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Futuristic gestalt ✦ rp

OOC
Here
Characters
Here
🍒
Cheryl Seki-Feigenbaum
INFORMATION
LOCATION
Gas Station, Definitely Not Alabama
INTERACTIONS
El ( AI10100 AI10100 ), Lucas ( Theasuke Theasuke )
MENTIONS

Darnell ( Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters- ), Newton ( PawPawkit PawPawkit ), Margaret ( TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm ), Cosmo ( Alien222 Alien222 )
“So many people I could collab with!
Such a bad place to collab in.”
POST

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Cheryl sad because El thinks she stupid. She is. Drag over to gang. Darnell smart. Newton big smart, mind blown, explosion pew. Hobo Greek philosopher. Wowow many shiny sparkly people. Bad to frog? No worry, cool.

Click here for the actual post

I swear this isn't all I wrote
Cheryl could feel the grip on her shoulder, neither tight nor forceful. An onlooker might think El was holding her for reassurance, but onlookers didn’t know her habit of failure. It was detainment, a gentle act of restraint to make sure she didn’t fuck them over again. The comforting touch of her best friend’s hand through her hair was barely a consolation to the resignation on her face. El was disappointed in her. She wanted to run away. Away from the ugly emotions stirring the pit in her stomach, away from her stupid, half-baked proposal, away from the expression of long-suffering defeat she was the cause of.

Her petulant voice sounded distant, separate from herself, a drawn-out reverberation of the impassioned Cheryl from moments ago.

“I didn’t want to attack him!”
she said, pushing her lips into a pout, her intended melodramatic gesture of throwing her hands up hindered by the articles her fingers had wrapped around. Her statement was only partially a lie.

Her line of sight drifted down to her left hand as the lemon toad was pulled out of her slackening grasp, El muttering something about heaven. The part of her not in a dejected stupor wanted to grin wryly and poke fun at her. El, do you really think Slenderman and unholy-looking citrus demons have anything to do with heaven? The other part of her had progressed from wanting to run away to wanting to fizzle away under the blinding bulbs, vampire-in-the-sun–style—and not the sparkly Hollywood kind. As both sides fought for dominance, her cheeks tried to rise into a smile only to fall and crumble the next moment. Eventually the overwhelming vacillation drowned her peppy facade in decision paralysis, so her thoughts stayed just that: thoughts.

She didn’t manage to stay in her daze though, as El had moved on from obstructing her to towing her towards the subject of their previous discussion. Instinctively, her head turned and traced the spindly figure extending outwards from the counter like a misshapen web as the main body neared, heels raking unenthusiastically across the floor. She watched vacantly as it squeezed itself back into the median human shape, allowing the vertigo and unease to wash over her. Better that than whatever fervour had triggered her to overcome her fear, right?

As El planted them beside the counter, she only caught the tail end of what the man scooting near the Boy was saying, her mind starting to spin its cogs again. What he was advocating did sound reasonable. He was sporting a wrinkled dress shirt and dark-coloured tie, a model businessman after a late night out, which meant he was probably competent. This impression of reliability didn’t pass on to the next speaker, who was a familiar ungroomed face—or so she thought until he opened his mouth. His declaration was surprisingly insightful and perceptive, and she mentally smacked herself for her bias. As another office worker out of the office—puffing on a cigar in a mob boss way—corroborated the fact and El added their circumstances, it only cemented her growing opinion. Yes, he was actually a brilliant thinker, accurately grasping what everyone hadn’t yet realized, only impeded by the fact that he couldn’t put more care into his hygiene.

“It seems all the great minds and philosophers of the universe decided to gather here today. We're saved.”


It was like a lightbulb flicked on in her brain. Of course, he was one of those philosophers who thought the hobo-chic aesthetic was a way of life! What was the school of thought called again, pessimism? She’d taken an intro philosophy course, but her memories of the lectures ended at “people die if they are killed”.

“You’re right; he’s so definitely a philosopher. Even his clothing gives that philosophical vibe, don’t you think? And he’s being smart, just like”
—she waved her long stilettos in the direction of Businessman—
“he said we should be. Together, we’re sure to make it out of here!”


She shifted her gaze towards the direction of her enlightener, who had been overshadowed by the glitching fellow pink-haired fashion enthusiast thus far. Honestly, she thought the digital filter suited his 70s-inspired dressing and tipped it into the category of vaporwave, but she found it hard to actually compliment him on it. What if he was terribly self-conscious and extremely troubled about his state of being? (He did not look terribly self-conscious and extremely troubled about his state of being.)

Distracted by the flickering lines representative to raster, she saw the smoke before the person. Then she heard the cursed squeaking coming from his hands. Her brows rose a fraction before they dropped. She didn’t care for the lemon toads, yes, but maybe she wasn’t ready to talk to someone who—her sight landed on his fit—must have a good reason for stretching the pestilential little creatures! Maybe he was testing the elasticity for… future… plans.

 
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Vega Riviera
The Journalist
Gas Station
idek man, you figure it out
interactions / mentions

TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm (Interaction)
Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters- (Interaction)

Charmed,” he spoke dryly, undulating bag hanging limply within pinched fingers. The look of amusement in his eyes is subdued.

He didn’t need to see her face to memorize her features; she was a woman-shaped-nova. A flash-burn contour seared into his eyes; heat and radiance, the kind that left afterimages on the inside of the skull. Ordered disorder in a kiss-sealed letter. He didn’t glance at her again. You don’t look twice at the sun.

The lime green gum peels from his tongue without fanfare. Now reduced to a tasteless bud—flavor spent and gone. His hand reached under the counter’s edge, pinning the remnants with the same deliberation one might use when they crush an ant. It clings to the marble surface, saliva-polished veneer dimly glinting under the sterile light. He thinks nothing more of it. Heeled boots carried him further towards the center of the structure.

The gum swells, ripples, ebbs, and flows. Its body pulses, as if it had a heart hidden away in its cloying sweetness. Then, its flesh pulls inward, breathing in deep, and its voice perfectly matches its creator's—sardonic and dry.

Walking ashtray.” A phrase he’d thought—not said—when she turned her back. It repeats itself a second time. Vega stops in his tracks and lingers, head tilted on its axis, ear craned toward the source. The gum quivers once more before it collapses in on itself. It fell dead and silent. “...interesting.

His body moves slowly through the congregation of cold bodies. It is intentional. The act of moving through a disaster is a rare delicacy to savour. He thrived in places that did not know what they were yet. A world writhing in its own rebirth—that meant opportunity. A blank page waterlogged by dream and nightmare. Every noise collapsed into the same ravening roar. Sneakers skidding across the tile, a man attempting to calm a situation beyond redemption.

Let it rot,” he whispers into the collar of his own shirt. It was a prayer one might give to a garden too overgrown and wild. Some beauties flower best in disarray.

He approached the man from his nape, drew himself close, and lingered. Close enough to smell Darnell’s shampoo—eucalyptus, green and sweet. His breath disturbing the air near the man’s collar, calculated proximity blowing past what was polite. Not threatening—no, never that. Intimate in the way only predators and lovers could get away with.

Roseate eyes appraised the situation beyond Darnell’s shoulder. “What if staying alive here isn’t a matter of being smart, but being wanted?

He turned his head, becoming a hawk before the dive. “Some places don’t care how clever you are. They’ll chew the bone just the same. It's about… playing along. Dressing nice. Smiling widely. Making yourself look like the right kind of meal.

The transition on the ground was smooth, feet gliding against the tiled floor, every step mapped and choreographed. His bag of frogs swayed to and fro from the quick motion, sizzling like wet hardware within the plastic casing. He stared at Darnell in a way that was diagnostic, in the same way that an ectothermic lifeform sees heat. “Are you the right kind of meal?” His voice dropped an octave; perfume on a stalker's love letter.

 
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GESTALT

Cassidy
McNamara

It seemed that the area around the register counter was becoming a bit of a hotspot. Good, Cassidy thought. The more of them gathered around, the better their chances against Slendie will be.

However, it would seem as though the gathered people weren’t looking to confront the creature, but rather, to listen to it. Appease it almost. Each word spoken was like a weight around his ankle, pulling him deeper into a pit of isolation. He felt his shoulder slump more and more with each person that spoke up as he quickly realised that he was on his own in wanting to fight his way out of this place.

The worst part of it was that, the more he listened, the less he himself wanted to fight his way out. After all, if it was true that they were indeed “anywhere and nowhere” as someone had said earlier, then - even if he did manage to get out - where would he go? Keep driving - or walking - until he was out of whatever space this was? If it was even possible to get out of wherever this was. Not just the gas station but the whole area where the gas station itself was.

Compared to the risk of breaking a second hand in an attempt to get out of here only to end up frozen in a magical blizzard, working together with the others in the station to get out of here seemed more sensible. There was just one problem with that, however:


“I don’t have no problem working together but, I wasn’t really made for thinkin’, you see. But y’all just point me in the direction of something that needs to get done and I’ll get it done.”

The smoke from the cigarette that was lit under him rose and assailed his senses as he spoke. Casually fanning the smoke away, he looked down and fixed the source of his latest discomfort with an unimpressed gaze. At least they had had the decency to warn them first - if “you smoke” could be considered a warning.

Rolling his eyes, he went back to addressing the larger group, ignoring the Clerk behind him like everyone else seemed to be doing.
“Anyway, if y’all truly reckon we could get out of here with ‘the power of friendship’, then go on and call me Cassidy.”

He looked around the group.
“Any of y’all got names? Or would you rather stay as hair colors and attitudes?”

Mentions: Pretty much everyone at the counter
 
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Darnell didn’t blink.

Not when Newton with the frog on his head waxed poetic about roads and about nowhere. Not when a woman lit her cigar and, to him, it felt like she had been coping against everything that compromised the reality around her. Not even when the clerk folded inward like an origami object of nerves and teeth. There he stood among a bunch of strangers who were taking these better than he thought. Kind of. Sort of. He could do without them taking their frustrations out on the frogs. Do people not like amphibians anymore?

Before another thought crossed Darnell's mind, he felt it there, behind him, almost moist up against the glass, almost giving way to the quickening of breath by anyone other than him. The syrupy, slow, implication-laden words floated softly in the air behind him. Darnell kept watching the frogs in the bag with his arms steady at his side and an expression that could have meant just about anything.

“Now that's one helluva pickup line,” he said, willing the corner of his mouth to twitch into a half-smile. “Maybe you should treat a guy to some dinner before you start whispering sweet paranoia down his neck.~”

The breath lingering on his collar and the words with almost poetical menace were not disconcerting to him. They were, rather, engaging. It seemed an overture—that kind of concern in the air, the faux threatening bit testing the flinch while laughing at you for not being afraid.

He began to step out, slowly, pulling just enough to tilt his head so that Vega could catch a glimmer of the quirk in his eyes behind that harried calm.

“You wonder if I'm a proper meal ,” he said, his voice smooth as leather. “I say—depends on the appetite. But I ain’t fast food. Takes a slow simmer to figure me out.”

He paused for a moment and then added, softer still, almost secretive:

"And if this whole thing operates on who wants whom?" His head tilts further. "Then it's best I contribute when I can, keep my head on screwed on, and let those who speak the loudest, scream the ludest once they turn themselves into appetizers."

His eyes flicked down; just for a few seconds, he noticed the bag of frogs that Vega was carrying.

"But if we are talking presentation, yours might just be drying up slightly."

Darnell stepped a little farther forward, reclaiming some of the space, the bag of frogs swinging gently at his side. Not a retreat—just onward. It was his way.

"But hey," Darnell said over his shoulder, voice still called down, mellow, and cultural, "you come find me if you get in the mood to drop the cryptic act sometime. I make for better conversation when I'm not being squared up on like some choice cut. But hey, at least I know you got good taste.~"

Darnell winks at Vega before turned and walked away from. He never looked back. The same languid stride carried him onward.

Darnell flashed a lopsided grin, the kind that came easy to a man who’d seen too much to scare easy. He gave Cassidy a two-fingered salute with the hand not holding his frog bag. “Name’s Darnell. I rarely do icebreakers, but I am house-trained and moderately useful in a crisis. Good to meet ya, Cassidy—nice to know I’m not the only one here who can throw a punch and take a hint.”

Zedalith Zedalith Wyll Wyll Theasuke Theasuke AI10100 AI10100 PawPawkit PawPawkit TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm Klown Klown Alien222 Alien222 efferve efferve Gigglecake Gigglecake Ambiloquous Ambiloquous
 


Introductions are made; frogs are collected. In the midst of tense alliance, a seam opens. A single, bright white line splits the air like broken pixels, space that reality forgot to fill. It opens with the same satisfying pop of a zip-lock bag, splitting colors and matter like they were intruding upon its space. Blending or clipping just short of ending. The portal sputters. Tickled and trying to maintain its breath. Beyond it, you see what looks like a diner with a climbing line.

“Ah, there it is.” The clerk hums, hands delicately held like two feathers made to slot together. Fingers curling too far over his palms, nearly touching the sharp edge of bone at his wrist. “Quite the crowd, too. It is Golden Hour after all.” Each sentence is drawn out like the coil of snake, his limbs elongate again with the spirit of an impatient child.

“Go on and deliver the order. I’ve ruminating to do.” He grinned wildly, the definition of the word a coin flip.

You all walk through the portal.

Music that kisses the back of necks, soft and sweet, from a jukebox singing a phantom memory—all fog, cotton, and indiscernible; but nostalgic. The clatter of plates and forks, but no chatter. Despite the number of hungry guests, no one speaks a single word, all waiting to be seated.

A cushy 1950's diner hosting rubbery red booths, the shiny kind that stick to your thighs. Mint green walls stacked with frames of long roads, expensive cars, and autographed photos of unfamiliar—yet strikingly familiar—celebrities. All held together on polished checkered floors of black and white tiles. Perfectly preserved. Nothing aged, nothing faded, everything pristine.

Outside, the sky is warm. The sun is gone, but it’s not quite night. A day perpetually stuck in ending, a coat of bruised apricot. An empty parking lot awaits outside, stretching for both hundreds of miles and a few feet. It looks like there might be an edge and nothing else.

The door to the kitchen swings open as the one behind the group eats itself.

“Ah, the delivery!” An older gentleman emerges, hands worn with experience being patted dry by a towel, which is promptly slung onto his shoulder. He looks…human. Kind. The sort of disarming granted to those who’ve suffered in life and earned a lifetime of tranquility in death. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, laugh lines deepened by a rich elation. He’s stout with a neatly cropped beard of brown and short hair to match. “Thank you very much! I was starting to worry it wouldn’t come.”

Eyes like iridescent orbs. Where pupils should be, there’s only a soft, pulsing light. Swirling and white, cradled within the gold of his irises like a secret curled beneath the tongue. The only marker that perhaps human wasn’t an apt descriptor. On his nametag sits the name Erinnern.

“I’m a bit understaffed at the moment, so I appreciate the help.”

You are all granted nametags and uniforms, the new ensemble appearing on your body as if you’ve been wearing it the entire time.

“Let’s serve some good memories!”



 
  • IMG_3906.jpg
    Interacting With/Mentions:
    Erinnern ( Klown Klown ), Cheryl ( Ambiloquous Ambiloquous ), Darnell ( Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters- ), Joann ( Gigglecake Gigglecake ), Cosmo ( Alien222 Alien222 )

    Ran Past:
    Kitchen Crew ( TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm AI10100 AI10100 Wyll Wyll efferve efferve timesink timesink )
    ~ The Usual, Kitchens -> The Usual, Resterant Main~
    Never Gonna Give You Up


    The Usual was the Usual. Except when it wasn’t. She had no reason to think that today would be any different from the last seven years in the joint so when she strolled up to the job board and saw she was a cleaner again she felt no real surprise but still yelled out from the back.

    “GEEEZ COME ON DAD I’M STUCK ON CLEANING AGAIN??? You’d think I’d get special privileges as the only employ-”

    Her thoughts were completely interrupted by the fact that there were more names than just hers on the board. In fact there were so many names what the actual fuck? She jumped up at seeing the names on the board before pulling herself back together. Yet the mask couldn’t be maintained with her glee at another rousing batch of what she could only assume were humans coming in.

    She rushed out from the back before even getting into uniform headphones still on and jacket falling off her shoulders. With a few strides she brought herself to the doors of the building waiting with excitement for the others to cross the boundary.

    “Dad dad are you being serious? There’s more people today?”

    Her excitement made her movements wild as she ran to the kitchens. She didn’t even wait for a response though as she saw the group assigned to kitchens. WAIT THEY WERE HERE.

    “NEVERMIND DAD THEY’RE HERE? Hey CLEANING CREW wait I need the bucket.” she grabbed the tools needed and ran back out of the kitchens. “HEY COSMO, CHERYL, DARNELL, JOANN LET ME SHOW YOU AROUND OKAY.”

    She ran forwards bucket in hand before nearly slamming into a table but she soon reached the area her dad always said to start with when cleaning, the supplies. If this wasn't her crew she couldn't image who the heck they actually were.

 
noe alvere
location
kitchen!
interactions
erinnern Klown Klown

Pots rattled, fire sizzled, but it was the smell that got to Noe the most. Regardless of how surreal the situation appeared—from a gas station brazing against a wild blizzard to a homely dinner of the ’50s—the distinct scent of thyme and rosemary always remained the same. Wary eyes glided over the shelves of spices and herbs, neatly packed away and within reaching distance. A mocking salute. A siren’s call. One he replied to with the click of his tongue and a silent turn-away.

The whole process of their arrival still lingered on his mind. From the start of the bigger conversation to the now. Something that felt so distant, despite its recency. Rallying leaders, cigarette smoke, poorly disguised nonchalance, uncalled aggression, nauseating optimism and bits of weird flirting. A perfect picture book of bleak personalities. The kind Noe would have preferred to spectate in one of his favorite dramas on television, while cowering in the safety of his home. Throw in some microwave popcorn, shut the blinds as the sun rose.

But instead, Noe found himself cast away in this stupid role, and not particularly inclined to follow its script.

He had no wish to act smart, nor to be desired by some alien audience. What was there to strategize about, when their own whims were merely pesky flies in the air? Escape beings capable of bending reality like origami swans? Don’t make him laugh. How humiliating to think they were anything more than toys, with settings that could be freely adjusted. Slowly, Noe picked up a clean pan, whirled it around, just to throw it back onto the stove a second later.

And wasn’t it the worst offender? Scalding, he glanced toward their new employer—the word burned on his tongue like little knife stabs. Just as irritating as the gauntly uniform they were forced into. White with red stripes. Come on. At least the trousers were black, and not some neon pink. That one girl would have liked that.

Looking over the creature once more, Erinnern’s voice was truly its only upside. Mellow, gentle, disarming, all the same. Yet its face begged to be caved in, and its eyes begged to be stolen and turned into some kind of jewelry. Unsettling. Skin revolting. More so than the clerk, because unlike it, Erinnern’s smile actually seemed genuine. Noe shuddered, gaze shying away before the old man could start to think turning around was a good idea.

Rather, it was easier to look at the people he was stuck with. Loud, irritating, but normal. At least as normal as a group with a priest could be. God be blessed he didn’t end up with the servers. And not only because they had to interact with the cursed patronage this diner entertained.

Sighing, Noe’s eyes swayed over the collective name tags again—the only saving grace from making this a kindergarten introduction round. To believe he would be thankful for a portal opening up before Cassidy’s plan could blossom to fruition. Would you have liked a hobby and favourite animal with that name? Now they were stuck together anyway. In the kitchen. What a joy.

Suddenly, the doors slammed open. A girl ran in, then ran out. Her excitement was lost to his ears. Befuddled, he watched after her, as if she’d left traces behind in her whirlwind of movement. Then Noe turned around, attention falling back onto the thing. Erinnern, he reminded himself.

“You have a daughter?” Noe asked, not quite able to hold the question, nor the disbelief back from seeping into his voice. A hint of normality. Family. Weird.

Then, he swallowed. Dry and itchy. His stomach growled. Noe missed the lollipops.

code by @Nano
 
Vega Riviera
The Journalist
Gas Station
idek man, you figure it out
interactions / mentions

Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters- (mention)
Klown Klown (interaction)
Theasuke Theasuke (interaction)
PawPawkit PawPawkit (interaction

Huh. He had been composed and cordial. Smoothing the edges of his thoughts like blowing a glass sculpture with a surgeon’s hands. It is vexing to him, the way that Darnell didn’t flinch. It’s not just that he didn’t flinch at Vega's provocation, it was also the fact that Darnell seemed to enjoy it. Both qualities served to puzzle him.

He was too charming. Too aware of how far he could lean into madness, Darnell had that chill behind the eye. He had met his share of evil and learned to brush shoulders without spilling his wine. Vega didn’t like seeing pieces of himself reflected with someone else’s voice and posture. Careful bait on the hook, swagger, poise. Different lure, same intention. He’d have to watch that one.

Not now.

Time and space blended, scathing rupture giving cause for him to take a pace back. He heard it even, not with his ears but with his skin. The way your body knows a thing before your brain does. A line climbs out the door of the diner on the other side. The rift in space assessed him, creating a tight-knit rope from void to chest. His body slipped through the crack with the liberty of fog creeping through the bottom of a door.

The first step on the other side is disorientating. He wonders, ponders, if he is the same man as the one who left on the other side. To be taken, pulled across from one pocket of unreality to another, is a challenging concept to tousle.

Golden Hour. The crowd was… off. Faces blurred at the edges, painted with wet paint, and never allowed to dry. And he is to serve these… people… things… abominations that climbed out of some liminal 50s hellscape? That was when he noticed the outfit, dreadful checkered stripes, and the offensive bow that strangled his neck. His hands reached up to adjust, studying the smooth contours of velvet.

Let me see who’s on the menu. They all wore nametags, and thankfully—these seemed to stay the same. “Newton. Lucas. Jasper,” he read their names aloud, as his eyes lazily grazed from chest to chest. They wore the same hideous getup as himself, and there was camaraderie to be found.

The kind of kinship you feel when you realize everyone has to pay taxes. The bitter solidarity of universal suffering. You too, huh?

But one detail was off. Jasper’s tie looked a touch ajar, and the way the bottom of their apron clipped into their pants by a centimeter. An innate wrongness that he could feel as a phantom pain. Momentarily channeling the grace of a tailor, his hands moved. Seizing the knot with his fingers, and pulling it upwards forcefully, were he any stronger—he might have lifted the man with it. He flattened a palm against his stomach to smooth out the corner, adjusting the fold, whipping the fabric into place until its rebellion seized.

There,” he spoke low, giving him a look as if he’d expected a “thank-you,” in return. The look of a monarch who spared a peasant the guillotine.

Wait. No, no no—a look of desperation slammed across his face with the grace of a rampaging hippo.

First, his hands slid across his own apron, unleashing a storm of ceaseless pats and grapples. Then to his belt. His pocket.

He felt something, a weight just under the hem of his apron. He peeled the damned thing back, with the same hesitance as one might expect when checking an unseen wound.

Easy, easy. His camera is still there. Tucked tight against his ribs with the ribbon strapped under his neck, beneath the aprons.

He holds it between his fingers, re-centers it, and clicks the button downward with a therapeutic click. He captures his colleague’s faces, holds the screen close to his face, and inspects it eagerly. The terror held within his eyes slips away, ebbed to dust by the waves of relief that crashed over his psyche. He smoothed himself over, wiping his face into a clean slate.

How the hell are we supposed to serve these things?” Not truthfully a question. He speaks it as if the task is far beneath him, spoken with the cadence of an aristocrat tasked to pour their own drink. He made a gesture towards one of the aforementioned things, it is scraping a coffee mug with what he believed to be a tongue.

Perhaps I should simply watch and learn. Do any of you have a talent for this… work?”
 
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Normally, a hole being ripped in air and matter is concerning, and it completely is. However, nothing about this gas station has been normal, from being both everywhere and nowhere at the same time, to the gas station just appearing out of nowhere in a snowstorm, to the mirrors not always reflecting what they should. This hole in space and matter should make his heart want to escape from his rib cage in fear, and it does, but he's not that surprised that this has been happening. In fact, the only part of the gas station that does not scare him are the gas station lemon frogs, especially Thumbs. In fact, Thumbs, with his thumb printed head and hair chewing tendencies, grounds Newton, brings him some semblance of joy. Thumbs is still in his dark mop of hair, still in that pancake state.

As the hole opens in air and matter, Newton goes back for the energy drinks he dumped on the floor, and he squats, lifting his backpack off his shoulders, and unzipping his bag. He throws them as quickly as he can into his sagging, lumpy backpack. The few labels Newton spares a glance at say that the energy drink is lemon lime. How ironic, how funny the universe thinks itself, considered that this gas station is lemon themed(?). As Newton slings his backpack back onto his shoulders, he realizes that the cosmic joke started as soon as everyone started walking in the door: 13 strangers walk into the same gas station, even though very few of them live in the same area. It doesn't seem like the punchline will arrive anytime soon.

Newton, with the same speed that he threw the energy drinks into his backpack, rushed to rejoin the group, his shoelaces slapping the floor. He didn't want to find out what happened if he stayed behind in the gas station, so he chose to go into the portal, because obeying the smiley, blond clerk had kept him from not dying(so far). As he shuffled through the portal at a pretty fast and hurried pace, at least for him, his purple sweater and sweatpants were replaced by a wrinkled white collared shirt, and black pants, very formal attire. On top of that, although his moustache was still tickling his upper lip, his hair was no longer tickling his neck...

On the other side of the portal, music played, and just like with the gas station, everything was too clean, and Newton had the strong urge to look down at the floor. And, just as before, the floor was so clean that Newton could see himself, and everything around him. In addition to the collared shirt and black pants and fancy shoes, Newton also had a crooked red bow tie, and a crooked name tag perched on his left breast with his name written in his neat, slanty handwriting. His hair, which had been hanging off his head, was now in a small bun on top of his head. Thumbs, meanwhile, was chirping away like a baby bird. Although Newton wasn't too comfortable in his uniform, as he wasn't used to the formality, he quite liked the candy-cane pattern apron that his name tag was attached to.

“Newton. Lucas. Jasper,” Newton felt eyes on him, and he looked up from the shiny black and white tiles, into roseate eyes. Those pale-lashed eyes didn't seem to blink, and it felt as if the man was trying to dissect him. Newton's eyes inadvertently followed the roseate eyed man from one person to the next. First was Lucas, who like Noe, had blue eyes that were filled with a sort of hostility and disgust. Lucas had a single strand of platinum in his longish obsidian hair. The next face was much more familiar, much more friendly: Jasper. Once the man had rattled off everyone's names, Newton chose to turn his dull brown, heavy lidded gaze onto the man's breast where he read the name "Vega."

“Perhaps I should simply watch and learn. Do any of you have a talent for this… work?” Vega sounded out work the way one might say mold, or foot fungus. He looked at all of them, assessing them, observing them the way a scientist might observe subjects before the IRB was established.

"Nah, dude." Newton had never been employed before, with his accumulating debt and his mountain of schoolwork and occasionally his intrusive thoughts taking up all his time. "But may I offer you guys caffeine and sugar in these trying times?"

interactions: Zedalith Zedalith Klown Klown Theasuke Theasuke
 
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Mentions: Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters- (Darnell), TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm (Margaret), PawPawkit PawPawkit (Newton), AI10100 AI10100 (Elise), Ambiloquous Ambiloquous (Cheryl), Theasuke Theasuke (Lucas), Wyll Wyll (Cassidy), Klown Klown (Erinnern and Clerk)
Interactions: BriiAngelic BriiAngelic (Rochelle)

(Most of this 1000 word monster is just catching up with what happened in the gas station so if you just want the diner stuff, skip to 'Once he stepped through')


The more everyone's voices filled the air, the more they agitated Cosmo, thus leading him to stay silent during the introductions and such, knowing that if he was filled with rage, that nothing of use was going to exit his mouth. After all, better to not make an impression, than make a bad one. He did, however, take mental notes on everyone there. First was the guy who looked to be a social worker or have a typical office job, dressed in the stereotypical dress shirt, tie, and all. He was intelligent, to an extent, but annoying, telling Cosmo stuff he already knew and had acknowledged verbally.

‘So high-and-mighty for a man who’ll most likely die with employee of the month being his greatest achievement; a little gold sticker to show how little of a life he actually has,’ Hatred grumbled once again from where it was fed a steady stream of Cosmo’s current annoyance with everyone.

‘Okay, now you’re exaggerating,’ Reason tried to protest, but it came out in only the smallest of whispers drowned out by Hatred.

After the office worker spoke an even more egregious fashion disaster than the black haired homeless man, Newton, spoke up. Cosmo didn’t look at him too long, keenly aware of the fact that if he looked any longer at that rancid combination of neon colours, he would say things that he would greatly regret later down the road, for example, commenting on Newton’s parents’ feelings surrounding his conception. And that, he predicted, would be a terrible decision considering the man had some semblance of intelligence and attentiveness.

Then there was the brunette who smoked however not just normal smoke came out of her cancerous stick of tobacco but stuff that somehow managed to invade his nose even with his senses dulled. It reminded him vaguely of his uncle Murdoc, always muttering around the apartment, worsening the terrible smell ever more with those cheap cigarettes he kept in practically every nook and cranny. Due to that, she was already within the list of people in the store he greatly hated, currently only stoking the fires of his fury, but she wasn’t in the list of worthless people, not just yet. He needed to see more of this introverted office worker.
Then there was the woman…? (he thought it was a woman from afar, but now that they were up close, they had a clearly more androgynous look which threw him off slightly) who dragged the strange pink girl behind her. He disliked them. Not hated. Disliked. Not for any particular reason. It was just that sort of aversion that came suddenly and for no real reason.

Speaking of things that came for no real reason, the most worthless of everyone in the gas station purgatory sat down beside him and asked if he smoked, in the rudest way possible. He had to bite down the sarcasm, swallow the insults brewing in his mouth, repeat to himself the penalty for second-degree murder could be a life sentence, and remind himself he was currently not physical or skilled enough to rip out the other’s windpipe just so he could manage to nod with a smile.
The office worker with an attitude, Darnell, and the redhead with more brawn than brains, Cassidy, were not helping him calm down with their introductions. Somehow, despite all this, he remained smiling with a look of serenity on his visage.
The same artificial calmness remained even as the portal opened and people began to walk through it. He was one of the last to do so, going over to the still half-full can of Phaze Energy he’d left between one of the aisles, on the now-slimy floor. He gingerly picked it up and, to his surprise, his fingers didn’t phase through the object, despite their non-physical state. He walked over to the portal, can in hand and the tiniest speck of actual glee hidden within his ever-permanent smile.

Once he stepped through the portal, however, this small joy was robbed from him by a few words from the thing imitating a man on the other side. It called itself Erinnern, perhaps to only annoy everyone who tried to pronounce or call its name, or maybe it meant something of use. Either way, Cosmo despised it from the beginning, trying so hard to seem kind, to seem human, to seem like a thing he could trust. Who exactly did it think it was fooling?

‘The surplus of idiots here, most likely,’ Detestment chipped in, and Cosmo was forced to agree, however much he wished his fellow prisoners, now fellow slaves, had more intellect.

It was just as foul a creature as the clerk, only the clerk had the decency to not pretend to be something it wasn’t. Not to pretend it had a heart, it had a soul beneath its inhumane surface. On top of that cowardice? Denial? Terrible trickery? – Whatever the thing led it to put on its terrible disguise and act – it turned them into labour, for free. No promise of pay, of questions answered or even escape, just unpaid work. That and it somehow had assigned him his least favourite form of work to ever exist: cleaning. It could have been just coincidence, but Cosmo was incredibly doubtful. At the very least, the uniform was cute if not a bit tacky: a frilly skirt and a gaudy yet endearing shirt over his black bodysuit which he had grabbed from the back of his Nissan once the snowstorm had begun, making him shiver like a leaf in the wind.

At the time, he had scolded himself for not carrying a jacket too and cursed the weather from turning into the typical humidity he’d come to know to an unfamiliar blizzard. However, the bodysuit had come to serve some purpose after all: covering his skin and not exposing him more than he was comfortable with. It also wasn’t too thick that it took away from the freedom he felt from finally letting his legs breathe, and it was made of Cosmo’s favourite material: soft cotton that didn’t trigger his sensory issues constantly, like a criminal constantly shooting a gun at innocent civilians; Something he was sure would happen with the pants. It did show more than he was planning to display to the complete strangers he'd been stuck with, the soft muscle on his chest and limbs more visible with the thin fabric of the suit rather than the thicker baggy material of his dress shirt, but it wasn’t enough to make him any sort of uncomfortable.

However, his affection for the uniform didn’t last long; an all-too-loud creature imitating a girl, who seemed to be the daughter of Erinnen, came onto the scene, destroying it with its over-enthusiastic manner. He imagined beheading the blue-haired abomination along with its father, hanging their heads outside the door with perfectly matching ropes, smearing the blood all over the restaurant, using their bodies for the next meal and stuffing it down their precious disgusting customers’ necks. The overly cruel mental image calmed him enough to come up with a polite response: “Hello, what’s your-”

But before he could finish, it ran off again, and he was forced to follow after. They reached the cleaning supplies, and internally he recoiled at the sight of them. Externally, he simply asked, “As I was saying, what’s your name?” He tilted his head in curiosity.
 
ELISE MOORE
INFORMATION
LOCATION
The Usual, Extra dimension
INTERACTIONS
Cheryl ( Ambiloquous Ambiloquous ) | Noe ( efferve efferve ) | Cassidy ( Wyll Wyll ) | Margaret ( TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm ) | Vincent ( timesink timesink )
MENTIONS
Everyone else amen
“y'know what, sure, cooking sounds fun.”
Artist
POST
Eyes drawn to the shift in the air, the distortion of space before them like there was some sort of glitch and it widened and displayed something else entirely. Maybe it would have paid to be wary as their most gracious host prattled on, his words like a restrictor around them— urging them to act and leave him to his devices. Elise sent a look to Cheryl, uncertainty, trepidation, excitement.

They stepped through, falling in line with the others.

It was a blast from the past, mellow music carried across the eerie silence despite the almost full house. Elise shifted in their stand. This was more like a replica than an actual diner, though then again, so was the convenience store. Surely, there was no shortage of oddity in this diner too. They couldn't dawdle on listening to the music or looking at the photos for too long, the warring feeling of familiarity and unfamiliarity only pulled a headache from the recesses of their mind. Instead, they looked at the man who exited the kitchen who didn't have the same reach as their earlier guide but nevertheless off-putting.

It's the eyes, The thought jumped to her mind. The eyes that were always considered a window to one's soul, this man— Erinnern— his eyes were different. They were a bright light, a kaleidoscope in every sense of the word, and Elise had to put her entire will to maintain the strange eye contact. So when she was beckoned to the kitchen with a select few others, Elise was powerless to stop it. She gave Cheryl a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Not that bad of a fit, at least?" She muttered to her best friend as her gaze dropped to their uniforms. Mercifully, she was wearing the men's uniform, finding it a lot easier to maneuver around in slacks rather than the short skirt diners were known to have. With that, she moved off to the kitchen.

Erinnern seemed intent on staying back in the kitchen with them and ran down a few key notes— the key notes being absolutely nothing at all aside from the names of their dishes and specials and the fact that the lemon slimes were the key ingredients. The almost merciless way of squeezing them into the dish made her shudder, clearly not looking forward to the continuous low moans of the frogs as they dig into their flesh to get their condiments. Elise curled her hands into fists and released, not sure what she wanted to be grounded on for the moment.

"So, just make it up as we go. Dishes are vibe based, got it." More to herself than anyone else in the kitchen staff. Taking the role semi-seriously, the student looked around their space to take in both the ingredients and her fellow staff members. Elise was reassured to see that the red haired guy from earlier, Cassidy was it?, was there with her. Though the less welcome presence was that of the priest but her problems with Catholicism and religion could be set aside in this space beyond the sight of the Lord. As for the other two, well, that really remained to be seen, yes?

Before they could really start, another presence announced herself to them in the form of a whirlwind of a girl with short blue hair. She didn't appear any less human than all of them but Erinnern was her dad and Erinnern was decidedly not human. Another companion, Noe if her eyes weren't betraying her, spoke up about the new arrival— or longtime employee, or whatever and Elise hummed as she turned to busy herself with becoming more familiar with the kitchen. She was curious and actively listened it but she needed to be kept busy or else she would sink further and further down thoughts she'd rather not have.

"It'll get busy but hey, at least we aren't out there, right?" She tried to inject a bit of levity in her voice as she gestured outside. Yes, they had to deal with the screams of dying lemon slimes ,but Elise would rather choose that than those emotionless customers that would certainly trip her up the moment she spoke.


 



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GESTALT

Cassidy
McNamara
He looked down at the dark-haired man that approached him, offering a smile and a nod as he introduced himself as Darnell. It was good to see at least one person wiling to play ball. Plus, apparently he knew how to fight as well; something Cassidy would remember in case it did come to a situation where they had to fight their way out of whatever mad house this was. He opened his mouth, as though to say something to Darnell, but then it seems like reality itself split open.

As he stared out at the portal and how it bent space and time to its will, Cassidy found himself in a tragically unique and unprecedented situation.

At every other point in his life, for better or for worse, the world and Cassidy played by the same rules.

Now, maybe it was the fact that he vividly remembered driving here in his silver Mazda. Or, perhaps it was the fact that those that had sought refugee in the gas station all looked and talked normal...more or less. In fact, if one choose to be wildly optimistic, it might even have been the fact that most people seemed to agree that something wasn't right.

Maybe it was all of the above; native it was none. Whatever the case may be, Cassidy had been convinced that the world and him still had the same agreement. That the same rules still applied and some basic common sense was enough that you'd get by just fine.

At least, that was his belief until a portal appeared. The portal represented a new order, a new normal, a new world. A world entirely unknown to him. Perhaps the others had figured it out before him and, like everything else, he was just slow on the uptake. Maybe that's why they were so willing to comply.

Silently, wordlessly, Cassidy moved through the motions he was being guided through, obediently observing. His face was largely expressionless until he entered the kitchen and saw that it looked the same as any other that he'd been in. A smile lit up his face as he took in the surroundings. This may be a different world, but a kitchen would always be a kitchen.

However, the throbbing pain in his right hand suddenly arrested his attention and demanded treatment. Not that any treatment could do anything to salvage his situation though. Several bones had taken damage and he could feel each one. If he removed the shirt, his palm and fingers would likely be swollen and bent at unnatural angles. Such a thing would take months to heal. Now, if he wanted to be stubborn, Cassidy had enough experience in the kitchen and dexterity in his left hand to be able to cook one-handed. However, if this truly was a different world with different rules...


His eyes locked on the person that had given them all the uniforms and name tags. Or, rather, the person he assumed had caused the uniforms and name tags to appear on their bodies. Walking boldly, he approached the man, stopping a few steps short.

"Hey there, buddy." Tone, indifferent - neither harsh nor pleasant. Certainly not submissive or appeasing, because Cassidy was too proud for that.
"I can't exactly do nothing in a kitchen with a broken hand, now can I? I don't suppose there's anything you can do about that?"

Mentions: Klown Klown
 
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As Darnell was beginning to wrap his mind around the fact that lemon frogs constituted a valid entry on his unofficial "Weirdest Tuesday Ever" list, the portal ripped through the air like some lethargic seamstress under deadline. He now found himself standing in a sparkly fifties diner, clad as if dropped off straight from the set of some 80s' sitcom rerun- from his name tag, which clearly knew him better than he knew himself.

"Aw hell," he muttered, smoothing the front of the uniform down, the sort of thing one would do, granting the setup for entrance aplomb, doing just that, wearing very reluctantly ones rented tux for some cousin's third wedding. "I could tell this had the smell of customer service all over it."

Then she came bursting through. Some firecracker woman, completely with a comfy set of headphones on. He liked her style. Before Darnell would have thought to duck behind the jukebox or pretend to read the menu, she had already begun yelling names.

One of which being his name.

Darnell blinked very slowly. Then he looked down at the mop bucket. Then at her. Then back down to the bucket.

"I swear," he said, mostly to himself, "somehow I've managed to hop dimensions, then went from being a frog wrangler to a janitor in under five minutes. I'm setting World Records here. Hey, someone call Guinness!" Darnell cuchkles to himself

But something in Darnell softened just a little as she beamed at him, all-star smile like it was Christmas, like the most adorable innocent-looking gray puppy. He snorted through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Lead on, fireball," he said, crooked grin on his face as he fell into step behind her. "But if any of these memories start biting me, I'm out of here. I don't know where I'd be going, but it'll faaar away from here rest assured."
BriiAngelic BriiAngelic
 

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