EVENT #1: SAY CHEESE

[cursedmods]

SAY CHEESE

The Rundown

---

Starting on September 8th, all characters will find themselves transported to White Pines Mall. During this time, the mall is closed to the public for renovations and no one suspects a thing! The power is on and everything is mysteriously functioning, but all the doors to the outside world are locked and no amount of pounding on them or trying to break windows will work. About an hour after arrival, an announcement will come over the PA system:

"Attention shoppers! Thank you for visiting White Pines Mall. We're excited to announce a new line of very special cameras available at Cutting Edge Electronics. For one week only, we're offering them for the low, low price of FREE! Present your photo at the front door to exit the mall, and have a wonderful day."

At Cutting Edge electronics, a row of Polaroid cameras will be on display, one for each character. All you have to do to leave the mall is get someone to take your picture with one of these cameras! Easy, right? Well...

The only issue is when the photo develops, there's something wrong with it. And that's not all: whatever's in the photo starts to come true! Effects from the photo can come on as quickly or as slowly as you like, and will wear off within the week (again, player's choice as to when exactly they wear off). If multiple photos of a character are taken, you have two options: have them be normal photos with no effect until the character's current effect wears off, OR have a new effect that replaces the old one. Characters cannot have multiple effects at one time.

Every character in the mall will need to present a photo in order to leave (and they won't be allowed to sneak out or piggyback with someone else). They can leave right away, or they can stay and try to deal with their new problem away from prying eyes until the event is over. The food court is fully stocked and anything your character orders will appear on the counter in front of them even though there are no employees there, so don't worry about starving.

The opt-out options for this event are as follows: one, say that your character was overlooked and not transported to the mall at all. They can continue to hang out in the city as normal but will not be able to enter the mall until the event is over. Two, have them be transported to the mall and end up with a "dud" photo where nothing has changed. It happens sometimes, lucky them!

Everyone will be kicked out at the end of the day on the 12th regardless of whether they took a photo or not. Any damage done to the mall will be repaired when it re-opens for business the next day.

After this event, the cursed camera item will be permanently available to purchase from Cutting Edge Electronics and can be used at any time. Why would you want to buy that? Revenge, maybe. Or maybe some meddling employee accidentally mixed the cursed stock with the regular stock. TL;DR if you want to play with this effect again after the event is over, the item will be there.

Extra Information

---

The effects of the camera are highly flexible. The effects don't have to be tied in to any specific fear they have, but of course you can use that as inspiration if you would like to. Some examples of effects can include:

Characters appear wounded in their photo, and the wounds start to manifest on them. Even wounds that should be fatal won't actually kill them during this event, but they sure hurt like hell and it may feel like they're dying if they keep progressing.

A character appears faded in their photo, and they gradually become intangible, unable to move anything or even let themselves out without help.

Characters who took a group photo to try and cheat the system find themselves fused together, or that they've swapped bodies.

There's a shadowy figure in the background of the photo, and for the rest of the week the affected character keeps seeing someone - or something - moving in their peripheral vision that feels like it's getting closer and closer.

Any of these effects are fair game but they are just examples, so feel free to make your own! Try and keep with the tone of these prompts and not go too big, some degree of transformation is fine but don't turn your character into a kitten or a three-headed dragon.

Characters can choose to leave right away or stay for a while, but they won't actually be told they'll be let go/kicked out on the 12th regardless.

Comments

QUESTIONS

[cursedmods]

Re: QUESTIONS

[revmeup]

If someone draws on the photo would that also have an effect, or only what effects appear when the film develops?

[vestigial]

Any damage done to the mall will be repaired when it re-opens for business the next day.

does this mean that a generously discounted shopping trip is possible?

[bodyoftheseus]

If someone's got sticky fingers could they successfully lift items from the mall or will those suddenly be removed from their person on being kicked out? If they do manage to lift items, what repercussions would there be?

Re: QUESTIONS

[shrikesback]

While obviously it won't let them out- would characters get into any trouble for trying to be pedantic and presenting a photo they took of say an empty escalator and arguing the "it's my photo, I took it" angle?

[energyfieldgood]

Hello! Two quick questions:

Is it possible to disassemble the cameras and/or can anything be learned from them when examined more closely?

Are the effects supposed to be physical only or can they also have a mental component? I'm considering having Rodney's picture show him as a teenager and I was wondering if that would only change him physically or if it could also come with some temporary memory loss?

Lt. Col. John Sheppard | Stargate: Atlantis - OTA, cw: body horror

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

A.

[John looks at the Polaroid picture, shaking it.]

You know I used to have one of these. Back in the day? Except I probably shouldn't call it back in the day because now it is the day and...

[Huh. That's weird. He's in the picture but it's sort of...faded. or fading?]

Piece of crap is what it is, it isn't even developing right.

[John doesn't notice but he's starting to fade, just a little, more in his hands and feet than in anywhere else, but it's enough to see as the Polaroid picture materializes.]

B.

[So he's fading. Actually fading, like in Back to the Future because his dad never met his mother. He always thought that was really unfair, like if you exist already the universe should just keep your number and not erase it?

He's really hoping he's not being erased.

But at least right now he can still move. He's not entirely see-through just yet, even though his hands and arms are scarcely visible, and his feet and calves simply aren't there anymore.

There has to be a reason behind this, some technological something. For all he knows, the Ancients are behind this or the Replicators and this is all some kind of simulation or some new effect from some new weapon and they would figure it out and then use it to get home. Somehow.

So John is wandering around the mall, searching high and low in stores and in nooks and crannies, for anything that might explain this.]

C.

Do you think I can still eat?

[He's pretty faded by now, and it's starting to become disconcerting. He looks like a ghost, and he's staring down at the really delicious looking food on the table in the food court.]

Or do you think you'd see it go through my disembodied digestive system? Actually you know what, maybe I shouldn't eat, that's gross...

D. - One taker only please!

[He should have left when he had the chance. But now it's too late. Now he's stuck.

He's fading, fading far too much he doesn't think anyone can see him anymore. Maybe just his eyes, a glimpse of a panicked face, and he's not even sure they can hear him. He can't even feel his body, he just...is, and he can't pick up his picture. It just lies there on the floor when he became fully intangible, passing through his hand and onto the floor.

But he has to try.]

Hey! Hey, you, I need help!

[His voice is faint, sounding like it was coming from a far away, echoey hallway.]

E. Wildcard - John will be ghosting around the mall for near the entire duration of the event, and the latter part he will not be able to affect anything physical around him. Find me at Indymica if you want to plot something out!

E - wildcard

[energyfieldgood]

[It was fun at first. Prompting John to go through walls. Loudly enjoying the food he was eating in front of him (and maybe, just maybe getting some four-year-old payback for certain remarks when he was trapped under the personal shield and couldn't eat or drink). Making Ghostbuster references. All the things you just do when your best friend suddenly becomes incorporeal and humor is your go to coping mechanism.

But now, as Sheppard keeps fading and fading and fading, so does the joy of the ghost game and Rodney's smirk has long since turned from apprehensive frown into worried scowl. Which is what he is wearing now as he sits in a heap of dismantled electronics, screwdriver in one hand, soldering iron in the other.]

This is ridiculous. I'd get more RAM if I had a shoebox with a gerbil running in a wheel powering a telegraph!

[He huffs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to will the tiredness away.]

All right. It has to be the flash. Something in the electromagnetic radiation affecting the density of your atoms so if we reverse that...

D.

[vestigial]

[ The photos have been some weird shit. Daryl surprises himself, being interested in them— it makes him think of Maggie and Glenn, the instant camera they'd found, whose fate he doesn't know anything about. Beth had one of the photos in her diary, a goofy angle of both sisters. It makes him feel too much, and he's quick to snap one of himself and move on. Doesn't even look at it before shoving it into his back pocket.

But he doesn't leave. The mall's abandoned, and he's got half a mind to break open the ATM. Just has to find a few things first, and like, you know. Hope nobody's gonna have a cow about it.

He's on the prowl for just such an endgame when he hears the call for help, and it makes him quietly slow to a stop, instincts honed for such sounds. For a long moment he just stands there, listening, trying to determine where the voice is coming from. When it hits him, like a 3D magic eye picture coming into focus, he almost reels back.

What the fuck. ]

We got ghosts now?

[ Hi. He walks in a cautious half-circle around what he thinks is the center mass of the apparition, and sees the polaroid slide on the ground. He picks it up, and frowns at it. ]

c

[funhinged]

[ Hmmm. Not sure if the oddest thing Stede's seen since people started coming down with awful afflictions, but definitely up there. Or, he supposes, if this fella's been afflicted with becoming a ghost, the long and short of it is that he's just afflicted with "being dead." Assuming he's really there at all.

Can't get caught up in all that, though. God. Ghostly until proven hallucination.

There's more boring places to get stuck having to haunt, he thinks.

He just kinda stands next to John for a few seconds, also looking down at the food, letting him get the thought out. ]

Well. [ Because obviously he has an opinion and that opinion has been sought. ] I feel like, worst case scenario if you're hungry enough to try, you just can't pick anything up to start with. So it probably doesn't hurt to feel out your boundaries.

[ Maybe he'll pick it up and it'll just fall through his hand to the ground at some point. Anything is possible, so, SHRUG??? ]

And if it helps, I'm absolutely not staying put if I see a digestive system turn up. I'll give you a distraction by very loudly going towards anything else in the building.

Steve Harrington || Stranger Things

[stevieboy]

i. the photo;

---

[ The last place Steve wants to be stuck in is a mall. Not just because of former mall related trauma, but, you know, it sucks. Still, at least the town seems eager to compensate them for the trouble. Free walkmans, gift cards, now a free camera.

They're not great compensations, considering all the weird shit. But it's the thought that counts.

Steve examines his camera, then holds it out to the first person he sees. ]

Hey, can you take my picture?

[ He leans against a potted plant, looking, he feels, effortlessly cool. ]

ii. the pool;

---

[ So the photo got Steve out of the mall, but the moment he flashed it at the door, he shoved it back in his pocket. Maybe it was just someone in the background walking by, or something wrong with the film, but he'd seen a dark and familiar figure in the background. Unmistakable in her glasses, even though Steve had never paid her much attention. Maybe he even paid her less attention after she disappeared.

And with that photo in his pocket, he plans on continuing that trend.

It's sort of fine. Save for the fact he thinks someone might be following him, a wet squelching of footsteps, or that he's sure he sees her reflection in windows as he passes. When he sleeps he thinks he he feels heavy vines creeping up from under his bed. After a couple nights of restless sleep, he thinks he'll find distraction at the motel's pool. A few laps will clear his head.

Steve gets to the pool and tosses a towel down on a chair. Then, he just stares into the water, transfixed by something only he can see lurking at the bottom. ]

iii. wildcard;

---

Choose your own adventure. Feel free to run into Steve at the mall, or around the motel. He won't be spending much time in his room so you can catch him wandering. The world is your oyster, or hit me up if you want to chat about something.

i!

[janescayre]

[Oh, brother.

Fukawa's done her best to stick to the sidelines, watch how the crowd will take their sudden imprisonment. She's no leader, and even if she vied for the spot her stuttering and twitching would doom her campaign before it started. And she's definitely not taking a picture herself. Absolutely not. This has boobytrap written all over it.

This guy on the other hand?]

Well, you m-must have a death wish.

[He's all cool-kid ease, breezy and perfectly coiffed, not a care in the world. So blissfully unaware of the lurking threat. Her thin fingers fold over the camera even so.

Look, if he wants to be the guinea pig, let him. Better to have her there to pick up the pieces than someone who isn't expecting the worst.]

Ugh, it's not a magazine shoot. J-just be normal, stop trying so hard.

Nancy | Oliver Twist

[maritorious]

1-- what does cheese have to do with it?

[Nancy has a vague idea of what a photograph is. She knows them as Daguerreotypes and they are Not For The Public To Have. Posh sorts get them, and not even then. Not street kids.

But everyone's getting them here. For free. And Nancy is not the sort to not take advantage of everything free she can get. Daryl had said something about a tiny card for identification with a picture, perhaps this was where they got them.

She picks up one of the plastic cameras, looks it up and down]

Would you mind? [She asks the person closest to her, looking hopeful with large green eyes. There's only a little bit of purple ringing one of them now.] This is so exciting!

[She will preen a little, and flounce to the nearest bench, fluff her hair, and look very serious because photos are serious.]

2-- shadow man

[The photo has turned out beautiful, according to her. She shakes it, because that is what you do with a Polaroid Picture and gasps when it promptly shows her, sitting on a bench, in her own attempt at 1980s clothing- it's surprisingly Victorian in her red plaid dress, and denim jacket along with her purse she's found far more useful than a reticule or a basket.

Something draws her eyes toward the background, though. There, behind a pillar, is a shape. Not particularly tall, but an unmistakable figure all the same, hunched over and watching. Nancy shivers, looks at the pillar in real life. No, nothing's there. It's just a trick of the light, or her imagination. She shakes her head to get rid of the thoughts.

Time to rob a few stores while she's here. She told you she liked free.]

3-- and the days go by

[It's just paranoia, she tells herself. It was like this just a month ago, by her reckoning. Glancing at shadows, terrified that one wrong word would unravel everything. She bites at her nails, keeps a bottle in her bag along with that picture. Still, she can't help but feel that she's constantly being watched. Like something is just out of view and when she turns it's gone completely.

It's not great. It's really not great when we're on day three and she doesn't look like she's eaten much, palid with circles under her eyes. Whenever she closes her eyes to sleep, it's only a matter of time before she hears the soft whisper of Nancy my dear....

No. No, it's just her imagination. She's sure of it.

And yet...

Breakfast one morning finds her nursing what they call an Irish coffee and what she calls absolutely brilliant, and a plate of eggs she's barely touched. She keeps her back to the wall, eyes darting here and there every once in a while. She looks a right mess.]

4-- wildcard
[isn't anxiety fun? Nancy's going to be staying away from shadowy places for a little while. PM me or hit me up on plurk and we can find a thing to do.]

1.

[3inches]

Yeah, sure.

[ Jim hadn’t even been paying all that much attention to the fact that there were cameras around, so being asked to take someone’s picture kind of took him out of his line of thought.

There was something very weird about this place. And it had only just begun with opening that motel door.

He began to aim the camera at her and look at how stiff and almost solemn this girl looked in the viewfinder. He poked his head around the camera to look at her. ]

Are you sure you don’t want to smile for it?

3

[energyfieldgood]

[Breakfast is his favorite part of the day, besides lunch and dinner and midnight snacks. It's these few moments in between, when he doesn't have to think about multiverses or ghosts or horror of their current situation. Where there's just him and food and postponing awfulness for a few precious moments.

He walks by Nancy's place, acknowledging her as someone he has seen around on the network and in the mall but hasn't really interacted with yet. She doesn't look like she is okay which, honestly, no surprise? Who is, really, but Rodney wonders. Maybe he should say something sympathetic? Since they're all in the same 80s nightmare boat? But he can't really come up with anything, so instead what comes out is,]

Are you gonna finish that?

[It's just a waste of eggs otherwise.

Nevermind that he has his own plate. Plates.]

vasiliy yegorovich ardankin | original character

[m1895]

[ vasiliy's a former stalin-era NKVD interrogator who played the 'good cop' to coerce prisoners into signing false confessions by acting as though he was speaking to their best interest, executed in 1940 when nikolai yezhov's appointees were purged - who then woke up in the middle of nowhere in the winter of 2015, alive, unscathed, and with documentation claiming he was born in 1985. in the canonpoint i'm pulling him from he's been out in the world for 3 years and has started to come to grips with what he did/started to unlearn stalinism, and is an EMT in chicago in an attempt to feel like he's balancing some of the cosmic harm he did. he comes with warnings for references to the yezhovshchina, torture, etc.; his curse is starting out with randomly bleeding hands as a manifestation of his guilt. it's worth noting that he speaks english despite it being his second language instead of defaulting to russian and letting the world handle it because he knows that his patterns of speaking are anachronistic for someone ostensibly born in the 80s. info here, permissions here. ]

1. HELP, I'M STEPPIN' INTO THE TWILIGHT ZONE
AROUND THE MALL. / CW: BLOOD

[ The announcement comes over the intercom, echoing off of the linoleum tiles and large empty space of the mall with a peculiar acoustic quality that makes the dark hair on his arms begin to raise. There's undoubtedly some kind of catch to this, but he doesn't say that to any of the people around him, nor does he give any impression that he's thinking it: Vasiliy gets the distinct sense that would be dangerous, and no amount of seemingly quaint surroundings can blanket that unease. He keeps his mouth shut, but he watches his surroundings, and judging by people's faces when they hold the fresh photographs, something's off about that.

It's clear that they're going to have to sleep here. He doesn't intend to leap at the offer of freedom and dash right into whatever trap the Mayor's set for them with that premise, so Vasiliy turns his attention to finding somewhere to establish base camp. There are beds here, obviously, but there's no way in hell he's going to sleep in a barracks-style situation surrounded by strangers in a strange town in a strange country. There aren't many enclosed spaces he can claim as his own here, but he remembers the dressing rooms from Ruby's: pretty solid, probably easier to block off, with only one point of ingress.

Characters can find him grabbing some bedding from the home goods store—hand bleeding down the bedding set's vinyl bag without his realizing it—or, later, setting up in the dressing room at Ruby's. ]

2. I HEARD YOU ON THE WIRELESS BACK IN '32
THE PHOTO — 1 TAKER PLEASE!

[ Eventually, it becomes clear that there's no way out of this photo situation, that he's going to either live here forever or... (Or what? Have a stab wound or some ghoul appear out of thin air?) So Vasiliy asks another prisoner of circumstance to take it. The image that develops—and what it implies is shortly to come, if it follows the pattern of everyone else's—chills him far more than any gruesome wound or nebulous specter could ever hope to.

There he stands, the same exact image as the one glued into his Soviet passport—the real one, the first one, not the one he arrived here with—transposed over the nondescript concrete walls of one of the Lubyanka's execution chambers, striped with water stains, cold, gray. Fear flares in his chest, tightening around his lungs, and it takes a few seconds for him to remember that someone's looking at him, presumably waiting for a thank you. ]

I—thank you. I guess I got normal one.

3. THE NIGHT WEIGHS HEAVY ON HIS GUILTY MIND
THE PHOTO.

[ It's hard to function with the knowledge of a second death looming over him, but Vasiliy has, after all, carried on under such knowledge before. He carries on even when he starts catching phantom whiffs of that smell, so vivid he's immersed in his memories of the place, the stale earthy air and traces of mildew. Then the acoustics of his every step change—echoing, almost, the sound of smooth-soled jackboots, not the rubberized treads of nonslip work shoes until his skin crawls at every junction. Death is closing in on him, he knows it. There's not a damn thing he can do about it.

Still, there are people whose situations are more dire than his own, at least in the immediate. There's a lot of blood, open wounds, manifesting injuries. He does his best to focus on that, dashing toward anyone who seems to need immediate help with the same inquiry every time:

Tell me what happened.

3. WILDCARD

[ closed starters to be posted below! plotting comment here; if you'd like a starter or want to plot feel free to hit me up here or send a pp to bluehellgazette! }

3

[janescayre]

[Well well well, are we back at it again?

Fukawa's dazed. Her pupils are disparate sizes, one close to normal and the other blown so wide it dims the iris. She'd collapsed — that's not quite the right word though. It was as if she were thrown back, or crumpled, something striking her at the temple and her body wilting thereafter. And when she moves her arms to rise, she finds she cannot lift them. They remain spread wide, strapped into place on the tile.

Except there's nothing tying them down, either.]

V...V-v... [Her tongue won't get into order. She blinks and shakes her head, then regrets it immediately. The headache is damn near blinding.] Vasiliy?

[Is he always going to find her in such pathetic positions?]

I c-can't move my arms.

1

[maritorious]

[Her bag is slung over her shoulder, the flap pulled over so that the inside remains open and easily accessible. She's got sticky fingers, and oh she quite likes that pillow case, don't mind her she's just going to reach right past you and--]

Oh! You're hurt! [She points at the man's hand, the blood pooling adn running off of the bag he has.]

Are you alright? Here, if you give me a minute, I'm sure I can at least bandage it for you- d'you think the mall's got an apothecary?

1

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

Hey, are you okay?

[So there's what looks like a ghost in the home goods store. Or at least, some approximation of a ghost. The mall lights and some fixtures are clearly visible through John, even though he's not as far gone as he would become in a few days. He's wearing a tactical vest and BDU's, looking much like a soldier or a cop, which probably doesn't do any favors for the ghostly visage. Right now he's in exploring mode, looking for anything that might help him or Rodney figure out how to reverse this thing.

Not that he's really expecting too much of a discovery in the home goods store, still, you never knew when you'd stumble upon some kind of alien machinery.

Alien machinery he did not find, but a guy who looks like he might be in need of help, with the blood he's seeing on the bag and his hand.]

Looks like a pretty nasty cut.

Dr. Rodney McKay | Stargate: Atlantis

[energyfieldgood]

i. tinker, tinker, little star

[For the longest time, McKay doesn't get his photo taken. Who cares if he can't leave the mall. He doesn't want to leave the mall. He's too busy.

Too busy with Sheppard turning into the Mist and Rodney fervently looking for a solution, too busy with people showing the strange effects of this new chapter in this ridiculous neon nightmare story, too busy trying to work with technology that while, admittedly, has a nostalgic component? Is utterly, infuriatingly useless for what he's trying to do.

He's perched next to a counter at Cutting Edge Electronics, surrounded by cables, gadgets, screens, and just about every clunky piece of 80s machinery he dragged over, like an angry tech crow in its nest of plastic and copper. One of the Polaroid cameras sits disassembled on top of it and it told him a great big heap of nothing. Right now he's trying to combine a gutted Macintosh with a remote filled with parts from an old Casio calculator, a dissected circuit board and some other ingredients tossed into the mix. In the noble attempt to turn said remote into a makeshift scanning device.

It does nothing.

It's useless. Nothing's working.

Maybe that's his curse. Maybe technology just refuses to do what it's supposed to do.]

We're closed!

[It's barked without him looking up, rudely waving away whoever enters the store.

Then a pause, and his head snaps up after all.]

Wait, wait, are you affected? Get over here. Do you still have your picture?


ii. food source

[So everything sucks. What else is new.

When he gets too tired or too irritable to keep working, Rodney either crashes in one of the stores or, more likely, raids the food court, carrying around a plate with food. A lot of food. So much food.

It's clear that horrific events sour his mood but don't ruin his appetite. If someone walks by who seems visibly affected he slows in his chewing and frowns, watching them for a moment. (If it's of the disgusting sort he may even pull a face or mutter something about taking whatever is ailing them somewhere else. But he still keeps eating.)

Then points.]

I take it that's not normal.


iii. picture perfect (affected)

(ooc: Rodney's picture shows him as a teenager which will come with temporary memory loss and lots of awk.)

[All right. Fine. Take a picture.

It's stupid, he knows, with how people seem to go through all sorts of awful... whatever you wanted to call them. He wonders if what is happening right now is their curse or if this is just some extra on top. Curse raised to a power. Cute.

So yeah, with all the terribleness going around he was planning on, you know, just not doing it. But he also has a teammate that turns Casper on him and he needs to get out of here, needs to see if maybe somewhere else he can find answers. So finally he caves.

Except the picture shows him at about half his age and any idea of leaving is thwarted by the fact that he is now half his age and has no idea how he ended up at the mall or how he got there. It looks familiar enough to the one he used to go to with his family but that doesn't exactly help. In fact, that just adds to the anxiety. He got lost in that mall when he was a kid and it's not a good memory.

Okay. There must be a perfectly logical explanation. Maybe his blood sugar is low and he got disoriented and that's... that's why he walked in here to get some food. That's probably it.

Doesn't explain the weird clothes he's wearing.

Something is wrong about all this and it makes him uneasy. Uneasy enough to actually approach other people (ugh) and talk to them (ugh).]

Hi. Uh. This is going to sound... I'm looking for the exit? Must have gotten turned around...


iv. the scientific method (affected)

[All right, walking around and forcing himself to interact with people Rodney has figured out a few things.

One, this place is insane or maybe he is. Two, the multiverse is real. Which would be kind of cool if he wasn't stuck in a terrifying effect instead of reading the theoretical proof in a physics textbook. Three, he's in a mall with a bunch of strangers and out of all these? That's definitely the worst.

But he can only hide for so long and eventually, curiosity and the need to explore his situation takes over.

Only that it's quite destructive because at some point he starts dropping plants from higher levels. Breaking windows. Starting small fires.

To an outsider he might look like the world's geekiest teenage hooligan but he's actually taking detailed notes after each incident, checking for gravity, motion, thermodynamics. Testing if the laws of physics apply in this realm in a way they're supposed to.

And, eventually, at what rate it seems to reset itself.]


v. wildcard

[hit me up! c: or drop me a line at caffettiera]

iv

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

[He knew he shouldn't have left.

He thought it was necessary and while his efforts may have revealed very little, he also thought that maybe Rodney could just, maybe, not get into more trouble.

But apparently that didn't happen.

And now John is staring at what looks an awful lot like Rodney McKay except far younger, participating in what only looks like a concerted effort to destroy the mall or burn it down or something. Is that...that is him, right? It can't be anybody else, but then again who knows in this place...]

What the hell do you think you're doing!?

[He storms over, waving his hands, trying to get him to stop, which pretty much looks like an angry, vaguely military-looking ghost marching his way over to him.]

Alec Lightwood ➵ Shadowhunters

[flatly]

DAY 1-4 SHENANIGANS

At some point Alec clearly raided the mall's sporting goods store, because mixed amongst his gleaming silver arrows in his ever-present quiver are some black and neon aluminum and carbon ones more suited to hunting wild game than demons: he has, by now at least, figured out that he needs to take what he can get in the 80s.

If anyone met him before, he seems much more jittery than before, twitching a hand up to the bow perpetually slung over one shoulder every time a shadow moves too quickly, or a corner looks too dark or ominous. The sleep depravation is also clearly not doing any wonders for him, and the closer it gets to the 12th, the more he looks like he's been run over by a modest caravan of semi trucks as he struggles to stay awake without the endless flow of Saturn Cafe's drip coffee or the chaos of home's fun little biweekly apocalypse to keep him busy (or his stamina and endurance runes, which are what he misses the most here.)

In a desperate bid to keep himself awake, by day three he has made his way to the theater and read all the training manuals in the employee areas. He throws on a bunch of the movies that he finds in storage starting with the ones he's had recommended to him: Star Wars, Aliens and Beetlejuice, but he'll take requests and corner anyone who seems like they had a good time after any of the showings with a volley of dubious questions. Human pop culture, he just doesn't get it.

...Except maybe Star Wars. He sees you, 80's Harrison Ford. He gets that.

DAY 5, POSSESSED

After four days without sleep or direct sunlight, Alec would look rough even if he weren't currently possessed by a demon.

But he is, and it's probably obvious to anyone even vaguely genre savvy by the pitch black color of his eyes, sclera and all. He's not very talkative, wordlessly hostile, loosing arrows or throwing knives at anyone he spots alone and looking vulnerable. He aims first for non-lethal areas, because the goal is to claw a still-beating heart out of someone's—anyone's—chest.

CLOSED to WREN

The demon is meant to feed off of hatred, resentment, grudges—but it's starved here, where Alec doesn't really know anyone enough to want to strangle them, and the worst thing that has happened to him so far is vague annoyance at the terrible coffee. So the demon, unfortunately, has to settle for less. Much less. Mere recognition, in this case, which stops Alec. The hall they're in is wide and dotted with the open doorways of empty shops: good, easy places to duck into and hide. Alec wouldn't have chosen it as a hunting ground for his particular weapon of choice, but the demon is so desperate at this point that it doesn't bother with tactics.

As soon as he spots Wren and a sense of familiarity takes hold, the demon nocks an arrow into his bow and lets it fly, just as by luck (or chance, or maybe they noticed him taking aim) they move out of the way and the it sinks without a loud thwack! into the drywall just behind them. Well... shit.

WILDCARD

I'm awfully late BUT plotting comment here, hit me up there if you would like a separate starter and I'll write one! Alternatively if you've got your own idea for a starter you can toss it at me or PM me to chat.

Shenanigans

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

There's really only so much you can do when you were currently a ghost, or at least some approximation of a ghost, and when there was nothing you or Rodney McKay could do to fix it, at least for right now, John figured he might as well go and take a break. And someone at the theater was playing Star Wars?

Yeah, he's gonna hang here for awhile.

After the movie is over, John hangs out near the entrance, or rather, haunts. One can see the mall lights through him. He wanted to meet with the person playing the movies so he can get a few requests in--it's not like he can manage to sleep very well like this so might as well get the 80's experience for all it's worth.

"Hey, are you the one running the joint?" he says as soon as he sees Alec, even though he's pretty much asking that of anybody he sees around here to figure out who's the one he needs to talk to.

edward teach | our flag means death

[polyonymous]

a. strike a pose (closed to whoever tags it first!)

[Ed is among the first to grab a camera, murmuring 'fuck it' under his breath and striding forwards like this doesn't make him seven kinds of uneasy. Sure, trying to hitch a ride out of town just resulted in getting gently turned around, and that handprint of blood didn't go anywhere serious, either- but truthfully, Ed is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always does.

But, here he is, because it's better than sitting still and waiting it out with no game plan. Ed thrusts the camera towards the first person he spies, brows furrowed and looking thoroughly annoyed.]

Let's get this over with. You know how to use this thing, yeah?

b. my very own mouth (open)

[Everyone's spread throughout this huge fucking building like they're having a fun adventure, rather than trapped here. It's making finding a place to curl up alone and freak out really hard.

Ed ducks in and out of various stores, eyes wild and hands sealed over his mouth- maybe he knocks something over into you, or maybe he doesn't see you and starts closing and blocking the door to whatever store this is behind him, trapping you both inside. Or, maybe you catch him right at the end of his rope, where he opens his mouth to yell-]

God fucking damn it!

[And a thick fog pours from his mouth to fill the space between you.]

c. wildcard

[feel free to hit me up on sekritsauce or my plotting post if you have an idea, or you can assume your character has encountered Ed skulking around somewhere feeling sorry for himself!]

b.

[energyfieldgood]

[Okay. Playtime's over. What started as an interesting challenge has turned into another piece in the nightmare puzzle and the annoyance levels are rising.

Rodney has been up for way too long, trying everything he can, building things, rebuilding things, taking notes, trashing notes, trashing things. He's sick of this place. He's sick of people suffering from ridiculous effects. He's sick of being unable to help them.

Eventually even he has to admit that he needs a break so he heads out of the electronics store to find a place to crash. He rubs his face and eyes, not watching where he's going, almost bumping into someone who, apparently, is going through something (who isn't) because suddenly that person right in front of him yells in his ear and wow, he did not need that today? Or ever?

Fatigue and frustration boil over and McKay's head snaps up with a glare. He's just about to return the favor and opens his mouth. Too bad that that hearty inhale - for the very important task of shouting right back - means a big gulp of fog.

And then it's hard to breathe. Accusations and agitation turn into a shocked gasp. His hands come up to clutch at his throat with a strangled wheeze and his eyes bulge over as he stumbles back.

Congratulations, Ed. You have rendered Rodney McKay speechless - and on your first meeting!

He will be very angry about this later.

Once the panic subsides.]

[janescayre]

A) Mallrats

[Horror may not be her genre, but Fukawa's got enough savvy to recognize when to abstain. Like, say, being whisked unawares into an empty mall and told to take "photos" with "free cameras" in order to leave.

No thank you. Absolutely not.

So if you're looking for your fellow kidnappees, you may be drawn to the nest of duvets on a certain bunkbed set, near the rear of the store, as far from sight as possible. There's a cold cup of tea, a box of saltines, and three stacks of stolen books on the side, each thicker and stuffier than the last. The cocoon of blankets will grumble if approached.]

G-go away.

[Can't you see she's busy?!]


B) Sympathy for the Damned

[Shocker of all shockers, these photographs have some wild side-effects. Who could have ever predicted?

Fukawa's an old hat at being locked inside a large building and being given ultimatums. In some respects, she's better off in White Pines than she was at Hope's Peak. In others, she's almost nostalgic for the good old days. At least those punishments were predictable.

If she catches someone taking a photo — or acting strange, bleeding suddenly, catching supernatural afflictions — she immediately scoots ten paces back, pointing her finger and paling to a ghostly white.]

Don't come any closer! St-stay back! [Who knows what effect they could have on her. Is it catching? Is this what the Mayor meant by a "curse"?] This is your own fault for t-taking that stupid picture! You should burn it! Before it's too late!


C) Punishment Time

[Eventually there's no helping it. She couldn't stay in the mall a minute longer, not when people were losing their damn minds. Not when the stakes could be raised at any moment. And while some people turned dangerous, or became a danger unto themselves, no one's died from the camera's effects. (Not yet.)

So Fukawa had squirreled away with a camera, snapped a polaroid, and nearly lost her lunch at what the camera spat out. One by one, her classmates had been reduced to spiteful memories and bloodied portraits on funeral stands. Now it was her turn. For god's sake, it even had her old braids intact, when she's been wearing her hair loose for ages.

She's having a somber breakfast in the Saturn Cafe when it first happens. Her chair was pulled further out from the table than she'd liked, so Fukawa had scooted herself back in. Then edges back again. She rights herself, frowning, and reaches to pick a piece off her blueberry muffin.

Then the chair pulls away from the table. Steady, slow, inescapable. Fukawa squawks, but she try as she might she can't lift free. It's as if she's strapped in place, her body welded to the wooden back and vinyl cushion. The pull is even and smooth. Until it rattles.

Thud.

The sound is coming from behind her, shaking the legs of the chair as it scrapes inexorably back. No one else reacts. The place is practically empty, can't these morons hear it?

Can't they see her?

THUD.]

Wh-what the hell? [Fukawa's voice is small, tight. Terrified. She's trying to wrench her hands out of her lap, but they won't budge. Isn't anyone listening? Watching? She twists as far as she can, but there's nothing behind her save for more empty tables. A waitress sweeps by and toddles back into the kitchen, completely oblivious.] H-hey! Hey! Come back! I need —

[THUD.

The chair shudders anew. It's drawing closer to the source. Fukawa blanches, mouth dropping open. Suddenly she doesn't need to see anything at all. She knows damn well what's about to happen.

THUD.]

HELP ME! [She throws her weight to the left. To the right. The chair creaks but never tips. It just keeps drifting back, back, towards the plunging piston no one but her can hear.] SOMEBODY! P-PLEASE! HELP ME!


WILDCARD!

[You know what to do! PM me or hit me up on the plotting post if you want to plan anything different!]

A.

[vestigial]

[ Daryl can track a 90lb drunk through a hot junkyard, finding a couple dozen people in a near-empty mall is cake. He's been quietly doing a round, seeing who all's here, and if anyone is freaking out. He only glimpses the paranoid sleepover setup the first time, but decides to leave it for now. When he returns, he makes sure his footfalls are audible and clunky. ]

Hey, kid.

[ He figures that'll annoy her. She seems the type. ]

C'mon out, I got you some cultural exchange tea.

[ Because it's iced tea. Only lightly sweet, not the tooth-rotting kind that Daryl prefers (and somehow still can't get here, goddamn west coast, what's a Georgia boy got to do). ]