peckenpaugh | HE IS HERE

Entry tags:

! ic/ooc,
* endgame

HE IS HERE

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.]

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??"

Edited 2020-06-01 16:27 (UTC)

There's a collapsed table at Felicity's feet, a snapped plastic tiara and nicked crown thrown to the ground. An envelope, mostly untarnished, rests on top of it, a piece of paper sticking out.

PROM COURT
KING: Harrison Hartshorn
QUEEN: Audrey Poke

PRINCE: Adrian Gildersleeves
PRINCESS: Felicity Deverill

DUKE: Kirby Sparrowgrove
DUCHESS: Willow Quackenbush

Ah, that explains it. It's a Quackenbush's fault. Might as well grab a tiara Princess!

Felicity picks up the piece of paper and sighs. No wonder she and Harrison never got together this year. He was her (prom) dad.

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."

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.

Edited 2020-06-01 17:17 (UTC)

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..."

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.

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!"

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'."

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.

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.

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.

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.)

Cedar wore coveralls to prom.

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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

HE IS HERE

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

START OF THE NIGHT: Felicity

Re: START OF THE NIGHT: Felicity

Re: START OF THE NIGHT: Felicity

START OF THE NIGHT: Mary Grace

START OF THE NIGHT: Imogen Rainwater

START OF THE NIGHT: Aris

START OF THE NIGHT: Eddy

START OF THE NIGHT: Jupiter

START OF THE NIGHT: Tony

START OF THE NIGHT: Audrey

START OF THE NIGHT: Trudy

START OF THE NIGHT: Lydia

START OF THE NIGHT: Patrice

START OF THE NIGHT: Cedar

START OF THE NIGHT: Ramona