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silentspringmods ([personal profile] silentspringmods) wrote in [community profile] silentspringlogs2024-03-09 09:19 pm

Event № 2 : March 2024


Event № 2 : March 2024
Part I; Chapter 4. Stardust on our boots


universe/setting information, role assignment, and FAQs

I. Rooftops are shaking under the pressure of days

March 1st.

CWs: nonfatal earthquake.

On the first of the month, characters are awoken by the ground under their beds—and their beds themselves—shaking with deep tremors, accompanied by a low rumble from deep within the earth. Picture frames fall off shelves, decorative plates crash to the floor, potted plants leap from windowsills and become heaps of potting soil and shattered terra cotta. Dogs bark and howl through the neighborhood. Animals panic. Any lights left on overnight go out; phone lines are dead, switches do nothing.

The earthquake—which experienced characters might be able to ballpark as less than or about equal to a 6 magnitude at most—lasts about fifteen minutes, although the single jolt of a solitary aftershock comes about an hour later. Even once it ends, however, the animals seem just as uneasy. Horses at the riding stable stare at nothing in the horizon, necks upright and rigid, nostrils flaring, bodies stiff. The birds are silent. Dogs pant nervously, hiding or barking incessantly or both—it's probably best to take them outside on a leash, lest they panic and escape the yard. Even as the neighbors step outside to see if everyone's okay, cats hide under beds and dressers, refusing to come out. Though the townies seem a little rattled by the event themselves, none of them remark upon how incredibly unusual, even unheard of, an earthquake in the mid-Atlantic state of Maryland is.



II. That old evil spirit, so deep down in your ground

March 1st.

CWs: dead birds, bird attacks, attacks to face, animal suffering.


Following their eerie silence, numerous pigeons and crows around town begin to behave just as oddly as the domesticated animals on the day of the earthquake: some wander aimlessly in circles, others sit on power lines with their feathers fluffed up, heads pulled back into their bodies, eyes closed to a squint. Some begin to pull out their own feathers until naked pink patches appear within a matter of hours. Handfuls of dead birds appear on roads, in yards, and in the park. Around midday, the most troubling new behavior emerges: some of the birds begin to swoop down and attack visitors to the park, pecking and scratching with a particular affinity for faces, refusing to give up their pursuit until the target has taken shelter indoors. By late afternoon, some of them make their way onto Haven Street and demonstrate the same behavior; characters can barely step outside without being mobbed by a flock of anywhere from five to eight of the birds.

It’s not just pigeons. Particularly unlucky characters may find themselves terrorized by the neighborhood’s resident Red-tailed Hawk, which bites and tears with sickle-like talons and a sharp, hooked beak evolved to rip apart flesh, requiring serious medical attention.

Within a few hours, the emergency radios in characters' homes turn on untouched, all playing the same message: This is Dick Clark, your police chief, with Cecil LaMont, your town animal control officer. This morning's earthquake has passed, and no further aftershocks are anticipated. You may leave shelter, but remain indoors. Animal Control and the police department are aware of strange behavior from local birds and recent attacks in the neighborhood.

The situation is being actively investigated by veterinarians. Birds are carriers of many diseases, and can cause serious damage with beaks and talons. The birds are known to be free of rabies virus. If you are subject to an attack that breaks skin, seek medical attention. If you must leave your home for any reason, park as close to the entrance to buildings as possible, and walk quickly until you are indoors. If birds begin to attack, cover your face to protect your eyes, nose, and mouth. Do not touch any dead animals. If dead birds are found in your yard, contact animal control for removal service.

Keep your home radio tuned to this station for further instructions.


The abnormal behavior of the animals around town, including the feral and wild birds, ends around midnight, and the Sunday paper on the 10th attributes the strange behavior to a non-zoonotic avian influenza that has since been eradicated thanks to quick action on the part of Animal Control and the town veterinarian.

Notes:
— Because power is out, the usual close-captioned television broadcast that has accompanied emergency broadcasts in the past is not available. The only way to receive the message is by audio from the household's cordless emergency radio or by transcription from someone who can hear it. All houses are outfitted with an emergency radio of this type.
—Characters who try to kill the birds with firearms will be re-educated and will have the gun confiscated by the police in addition to being hit with a significant monetary fine. What are you thinking, firing off rounds in the middle of a neighborhood?



III. Welcome to the Twilight Zone

March 2nd.


CWs: none.

That night, characters don't sleep as they usually do. Maybe they don't dream, or maybe they have unusually vivid dreams. Nightmares and night terrors pop up for those who may never have experienced them in their lives. There's one common denominator, however: everyone sleeps, even if they try to stay awake, unable to resist the leaden urge to sit down and close their eyes.

*

On the morning of the second, their new neighbors arrive; in the case of those characters who haven’t moved into an existing household, they take the place of NPC neighbors—waking up in well-lived-in homes without a single trace of the prior inhabitants but quite a few indicators of their own occupancy. Even the refrigerators are stocked with unexpired food—all of which the newly (and oldly) appointed couples, or bachelors, will now need to throw out because power still hasn't returned.

Might as well go say hello, although new characters looking to meet Dr. Ravichandran are out of luck—uncharacteristically, the door to his office, which is usually left bowed in universal academic code for 'knock first', is closed for several days at the beginning of the month, and students who happen to pass him in the hallways of the community college's science department on his rare excursions from his office might notice that some of the friendly, at-ease shine to his deep brown eyes has been replaced with something more serious.

Notes:
—Characters entering an existing household will wake up in the same bed as the current resident, and all of the photographs will now show both of them standing together instead of the single person they showed the day prior.
—Characters who played out arrival threads on the TDM may choose to have their character arrive in this round instead of on February 2nd if they are not keeping any threads from other TDM prompts exclusive to the month of February canon.
—Power and telephone service returns on March 3rd. Characters working at the hospital, or visiting it due to injuries, will notice that the diesel emergency generators fill the air with the same foul chemical smell that filled the supply closet from Ruby's memory on January 1st.



IV. Burned out shell of a Volkswagen

March 3rd.


CWs: sweating, obsessive-compulsive cleaning behavior/paranoia

On the third, in addition to the return of power to the neighborhood, another controlled burn is announced over the radio and close-captioning, and characters are advised to keep their windows shut to keep out “nuisance smoke”—smelling and looking just like it did early last month, carrying faint notes of burning plastic. Characters who have been near a controlled burn or forest fire will note that neither smells like that.

Within about an hour of the smoke drifting in the direction of Haven Street, characters begin to feel a lot hotter under their clothes—even though it’s only 48 degrees outside. Even bare skin feels covered; they sweat, but it’s as though an invisible, unbreathable layer surrounds them, preventing it from evaporating or bringing any cool even once their shirts are soaked through. Even feet sweat, uncomfortably hot; the tops of wellington boots they aren’t wearing brush the tops of their calves every time they take a step.

And characters feel the weight of something: the phantom sensation of metal strapped to their backs, straps digging into their shoulders, thick rubberized material over their bodies, crinkling and pressing into them when they bend even though nothing's there except their nightclothes.

Their thoughts cease to feel entirely their own: characters are struck by a feeling of weariness, looking forward to the end of something, of standing in front of an incredible radiating warmth like a bonfire in any direction they turn. If they shower that night, they may find themselves struck by a feeling that they're not clean, losing themselves in scrubbing at their skin from head to toe for an hour or more, even once the water runs cold.





V. Poisoning pigeons in the park

March 21st-30th.


CWs: historically inspired extermination of birds with strychinine, implied animal suffering

With March comes a gradual warming of the weather in Sweetwater, and although there are isolated bouts of snow showers, it rarely sticks. The earth remains still after the earthquake on the first, and the weather is utterly mundane by mid-Atlantic standards, lack of geological phenomena included. Although the locals can still be seen wearing their sweaters, cardigans, and jackets, the heavier wool and down coats melt away with the snow, giving way to lighter attire more in tune with weather in the high 50s.

Buds begin to form on the leafless trees in the town park, although it isn’t quite warm enough for them to flower. With the melting of the ice and snow Canada Geese return to the pond and begin to nest at its banks—probably best not to disturb them. Pigeons, too, return in unusually large flocks, covering the brick pathways in iridescent purple-gray droves, leaving droppings on benches and playground equipment. It would seem that the avian influenza that affected such a large portion of the town's avian population didn't do "enough", or so the townspeople say as they regard urea-covered cars, sitting places, and awnings.

After several complaints from the locals, animal control announces in the newspaper that control measures will be put in place to cull the population, and, starting on the 21st of the month, deer corn laced with the poison strychinine is scattered around the playground (the 60s are the golden era of child safety!), various benches, and pathways.

Before too long, the poison has its intended effect, and the park becomes quiet, decorated with the limp bodies of dead pigeons. The townspeople seem strangely unreactive to the sight, although on one occasion characters may notice Ruby and her husband Leland bringing their one-year-old son to the park. Both of them seem visibly disturbed.

Animal control is offering some pocket change to anyone who volunteers to help clean them up, but rubber or latex gloves must be worn, and characters are not allowed to keep the bodies. What a great way to bond with the neighbors - or take a closer look?


navigation
lestercraft: (Default)

Re: EVENT QUESTIONS.

[personal profile] lestercraft 2024-03-10 11:22 am (UTC)(link)
Would there be any way for Arthur to follow up on any news regarding seismic activity in Sweetwater? He'd also like to investigate any recent construction, mining, or even police activity in the surrounding region, to see if something could be a feasible cause.
ribticklers: (Default)

[personal profile] ribticklers 2024-03-11 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)
On an occasion where Dr. Ravichandran is away from his office (Sans will wait until one of those moments when he sees him leaving for those meetings he's late for, or whatever it actually might be), Sans is going to try to force his door open with a credit card. He'll wait until nobody else is in the hallway of course, and he won't try too many times since he doesn't want to draw attention here.

Edit to note that while Sans will make sure he sees Dr. Ravichandran leave, he will make sure Dr. Ravichandran doesn't see him.
Edited 2024-03-11 18:03 (UTC)

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no problem!

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regulararmybrat: (09)

margaret houlihan | m*a*s*h | ota, will match format!

[personal profile] regulararmybrat 2024-03-10 03:42 am (UTC)(link)
i. rooftops are shaking (cw: panic attack)
[Margaret has experienced a few earthquakes in her life, but up until maybe a few minutes ago, she was fairly certain that Maryland was not known for its constantly shifting tectonic plates. She's awoken by the shaking, and immediately, her instincts tell her to crawl to the nearest place to hide. Panic and terror seize her chest, making it hard to breathe. The street is being bombed, she's going to die here, the house is going to collapse and there will be no one to tell her father that she's dead--

She doesn't dare look outside. She finds her way to the bathroom and shoves herself into the corner, terrified out of her mind, her hands clutching at her robe and she waits it out. She can hear things falling from the shelves, books and knick knacks, and she waits, and waits, her fear refusing to ebb even as the minutes drag on and she realizes she hasn't heard any explosions.

When the tremors are over, it takes several minutes for her to uncurl from her hiding spot in the tub. She exhales, slowly, heart still jackhammering in her chest. Her entire body feels numb. An inner voice shouts at her--she needs to move. With jerky movements, she draws herself up and blindly makes her way out onto the street, dressed only in a sleeping gown and pajamas.

There's an unnatural silence that has settled over the street. Some damage, but no evidence of shrapnel or bombs. She stands in the doorway, still trying to catch her breath, her hair frazzled and undone.

What the hell was that?]


Can anyone tell me what the hell just happened?! [She shrieks, to no one in particular.]

ii. that old spirit
a) [She's trying to make her way back from the store when the birds begin to swoop. A pigeon flies by her head, barely clipping her with its wing, and Margaret lets out a yelp. She turns to watch it flap away, befuddled. With horror, she sees it wheel around and try to swoop at her again. She begins to hustle down the street, trying to avoid it--only to have more pigeons descend upon her. She lets out a shriek, trying to raise the grocery bags to shield her face. Their claws scratch and beaks peck at her hands as she runs blindly forward.]

Get them off me! Oh, God--they're in my hair!

b) [After being swooped a few times, Margaret has decided to take shelter in the safety of her home. She stands anxiously at the window, watching as the red-tailed hawk swoops down upon another unsuspecting victim. She shrieks, pressing her face against the glass and gesturing wildly to get the person's attention.]

Over here!

[She gestures towards the door frantically, then disappears from the window. The door opens slightly for them to enter.]

Quickly! Don't let them inside!

iv. poisoning pigeons in the park (cw: animal death/suffering)
[Margaret is out here trying to pick up pigeons. She's wearing thick dishwashing gloves and has a plastic bag in one hand. She stares out along the park, taking in the sheer amount of dead pigeons sprawled out on the grass. She looks down, trying to avert her eyes, then kneels to pick up one by her feet. She cradles it gently in her trembling hands.]

I--I don't know if--

[The pigeon's chest flutters briefly, its toes twitching, and then it falls still. Margaret bites her bottom lip, trying to stifle a cry. She clutches the pigeon more tightly.]

There must've been a better way to deal with this.

v. wildcard
[Got any other ideas? Feel free to reach out and plot with me at [plurk.com profile] wolfnoir or my OOC plotting post!]
ribticklers: (124)

v. sans popping over for medical attention; cw: bloody wounds

[personal profile] ribticklers 2024-03-10 04:21 am (UTC)(link)
[Sans hasn't really had much occasion to deal with birds. There aren't many of them underground, after all. He's had even less occasion to deal with bird attacks. Reflex and common sense says to guard his face from the talons of the red-tailed hawk, but they don't tell him much about what to do with the deep gashes all along his left arm, oozing blood even as he keeps it covered with a shirt sleeve. You're supposed to apply pressure, right...? He's seen that on TV, at least.

Maybe later he'll see about picking up a book on first aid. For now, he needs to deal with this, and he'd rather not go to the hospital if he doesn't absolutely have to. He remembers the little group dinner party, though, and the woman who'd handled introductions: a serious-seeming army nurse. It's going to have to be her. Good thing he's memorized everyone's houses by now. Hopefully she doesn't think that's so creepy that she doesn't fix his arm.

He knocks on the door with his right hand, a motion that makes him feel a little off-balance. He's hanging onto his shirt sleeve with his left arm, trying to keep the wound covered, but there's enough blood that it's dribbling onto the front stoop. Oh well. Hopefully Margaret is home.]

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wwrench: <lj user=proverbially> (pic#13651256)

v. of little white pills

[personal profile] wwrench 2024-03-10 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Somewhere in the midst of March's madness in what can only be described as the relative normalcy of their current situation, Wrench decides to pay a visit to Margaret's house. He's never been before, and he very much doubts the woman will be expecting him, given their brief and singular conversation at the so-called "dinner party" some time back. But there's a little white pill burning a hole in his pants pocket, and he knows of no one better suited to the task of determining its makeup than the woman who has identified herself as a nurse.

The phone might be faster, but he doesn't trust that the screen can't be read even if he doesn't send the message anywhere, so he's defaulted to a notebook and a pen. There's a pre-written message already at the top of the page, so when Margaret opens the door she's greeted by a scowling beanpole of a man and a page already being pushed into her line of sight.

I have a medical question. Can we talk?

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requel: (Default)

ii, a

[personal profile] requel 2024-03-23 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ it was like something out of one of those horror movies her sister watched, birds attacking people. originally sam was just going to stay inside, she was more focused on trying to get the hell out of here than anything else. getting back to new york, getting back to her sister and friends. she still had no idea if they were even alive or okay. it isn't so much that she doesn't care about the other people here it's just she has other priorities.

but it's hard to focus on other priorities when she looks out the window and sees the woman being attacked by birds. she quickly, grabs a broom before rushing to the front door.
]

Hey! Over here!

[ she waves to get the woman's attention, ready to usher her into the house. and to hit any birds with the broom if needed. ]

sorry for the delay!

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no worries

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m1895: (your proposal is immodest and insane)

i

[personal profile] m1895 2024-04-07 03:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Vasiliy knows of earthquakes, but he's certainly never experienced one—in either of his lifetimes. Neither St. Petersburg (Leningrad, still, in his mind) nor Chicago are particularly known for that, and he was under the impression that it was the Pacific states that were.

His eyes snap open when the bed begins to shake, and initially, it doesn't register that it's an earthquake—he doesn't know what it is, just knows that things are falling off shelves and the legs of the dresser are scraping the wooden floor of the "kids' room" (his room) and maybe this is the end, maybe some horrible strange thing is happening in conjunction with everything else here. Panic sets in, but he remembers something from his time in Ohio: in a tornado, you're supposed to go into the bathroom or a basement.

Well, the basement seems like it might collapse, so he defaults to what he knows and scrambles out of bed, hurrying up the staircase with both hands on the twin railings to stabilize himself. He throws open the door to the bathroom and—Margaret is already cowering in her own pajamas, compressed into a ball on one side of the tub as bottles of shampoo and conditioner and who knows what else fall around her. ]


Move over!

[ He's already scrambling in, losing his balance with another large shock of the earth and catching himself on the short metal handrail built above the little cutout ledge where the soap rested before it fell. ]

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lestercraft: (Talking to himself)

Arthur Lester | Malevolent | OTA

[personal profile] lestercraft 2024-03-10 07:09 am (UTC)(link)
I. Under Pressure
[Before Arthur came to Massachusetts, he was in England. He has experienced earthquakes before, but nothing to this extent, but - well, reflex has always been faster for him than common sense. And running through a rumbling building dead blind is perfectly familiar to him.

To his credit, he actually makes it outside, and even does so before the tremor actually stops. But then he's just- on his lawn, in his pyjamas, struggling - and quickly failing to stay upright.

Luckily he didn't get turned around, but when the silence settles - and it's fucking eerie, the pervasive calm before a fucked up storm - he stumbles slightly as he manages to get back to his feet.
]

What the fuck was that?


II. Boot Bird to the Face (cw: bird/panic attack)
[The aftershock does nothing to settle his mind later on, but at least nothing else breaks during it, and it does give him a few things he wants to look up later.

He doesn't think anything of it when he leaves his house around lunchtime, to go and grab something to eat before he goes by the library - and then something with claws slams into his shoulder and he staggers hard.
]

Fuck- what--?

[Not that he gets to say much more before another one slams into him and he trips and hits the ground, and immediately something tangles in his hair, yanking his half-styled curls and almost ripping skin clear off him - and when he tries to stand another one gets his face and at that point he gives up and hunkers down because where the fuck can he go, he doesn't even know if he's still on the footpath and the only reason he has his cane is because it's strapped to him, and he grabs it in one hand and tries to cover as much of his head as he can as he tries to literally beat back the sound of flurrying feathers with a fucking stick.]

Jesus- fuck off! Get off me!!


IV. Wildcard!
[Around the 6th of March, Arthur and Bucky are taking a road trip: more prompts when info becomes available!]
Edited 2024-03-10 07:10 (UTC)
regulararmybrat: (05)

[personal profile] regulararmybrat 2024-03-12 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
[Margaret has also found her way outside, the remnants of a panic attack ebbing from her chest. She catches sight of Arthur on the ground and stumbles towards him, calling out.]

Mr. Lester--Arthur! Are you alright?

[She sounds a little rattled. As she approaches, she finds that her own steps are unsteady, and she almost keels over as she kneels down to help him up.]

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inaxorable: (pic#16542683)

I

[personal profile] inaxorable 2024-03-12 02:26 am (UTC)(link)
[ The earthquake sends a barefoot Raskolnikov stumbling outside, pulling on a robe as he trips through the door. He blinks in the morning sun, a hand raised to shield his eyes. The ground stops shaking as he comes to a halt on the front lawn, and he nearly sobs with relief.

And then there’s a voice from one of the neighboring houses, a shout and a swear, and Raskolnikov catches his breath as he turns. The speaker is a man wearing nightclothes, clearly disoriented. He’s a little familiar-looking, though Raskolnikov is sure they haven’t really met before, and certainly not one of the locals — the Sweetwater denizens don’t swear like that. The sentiment is certainly understandable, though Raskolnikov isn’t prone to such language. ]


I don’t know! [ He shakes his head violently, irritated with his own ignorance. ] We didn’t have these in Petersburg.

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wwrench: <lj user=proverbially> (pic#13703904)

ii. insert generic hitchcock reference here

[personal profile] wwrench 2024-03-18 12:06 am (UTC)(link)
He shouldn't have left home without his gun.

The side piece doesn't wear as well in the pockets of this 1960s getup as it did in his own leather coat, but that seems like a paltry excuse now. So does the fact that Wrench is a little bit out of the habit of murder, when there's no one directing him to pull the trigger. The strange town ought to be its own kind of proof that it's better to be ready for anything.

This time around he's not, but it doesn't stop him from intervening. From his vantage point he sees it all: Arthur walking steadily along the path, before the first avian attack takes him into a crouch and the next brings him crashing down to the earth. The tall man has nothing of substance to arm himself with, but it doesn't stop him from breaking into a jog in the other's direction, ready to beat off the birds by sheer force of will. It's not as if they should be a difficult target, with the way the flutter of feathers and the curve of pinched beaks seem bound and determined to make the blind man their feast. Wrench swings at one winged attacker wildly, scarcely considering the absolute absurdity of it all.

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workingthenumbers: (09)

numbers | fargo | ota, will match format!

[personal profile] workingthenumbers 2024-03-10 05:18 pm (UTC)(link)
i. rooftops are shaking
[Numbers has never experienced an earthquake before. When the ground starts shaking, it takes a few minutes for him to realize what might be happening. Unfortunately, this means that he's never really learned what not to do during an earthquake--which means he's staggering towards the door to try and see what's happening to the rest of the neighborhood.

A bookshelf topples over, narrowly missing him. He gets as far as the living room before he gets flung violently into a nearby wall and thinks that maybe, maybe he should just sit down and wait this one out.

After the shocks subside, Numbers crawls up onto his feet and runs for the doorway, taking in the neighborhood. The sudden quiet unsettles him. He needs to do something. Without really thinking, he sprints across the street, stepping over debris, towards a house in the cul-de-sac he recognizes to be someone from Out of Town. He knocks as loudly as he can on the door, listening for any activity inside.]


Hey! You okay in there?

ii. that old evil spirit (cw: bird attack)
[Numbers wanders the streets trying to search for anything out of place, anything that might've changed significantly while the 'earthquake' was happening. For all he knows, the earthquake was a cover for something else occurring, something to keep the neighborhood from noticing...something. Whatever that may be.

His aimless wandering eventually lands him at the local park. He stops for a moment, staring out at the perfectly manicured grass and trees lining the winding pathways.

A flock of pigeons descends upon him.]


What the shit--

[Numbers ducks, trying to sprint out of their grasp. When the birds continue their assault, he scoops a rock off the ground and flings it as hard as he can at them. The flock disperses noisily, wings beating against each other and feathers flying everywhere. Numbers stands there for a moment, looking smug.

The sharp cry of a hawk causes Number's head whip around to look in its direction. In the days that follow, Numbers will swear that the hawk called out to get his attention, to make him look in its direction. Why? So that it could stick its talons directly into the meaty flesh of his face. He cries out in pain, staggering to the ground and grabbing at the hawk.]


Agh--SHIT! MOTHERFUCKER!

[He manages to pry it off, blood pouring from his face, but the hawk reattaches itself to his arm, digging its claws in deeper and trying to bite the exposed flesh on his hand.]

iii. burnt out shell of a volkswagen
[When the stifling heat begins to prickle on his skin, Numbers sheds his winter coat, hoping the sensation would abate with the cold, late winter air. But the temperature keeps building, and he stops, bewildered. He sheds his inner jacket, leaving only his dress shirt underneath. Still, the heat continues to suffocate him. He looks around blindly, searching for a cause, before noting the smoke in the sky.

Something's not right. He sprints towards his house, snatching up the unused hose coiled against the side of the house. Every step feels laborious, despite the fact that he has just shed his heavy layers. Panicking slightly, he turns the valve. A quiet hiss is heard just before a torrent of water comes flowing out of the hose. He tosses his jacket and coat some distance away, then tries to drench his forearms and face in the water. When that doesn't work, he resorts to simply lifting the hose above his head and allowing the water to completely soak him. It should feel cold. It ought to feel cold. But the heat does not subside.

He feels the back of his neck prickle. Someone is watching him. Of course. Why wouldn't they be? He turns to snarl in their direction:]


The hell are you looking at?!

iv. wildcard
[Got any other ideas? Feel free to reach out and plot with me at [plurk.com profile] wolfnoir or my OOC plotting post!]
aperturesubject0001: (Determined)

ii.

[personal profile] aperturesubject0001 2024-03-15 04:44 am (UTC)(link)
[ All things considered, the earthquake feels like one of the most explicable things that's happened to Chell since she showed up here. Weird burning smells? Mysterious visions on the TV? Jell-O salad with horseradish? Baffling. Everything shaking? Probably an explosion somewhere. Concerning, yes, but rational, if she can find the source.

So Chell has grabbed her coat and bag and headed out into the neighborhood to investigate what might have blown up. Her wanderings take her towards the park, where she hears the clattering of wings and sees a flock of pigeons go spraying into the sky away from a figure on the ground. And then OH holy fuck that's -- OH. OH NO.

She breaks into a run, closing the distance in a few seconds. The fact that the hawk doesn't take off and leave this guy alone when she gets near seems to surprise her, for a second -- usually that works! -- but no time to wonder why. She slips her bag off her shoulder, grabs the leather firmly, and takes a swing at the hawk like it owes her money. ]

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wwrench: <lj user=manual> (pic#13696595)

iii

[personal profile] wwrench 2024-03-18 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
He'll have to look up to meet the green eyes of the man who stares at him now as though he's a stranger. Wrench, too, feels choked by air too hot to breathe. He's made it down to his own undershirt and a pair of trousers, and he watches Numbers like the man might well be a mirage. The stream of water pouring from the hose appears almost too good to be true. He'd give anything to quench the roaring fire tearing across his own skin. It feels like it's scrambling his brain and separating his mind and his body into two distinct realities. Wrench feels outside of himself. The searing heat belongs entirely to him, but the dimensions of his body are all wrong and the world-weary ache in his muscles is indescribable and foreign.

Something's wrong, he tells Numbers helplessly, as if as much isn't already obvious. Maybe he thinks the other man is simply enjoying a little backyard water fight with himself, like he's twelve years old and reclaiming some summer revelry that was stolen away from them too soon. But Wrench feels almost drowned alive in his own sweat.

My skin's on fire. He signs it literally, as if it's not just a sensation but a matter of indesputable fact.

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freakymagoo: (200)

i for is it too late to tag in 😬

[personal profile] freakymagoo 2024-03-18 04:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Bucky doesn't find the concept of earthquakes completely foreign, but. As far as he knew - or so he thought - they don't get earthquakes around here. Nothing in the house was prepared for it either. Furniture isn't bolted down, display pieces aren't protected, ornaments and books sit carelessly on open shelves.

He does find the concept of being human a little foreign, however. It took him days to heal from whatever Doctor Norman had done to him. Aches and bruises take more than hours to heal. The fridge door isn't actually that easy to pull open. Handles don't crumple like paper balls in the careless, uncontrolled grip of his palm anymore. No doubt it'll be aggravating when he finds out how heavy the dislodged pieces of furniture actually are, how exhausting it will be to replace or move everything back.

It's silent for a little while longer as Bucky deliberately goes down the stairs slowly, footsteps unheard. The first sound that comes through is of metal latches sliding and clinking. The creak of hinges as the door slowly opens, and a not-so-super-soldier barefeet and bruised with a cut over his eyebrow slowly trickling blood down the side of his face stands there blinking blankly at his unexpected guest. With the urgency with which Numbers was banging on the door, Bucky had assumed something had happened during or just after the quake. A faulty batch of a hundred million nano-sized Stark Industries accidents flying out of the cracks in the ground chasing after Numbers like a locust swarm. Zombie invasion. A horde of disgruntled six-red-winged angels bursting out of the fissures coming for their fake firstborn children. After the mannequin attack at the mall, who the fuck knows what's going on in this town at this point?

But Numbers doesn't trip over himself rushing into the house. And he's not being pursued by anybody, or anything. It will occur much, much later to Bucky that nobody in Sweetwater comes to Bucky with some expectation to lay down his life immediately and storm outside guns ablazing, fighting the good fight, saving the world. He's just a normal neighbour here.

And somebody actually bothered to come over to his place to check in on him, because that's what normal neighbours do.

"...where's the enemy?" Which is a completely normal response to an earthquake.

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inaxorable: (pic#16542685)

i

[personal profile] inaxorable 2024-03-20 01:14 am (UTC)(link)
[ The earthquake is sudden and terrifying, knocking Raskolnikov completely off his feet. He pushes himself upright in a blind panic, diving for the table and huddling underneath it as the ground shakes around him, a picture falling off the wall and landing on the kitchen floor with a sharp crash. He knows what an earthquake is, in theory, but had never in his wildest dreams — or nightmares, really — imagined that he would experience something like this.

Eventually, after what could be seconds or minutes or hours, the rumbling stops. The earth gives a brief, final rattle, as if protesting the regained calm, but Raskolnikov waits and the ground remains still. He drags himself out from beneath the table, stumbling towards the door. Just as he reaches it, someone knocks on it, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. As soon as the last knock falls, he’s swinging open the door, halfway through a hurried response of ‘yes, of course’ and — ]


Oh. It’s you.

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detectivision: (a ship in a bottle)

Sherlock Holmes | The Awakened | OTA, yes even the last one. will match format!

[personal profile] detectivision 2024-03-14 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)
i - under pressure

[When the earthquake stops, and the lights go out and stay out, Sherlock Holmes, alone in this delusion of a house with its ridiculous staged, faked photos, sits for a long moment in the dark.

Is this where he wakes up?

Sherlock waits, alone with his beating heart, for the world to resolve itself into a different couch, into Baker Street, into the stifling sickroom air that is still not entirely devoid of the characteristic smells of London.

The resolution does not come.

When the world stills, and stubbornly remains in place, Sherlock opens one of the windows and sticks his head out, looking around. Then, he shakes it, and curses under his breath in disappointment.
]

Damn.


ii - that old evil spirit
cw: bird attack, drug addiction

[Sherlock Holmes does not know how to drive a car.

Therefore he's walking, head and shoulders wrapped in what looks like a leather apron over some scarves, on his way to the drugstore.

Birds are indeed swarming him. Perhaps you come to his rescue, in a car -- or perhaps you meet him when he is already inside the store, accepting a bag from the other side of the counter -- or somewhere else entirely, looking through the home goods section of a department store, picking up their glass and flicking at it with a long finger before blowing out a disappointed breath.
]

No, no. It is no good. All of it -- is useless.

[He ought to be nicer to the saleslady on the floor with him.]


iv - burned out shell

[When the hallucinations begin, Sherlock assumes it's just him.

The first thing he does is check the clock that no longer hangs from the kitchen wall, thanks to the earthquake, but which has been propped up on the floor against one of the lower cabinets.

Then, as it gets worse, Sherlock realizes he's got to do something.

Birds or no birds, Sherlock stumbles outside, pulling a dressing-gown around his shoulders, holding it over his head. As sweat beads on his forehead, drips down his brow, Sherlock mutters:
]

Something, something -- there must be something -- but what?

[He searches his lawn, first, and then stumbles down the street towards town, the phantom boots brushing against his calves as he goes.]

v - poisoning

[With rubber gloves pulled halfway up his forearm and a protective surgical mask over his nose and mouth, Sherlock cuts a strange figure as he picks up one of the birds he's been tasked to clean up and examines it, rotating it this way and that.

Most curiously, maybe, he brings it up to his face to sniff.

What a weirdo.
]


vi - poisoning: redux.
cw: narrated drug use/strychnine poisoning/suicide in a, dissociation/memory blackout/hydrophobia in b
a. premortem - multiple characters OK but one thread only please! pm if it's already going but you'd like to jump in.

[He knew it would be an awful way to go. Of course he did: he has made a special study of poisons.

But perhaps, he told himself, it was the only way to make progress. Perhaps it would get him to the next stage, the next part of all this, the next set of horrors he must endure to get out.

An injection, which he hoped would soften the blow, and some pellets swallowed with a glass of water later, and Sherlock was past the point of no return.

He dies alone, in agony -- unless any well-meaning neighbours overhear, and knock, and witness a truly terrible end.
]


b. postmortem

[Sherlock awakens in water, also alone -- and is only aware of it for a moment. His vision goes black, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as absolute, utter terror sends him straight into oblivion -- and instinct takes over.

You will find Sherlock stumbling anywhere -- yes, anywhere, anywhere he can reasonably walk to. He staggers like a drunk man, unaware of his surroundings, eyes glazed, clothes soaked.

What in the world has happened to him?

Only one way to find out.
]
Edited 2024-03-15 01:25 (UTC)
ribticklers: (124)

vi b

[personal profile] ribticklers 2024-03-15 03:02 am (UTC)(link)
[Sans hasn't met this guy yet, though he's made note of his existence since with everyone on the same street it's pretty easy to keep track of who's showing up. Sans has been meaning to strike up a conversation. Finding the guy stumbling around outside like he's had four drinks too many and fell in a pond isn't exactly the best opening, but it's curious enough to stop Sans.

Curious and alarming. He stops, but he keeps his distance, images of low budget zombie movies flashing through his mind.]


You okay, buddy?

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workingthenumbers: (04)

v

[personal profile] workingthenumbers 2024-03-15 05:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[Numbers feels no grief towards the dozens of pigeon corpses littering the ground. He’s returned to the park to revel in the fact that his tormentors are dead, still nursing wounds from the hawk attack from the other day. His face is still heavily bandaged, though thankfully the hawk’s talons missed his eyes. His right arm is similarly wrapped in gauze and stitched up with the slipshod first-aid skills he developed on the job. Though those particular wounds are covered by the sleeve of his jacket, he still winces when flexing his arm.

Stupid fucking sky rats. Serves them right for nearly pecking his damn eyes out. He kicks one of the dead pigeons at his feet in a petty act of revenge, then casts his gaze up at the people in the park. A few of them are picking up the pigeons, trying to make the scenery less morbid. He observes one of the people closer to him, fully kitted out with protective gloves and mask, and watches him carefully. He seems more methodical about his approach, compared to those who are just picking up pigeons and stuffing them in a bag for disposal. Numbers watches the man pick one up and…sniff it? Numbers grimaces.]


What the fuck?

[He can’t help but say it softly out loud, clearly repulsed.]

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pharadyne: (pic#14654148)

ii

[personal profile] pharadyne 2024-03-19 08:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[Norton does know how to drive a car. But not well. He's never owned a car before Sweetwater and on top of that everyone here drives on the wrong side of the road. Still, it's slightly less hazardous than furiously attacking birds. Probably.

Norton pulls up next to Holmes and rolls down the window.]


Cooee! Mr. Holmes! Need a lift?

[A bird flies in the open window and starts flapping and pecking at Norton's face. He yelps loudly and swats at it hard. At least his leather driving gloves give some protection for his hands.]

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cw: aggressive bird killing

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pharadyne: (horrified)

[personal profile] pharadyne 2024-03-16 12:04 am (UTC)(link)
I. Rooftops are shaking under the pressure of days

[Norton has never been in an earthquake before.

His first thought upon waking to rumbling and shaking is that the bombs are dropping nearby and he rolls out of bed to evacuate to the nearest shelter. But as the grogginess of sleep fades, he rapidly reassesses. The rumbling is too steady, too continuous. There's no whistle, no buzz of aeroplanes. And, the most somber evidence of all, he'd expect something much worse than a doodlebug if a new war was starting.

The reevaluation takes just a few seconds, but it isn't reassuring in the end because this means he doesn't know what's happening or what he needs to do and so blind instinct takes over and he rushes out into the street in his pajamas and slippers. He's not sure he's any safer out here, and now he's cold and shivering besides. He glances around frantically, eyes wide at the swaying of the telephone poles and the strange jostling of cars parked in driveways, as if the world were being sloshed about.]


Help! [He start to yell.] Help!

IV. Burned out shell of a Volkswagen

[Smoke again. Definitely not wood smoke. He stays in this time when warned, though. He got more than his fill of poisonous air in 1953. As the morning goes on, however, he gets more and more restless, warmth uncomfortably building.

He knows he's wearing a good worsted suit and silk tie, touches the fabric to make sure, but he feels like he's wearing something like the asbestos suit he once wore to protect himself from an alien fungus. He strips off his jacket and tie, then shirt, then undershirt, but the sensation of heat and heavy protective gear remains. He paces, then opens every window in the house even though he's not exactly presentable for the public eye.

If he sees any neighbours noticing him bare chested and half hanging out of a window, he'll brazenly meet their eye.]


Just getting some fresh air! [He takes a deep breath in and then hacks from the putrid smoke.]

V. Poisoning pigeons in the park

[Near the end of the month, Norton volunteers to clean up dead pigeons. He snaps on a pair of rubber gloves and gets to work, not the least bit discomfited by the avian carnage. He examines one or two of them, trying to see if there's any obvious sign of illness or anything out of the ordinary that might explain the odd behaviour of the birds a few weeks before.]
regulararmybrat: (02)

v

[personal profile] regulararmybrat 2024-03-17 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[Margaret has also found herself picking up pigeons at the park, but seems significantly more reluctant to pick up the birds. Despite the fact that she's seen the horrors and carnage of war, there's something disquieting about witnessing this gruesome sight in a quiet, suburban setting. She shifts slightly, looking disturbed.]

It's just awful, isn't it? [She says, quietly.] This is such a barbaric way to deal with the problem.

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spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: PUZZLING)

I. Rooftops

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2024-03-19 06:55 am (UTC)(link)
[Papyrus has never been in so significant an earthquake before, and it is alarming enough to drive him to grab some things and head outside in short order... But it's not quite the most alarming moment of his life - with less near-certain risk of death to it than some other moments - not on the surface like this. The roof might fall in, but a rock probably won't land on him here.

But whatever edge he has in dealing with the stress of the situation isn't a huge one, and he startles at the sound of yelling as he's only just opening his front door. He whips the flashlight about even more wildly than the tremors make it shake, until he catches a hint of the shape in the street.]


Hold on! Yes, I'm here to help...!

[How much he can back that comment up is in question, but for now Papyrus tromps across the shaking ground in the direction of the yells.]

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spaghettimonster: (HUMAN: SWEAT)

Papyrus | Undertale | OTA, format matching

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2024-03-16 06:20 pm (UTC)(link)
💀 ROOFTOPS SHAKING - March 1st, before dawn, Haven Street
Tremors in the stone weren't completely unheard of back underground. Part of New Home's overcrowding problem, he'd come to find, was the need to be very, very cautious about digging into the stone.

But this was more than tremors, more like some incredible machine had come by to lift the whole house into the air. Papyrus rules that out quickly enough with a look out the bedroom window, peering down at the street to find it the usual distance below. And the various animal sounds in the distance, distressed or alarmed... Whatever this was, it hit everyone.

Soon enough, neighbors poking out their doors will see him circling the neighborhood with a metal flashlight in hand and a jacket and shoes pulled on over pajamas. Those not looking outside get a knock on the door, the better to get a quick headcount that nobody's been hit on the head by something falling.


💀 THAT OLD EVIL SPIRIT - March 1st, midday, the park - animal death, bird attacks
With the earth stilled and the power still out, it's an obvious day for taking long walks and enjoying the lack of stone overhead. Unfortunately, the sunshine does nothing for how the birds of the day turn to the uncanny - or the uncannier.

He's in the park before things change, gazing in morbid curiosity at a clump of feathers and a pair of partly defeathered dead birds. There's something fascinating and horrible about it, the way these fallen animals are just... lying there, cool, motionless. There aren't so many regular animals underground that it'd be a familiar sight, and he certainly hasn't frequented impending deathbeds...

Maybe the local birds take offense to the staring, or then initial curious proddings (when he discovered how cool the little bodies were). Either way, he's caught by surprise at the first live bird's swiping scratch at his skull, and even more by the second.

He lets out startled yells and flailing at the diving birds, offers some really horrible bird imitations in an attempt to communicate with them, and finally pulls his jacket over his head in an attempt to ward them off while he makes back for home.


💀 BURNED OUT SHELL - March 3rd, home, very briefly Haven Street, Sans's home
It's hard to care about the windows, as cautioned in the announcement, when the odd heatwave comes. Not that he opens them - keeping the windows closed helps keep the smell of the smoke down, he discovered last time.

But the mysteriously pervasive and persistent heat hardly seems the sort to be dented by something as small as a breeze through the house. Not when no amount of fanning himself, unclothing to wipe the sweat off, or splashing cool water on his face seems to make any difference.

A couple hours pass in a slow blur of trying to combat the strange sensations of heat and weight, of metal and rubber even when he pokes at himself to find nothing there, before he gives up and packs things up.

Since the body that isn't really his is feeling so strange... Well, there's only one person he's about to admit that to, even if it does lead to some terrible ribbing about puberty. With a basket and a scarf wrapped around his face to protect from breathing in smoke, he dashes up the street to his brother's assigned house.


💀 POISONING PIGEONS - March 21st onwards, the park, Haven Street - animal death, aftereffects from the kidnapping
He saw the announcement in the paper, of course, but... It's a new, deeper kind of fascinated horror to walk through the neighborhood and park to the sight of so many dead birds.

It's not just the sight of the corpses so suddenly lingering there whole, instead of crumbling into dust, though that is still part of it. This time, though, it's the knowledge the birds were killed intentionally. Poisoned, and for... what? The crime of making a mess of the perfect picture of the neighborhood?

...No wonder the doctor kidnaps people to show them home movies, if that's how the humans around feel. Kind of like stabbing people to put thread in their skin to help it heal is a kind of for their own good kind of harm... Maybe...?

People might find him standing by a bird's corpse, scratching at the wrist that once carried electrical shocks, staring less at the body than past it. Or they might find him later, with appropriate gloves, loudly commenting on how he's happy to help clean up the neighborhood..!!!


💀 MISC / CATCHALL - March 4th onwards, around
After the various shakeups of the first days of the month, things seem to settle down. A new normal, with some new faces and some more missing faces and no explanations for either. Less and less snow, and hints of green in the increasingly appropriately named greenery of the world, which is a fascination in itself - seasons! Seasons turning! People might find him gazing closely at a bud on a low branch

There's also the various healing injuries from the bird attacks, which are their own source of fascination to observe and to learn about. Papyrus looks into books about the human body, into options for learning about injury treatment. Given some of the warnings, back at that party, about propaganda and fitting in and what happens when people don't... Well, it might be useful knowledge.

It might also be useful in the event of a car accident, which isn't entirely out of the question. He's been continuing drivers' lessons, and practicing in and out of the driveway, up and down the street. But sometimes a skeleton - a human, that is - gets distracted, and turns to look at something, and the car turns with him long enough to go on the curb. If there's no need for human body repairs, there might be need for car repairs, and that's its own time- and mind-filling project.

[ooc: As usual, feel free to tag me on the event plotting post, or PM me on this account or [plurk.com profile] swirlingflight, if you're interested in a different prompt!]
Edited 2024-03-16 18:55 (UTC)
regulararmybrat: (02)

rooftops shaking

[personal profile] regulararmybrat 2024-03-17 11:11 pm (UTC)(link)
Margaret herself has stumbled out of her house, her breath short and her chest tight. Her eyes dart about to evaluate the situation, the damage--it's just an earthquake, right? Not a bombing, not the result of distant explosions rocking the area. She's in Maryland. Supposedly. It's not as if Maryland is known for its earthquakes, but what else could it be?

Her gaze falls upon a man wandering the streets in his pajamas and a flashlight--Papyrus was his name, wasn't it? She stumbles in his direction, legs like jelly.

"Are you alright?" she calls out. She tries to keep her voice level, but it's hard to disguise the fact that she's quite rattled. "That--that was an earthquake, wasn't it?"

She hopes it is. She hopes he knows and is able to answer her affirmatively. She hates not knowing what's happening. She hates not knowing what to do, when or where she'll be in danger next.

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burned out shell

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poisoning pigeons

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