TDM #1

[rhodosmods]

TDM #1: AUGUST

Jump to: Arrival · Sound and Light · Into the Fog · Waking Up to a Nightmare · The Bonfire
Summary · Questions

I. ARRIVAL

Upon arrival, characters awaken in one of the main plazas of the town, lying on the paving stones around a central fountain. It is a bright sunny day and very hot, so you'll quickly want to find some shade. A light breeze brings the scent of the sea, but there are no cries of sea birds to be heard.

The buildings of the plaza are all medieval stone construction, but they all have modern awnings and glass fronts. Tables out front display tourist wares: little plastic statuettes, postcards, t-shirts. Among these, it's easy to identify Greek lettering, Greek gods, photos of Athens and Crete. Predominant among the souvenirs are items marked with the name Rhodos.

But there are no vendors selling their wares. Even if characters wander into the shops, they are all empty as if their owners just stepped away for a moment. Lights are on, and some of the larger and nicer shops even have the whirr of air conditioning. Food stands waft the aroma of freshly grilled kebabs, and a gelato cart is cold to the touch and the ice cream inside is frosty and delicious.

The plaza where you arrive is set on a slope, and the direction of the sea breeze and the faint sound of waves against a shore indicates pretty strongly that down-slope is the direction of the sea. But looking down the slope from the main plaza, you can see an open archway in a tall stone wall, and beyond it is nothing but mist. Despite the clear sunny day in the plaza, the mist is a dense fog with barely three feet of visibility. If you enter it, you can see your own arms in front of you, but nothing beyond that. The breeze has gone still and the waves no longer sound so much like waves--the sound is warped through the mist so that it almost sounds like sobbing. After about five minutes of determined walking across what feels like flat ground with no other landmarks, you find yourself back at the archway.

Housing can easily be scavenged. Doors are unlocked and the interiors are clean and welcoming, beds freshly made, as if it is a hotel that's been prepared for you rather than anyone's personal residence. And yet, once you've settled upon a place to live, you start to find little signs that you have lived here all along. The photographs on the wall (which weren't there when you first arrived) depict you and your family and friends, even if you came from a world without photography. Upon arrival, you have only the clothing you are wearing, but within a day the closet begins to fill with familiar outfits from home, and within the first week you may find up to five of your own possessions around your new residence.

Note: Wardrobe is limited to what you can reasonably fit inside a non-walk-in apartment closet, what your character would reasonably wear and possess in canon, or what can be scavenged around town. There are two very small clothing boutiques where you can find most basics and a few cute outfits. For starting possessions two may be weapons or magical items, but you may have an additional three mundane items. All other personal items can only be obtained through regains or events.

II. SOUND AND LIGHT

The first few days in your new home are relatively uneventful. The days are hot and sunny and the nights are warm beneath a dazzling starry sky.

After not quite a week, the noises of a spectacle will lead characters to a small gate in one of the outer walls with steps leading down into the outer moat. The fog surrounding the city walls has drawn back for just this one little area, revealing an open air theater butting up against the castle wall. A path leads away from the theater on either side, but if you walk into the mist on either side you will promptly find yourself walking out of the mist on the opposite side, as if you'd circumnavigated the entire moat in just a few steps. Behind the theater is another high stone wall. Centuries of weathering has added rough footholds and handholds, but it would be a dangerous climb without equipment. Trees grow from the top of the wall, sticking limbs out of the wall of mist and clawing roots into the stones at the top, loosening them so that they're ready to slip at a touch.

The play that is projected onto the wall features shadow puppets, colored lights, and canned soundtrack special effects like the clop of horses hooves or the burst of trumpets. There is no dialogue or narration, so the story can only be roughly pieced together: there is a king and a queen, then a betrayal that leads to the king's murder. Later, the king and the queen appear again, participating in a ritual which seems to involve human sacrifice, a war and a triumphal procession, and then another betrayal and the king is murdered again.

The story repeats three times every night before shutting itself off. The first performance starts at twilight, and each repetition lasts about twenty minutes. Characters who watch it repeatedly will get the sense that it's slightly different each time, but the whole thing is complicated and confusing without any narration or dialogue to provide context, so characters will struggle to pin down how it's different. A slide projector is set up at the top of the amphitheater, with a pair of old speakers on either side of it. If slides are removed from the projector, they show only blank, uncolored plastic. If something is placed in front of the projector light, the scene is projected onto that object. The projector can be turned off, unplugged, or smashed. No matter what is done to it, as soon as no one is actively watching it, it is restored to an undamaged status and resumes playing.

After watching an entire repetition of the performance, some characters may be overcome by a fit of weeping. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can't seem to catch your breath. Despair clutches at your heart, colored by your own personal sorrows, and the weeping can only be stopped by receiving an embrace.

Others may find that the performance inspires them to reminisce. No matter how secretive you might normally be, you find yourself turning to whoever is sitting near you and telling them a story from your past, something that makes you nostalgic or regretful.

III. INTO THE FOG

CONTENT WARNING: Cruelty and violence against (monster) dogs

After the characters have been in Rhodos for about three weeks, a heavy fog rolls into town. Unlike the mist that surrounds the city, the fog smells of smoke. Visibility is reduced to a mere ten or fifteen feet.

The electricity goes out, and shops are no longer replenished. Food may still be scavenged, but the food in shops and restaurants will slowly rot and may run out. Battery operated items will continue to work as long as the batteries still have a charge. Running water inside the houses continues to work, but it is sluggish and smells stale, leaving an unpleasant film on the skin.

While out on the streets of the town, characters will begin to encounter the monster dogs of Rhodos. The sound of a dragging chain precedes them, and then the hazy outline of a dog comes into view. It's walking oddly, however, with a sort of staggering limp, and the sound of the chain is underlaid by a low, feral growl. Furless gray skin peels away in patches to reveal bloody muscle. The heavy iron collar around the neck is studded with long black screws, the ends of which pierce the skin of the neck. Hazy eyes are clouded with decomposition, and yet that doesn't seem to prevent the dog from making its way straight toward you.

The dogs are not very fast, nor very smart. They can be outpaced at a brisk walk, and they will lose track of any character who gets more than twenty feet away or behind a closed door. But they are vicious. If you get within a few feet, they will lunge at you and attempt to bite. If two or three of them manage to corner you in a blind alley, you could be in real trouble.

In addition to the dogs, characters will begin to catch glimpses of Manifestations, both their own or those of others. At first you might just catch a glimpse of them through a break in the fog, but after a day or two they can be spotted standing outside of apartment windows and staring in. In either case, they will not approach or attack characters unless you're foolish enough to get within six feet of them. Then, they will attack, and they will pursue at a fast walk until they lose track of you in the fog.

IV. WAKING UP TO A NIGHTMARE

CONTENT WARNING: Blood imagery

On the 28th, characters are awakened by the sound of their front doors being smashed in. It's your own smashing door that awakens you, but you can hear more distant sounds of destruction from the other apartments nearby.

As you scramble out of your bed, you find that the homey, quilted bedding has been soaked through with blood, and it's sagging in the middle with the outline of a human body. But before you have a chance to properly react to that horror, your Manifestation is coming through your bedroom door — more than one of them, if you were sharing that bed with anyone.

You will have to fight or dodge in order to get out of the room. Your Manifestation is out for your blood. You can do damage to it, creating deep wounds and heavy bruises, causing it to stagger and slow for a moment, but no matter how much damage you do it keeps coming for you. Sooner or later, you will need to run.

When you make it out into the streets, you'll find that the entire world has changed. Heavy darkness fills the city, and no stars are visible in the sky. A few lights glow despite the lack of electricity, but they only provide a sickly, red-tinted light. Streets are slick with something that looks like blood, and the stone walls in many places have been transformed into metal or grate. Through the grate, you can catch glimpses of black metal hooks and gory, dripping meat that looks human in origin.

There is no palatable food or water. Anything you have saved has rotted or changed unnaturally into what looks like rotting flesh or lumps of bile. Liquid has turned into blood or black water. The only mercy is that symptoms of hunger, thirst and fatigue stabilize after 24 hours and don't get any worse. Don't worry, it won't be the dehydration that kills you here.

Your Manifestation pursues you tirelessly, and the monster dogs are faster, smarter, and moving in packs. Your home is no longer safe, and staying on the streets is deadly.

V. THE BONFIRE

CONTENT WARNING: Body horror, immolation

Sooner or later, you find your way to the bonfire in the middle of the fountain square. There is no longer water in the fountain. Instead, the whole thing towers with flame, fueled by a viscous black substance in the basin.

A tall man stands by the fountain, gazing into the flames as if he is supervising. His suit is true black, fathomless black, while his skin is a dark red-black like the newly formed crust upon a lava flow. His eyes are black pools reflecting the flames. He takes no interest in any approaching characters, and will not respond to any questions. The only thing that will draw his attention to you is an attempted attack. If you try it, your blow lands, but he doesn't seem to take any damage. His head turns toward you and he considers you for a moment, as if he finds it intriguing that you would attempt such a thing. Then he returns his attention to the fire.

The dogs and the Manifestations will not pursue you into the circle of light cast by the bonfire. You can find a sort of respite here.

Time passes. It feels like days, though there is no way to mark the passage of time. The Dark Figure continues to supervise the bonfire.

At last, your attention is drawn to a sort of commotion approaching down one of the main streets that feeds into the plaza. You hear a rattling of metal, and a sort of gibbering moan. The bonfire illuminates first upon a pale, faceless figure which seems to writhe as it approaches, hovering above the paving stones. As it grows closer, you see that the figure is lashed to a square metal frame and bound with strips of barbed wire. Veiled figures on either side bear it forward, and the Dark Figure turns to watch it approach.

The figure upon the frame has no face and no mouth with which to make its agonized moans, but it continues nonetheless. It has limbs but no hands or feet, each limb ending in smooth stumps.

If no one interferes, the Handmaidens carry the frame forward and place it upon the fire.

The Handmaidens can be attacked, and hurt. They cry out indignantly at any attack, and recoil. They will not fight back, but they also will not be discouraged from their task by anything less than persistent violence.

If the pale figure on the frame is rescued by the player characters, it flails and gibbers helplessly, continuing to moan. If the pale figure is consigned to the flames, it begins to scream, and continues screaming for several minutes until the flame finally overcomes it.

In either situation, you begin to cough. Blood spills from your mouth, dribbling down your chin and spattering upon your clothing. But then the droplets begin to slither into letters, forming words that spell out your deepest guilt, in the words you yourself would use to describe it. No attempt to wipe the words away or cover them will prevent their legibility. The blood shines through whatever covers it, catching the firelight so that those around you can clearly read the words.

The Dark Figure and his Handmaidens made their exit while you were coughing. You are left alone with the other Tourists around you, your guilt, and whatever remains of the pale figure upon the frame.

SUMMARY

Arrival: August 1
Sound and Light: August 5-20
Into the Fog: August 21-27
Waking Up to a Nightmare: August 28-30
The Bonfire: August 31

Welcome to Rhodos! Going forward, events will take place in two parts. The Normal World part of the event posted on the 5th of each month, and it will be a lighter event both in terms of length and thematic content. TDMs will be bi-monthly and will feature an event element or elements for the Normal World which in-game characters may also play with on their own log posts. The sections on Fog and Nightmare worlds for the TDM will generally be the same every month, allowing players to test drive those elements if they'd like, but not including spoilers for the second part of that month's event. The second part of the event will be posted on the 20th of each month, covering events occurring through both the Fog and Nightmare cycles.

Test drive memes are considered game canon.

This won't always be the case, but for the nerds among you who are enjoying this sometimes-accurate tour of Rhodes, all location images in this TDM and housing are accurate to Rhodes.

Lastly, we are in need of mods! We're most in need of help for processing apps and activity. If we aren't able to get some additional mods, we will have to place a cap on applications, and we're hoping we won't have to do that. If you're interested, please send us a message over on the mod contact page. We've gotten the mod volunteers we needed so we should be all clear to proceed without an applications cap. Thank you to everyone who showed interest!

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Comments

will graham » nbc's hannibal

[isola]

general warnings that come with hannibalesque horror.
yes, the pretentious art film from the 80s vibes is a thing.

࿐

( arrival ) » — a blood red sea;

{ Pressure is the thrum of a heart accelerating, pulse ready to leap from his throat. It’s the bundle of nervousness as he tries to grasp what is going on, panic diluting senses to their bare usage. Coiled and sharp, regardless of the situation, Will has to be alert. The makings of nearly dying have left him riddled with paranoia. Despite the training he received at Quantico, he failed his tests on a level that shouldn't have been approved on the field.

His instinct may be what has kept him going, one he struggles to embrace even after now having a taste of it. It's a faded memory, as if coming to Rhodos has reset him, and he's not sure how to feel about it. He should be elated, despite the circumstances at hand.

For a moment, Will has to wonder if he's finally dead. The sea has no natural wind direction, and the tangy air he’s grown to find comfort within is nowhere to be found. It is silence on a roulette with one bullet and not knowing when the trigger will be pulled. Will arrived with an itching sense of relief he didn't think he deserved. Then it was yanked away by the fuzzy haze of a strange new world, all too reminiscent of when he'd find himself in the middle of the road some nights.

He has taken to exploring on his own and staying clear. Perhaps it isn’t hell he’s found, it’s purgatory. He continues to stare at the sea from afar, returning to it every other day. Each time, he tries to find the waves upon the water that might have no actual ripples. The fog is ahead, and part of him wants to know what is beyond. He knows better. Does he…? }

I always thought I would die at sea. Now it’s mocking me.

( nightmare ) » — strung by your hand;

{ It’s different, the way the goosebumps rise upon his arms, hairs standing. He might as well be a soaking wet cat, plucked freshly after being thrown into a tub. The feral that comes from within is stilled, but he isn’t about to trust the lure of a fog that is tempting him. He’s had his temptations, and a question has been haunting him more than the subtle hooves he hears by his door. He has to wonder if the newfound reality is his punishment? Where did...? The wounds of a feverish dance are still fresh in his memory, as if it’ll eventually suffocate him if he keeps driving it back into a deal with it later mindset. Far too many questions, and all he can do is fixate. It’s what he does best.

Instead of panicking when he finds he’s outside instead of his room, having woken up from a bout of sleepwalking, he briefly listens for the familiar sound. It has been ages since he's taken an unwanted night stroll. He knew he was going to encounter someone eventually, just not while in his boxer briefs. Great. He takes a step, and the shadow on his right copies him. It's attached to a looming figure larger than a moose, antlers unmistakable and a pitch dark complexion as if one were to stare into a black hole. }

Do you see it?

{ He’s tired. All he can register is his parched voice, roughened after needing to adjust to speaking once again. He’s not sure if he can calculate how long it’s been. A brief moment passes, until he hears a clear sound of feathers ruffling, as if whatever is lurking nearby is slowly rearing up for something. Stalking its prey. Assessing. }

( sound & light ) » — pandora's box;

{ Most of the time he spent when he arrived had been compartmentalized in sections. Most of it was to observe and intake what was happening. He's a creature of habit, so he took to the apartment and trying to make it what his house had been in Virginia. He wanted to stay away from people as much as he could, but sometimes life has a way of making a fool out of him.

Will hasn't moved much after he noted the film liked to play over and over. A sensation begun to creep into cracks he tried to conceal. Bleeding wounds are more accurate, and he was trying to put a tiny, pathetic band-aid over it. The more he watched, the more the stench of grief or otherwise became apparent. }

You're resisting, { comes the comment. It has always been easier to deflect onto others rather than trying to understand what he's feeling. His expression is indescribable. He does not turn to look at his newfound companion. His eyelashes do get a hint of wet, drawn out with a rapid motion of blinks. Will's eyes sting, and his frown deepens. He's not sure if it's his doing. }

( wildcard ) » — byo;

( v flexible as i’m trying this out, so open to all sorts of scenarios. hell, let's get weird. i love mind bendy shit. most likely pulling him from the end of s3 or midway bc i like to make my muses suffer. pms are open if you have any questions or ideas you want to try. or hit me up at groovygenes!! )

sound and light

[37stitches]

[ It's not the first time that Abby's sat down to watch the show. He thinks it's easier in the dark, that maybe that's intentional. Letting it soak in, at least. Something about the shadows. About the play of light and shape and storytelling. Each repetition a little different from the one that came before, except he can't quite grasp how.

He stays hunched over, Jenny clutched protectively to his chest as he sniffs and wipes at his eyes. Because that's part of it too. The crying, and that grief and dull horror dredged up every time he watches. He thinks it's weaving something together, more than just the song and dance of spectacle, but he can't pull at his own power to check. It just is, and so he just watches.

The cat curls her big tail around his wrist. At least she's here. One day he woke up and she was sitting on his chest. And that's just that. He sniffs again, peering at the man next to him. A stranger, though everyone here is. ]

Resisting - mhm. What?

[isola]

{ The way the play shifts is akin to each lens trying to capture the second it snaps, but the frames keep changing. They keep becoming something new and it’s more anxiety inducing than what he can sense all around him. He’s always been able to tune in more than others, but this time he wants it to go silent. He almost wants to cut that part of him out, and it’s the strongest the longer he stares at the way something seems to be changing.

Will doesn’t like change. It’s probably why he made a habit of coming back. He closes his eyes briefly, takes a breath, and then manages to turn away from the spectacle. The longer he attempts to ponder, the more he can feel a headache at the forefront. }

I’m not sure. It’s weird. { He finds he might as well be direct. Will doesn’t dwell on it, despite his whole being telling him to look into it. Instead, he curiously stares at the cat with the stranger. He hadn’t seen an animal around, but to have one here? It reminds him of his dogs. In the midst of all the revolving emotions around him, that makes him feel nearly at ease for the first time since he’s arrived. }

Is it your cat…? I didn’t realize we had them around.

[37stitches]

[ Weird. Haha. Yeah. Abby curls a little tighter around Jenny before he remembers not to squish her and relents. It wouldn't be right to trap her, to put a leash on her. He made her, gave her a shape, a body to inhabit, but she's Jenny before she's his and that's how it ought to be. You don't own the dead.

Or you're not supposed to, at least. And she's not dead anymore.

Abby sniffs, rubbing Jenny's head. She flicks her ears. ]

Woke up and she was here. Her name's Jenny.

[ The cat noses at his bracelets, though the charms are all dead and cool now. No power in them. Abby lifts his head a little. Watching the other man carefully. ]

You can pet her. If you want.

[isola]

{ The play is ending and he’s been here enough to know that it will restart again. He almost counts the beats until it does. The cat is proving to be a sufficient distraction from the thrum of this odd cycle. His attempt at a smile is small, weak even. Pardon him. His socializing needs some tuning. }

I have seven dogs. { He still thinks he might one day go back to them, or so he hopes. Will stares at Jenny the cat, considers the offer. } You should probably know my name then. Will Graham.

{ It’s odd, as if his own name is something foreign. He carefully reaches out and pets the cat. The weakness to his smile seems more genuine than before as he finds the fur is soft. He is compelled into a confession that may not mean much at forefront, but holds deep for him. }

I miss them.

[37stitches]

S - mhmm. Seven's a good number, [ Abby murmurs. He likes dogs. Animals are easier. Maybe he likes the cats best but the dogs are nice when they run up and bump their noses against his hands. When they curl up next to him, or bark because they're happy just to exist. His uncle's afraid of dogs but that doesn't make them bad. ] I have dogs too. Just - not here.

[ Only Jenny. She purrs, low and rumbling, and tips her head back for pets. Whatever else is happening here, she's alive and strong. The magic holds in her, even if Abby can't feel it here. Can't call it to him. What if someone gets hurt and he can't heal them?

That's been on his mind. That thought. Racing and racing and racing.

Abby's smile is small. A little uncertain. Will Graham. Okay. ]

Hi. I'm - Abby. Abby Fontaine.

[ Alistair, if they're going by birth certificates, but it never fit. ]

[isola]

You do? { His motions do halt, and for a moment he’s intrigued, sprung into a bubble. It might be a self-made one or imposed due to the ominous air that wants to overcome them. Dogs are easier to understand, able to remain with their loyalty at the forefront. Having to encounter people means unpredictability. }

I nearly went for an eight. Guess I ran out of time. { His priorities went somewhere else, more regrettable than he’s willing to voice. There’s that compelling force again. This time he does push against it, and in doing so he retreats his hand from the cat.

Will isn't one to disclose easily, but there must be something at play and Abby is in the crossfire (or both of them are). Forces incomprehensible. He doesn’t like being unable to trace even an inkling of what may be occurring to them. The subdued fear is back. }

You have something on your mind. Does this place also unsettle you?

a blood red sea

[smokes]

[ alex has an aversion to the beach under normal circumstances — sand gets everywhere, he burns like a lobster — here, whatever passes for the beach is cooler in comparison. unsettling, but cooler. if he's going to go outside, he might as well be here.

he's deep in his own thoughts (mostly variations on "where the fuck am i" with breaks to wonder what's past all the fog) until he hears another person. an attractive person, in a hot professor kind of way. can't ignore that.

clad in black and with a light accent that says "new england", he asks ]

Why'd you think you were gonna die at sea? You a sailor or something?

[isola]

{ The air is cool, nearly similar to the winds in Louisiana, and it’s what’s keeping him here where the sand looks as if it wants to sink into itself and take whoever is nearby. There goes his mind trying to be reactive once again. Will doesn’t look over yet, only offers up a poor explanation that makes a lot more sense inwardly. }

No. I’m a fisherman’s son.

{ Any hint of a Cajun accent brought out in reminiscence gets squandered into his next words. Now he’s attentive to the the person nearby as he sets his attention on them. Will is hesitant, but gives brief eye contact. The new world they’re in seems like a feverish dream he can’t make sense of right now. He might as well try and see what it has to offer. }

Bodies of water are less complicated to deal with if you know how to navigate them. I’ve spent months out there, yet I’m here. How did you end up here?

[smokes]

So an occupational hazard thing? Huh.

[ makes more sense than whatever else he'd been thinking up. at least alex resisted saying "was your dad a bad fisherman then, or...." not that he can talk. despite living on the coast his entire life, his own major takeaway from the ocean was "knowing how to swim okay." passably, even.

he glances back, not taking this to be anything besides a normal interaction. (still hot. gonna shelve that for now.)]

You mean here in wherever-the-fuck? [ his nose scrunches while thinking this over for the not-first time. ]

I guess I just woke up here. I was home, then I wasn't. Pretty sure I'm not dead or hallucinating some shit by now, which doesn't leave much else. Maybe we're in some kind of alternate universe.

[ it has to be, because his only other thought is that they're in the core, but he's intimately familiar with that liminal void of a parallel universe. and he would still have psychic powers there — he doesn't have them here, so it's a flop. 0/10. ]

i just have to say alex’s introspect would scandalize will and i’m here for it

[isola]

I just want to die doing what I love. Is that… weird? I rebuilt my father’s boat. { Nola 2.0. What was left of it came with him. He’s not sure why. The questions kept coming as he considered it, took some parts of it and they’re now scattered at the foot of the bed in a strange apartment he was given. His hands twitch at the thought as if he has to have something to do. Distractions.

He shifts his eye contact away, almost instantly. The usually salty air isn’t what he smells right now. Something about the lack of it settles uncomfortably at the pit of his stomach. The idle conversation is nice, despite hating small talk. It’s just another distraction.

Part of him whispers look deeper. Will represses the innate curiosity when it appears. Is it Rhodos or is Will adapting? Still not convenient. He lets out a half attempted snort. }

“Whatever-the-fuck” seems fitting. Do you actually believe you’re dead? If we are then management has some maintenance complaints on their way. { A poor joke. Wait. } Alternative universe?

ljwegkre i'm so glad 😂

[smokes]

I guess not? Here for a good time not for a long time or some shit. [ he's 99% sure he'll die of pushing his psychic powers so hard he gives himself an aneurysm, so who is he to judge. ] Should've brought the boat with you.

[ so he could sail it straight into the fog... hm. probably a bad idea.

in any case, what will sees as small talk alex sees as information gathering 😑 on an attractive man ]

I dunno. [ he exhales 5% of a chuckle. ] I feel like I'd know what being dead is like. I already died once, so. [ why clarify that his heart stopped for two minutes when he could sound like a badass with nine lives? ] I dunno if this is the extended cut of that, but I sure as fuck hope not.

[ and then his shoulders shift in a shrug. ] If you've got better ideas than "alternate universe", I'd love to hear about it.

yesss here for fellow disasters + ✨🔪

[isola]

And what, you help me steer it? Not many would go blindly into that fog out there. Some might consider it foolish. { He really ought to have more preservation. Will hasn’t slept properly since he arrived, but he never has known actual peace so it’s mute. He’s civil if people are civil. His default is either testing people on the surface or staying away.

Will nearly bites his tongue with the information he gathers. Instead, he decides to entertain. He wouldn’t be able to have done what he did if he didn’t consider all angles. The odd is, he might just believe him? }

Maybe I am actually mad { debatable } for considering your idea. Then again, we could find a totem pole made out of bodies on the beach tomorrow. It’s happened before. I’m used to unpredictable.

{ At least it would be something out here. He’s seen others around, and hasn’t made any effort to approach them. Will isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but the less influence the better. For now. }

Tell me about where you come from. I’ll trade you my hypothesis.

arrival

[midsommaring]

What made you think you would always die at sea?

[Shit. She recognizes that voice in herself. Her shrink voice, she calls it. The one the psychoanalyzes every little detail about everyone but herself. This poor guy doesn't need that, not right off the bat, not here. She walks a few steps closer and offers her hand.]

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -- that was unnecessary. I apologize. I'm Dani. Pretend I never said that.

[She looks young. Girlish, almost, in her white linen dress, thought the flower crown now sits on the table beside her bed.]

[isola]

{ Will knows he probably looks odd out in an open area, coming back to understand a silence he can’t seem to leave. It’s an inkling of an obsession. He’s actually grateful to hear someone else as if a spell has been broken before it became more of the curse it’s always been. }

Huh? Oh. { He stares at the young girl’s hand, comes to his senses, and reaches out to shake it. He usually doesn’t like when people come near, but he gathers he might as well be polite. He hasn’t lost that in the confusion. Will gives her hand a light shake, then immediately retreats his hand as to not intrude longer than necessary. He’s never sure of other’s boundaries, but he knows his own. }

Will. It’s okay, Dani. I don’t know why I keep coming back here. I would go fishing and figured it’ll be my end one day. Have you ever thought about dying while doing something you loved? { Part-truths, always steering him. }

[midsommaring]

[The question seems to pull her up short. Her brow furrowing in thought. She tries do think of something she loves doing. Anything, a hobby, a song, something, but she comes up short

Before Sweden, her life had consisted of going to class, checking in on her sister, and hanging out with Christian and his friends.

How pathetic.]

I don't think... I have anything like that. Maybe I should get into fishing, too. [She tries to laugh, but it comes out hollow, empty. Even to her]

[isola]

{ He does note the shift in her laughter, voided of something he’s not privy to. Will nearly comments on it, but resists. It’s familiar enough of his time spent drinking endless nights, not knowing what enough was until someone had to pull it from him. Unfortunately, those people were never convenient. The last person he saw before coming here had been Jack.

He slightly parts his mouth, then considers his answer. }

It depends, if you’re a patient person, sure. I don’t have many hobbies, just distractions. Are you from here?

[midsommaring]

I can be patient. I don't have many hobbies, either. Or... any. I just realized. [She would just agree to do whatever everyone else wanted to do. Not wanting to make waves, or be thought of as difficult in any way.

Maybe that's what happens when you build your life around other people. When those people are gone, you have nothing left. Not even a hobby.]

Oh, uh, no. Boston, originally. You?

[isola]

The open air is tranquil. { It’s an off comment, meant to be minimal as he lets his gaze linger back towards the horizon. It looks like it’s near but it’s probably far. He’s only just arrived so it didn’t occur to him that more people would be here.

Normal people. He wonders what normal looks like out here. If others are in their turmoil as well. He hopes theirs is not the minefield his has become. One step out of bounds and it’s over. }

I’m originally from Louisiana, then moved to Virginia. I couldn’t leave the South. Maybe you’ll find something here. Whatever here is? The fog hasn’t moved in days. I think it’s waiting. { For prey, echoes in his mind. }

nightmare

[riflestock]

[ ethan does not see it. he is choosing Not To Perceive. he is entirely focused on a scruffy dude in boxers, who looks as unstrung and profoundly lost as ethan feels.

who needs sleep, these days? not [redacted]. [redacted] is notoriously unsleeping. ethan might as well wander around during the night as well as the day, as if he's going to find anything he's looking for. he's got his gun and his knife tucked into his battered, bloodstained hoodie, but he's awful tired of fighting.

he asks, very calmly, ]

If I say no, will it go away?

[isola]

{ It’s such a simple question and it completely catches Will off guard. It’s a crashing wave and he’s just woken up, his senses coming to him as he takes in the stranger in front of him. He immediately goes into taking in the details.

Gun, knife, male, tired, bloodied — a fighter?

At least he asked calmly. Will doesn’t want look back, only knows that if he does, he’s not sure what will happen. The unknown is grappled on his expression, one of hesitance. }

I don’t know. Why do you have blood on you?

{ He’s stalling. Poorly. Eventually his creature — Ravenstag — he calls it, will demand his attention. Will thought it died, or the concept of it, drowned in its own pool of blood on the night he nearly died. }

[riflestock]

[ ethan would wince at being so labeled. but-- maybe it's true. he isn't an average guy anymore, with a beautiful wife and an infant daughter and something weird happened to him once, but that's all in the past. he's not winters in IT anymore, either. he'll never be that guy again.

he is a thing that fights. ]

It's old blood, [ he says, keeping his eyes firmly on will and not on anything else at all. in the fog this place reminds him of the beneviento house, and his eyes had played tricks on him there as well. he hopes this is the kinda thing that will ignore you if you ignore it. ]

I know it's kinda gross, but do you want my jacket?

[isola]

Sure, { is what he can manage. He’s on autopilot, and denying aid in anyway would be foolish. Will can still at least assess while he figures what is going on. The attention on him is just as jarring as the fog itself. He looks down and notes his half undressed state. Now he’s mumbling. }

I have to get back to my apartment. { Maybe the other person is telling the truth. Nothing is behind him. Another faint rustle can be heard. What he can’t see is a singular raven feather detach and with a gush of wind, it lands on him. The hooves he heard earlier tap on the floor and Will is brought to his knees. A sudden burst of guilt overcomes him. He’s suddenly forced to relive the moment he shot Hobbs — his tenth shot is ringing in his ears as he grabs some of the dirt on the floor as if it might do something.

What had been a black feather dissolved into smoke, ambers flickering in its wake. Will is lost, again. }

—Shit. You should leave.

[riflestock]

[ to be fair, ethan isn't trying to maintain eye contact. he's just pointedly not looking at anything that might be over will's shoulder as he starts to shrug out of the ragged yellow jacket. he uses the motion to conceal-- not from will, but from a taller eyeline-- the action of switching his handgun to the small of his back, tucked into the belt. he throws will a meaningful glance, which hopefully communicates 'don't say anything but there is absolutely something behind you, man.' ]

Sounds like a good id--

[ ah shit. feathers. to ethan's mind, that only means one thing, and it's real bad. ]

Nope, [ he says, almost manic with suppressed energy suddenly. ] We're gonna both leave, come on, don't look at her.

[ he grabs for will's arm, fully intending to drag him up if he has to. ]

[isola]

{ He appreciates what the other is attempting. Then he says Don’t look at her and all he can think over and over like a mantra trying to burn onto his skin is — Abigail. He looks up and instead of another lurching response, he aims for the needed distraction that is becoming less and less of a cover. }

My name is Will Graham. I’m thirty-eight years old. It’s… What time is — { He’s done it before, had to remind himself so he can come back to his senses. He takes a deep breath, and with a wobble pushes on the floor to get up. Will throws an apologetic expression since the grasp on his arm is being used as support.

Whatever is behind him, he knows it’s not intellectually based like the killers he’s profiled. It does have one main component in common with them. Instinct. Some part of him somehow understands if he looks at it, then death becomes her. It will be activated. Will scratches his throat, having the sudden impulse. His voice is low, hesitant, and wavering. }

I think I can do that.