BELIAL.
wanna bewitch you in the moonlight
HELLO? IS ANYONE OUT THERE?
(CLOSED GROUP)
-
This section is for roleplays only.
ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.
Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Realistic or Modern Hello? Is Anyone Out There? (CLOSED GROUP)
HELLO? IS ANYONE OUT THERE?
(CLOSED GROUP)
BELIAL.
wanna bewitch you in the moonlight
ATLANTA, GA
SETTING:
Autumn brings with it a soft breeze to the streets. The colors have shifted a bit, but the southern state is stubborn against the traditional changes to the season. The usual humidity is lacking and replaced with a dry heat. The main street is its usual busy at midday, with many people off to attend to their chores and errands for the day. Things are relatively normal, despite rumors swirling about the state of a quarantine in the suburbs going under. There has been no direct orders from any government agency or military force of what to do. The people are in a happy bubble of ignorance for now.
But a stillness settles in the air. It’s almost like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for the bombs to fall.
If you keep an eye out, you know that it won’t be normal for much longer.
The last few months have been tense. People are well aware that a strange sickness is sweeping people of the nation, primarily the already vulnerable ones, and what the symptoms are. The government had framed it as some Swine Flu or Bird Flu level threat, not at all anticipating that their underestimation will be their downfall. People have tried to live their lives, either outright ignoring the warnings or heeding them.
Downtown holds many local businesses including a flower shop, a couple thrift stores and a number of restaurants and coffee shops. Curved streets and swaying trees hold old architecture, and a city rooted in its history.
NOTES:
A few homeless on the streets are coughing. One by the supermarket is passed out. People on the streets are wary of each other, well aware of the symptoms.
GROUPS: (“*” indicates NPC)
Group 1: Arthur, Aaron, Cesaire, Valentin, *Pam, *Rebecca
Group 2: Mari, Emily, Victor, Wes, *Simon, *Richard
Groups don’t have to meet yet but being in some relative position nearby each other is a good option. Group 1 ends up at Valentin’s condo and Group 2 ends up at Mari’s flower shop. Intros for now.
idalie
nevermind.
dmgink
Seabourne
Colorless Spectrum
Last edited:
idalie
ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ʙᴀʙʏʟᴏɴ
Location: Atlanta, Mariya's Shop
Interactions:
Colorless Spectrum
Mentions:
BELIAL.
dmgink
Seabourne
nevermind.
Arthur Stratton
His arm was propped on the open window of the pickup, one hand on the steering wheel and fingers drumming to the radio. Cap pulled low on his brow to beat the sunshine of a Georgia autumn, mild warmth for the natives and a lazy, extended summer before the winter months. Trees and asphalt shot by, one after the other lining the interstate, clouds breaking and reforming with polkadot glare. There might be rain, a lingering thought which briefly passed as the radio broke into news chatter. Some big-city shit, his fingers swiftly darted over to find another station and was met with the same announcement. Furrowing his brows he turned it off in frustration, silence accompanying him on the long and lonely drive to Atlanta.
Surprisingly, the roads were quiet, probably the hysteria over that bug which was making its rounds. Got people all in a twist as if there was some influenza going on, Art didn’t like news networks for that reason. It was the Ebola hysteria all over again, blown out of proportion by some fella and a stack of blank paper on the TV screen.
Parking up in the city for the price of an expensive meter, Arthur unlatched the door and kicked it open, stepping out onto the tarmac whilst shoving truck keys in his back pocket. He slammed the pickup behind him and pulled the handle to check it was locked before moving off. Two hours on the road from the farm had him stretch and twist with a grotesque yet satisfying popping as his back fought to straighten up. First, he was off to visit an old friend.
It’d been a while since everything, the crash, the wife, the shitshow of divorce. Mariya had been a doctor, his GP whilst he was living in Atlanta. She’d retired early from that career, no thanks to the woman he’d once thought to love and cherish till death do them part. A death did do them part in the end, just not the one they’d ever thought they’d have to witness. Nevertheless, with accusations thrown about, public spats, Mariya’s retreat to floristry was needed although the guilt plagued him of having had her life upturned on the measure that he was the reason.
Passing the hacking and coughing of a vagrant curled up next to a trickling gutter, Art took pity. A dollar tucked in his begging cup with a grateful and fevered thank you. Sounded like flu season had come early, he’d have to tell Ellie to get the boys their shots, or the whole damn house would be a quarantine. His lips quirked in a smile to himself, standing outside the glass shop front at last; frosted with the logo and advertisements but filled with flower arrangements. You could smell the pollen before you even entered the door.
The tinkle of a bell was the only alert to his presence, boots heavy on the hardwood. He leant on the counter with a genuine grin, “Heya doc, s’been a while.” The crowfeet around his eyes bunched up, not like Mariya. She hadn’t aged a day, it seemed one of them had the short end of the stick and it wasn’t her.
“Thought I’d drop in, supposed to be off pickin’ some stuff up for Ellie n’ the boys,” Voice as sweet and deep as molasses, every bit a Southern boy with his slow sure ways and the charm of a saint. “How’s business?”
dmgink
Junior Member
VALENTIN KROVOPUSKOV; CESAIRE FLEURY |
LOCATION: ICE RINK; FANCY CONDO COMPLEX | INTERACTIONS: NONE | MENTIONS: NONE
LOCATION: ICE RINK; FANCY CONDO COMPLEX | INTERACTIONS: NONE | MENTIONS: NONE
The mid-day came much quicker than expected, and with its arrival, practice for the game tonight came to an end. People would be flocking to the city later tonight in droves; or at least the management team hoped they would. The season hadn't been too great so far, though they were only a few games in. Luckily they had tons more games to go before any of it would start to matter. Other teams seemed to be wiping the floor with them with only one game so far resulting in a win.
Valentin and Cesaire seemed to be the two notable stars of the team this season. They were both being talked about constantly in sports media outlets. Valentin mostly for his aggressive style of play and Cesaire for his finnesse- they definitely stood out in the roster. It seemed the controversies of a rocky last season was starting to fall brhind them. Something about three of the team's players, Valentin sadly included, involved in a kind of drug scandal...
There wasn't time to mull the specifics of that over now.
Lengthy suspensions were handed out. Utters of cheating filled the air. But nobody talked about it openly, anymore, and the team wasn't about to remind the general public of it. They had a game to play and fans to keep. This would just be swept under the rug, as usual. Business as usual. Perfect.
Tonight was Valentin's first night back.
Regardless of this, the two strolled out of the ice rink, bags slung lazily over their shoulders. Valentin usually stood a couple of inches taller than his teammate, though he was slouched in a carefree sort of manner that he would come to miss in the approaching days. The two soon made their way to the car they took here, an extravagant sports car that was definitely one of the most current models on the market. With their equipment packed into the back, the two climbed into the front seats and so the drive begun.
It was silent for a short while. Tension was obvious.
"You ready for the game tonight?" Valentin asked from the passenger seat, looking to his older teammate.
"As ready as I'll ever be." Cesaire said with a shrug, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers in thought.
Valentin looked out of the tinted window.
"You can't still be mad at me." he said as his gaze rolled back over to Cesaire. "I've done my time."
"I'm not mad." Cesaire said, still not looking at him. "Just disappointed."
"I didn't cheat," Valentin responded. "You know that."
Cesaire stayed quiet. The conversation naturally lured. Quite honestly- nobody knew the young man's motives. He seemed to be on a collision course that nobody on the team could stop. He very well could've cheated and could've just been saying these things to cover his ass. Several games' suspension could just be seen as a slap on the wrist in some cases, and maybe even jn Valentin's mind.
He never knew what to say when Valentin was out of it. He'd seen it plenty of times. Being in the game about a decade, he'd seen it on other teams, with other teammates. It seemed being clean was the minority of people around him nowadays. He seemed to attract chaos wherever he went.
Fuck my life, he'd often catch himself thinking.
"We're here." he said as they pulled into the complex, already shutting the engine off and getting out of the car befote Valentin could say another word.
"Thanks for the ride," Valentin mumbled, hesitating as he got his bag out of the back. Honestly? He was exhausted. His head hurt. He wasn't sure if that was from practice or the fact that he hasn't gotten up to his usual shenanigans in a few days. "You can come up for a little, if you want."
No, Cesaire's brain said. This is a bad idea.
"Sure." his mouth said. In reality, he didn't like to be away from the other too long. He wasn't sure if it was a fondness for the man that caused this or a concern for him. Or maybe it was both. He didn't like to ponder it too long.
He felt like a babysitter most days.
The two quietly walked up the stairs to tbe third floor where Valentin resided. Cesaire lived in the condo right below his, and it was definitely in much better shape. His place wasn't as scattered and disorganized, wasn't as obviously trashed every night after a home game win as his. The Russian boy definitely loved to have a good time when he was successful. And may the universe help you should he be unsuccessful.
It was a sad state of affairs, truly. With Valentin's usual trainwreck, Cesiare's subconsciously piled on stress, the pressures of having made it big, and the looming sickness among them that nobody seemed to want to talk about.
Just focus on the game tonight, Cesaire caught himself listening to his inner monologue again. Just focus on what matters.
But really, it would only get worse from here.
Seabourne
Certified Idiot
Victor Hayes
The store just felt bland. Same walls, same floors, same counter, same apron. Every day. Same background noise. Victor could probably list off the price of any item in the store by memory. Bright green numbers, displayed in big pixels right in from of his face. For every odd number, he tapped the item three times while bagging it.
He forgot how long he’d held the job. Since highschool, he knew, but time melted together into one big mush without his time being forced into hour-long blocks and rotations. He assumed he’d get used to it eventually.
After a short time, the job gets easy. He almost feels mechanical, moving automatically and without thought. Reach, grab, scan, bag, smile, nod, reach, grab, scan. Occasionally there was a break in the rhythm - maybe a bag of fruit that needs to be weighed or a bag of dog food too heavy to lift onto the belt. But more often than not, it was all muscle memory and a pleasant facade.
Not to say that he disliked the routine. It was soothing to know exactly what his next step was. There was a sense of safety in knowing exactly what to expect. The repeated motions were comfortable. The stupor of scanning, bagging, counting change, and running receipts was pleasant.
Because he felt pleasant, it was easy to be pleasant. Victor had a small bank of phrases and remarks. ‘Hey, did you find everything okay?’s and ‘Good weather lately!’s rolled off his tongue easily. Hums and nods, smiles, the occasional scoff or gasp for the more talkative customers who flew into a recount of some gossip. Talk was easy.
Faces were hardly worth noticing. Why break out of his flow just to put an identity to the person on the other side of the register? He’d never interact with them outside of scanning, anyway. It just wasn’t worth it. Most of them seemed to share the same attitude, just waiting for the last of their bags to be put in their cart so they can swipe their card and go home.
His line moved. The next customer stepped up. He got to work, reaching for a box of Cheerio’s. It scanned, the beep confirmed it, and it went in a bag. It rustled when he pulled the bag off it’s hooks and set it over to the side. More groceries followed the same way.
“Hey, I’m curious,” someone said. He paused in his scanning. Victor looked up to the woman’s face, focusing on it for the first time. She had a narrow chin and a thin nose.
“I forgot my book at home, are there any coupons this week? Sorry to ask.” She leaned forward and smiled. “Or, er, do you have a copy?”
He nodded, rushing to bag the boxed cake mix so he could pluck the little pamphlet from a shelf under his counter. The woman said something else he missed, and he looked up to see her also redirecting her gaze to fix it on him.
“Coupons? Victor?” she asked.
He started when she said his name, forgetting for a moment that he was wearing it on a tag. She grinned.
“Uh, how do you know my name?” He asked the woman. All too late, he remembered the bright blue plastic pinned on his chest.
“Oh,” he muttered, laughing nervously. “Nametag.”
His hand slipped under the counter and he fumbled around for his coupon copies. His fingers brushed against a bottle of water and a set of keys before finding what he was looking for, and he grabbed it quickly, holding it up so the woman could see.
“Here! Uh, yeah, we could use some of these,” he said, flicking through them quickly. “Would you like to see them?” he offered.
Interacting:
BELIAL.
Colorless Spectrum
Always Blue
Mariya Takeda
The past few days have been nothing but. Work as a florist wasn't exactly big but it gets her enough cash to survive the day to day life. That said, it didn't mean that her day to day life had been less than pleasing. Especially the past few weeks where people had been nonstop getting sick. It's stressful.
A few former patients came to her, begging to get checked up. While she still is a liscened doctor, it was not professional of her to do so in such a place, her home, her flower shop. She couldn't deny them though, especially when she knew they didn't have money to spare to get checked out in the local clinic. Her stacked medicine had become considerably less, giving them out for free to the people who come by or to the homeless people outside of her abode.
And with the flu, as much as she doesn't believe the governments claim of it being a bird flu or a swine flu. It seemed much more different, much more dangerous, needless to say customers have been scarce and all that she does for the whole day is clean and sanitize everything.
She had also been trying to contact Brooke the past few days, they might have had a bad interaction last time they saw each other, and she knows that her former assistant can take care of herself but Mariya can't help but worry. Unfortunately, she can't reach her.
Ring.
The bell of her front door rang. Heavy footsteps, a chummy rhythm to it. "Heya doc, s'been a while." She turned around to face the awfully familiar voice. Her eyes lit up and squealed in glee at the sight of a good friend. "It sure has!" She greeted before running to Arthur and giving him a hug, as much as she could squeeze before giving her wide sweet signature smile.
"Thought I’d drop in, supposed to be off pickin’ some stuff up for Ellie n’ the boys,” He said, explaining his presence. Truly the sweet person he is. Although Mariya knew that her friend has been shouldering a guilt he does not need to be guilty for. “How’s business?"
The woman gave a little humm before answering, "It would have been fine if it weren't for the flu." She sighed, putting down the sweeper to the side, for the first time since this morning. "I hope they do something fast about this, it's been so rough on everyone." She started walking of to the kitchen and comes back with two cups of coffee, one with a buttload of milk and the other black with sugar just as the man likes it.
"How about you? How's everything going on with your brother and his kids, Timothy and Joseph? Haven't heard from you for... how long has it been? More or less a month is it?" She handed him the black coffee and gave hers a slight blow to lessen the heat before taking a dainty sip. "They should get their shots, it'll be hard if they get sick."
location: Where the Marigold Blooms(the shop) || interactions:
idalie
Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
Wesley Davenport
"And be sure to pick up some of that good shit. Whatever the hell that wine was you got--"
The corner of his mouth flickered fondly, "The Merlot?"
"The Mer--what? You know what don't explain, just don't forget it."
A chuckle, "Yes, Auntie."
"And Wes?" A pause, "Be safe on your way over. It ain't looking so good around here."
They were both silent for a moment. The light above him buzzed loudly in his other ear, flickering every couple of seconds or so.
"I love you, Wes, you know that right?" His hand froze reaching for the Gatorade bottle. His family was close, tightly knit, because they were all they had. But no one really expressed their affections so blatantly and so obviously. Love was always shown in the small things. Like bringing a couple daisies to the hospital room.
"Yeah, I uh, I love you too."
"I'll see you in a bit, sweetie."
The line ended. There was an annoying hum against his ear for a long moment then his phone auto disconnected. Wesley sighed, slipping the device back into his pocket. He had found himself in the wine section, diligently scouring the labels in hopes of finding that red his Aunt was such a fan of. After everything that was going on, she was going to need a glass or two of it.
"Fuck it, I'll get two bottles." He slipped both of them into this little plastic basket.
There was a cough from the other side of the aisle. Bloodshot pallid eyes stared at him through one of the gaps in the shelves.
“AH-! What the fuck!”
He stuttered back a step, almost dropping the second bottle of wine. The eyes belonged to the poster child of customer-service nightmare. He wouldn’t have been surprised if her name was Karen and she had a son named Kyle who inhaled monsters on the daily. She pushed her face forward a little more into the shelf, the corners of her mouth began to widen. The skin around her features began to turn color as she tried to force her face through the 8x8 gap in the shelf.
A feather light giggle tumbled from her lips.
Dread crept down his spine, a careful spider leaving a trail of icy silk. He could feel it on his skin, descending until he was almost frozen to the spot. His stomach was full of lead; his feet were set in concrete; his mind was worryingly empty.
He chose that moment to turn on his heel and walk as far away as fast as possible.
His shoes squeaked on the limonium.
Wesley let out a slow controlled breath and attempted to loosen his body movements. He was walking like a clockwork soldier, stiff and rigid and far too robotic. He gave his shoulders a wiggle and lolled his head in a circle, let his stride slacken to a more casual pace. It was a decent effort, enough to fool the casual observer, but for the onlooker with a keen eye he was a walking advert for tension. Whiskey hues pixelated in earthen browns moved with the alertness that comes from heavy stress. His hands remained clenched by subconscious demand, keeping his gym bag and basket as close to his body as possible.
That woman was obviously unwell. She needed some serious help.
He wasn’t the one to help her.
Wesley ambled into the first check out lane with the least amount of people. He set the basket on the conveyor belt, gaze drawn to the assortment of candy on the other side. His dark brown gaze lifted toward the cashier. Wes reasoned that he could be anywhere in his late teens to early thirties, there was enough softness to his face that he couldn’t really be certain without asking. Wesley didn’t care enough to ask. The woman also looked around his age, too busy with getting a coupon book to even notice his appraisal.
He grabbed a couple snickers off the shelf and slipped them into his pocket.
BELIAL.
wanna bewitch you in the moonlight
0708
PRESIDENTIAL ALERT
Subject: <INSERT TEXT> <01101010110110>
This message is active for ALL STATES, ALL COUNTIES, ALL CITIES. Message from White House: <THE SOUTHERN COAST OF THE UNITED STATES> HAS BEEN ISSUED A REGION WIDE QUARANTINE AND SHUT-DOWN. IRATUSVIRUS HAS COMPROMISED PENTAGON. STAY INDOORS AND WAIT FOR MILITARY COMMAND. KEEP DISTANCE FROM SUSPECTED COMPROMISED INDIVIDUALS. THIS WILL BE THE LAST MESSAGE FROM DC.
idalie
ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ʙᴀʙʏʟᴏɴ
Location: Where the Marigold Blooms, the Bank
Interactions:
Colorless Spectrum
(Mariya)Mentions: N/A
Arthur Stratton
Arthur laughed as the small florist flung herself into him for a tight embrace, the sentiment returned with gusto. She was a sweet one, never a bad word to be said about the gal and often a little too charitable. Released from the welcome, he continued to lean on the counter and watch as Mari went about to make coffee - a real pinch of Southern hospitality, “Yeah, wild ain’t it? Government doin’ all these city curfews n’ travel bans. Pretty stupid if you ask me, ain’t none of my kin sick.”
The big fella folded his arms and bowed his head in thought, “Seems to me like when it’s over they’ll rethink how they should treat people, 'specially the sick.” Glancing up, he accepted the coffee graciously, cupping it between his two paw-like hands as they completely enveloped the mug, “Thanks sweetheart, you’re a real gem,” Art flashed a quick grin before taking a long sip and voicing his approval in the form of a happy sigh. Good joe, better after a long journey.
“I’m good, I’m good. Been goin’ to all my meetings, workin’ hard. Got my second-year sober chip too, pretty neat. Ellie’s just pullin’ my leg about the smokin’ now,” Stratton rolled his eyes, “But the boys? Doin’ great. Joseph is really showin’ himself to be bright, might even make it to college someday. First in the family, how about that?” Disbelief sunk into his expression, brows raised as he sank back another mouthful of coffee. “Tim is just gettin’ his first real taste of growin’ up, so if that ain’t hell what is? Everyone’s good though, David an’ Ellie are just fine.”
He nodded in agreement as Mariya added her little advice, “I sure as hell don’t wanna catch the flu myself, let alone the boys. Everyone out here lookin’ like walkin’ corpses.” Arthur swilled the rest of his drink around the cup, letting it cool and getting ready to leave. Finishing it in a tidy gulp, the labourer winked.
“I’d stay longer but I don’t wanna get home too late with things how they are. Now remember, you’re always welcome ‘round ours. We should make plans, otherwise I’ll be back drinkin’ coffee quicker than a horse at a water trough.” Putting the mug down, he carefully hugged the florist one last time. The back of his throat slightly seared from the hot drink. “Stay safe, Doc. Get yourself one of them flu jabs too while you’re at it.” A mock salute followed, adjusting his cap and heading for the door.
The bell rang as he left, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders hunched as he peered up at the sky for prospective rain.
Past the grumblings of a small protest he strode, towards a bank further up the high street. He didn't take much notice of the coughs and sniffles of the bank attendants, nor the old woman dozing on a park bench with a loosely grasped piece of bread crust in her hands whilst the pigeons cautiously pecked. There was a lull, a quiet and dangerous silence of normalcy that disguised a dangerous outcome.
World Post
Location: City Hall, Atlanta
Interactions: N/A
Mentions:
BELIAL.
Colorless Spectrum
Seabourne
nevermind.
Hell0NHighWater
dmgink
(All Characters)Stumbling Man
A businessman dizzily wobbled his way down the pavement, hair thinning on the top of his head; one of the worker bees of some great corporation. His thick fingers had never seen a day of hard labour, clammily gripping his briefcase and swollen around a tight wedding band. It had fit him a long time ago before he’d put weight on. His stomach protruded, hung over the leather belt of his trousers and left you unable to imagine the glory days of slim youth. Sweat soaked the collar of his ironed shirt, he dabbed a damp tissue across the back of his neck, forehead, wheezing as he pushed through the protesters. Anti-government, anti-quarantine, the cobbled signs they waved were part of the wider conspiracy asking for freedom in the face of a pandemic.
He’d been a calm, meek fella. If you had asked his wife who wore the trousers of their relationship she’d give a wry smile and glance down at her leopard print heels. Now he was grabbing and shoving past the sign holders, their red-rimmed eyes verging on rage with sniffling. Runny noses wiped with the back of sleeves, coughing in the faces of the few police who were present. Of which, law enforcement didn’t look any better. Their faces twitched, breathing filled with the static of mucus congested chests.
Someone grabbed the back of the suit jacket, lips pulled back to bare teeth, “What the FUCK? Huh? Why you pushin’ huh? You want to start something?”
The businessman twisted and grimaced at the pounding in his temples, “Fuck off,” His voice was breathy, lazy before the protestor shook him again, snapping his weak resolve. Swinging the briefcase, it hit the kid right in the head, knocking him down. Then again, and again, till the skin broke and the metal corners of his case made their mark with the musical crack of bone.
The peaceful march erupted into violence. Law enforcement grabbed their batons, wrestling among the rest of the rabble. They held some down, other officers turned on each other for getting in the way. A shot was fired, someone slumped only to be trampled by the panic which ensued. Blood, spit, sweat was flying. People squeezed against each other, breathing in one another's faces as they hurried away or brought their fists down. Another shot fired, sirens got closer.
Ambulances stopped as rioters clambered aboard while they tried to pick up any injured and assaulted the paramedics, people ran with phones glued to their ears. Calling for taxis, friends, parents to come pick them up. Get them away as quick as they could.
A police car spun out of control near a shop front, one of the officers falling half out the drivers' side - held in by a seatbelt. His partner reloaded the gun, pulling the trigger twice more. The wave of aggression spread like wildfire.
It crept along as people went about their day, the old woman in the park fell on her face trying to snap a pigeons neck, nose bleeding as she crawled on her hands and knees. One of the homeless pressed his face up against the supermarket's glass front, grinning widely with long, nicotine-stained teeth and receding gums; dirty hands left smeared prints, his greasy skin an outline like a bird hitting a window. Even the florists had hooded teens hanging about, looters taking advantage of the situation as the news made its rounds. All within an hour.
The virus was changing and it was the perfect opportunity to spread.
NPC Post
Rebecca Ames
From a brunch date with influencers to get some shopping done and staging a little paparazzi performance, the appearance of the young and glamorous elite wasn’t so far fetched for a place like Atlanta. She was in town primarily for Valentin, her claws dug deep where it counted. Whether she was sitting by the rink with her coffee clutched for warmth or dangling off Val’s arm with a permanent, crescent smile and sharp eyes. Staying relevant was her deal, her brand, it wouldn’t be right to fade into the background like some. She liked the limelight too much, attention was her source of comfort and youth set the stage.
Tagged by one of her security detail for that day, the riot’s outbreak was a cause of concern. Steadily violence grew, her bodyguard now guiding the woman ahead as she hurriedly tapped at her phone screen. Messages to the very man she’d leave in a year, less if it was fated not to be. Stumbling as her heels dragged on the unsteady pavement in her distracted state, the rapid-fire questions made it through. Whether or not they'd be received was destiny alone.
U home? 12:54 pm
I’m coming over 12:55 pm
Have u seen the news???? 12:57 pm
Val are u at ur place?????? 13:00 pm
Call me. Now!!!! 13:02 pm
The noise of yelling evolved into the cacophony of sirens and glass breaking. They tumbled into the bank, the counters shut and staff beginning to look around in genuine fear as they began to close for the duration. It'd be safe enough for the moment. Her bodyguard mentioned getting the car, the chauffeur having decided to let all calls go straight to voicemail. He left, she cowered. He wasn't to return. Not that she would be aware of his missing status, it was a fleeting feeling of fear as she glanced about. The experience now would make for a good article later, a political commentary - that was popular nowadays to weigh in on the real situations outside of the corporate bubble.
Acrid smoke billowed from a bin outside, some kid running from the scene. He couldn't have been older than fourteen, barely a hair on his chin when a skidding car swept him off his feet and threw him down. Silence filled the inside of the bank, one of the staff running outside whilst the shock froze the rest. 911 became one long drone, too many calls to handle and too many emergencies to respond to. One could only imagine the insanity of the control room, the blinking lights and continual ringing.
The lone hero who had gone to tend to the boy was joined by another good samaritan and together, they would be the victims of another assault. That's when the real panic set in.
NPC Post
Pamela J. Smith
Pamela never was much of a casual walker, she strutted. A leftover from her youth as a typist, the blonde girl with the long legs now an old woman with thin, red lips. A silk scarf wrapped around her plump face and curled hair, tinted sunglasses pushed slightly down her nose as she withdrew her pension. She'd done well for herself, made her circles of spiteful old biddies and continued a train of thought that had started over seventy decades ago. In her eyes, it was the immigrants who brought the flu. Even as old as she was, Pamela said the same things her grandfather had said to her, an ingrained tradition of hatred, he had told her the Spanish flu was the Chinese. She thought the Iratusvirus was the Africans. Same difference.
Her withered hand topped with expensive acrylics tapped on the counter, "Oh honey, maybe you should lemme see the manager. I know him well enough to tell you it don't ever take this long usually." Smith's smile grew thinner, till the red was a bare slash across her mouth. "I gotta get to my Church group and I'd real appreciate it if you just sorted this all out." She wasn't fond of being late, especially not for the ladies. Not when she'd heard the latest news and found all sorts of salacious gossip. She tapped her kitten heel, eyes locked on the clerk with a reptilian focus. Right until the door to the bank shut, burning plastic wafting in soon thereafter.
Pam's head turned at long last to the state of outside, the boy, the frozen figures, the staff running aimlessly and closing up the desks. Some of them clearly were thinking of bailing from work whilst the manager emerged from his office to see the commotion and try avoid mutiny. As soon as the two outside were attacked, the police appeared engaged, all semblance of a power structure disintegrated. The old woman grabbed the arm of her closest neighbour, the big farmer fella in his cap who appeared equally surprised.
"Good God," She mouthed, turning to who she would soon learn was a man called Arthur, "Ain'tcha gonna do somethin'? Why're you just standin' here you big brute?" She spat, "You ain't no city boy so why don't you drive us someplace safe huh?" Her long claws latched into the crouched blonde, pulling Rebecca up with feeble strength. "My granddaughter an' I would appreciate the ride," Her expression narrowed in on a bewildered Stratton who nodded slowly -
"What about them two? They got hit real bad-" The labourer pointed, his hand slapped down.
"That's what you're for, sweetheart."
BELIAL.
wanna bewitch you in the moonlight
Location: Supermarket, Downtown Atlanta
Interactions:
Hell0NHighWater
Seabourne
Mentions: Wes, Victor
Emily Saunders
She was more than pleased to see Victor concede. She perked at the sight of the book and began to rifle through it, all the while fumbling in her purse for her wallet. She blabbed as she spoke, juggling the many things in her hands. "Thanks, you know, these things are so fucking useful-- forgive my language-- but so fucking great. I didn't realize it till I lived on my own but, woo... Great stuff." It wasn't like she was trying to come across awkward, she was just talking away. She figured it was better, maybe even more interesting, than the usual day.
Her phone buzzed all of a sudden, and she was half-tempted to not grab it. Habit got the better of her, and she was more than prepared to leave her boss on read again but it was anything but that. Her green eyes skimmed the message, and her heart jumped. She looked up at the cashier, then at the person next to her in line. It seemed like all the phones in the store were going off, with this mass message.
"What the fuck is this?" She asked to nobody in particular, then her attention snapped back to Victor. "Hey, check your phone. Do you see this message too!?"
It seemed to be the flame that started to fire, and hell began to crack from the surface in moments split. People were growing upset, a loud chorus of angry shouts and cries of alarm. From outside, even, Emily could hear screams and police sirens. Shouting. Guns. She knew there had been a march downtown planned, nothing crazy, but clearly crazy was an underestimate. Dread swirled in her stomach, rotting her insides. She wanted to stay cool, to stay calm, but it seemed like everyone else was beginning to grow wild.
A loud bang caught her attention and she gasped audibly. The homeless man from outside was smearing his face against the window, a darkened smile on his face as he giggled and huffed onto the glass. His eyes were wide and pinched red. He was staring straight at her.
CRACK! He smashed his face against the glass.
Another BANG came from her left and someone had thrown a display case down. They were fighting. It was exactly like madness had swept the population, and in that moment she almost doubted her own sanity.
CRACK! He smashed his face against the glass again, smearing blood in with his saliva.
Emily looked at the cashier and the guy next to her. "We have to go, like go now. This is going to shit. Oh my god." Was all she could summon to say, her brain still fighting to make reason of it all. She worked quickly, especially under pressure, but this was a whole lot of something in the middle of nothing. Her day had been so average, so normal. Now it was quickly snow-balling into something out of a horror movie.
She dropped the shit, and gestured for Victor to move out from behind the register. "Come on kid, you won't get fired if you get a fucking fist through the head first. People are going nuts!"
Last edited:
Seabourne
Certified Idiot
Victor Hayes
The lady rambled to herself, filling an awkward silence that was usually his to talk through. He loosely followed, humming an agreement or two. He finished up bagging her items while she searched for coupons. One of the bags ripped as he shoved one last box in that didn’t quite fit. He mumbled an apology to the woman and doubled up the bags to cover the tears, but didn’t feel sorry at all. Putting it in it’s own bag would’ve left the number of them odd. He always made the number of bags even.
She was all set, as soon as her coupon was added and her card read. He looked down the line, glad to see that it was pretty short. Just one more person left, a guy. Only a basket, easy enough to get done quickly.
His phone chirped in his pocket. He left it alone, making a mental tab to check it on his break. Across the counter, the lady was on hers. She had stopped talking. He sucked in a breath to ask if she’d found the coupon she wanted to use but his voice caught in his throat as her face grew pinched. She looked up, to him and to the guy next in line.
"What the fuck is this?" She asked, then directed herself toward him. "Hey, check your phone. Do you see this message too!?”
Victor shook his head without processing what she had said. He can't check his phone. Somebody outside shouted, but he didn’t worry yet. It was Atlanta, it wasn’t uncommon. People yelled in the street all the time. By the time the screaming started he knew something was wrong. Someone keened, a warbling sound that made his heat stop. A loud thump let him know something was really wrong.
His chest grew tight when he looked toward the source of the thump. There was a man at the window staring inside. Outwardly, the man didn’t really look too weird. Maybe his eyes were a little too red, or his smile a little too unhinged. Drugs, Victor thought. He’d call the manager to get the guy to go away, and it would be over. Easy.
The man rushed the window again. There was something so wrong about it. He moved like his body was unfamiliar to him. His limbs jerked weirdly, and his fingers were curled in and stiff like a dead spider. The thought made Victor laugh, imaging the man with spiders for hands.
A bang and a collection of shatters and smashes snapped his attention to somewhere in the store. A stand had been thrown down, and another person was moving jerkily, all muscles taught like rubber bands that snapped to move. They jerked and twitched like the man outside, who thrashed against the window frantically. Gunshots sounded off somewhere else. Sirens. Something big was happening. The keening wouldn't stop. Somebody screamed inside the store.
It wasn’t funny anymore. It wasn’t funny. He was breathing quickly, frozen in place. What was happening? Go away. The window was going to break. It was going to break and that awful man was going to come inside. The display. Oh, god, was it a riot? Was that protest today? The news said something about a protest. People were yelling, was that why? Was it getting louder?
He wanted to bolt. He wanted to hide. The lady said something. He couldn’t hear her. Blood rushed through his ears so fast he could hear it, it was like TV static in his head. The lady. What did she say?
“Come on kid, you won't get fired if you get a fucking fist through the head first. People are going nuts!” she waved for him to come to her. She knew what to do. She was going to leave. Away from that awful man at the window. Was it cracking? Was he coming inside?
He nodded numbly and reached for his draw-string bag under the counter. His hand shook but he got it and pulled it around his arms, onto his back. The weight was a little more steady. He heard his nickels clattering together inside, nestled together in the bottom. The sound was grounding. Everything had changed, but his nickels were still there. He jostled the bag again just to hear them.
He stepped out from his space behind the counter, bunching his hands up in his sleeves and hugging his arms to his chest. The door was right there, he could see it. The man was right there, he could see him. Jerking and thrashing, pressing his teeth and lips into the window. His spider hands were still rigid. They weren’t funny.
His lungs burned. His head was fuzzy. Something was wrong. What was wrong? Maybe he should call the manager.
“Where do we,” he choked, “where do we go?” he asked, looking towards the lady for guidance. She looked so sure. Had told them to move. Him and the other guy. Why was he following her? Just have to leave. Leave and think later. “Down the street? There’s more shops,” he suggested, pointing towards the door further from the crazed man. Anything to get away from that man.
“Um, we could get somewhere empty. Hide. Um,” he stumbled, glancing everywhere. Was the man inside? No. “I think there's a place a few doors down that, that could be safe? Maybe a block or two.”
Interacting/Mentions:
BELIAL.
Hell0NHighWater
Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
Wesley Davenport
"Thanks, you know, these things are so fucking useful-- forgive my language-- but so fucking great. I didn't realize it till I lived on my own but, woo... Great stuff."
His right brow arched up for a split second, oak brown orbs moving from the woman to the coupon book. Wes couldn’t tell if she was speaking just to fill the silence or if she was trying to start a conversation with the kid who looked like he would rather be anywhere else. He heard something beep and he moved to unveil it, pulling his phone from the depths of his gym bag.
REGION WIDE QUARANTINE
MILITARY COMMAND
KEEP DISTANCE FROM SUSPECTED COMPROMISED
A frozen finger traced the length of his spine. Adrenaline began to flood his system, pumping and beating as if it were trying to escape. He didn’t know what to do with the words. He didn’t know if he was reading them correctly. Wesley’s gaze flickered up from the phone screen.
The entire store was engrossed in the message. The only sound seemed to be Victor fighting with one of the bags and the beep of an item being scanned.
“What the fuck is this?"
“--the fuck?” The store descended into chaos almost as soon as the last vowel left his mouth. He saw people turn to each other to voice their concern, their panic.
"Hey, check your phone. Do you see this message too!?"
Wesley moved his attention from an older couple briskly moving toward the doors to the woman who was still standing in line ahead of him. His lips pulled into a grim line, carefully sliding his phone into his pocket and setting the basket on the floor. He didn’t have to continue to look around to know that this store was a ticking time bomb. People were going to panic, people were going to start doing a lot of stupid shit. Something told him that he might need his hands free.
"We have to go, like go now. This is going to shit. Oh my god."
There was a man slamming his head into the window over and over and over. Blood, spit, and snot smeared across the glass and yet he kept going. It was unnatural, he acted as if throwing his entire body into glass at least two inches thick didn’t hurt.
Wesley stared at the man, watching the glass spider web as he finally managed to crack it.
"Come on kid, you won't get fired if you get a fucking fist through the head first. People are going nuts!"
“Getting fired is really the least of your worries right now,” He mumbled, half turning to watch someone get slammed into an aisle behind them. Canned goods crashed to the ground. It was a tomato sauce massacre. He followed the stranger without questioning.
“Where do we...where do we go?”
“Doesn’t matter, anywhere but here,”
He paused, watching people bottleneck at the front doors. Someone fell. Screamed. Got trampled on. He caught the wrist of the girl in front of him, keeping her from charging off into the mass of people pushing and fighting to get out the narrow doors.
“We can’t go out that way,” Wesley turned towards the cashier, “Where’s the back exit?”
Dark cinnamon orbs flickered across the perimeter of the store before catching a flickering exit sign in the back corner. He jerked his chin towards it, “Unless you want to end up trapped in here, the fire exit should---”
There was a scream to their left, the cashier a lane over was on the floor with a man on top of her. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He swallowed past the lump in his throat realizing that that wasn’t tomato paste pooling out around her body.
“Nevermind, just fucking go!” He was pushing at both of them now, moving them towards the closest set of doors.
“Down the street? There’s more shops,”
“Stop thinking about it so much, we need to leave.”
Wesley wasn’t sure how they were going to make it out of here. He could only hope that there were enough people left in the store that they could escape without being noticed.
“Um, we could get somewhere empty. Hide. Um,”
“Great plan, let’s make it out of here first.”
“I think there's a place a few doors down that, that could be safe? Maybe a block or two.”
Wesley made a noise of agreement, pushing into the throng of people. He did his best to use his mass to create a hole large enough for both of them to follow. They were half way out of the door when someone reached for him, latching onto his arm. His eyes were wide, time seemed to freeze and go too fast all at the same time. Those same pigmentless blue orbs from the alcohol section stared back at him. Crimson was smattered around her mouth and her breath smelled like dirty socks and curdled milk. Fighting his gag reflex, he wasn’t thinking when he swung his tight fist, too quick and potent, into her jaw. He felt a crack, watched in that moment of frozen time as she stumbled back just enough to release her grip. Wesley reached out to the person next to him, some guy he couldn’t see the face of, and redirected his body into the woman who had just attacked him.
He cast a glance behind him just long enough to make sure they were both still with him before he pushed the rest of the way out of the store.
The streets, chaos couldn’t have been a word adequate enough to describe what was happening.
Wesley took a second to catch his breath, looking over at brunet as she moved beside him, “Lead the way.”
Colorless Spectrum
Always Blue
Mariya Takeda
Mari listened intently, as she always does when someone talks. She smiled at Arthur's compliment, he truly is a sweet man despite his tall and gruff exterior. She has been taking sips of her beverage as her friend continued his talk of the family. "That is great, I am so happy everyone is okay." It eased her worries, as she is almost constantly worried about people even if they are not her family.
"It's truly crazy how things have been." She agreed with the man's statement about the flu, "The government has been spouting utter bullshit." She really wasn't one to swear but it was needed to be said. At least she felt it was needed.
Noticing that Arthur finished his cup of coffee, watching him get ready to leave. "Of course, once this whole situation gets better I'll definitely come and visit you." She said as she gave a hug back to her enormous friend. As she watched Arthur leave, giving a giggle at his salute before waving goodbye. "Stay safe, Arthur."
The rang of the bell left a lonely feeling in Mari's chest. She finished drinking her cup despite the heat of her drink. She's used to it. She sighed to herself as she picked up both cups and proceeded to clean it in the kitchen sink.
Upon drying her hands with a towel, the florist checked her phone to take a look at any news about the virus only to be greeted by a message from DC, claiming that it would be the last. Confused, "A quarantine?" she looked at her windows and saw the same old scenery, except other people, the healthy ones, were holding their phones just as confused as her. "When exactly is the Military coming? What does this mean that the Pentagon has been compromised?" There were so many questions filling her head but no definitive answer.
With quivering hands, she tried calling Brooke, Brooke de Santa Anna, her former assistant, and girlfriend. While they ended on a bad note, she still cared for her even until now. But there was no answer. "Fuck. I just hope she's okay."
Suddenly, at the far end of the street in front of her shop where people screaming, it sounded horrified, there was fighting despite how far it is with how the figures moved it was enough to know. Panic. Anxiety. Her stress levels were through the roof, and in a quick second she let go of her phone and ran to the front of her store, holding onto the end of her roll-up door ready to close her shop as she watched the people drown into madness and horror.
location: Where the Marigold Blooms(the shop) || interactions:
idalie
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