but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

[singmod]

JANUARY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: NASCENCE: Following the strange dream at new year, a three-day Aurora takes place. During which, Interlopers discover a possible ally in the mysterious woman heard in the static and heard in the dream — potentially earning new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — ADUST: The Interlopers find out what happened to the owners of long-destroyed Milton House in the form of hauntings.

PROMPT THREE — THE VISITOR: Interlopers find themselves with an unwelcome visitor — a shadow doppelganger here to make everything absolutely worse.

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

WHEN: January 13th - 15th.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being burned alive; some minor supernatural horror; some minor ‘ghost’ horror/hauntings; death of npcs in various ways including suicide, murder or exposure to elements.


In the middle of the month, it happens. A herald. The noise starts: faint at first, but then growing louder. An ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds difficult to place. There’s a kind of electrical buzzing with it all, a low, endless hum punctuated with cracks and pops. The sky is alive with sound, and with it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night: The Aurora has come.

Much of what happened previously happens again: Streetlights, illuminating the town’s roads; lights in stores and homes will come alive, buzzing and flickering at times. Previously abandoned cars will turn on, their headlights blaring. Electronics that had previously seemed broken flick on — and whilst there are no broadcasts available on televisions, and the radio waves only drone on in static, both only occasionally blaring standard emergency broadcasts. Any computers and phones will turn on, but will have no internet or reception. Instead, Interlopers may find texts and emails — many of them unsent. The everyday lives of their users stored within, now readable.

There are still some instances of the ‘ghosts’ from the previous Auroras, but they are now only faint outlines, and far fewer in number. However, whilst the Aurora would usually only last until the next morning on sporadic nights over the month — this time it will last for a full three days. The world is plunged into darkness, a seemingly endless night with only the Aurora to light the skies.

On the second night of lights and noise, a voice calls out to you: static-like, and distant — as if someone speaks over a radio. A woman’s voice. It is the same one you’ve been hearing for a few weeks now, but finally it is far stronger than the scant whispers of name and the word ‘help’. She is far clearer now.

“You.” she says. She may whisper your name, too. “I see you.” You’re unable to speak back, the communication is only one way. She sounds upset, but there’s something more… a kind of wonder, perhaps.

”It’s not just a regular aurora borealis, but then you probably worked that out already, haven’t you? It’s so much more than that. Everything is… changing.”

”I don’t know how you can go back. But— but I can help. Maybe. Maybe I can make this place easier, somehow. I need help, but I’m stuck—” There’s frustration in her voice for a moment. ”It took from you. Took you away. It doesn’t always have to take. We can take, too. Sleep. I will help you take back. You will survive this. You will not go into the Dark. This is not the end.”

You have no idea what that means, for the most part. But you might just end up taking the chance and doing as the woman asked, even if it’s difficult with the noise and light with the Aurora. Sleep, and a dream may come to you.

FREE RUNNER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are a magnificent stag, galloping through the snowy woods with ease. You seem to go on and on, never tiring, never slowing. You feel like the wind, or perhaps the very wind itself carries you. Not once do you stumble or fall, even when the snow is thick and deep, or the ground is shaky and uneven beneath you. You feel free.

When you awaken, you feel the most refreshed you’ve ever felt since you first came here. For the final day of the Aurora, you are bursting with energy and even when the lights in the sky fade — that revitalised feeling within you remains. There’s something within you that understands: you are the Free Runner. The ground will yield beneath you, your energy will not desert you, the wind will carry you.

LIGHT BRINGER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of sitting by a lonely campfire in the mouth of a cave at night, warming your hands. As you sit, a strange feeling comes over you, a desire to reach out to the flames. And so you do, reaching with both hands into the fire — gripping at the white-hot embers. It burns you, and for a moment there is blinding hot pain as the fire suddenly explodes around you, consuming you whole. But the pain soon stops. The fire doesn’t burn you. No, you have become the blaze — your body warmed. You burn bright enough that the darkness around you turns into day.

When you awaken the next morning, you feel warmed and comfortable. As if even the coldest of winters couldn’t reach your bones. The warmth remains even when the Aurora ends, and you are left with the innate understanding:you are the Light Bringer. The power of flame is at your very fingertips. You master the light, life, warmth.

AURORA CALL: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are standing in the very sky itself, at the Aurora’s height. Colour and sound twirls around you, within you — and you feel it curl into your body. Your head fills with noise, a chorus of voices calling out, snippets of conversation echoing within you. A woman’s voice calls to you, it is the same voice that spoke to you before you slept: “Don’t you understand it now? We are all connected. The Aurora connects us.”

And you do, you do understand it.

When you awaken, you feel connected to the world around you. To the very people who live amongst you. You feel less lonely, a kind of kinship with others. You have heard the Aurora’s Call and you have answered it, unlocked a connection with your fellow Interlopers. You will be heard.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

ADUST

WHEN: From mid-month to month end.
WHERE: Milton House.
CONTENT WARNINGS: fire; house fire; death of a child/children; hauntings; ghosts; mental manipulation; illusions of burning/being burned; potential injuries via falling/unstable building collapsing.

There is a reason why it is advised to avoid Milton House other than the simple fact that it’s a miracle the house is still standing. Once one of the largest buildings in the town of Milton, it is now a former shell of what was once a fine and grand house. It has lain in ruin for many years, dilapidated and host to a great deal of fire damage.

While he is in town, Methuselah will not speak of the place, but he often looks sad when it has been brought up in conversation. “A great tragedy.” he will say before falling into a pensive silence. “A blackened mark on the town’s memory.” He does not wish to say much more of what happened: sometimes there are things that are just too painful. He will continue to advise the ruin is left alone, out of respect, and the fact that the place is a danger.

Of course, advice will not stop anyone from attempting to get into the ruins and exploring the house, even if it is in fact highly dangerous.

The sounds of voices and whispers may be enough to pique anyone’s interest. You're sure you heard something, maybe you should go to check it out?

It is true in the fact that the house itself is incredibly dangerous structurally: floors and stairs may give way and you’ll find your foot (and half of you) falling right through the floorboards. Damp and rot that have long since set in, and it will be dangerous to breathe in. But you’ll find that the house itself is pretty ordinary: this was once a family home. Just about the entirety of the house and its contents aren't salvageable, but you’ll be able to find out a little about who once lived here.

There are faded, half-destroyed photos that show a family of five: a father, mother, and three young children all under the age of ten. The father with warm, beaming smiles, the mother has kind eyes, the two oldest boys with toothy grins much like their father, the younger girl looks shy, wanting to hide against her mother. They look happy. Just a typical family. In a world where so many strange things are happening, it feels so strange to look upon these family photos and around this home to realise that they simply lost their home in a house fire.

But as you hold a family picture, or some half-destroyed trinket: a toy, a shoe, a book, a vase, you’ll find the item will suddenly catch alight, bursting into flames in your very hands. The flames do not burn you, and as you discard the item, it will fall to the floor as if nothing had happened.

Then, it comes to you. Here and there. Different sensations that stop and start suddenly: the house groans and creaks around you; the smell of smoke enters your nose; the sound of fire cracking and popping with a roar fills your ears; the sensation of heat against your skin; the clawing and suffocating feeling in your lungs that makes you cough and choke; the sounds of terrified shrieks of children echoing above you. Feelings flood you: fear, panic. When you next turn around, the entire house is aflame around you, and you can’t tell if this is real or if you’re reliving some terrifying memory.

You need to leave, get out of here. For some, it will be what comes naturally. You’ll have to fight through the flames and escape the house before it burns down completely around you. You’ll have to fight your way out, find an exit not already consumed by flames — through a window, perhaps. Crashing out of the house and into the snow, you’ll look back and see Milton House just as you entered it: nothing more than a half-burned ruin.

But for others, there will be another pull. You are drawn upstairs, to the screams of children. You need to get to them, to help them, save them. You will battle through the flames, heading towards the ruins of what was a child’s bedroom, or towards the bathroom. Inside either, you will find a figure cowering, engulfed wholly in flames: one in the bathtub or one in the closet. You recognise them as the two sons from the family pictures.

Mom. They will call you. Or Dad. They weep, terrified of the flames. I’m scared, I’m scared. I want the fire to go away. Help me. Stay here.

The tragedy of Milton House is before you. More than just a fire. What is more tragic than the death of a child? What silences voices? Breaks spirits? Leaves one helpless to act in the wake of such a passing?

There is something to be done here. You are not so powerless. Calm the child. Offer gentle assurances. They will get out. They are safe. You are there for them. You will stay. Embracing them will set you alight. Too hot. Too bright. It will hurt, but you won’t burn. But don’t let go; holding them will eventually calm them down enough for the flames to grow dim, to slowly ease their spirits to rest.

Soon enough, the flames will go out and the child will disappear, leaving you alone in a decaying, dilapidated room.

In the churchyard of Milton, there is a family grave by the name of Barker. Three lie within it: Thomas it reads, and his beloved sons, Patrick and Christopher.

THE VISITOR

WHEN: The month of January.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: erything absolutely worse.
THE VISITOR — CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural beings; dream-related horror/disturbing dreams; doppelgangers; themes of depression; themes of self-harm; themes of isolation; potential themes of suicide.


It seems the dream of the New Year and the Aurora dreams are not the only odd sleep-related instances occurring this month. You first notice that something is off when a strange dream pulls you from sleep. The dream may feel like any particular dream you have, whether it be a usual nightmare or strange concoction your brain has conjured up for you this night. Maybe it’s a dream you’ve had before, maybe it’s a new dream entirely. But no matter the dream, there is one thing that is odd about it. In tiny moments within the dream, you notice that there is something different, something that feels out of place. Something is there that shouldn’t be.

A figure, tall and silent, entirely made of shadow stands lurking in the background. It looks human, but there is not much more that you can really describe further. It is a sad, unsettling presence.

When you awaken, eyes bleary from sleep, and you look about the room, to the bottom of your bed, for a half-moment you see that figure standing there silently. That unsettling sadness permeates the room, and after a few seconds of blinking and sitting up — the figure disappears. Perhaps it was just some trick of the mind, some half-awake illusion.

But the next time you sleep, it appears again. The same figure, the same emotions surrounding it. And when you awaken, it stands at the bottom of your bed once more. Only this time, it lingers, and you find yourself staring down the figure before it disappears once more.

Over the next several days, the presence continues to linger more and more. It stands silently in the corner of the room of your home; it hovers by the window, staring out into the snow; it stands in the middle of the road as you go about your business. More and more, it is there. Always standing, always watching — silent and sad.

No one else seems to notice it, only you. And over time, the shape of it seems to change — the vague, undefined shape of it slowly shifts into something you recognise. The same hair, the same height, the same way it holds itself: it is exactly like you. A perfect doppelganger, a second shadow. And with it, it exudes an oppressive sadness, a particular kind of loneliness. It is suffocating, bleeding into you.

It makes you withdraw from the world around you, from the people around you. Perhaps you stop spending time with others, retreating into solitude. You hide from others, keep to yourself. You find yourself not sleeping at all or perhaps sleeping too much. Perhaps what little you already eat becomes nothing. The shadowy doppelganger draws ever closer to you, close enough to touch you - ever hovering at your shoulder. Its presence bores down on you, making you feel small and more and more alone even with its ‘company’. No one else can seem to see it but you, mentioning it to others will earn odd looks, or even concern. It seems you and your double are alone together.

Hopefully, those around you will notice the change in you. How you stopped reaching out, how you’ve stopped taking care of yourself. Hopefully they will see something isn’t right and reach out. You are doomed to the doppelganger's company otherwise.

However, those around you can push the shadowy double away, and can break its influence and hold over you. Genuine care and concern for you will have it shrinking back. Perhaps it is a kind word, perhaps it is the gentle but insisting coaxing to eat. Perhaps it is an attentive ear to listen to your thoughts, to how the presence has made you feel. Maybe it is even the simplest of touches, an embrace or the holding of a hand, the grip of a shoulder. Continued connection with you will slowly have the visitor’s power diminish.

And hopefully it is done before it is too late, or it may be all too easy to fade into the Long Dark.

FAQs

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

1. Aurora Feats are now unlocked! Please see the following page for more information. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

2. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Event. The only time this is available is this month. After January, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

3. This Aurora will last a full three days. It will be a period of only night.

4. For more information on the ghostly loops seen during the Aurora, see this previous event, under 'The Aurora: Aftershocks' prompt.

5. For new players who would like a little extra context regarding the woman can look at December's Tales From The Northern Territories, under the 'New Happenings in December' section.

ADUST

1. Characters will not be physically burned in the fire, but only feel as if they have been. The effects of this illusion will last a short time after they're out the house before they will fade.

2. The only real injuries characters can sustain will be from fall damage, or if the floor gives way and their feet go through, etc. whilst in the house.

3. The children cannot leave the house. They will be too scared to leave. In addition, they are tethered to the house, given that this is where they died. Simply being calmed/comforted is the best way to help them and they will disappear after that.

THE VISITOR

1. An Interloper's Visitor can't be seen by anyone but the Interloper themselves.

2. The Visitor can be spoken to, but it will not speak back. It cannot be interacted with and is intangible.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

kieren walker | in the flesh

[burying]

✞ ADUST
cw: n/a, as of yet

[ It… isn’t out of the ordinary to be hearing things. He’s heard things before, back home, with that… Voice. This feels more like back home, even if he’s not sure if they’re just in his head or not. Something pulling at him, coaxing him forwards. Hushed, indecipherable little voices that draw him near Milton House. The last thing that he should be doing is going inside, but he can’t help it — something keeps pulling him in, and he’s soon finding a way in through the back, slipping through into the kitchen and then into the main living area.

He picks carefully through the house, stepping carefully as he goes. This place does not feel all that stable, and even someone as thin as Kieren hears the floorboards groan beneath his weight as he explore. Whatever fire happened here in this place, it looks pretty bad — and it makes his insides churn painfully. This is the kind of fire that… kills people.

Someone else is here with him, and he turns towards the sound. It… sounds like a person, he thinks. He freezes on the spot, staring with wide eyes — ever a deer in the headlights until the other person makes an appearance.

And he just… just stands there, awkwardly. Like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Until he offers a tiny little wave in greeting. There’s a long silence as he looks about them. Ever awkward. And then finally, he breaks the silence: ]

Did… you hear it too? [ He asks tentatively. ] The… um— god, this sounds weird to say out loud— the voices…?

✞ THE VISITOR

ONE:
cw: themes of depression; zombie-horror; link is picture of Kieren without his cover-up/contacts
[ Being solitary comes naturally to him. He knows he has to be careful, he knows he has to keep himself away. He’s a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off — just waiting to go rabid and he’ll go for every single person in town, until someone puts him down. Kieren hides himself away, because it’s safer. Safer for everyone, safer for him. Even if he wouldn’t care when he loses himself, he cares now about hurting others when he’s still him.

In some ways, when the Visitor comes to visit, it is much the same for him. Kieren withdraws from everyone. There are days when he doesn’t come out at all, just hides himself inside. He doesn’t care to light the fire, to turn on the lights at night. Anyone might think he’s died, or even mistake the place for being completely empty. He won’t answer the door when people come to visit, and it’ll only take the most persistent — either just walking in, or outright breaking in (for those thinking of claiming the place for their own) to be faced with him.

What they’re faced with, however, isn’t the Kieren they’re used to seeing (should they know him) but the walking corpse — the au naturale look, as Amy would call it. A tall, pale figure in the gloom: skin greying, with soft smatterings of black veins dancing over his skin here and there; darkened eyes and lips and eyes like pin-pricks. Dishevelled and unkempt, and his small cabin a mess.

Kieren bares his teeth, anger and hurt curling within him — sharp and cruel and explosive. He hurls a glass jar he uses as a paint water jar in the general direction of the intruder, and it smashes against the wall. ]

Get out.


TWO:
cw: themes of depression; alcohol/drinking; reckless zombie behaviour; emetophobia; gross zombie shit, i’m so sorry
[ He’s not supposed to drink. He knows this. The doctors told him, back in the treatment center. The undead do not eat nor drink, and he’s existed all these months, strictly adhering to that rule. But now? Kieren doesn’t care. He doesn’t care and steals a bottle of pine wine from March when he’s not around.

He wanders about the town, swigging from said bottle. Sometimes he just loiters, without a care in the world. The Visitor, his shadowy double, walks silently at his side — close, too close, leaning in every so often. It’s here, it’s right here with him. Kieren ignores it, and keeps drinking.

And then, ultimately, what goes down must come back up.

Kieren doesn’t even care to have any grace about it. He can feel it coming and he staggers to the side, reaching for the building he can lean his weight against. He retches a few times before his mouth opens and thick, black liquid spews out at force, splattering across the snow.

If he’s approached, he’ll turn his head: corpse-pale skin and pin-prick eyes lost in a field of pale yellow and white-blue. His head lolls, and he offers a withering look, almost feral — black dribbling down his chin. His brow furrows as he sneers: ]

What?

[ … Nope, he’s not done yet. Back to puking. ]

✞ WILDCARD

wildcards fine with plotting, hmu! | permissions are here | plotting comment is here | contact: heolstor / _heolstor @ discord for questions/plotting

Visitor Two

[solitarysoul]

Are--um...do you need anything?

[Kieren was definitely not okay, so that was a stupid question. He's not really sure what's wrong with the guy between how pale he is, the weird eyes and the throwing up. The puking seems to most immediate.]

I can, um...help you back to your cabin?

[Or something. He doesn't know.]

visitor one

[friendsfordinner]

[ Yeah, so Hickey might have broken into Kieren's cabin. And that might have been a bad idea. But in Hickey's defense, he hadn't seen the man in a while! Was he still here, did he get dragged off by a bear, did he die of exposure—fuck, could he even die of exposure to begin with? How the hell could a dead thing die?

Note to self, ask Kieren this. Assuming he's not dead, obviously.

There are plenty of criminal skills in Hickey's objectively shady roster. It doesn't take him long to force the lock open and slip inside Kieren's cabin. And Hickey is rewarded for his efforts by a glass jar smashing a few feet away from him. He can't help it: he winces. ]

And a good morning to you too. I was looking for you, you idiot.

visitor two

[cantor]

[Once the Aurora left - and after the unfortunate results of experimenting with the gift it'd given him - Renny is more cautious about approaching people. There are moments when he feels the fire building up in response over his excitement, swelling when nervousness sets in. He has to stay calm, centered, so he keeps to his routine of getting up before dawn, exploring the town or forest, and then returning to his cabin. But he's careful now. He isn't avoiding people. He never would! He's simply - keeping a bit of distance until he figures his little issue out.

It's during one of his walks through town that he sees something unusual. Years of field experience immediately lock in on the sickly pallor, the unnatural pupils. Undead, and Renny's first instinct is to keep his hand near his belt, where his rapier is. The faintest flickering of heat begins in his chest; he tries to settle it by taking a breath.

But the undead speaks - and it's drinking? Throwing up? It looks so young. Something doesn't quite add up. The contradicting facts give Renny pause. He glances at the pitch black puddle that's spreading across the snow. It smells foul, even from here, and he briefly wonders if there's guts mingled in there...?]

What do you mean, 'what?'

[This undead seems almost sick. Strange.]

You're the one making a mess.

Edward Little ⚓ The Terror

[fidior]

CLOSED STARTERS

plotted starters / threads will be placed here through the duration of the event. lmk if you'd like to do something! →plotting post

just a lil thing to personally attack you....

[castitas]

[ The first day Edward Little doesn't come to the Community Hall as he always does, almost like clockwork, is... worrying. Kate tries to rationalize it. The Lieutenant is always busy, she knows that. Always patrolling, always checking up on things, keeping order. And it's admirable, because no one asked him to take on that responsibility. But she's grateful for it all the same, and she enjoys getting to see him every day. That he'll take a little time out of his day to check up on her, see if she needs a hand with anything. Sometimes it's day where things are bad and she just needs a hand to hold. It's possible something's kept him away today. Maybe something's come up, and he hasn't been able to come by. It'll be okay, he wouldn't want her to worry. ... Right?

(He would have said something, he would have told her if wasn't able to drop by.)

The second day, there is still no visit. And it has the alarm bells ringing all too loud and all too clear. This... this isn't right. And as she asks around the Community Hall, it seems like her fellow Interlopers haven't seen the Lieutenant either. No patrols, no... anything. Her chest feels tight, dread is quick to grip at her: what if he's disappeared, like all of the others? Out into the wilds? What if wolves got him, at night? What if something else got him?

(What if she never sees him again, and they never find out what happened to him?)

She has to see. She has to try. She's gotta try. She heads out, checking with people as she goes if anyone might have see him as she walks through town — heading towards the outskirts. They haven't. No one has. But the sight of light in the windows and smoke from the chimney of his cabin is a welcome one, though. He's there. She hurries, climbing the steps onto the porch. She knocks at the door, her knuckles muffed with gloves. ]

Lieutenant Little? It's— [ She decides over a short moment, mouth opening and close a couple of times. ] it's Kate. I haven't seen you, you weren't on patrol. Or... or you didn't come to the Hall. I was worried— are you okay?

[ There is only silence on the other side. Her breathing quickens a little with a flush of worry and panic. ]

Are you sick? I— I can get Mr Goodsir, if you need him.

[ Her eyes turn back around, towards town. She can be quick, she can get Mr Goodsir. He'd come right away, if she asked him. Maybe he's caught a cold or something, or— or what if it's from the lead, in the cans. What if it's catching up to him, now.

There's a soft creak of the floorboards from within, enough to pull her out of her worries. She startles at the door, then knocks gently once more. ]

Lieutenant? [ He's there. Up and about, and she's relieved. And she waits, hopeful, for a long moment. But there's nothing else. Edward Little doesn't come to the door. Whatever movement inside is stilled. Kate pauses, listens— and the realisation is a slow-dawning one: he's.... not coming. He knows she's there, he's not coming. And it stings her so suddenly. What's... what's going on?

Gently, insistent: ]

Edward. [ It sounds so strange, even to her. She never calls him Edward, not since they talked a few months back. Always Lieutenant. Always Lieutenant Little. But she says it anyways, because something isn't right. And deep down, some part of her knows that Lieutenant Little is... also just Edward, too. And she doesn't want a Lieutenant to come to the door, she wants Edward to come to the door because something's not right — this.. isn't right. ] ... Please come to the door. It's just me.

[ But he doesn't. There's nothing. And she doesn't know why, she doesn't know why he's ignoring her. And she doesn't know if she's done something wrong, or if something's happened — and either way, it's... gutting. The tears prickling at her eyes feel hot and she blinks them back.

(She doesn't want to go.)

She won't force the door. She doesn't have the nerve, and she can't bring herself to be rude. Kate swallows thickly, gloved palm pressing to the door for a long moment. Maybe she can try again later, or tomorrow. And the next day. Something. She can't just... do nothing. ]

Please be okay. Okay?

Wynonna Earp | Wynonna Earp

[pacificator]

— open & closed starters —
plotting | repeatandfade

adust – closed to fidior

[pacificator]

[ Milton House isn't anything like the homestead. It's all dark, cold ash and crumbling beams; it's taller, larger, far grander even in its slow decay. The homestead was whole, if gutted of everything that made it a home. It was out there on the plains of the Triangle, waiting. Empty. A caught breath she'd held for fifteen long years. Milton House isn't waiting for anything. Milton House is a torn-up picture of itself, frozen forever in one terrible moment in time.

And still, something keeps bringing her back to it.

Today, she'd been leaning on a fence, looking at it – or, no. Watching it, as if somehow a half-burned wreck of a house might make a sudden lunge at her. As if the door might open, a window might be filled with an shadowy outline of a person. In this place? It honestly wouldn't surprise her.

Also not a surprise: Edward Little showing up, apparently still doggedly maintaining his patrols. What he patrols for, she doesn't know and has no interest in asking. Maybe he just likes walking around.

She's still not sure what to make of him, but that's something she can easily shunt away to think about later – or maybe never, that sounds a lot better – because one thing she does know is that he's determined to be helpful, a trait that is so very useful on days like this when she could use an extra pair of hands to force open the burned wreckage of a door. Because while no doors opened and no shadows moved behind the windows –

She'd heard something.

Which is how they ended up here, searching around the ruined remains of what was probably a living room. Wynonna nudges at the leg of a blackened piano bench; it crumbles into ash at the gentle touch. There's a cracked picture frame on the piano itself; she picks it up, turns it over. ]

People could find a better house to squat in. Maybe something that isn't condemned and one bad step away from a broken neck? I don't know, I'm just tossing out ideas.

[ Because that noise was probably squatters. Right? ]

Eddie Munson | Stranger Things

[satanicpanics]

starters to follow
plotting | muttonchops | poultrylegs @ discord

Nascence; OTA

[satanicpanics]

[ The Aurora is an old hat by now. It appears, weird shit happens, Eddie makes use of the electricity and puts on a one-man concert at any random hour of the day or night, someone yells at him, and it’s wrapped up.

But an odd dream comes along with this Aurora. For a moment, he thinks it’s just a stray nightmare, a bad dream from a house fire years ago that comes just a little too late, but when he wakes from it, he feels warm, genuinely warm for the first time in months, and he stays that way. When he hauls his amp out onto the porch of the home he’s claimed for himself later that day, he leans over the railing to talk to a passer-by. ]

Hey, uh—is it just a little warmer to anyone else or...? I mean, are we in for a season change?

[ Stick with him, maybe he’ll accidentally set his guitar on fire. He won’t, that guitar is basically a miracle. ]

Rorschach | Watchmen

[moralabsolutism]

Open & Closed Starters
Plotting | Light_shade or .lightshade on Discord.

OTA

[moralabsolutism]

I. The Aurora: Nascence

He listened to the voice in his sleep. After the nightmares, he didn't exactly feel inclined to trust anyone talking about helping him. He'd already had just about all of the 'help' this place had to offer already. But this dream wasn't like the horrendous nightmare he'd had several weeks ago. It was rather pleasant in an odd and surreal sort of way. After it ended, he thought he had an understanding of what it had meant. But he truly didn't, not with how isolated he'd always deliberately made himself from the rest of humanity.

That was what made it so easy for him to accidentally start projecting his thoughts to anyone who was nearby. His thoughts had always been unguarded given how often he had no one to talk to but himself. So unconsciously he started pushing them out to the other Interlopers of Milton.

A rough, growling voice would randomly appear in the heads of people nearby. There was a number of different long bits of thought that people might have picked up on. Different random speeches like:

"Cities have heartbeats. New York had one. I could always feel it when I moved around the city. Even when I was asleep, it was there. This town feels more like it's about to into cardiac arrest at anytime. Sometimes, the people here seem more half-dead than half-alive, sleepwalking through their days as if not fully aware of what is going on around them, as if caught in one of those old German surrealist films. How many of them will be completely dead by next month?"

Or:

"It is always the case fairy tales that there's some random helpful animals waiting just around the corner to help the protagonist. Or ready to eat them. The fact that the animals here have been almost exactly half and half in their willingness to help or harm makes me wonder if who-- or whatever is running this place is taking their inspiration from classic literature. Does that mean each of us is to play a role here? I wonder which one of us are supposed to be the heroes and which the villains and which are playing the parts of the helpful witches or wizards...though I already have my suspicions."

Or also:

"I once saw three men go after an old homeless man sleeping on one of the grates. The guy had no chance to get away, for he had no legs. Frostbite, I'm assuming, from spending too many winters sleeping on the streets. The cold that swept through the streets felt more like needles piercing the skin than the relentless numbing sensation to be found here in this town. That was back when I was soft enough to let crime live. It was.....'67? '68? Somewhere around there. For some reason, that night has been staying in my head these past couple of days. Compromising when it comes to criminals never works. Should have bashed all three of their heads in like rotten pumpkins. Evil men are like cockroaches: you can try to kill them but they'll always just keep coming back until you finally make sure that they'll never be able to get up off the ground again."

For those that had met him, it would instantly be clear who it was. Rorschach had a very distinctive voice after all. The oddity would be the lengthy sentences spoke in a normal fashion, a stark contrast to the halting, stilted ones Rorschach spoke when talking verbally to other people. For those who hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting the town weirdo, it would take a while to discover who it was apparently talking to himself partially in purple prose and strange metaphors.

Occasionally, rather than the long, rambling soliloquies that were making their way into people's heads, there would just be some random song from the 50s or the 60s that would filter their way in with absolutely no clues as to where it was coming from. Not unless someone happened to look up to a rooftop and see Rorschach perched there, nothing able to be seen on his black-and-white face as usual as he watched over the town like some strange sentinel.

II. Adjust

Rorschach had been passing by the house when he thought he heard...well, he wasn't sure. It wasn't as if this place hadn't had disembodied voices talking to him before in Milton, the latest in those strange dreams he'd found himself experiencing when he closed his eyes. He was beginning to wonder if it was just a fixture of this place, kind of like how the strange, magical animals also were.

He'd heard Methuselah talking about this house. It wasn't hard at all to gain access to it. There was only a few boards shutting the doors and windows. A little maneuvering allowed him to squeeze inside. It was dim, stuffy, and rather depressing overall. The evidence of the fire that had claimed the house was all over the place.

He walked over to investigate one of the half-burned photos on the wall when his toe hit something that was still on the floor. It was a teddy bear, mostly burned but still recognizable as a beloved little stuffed animal. By now, it was covered in a thick layer of dust. Rorschach knelt and picked it up. When the bear burst into flames, he abruptly dropped it, jerked away, and quickly stood back up. He heard the creak of old floorboards behind him and immediately turned to see who it was, realizing he was not alone there in the possibly haunted house.

III. The Visitor

When the shadowy doppelganger first appeared, Rorschach consoled himself with the fact that at least it wasn't as bad as when he'd had the voice in his head telling him to kill himself. It could always have been worse. But then it got worse. Much, much worse.

Things became as bad as they could possibly be to have another version of himself following him about, staring at him with blue eyes in silence. For it was Rorschach unmasked, Walter Kovacs to be exact, the man he'd been before the...well, before he'd understood the truth of the world. That was whom was following him about and it was driving him to despair.

With how his sense of self had always been fragmented despite his best efforts to hold himself all together and his desire to have a lack of connections with people in general, it became easy to just withdraw entirely. He stopped patrolling, which is where most people would see him on a daily basis, or going to the library. The occasional visits to the Community Hall died down as well. All he did was stay in one of the cabins he'd claimed for himself, no longer caring if he went anywhere or did anything. He wasn't going to be able to snap out of his on his own. This time, the masked superhero was going to need some help in order to be saved.

IV. Library

During the Aurora, he could be found in the library during the late mornings and afternoons. He'd dragged a record player there, which was old-fashioned by the dates the town ran by, but still relevant in his own era. He had a stack of records and was playing them. One could find him listening to something from a while back or sometimes even something that was relatively new. He was going to take advantage of the Aurora while the strange effects it had on electronics lasted and start categorizing the albums he'd found thus far at the same time.

Otherwise, it was business as usual, with one new alteration in place: his thoughts could now be heard by the people that were close to him, including any patrons of the library. Sometimes, it was nothing more than the melodies of the songs he was listening to. Otherwise, it was some of the same strange thoughts that he usually had about the place he was in and the populace of people he was surrounded by. "Why do the electronics only work during the Aurora? We're so caught up with the technology around us and people forget to listen to what's truly important. Instead, they just listen to the blather that comes out of the TV and radio, like people at the racetrack who scream and shout without thought as they watch the horses barreling down towards the finish line. Is this a way to make people stop and slow down?" Or other thoughts along similar lines.

V. Wildcard

[Want a custom prompt or to do things a little differently than the way I've already put up one of those listed above? Give me a poke on my plotting post, at Light_shade, or .lightshade on Discord!]

Zoey Westen | Original Character

[pythianwoman]

starters to come in the comments below
plotting! | ThriceWiddershins

PRE-EVENT.

[pythianwoman]

The nightmare that had heralded the new year still lingers with Zoey. And not just because it was the first even remotely portent-adjacent dream she’s had since arriving here. There was SOMEthing to it, she thinks. She just has to figure out what it is. So she’s written down everything the dream had contained, every moment, transcribed. And put down in art; sketched out in pencils and paint. The creature, the snow and the aurora…. And finally the entire tableau, all the parts of a whole, together.

Including herself, kneeling in the snow.

There are scribbled notes around it, in the shorthand she’d created ages ago, as she tries to figure out what the being could possibly BE. It doesn’t ring any sort of bell, but it feels… eldritch. Lovecraftian. (She wonders what the cultists back in Miskatonic would have thought about all of this.) Alongside all the scribbles about the unnaturally decaying and dead plants and animals that started to be found in December. Burned and rotted. And the huge tunnel like trails through the snow.

So many pieces of the puzzle.

She’s been avoiding sleep in a way she hasn’t since before she found her way here. It’s familiar, in a strange way. Makes her feel almost… comfortable. She’s used to strange dreams and the avoiding sleep that usually follows. And the flinging herself headlong into research.

So she keeps herself busy. She’s still exploring and scavenging what she can, working on the map of the area she’s been working on since shortly after her arrival. She wants it to be as accurate as possible. She always has a journal on her person, and she can be found drawing or writing in it, although the writing won’t be anything anyone else can understand if they peek over her shoulder. Not entirely.

Sometimes she can be found perched high on a rooftop somewhere, either with the journal out… or a bottle of alcohol on hand. Both, a lot of the time. When she's not on the move, traversing from rooftop to rooftop gracefully.

Cornelius Hickey | The Terror

[friendsfordinner]

the aurora: nascence - i: god's favorite princess
cw: animal death

It's odd. After days, weeks of knowing that his body was weakening, of knowing just how acutely those tins were poisoning them, of trying to do whatever it took to stave them off, Hickey feels alive. Is this a gift for doing the right thing? For focusing on the practicals, asking for things to keep him alive, focusing on the food. Has whatever god (or goddess, based on the voice) that rules this place finally seen his worth?

Something wants to tear him down. That means it fears him, it thinks he's a challenge. Something else wants him to succeed. That means it has looked at Hickey and has found him impressive. There are gods here. Give it enough time and he'll join their ranks.

Hickey spends a lot of his time out and about, setting his slightly half-assed hunting traps further and further away from the town. He scrambles down that incline to the basin with ease, walking around the icy shore like it's flat ground. He climbs a tree with ease, despite the fact that nobody has ever seen him climb a tree before. He thrives.

But he's still hungry. And for someone like Hickey, hunger isn't an option. So one day, when the hunger gets the best of him, he can be found out in the woods, hunched over, dead rabbit at his feet, blood caking Hickey's beard and fingertips.

the aurora: nascence - ii: except god loves other people as well
cws: none yet

Hickey's not an idiot. By now, he's noticed that other people are more adept at walking about. Others seem to have boundless energy like he does. And oh yeah, he's heard some goddamn voices in his head. Inwardly, he can't help but be a little annoyed at that. None of those people deserve this! People like Rorschach? Like Jopson? What the hell are they doing to get the gods' attention, how the hell would they be worthy?

Of course, there is the possibility that other people didn't see what he did. Or that the gods came to him first and then came to others. Or that his dream was better in some way. One way to find out of course. So hey, random Miltoner! Here's one of those old timey boat guys, though he's looking far less old timey in his modern, weather-resistant jacket and his deerskin boots. And as Hickey approaches, he asks,

"Had any odd dreams recently?"

the visitor
cws: identity theft, depersonalization

Of course this thing would become Cornelius Hickey. Cornelius Hickey isn't even Cornelius Hickey.

The longer the shadow lingers, the more it takes on Hickey's face, his appearance, his being, the longer Hickey stays out in the woods. Alone. By himself. Usually when he spots someone else, Hickey is chipper, gregarious, always ready to throw a smile that looks a little too much like a smirk or a light jibe that probably makes you want to punch him. Not now, though. If he spots anybody, he'll give them a slight nod of his head before continuing on, not even bothering to say hello.

When he returns to his house, he'll drop whatever food he's managed to find that day on the counter before immediately going to bed (this does mean that one day, Billy comes home to find a dead fish just hanging out on the table, sorry babe). He'll take his shoes and coat off, but won't bother to change out of his clothes. Hickey'll stare at the ceiling for a while, before turning around and falling asleep.

And in contrast to before? He's barely eating anything.

wildcard
( hmu with anything baby, I'm flexible! find me on plurk or discord @ allikateor for plotting, or hit up my plotting post here! )

adust, closed to raju

[friendsfordinner]

cws: fire, children in peril, talking about murder.

Hickey doesn't know why he's running further into the flames, moving upstairs. He only came here to poke around and see if there's anything to loot. Whoever's here, if there's anyone else here, they should be left well enough alone. But images keep flashing through his head as he sees the room light up with fire. A carnivale tent, suddenly lit up in flames. Hickey outside, watching, yelling for people to move away from the tent. The unmistakable feeling of his knife slipping into flesh.

He doesn't like most people here. They're beneath him. But that doesn't mean he wants them all dead. And he knows, he is absolutely certain there's someone upstairs. So he bounds up the stairs, throwing open the door to the room, to be confronted with a scared child, hiding in the bathtub.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Hickey yells, stepping back from the heat, dodging sparks and embers of flame falling down from the ceiling. "Get out of here!"

Alright so maybe he's not so hot at comforting kids.

Harry Goodsir | The Terror

[bestsir]

I. Nascence

There is, at first, something about that feeling of connection that makes Harry Goodsir feel more like himself than he has in a very long time. Despite the care he's been taking of others, he has, for the most part, kept them at a certain emotional distance ... but now he feels as if a great wall has been torn down, and he can feel the others thus affected. And at first, it makes him feel happy.

But at first, he doesn't quite realise what thoughts he's keeping inside and which ones are escaping.

[ And if you would like to be on the receiving end of some of the scary bits, hit up the old plotting post ]

II. Adust, Visitors, Wildcard

After the disturbing events of the aurora, Harry goes through the rest of the month in a kind of haze. He's unlikely to go to Milton House unless someone drags him along, instead keeping to himself and his medical practice. When the Visitors begin to appear, he is unafflicted by them—but he quickly realises that those who are affected are going to need help. He's not sure how much good he can do—but he will try.

[ So ... change of plans regarding the Visitors. Harry gets a tiny break, as a treat, and is available to help anyone else who needs it. And if there are any other scenarios you'd like to play out, let me know on the plotting post or on Discord! ]

I

[castitas]

Kate's been busy in the kitchen of the Community Hall once again. Only this time she hasn't been cooking up and preparing Rosehip, but working with something new this time. Thanks to Constable Fraser, she's learned spruce needle syrup's totally a thing, and just as handy to have around for medicinal purposes.

Fresh batches ready to go, she makes her way to visit with a few jars. Between this and the recent (although still weird) dream, she's in a relatively good mood. Probably the best mood she's been in for quite some time.

(It might have also something to do with the tiniest burgeoning crush Kate's harbouring for said Constable, but she's absolutely not talking about that, nooo. Not even thinking about it, nope.)

"Hey, Mr Goodsir." She does actually knock before she opens the door to poke her head through, even her smile's probably the brightest it's been in a while. "Are you busy? I have something for you."

Renny Oldoak (Tav) | Baldur's Gate 3

[cantor]

( open & closed starters )
goatsong | plotting

NASCENCE | OPEN

[cantor]

(A - NIGHT ONE)

[The Aurora comes, and the world hums. Things within the cabin realight, buzzing with their own voices. It's a repeat of the new year's celestial performance. Noise surrounds him and it's equal parts foreign and unusual and welcome - it's something different, something that isn't the vast, empty quiet of the night that his lyre can't truly fill.

But the Aurora stays, far longer than the previous one.

Caution is thrown to the wind; Renny hurries outside, bundled in his warmest clothes, rapier tucked into his belt, buckler fastened loosely onto his back. He's a mess of clashing colors but he couldn't care less how he looks in the moment. The town feels as if it's blinking slowly awake: the flickering artificial lights, the sky radiating fantastic colors, the bark and buzz of strange devices he has yet to fully understand.

He heads towards the community center, certain the noise will have woken others up, eagerly seeking company. He looks for others who may be awake, his demeanor exuding nervous anticipation. Anyone who crosses his path will be greeted with:]

Will you look at that! It's another one! If that isn't a sign, I'll hang up my hat. The only question is if it's a good or bad one.

(B - NIGHT TWO)

[As the Aurora fills the night, Renny opts to sleep in the community hall. He anticipates another dream, another sign to direct them. It'd be best to be with other people when it happens - especially after hearing that strange woman's voice.

The lights and noises don't bother him - it's the lingering sense of deja vu, the fact he hasn't so much as felt a twitch from his unwanted passenger, yet his head feels heavy and thick. His scalp itches. He knows it's only nerves. Whatever's happening in Milton is the result of the forces on this plane. It has nothing to do with the tadpole or the Astral Prism, wherever it may have gone. He is too tired to continue pacing, but there is too much on his mind for sleep to come easy.

When sleep comes at last, he sees it, feels it: fire.

Pain comes and goes quickly. Renny awakens the next morning, tangled in his sheets, and promptly falls out of his cot in a mixture of confusion and shock.]

(C - NIGHT FOUR ONWARDS )

[It's like the first time he learned magic: an intoxicating warmth, nestled deep in his chest. Having been bereft of his bardic powers for over a tenday, Renny at first finds the dream's gift comforting. No matter how he looks at it, the circumstances remain suspicious - but he's felt as if there'd been a hole in his heart since he arrived in Milton, despite his optimism. And here is succor.

The comforting warmth fades with the Aurora and Renny cannot help pining for it. He's channeled the Weave through his instruments and voice. He can surely tune this new power. He sits outside his cabin one morning, turning his focus inwards, reaching for what he knows is inside-

Fire swallows his hand.

Much to his shame, he panics. He shoves his hand deep into the snow, but the fire laps up his fear, his uncertainty, and licks up his arm. Steam floats past him in a haze. He pushes his arm deeper, reckless, blind to the fact he's getting his clothes wet.

The fire gutters out.

Part of his sleeve has been seared off and his right leather glove still radiates heat. He sits there, stunned, in the newly-made puddle he's wound up in, the cold quickly freezing over the water.]

Chloe Frazer | Uncharted | OTA

[desperate_times_right]

Aurora

[Just as everyone had said, the aurora somehow brings with it functioning electronics. Chloe’s phone buzzing in her bag as it turns on for the first time in weeks nearly sends her through the roof until she realizes what it is.

For some reason this is it, the thing that drops the crushing weight of being away from people she's come to care about onto her shoulders. Maybe you come upon her, outside taking pictures she can't send of the lights rippling through the sky. Later, she sends a text that may never go through: its no iceland but the next best thing! ;) miss you.

She doesn't have her headphones, so she's also playing a terrible playlist around town for the next three days. If anyone gives her a look over it, she’ll just smile.]

What?

Aurora: Nascence
potential cw: animal death

[Who could even say why after feeling so suspicious over the people here Chloe decides to listen to the voice coming through her phone? I see you. An offer of help.

That night, Chloe closes her eyes and dreams through the eyes of a stag running through the forest. She wakes in the morning refreshed, with that beautiful feeling of freedom still coursing through her veins.

She doesn't understand why, but it's undeniable over the coming days that she's changed. She can run faster and longer, across snow and ice in her boots without even stumbling, can climb trees as easy as breathing.

She is also so hungry. Chloe devours the food she’d carefully hoarded to last the month in less than a week, and it's still not enough. Still mistrustful of the food offered in the community hall, she finds herself in the forest with her tactical knife in her hand.]

Come on, you can hunt. How hard can it be? [A noisy sigh.] Ugh, what am I doing?

Adust
potential cws: fire, child death

[Chloe can't resist a ruin, particularly not a potentially dangerous one, so of course she goes to Milton House. She’s pretty sure she's immune to mould at this point, but keeps her scarf around her face anyway.

Of course there isn't much there, which is kind of disappointing, but enough to give her an idea that not every bad thing in this town had happened at the same time.]

Check out that wedding picture! Gotta be early seventies at least.

---

Feel free to wildcard, or contact me at nonhoration or on my plotting comment!

Aurora: Nascence

[maintiensledroit]

[ No mere human could keep up with her now – or very few, and certainly not Benton Fraser, who has no talent for walking over snow without sinking, for running over ice without slipping.

But the wolf can.

As Chloe moves through the forest, a pale shadow moves with her, trotting through the trees, dark eyes watching her with bright curiosity. Perhaps she expects the silence of the forest to answer her when she speaks; instead, she's greeted with an inquisitive bark.

If she looks, she'll find Diefenbaker standing nearby, tail waving, ears pricked up. And he isn't alone. ]

Diefenbaker?

[ Benton Fraser is dressed for the winter woods in thick boots and flannel, his Stetson the only part of his uniform he's now wearing. He has a hunting rifle leaning against his shoulder as he comes stomping through the snow, and his surprise at seeing Chloe is both acute and instantly visible across his face. ]

Ah, hello.

Randvi | Assassin’s Creed | OTA

[meadqueen]

Aurora
potential cw deaths of npcs

[The strange aurora’s effects in the town are absolutely dazzling to Randvi, especially the electric lights but also anything that reacts when you push buttons or turn knobs, and she spends a lot of time checking things out, grinning like a child at a fair. It's too bad that it's not safe to go down the road to look at the cars. (unless..?)

She's also heard about the magic stones from Levi, records of lives tragically cut short, and she does seek them out. Strange devices that display images, some beautiful, some benign, some horrific. Unsent messages containing promises that could never have been kept. What would her stone contain, if she had one? What would people see?

She holds out the stone to whoever is exploring with her:] It's a bit strange to me that I can read this.

[Somehow she's not surprised when she goes to sleep that night and dreams of fire.]

The Visitor
cw depression, animal death, potentially some of the cws listed in her permissions post

[At first, Randvi writes off the shadow she's been seeing upon waking, even when it starts appearing at the edges of her vision throughout the day, but eventually it becomes impossible to ignore.

It's herself, the way she looks now, a person she’d never wanted to become. Seeing it from the outside somehow looks even more pathetic, and the closer it draws the more intensely she hates seeing it. Knowing that this is how she looks to the others - the wild young girl she’d been so proud to be little more than a ghost trapped inside a drab woman traded away for peace - drives her away from her new home at the community hall for longer and longer periods. The prospect of seeing her new shadow upon waking keeps her from sleeping.

For a while she continues hunting, bringing the meat back to the others at the Hall since it’s the only way she can be of use, but even that starts tapering off eventually. It's not her place. If anyone here knew everything about her they wouldn't want her help anyway.

She still walks around in the forest, the shadow closer and closer behind her shoulder, but hardly even draws her bow anymore.

Even the sound of footsteps behind her doesn't cause her to turn, although her shadow has never previously made them.]

Ah, you're making sounds now? No need.

---

Feel free to wildcard, or contact me at nonhoration or on my plotting comment!

Aurora

[solitarysoul]

Yeah...I don't know what language any of this is supposed to be but it looks and sounds like mine. Someone said I was good at English before, but I don't even know what that is.

[He shrugs, taking the phone and scrolling through it.]

I think its some sort of magic. But I guess it could be a device somewhere?

[Fuck he doesn't know, what are technology.]

I don't really get it.

[Because it seems to only be a benefit to them and why would something do that?]

Konstantin Veshnyakov 🚀 Sputnik

[sputnik]

CLOSED STARTERS

plotted starters / threads will be placed here through the duration of the event. lmk if you'd like to do something! →plotting post

( Benton Fraser ) — 𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓.

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin is hardly an active presence in this town. It's strange, considering he's used to being so involved and so seen — he's something of a celebrity back in his own place and time — but here... the opposite is necessary. He mostly stays isolated, tucked in the safety of Vasiliy's small cabin, an environment that at least feels as controlled as possible. Ironic that he'd wanted nothing more than to escape being a lab rat, but at least there in the facility, everything was monitored, secure. Here.... the rules are different. And freedom is dangerous, for what he is now.

It's rare that he's out and about (and mostly when he is, it's because he's attempting to breach the threshold that he's been warned not to attempt crossing, to find some chink in the armor, a path out of this place, something, anything.) But those little excursions don't last long. He's very weak, and very ill, and this place is so cold and unforgiving. He never makes it far.

Occasionally, however, he does explore the town itself. Searching for clues and information, anything that could be useful. When whispers start floating around about "Milton House," he pays attention. One of the largest homes here...? Someone important must have lived there, before. Possibly the founder of this town...? There could be documents to find, information. So he goes, and it's as he's stepping up to the dilapidated home, he thinks he hears a voice from within. The cosmonaut pauses, tense, then slips inside. Is someone here....? The home is in ruins; surely no one's inside. Could they be in danger? Immediately, he's calling out— ]

Hello? Is someone there?

[ No one answers, and he hears no more voices, so he begins his search, stepping carefully across creaking wooden floors, treading lightly. He's not a small man — he's tall and athletic, the model of what a Soviet cosmonaut of the eighties should be — but he knows how to move quietly; this isn't the first time he's had to sneak around. It's clear that this place is a hazard, and he stays away from the center of the main room where the floor looks weakest, closer to the walls. It's as he's moving cautiously around, keeping himself close to a wall and breathing in the stale smell of neglect, that he catches movement coming from the open front door and freezes in place, eyes widening as they snap up.

Technically he supposes he's trespassing, and he's lifting a hand, expecting some trouble for it, not yet realising who it is that's caught him. ]

I'm not here to steal anything.

[ Not that there's much to take, but why else would someone be creeping around? ]

Ruby Rose | RWBY

[guidemyway]

ADUST

A

[“A blackened mark on the towns history.” That might be enough to keep someone else away, but it was a call to action for Ruby, or at least a little adventure.

Which is why she can be found scaling one of the walls to try and climb through one of the windows. If someone happens to be walking by she'll freeze as if hoping that she wont be noticed by standing still. When it's clear that she has been noticed she'll offer a hand.]

Come on, I'll give you boost in!


B

[Ruby's not sure what's going on here. The sudden shift from the abandoned ruin to a blazing inferno is jarring- But she hears the call from the children and there's no choice. She has to act, she has to do what she can to help them.

She skitters, and dashes through the house as best she can to avoid the flames, and smoke. But despite that she feels the heat lick against one of her arms and leg and she winces in pain.]

Just hold on, I'll be there soon!

VISITOR STARTER

Ruby always did her best to keep upbeat energy, and a smile on her face. But truth be told that it wasn't long before arriving in Milton that she had been fighting off her feelings of inadequacy, grief and loneliness. And while she had come out on the other side of the endeavour. Those feelings just don't go away.

So when the double starts to take shape, it doesn't take long for those feelings to start to stew in Ruby's heart and start to boil over. It becomes rare to see her leave her cabin and venture out into town. “Content” to stay laying bed in bed, or sitting silently in her living room. Silver eyes staring unblinking at the gem sword hanging on her mantle.

When she does push herself outside she looks absolutely ragged, and there's no spring in her step. She walks with a tired intent like pushing herself to the her next destination is all she has left in her. If she bumps into someone it'll be a literal and she'll stare with sunken eyes before trying to brush past.

Eventually she just feels so worn that she slumps under a tree, curls up, and just wishes she could disappear.]

Wild Card

[Choose your own adventure or hit me up at jjabarrett on plurk or discord to plot something out.]

Adjust - A

[moralabsolutism]

[Rorschach made a mental note to speak with Ruby about her stealth tactics. People were not Tyrannosaurus Rexes and would miss a person just standing there out in the open, especially one trying to climb up the walls.

As it was, he felt it might be prudent to keep an eye on the girl. He got the distinct feeling this was the kind of person trouble found whether she wanted it to or not. So he sighed, went over, and silently grabbed her hand so he could also make his way inside a house that looked most assuredly haunted even from the outside.]

( closed starters )

[bigbaddy]

( i'll just be putting up closed starters for things i plotted with people on the plotting post!

i'm totally always open to doing more though, so if we haven't discussed anything yet and you'd like an event thread, feel free to hit me up on plurk (queeningsquare) or pm this journal! c: )

( bigby - konstantin ) - cw: blood, animal gore + very gross raw animal eating

[bigbaddy]

[ There is definitely something odd going on in the woods today.

Maybe odd enough to follow the signs of it, considering it almost seems a little bit like a trail. After all, finding some animal bones with only bare bits of fur or feathers clinging to it might not be all that special, but when there seems to be.. so much of them? Practically a trail of bones? Well, that might stand out a little bit more. What's out there in these woods devouring creatures whole..? There's not even signs of guts or any other body parts left behind, literally just the bones.

Anyone who follows the trail will see where it eventually leads - to the cause of all of it, that is.

Because in the middle of the snow, there's a rare fallen deer. Clearly no longer alive, judging by its glassy stare. Though the clearer sign that it's dead might be the fact that its torso is torn open, half-eaten flesh all over - and there's a form that looks very human kneeling next to it.

The deer's heart is in the figure's hands, and the man simply bites down into it like it's the most normal snack in the world, blood dripping everywhere.

The man doesn't seem to notice the presence of anyone else just yet. But if you look, the man is clearly recognizable, especially since Konstantin spoke with him during the initial feast for the welcomers-- It's Bigby, blood dripping from his stubble as he chows down. ]

Louis | Interview with the Vampire (AMC) | S1 spoilers

[flambeaux]

1a. FREE RUNNER: Thirst

please plot before tagging in
additional cw: mention of animal hunting, vampire thirst

City boy was chasing after a small animal in the forest, and--he caught it. With his vampiric speed. Were his powers returning? But even as he feeds on the little thing, he only grows hungrier. He marks it as a hunger post-exertion--amplified. The speed comes at a cost, and his spirits fall as he knows what must be done.

He needs blood. Lots of it. Lightheaded but light-footed, he steps through the snow looking like a slightly drunk man who has not yet given over to stumbling. His wool coat and brimmed hat jealously guard what little warmth remains. When he sees someone, he shrinks away, hunching up his shoulders with a hungry cavernous look in his dilated eyes.

1b. FREE RUNNER: He Attac

please plot before tagging in
additional cw: you're being attacked by a vampire! potential vampire feeding

In this state, his feet carry him with hardly a thought. He slows and goes very still, eyes dilated nearly to black. The advantage of being a monster in human form is he can wander close without attracting attention. He is drawn to them, the beautiful creatures with the red in their veins. He needs it. He passed his mortal life as a stranger in it; when he became a vampire, he appreciated human life like never before. He, who once begged for his death, never knew what life was until it gushed into his mouth and over his hands...

With a burst of supernatural speed, he is on his victim, reaching out with pointed fingernails and his fangs flashing white as snow. No, I can't--

2: ADUST: He Protec

Louis had only picked around the area in his scavenging outings. He's never been inside. Now that he can dash very quickly, he feels a little more confident about his ability to enter unscathed. Walking through the wreckage of a family home reminds him of the one he left. Heart bittersweet, he pics up faded family photos in unfamiliar modern colors.

Flames burst out from it, and he drops it with a cry. Though he and the photo are not burned, he smells smoke. The house groans. It's like that terrible night of his own making, when innocent people lost their lives. It's your fault, says the heat against his skin. You did this, the smoke says as it chokes his lungs.

The cries of children draw him towards the stairs as the house bursts into flame. As he did that night, he leaps forward anyway, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Don't worry--I'm goin' get you out--Just stay low and don't breathe the smoke!!" he cries desperately.

adust; cw major ptsd

[questioningmermaids]

Of course he pokes around the burned building. The last time he'd done something like this he'd been poking around looking for Amelia and got something juicy, so why not? There's no 12 year old to bully him this time either, just the cool guy from the hot springs, and March, cigarette in between his lips, does a little half-wave as a 'hey' during their little investigations.

(He swears he hears voices. Thinks he's going insane, so he ignores it, sifting through snow and ash with a vague interest in the hopes that he'll get lucky.)

What he's not expecting is a woosh and a cry--Louis is startled, and March turns his head just in time to see the flames flicker and dance and does the house re-knit itself together--or does it feel like he goes back? It's difficult, everything's difficult, because March notices the flames, catches the children's cries, is dimly aware of Louis...

But his feet are stuck to the floor as much as he's desperately trying to move them. He's staring, stock still, aware-and-not at the same time. Louis is helping someone--children, fucking children--and March is shaking, unable to move.

He hears his wife among everything. She's screaming, too, just like she did back then.

Castiel | Supernatural

[dirtytrenchcoat]

01 — ADUST,
TWO OPTIONS

A:

[Despite the great tragedy that had befallen the family that lived at the Milton House leaving a building to simply stand in reverence wasn't logical with so many nearby trying to survive the harshness of the environment. Late in the night, despite Methusalah's warnings Castiel enters the skeletal structure of the house with a grave face, reminders of the fact that it was once full of life are everywhere, pictures and toys, things of youthful folly and frivolity that speak to a simpler time for the city itself.

Castiel is on his way to the kitchen, or what he thinks might have been the kitchen when he stops just shy of the entranceway, a decrepit arch with measurements etched into the wood.

Three names, and what he expects are the children, as they grew, the house providing a safety net in which they could do just that.

Castiel runs his palm over the carving in the wall, and it's then that a stuffed bear lying on its side in the corner ignites as if it had an accelerant and the rest of the house goes along with it, Castiel had felt the inklings of the house and the remains of its tragedy but hadn't considered he'd be trapped in the same experience.

The first thing he does, amid the shouting, screaming, and crying is sink to the floor and put his shirt over the lower half of his face. His eyes strain against the smoke and cinder, and he tries the nearest door only to snap his hand back from the bite of hot metal.]

Hello????!

[As much as Castiel might not want to ask for help, he won't let his pride get in the way of his safety or his survival. Not here, when he has two people to look out for and a life to get back to.

He heaves his shoulder into the door to try and slam it open, his full weight not enough to get it to budge so much as bow out. He tries again, to no avail, and then looks for whatever he can find to slam against the door frame. The smoke rises, and his energy wanes.]

B:

[After hearing the rumors from Methusalah himself and the others unfortunate enough to be stuck in the town with him Castiel does what digging he can to find the story of the family that called the old house home. Days after his incident on-site, still picking stray ash from his hair and the scruff on his face Castiel finds the correlation in the cemetery of the church, a place where he spends some of his time in penance, watching what small shine the sun casts tint the floors in hues from the stained class window.

He spends some time outside, twisting loose leaflets of pages from old hymnal books into origami flowers. He uses the same paper to strip and fold into stems and leaves them like a small topiary on the headstone that reads: Thomas, and his beloved sons, Patrick and Christopher.

Sometimes tragedy is just that, and there's no call or reason for any of it but it remains a blight to the world around it and a reminder of the fragility of life. All of it takes time, each flower taking ten minutes before the additions of stem and leaf. He sits to keep his legs from locking and the snow that falls around him dusts his hair and shoulders in something new, something a lot less oppressive than the smoke and ash he could still smell in moments of rest.]

02 — WILDCARD,
CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

[don't have any definitive idees for nascence and the visitor after typing out the above for adust but am very, very open to them as prompts! please feel free to write a rough one up for your character and Cas or give me your twist on the above, or just anything! I'm easy. you can find me on plurk at doggos for plotting or questions!]

B

[sputnik]

[ Now that he's learned where the family grave is, Konstantin finds himself drifting towards it these days, like a ghost tethered to a memory. (Like those boys had been, so lost and afraid, trapped in a loop. Dad, they'd called out so desperately for him, seeing their father in him.)

He hasn't been able to sleep properly ever since it happened. His dreams become nightmares of his own son trapped and burning, and he's never able to reach him. Aleksei. He's only seven years old; it's one of the rare pieces of information that the man knows about the boy. Seven is so small. His hands must be so small.

He's walking there now, a solitary figure trudging slowly through cold sterile white, taking his time. He isn't eager to face the graves; he never is. Seeing them always makes his stomach tighten with the guilt that perpetually lives within it — ghosts of his own haunt him from the inside out. They're his punishment. (Some more literal than others, for a dark, dark thing inhabits the cosmonaut now, coiled and wet and alive and hungry. He deserves this, too.)

There's someone already there. A man, sitting in front of the family headstone, making little flowers; Konstantin notices more of them decorating the headstone itself. It's not the first time he's come across someone else leaving little gifts. He knows the tragedy wasn't witnessed by only himself. Others have been wounded by it too.

The cosmonaut is careful as he approaches the stranger, hesitating a moment before speaking. ]

Those are nice. They must take a lot of time, and practice.

joel miller | hbo tlou

[kidproof]

01 — nascence,
lightbringer

[Strange dreams ain't nothing new for Joel who exists on either sleepless nights or nights filled with terror replayed from his very own history. Every sound that's out of place, or person that seems a little too interested in him gets more than a cursory glance. He's survived this long by being smart and even though there are no cordyceps and no clickers, he's always on guard and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Stuck? Of course, she's stuck, he's stuck too, and whatever messed up reason he had to have that dream he attributes it to Sarah, to Ellie, and to the people who were counting on him back home and in danger. More danger than he was in freezing his ass off, having to hunt and scrounge for food.

Callus gravitates to him the minute he exits his place, and the swinging of his act making contact with the block he used to chop wood can be heard echoing a long way, as does Callus's impatient braying and whinnying. Callus works up a gallop in the turn out that Joel had built him outside the property, one that had been already mostly made but needed some additional panels and repair.

Since he can't use electricity or a buzz saw cutting as close as he can to size with measurements and marks is the next best thing.]

Quit your bitchin', I'll be ready when I'm ready. You already had breakfast now knock it off.

[Callus found a lot of his own stuff grazing, kicking up snow, and what he didn't find Joel got for him. The barn, he was thankful, came with some stuff already available to him. Maybe a little stale, but still edible. Dig far enough down and some old roots could make a fair snack, he's never had to work so hard to keep an animal in his life.

He's halfway down with another swing of the axe, and another bushel of chopped wood to add to his pile when the handle of the axe in front of him catches flame and Joel yelps - and drops it into the snow and stomps it out.]

What the shit was that?!

02 — adust,
two options
A:

[Joel's making the rounds when he hears the hushed whispers about the old dilapidated house in town. He knows better than to go looking for trouble, but he does do a driveby and watches some unfortunate sap waltz right into the place without a care in the world. He'd heard something not quite right before he noticed that he had company and Callus has an opinion on the place too and has taken a wide berth.

Joel dismounts, ties Callus off across the street, and slings his rifle over his shoulder on his way in after the other interloper.]

Hey.

[Joel doesn't like the way the door falls closed behind them, but he still chalks it up to being the arctic wind and the flurry of snow behind them. It casts the house in bleak grey, and he looks around with some dismay at the discarded toys and the memories of the family that lived within.]

I reckon there're easier ways to die. Falling through floorboards or getting impaled ain't exactly quick.

B:

[When the house goes nuclear Joel is caught up in the full maelstrom of the haunting. If that's what it could be called, anyway, the screaming and crying, it's not unlike what he'd witnessed when everything went to shit back home but this is different. The blaze is an inferno, it's inescapable, and Joel has no way out. He damn near scalded his hand trying to pull open a door, and all the windows, doors, and access points have become somehow inaccessible.

The cries are mournful, heart-wrenching things that bring him back to a loss that he can never quell or adjust to and his fingertips shake as he reaches out and grabs the kid, spirit, whatever, and brings him into his chest. Sure, he could keep swinging, but being deprived of oxygen and exhausted didn't help him remain apathetic to the level of suffering he'd become accustomed to.

When he does, the smoke settles, and the room clears and Joel's left there, on his knees with a bandana over his face, hair wet from sweat. Embracing some invisible thing, looking for the world like he's done it before.]

03 — wildcard,
write your own

[again, i'm good with any prompts - including the visitor, and your hot-spins on what i've listed above as well as something stupid you felt like just tossing in. i'm easy like sunday morning. ;) you can find me on plurk at doggos for your plotting needs. come at me, heathens!]

B

[flambeaux]

It's evening, but that comes very early this time of year--fortunate, as Louis is allergic to the sun. Louis approaches the house again, and he's surprised to see the remnants of the same smoke and someone crouching there in the wreckage. Did Louis look like this when he wrapped his arms around that child? His hand goes up in an automatic movement towards himself, then to one shoulder--he stops. There isn't any point crossing himself. Probably.

"Hey. Hey." he calls up to him. "It's an illusion. Or somethin' else. Not sure. Can you hear me?"

He's from the South, obvious from his accent, and a mixed tinge of something that is only New Orleans. Louis has a small makeshift wreath of pine needles in his gloved hands in lieu of flowers. He looks old-fashioned in his wool coat and brimmed hat, the tailoring more reminiscent of noir films than Canadian wilderness. His eyes are very green.

[ployboy]

I can control everything

except the things I can't control

[closed starters under here, hmu at fourboars if you want one!]

closed - kate

[ployboy]

[Content warnings for Adust apply. Plus: burn injuries, grief, survivors guilt, manipulation and gaslighting, symptoms relating to ptsd, and more to come in thread headers!]

There's whispers surrounding Milton House. Despite the blizzard and other high winds, the thing stands. Its defiance is well noted and appreciated by Tim just as much as he pities the dust-coated, creaking floorboards when he eventually surrenders to the siren call of a mystery.

(With the brownstone, the Drakes' final dwelling, he had seen to it that the boards in the kitchen were ripped out and replaced. HAZMAT said it had to happen if the place wasn't going to get all the way demolished, which-- no. Other families lived in that posh place. And yeah, Alfred and B handled the paperwork and the avalanche of stuff that happens when kitchen floorboards get flooded in blood and the man paying the bills is suddenly deaddeaddead but Tim could never keep his nose out of everybody else's business. Least of all when the business concerned him. And so he'd known the floorboards were replaced, and he'd known the bedrooms were gutted and redone, and so had one shower. The walls had been repainted. Everything was deep cleaned once, twice. A dozen more times. When Bruce was gone and Gotham had been burning, Tim had gone back to that brownstone just to see another family there now. Time was meant to move.)

Here, the home is just... dead. There are vermin-chewed holes in walls in the kitchen. The cabinets are ash and would fall apart if even looked at the wrong way. There's no footsteps in the snow-ash-hardwood flooring, no lived-in corner of an old dog that refuses to leave its charred bed in the living room. Nothing living, no creatures of habit to grace Tim with a stern lecture on breaking and entering.

The ghost is just placid, and sad.

And then it's not.

(Steph had conspired with Armstrong- so much shouting and pain and hours pouring over the investigation later, that's glaringly obvious. What Tim had taken away from the whole stunt, beyond the quick jump and turn when he first felt fire lick the palm of his hands in Milton House, was the ravenous burden of being better.)

He should have known to let sleeping dogs lie, but the phonebook...

is charred anyway, and Tim has one moment to decide on his next action.

The house is aflame.

The smoke is creeping from under a closed door and oh that'll make for a lovely backdraft if the old home had been as well insulated as he'll dare to believe.

And so Kate (Katherine?) Marsh will find him thus: with an austerity that can only be trained because now is the time to fall back on the lessons hard learned. Tim is locking eyes with her through the waves of gray smoke, surprised and not at the intrusion, and he burns the palm of his right hand for the third time in one year, and all he does is raise a corner of a lip in a silent snarl at the destiny of this place. He closes the door of the washroom.

He calls, growling yet clear,

"Floor is clear!"

Because, naturally, if she's here too--

it's because of the kids.

His gaze turns sharply to the staircase. And time is meant to move.

And so Tim moves, because he has to do better.

vasiliy yegorovich ardankin | original — historical/(secret) revenant

[m1895]

( closed starters. plotting post here or pp bluehellgazette. )

adust — w. konstantin (cw: smoking)

[m1895]

[ He needs a moment to... process everything he saw in the house. The frigid air stings the exposed skin of his face as he trudges through the snow back to the cabin, cold and sharp in his lungs, too, such a contrast to the suffocating black smoke in the house and the agony of invisible flames eating his skin when he'd tried to move the children, to get them out. He'd resorted to holding them, trying to calm them down enough to will them to move, desperately trying to recall anything the firefighters he'd worked with back in Chicago might have said about dealing with children in these situations or calming down people before extracting them from burning buildings.

He'd defaulted to what he knew about calming down patients in crisis situations, natural disasters, mass casualties. It had worked, in a manner of speaking, but not as he'd expected—the flames had faded, the children had faded, leaving him standing alone on the rotting wooden floorboards of the upstairs room of an abandoned, dusty house.

He doesn't bother to wait until he gets inside to light a second cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling as soon as it's lit, before he's even returned his lighter to his pocket. In, in, in, out. Repeat. His nerves quiet, slightly; he feels more stable by the time he opens the door.

He's sitting in the living room, staring at the defunct television screen, smoking his third when the door opens. In steps his guest, looking utterly harrowed. Vasiliy immediately rises to his feet and crosses the rooms, eyes flitting over him before settling on his face, searching his eyes for some indication of what happened. ]

Konstantin. Are you okay?

Uzi | Murder Drones

[darkxwolf17]

[A: The Aurora Calls]
[The creep of the luminescent aurora across the winter sky brings a variety of odd occurrences, all under its strange power. Technology everywhere going on the fritz. Unfortunately for Uzi Doorman, she too is technology.

The ethereal humming enters her head like a drill, and it doesn't leave. For the duration of it, Uzi was disoriented, staggering through town. Her face visor erratically flickering from the typical violet coloring to a kaleidoscope of vibrant static. She's hurting, this sucks. It's little wonder, then, that she holes up in her home for the time being.

Once the Aurora passes, however, Uzi is about as grumpy as she's ever been. She stomps down the main street, occasionally cradling her head and trying to focus, it seems. On what may not be immediately clear.

Until you're lucky enough to cross her path.]

Why is everyone taller than me?

[It's quick, snappy. In Uzi's voice, if you've ever spoken to the drone. It doesn't sound like it came from her, though; more like it pops straight into your head.

And then, some more.]

I've got to get my railgun up and working again. Damn 'no technology works' rule.

God I miss N. And V, I guess.

Wait, did I step in something?

[It's a great number of thoughts, sporadically pelting anyone nearby.]

[B: Adust]
Oh, sure. We're all going to check out the spooky house. That's super smart.

[So says Uzi, mostly to herself, also joining in on the chaos. She had no particular drive to investigate the Milton House herself, since. Well, look at it. But she found herself trailing behind some curious humans all the same.

The floorboards creak dangerously beneath her boots. She hadn't stepped into anything this devastated since the cabins she'd investigated back home. But at least those had something in them. Not ghosts, of course. Because there was no such thing. Especially robot ghosts. This was lining up to be more of the same; just death and devastation and nothing el-

Uzi screams. Her voice carries right through these thin walls. Anyone who happens across her on the main floor will find her pointing towards... a wall.]

T-there! She stutters. Do you see it?

[C: The Visitor]
[It doesn't bother Uzi much, at first, anyway. A vision of herself creeping on her in the distance? Not the first time something has affected her mentally and decided to be an ass about it. It's still weird, though. Like, why bother with her now? Why does anything have to keep happening to her??

She tired to ignore the figure in her periphery, but it gets closer by the day. So, she decides to deal with it another way: ignoring it even harder.]

Hey!

[She sees you moping off by yourself - or maybe you're just having some alone time - doesn't matter! She's stomping over to you, angrily, and pointing with an accusatory finger,]

Are you sad? Well.... stop that! It's dumb, and you should hate it!

C.

[meadqueen]

[Randvi’s out alone, and somehow she looks like something has dimmed in her since the party: her hair is dull and coming loose from its braid, and she hasn't bothered with the more decorative layers of her clothing in days.]

Do you hate it? Being sad?

Damian Wayne | DC Comics

[thefifthchild]

[Open & Closed starters. Plurk is ectoplasmfear if you would like a closed starter.]

ADUST - Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

[thefifthchild]

[The house is blanketed in flames quicker than he would have expected. The fire licks the walls, the screams ring over the crackling of the flame, the home has turned itself from a place of sanctuary into a trap meant to catch any rats scurrying around it's walls hoping for scraps.

He's reminded of Silverlock of all people - of Maps and Gotham Academy and Amity Arkham and Calamity. It reminds him of his first real chance to be a hero, of Pyg and the girl who Jason Todd stole away to turn into his very own Robin to corrupt. It reminds him of how his rage - his desire to drive a sword through that pig's grotesque bloated body - led him to abandon her to that fate.

He won't make the same mistake

The screams - they're ghosts. He's the youngest here, the voices are clearly prepubescent and if he had to guess they would all belong to the kids in the pictures. But the ones inside, the other people stupid enough to poke around the haunted house, they're not dead. So first things first. He reaches into his belt, aims for the window and throws a batarang through it, letting it shatter into the snow.]

Go. Now. Or I'll throw you through the window next.

[He needs to get to them - the screams, the children. Needs to calm them, to help them move on from this rotten world. Even if it burns him to cinders. But he can't let anyone else burn with him. For one, he can't give Tim Drake the fucking satisfaction.]

Jason McConnell | bare: a pop opera

[triedtobelong]

(1) ADUST

Look: Jason has no desire to go poking around abandoned houses. Especially not one in this condition. Call him a chicken, if you want, but he's getting the feeling that the less he fucks with in this place, the safer he'll be.

It's just hard to ignore hearing voices. He's still not used to that kind of thing, so it's inside the house he goes. He's stepping carefully, but he doesn't really think twice about touching things until he picks up a kid's toy, turning it over in his hands, and it's suddenly on fire.

He yelps, tossing it back at the table and jumping back automatically -- and then yelps again when his foot punches through the floor. At least the hole isn't big enough for him to go falling down, but it catches him off-balance, stumbling and trying not to fall over.

He's a little busy, between trying to figure out why his hands aren't burned and trying to get his foot out of the floor, and when his eyes hit on someone else, the only thing he can think of to say is: "What the fuck, did you see that?"


(2) THE VISITOR
cws for potential discussion of drugs and underage drinking, as well as depression/self-loathing/suicidal feelings

Doesn't this feel familiar. Lying there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and wishing for sleep or drugs or anything to stop thinking -- how much of spring break had Jason spent doing this? How much of his time home in general?

There's no Mom and Dad and dinners to drag himself to his feet for for here, though. No Nadia bursting in the door to distract him. Just the dark shape standing there at the end of the couch, close enough to kick out at if Jason had any urge to try to move, which he doesn't. He probably should have learned his lesson about holing up when weird things start to happen already -- but Christ, what's the point of going out there? What can he do for anyone? He couldn't even keep from making a mess of things when everything was normal.

The more he lays there, the more the sadness the doppelganger watches him with starts to feel like disgust, and the more reasons he can find why he deserves it.

The cabin's door is unlocked. Maybe someone noticed his frequent distraction in the few days before he holed up, or maybe someone's just wandering around and trying the door. Either way-- Jason's not really expecting to go anywhere any time soon.


(3) WILDCARD
[[Hit me up! He's not getting any Aurora powers but feel free to confuse him with them, or whatever else. Also feel free to swap to brackets. balsamandash or balsamandash on Discord for plotting/questions/to request a closed starter.]]

the visitor / a random spaceman barging in, it's fine!

[sputnik]

Konstantin is still quite new to this town, and has been in the process of a lengthy recovery, mostly staying holed up in the little cabin he's found himself at. It means that he doesn't know exactly which homes are taken or not, barely knows anyone in this place at all — and he tries a few, carefully, sneaking his way up to porches and darting quickly away whenever he encounters a locked door.

Eventually, one opens for him.

The man who lets himself into Jason's home is tall and athletically-built — on the cusp of forty and a commander of the cosmonaut corps, Konstantin is usually in peak physical condition (these days, he's not doing so hot) — but despite his stature, he's capable of moving quietly when he needs to. He does now, easing the door open with a slow creak and then just as carefully pressing it shut again.

It's only after he does so and takes a quick scan of the room that he realises he isn't alone. There's a startled gasp, and he quickly presses his back against the door, staring at at the sofa where a young man is lying out. In the darkness, it's difficult to tell whether he's asleep or awake, but Konstantin's assuming the former, considering the lights are off.

He stays there, not daring to move for a long moment. There's a reason he's infiltrated this place so abruptly, and he needs the safety of the indoors for a bit longer. Maybe the boy won't wake. Maybe he can just stay here like this until he thinks it's safe to leave again, and slip out again before he ever notices.