TDM - OCTOBER 2020

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - OCTOBER 2020

Everyone's entitled to one good scare.
CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

---

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing baseball outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

OCTOBER 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping. If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas. If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player. And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time. By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, a cartoon pack of cigarettes and accompanying cigarette dancers prance around a black and white pumpkin patch, joined by dancing skeletons, ghosts and witches as a cheerful little earworm blares: ”Thirty days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, thirty days til Halloween—“

---

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961. If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke? A. AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD. Over the course of the week, your neighbors will come by unannounced, each with a new homecooked meal to welcome you to their cozy little side of town. Meatloaf, potato salad, lamb chops. Gelatin molds — lots of gelatin molds. Someone even comes by to drop off a gelatinous yellow lump of pineapple, green peppers, celery and yellow cheese swimming in a soupy mixture of sour and whipped cream. “It’s my aunt Myrna’s recipe!” they gush once they drop the casserole tin into your hands, proceeding to rattle off every ingredient. Well, at least you won’t be starving anytime soon. When you bring it back in to your kitchen - and its cheery wallpaper and its floral patterned Pyrex dishware, you and your new...family(?) all stare at the cheese salad, the gelatin, the curiously frosted meatloaf spread. A smorgasbord courtesy of the insistent generosity! Who will take the first bite?

B. DON'T BE A SQUARE!

You can only avoid the cheer and the neighbors for so long, even as you sit inside enjoying all the amenities of your new home. The television can only turn its volume up to five, after all! One bright and sunny Saturday, the weather crisp and clear, news broadcasts and reruns of The Ed Sullivan Show are drowned out by the music in the neighborhood. Eventually it’s too much to bear — you simply must put on your shoes and go discover the source of that infernal racket.

Why, it’s the block party! Haven’t you seen the invitation — with instructions — sitting in your mailbox, silly? Wear a badge so everyone on the block can know you’re new and welcome you to their extended family!

Well! Each neighbor was supposed to set up a table with snacks and drinks and entertainment on their front lawn. Carter Mayhew, one of your Robbie neighbors, has a whole ring toss obstacle course set up for boys to play with, and his wife is cheerfully and blandly instructing a group of girls on jump rope rhymes. Colorful streamers hang from every lamppost and mailbox, balloons and party favors galore. Like you, there are even a few newcomers to Santa Rosita that are caught just as unaware of this event — though others are being welcomed in by husbands and wives and children, caught in conversations about building decks and the upcoming Halloween festivities.

Before you can decide if returning home or joining the party is your choice, a plate with chips and dips and yes, more gelatin is shoved into your hands and a party hat snapped on to your head.

“The guest of honor has arrived! Come and meet your neighbors, neighbor!”

---

THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.

Life falls into a peaceful haze for the next several days. Dull, unassuming, tranquil. As the month drags on, the spirit of Halloween begins to manifest in Santa Rosita, from the pumpkins people start putting out on their doorsteps to the smiling faces of paper skeletons pressed against their windows. And then, towards the end of the month, something terrible happens. You hear it first through word of mouth, rippling through Santa Rosita like a wave, dark murmurs accompanied by sad sighs and downturned eyes. Soon, you start to read about it. Grim business, they say. A tragedy. How could something like this happen. People stop talking about it by the end of the week. Best just to forget about it. Every day, that cigarette commercial comes on. It’s impossible to escape it. And every day, the number of days in the song changes, counting down. ”Thirteen days till Halloween—” “Eight more days til Halloween—” “Three more days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween…”

---

HALLOWEEN.

CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

October 31st. It sneaks up on you whether you like it or not. When dawn breaks on Halloween day, things are as serene as they’ve ever been as men do yard work, raking leaves as their wives bake fresh pie and cookies in the house, the spicy scent of cinnamon, apple and pumpkin wafting through the neighborhood on chilly October wind. There’s a smile on every child’s face as they skip off the school bus in the afternoon, running into their houses to get their costumes ready. As it begins to get dark, the residents of Santa Rosita start lighting their jack-o-lanterns. One by one, little balls of light flicker to life on every porch and doorstep, jagged smiles grinning in the dark. For the entire night, nobody blows the candle inside their pumpkins out. It’s a tradition, a very old one, and traditions are just another way of saying rules. And Halloween in Santa Rosita, as it turns out, lives and dies by the rules.

A. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY.

Halloween isn’t just for the kids, although they certainly make up the bulk of who you’ll see out and about on the streets. Walking through Santa Rosita, your neighbors are as generous with handing out treats as they are with handing out gelatin molds and pot roasts, and they don’t discriminate. Adults are received just as warmly as children; the worst one can expect is a quirked eyebrow if they show up to a house without a costume.

Apples, packs of gum, homemade cookies. Chocolate bars, nickels, popcorn balls. Your neighbors hand out all sorts of treats, most of them homemade. The Robbies are no exception, and it’s their treats that seem a bit more high quality than most, some of the candy they hand out being obviously expensive, brand names. The good stuff. They drop each treat into your bag with those same pleasant, mild expressions and too-tight smiles you’ve grown used to in your short time here.

Eventually, as everyone winds up doing at some point in the night, you decide to start digging into your treat bag to sample some of your well-earned goods — maybe in the comfort of your home, maybe outside on the streets. And that’s when the fun begins.

Maybe you bite into metal, the razor sharp end of a blade embedded into the apple or candy bar you’ve picked out burying itself in your gums, or splitting your tongue. Maybe it’s a needle, impaling itself straight through the roof of your mouth or a cheek. Or maybe it’s nothing that obvious. Maybe the realization that something is wrong comes moments after you’ve devoured that chocolate bar or cookie, the bitter aftertaste of rat poison hitting the back of your throat along with bile and the rest of the contents of your stomach as they rise up and out of your mouth.

Or maybe you’ll bite into plain, sweet chocolate or fresh fruit. That’s also part of the surprise. You really don’t know what you’ll get until you start eating.

B. ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD.

At ten o’clock, all the television sets in the neighborhood turn on, blaring to life right in the middle of that omnipresent cigarette commercial. The volume begins to rise of its own accord as your television starts to pick up interference, bursts of static squealing amidst the rising, screaming chorus of ”HAPPY HAPPY HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN!”

Breaking through the static, garbled and tinny, a child’s voice cries out.

“Can’t— I can’t hold them— back— Pumpkin— don’t blow the— out—”

And just as quickly as it cut in, the voice cuts back out. Commercial jingle notwithstanding, you’re alone once more. But not for long.

The doorbell rings. You can see them outside from your window: costumed children. Their masks and clothes are grimy and ragged from the muddy, slimy water they’ve been decomposing in for over a week. When they come to your door, squelching wetly as they shamble up the porch steps, they ring the bell or knock, as all polite children do. If you don’t let them in, they’ll find their own way, always by force. And once they find you, all they can gurgle in their reedy, waterlogged voices is, ”Trick or treat.”

From there, they attack.

With superhuman strength and speed, they tear and rip at anything they can get their hands on — clothing, skin, muscle, face, eyes. Being short and small, despite their strength, they're at a distinct disadvantage. They can even be thrown off, with some effort. But they don’t stay down for long, and attempting to hurt or mortally wound them only stalls them for a few moments, if that. How can you kill something that’s already dead?

Some in the neighborhood are willing to try and find out.

The only houses they seem to ignore completely are the ones with lit jack-o-lanterns still outside. They’ll loiter outside these houses, staring straight ahead at your door or window like they can see exactly where you are. But sooner or later, they’ll pass by and move onto the next house.

As long as the candles in carved pumpkins stay lit.

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's first TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to December 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper.

If you would like to have Halloween content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

With regards to the dead trick-or-treaters: you may NPC them however you'd like, but keep the details we've listed in their prompt in mind. They are supernaturally fast and strong, will ignore houses as long as they have a lit pumpkin on the porch outside, and will try to enter each house the moment the candle in the pumpkin goes out. Additionally, they can't be killed, but they can be momentarily stalled by injuring them. By November 1st, 6AM, they will disappear the moment the sun comes out.

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Comments

Dib Membrane | Invader Zim | OTA

[bigheaded]

October 1st: Home life OTA!

Dib wakes up in a bed that isn't his bed. He knows this isn't his room. His room is covered in cryptid posters and UFO nonsense and also it smells much worse. He sits up in bed, in pajamas that definitely aren't his, and peers out the window.

Wow, the sky is really blue.

Anyway, members of his family will find him poking around the house, looking at the sepia photos, muttering to himself.

"This is impossible. I don't remember taking this!"

Neighbors, B: Parties

Dib winces as a party hat is shoved onto his head, and makes a face at the gelatin mold that's now in his hands. He's seen some horrifying food in his time -- he buys his lunch at the Skool cafeteria -- but these? These flavors were never meant to go together. It's wrong. It is deeply and fundamentally wrong.

"No, that's okay," he says, looking around desperately for a way to surreptitiously get rid of the wiggly monstrosity he's now responsible for. "Really. I'll just get some punch, and, uh, hang out over there. By the trash can! Ha ha ha ha....ha." He trails off awkwardly, understanding too late how uncool he sounded.

A: Always check your candy

Dib, dressed in all black clothes, red reflective glasses, feathery wings, and antennae on a headband, is sitting on the front porch of "his" house. He is carefully sorting the Halloween candy into two piles. One side is full of opened candy bars and cut-up apples, metal glinting from inside them. The other, much smaller pile appears to be normal. Dib takes another chocolate bar out of his trick-or-treating bag and breaks it open, checking for anything inside. He sniffs it, carefully. "Hm," he says to himself. "Smells okay." Carefully, he sticks out his tongue and licks the outside.

"Aaagh! Gross!" he cries in despair. "What is that? Ugh!"

B: Always Respect the Dead

You hear his screaming before you see him.

"I knew it!" Dib shrieks. "It's the lights! It's the liiiiiights!"

He runs back and forth between the houses.

"Everyone! Please! Listen to me! Whatever you do, don't let your jack-o-lantern go out! It's the only thing that'll keep you safe! Aaah!"

A trick-or-treater has grabbed the wing of the very cool (and definitely not a butterfly) Mothman costume Dib is wearing and has yanked Dib off-balance. Quickly, Dib makes the call to abandon the wings, and he takes off running as fast as his legs can carry him.

home life

[13thcommander]

And now there's a child in the house.

Erwin is still completely confused and disoriented, but a kid in distress is something he can't ignore. Especially if, like with the woman in the bedroom where he woke up, this child is now supposed to be his.

"Do you take a lot of... these?" He has no idea what photographs are, and is basically just mimicking what the boy said.

No one could ever accuse him of spending a lot of time around, or being good with, kids.

homelander | the boys

[laserbeams]

▶ october 1st

[ His first instinct should have been to panic. This wasn't his bed, or his house. He was in photos he has no memory of taking, and although part of him still thinks that this must be a dream, it feels too real for that.

It reminds him of those crappy reality shows he had to participate in: fake house, fake room, fake life. But as he paces around this strange house, staring intently at each of the photos, the part of him that's lonely and desperate and aching from the loss of his short-lived family unit decides he wants to play house.

He hears footsteps and turns to look at someone he recognizes as one of the people in the photos. ]

Hi, honey. Guess you slept in. [ He smiles, wide and warm and a little deranged. He doesn't know that his 'spouse' and 'children' are in the same situation he is, so he's fully expecting them to react to him as if this is all normal. ]

▶ don't be a square

The guest of honor? Me? [ He says with a very false sense of humility - of course he's the guest of honor, who else would it be? ] Aw, you guys.

[ Homelander's getting used to being smothered with warm greetings and home-cooked food every time he steps outside of the house. It's nice, actually. He's even starting to like the gelatin, when it's not too bizarre of a flavor. He's open to chatting with the other guests, especially the ones that look a little out of place. ]

Hey there, neighbor. [ He's so cheerful in such a painfully forced way that it'd be easy to mistake him for one of the Robbies. ] Enjoying the festivities?

▶ respect the dead

[ Upstanding hero that he is, Homelander has no issue with giving the decomposing trick-or-treater that just forced its way through the front door a swift kick in the chest to send it flying back onto the front porch.

It'd be easier if he could just laser them all. Unfortunately, this place had given him a family but taken his powers away, something that was getting harder and harder to ignore. ]

We need to get that fucking pumpkin outside. [ Since getting here he's tried to keep in theme with the wholesome environment, but seeing as he's in the process of being attacked by zombie children he'll let a few cuss words loose. ] Are you almost done carving it? [ He leans against the door to keep the trick-or-treaters from getting back in, but they're starting to go for the windows. ]

▶ wildcard

[ ooc: feel free to contact me at dandymott or vellocet#7191 if you want to plot something! ]

don't be a square, delighted to see homelander is horrifying as usual

[undiagnosed]

[archer does, indeed, mistake homelander for one of the robbies and when he's greeted gives a hard, icy glare before taking a long drink from his flask. he doesn't get paid enough for this.]

Not really. I've never been much of a fan of kidnapping. [he pockets the flask and grimaces.] So, when does the amateur brain surgery start? Or have you assholes already done that? God, that would explain so much.

ɪᴀɴ ғᴏᴡʟᴇʀ → ᴏᴄ

[wittingly]

good morning sunshine

[ Ian's not a morning person — he fights with everything in him to stay under for at least twenty minutes every day, wrestling with the universe and life, bargaining with himself with the sweet sweet consolation of coffee. Today is no different; he doesn't notice the new sheets, the new pillows, the new smell. Not for a while, not until he either emerges of his own volition or the sound and presence of another person startles him. In either case, his head will pop up from beneath the duvet, curls askew, lips parted, confused as all-fuck and too groggy at first to really comprehend.

Absurdly, he greets anyone in the room with a calm yet confused: ]

Hey, man.

[ Tone light, brow furrowed, a quick scope of the room to confirm yep, nope, definitely not his apartment. After that, waking up comes pretty quickly. His slowly rising anxiety levels stay hidden behind an impressive facade of calm, his chill reminiscent of your typical stoner despite the fact that he clearly hasn't partaken since waking up. It'll lead to a really interesting combination of total freak-out and mellow tone, a nice reserved toned-down panic attack with an oft-repeated manta. ]

What the fuck. But really, what the fuck? What the fuck is this?

( part 2 )

[ Or maybe catch him a few days later standing out there on his front stoop before a placid-faced Robbie holding a gelatin mold, posture calm and nonconfrontational. He's locked in something of a stand-off with them as they hold up the jiggling, completely unappealing tray. ]

Nah, no thank you. We appreciate the gesture, but that's okay. We've got plenty.

[ Followed in turn by a wan, "Oh, I insist! It's Aunt Myrna's secret recipe!" ]

That's cool, man. I'm sure she's great, but I-- honestly, like I've got an entire dining room table of food right now, it's just gonna go to waste.

[ "Nonsense! I'm sure once you try it you won't be able to get enough."

Ian's patience seems as endless as his resolve. ]

I think we're gonna have to agree to disagree on that one. I really appreciate what you're doing, maybe we can do some other kind of thing — I don't know, like coffee? Maybe next week we can do like a dinner thing?

[ "We'd love to have you, but only if you're returning this tray after you've eaten!" So pleasant, so unphased, so not taking the hint. Ian, equally as polite, does not seem to be baking down. Firmly but kindly: ]

I'm not taking that. I'm sorry. We're at maximum gelatin capacity. Gelatin quota exceeded.

[ And so it will go for an impressively long time if nobody intervenes. ]

i'm supposed to be a teacher

[ If his initial panic upon arriving had been immense, it's nothing compared to his complete freak-out when shit hits the fan. That television switching on sets the hair on the back of his neck on end, sends goosebumps down his arms, has a nervous twisting happening deep down in his gut. He stands frozen, confused, knees locked in the middle of the living room trying to understand what that garbled Poltergeist style voice is saying. When the knock does come, it startles him with an outright visible jolt.

”Trick or treat.” ]

Ahaha, nope!

[ Announced declaratively, before he lurches forward to slam the bolt shut on the door. ]

Fuck that, fuck that whole entire thing, I've seen enough movies to know not to open that shit. That's how they fucking die every time, doing some dumb shit like just opening the fucking door--

[ To whit, the window breaks. Anybody in the vicinity is going to be a victim of his hands forcefully dragging them back out of the way unless they shrug him off, accompanied by an urgent repetition. ]

Back door, back door, back door, go, go-

[ When in doubt, run your ass off.

Right until he runs into one on the street and actually sees it in all its absolutely horrifying glory. Muddy and wet and more importantly, decomposing. Decomposing, and standing. and staring in a fucking halloween mask. A dead kid, a rotting corpse. They don't have shit like that where he's from.

He goes blank. He just goes fully blank, frozen like a deer in the headlights, pulse pounding in his ears and his perception of the world sort of tilting left before snapping back, then right before snapping back, light headed and uncomprehending. ]

misc.

[ A few randos:

→ Catch him coughing up and choking on a poisoned peppermint, clutching his throat in obvious distress.
→ He'll be wandering around the block party with his party hat still on, sup-nodding people and chewing on chips like it's the most casual thing you've ever seen. He'll greet just about anyone with a pleasant, "Hey, man." He can also be caught singing the obnoxious Halloween song.
→ Catch him accidentally slipping up in a discreet corner somewhere with a creeping glow snaking up his hands right before an innocuous object shows up in it; house key, fork, pencil, whatever he needs at the time.
→ Anything else; I'll roll with it. Hit me at rifting for your q&a needs. ]

gelatin quota exceeded

[mijo]

[ Nacho is coming out of the house next door with plans to explore the neighborhood, when he notices Ian on the porch one house over, trying to politely decline a gelatin mold from (presumably) one of their other neighbors. It's the point at which he hears 'gelatin quota exceeded' that his lips twitch up into a not-quite smile, and he decides to go try to help.

He crosses to the fence between their houses and leans his forearms on it, speaking into Ian's yard. It's not a huge yard, so they can hear him easily. ]

Hey, neighbor. Ma'am. [ The latter to the overenthusiastic Robbie. ] I doubt you'll convince him. My wife's been practicing with new molds, I'm surprised his family hasn't drowned in the stuff already.

[ It's fairly smooth, his tone friendly without any hint of a lie. ]

wanda maximoff ✖ mcu ✖ ota

[hext]

【 OCTOBER 1ST: MEET THE FAM 】

[ That voice… it had sounded so foreign and so familiar all at once. Wanda recalled being that small, that lost, that trapped — so close to death after losing her parents — and she had reached out blindly, desperately, toward the sound of that despairing child. Or she thought she had…

…but her limbs felt distant from her body and pulled her somewhere else, into a distinct, poignant darkness, and she fell. She kept falling — deeper, deeper, sightless and heavy and sinking, and she wondered distantly if this was how all things ended, silent and blind and dull.

Until she opened… opens… her eyes.

Wanda finds herself in a warm bed beneath warm daylight and there are warm cries of joy and life outside a cookie cutter window above her head. She can move, and so she does, startled —

— and falls directly out of that bed onto the floor. ]

…oophfh!

[ It’s certainly noise that would have been heard downstairs, and more to that point, she hears rustling below her, on what must be the first floor of a two story house. Wanda pulls herself to her feet, slits her gaze through the curtain to the street outside, and gauges her surroundings. Children playing; parental figures watching. Neatly manicured lawns, all matching. Housing units divvied out on the street like they were distributed from a hole punch tool. Everything is very bright. Shin length skirts.

She snaps her head back down to her own attire. Is this a baby pink nightgown and matching terrycloth slippers? Ohhhh, no we don’t.

Wanda marks her exits and chooses the door for expediency, taking in the surrounding noises growing louder from the first floor. It’s strange to her that she can’t hear any mental clutter, no intentions, no side-talk, as she advances down the staircase. If the people here are her captors and they have mental defenses, no matter — she has other means to incapacitate them and escape.

Just as she rounds the lower corner of the stairwell, she hears footsteps approaching, and talk she can’t quite make out. Something about a plan, possibly?

It’s just a simple immobilization hex, really, nothing harmful (they could be, albeit unlikely, innocent) — and she steps out, throws her arms elegantly forward, expression poised and confident because her opponents are about to FREEZE IN PLACE!

…They do nothing of the sort and she is so stunned by the blunt absent force of her magic absolutely abandoning her in the moment that Wanda trips and tumbles down the last two stairs. ]

Don’t move,

[ she groans. ]

State your business.

[ Yes. Elegant. ]

【 BEING NEIGHBORLY: BLOCK PARTY STYLE 】

[ “Hi, my name is _____.”

She stares at the name badge in quietly simmering fury with her newfangled black Sharpie (‘Aren’t they just SWELL, Wanda? What won’t they come up with next!’), sorely tempted to out herself as the Scarlet Witch for all and sundry. But simply because her neighbors, especially the Smiley Ones, don’t seem to believe what she or anyone else seems to remember about their origins, doesn’t mean she should automatically trust everyone who thinks they are trapped here.

Wanda scratches out one badge with excessive vigor. Rips up the badge, letting the pieces flutter, forlorn and impotent, to the ground. Begins again.

Once she turns around, her badge reads, “Hi, my name is wandamaximoffandiamnotawife!”

She smiles brilliantly at you, waiting for your turn, just as one of the neighbors approaches her with—

—oh. Mmm. Another delightful mold of gelatin.
Wanda takes the plate, her smile never faltering, and lets the gelatin slide directly to the grass below. ]

Oops! Silly me! [ her gasp is pleasant, billowy. ] I would probably lose my head if it weren’t attached to my shoulders! [ Her laugh rings out like a bell, and as if signaled, the neighbor chimes in, politely amused — not at all dismayed by the gelatin in a bulbous heap at their feet.

Wanda’s eyes fix on you, reading gently through her trill. Mildly probing. Still polite. Easily dismissed if you are not who she is hoping for. ]

Follow me, however, if you are sick of Jell-o.

[ She trails off to a grove of trees in her swishing pinafores and carefully pinned curls, waiting cautiously to see if you follow her coded message. ]

【 HALLOWEEN: RAZOR SHARP RESPECT FOR THE DEAD (cw: body horror/razors/dead children) 】

[ An entire bus of children in costume is missing, with one well-known principal already found dead, and still the town is thronging with youth and adults alike dressed up and hunting for candy tonight as if nothing is wrong. As if life is as sweet and sultry and comforting as the apples and cinnamon she can smell wafting from nearly every open window as she roams down the streets, surveying, investigating, curious.

Wanda has always had a certain slanted regard for Halloween. She enjoys the mysticism, the freedom of spirit (so to speak) that it gives people — especially children — who are usually shuttered and unseen, unheard. One could argue that, being a witch (more or less), she ought to love this holiday.

But she considers all the abuses, the excuses, the looks of fear from those who never understood, and how blisteringly naked she feels without her powers right now, and she decides that tonight, at least, she hates it.

The people of this town already wear horrible masks; an extra layer only confuses things further. Wanda feels a chill crawl up her bare forearms and for a desperate moment she looks down, half-hoping to find crimson tendrils curling and smoking up along her skin in tandem with the warning in her gut as they’re wont to do, but nothing—

—nothing, and then a happy child presses a candy bar into her outstretched hand as he runs by laughing, just as her stomach rumbles. ]

Treat for ya, lady! Happy Halloween!

[ And then he’s gone, and she’s hungry, and she takes a bite and suddenly there’s razor hot pain shooting through the roof of her gums and blood is pouring from her mouth and she’s screaming, screaming at no one in particular…

…and other people are screaming, up ahead, their screams are so shrill and surprised Wanda thinks she can hear them in her mind and for a moment she’s confused, terrified…

…confused and terrified because small children are attacking townspeople right in front of her, biting and scratching and kicking and their strength is wrong and too great and their skin is melting off their bones— ]

Stop—!

[ She’s still screaming, but her terror is combusting with rage now, and she doesn’t know who is whom immediately in the dark but she won’t see dead things try to make more dead things, she won’t let that happen. Wanda pulls a moldy tin man off a teenager with as much brute force as she can manage; it snarls and moans and hisses Trick or treeeeat! as she launches the child into the air and onto the ground.

It gets back up.
They all get back up.

Wanda spits blood down at her feet, making sure there are no more sharp blades left in her mouth, then scans the street, flits her eyes around the small group huddling and shifting around the area, scraping themselves free of corpse children. ]

Stay back. We need to find shelter. One of these houses.

[ She keeps her feet spread apart and mobile, arms out (habit). Glances back one more time. ]

What set them off?

【 WILDCARD 】

( throw anything at me, i’m so flexible!! Shoot me a PM or just tag a thing!! ♥ )

sister sister, never knew how much i missed ya | halloween | cw: everything you mentioned + vomiting

[chromiums]

[ the razors and needles would have been something she could detect if her powers weren't muted, if everything about this place weren't wrong. the poison should have smelled off, maybe, but there are too many distractions for lorna to sense it and the candy bar she'd eaten forces its way out almost the second it settles in her stomach, acid and chocolate burning its way up her throat. it was a stupid idea, upon reflection, but it's one of the only non-gelatin based food products she's seen since she woke up in this godforsaken town and she'd been eager for something resembling that didn't wobble unnaturally or smell like congealing meat.

the thought makes her nauseous all over again, but she grits her teeth as she straightens, wiping her mouth harshly with the back of her hand to find the dead children that had been mentioned in the paper viciously attacking the citizens. her strength in a fight comes mostly from her abilities, but she's been getting into fights since long before those had manifested, and she's able of pulling a few of them off of people before another young woman gets her attention.

lorna's been in the leader and follower position (the latter more often than not lately), and she sounds as if this sort of situation is something she's handled before. it's enough for her to trust her judgment, at least for now. ]

I don't know. But you're right, we need to get them inside. [ they can figure out details on how they were brought back once they're (relatively) safe, but they need to survive this first. ]

Gabe Rodriguez | Original | OTA

[minuteofangle]

October 1 — Introductions

[ So. This isn’t where he was sleeping last. These aren’t his clothes. These definitely aren’t the shitty, prison-issue blankets.

Something isn’t right. And that makes it a threat.

Gabe scrambles up, fighting to get his feet under him. And then promptly slams head first into the wall. ]

Motherfucker!

Block Party

[ Try as he might, being antisocial isn’t going to get him anything. Gotta make friends or he’ll be playing this game entirely on his own, which rarely goes well for anyone. Need friends to watch his back so he doesn’t get stabbed, or have his head caved in by some enterprising soul with a rock.

Not that there’s been much in the way of violence since he got tossed in here, but Gabe’s a practical soul. Give it time.

So he shows up. He’s dressed more or less in regular clothes, more or less normal looking except for the knives he’s got hidden up his sleeve and in a modified ankle holster. He plants himself with his back to the fence, where no one can sneak up on him, and keeps his cane tucked under his arm. Look at him being social. There’s probably no hiding the cane, since he refuses to let a stranger guide him around, but he keeps it at least slightly out of sight.

He can always use it to smack people, if he gets bored. ]

What’d you want?

[ He fights to keep his tone something close to even. There are entirely too many people hanging around. Getting in his space. ]

Wildcard

[ Go nuts. And feel free to do stuff with family members and what not. Send me a PM or hit me up at mirrorfaded if you want something specific. ]

block party

[mijo]

[ This kind of party is so far from Nacho's scene it's almost comical. He isn't a party guy in the first place, and even worse he doesn't know anyone. So the best thing to do in that situation, he figures, is find someone else in the same position. A level playing field.

There's a guy leaning against a fence, holding a cane, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. That's as good a stranger to start with as any, Nacho figures, and makes his way over. He stops about arm's distance away and leans against the fence as well, folding his arms over his chest. ]

Nothing. It seems to me, people bother you less if they think you're already entertained.

sam winchester | supernatural

[helled]

❚❚❚❚❚ don't be a square

[ Sam's been here before.

Well, not exactly this place, or this house, but everything about this situation feels eery, like he's done this all before and it's got him more than a little on edge. How many times have he and his brother seen the what-if's, the too-good-to-be-true's? There's always some supernatural explanation for this, another jinn maybe, or an undead scientist injecting them with drugs (that 'magic mojo') to distract them.

Which means one thing — he's gotta find his brother.

Sam's shirt, decidedly not plaid, feels too tight, too scratchy, and he's wearing glasses now, because of course he is; it's bizarro world. He heads down a hall of photographs he doesn't remember taking, of moments he doesn't remember having, notes a colourful invitation flyer left on the table by the keys, and pulls open the front door. Stepping out onto his lawn for the first time since he'd woken up, he gets a pretty cheerful view of his neighbourhood: houses neatly lined in rows, the bright sun and blue skies, and speckled across perfectly manicured lawns are are tables and umbrellas strewn about to indicate — what did that flyer say? A block party? Could be an opportunity to figure out what the hell was going on here.

He's swept up in the festivities pretty quickly, even while he does his best to politely nod and smile and move out of the way, always surveying the lawns for a familiar face. Plates of chips and other inedible foods are passed into his hands, and eventually he'll wind up with a dorky looking hat atop his head.

Truly, this is the worst day of his life.

It's maybe about forty to forty-five minutes of being bounced from lawn to lawn before he finally manages to catch a moment to himself, finding someone — you — who doesn't quite look like they belong either. It's the only lead he's got so far, so. ]

Hey — you haven't happened to see a guy named Dean around here by any chance?


❚❚❚❚❚ always respect the dead

Grab anything, grab whatever you can find — [ Sam's voice is calm, collected, almost relieved that all the long, too-cheerful days have finally led to this. This is something he's used to, this is something he can handle; can understand. All the other stuff? Maybe when he was a kid, he'd fantasized about the 'perfect suburban life' but that was a long time ago. Back when he hadn't dealt with apocalypses and demons with yellow eyes, angels — and literal God. This is his reality, and honestly? It feels good to be back in it.

The doorbell rings, the sound so goddamned normal, this whole situation feels a little comical, and if Dean were here he'd absolutely crack some inappropriate joke much to Sam's chagrin. Thing is, Sam thinks he'd take that brief moment of levity, if only to bring familiarity to the situation. Instead all he's got is an eery message from the television set still echoing in his head, something about — ]

Wait, wait. Hold on. What'd the TV say earlier? Something about the pumpkins.

[ Some time later, he's got the beginnings of a gameplan, and he'll explain it to you. Together, you've got to light the pumpkins long enough for the swarm of zombie kids to back off, and then while you stay put, Sam will head off to find help, or at the very least — a better weapon than a chair leg he'd broken off from one of the set in the dining room. ]

Keep the pumpkins lit. I won't be gone long. [ And then, mumbled under his breath: ] I hate Halloween.


❚❚❚❚❚ wildcard

[ as always, feel free to manipulate the prompts to fit whatever you have in mind, or leave something completely different below! i'm down for whatever. hmu to plot something by way of thwip or PM ]

respect the dead

[guestlectures]

[ When tonight is over and the... undead children go back to being properly, dead Alana is going to ask why exactly Sam is so very cool in the face of this chaos. She's only holding it together because he seems to know exactly what he's doing, so she's grateful for it, but still.

Right now, she looks up in alarm. ]

You're going out there?

Nero | Devil May Cry

[exceedexpectations]

aunt myrna

[Nero isn't a picky eater. Frankly, most of this stuff doesn't look that much worse than some of the meals at the orphanage's cafeteria when he was a kid. He's picked up some standards since then, of course, but more to the point, he knows how to deal with this situation.]

Thanks, looks delicious! Didn't know you could use mayonnaise like that, you mind writing this down so I can give it to the old lady later? I'll see you around, don't fill up before dessert!

[The instant the neighbor turns her back, Nero pivots and quickly, silently dunks the entire dish, plate and all, into a trash can with a swiveling lid. He makes eye contact with you in the process, and after a beat, shrugs.]

What? It's probably not these people's fault they're all batshit crazy.


respect the dead

Shit.

[If Nero's not impressed by how bad the food here is, he's definitely not impressed by peering between the window blinds and seeing, the way he figures it, demons manipulating the kids' corpses. It's fucked up, certainly. He wants to kick somebody's ass about it, of course. But this kind of macabre bullshit doesn't scare him.

He may be slightly concerned when a single child knocks on the door three times, the first two sounding like the door's being hit by a battering ram, and the third causing it to splinter and bulge inwards.]

Okay, I don't get my powers here. I don't even get my gun. This is a double standard, dammit--

[Another slam on the door. It's about to give.]

...You should get the hell out of here. I'll hold 'em.


wild card

[etc. etc.]

1

[oldmanfive]

[ Five had been watching the entire exchange with something close to amusement touching his eyes. He knows an act when he sees one, hell he's had to put on several since he looks like a kid, despite being 58 years old in mind. Sometimes it is just easier to act the part, so the people leave him the hell alone.

He snorts out loud and rolls his eyes. But he can't disagree with Nero, they could be just as trapped as they are at the moment. ]

One can hope, but who knows with all the crazy shit going around here. If I ever get back to where I belong, I might put the person who invented Jell-o molds on my personal hit list.

[ If ever there was a correction needed in the timeline, Jell-O molds were definitely it. Just ugh, what a waste of food. ]

STORMFRONT | THE BOYS | OTA - warning for s2 spoilers

[lazarustaxa]

PLAYING HOUSE

[She'd lived through this era before and, honestly, it hadn't been her favorite. Half because at that time she hadn't yet figured out how to navigate the pure, amazing, infuriating hypocrisy of the Americans, and half because, having seen 2020, frankly having wifi was the shit. Not to mention streaming. Now Stormfront was back to three channels, none of them playing anything original.

But having lived it before, it made it all the more apparent there was still something different about this world. The news didn't line up with what she remembered and the smiles were...strange. Oh, she also didn't have her goddamn powers and had suffered a not so minor, several hour long rage attack because of that for the first day. But. It was time to move on from temper tantrums. Sans internet she'd have to do information gathering the old fashioned way: face to face.

All through October, dressed in nice high waisted trousers and tucked in floral print shirt, she set out to meet the neighbors. She brought (re-gifted, fuck making this poison herself) gelatin salads and a faultless, practiced, smile and she knocked on each door in the neighborhood to introduce herself herself as 'new in town' and sniff out just what kind of company she'd found herself in.]

Hi there, I'm Klara. It's lovely to meet you.

TRICK OR TREATING / ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD

[Sticking to the picture perfect mom, she'd gone with era appropriate costuming and dolled herself up as (that liberal nutjob) Jackie O, down to the pearls and white gloves. She's also spent the night dolling out candy to the kids, a bit of a wistful smile on her face for the younger ones, and shaking a teasing finger at any adults out and about alone tonight.

At least until the undead came around. The switch from sweet housewife passing out candy to huntress on the prowl was instantaneous. Rather than waiting inside, she instructed her 'family' to board up the house and set out into the streets, still in red skirt, heels, and all, with hunting rifle in hand.]

God bless the second amendment.

playing house —

[omertae]

[ This has to be fake.

He's dreaming. He's possibly drugged or maybe just delusional, but the absolute last thing he remembers is not this, it couldn't be any less this, and the longer he goes on with no connection to anything familiar, the angrier he gets. He needs to get back to what he knows. But somehow, against every possible instinct he has to just let loose, he's been holding onto himself by a thread. That is, until the knock at the door.

He could just let it go. Could, but they might knock again. These fuckers are persistent. And maybe if he opens the door to whoever it is this time, he can let off a little bit of steam.

Angelo scoops himself off the couch and strides over to the door, wrenching it open like it deserves to be pulled off its hinges for getting in his way, his expression already curdling towards hostile. ]

I already have about ten of those, [ he says flatly, eyeing the salad she's carrying with great disdain. ] So fuck off.

takame kesi (warrior of light OC) | final fantasy xiv

[hoshikiri]

i. no scale, nor steel (oct. 1)

[The call of a voice seeking help, and sharp pain soon following in his dreams. This isn’t a first for Takame, something similar happened when he first heard Hydaelyn. But that was an age ago… could she speak to him again?

Well, he didn’t find out, or assure whoever it was that he’d help. Instead he rose out of bed, nearly knocking it against his own covered knees because of how light it felt now. It induced dizziness how fast he moved. Strange... And yet stranger still was the fact that these weren’t the sheets to the Pendants’ beds. This was not his room in the Crystarium. And worse, as he looked down at the sheets in his hands, his scales were gone.

His reaction was little more than a quiet gasp that came out in a huff as he touched the sides of his face. Those scales as well, gone. And his horns… dragging his palm over decidedly Hyuran ears startled him enough for a verbal reaction.]

How in…?

[It prompted him to jump out of bed to find some explanation… “Jump” is a generous description though. Considering he is also without his tail and thus without his standard center of balance, where he would normally land steadily on his feet, he took a hard lean right and stumbled, falling unceremoniously to the ground with a loud thunk. Right in front of his “partner’s” bed.]

Hrf...!

ii. the things we do for cheese… salad?

[Having been given some time to get used to his new, uncomfortably vulnerable form, Takame thought to (or more likely, was forced or advised to) answer the call of these “new neighbors”. He certainly didn’t say no when they brought all manner of food over, whether he wanted to or not. They were quite an insistent lot, weren’t they…

It… would be most rude for him not to at least try the food, would it not? He didn’t wish to be rude… especially if it was their family member’s recipe…

And everyone else in the “family” maybe looked at him, the “Man of the House” to take the first bite of casserole anyway. Indeed, he cut a small portion for himself with a fork, put it in his mouth and--]

Mgh…?! Seven hells… [The initial reaction was very visceral, his shoulders tensed and eyes narrowed as soon as the horrid combination of flavors hit his tongue. He was no stranger to bad flavor, he’s had enough military rations, but still. Remembering that, however, he forced his composure to return. He cannot make a poor impression.]

Ah, it tastes… [“Like shite.”] ... I-I must commend their valiant effort. I am told cooking is not an easy task...

iii. always check the candy.

[Takame wasn’t one for sweets… but he wasn’t one to politely decline someone’s offer of them either. He could concede that these treats didn’t look as… unappetizing as what was brought at the start of the month. Still, he would not be partaking of them unless they insisted that he not his… “children”, have some.

That said, many of these treats are things he’d never seen before. He wondered if his dear culinarian friend would want to know, and thus curiosity for her sake prompted him to commit them to memory.

It was a candy bar he broke in half that showed him the danger, cutting the length of his finger down. It concealed a razor, his still keen eyes were able to spot. By the kami, what was wrong with these people? There are children about! The pain was negligible for him, though he did ball his hand into a fist to keep the blood from spilling anymore.

He couldn’t let this stand, anyone nearby that was just curiously sifting through their bag he will approach and put his uninjured hand on their shoulder to stop them. And for as different as he looks, he still stood over six feet.]

These treats are unsafe to eat.

iv. wildcard

[[ come up with something else! my plurk is bonpuns if you wanna hash something out, or you can dm this account! he's 29 so he'd be a parent.]]

( prompt: cheese salad. | was going to bed but i saw your toplevel...!! )

[thricefold]

[ upon seeing his reaction to the first bite of the strange dish, zita knows she can't let the poor man suffer alone. given how they're both partners, it's the least she can do for him. the bombardment of strangers coming in and out of their residence was too much for zita, given her circumstances prior to coming here, and she ended up pulling back for most of the visits.

so she can, at the very most, share in this strange experience.

zita gets a small portion for herself and samples it, doing it quickly enough as to not lose her nerves. she makes a face but has no other reaction beyond that. beyond placing a hand over her mouth to keep the urge of spitting the food out at bay, zita does her best to keep her composure and keep the wave of nausea manageable. ]

It's- It's not an easy task, I agree. [ she reaches for a glass of water, buying herself time to think of her words while she takes a long sip. ] However, there is no shame for to admit to not find a dish appetising. The effort was made to appreciate and that is enough, I think.

[ this is her polite way of saying, 'no one needs to eat this if they don't want to.' ]

Teren von Skraedder | OC

[doneisdone]

I. Arrival

Perhaps the most disturbing thing about this place is how neat it is, everything made out of unfamiliar materials and crafted into clean, unsettling shapes; and what is this fabric on the floor, like a rug but woven of some unlikely fabric, furlike but not?
Teren spends some time crouched on the floor, getting her bearings before she creeps down the stairs, keeping low with her eyes alert like a cat in a new room. Her knives are gone-- she'll have to find more, or escape this place. Whichever comes first.

Once downstairs, however, all other thoughts are pushed to the wayside when Teren spots the moving, talking pictures. She approaches the box containing them, touches the screen, and remains there, transfixed, disbelieving. What kind of devilry is this?

II. Reserving the right to remain a square

Finally venturing out of the house, Teren has selected some clothing to wear: it was in the bureau on the opposite side of the room from her bed, but she shan't be caught in a skirt in an unfamiliar place. Instead, it's a pair of too-wide slacks and a man's shirt belted at the waist, rather like a tunic, with a coat slung over the lot. Perhaps by community standards, she looks ridiculous, but how else is one meant to wear these things?
With an unsettled sneer and quiet rebuff to any neighbor who makes offerings, Teren skulks about looking for any kind of alcohol, her gaze becoming more frantic as the time passes and she finds none.

Finally, meeting the eyes of someone who looks as confused as she is, she approaches to mutter, "what the fuck kind of place is this?"

III. Respecting the dead

It's been enough time now that Teren has learned the basic pattern of things, and knows well enough to lay low until she can come up with a solid plan. The ghoulish children outside are unpleasant, for certain, but being one both clever and inclined to respect local traditions, she has left the pumpkins lit and stayed indoors, where she lurks at the window and glares out at the little beasts.
She's known creatures like them, but the differences are enough to give her pause, to keep her from going out and trying to take care of them.
Discretion, it would seem, is key.

Meeting the gaze of someone in another window, or perhaps on the street, she offers a solemn nod of acknowledgment.

( respecting the dead. )

[sunborne]

After a moment of hesitation - because did his next-door neighbour really mean to nod at him? maybe it was for someone else - Daylight nods back. His expression is grim, having spent some time comforting his 'kids' before sending them away to hide upstairs. Just in case.

He seems to be considering something, with the way he rubs his chin, his expression thoughtful. He later disappears from view- Only to return a minute or so later, holding up an open notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other. The presented pages covered in large and blocky text that reads the following:

YOU OKAY THERE? ANYONE ELSE?

Camille Preaker | Sharp Objects

[preaker]

■ OCTOBER 1st.

i. — BEDROOM

[ In Camille's mind, the whispering, fretful voice comes with an image, conjured from her own memory. A ghost of a little girl with blonde hair pulled into pigtails, one who's haunted her for a very long time. 'Marian', she thinks, and it hurts in the same ways it's always hurt, but.... fresher. Like the wounds of her have been reopened right up.

It isn't Marian, but before Camille can do anything about the wrench in her heart, she's out. And when she wakes, she— is somewhere else.

It wouldn't be the first time Camille Preaker woke up unsure exactly where she is or how she got there, but usually there's at least one or two (or three) empty bottles near her, and that's enough explanation. The comfortable, familiar one. This.... isn't that. She sits up, blinking glossily as she looks down at her person — silky pink pyjamas with long sleeves and matching pants that look like something her mother ('a living doll' is what they called Adora back home) would wear, and that in itself makes Camille think this is a nightmare. Only it's then that she notices she's not alone in the room, and she's immediately scrabbling for her covers, drawing them up against herself as she moves backwards in her bed, eyes wide as saucers. ]

Who the fuck are you? [ A noticeable Southern accent flares up through her voice in her alarm. She sounds more frightened than incensed, like a cornered animal. ]

You wanna explain to me just what the hell's going on?

ii. — LIVING ROOM

[ Something stronger than coffee would be preferable, but searching the cabinets wields no such luck. So it's a cup of hot caffeine Camille clasps in her hands as she haunts the living room — still in those godawful silky pink pyjamas. She'd ventured outside for about five minutes before realising this is some Twilight Zone bullshit and come right back in. Retreat, retreat. Apart from any visitors who happen to ring the doorbell for some reason, she won't be opening that door again right now. So she stands in front of the collection of old-timey photos on display here, portraying.... her, and people she doesn't know, and none of it makes any sense.

Her journalist's brain tries its best to concoct some sort of explanation; there's always an explanation. Always some truth to even the strangest secret. But she can find none in the moment, and her mantra has been 'trust no one' for the greater part of her adult life, so she holes up in the living room like that: shoulders scrunched upwards, nails tapping nervously against her coffee mug as she analyses each picture, each memory that doesn't belong to her, each snapshot of a life she shares with..... a family. The Camille in these is an entirely different person altogether. She's (Jesus fucking Christ) a mom.

The nightmare continues. ]

■ GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS ( BLOCK PARTY ).

[ The nightmare doesn't stop. The days keep coming, and she keeps waking up here, and eventually she has to get out of the house and away from the family that isn't hers, but is supposed to be. Donned in a black turtleneck sweater and grey pants (the darkest options she was able to find in her wardrobe), Camille cautiously nears the center of activity, taking in the sights. Time warp back to the 60's or not, it's just small-town enough to nudge against something discomforting in her, something too familiar. Town parties and events that she'd take any opportunity to slip away from. The too-wide smiles of ladies as they greet you just so they can see what you're wearing and gossip about it the next day. Oh, she knows how that goes, and she knows the harder you fight it, the more they latch on. Like sharks after a drop of blood. So Camille lifts her brows with a smile that's polite but strained any time the townspeople get near to her, putting up with their greetings but mostly looking for something to drink that isn't tea or lemon water.

As she stands there, eyes scanning the crowd, she notices other people looking a little... off (in the normal way, like they don't belong here either), so she might draw up closer to you, arms folded. ]

Seen anything remotely alcoholic around here?

■ HALLOWEEN ( ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY ).

[ Holidays aren't exactly her thing, but by the time those creepy commercials reach what they've been counting down to, Camille's well-taken to exploring the streets in her spare time. Halloween offers a bit more cover-up with all the people wandering around, so she heads out, costume-less but dressed in black. (She would say this is her being in the spirit of things, except Camille's choice of attire has been black for as long as she can remember). Her hands start out empty and shoved into the pockets of her pants, but after some seemingly well-mannered neighbourly enticing, she ends up with a couple packs of candy.

Her fingers unwrap one of the chocolate treats and slip it into her lips, but after a single chew in which she feels something thin and hard inside, Camille lets the thing tumble out into her palm. .....The shine of the razor blade pokes through just barely; she got lucky enough not to have been cut at the angle she bit into the thing with, but something up under her sternum freezes painfully as she stares down at the item for several beats too long. Then her shaking hands shove the remnants of the chocolate bar into her pocket, the woman whirling around, eyes wide. What the— What the fuck. There's so many kids out here— ]

Hey! [ She'll call out to anyone who's close to her, rushing forwards towards them. The unpleasant thing that's been lingering in the air since she woke up here, the feeling of wrongness, seems to have dropped abruptly into her lap. There's a cold sweat at the back of her neck; her stomach clenches up tightly. ] Hey, don't eat the candy!

■ WILDCARD / ETC.

➸ If you'd like to sort something out or go over any ideas, feel free to hit me up at skeletals or PM! I'm totally flexible to playing around with different family set-ups, etc. ♡

bedroom (IF THAT'S COOL)

[handycapable]

Whoa, whoa--! [ Ray holds up his hands, already out of his adjacent bed, his own southern accent complimenting hers. ] I promise you I had nothin' to do with this, I don't know any more than you do.

[ If this situation were any less Stepford Mad Men Ray might go the extra step to also reassure her that, don't worry, nothing happened, he's gay, but he isn't that stupid, that'd be a nice way to put a target on his back he really doesn't need right now.

Not that he's really convinced this is actually the past or anything, but...

He keeps his hands up where she can see them anyway, as if she's armed, but he isn't sure what else to do with them. ]

I'm Ray. [ A beat. ] So you don't remember how we got here either, huh?

beatrice | umineko no naku koro ni

[end_less]

I. arrival of the golden witch

[There is a person who shouldn't be in this house. True, that could be said of everyone here, but it's especially true in this case. This person appears in none of the photographs, has no room to call their own, and seemingly does not exist.

And yet here she stands in your kitchen. She's a beautiful young woman, appearing to be in her early 20s, with long blonde hair that falls past her shoulders. Her manner of dress now matches the era, though it's still rather formal and over the top. As she hears the footsteps of someone approaching, she turns to face them with an eery smile.]

Ah, you've awoken then. I was starting to wonder if I would have to wait for another thousand years...

II. tea party

[Again, this town is plagued by uninvited guests! Although the neighbors have no idea who this strange woman is, they've decided she's harmless, probably a performer someone else hired to entertain the kids. You hired her, right? No, I thought it was you... and so on.

Beatrice sits under a tree somewhere, dressed in the attire of a Halloween witch, with maybe some more lace and a petticoat and jewels here and there. A few children are gathered around her as she performs magic tricks. This probably seems a bit unbecoming for a witch as powerful as her, but oh well.]

III. phone call

[The phone's ringing. Maybe you don't answer because it's probably someone offering more and more gelatin. It keeps ringing, and ringing, and ringing. If you go outside, you'll only hear more ringing. The entire town's being called, apparently. If you answer, you'll hear the voice of a young woman.]

Have you heard? The great witch Beatrice has been revived. The crash... was a sacrifice for Beatrice. Now they have all gone to the Golden Land.

[Later in town, you might catch glimpses of a blonde woman in a witch's hat. Maybe she's just really excited for Halloween.]

IV.

[As the children attack someone nearby, Beatrice looks on with an amused expression. She's simply sitting on a bench, a lit jack-o-lantern in her lap as she cackles at the sight of bloodshed.]

My, what wonderful furniture you've all turned out to be!

V.

[haven't played her in years, but it's october. if you'd like to have a thread with one of beato's other selves, just let me know and i can reply accordingly or set something up. also yes, she has no powers right now! but that won't stop her from claiming that she does!]

I

[zenryokubatankyu]

[Osomatsu has already faced an odd morning thus far. First there was waking up in that unfamiliar room. Then the pictures - he's in those pictures. None of his brothers are. This is all eerie by itself, but then all this is followed up by--

Ah, you've awoken then. I was starting to wonder if I would have to wait for another thousand years...

A pretty woman in his kitchen. Around his age, looks like. He's still in his pajamas and not willing to discount the fact that this is a dream, so of course there's a woman here. But she wasn't in any of the photos...]

Uh...hi? Yeah. I sure did. What do you mean thousand years? ...Also, who are you? Where am I? I've got a lot of questions and you've got an aura of knowing stuff, and you're also the first person I've seen this morning coherently. So.

[Reasonable as any.]

Inej Ghafa | Six of Crows

[scorpionstail]

a. Don't be a square!

[Inej has not been into this at all. This place feels insidious, bad things hiding beneath the shiny, neat surface. It's too perfect.

The teenager is wearing a yellow sweater and high-waisted pants. It was the least offensive thing in her wardrobe, but she looks uncomfortable. She's used to her knit vest, her tighter trousers. She still wears her special slippers, though, keeping that part of herself with her.

She's sitting at the end of a table, her plate of chips and dip beside her as she watches people like a hawk. Maybe she's watching your character carefully and gets caught staring. Or maybe her glum look draws them to her.]

b. Maple park - throughout Oct

[It's depressing, being here without her friends. Without Kaz. And it's infuriating to be forced into a big, happy family. She sneaks off a little early, before breakfast, and finds the teeny park. Really, it's nice, in Inej's opinion. There isn't much greenspace back home.

She's in a sweater and pants again, refusing to wear the dresses as long as she can. Maybe she'll go buy more pants and sweaters. She's scared to take her knives all out, but she has one knife on her at all times, hidden away. Inej's clothes are little dirty. Someone's still been climbing rooftops here. She sits at the bench, braiding and taking out the braid in her hair.

She looks up when your character happens upon her, look sharp and like someone who's been through some stuff.] Are you from here or...?

[She really has no desire to talk to any of those fake-o neighbors.]

c. Network - open - throughout Oct

[Inej decides to use the communication device, speaking to the community at large.]

Hi... my name's Inej Ghafa. I was hoping someone here might know what kruge is. [A pause, and then:] Also, how are you guys managing fitting in? This place doesn't feel right.

d. Halloween

[Their jack-o-lantern is lit still, but Inej runs around turning out the lights in the house, ignoring any protests and locking the door, a small knife in her hand.

She holds up a finger to her lips at anyone in the family that approaches her, whispering,] We're being watched.

b

[marryonette]

Oh! Uh, you mean m-me? [ Elphelt was a little caught off guard by the question, looking hither and there before raising a hand to point at herself, against her chest. ]

Um, well I'm not from this park, if that's what you mean...

[ That's not what she meant, El... ]

Mr. Peanutbutter | BoJack Horseman

[letsfindout]

[I. Mr. Peanutbutter's House (October 1st)

The blankets are the first thing Mr. Peanutbutter notices as he wakes up. They're a welcome distraction from that creepy dream. Have they always been this soft? As Mr. Peanutbutter works to untangle his legs from the bedsheets, he realizes they feel different against his... skin. He has skin now?

After stumbling out of bed - a bed he realizes is not the circular bed he's had for years - he makes his way to a nearby mirror. Staring back at him isn't the lovable face of a playful yellow lab - instead, it's a human face with strange features. If they could, his ears would shoot straight up.

Beyond his own reflection in the mirror, he realizes this isn't his room. After he leaves the room to explore, he realizes this isn't his house. Shaking his head, he mutters to himself in quiet disbelief:]

Am I the lead single to Talking Heads' fourth studio album? Because I may find myself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. And I may ask myself... "How did I get here?"

[At least his quirky references remain intact.]

[II. Don't be a square

If not for the party hat that's just been shoved on his head, one might assume Mr. Peanutbutter is one of this town's strange inhabitants already. He's eagerly scarfing down the gelatin they've prepared, laughing at everyone's jokes (and delivering some solid zingers of his own), and making friendly conversation.

Sure, none of them seem to be familiar with his filmography or clever references, but what can he say? He likes parties! At one point mid-conversation, he spots something out of the corner of his eye. It couldn't be - ]

Erica? Erica!

[It seems Mr. Peanutbutter believes he may have spotted an old wallflower friend of his from back home. He lets out a bark of jovial laughter.]

Man, I guess this place'll abduct just about anyone, huh?

[At which point, this old dog will disengage and try to slip through the crowd of people. Chances are he may bump into you along the way, or once he gets to his destination, it's possible he may have actually mistaken you for his old acquaintance! Whoops.]

[III. At some point in October

Perhaps you've decided to try and investigate this town with Mr. Peanutbutter. As you make your way through the neighborhood together, he gladly shares his findings with you.]

Okay, okay, so I get that we're in California, and the year is 1951. It's nice and brisk outside, and there's leaves scattered all over the place. According to those cartoons on TV, we're only weeks away from Halloween, so that must mean... it's either October or January.

[It makes sense in his head. Just trust him on this one.]

[IV. Always respect the dead

The jingle abruptly ends, cutting off the small tinny voice trying to speak through the bursts of static. Mr. Peanutbutter stares, mouth agape, at the television before lighting up as bright as a jack o'lantern - ]

Wow. That was pretty ominous!

[ - if only its candle were lit. There's a sharp knock at the door, and Mr. Peanutbutter's grin grows wider. He strolls towards the front door, a big bowl of candy in hand.]

Now who could that be?

[Hopefully the grubby little fist that punches straight through the window is enough of a hint for the others in his household.]

[V. Wild card

Got something else in mind? Feel free to PM this journal to plot, or just hit me with your best shot here!]

III (oh my god i love you please let me be your todd standin)

[zenryokubatankyu]

[Osomatsu's taken to exploring the town, and along the way, he's seemingly made a friend. This friend appears wise. Wise on his exact standards.

Wise in the fact that they are sharing one braincell and neither has a particularly tight grip on it. But, you know, Osomatsu's not going to realize that. He's listening, nodding along.]

Right. Weeks away from Halloween...

[He nods quickly.]

You're right. That's when they always replay those sorts of things, when people have nothing to do. January. But here's the thing - I talked to someone the other day to try to get a sketch for what people know. One of them brought up going to Boston like it was nothing. You can't go to Boston in January! You go to Boston in the fall!

So it's gotta be October, right? That's the only explanation.

[...]

Unless that guy was in on it.

[Never put it past a guy who suggests travel vacations he never intends to go on.]

gabriel | spn

[larker]

(( throughout october ))

[ It has been a shit week for one Archangel, somewhat up there along with getting in the middle of a family feud once again and also the dark time of watching the remake of House on Haunted Hill. Very dark times. Still the whole thing of being dragged into another world unwillingly is problematic enough to have Gabriel not flipping everyone the bird upon arrival. Anything with the ability to do such a thing is powerful indeed to pull such a thing off and it doesn't take Gabriel long to realize his powers are gone too. Very powerful and with a twisted sense of humour.

Heinous, that is the only word he can think of to describe the whole thing. Being pushed around he can deal with, it could be a right barrel of laughs depending on the world. Sure it's almost as good as the ones he can make, but being stripped of his powers, of his wings? No, absolutely not, Gabriel refuses to conform (though really he would have refused anyway, but the point remains!) and the family he's been saddled with will find themselves with a father figure who loves to loiter by the white picket fence of the front yard, watching people wandering by and making idle chatter with them.

Or throwing the occasional small rock. Both things work as an amazing conversation starter and if anyone knew Gabriel better they'd understand he's testing the waters, seeing what he can and can't get away in this piss poor excuse of an afterlife. If it is even that, it's a can of worms most don't bother opening mainly because there isn't a Kevin Bacon big enough to deal with said worms.]

Oh howdy stranger, how's it going? Newest season of Real Housewives of Stepford sure is something. Did you know it's like, ten days till Halloween? I mean anyone with a pair of eyes and ears would know but hey who am I to judge?

[ That tv advert jingle is disgustingly catchy okay?]

(( halloween — cw: razors, blood ))

[ There's no shame at all in getting free candy during Halloween. Gabriel doesn't even have a costume and when asked by a brave few what his outfit is he simply replies he's a serial killer. It's not like they have three head, six arms and go running around in superhero outfits. When candy is free it tastes even better and Gabriel just can't resist eating one of the chocolates as he walks. ]

You have got to be kidding me.

[ The words are somewhat muffled, gurgled almost as Gabriel instantly spits out a razor blade to the floor, swiftly followed by a splash of blood. Oh look his own blood. There's a novelty!

Wait, no he can't let this pass and the archangel throws his hands up in the air in an exaggerated gesture of what the fuck.]

Okay that's it, there are some things you just don't do. Whatever mutton-head spiked my candy had better start running. Mothercluckers.

[ And with that Gabriel picks up the razor blade, keeping hold of it as he starts stalking towards the nearest door. He doesn't even know which one put blades in his chocolate so he may as well start from the top!]

(( wildcard ))

[ooc: fine with family, pretendy friends, enemies, anything ♪ ]

through october

[hoshikiri]

[Given how tall Takame was, he made an easy target for rocks thrown. But he was also a sturdy man, and maybe didn't notice until several rocks had been thrown.

Or more likely, he did notice, he just didn't say anything about it. Only let out a resigned sigh to himself when it tapped against him. If it must be thus and he'll not be seeing his scales again, at least it's a small rock. He wasn't so rude as to get angry at something so menial, he was too old for such things, but his "neighbor" certainly caught his attention from the other side of the fence now.]

... Good day to you, ser.

[Unfortunately, the neighbor said... a lot of words Takame sure didn't understand. He knew of four seasons, and none of them were referred to as Housewives. Even in jest.]

Housewives of... Stepford? [He cleared his throat.] I am aware of the days until... ah, "Hallow-Een". [Emphasized in two, unsure syllables. Listen he only knew it as All Saint's Wake. And only after he came to Eorzea they don't have that shite in Othard.]

Adrien Agreste | Miraculous Ladybug | OTA!

[miaoudel]

Oct 1: Home sweet home

Adrien is less of a stranger than he'd like to waking up in strange locations - being hit by Akuma attacks tends to black people out for a bit, very annoying sometimes - but he's never actually woken up in someone else's bedroom before. Least of all wrapped up in the bed. He lets out a small noise of alarm despite himself, looking around quickly: he sees fashion magazines nearby, a basketball in the corner, the room is unscrupulously neat. But he doesn't recognise any of it.

"Plagg, where are--" But his voice dies in his throat, when he glances down at his hand. His ring is gone. His Miraculous is gone and he doesn't remember taking it off. "Plagg!"

Anyone outside his bedroom is immediately going to hear dull thumping as Adrien throws himself out of bed and starts desperately searching the room for the ring with a panicked muttering of "No no no it can't be gone, I just had it, where is it...?!"

Neighbours: P...arty?

This is still weird, and unsettling, and Adrien doesn't like it one bit. But the safest thing to do is play along, and if there's one thing he's legitimately good at (among his other many varied talents) it's schmoozing with adults.

So he's wearing the badge when he shows up, and takes the gelatin monstrosity with a politely surprised laugh, and starts trying to just be a Polite Young Man with the... admittedly unsettling adults, who don't stop smiling and laughing and have utterly mindless smalltalk, even for adults.

Eventually he manages to escape one of the Weird Adult's conversations, and finds himself next to someone else that looks...at least as unsettled as Adrien himself is feeling, and he finally lets a little bit of emotion into his voice as he puts the jiggling dish in his hands down on the table; his tone is suddenly jaded and uncertain, a surprising contrast to the pleasant smile he keeps up. "This place is really freaking me out."

Halloween: Dead fun

Aside from being completely sheltered, Adrien is also French. He doesn't celebrate Halloween - tomorrow is All Saint's Day, and the people who've come to know him by now probably know that he's spent the last few days in a kind of quiet mourning, which has been jarring when all the kids at school have been weirdly overexcited for Halloween.

He doesn't particularly want to, but after one too many conversations in class about it (and, admittedly, a very strong curious streak), he manages to pull together a lazy cat costume - paper ears, a black bandana with eyeholes cut in it, black boots and a long black belt for a tail - and takes to the streets as well. And the energy in the air is, admittedly, kind of infectious. It's easy to get swept up in the excitement, when a few of his new classmates (none of whom he can really bring himself to say he's friends with) drag him along to his first 'trick or treat' house.

He hangs back after the others all move on, looking in his little paper pumpkin at the candies he got given, and pulls out a peanut butter cup...? He's never had this before, so there's no hesitation in taking a bite directly into it.

And then yelps, almost a sharp shriek of alarm as he drops the treat and clutches at his mouth, coughing as he reaches in with shaking hands to try and pull out the needle piercing the roof of his mouth.

( dead fun. )

[sunborne]

"Are you okay?!"

Having heard the commotion while jogging down the sidewalk to try and catch up with his trick-and-treat group, Daylight hears the cries of someone in need of help. Like. Real help.

Never one to turn his back on someone in need of help, especially if he's within helping range, Daylight quickly changes course. He begins jogging towards the person and the closer he gets, the more he can make out their appearance. Cat costume. Coughing. Reaching into their mouth to--

????

"Was there something wrong with the candy?" He sees the fallen chocolate on the ground and that's the only conclusion he can reach. "Do you need water? I have some on me-"

vasiliy yegorovich ardankin / original — historical/revenant

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy is a former Stalin-era Soviet interrogator - not the kind that administered torture, but the kind that convinced people that signing fabricated confessions that would get them killed/sent to the gulag was in their best interest - who woke up in the middle of nowhere 75 years after his 1940 execution. In the timeline I'm pulling him from, he's been in America for about a year, and is trying to be a better person while working as an EMT. More info HERE; blanket content warnings for possible references to the Yezhovshchina & smoking. ]

Nº 1. LIFE

A. AMOUR PLASTIQUE; SINTETICHESKAYA LYUBOV
Arrival—Housing / Open to characters in the 'wife' role

[ Vasiliy opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at tiled ceiling, not the yellowed stucco over the broomcloset bedroom of his apartment. It's also bright, far more bright than it usually is at this hour— He's late for his shift. He forgets the tiles and swears, throwing the quilt that half covers his legs to the side. ] « Fuck! » [ He groans the profanity more than he actually says it, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and lands squarely on top of the quilt he just threw onto the dirty floor. He doesn't make it as far as processing that he's standing on clean laundry, however—because this is not his cramped Chicago bedroom with its decided absence of the second occupied bed he's standing across from now. The unfamiliar woman staring right back at him also isn't a part of the usual decor.

What the fuck? Oh, God, it's happened again. I died in my sleep. This is just great.

Vasiliy reflexively reaches for the revolver that should be on the bedside table and sends a cheap picture frame crashing onto the floor beside the quilt instead. Shards of glass skitter across the floorboards and under the bed as he speaks, defaulting to the English he's spent the past year wearing like an ill-fitting pair of shoes. ]

Who are you? Where am I?

B. THE HARPER VALLEY PTA
Arrival—Housing / Open to characters in the 'child' role

[ Vasiliy's new government-issued American wife isn't where this bizarre bourgeois nightmare ends, apparently, because when he descends the wooden staircase he finds himself face to face with one of the kids from the photograph he knocked onto the floor and a recreation of the set of the Kitchen Debate in the room behind them, all chrome and rounded edges and nauseating pastel colors. He's not sure which is more outlandish, but he focuses on the unfamiliar youth for the time being, mink-brown eyes flickering between the room's dated scenery and the latest member of the household Ardankin. ]

You—you live here? Where are you from?

Nº 2. WELCOME (TO THE SIXTIES)

A. OUT OF THE MIST YOUR VOICE IS CALLING
Halloween—Trick-or Treaters—Network (Voice)

[ Vasiliy doesn't know what to make of the dark turn the general weirdness of this place has taken, and he doesn't have time to find out. What matters is that people are getting hurt, left and right, and there's no telling where the hospital is or how far it is. It takes some tinkering before he's able to get the wrist radio he found on his bedside table to work, but once he does, he speaks, sending the message in English. The accent of the enemy is still preferable to the natural voice of a man who isn't from when he says he is. ]

Hello. My name is Vasiliy Ardankin. I am EMT—Emergency Medical Technician. If you are injured, I will help you. Come to my house. Sequoia Lane number 33. If you cannot, I can maybe help over wrist phone.

B. ALL OF MY FOLKS HATE ALL OF YOUR FOLKS (IT'S AS AMERICAN AS APPLE PIE!)
Arrival—around the city

[ Vasiliy sees the way they look at him, of course: the whispering at the supermarket, the conspicuous absence of invitations to events all the other newcomers seem to attend, the impatient looks as he humors them and speaks in their language (although they seem to understand every language, it's not as though speaking Russian with a natural inflection that was unremarkable in the 1930s is a choice for a man allegedly born in 1985). For the most part, he disregards it; their opinions are worthless and he's more annoyed than he is offended.

But their propaganda.

Some iteration of the same anticommunist, anti-Soviet sentiment is plastered on every other goddamn page of magazines, the walls of every bus stop, every telephone pole: AMERICA UNDER COMMUNISM! YOUR NEIGHBOR COULD BE A COMMUNIST! THEY WANT YOUR CHILD!

And eventually, he's simply had it, as they say. That moment comes when he's walking to the corner store to get more cigarettes—on impulse, Vasiliy halts in his tracks as he passes another semisheltered bus stop wallpapered in art created by men who would undoubtedly regard him with the same level of respect they would grant a cockroach, an earwig, a rat. On impulse, he steps inside, extending himself over the empty bench to snatch the edge of one of the sunfaded posters and rip it off of its pushpins: apparently the local theatre is re-airing The Red Menace.

Fuck you.

He rolls it up under his arm with a trace of the satisfaction he imagines soldiers receive with a captured enemy flag, then turns back toward the sidewalk only to startle slightly at the human figure that definitely wasn't there a few minutes ago. He doesn't intend to stand around and explain why he tore down a piece of propaganda, especially to a total stranger who would likely report him for it, so he simply issues a curt: ]

Excuse me.

Nº 3. MISC

[ Something else you'd like to do? Feel free to throw out a starter or shoot me a message; I'm bluehellgazette on plurk.

A1

[doneisdone]

[She'd come back in to find proper clothing, or at least something more serviceable than this wretched nightgown, but when Teren returns to the bedroom, she finds a man there.

Immediately, the kitchen knife is raised, her own defensive expression rather similar to his, her gaze icy and threatening.]

What's this, [she snaps back, and clearly does not have the answers he wants.]

Bruce Wayne | DC Rebirth | OTA

[the_caped_crusader]

OCTOBER 1st.

[ the dream is a twisted version of one he had as a child. in it, bruce is at the bottom of a cave, looking up towards the light like a pinprick in the darkness. the distance between him and safety seems like an impossible difference, but he still reaches up desperately and meekly calls out.

"please, help me..."

the pain comes to him when he realizes the voice isn't his, and he doubles in on himself as the world around him starts to throb like a localized pain he can't identify when the dream goes black and he wakes to a flash of sunlight and soaked bedsheets. from the delirium of sleep, he doesn't immediately recognize that things are different; for all he knows, the body next to his would be selina's. as his eyes scan the room, though, there's one thing that catches his eye that makes bruce pull himself from the sticky sheets and slowly approach.

it's a picture of him, ten years old, ready to go to school. he looks happy, smiling and waving at parents who should be dead. the picture looks like bruce wayne, but it's not him. when he plucks the picture from the wall and scrutinizes it before the reverie of children laughing from outside it makes him set it down and really take in the new eerily peaceful home. bruce peels the murky pajama shirt from his back and tosses it aside when he hears the sing-song sound from downstairs, "thirty days til halloween..."

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS- A. AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD.

[ as the new neighbors stop by like clockwork, bruce will smile and offer friendly simplicities, 'how's the weather-esque' small talk before he summarily thanks them and closes the door on their face. he's acted his whole life, after all, as a billionaire playboy philanthropist, so fooling a bunch of breathing stepford mannequins wasn't too much of a challenge. not too far off from the gotham elite he so frequently had to mingle with, actually. once in the safety of his home-- safety being a relative term here, his dour expression will return and he'll look down at the plate of off-putting food before regarding you before bringing it to the kitchen table for all of you to inspect.

with the body bag tupperware open, you'll all inspect the cadaver that was once food together in a moment of bleak family bonding, staring down either sobersided and austere like your new father, or with abject horror. after a very long moment of inspection and without a word, bruce reseals the tupperware and tosses it straight into the goddamn trash with a loud *THUMP*, to which he turns and clearly tells all of you... ]

I think we'll cook for ourselves.

HALLOWEEN- B. ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD

[ halloween has always been a bad month for bruce. gotham itself was often compared to a living haunted house by many who lived outside of it, so for the entire month of october, it's safe to say that he'd been ready for the other shoe to drop. when night falls on halloween, he pulls back the curtains and peers up at the moonlight, almost distantly expecting the bat signal to shine out into the night sky. instead, he's greeted by the ring of his doorbell, and a throaty "trick or treat" from the bloated, gray-skinned children outside. he meets their eyes, and disquietingly, they seem more alive and wanting than his neighbors with their emotionless smiles and empty, white-saucered stares. they remind him of the dark robins with their incessant crowing from back home, bringing back bad memories.

knock

knock

knock

it comes again, but the glowing smile of the jack o'lantern keeps them at bay until they wander off unsatisfied. earlier in the month, you might have been worried about bruce falling into the routine of normalcy trapped here in santa ana, carving the pumpkin at the kitchen table with a steady resolve and hand, but when you asked him, all he ever replied was that he "thought it might be a good idea." in his heart, bruce was a detective. one of the best, his world said, and so when he'd woken up one day to see that not one but all of their neighbors had placed jack o'lanterns outside, he decided to follow suit. call it intuition, but he had an eerie suspicion that it might be a smart idea to do as the romans do this time around.

for the wayne house, they were protected by the glowing symbol of a bat.

but he also expected and noticed that some of the others in the neighborhood might not feel the same way, and so when he hears your struggling and clattering from across the street he'll go running to help. he'll also likely tell his "family" to stay and guard their home-- whether or not you listen is another thing entirely. when he gets to you, the less cautious of the bunch, you'll find him readily assisting. bruce wayne was never gifted with superpowers or super strength, but through vigorous training and a lifetime of dedication he could still bench a thousand pounds and punch through brick walls, so coming to your defense is not entirely without merit. he yells something to you among the clamor about "lighting a jack o'lantern," which might seem ridiculous to you, given the situation, but as he firmly puts his loafer to an undead child's head with a sickening squelch, you may want to reconsider his advice.

hours later, when the commotion is done, the wayne family returns home with their hair tousled, their clothes disheveled and covered in splashes of undead muck and broken glass, skin decorated in colorful cuts and bruises when you all decide to sit down on the couch as a family and rest, staring dead-eyed at the wall. the silence lasts for a moment when the tv turns itself on again to welcome you home with another blaring "HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN!" bruce gets up and puts his foot through the goddamn tv screen as the haunted staccato of the speakers cries out as it dies and is silenced...

HALLO... EEN...

HA... O... EN...

HA...L...EE--

WILDCARD.

[ hello! if you'd like to do something else, or plan something specific, please feel free to pm me or message me on plurk at BATGUY! ]

Tupperware nightmare

[miaoudel]

[Watching Bruce very bluntly close the door shut in someone's face makes Adrien since, despite himself, and he feels a little part of him pang unpleasantly. The sober austerity just reminds him of his actual father.

He doesn't flinch when the Tupperware gets trashed, though. It deserves it.]

I've never had to cook before, but I still think I can make something better than that. [It's a weak joke, that matches his weak smile.]

Ramlethal Valentine - Guilty Gear

[resist_the_future]

[AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD]

[Poor Ramlethal just doesn't know what most, or any of these foods are. The way they look and smell doesn't help their case, either. Although some of the gelatin does seem to... jiggle, so that's kind of interesting.

Ultimately though, she resigns herself to just staring at the food. She might reach out to touch it, but pulls away before actually making contact.

One thing's for sure.

There's not a burger in sight.]


[ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY]

[The idea of Halloween is largely lost on Ramlethal. She doesn't really understand why dressing up in costumes leads to getting candy and other kinds of food, but she went along with it. Unsurprisingly, she'd never heard of any of these brands before, though some look more appealing than others.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it and getting a comparable amount of candy.

When she's done with it all, she unceremoniously dumps out her haul on the nearest table and begins to sort through it.

Ramlethal eventually just picks a random small piece of candy and begins to unwrap it. She places it in her mouth and...]

... Sweet.

[At least she doesn't seem to hate it.]


[ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD]

[It was easy to notice the madness outside the front doors of her house. The danger had come from out of nowhere and frankly wasn't properly geared up to take them on. Still, Ramlethal grabbed whatever makeshift weapon she could find and kept a firm grip on it.

The children outside kept staring at her through the window, and she stared right back at them.

She knew the reason why, but she couldn't just stay indoors like this.]

The jack-o-latern outside. Make sure it stays light.

[Is all she says before heads towards the door to go outside. Wait, was she really looking to take them on?]


[WILDCARD]

[Hit me up and I'll reply in kind.]

Cheese Salad of Doom

[scumvillain]

[ Of all the things Shen Qingqiu wants right now, on his apparent second migration to another world and third life overall, none of them are ominous foodstuffs that may release him from his mortal coil yet again. No more dying, okay! Even if that means playing nice with the locals and acclimating to a version of retro Americana life that is farther out of touch for a millennial from a bustling Chinese city than some wild fantasy novel he at least read before getting sucked into.

Weird as it is, he can adapt! Conform! Although that will probably require eating something marginally non-lethal at some point. Which brings him out of the staring stupor he'd been locked into while examining the wiggly gelatinous concoction now lording over his kitchen counter. ]

Well, that certainly was... [ Bizarre. ] a considerate gesture.

Be sure to remind me to send them a letter of thanks, to express our gratitude for the gift.

[ Without his white lotus Luo Binghe around, Shen Qingqiu immediately delegates his responsibilities to his apparent..... "daughter"? Honestly, he's not sure and trying very hard to not consider alternatives when he can cherry-pick the truth from what photographic evidence ( Which there was way too much of! An unsettlingly large number of photos of things that never happened with people he doesn't know; all making the experience super creepy overall! ) he's seen and slam himself into a comfortably neutral fatherly role right away!

If there are other people in those photographs, well. He'll deal with the rest of his Fake Family later. Much much later; like if or when they show up. For now, he's got more important things to attend to, such as not starving in this retro hellscape. ]

Shall we save it for later and find something more- [ Edible. ] suitable for a well-rounded meal?

[ He's just going to put the sticky saran-wrap back over this wiggly monstrosity and pretend it doesn't exist for now. Better. Aaaand slip over to the sink to thoroughly wash his hands of the residue left behind. ]

selina kyle, dc comics (rebirth)

[catlady]

i. october 1st
[ open to any and all potential family members, even if just for the tdm! ]

[ this is her big ye, her beautiful dark twisted fantasy. she knows something is amiss here and there's no way this is anything but bad, but she used to dream about this kind of thing: the perfect family, the perfect home with its perfect white picket fence, in some perfect little town where everyone has a story and a smile to spare. it's all things she didn't have growing up in the streets of gotham's east end, her own parents far from perfect. all things she'd long put aside because she's the business of taking and she's not interested in unrealistic, intangible, unobtainable things and this is the kind of thing that only exists in black and white television.

still, she finds herself here in what is intended to be her perfect home with its perfect white fence to house her perfect family. she walks through the hallways and up and down the stairs for what might be third or fourth time, examining the photos on the walls and the little tchotchkes about to make the house feel lived-in. a wedding photo catches her eye: the selina in the photo the picture perfect bride in white satin, her groom standing proudly beside her. ]

Well, isn't that something. [ she lifts her hand, examining the wedding ring on her finger meant to complete the illusion. ] And let me guess, the kids in these photos are supposed to be mine, too, right?

[ this is going to be interesting. ]

ii. don't be a square!

[ it's not exactly selina's idea of a fun time, but the block party does provide an excellent opportunity for a bit of reconnaissance. it's a chance for her to get up close and personal with her new neighbors and see if she can find some kind of glitch in the simulation, so to speak. try to get a read on them. she tries her best to blend in with the crowd, her face mostly hidden behind a pair of large, black sunglasses, but try as she might these people sniff her out like bloodhounds. it's only a matter of time before one of them announces her to the whole damn neighborhood.

she improvises the best she can, using the mostly uneaten plate of food in her hands as an excuse to keep conversations light and keep her from being asked to participate in any of the little games set up around the block. she hangs back and falls back on old habits, trying to read the crowd, but it's just not the same -- the people aren't the same.

not the people who are originally from here, at least. ]

I think I might actually miss Gotham...

iii. always respect the dead fuck the dead tbh

[ although she'd claim she's all about the art of self-preservation, selina's not really one to wait it out when shit really hits the fan. maybe that's bat and his little gang of do-gooders rubbing off on her, sparking something almost resembling heroic. it just had to be zombie kids, huh? and she just had to wear a halloween costume that is completely impractical in a fight. (look, it'll be another five years before julie newmar dons the lamé catsuit and selina spent the late 50s and early 60s banned by the comics code authority. we're going for accuracy.)

she patrols the street, looking for houses with unlit candles in their pumpkins, joining the other brave idiots willing to risk their skins to protect their more naive and defenseless neighbors. seriously, how is this becoming a theme with her? first raina creel and her drug-fueled zombies taking over los angeles villa hermosa and now this. good thing selina's not exactly above punching a child. ]

Get back! Go back inside, get someplace safe, and stay there! [ she calls out, trying to hold back one of these horrible children from making their way into the house. ] And you! Where are your manners?

iv. wildcard

[ not feeling any of these prompts? feel free to throw something different my way. felinefatale for questions, plotting, friendship, etc. ]

Absolutely fuck the dead

[miaoudel]

[Funnily enough, Selena is not the only cat-themed "superhero" running around smacking wet children.

There's a group of small, screaming children running from two of the creepy damp zombies, and a blond youth wearing paper cat ears, a long black belt for a 'tail' and a black bandana with eyeholes cut into it, and he's using a broken hockey stick like a staff to bat the zombies' hands back.] You know, I think you've had enough sugar for one night!

Aoi Kurashiki | 999/Zero Escape | OTA

[whitesanta]

A: Here's the story, of a man named Kurashiki

[It's not like this is the first time Aoi's fallen unconscious in one place and woken up somewhere else. It's just been awhile since something like that was unplanned.

Because this isn't his first rodeo, though, he probably isn't as freaked out as he should be. More of a, "What the fuck is going on?" than a, "What the ever-loving fuck is going on!?" sort of feeling, you know?

His alarm levels go up when he sees that his hair is now brown, removed from its normal spikes and instead styled in an outdated (in his opinion) men's cut. If he was asleep long enough for his last bleach to grow out but he doesn't look any older...

Yeah, he has no idea what that means. Figuring out things like that has always been more of his sister's department.

The first order of business after seeing himself in the mirror is to make sure the door opens. It does; he even manages to get all the way outside. Great. He would just leave, but first he needs to know who brought him here, and why.

So back into the house he goes, and proceeds to start hunting every nook and cranny for cameras, bugs, or anything else suspicious. This might include breaking some things.

He's yet to even speak to the person who woke up in the same room as him or anyone who might have woken up in the kids' rooms, but if they don't want something of theirs messed with, now would be the time to intervene!]

B: Block parties are not really my thing

[He should have just gone back inside, but before Aoi knows it, he's being pushed along into the crowd, his unwanted party hat quickly going askew.

He disentangles himself from his enthusiastic neighbor-] I can walk by myself, thanks. [-and quickly makes his escape, trying to get away before any more Stepfords try to drag him into a party game.

He ends up hunkered down behind a decorative hay bale, a small cup of pretzels cradled in his hands. He's mid-munch when someone happens upon him.]

Find your own hiding spot.

C: Trick or treat, smell my feet

[Consider Aoi's alarm level officially raised to "What the ever-loving fuck!?"

Aoi's seen a lot but decomposing, undead trick-or-treaters is definitely a new one on him. He's already got a nasty looking wound on his leg from where he didn't take the first one to show up seriously, but he's not letting it stop him from grabbing whatever the nearest heavy piece of furniture is and pushing it toward the door as a barricade.

He throws a look at whoever might be nearby.]

A little help?

[And then, under his breath:] Should have bought a gun.

C (also, ZERO ESCAPE!!!)

[lookprofessor]

[Luke is small for his age, but he's smart enough to make up for that shortcoming, and he's over to help Aoi as soon as he realizes what the other is doing.

He's kind of a mess: a long scrape bleeding through the sleeve of his sweater, his hat askew and muddy, both knees skinned from an earlier tumble. But he's determined to be useful, at least.]

Is this heavy enough?! [He's turned, trying to help push from his side. As he pushes, he thinks aloud...this is at least in part to not think about Aoi's comment about wanting a gun.] There has to be something else that stops them. Not everyone's barricaded their house...

haruhi suzumiya | disappearance of nagato yuki-chan | ota

[uncommonsense]

→good morning!

[ Completely unexpected, yes. Completely unwanted... well, that still had to be determined!

Haruhi's already taken a lot of the time to examine the room. Looked like she had fairly vintage comic books and records in the room she woke up in, and she kept one of the comics as a clue, immediately shifting into Detective Mode. Which is, just her looking through everything she can. Wherever she was taken, it was old-timey for sure, and even the pajamas she had woken up in felt weird. It was even creepier when she saw pictures of herself and complete strangers hanging on the wall... whoever did this was definitely handy with photo editing software or something like that.

At this point, it's still investigation time. Which means, searching outside of her room for more. If it's in the same house, she'll be in someone else's room, completely ignoring anyone else's presence in there for the time being and going through things. Drawers, shelves, underneath the bed. That's not going to stop her from entering anyone else's house too if they decided to leave their door open, sneaking around to see if everything was the same everywhere. ]

→good afternoon

[ Square nothing. Finding out there was any kind of party going on where a bunch of neighbors would be the best place to find out more about what's going on. So she's not hesitating in wearing a badge and going out to seek out what's going on with determination written all over her face.

She's very clearly annoyed at the idea that she's being ushered more towards watching the younger girls jump rope as opposed to trying ring toss, and a bit more that no one seems to be taking her that seriously. Still, given that there were others looking confused at what was going on was a good sign. Which gave her a good idea. A nice ice breaker question with anyone she happens to make eye contact with, who may either be wearing one of the badges or just looked confused a bit earlier. ]

Hello! Where are you from?

[ Straight on and to the point. ]

→good evening

[ At this point, as weird as everything had been, Haruhi's starting to like the idea of this place. California in the 60s! She'd not only managed to make it overseas, but she got to travel through time in the process! Sure, having none of her stuff, like a cell phone to take pictures or anything was a bit of a drag. Still, it was probably better she didn't have that. She knows a thing or two about time travel! That... she picked up from science fiction books, but it wasn't like this wasn't what that was. She'd taken the time to speak to some of the neighbors, who humored her and her odd questions, and it felt like there was definitely a massive mystery on her hands!

It's what she wanted. There was a buzzing in the back of her head telling her that this wasn't right, that being sent spiraling through time wasn't a good thing and being forced to be a part of someone else's pretend family was a bit creepy. Common sense was trying to convince her this was some kind of weird experiment, that it was some kind of weird pretend movie set and she's meant to improvise. But it all felt so real, so genuine. Too elaborate!

As the days passed, Halloween started to get closer and closer. That odd commercial kept counting down the days, and she had thought about going to seek out a costume. Still, the biggest thing on her mind was the newspaper. Children had gone missing, huh? Another mystery... a terrifying one, but it was still something that piqued her interest. So, she's taken to looking around, and... eventually, potentially, spotting someone. ]

Hey, can you tell me where the elementary school is?

→good night.

[ Happy Halloween.

Though she hadn't gone through any issues with the candy herself, Haruhi had been out to see the trick or treaters having fun. At least, the ones that she had been starting to recognize. After a full month, it was starting to get easier to tell who had come here from some place else and who was... well, native to Santa Rosita. It was starting to get later on in the night, and soon the TV burst on, actually startling her a bit. The commercial had gotten annoying enough, but now it just sounded worse. Just before she could do anything about it, she heard the voice and...

Ding dong!

With trepidation, Haruhi hesitated by the door and asked who it was. It didn't take long for things to go bad.

At her house, Haruhi had already gotten scratched a bit, trying to deal with their speed. She didn't have any supernatural powers even before coming here, the least that somebody could've done was give her ESP or something! She'd run out the back door, having grabbed a broomstick from the kitchen to try to at the very least shove some of these children out of the way so she could escape.

Which, leads her to someone's house with a lit jack-o-lantern, and her knocking. ]

It's me, it's me! Open up...!

[ Ugh! ]

I'm not a zombie! Let me in!

[ Yeah, she hadn't thought this one through too much. ]

→wildcard

[ i dunno let's plan something out! feel free to pm me if you have any ideas! ]

David Rose ➣ Schitt's Creek

[roseapothecary]

➣ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 . . .

𝐀. " 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘞𝘈𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘞𝘌𝘋𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘔𝘌, 𝘙𝘌𝘎𝘙𝘌𝘛? "

[ Since all of this is clearly just a dream, David has taken to exploring the house he's woken up in like a curious, nervous bird. It's a very lifelike dream, bizarre at it is, and if anything he's just taking away that he shouldn't fall asleep reading 'Valley of the Dolls' anymore if he doesn't want to fall asleep and find himself looking at...

... himself in the world's tackiest 1960's theme wedding photos. Was this a costume party? Why doesn't he remember it? Is he on set for a movie he doesn't remember his mother having him audition for? What is happening!? ]

Ew!! [ Her dress. The flowers. His hair. All incorrect. Who in their right mind would actually frame and hang photos that turned out like this? ] Who knew I'd have bad taste in my 'Twilight Zone' dreams?

𝐁. " 𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘛 𝘛𝘖 𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘋𝘌 𝘓𝘜𝘕𝘊𝘏𝘌𝘚...? "

[ The one thing that David doesn't mind is the free food. And the quantity of it. The choices, on the other hand, keep getting weirder and weirder, so he starts trying to trap his food-delivering neighbors on his porch to ask some questions.

Where are the green options? Are these gluten-free? Have allergens? Are you people even aware that not everything needs to be suspended in gelatin stasis to be consumed!?

Eventually, even the neighbors have nothing left to say to David and start leaving his food on the porch, ringing the bell, and running. He answers the door and picks up his dish of tuna casserole and egg noodles like someone thwarted. ]

Hey!! [ Shouted over at the person unfortunate enough to be caught out on their porch with a dish at the same time as him. ] What'd you get!?

➣ 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 . . .

𝐀. 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘓𝘋'𝘚 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘚𝘛 𝘉𝘈𝘉𝘠𝘚𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙

[ David isn't a fan of well-behaved children, let alone murderous little assholes come back from the dead. David's elaborately carved pumpkins allowed for holes large enough for an October breeze to easily blow out the candles he'd had no idea were important, and now he's out on his lawn with a decomposing rugrat latched onto his calf by the fucking teeth. ]

Fuck!! Off!! [ Screaming as hard as he's kicking, it's basically seconds before David has overbalanced and landed on his back. ] This is why I hate children!

𝐁. 𝘕𝘌𝘛𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒 𝘗𝘖𝘚𝘛

▶ H E L P
▶ WHAT DO YOU USE TO DISINFECT A FUCKING CHILDZOMBIE BITE?? (!!)
▶ ACID???

➣ 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

( or hit David with something different! pm if we should chat about details or pp me @ kaitniss. )

trading lunches

[demonicmiracle]

[The last time one of the locals walked in after knocking on the door, Crowley threatened one of them with a kitchen knife, so they've taken to leaving the dishes on the porch.

He isn't entirely sure about the wildlife population, and isn't inclined to wake up in the night to a gaggle of raccoons outside, so he's taken to collecting them to toss out properly.

He's not expecting to be shouted at while he's out there grabbing the container, but he finishes picking up the dish, and turns towards David.]

Something awful, I reckon.

[It's almost tentative, the way he peels back the lid of the container, grimacing immediately.]

S'like... a loaf of potato salad. Why, what've you got?

heero yuy | gundam wing

[heeroism]

❅ home is where the heart is;
or, 'being a teenager in the sixties'.

﹙ consciousness comes in like a frost. he wakes without moving, barely a flicker in his heartrate to denote the transition. he hears a clock. the far-off bark of a dog. the hvac system of a residential house. water knocking in the pipes. he's alone, or at least he can't hear anyone with him and so after his initial assessment, he opens his eyes.

he's accustomed to the disorientation of waking somewhere unexpected, but generally it's — a facility, a cell, a hospital. not a bedroom. certainly not a child's bedroom. he rises. swings his legs to the side of the bed, listens for the distant, far-away sounds of footsteps. when none resound, he proceeds to sack the bedroom.

and then, upon finding nothing of note, he heads down to the kitchen. the eerie silence, the emptiness — it reminds him of a nuclear test site. he half-expects mannequins to occupy windows, cardstock houses to be blown over in a fell wind. he shakes down the kitchen and as soon as he hefts a kitchen knife he finds himself interrupted. a housemate? a 'family' member? some errant passer-by? hard to say. either way, heero doesn't set the knife aside or look at all abashed at being caught out. instead: ﹚

I'd mind the coffee if I were you. Good chance it's poisoned.

﹙ in case this is your first kidnapping. he's here to help. ﹚

don't be a square;
alternately, try a trapezoid.

﹙ he isn't personable, but he can pretend it well enough. it's like any other reconnoitering he's ever done — cut-off from his allies, with limited intelligence on the region.

he gains a reputation as a politely distant boy, largely preferring to be silent. when he engages with others it's nearly always adults, who he questions (read: interrogates) about local politics, foreign policy, talk of the vietnam war that america hasn't yet troubled itself to enter and all manner of things that don't seem to suit a normal teen.

when it comes to the gelatin mold, well. roughly ten seconds after it's been put in his hands, he dumps the plate directly into yours. if your character happens not to take it it's getting dropped square on the ground. ﹚

Here. You look hungry.

﹙ do you, though? or is he just not about to eat this crap? you decide. ﹚

spooky scary skeletons;
or, when tots attack, prompt b, cw for violence against zombie kids.
option 1.

﹙ he'd meant it, when he dropped that empty gun deep in the bowels of mariemaia's palatial shelter. he doesn't want to kill. he won't.

but children who smell like death, who clamber forwards over the bodies of others and their fellows, whose skin sloughs off like wet paper, like napalm burns, don't count. the first time he watches another one of them drag someone out into the street it spurs him to action. he cracks apart a nearby chair, passes out the resultant sturdy clubs to anyone holed up with him. ﹚

Stay calm. It doesn't help anyone to panic. Have you done anything like this before?

﹙ his tone is... some species of reassuring, at least. ﹚

option 2.

﹙ he notices patterns, is quick to make assessments. by teh time the second house with no visible pumpkins lit and glowing on the porch gets overrun, he's realized that the message meant they shouldn't let them become extinguished.

but the last one at your house just went out.

he doesn't really think about it. just grabs one off his porch, arm curled around it protectively to shield the light from the wind, and bolts to your house. give him a few seconds, and he'll be banging on your door. ﹚

Open up!

﹙ assumed family is a+, he's 18. toss me a pm if you want to suss anything out! ﹚

not being a square YOU SAW NOTHING

[combatted]

[ Different from any of the Wayne galas, where the benefit of the shadow the name cast would mean quick exits if he wanted it, studying the crowd, eavesdropping, bearing the spotlight when it came over to him, in the early days. The suits had taken residence in his closet, there'd been fun, in it, when it could have been remembered as an adventure. ]

[ But there hasn't been cause for mingling in well over a year, and he'd only just gotten rid of the cakes the neighbour kept giving him ("You're so thin, dear!") when more gets piled onto his plate. He swallows the look; he's not eating this crap, it's probably poisoned or causes more of this hallucination. ]

Not much of a sweet tooth?

James Moriarty | Fate/Grand Order

[hatesdeerstalkers]

1 | OCTOBER 1ST

[Waking up in a completely different area is normal for a heroic Spirit - after all, one could be summoned at any time, to any era or place. Though, normally, there's a pull, a call.

Though perhaps that small, scared voice - that child's voice - was it...?

No matter what it is, Moriarty opens his eyes and sees an unfamiliar ceiling, feels the sensation of an unfamiliar bed under him. Getting up reveals another bed, and matching everything in this room to the point that it feels distinctly like overkill.

Getting up also reveals that he's a mere human - none of the supernatural strength and speed he's used to is allowed to him, and an experimental attempt to summon his Coffin ends with him just clenching empty air.

..Interesting.]

Variant A - Meeting the Missus/Mister

[It doesn't take long until Moriarty's steel-blue eyes fall on the other person in the opposite bed, the older man coming over to gently tap the other person on the shoulder - placing a bright, cheerful smile on his face and a tone just as chipper to match, if loud.]

GOOOOOD MORNING! IT'S TIME TO WAKE UP!

[Hopefully he doesn't get punched or kicked in the face, but like this, he can determine what he's working with much more easily.]

Varient B - A Morning Meeting

[A look over at the other bed finds it empty, but the rumpled state of the sheets clearly points to the other occupant having woken before him and going to explore the house.

Fair enough, honestly.

As he leaves the room and begins to explore the house, the pictures on the walls and everywhere catch his attention. And how could they not?

What they show is an impossibility, after all. A happy family, snapshots of a quiet suburban life...

All things he can't have, especially considering all of this was after his death.

Rifling through desks, he ends up finding a photo album - and taking a seat in the cheery kitchen table with a cup of tea at his side - he begins to flip through it, finding more pictures of others and of 'himself' at various ages, various stages of life and perfect happiness.

Someone who finds him in there after looking around or meeting the neighbors might even mistake him for one of the 'natives', with how calm he is about this situation - if not for the fact that the moment he notices a fellow 'victim', he puts on a wry smile.]

I suppose kidnappers are becoming much more polite and congenial these days, hm? Giving us an entire house and an assumed 'family.'

[He takes a sip of his tea.]

Good morning, 'dear.' I trust you slept well?

2 | GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS

[1961, America - a town somewhere in california.

Well, that narrowed it down, but was worrying in other ways. This may be a Singularity, but...the fact that he was a mere mortal human with no appropriate knowledge for the era once more pointed to something much more sinister going on.

Still, the more important thing was to gather their bearings. For now, he could easily pretend to be a mere confused newcomer to the community, unaware of many things. Unlike some, he doesn't attempt to explain where he's from or insist he needs to leave - No, he merely watches and observes, putting on the charm whenever another friendly neihbor comes to their door.

And then he takes a single look at the Assorted Gelatin molds in his hands, shudders, and dumps it right in the garbage.]

Gelatin, of all things... I'll whip up something else for supper.

[He sounds like Gelatins have personally wronged him and his entire family, but the food he does make, while pretty stereotypical English fare...is at least good.]

3 | HALLOWEEN

VARIENT A - CHECK YOUR CANDY

[It's been a calm sort of month - though he's no closer to figuring out what exactly this place is, it at least hasn't been dangerous. Strange and disconcerting, yes - the people in the town often little more than automatons following set paths, as if it had been programmed into them - but beyond the obvious death of those 20 children and the driver, nothing terrible has happened.

But that can change - and it has changed.

As you look forward to having a treat, bringing whatever you dragged out of your bag towards your mouth on the street - there's the sound of a man clearing his throat as Moriarty steps forward, shaking his head at the treat.]

I don't mean to disturb you - but I thought you might want to know that eating that would be quite detrimental to your health. ...Ah, not in the normal 'candy is bad for you' way, either! Wahahaha!

[...]

I mean that it's most likely been poisoned.

[Though he won't stop you if you don't believe him and take a bite, anyway.]

VARIENT B - RESPECT THE DEAD

[He'd gotten some pumpkins as Halloween came closer - not because he believed in the holiday, but because it was what the 'natives' of this town were saying and gearing up for.

And, honestly - it was clear that you had to do your best to strive to 'remain in step' with the rest of the town, so he'd merely shrugged and gotten his hands on a few pumpkins to carve and set candles in as his 'responsibility as the man of the house.'

That, and it wasn't exactly unknown to him. England celebrated Halloween with aplomb even in the time he was alive, so he was well aware of the other connonations of the jack o lanturns and their candles -

A way to ward off evil spirits and the dead.

So when the shrieking of the TV comes forth - along with that child's voice - and the dead trick-or-treaters rise, he can only breathe a sigh of relief that the 'ward' of the lanturns seem to be in working order.

...That is, until he sees someone outside frantically attempting to get away or fight them off, and despite his urge to leave them to their fate...He flings the door open anyway.]

OVER HERE! QUICK! They don't go into houses that have the lanturns lit!

[...Trust the shady looking old man, or take your chances with the horde?]

Varient A

[thotsandprayers]

Ah.

[She'll stop, holding the candy close to her mouth, giving the man warning her a curious look. Not really in her social circle does Kiara even have a social circle probably not, but she's almost certain she's seen him around in Chaldea before.]

Poisoned, really?

[A bit skeptical here, though she is moving her hand away from her mouth now. Though poison isn't so much a deterrent, it's just that talking about it is perhaps more intriguing than finding out for herself. Doesn't usually work that way.]

And how did you find that out? Personal experience, perhaps?

[She's kidding. Maybe not the best thing to joke about, but obviously he found out somehow. And look if he can laugh while warning people, the she can make light of it too.]