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

[Squad141]

Send New Email

New Email Received

jco@ozlan.co

Job Application

This is the second email from this address you will be getting.

Tomorrow night. Meet at Oz Park near the Scarecrow Statue.
If you are serious about this, instructions will follow.

SUNDAY
11:45 PM

The night itself was full of shadows. It was especially misty in the neighborhoods near Oz Park, with many of the residents hauled up within their homes due to recent reports of a slasher in the nearby region. No moonlight lit the world, as it had been since the dome appeared. Street lanterns were lighting the paved streets encircling the average-sized park, as the time drew near for the participants. Whether they knew there was more than one of them or not, they had all accepted the email, and shown up to the desired location. Thick fog began to funnel in, but no other noises could be heard save their own breaths.

The night was the beginning of the end.
The night was the first of many.

Silent City
Episode 1: Opening Move​

 

[Folklore-Frith]

Iris McNamara

The Media

Oz Park

curious & spicy

letterman jacket streetwear

interactions

@all

Iris drew her jacket closer to her body. Her wintry gaze was scouring the area like a hawk, and she was fighting against the shaking in her body. To the outside viewer, Iris looked the furthest thing from scared. Cool, calm, collected and flat out fucking annoyed. Who would send them out here at night during a slasher watch? The audacity. Instructions would follow, her ass. Her one solace was how thick the mist itself was. It cloaked her well enough, though if these slashers were anything like those in the scary movies, then they would be able to see her perfectly. It was a body-quaking possibility that made her clench her teeth.

Iris wasn't allowed to die tonight. Curiosity drove her here, but it wouldn't drive her into an early grave.

When she finally arrived, her feather-light steps came to a halt and out of the mist came people, each looking like they were searching for something in their own ways. Like Iris. It looked like the person—or people—that were supposed to be giving their instructions would be staying anonymous. How cliché. Iris chewed her gum slowly. "I hope everyone's having a good night." There was a mean bite to her words as her irritation seeped into her words, like blood on cotton. "Hope we don't die. Blah, blah, blah." She trailed off, as if she couldn't be bothered, with her brows quirking as she pulled out her phone and began to look at her email again. Awaiting instructions. Like a... fast food worker, or something. Do they do that? Probably.

coded by natasha.

 

[Togy]

Whitley Holiday
Two hours ago​

There was nothing quite like having your wrist snapped in three places to make you appreciate how nice it was to not have your wrist snapped in three places.

The hospital had been decent. All he had to do was lay in bed and say stuff like "Yes doc", "Of course doc", "If you make me swallow that, you're picking your teeth off the floor, doc". Simple stuff, really. What wasn't simple was getting a ride back home. Cass could drive, sure, but there was a degree of humility in asking your teenaged daughter to pick you up from the hospital that Holiday just didn't have. He'd called Toby first, his boss, but all he got were some flowers in the mail and a get well soon card, which while appreciated, wasn't what he asked for.

Next he'd tried Kat, and they'd sounded just a tiny bit absolutely-shitfaced, so naturally he'd asked for her to spare him a round so she hung up on him and he wasn't really sure if she was going to pick him up or not. And wow, now that he thought about it, he really needed to meet more people. His boss, his daughter, and his sister-in-law. That was the primary group of people he talked to nowadays. Honestly, that was a little sad.

Then he was stuck waiting out in the cold for like two hours, he probably got a cold and maybe Frostbite and he was pretty sure he saw Jason Voorhees skirting the edge of his vision so he just decided to call it a night and hail a cab home.

When he stepped past the work crew fixing the glass front of his apartment building and scrubbing the tire marks off the floor, he pointedly ignored the withering glare from his landlady as he took the elevator up to his floor. Rent was probably going to spike up after that stunt. Yikes.

With a half-hearted "I'm home!" Holiday limped into his simple three-bedroom apartment. An absolute steal considering Chicago's housing market, all things considered. One bedroom for him, another for his daughter, and a third guest bedroom for when Kat decided to drop by under the pretense of being the "Fun aunt" before scurrying back to the pit from which she came a week later. The woman ate him out of house and home, he would've kicked her to the curb the first time around if Cass hadn't been so enamored by her.

A tired grunt welcomed him from where a sharply dressed woman had burrowed herself into his couch cushions. It sounded strangely like "Fuck off".

Well, he could appreciate her dropping by his house to check up on Cass while he was at the hospital, but he'd really prefer if she stop doing that right now because he was pretty sure she was drooling on his couch.

Pulling out a towel from the kitchenette joined to the living room, Holiday cautiously stepped towards the slumbering bodyguard. Gently, cautiously, ever-so perilously putting the towel between her mouth and the cushions, Holiday jumped back just as the sleeping woman shot out with a hand. Grasping air, she mumbled something incomprehensible and went back to spooning a pillow that was probably stolen from his room.

Holiday let out a sigh of relief. He didn't want his wrist snapped a fourth time thank you very much.

He smiled lightly at his daughter from where she was sprawled across the kitchen counter, long brown hair spilling into the sink as she snored loudly. Not bothering to even wonder how that happened, he inspected a tray of horribly burnt and disfigured cookies that may or may not have been chocolate chip. His wine drawer was also noticeably empty. So, if he was piecing together the events correctly, Kat dropped by, helped Cass burn some cookie dough, let her fall asleep with half her head in the sink, stole his beer, got hammered, and fell asleep on his couch.

It said a lot about his life when that made perfect sense.

His laptop was splayed out on the counter beside his daughter. Curious, Holiday looked to the screen to find it was on his email. Snorting, he began to look through his mail.

"Do you look through my Email, or is this just a one-time thing?" He asked, lightly, not even aiming the question at his daughter as he deleted spam.

"...I d'know" his daughter mumbled through her own snores, apparently not as asleep as he thought.

Raising an eyebrow, he gave a glance to Cass before resuming his scrolling. One piece of mail caught his eye, and it didn't seem like spam, so he clicked on it. His eyebrows gradually furrowed more and more as he read farther into the email. Mumbling the words as he read, Holiday couldn't care less if his daughter or sister-in-law heard him. Backing out, he found another email under the same sender. Apparently, his account had replied to the first about wanting to go with whatever the hell this was.

Eyes trailing to the teenager snoring obnoxiously loud a foot to his right, Holiday let out a long-struggling sigh. "Goddammit Cass..."

Naturally, he deleted both emails because no-thank-you. He had enough shit to worry about in his life, they could take up the next guy to come along. He wasn't the kind of guy who went out and saved the day before dinner, he just wasn't. He had his job to worry about, his rent, his daughter who didn't look up to him, who he only saw occasionally nowadays, who responded to the mystery email he'd gotten for some god forsaken reason, probably because they thought he had it in him to do it even though he couldn't picturing himself playing hero in a million years and-

Fucking hell, that girl was going to be the death of him. Writing a quick note about where he'll be and taping it to the door, Holiday hurried to shrug on his coat and get out the door. The email said the meet was tomorrow night, but the email was sent yesterday, so it already was tomorrow night.

Rushing back into his apartment because he forgot his keys, Holiday broke three traffic laws and the speed limit in his rush to the park.

--Now--
​

Out of breath from running across the entire park looking for the scarecrow statue, Holiday's natural reaction was to put a cigarette between his lips and light it. Trudging through the misty night air, his brown hair and white suit equally disheveled as the slings of his cast hung heavy around his neck, Holiday found the scarecrow statue.

Eyes wandering around the shadowy park, Holiday missed the sight of the others approaching.

"God, this better not be a mugging" Holiday mumbled, then winced as he realized he really should've looked into that email more thoroughly.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Aleksandr Romanov

The Authority

Oz Park

open

Give me a fight I can't resist

Most nights approaching midnight Sasha was gearing up for a graveyard shift beat, but tonight he was off, and so he'd made his way down to Lincoln Park before daylight had completely gone. The neighborhood went dead as the light died and the reports of the local slasher came in. Sasha listened to the police scanner over the ap on his phone, one earbud in. He was glad he wasn't on duty tonight, even though this wasn't his beat.

He bought cigarettes at a smoke shop from a clerk who was absolutely stoned, but Sasha decided that that was none of his business. He bought a box of cookies from the shop next door that stayed open until three. At lot of places didn't actually stay open that late anymore, but the woman at the counter had biceps bigger than his, and Sasha was willing to bet that she was willing to beat Pyramid Head's ass if it came to it.

And then he was out in the street in the fog, and his phone said it was 11:30. He left his bike where he'd parked it on the street and went on foot into the park, lighting a cigarette as he went. Between the motorcycle jacket and the combat boots and the asshole cop walk, Sasha didn't think anyone would bother him, unless he had the bad luck to be the one to run into the slasher, but that was what he was carrying for. The SIG Sauer was a comforting weight at the small of his back, hidden under his jacket.

He was not the first person to arrive under the scarecrow statue. He gave them all a quick once over, as if he could really see much of them in the fog. "Здравствуйте. Anybody want a cookie?" he asked, holding the box out.

coded by natasha.

 

[BELIAL.]

lynn morrison

the science

Oz Park

unsure, perturbed

interactions

wickedlittlecritta

It was one thing to respond to a slightly suspicious, might-have-been-spam email about a potential job offer, but it was another entirely to meet at quarter to midnight in the middle of a park. Lynn'd sat at her computer, mouth agape and staring with an incredulous look of 'are you kidding me right now?' Clicking on and off of it a few times, taking a few more sips of her wine, wondering how the hell things had gotten like this.

It was more than a shot in the dark at this point, but no other option had presented itself. Her savings were already running low; when Jackson had gone missing so had all his bank cards and cash. Of course, she wouldn't have used it anyway, not until it was life or death. Some moral precedent, if you'd asked her; it's obviously unethical, she'd continue; like robbing the dead, she'd think.

It took her twenty minutes to leave her car despite living not too far from the park, as she'd been stuck staring off into the deep shadows outside. There was something awful about the way the dome covered the stars and the moonlight. Darkness was darker. More of a sinking void, oozing with lucid nightmares, than anything derived from reality. Lynn hated it. She already taken extra precautions before leaving the apartment, always checking over her shoulder just in case. Making sure the backseat was empty, just in case. She wasn't paranoid: she was cautious. Stupid mistakes were miscalculated ones, and Lynn was quite the long divider. All it took was one moment of carelessness for a life to be over. She woke up everyday wondering if it would be her last.

Maybe that was too much. The eyes that she felt glued to her windows were enough to put her in this state, months now being spent with her blinds shut and going out in organized and sporadic grocery trips. That's why she'd taken the job offer. She missed her work, desperately, despite being too afraid most days to even look outside. If there was a chance, any, of putting her life back together, she was going to take it.

Now, there they were, apparitions in the fog, assembling around the statue. Her hands were stuffed in her coat pockets, shoulders up to her ears and her heel was tapping just slightly. She was keen to say nothing, simply waiting for whoever they were supposed to meet, but the other seemed to want to break the silence. Lynn really didn't mind the quiet. Cigarette smoke made its way over to her, making her nose wrinkle.

She looked to the blonde girl who spoke, and then to the smoking man with the... cookies? Between the two of them being the first ones to break the silence, she was not looking forward to things.

"Em... I'm alright--thanks. Not keen on taking cookies from strangers." Her accent was clipped, the British she'd grown up with having faded gradually over the past decades. With the way she was staring at Sasha, eyes wide and lips pursed unamusedly, her tone of voice made it clear she was quite perturbed by the offer. Her gaze flickered to the others, wondering if anyone would accept.

coded by natasha.

 

[E q u i n o x]

the lore

location

Oz Park.

mood

Spooked™.

mentions

Everyone.

Cyril Walker

He must truly, irrevocably, be out of his g-d forsaken mind. With a flashlight clutched shakily in one hand and the other resting against a borrowed pistol fastened to his belt, Cryil made his way through the thick haze shrouding the park, coffee colored irises seeking out the indicated landmark with feverish desperation. Every sound made him jump and whirl to face the sound, heartbeat increasing erratically and streams of light breaking through the fog in any which direction Cyril swung until he convinced himself there wasn’t anything stalking him through the night, continuing forward.

“Why are you doing this, Cyril? This isn’t you,” he could hear his mother’s voice playing on repeat and not for the first time Cryil wished he’d listened. The fist email alone had been cryptic enough not even considering the contents of the second. Calling them out after reported slasher sightings was just the icing on the cake. He couldn’t stop thinking about this being some sick prank, luring him out to his death. Usually he was smarter than this. He’d always been cautious, ever since he was a boy. This had to be the stupidest thing he's ever done and, unfortunately, Cyril has a whole list of inane feats done within his lifetime.

The dim lighting the street lamps emitted through the mist, set beneath utter darkness as the dome kept the moon and stars from shedding their natural glow, only adds to the unnerving ambiance and Cyril finds himself losing his nerve, pausing and placing a hand over his chest as if to keep his heart from ejecting out of his ribcage, taking in a few deep, calming breaths. He’d already come this far. Danger or not, something inside of him must think this opportunity was worth it or he wouldn’t be here, so for once Cyril resolves to trust his initial intuition on the matter and forces his feet forward.

The relief he feels is palpable once the looming, motionless form of the scarecrow statue comes into view, as did the living figures that surrounded it. He didn’t stop to allow himself time to doubt that they were other people like him, stumbling into the crowd with a thankful wheeze and extremely out of breath despite walking almost the entire way here. He doubles over for a moment in an attempt to draw more oxygen into his lungs, one hand on his knee while the other still grips that flashlight for dear life as if it were his savior.

A few voices break the silence, two he feels are familiar yet can’t quite put a finger on. The offer of cookies preceded by a Russian greeting should’ve elicited more concern than it did but by now his blood sugar was running low and honestly if he was going to die tonight he might as well consume some sweets before his untimely demise. “Большое спасиб,” he responds in turn before reaching almost blindly forward, only turning to Sasha with gratitude after he’d devoured one with the fervor of someone who hasn’t eaten in hours.

It’s only once their gazes meet that an unpleasant sense of recognition floods him and the second cookie slips from his fingers. Cyril might not be able to recognize voices by themselves, but he rarely forgot faces and Sasha’s was certainly difficult to forget between those unusual mismatched eyes and the fact he was the definition of an relentless ogre in high school. His eyes flicker to Iris at once, a much more pleasant sight in comparison, but two people from his past ending up in the same place as him is quite the uncanny coincidence and he backs away with a startled expression, stopped only by his back slamming into the statue.

“I- What are - this isn’t...this isn’t, ah, quite what I expected.”

coded by natasha.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

aleksandr romanov

the authority

the Scarecrow, Oz Park

Give me a fight I can't resist

interactions

BELIAL. , E q u i n o x

Sasha frowned at the woman declining his cookies, though he supposed he could see where she was coming from. He took the cigarette from his mouth as he shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, and took a cookie for himself, cigarette still hanging between his index and middle finger. He took a bite and then made a face. "Maybe you were right and I was trying to poison you. I forgot some of these were vegan," he added. But he shrugged and kept eating, because a chocolate chip cookie was still a chocolate chip cookie.

One of the others' reactions to the cookies was much more satisfying, particularly with the Russian response, and there was a smug, See? on the tip of Sasha's tongue before the other man dropped his second cookie, giving Sasha a look of recognition and horror, and began babbling. Sasha frowned, trying to place him. He did look familiar...from high school? What was his name? Cyrus? Cyril. The dorky nerd who grew up to be a dorky journalist. Sasha grinned at him.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Cyril," he said. Sure, they hadn't been friends in high school, but that was half a lifetime ago now. Who wasn't the worst version of themselves at fifteen? "Did you want another cookie that hasn't been on the ground?"

coded by natasha.

 

[Folklore-Frith]

Iris McNamara

The Media

Oz Park

curious & spicy

letterman jacket streetwear

interactions

E q u i n o x wickedlittlecritta

An asshole offering her a cookie through the mist isn't what she expected to be met with. Maybe some weird—no, no, it was weird. Offering cookies to strangers in the dark during a slasher watch was, in fact, weird. Satisfied with that thought, Iris looked at him, then to the cookies. Iris shrugged, the action itself seeming to harbor so much attitude it would make a mother red in the face. Slender fingers plucked a cookie from the box and her eyes dissected the man. His outfit, specifically. How... asshole-y. Was this guy a cop or something? Acted like one.

Despite her social standing, she immediately wanted to pat her pockets. Iris didn't have her weed on her, but it didn't hurt to check. And she did so, subtly.

"Thanks. Bold of you, by the way." Iris said, taking a bite of the cookie to let the perfect amount of time pass. "To leave the house wearing that." Iris finished her cookie easily after peering over at the woman who declined, giving her a look that said same with you, and looked around as the cop-y fucker offered more cookies. There was someone else that reached out to grab it, but it seemed something spooked them. They dropped the cookie and Iris' eyes wandered over to Butter Fingers, only to spot someone she already knew. "Oh, hey Weasel," Iris greeted, a tinge of surprise spotting her words. "Don't forget to pick that up. No littering in my dad's city." There was not an ounce of joking hidden in her words. They would be sharper, if she hadn't decided that she liked the man. Not for his comical appearance on every bit of media, but for whatever bits of his personality he exposed to her.

The eloquently worded article about her golden boy of a father didn't hurt either. It definitely helped his image after a small stumble in his work. And it got Cyril in trouble with his job. Doing good by her father was one of the ways into Iris's caged little heart. She couldn't deny that it was sweet of him to do what most journalists wouldn't, and thus, when she saw that expression sitting on his face, Iris couldn't help but turn her cold eyes to Combat Boots, and waited. He knew his name, and his face made Cyril drop a perfectly good cookie. Not a good start.

coded by natasha.

 

[Togy]

Whitley Holiday​

There were four people there already, so either it was a poorly disguised group mugging or some kind of group interview. He drew the line at putting effort into getting the job. If he was supposed to compete against these four to get hired, then he was just going home. God forbid they pulled some Indiana Jones bullshit and made them solve some inane puzzle relating to the statue and some hidden door. That sounded like a nightmare if he were honest. He'd been awake at least twenty hours at this point, his wrist was broken, and he hadn't even gotten the chance to wash down his misery with alcohol.

The first one to catch his eyes was young, had to be just out of college or around that age. Blonde, expensive-looking clothing, the works. Probably some trust-fund baby. He wouldn't call her pretty, mostly due to how creepy that would sound coming from a man twice her age. The other woman, early thirties at best, he could describe as pretty, but again, creepy, he was a random guy walking towards her in the dead of night. Just by looking at her, he could guess they had this scholarly aura around them. Probably because they looked a lot like his old Chemistry teacher. The man offering cookies, who must not have gotten out much, made Holiday stop. They looked like a man in their late-twenties dressing up as a So-Cal douchebag. Usually, that's a look exclusive to frat kids, but who was he to judge?

The last one, the nervous little wreck stuttering about cookies or something, he actually recognized. Somewhat. Wasn't the guy on YouTube? He was pretty sure his daughter watched the guy, made her laugh like crazy watching the poor shmuck run for the hills in every video. From what he could gather, it was less of a "Laughing with them" kind of deal and more of a "Laughing uncontrollably at this poor loser running for his life". Once, he vividly remembered Cass laughing so hard a walnut got stuck in her throat and she almost choked to death on the carpet. That...that had been a day.

What was his name? Something...something? Sounded about right. He really should've picked this up by now, Cass wouldn't shut up about those kinds of videos. He'd had to endure a two-hour spiel about whatever the hell Buzzfeed Unsolved was once, and hopefully, he'd never have to again.

"So I wasn't the only one gullible enough to show up? Good to know," Holiday interrupted, stepping into view before dropping his used cigarette into the grass and squashing it with the toe of his shoe. It wasn't like he hadn't heard the prom queen's comment about littering, he'd just done so purely to piss her off was all.

 

[birth of venus]

bethany cohen

the youth

The Scarecrow, Oz Park

Curiosity: piqued.

Cop Car - Mitski

interactions

@ Everyone.

The state of Beth's shitty little studio apartment was stressful, to say the least.

There were three adults in and out of her apartment at the moment. There was Patricia, the adult daughter of an elderly woman named Meredith. The two had taken refuge there when Beth spotted them attempting to escape the jaws of some oozing, slithering sewer creature. And then there was Randall, some street rat of a kid who she didn't trust for a second, but was only a year or two older than her, and Beth just couldn't shake seeing the resemblance he had to her brother Judas. He had been shaking like a leaf with a stab wound in his back from a slasher's failed attempt at killing him, and laid on a folded up comforter on her wooden floor for a few months while recuperating. They were far from a family, but Beth didn't want that from them. She was just glad not to be alone in their current hell hole of a city. The girl knew she had been in a position to help, and so she had to help them. Her conscious probably would've choked her in her sleep if she didn't.

The other factor adding to Beth's stress: the money.

One of the walls of her apartment was exposed red brick. It could've been quite stylish actually, if it wasn't old and slowly crumbling. Behind one of the loose bricks lays nine thousand dollars in cold hard cash. Stacks of hundred dollar bills, held together by hair ties and rubber bands. Beth hadn't realized just how much damn money she had stolen when she left home, not until she arrived in Chicago and looked through her backpack in the bus stop's bathroom. Originally, it was twelve thousand, but the guilt ate her up so damn much she could barely bring herself to spend it. And so there it sat, gathering dust. What to do with it, Beth had no idea, but it was in a safe hiding spot, so she compartmentalized the best that she could.

Now, the girl sat in bed reading over the e-mail again. It was short, straight to the point. She could appreciate the pragmatism. It didn't take more than five minutes for her to make the decision after hearing a rattling cough from Meredith across the room. Money? They had money. Beth could easily give it to them and help pay for the old woman's medical treatment and get them somewhere safe. But medicine was expensive, and Beth wasn't sure how far it would get them. It wouldn't hurt to check out the opportunity presented from the e-mail. Plus, her curiosity was filling her head to the brim with the wild possibilities of what could happen.

Clad in a simple long sleeve shirt and jeans, Beth pulled on a pair of rollerskates at the door and laced them up tight. "I know it's late, but I'll be back soon. Gonna meet someone at Oz Park. Try and get some sleep, yeah?" She said with a faux casualness, and looked up from her seat on the floor at Meredith, who was laid out on the couch.
"Oh, make sure you're safe. I have some candies in my bag for you dear, grab some if you'd like. And it'll be chilly outside, make sure to wear a jacket!"
The motherly tone made her throat tighten. Beth nodded silently, and from the coatrack next to the front door, she pulled on a leather trench coat. Damn, I probably look like those fuckin' slashers from outside. Maybe that'll be a good thing.

She also grabbed a good handful of those little strawberry flavored hard candies, the kind that old ladies always have. In case of emergency, of course.

-

The mist of the park was palpable, leaving a moisture on her skin that only added to the chills running down her spine as Beth skated through the streets to Oz Park. It was close enough that she didn't need to drive (and even if she wanted to drive, she didn't have a car or a license, and the city bus sucked), and so Beth ventured into the night armed with a switchblade in her pocket and a pair of tennis shoes in her mini backpack. In case she needed to run, or if her feet got tired. Priorities, y'know?

Voices soon cut through the mist as she approached the statue, and the girl skidded to a stop once she reached the group. Her hopes hadn't been high, but jeez, Beth had no idea what to think of any of them. Some blondie with a pinched face, a more mature woman looking equally pensive, a skeevy car salesman, a cop (a profession worse than a skeevy car salesman, in her eyes), and that one funny guy on Twitter's trending page for Chicago.

"Guess I'm late to the party. Didn't know I was supposed to bring snacks," Beth said with that thick Boston accent, dripping with sarcasm. "I brought some strawberry candies if anyone wants some. Also, what are we even doing here?"

coded by natasha.

 

[Squad141]

As the six arrived, a sound was heard. A sort of small whirring, like a small electronic car, or maybe some kind of circuit. Looking up, one could find that instead, it was the whirring of the Scarecrows mechanical eyes looking down at the invitees with the uncanny smiling expression, grazing over each of them slowly, beeping each time it hit one of the six.

Quickly, it swiveled back up. It looked around, and seemed like it was... nervous? With another smaller beep, the eyes seemed to go inactive, and each person's mobiles beeped. There was a new email from that odd address.

Send New Email

New Email Received

jco@ozlan.co

EMERGENCY

Plans have changed. We must move along faster that anticipated. The Slasher Watch has become a Slasher Warning. It's an A-Lister.
Get to the playground in the center of the park, as quietly and quickly as you can. Climb onto the top platform, and wait there.
Be smart. Do not play into his hands.

The mist seems to grow thicker. The lights almost seem dimmer, but that could be a trick of the mind. In the silence, without the whirring of the statues eyes, you hear something else.

Ki ki ki.....ha ha ha....

 

[Togy]

Whitley Holiday​

Holiday, instinct driving his actions, pressed the reply button on the email immediately. Typing out a quick response, he pressed send and delivered the none-too eloquent message of "Fuck you" to the assholes putting his life on the line.

Okay, panic later. Fear for his life could set in once he got the fuck outta dodge. Snapping his fingers, the loudest sound he was willing to make, he made a circular motion with his hand before shooting a thumb towards the playground. 'Group huddle, move forward'. He hoped he'd gotten the message across.

He was dead serious here. Life or death. No time for snarky bullshit now. He didn't want to die because Jason motherfucking Voorhees heard him call tiger-print over there a high-school has been. Dammit, he knew he'd seen the fucker outside the hospital. Suddenly, a horrifying thought struck Holiday. What if Jason was after him? God forbid they'd stalked him all the way from the hospital. That wasn't likely though, Holiday wasn't nearly important enough to have a slasher focus on him. Besides, didn't Voorhees usually go after naked teens? Man, he was regretting sleeping through those horror marathons with Cass now.

His car was in another direction from the playground, but that could only fit two people, three if they squeezed. He wasn't enough of an asshole to just leave the other three, so he was riding on the idea that his interviewers weren't complete asshats trying to get them all killed and actually knew what they were doing.

Taking a tentative step forward in the direction of the playground, Holiday didn't dare go further without knowing the others were following him.

 

[BELIAL.]

lynn morrison

the science

Oz Park

freaked the fuck out

interactions

everyone, but mostly Togy

Her surprise at Sasha's response turned into a malignant contempt when she heard his response, eyebrows furrowing as her mouth opened in protest. Well she hadn't assumed they were poisoned! She liked vegan anyhow, just not with a side of 'I-don't-know-who-the-hell-you-are'. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and crossed her arms, trying not to scoff too loudly. Their little group had grown by one, and still she recognized no one. The guy with the dark hair seemed familiar in the way that most guys with dark hair did, but she thought nothing of it; save for his very visceral reaction to the man who held the cookies. She said nothing but trained her eyes on the two, wondering if she missed the memo on everyone knowing each other. Her gaze dropped to the fallen cookie as it hit the ground, bits scattered into their misty shadows beneath the street lights.

Cyril. That was one name she didn't have to ask for later. She blonde girl perked up at the fallen cookie, mentioning something about her Dad's city. 'Strange that a Mayor's daughter is in on this as well.' Naturally this made Lynn wonder if everyone here had some niche relation to the city. Not she: a stranger from New York. It didn't matter. She came to get a job done.

A fifth voice came from behind, oozing from the shadows just as normal as they were, but it didn't stop the slight jump to elicit from Lynn's shoulders. She turned, eyebrows raising. What would be the final member of their little conglomeration was the form of a Wednesday Addams of sorts, someone that Lynn'd figure for a kid hanging around outside the seven-eleven than to be part of this... whatever the hell this was anymore. Her doubts began to trickle in, mostly in the assembling of these people. Who were they? What sort of purpose could they have? None of them looked the part, not even the bookish one by the statue.

Which, almost as if on cue from the last girl's arrival, began to make noises. Lynn jumped again, thankful she hadn't made any embarrassing yelp, and felt her phone vibrate over her thigh. Quickly her eyes ran over the email, and her blood ran cold. What?

"Is everyone getting this?" She asked, almost rhetorical, seeing the mirrored movements between all of them to check her phone. 'Is this forreal? Or some kind of test?'

The haunting, barely there call echoed through the darkness. That was something that made your skin crawl. Your hair stand on its head. She looked around, eyes wild, feeling her throat clench like an invisible assailant was squeezing. "The hell is that?" Her whisper was rushed, looking to the ones in the group that seemed to recognize it.

The man with the cast ushered them together, although Lynn was hesitant to just start taking directions from any of them. Then again, she wasn't keen on sticking around from sheer stubbornness.

"Wait, wait, wait!" She hissed to Holiday, waving at him. "What did the email mean? Play into HIS hand? We can't just go there immediately, we need to be in a consensus on what the hell this thing is!" Her gaze was pressed, mouth crumpled into a grimace, and she worried that if they wasted too much time, something bad would happen. Then again, she'd feel much better knowing what was in the area, what slasher, and any precautions to take.

coded by natasha.

 

[E q u i n o x]

the lore

location

Oz Park.

mood

Screaming Internally. Possibly out loud soon.

mentions

Everyone.

Cyril Walker

In retrospect, one’s ex-bully and a far more friendly face were far better sights to be confronted with than the aforementioned slasher, so perhaps he ought to be thanking his lucky stars. Once the shock of encountering those unforeseen presences here tonight, or ever again in Sasha’s case, wears off he eyes the blond man with evident scrutiny and mistrust before clearing his throat.

“Yes, well… As I said, this is a bit unexpected. What are you doing here?” They couldn’t possibly all be here for the same reason, could they? Letting his gaze sweep over the crowd indicates a very...interesting mix of people. Iris and the teenager present only increases his concern, as does the older fellow with an arm encased in a cast. Sasha’s offer of another cookie is met with less enthusiasm this time, holding up his empty hand appeasingly. “Ah, no...thank you though.”

"Oh, hey Weasel.”

An affronted expression is sent Iris’ way at the rather unflattering nickname, but Cyril concludes quickly enough now wasn’t the best time to be offended. ”Hello, Iris. I would say it's lovely to see you, but considering the circumstances... Does your father know you're here? Normally I’d agree with you, but technically a dropped cookie isn’t littering. Litter consists of non-biodegradable objects such as cigarette butts, food wrappers, straws, grocery bags, plastic bottles, anything made of plastic, truthfully, aluminum cans, tires, so on and so forth,” he corrects, listing off each item on his fingers.

“A cookie could still cause harm depending on the ingredients if consumed by an animal, of course, but if these are vegan they’re plant based and likely used carob instead of chocolate. The elements will break down with little impact in no time.”

He seems to think on that for a moment before eying the tarnished cookie again, suddenly imagining a scenario where it’s gobbled up by a passing dog before their owner could stop them. “Although...if they used sweeteners instead of sugar… Yes, alright, best to throw it out,” he ultimately agrees.

Before he can pick it up, however, the statue behind him whirrs to life and a strangled noise fills his throat as Cyril scrambles to move away from it, nearly stumbling into Sasha and just barely managing to avoid colliding with the other man through pure power of will, pivoting on one heel so he swayed in the other direction before catching his balance and turning to face the glowing-eyed sculpture pale-faced, shuddering once that eerie gaze settled on him before moving onto the others. Cyril was quite certain he had never seen it do that before.

His mobile beeping is enough to give him a start, hastily fishing around in his pocket for the device and holding it with trembling fingers. After reading the words appearing across the screen he stares in dumbfounded silence for a moment until Holiday spoke up, seemingly taking charge of the group. This was...this was unbelievable. Were these people trying to get them killed? Why hadn’t they just cancelled the meeting and rescheduled the moment a slasher appearance was a possibility? Why had he come here? Hell, what was he still doing here?

"This has to be some kind of test. Survive the night and you get the job," he frets aloud, trying his best to keep his voice steady. The flashlight drops to the ground with a thud as the cell phone is shoved back into a pocket and he reaches for the pistol attached to his side, barely able to control his shaking hands as he pulled the slide back, eyes darting around them as odd noises surround the group. "Rest assured if I live I'm no longer interested," he remarks with a vexed glance at the statue before turning back to the group.

“Is anyone else armed?” He asks once Holiday gives the motion for them to start moving. “You don’t have to answer that, Sasha, I already know you are,” he adds quickly with the faintest hint of sass. Dressed like that and with a cocksure attitude to match, he was either a cop in disguise or a pimp. Neither would surprise him considering their history. They've barely begun moving when the woman cautions them to consider what they were doing before heading out, but Cyril can't see what standing around discussing the matter was going to do when the Slashed was clearly within the vicinity, and close enough to be heard considering the Ki ki kiing.

"I don't see how we have another option. It's a Slasher, clearly. We already know that. We should stay together, follow instructions and make haste to the playground. I-I'll, er, I'll stand on the outside so if it uh...comes at us, I can shoot it. You should do the same on the other side, Sasha," he volunteers, the reluctance in his voice unmistakable despite the brave words.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't be this snippy either, but the stress of the situation had him forgoing his manners in favor of getting the hell out of here.

coded by natasha.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

aleksandr romanov

the authority

the Scarecrow, Oz Park

Give me a fight I can't resist

interactions

all

Yup, that was Cyril, Sasha thought and rolled his eyes as the other man went into an entirely unnecessary spiel on littering. Sasha took the cigarette from his mouth to exhale smoke while Cyril babbled at the other, younger woman, who was giving him a good glare along with the jab about his outfit. Closer, combined with her comment about her father, he could place her easily as the mayor's daughter.

There were certainly weirder things in life than a statue having surveillance equipment on it, but the sheer improbability of it was enough to startle Sasha for a moment, though not enough to step aside and avoid Cyril colliding with him.

The first email Sasha had ever received from the ozlan.co address had gone to his personal email. And he had looked at it for a long moment before setting up a new email, through one of those encrypted Swiss servers that the detectives bitched about because dealing with Switzerland was always a nightmare, and replying from that. Whether the Jarvis Company was legit or not, he did not need somebody snooping around in his email and bringing it to anyone's attention before he was good and ready. Now, pulling up the fresh email on his phone one handed, he scowled at it.

COPY, he sent back, and then stuffed the phone back into his pocket. "Take this," he told Iris, pushing the box of cookies into her hands, and drew his gun. He kept the handgun trained at the ground as he methodically checked the safety. He recognized the raspy, high sound, like laughter coming out of a rusty pipe as it rolled through the fog, and rolled his eyes. He dropped his cigarette on the ground and scuffed it out with his boot.

"The platform is a good place to be," he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through the others' budding arguments, but cool enough to carry weight. "High vantage. Better visibility, even through the fog. If they're sending backup, that's where they'll know to meet us. We stay as a group--splitting off is only going to get people killed. Understood?" He gave them all another look over. His posture had changed as he'd pulled out his gun--affable, idiot frat boy off, cop on the scent on. "Didn't you know this was going to be part of the gig?" he asked, feeling more than a little impatient with them all. "If we're moving, we'll want one of us in front on point, one in the rear," he added to Cyril. And then, doubtfully, "Do you actually know how to use that thing?"

coded by natasha.

 

[Folklore-Frith]

Iris McNamara

The Media

Oz Park: the platform

spooked & spicy

letterman jacket streetwear

interactions

all, but mainly E q u i n o x wickedlittlecritta birth of venus

As she was judging those around her with her supreme wisdom, her jaw working her gum, she turned to look at the new person. Iris resisted the urge to slap a hand over her heart and proclaim what had really happened under the trained expression she was giving them. A goth, not a slasher. Thank Christ. Iris popped her gum and looked them up and down before making an appreciative face. "Gothic grunge? I like it." Iris' eyes were squinted a bit, as though that would help her identify the style through the blackness and swirling fog. Perhaps the best dressed here outside of her. She liked grunge, but would never touch it. That would be disrespectful to the style, and thus she admires lovingly from afar.

Iris' attention returned to Cyril as he began to talk. And talk. And talk, and talk and talk and talk. Iris's gum popped loudly and her eyes fluttered in annoyance. Mansplaining was not something she expected from him, but they'd only barely talked to actually talk. Just kept in touch through media. So this was a surprise. "Mansplain to me again, Cyril, and you'll know what it feels like to have your balls in your throat." Iris leveled a ferocious glare, holding his eyes for a moment before he dipped down to pick up the cookie. That was when the statue came to life.

Iris jumped then, and whipped out her mace, pointing it directly at the thing. A moment later and she let out a frustrated growling exhale. A moment later, and she was pulling her phone from her ass pocket, ready to flatten whoever had done that. It had to have been the people, right? Person? Whatever the fuck. Instead, she found the last thing she wanted. "Great. Fucking great. An A-Lister and my car is back there." Iris flung her hand in the direction where she left it. She groaned again, took the cookies that were handed to her, and turned to walk. "I have mace, but that won't work against a mask."

"I agree with Pimp-Cop." Iris put on her 'dealing with the press voice' and hoped that carried as much weight as the armed guy's. Sasha, apparently. The old guy who was trying to lead them to the platform was ahead of the game, but grandma was not. "Let's get a move on. You think Ki-ki-ha-ha Man is gonna wait? I think not." Iris grabbed Cyril's arm and began to drag. "Goth, can you help get the elderly to the platform, please? Thank youuu." Above all else, she trusted the goths, attitude and all. They knew about slashers. Usually. Or was that stereotypical? Eh, gross.

Iris was the first to the platform, and it didn't take her long to climb a-top it. She took out her mace and held it in a vice grip. Just in case.

At least Jason didn't have a gun.

coded by natasha.

 

[BELIAL.]

Location: Oz Park, heading to Platform
Interactions: n/a
Collab with: Togy

Whitley Holiday // Lynn Morrison​

Cocking an eyebrow towards the older woman, Holiday took a step back towards the group while plastering on a little bit of the cock-sure attitude he had so much of in his youth.

"Right, sorry, of course, let's all have a nice, calm, civilized discussion like the adults we're pretending to be. Let's roll out the picnic blanket, have some roast beef, store-bought sandwiches, lukewarm coffee. I brought the Pacamara," Holiday drawled, voice dripping with exaggerated sarcasm as he stared blankly into the woman's eyes.

"We are standing wide out in the open. There is no cover. There are no hiding spots. We're making an awful lot of noise in a silent park" Holiday explained, slowly, quitely. "I can scream if you want, speed up the process. Voorhees might just kill us quickly, only feel a little excruciating pain. He seems like a solid guy," he continued, taking on a thoughtful look and tone.

Her scowl was on full display now, clenching her jaw to avoid cutting him off. To Lynn, it didn't seem to matter that she wanted to strategize. If everyone got together it would take a few seconds, a minute at max. Sure, they'd gotten another suspicious email from their suspicious employers, but everyone seemed just as keen to be a shady as the whole deal! Everyone was ready, in their own verison of go-mode, but Lynn had the stubborn face of someone terrified of being left out.

"Voorhees? Like, like the machete guy at the summer camp? That's HIM?" The incredulous look on her face told it all. "And I'm not making a lot of noise, you're making a lot of noise! All I'm asking is some sense of reason right now, because all of this is very unreasonable!" Maybe she sounded entirely deluded, but her little analytical mind was whirring to the point smoke could probably be seen from her ears with a microscope. All of the nonsense from the last five years could be written off as some group psychosis from stress, paired with sadistic shits who dressed up like this to get their rocks off.

"The machete guy at the summer ca-Oh sweet Jesus Christ, seriously?" He asked, dumbfounded, a second away from facepalming. "Look, sweetheart, we are not hauling nearly as much ass as I would like. Save it for later?".

She looked around to the others, particularly the blonde mayor's daughter who'd already booked it to the playground, and the two men with guns. Exasperated, Lynn felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Truly, the longer they stood there, the more her paranoia seemed to mount higher. Equally, her stubbornness rose as her sense of security faded. "Sweetheart? Oh, I didn't know Captain Condescending would be paying us a visit tonight." Her eyes narrowed.

"Captain Condescending? Practiced that one in front of the mirror, didn't you?" Holiday snapped back, starting to look anxious as he began bouncing on his feet. Everyone else was high tailing it at this point, they really needed to get a move on. Weighing his options carefully, he quickly came to a solution.

"Eh. Fuck it." and with that, he bent down and none too gently pushed his shoulder into the woman's waist. Grabbing her knee, he lifted her up, bodily, to sling her across his right shoulder.

"WHAT are YOU--" Her cry was anguished and annoyed as the wind was slightly knocked out of her from the change in direction. Her hand slapped to her mouth to avoid shrieking loudly, but she very obviously made a groan of anger, half afraid of falling face first into the ground, and half afraid of what the hell was in the shadows. She hardly knew the man, making her more frustrated than afraid, but even though her need to be reassured from the facts seemed to overwhelm her primal need to run from danger, she wouldn't thrash and writhe as to knock herself down.

"This is SO unethical!" Lynn grumbled with a whine, blowing hair out of her face.

"Just get a restraining order after this, like a normal person," Holiday shot back nonchalantly, beginning to trudge towards the playground. Humming softly to himself, he followed after the prom queen.

 

[birth of venus]

bethany cohen

the youth

The Scarecrow, Oz Park

Kill Bill sirens - high alert.

Cop Car - Mitski

interactions

@ Everyone.

The moment that Beth took to silently judge the rest of the group had been cut short by the urgent e-mail, along with her phone pinging with the notification of a Slasher Warning. Immediately, panic threatened to grab her by the throat. Beth swallowed around the lump in her throat, felt her heart beat hard in her chest. The rest of them began to scramble, equally seized by fear, but she lingered for a moment to peer through the fog. 'Where is that fucker?' The goth thought to herself, trying to pinpoint where he could be coming from with her brows furrowed.

The quiet murmurs of ki-ki-ki ha-ha-ha seemed to echo from every direction; it was a fruitless effort. Her eyebrows shot up as the rumpled car salesman easily lifted the older woman of their group and headed off. At least they were getting a move on. It also should have surprised her that not one, but two people brought guns with them, but it'd be hypocritical of her to judge with a switchblade sitting heavy in her pocket.

"Alright, alright. Keep it moving, I'm on wheels so I'll bring up the rear." Beth spoke with hushed urgency, the big arms of her coat flapping as she herded Sasha and the rest towards the platform. The playground equipment rose like spires into the misty night, eerie with the lack of sunshine or children. As the group filed to the top, Beth opted to climb a ladder on the side to get to the top. Her wheels wouldn't play well with the plastic floor. Half hanging off the ladder at the top rung, Beth used her free hand to dig through her pocket and pull out her blade. It unsheathed with a sharp fwip, and she held it steady in her hand, knuckles white from her grip. She glared up at the rest of the group. "Please tell me those guns have bullets. I don't think mace is gonna do much, sorry blondie."

coded by natasha.

 

[E q u i n o x]

the lore

location

Oz Park.

mood

Screaming Internally. Possibly out loud soon.

mentions

Everyone.

Cyril Walker

The withering threat from Iris clearly takes him aback, staring at her quizzically for a moment before the conversation moves on to more bickering from Lynn and Holiday. Was explaining facts ‘mansplaining’, as she put it? Evidently, she didn’t know the proper meaning of the word, but he mentally acknowledges to simply leave her ignorant next time, lest she actually follow through with that painful warning.

For once in his life Cyril finds it difficult to disagree with Sasha, grateful for the people who seem to have some concept of how to properly handle the situation. If it were just him he has little doubt he would be darting for the playground at the first sign of motion in his best impression of a spooked doe. As is, he wasn’t enough of a coward to leave everyone else to fend for themselves. Especially not two kids and a man with a broken wrist. Sasha, of course, has to open his mouth and ruin the brief moment of respect Cyril manages to muster for him by questioning how well he knew the weapon currently clutched white-knuckled in both hands. Rude.

“Of course. I wouldn’t be holding it if I didn’t,” he replies sharply, his annoyance quickly evaporating as Iris grabs his arm and begins leading him toward the platform. There’s some hesitation to move away from the statue despite Cyril’s eagerness to leave mere seconds ago, an anxious glance cast Holiday and Lynn’s way as they remained in place, continuing to argue. “We should really get going. The decision is made, you can yell at us about it later,” he suggests, but it appears the encouragement to haul ass wouldn’t be needed as Holiday promptly tossed Lynn over one shoulder and started off after the others. “Oh…”

Beth volunteering to take the rear elicits a disapproving glance, quickly drawing his attention back to the girls. They’d be remiss to let the youngest member of their party take up that responsibility and since no one else was paying attention apparently, he supposed he ought to do something about it. “You go on ahead...I should stay in the back,” he remarks before gently removing Iris' hands from his arm. As they made their way toward the platform Cyril regretted that moment of valor as the mist began to play tricks on his eyes and every little sound made him jump, the pistol aimed threateningly into the haze before eventually lowering back to point at the ground.

It’s with a relieved sigh he lifts himself up onto the platform with the others. It isn't long before once again his intelligence is mocked, however, when the young goth questions whether or not their guns were actually came with bullets. “I can assure you mine’s loaded,” he responds with a grimace regardless, whether he was less snippy due to Beth’s age or the utter exhaustion he could already feel threatening his ability to stand for much longer is anyone’s guess.

coded by natasha.

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

aleksandr romanov

the authority

the playground, Oz Park

Give me a fight I can't resist

interactions

all

Sasha smirked at Cyril's indignation at his question. "Just checking," he said, and then Iris was off, and he followed after, doing his best to move in front to take up point.

He was expecting trouble on their way, but they moved through the park with no obstacle, which honestly made Sasha a little more nervous that if they'd been jumped. Maybe the group was just too big for a lone slasher to want to deal with. Maybe he was just at a different point in the park. Either way, he was relieved when the little playground came into view, and he could climb up and help pull everyone else up off the ground after checking that nothing else had gotten there first.

He wished there was more room on the play structure--it had not been designed for his six foot two frame even in the slightest, and it was making keeping an eye on the surrounding park without banging his head on something much more difficult than it had to be. He missed his cigarette, but didn't light another one.

Sasha glanced over at Beth. The question of if the guns had bullets in them left him more bemused than actually offended. "Seventeen rounds, nine millimeter cartridges," he said. "If it wasn't loaded I'd have my knife out instead." He considered that and added, "And I'd rather not fight a guy with a machete with a knife. Shit sucks." His motorcycle jacket did have padding, in an attempt to keep him from smearing across a highway if he crashed, which was half the reason he'd worn it tonight, but he wasn't in a hurry to test it against a big blade.

coded by natasha.

 

[Squad141]

As the group ascended, the fog moved like a mess of tangled hair floating through the ocean, until it stalled. With wary eyes, the group would search, with blades, wheels, and guns drawn, unknowing where their attacker was, where their supposed ally was, and how they would get out of this one-

THUMP

Turning, one would be able to see the other end of the risen end of the playground as the mist slightly obscured it.
One would also be able to see the hulking creature wearing a scarred hockey mask.

With big steps, Jason Voorhees slowly traded across the playplace, the wooden groaning beneath his feet. Everyone knew it was nearly too late. He was too close, and running would most likely cause someone to trip or fall or just simply run right into him. At about ten feet away, Jason closed in, before a different noise was heard.

Like with the scarecrow, a whirring. Then, a robotic voice, male.

[APPLICANTS VERIFIED. WELCOME.]

And with that, a circle of light broke into the floor circling the crew, as the platform lurched, before descending into the wooden tower. Jason leapt forward, before hitting a glass wall, one that certainly hadn't been there before he had appeared. Before he could make a dent on the barrier, the ground has already closed back up, and the night was once again his. Staring at the ground, the fog appeared again around him. From a spectator, it would have appeared like it ate him.

But very few knew that instead, it carried him.

------------------

Five minutes later, five minutes of darkness, light poured into the eyes of the group as they descended from the funnel into an extremely bright room. Letting their eyes adjust, it was quite shocking, actually. The wooden platform of the playground hit the ground with a thud only something harder than tungsten could, and the voyage was complete.

The room was very clean. In fact, it quite looked like a prep room. There were a number of lockers on the wall, a table and a few chairs, and a small control board next to where they had landed.

At the front of the room were two misty glass doors, which slid open with a whoosh. As their jaw gaped, in stepped a late-middle-aged man with a slightly-gray thinned beard, and little to no hair on his head.

Putting his hands in the white coat pockets of his jacket, he spoke in a Scottish-tinged accent.

"Welcome. Glad you all could make it."

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

aleksandr romanov

the authority

underground

Give me a fight I can't resist

interactions

all

It was the moment that they began to descend, his stomach wobbling with the unexpected movement, that Sasha realized the night had gone from something like normal to absolutely batshit. Fighting Jason Voorhees in a park? That was just part of Chicago's terrible new normal. Shit, he got paid to do that. But this?

First of all, when the fuck did someone have the chance to build this shit down here?

Sasha did not holster his gun as they descended, though he did keep it pointed at the floor, wincing as the lights came on, blinding as a whiteout. He strained to listen until his vision adjusted, but there was nothing to hear except for the whir and clunk of elevator machinery, and the soft, surprised noises of the other five.

He inhaled--focus--and then squinted into the light. The room was clean and white and sterile, and put Sasha in mind of a hospital, or maybe a lab, which did nothing to make him feel less spooked.

But if whoever had brought them here wanted to kill them, they would have left them up top for Jason to pick off first. They either didn't want to kill them, or they had a much longer con in mind.

Sasha straightened as the man in the lab coat approached, turning the safety on his semi-auto on and holstering the gun. "Это пиздец. You could not have given us the front door?" he asked, irritation thickening his accent. He turned to the others and asked, "We all in one piece?"

coded by natasha.

 

[Folklore-Frith]

Iris McNamara

The Media

Underground

spooked & spicy

letterman jacket streetwear

interactions

all

Iris didn't have it in her to laugh at the old man squabbling and then picking up the high school teacher looking lady. She decided she liked the old man pretty quickly, even if he had no respect for the environment her father was keeping clean. He was diligent when he realized Iris was just as protective of the environment as her generation. What a wonderful father. If only he could stop this bullshit from happening. Alas, he was one man. And one man couldn't do much against an army of slashers, ghosts, 'pastas, and whatever else was out there.

Iris could do nothing but huddle on the platform with her mace in hand, cold eyes glaring at the two men that did nothing but bicker, even in the situation. A bit hypocritical of her, but hey, at least her bickering didn't start a pissing contest. They were unproductive. And weird. "Of course it's loaded," Iris hissed. "He's one of the smartest people here." A smart man that didn't know how not to mansplain. She'd have talk to him about that later. Just because she had less brain cells didn't mean that she needed to hear him yack about it.

"I know that," Iris snapped a bit at the Goth, and did everything she could do from shitting herself when Jason himself emerged from the mist. And then the scarecrow spoke, and a moment later, they were plunged into darkness. Iris did the worst thing she could do for herself and clung to whoever was closest, not quite knowing who that was in the void of it all. And when they finally landed, the platform stopping, Iris took a second to let go of whoever that was and focus on the balding, gray lab rat that welcomed them in with a memorable accent. Scottish?

As much as she hated to admit it, she was flustered from grabbing whoever that was and refused to look back at them.

"Great. We're alive." The lack of inflection to her tone seemed to suggest that she had composed herself, despite the sigh between words. "I don't think any of us got hurt." She turned her gaze to the lab rat and narrowed her eyes. "And who are you? Why are we here? Thanks for the save, but that was a bit fucky."

coded by natasha.

 

[BELIAL.]

lynn morrison

the science

Unknown Underground

apprehensive, abject curiosity

interactions

wickedlittlecritta Togy

The jaunt to the playground spent practically upside down, grumbling to herself as she dug her elbows (a bit purposefully) into Holiday's back, was the last way she wanted to spend 'running' from the slasher. They weren't running, firstly, just moving swiftly-- she would have probably gotten sick from bouncing around on someone's back if they were running. There was no slasher, still, as well-- which was a relief to her. Even still, the shadows at the edge of the park still made her stomach do somersaults, and she was very nearly sick anyway from the anxiety of it all.

Once they arrived on the platform she made to wriggle herself, fighting to get her feet back on the ground. It was a combination of "I'm fine now's" and "put me down now"'s. Finding her footing, she adjusted her slightly lifted shirt and pulled her coat over herself again, fighting the urge to glare only at Holiday. There were more things at stake, such as the growing fog and the looming form of the masked killer not as far off as she may have hoped. Her heart beat in her chest, throat clenched once more, as she sucked in a breath. Automatically her knees bent, grabbing at some part of the playground, feeling the cool metal in her palm. It was some sort of primal response, she was sure, but what good would that do with a killer coming right at them?

It seemed like something out of her own nightmares, a stalker in the night. The more she thought about it, the group of them waiting-- sitting ducks, she'd probably yell about if she had the strength to do so-- the more she was frozen. Unable to move. He moved closer, and closer and she shut her eyes for a second hoping to a god she didn't believe in that they'd be saved by whoever had controlled the scarecrow and the emails.

"He's coming," she managed to shriek through an inhale of breath, on instinct snatching out a hand out to grab at the sleeve of the person next to her, incidentally Holiday again. Then, the robotic voice. The platform descending, something out of a science fiction film, and Jason hitting the wall. Wall? Her eyes bulged, seeing the hands beat against it, and the darkness that swallowed them up allowed no more viewing.

There was a stagnant silence on Lynn's end once the ground swallowed them up. She removed herself quickly, feeling some relief among the new wave of fear that washed over her. For some reason this was less alarming than being out in the open. It was dark, a terrible thing, but it was enclosed. No doors, nobody coming and leaving, she could try and think through everything. Especially in the following five minutes, time she refused to speak during as she worked overtime to compartmentalize everything that had just happened.

When the floor opened, new light coming in, she was almost relieved to see the sickening shine of a lab. Trudging out, to be rid of the tiny hole that the six of them were stuck in, she looked around with wide eyes.

"We're good." Lynn noted Sasha, and in the brighter light she found a tinge of recollection hit her. It wasn't paramount to her at the moment, and so it faded for the time being.

coded by natasha.

 

[Togy]

Whitley Holiday
​

"FUCK!" Holiday said, calmly, "FUCK!". He was halfway through balling his hand into a fist, ready to clock the slasher across the face, because, you know, he didn't make very good life decisions, when the floor caved in underneath him. At that point, logic and reason had pretty clearly packed their bags, left, and taken the kids coherence, understanding, and a general sense of what the hell was going on with them.

Despite that, though, he still found the humor to raise an amused eyebrow at the older woman clutching his sleeve in a death grip. He became a lot less amused the second he noticed she was crinkling the fabric, though.

After the first two minutes, the sense of disbelief had washed away and was quickly replaced by a strong desire to get off this freaky ride. Through the humming of the lights and the sounds of their descent, Holiday couldn't help but notice the mousy-looking guy breathing a little too heavily. Awkwardly, he slowly extended a hand and patted the man on the back twice before realizing he didn't even know their name and slowly retracted their hand.

The blinding light set in too quickly for Holiday, and he had to blink spots out of his eyes to see clearly. A room. Now, he might not know a lot, but Holiday was pretty sure he could recognize a room when he saw him. Suddenly, an Irish man walked out to greet them, and Holiday already decided they were an asshole. "Hi, nice to see you"? The vaguest form of an explanation would've been infinitely better.

Ignoring the Russian's question and stepping past the group, he power walked across the room and glared at the man who had greeted them.

"Explain this. Now, if you wouldn't fucking mind." His tone was final, clipped, and tinged with the tone of a man running on four hours of sleep and dead-tired of being led along.