apocalypsehowcomm | Event - A Little Perspective

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Event - A Little Perspective

A Little Perspective

The citizens of Gloucester are abuzz with talk of the new town square in the heart of the city. After some miserable few months… years(?) for some of the citizenry, it's a welcome spark of joy. The prize at the center of the square is a perfect replica of Gloucester set upon a large stone slab for people to view and enjoy. Some small festivities have been set up around the square. Food carts with tasty local offerings–it's a lot of seafood–and hawkers looking to sell jewelry, paintings, and other sundries.

The new town square, itself, is bracketed by the General's Store on one side, other tourist-type shops on two others, and an open park field with benches and plenty of shade trees on the other side. There are planters with gorgeous new flowers and everything has a shining, new feeling to it. Ring out the end of summer with the tiny bells that adorn the mini-clocktower in the replica city!

➥ Small Fears

Photo of a miniature New England town. Based on the toy cars, it seems to be from the 1950s or 60s.
(cw: altered perception of reality, existential crisis, possible starvation, isolation)

The disappearances don’t happen all at once, but they do take place over the course of a few, unremarkable, hours. One by one, seven people step through a door, cross a street, or go to investigate the brand new replica of Gloucester unveiled in the middle of town and vanish.

Except, to them, they don’t. It’s everyone else who vanishes. Whatever path they were on goes uninterrupted, but every other soul is gone, leaving the streets eerily silent. Perhaps you can find each other through calling out or through chance, but it seems only a few others have been left behind.

It’s not just the lack of anyone else that’s off. It’s there in the very sky, a fog-filled horizon leaves little else to see even from the tallest building in the city…if you’re lucky. Where there should be stars or roads or trees beyond the confines of the city, there are unimaginably massive shadows, creatures that loom and shift and seem to occasionally try to stretch their dark and foggy forms down to grab for people who stay outside too long. Surely inside will be safer.

And, for the most part, it is. There’s no running water, no food that isn’t made of plastic, and only the weak yellow glow of lights that seem to come on and off every few hours without any switches or plugs to be seen. Except then there’s the nightmares. There’s no rhyme or reason, no indication of which building will hold the nightmarish scenario that plays out. The only certain thing is that there’s seven of them…and they’re oddly specific, as though tailor made to one individual. Hopefully a friend or stranger can be the voice of reason needed to see you through, but even facing your fears doesn’t seem to set things right. If anything, as time goes on, it only seems to make the shadows get more agitated. More creative…

➥ Big Fears

An enormous, shadowy figure shrouded in mist reaches out toward a tiny figure on the ground.
(cw: gaslighting, potential for sadism, potential for large-scale destruction and injury/death, body horror, nausea, vertigo, supernaturally induced dread)

For those fortunate enough not to be sucked into the miniature town at the center of Gloucester, there's still more than enough trouble to go around. Mainly, the matter of getting people out of the town, whether they be friends or strangers. You might notice the little figures darting about the replica streets or banging at the tiny windows of buildings. Unfortunate that most (or maybe all) of them run in terror at the sight of you when you try to reach out and the sound of you when you make to run.

Most ordinary people walking by don't seem to notice anything amiss like you do. To them, it's just a quaint little attraction to view for a few minutes and then move on. The people trapped within it go unnoticed or unremarked. Even some of the people who work for ADI can't see it, like they have some sort of blindspot that you lack.

Regardless, there's the matter of rescue (or torment for the more sadistic persons out there). The tiny town, itself is designed in such a manner as to make access to the deeper portions of it challenging. The raised platform and general size makes it all but impossible for anyone under 8 feet tall to actually reach the center of the town without having to climb up onto it. And that… has rather dire ramifications. Those seeking to simply pull apart the town or climb onto it with little regard to the structures will find that any time they disturb or destroy a structure, they have a sinking, horrible feeling in the pit of their stomach. If it's a building that's near to where they are, they might even hear the sound of the real structure in Gloucester buckling and breaking as people scream and flee. Some unnatural force seems to be destroying their town and they have no explanation for it. You do, though. You know exactly what you've done. Perhaps you'll even hear about the injured and dead the next time you happen to read, listen to, or watch the news.

With wanton destruction a less-than-ideal solution to get to the darting figures in the town, that leaves a few other solutions. You could gather a team of people to help you corral the figures. If your hands aren't enough, perhaps others will be. The figures are far faster than they should be when they're that tiny or maybe it's that you're having trouble perceiving the depth of the place and where they are in space. In any case… more hands.

Or, maybe you'll go for a more creative option. If hands won't work, then some tape or netting or other traps might slow your quarry down enough to snatch. Perhaps you're even the sort to construct elaborate, Rube Goldberg-style contraptions to catch the tiny figures without hurting them. Much.

Emotion might rule the day for you instead. If you can just find some way to communicate that you're not a danger, that you're there to help, maybe that would have the figure willing to approach you, to climb into your hand of their own accord. It's maybe the kindest and least terrifying route, but it's also likely to take the longest, and time is of the essence.

At least once you manage to pull a rescued person past a seeming threshold, they transform very suddenly into their full-sized self with all the pain, nausea, and vertigo that comes with the sensation of your body exploding from within. The sense of being too large may persist for just a few hours or up to several days for the particularly unlucky.

Those who spend long enough observing the tiny town will note that there is a small timer affixed to one of the buildings where a billboard is in the real Gloucester. It is steadily counting down and it carries with it a sense of impending doom. When the clock strikes zero, the entire display will simply vanish from the center of Gloucester, like it was never there. Anyone still trapped within will also vanish. All references in newspapers and news stories from the past few weeks will vanish.

Was it ever really there? Most ordinary people don't seem to think so. What an interesting suggestion. Maybe you should let the mayor know. A tiny version of Gloucester sounds like it would be a lovely little attraction in the new town square!

➥ One Fear

A deer-like, humanoid figure stands in black and white, slightly hunched.
(cw: altered mental states; compulsion; painful transformation; dehumanization; being hunted; potential for violence, injury, and death, including gun violence)

There's a restless feeling about ADI headquarters, a strange sort of readiness and tension growing under the day to day office drudgery one always experiences in a lull between major crises. It's an itch in the back of one's mind, a half-noticed shift like the scent of blood carried on a distant wind. The longer the feeling lingers, the more unbearably dull all the paperwork and research and so forth becomes.

Then, all at once, it comes into focus. For some, it's sharp pain followed by a sudden feeling of terror, the knowledge that you are among predators that mean you harm. For others, it's that scent growing sharp and strong the moment you spot your prey.

The prey are easily spotted, at least within the bounds of ADI property, where Milo's glamour doesn't hide nonhumans and not-quite-humans from one another. The change is often small but always unmistakeable: a set of horns or antlers sprouting from one's head, still bloody from their sudden extrusion; the long ears of a rabbit, quivering with the effort to hear the hunters' approach; feathers that ripple out along one's arms in a mockery of wings; or the silky tail of a fox or mink, the mark of a predator long turned prey at the hands of humans. Any who find themselves marked as prey undergo one or more of these small transformations, gaining characteristics that clearly mark them as one of many animals traditionally considered to be game for hunting or trapping.

And if you're not prey? That makes you the hunter. The compulsion to hunt is overwhelming from the moment you spot a coworker, roommate, or even a dear friend marked as prey. Perhaps you're sly about it and set traps, or stalk them from afar. Or perhaps they run and you simply can't resist the urge to chase. What you'll do if you catch them…well, that depends on one's personality, or perhaps on luck. Maybe you'll snap out of it long enough to let them go. Maybe you'll try to lock them up–for their own good, of course, until you work out how to fix this. Or maybe just chasing them down isn't enough to satisfy the urge–the most obsessed hunters might attack, maul, or even shoot their prey if nothing stops them.

Everyone feels it, though. Anyone who isn't marked as prey will feel the compulsion to hunt when they see someone who is, and it simply will not stop as long as the mark remains. Even outside of ADI, normal citizens will even start to react the same way to something they can't even see through the glamour. The only way to end this curse is to remove the animal feature that grew from you–whether that's sawing off a pair of antlers or chopping off a tail.

Good luck…and good hunting.

➥ 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! You're welcome to make up any details for your specific scene. Also, please remember that character deaths are permanent and plan accordingly!
SMALL FEARS (16-19 September) - Characters trapped in the tiny town will notice the buildings themselves, while sturdy and able to hold their weight, aren’t exactly built to code, almost like they’re made of various craft supplies and short cuts, even if the end result is very convincing. There’s no food or water in the tiny town, but enterprising characters might be able to collect dew outside and survive a little longer that way. Each character has their own ‘nightmare room’ across the various buildings in town and they won’t be able to escape their own nightmare room without someone else’s help. How they get out of the town through the various efforts of those outside is up to the individual player, but anyone still left in town after four days will either die of lack of resources or from the miniature town’s collapse. Please remember that death is permanent.
BIG FEARS (16-19 September) - Players on the outside are welcome to enact as much destruction and mayhem on Gloucester and its citizens as they would like via the tiny town. Please just let the mods know on the OOC Post in the section dedicated to Town Destruction and Damage so that we can make note of it for future events/the final chapter of the game. Characters that destroy the town will sense the weight of what they've done, even if they don't see or hear the immediate effects. It feels bad to destroy the tiny town. Players are also welcome to come up with creative rescue solutions. The only limitations are that the tiny characters will not be able to understand their speech or anything written for them, so another form of communication may need to be found that doesn't use language.
ONE FEAR (16-30 September) - Players are free to choose any variety of animal features beyond the ones listed, so long as a.) the feature is linked to an animal traditionally hunted and b.) the change is a discrete feature that can be removed, however painfully. Characters with animal features will find that everyone, not just offworlders and people within ADI, seem to feel the same compulsion to hunt them down until the feature is removed.

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He grabs the proffered tool with feigned casualness, making sure it doesn't even look like he's going to come close to touching Winter's fingers with his own. "Thanks, Winter," he says, softly - specifically using his name. Maybe that will help? Rogers sees him, even if he's also pretending not to see him.

"Are you looking for anything to eat?" he asks - he's pretty sure Winter's been eating, after all, but it's kind of hard to tell when he rarely does actually lay eyes on the guy. He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and adds, "You can just shake or nod your head."

In case maybe he doesn't want to talk.

It's good. It's nice. His name. His chosen name. Stevie even told him that he didn't compare them anymore, the person he used to be and the person he is now.

Because he is a person. He is.

He shrugs. He's looking for Stevie. He tucks his hands into his pockets again, looking at the tools on the table. "What are you doing," he asks, voice quiet and hoarse but there.

It's good to hear that voice, quiet and hoarse though it is. It's also hard not to pull his head out of the cabinet and just put all his attention immediately on Winter, but he doesn't want to push it, if Winter has finally come out. It's clear he's got Rogers' attention, after all.

"Trying to make sure the cabinets are level. Which would probably be easier if they weren't already attached to the wall, but - " They are. Mostly. "I guess also making sure they'll stay that way. You know how that one on the left always seems like it's one good slam from coming down."

Winter nods at that. It does. Sometimes he'd worried he might knock it down, himself, with a clumsy tap of a metal hand.

Hearing Stevie's voice helps. It's something to focus on. If Stevie's talking, he's not unhappy or scared or angry or-- anything bad. "How are you fixing it," he asks. Keep talking to him, Stevie. Inconsequentials first, then maybe he'll answer an actual question or two. Maybe.

"Uh, hopefully well," is what comes out first, with a little laugh. "I mean. I'm not exactly great at carpentry? I'm using this," and here he brings the level back out, "to see how bad they're off, then trying to, uh. Pry up most of the nails and reposition the thing and nail it back in."

He'd started from the outermost cabinet, figuring once it was straight, it might give him enough room to adjust the ones interior to that. It may or may not be a sound plan, but it's what he's going with.

After a long moment, Winter swallows twice, then suggests, "Use screws." Something tells him they hold better than nails. Maybe that's why they sagged to begin with: the nails weren't enough to handle the weight of the dishes and stuff put on the shelves to begin with.

"Oh - " he blinks, and then laughs, because, "Yeah, that does make sense." Well. Rogers had never been exactly handy, growing up - never had much chance to learn - but Bucky had.

He finally pulls his head out of the cabinet, because said screws are in the toolbox on the table, and he'll need to get them. And the screwdriver. And - "You need to drill holes for those first... right?"

He's doing his best not to stare at Winter - to sort of keep his attention in that general direction without letting the full weight settle on him, like that much might make the other disappear again. Rogers really, really doesn't want that.

Winter watches him, back-- more directly than Stevie does, though still habitually without the eye contact-- but doesn't flee. Even if a little part of him wants to, he fights it. "Probably." Then a pause, as his eyes flick down to the table and the tools there. No drill. It's big enough that it doesn't fit in the actual toolbox.

Well, he does know where he left it last time he used it. "Drill's in the garage," he offers.

That's good of him to say - Rogers had no clue where it was, though at least that's a logical place and he would've thought to look there eventually.

Of course, now he's got a bit of a dilemma. "D'you... Uh. Would you mind getting it? Or I can - "

But if he does, he'll have to move, and he kind of feels a little like if he gets up and walks across the room, that might make Winter bolt.

Plus, Winter's closer to the door, anyway?

Winter shakes his head-- he doesn't mind-- and turns to slip silently away out the kitchen door into the garage to collect it. He's not gone long, and he's a little noisier on his way back, as he's also got the box of drill bits which rattles as he rifles through it for the right sized one for Stevie.

Hey, at least he came back.

He did come back, which is a really good sign.

"Thanks," he says, sliding carefully off the countertop to make his way slowly over to the table, telegraphing every motion so it's clear and stopping a few paces away to let Winter set up the drill for him. "Maybe I can get these done today, huh? You could stick around and supervise for a bit."

Something else to do, and to make it clear he's sure as hell not gonna make Winter talk about it if he doesn't want to.

Easy enough. Winter hadn't been planning on going anywhere, anyway. He nods, and offers Stevie the drill, a box of screws, and a bit that should be the right size. The drill and box he'll hand over directly, the bit requires Stevie to hold out his hand to have the bit dropped into it.

Then he retreats to the far kitchen counter and leans back against it, clearly settling in to watch.

He can definitely hold out his hand, when it's clear that's the best option for Winter. He wishes it wasn't, but - it is. He's not going to waste time wishing, because that never solved anything. He's going to give Winter the space he needs, and once he's got everything he needs, he puts the bit into the drill and retreats back to the cabinets with a soft, fond "Thanks."

And then, after a moment of wiggling around awkwardly with his torso inside the cabinet, a warning, "Gonna turn on the drill," a few seconds before he does. He'll warn every time, in fact, as he works, unless Winter says something about it.

Winter doesn't. Winter doesn't leave, though, and after the first few, he even comes closer to start handing Steve screws so he doesn't need to reach awkwardly for them.

He doesn't want to be like this. He wants it to be easier again-- it was rarely easy, but it was easier. But he doesn't know how to stop. How to just push through this awful feeling and want to be seen again. For now, he settles for staying put. And supervising.

During a lull, he finally speaks up, though it's only to say, "You're almost done."

When Winter starts handing him screws, it unlocks something in his chest that makes him feel warm - at least, until he thinks about how this is the best Winter can do, because something terrible happened to him, and Rogers gets mad all over again, though he keeps it tightly balled up inside, not wanting any of it to leak out.

"This is nice," he says instead - and he means it, too, because it is nice, and it's better than Winter hiding in a closet, and it's not touching or direct eye contact (well, he's still got his head in a cabinet, anyway) but it's something. It's scraps, and that's shitty, but it's something. He hates this town, these entities, but never Winter. It's not his fault.

"Maybe if they actually stay up after this, I could get some stain for them, make 'em look a little nicer."

Winter can't comment on whether it's nice or not. He's glad Steveie wants him here, but being out here also... hard. Still. Again. Hopefully not forever.

"Paint 'em green," he suggests instead, which is not in fact a serious suggestion, but a call-back to the cabinets in... some apartment they'd both been in. At some point. He doesn't know when or how or with who else, if anyone. The memory is unexpected, but not unpleasant.

The green color, however, had been unpleasant. An ugly pea green with the paint peeling here and there.

That prompts a little surprised burst of laughter and Rogers pulls his head out of the cabinets to look at Winter, because he just can't help it this time.

"You remember that?" he asks - which, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, seems redundant. Of course he must, if he's mentioning it, right?

"Maybe we should consult Yelena and Martin first," he adds, half to say they will not be painting the cabinets that terrible color, and half actually serious. It is their kitchen, too.

For a moment, Winter appears to consider that, then he accedes, "Maybe not that green."

He hands him another screw, then adds, with a vaguely apologetic air, "Don't remember much. Just flashes of the space. With you in it." The small version of him, anyway.

"Well, that color was awfully memorable," Rogers points out. "Emphasis on awfully."

Though there's something in him that can't help but be satisfied that he's in there a little, too, amid the sea of pea green cabinets.

"But another green could work. Maybe brighter. It might make the place a little cheerier." God knows the house - this town - could do to be cheerier, even if it won't exactly solve the apocalyptic problem they're facing. Maybe that's just human nature, though, to try to stay positive in the face of the apocalypse.

"I've never owned a place before. I keep forgetting we can personalize it." Past just the fixing it up, anyway.

"Paint them something," Winter agrees. It doesn't even have to be green. But color would be nice, in here. A number of walls probably still need painting around here, anyway. "Whatever we want."

He's quiet a long moment, then asks, "Where was it. That place." Was it theirs? Was it Stevie's family's? Was it his?

"Oh, it was my old place. As a kid, I mean. I lived there until my ma died, so not just as a kid, I guess. But you were over a lot."

Honestly, it had sometimes felt like he and Bucky were the only ones living there, with Steve's mother so often working late or picking up extra shifts. At least, until she'd gotten sick.

He hadn't been able to afford it on his own for long after she'd died, but Bucky had been over a lot then, too, for as long as he'd had it.

Winter considers this, then nods. That seems to fit the little slice of memory. Not quite his, but familiar. Safe.

He's not that person. But he still has that person's pieces. And Stevie. He has him.

"Tell me about her," he says after another long pause. "Your. Ma." That, he doesn't think he has pieces of. Or if he does, he doesn't know it.

"About my ma?" Rogers echoes, but - "Okay." After all, it means Winter wants to stick around a little longer.

He gets back to work, but starts talking, too. "Raised me herself, 'cause my dad was killed in the Great War before I was born. I couldn't miss him, but she did. She was a nurse, so she worked long hours and into the night a lot; I was pretty good at taking care of myself, except when I'd get sick. Then she'd ask if you could come over and keep me company."

He pauses, then laughs a little, clearly sheepish. "She was Irish - born in Ireland. Spoke Gaelic and English. She told me a lot of bedtime stories that I probably should've heeded a little better, as you know." Given what happened with their 'friend' Milo.

Settling against the counter again, Winter listens quietly. None of it really sparks any memories, but he's used to that by now. There's maybe a vague sense of familiarity, but he's not sure if that's the truth or wishful thinking. He's not sure if he really wants to remember, for himself, or if it's more for Stevie.

"Is that why I knew? About the faerie name thing?" he asks, thinking that at least made sense. He had other sources of that lore, himself, though: lots of books read, and his own dad's stories.

Rogers considers. "Maybe? But your parents had stories of their own. And you read a lot."

He half-smiles, visible given that the lower half of his face isn't too deep into their (admittedly rather shallow) cabinets. "Maybe you got it from all three, and that's why you definitely remembered."

Although Rogers himself was never particularly good at heeding warnings, either way.

"She liked you, though. My ma," he adds. "Knew you had three times as much common sense as I did, at least. She probably hoped hanging around you would give me a little more."

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no complaints here!

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