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September 2018 Test Drive Meme

SEPTEMBER 2018 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to September’s Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: OCCULT HORROR.

All Test Drive Memes contain at least one clue to the Deerington's upcoming in-game events for the month! Keep your eyes peeled! But...not literally.

Characters may die during TDMs, but you do not need to count it towards a game-canonical death unless you want to. Consider it a freebie. All TDMs can be considered game canon as TDMs introduce minor aspects about the world of Deerington that can be revisited by characters later on in the game. You may also use TDMs for your application writing sample as well as AC.

CW: Ghosts, demons, evil children, deformed faces, long limbs in pictures, facing personal traumas, your basic occult horror nonsense.

Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Prompt Three
Character Arrival
Master Navigation

INTO THE FURTHER

You can’t remember how you got here exactly, much like when you woke up in Deerington itself. Maybe you fell asleep, or you sat down and just rested your eyes for a moment, or maybe you were opening a door and you simply ended up here. It doesn’t matter now; there’s only darkness surrounding you, the only light brought by the lantern sitting a few feet in front of you, seemingly floating in the middle of nothing. You approach it, lift it high as you can, but in every direction, the darkness seems endless.

When you start to walk in any given direction, you’re alone for several minutes of your journey. Slowly, the foggy, glowing shapes of people wandering start to pass by you. Souls of the dead, stuck in purgatory, moaning for their lost lives and the tasks they left unfinished. They seem to ignore you, but are drawn to your light, following you as you make your way further through the dark. Most are strangers, but some of the souls may be ones you recognize from home, loved ones who passed that you never got to say goodbye to. Perhaps they look just like how you saw them last, or maybe others have become deformed, twisted from anger, hatred, and being left alone to wander for too long.

Eventually, you come upon a small group of houses. The images are just as fuzzy at the edges, just as encased in fog as the rest of the spirits around you seem to be. They look just like the townhouses, apartment buildings, and farm homes that you saw back in Deerington. Most of the lights are dark, but you see one building with a solitary light shining through the window. You feel drawn to it, something inside of you telling you this might be your way out. You pull yourself away from the tormented faces around you and head for the door.

When you get in, you notice you are no longer alone. Maybe someone came in through a door at the same time as you or maybe they’ve been stuck here for who knows how long, trying to find the same light you looked for. Even if you’re the type of person who would normally move on alone, you feel compelled to have the company, to stay close. Something about having another person with you in this place makes you still feel connected to the outside world, offering a new clarity, and an ability to press on.

The two of you eventually stumble on the door with light spilling out from the cracks. If you decide to open it, the apartment seems less brightly lit the moment you step inside, but it’s clear where the light was coming from; in the center of the room, on a couch, is both of your unconscious material bodies. Hovering directly behind them are black demons, moving as though they’re made of shadow, the bright yellows of their eyes the only thing that makes them stand out at first. You can almost feel them sucking the life from you, trying to bind you to this purgatory forever.

How you confront them and what is successful varies. Some people may have to embrace the inner demon they neglected for too long and others may have to destroy them to ashes. Will your companion help you and will you aid them in return? Or will you both try to fight for your own survival and leave the other in the (hopefully metaphorical) dust?

COME GRAB THIS CHILD

Walking down the streets of Deerington will often bring about strange sightings, especially for those who have only just arrived. Seeing children, however, is not usually on that list. It’s a town, after all, and the schools are often filled with them. It’s not unusual to hear children playing or see teenagers in the arcade mindlessly playing Pac-Man.

But then there’s him. A young boy, no more than six, with pale skin and dark hair, standing up the road from you, not moving a muscle. He’s staring at you quite clearly, face expressionless, but there’s something about him that makes you realize he’s been waiting. How long isn’t clear, but there’s an air of impatience that suggests it’s been a while. You’ve never met him before, but something in you knows him all the same, like an estranged family member you haven’t seen in years.

You could still walk away. Turn around and go the other direction. He’ll be there every day, waiting for you to stop avoiding him. Whenever you finally give in, you notice the small smile on his face as you get closer, a wave of relief at how angelic it makes him appear. Why had you been so frightened of a child to begin with? Had you even noticed you were scared before? He could be lost, alone, afraid himself - thankful for the help you’re about to provide him.

When you get too close, you’re finally able to meet his eyes. They’re black as night and for a moment, you feel paralyzed. Your head is filled with the sounds of screams like few you’ve ever heard before (if you’ve ever heard them before); filled with agonizing pain, an unspoken begging for mercy. Just as quickly as they started, they’re quiet. Deafeningly quiet. You wonder if it was all your imagination, until you realize the boy has gotten closer, and you still can’t move.

It’s then that it brings out the worst in you; for some, it’s reliving your worst memories, the most painful events of your life that you would sooner leave forgotten, doomed to repeat it over and over until finally someone comes to save you. For others, it makes you live your worst fears, becoming what you hate most, giving in to the darkest part of yourselves. Regardless of how it manifests, you are unable to stop it on your own. Only an outsider can help you. Someone has to get you away from that boy and he won’t leave without a fight.

TASTE THE APPLE IN MY HAND

The crisp feeling of fall is in the air and everyone knows there’s no prettier a place to be this time of year than Maine. People come from thousands of miles to see the leaves change and few seem to walk away regretting it. It might be a little early for the bright reds, stunning oranges, and warm golds to take over the trees, but there’s one activity that’s getting started that everyone can enjoy: apple picking.

The orchard’s large and neatly lined, each tree marked with a different color ribbon to denote which apples are which. There are baskets of all sizes to choose from, but just remember you have to pay by the pound! You can go on your own or off in groups, but the farmer will encourage you not to go so far that you can’t see the weigh station. They say it’s just because they’d hate for you to get lost, but there’s a seriousness in their tone that makes you wonder if it’s something more.

For those who stay in sight of the farmers, the orchard is a wonderful place to socialize and build some (probably rare) relaxed and happy memories in this small town.

For those who venture further, you’ll find why the farmer tried to reason with you from the start.

The first few feet you wander in too deep, it seems like the branches of the trees start to extend farther, twisting around one another, almost blocking out the sun. But the apples look so sweet, so bright even in the dim lighting, and you figure it can’t hurt to just go a little deeper to get the best fruit. You’ll turn around and head back soon as your basket is full and no one will be the wiser.

As you venture in, you start to hear the occasional crack of twigs, a giggle here and there, or whispers that you can’t make out the words to. Eventually the whispers turn into light singing, a lullaby from your childhood that you can’t quite put a name to for some reason. The farther you go, the louder it gets, and then… nothing.

You look ahead in the darkness and you see a young woman standing amongst the trees. She almost seems to glow, her white dress blowing in a breeze you can’t even feel. Her eyes are bright, her hair flowing freely around her. There’s something off about her smile, but you can’t quite tell from this far back.

If you choose to keep going forward, eventually you see the smile is too wide for her face, the teeth nothing like that of a human you’ve ever seen. She moves faster than should be humanly possible and her mouth opens wide in an ear-splitting scream. Her nails are sharp as knives and up close you can see they’re almost as long. You can try to outrun the demon, or if you’re not alone, you can even try to fight her. She can be killed by normal means; chop off her head or stab her in the heart if you’ve got something sharp on hand. The apples make for good weapons if you’re empty handed, and if you are smart enough to snag the rotten ones on the ground, you’ll find that the moment they touch her skin, there’s a sound like burning acid. A few good hits, and she may even run off on her own.

Character Arrival

You can read how all characters arrive in Deerington here.

There is not a collective "all these characters showed up at the exact same moment" occurrence in Deerington. Since characters fall asleep, die, or pass out at various times throughout all their worlds, it wouldn't make too much sense if they arrived in game all at the exact same time. There should be some discrepancy between character arrival, whether by a couple minutes, hours, or even days up to a week.

The players are entirely in control of how/when they want to play their characters arriving in Deerington. For TDMs, you can play it like your character has just arrived and that can be maintained as your game canon, or you can wait until game events for that moment. Or you don't need to acknowledge it at all. The flexibility for character allows a bit more of an organic feel to the character arrival situation, so please play it to whatever feels right for you.

If you are interested in having an "arrival" introduction for one of your TDM prompts, you are more than welcome to explore that option.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

a. into the further, come to wrestle with yourself

[ river walks alone, for a while, - a slip of a girl, barefoot, dress hanging off as if it belonged to someone who had curves once and not this broomstick child, hair moving in the still air, catching on dust and tangling on nothing - until there are others, until some of the faces are familiar, until there is a house, until there is someone else.

she stands close by and her fingers twitch, but she doesn't open her mouth. afraid of what might come out. a long scream or a truth unfit for hearing?

but then there they are, river and this stranger, and there's dark, black, malignant demons sucking the very lifefourse out of them and river gasps, afraid. frozen in place.

what will you do, stranger? ]

b. come grab this child, those that would rescue and those that need rescuing

b1. rescuing river

[ she looked into black eyes and now all she hears is her own voice screaming, the broken windowpanes in her head crashing into each other's edges, the skip of the surgical knife.

all she hears is screaming, but there's a voice begging underneath it, no please stop i just want to see my brother i just want to see my brother i just want to see i don't want to see it anymore please stop ]

b2. being rescued

[ all she hears is screaming even though there isn't a sound and she ignores the child (wailing, shrieking, pummeling her with fists, breathing fire on the back of her neck) in order to pull someone away with more strength than a girl her size has any business with.

once they're free of it, she looks at this new person and gives a small smile. ]

He traps them.

c. taste the apple in my hand, and abandon hope

[ to be honest river feels no compulsions to leave the warm comforting presence of the others, to wander further into the trees. what she does feel is the fear of those who have encountered the vision in white, and she stops, suddenly, before turning on her heel to run in their direction.

did you notice the girl run off? the farmers are shouting after her and all she says is: ] Too many teeth!

Edited 2018-08-31 19:00 (UTC)

I - The Further

He's not scared of the dark, but Arthur's not exactly happy to be out here on his own, lost and just a bit confused. Actually, he hates it. It's a damned cliche horror movie set up and he doesn't fancy being the hot chick that gets lynched in the dark by some psychopath, thanks.

Which is why he adamantly ignores the wandering souls - he's used to ignoring subconscious projections, these are no more than that. That's what he has to tell himself, anyway. Though it's not that comforting to tell himself that when he remembers Mal and Dom.

Dammit all.

So Arthur's quick to get into that building with the lit window, glock in hand just in case.

Anyone in?

II - Grab the kid

There's nothing quite like getting stalked, and Arthur does not like it.

He ignores the kid, the first time he sees him. Brushes it off as a kid being too inquisitive for his own good.

The next day he sees the kid again, and he's a bit unsettled... but ignores him again.

The third day, he says 'fuck it' and goes up to the boy, staring down at him with a neutral expression. "Hey kid! Can I help you?"

And then his world is swallowed up in the kid's black, black eyes.

His chest is burning, so is his thigh, and he's collapsed on his back trying not to scream from the pain and dissociating from it. Bullet must have gone through a lung, he can taste the blood and he's choking on it. He has to breathe, has to stay calm- stop the bleeding, it doesn't matter that it's just a dream, he has to stop the bleeding because he won't wake up, he can't- he won't-

The world's going dark around the edges and he can faintly hear the rush of waves. Knows he's going to fall into limbo if he's not stabilised.

His hands are slick with blood that isn't there, pressing down tight to gunshot wounds that don't exist while his eyes stare up at the sky with blind horror, unaware of the smiling boy still stood before him or the dead silence of Deerington around them both.

III - Apple in hand

Arthur's not really one for the countryside, usually, but... this is nice. It's relaxing, especially after everything else in Deerington. He can appreciate a bit of normal.

At least that's what he thinks until he hears the singing and laughter. When he notices it's getting darker, that he's getting all the classic signs of horror to get out. But he doesn't stop - he wants to see what's going to happen if he goes deeper, occasionally snagging a bright apple along the way... until he catches sight of that woman.

"... Hello?" he calls, frowning a bit as he moves closer uncertainly. "Are you lost?"

IV - Wilcard

1; Into the further

Getting past the souls had been a bit of a challenge. Because for a moment he’d seen… he’d been so sure he’d seen Cole among them. But even if he understood literally nothing of what was going on, even if he was supposed to believe he had somehow woken up in some weird magical spiritual what-the-fuck-ever kind of world (he didn’t) he knew a trap when he saw one.

When he’d turned around the soul was completely different, anyway. He couldn’t even be sure. It was probably a good thing: he couldn’t have ignored Cole for long, on matter how fake this all seemed.

And so he’d kept on going until he’d reached the weird, fuzzy houses. Once again, he was reluctant to follow the light as it seemed like a very obvious trap but… he was also used to trusting his gut. It had gotten him out of many sticky situations and sometimes it was all he had when there were no apparent leads on a case, and so inside the house he went.

Only to find out that a) he wasn’t alone and b) … demons were eating his body?

“What the fuck?”

He all but screamed, reaching for his gun out of habit.

2; Come grab this child

It honestly hadn’t taken all that long for Hank to give in and walk over to the child.

He wasn’t stupid, and even if there hadn’t been magical dream-related bullshit he didn’t trust easily. And he definitely knew better than to walk into an obvious trap, so usually he wouldn’t have even considered getting involved with whatever was going on without a clue or a plan. But it was… hard, for him to see a child in need or in pain and not try to reach out, not try to help.

And so he’d given in. Ironically enough, because that was the way his life was fucking wired the reason he’d approached the kid to begin with was the same moment that was now repeating in his head, over and over and over. He would have appreciated the irony because honestly? That wasn’t all that different from what his mind usually did on a regular day. Especially in his dreams.

Just a recurring loop of the screeching as a car tried to swerve, the crash, a kid’s cries… and then nothing.

And Hank was on his knees, staring right into the kid’s black, black eyes with a glassy gaze and almost unable to move.

3; Wildcard

Edited 2018-08-31 19:26 (UTC)

So, North has had a time, if we may greatly understate for comedic effect. Rows of broken, mangled Tracis, especially when every third one looks just like you, well. She could be having a much better day, especially since most of the time she's been here has already been consumed by warped versions of her own memories seemingly intent on making her engage in some kind of personal growth as afterschool special music wafts gently in the background.

A human with a gun? Much, much easier to deal with, and by that we mean North of course instantly draws hers, further meaning that in addition to demons eating his body, Hank can now enjoy a tiny woman, LED blazing bright red at her temple, all exercising the right to bear firearms and shit. You know, the ones androids don't really have.
>:C!!!!!!!

"My thoughts exactly."

>:C.

>:C!!!!!!

The "my thoughts exactly, asshole," part is just. Kind of implied.

Edited (I'M DONE NOW please forgive me i am a horror) 2018-08-31 20:01 (UTC)

Okay, there's a lot to process here.

He notices the girl is an android, of course. The red bright light going on circles in her temple isn't exactly subtle and it doesn't look like she's even trying to hide it, so. Okay. That's fine. A while ago that would have bothered him, now he's just surprised she's managed to get her hands on a gun. But considering this is like an extremely fucked up dream and their bodies (?) are under attack right now there's probably time to discuss that later.

"How good are you at shooting, or is that just a prop? Because we need to act fast."

Read: Are you going to help him deal with whatever is eating their souls or is he on his own.

"I'm good enough." Minimal syllables, clearly still just as wary of him as the demons, even if as far as she can tell, you know, he's not like personally responsible for the overwhelming weakness in her body and haywire regulator.

"But the way this place works..." Playing on her experience here and uncompromising trust in the same gut instinct Hank has been following: "If we just start shooting there's a pretty good chance we'll both start bleeding."

North has the sense these solid shadows don't act indiscriminately; some of them belong to him, some to her. It's not about confronting darkness, it's about confronting the darkness in you. She makes a motion with one shoulder and turns her body such that he's invited - and please rest on this image because given their respective heights it's hilarious - to link up with her back to back. More symbolic than anything else, considering they're both going to need to aim the same direction, but the idea is there.

"You take mine, I'll take yours?"

Edited 2018-08-31 20:37 (UTC)

Alex has been pointedly ignoring the younger boy for awhile now, or at least, he's refused to acknowledge him. He knows better than perhaps anyone that age has precisely no bearing on how dangerous an individual can be, and there's something in the strange feeling of familiarity that emanates from the kid while he lurks in Alex's periphery that puts his nerves distinctly on edge. So he keeps his distance, keeps his silence, and keeps his own watch in return.

A long distance staring competition that neither is willing to concede. Until the boy manages to find a more obliging prey, anyway.

Within a heartbeat of making contact the man appears to stagger and clutch at his chest in a manner that has Alex pressing a hand to his own reflexively. He crosses the street without conscious thought, too busy shaking off the phantom memories of that day at the bank to notice until he's practically on top of them. This close, he can confirm that there doesn't appear to be any sort of physical injury, but the man's reactions are real enough that Alex doesn't hesitate to start pulling the man away.

Attempting to. Attempting to pull the man away. Content to simply stand and stare at people up to this point, Alex isn't completely prepared for sudden violence from the boy and barely manages to dodge out of the way of small, clawing hands. It's instinct more than anything that has him spinning on a heel to kick at the boy in response, and a lack of experience fighting anyone even remotely his size that leads to that kick landing squarely on the kid's head, rather than the general chest area like Alex had intended.

Altogether, it's enough to temporarily stun the boy just long enough for Alex to get an arm under the man's shoulder and begin physically dragging him away from whatever strange influences the boy had wrought upon him.

[ he's back in that cage again, back there with taylor and this time there's no escape, doesn't even have his bird body to retreat from the pain into, except there's never really been any escape at all has there, trapped in a cage trapped in a body there's hardly any difference in the end but he's screaming and she's laughing and then theres...

... silence.

tobias comes back to awareness in bits an pieces. flexes his fingers, runs a tongue along the edge of his teeth, feels the ground press solid against his feet. it all feels wrong but in that wrongness there is familiarity, there is no pain, and when he turns to squint at the girl speaking to him confirms there is no taylor either.

her words take even longer to filter through, like he's forced to translate them from human to bird then back again, but those too come in time. ]

Trap them? Who...?

[ they've gotten a good distance from the boy with the black eyes, now; at this point, the skin around his left eye has begun to darken, his nose is bloody and his lip is split from where she elbowed him in the face to get him off.

so river feels safe in gesturing, but if tobias turns his head to stare she make a distressed noise. ]

Don't look too closely.

[ she moves as if to touch his face to divert his attention and then recoils, suddenly. she wouldn't like it if someone just touched her. ]

He has to be in breathing space, to let loose the Hells in your head. She fell, yesterday, in a screaming fit.

((OOC: I have an opt-out for a bunch of warning-worthy topics here.))

A. The Further

[Dixon neither knows nor cares how he ended up in the dark. There's some will inside him that's gone slack, and he's found himself apathetic about what happens to him next and sluggish about trying to make anything different happen. It takes him a few minutes to get around to lifting his lantern instead of sitting in the dark picking at a hangnail, and then it's not fear and curiosity motivating him so much as a detached sense of "might as well".

The glowing figures, though. Those stir up some emotions, most of which are disgust and uneasiness. It doesn't matter that they're strangers or that's Dixon's got a pretty blunted sense of empathy; there's something very visceral about feeling uncomfortable at the sight of people wandering around moaning. Maybe it's just ingrained instinct to want to avoid a threat, or to deny that pain exists if you yourself aren't feeling it, but Dixon feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and worries the fingertips on his left hand together.

When he looks at the faces of the deformed shadows, it almost feels like some kind of cosmic scolding aimed at him. His own face is permanently disfigured from the unfortunate fact of catching on fire a month ago. God knows he wasn't much of a pageant-winner before, but there's a difference between looking average and looking like half your face is made of melted cheese.

But in spite of any surface similarities, Dixon doesn't feel for an instant as if he's one of the glowing crowd. Most are strangers, but some of the faces look vaguely familiar. Writhing and milling, they're difficult to identify or make out, but Dixon's certain he saw a distant cousin who drowned skinny-dipping a few years back, and a great-aunt he met once when he was ten.

Then he sees a face he can't help but recognize.]

Hey! Hey, wait! [Dixon trots after the figure, but they're soon lost to him in the dark, and in his searching comes across a dim light in a small house. He jiggles the doorhandle, realizes it's open, and enters, only to be faced with a place badly-lit by the escaped light through a doorframe across the room and his own lantern. And met with someone else.]

Did you see Elvis come in here? Elvis Presley?

C. Taste the Apple In My Hand

[Somehow, Dixon's shaken the strange demon woman for now. He's hopelessly lost in the orchards, stumbling around and panting through the bite of apple he's forgotten to swallow or spit out since getting jumped while munching. The combination of being out-of-shape generally and a lifelong smoking habit turned what couldn't have been more than a fifty yard sprint into what felt like a full-blown triathlon.

When he's caught his breath, he stands up, finally swallowing the bite of apple and looking at the only-slightly-incomplete fruit in his hand. His shoulders draw tight, and he takes deep breaths through his nose as he looks around and tries to figure out which direction towards the weigh-station.

The childish sounds that led to the demon woman, in her absence, return again. Now that he's jumpy and prone to go off, the whispering voices no longer seem merely disturbing so much as actively threatening. When he hears the crack of someone stepping on a branch, he twists around and pitches the apple right at the face of the person moving in his direction.]

Did someone find him-? Arthur's gasping for air and trying to breathe through the blood he's sure is coming up from his lungs, but he manages to grab for one of his rescuer's hands, gripping tight and trying to get his feet under him. He lets out a short, sharp cry as the movement jolts the shot leg, but he has to do it, he has to get out of here, he can't risk dying-

So he moves through the pain, keeping pressure on the wound at his chest and stumbling back with Alex as best he can.

[ cliff keeps expecting to come across the witch the deeper he travels into the orchard, keeps expecting the branches to grasp at him like bony fingers, but the weight of the place falls heavy across his shoulders the longer he lingers, the deeper he goes, and nothing about this is as familiar as he'd first assumed.

it's a deep and abiding need to be contrary, more than anything, that keeps him going. that and the niggling thought that this is exactly the sort of place that oscar would get himself lost if he is around here, especially if he went looking for the witch as well. so he presses on until he hears the giggling, wolf hackles raised beneath his human body even as he directs himself toward the sound.

and then a freaking apple of all things comes flying at his head. ]

What the shit, dude! [ cliff yells as he ducks the flying fruit, tracking the apple back to its source with preternaturally bright gold eyes narrowed angrily. ]

[He's still getting used to not having a gun in his holster when he goes out. His hand goes to his hip, and then comes back empty, and not only is he unarmed but now he's also embarrassed. He makes a mental note on the relatively blank canvas of his mind that he needs to start carrying his shotgun around everywhere.]

Who the fuck are you? [Either Dixon's aim isn't as great as it was in high school or the kid moves fast, because he threw that thing pretty hard. He glances over at another one of the apple-bearing trees as if he's going to grab another and use it as a weapon if need be.] Did you see that crazy chick in white out here?

Connor sees Hank before he sees the child, but any (possibly selfish) happiness he might feel at the sight of a friend is immediately stifled by dread at whatever... this is, happening here. Hank appears almost catatonic in front of the child, who brings up a jumble of corrupted text when Connor tries to scan him for identification. Whatever the boy is, Connor doubts he's human or android.

"Lieutenant?" He gives Hank's shoulder a gentle shake. "Hank? Can you hear me?"

The boy's ink-black eyes are unwavering, locked on Hank, and he seems unaware of Connor's presence, or at least unbothered by it -- for now.

Alex squeezes the man's hand back thoughtlessly, focus split between keeping the man roughly on his feet during their retreat and making sure the little boy can't get his hands back on either of them. His chest is already burning from the physical strain but he pushes it aside and keeps moving, doesn't stop until they've turned several corners and lost sight of the kid entirely.

He listens for any signs of pursuit, strains to hear anything past his own belabored breathing and eventually settles for holding his breath long enough to confirm that nobody is following. Releases that breath in one long, tense sigh and turns his attention back to his companion instead.

"You're alright now." Alex promises the man, even as he runs a quick assessment on injuries to ensure he isn't lying, sharp eyes checking for any blood or possible entry wounds. He doesn't know nearly enough about field medicine to do anything about internal damage if there is any, but he also never saw the boy lay a hand on the man so there's a good chance this is all psychosomatic. Hopefully, getting him away from the source will be enough.

Hopefully the source won't be back any time soon.

((OOC: Heads up that I have an opt-out here if you need it.))

[Dixon's not really great at thinking before doing, nor at assessing a situation, which is a pretty dangerous combination. He takes in the bright light and the scrawny girl and isn't immediately shaken by them; the girl looks like that ghost from that one horror movie he saw a bunch of posters for, but she doesn't appear intimidating or hostile. She seems just terrified.

The black demons, on the other hand. Those he can immediately classify as a threat. He lifts the shotgun he's been carrying around Deerington - ever since he got swarmed by police cats for trying to drive after a fifth of whiskey - and points it at the soulsucking creatures looming over their own floating bodies.]

Move, I'm going to shoot them! [The unconscious bodies may be in the way, but life's always kind of been one step ahead Dixon in terms of making good decisions.]

[ooc: warnings for Rico here!]

[into the further]

[Rico doesn't see many faces he recognises. Or rather, many faces he cares about. Some of them, he does. Perps he'd shot, citizens he'd killed with a smile. That's enough to figure out where the hell he is, however he got here. One in particular though... His mouth twists into a sneer at the hunched form that disappears quickly enough back into the mist. He doesn't feel much trepidation, or guilt, or fear about it. Just a small, burning ember of faint betrayal in his chest that he remembers, the disbelief of this was not how it was meant to happen.]

[But he reaches the light. And another person. Short, snappy answers are given, Rico barely engaging or acknowledging their presence, even as he stays close. But behind that door...]

[Rico's demons - are big. Even hunched over, they're monstrously large. Rico works impeccably well under pressure. He'd have to, of course, he's a Judge. But this is sort of the last straw.]

[Rico starts laughing. Hysterically. Loudly. He stands in the doorway wheezing for breath, like it's the funniest thing in the damn world. He can't help it, and it sounds just on this side of sincere, edging on demented.]

[It's also possibly the least helpful thing right now.]

[come dropkick this child]

[Have you ever seen a man in black leather and a helmet sprint up and kick a small child in the face?]

[Now you have. That's one way to break whatever hold he's got on you. He'd shoot the juve in the head, but right now this feels more right.]

Citizen, move! [Rico growls at whoever's rooted to the spot, giving them a little shove if necessary, a barking command that has every inch of 'I am an authority and do what I tell you now'. He's no self-sacrificing idiot, but he's got a very angry bone to pick with whatever this thing is, and you sort of coincidentally happen to be in the middle of that. At least he helped!]

[wildcard]

Edited 2018-08-31 23:38 (UTC)

[ tobias' head does turn to follow her gesture, and he hasn't really been capable of doing anything else with his expression but stare in awhile, but with weak human eyes everything seems blurry and distant even when it really isn't, and he doesn't quite manage to focus on the boy before the girl's sound of distress in his ear has him twisting back around the stare at her instead.

he catches the final movements of her recoil and watches her hand with the sort of wary body language of a wild animal shivering beneath his skin. taylor's not here and he's not stuck in the cage but everything still feels too bright, too loud, too much. ]

Screaming fit? [ he asks, anxiously flitting mind settling on a detail seemingly at random while he tries to focus on catching his breath. ] Who fell?

Me? [ cliff demands, instantly defensive and just generally not the least bit inclined to be at all receptive to older men in the best of circumstances, let alone whatever this qualifies as. ] You're the one throwing shit at people, who the fuck are you>?

[ if anything, dixon's second question only manages to rile cliff up further, all thoughts of stumbling across eliza around here gone and only blurred and terrifying memories of the woman in white and her strange circus. ]

What. Woman. In. White. [ he grits through teeth bared in a silent snarl, whole body practically vibrating in what he ultimately decides must be fear. ]

I thought you were that chick in white. The one with all the teeth. [That probably doesn't answer a ton, but Dixon didn't get a great look at her before he took off. Some things you can just tell are bad news without having to stick around and investigate.

Dixon's default state is combative to start with, and Cliff's hostile body language does nothing to de-escalate. The whispering voices in the trees seem to hush, as if they're holding their breath to see if something's going to go down.]

Now I asked nice, who the fuck are you?

((OOC: I have an opt-out here for unpleasant content.))

[It's eleven a.m. or so, and Dixon's getting a start on his day-drinking. He's sitting on the porch drinking a beer and reading a comic book and not really paying attention to what's going on on the street outside the shabby little apartment complex he's renting a room at. He's humming to himself and wouldn't look up at all if not for the sound of someone hitting the ground, and then he twists around to see what the noise was.

The first responder training they get at the police academy Dixon went to was decidedly not great, and it's been years, and Dixon was hungover for most of the classes, and there are about a million reasons why he's probably going to perform suboptimally at helping the guy who just collapsed in the middle of the street. He rushes over, baffled by the way the guy's posture seems to indicate he's been shot in spite of the total absence of blood or noise, and gets to his knees to try and get a better look.

What, a seizure, maybe? A heart attack? Hell if Dixon knows, he's not a damn doctor.]

Kid, call an ambulance or something! [He looks up at the kid he just barked an order at standing in the same place and not doing anything, and then he makes eye contact. He feels a sense of uneasiness and exasperation wash over him; he makes a sound between a huff and a sigh.]

Great, more creepy shit.

[ river raises the hand he's watching and drums her fingers against her chest. ] This one. [ just in case he was still confused.

she feels bad, now, needing and wanting comfort. her hand flutters down, to her side, fingers spreading out and relaxing. trying to relax. ] She's better now.

You're better now. [ kind of. not really, no. ] No more screaming.

Edited 2018-09-01 00:00 (UTC)

It seems to at least have been enough to help Arthur get a hold of himself. He's breathing hard and running a quick assessment of his body as he calms down, finally able to see properly. No blood, no bullet holes, it's Deerington so it's not all great, but he's not going to fall into Limbo...

He nods, straightening up to draw in longer, deeper breaths of air to get fully under control, walking in a small circle away from Alex before turning back to him.

"Thanks," he starts, coughing a bit from how dry his throat is after holding back what screams he could. "Not sure what happened there, but... Thanks for getting me out."

[ river stares at him for a fraction of a second and then one of the demons moves, startling her further. ] No no no no no no no no no no no no!

You'll shoot the sleepers too! [ she raises her arms above her head and shrieks in pure teenaged blood-curdling agony, which..seems to have the effect of causing the demons to howl back at her.

that wasn't expected at all. ]

((o/))

[The kid just moves closer, smile growing while Arthur breathes hard through grit teeth, choking on blood that isn't there.

Arthur himself gropes around towards the voice, gasping out:] Can't- die-!

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