![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- alien stage: ivan,
- alien stage: till,
- arcane: viktor,
- arknights: texas,
- event,
- fallout: cooper howard,
- ffxv: ignis scientia,
- hsr: aventurine,
- inception: arthur,
- jujutsu kaisen: megumi fushiguro,
- mod,
- oc: kalmiya longwillow,
- omori: sunny,
- outlast: miles upshur,
- rwby: ozpin,
- smtv: yuzuru atsuta,
- ssss: onni hotakainen,
- teasg: lortel kehelland,
- xenoblade chronicles: noah
CALCUTTA • JULY 2025 EVENT
EVENT: CALCUTTA
ᛗ I am caught, tangled in
( content warnings: body horror, surreal horror, post-apocalyptic themes )
You wake with soil under your nails, something sharp in your mouth, and the scent of damp rust in the back of your throat. The sky is not night, but it is no longer day. Around you, a city's skeleton lies tangled in ruin and overgrowth in the crisp, tail end nips of autumn— skyscrapers strangled by vine and mycelium tower around you, streets are cracked open like wounds. No sound of civilization. Only wind, soft and low like breath.
You are not where you should be, and you are not entirely who you were. Do you remember the dream you had? Perhaps barely, perhaps almost too vividly. You will likely find a mask nearby— one you find familiar. While you may not have the same urgency to wear it as you did within the dreamscape, you at the very least feel the need to carry it with you now.
Some wake in subway tunnels pulsing with bioluminescence, others in penthouse ruins swallowed by moss and red ivy. Rooftop gardens filled with brittle blossoms. Empty galleries hung with paintings that seem to shift when you’re not looking. Vessels are absolutely scattered. You can wake up anywhere that's possible within the bones of this city. Life endures here, but it is changed. In the streets, rats with slick, glowing underskin scurry between collapsed signs. Pigeons wheel overhead, blind-eyed and silent. Dogs and cats roam in feral bands, some marked by fungal growths, others with bodies too long, too many limbs, or split maws bursting with tendrils. Deer can also be found roaming the enclosure of what used to be Central Park, and will open their strange mouths when they seem to stare at you. Seem, because they no longer have eyes to do that with. From deeper shadows and thicker canopies come the zoo escapees: a moose that climb walls and have a petrifying gaze, herds of zebra stand frozen like littered statues until they hear noises, to which they will scatter like roaches. Sewer grates rattle beneath your feet, and something wet and ancient stirs in the depths— Hippos that release toxic gases when threatened lay in the waters and gnaw on anything they could get their teeth on. The most gentle of them all are the giraffes; they still attempt to nibble on the falling sunset leaves where still gathered, and will even come up to humans who offer anything green for them to eat. There's so much more left unsaid, if you're unlucky enough to come across them.
The flora is no safer. Familiar trees such as maple, ginkgo and oak still grow in parks and fracture ciment with their powerful roots. Plenty of the bark is etched with a strange set of sigils that hum when approached. Ivy pulses with low light and throbs when touched. Entire buildings are choked with fungus: spires of mushroom growths that sway despite the absence of wind, spores spilling like ash when disturbed. Moss spreads across broken windows in fractal shapes, responding to movement, to emotion with colors beyond what you could imagine. Wildflowers bloom in moonlight— roses with petal-thorns and daffodils exhale perfume that clouds your thoughts.
And still, the city seems to watch you soundlessly. Beneath your feet, the soil responds. Something old sleeps in the brickwork, the concrete, the iron bones of this place— and your presence has stirred it.
You'd better get moving. Survive.
NOTES:
You are not where you should be, and you are not entirely who you were. Do you remember the dream you had? Perhaps barely, perhaps almost too vividly. You will likely find a mask nearby— one you find familiar. While you may not have the same urgency to wear it as you did within the dreamscape, you at the very least feel the need to carry it with you now.
Some wake in subway tunnels pulsing with bioluminescence, others in penthouse ruins swallowed by moss and red ivy. Rooftop gardens filled with brittle blossoms. Empty galleries hung with paintings that seem to shift when you’re not looking. Vessels are absolutely scattered. You can wake up anywhere that's possible within the bones of this city. Life endures here, but it is changed. In the streets, rats with slick, glowing underskin scurry between collapsed signs. Pigeons wheel overhead, blind-eyed and silent. Dogs and cats roam in feral bands, some marked by fungal growths, others with bodies too long, too many limbs, or split maws bursting with tendrils. Deer can also be found roaming the enclosure of what used to be Central Park, and will open their strange mouths when they seem to stare at you. Seem, because they no longer have eyes to do that with. From deeper shadows and thicker canopies come the zoo escapees: a moose that climb walls and have a petrifying gaze, herds of zebra stand frozen like littered statues until they hear noises, to which they will scatter like roaches. Sewer grates rattle beneath your feet, and something wet and ancient stirs in the depths— Hippos that release toxic gases when threatened lay in the waters and gnaw on anything they could get their teeth on. The most gentle of them all are the giraffes; they still attempt to nibble on the falling sunset leaves where still gathered, and will even come up to humans who offer anything green for them to eat. There's so much more left unsaid, if you're unlucky enough to come across them.
The flora is no safer. Familiar trees such as maple, ginkgo and oak still grow in parks and fracture ciment with their powerful roots. Plenty of the bark is etched with a strange set of sigils that hum when approached. Ivy pulses with low light and throbs when touched. Entire buildings are choked with fungus: spires of mushroom growths that sway despite the absence of wind, spores spilling like ash when disturbed. Moss spreads across broken windows in fractal shapes, responding to movement, to emotion with colors beyond what you could imagine. Wildflowers bloom in moonlight— roses with petal-thorns and daffodils exhale perfume that clouds your thoughts.
And still, the city seems to watch you soundlessly. Beneath your feet, the soil responds. Something old sleeps in the brickwork, the concrete, the iron bones of this place— and your presence has stirred it.
You'd better get moving. Survive.
NOTES:
• You must find shelter, water, and food. Anything that can be found in city stores is plausible, but much of the food will be expired or ransacked by the lives before yours, or animals. The Host-fauna are edible if you can stomach it, and some may talk in tongues before they die. The flora is a mixed bag, from harmless to not.OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS
• The environment is reactive: Touch a wall and it pulses. Step into an abandoned deli and the shelves might whisper for a second.
• Tokens will feel a strange resonance when near remnants of human structure, especially things tied to strong emotion (graffiti, photos, childhood toys, street art, music).OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS
• Tokens will feel warm when close to sites where others have suffered or are remembered deeply. These sensations are disorienting but emotionally vivid, almost like deja vu.
• Tokens could experience nosebleeds or migraines near intense emotional hotspots. This is their magic wanting an outlet, but too newly formed to pour itself out.
• Offerings will feel the thrum of the Murmur, like a second heartbeat in the earth, when near fungal flora or decayed nature.
• Offerings will feel oddly familiar with the world around them, as if it recognizes them and vice verse. Scents linger longer and skin responds to temperature or emotion in exaggerated ways.
• The act of hunting and consuming host fauna is euphoric, but only for a moment— followed by a haunting awareness of their own anatomy shifting from the inside in ways they should fear.
ᛗ
And I wake, say your name
( content warnings: sensory distortion )
One night— it doesn't matter which, time has loosened— your mask beckons. Something is encouraging you to put it on. It sears cold when you do. A pressure behind your eyes grows sharp, then splits. Suddenly, the silence inside your skull isn't yours anymore.
The Murmur is stirring.
A psychic thread pulls taut through your mind like a bow ready to shoot. Language might fail. Images are the easiest to come first— flickers of hands, blood, feathers, fire. Then voices, soft and reverent, speaking your name in words you don't know but understand. Some speak back. Some yell. Some sing. You sense others, Tokens humming with potential, Offerings heavy with heat and pain.
You are not alone. You never were.
NOTES:
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
The Murmur is stirring.
A psychic thread pulls taut through your mind like a bow ready to shoot. Language might fail. Images are the easiest to come first— flickers of hands, blood, feathers, fire. Then voices, soft and reverent, speaking your name in words you don't know but understand. Some speak back. Some yell. Some sing. You sense others, Tokens humming with potential, Offerings heavy with heat and pain.
You are not alone. You never were.
NOTES:
• Your gamewide "network" is live! Try to reach someone through the Murmur. Perhaps a thought, a memory, or just a name. Players are welcomed to create prompts within this log or post to the network community proper.
• Communication may come in fragments. Images repeat, words loop, emotion surges without cause or by accident. One name in particular echoes:
You may try to reach for her, even if your chances are slim. You might end up contacting someone or something else entirely.
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
• Tokens may begin having their first access to inner magic. Not enough to use consciously, but enough to glitch with use, accidental or not. A friendly reminder that characters should not be able to use their magic with ease, yet. Keep in mind they should all have a realistic adjustment period.OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS:
• Tokens may have sensory overlaps: seeing sounds, hearing memories, tasting colors.
• Tokens may be energy sensitive. Areas with high ambient emotion (graveyards, burnt apartments, memorable objects) seem to strengthen their clarity but exaggerate their magic in startling bursts.
• Offerings may have their transformation accelerate when using the Murmur's network, albeit in a way that glitches in and out. A friendly reminder that characters should not be able to use their transformations with ease, yet. Keep in mind they should all have a realistic adjustment period.
• Offerings may hear less words, more songs, breathing, scent— nonverbal communication that may be overwhelming.
• Offerings may experience intense somatic reactions while using the network: twitching limbs, sudden pain, the sense of being stroked or watched.
ᛗ
Wrapped and quartered
( content warnings: body horror )
As the days bleed together, the city begins to still. Where once the overgrowth pulsed with strange life, now it withers back into itself. The streets grow colder. The air bites. The mutated fauna, once noisy, prowling, goes silent. Ivy wilts, retreating from the moonlight. The mushroom towers collapse in on themselves with wet sighs. Even the buildings seem to hold their breath. Your own exhales frost in the air, hanging like ghosts. Above, the sky splits at the seams— crimson bleeding in from the edges, as if the moon itself were being peeled open at the arrival of winter.
And then: the masks begin to thrum.
It is subtle at first, a hum at the base of the spine. A low vibration felt rather than heard. But it grows, constant, inescapable— as if something is ticking down inside you. The masks react even when untouched, glowing faintly, twitching. You feel it in your chest. A second heartbeat. You're urged to put it on.
A voice, familiar and female, threads through the Murmur like static on a broken radio. Espera says:
Your body responds before your mind does. Magic stirs in your bloodstream— volatile and half-born. For some, flame dances along their fingertips, mirrors twitch in response to their gaze, or their pulse sings in electric rhythm. For others, bones shift beneath skin, teeth ache with growth, limbs feel wrong. Something is changing about you. Slowly. Irreversibly.
NOTES:
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS:
And then: the masks begin to thrum.
It is subtle at first, a hum at the base of the spine. A low vibration felt rather than heard. But it grows, constant, inescapable— as if something is ticking down inside you. The masks react even when untouched, glowing faintly, twitching. You feel it in your chest. A second heartbeat. You're urged to put it on.
A voice, familiar and female, threads through the Murmur like static on a broken radio. Espera says:
Your body responds before your mind does. Magic stirs in your bloodstream— volatile and half-born. For some, flame dances along their fingertips, mirrors twitch in response to their gaze, or their pulse sings in electric rhythm. For others, bones shift beneath skin, teeth ache with growth, limbs feel wrong. Something is changing about you. Slowly. Irreversibly.
NOTES:
• Animal hosts may react reverently to tethered pairs. Lone vessels are ignored, followed, or violently met.OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS
• Winter is here in full, but it doesn't seem natural— it is a forced shift. The city feels colder, quieter, and more hostile. Even the corrupted ecosystem seems to brace for something larger.
• Magic is awakening further. All vessels, Token and Offering alike, begin to experience supernatural phenomena more intensely. These changes are often involuntary, especially under emotional or physical duress. Powers may flicker, trigger, or distort, reflecting the vessel's inner state. They should not have control of it yet.
• The call to Tether is no longer subtle— it is urgent. Even characters who resist connection may optionally feel the biological/spiritual pressure to Tether. Those who remain untethered may begin to feel destabilized, sensitive to The Murmur, and/or experience the subtle beginnings of Succumbence.
• Tokens may have unintentional magic surges in times of distress OR the awakening of "comfort zones". Small, warped spaces where reality thins into dreamscape, resembling meaningful memories (a childhood room, a stage, a battlefield). These zones offer eerie familiarity, but not safety from the weather.
• They may feel watched by something divine, but dispassionate— like being studied under a microscope.
• They may feel a need for proximity so great that the body physically aches. In worst case scenarios, you may even fall ill the longer you ignore your body's cry to dissipate your building magic. Tethering will immediately resolve this.
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS:
• An Offering's new instincts and transformations may begin to surface. Fear of fire. Yearning for music. It will all depend on what you're becoming. One thing that may be shared is a fierce protectiveness toward nearby Tokens.
• They may sense that something is weighing their souls against an invisible scale— not to punish you, but to categorize you. You have the inexplicable feeling that it is also the same thing that is shaping you.
• They may feel compelled to nest or anchor themselves near a Token's comfort zone or with a Token— circling the space like a sentinel or beast returning home. Tethering will make you whole, calm and seen.
ᛗ
Missing pieces find me
( content warnings: uncanny doppelgängers, possible visions of murder, violence, self harm. )
Winter has settled into everything with soft snowfall. Into your joints. Into the breath you share with others in the dark, or by an impromptu fire with scraps. Into the way your name sounds now when someone says it soft like a secret, or a warning. You've learned to ration warmth like a dwindling supply.
You've grown used to the rhythm of this place: the creak of half-dead buildings, the hollow crunch beneath your feet, the subtle hum that coils through the threads between you and the ones you've chosen to keep close throughout the month. The ones who understand that survival isn't just about staying alive.
But lately, something else has begun to settle in. It's not loud, and certainly not obvious. A shift, like a door left open too long. And that, Dear Vessels, starts in your reflections.
You see it in the fractured edge of glass, or in water that should have frozen weeks ago. In any surface slick enough to cast back your image, you may look, and it looks back. You move, and sometimes it moves too— but not quite right. A second too late. A second too early. Sometimes not at all.
And then it smiles, or frowns, or spits.
It is just enough to be wrong. Unnerving. Just enough to slip under your skin like splinters. You tilt your head— your reflection doesn't. You blink— it watches. And then you turn away. You tell yourself it's the frost. The tension. The light. But when you glance back, it’s still watching you.
Other vessels are seeing it, too, even if they don't say it out loud. They pause at windows. They look into still water a beat too long. They touch their own faces like they're checking for something missing. Or added. Something extra.
At least your reflection isn’t hurting you. Well. Not yet.
NOTES:
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS
You've grown used to the rhythm of this place: the creak of half-dead buildings, the hollow crunch beneath your feet, the subtle hum that coils through the threads between you and the ones you've chosen to keep close throughout the month. The ones who understand that survival isn't just about staying alive.
But lately, something else has begun to settle in. It's not loud, and certainly not obvious. A shift, like a door left open too long. And that, Dear Vessels, starts in your reflections.
You see it in the fractured edge of glass, or in water that should have frozen weeks ago. In any surface slick enough to cast back your image, you may look, and it looks back. You move, and sometimes it moves too— but not quite right. A second too late. A second too early. Sometimes not at all.
And then it smiles, or frowns, or spits.
It is just enough to be wrong. Unnerving. Just enough to slip under your skin like splinters. You tilt your head— your reflection doesn't. You blink— it watches. And then you turn away. You tell yourself it's the frost. The tension. The light. But when you glance back, it’s still watching you.
Other vessels are seeing it, too, even if they don't say it out loud. They pause at windows. They look into still water a beat too long. They touch their own faces like they're checking for something missing. Or added. Something extra.
At least your reflection isn’t hurting you. Well. Not yet.
NOTES:
• A shimmering surface of any kind could reflect two vessels at once but their reflections are fighting. There's blood between them . . .
• At night, the moon above is bright, ice blue and full, with its edges tainted by a splowly spreading crimson. Characters may notice that in reflections, it is completely red and the tendrils from within spew out. A double take will have this reflection of the moon disappearing.
• Characters (especially those who may not be able to see the reflections) may notice and hear their comrade's reflections laughing or speaking to them— they may even respond and try to carry conversation. Note that it's the reflection that's doing this sporadically, and not the real person.
OPTIONAL TOKEN EFFECTS:
• Tokens may notice their hands glowing in thier reflection, but not outside it. After a few moments, the same magic curls up their arms. Their mirrorselves are trying to access their magic for them, so best redirect anything if you want to avoid possible friendly fire.
• They may realize their reflection is always watching their Tether, even as they sleep. It tilts its head, comes crawling with a knife raised, drives it down— then it's gone.
• They may see their mirrorselves practicing violence on nearby objects, anything they could get their hands on.
OPTIONAL OFFERING EFFECTS
• Offerings may wake to burning, superficial claw marks on their sides. Their reflections will be found licking their fingers.
• They may notice their reflection becoming violent with their nearby Tethers; pulling them by the hair, biting into them, prying at their eyes, etc.
• They may see their reflections pushing into existing wounds and feeding, wherever they are.
no subject
[ Freddie is all business, at this point, a heel turn from the lighthearted tone he indulged in a few moments ago—Toki is a civilian, they need a game plan, and after ten years as an officer and even longer than that as a pilot, game plans in high-stakes situations come naturally to him. ]
We should go get as much as we can find, just in case your blood sugar tanks unexpectedly, and keep looking for a meter so that you can confirm if it does.
[ Because someone with Type 2 can still very much experience the sort of drop that makes you cold and sweaty and lightheaded and sick to your stomach—even if it’s not life-threatening, at least in Freddie’s prediabetic, Type-2-in-all-but-name case, it still fucking sucks, and if there’s something that can pull either of them out of that, they should be looking for it. It’s not ideal to be that compromised in a survival situation, especially with some of the freaky, aggressive things he’s seen around here and the level of daily exertion it takes to scrounge. ]
no subject
[Wow, things got real serious real fast, or more like things were already serious but Toki wasn't taking them so seriously. It's probably a good idea to get the monitor, even if he always feels like he doesn't need it. Any time he needed something monitored, someone was there to do it. Except for... well, that one time, but he had more important things to worry about than his blood sugar, and everything worked out in the end, so that's fine.
It'll work out! At least that's what he tells himself as he gets his shit together and starts heading towards the door.]
Where do you think we can get one of those? The doctor's?
[There's gotta be doctor places around here, right?]
no subject
[ The very same he just split with Toki, the only ones that hadn't been snatched up by virtue of lying out-of-sight underneath the bottom lip of one of the pharmacy shelves. That had been a lucky pluck. ]
A lot of grocery stores should have them, too. And there are some Targets around Manhattan that might still have some. It's worth looking, at least. [ Beat. Right. Brand recognition. Toki isn't American. ] Target is like... it's a gentrified Walmart.
[ Because everyone has heard of Walmart, given the way it sort of embodies everything everyone else finds wrong with America. ]
no subject
[He's been to stores like that, but that was back when Dethklok was just starting and he was new to America and even worse at English and he didn't always know what stuff was called. Once they got bigger, they had people to do all that stuff for them, and then he really stopped paying attention to specifics. Still, of course he has an idea of the concept of Walmart. You can get all kinds of stuff in there.]
So we just have to go to places like that... Then maybe we'll find other stuff too.
[That way, even if they don't find the meters or the strips or whatever, it'd be worth the trip anyway.]
Okay! Let's look there. Or... whatever we can go to first.
no subject
—we should bring the carts. We'll want to have as much carrying capacity as we can. But try to find one without any squeaky wheels. I've seen some weird animals around and if anyone other than the people in our dream survived, there are probably gangs here, too. Keeping a low, quiet profile is the best way to go in a situation like this.
[ Beat. Freddie presses his lips together, dissatisfied with the current situation, the corners of his mouth tight. ]
We should try to find better weapons, too. The best I have is this chopping knife I found at a Chinese restaurant, but you have to get real close to use it. Keep your eyes open for any firearms.
[ Seems unlikely that they'll find any as leftover merchandise, but he imagines quite a few guns were drawn during the initial scramble for survival before this place went dead. Maybe they can find one that fell. ]
no subject
Oh, yeah. And we can ride in them if we get tired.
[That might be what he's more interested in than the whole using them for more useful reasons, but y'know. They can be for multiple things!
He looks down at the ground for a little while, moving quickly. Better find those places before a bunch of these gang guys do and take all their carts and testing supplies.]
It'd be cool to find guns. Like... nice big ones. Then nobody's gonna mess with you.
[Sure, he only really shoots them for fun (and with massive disregard for safety practices), but it's better than not knowing what he's doing at all.]
no subject
I don't think we'll find any of those. New York City has pretty strict gun laws. Not that everybody follows them, but— ...unless the National Guard or something was deployed. [ His voice softens as the thought occurs to him in real time. ] We might be able to find some equipment the military used.
[ What might seem ghoulish to some doesn't register as such to Freddie: he's only about a year out of the military, and he's been deployed thrice. While he was never on patrols, he was adjacent enough to understand the necessity of salvaging a slain comrade's equipment, and he's ready to do so now. ]
no subject
[Toki grins. Any morbidity of finding supplies off a skeleton or whatever doesn't register so much with a guy who's both a metalhead and also surrounded by death-related stuff a little too often. A cool helmet seems like a good idea in a place like this, and where better to find one than with some military guy?]
I wonder where they might have those guys...
[Well, he's not so sure, but he'll keep an eye out on the way. Just in case.]
no subject
They're not toys, [ Freddie corrects, firm but not necessarily reprimanding or trying to instigate some kind of argument. ] They should be treated with respect. Anything we find belonged to some guy who probably had a family at home. Someone who died trying to stop all this.
[ He lets out a tense breath, absently wondering how this place must have compared to Mosul once the takeover was really underway. How long had the rhetorical military defenses held out? Were they National Guard? Army?
...Will there be any dogtags left?
That seems likely, even if there's nothing else. Dogtags survive even when the rest of a body is immolated, long after anything identifying has rotted away or animals have scattered the teeth needed for a bite record. Freddie silently resolves to collect any he can find—there's no afterlife, and they're all just dead now, unable to care about how their remains are treated because they're just dead— but he finds it matters to him, maintaining some degree of normalcy here. ]
no subject
[Toki's shoulders slump at the reminder. They had their own army too. Two of them, even, and the first one just got completely obliterated before they could even accomplish anything. And sure, the Klokateers gave up their lives to Dethklok in general, but technically they probably had families and stuff. He trudges along, staring at the ground, considering a few things.]
Well... then we should use their stuff, so they keep, uh... fighting... through their stuff.
[That's basically honoring them or something, right? They're the ones who have to survive now.]
cw discussion of war/civilian casualties
We should. I know it's what they'd want. That was standard in the military, when I was there. You honor them by getting payback.
[ There had been specific faces he thought of in the airspace over Mosul, sometimes, little bursts of brilliant fury dotting a background of clinical focus as they closed in on the IP and he got the craft where it needed to go. They were stationed at a secured airbase with pretty good CRAM, not going on patrol, but some of the people he knew still kicked it, usually off-base—IEDs or unwilling civilian suicide bombers. Their gear had always been repurposed. ]
no subject
[Frankly, Toki'd prefer to just avoid finding whatever the hell made all this happen. Going from one fight to another feels... unpleasant, and maybe not so doable, especially when he doesn't know where anybody else he knows is. Could he even do anything without everyone else?
But... maybe survival is payback in a place like this.]
I guess we can just see what we can find for stuff, so we're... ready for stuff.
no subject
[ Freddie gives the store they stand in one last look-over, then returns his attention to Toki. ]
You find anything else good here? Or are you ready to head out?
no subject
[A lot of people who aren't running around doing stuff. He definitely remembers how busy things were when he'd been here before, and it makes everything so much stranger. But even if millions of people were trying to get to even more millions of everything, they probably missed out on some stuff, and that's where they come in.
It'll be fine!]
I think I'm ready to go.
[He's got snacks, he's got a small collection of what could be considered supplies, and he's going to want room in his backpack if they find anything particularly good at their next destination.]
Let's see what they got out there!
no subject
[ Freddie had already tested the three remaining carts at the front of the store before he chose one, choosing the quietest option—so he’s able to head right out, pushing it ahead of himself. Ideally, though, he’d like to find a backpack, and keep the most important finds—water or other fluids, and medical supplies—on his person or Toki’s, in case they have to flee. A cart will slow them down if they end up pursued; they’ll have to abandon it if anything happens.
The street is quiet when they step through the arch of the long-frozen automatic doors of the grocery store; Freddie pauses before stepping out onto the sidewalk, scanning the area. He keeps his voice quiet, just loud enough to be heard. ]
Try not to make a lot of noise. And you should always be scanning around us: in front, behind, to the sides.
no subject
He follows Freddie, peering around at the seemingly empty street.]
Okay, [he whispers. Things look okay so far, but you never know when a bunch of guys are going to try to get you or whatever, and he doesn't have any bodyguards. So he turns every which way he can before he starts moving again.]
I think it's clear.
no subject
Speaking of freezing. Freddie pauses, lifting one arm with his elbow bent at a 90 degree angle and hand closed into a fist. ]
If I do this, it means freeze and don't make a sound.
[ Mentally, he sifts through the other gestures that might be relevant here—and there are many, but he needs to narrow it down to only a few key ones, so he doesn't give the guy too much to remember on the spot and end up having nothing at all. ]
This means get down.
[ He lowers the same arm, as though reaching down to pet a dog on the head. And, speaking of, the final one: his arm stays at his side and the wrist turns upwards, hand open and fingers curled as though holding an invisible ball. Traditionally, that would mean dog—but it could mean any number of animals here, he's guessing. Anything that lived in Manhattan could be infected, and there are a lot more animals in Manhattan than people realize—things like coyotes and foxes and other sharp-toothed disease vectors included. ]
This means there's an animal, an enemy, something.
[ He doesn't catch the use of the word enemy. ]
no subject
[Even if it's just a few gestures, it's kind of a lot to take in at once, but at least they seem pretty straightforward. Like, down meaning down is easy enough. If they're lucky, they won't need any of it.
Still, he goes through the gestures in his head as he looks around, replicating them to the best of his memory. Just in case.]
I think... I think I got it.
[The word "enemy" honestly doesn't really faze him that much. Dethklok's got plenty of enemies, or at least they did. Selacia might be gone, but who's to say some dildo with a grudge didn't somehow follow Toki out this way?
Well, he wasn't really considering that so much, but it is a possibility, and that sucks. He's just going to not consider that one, thank you very much.]
We got this!
[It's the most quiet enthusiasm he can manage.]
no subject
Right. We can do this. Just keep scanning.
[ And he does the same, moving as quietly as he can while pushing a cart along dilapidated pavement. Cracks have started to appear in the road, unmitigated by long-dead road crews; he's mindful of their location and tries to steer around them. If they have to suddenly flee, too, those could catch a wheel and slow them down. It's really not looking good for the cart in an emergency.
His first occasion to use that raised forearm and closed fist is when they reach the corner of the block: he lifts his arm and leaves the cart, flattening himself on the brick wall of the block's cornerstone building, and carefully looks out into the street ahead.
Like the mirage of an oasis in the desert, there's a Duane Reade. Maybe God is real. He's not, but like, as a figure of speech: maybe there is a god.
Freddie gives their surroundings one last scan, then returns to the cart, motioning for Toki to come with him. ]
There's a pharmacy. We hit the jackpot.
no subject
When he sees Freddie's forearm go up, Toki freezes, eyes wide. He reaches out to grip the cart, just in case, as he watches Freddie go and keeps an eye on him.
When he comes back, Toki sighs in relief. That's even better than he expected.]
Oh, cool!
[Who knows what's fallen under the shelves in a place like that? Might be a good idea to load up on anything they can find.]
Is it okay to go?
cw drug use stigma
[ His hopes aren't high where finding anything of value is concerned—but he found those unnoticed glucose test strips under one of the shelves in the stripped supermarket, so anything is possible. Maybe, if he's lucky, the pharmacy will be behind a locking grate like the one in the Duane Reade he and Ruhong found.
Freddie proceeds slowly, scanning their surroundings like a deer stepping into an open field. He pauses in the doorway of the place after pushing the cart through the lifeless automatic doors frozen in the open position and just listens, checking the scene. There are no obvious signs of danger, or inhabitance, be it benign or malicious. Good.
What's not so good is that this place, like everywhere else, looks pretty picked over. The grate meant to protect the pharmacy from marauding drug addicts is unlocked and open; white pill bottles are strewn everywhere. It'll take them a while to go through all of what's left, and it's probably just going to be specialty medication nobody takes, not anything they really need. And it'll be the pace only one of them goes at, and that person will have to be Freddie—drug names are different overseas, so Toki won't know what any of this shit is unless it's one of the really common staples that, again, will no doubt have already been taken. That part's less impactful, though: someone will need to stand watch while he's busy reading labels. ]
Well. There might be something. We should check the pharmacy.
Re: cw drug use stigma
He frowns thoughtfully as he follows Freddie, careful not to step on anything and wipe out along the way.]
Too bad I haven't seen Pickle... I bet he'd know what all this stuff is.
[Pickles knows drugs more than anybody. He'd have this shit sorted out in no time. Toki's down to party when it's party time, but he's not usually in charge of the party favors.
Still, maybe there's stuff in there, in some long-forgotten corner.]
Well... we can get lots of little bottles at least.
[You can use those for anything!]
You can make stuff with those, you know.
no subject
Yeah? Such as?
no subject
Well, uh... you put other stuff in them, or you can paint 'em and glue 'em to stuff and use them if you need round stuff?
[Maybe they're not that useful, but he's found ways to use plenty of things in crafts before!!]
no subject
I don't see the need arising quite yet, [ Freddie says, wryly, although it's not like there aren't other household things he very much does repurpose for his model-building setup—or did, prior to coming here. Jars for paint water, metal lids and sponges for palettes, Q tips and women's makeup sponges for blending. ]
I'm going to look and see what they have. Can you keep watch?
[ Fortunately, the pharmacy is against the back wall of the building, and he can pull the grate shut behind himself, even if he can't lock it—and while that won't stop any of the more human monsters here, it will at least take a mutant animal like the ones he had to avoid to find Ignis time to figure out how to pull it open. Between Toki and the dog watching their surroundings, he feels pretty good about his safety in this moment. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
cw nongraphic discussion of GI illness, IV mention
(no subject)
cw MI stigma
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)