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

[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.

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

Edited (already contributing valuably) 2020-06-03 01:58 (UTC)

Lydia's got her head tilted back during Trudy's dressing down of the freshman, her upper lip curled in distaste as she heaves a truly put-upon sigh.

"The fuck," she mutters. Then, louder, in some degree of agreement: "Get your own shit, kid."

Patrice groans, loudly. He tugs on the frozen kid, Eric, to confirm to himself that he's pretty well stuck in place.

"I think we all agree she sucks. Doesn't help us much, though." He wrinkles his nose a little. "...god, seriously though, so whiny," says the boy who is never whiny ever.

It really doesn't help much, does it? Not much about this situation is helping. She's wearing a dress, this bag doesn't have a fucking strap, and she's stomping around Bizarro World without a wand.

"Okay." It's not. But, y'know. Regrouping. Formulating. Uncursing. "She's the worst. Fantastic." Another short breath, fingers cutting the air in Budget Icarus' direction. "Well, Eric's fucked. So somebody's got to get her shit for her."

Lydia is, of course, right. He's had about 2 interactions with her ever, maybe, but at least she doesn't seem dumb. Just kind of salty. That's ok, he can work with salty. He nods upwards.

"Yep, looks like it. Anyone here particularly good at climbing? I'm not trash because I've got strong arms but I'm not impressive or anything either. Or lightweight, if this stuff isn't as stuck as we think it is."

Trudy, not waiting for anyone else, is already starting to try to climb.

However, it turns out that she's not particularly good at it, as she falls almost immediately, landing on the cloud floor flat on her back. "I'm going to borrow some wings," she announces, heading right back over to the Mothgarden freshman to see if she can figure out how to steal from her.

Lydia monitors Trudy's progress with a bemused smile tugging at her mouth. "Probably an ethical dilemma involved in wing-scalping."

This doesn't seem like its an issue, but pointing it out makes her own personal ethics feel slightly comforted.

She shakes her head and tugs on the string of the lowest balloon, testing it without any great enthusiasm. As though there are other, better options being presented to them. Then she drops her coat and tosses her bag on top of it, turning to Patrice. "Make sure my shit doesn't fall through a cloud, Mr. Strong Arms."

Oops, Trudy down, but whatever, the clouds are soft and she seems fine. She's certainly stubborn enough to be fine, anyway. "Don't fall off the edge of the world, Trudy."

Patrice is a little more convinced of Lydia's plan, anyway - he turns to the other junior as she speaks to him, stretching.

"Want a boost to get started? Also, if you fall from too high I'm not going to try to catch you. Your stuff'll be safe, though."

Trudy is having a hard time wrestling off these wings without a wand to aid her. If only she had her wand! Or any wand! But particularly the Elder Wand! She's still mad about that one.

"Come on," Trudy says, lacing her fingers together to use as a step. "We'll boost you. The cheerleaders do it, how hard can it be?"

"Cheerleading's terrifying," Lydia replies, though she's already lacing her fingers together and twisting them out in front of her to crack her knuckles and start forward. "They're reckless and very coordinated."

She braces her fingers onto both of their shoulders and stomps a boot into someone's palm. "If I die?" A wide grin. "Neither of you can have my shit."

"Cheerleaders are weird." The ones he lives with definitely are.

Patrice braces for Lydia to climb up him and Trudy, mirroring the older girl's hands to better facilitate this.

"I'm totally taking your stuff if you die, so don't die." Genuinely, he's a little nervous, but he's not about to show that.

"Me as well. No sense in leaving it," Trudy agrees. With Lydia's feet in her hands, she does her best to lift the other girl, trying to keep her steady and not completely failing at it.

"You both suck," Lydia says, and scrabbles herself onto the top of the balloon, getting her feet under her and rising slowly. She stands for a second, arms outstretched, looking slightly unstable and very dubious. Okay. Question now is jump to the top of next one over or try to go for a pull-up.

"God, that's so fucking high in the air." She reaches up for a string, tugs it to test for non-existent buoyancy. Then shakes her head and makes a less-than-graceful leap onto a blue balloon that's just off to the left and a couple inches higher. "This kid's the actual worst."

Edited 2020-06-04 02:19 (UTC)

"Mmhm," Patrice hums to Lydia, for a brief moment feeling a little bad that he hadn't offered to make the climb. It goes away quickly though - she'd volunteered herself, after all, and is probably decent at falling from heights thanks to Quidditch.

"We'll tell her she sucks once we're out of this hell hole."

He looks to Trudy, a little unsure of what to do now.

"You don't have a wand either, right?"

"Unfortunately, no," Trudy says with a heavy sigh. "I thought I had one..." She'll never get over the Elder Wand, okay. "But things you take from memories don't stay with you. However, we could still loot around here, see if there's anything useful on anyone here?" That had been the plan when she tried to steal Annoying Girl's wings, but even though that hadn't worked out, there are plenty of other people here. "Do you think if I find myself and steal my own wand, then I can use it within the memory? Even if it disappears when we leave?"

You guys can feel free to loot yourselves. Lydia is -

Well, Lydia's cursing creatively and making a concerted effort not to die. As no one's really established clear and decisive rules on whether or not dying is a thing that sticks here. (Though there's an argument that can be made for 'no' - seeing as personal items don't stick here. Though there's also an argument that can be made for having to drag someone's corpse out of someone else's head that she doesn't really want to think on too hard.)

"Fucking shit," she yells. It's cathartic. This balloon is too far away and this process is a pain in the god damn ass.

Suddenly and quite without warning, sound and movement start up again. A pleasant breeze blows, the balloons bob up and down, and with a sudden roar of sound, Eric's wings light up — part jetpack, apparently — and he rockets off the ground.

Lydia's skill on a broom means she doesn't immediately fall, though the up and down, back and forth bobbing makes it slippery. The balloon stays buoyant, even with her climbing on it, as though it can't tell she's there at all. Eric soars up, up, right past her, and plucks the green balloon from the air. When he does, it leaves behind a copy of that balloon, faintly glowing gold.

While he's up there, it seems Eric decides he doesn't want to share, because as he plummets back down to the clouds he doesn't slow. He just keeps going, cuts right through the fluff, and leaves a freshman boy-shaped hole where he'd passed through. Looking through it, it's not more open sky, but a portal back to Peckenpaugh's auditorium.

Once he's gone, everything freezes once more.

[REPLY REQUIREMENT REACHED! You may continue to thread in this scene and acquire the linchpin or tag out back to Peckenpaugh at this time.]

"What, we can't even take things that might be useful? This sucks." There's a clear vein of discomfort in Patrice's tone now, but he tries to dispel it with a cheeky, "Language," aimed upwards at Lydia.

Things begin moving again, though, and he tilts his head upwards suddenly, genuinely worried for the other junior now.

"You alright?"

Hey, so that was terrible and she maybe yelped in a very undignified fashion. Or maybe not so much undignified. Considering the fact that she most definitely almost fell.

"Great," she calls back, sounding very much like she is not in any way great. Maybe even a little it like she swallowed sandpaper. "Doing just peachy."

Lydia takes a few moments to stand very still and hope shit doesn't start moving again before chancing another glance upward.

"Do I still have to get that?"

"Remember, if you die we're taking your stuff," Patrice calls out by way of encouragement, even as his concern slips into his tone.

"You're already up there - might as well, right? Just a little bit more climbing and then we can get the hell out of here. That kid busted a hole through the clouds back to school."

"You might as well get it, you're already up there!" Trudy calls out with her hands cupped around her mouth. She's not actually planning on trying to climb again herself.

Despite the fact that she's several feet in the air and the gesture is ultimately pointless, Lydia flips off the general vicinity - which, sure, amounts to several balloons and a stray cloud. But the point still stands.

Then she makes one last awkward hop, pinwheeling her arms and getting her hair in her face with a muttered: "Can't believe I'm gonna die before my brother." Then she leans up on her toes to reach for the string of the gold, ghost-balloon.

Lydia grasps the golden balloon and she knows, immediately, that she has the linchpin!

Nowhere left to go but down.

"Good job!" Trudy cheers from the ground (relatively). "Now come back down!"

Edited (helpful) 2020-06-05 02:33 (UTC)

HE IS HERE

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