Event № 2 : March 2024

[silentspringmods]

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

Comments

[workingthenumbers]

[Sure enough, there's a wooden maintenance shed off near the edge of the park--though, it seems to be locked. Not as if that discourages Numbers from charging in its general direction and moving to desperately rattle at the door. It looks like this door is held shut by a rusted metal latch, which is then protected against intruders with a weathered padlock. He pulls his pocket knife out, inserting the tip of the blade into the keyhole and just violently jiggling it. Cheap locks tended to easily open with enough force.

Initially, Numbers was too distracted by the current, active threat to really take note of Chell's odd, near-noiseless effort. But as he blindly digs and twists his knife against the keyhole, he realizes that she hasn't shrieked or yelled out once. It takes a few tries, but the old lock falls open and Numbers wrenches back the door. He ducks inside, nearly tripping over several rakes and a pile of garbage bags. It'll be a tight squeeze.]

Inside! C'mon!

cw: violence against birds

[aperturesubject0001]

[ While Numbers works at the lock, Chell manages to wrestle the pigeon out of her hair -- getting more scratches and pecks on her hands for her troubles -- and spikes it to the ground like a quarterback in the end zone. The rest of the flock keeps trying to get at both of them; Chell does her best to keep them back with wide, flailing swings.

Then the lock turns, finally. Chell ducks in after Numbers and helps pull the door to, immediately looking for something to secure it shut. Twine to tie it, or a broom, or--

Wait. Birds don't have thumbs. Birds can't use doors.

The sound of feathery bodies landing on the roof makes her jump, but they do seem to have found safety for the moment. She reaches up to touch her scalp, wincing, and then turns to look at Numbers and gauge how badly the hawk got him. ]

[workingthenumbers]

[The shed is dark, with what little light that can be seen trickling in from the gaps in the walls. He stands back from the door, looking up warily at the sound of pigeon toes on the roof. Numbers then collapses against the cluttered wall, panting and catching his breath. He looks like a walking horror show, his face almost completely bloodied. He's got scratches along his cheeks and forehead, with one cut dangerously close to his upper eyelid. Still--the damage is thankfully superficial. With some basic first aid, his face wounds will heal without much additional intervention.]

I swear to God, if that fucking bird leaves any goddamn scars on my face--

[He lets out a hiss as he flexes his hand. The adrenaline is still coursing through him, but even that can't completely eliminate the pain of his injuries. The hawk seems to have tried to dig its claws as deeply as it can into his flesh. Deep, painful-looking puncture marks line the outside edge of his sleeve, the jacket becoming more bloodstained by the minute. He takes a moment to wipe the blood from his eyes on with uninjured arm, looking incredibly pissed off.

This certainly isn't the first time he's had to curl up in some unspecified, dark, cramped hideaway place to lie low and lick his wounds. Except, in previous scenarios, his pursuers usually had guns and knives instead of sharp talons and sharpened beaks. He exhales sharply, peeling off his ruined jacket and holding it out for Chell to take.]

Here. Help me tear strips of cloth from this. I'm trying not to bleed out in a fucking tool shed. [He pauses. This woman still hasn't uttered a single word to him--not even any audible expression of relief, frustration, or anything.] Can you talk?

[aperturesubject0001]

[ Oh, that's bad. Chell immediately starts digging in her purse for tissues or a handkerchief, something. Nothing. Before she can find something else in the shed, though, Numbers is offering her his jacket.

Nodding, she holds out a hand for his knife -- and then huffs, incongruously annoyed by the question. Who needs to talk in a situation like this? ]

No, [ she signs one-handed. ] Don't make me write it all out, damn it. You have bigger worries, you know. [ She gestures at his face, and extends her hand for the knife again. ]

[workingthenumbers]

[Numbers blinks. When was the last time he saw someone sign at a fluent level? There are a few oddities in grammar and style that make Numbers take a moment and process what she's said. She's right. Not the place or time to be talking about this. He nods, handing over his knife. Were his other hand not pressed against the wounds on his arm, he'd try to continue the conversation in ASL.]

But not Deaf. [He grunts, slumping back slightly. As he waits for Chell to finish, he tries to peel back the sleeve of his dress shirt for better access to his injuries.] Huh.

[aperturesubject0001]

[ She gives him a narrow look as she accepts the knife. ]

You and me both. You sign?

[ Some of the locals seem to know a few phrases, but they usually look at her signing with mostly-disguised pity or undisguised fascination.

Half-watching, half-listening for the answer, she sets about ripping strips out of the lining of the jacket, figuring it'll be easier to tie into bandages, and then chunks of the thicker material to act as makeshift gauze. ]

[workingthenumbers]

[He nods in response. Numbers shifts his weight, trying to find a slightly more comfortable spot among the gardening implements. Unfortunately, there's no relief to be found. He resigns himself to just lean against the shitty, rusted push mower. The groundskeeper is going to get a fright when they open the door to see bloodstains on the floor of the shed.]

You pick up a few things working with a Deaf guy for, like, twenty years.

[Numbers cracks a stupid grin towards Chell. More than 'a few things', and more than just 'working' with Wrench. They've known each other since they were snot-nosed kids.]

We could be having a lovely signed conversation right now, but unfortunately for the both of us, my arm's full of holes. [A pause.] I'd appreciate those cloth strips sooner rather than later.

[aperturesubject0001]

[ Now that's the best thing she's heard all day. Nevertheless, she tsks at his impatience. She's going, she's going!

A minute later, she puts down the knife and scooches next to him to offer her help in bandaging up his arm. Her first aid abilities are rudimentary at best: she knows you have to put pressure on the thing that's bleeding, and she figures she can help him wrap his wounds up good and tight. After that, she's not sure.

Above them, there's a brief scuffle on the roof as if some of the birds have momentarily turned their ire on each other, before they settle back down to their scratching and pacing. Chell shoots a worried look up at the roof, then at Numbers. How are they going to get out of here? ]

[workingthenumbers]

[Numbers extends his arm to allow Chell better access to his wounds. He hisses in pain as the cloth gets tightened around his arm, but it at least allows him to remove his other hand.]

Thanks.

[He glances down at his bloodied hand. Christ. He's got a lot to clean up later. But for now--figuring out how to get out of here without getting torn to shreds by birds. Numbers takes a moment to take stock of the items in the shed. There's a shovel and a rake leaning against the opposite wall, closer to Chell. He points to them, then begins to sign. He tries to sign with both hands, but moving his injured hand too much makes him wince, so he drops down to just one.]

We can take those. Keep the birds away from us.

[aperturesubject0001]

[ Given the fact that there are still murder birds to contend with, it's weird what a relief him signing back is. Even one-handed and pained -- especially one-handed and pained. People don't often meet her halfway. ]

Wait, wait. Can you even swing with one of those if we take them? [ She looks extremely dubious. ]

What the hell is wrong with those birds, anyway? Why didn't the earthquake scare them away?

[workingthenumbers]

[Numbers pauses. His brow furrows in thought. He has his pistol in his jacket pocket--which, oops, he needs that back--but he doesn't intend on wasting his ammo on these sky rats, and besides, he gets the feeling that the neighbors won't appreciate him pulling out a gun in broad daylight.]

Don't think so. You'll have to do most of the swinging. If we stick together-- [He moves to touch both hands together and lets out a hiss in pain, his injured fist not quite closed.] --we can make a break for it.

[He scowls.]

Maybe they're freaked out from the earthquake, maybe they're just evil, I don't care. All I want is to not have my eyes pecked out.

[aperturesubject0001]

Yeah, same-same.

[ Frowning, she taps her fingers on her thigh while she thinks. Numbers can have his jacket back. He probably should do something about all that blood on his face, too. ]

Like a live-fire course, [ she muses. ] We need to be fast and get to the next cover. Do you live nearby? --you're not from around here, right?

[ God, she hopes he's another transplant. She has no idea if the way she's been acting constitutes a punishable offense. Surely even these locals would excuse unladylike behavior in the face of bird violence, though, right? ]

[workingthenumbers]

[Numbers grimaces, using the remnants of his jacket to wipe his face clean--at least, as clean as it can be. He pulls the gun from out of his pocket and shoves it in his back pocket. It'll do for now. He discards the jacket onto the ground, focusing back on signing.]

No. [A pause.] I mean, yes, I live nearby. But I'm not from here. I'm guessing you aren't, either.

[He frowns, looking back towards the door.]

Let's try and get by the birds first. Then, when we aren't stuck in this cramped space, I can talk more about what's going on.

[And that way, he can actually clean his wound.]

[aperturesubject0001]

Nope. [ A sharp shake of her head. ] I'm from the future.

[ A normal person might say, like, a place that they're from, but the future part feels way more relevant in these parts.

Her eyes follow the gun with some surprise. So that's what that was. Why's he got a gun? --Never mind. He's right: they can talk more elsewhere.

Nodding, she grabs the rake and leans it against the door while she signs. ]

I'll go first in case they start bombing us. You lead the way to your place and I'll follow. [ Picking up the rake, she puts her other hand on the doorknob and raises her eyebrows: ] Okay?