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

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.

MEMORY: Saying Goodbye

[teratophilia]

The memory of the Freshman trying to dodge a kiss had been uncomfortable to witness, but this memory feels even more intimate. One that he and the others definitely shouldn't be privy to.

Armani doesn't know much about Merlin's dad, only bits and pieces of info he'd gleaned from conversations here and there. But he had no idea Merlin's dad was... missing.

"Just start touching things, I think?" he says, already moving with haste to little Merlin's side. No time to waste, they have to free Merlin and make their way to the others. -- Except that he does steal the briefest moment to pat the top of Merlin's head. Fond, nurturing, with a little bit of pity thrown in to the mix. "That's how we freed them in the other memory I was in."

He reaches down to touch the tiger-face bun. It's a start.

MEMORY: Dumpster Dive

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - Player Memory]
[CRITERIA: Complete Puzzle, Complete Encounters]

A dumpster squats next to the graffiti-scrawled wall of an average American public school, cigarette butts littering the concrete below it. An overgrown preteen rushes up, waving a lightsaber. A ten-year-old Kirby races after him, but the bully has a head start. Shouting taunts, the bigger boy buries the toy deep in the dumpster, while Kirby watches helplessly, too small to fight well. Apparently in the fifth grade, it’s not cool to bring a plastic lightsaber to school. Hey, at least he learned something from this experience! Though he would prefer to learn in a less disgusting way.

Kirby wishes he could use magic, but he doesn’t know how, being stuck at stupid Muggle school. Instead, he hoists his small frame up the side of the dumpster, his sneakers slipping on the metal. The smell of rotting cafeteria fish hits him, and he gags.

“Need a little help getting your toy?” sneers a voice behind Kirby. A heavy hand shoves him, and he tumbles into the dumpster, his glasses coming askew. Before he knows it, he’s sinking among banana peels and half-eaten hot dogs, while flies buzz around his head. A cry of protest escapes his lips.

“Don’t squawk, Sparrow!” the boy hisses. Kirby gasps with horror as the boy lifts the lid and releases it. The lid falls with a loud clang, and Kirby is plunged into darkness.

MEMORY: Dumpster Dive

[arisahn]

This scene isn't like the last one, not just a fleeting moment between classmates that had been awkward but actually harmless, and Aris stares for a moment with his mouth open as the memory unfolds. It's Kirby's cry and the slamming of the dumpster that pull him back to reality, rushing forward and calling out in offended astonishment, "Hey! Come on! You can't...! Seriously...!"

Who does that?

Not that the bully is listening. Like before, the scene has gone still and silent. Aris, however, will worry about that once he's got the lid to the dumpster open. Root or no root, they need to get the younger Kirby out of there!

MEMORY: Haunted House

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - Player Memory]
[CRITERIA: Defeat the NPC]
[RESERVE: Armani Addams]

The first thing that's apparent is how big everything seems. Like it was when you were a child. You're in a long hallway, dark wood panelling lined with morbid little curios that wouldn't be out of place in a haunted house. Old portraits of Victorian era elders, unmoving. A cuckoo clock chimes out nine and a small bird's skeleton pops out. It's miles up, relatively. Just a few feet ahead dances a small girl, about your height, pirouetting down the hallway. She's dressed in a leotard and black tutu, hair done up in a poor imitation of a bun that would bring great shame to an older Chanel. She's made a crown for herself, black feathers stuck into a tiara, doubtlessly scavenged from the latest roadkill she's tried to preserve. and she's waving a lot more around. (Did she kill a crow for this? Probably not.)

There's music coming from another, adjoining room. Something like a calliope in a minor key, which fits in well with the rest of this house. It's being piped from a distinctly old, but distinctly non-magical turntable, with a record whirring away. Peeking in, there's a little Armani. He's dancing, too, arms outstretched, twirling around. The little Chanel pauses in the doorway, a little smile growing on her face. And then her expression changes, goes stark white. Behind the door dances Armani and at least five porcelain dolls. They twirl and spin with him, not on strings, not controlled by anything other than the little boy himself. Her gasp, quiet though it was, seems to take up all the air in the room. She drops the feathers from her hand, and hot tears spring to her eyes, because she knows what this means.

MEMORY: Haunted House

[teratophilia]

Tears spill from his eyes the moment he sees his home. This is Chanel's memory. He's finally found her. And he's going to get her out of here.

He's hot on her heels, all anxious energy, as he follows her through their hallway. He stands behind her in the doorway, hands hovering at her shoulders but too afraid to touch her, to set the memory off course, to trap her here, until the memory freezes and he pulls the frozen little girl into a hug.

"Your bun looks atrocious," he sobs at her with affection.

MEMORY: I Can Go Twice As High

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED]
[CRITERIA: Minimum 16 Replies, Max Group Size 3]
[NOTE: Requires some climbing to reach the linchpin.]

This bright and sunny field of fluffy white clouds is probably familiar to most Peckenpaugh students this year. That pink lemonade sunset sky is just like it was at the beginning of the year, and the visitors to this memory may even catch themselves romping across the bouncy fluff, gliding between clouds on magnificent wings during Pocket's first party of the year. This particular cloud is crowded with classmates all scrambling to get one of those snack-filled balloons and see what's inside.

"Eric," says a voice that sounds a little whiny. The owner, a Mothgarden freshman with hummingbird wings, points up into the sky. Up, up, to a balloon that's practically a tiny green dot in the sky. "I want that one."

Eric, a Thorntrail, if you even keep track of freshmen's names, tries not to let the sigh he heaves escape too noisily. Unfortunately for him, it does, because his "friend" pouts and scowls at the sound.

"Alright, alright," says Eric. He hates heights, but up seems like the only way he can get away from this. He spreads his wings, kicks up off the ground, and just like that everything freezes.

It seems everything's frozen. Completely static on the ground and in the air. An able climber might with some trying scale these balloons and get to that tiny green one way up in the sky.

MEMORY: I Can Go Twice As High

[themurderbird]

"I hate her," Trudy announces, pointing to the whiny Mothgarden freshman.

MEMORY: Sports Ball

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - Player Memory]
[CRITERIA: Defeat NPC, Find Linchpin]
[RESEREVE: Jupiter Quigley, Trudy McGilliguddy]

Everything begins midair. On a broom, thankfully, not falling or anything, but still dozens of feet above the ground, bobbing lazily on a stick. Most of a Quidditch pitch can be seen from here, the grass a little greener and the stands a lot shinier than what Peckenpaugh has to offer. Birds chirp somewhere nearby, probably because this, the sky, is supposed to be their domain.

"Ready for it, Cloudy?" A young man hovering nearby knocks into the memory holder with his shoulder. He's handsome and athletic, and though he's not familiar, there's something in his eyes reminiscent of Claudia Vega.

"I'm ready to kick butts, Teo." The voice is a little young, a little more filled with hope and optimism, but it's definitely Claudia.

"They're hazing you, not testing you, there's no winning." Teo laughs, but his tone warm. Someone behind him blows a whistle, a shrill blast that echoes through the entire fancy Quidditch pitch.

"Not with that attitude," Claudia calls out as Teo backs away from her. "Bet if I catch the Snitch they'll make me first string Seeker."

"Yeah, and if you catch a Bludger they'll carry you out of here on their shoulders."

The jolt of excitement that shoots through Claudia Vega's entire mind at that idea is tangible. Even Teo seems to sense it, sputtering as the whistle blasts again. "Cloudy, don't you dare actually—"

"Vega! And Vega!" As Teo backs away, Claudia can see more people on brooms waiting several feet away, all of them are holding a ball. No, several balls. The burly senior with the whistle palms a red dodgeball and smiles just a little dangerously. "Everyone to positions!"

"Aye aye, Captain!" Claudia throws her hand up in a salute and takes position in front of the goals. Tense. Focused. Waiting, her entire core tightened and engaged just to keep her from teetering. Just outside the scoring zone, an entire Quidditch team worth of people readies their ammunition.

Once more, the sound of a whistle rings out, and every flyer lets loose a ball. They barely even have them out of their hands before the whistle signals another wave, and then another.

Claudia doesn't waste a moment looking for the most dangerous target up there. The Bludger zips toward the goal and she throws herself to the right, locking her knees around the broom and trusting a little too much in her own conditioning to keep her airborne.

And before a single ball can hit home, everything freezes. Claudia hangs, mostly horizontal, while waves of balls hang in the air. There's the big red dodgeball and a volleyball with a face, a golf ball and a medicine ball, a Snitch and a quod, and they're all good and stuck there. No matter how hard you pull or how much weight you put on them, these balls ain't going nowhere.

MEMORY: Sports Ball

[gasgiant]

"Hey! It's Claude!" Jupiter declares with a broad grin and a jab of her finger as she's literally dropped into the scene. She falls like a cat that's reached terminal velocity, perfectly okay with this the moment she's realized it's happening. Pure, unadulterated Don't worry, I do this all the time energy.

She lands fairly gracefully on little Claudia. Gives her baby Chaser an apologetic pat on the head. A professional plummeter.

And then she remembers that her memory-spelunking companion is not. "Oh, peanuts."

Jupiter cranes her neck up to see where Trudy's coming from, reaching out to grab her if she's falling too far.

MEMORY: Unmasked

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - Player Memory]
[CRITERIA: Defeat NPC, find linchpin]
[RESERVE: Aristotle Ahn]

Overhead, a pale blue sky is punched through by a heatless February sun. It’s a lovely, spring day and the space feels charged with possibility. Along the banks of the Greentooth River, revelers in whimsical and elaborate animal masks are launching blunted arrows into the ether. Some land ineffectually in the water with a splash, while others seem to disappear in swirls of mist as they cross to the opposite bank—advice given. There’s muffled conversation, the rush of steady moving water, and bird song in the air.

Sitting in the grass, surrounded neatly and improbably by dozens of spring crocuses, is a couple in close conversation. The boy is immediately recognizable as Aris Ahn. A bear cub mask rests on the top of his head, which somehow serves to perfectly tousle his hair in a manner that should not be physically possible. His long fingers worry over an iron thimble as he speaks. He’s a little broader about the shoulders than you remember and when he smiles, there’s an audible sparkling ping off of his perfectly straight, white teeth.

His companion is less obviously identifiable, in part because of the brown rabbit mask that covers the top half of her face. She sits cross-legged with one hand over the other, gripping her shins. Even at a distance, it’s clear that she is enraptured by whatever Aris is saying. Suddenly, she straightens her spine and squares her shoulders. A sheet of brown hair lays against her back, looking windswept despite the stillness. “Would you like that? If your crush were direct with you?” she asks, her voice rises and falls in a recognizable lilt.

Aris Ahn smiles and at once the sunshine on your face feels warmer. The warbling of birds grows louder. A crocus blossoms at your feet. “If she was direct with me, I think my heart’d just about beat out my chest,” he says.

MEMORY: Unmasked

[arisahn]

There might not be any getting used to these surreal memories they're interrupting or the nightmarish reality that their school has become, but Aris is beginning to feel somewhat more grounded the longer the night goes on. He wants it to be over and he wants all their friends to be safe, but at least now he knows what to do and what to expect.

Or, at least, he thinks he does.

Stepping into this memory that's so vividly familiar to him is immediately disorienting. Seeing that him that isn't him, Aristotle 2.0 with the perfect hair and the broad shoulders, and hearing his own words being recited like lines from a script, makes him stop and stare. The content of those words doesn't help either. He feels his face flush with heat and he shakes his head, protesting thoughtlessly, "Hey..." The fact that this must be the mystery girl's memory only occurs to him afterward and his attention turns to her instead.

Unlike his doppelganger, her mask is still on. But without the distorting influence of magic, isn't she...more familiar? Her voice. Her posture. The way that her long hair falls down her back. His mind stutters, refusing to make that final jump just yet.

MEMORY: Making the Cut

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED]
[CRITERIA: Minimum 12 Replies]

It's a squishy, soggy day here in the holler, but Peanut Jones ain't about to let that throw her off. That's just part of the game. Whipping through the driving rain, mud and muck splattering against her goggles, the young Quidditch hopeful can't think of a better way to prove herself.

There's something golden that glints in the distance, but Peanut isn't ready to end this little trial. Everything tilts downward suddenly as Peanut guns it toward the ground, ripping through the air at top speeds. Reckless? Maybe. Worth it? Hell yeah.

The ground is coming up fast. Peanut shifts forward and takes a hand off her broom, and that feeling of extreme confidence floods the mind of everyone there. But there's something there, in the corner of her eye—a leaf or a bug that could cause a bigger problem if it shifts onto her goggles. She reaches up to brush it away and jerks suddenly when a pair of wings brushes her back.

"Sorreeeeeeeeeee!" she hears as the bug drops off her goggles and gets whipped back by the wind. Oh, shit, was that not—Peanut tries to catch the bug's fate, but she's gone in a flash, and she's too close to the ground to worry about that now. The view spins back around and everything freezes just a few feet from the soaking wet grass.

MEMORY: Making the Cut

[bratsquatch]

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Felicity groans as she realizes whose memory they're in. Even with goggles obscuring parts of her face, it's clear that's Peanut Jones on the broom. Felicity would recognize that shitty flying technique anywhere.

Peanut Jones. Everyone's favorite seeker who led Wildgulch to dead fucking last in the Quidditch standings.

Felicity crosses her arms and looks at Patrice and Desmond. "Have at it."

MEMORY: Writing Notes

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - player memory]
[CRITERIA: solve the puzzle, get the linchpin]
[RESERVED: Patrice]

It's early morning in a small, but comfortable apartment. The windows are all open, letting in the sunlight and the breeze and the sounds of the city below. The space itself is well-kept, but has quite a few things in it, mostly tools for divination - shelves piled with tarot cards, crystals, bones, sticks, runes scraped into shells and stones. It's ordered, though, so despite the clutter there's a vein of sense running through the place. This memory is sharp, every detail almost distressingly exact, down to a small line of dust running along the shelf edges. In fact, everything seems sharp, too sharp, liable to cut you if you're not careful.

Seated at the kitchen table with a crystal ball that's filled with swirling black and streaks of red, a woman hunches over a piece of paper, writing swiftly with a fountain pen. Next to her are envelopes marked with the names 'Auntie Li Min' and 'Cybil.' There are a few other things on the table as well - a tarot horseshoe spread with the Tower card in the lower right corner, a few rune stones thrown out atop them. The flight rune and scythe rune are face up. A piece of paper, off-white and handmade looking, has a few spots of browning red on it.

The woman finishes off her current letter with a heart, folds it up, and places it in an envelope that she sets on top of the other two. It's labeled 'Patrice.' Her left hand tightly grips the pen, thumb distractedly running over the clip on the cap. A man enters, tall and strong but gentle looking, to take a seat at the table as well. His brows are knit tightly, his mouth turned down into a frown.

"You're sure about this one?"

"Positive."

"But what if we don't-"

"It doesn't matter, Porter. You know that. This is it."

Their hands intertwine on the table. The woman looks as though she's going to say something else, but the soft, sleepy voice of a child calls out from another room.

"Mama?"

"I'll be right there, sweetheart."

As she stands, time slows to a stop, her fingers only halfway slipped away from the man's.

MEMORY: Writing Notes

[shoulderdevil]

Instantly, Patrice feels sick, and he desperately wants to try to shove Presley and Desmond out of this memory even though there's nowhere to go. His old home is recognizable to him even in this slightly-too-sharp state, and as the memory plays out it's clear to him what day it is as well. He's not sure if his roommates will know immediately, but surely they can guess.

"Ah fuck," he says, more to himself than the other two boys. He really doesn't want to do this, especially in front of his friends. With things at a standstill he takes a hesitant step towards his mother.

MEMORY: Home for the Holidays

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - player memory]
[CRITERIA: find the linchpin, complete the scene]

It's just dark, at first. But the blinking twinkle lights from outside light up the room softly, and it's possible to see that this is a small, dingy kitchen. Warm, but winter's howling just outside. It's lonely in here. Atlas Quigley is all by himself, and has been for some time. Although We Wish You a Merry Wizmas pipes through a magical radio, silence sits heavily on this house. There's a frozen dinner at Atlas' right elbow that he's ignoring for a large bag of Doritos; feet on the table. He's flipping through his phone, which comes into focus. It's nothing scandalous. Just a message from Mom saying Home late say hi for us.
He doesn't look surprised.

It's settling in to be the most boring scene ever, when something thumps, a few rooms away. Atlas sits up straight.

MEMORY: Home for the Holidays

[peckishmods]

The front door flings open, and a small group of indeterminate teens and young adults scoop Atlas up. It's hard to tell who's who. But the lights go on immediately (Why are you sitting in the dark, freak? comes a fond question from above,) and the house gets instantly warmer. Someone runs directly into the kitchen and yells that he didn't get dinner ready, but they seem to be stuffing their face with chips, so everyone here will survive.

The door stays open as Atlas hangs off the neck of one of his brothers, as another gives him a noogie, and although he's cursing, he can't stop smiling.

MEMORY: Broken Up

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - player memory]
[CRITERIA: Defeat the NPC, find the linchpin]
[RESERVED: Tony, Merlin]

Outside Deeplurk, in the evening, before curfew but probably not by much. Despite the hour, Holland is dressed well and fully made up - pearl earrings, pearl necklace, a silk ribbon, sensible-ish pumps, lipstick, eyeliner - though her eyes are a little red, likely from crying. There's a fussy energy about her and it permeates the whole space: discomfort, antsiness, worry, doubt. It layers another sense of uncomfortable heat over the already warm night air, and the tapping of her rings on the wooden railing seems strangely loud. Probably the most disconcerting thing, though, is the litany of what seem to be Holland's thoughts that vibrate through the air. Though somewhat soft, they are constant and fervent.

He's being mean to you. He clearly doesn't like you. He clearly doesn't even want to be around you. Who avoids their girlfriend? You just have to be a big girl and break it off, ok? He's not right for you, anyway. He's very rude. You don't even like him that much, right? There are much better boys. Much better. And even if this dumb one doesn't want you, it doesn't mean the better ones won't.

Those thoughts turn, swiftly, to a streak of curse words that Holland has never uttered aloud as a figure comes into view. It's Tony, ostensibly, but his figure is looming, much taller than he actually is. Tony from Holland's perspective is, of course, towering, and it gives him an almost ominous air.

"Well, I'm glad you could finally make time for me," she says sharply, though her voice shakes. A boat knocks against the dock behind her, also strangely loud.

Tony says something, but it's muffled, obscure; not even the tone is clearly conveyed. It's just some weird static coming from him, and his form becomes blurry, as if seen through tears.

"We're dating," Holland says in argument. "Well, we were. I'm breaking up with you, ok? This is… we're…" Holland can't seem to get out her next words and turns to look out towards the lake. Roughly, she tries to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, but it's clearly too rough - one of her pearl earrings goes flying, arching towards the lake, and the ribbon in her hair comes undone and begins to fall, before everything suddenly comes to a standstill.

MEMORY: Broken Up

[peckishmods]

"Shit," Holland hisses out loud, and now she's really crying as her earring plunks loudly into the water. She snatches up her ribbon from the ground, turns very abruptly to look at Tony, and then goes to shove past him, though her shoulder connecting with him mostly bounces her awkwardly to the side and doesn't move him at all.

"Don't look at me or talk to me or anything ever again."

As she retreats her heel catches and she stumbles forward a little, wailing out a quiet "For heaven's sake!" before she skitters off towards the entrance to House Deeplurk. The place where her heel had caught in the wood appears to be a hatch with a notch cut out so it can be pulled up.

MEMORY: Rivals

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED - player memory]
[CRITERIA: Minimum 8 Replies]
[RESERVE: Holland]

Hands with soft pink nails scrabble under the table, looking for something lost. Beyond the curtain draped over the folding table there are hundreds of fee, and a cacophony of voices and the yowls of unhappy cats. The girl groans in frustration, and when she rises back to her knee's she's face-to-face with an impassive cat that's more fur than animal. Valkyrie glowers at it, but the cat doesn't seem to care. As though to emphasize its lack of concern for her frustration, the feline begins to groom itself, completely oblivious to the kennel it's in and the chaos around it.

"I hate you," she whispers to her nemesis before resuming her hunt, through several bags and pet carriers.

"Valica," a new voice calls, and Valkyrie's search freezes, before becoming noticeably more desperate. "Is the dijete ready yet?" The woman has an eastern European accent.

"I can't find the stupid brush!" Val snaps back. She sounds a little younger than usual.

"Do not take that tone with me, Valkyrie." Her mother materializes next to her, and immediately finds the brush just behind one of the many bags scattered around. "You are such a ridiculous girl sometimes. Pay attention instead of losing your temper. I don't know why I bother."

Val snatches the brush from her mother, face mid-snarl, and the scene comes to an abrupt halt.

MEMORY: Always Prepared

[peckishmods]

[MODERATED - player memory]
[CRITERIA: complete the memory]

"... a goose egg, a rubber ball, two carrots, a remote control for something I don't even think we own, a spork, a wrench, the top half of a toothbrush, wire, a tin of magical mini mints, and — is this a real autographed headshot of Johnny Depp?" Willow looks up from the fanny pack to stare at her sibling aghast. "Cedar, where are the bandaids?" She shakes the bag in emphasis, and several items scatter across the small wooden boat in the middle of a bog holding three cursed children.

MEMORY: Happy Anniversary

[peckishmods]

[UNMODERATED]
[CRITERIA: Minimum 8 Replies]

A gentle but chilling breeze blows through the air as Ms. Altizer hurries across the campus. The plain black dress she threw on at the last minute does nothing to protect her against the crisp cold of the night, and her (unnecessarily expensive) black satin slingback heels clack and wobble along the cobblestone paths. This is stupid. She's wearing slippers next time she has to chaperone.

The bonfire burning outside the auditorium grows closer, its flickering flames magically steadied so as not to whip around too much in the wind. Ms. Altizer pauses at the perimeter to adjust a strap on her heel, basking in that warmth and light for one last moment before she has to care for the wellbeing of dozens of children that don't even belong to her.

Then, she hears him.

"There you are." Alva Berzelius, a man who, much to everyone's dismay, still sends butterflies through her stomach. He emerges from behind the bonfire, casually handsome in his suit, tossing a small box up and down in his hand. "I had money on you finally wising up and taking off."

"I'd never figure out my Google calendar again," she mutters, standing back up and straightening out her dress. "And those kids can find me anywhere, I'll never escape—why do you have a box?"

Mr. Berzelius grins and twirls the tiny box on the tip of his finger for a brief moment. "Haaappy anniversary?"

Ms. Altizer is speechless for an entire second before the scene hits pause.

RESCUED: Pax & OPEN++

[wildchild]

Oh, hey, everything is majorly messed up right now, huh? Pax sits on the dance studio floor, a little dazed but pretty fine otherwise given that her dress is unharmed besides being a little rumpled, and she's got her bag with her and her combat boots on! That seems like she's prepared for... whatever this is.

She looks around, slow and calm and thoughtful, as she tries to figure out what in the holy hell is going on. Even after she's sort of figured it out, it seems better, for the moment, to just chill for a while.

"Yo...?" she calls out.