Realistic or Modern ｌｅｆｔ ｂｅｈｉｎｄ

[oliver]

 

[oliver]

mood:
panicked and tense

mentions:
n/a

interactions:
open

tags:
n/a

MARLEY SANTANA

Sitting back with the support of his arms, Marley’s eyes followed the corners around the barn like he was playing “connect the dots”. He didn’t recognize the picture he was creating. The evening light that filtered through the cracks in the siding and gave the rotting gray wood a natural glow didn’t help him understand what was going on at all. If he hadn’t been silently panicking, Marley would have thought the scene hauntingly beautiful.

Rather than various pieces of farm equipment or animals, Marley found that there were a couple of other bodies around him belonging to faces that he couldn’t recall. Time froze, and the seconds ticking by were waiting on him to make the next move. Swallowing his fear, Marley took the time to stretch out his sore muscles and listen to the familiar popping of his joints before pushing himself up from the ground.

His first attempted to make sense out of the situation was based on the assumption that it was a prank. His friends probably put something in his drink, knocked him out, and then brought him here for a good scare. That idea was flawed for several reasons. He nor his friend were ever big on pulling pranks and he was unable to put names to the faces around him. In fact, none of them looked vaguely familiar. Marley always prided himself on his memory of faces, but right now it was definitely failing him. That, or all these people were strangers. The latter, he argued, was the right guess.

Marley’s second attempt consisted of him pinching his arm. The pain that resulted told him that the haze was the result of the leftover drowsiness. That made enough sense to rule out a dreaming theory. In any case, he knew that standing there thinking about it or pinching himself wasn’t going to get his questions answered.

While wiping the dust and dirt off of his jeans, his hand swiped over his back pocket and, to his delight, right over his phone. Quickly, he procured the device but a frowned quirked his lips downwards. It was dead and Marley felt silly for expecting anything different. Just as soon as he’d slipped his phone out, it was put right back where he found it.

Next, he opened up the canvas bag that rested over his shoulder and next to his thigh. Everything was the way he’d left it: the trash, the candy, the notebook, the pens, his phone charger. It all sat at the bottom of his bag untouched. With his phone charger in mind. Marley made it his goal to try and find an outlet but, judging by the lack of electricity in the barn, none would be there.

Stepping over one of the (incredibly handsome) black boys he was seemingly abducted with, Marley stumbled his way over to the hole in the wall created by a missing door. Unaccustomed to the light that assaulted his eyes and worsened his headache, he threw an arm over his face and squinted as he tried to get a good look of the land.

Up the hill, he could see a white farmhouse bigger than any home he’d ever lived in. Parked on the side in front of a garage door was a truck. To Marley, that served as a pretty good sign that there was a potential for an easy escape given that he could get it up and running. The overgrown grass and gravel path, on the other hand, did not provide him with the same jubilant alleviation. The place had clearly been abandoned, there was no denying that.

The rustling of fabric and the wooden floorboards creaking urged Marley turned his head to witness the others regaining their consciousness. He felt his gut twist. What if, because he was the first one awake, his fellow abductees accused him of having something to do with getting them into this situation? He drew in a deep breath before deciding to be completely transparent about his own concerns.

“Now, before you guys start assuming I have anything to do with this, I don’t. I was just lucky enough to wake up first.” He announced awkwardly to their small group, the majority of who were still trying to overcome the drowsiness and pain.

Twisting back to the door, Marley found himself tempted to step out in the direct warmth from the remnants of daylight they had left but was also worried. What if that triggered some alarm system and they got in trouble? Or worse—What if it got them killed? He soon realized how ridiculous the likelihood of that happened was and stuck his arm out the door. Nothing happened, so he added his leg. Finally, Marley stepped all the way outside and onto the grass, albeit a bit wobbly from being dazed and probably some hearty narcotics.

A cigarette sounded good right about then. Weed would have been even better. Unfortunately, all Marley had was his little vial of vodka. He patted his bag, knowing exactly where he’d seen it when he sifted through his items just a couple of minutes earlier.

Taking a step back, he popped his head through the door frame to see the other boys still inside. “Looks like there’s a house up ahead. Maybe someone’s home.” Whether or not the strangers were going to follow him, Marley intended to investigate. Sitting and worrying was understandable, but useless now that he was conscious and revving to figure out where he was and what the fuck was going on. The idea that any of the boys might have answers completely slipped past him as he trudged up the hill towards the house.

Marching up the porch, Marley didn’t immediately go to knock on the door. Instead, he opted to gaze into one of the windows. No one was inside, at least not in what he assumed to be the dining room. Squinting hard, he spotted a long table with 8 chairs lining it with blue placemats in front of each one. The whole room had an incongruous sea theme with plenty of blue accents and a whole cabinet dedicated to miniature boat replicas that belonged to a beach house.

Marley yanked up on the window to check if it was unlocked. It wasn’t, so he returned to the front door and gave it a spirited knock. A whole 30 seconds passed and there was no answer, so he knocked again. No response after a third time made him glance back towards the barn, unsure of what to do.

YOU'LL CHANGE YOUR NAME
OR CHANGE YOUR MIND
AND LEAVE THIS FUCKED UP PLACE BEHIND
BUT I'LL KNOW, I'LL KNOW

 

[timshel]

It took Sterling some time to finally come to.

The rest he’d gotten was barely that; even if he was unconscious, the young man’s mind raced ahead, going in all directions and nowhere at once. The dream he had during that fretful sleep was distressing—he knew that much from how fast his heart was pounding when he did finally wake up. He gasped for air as if he’d been running for his life as his eyes flew open, wide, terrified.

He sat up, struggling to catch his breath. What exactly had he been dreaming about? Just like any other dream, the events, scenery, and others involved had wandered just out of reach, leaving him confused and just the slightest bit frustrated. Maybe if this had happened after a normal night in, and he woke up in his shared apartment like any other day, it wouldn’t have bothered him as much.

Sterling had no idea where he was.

That much was obvious. As he looked around at this mysterious farm building he’d inexplicably wound up in, Sterling came to realize he could count the number of times he’d even been in a barn on one hand; his place had always been in schools, indoors, far away from much manual labor and where almost all of his allergies were. He had to stop himself from marveling at how novel the intricate woodwork was and how delicately streams of light peeked in through holes in the roof—the present circumstances were a lot more concerning than architecture.

First and foremost, where was he? Sterling slowly rose to his feet, groaning at the stiff pain in his back and legs from presumably spending the night on a hard floor. Other sleeping bodies lay scattered on the floor, strewn about with debris and hay and weeds. That image alone caused the fear and panic to finally hit him full force. Who even were these people? He couldn’t recognize any of the sleeping figures as people he’d met in normal life, walking around Cambridge.

Ok. Ok. We’ll figure this out. He let out a shaky sigh. Stay calm. Use your phone to find where you are on a map, and call for help. Panic was the opposite of progress—Sterling knew that well by now. He patted the front of his jeans lightly, worrying for a moment until he patted his rear and found the familiar shape of his phone. (Why did he always worry, even if he’d never ever put his phone in his front pocket?)

Sterling pressed the power button on the side of the phone once, and was immediately crestfallen when the screen didn’t predictably come to life. “Oh, no.” He jammed the button a couple more times in quick succession. “No, no, no.” Even holding the button down for what felt like the longest seconds of his life didn’t turn it back on.

He didn’t think his plan had many holes in it, but his phone being completely dead was an obvious problem. How did the battery get completely drained though? Sterling always double-checked that all his devices were plugged in before he went to bed every night, without fail—his school and lab work were so demanding that he absolutely couldn’t survive without a full charge. So something must have disrupted his nightly routine…

… Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall anything out of the ordinary, or really any specifics from the night before. That realization only compounded his fear. God, he just hoped for something, anything that could give him more insight into what the hell happened. And it walked through the barn doors like nothing at all had happened.

Sterling didn’t trust this fellow, who looked just about his age, as far as he could throw him. He listened to the other young man’s (somewhat flippant) musings with an unimpressed expression, arms folded across his chest, trying to hide how terrified he was.

“Absolutely not,” he interjected after this stranger’s last idea. “Someone’s house? Really? I don’t even know where we are—much less who you, or the rest of you are,” Sterling added, gesturing to the other people still getting their bearings.

“I really don’t think we should go out wandering until we at least figure some of this out.” He huffed a sigh. “But that’s just me.”

pantone

®

#Fallen Rock
Sterling Coleridge

coded by weldherwings.

Spoiler: Raw text

It took Sterling some time to finally come to.

The rest he’d gotten was barely that; even if he was unconscious, the young man’s mind raced ahead, going in all directions and nowhere at once. The dream he had during that fretful sleep was distressing—he knew that much from how fast his heart was pounding when he did finally wake up. He gasped for air as if he’d been running for his life as his eyes flew open, wide, terrified.

He sat up, struggling to catch his breath. What exactly had he been dreaming about? Just like any other dream, the events, scenery, and others involved had wandered just out of reach, leaving him confused and just the slightest bit frustrated. Maybe if this had happened after a normal night in, and he woke up in his shared apartment like any other day, it wouldn’t have bothered him as much.

Sterling had no idea where he was.

That much was obvious. As he looked around at this mysterious farm building he’d inexplicably wound up in, Sterling came to realize he could count the number of times he’d even been in a barn on one hand; his place had always been in schools, indoors, far away from much manual labor and where almost all of his allergies were. He had to stop himself from marveling at how novel the intricate woodwork was and how delicately streams of light peeked in through holes in the roof—the present circumstances were a lot more concerning than architecture.

First and foremost, where was he? Sterling slowly rose to his feet, groaning at the stiff pain in his back and legs from presumably spending the night on a hard floor. Other sleeping bodies lay scattered on the floor, strewn about with debris and hay and weeds. That image alone caused the fear and panic to finally hit him full force. Who even were these people? He couldn’t recognize any of the sleeping figures as people he’d met in normal life, walking around Cambridge.

Ok. Ok. We’ll figure this out. He let out a shaky sigh. Stay calm. Use your phone to find where you are on a map, and call for help. Panic was the opposite of progress—Sterling knew that well by now. He patted the front of his jeans lightly, worrying for a moment until he patted his rear and found the familiar shape of his phone. (Why did he always worry, even if he’d never ever put his phone in his front pocket?)

Sterling pressed the power button on the side of the phone once, and was immediately crestfallen when the screen didn’t predictably come to life. “Oh, no.” He jammed the button a couple more times in quick succession. “No, no, no.” Even holding the button down for what felt like the longest seconds of his life didn’t turn it back on.

He didn’t think his plan had many holes in it, but his phone being completely dead was an obvious problem. How did the battery get completely drained though? Sterling always double-checked that all his devices were plugged in before he went to bed every night, without fail—his school and lab work were so demanding that he absolutely couldn’t survive without a full charge. So something must have disrupted his nightly routine…

… Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall anything out of the ordinary, or really any specifics from the night before. That realization only compounded his fear. God, he just hoped for something, anything that could give him more insight into what the hell happened. And it walked through the barn doors like nothing at all had happened.

Sterling didn’t trust this fellow, who looked just about his age, as far as he could throw him. He listened to the other young man’s (somewhat flippant) musings with an unimpressed expression, arms folded across his chest, trying to hide how terrified he was.

“Absolutely not,” he interjected after this stranger’s last idea. “Someone’s house? Really? I don’t even know where we are—much less who you, or the rest of you are,” Sterling added, gesturing to the other people still getting their bearings.

“I really don’t think we should go out wandering until we at least figure some of this out.” He huffed a sigh. “But that’s just me.”

 

[erzulie]

Babettè Beaumont

even the darkest nights will end,
and the sun will rise again

location | mysterious house (porch)

outfit | x

with |marley

mentions | sterling, the others

tags | oliver , timshel

When Babettè had woken up she had immediately known that something was not right. Instead of feeling the soft fabric of her Pima cotton sheets and the pleasant sounds of birds chirping next to her window, she was met with what she was sure was dirt and the sound of people talking. It was then that she finally opened her eyes. Yes she was definitely not inside of her bedroom. Though the sight was a familiar one Babettè didn’t remember falling asleep inside of her family’s barn, either of them. As she looked around she realized that the place was too bare to belong to her family. There were no animals inside, nor any of the equipment that was used for crops.

Despite her best efforts to make any sense of her situation she was in. She hadn’t slept in a barn since she was a little girl and she couldn’t recall anything out of the originally happening. She was thoroughly confused and very unsettled. However, when she finally took notice of the multiple bodies littering the barn floor her fear spiked. Her mind helpfully provided her with the stories that her father would tell her, how people would threaten their family because they continued to farm. It wasn’t too outlandish to assume that she’d been kidnapped. But then that wouldn’t explain the others who were still unconscious, especially seeing as they were different races.

Babettè wondered if her family was alright or if they were somewhere else. If she’d been the only one who had been taken she knew that they’d have called the law by now. And that would have comforted her if not for the fact that she had no idea where she was. There was no way to know if she was still in Liberia or Louisiana for that matter. Realizing that she was still sitting on the ground Babettè finally stood up, dusting off as much dirt as she could from her person. It was then that she noticed her bag and quickly picked it up.

A quick look inside filled her with relief, her phone was safely inside, along with her house keys and a few other things. Babettè let out a small noise of distress when she tried to turn on her phone, only for it to turn out to be completely dead. Seeing as it would be of no use to her she placed it back in her bag.

Finally she turned her attention to the other people who were awake, well person. One of them had walked right out of the barn while the other stayed inside, the latter voicing how he believed that they should stay inside. Babettè could see where he was coming from but she couldn’t say that she agreed. “If we stay here we’ll never figure out where we are. I think it’d be best to get a look at our surroundings.” Her cajun accent an indicator of where she was from.

Upon seeing the farmhouse Babettè was a little hopeful, while it wasn’t her own home she was hoping that she was still in her state or parish. The style was something she saw often enough back home. Babettè quickened her pace, stopping when she reached the front door and the young man standing in front of it. “Maybe there’s a spare key around here somewhere?”

coded by weldherwings.

 

[TheWaffleLord]

Winston Jacobs

everything deserves
the right to grow

location | barn ⇾ farmhouse (foyer)

outfit | here

with | marley, sterling, babette

tags | oliver timshel erzulie

Winston woke up to a voice he didn't recognize. "Oh, no." He first heard, muttered from his left. "No, no, no." His mind was still reeling from being unconscious, so the words didn't immediately register as anything coherent. The surface underneath him was hard and there was a distinct smell he couldn't have mistaken for anything else. He opened his eyes.

He was inside a barren, open space. The last rays of sunlight peeked through holes from each wall, catching dust that floated in the air. Old, wooden framework to that of a barn seemed to be this building's last pillars of strength. It looked like it could give way at any moment. Three other individuals who were previously lying unconscious around him were now standing up.

This certainly wasn't home and these weren't people Winston knew or even found familiar. How did he end up here, at an abandoned barn? How far away was he from familiar surroundings? These questions and more loomed more ominously with each passing second, and the strangers who woke up alongside him didn't have any answers either. They were just as confused as he was.

When he attempted to push himself off the ground, he grunted in pain; his entire body ached terribly. He managed to stand on his feet after some effort, but needed to use the nearest wall for support. He felt weak and lightheaded. Winston tried to recall what he did last before waking up.

The pills. Oh, the pills. He hung his head low and wasn't sure whether to feel shame, disbelief, or disappointment. He was alive, and some would say by the grace of God. Winston inhaled sharply as his eyes stung with oncoming tears. He balled his hands into fists. While his gaze was cast down, he saw a gardening tote bag by his feet. Noting the few pins attached to the canvas material, it was—without a doubt—his own bag. He knelt down, rummaged through it, and found his belongings were inside. Seemingly untouched.

Even Winston's pockets were lined with small personal items, including his phone, but he was not surprised to discover it had ran out of battery. He wondered how long he had been passed out, presumably by the pills. Hearing the others talk again helped him focus on what needed to be done about the situation; he listened with more certainty this time. One of them, a guy with messy curls, chose to investigate the house by himself first, but another was more unwilling to do so. Winston nodded after the accented young woman spoke.

"She's right," he said, slowly standing. "And we have better chances of finding help there than in here. Come on." His gentle voice indicated that it wasn't a forceful demand. Bag in tow, he walked in smaller strides than what was normal of him because he was wary of his dizziness. He didn't collapse, thankfully, and joined the rest of the group on the farmhouse porch.

A glimpse into the window let him know this house wasn't empty like the barn. It was furnished and looked quite lived-in. The guy who was first to leave the barn had been knocking on the front door for a while, but to no avail. Nobody was answering. Winston took a few steps back and craned his neck to look at the second floor of the house, where other windows could be seen. Any lights didn't appear to be on from there, either. A pensive hum came from his throat.

The young woman suggested, “Maybe there’s a spare key around here somewhere?”
"Is it even locked?" Winston mused. He tried for the doorknob just to check. Much to his and their surprise, it turned with ease. "Oh..." Just like that, the way inside was open to them.

He was very hesitant about entering. The thought of walking unannounced in a stranger's home struck a chord that felt inherently wrong. The fact that it was unlocked at all was strange—if not, foreboding. In truth, there wasn't much of a choice. The troubling circumstance outweighed common courtesy. Winston was cautious when he stepped inside the foyer. The floor creaked underneath his boots, but that was the only sound he could hear.

"Hello?" he called tentatively. A pause. Then he added, "Sorry for intruding!" There was still no response, no stirring from other parts of the house. "No one's...here."

coded by weldherwings.

 

[spottednewt]

NATALIE

MOOD

GROGGY AND NUMB

LOCATION

THE BARN

MENTIONS

N/A

INTERACTIONS

OPEN

OUTFIT

Natalie Miller had slept heavily-- peacefully, even. She dreamt of the radio station she worked for and their aisles and aisles of records that had become obsolete to their business long ago. The dream had been so crisp and clear that she could smell the dust and stale coffee; she could feel the grittiness of the thousand-year-old tables that the vinyls sat atop, all tucked neatly into organizers. The only thing that hinted at something more than reality were the colors. The entire room seemed much brighter than it ever had. Droll red walls were now vibrant, and the sleeves that held the discs boasted colors she hadn't thought she'd ever seen before. It was beautiful - far to beautiful to have been her dingy office building, tucked away into a corner off of the busy city streets.

When she began to stir, she immediately realized she was not in her bed. Keeping her eyes shut tightly, she could soon hear her heartbeat in her ears as her mind began to race. This dizzy sense of confusion was familiar, and it made her stomach churn. Trying to survey what kind of shape she was in, she started at her feet, rolling her ankles around in her heavy work boots. Next her torso, and then her arms. It wasn't long before she felt a sharp pain being her eyes. Head throbbing, her hands fled to her temples. The young woman tried desperately to remember where she had been the night before, who she was with, what she had done. Heart sinking, she didn't dare open her eyes as she fought against stiff muscles to pull herself into the upright position. She had relapsed - she felt sure of it.

Feeling solid wall next to her, she shifted to lean against it, and finally, her eyes fluttered open. As if she wasn't shell-shocked enough, she could not possibly imagine how she had made it far enough out of the city to find herself in a barn, of all places. Immediately, her brain drifted back to the rural farming town she had grown up in; and with it, all the bridges she had burned there. Feeling as though she might be sick at the possibility that she had somehow made her way home, she shook her head to knock the idea from her brain and set her head back against the wall.

Looking down at her limbs to verify that they were all intact, a thought struck her. She was clean. Maybe even cleaner than she would be after the average day at work. Eyebrows furrowing, she looked up. It wasn't until just then that she realized that she wasn't alone. Although they seemed to regain consciousness before her, the others seemed in a similar state to herself, all crumpled up and scattered about. Perhaps this was both literally and figuratively. Waking up in strange places was bitterly familiar, but in the company of others in the same shape was not.

Fighting another wave of nausea, she pulled herself to her feet too. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she tried to give them the once-over as well. "Everyone alright?" Bracing herself against the wall, she started scanning for water spigots. If her impression of the situation was right, her apparent new friends were going to need some water.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[Pepsionne]

Panicked, confused
Barn
❛none ❜

✦ Veta O'Connor ✦​

The warm darkness of unconsciousness swarmed around Veta’s mind like a warm bath, swathing her in varying depths of awareness. In the shallower areas, she could hear the muffled sound of conversation, feel the light vibration of step or movement. She fought her way towards those shallow waters of her consciousness, a battle that seemed to last hours as she dipped in and out of a dizzying darkness. Finally, with a flutter of lashes, Veta’s heavy lids parted slightly, the hazy light of the barn showing nothing but the blurring shapes of light and shadow. She felt the pain next.

A low groan elicited from her raspy, dry throat as she lay there, her head pulsing in pain with each beat of her heart. She placed a hand to her forehead. To the touch, her skin felt cold and it was covered with a fine layer of what felt like dust.

Veta opened her eyes fully this time, her vision clearing after a brief second. She took in the long beams of light that stretched down to kiss the floor below, the thick dust floating in through the illuminated strips giving the appearance of glitter. She sat up stiffly, a shooting pain in her back stopping the effort halfway.

What the hell had happened to her? The last thing she could remember was leaving work. Had she passed out? Given the surroundings of the old, dusty barn, she highly doubted that whatever happened to her was an accident. A bolt of fear hit her chest in an instant, the emotion winding up in her chest until it felt like it might crack.

Feeling the beginnings of a panic attack coming on, Veta slowed her breathing down, her eyes rapidly shooting around the barn to gauge how she could gain as much control of this situation as possible. She spotted only a few figures wandering around aimlessly, the door to the barn cracked open. Someone must have left already. She looked over at her purse, the sight of the familiar object loosening the lodged rock in her chest a few inches.

Veta began rummaging through the purse chaotically, the once organized contents becoming jumbled, delicate paper getting torn and creased. One touch of a cold sleek surface resonated a feeling of safety within her. Her phone. She quickly pulled out the device, pressing the lock button to turn on the screen. She was met with nothing. Veta pressed the button again, this time holding it longer in case it had gotten turned off. She was met with a battery symbol. It was dead. How was it dead? She never let her phone die. In the two years of owning the phone, it had not died once.

The feeling of panic once again lodged itself further into her chest. Veta began losing control of her breathing again, standing up hastily. She needed air, it was so dusty in here she felt like she was going to suffocate.

Stumbling, uneasy steps brought her to the dying light of the outside. Shrinking figures trailed awkwardly up to a house in the near distance. She put her hand on the rough, wooden side of the barn, resting the other hand on her knee. Doubled over, Veta gulped in the clean, fresh air from outside.

If anything, at least she wasn’t alone in this situation. A small comfort in a deep, turbulent sea of unknown danger. She would have to calm down if she was going to figure out how to get back in control of this situation. Breaking down and hyperventilating would only make her more vulnerable. She raised her head slightly and peered back into the barn. She should gather her belongings at least, maybe they’d have some type of clue.

code by valen t.

 

[oliver]

mood:
confused

mentions:
sterling
winston
babettè

interactions:
open

tags:
n/a

MARLEY SANTANA

Despite the one man’s complaints, the rest of the crew seemed to be unanimous. They weren’t in one of the Saw movies—there would be no tape explaining what was going on and the deeds they’d have to do to get out of the nightmare. This was enough to encourage Marley to do the first round of investigation of the house. But, when he’d arrived at a loss, it was good to know that the others had his back.

When one of the ladies had suggested the key, Marley backed up and glanced around where it could have potentially been hidden. There was a welcome mat, and surrounding the porch was a rock garden. Then, one of the other boys had suggested something that made Marley feel a little stupid. Watching in anticipation, the door easily gave way to the twist and pull. A nervous, breathy chuckle escaped through his parted lips. “How convenient.”

That may have been the most worrying part of this entire plot—everything was too easy. However, Marley wasn’t given much time to dwell. The second to enter, Marley’s head bounced in every direction. To the left was the entrance to the poorly themed dining room, and to the right was what Marley assumed to be the living room. The foyer, he imagined, was supposed to have a forest or jungle theme. Plants that were once alive hung from the ceiling and covered the deep green walls. Only shriveled, browning vines and leaves remained.

“I’ll say,” Marley began, “whoever lives here has got an interesting way of decorating.”

Drawn to the living room, Marley leaned in and was surprised to find that it may have just been the ugliest thing he’d ever laid eyes upon. The walls were made of dark wood, and the ceiling was white. The curtains looked like they’d been stained with piss and the long furry carpet vaguely resembled some type of animal pattern. The couches and chair didn’t match at all—it was as if the foyer had bled into this room’s theme as they were covered in foliage fabrics. To boot, the television looked like it was from the 70s.

“Jesus Christ, this house is ugly.” Marley commented, stepping away and instead deciding to proceed. Up ahead, the foyer split off towards another living room, the stairs, and what looked to be a kitchen. The second living room was kind of cute—it had mostly white furniture with brown and yellow accents of sunflower décor. Marley decided to head in the direction of the kitchen but stopped and leaned up the stairs first.

“Hello!?” He shouted in case the people who lived there hadn’t heard them because they had been on a different level. There was no movement. Marley half expected to find a dead body by the end of the house tour.
The kitchen, much like the second living room, had a modern feel. The walls resembled a Campbell’s soup can, though, which made Marley’s stomach growl. All of a sudden, he was hyperaware of the hunger than clawed at his insides. Marley walked over to the black fridge and opened the two top doors, sending out a gust of chilled air. The interior was filled to the brim with fresh food.

“This has got to be a prank, right?” He grabbed the gallon of 2% milk to look at the expiration date. “August 23rd,” Marley mumbled. “What day is it?” After putting the milk back and closing the refrigerator door, Marley moved to the counter where there was a wall outlet. He dug his phone charger out of his bag and plugged it into the socket before taking his phone out of his back pocket as well. After that had been set up, he glanced around for a calendar. On the outside of the fridge, he found one. It was turned to August, and the 8th was circled in red.

“It’s August?”

YOU'LL CHANGE YOUR NAME
OR CHANGE YOUR MIND
AND LEAVE THIS FUCKED UP PLACE BEHIND
BUT I'LL KNOW, I'LL KNOW

 

[erzulie]

Babettè Beaumont

even the darkest nights will end,
and the sun will rise again

location | mysterious house (kitchen)

outfit | x

with |marley

mentions |

tags | oliver

Well now Babettè was feeling a tad bit foolish, she could feel her cheeks grow warm, the rich brown of her skin hid any signs of it however. Despite how easily the door opened Babettè couldn’t help but feel a little wary. Any other time she wouldn’t have dared to enter a stranger's home without their permission. While they weren’t breaking in this could still be counted as trespassing. And there were far too many folks who decided to handle trespasser themselves, typically with threats or fire alarms.

However, she had woken up in what she could only assume was their barn. And with a group of strangers nonetheless. Babettè’s concerns were less about being accused of trespassing and more along the lines of what type of individuals were inside the house. So she’d made sure that she had been the last to enter the house, even going as far as to longer at the threshold for a moment. While she wanted answers as to why she was in this situation she was fully prepared to make a run for it if she had too, her body tense and coiled tight like spring.

When she finally stepped inside she only managed to calm herself slightly. She still believed that it was too early to tell whether someone was home. The house was large after all. While any normal person would be quick to locate and confront any trespasser, the situation that they were in wasn’t normal in any way possible. The curly haired fellow didn’t hesitate to take a look around however, wasting no time to take a look at their surroundings and explore. She was undoubtedly curious as well and so she took a look herself.

Babettè took one look at the dead plants that decorated the foyer and decided then and there that she needed to find out just what was going on. Her lips parted slightly once she made it into the living room. “This is...ugly as homemade sin.” Babettè had meant to think it but the words couldn’t be contained to just her head. For a moment she thought to her mama or even her mawmaw, who would have said something far worse.

Babettè quickly moved on, not wanting to be in that particular area any longer. Unfortunately the rest of the house was exactly the same. Upon entering the kitchen she was able to keep her mouth closed and opinions on the design to herself. She had entered just in time to see the younger looking man open the refrigerator. Now she was beginning to believe that someone did live here and they were just out for the time being. “Well I don’t think this is funny at all, if it is.”

“August...what in the world?” Babettè made her way over, wanting to take a look at the calendar herself. “Oh this has got to be wrong. It was definitely May when I went to sleep last night.” She frowned in confusion. “And for that matter, where are we even.” Babettè looked at the curly haired man, but she was sure that he was just as lost as her.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[spottednewt]

NATALIE

MOOD

GROGGY AND NUMB

LOCATION

THE (not at all murder) HOUSE

MENTIONS

Babette & Marley

INTERACTIONS

OPEN

OUTFIT

Natalie could feel the gears turning in her head painfully, as she watched the others that she had woken up with, file into the not at all ominous farmhouse. Although she was beginning to think that this situation was much less cut-and-dry than she thought - and she wanted answers as badly as any of them - she didn't see a whole ton of good coming from whatever this house had in store. She couldn't even decide if it had been abandoned, or if the residents merely just had bigger fish to fry than routine maintenance. Although she rationalized it with 'safety in numbers,' her curiosity had gotten the best of her. Nat had only taken a moment's deliberation before the straightened, straightened the collar of her shirt, and followed the others into the house.

Immediately, it was an attack on her senses. all of them. Her allergies weren't sure if they were offended by the dust in the barn, or what was left of the plants - but oh, they were angry. This place,however, had no dust. That wasn't any less confusing. As though blinking back an intense light, she took a handful of steps through the door, and then backtracked a couple as she took it all in. 'Ugly as homemade sin,' she heard the words from another part in the room. They would have earned even more than a crack of a grin if the situation hadn't been quite this unsettling. With wide eyes and her lips pursed together, Miller nodded as she took in the sights and smells of the first room - as though she was in agreement with everything she saw. Considering that their entrance thus far had been relatively quiet, she assumed that no one had run into Old McDonald yet.

"I hate to rain on what's so far been an awful parade, but this is exactly what I imagine a cereal killer's house would look like." She spoke relatively quietly, only for the ears of the few that were still around her - voice still gravelly from her deep sleep.

The date on the calendar came as unwelcome news, by far. Nat stood frozen in the doorway for a moment before moving into the kitchen to investigate for herself. "No..." She trailed off. "No way. August of last year, right?" She cracked the fridge door open again and picked up the milk jug, sloshing it around a little. Setting it down quickly and closing the fridge, she turned her back to it and leaned against a nearby counter, shooting the appliance a slow blink of annoyed confusion. She was yet again, shell shocked. Although it had already felt like she was only going through motions as she watched herself from elsewhere, she found herself staring at the ground for a long moment. "Look for junk mail?" She thought out loud, to no one in particular. "Or a phonebook? That could still be their style, it could give us a hint." She continued, making her way over to the home phone on the wall, she quickly picked it up and pressed it to her ear. It was dead. No need to dwell on why that was weird - she continued to look for anything that might have the house's address on it, although she was quickly losing hope as she began to notice how well-kept the house was.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[Pepsionne]

Shocked, confused, intrigued
Abandoned House
❛Interacts: spottednewt Natalie, erzulie Babette, oliver Marley ❜

✦ Veta O'Connor ✦​

After having gathered the rest of her belongings, finding nothing of use within them, Veta exited the barn once more. She was the last one lingering around the old creaking building. Everyone else had trailed up and disappeared into the house by now.

As much as her instincts fought against the idea of going into some abandoned house, the fear of staying alone near the old, creepy barn was more powerful. Regardless of all the movies and tv shows warning about situations such as these, she found herself walking up through the mildly unkempt grass towards the others.

Out of breath, Veta didn’t usually exert this much energy and stress at one time, she finally reached the open doorway where everyone had disappeared through. Her eyes intensely examined anything she could see from outside the house, catching dim glimpses of patterned wallpaper and eccentric furniture.

The surprised and curious voices emanating from deeper inside the house drew Veta forward, her nose scrunched in anticipation for the strong smells that would come crashing into her nose whenever entering an unfamiliar house. It was hard to keep her jaw from going slack at the sheer sight of the themed rooms in the house. She had never seen anything like it, let alone anything as ugly as it.

"No way. August of last year, right?"

Veta’s interest was drawn straight down the hallway into the kitchen. She ignored the rooms passed on the way there, save a brief and regretful glance at the bold decor dominating the doorways. “August?” She asked as she entered the kitchen. Three others stood there, but she couldn’t quite glean the feel of the room yet.

Her eyes were automatically drawn to the calendar the others had been looking at, her eyes wide at the sight of the date circled in bright red. “August?!” She exclaimed once again, this time her brow furrowed into a deep confusion.

Veta pulled out her planner from the purse hanging on her shoulder, rapidly flipping to the date where her copious amount of notes ended. It was still May. She turned the planner around to the other three in the kitchen, pointing to the last date she had crossed off. “I definitely don’t remember it being August.”

code by valen t.

 

[timshel]

What he saw the others starting to do deeply bothered him.

Sterling struggled for words as he watched these other strangers unanimously agree to scope out the house looming on that dangerous horizon. What was the point of erring on the side of caution if everyone else didn’t seem to care? Even though they may have had a point—this derelict barn seemed like it had few secrets to give up, if it had any—it still seemed incredibly reckless in his mimd.

After all, they’d barely gotten acquainted with each other. How were these other people perfectly fine with venturing into the great unknown with total strangers? Sterling’s nerves would be just the slightest bit more at ease if he had some of the many questions answered—but that being said, he had to acknowledge that he was always one of the more careful types.

He sighed shakily, then slowly set after the rest, tagging along a good distance behind them. An eerie feeling filled him as he walked the unfamiliar landscape, and he did his best to take in the landmarks. It was entirely unfamiliar, to his utter dismay; this would have made a little more sense if they’d all hailed from Boston and were plopped somewhere outside the city limits, but he didn’t get that sense.

His hesitation was palpable as he lingered out front, waiting to make sure the others had entered inside safely before daring to cross the threshold. Sterling listened carefully to the comments ringing out from other parts of the house. A mention of two percent milk. It was August—wait, no, that couldn't be possible. How could it be August already? One of the other girls was right—he could have sworn it was just May.

Worry rose up his chest, tightening around his windpipe with the same force as a hand would: the idea of having been missing for at least three months did little to make him feel better about the situation. Sterling felt his stomach lurch predictably with the sudden onslaught of anxiety, but he swallowed it down, resolute. A group member losing their mind to total panic was the last thing they needed, and he knew he could go there.

Focus on something else. The young man snapped back to reality with a sharp huff, and whirled around the room, looking for something, anything to investigate. Another girl made a good point—a place this well-maintained, despite the tasteless decor, had to have some mail somewhere. And he saw the fridge light up when one of the other guys opened it to inspect the milk.

They have electricity. Finally, one small thread of hope. Perhaps he could start to untangle them from this mess.

“Good idea,” Sterling answered. “Does someone want to try to find a mailbox? Maybe the owners have a P.O. box—check the trash cans?”

He glanced into the kitchen. “That fridge is up and running, so we know this place has power. If we can find a phone, charger, TV, or a laptop somewhere, we can figure out where we are and how much time passed.” Sterling paused. “… Has anyone seen anything?”

pantone

®

#Fallen Rock
Sterling Coleridge

coded by weldherwings.

Spoiler: Raw text

What he saw the others starting to do deeply bothered him.

Sterling struggled for words as he watched these other strangers unanimously agree to scope out the house looming on that dangerous horizon. What was the point of erring on the side of caution if everyone else didn’t seem to care? Even though they may have had a point—this derelict barn seemed like it had few secrets to give up, if it had any—it still seemed incredibly reckless in his mimd.

After all, they’d barely gotten acquainted with each other. How were these other people perfectly fine with venturing into the great unknown with total strangers? Sterling’s nerves would be just the slightest bit more at ease if he had some of the many questions answered—but that being said, he had to acknowledge that he was always one of the more careful types.

He sighed shakily, then slowly set after the rest, tagging along a good distance behind them. An eerie feeling filled him as he walked the unfamiliar landscape, and he did his best to take in the landmarks. It was entirely unfamiliar, to his utter dismay; this would have made a little more sense if they’d all hailed from Boston and were plopped somewhere outside the city limits, but he didn’t get that sense.

His hesitation was palpable as he lingered out front, waiting to make sure the others had entered inside safely before daring to cross the threshold. Sterling listened carefully to the comments ringing out from other parts of the house. A mention of two percent milk. It was August—wait, no, that couldn't be possible. How could it be August already? One of the other girls was right—he could have sworn it was just May.

Worry rose up his chest, tightening around his windpipe with the same force as a hand would: the idea of having been missing for at least three months did little to make him feel better about the situation. Sterling felt his stomach lurch predictably with the sudden onslaught of anxiety, but he swallowed it down, resolute. A group member losing their mind to total panic was the last thing they needed, and he knew he could go there.

Focus on something else. The young man snapped back to reality with a sharp huff, and whirled around the room, looking for something, anything to investigate. Another girl made a good point—a place this well-maintained, despite the tasteless decor, had to have some mail somewhere. And he saw the fridge light up when one of the other guys opened it to inspect the milk.

They have electricity. Finally, one small thread of hope. Perhaps he could start to untangle them from this mess.

“Good idea,” Sterling answered. “Does someone want to try to find a mailbox? Maybe the owners have a P.O. box—check the trash cans?”

He glanced into the kitchen. “That fridge is up and running, so we know this place has power. If we can find a phone, charger, TV, or a laptop somewhere, we can figure out where we are and how much time passed.” Sterling paused. “… Has anyone seen anything?”

 

[oliver]

mood:
disappointed

mentions:
sterling, natalie babettè

interactions:
everyone in the kitchen

tags:
erzulie timshel Pepsionne spottednewt TheWaffleLord

MARLEY SANTANA

Marley’s face twisted in a distressed grimace. There were as many answers sloshing around in his own brain as was in the other’s: none. He knew just as much as anyone else. His stomach was filled with fear as his life was capsized in real-time. On the surface, he appeared calm aside from the jitters that lurched through his fingertips as he stood frozen, staring at the top of the calendar.

August.

August 2020.

The air he sucked in through his teeth quavered, but what flowed back through his nostrils was controlled. Marley prepped himself to take on this consternating situation. Offering a wry smile, he glanced over to the woman who asked about the year and shook his head. “Says this year, unfortunately.”

Once again, Marley sighed deeply and disappointedly but was soon pleasantly surprised that the girl he’d been talking to was immediate with her ideas. Junk mail was a good one; there would be dates and an address. Maybe a phonebook would be good too, but probably out of date. Who used phone books these days?

It almost shocked him to see the one man who had been against coming inside, but he agreed with the other girl and shot some ideas out. Marley looked over to the window, his eyebrows rising with curiosity. The sun had nearly dipped entirely beneath the horizon, leaving little light.“We’re about out of daylight. Is it really a good idea to go searching for a mailbox in the dark?” A far as Marley was concerned, the evening was a popular time for killers to come out. This entire situation could have been so that some fucked up person could hunt them down for sport—The Most Dangerous Game.

“As glad I am that we’re all eager to hop right to it,” Marley began, “let’s have a quick introduction session, yeah?” His eyes skimmed the few heads stranded with him in this ‘serial killer type home.' Then, he nodded, agreeing with himself as if to try to persuade the others to do so as well. “I’m sure you’re all just as curious about who you’re stuck with.”

His smile was tense. Suddenly, he relaxed and perked up. “Oh, right— I’ll start,” Marley offered, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m Marley. Mars works too.” Falling silent, he gave an awkward smile while trying to think of anything else that may have been relevant. I’m 22, and I’m actually charging my phone right now,” the last bit was directed at the one man who had asked about a phone. To emphasize, he turned to pluck his phone off the counter, and right away, anyone that looked would see the cord that attached it to the wall.

As if on cue, his phone lit up with the familiar white Apple logo before swapping to his lock screen. Sure enough, the date read ‘August 8th, 2020’. The calendar and milk jug were proven to be accurate. But what did this strange passage of time mean? If anyone missed him, Marley wouldn’t have known. The lock screen with a picture of his cat was clear of notifications, and the top bar showed no service.

“Well, this is as good as useless.” Marley huffed, setting his phone back down with a frown. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve kept some home that it was just that room. However, judging by the outside, they were left behind on a farm in the middle of nowhere.

Reaching up, he scratched the back of his neck while trying to come up with a solution. “You guys are right,” he began quickly, “we should just look for anything that tells us, well, anything. Yeah. Who wants to check the upstairs with me?”

YOU'LL CHANGE YOUR NAME
OR CHANGE YOUR MIND
AND LEAVE THIS FUCKED UP PLACE BEHIND
BUT I'LL KNOW, I'LL KNOW

Spoiler

Marley’s face twisted in a distressed grimace. There were as many answers sloshing around in his own brain as was in the other’s: none. He knew just as much as anyone else. His stomach was filled with fear as his life was capsized in real-time. On the surface, he appeared calm aside from the jitters that lurched through his fingertips as he stood frozen, staring at the top of the calendar.

August.

August 2020.

The air he sucked in through his teeth quavered, but what flowed back through his nostrils was controlled. Marley prepped himself to take on this consternating situation. Offering a wry smile, he glanced over to the woman who asked about the year and shook his head. “Says this year, unfortunately.”

Once again, Marley sighed deeply and disappointedly but was soon pleasantly surprised that the girl he’d been talking to was immediate with her ideas. Junk mail was a good one; there would be dates and an address. Maybe a phonebook would be good too, but probably out of date. Who used phone books these days?

It almost shocked him to see the one man who had been against coming inside, but he agreed with the other girl and shot some ideas out. Marley looked over to the window, his eyebrows rising with curiosity. The sun had nearly dipped entirely beneath the horizon, leaving little light.“We’re about out of daylight. Is it really a good idea to go searching for a mailbox in the dark?” A far as Marley was concerned, the evening was a popular time for killers to come out. This entire situation could have been so that some fucked up person could hunt them down for sport—The Most Dangerous Game.

“As glad I am that we’re all eager to hop right to it,” Marley began, “let’s have a quick introduction session, yeah?” His eyes skimmed the few heads stranded with him in this ‘serial killer type home.' Then, he nodded, agreeing with himself as if to try to persuade the others to do so as well. “I’m sure you’re all just as curious about who you’re stuck with.”

His smile was tense. Suddenly, he relaxed and perked up. “Oh, right— I’ll start,” Marley offered, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m Marley. Mars works too.” Falling silent, he gave an awkward smile while trying to think of anything else that may have been relevant. I’m 22, and I’m actually charging my phone right now,” the last bit was directed at the one man who had asked about a phone. To emphasize, he turned to pluck his phone off the counter, and right away, anyone that looked would see the cord that attached it to the wall.

As if on cue, his phone lit up with the familiar white Apple logo before swapping to his lock screen. Sure enough, the date read ‘August 8th, 2020’. The calendar and milk jug were proven to be accurate. But what did this strange passage of time mean? If anyone missed him, Marley wouldn’t have known. The lock screen with a picture of his cat was clear of notifications, and the top bar showed no service.

“Well, this is as good as useless.” Marley huffed, setting his phone back down with a frown. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve kept some home that it was just that room. However, judging by the outside, they were left behind on a farm in the middle of nowhere.

Reaching up, he scratched the back of his neck while trying to come up with a solution. “You guys are right,” he began quickly, “we should just look for anything that tells us, well, anything. Yeah. Who wants to check the upstairs with me?”

 

[Pepsionne]

Analytical, reserved, withheld
Kitchen, living room
❛Interacts: oliver Marley ❜

✦ Veta O'Connor ✦

Veta listened to the curly haired male who introduced himself as Marley plot out their possible next steps. Even though her intuition naturally took everything being said and understood with a grain of salt, she couldn't deny that he had a point. The idea of poking around outside in an unfamiliar area with limited sight made her stomach churn nervously. Who knows what was out there, lurking. If they were to do anything, staying inside the house and maintaining numbers seemed like their best bet. Her empty stomach yearned to look in the fridge or rifle through the cabinets for something to eat, but her distrust of the safety of anything in the house held her back.

“I’m Veta, or Vee, if you’d like” She said. A hand was placed over her chest while she raised the other, as if introducing herself in a roll call. Veta purposely neglected to add in her last name. After all, she had just met these people. They seemed like they were all just as bewildered as her but people tended to be good liars. She had to be on her guard.

Her eyes couldn’t help wandering around at the loud, eccentric décor of the house. Marley suggested that a few of them venture upstairs to gather any more information about the house. He looked around at each of them, his warm expression softened into a humbled friendliness. Veta could feel the core of her stomach tighten as if lined with steel. Just as with entering the house, she felt her best bet would be to linger around in the verified safe areas and let the others tread blindly into danger.

She leaned to the side to look down the long hallway that had led her into the kitchen. They had to have some kind of collection of books in one of the living rooms. To her expertise, looking at the type of books someone had in their collection would tell a lot about them. If anything, she could gain a little bit of knowledge there.

Veta smiled apologetically to Marley. “I think I’ll stick around downstairs and see if I can rummage through any literature or papers they may have filed.” She turned to walk back towards the generously decorated living room, pushing her short tawny hair behind her ears absently.

code by valen t.

 

[TheWaffleLord]

Winston Jacobs

everything deserves
the right to grow

location | dining room

outfit | here

with | marley, sterling, babettè, natalie, veta

tags | oliver timshel erzulie spottednewt Pepsionne

It was hard not to take note of the décor when Winston first stepped into the house. The lousy coordination between furniture items, the yellowed curtains in the living room—which might have once been white—and the peculiar animal carpet was all a rather unpleasant sight. The dead houseplants that were suspended from the ceiling and shelved on the wall left a sympathetic frown on his lips. Seeing plants that weren't taken care of always made him a little heartbroken. The dining room wasn't much better with its clashing nautical theme. Though he stayed quiet, the others said what he was thinking.
“Jesus Christ, this house is ugly.”
“This is...ugly as homemade sin.”

Winston stepped forward, scanning for a sign of a clue anywhere in the living room, and then to the kitchen where two people had already ventured. As the fridge was opened by the young man with curly hair, he felt the chill air and heard the low hum of the appliance. Shockingly enough, there was almost an excess of fresh food inside. He started to doubt the fact that he suggested that no one else was occupying the house.

"But how?" Winston muttered. Wait, but this means there's electricity running, he thought. The guy who opened the fridge snatched up a jug of milk, inspected the expiration date and read it out loud for everyone to hear. August. It was August? "That can't be right," he said in disbelief. They all voiced their concerns, most of them citing the calendar on the fridge's side just as he did. August 8th had been circled in red. Winston felt a hard pit in his stomach.

“Oh this has got to be wrong. It was definitely May when I went to sleep last night.”
"No... No way. August of last year, right?"
“Says this year, unfortunately.”
One girl with bobbed hair took what appeared to be her personal planner and flipped through it, showing the others and himself that the month of May was where she had last written. “I definitely don’t remember it being August.”
Instead of answers, there were only more questions. Ideas were being thrown left and right, but he was beginning to feel the throbbing pains of a migraine on one side of his skull, and with it, came a blur to his vision.

"I need...to sit down," Winston mumbled under a raspy breath. He staggered to the nearest chair, sank heavily into it, and dropped his bag by his feet. He interlocked his fingers together and pressed them against his forehead in silent prayer, but could form none. Why was he here and for what purpose? Why were there complete strangers in the same situation? The only logical possibility he came up with was that they were all abducted, but that still left the question of who could've done so. The owner of this house, maybe, yet they remained to be seen as well.

None of this makes any sense...
“As glad I am that we’re all eager to hop right to it,” someone said from the kitchen, “let’s have a quick introduction session, yeah?”
Winston looked up, glancing at the people around the house. It was best to exchange their names; they didn't know how long they'd be here. The one to speak had been the guy who first suggested to explore. He had a tight smile on his face, then seemed to relax a moment before he introduced himself.

"Oh, right—I’ll start. I’m Marley. Mars works too. I’m twenty-two, and I’m actually charging my phone right now.”
Thinking about his own age, Winston supposed he was twenty-seven now, since his birthday had passed in July. Being unconscious for three months sounded surreal in itself.
Next was the young woman with bobbed hair, who raised her hand. “I’m Veta, or Vee, if you’d like.”
"I'm Winston," he said, then added with a dejected smile, "Under better circumstances, I'd say it's nice to meet you all."

Marley looked frustrated after his phone lit up; it was likely that he discovered the date was truly August 8th. “You guys are right,” he conceded, “we should just look for anything that tells us, well, anything. Yeah. Who wants to check the upstairs with me?”
“I think I’ll stick around downstairs and see if I can rummage through any literature or papers they may have filed,” said Veta.
Winston found the strength to stand, the pain minimally subsiding. He looked toward Marley. "I'll go with you," he volunteered. "There's six of us, so it's probably best if there's two to a room then join back here to tell everyone what we've found. There's no telling who or what else might be around." Despite the broad-shouldered man seeming indisposed, he was resolute in his words. He knew he had to provide help somehow, and that entailed getting up and moving around.

coded by weldherwings.

Spoiler

It was hard not to take note of the décor when Winston first stepped into the house. The lousy coordination between furniture items, the yellowed curtains in the living room—which might have once been white—and the peculiar animal carpet was all a rather unpleasant sight. The dead houseplants that were suspended from the ceiling and shelved on the wall left a sympathetic frown on his lips. Seeing plants that weren't taken care of always made him a little heartbroken. The dining room wasn't much better with its clashing nautical theme. Though he stayed quiet, the others said what he was thinking.
“Jesus Christ, this house is ugly.”
“This is...ugly as homemade sin.”

Winston stepped forward, scanning for a sign of a clue anywhere in the living room, and then to the kitchen where two people had already ventured. As the fridge was opened by the young man with curly hair, he felt the chill air and heard the low hum of the appliance. Shockingly enough, there was almost an excess of fresh food inside. He started to doubt the fact that he suggested that no one else was occupying the house.

"But how?" Winston muttered. Wait, but this means there's electricity running, he thought. The guy who opened the fridge snatched up a jug of milk, inspected the expiration date and read it out loud for everyone to hear. August. It was August? "That can't be right," he said in disbelief. They all voiced their concerns, most of them citing the calendar on the fridge's side just as he did. August 8th had been circled in red. Winston felt a hard pit in his stomach.

“Oh this has got to be wrong. It was definitely May when I went to sleep last night.”
"No... No way. August of last year, right?"
“Says this year, unfortunately.”
One girl with bobbed hair took what appeared to be her personal planner and flipped through it, showing the others and himself that the month of May was where she had last written. “I definitely don’t remember it being August.”
Instead of answers, there were only more questions. Ideas were being thrown left and right, but he was beginning to feel the throbbing pains of a migraine on one side of his skull, and with it, came a blur to his vision.

"I need...to sit down," Winston mumbled under a raspy breath. He staggered to the nearest chair, sank heavily into it, and dropped his bag by his feet. He interlocked his fingers together and pressed them against his forehead in silent prayer, but could form none. Why was he here and for what purpose? Why were there complete strangers in the same situation? The only logical possibility he came up with was that they were all abducted, but that still left the question of who could've done so. The owner of this house, maybe, yet they remained to be seen as well.

None of this makes any sense...
“As glad I am that we’re all eager to hop right to it,” someone said from the kitchen, “let’s have a quick introduction session, yeah?”
Winston looked up, glancing at the people around the house. It was best to exchange their names; they didn't know how long they'd be here. The one to speak had been the guy who first suggested to explore. He had a tight smile on his face, then seemed to relax a moment before he introduced himself.

"Oh, right—I’ll start. I’m Marley. Mars works too. I’m twenty-two, and I’m actually charging my phone right now.”
Thinking about his own age, Winston supposed he was twenty-seven now, since his birthday had passed in July. Being unconscious for three months sounded surreal in itself.
Next was the young woman with bobbed hair, who raised her hand. “I’m Veta, or Vee, if you’d like.”
"I'm Winston," he said, then added with a dejected smile, "Under better circumstances, I'd say it's nice to meet you all."

Marley looked frustrated after his phone lit up; it was likely that he discovered the date was truly August 8th. “You guys are right,” he conceded, “we should just look for anything that tells us, well, anything. Yeah. Who wants to check the upstairs with me?”
“I think I’ll stick around downstairs and see if I can rummage through any literature or papers they may have filed,” said Veta.
Winston found the strength to stand, the pain minimally subsiding. He looked toward Marley. "I'll go with you," he volunteered. "There's six of us, so it's probably best if there's two to a room then join back here to tell everyone what we've found. There's no telling who or what else might be around." Despite the broad-shouldered man seeming indisposed, he was resolute in his words. He knew he had to provide help somehow, and that entailed getting up and moving around.

 

[spottednewt]

NATALIE

MOOD

GROGGY AND NUMB

LOCATION

THE (not at all murder) HOUSE

MENTIONS

ALL

INTERACTIONS

OPEN

OUTFIT

It seemed like the longer she searched, the louder her mind got. Has they all just been unconscious in that barn for three months? What type of farmers are these people? How did the manage to keep this many healthy-looking twenty-somethings for three months? That had to be enough drugs to run a hospital. The strangest part of all of this, was that she hadn't necessarily felt like anything had happened. She felt like she had blacked out again. It was almost as though the familiarity of the situation was the worst part. But that also made her look around at the others she had been stranded with. These kids didn't look like the kind to get themselves into situations like these. In fact, they all looked like young professionals from a some short-running tv show on ABC about working for a media company in New York city. They looked like they all had the Starbucks app downloaded onto their phones. Which begged the question: Did they have something in common that landed them here together?

Just as her search was coming to a frustrating, fruitless end; it seemed that it was time for her to introduce herself. She looked up from the mess of papers in her hand, stopping, and taking a deep breath before tossing them onto the dining room table. "I'm Nat, and this is the worst escape room I've ever been to," She muttered, rather defeated. She had nothing more to say, although her gaze lingered a bit longer, studying the others to see if she could decipher anything about them. She abandoned the venture quickly, as they began breaking off.

"I might take a lap around the yard - see if there are any vehicles, and better yet, license plates on those vehicles." The idea that she had no idea where she could have possibly made it, geographically, in three months was becoming more any more worrisome. She wasn't sure she knew the map well enough, even in her home state, for it to matter; but she prayed that this was one that put the county on their plates regardless.

coded by weldherwings.