peckenpaugh | 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 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.

"W-hy~?" Patrice asks of Felicity, voice sing-songy as he pulls himself in closer to the side of the building and then lets go of the railing, quickly flipping his grip from overhanded to underhanded. He nearly falls, but manages to catch himself at the last moment.

Mary Grace flings her pack of tampons at his head.

"If Pres just Summons the card can we leave him here?"

"Tempting, but I don't want to explain to Lovelace why he's dead." Presley takes aim at Patrice, and flicks his wand in a sharp upward movement. "Levicorpus."

A voice in the background offers encouraging words: "Y'all are doin' great!"

"Some less great than others," Presley adds. Now that Patrice has been hoisted into the air by an ankle, Presley turns so he can drag his roommate right through the green smoke again and dump him on the porch. "Someone get the card." Sorry Patrice, he has no faith in your state of mind right now.

Initially, Patrice doesn't like being hoisted up by his ankle, but he quickly realizes it's kind of fun, so he laughs. Of course, that stops abruptly when he's deposited on the porch. He groans loudly, frustrated, but produces the two cards he has and waves them above his head as he lies back. He thinks this will be a fun game of them trying to catch his hand, but in all honesty he's too goofy right now to be overly coordinated.

"You guys are so laaaame."

"He's funny, I kinda like him this way," Mary Grace says and snatches for Patrice's hands. "We gotta ask Wy what kinda smoke he keeps in his dreams."

"Give em up, ya goob," Felicity tells Patrice as she helps Mary Grace pry his hands open.

Edited 2020-06-06 18:19 (UTC)

"Homebrewed vape juice," Presley says, with the confidence of someone who started smoking two hours ago and now considers himself an authority. He walks over to the milk crate table, and sets down the Death card in the "future" spot, making sure to hold it there with two fingers in case the stupid wind starts acting up again.

The third card looks like it tries to glow a little. Or maybe that's just the glint of the setting sun behind them.

"The Death card works!" Presley calls out to the others. "Turns out that you are good for something, Tang." Sure that the card won't budge, he steps back. "Put the other ones down."

Patrice, once the cards are extracted from his hands, rolls over onto his stomach, and then, after a moment of thought, attempts to do a somersault.

"I'm good for a million things!" Even hyped up on green smoke, his ego is intact.

Felicity checks the card she extracted from Patrice. The six of wands. She walks over to Presley and sets it down in the "past" position.

"MG, let's bring our baby home."

MEMORY: Practice

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