAL - Pyre will both be available for NPC interaction and threading with an RNG group of players. Please bear in mind that the game does not have an easy resurrection mechanic. Characters who die are dead unless there is some sort of Entity intervention and they are reborn as avatars. Plan your character torment accordingly!
TOUCHED (November 24) - Beyond being warm to the touch with seemingly life-like fur, there's nothing else notable about the taxidermied animals. Cutting them open reveals that they're just stuffed with what you'd expect to see. They are never seen moving, but they do move around the castle. Trying to set up cameras on the animals will result in momentary flashes of static before they move. It's simply not possible to capture evidence of them moving. Simone Clark, the castle caretaker, will tell you the animals has always been in whatever new place it was before if asked. For perceptive individuals, she seems to be affected by something, but then her words are wildly convincing, as well, and you might find yourself doubting what you saw with the animals moving. Characters who lose control of their hands will find the effect fades after a few hours. By the next day, if anyone returns to the castle after the party, the taxidermied animals are gone. Simone remembers nothing about them being there.
FUEL TO THE FIRE (24 November) - The effects of the salt and pepper may be combined and the general effect will last for a few hours. Characters who feel compelled toward thirst will only feel okay when drinking blood (it does not have to be human). As soon as they stop drinking, the thirst returns. However, their physiology is still their physiology. Drinking large quantities of blood is likely to make a human very sick, indeed. Characters are welcome to try to find the source of the problem and destroy the salt and pepper shakers when they're found. There are as many sets of cursed shakers as might be narratively convenient for folks who want to find them to do so.
STRIKE A MATCH (15-24 November) - Characters are welcome to help with ADI’s investigations into these incidents after the bar catches fire and to notice the smaller fires and help put them out before and after the big incidents. Those who go digging will be able to find that only some of the fires can be attributed to local teens and not all of them even solidly enough to do anything about. The bar and movie theater in particular seem to have no cause and no known witnesses. While no one in ADI will feel compelled to commit arson, they might catch themselves staring into a fire for an extended period of time, almost hypnotized, and those of a younger age group might feel compelled to carry a lighter around, just in case something might need to be burned. Those who look into the bar fire will find it’s eerily similar to those reported along the coast, including a bit of wax at the scene and witnesses who claim the person drinking the shot seemed to light it themselves.
WATCH HIM BURN (25-28 November) - Please reply to this comment for threads with blob!Pyre. Characters may encounter him alone or in pairs (while players may form groups of three or more, we would advise against it in the interest of quicker play). Please keep in mind that Pyre's ultimate fate will be a matter of player vote and will be decided at the end of the month; if characters attempt to kill or capture him in the course of these event threads, he will escape by melting and flowing down a storm drain.

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cw for threads: blood, blood-drinking, blood-stealing, self-blood-drinking, injury, knife cutting, possible violence, will warn if anything else comes up

A. Touched

So this is a creepy place. With how creepy things have been lately, he's 100% sure that those taxidermied animals are cursed, and are probably going to steal their souls or something when they're not looking. One particularly egregious fox seems to be turning up at every corner he looks--it's the same damn fox--so he picks it up and shakes it a bit when no one's looking, to see if there's anything in it, like remote-controlled wheels or robotic parts.

But it's nothing. Just a stuffed fox. Weirdly warm, though. He opens up a seam to see if there is a battery in there causing the warmth but it's just stuffing. So he sets it down and goes about his business, even though he swears he sees it in every room since then.

And then it's time for Thanksgiving dinner. It's weird, not being in Atlantis for this (on the off-chance there wasn't a mission and they could actually have an actual one with all the trimmings) and while Rodney being here helps a lot, he's feeling a little homesick. Okay, a lot homesick. It's making him a little irritable and grumpy, but nothing too bad. Or so he thought.

He reaches over to help himself to a scoop of mashed potatoes--but instead flings it towards the person next to him, right in their face.

What the hell!?

B. Fuel to the Fire - Part 1

It's just unfortunate luck that he thought the turkey needed a little salt. The unquenchable thirst he thinks is because that he used too much salt. So he starts trying to drink whatever he can nearby--water tastes weird, so he goes through a couple different drinks. Orange juice, beer, champagne... It gets increasingly worse and he's reminded of what happened to Rodney with the inedible object-eating. This isn't...like that, is it? He tries one more, the cider, and it's thoroughly nasty enough at this point that he actually drops the glass of cider he has while sputtering and choking it down, and it goes shattering on the floor. Did these go bad? Did someone poison them? Or is it him? He reaches down to pick up a bigger piece but he cuts the side of finger on a sharp edge, and sticks it in his mouth absently as he goes for the other pieces to collect them.

Suddenly the awful thirst stops and he wonders for a moment if it's the glass, until he realizes that he's actually licking the blood off his finger like it's some delicious sauce.

It's probably fine.

C. Fuel to the Fire - Part 2

So the thirst has gotten bad. It's gotten so bad that he knows it might actively reach into dangerous territory where he might be compelled to actually attack someone for their blood. He's figured out that if he at least has a taste of it, the thirst will stop and he can just sip on a cup or two in the meantime.

But it's just that if he's having to deal with vampirism somehow, shouldn't he at least get the fangs? Super-strength? Agility? He's seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer, okay...

So while he tries to figure out what the cause of this is, he might approach you and ask you something, while waving a knife around and a mug with something red in it...

It's also probably fine.

"Can I have a little bit of your blood? It's an emergency."

D. Anything goes!

[Will match format! Hit me up at

indymica if you want to plot something out!]

Gaslighting/Manipulation, Paranoia, Toxic Personalities, Pyromania Mentions, Compulsive Desires/Thoughts

A. Strike a Match - Bruce
Bruce wasn’t exactly doing this for or even nearly with the ADI. He’d actually rather been avoiding them since his screening and arrival here. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. At the same time he wasn’t keen on sitting around not helping as the investigations around the arson incidents struck up.

He’d managed to wait and linger unnoticed long enough that once the dive bar had been mostly left empty he slipped inside to take a look around the scene. Dark eyes skimmed over the charred furnishings, fingers brushed lightly over nearby surfaces as he paced towards the bartop. Something catches his eye and he slowly comes to a crouch by a decimated stool, running his hand over a small puddle of wax on the floor.

B. Strike a Match - Joe
Joe wasn’t about to let Bruce have all the fun. Well, he was hoping it would be fun. Frankly after dead end after dead end he was starting to have his doubts that it was actually all that interesting. Typical Banner to get swept up in the boring crap. Joe had a different approach in mind.

Skulking around back alleys by the docks he kept an eye open for flickering lights and his nose alert for the smell of smoke. He’s getting an inkling as he picks up the pace, a hand on the taser Bruce did try to keep under lock and key to no avail. He comes up to a warehouse with a few young folk with gas cans huddled around back. They seemed to be preparing to light up a back alley bonfire in an empty oil drum.

Joe scoffed and cleared his throat before barreling up to them waving around the sparking taser as he shouted. “YOU BUNCHA CRUMBS BETTER AM-SCRAY BEFORE I START SETTIN’ YOUR ASSES ON FIRE!” He didn’t particularly even need to finish before they were dropping their things and scrambling over each other to flee the scene. Joe slowed beside the mess with a proud huff as he nodded. “Still got it.”

His eyes then skimmed over the scene before setting on something shiny. Kneeling down he scooped up the flick lighter, turning it over idly before a thought nagged his head. He flipped the cap and flicked the fuel. The small flame snapped to life… and Joe couldn’t help but stop his train of thought in its tracks. He stayed there, staring down the flame quietly and distractedly, like he was in a trance.

C. Touched - Bruce
Bruce had more or less given up on the whole fires thing. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting himself to be able to do with limited resources but the ADI seemed to be more on top of it. Instead he cast his attention to the preparations he agreed to help out with for this Thanksgiving dinner. He doesn’t celebrate holidays like this usually but it couldn’t hurt to lend a hand, maybe stay for the evening. Free food is free food after all.

The whole affair had been a bit odd, and not in an entirely harmless way. He didn’t always trust his senses, and not being certain about what someone was telling you as the truth about reality was especially a point of contention with him. The taxidermies he’d asked about, tried to draw attention to? It didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. He didn’t like the way he felt their eyes bore into him. Even tried to move some elsewhere or turn them away if he’d work in one area for extended periods.. It seemed to be fine as the day crept into evening.

It wasn’t until dinner that it came to a head. His hands had tremoured and spasmed, dropping things accidently or throwing them aside if he hadn’t meant to but.. It’s when he was sat at the table that he felt a twitching and itching when his thoughts would drift. There was noise, distractions and when the person beside him did reach out to grab a plate from in front of him he suddenly sprung. His arm with his knife flashed out and he slammed it down, the blade stabbing into the table scarcely an inch from their arm.

Bruce snapped his attention to his arm, then theirs, then to their face as he blanched pale and recoiled his arm to his chest, leaving the knife where it was. “I didn’t- I’m.. I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me-”

D. Fuel to the Fire - Joe
The night crept on and as Bruce’s anxieties started to rise and his distrust of himself, let alone the people around him flared he found himself slipping. Maybe it was just his shutting down, or maybe it had to do with the pepper he’d generously been adding to his food. Slowly but surely that meek mannered and quiet man in the ill-fitting clothes seemed to get restless. His hand twisted around his fork and his leg bounced as someone else put their hands on the wheel.

Suddenly and loudly Bruce- or rather Joe, let out a groan and dramatically rolled his head to the person next to him. Regardless of if they were talking to someone else or not he’d start waving around his fork as he spoke in a much more brash and boisterous manner. He was being certain they couldn't ignore him.

“So whose big idea was this anyways eh? I mean c’mon this holiday is already a loada bunk, ain’t you lot got all those fires ‘n crap to be fussin’ around about? Far as we know it whole city’s gonna be dust and ash by the time someone greedy's gonna be stealin’ seconds- Amiright?”

I. Dolls - from the TDM

Frederick doesn't turn in any doll pieces. He doesn't try to hide that he has them, either, really, though he's never toying with the same one twice. Anybody want to try and take the bit of plastic from the eight foot tall skeleton in the library? Or the little old man wandering around town? Or maybe follow him back to Bonnie's to see what he's making out of them?

II. Touched

Frederick spends a lot of time poking around the taxidermy animals, poking at them with wires from his bag, or his tablet, or the tip of a little scalpel-like knife. He clips bits off their fur and tucks away bits of their stuffing into his bag.

"That's very interesting," he murmurs, mostly to himself. Maybe a little bit to the stuffed deer he's examining.

III. Thanksgiving Dinner

Frederick doesn't eat. He literally can't. He has no stomach. Or tongue for that matter. But he was invited, so he comes, makes friendly conversation, and politely turns down everything put onto his plate.

Which means when his hands wander, he's watching them with interest. There's no stabbing going on, because he's set his silverware out of reach, but one toe of his right hoof (finger, to anyone seeing his human illusion) seems fascinated with tapping his full water glass over and over and over in a repetitive pattern. "I'm very sorry," he tells whoever he's sitting next to, "I'm not doing that on purpose."

i. touched

[The taxidermy is a familiar sight to Carter. Granted, his parents had never been keen on having any animals in the mansion but he remembers trips to one of the cabins and there they would be - guarding austere rooms with expensive wood paneling and overloading mantlepieces, logs crackling in the fireplace. Cashmere pullovers, bright scarves, wooly blankets and steaming mugs under the watchful eye of a deer's head high above in the penumbra. They're hazy images, a child's memory, interspersed with Carter sneaking out to his horse Marigold, much more interested in riding off into the sunset than joining any kind of hunt.

He always felt watched by those artificial eyes but he also always thought that's just the inherent nature of these things. So when they seem to move, he's not all that suspicious. He is a little weirded out, though, bopping a fox's nose as he gets closer, not thinking much of it.

Dinner is - pretty much what he expects from such a place. While it's not a conscious decision, a keen eye might spot Carter being pretty confident with the setting. No hesitation which fork to use or which glass goes with which beverage if he's asked to pour for someone. No resting his cutlery thoughtlessly on the rim of a plate and God forbid, no resting his elbow anywhere. No, every movement is perfectly executed control.

At least until he holds his glass of water.

And then splashes it into his conversational partner's face, mid-sentence. There's something almost comically posh about it, like the liquid version of a thrown gauntlet.

If Carter wasn't staring at them, absolutely mortified.]

Sorry! I-- I'm sorry. I don't know what happened there!

ii. fuel to the fire

[He doesn't like the party anymore.

There's too many voices buzzing around him, too many people talking to each other. Emphasis on each other and not him. The taste of pepper is still sharp on his tongue, fragrant and unpleasant.

He can feel the resentment building with its scent. What's so interesting about the person opposite of the table? Why would his fellow ADI colleague talk to that guy? Ugh, look at those two over there, clearly enjoying themselves. He keeps watching and scowling and scowling and watching, and eventually, he can't take it no more.]

So!

[He's suddenly... there. Cutting off whatever you were doing, either trying to refill your glass, talking to another person, it doesn't matter. He's there, trying to claim space and attention in the most obnoxious way.]

Hi. I'm sorry, we just, what a party, huh? What do you think of the animals? Couldn't happen but notice that we hadn't spoken all night, so, how have you been?

iii. strike a match

[So it's overtime again.

Carter can't say it's a very pleasant one. Burn wounds are among the most awful things he's ever had to deal with. He can still hear Benton's voice, that first time he had to assist in surgery when they brought in that fireman, Carter, it doesn't get worse than that, and he doesn't want to think it but maybe. Maybe around here it can get worse than that. Which is why he's here, wanting to be prepared. Wanting his fellow apocalypsees to be prepared.]

Hey! Hold up!

[He's jogging down the hallway, holding up a small backpack in best NPC manner. It's dangerous to go alone. Take this.]

Are you going out? Packed some Kits with some extra stuff for treating burn wounds. You know, just in case.

iv. medwing wildcard

[ooc: Hit me up! Always open to having Carter treat injured characters if they get caught in one of the fires!]

i. touched

That marten just moved.

[He says it sulkily, exasperatedly, but there's a certain tension there. Rodney glares at the animal in utter disdain, squinting, like he's trying to win a staring contest.

Then he looks over at his companion, pointing at the figure.]

Hit it.

ii. fuel to the fire - a) it'll quench ya

[The animals are freaking him out. Rodney thinks they're evil - but not because of some sixth or seventh or umpteenth sense, just because everything under the sun freaks him out. So he doesn't touch them. That's one bullet dodged.

What he does do, however, is eat. Plenty. Salt and pepper included and soon there's a battle raging - the thirst or the need for attention - that has him almost delirious with frantic activity.]

Give me that!

[Rodney snatches the glass with whatever the person currently nearest to him was holding to drink greedily from it. And then promptly spit it out. Hopefully not all over them.]

No, that's not-- that's not it, that's not right--

[He suddenly snaps his fingers rapidly, face going slack with a sudden idea. He went through the whole eating food you aren't supposed to eat thing, so maybe...]

It's like the food. [More snapping.] The food, the food that you weren't supposed to eat, so clearly I need to drink something I'm not supposed to drink...

[He looks around frantically like this is some bizarre video game adventure, stalking the banquet, then past it, until he finds a small table bucket with dishwater for cleaning up between courses. And you know what? He'll try it. Just straight out putting it to his lips and gobbling it down.

And spitting it out. Is he making a spectacle of himself? ... Well, hopefully? All eyes on him, please! ... Except he's also coughing because oh, that was bad, raving as he stands there, his face and shirt just drenched in the disgusting muck.]

No!? Well, all right then! Probably the water, it's too diluted, oh, I am on to you, you think you're smart, huh, but I'm smarter!

[He might try the detergent next.]

ii. - b) still a better love story than twilight

[So people are drinking blood now.

That's just great, that's just what he need, that's fantastic.

Rodney walks around the party with his hands pressed to his neck, glaring at pretty much everybody crossing his path.]

Stay in your lane, Nosferatu! Back off! I've had an entire loaf of garlic bread and I'm not afraid to use it!

[Nevermind that his hypocritical, hypocritical ass keeps sipping from a glass that clearly has blood in it. Where did he get it? Is it his own? It's a mystery! He's gonna protect it with his life and raging thirst, however, his scowl deepening if he catches anyone looking at it for too long.]

Back off, Count Count! That one's mine!

Touched

Of course, Kate had volunteered to help with the Thanksgiving festivities. She had thought it a good idea despite what the last ADI party had wrought. They were all being careful. The food was made at ADI and carted over. The decorations were assembled at ADI and carried over. Everything that had been brought over had been prepared thoughtfully. There should have been no problems.

Except when they had arrived for the setup, Kate had found taxidermied animals everywhere. Not remembering them from before, she had sought out the caretaker, Simone, and had spoken with her. Simone had informed her that the animals had always been in the castle. The statement had caused Kate to frown despite the sincerity in which the statement had been conveyed. She hadn't remembered them from before and she definitely would have remembered their little, beady-eyed stares.

They are creepy and so she mostly avoids them. Or rather she tries to avoid them all. They are everywhere. What should she do when surrounded by such creepiness? Hit the bar and get a glass of wine. Alcohol will soothe her nerves, she thinks.

After getting her glass of wine, Kate starts to head back and to find a place at the table. Only a taxidermied red squirrel moves every so slightly. She sees it from the corner of her eye and it causes her to pause. She turns to face it and as soon as she does, the squirrel moves back into it's original position.

Kate lets out an attention-seeking shriek.

Fuel to the Fire

Kate passes on the salt when the shakers find their way to her. She's already taste-tested her food and finds that it doesn't need it. The pepper, however, she sprinkles a light dash over her green beans and turkey before passing the two shakers on to the person next to her.

She eats her food calmly, chit-chatting with those around her until a few start to misbehave. Kate doesn't know what she's seeing. People are throwing water while others are throwing spuds across the table. Kate cannot have this kind of behavior present. Normally, she'd get up and leave but she doesn't. It's the pepper working its curse on her. She could tell them individually to knock it off but she doesn't.

What she does instead is to call out everyone in a mass text. To add fuel to the fire, she also sent a text to Malcolm Bright. What the hell is wrong everyone?

Not believing what she's seeing, she gets up from the table. She's halfway out of the room before she seems someone playing with their food and making a mountain out of mashed potatoes. She leans in by them and whispers, almost hisses, "Stop playing with your food."

After that, she gets a refill of wine. At the bar, she turns to the person to her right. She doesn't know them and that has to change immediately. "Hi. I don't think we've met yet, I'm Kate." Later, she'll strike up other conversations.

For some reason, she feels that all eyes need to be upon her. Kate wants to tell everyone about herself. She needs attention and she's going to get it one way or another.

Misc.
[ Will match format. You can find me at

kindaklutzy if you'd like to plot something. Or send me a PM. ]

Edited (HTML FAIL and other kinds of fail) 2022-11-25 16:23 (UTC)

I. Thankless
Yelena is absent from the office Thanksgiving party. A scant few people have been informed of her plans - in case something goes wrong and she needs to be reached, in case something goes wrong and she needs a distraction - but for the most part, she's simply not in attendance in spite of having helped with some of the earlier set-up.

Maybe she shares the misgivings some other old hands have about ADI holiday parties.

Late in the evening, anyone who returned to the office - or used the excuse of one project or another to beg off the party - might encounter her striding through the halls or holed up at her desk typing up a report, soot-streaked and reeking of smoke.

And anyone risking curfew might encounter her slipping through the gates to the housing block bare minutes before they lock for the night.

II. Watch Him Burn
So far today, there has been no sign of the thing that has been haunting the alleys and shadowed corners of Gloucester. Currently, Yelena's standing at the back of a small seafood restaurant, breathing shallowly in response to the rubbish bin nearby, and squinting at the transparently fake security camera posted above the rear door.

"Either he is very good at hiding," she grumbles, "or people are starting to suffer mass hysteria."

Either option seems perfectly plausible, really.

a. fuel to the fire

[It takes Eddie awhile to figure out what's going on. At first, he just continues to mindlessly chow down and chug whatever drink is closest in-between every few bites. And then, it's between every bite. And then he can't stop, throat as dry as sandpaper no matter how much he drinks.

Eventually, everything turns to swill in his mouth, and Eddie gags, spitting back up the water he'd just swallowed, much to the disgust of those around him- although, he doesn't seem to be the only one seized by intense thirst and panic. A nearby diner has shattered a glass in their haste to drink more, and Eddie slices his hand open on one of the shards. On reflex, he sticks the finger in his mouth, and immediately, the thirst dulls.

Blood still staining his lips, Eddie turns wild eyed and frantic to the first person he sees and grabs them by the shoulders.]

Can you see pointy teeth in my mouth? Are my eyes glowing?

b. strike a match

[There's no one else around.

And Eddie hesitates, because of that little voice in the back of his head, the one that's only been fed by experience, that says what if someone sees you there and thinks you set it?

But it's only a moment later that Eddie shakes his head, mutters fuck under his breath, and races towards the small (but spreading) fire to attempt to stamp it out.]

I. Touched
The preparations are well underway, and Methos has slipped away after dropping off his third load of dishes to explore the castle. He hasn't had the chance yet, and the architectural choices of the overly-monied are always entertaining.

He's paused in part of the tarot exhibit, leafing idly through one of the pamphlets, when something in the corner of his vision catches his attention. He turns - and startles back as he spies the stuffed crow perched on a display case just a few feet away.

"Where did you come from?" he mutters under his breath, and crosses over to inspect the thing more closely, tamping down hard on the nagging suspicion that it's about to fly directly at his face.

II. Fuel to the Fire
It takes time for a human being to die of dehydration. Days, usually.

He should know. He's done it.

The thirst had hit sudden and fierce, and desperately gulping water hadn't done anything to ease it. The slice on his inner lip from the press of his teeth had - for a second, the thirst had abated, until the wound sealed back up again like it had never been there.

Not hard to see the answer to his predicament then. Not hard, either, to link it to the recent rash of people down to the infirmary because they've shoved something absolutely ridiculous in their mouths.

They'd recovered. He'll recover. The prospect of constant self-mutilation to squeeze enough blood from his skin to keep the thirst at bay doesn't appeal. The thought of bleeding someone else isn't much better. It takes time for a human being to die of dehydration. It's just hard to remember that when his throat feels like a fucking desert.

Which is why he's slipped away from the dining room, back to haunt the tarot displays, away from any idiotic temptations. At least it's something of a distraction.

III. Wildcard
(Will match format. Go ahead and shoot me a PM or hit me up at

quantumvelvet if you want to plot something.)

Fuel to the Fire

It's been a little strange in the party. Mercy had only intended to help with the set-up and depart. She knows Aelwyn thinks these holiday parties are dangerous, and Mercy can't fault her for it after the ones she's seen. But Halloween had passed without incident (or celebration), and while there are strange things afoot in Gloucester, most of it seems to be related to fires, and she'd asked about how to help with that here. She'd been assured there was a full fire suppression system in the museum.

So, she stays to help bring the food in. And then just a bit longer to fill cups. And then she had to sit for a bite. Maybe two. She's grabbing the salt and digging into the feast before she realizes it. Festivals like this are home for her. She's missed the season changings the past year and a half. This is as close as she's probably going to get. She's getting thirsty after a while, though. Very thirsty. When she tries the glass of water sitting next to her, it tastes... disgusting. She squeezes a lemon into it. But now it's just rotten. She tries some juice, and it's even more repulsive. The wine tastes like dirt, and her throat is aching now, her mouth a desert.

Mercy looks toward one of the people she's passing and latches onto them. "Please. I-I need something to drink. It's all tasting wrong."

Touched

Donna had been suspicious of the taxidermied animals earlier in the evening. She'd been sure she'd seen a little fox moving around the room she was in without actually moving. Poking it had produced no response--thank goodness--and the caretaker had assured her there was nothing wrong. Donna had started to doubt herself.

Now, sitting down to the meal, she spots a stuffed deer head looking toward her as she loads up a plate. She doesn't like it. It's unsettling. So, she turns to one of her seat companions as she picks up her fork and knife. "Castle's just a little bit creepy, innit?" And then she attempts to stab her seat companion with her fork.

i. [touched] though I could see from the look in your eyes that something was troubling you

[Taxidermy is... pretty low on the list of things Martin enjoys, and even less so after everything he's heard about the wax museum and the general vibes that things that aren't-quite-real bring these days. Personally, he wasn't planning on going too much into the place, but Pam is good at begging and Martin is ultimately a little bit of a pushover, so here he is helping even if he doesn't necessarily want to. He's bringing things in from one of the cars when he finds himself staring at a full-size deer, the head of it sitting right above his and staring behind him like it's startled. It's... not a fun illusion to be facing towards.

Regardless though, he might flag you down if you're going by empty-handed, or you may approach him to see if he's okay. Either way, he'll pose the same question.]

Is it... weird if it felt like this thing just breathed on me? Because it's-- I know it can't, but it's-- you know?

[He's very coherent about this.]

ii. [strike a match] you say you didn't ever tell me / 'cause there was nothing I could do

[Okay, so it's always been a bit of a joke that Martin likes setting things on fire. It's not a big thing, hasn't been for years, it's just-- well, it was efficient when he was trapped in a terrible archive as a way of pissing off the boss when necessary. Besides, it's getting cold around, and considering the work that George was doing with the homeless means he doesn't want to see anyone hurt just trying to live.

But it does mean he's out putting out small fires, things obviously just meant to cause issues and not for any purpose. Or at least, he's trying to. Martin can be found with some stones and a small fire on the ground in front of him-- he seems to have circled it with the rocks, so it's not spreading at the moment. But he's also not... putting it out exactly, quietly watching it as it seems to keep burning at nothing.

Maybe help snap him out of it. His expression seems a little lost.]

iii. [wildcard] well baby I'm here to tell you that just ain't true

[Want another prompt or something else with Martin? Hit me up at

cancerously, discord @ cancerously#6043, or via PM and we'll work something out.]

Touched

cw: the prompt + mild body horror

Unfortunately for Eda–or perhaps moreso for everyone else, she has no qualms about touching weird dead things. In fact she tends to include them in her own interior design. While she doesn’t mind the taxidermy, it doesn’t take long for her to get mildly intrigued.

In particular, the animal that catches her eye is a possum. The questions she asks Simone seem less concerned with the fact it might be moving around the castle and more to do with whether it’s a cryptid in this dimension.

Either way, the answers she gets are glassy-eyed but this may have just as much to do with having to deal with Eda herself.

At some point, after learning absolutely nothing of use, Eda runs a hand curiously over the dead creature’s bristly fur. She notices the warmth, but nothing else, and poking the thing doesn’t get it to react.

In fact, it’s not until dinner that anything unusual happens to her directly. Until then she pokes around the castle curiously and sometimes chats with people about human ideas on fortune telling.

Dinner goes fine as well–up until a point where Eda reaches for her glass and finds her hand isn’t cooperating. Because it’s simply not there. Her wrist just… ends, clean-cut and oddly bloodless. She quickly moves it under the table and tries to hide her surprise, but swears under her breath.

As for the hand… apparently it’s found more interesting things to do. Like tipping your water glass into your lap a few seats down. Or stealing your silverware. Or scurrying around the castle floors and trying to trip you.

Threaded | Flat

(frozen comment) QUESTIONS

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