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

Patrice probably has the right idea, because a light breeze blows past, making the cards on the floor skitter slightly. The one in the spiderweb wobbles precariously.

Checking the cards he's collected so far, they appear to be mostly swords and pentacles. Useless. Presley drops his cards on the milk crate, and walks past the immobile boy and his mother to check the cards that were blown to the wall. "And the future card..." He reaches up and tugs down the one caught in the spiderweb, spinning on his heel to flash it at his friends. "Death."

"I got the six!" Felicity announces and flicks the card in Patrice's direction. But she's a witch, not a magician, and the card nosedives to the porch. She picks it up and walks it over to him.

Edited (just wanted to get this in before work starts) 2020-06-05 17:19 (UTC)

Should have held on to that card a little better, Felicity. Just as she's about to pass it to Patrice, she loses it, snatched away on a breeze and carried across the porch to that green smoke. It flickers, sort of appearing to move and sort of not, like a holographic image, but that doesn't stop it from carrying the six of wands up, up and out of sight.

At first, it seems like it might just be gone, trapping the group here forever, but a keen eye will spot it on the floor above little Wyatt's home, stuck in the grille of that window AC unit.

Edited 2020-06-05 18:12 (UTC)

Mary Grace tries to lasso the card.

Mary Grace manages to lasso the AC unit.

She meant to do that.

Mary Grace holds the rope out to the others. She's done her part, get to climbing, someone else!

"Tang is the tallest," Presley calls out, not moving from his spot.

Edited 2020-06-05 18:38 (UTC)

"Ughhhhhhhh," Patrice groans, because he doesn't want to do anything else but he also assumes that time is of the essence.

"I'm also the best looking, and I'm telling Wyatt I did this whole thing by myself," he complains, tucking the first two cards into his pocket as he heads over to assess the situation. Presley is a little right, though - he shouldn't have to get up as high to get a hold of the card. Even so, this is terrifying, especially given the wind earlier, and he doesn't want to do it.

It looks like if someone tall enough climbed up the porch railing, they might be able to stretch and grab the card, though it would put them right in that green smoke.

"I'll spot you," Mary Grace offers to Patrice, who is obviously the one climbing up into that smoke. "If you fall, just angle your ass toward me 'n' Pres."

Edited (SORRY I'm done now lol ) 2020-06-05 22:41 (UTC)

Presley tucks the Death card into the safe confines of his tote bag, and moves within spotting distance. "You're in good hands," he says, full of reassurance. "We're experienced."

Edited 2020-06-05 22:48 (UTC)

Felicity gives Patrice a thumbs up. "Smoke's harmless," she says. Or maybe she's already so screwed up that its effects on her are imperceivable.

Patrice flips off his friends before taking off his jacket and wrapping it around his face, tying the sleeves behind his head to give him at least some protection.

"You guys seriously don't have anything to help me out?" he asks before starting his ascent, voice a little muffled by the fabric.

"Your butt looks nice!" Mary Grace offers, as moral support.

Presley rolls his eyes. "You are so whiny," he says before brandishing his wand. With every bit of theatricality at his disposal, Presley sweeps it before him and aims a gust of wind at the green smoke.

Felicity's tiara blows away.

The smoke scatters, more like grains of sand than a gas. It's significantly thinned, but it took Felicity's tiara overboard. :(

Taking this opportunity, Patrice climbs as quickly as he can, reaching out to try to grab the card off of the AC unit before the smoke resettles.

It takes some stretching. For a few minutes, the tips of Patrice's fingers just barely brush the card, and it looks like they might need to come up with another plan. But then, he's able to knock it free and grab it.

By now, he's spent several minutes in the smoke, and though it's thinner, he can still smell something harsh and sharp. It burns his lungs a little, until it doesn't anymore. Then everything seems pretty... fun. Isn't this all just so funny?

Edited 2020-06-06 02:30 (UTC)

Patrice can't help but cough as the smoke pulls into his lungs, but at least he's got the card. He shoves it into his pocket and is about to start his descent when, suddenly, he doesn't really want to. No, going down there seems kind of boring - especially because it means doing more work. With only one hand still gripping the railing he swings out while laughing a little, his feet still planted against the structure but his position much more precarious than it was before.

"Ughhh, I don't want to do any more of this," he half complains, but he sounds more amused than annoyed.

Mary Grace huffs loudly and tries to yank the AC unit down on top of Patrice.

Felicity looks at Presley like somehow this is his fault.

Presley pulls up his wand in irritation, stopping the wind. "Oh pardon me, I don't see you doing anything to help."

Called out.

Felicity looks up at Patrice. "Getchyour ass down here."

There. She helped.

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice

MEMORY: Practice