HE IS HERE

[peckishmods]

the vines have run wild

it's over

Everything is in shambles. Walls and floors torn and broken from roots and branches sprouting through. They block doors and crowd passages and pulse with sick life. The Thing sits in the center of it all, angry and starving, its trunk both still and moving in ways you catch only when it is in the corner of your vision. Branches that look less like bark and more like skin stretch in every direction, lush with shadowy leaves and dotted with bits of glowing blue. The ruined floor is littered with those little twinkling dots. Seeds. Everywhere, seeds. They hang on boughs, and rest on banisters in the upper levels. The one thing in this nightmare that doesn't radiate that awful, pervasive hunger.

The roof is gone, replaced with a writhing canopy of shadow and muck. Some parts of it are complex spiderwebs of tendrilly shapes, others solid formless movement. The only consistent thing about it is that it is terrible to behold, faintly nauseating to look at for too long. Ash rains down between gaps in its branches, and what glimpses of sky are visible are nothing but swirling gray clouds. What stars still shine are magic, man-made, floated between balconies by prom committee before the dance.

Those remaining begin to stir. Each one of you has heard Pocket's words, "Find the roots." And if you want to save your friends, your family, the holler — hell, maybe even the world — that's exactly what you're going to do.

You climb from protective cocoons of dying moss, push your way past walls of solid ice, emerging into utter destruction. Things move and make noise at the edge of your vision, but for now, at least, all is calm. What to do? Where to start?

it's ruined

Among the twinkling maple seeds are the dropped possessions of students and staff, lost when they were pulled away. A compact mirror, a cell phone, a pair of glasses, cups of punch spilling across the floor. A single red heel sits at the edge of the jagged pit that peers down into the Sorting Path. The air here is hot. Too hot. If you jump, you'll surely be boiled alive.

Though locked when everyone tried to flee, vines and roots have torn the doors to the auditorium off their hinges. The splintered remains of heavy oak doors litter the entrance halls and stairwell alcoves, leaving an open path outside. Not that you'd want to flee, by the looks of it.

A cool night breeze is the only relief from the growing heat of the auditorium, yes, but even that is tainted by the heavy scent of flowers. Outside, vines and purple flowers have exploded over every surface. They climb up lamp posts, engulf buildings whole, hang from trees. It would be beautiful if it weren't horrifying. Campus is unrecognizable.

there is no hope

Roots and vines clog the way to the Sorting Path, and most stairwells are completely obstructed by the growths of that horrible tree. Up above, something buzzes and wails, a mockery of a cicada's cry, and beyond that the twittering of birds nesting in the tree's highest branches.

Pouch coalesces in the middle of it all, a one-winged magimagicicada, weak and weary but undaunted. Resolute, if not reinvigorated. He bends down to touch a seed, and the moment his obsidian fingers light on it, a blue-white portal to somewhere else rips right through reality. A memory begins to play. Somehow, the bug seems to know what he's seeing.

She gave us what we need, the one who ran says to the gathered students, his voice in their heads as much as the air. Let's all not let her down, huh?

Find your friends. Find my siblings. It's time to fight.

but you'll keep going, won't you?

TO ELSEWHERE
| TO OUTSIDE | TO THE UPPER LEVELS | TO THE SORTING PATH |

IN THIS HUB
| ARE YOU THERE? |
| AT THE BASE OF THE TREE | A POCKET OF SAFETY |
| BACKSTAGE | THE DANCE STUDIO |

OOC POSTS
| OOC ACTION HUB | OOC CHATTER - QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS |

Comments

ARE YOU THERE? CAN YOU MOVE? IT'S TIME TO COME OUT.

[peckishmods]

Pocket and Pouch did what they could to protect as many students as possible in The Thing's first assault on campus. Walls of ice and blankets of (now wilting) moss cover the far corners of the room. With the danger temporarily pulled to heel, there is nothing to do now but emerge from these safe spaces.

Outside the soft comfort of the party bugs' barriers, the air is heavy with awful feeling, sharp and voracious and wrong. In the center of it all stands that nightmare tree.

Find your friends, gather and regroup, and figure out a way to save everything.

[This subheader is for threads that occur at the start of the night. Think of it as a What's Up? But you're in Hell.]

START OF THE NIGHT: Felicity

[bratsquatch]

Earlier, for the briefest of moments, Felicity had thought the rumbling of the room and shaking of the floor had been an elaborate, magical astroid simulation. Their very own, charming extinction scenario. But the buzzing of her cactus cat needle necklace tells her otherwise. Maybe it still is an extinction event. Just not school sanctioned.

Once the dust (moss? ash?) has settled, Felicity stands, brushes off her dress, and takes stock. She's still got her soda can corsage from Wyatt (this, but pink), her cactus cat needle necklace, and her heels. Oh, and her journal. But, as far as she can tell, no wand and no--

"Where is my tote??" she exclaims, realizing it's gone. "Am I supposed to save people while holding everything with my hands??"

START OF THE NIGHT: Mary Grace

[crowhop]

Mary Grace kicks at a plastic cup on the ground with the toe of her cowboy boot. Yeah, she ain't cleaning this shit up.

"Goddamn I know how to put on a memorable ass prom," she says. Then she grabs her dress at the top of the slit and rips the skirt unevenly across, gathering the fabric up in her hand. "Fuck a long dress anyhow."

START OF THE NIGHT: Imogen Rainwater

[bigbruise]

Some may recall witnessing an extremely pissed-off Imogen Rainwater, hiking up her dress as she clomps across the hellscape in tiny boots. There's a little cut under her eye already and her hair has taken the opportunity to come completely undone.

Twin sense: she somehow knows immediately that Elijah isn't here, even without really looking for him. Instead, for a moment or two she appears to be scanning the collection of leftovers for other faces. Orchid. Her roommates. ... And Merlin.

START OF THE NIGHT: Aris

[arisahn]

Aris had come to prom with a lot of what ifs cluttering up his thoughts (from the what if we missed something important? variety to the what if I'd just asked her? variety) and it had kept him from ever fully losing himself in the festivities. Now...he wishes he'd trusted his instincts. Dressed all in tailored white, his suit is quickly becoming stained with the falling ash and he looks stricken as he glances from classmate to classmate in dumb shock.

The number of absent faces clearly doesn't help and he looks down at the ground, hooking his hands behind is neck and uttering a low, miserable, "No, come on..."

START OF THE NIGHT: Eddy

[quidditched]

Shit fuck.

Eddy's mind reels as he surveys the destruction. He'd pushed away apprehensions (both of mortal perils and social ones) to come tonight. But this was all well beyond the imaginings of even his most anxious moments.

It's clear who had a hand in dressing him tonight. In the end he'd opted for neither dinosaur or slut, instead going a far more predictable route. The fitted black blazer and slacks feature white pearl beading and embroidery that evoke star clusters in the nighttime sky, and from his waist hang a series of thin metal beaded chains (like this, but more apparently asteroid-y). It's a vast step-up from the twenty dollar WizMart suit he'd be sporting without the twins' intervention. It's also not at all what he would have worn if he'd known Hell was gonna break loose.

He grabs a handful of the wilting moss as he moves away from his cocoon, remembering an earlier conversation with Audrey. He looks for her in the chaos that far too many people he cares about are noticeably missing from. Wyatt. Chanel. Winter. Adrian and the other roommates he'd come with.

Find the roots. There's a shit fuck ton of roots everywhere.

Fuck fuck fuck.

START OF THE NIGHT: Jupiter

[gasgiant]

She's taken worse licks in quidditch. A bludger to the back of the head is way worse than a styrofoam asteroid, and yet still, tonight, they feel like they packed the same punch.

Jupiter shoves a carpet of dying moss off of her prone body and sits up, head spinning once her eyes finally focus on the scene. Once the ruin's computed, her gaze darts around. For her friends, for her roommates, for her team, for her brother. Where is Atlas?

What's that feeling? Her head is swimming. Brain tossed in a stormy sea. This is ridiculous. Whatever this is, there's no time for it. No time to drown. Jupiter stands before she's ready, wobbles unsteadily on pointed heels and smooths the wrinkles out of her tux.

She searches. For something. For anything. But all she finds is a bow tie. This dumbass bow tie. Plucked from the ground, she puts it in her breast pocket, right next to her heart.

One second, two seconds pass. That water in her head just keeps rising. Can't think.

She scoops up a glass of punch and flings it at the tree. "Fuck you!"

START OF THE NIGHT: Tony

[fratsquatch]

Tony thinks it's probably something a little more than luck that had him dancing with a five-foot-nothing freshman when the floor started cracking beneath his feet and the roof started caving in. Surely, she would have been squashed dead if he hadn't been there to—literally—shoulder the falling debris. But that's not what Tony tells the girl when the ash settles, "Don't you worry. This'll all turn out just fine."

And for a moment, he believes that. He can hear his sister hollerin' about a tote bag. His shoulder smarts a bit but it's hardly worse than a blow from a bludger. A quick patdown proves his tuxedo pockets are still filled and he's still got his testicles, spectacles, wallet, and watch.

Oh snap! But his wand is missing. And upon further survey ... Pax, Merlin, Holland...

Well, shit on a shingle. That just won't do. Tony jumps to action, raising his good arm above his head and twirling a finger around in a, "Everyone round up!" motion. "A'right, folks, let's get movin'."

START OF THE NIGHT: Audrey

[andpoke]

She cries out when Pocket disappears, stretches out a useless hand. The word explodes around her. And then there’s a gasp of rest, and she’s standing. She’s standing, but Pocket is gone, along with so many others. Audrey clasps a hand over her mouth, feeling with the other into her hair as a first impulse. The pendant is still there. So that’s a start. She’s dressed in a soft green dress, comfortable brown boots that she meant to be kind of Jurassic Park but may end up useful after all. She looks around for someone. Anyone. It’s time to cut down a tree.

START OF THE NIGHT: Trudy

[themurderbird]

Trudy wishes she hadn't spent so much time picking out her outfit if everything was just going to go to hell. It's a killer dress for fighting abominations as much as dancing, but the shoes could be easier to run in. The feather capelet might have been left behind for a sturdy jacket if she had known she would be exploring. The nails look wicked (if only they would stop popping off), though, and the necklace and earrings do set a mood. It could be worse. At least she brought spare glasses.

START OF THE NIGHT: Lydia

[filigreed]

The first thing Lydia notices is that something stabbing her. Not in a terribly impressive way. Just - lightly stabbing. Right about at the back of her ear. She makes an irritated swipe through her hair, which immediately results in her stabbing herself again. Just in the finger this time.

"Shit." She yanks out her hairpin and shoves it into the pocket of her jacket, surveying the damage. "The everliving fuck," she says. It should be a question. It doesn't quite make it there.

START OF THE NIGHT: Patrice

[shoulderdevil]

Hey guys, what the fuck? Things had been too dicey the past month for Patrice to assume that shit wasn't going to hit the fan eventually, but this is a big, big mess. At least he looks cool in his slightly-too-on-the-nose-asteroid-dust-cloud-inspired suit, but also some of his friends are missing. Some of Big Bed is missing. His wand is gone too.

"God this school is so annoying," he groans, as though he's merely been inconvenienced by all of this. (He's actually stressed out, of course.)

START OF THE NIGHT: Cedar

[circuitree]

Cedar wore coveralls to prom.

Coveralls and a magically expanding fanny pack. Nothing good or useful will ever come out of that fanny pack.

START OF THE NIGHT: Ramona

[lockit]

Ramona is ever-grateful for her own bad fashion sense, since she showed up to prom in a workably comfortable romper, floral army jacket, and her everyday boots. If asked she'd just say she's always prepared for the world to end, but she'd rather die than wear a dress.

AT THE BASE OF THE TREE

[peckishmods]

Fallen prom decor, personal effects and parts of the auditorium, itself make the once flat, clear auditorium floor difficult terrain. All over seeds from the horrible tree are scattered. Memories to be opened. People to be freed.

Where the dance floor was, there is now a tree. Something like a tree. An awful imitation that seems to struggle against its new, solid form. It wants so badly to move, to lurch forward, lash out and eat and eat and eat. You can feel that hunger, that greed, in the marrow of your bones. But something is holding it back. Something holds it in place. Something is making sure that you have time.

Don't waste it.

ENCOUNTER: From Above

[peckishbeings]

Dazed students are still wandering the wrecked prom dance floor when the branches overhead begin to rustle, crack, snap and pop. The air feels dense, heavy with the weight of something horrible. Above, it seems there is only that writhing mass of not-quite-tree. But no. Look close. There's something there. Something not like the rest.

It falls.

Thunk, crack, thud, splat.

The Horror splayed out on the floor before you looks a bit like someone's dropped a plate of spaghetti bolognese from fifty foot up—and by the smell, two week old bolognese. The pile of meat is still, just a moment, then it twitches. Tremors from the middle to its disgusting wormy ends, until it rears up, tendrils unfurled, looking for something to eat.

THIS CREATURE IS AGGRESSIVE. DEFEND YOURSELF:
<b>NAME:</b> Who is attacking? <b>WHAT DO THEY DO?:</b> Describe in 1 - 2 sentences what your character is attempting. Mention if they're using a special item!

[Please be sure to check in with your inventory before participating in this first encounter. Thank you!]

MEMORY: First Kiss?

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED]
[CRITERIA: Max 2 Player Characters (due to size constraints), 6 Replies to Complete]

A feeling of mortification pervades this tiny pantry and the memory owner looks everywhere but their smooch partner, whose lips are overly puckered and glistening wet in the single, swinging overhead pantry light. It's even more dramatic with everything black and white like it is. Oh, seven minutes in heaven is always a mistake.

The memory owner takes inventory of the pantry as they lean away from their kissing partner. The walls are well stocked with real apples and waxy oranges, pears that are just a little too big, cherries in colors that cherries shouldn't come in sit in neat little piles just below boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes (and boxes and boxes, stretching up so many shelves) of colorful marshmallow cereals. That one has a clown on the front, this one features Pocket. There's one with a pirate that looks like Bruno Ellerby, advertising authentic pizza flavor. There's another that just says "DOGS" on the front in black impact font. On the opposite wall from all that are the pyramids. Literal pyramids, of all different sizes. A cardboard cut out of a whole cow leans against one wall, and the memory owner is pretty sure that bovine face is taunting them. There's a string of garlic hanging from the ceiling, and the memory owner is pretty sure they can smell it. Or is that their kissing partner's breath? Eugh. Lean away, lean away, lean away. Their partner moves closer and closer.

The memory owner hits the door. Something rattles. Everything freezes.

MEMORY: Tots

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED]
[CRITERIA: solve the puzzle]
Tots, tots, tots, tots, is that all kids care about these days? The hulking, furry arms of a lunchlady of Sasquatch heritage slams the freezer door open with too much force. A clipboard hanging on the door swings hard from side to side then clatters to the floor, and Lunchlady Bigfoot says something nasty in her native language as she yanks a cart in after her. The U-cart, piled high with cardboard boxes, rolls to a stop on the clipboard.

"Trrrrrry to diverrrrrrsify theirrrrr palates," Lunchlady Bigfoot growls, snatching a freezer-burned box of nuggets from the cart and chucking it straight at the shelf. The seams buckle as it hits the wall. "They just want mooorrrre taterrrrrs." She grabs another box and throws it into place, then another, and another. The first crumples under the impact, spilling plastic bags of nuggets all over the floor, but the lunchsquatch doesn't seem to notice.

"If I everrrrr see a box of TOTS again, I'll—" Lunchlady Bigfoot halts midsentence, cardboard container of potato wedges in one hand, wound up and ready to drive that box on home. She doesn't seem to notice the stack of boxes teetering precariously on the shelf just above her head.

MEMORY: New Kitchen

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED: PLAYER MEMORY]
[CRITERIA: Max 3 Players (due to space constraints), defeat NPC]

Wizard kitchens are so weird. You open a cabinet, and the space inside is bigger than the kitchen, itself. How many cans of baked beans does one man really need? Apparently a lot. There's rows and rows of them, stretching back almost infinitely.

"Dad, this is going to go bad before you eat it all," says a young Winter Carmichael, no less frank in her opinion for being just thirteen years old.

Steve Carmichael hums an 'iunno' while shoving frosted flakes into his mouth from a rainbow bowl. Really, he should be eating beans. Why on earth did he buy so many beans?

This galley kitchen is small (smaller than the damn cabinets, that's for sure). Narrow enough that it's hard for two people to stand side by side and get much done, but it's just about right for a dad and his almost teenaged daughter taking their first steps into a more permanently magical life. Not everything's been set out yet, but the important things are here: the plates, the glasses, some pans and a skillet. The knife block's got the one knife they use in it, and the sharpener, too. There are potted plants everywhere, which is nice. Green life hanging from baskets, flowers on the table, creeping vines climbing up the wall. A pothos makes a curtain for the window above the sink. Outside, the town of Elflock Falls, and beyond that, the very tops of the largest buildings at good old Peckenpaugh.

Mr. Carmichael is tucked against the wall, leaning against the stove, a bowl in one hand and spoon in the other. A gallon of milk sits on the peeling veneered counter beside him (why can't he put the milk away when he's done?). The slight smile he points at his daughter is both full of both sugar corn cereal and care, like he's trying very hard not to taint his daughter's opinion of their new home with his own reactions.

"And we really don't need a fridge?" Winter asks, uncertain.

Steve Carmichael shakes his head, "Nah, I mean. We can, honey, but with magic you can just pop your food in any box so long as it's got freezing charms."

"What the shit," Winter replies, bewildered.

Steve Carmichael nods at his thirteen-year-old daughter, head bobbing up and down animatedly. "I know."

A phone rings somewhere. A black rotary phone, sitting on the counter near Winter. Very loud. She ignores it.

"I have my own room? They don't put that in a box, do they?" she asks.

Steve Carmichael laughs. "Yeah, kiddo, you got your own room."

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Winter tips her head to the side. "And I don't have to go back home anymore...?"

Everything freezes.

Except for that phone.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring.

Ring.

MEMORY: Getting Sorted

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED]
[CRITERIA: defeat NPC]

Everything whips by at high speed, around and around and around in biiiig big circles. It's too fast, it's way too fast, but the tiny guy in the speeding shoe can't stop it. He hasn't been able to stop it for so long and now he's going to die here in this—this rock home under the school.

It's hard to pick out many details as the muscheron test pilot shoots past. He can hear water trickling nearby, but he can't find it and doesn't know if maybe he should find it. There's sun, and even though there's some kind of flowers and grass and maybe even some bugs here, it definitely can't be real sun all the way down down down here. Four doors zip by every few minutes, one of them glowing brightly with big big very big words written over the top. The muscheron can only make out the one that says "grow". Ohhhhh what a confusing room!! Why does it exist??

The shoe's pop-out wheel rumbles along a dirt path, narrowly avoiding a maple seed. It's the eighth time this muscheron has passed by this exact maple seed, and if he doesn't stop it, there's going to be a ninth, tenth, eleventh, and just however high numbers go amount of times. Oh no, oh no. He puts his hands on either side of his mushroom head in dismay.

"Z'kay, z'kay," breathes the muscheron. He's been in this shoe for so long (how long? will he ever know? will he ever touch stationary ground again??), he has to know how to handle a little crisis.

Ducking down into the shoe, the toadstool fairy grabs hold of something solid and round tucked into the shoe, and he tugs on it. Oh, that's stuck good. He yanks, he twists, he puuuuuuulls so hard until it breaks free, and the muscheron scrambles to keep a hold on his prize: a bright yellow yo-yo.

Okay. Okay. Deep breath. The muscheron looks behind him, to the grass and flowers and mud, grabs the string and tosses the yo-yo out.

The toy clatters along the ground, skipping past a couple rocks that could have been helpful and a mud puddle that might have slowed things down, and catches on a clump of grass. The muscheron holds on tight, arms stretching back, back, back behind him, string pulled taut.

A moth flits over and lands right on his nose, and everything stops, from the movement of the shoe to the trickle of the waterfall. Everything except the flutter of wings and some kind of... chirping? somewhere in this expansive cave.

MEMORY: Just Ducky

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED]
[CRITERIA: 8 Replies to Complete]

First things first, there are a lot of puppies here. Big ones, small ones, young and old, some that aren’t even actually canines are gathered around Elflock Falls’ dog park, splashing in tubs and tearing through an obstacle course. And Hermes Hobgood can’t think of a better way to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon than wandering through the gardens, surrounded by dogs, taking the occasional discreet drag from his vape.

He lingers near a trio of judges deciding just which hound wore their Harry Potter costume best. Hermes, who actually met Harry Potter at some bland fundraiser dinner a few years ago, thinks the Rhodesian ridgeback is a dead ringer, but the judges don’t seem to see it. Well, at least the bluetick getting the blue ribbon is cuter than the real deal.

Puffing on his vape, Hermes wanders toward the dog washing stations. He steps around a puddle of squonk juice and nods at Bearigold in greeting, and then—

“Ducky!” Richard Pompel’s shout is the only warning Hermes has before the enormous puppy wriggles her way out of his grasp. Hermes looks up just in time to see her hit a bucket of water, splashing innocent bystanders and students alike with suds as she scrambles over one table, then another. Ducky throws herself into the air... and freezes, those oversized puppy paws just inches from Hermes’ face.

MEMORY: Something's Fishy

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED]
[CRITERIA: 6 replies total]

The smell hits first. An overpowering, choking, fishy smell that permeates everything, and it doesn’t take long to find the source. In the middle of what is unmistakably a classroom—a slightly cluttered but unremarkable classroom, with Divination charts decorating the walls—a young student has a pile of dead fish and guts spread out in front of her.

There are only a few other students in the room, throwing bones or dissociating as they stare at a foggy crystal ball. Dr. Huang stands at the doorway to the classroom, accompanied by Administrator Kwan and an unfamiliar older woman with a bright pink wig and several flowing ombre scarves.

“And this will be your classroom,” Ms. Kwan announces with a sweeping gesture to the class, but Dr. Huang is only watching the girl with the fish.

“Oh, this is—” Dr. Huang’s words catch in his throat, and he’s interrupted by the fish girl waving a knife over her head. He stares at the knife, covered in blood and guts, reddish-brownish fingerprints smeared across the handle, as juices splatter the sheet and classroom floor all around her. A visible shudder runs down Dr. Huang’s spine.

“Miss Paradise!” she calls out. “Can you help me with this omen? It doesn’t make sense.”

The older woman smiles at Dr. Huang and nods toward the girl. “Don’t you want to show your stuff?”

A POCKET OF SAFETY

[peckishmods]

It's a little chilly in this alcove, though not uncomfortable. On the
contrary, it is the one place to find a bit of relief. Pouch's magic has pushed the vines and branches back, though they still block the stairs up to the second and third floors. This landing is a small haven, a place to rest, to bandage wounds.

Some students stand by here, ready with the few scavenged healing potions, poultices, and maybe some wands, to tend to wounds their friends have suffered through the journey.

[No encounters will drop in this section, but Pre-Healer Studies students may reply to check ins under this header to heal one (1) injury per comment on an injured player.]

A POCKET OF SAFETY: CURRENT STAFF

[peckishmods]

(DO NOT REPLY TO THIS COMMENT)

Currently, Winter Carmichael and Claudia Vega are patching wounds.

Any pre-healer studies students in active status may assist in healing at this location by replying to a check in to patch someone up!

BACKSTAGE

[peckishmods]

Backstage is a mess of toppled shelves, broken props and performing arts club supplies. It is dark, and few seeds have grown here to illuminate the area. Vines rip up through the floor here, flowers mere buds. A bass drum hangs off a branch like a head on a pike, both its sides pierced by the jagged living wood. Despite the ruin, it seems like you may be able to scavenge items from here.

MEMORY: Snacktime

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED]
[CRITERIA: 12 replies]

It's cool here. It's always cool over here by the big old metal tube in the forest, though. That's partly why it's nice. Overhead, through a large gap in the fresh canopy, stars twinkle and shine. The other reason it's nice is that it's safe. A dense wall of shrubs and trees makes entry for anything that doesn't know the way difficult if you don't like briars and thistles and ticks in your fur. Humans have been here before, and that's the third reason it's nice. All sorts of cool human stuff litters this little clearing. One of those plastic things that goes bright when you hit it just right, a blanket with not too many holes in it, metal cans that are fun to bat around sometimes, a bucket that makes your voice sound funny if you yell into it a whole bunch of other neat stuff. But that's not all.

Two brown furry feet bounce happily in a cluster of clovers as Bearigold hunches over a mutilated cardboard box. Inside, four dozen individually sealed packages of pudding are nestled, just waiting to be snacked upon. Bearigold doesn't know that this stuff is pudding. In her head she's trying to decide what she should name it. It's sort of like honey? But browner. So, bruney? Nice.

She swipes her one good paw into a pudding cup, breaking the seal and scooping out its entire contents before licking the sugary sweet goop from her nubby clawed fingers. She sits back, heavily, on a massive old fallen log and enjoys her pudding cup. Ah, this is the life.

Here, Bearigold freezes, mid-snack.

THE DANCE STUDIO

[peckishmods]

Pushing through the foul foliage takes you into the dance studio, which is surprisingly pristine though one of the wall mirrors is shattered. A single branch, heavy with blue seeds, pokes in through the dance studio's open door. The spring floor is unrolled, putting a slight bounce in your step that doesn't quite feel right given the circumstances. A few vines creep up the walls, but the lack of damage to this room makes everything outside of it feel all the worse.

Your friends are in here. You can feel them.

MEMORY: Saying Goodbye

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - Player Memory]
[CRITERIA: Solve the Puzzle, Defeat the NPC]
[RESERVE: Imogen Rainwater]

Suddenly in a part of the world many of the Peckenpaugh students have never seen, the Tanzanian savanna around them seems to go on forever. Endless plains of dry grass scattered sparsely with tall trees beneath an equally endless sky filled with stars so bright and clear one could be forgiven for trying to reach out and touch them. Even if most of the constellations seem a little off. Misremembered. Looking behind them, the group will see a large and obviously magical caravan stationed by one of the trees. Soft light can be seen through every window and the outside is vibrantly painted and decorated with carvings of birds. Large racks and trellises affixed to the outside of the caravan also support a flourishing garden filled with everything from knotgrass to puffapods to flitterblooms, obviously kept by a talented Herbologist. Looking ahead of them, they see...nothing.

At first.

The figure seated in the grass is small and made smaller still by the way he sits, with his head ducked and his legs pulled up to his chest. This much younger Merlin Pletcher, who can't be more than six years old, isn't crying but he has the red puffy eyes and the tear-stained cheeks to suggest that this is a fairly recent turn of events. He doesn't react when one of the caravan's doors opens and a dark-haired girl that looks to be around thirteen slips out into the night. It takes her a moment to spot him, but when she does she heads in his direction and sits beside him, simultaneously pushing something wrapped in cloth into his hands and tilting his head up by the chin. She immediately begins wiping his damp face with a handkerchief and he immediately starts to squirm.

"Mom said that's for you," the girl says, only releasing him once his face is dry and adding, "...You need to come in soon. Get some sleep."

Still riled up from being manhandled, the boy glares at his sister and then down at the item in his hands. It's warm and a small shifting of the cloth reveals a custard-filled bread bun shaped like a tiger, which immediately makes his stomach grumble greedily. He bites off the thing's ear without enjoying the taste much (even though this is one of his favorites) and murmurs in return, "Why?"

"So you can be ready for tomorrow," the girl returns patiently.

Already halfway into another bite, he chews begrudgingly and swallows despite the lump forming in his throat. "...I don't wanna go."

"You need to go."

"...It's stupid."

"Saying goodbye to dad is stupid?"

Nothing. So she tries again. "Merlin."

"Saying goodbye to someone that's not gone is stupid. You don't know where he is. Nobody knows where he is. So you can't say stuff like that! You don't even know...!"

Silence hangs between the pair for a long moment while Merlin glares down at the treat and Kes slips her arm around her brother's shoulder, finally pulling him into a hug. He doesn't resist this and, when she rests her cheek against the top of his head, he doesn't resist that either.

"Then...do it for us. Because we want you there. And when dad comes home you can tell us how stupid we are. Hm?" She punctuates this point with a small squeeze, glancing off into the distance while she waits for an answer. Her eyes are just as red as his and she sounds exhausted. Maybe Merlin can hear it too because he doesn't say anything. He sniffles and wipes roughly at his face and she presses a small kiss against his hair.

"...Except mom," he croaks finally, his small voice almost lost in the breeze that's starting moving through the tall grass.

"Except mom," Kestrel agrees solemnly, then something in the sky seems to catch her attention. "...Draco's out tonight. Did you see?"

Immediately, Merlin lifts his head and looks upward. His dad had shown him that constellation, he knows. Because of course he had. But he can't remember the shape and he can't see it and his eyes feel hot as fresh tears start to well up again. The rising breeze suddenly goes still and so does the scene. Everything is quiet.