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Realistic or Modern Silent City - 'Sitting on an Open Wound'

Sub Genres
  1. Adventure
  2. Horror
  3. Mystery
OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Other
Here

Chatoyant

New Member
the lore
location
Underground.
mood
Panic Mode.
mentions
Everyone. No one directly.
Cyril Walker

The moment that masked figure materialized from the mist Cyril could feel himself losing his grip on any semblance of composure, fear seizing him in a vice grip. The pistol is aimed and fired, a bullet striking the massive slasher yet failing to slow it down despite the precise shot. More bullets are discharged in a frenzy to little avail until all that could be heard were the tell-tale clicks of an empty gun. Luck, however, must be on their side because moments before the beast launched himself at them an invisible screen held him back and the platform sucked the group down into the earth, safely out of reach.

Swallowed by darkness, Cyril let the gun drop to the floor with a clang, eyes darting through the inky blackness, heart racing with a rapidness that made him feel dizzy and the sound of his own harsh breathing surrounding them. He’s dimly aware of someone patting his back in comfort, but it barely registers through the haze of his panic. At some point Cyril’s legs give way and he ends up on the floor, head throbbing and chest feeling tight, though he hadn’t been harmed in any way before the descent. He tries to focus on...breathing. Something about breathing.

After what feels like an eternity, a blinding light banishes the darkness and his eyes grew teary from the assault on his senses, squeezing them shut and burying his face in his hands. Voices sound around him. One new, and those that were becoming more familiar with every passing minute responding; some tones accusing, all of them rather vexed. If he were in a right state of mind Cyril would certainly be having words with the man as well, but as is he was slowly winding down from an anxiety attack and felt too exhausted to react, simply sitting quietly on the platform before finally lifting his face once the light became more bearable, too tired to even be embarrassed by how wet his eyes looked.
coded by natasha.
 

saint valentine

𝙸'𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎
lynn morrison
the science
Unknown Underground
focused, empathetic
interactions

Chatoyant Chatoyant
In observing the room, Lynn turned around back to the platform they'd come off. Immediately, seeing the way that Cyril was sitting and the glint on his face she knew exactly what was going on. Muttering a shit, under her breath she didn't think before turning around completely and walking over. She sat a good six inches away, plopping herself down on the ground. Peering at him, she searched his face. Her own was painted in concern, not just as an observant viewer, but from being a victim of it herself.

The ride in the 'elevator' had been spent preventing herself from doing exactly this, but in the past she'd had plenty of panic attacks, anxiety attacks, and general fits of dissociation. Jackson always knew how to get her down though, and right back to earth. He always knew what to say, and it was always a relief to have someone who was patient enough and calm enough to be that rock. Unfortunately, Lynn was not as patient with people as Jackson was; but what she lacked in patient she made up for in undivided attention. It was one of those times where you didn't fidget around, or worry about anyone else.

"Hey, Cyril right?" She asked tilting her head. "We didn't get to introduce ourselves. My name is Lynn. Listen, we're okay now. Alright? I'm gonna need you to breathe, start counting the things in the room if you can. Just the small things, like the lockers maybe. If you can't, that's fine, just try to talk to me okay?" Her lips pressed together, and she clasped her hands in her lap.

"None of this is alright. But you were brave up there. You didn't have to be, but you were ready to take that bastard down. That's guts. It's okay to be upset about it, because everyone else would be in the same situation, right?" She was surprised at herself, mostly for finding the words that would be lost otherwise, fumbling with emotionality and the nuances of conversation. Being blunt was better to her, but even here, it was the combination of that and an eye-opening amount of relatability that she felt she could get down, mentally, with the man. Most of it was vomited verbatim from Jackson's talk downs, but it didn't matter to her. It meant a lot, inside and out, to have his words at her disposal. Made him seem close, in her own way.
coded by natasha.
 

wickedlittlecritta

the once and future twink
aleksandr romanov
the authority
The answer to his question seemed to be yes--the older guy with the cast blew past him to go give baldie a piece of his mind, and Sasha found no incentive to stop him. The girls all looked understandably spooked, but not like they wanted him to notice. And Cyril--

Cyril was on the floor, breathing shallowly and wet-eyed.

"Пиздец," Sasha muttered. He gave the brewing altercation between the two other men another look, but went to Cyril instead. If the guy with the cast punched their handler, well. Maybe he deserved it a little. Maybe Sasha would like to see it.

Lynn had gotten to Cyril first, and Sasha could not deny a certain amount of relief that she seemed to have the situation under control. Instead, he went and picked up Cyril's empty gun where it had been dropped in panic while Lynn spoke low and soothing. He double checked that it was empty before putting it in his pocket. Just to be safe. Then he squatted down a little between Cyril and Lynn, making a rough triangle between the three of them.

"Do you smoke?" Sasha asked, because it seemed like an excellent time for a cigarette, if he was in Cyril's position. "Might help." He pulled his lighter out of another pocket in his jacket and flicked it on and off idly. "You are not a half bad shot. It's different when it's for real though. You know." He could not imagine Cyril learning how to shoot, though he'd obviously done it. "Breathe, Cyril. You did the damned thing."

coded by natasha.
 

birth of venus

𝘨𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦.
bethany cohen
the youth
Somewhere underground.
Adrenaline crash.
interactions

@ Everyone.
The moments that unfolded before the group's descent down into the void left Beth's heart pumping and her ears ringing. The gunshots fired off by Cyril made her clap her hands over her ears and unwillingly scream bloody murder at the top of her lungs before the invisible shield held true and they were whipped away from Jason at the very last minute. Cue their descent into hell, or wherever it may be. The five minutes of sheer darkness afterward had her blindly scramble to sit on the floor of the children's playground and cling to the colorful bars for dear life, utterly embarrassed by her shriek of terror, but also genuinely fearful of what was to come. This was definitely, decidedly not what she signed up for.

It wasn't the risk of moving to a new city, or living by herself, or anything of her new adult life that made Beth think I miss home. She didn't admit it to herself until just then, in the wake of facing a serial killer. The thought of it made a lump rise in her throat, her bottom lip tremble just the slightest, as panic buzzed in her limbs like a beehive. 'Keep it together, girl. Don't be a crybaby now.'

"Fuck is all this then?!" Beth barked at the man in the lab coat after Holiday spoke. She still felt too weak in the knees to try and stand, and she wasn't confident in her roller-skating abilities at the moment. The adrenaline that had spiked in her system was draining now. Plus, the current state of their group wasn't encouraging at the moment. She looked over her shoulder at the two attempting to comfort Cyril, and a pang of pity hit her in the chest. Jeez Louise. "I could use a cigarette too, god damn. I think I swallowed my heart with all that excitement."
coded by natasha.
 

Squad141

The Purple Soul
Slightly stepping back from Holiday's aggressive greeting, the Mystery Man in the lab coat coughed as the other people in the room calmed down or took part in the loud confusion.

This is certainly them.

Pulling out a small binder with several papers in it, the man walked over to the small table by the lockers, turning both the table and the chair to face them. Setting out his papers, it was only then that one may realize the set-up looked quite similar to what one may call a job interview. Pulling out various files, the man cleared his throat, and started speaking.

"Let's see... okay, sorry for the hold up. Now, as you are all applicants, let's go over this one more time."

The man opened a small booklet of papers, and started reading off of them.

"Cyril Walker, journalist and infomaniac. Currently infamous for various training videos you had been hired for involving safety in Anomalous situations by independent companies, having lost your older position after releasing an article disproving the malicious gossip about the city mayor. You seem like you know you're stuff, young man. You'll be good as our book smarts head."

"Ah, of course, Iris McNamara. Daughter of the current mayor Atticus G. McNamara, and popular designer. You started your own lines at sixteen, if I'm not mistaken? It seems odd to me that several CCTV cameras have caught you roaming the streets and pummeling weaker creatures of the night with your car. You have quite the media influence as of late, and that will certainly be useful."

"Aleksandr Pavlovich Romanov, a man we've had on our radar the longest. A surpassing academic and ex-hockey player, you've been working with the CPD to help infiltrate the Russian mafia. I suppose work slowed down for you after the Doming. You're certainly skilled with combat and stealth, as well as dealing with octane situations. You'll make a fine leader."

"Whitley Holiday. I'm only skimming your records, that being about four pages long with more in my file. Several records of Juvie, four terms of high school suspension, working in several car cons and for a high alert theft ring, prison time of three years. Looks like you tried to put that behind you, huh? I remember your name. My mom loved to yell at you when we were watching the races a decade or so ago. Well, your skills with driving may come in handy. Luckily, you won't need to be licensed in this line of work."

"Lynette Marie Morrison. I'm very sorry your loss. With all, what, five of your missing persons reports. Not many people come home these days. But, besides that, you showed excellent potential with your past grades and performances, and I believe you are now working as a forensic scientist with the police? You'll be a great help around here."

"And finally, Bethany Cohen. While you are still pretty young, going the reports we have you currently are taking care of survivors in a worse part of town, as well as trying to make means meet on your own. Lucky you, you'll have a salary. You're main appeal to our team is simply a new perspective, someone who hasn't lived it long and can offer new ideas to a team of old dirtbags like myself."


The Mystery Man looked at each member as he read their file of presumably the facility owners' findings, before standing up, packing up his sheaf of papers, and placing them within a pocket of his lab coat, before walking back in front of the door he entered through.

"The six of you were sent invitations to a job application that is extremely important to the civilized area of Chicago. The Jarvis Company has started an initiative, unbeknownst to many of the CPD, in which we have been investigating, capturing, studying, anything at all to do with the entities that have invaded because of the dome. Our goal is to not only contain every creature we can, and thus clean parts of Chicago from having to endure such hardships, but also to possibly do the best possible thing for the city: find the source of the creatures, and find a way to omit the dome."

A beat of silence.

"If you wish to continue with this application, you'll follow me into what we have of our current facility. If not..."

Checking a small watch on his left wrist, the man read something to himself before continuing.

"The mist and the Jason variant above us have disappeared, and the automatons within the Oz Statues will make sure you have safe passage home."
 

Togy

The Fashionable Crab
Whitley Holiday

Holiday's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits the moment they finished talking.

"Seamus McFuckYou. A long history of generally being an asshole. Twelve cases of dodging the question, seventeen accounts of 'Not what I fucking asked', and twenty-three cases of completely derailing the conversation. You've repeatedly shown a strong lack of social awareness or any form of tact, and you tried to hide your receding hairline by shaving your head bald," Holiday drawled, not a hint of humor in his voice.

His eyes wandered towards the kid after, eyes involuntarily softening ever so slightly. Jesus, they barely looked older than Cass. Recruiting a little young, were they? Feeling his frustration grow further, Holiday took a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself. He felt the strong urge to deck the man, which, when he stopped to think about it, would really be jumping the gun and land him a night in a cell.

"Save the action hero resumes for later Scotty" he grumbled instead, leaning back against the nearest wall. The urge to just go home was tempting, much more tempting than spending his night here, but every time he thought of leaving he imagined Cass' downcast face as he told her, no, he did not join that cool shadow organization she signed him up for.
 

wickedlittlecritta

the once and future twink
aleksandr romanov
the authority
Beth's declaration that she could use a cigarette made Sasha grin and pull his pack out. He passed her a cigarette and kept one for himself. "Watch your fingers," he said, lighting hers first.

Sasha stood as the man finished reading his abbreviated resume. He lit his cigarette and took a deep inhale while envisioning storming over and kicking the table into the wall. He imagined the shriek of metal table legs failing to find purchase, of the way the papers would fly thought the air like startled birds.

It would be so satisfying.

It would not be useful.

"I hope you are not in habit of discussing classified information," Sasha said, taking measured steps closer as Holiday finished spitting vinegar and then slumped back in a dark mood. "There are a lot of people who would love to put me at the bottom of Lake Michigan if they knew what you just told the whole room." He gestured with the hand holding the cigarette before taking one of the chairs and spinning it around, sitting backwards in it with his arms crossed over the back. "I think we would all like a little more information. Like how you got all this information about us. Like how long you have been watching us. Like why if we wanted to return the favor, the Jarvis Company doesn't exist. Nothing with the mayor's office or the state. Nothing but a reddit thread locked three months ago for 'spreading conspiracies'. I hope you can see why we might be less than excited to follow you like ducklings." Anger sharpened his accent, turning that last g in ducklings into a k. Sasha frowned at the man.

"Let's start easy. You know all our names." He gestured at the group again, before gesturing at himself. "Down to my fucking отчество. So. Who are you, and what exactly do you expect the six of us to do if we join your little company?"


coded by natasha.
 

Chatoyant

New Member
the lore
location
Underground.
mood
Stressed!
mentions
Everyone.
Cyril Walker

So many things had gone wrong tonight. The barrage of his gunfire, Beth’s terrified scream that, even through the clutches of his panic, he could feel grasping him in a vice-grip of guilt, ringing through his ears the whole way down before the platform reached its, presumably, intended destination. Despite her lack of a presence, he could hear his mother’s tired sighs and his sister Shira’s accusations of theatrics. If his own family couldn’t understand the depths of his anxiety how could he expect these strangers to view him any differently? Was the respect he’d hoped to foster among this crew already lost that quickly?

The older woman he’d yet to be properly introduced to settling down closely is enough to catch Cyril’s attention at once, eyes darting toward her with a mixture of confusion and alarm before her soft voice soothes away the worst of his worries, reminding him what he needed to do to regain control; breathing in slowly and deeply through his nose and finding objects throughout the room to train his gaze on as he exhaled until the worst of it passed. “Yes - yes, that’s right. A pleasure to meet you, Lynn. Thank you…”

Her praise, however well intentioned, is somewhat embarrassing. Enough to color his pale cheeks with a hint of pink that only increases once Sasha squats down beside her to add a compliment of his own along with a cigarette. It wasn’t the kindest response, but rather than deal with the overwhelming rush of emotion flooding his chest he latched onto the fact he was being offered cancer rolled into a stick.

“Smoking is really bad for your organs, you know. The CDC estimates smoking causes more than 480,000 deaths a year in the United States alone. It’s not even just lung cancer either. Smoking can lead to strokes, cardiovascular disease, reduced blood flow, cancers in any area of the body and so much more. You ought to really consider quitting,” he scolds Sasha instead, holding up a hand to politely refuse the offered rod of death. “Um, thank you though...very kind of you.” Beth pipping up she’d take one, however, and Sasha willingly not only handing the girl one, but lighting it for her, has him staggering to his feet. “Young lady, how old are you? You shouldn’t be smoking,” he objects, sounding a touch distressed, but far more like himself. “How irresponsible can you be, Sasha?” He adds with a glare at the blond man, shaking his head in disbelief.

He nearly jumps out of his skin as the bald man addresses him first, pushing a loose, and frankly, rather damp lock of black hair behind an ear awkwardly as his dirty laundry was aired out to dry for his potential coworkers. He’s pretty sure from their reactions most of them were already familiar with his work, and it wasn’t exactly a flattering resume. “Er...thanks. What exactly does this position entail-” but, of course, by then, he’s already moved onto the next person, and the next, and the next…

Sasha and Holiday’s descriptions weren’t anymore flattering than his own, and Cyril suspects Sasha especially likely wouldn’t be happy to have his status as an undercover agent blown so carelessly. It’s impressive and explains his current outfit, or Cyril hopes so, at the very least. Iris apparently running over something with her car also elicits an eyebrow raised in her direction. She certainly hadn’t put that on Instagram. The remark about Holiday not requiring a license for whatever they had planned for them has Cyril grimacing. This organization was starting to sound shady, as if being lowered into a secret underground facility from a playground weren’t already ringing alarm bells.

Five missing persons' reports…a fresh new perspective. Beyond Iris and himself, Lynn and Bethany sounded like the most normal people here, but nonetheless extraordinary. Clearly, they’d each been selected for their individual skills, but this was no ordinary job interview nor would it likely be a normal occupation. “I think you owe us more answers. What exactly is it you want us to do for you?” He asks at nearly the same time Sasha demands similar acknowledgement, and in a far more intimidating manner at that. Indeed, it's not at all difficult to envision his high-school bully in that strongly worded accent or harsh glare and he finds himself staring at Sasha entirely too long before catching himself.

Did he even want to continue from here? He was promised a safe journey home, and truthfully, he couldn't think of anywhere he would rather be at the moment. Yet where would he be? Back where he was before. "This evening has been...taxing. I apologize for the rude greeting from my cohorts, but you didn't exactly make the best first impression and you aren't being especially forthcoming. We need more information before we commit to anything, and you owe that to your younger recruits especially."
coded by natasha.
 

birth of venus

𝘨𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦.
bethany cohen
the youth
Somewhere underground.
Suspicious, frazzled.
Holiday's harsh choice of words against the mystery man had Beth choking up, trying not to laugh at such inappropriate timing. His choice of words were certainly colorful, and not far off from what she would've said at the moment. Looking up when Sasha spoke, the girl took the cigarette with a quiet appreciation and gave a long drag once it was lit. Smoke unfurled from her nostrils like a wizened dragon, and she gave a nod and a quiet thanks in return. Oh, sweet ol' nicotine. The stress and fear weighing on her chest started to let up, bit by bit. She stood up slowly, willing her knees not to wobble as her skates threatened to slip against the shiny white floor. Cyril's words made her snap to attention. "Wow, thanks for the concern dad, but I'm an adult. I'm nineteen. I think I'm more worried about the imminent threats, like Mr. Vorhees right above our heads, than some fuckin' lung cancer, alright?" With that, she turned on her heel to cross her arms and watch the rest of the chaos unfold, puffing away like a chimney. She didn't mean to be so snappy, and regret immediately surfaced up, but Beth held a stoney straight face regardless.

The mystery man's files on everybody made her very, very nervous. It was a quiet relief that he didn't know about her major theft against her family (or at least he didn't talk about it), but that nagging worry spoke up with a new voice. It doesn't matter here anyways. The girl kicked off on her skates and slowly rolled across the floor, and she pointed an accusatory finger at the bald man.

"What my friends said. I don't like this either, but I'm in. Youse better not be fuckin' with us." Beth narrowed her eyes, mood turning deadly. Her long nails grabbed the half spent cigarette from her lips and flicked it to the floor, and the toe of her rollerskate smothered it out. The girl rolled off silently to join Holiday on the wall.

"Listen," Beth spoke up after a minute, arms crossed like an angry child. "Can you grab my arm for a second? I just wanna take off these stupid skates, but if I try and sit down I'm gonna bust my ass 'cause the floor is slippery." She glanced at him once before turning her gaze towards the opposite wall, feeling extremely silly.
coded by natasha.
 

Squad141

The Purple Soul
"I suppose I have been pretty vague... okay then. If you're asking questions, I can safely assume you are at least a little more than interested. My name is Thomas Jarvis, and I am the Head Scientist and Founder of the Jarvis Company, the one that contacted you. The company and this facility have only been around for about a year, and despite that we try and make sure we stay off the public radar as much as possible. We've been working with certain sects of the C.P.D. who share ideals with us, allowing access to their databases and cameras across the Chicago area. We recruited each of your because of your unique skillsets, and most likely ability to work as a team, despite your many differences."

The man turned slightly, and swiped his card that hung from a lanyard on his neck. The sliding door behind opened.

"Please, follow me."

Reluctantly or not, the six people of different backgrounds exited the chamber, and entered a circular room with six doors, each with a label above them. The one they had just exited from was labeled as 'HATCH'. The others included 'ANTIQUITIES', 'DIGITALS', 'CELLBLOCK', 'DASHBOARD', and 'STAFF QUARTERS'.

"I established this company after losing both my parents and my brother to an incident on the port. There was news that an assortment of freakish creatures took them, dragging them below the surface. I was by myself, and the most I had was their resources and their inheritance. So I decided to do something about it. The government here has done nearly nothing to try and save people, with many just trying to run or hide. Most of you have the skills and/or the will to try and combat these creatures, but my idea was something more. We study them. Figure out how they tick. Of course, each individual entity has source material, but how do they work? What brought them here? What is the point of the dome, and how does it perfectly cover the entirety of Chicago, including mountains, suburbs, and fielded areas?"

Jarvis scanned his card again, and opened the door to the 'ANTIQUITIES' area.

It was like a museum.

Items were in glass cases or covered in protective material, each with a small screen in front of them. Small rolling tables and stools lay about haphazardly, with a few tools glinting off of the fluorescent lights. Each item looked different, but had a different sort of containment procedure. For some reason, despite them being nothing other than inanimate objects, these things gave off a deafening aura of menace.

Jarvis opened his hands, and finally gave an explanation.


"We asked you all here to apply for a task force of sorts. You would be our field team, someone who helps with investigation and capturing of entities, someone who can be out there while we use more time to study and work on what we have in here. It wouldn't just be helping yourselves, but your families, and everyone in the city. It would be a service unlike any other on Earth."

Looking at a few of the objects around, Jarvis scoffed.

"While you're considering, feel free to look around. I promise they're all completely safe, and our tech man, FRED, can help explain some of them."
 

saint valentine

𝙸'𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎
lynn morrison
the science
Underground - ANTIQUITIES
curious, enthralled
interactions

N/A
The man's individual assessments of them not only illuminated the missing names she'd wanted so badly to cling to, for reasons of paranoia, but caused a flash of scarlet to dash across her cheeks at his own call-out of her. Hopefully to the others, they wouldn't look too deeply into it. Being too afraid to ask her co-workers how many police reports were too many to file on a missing person and googling it instead was one of her most embarrassing claims to fame. It caused a shadow to fall over her, as a result, with the jaded knife of a missing lover inserted back into her heart.

Jarvis wouldn't have to say much to convince her. With a trembling lip, confronted with this new reality, she'd happily launched forward to follow him-- damn the cautiousness of the others. In any other scenario she would have hung back as well, as was her nature, but this was... different. In the least scary way possible, it was a new future. It was the same strength that had inspired her to respond to the email. Knowing now that they were devoted to finding and cataloging these monsters, she wondered if-- just maybe-- she'd be able to find out what happened to Jackson.

It was a tiny enough flicker of hope. Enough to keep her legs moving.

As she followed, Jarvis' words couldn't help but stick themselves to her brain: The mist and the Jason variant above us have disappeared.

She'd not done enough searching in the depths of the internet for people's conspiracy theories about this whole dome thing. Her own paranoia was consuming enough, she didn't need to fuel it with the ramblings of others far more crazy than herself. The notion that there were variants, as well, of these horror movie villains made her think. For the longest time, hearing and seeing the reports, she'd figured it just psychotic costume players psychotic on the streets. Some sort of mass drug hallucination too, if you asked her (her most favourite theory, that managed to put some ease to her worried mind).

It was too much to bother with now, presented with a vast room with glass covers. Objects, vast and covered, or in some form of containment. The name alone, ANTIQUITIES, made her a bit excited. Trying to hold it back, Lynn nodded, listening to Jarvis as he explained.

She wandered up to one of them, holding back the urge to start rushing between each of them to investigate. The curious soul in her quaked, and she looked over at her shoulder frequently to the others to see what they were looking at.
coded by natasha.
 

wickedlittlecritta

the once and future twink
aleksandr romanov
the authority
underground
interactions

all
It was like stepping into a cross between an art museum and a horror aficionado's collection room, when they followed Jarvis into the room marked "Antiquities." Props from nearly a dozen different movies sat neatly under glass cases as if they were priceless ancient pots or jewellery in that starkly light room. His protests that some of them were certainly doing more than running and hiding, thank you very much, went unvoiced as Sasha bent a little to look at the closest case and the circus themed music box within it. The thing gave him the creeps more than it really had any right to.

Jarvis was right. He wasn't going to go. Not when the alternative was going back to throwing himself into the wall that was being a beat cop. But information never hurt.

"I assumed they came from the collective unconscious, in the uh, Jungian sense, though I suppose if that's true it leaves us with more questions than answers," Sasha said. He stepped away from the case and looked back at Jarvis. "By 'capture entities,' do you mean more of these--" he gestured at the artifacts with the hand holding his cigarette "--or like our good friend Mister Voorhees?" he finished, pointing to the ceiling.

coded by natasha.
 

Folklore

𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮
Iris McNamara
The Media
Antiquities
spicy
letterman jacket streetwear
When the old guy began to read her file, her spine straightened and her wintry eyes hit the negatives. Though there was a hint of pride at the mention of her father, nothing more was given at the rest of her file's blurb. Great. So now she'll be known as the crazy fashionista with a vehicular manslaughter obsession.

Now... that might not actually be a bad thing, looking at the rest of them. Other than would-be MILF, she was pretty barren when it came to— oop. Nope, the goth too. How cute, with their rollerblades. They would definitely cut her though. Awesome. She couldn't help but snicker at the pimp's claim of confidential information. It sounded like it, of course, but... She snickered again.

Iris was quick to follow after the old guy, eyes fixed intently on her surroundings. Digitals? That caught her eye immediately. How intriguing. It all was, actually, she finally admitted to herself. It wasn't like her to find any excitement in life anymore, except for hitting shit with her car, but this was something exciting. "Sorry for your loss," Iris said through her chewing. She sounded damn near ingenuine, but that might have been because her focus was elsewhere.

From what she could hear though, she could tell they were likeminded. No one was doing anything. It seemed like people have given up and looked in the other direction after every new news report. The faces she would see in the mornings after slasher watches or just weird anomalies grew heavy upon her shoulders. "They usually don't tick after you hit them with a car," Iris joked quietly to herself, bumping shoulders with whoever was closest, who happened to be Cyril. She was happy to see him up and moving after his panic attack.

The Antiquities section was creepy, if she was being honest. She suppressed a shiver and opted to listen to Pimp, creeping closer to hear the answer. If they had to capture entities, she can't say that she'd be opposed, but she would be screaming the entire time. Or maybe not. She doesn't really scream. Just... glares angrily at things in response. So maybe her pride would remain in tact. "I think you chose the wrong girl for capturing, but I could make due. I suppose," she finished with a sigh, as though it were some chore.

She'd grown to love the bump and crunch beneath her wheels.
coded by natasha.
 

Chatoyant

New Member
the lore
location
Underground.
mood
Stressed!
mentions
Everyone.
Cyril Walker

Cyril’s lips persed at the snappish response from Beth, arms crossing over his chest. His last conversation with Iris before their mad scramble to the platform should've taught him to hold his tongue, but frankly an attitude like that would land this kid in trouble sooner rather than later. “Smoking is a silent killer. I understand we have more pressing worries at the moment, but that’s no excuse not to consider your future and what could harm you later down the line. You want to survive all this only to die later in life from cancer?” He asks with a shake of his head. “19 is also hardly an adult. You’re still just a teenager.”

He falls silent again once their host begins speaking, hesitating for the briefest moment before ultimately following the rest of the group as they trailed after the bald man. This was all a lot to take in. Repeated mentions of Jason Voorhees and variants has his head spinning. Was he trying to say the creatures stalking the city were literal versions of horror movie villains? That was inexplicable! Impossible! Yet wasn’t the dome itself a mystery that couldn't be explained away by science? At least not yet with the information at their disposal. Cyril can agree that a company like Jarvis was sorely needed in this environment, and as they enter the Antiquities room, surrounded by various items that seemed to have relation to the beings hunting them Cyril has some regrets over not being more familiar with horror lore.

The friendly bump from Iris shakes him from his thoughts for a moment, an amused smile crossing his face. “I’m thinking, perhaps, our host wants them alive for research purposes.” With that said his attention shifts to Jarvis. "How would you propose we, ah...catch these entities? Will we be trained?" Sasha's possible explanation for the current predicament has him frowning a bit. A result of the collective unconscious? Cyril wouldn't consider himself a fan of that theory, but even he had to admit everything befalling them now was bizarre beyond comprehension.
coded by natasha.
 

Togy

The Fashionable Crab
Whitley Holiday
There was something inherently unnatural about, well, everything he'd seen tonight. You didn't just dodge death by Voorhees and you didn't just get beamed down to an underground lab. And most importantly, you didn't just go along with it with a feeling of 'Why the hell not' because life was already weird enough, so what's a little more bullshit to the mix?

From his point of view, he had two options. One, follow that mindset, and two, do the smart, responsible thing and go home and sleep for a week. It was concerning how he was genuinely leaning towards the first.

Mulling over his options, Holiday fiddled with his cast from behind the group. "Okay, so, suppose, for a brief moment, I'm batshit enough to sign up for this dime-store horror emporium. Where would we start?".
 

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