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bigapplesauce2014-11-07 05:45 pm
applesaucemod) wrote in bigapplesauce2014-11-07 05:45 pm
EVENT: Three Days of Rain
At seven o'clock on the morning of Tuesday, July 30th, it begins to rain. It's not a drizzle or a downpour, but a steady, soaking sort of rain that puddles on the sidewalks and saturates the ground. The storm seems to park itself over Manhattan for the morning, and reluctantly rolls out to sea shortly after noon.
An hour after the skies clear, any rifty who got caught out in the rain may start to notice something unusual: namely, that they're escaping the notice of others. It's as if the rain has washed something out of them, and they're slowly fading out of others' awareness. Afflicted rifties are still corporeal, visible, and audible - they're not ghosts. But as time goes on, they'll continue to slip beneath everyone else's notice. By the evening of the 30th, they'll find that others' eyes tend to slide right over them, and afflicted rifties will have to grab people by the shoulder or raise their voices just to get a little acknowledgment.
Over the next two days, the effects will only worsen. Unless a significant effort is made by both parties, afflicted rifties will find themselves relegated to the background, their voices on par with the ambient sound of traffic, their faces as noteworthy as any given brick on a wall, their touch the equivalent of a sudden draft. Those who were not caught in the rain will still remember their fading friends, but they'll have an increasingly difficult time physically focusing on them.
On the bright side, afflicted rifties will be able to perceive one another with typical clarity, allowing them to easily interact with one another, if not the general population. The network will also be less affected than the rifties themselves, so text messages may be more easily perceived than speech (though by the end of the 31st, text alerts from afflicted rifties will be less noticeable than usual).
Most importantly, the weather isn't done with them. There will be occasional, sudden cloudbursts over the course of July 31st and August first, and another little soaking will reverse the effects of the initial storm. By evening of August first, everyone should be back to normal.
[OOC: Initial reactions to the fade-out can be posted here. Other shenanigans can go up in their own posts using the tag 'event: three days of rain.' Whether your character is affected and for how long is up to you, though it's safe to say that as the first of August draws to a close, rogue cloudbursts will be difficult for any still-afflicted rifties to avoid (we're not saying a tiny raincloud will spontaneously coalesce above the heads of afflicted rifties regardless of whether they're outdoors or not, buuuut we're not saying one won't, either). Backdating is, as ever, allowed and encouraged. And since this takes place over three days in game, forward dating will also be allowed if you want to get right into day three terribleness.]
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Daine squelches around the park, her pockets stuffed with treats for her friends, and her mind open for any creatures that need help.
[ooc: Daine's going to be wandering around the park for most of the morning, so feel free to run into her to establish your character's soaking, or spot her patching up some creature or other.]
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Of course, in her eagerness to find her way back home, it seems she has gotten herself quite lost. What a dreadful bother.
She steps away from the path, crossing instead through the grass, searching for someone who might help her. She has learned that the inhabitants of his city are not inclined to offer much in the way of assistance; she would be lucky to find a fellow sufferer of this 'Rift' Miss Pollard and the so-called Rebels told her about. She has been told many of them do frequent the park, so it seems a good place to search. At the very least, the sight of a young lady dressed for the rain is a fair one indeed. She does not look to be in any kind of hurry.
"I do apologize," she says as she comes forward - it startles her to note that the young woman seems to be engaging with a squirrel, but she's already announced herself, it would not do to back away now. "I seem to have led myself astray. I am trying to return to the-" she closes her eyes briefly, remembering the address she keeps in her head, "-the corner of 59 and Central Park West. Columbus Circle, they call it. Would you be able to point me in the right direction?"
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But it also means that she might be a little too used to being ignored, so the appearance of a young woman in a wool cloak gives her a bit of a start. The squirrel, Scamp, darts into her hood to hide in her hair, an almond clenched between his teeth, and Daine offers the woman a sheepish smile.
Whoever she is, she isn't rattled enough by the squirrel to back away, which Daine counts as a mark in her favor. The cloak is a plus, too - it's too heavy for this time of year, but its simple familiarity is an aching sort of comfort. In fact, it's a little too familiar to be local, Daine thinks, and her suspicions are all but confirmed by the woman's oddly formal way of speaking and the intersection she's trying to reach. Another rifty, almost definitely. Well, they do tend to find each other.
"No need to apologize," Daine says, her smile taking a turn for the reassuring. "It's easy to get lost when you're new to the city. You're not too far off, though. Columbus Circle is…" she turns a little, then points, "that way. Maybe ten minutes' walk."
As she speaks, Scamp polishes off the almond and then cautiously pokes his head out to peer at Jane, and then back at Daine's treat-producing hand. Greedy thing. Daine digs a peanut out of her pocket and passes it to the animal, then lifts her squirrel-free shoulder in a half-shrug. "I've a knack with animals."
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"I see," she says uncertainly, though a thousand questions rise up at once. Tentatively, she asks, "Are you not worried they might bite, or carry disease?"
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But it's clear that this woman isn't entirely comfortable with Scamp, so Daine gives him one last nut for the road and sends him on his way. She should probably be heading back, herself, but she doesn't want to presume her company would be welcome, and she can't guarantee that her walk back would be uninterrupted. Still, she'd like to know for certain if she's met another rifty before they part ways. "I'm Daine," she offers with a friendly smile.
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"Jane Eyre," she replies. Much as she would like to get out of this wet, she can't help but wonder at the comfort and familiarity of the girl's speech. More like hers and Miss Pollard's than those who seem to belong to this world.
"Forgive me if this is an - impertinent question," she says tentatively, "but are you..." She trails off, not sure of the right word. 'Rifty' is one term she's heard but she refuses to apply something so base and colloquial, and rudely patronising besides. "Are you from here?" he asks finally. A better way to go. A simple question, or a coded one, depending on the answer.
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She considers Jane a moment, then asks, "Are you new to the city?"
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"Do you, perhaps, know what is at the Columbus Circle?" she inquires tentatively. "The place I am trying to get to, are you also familiar with it?"
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The thought of another Tortallan arrival is bittersweet, but Daine's not so sure Jane is one of them. Anyone from her universe would've been less squeamish around something as harmless as a squirrel, Daine thinks - unless she's from court, but court ladies have a tendency towards silliness that she doesn't see in Jane. "The country I'm from is called Tortall, but no one here has heard of it," she says, guessing that Jane won't be familiar with the place, either. Well, it doesn't hurt to check.
At her last question, Daine's smile takes a turn for the impish. At this point, she may as well be blunt. "If you're referring to the base, I live there."
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The mention of 'Tortall' is similarly discomfiting - she's never heard of such a place, and the hope that they are sisters in country fades away with disappointing quickness. She shakes her head slightly, sorry to confirm the girl's words.
"I come from England," she says, muted. People have seemed to know what that is. And she knew of the colonies, of course. This world is far in what seems to be her future. How strange and lonely it must be to be from a country no one knows. She had thought this was difficult for her, but for Daine it must be even more so.
However the mention of the Base is enough to brighten her a bit. "I am relieved you know it," she says. "I live there as well. Meeting you is good fortune indeed, even if it must happen with weather so inclement."
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"Fucking fuuuuck," he mutters to himself as he fumbles his keys out of his pocket and lets himself into Gabe's building. He passes Mrs. Chen on the stairs and gives her a nod. He's only met her a couple times, but she seems to have accepted him as a grandson or something. She stops him and starts scolding him about how he's going to catch cold and is Gabriel making sure he gets enough to eat and he's too skinny, etc etc. Johnny accepts all of this strange mothering with bemusement. It's hard not to enjoy it a little.
He escapes her attempts to dry his hair with a napkin, making his excuses all the way up to his apartment.
"Hey baby," he says softly as Yarrow bounds over to greet him. "Gimme a second." He goes to the kitchen to set his bundle of soaking wet food on the counter, putting away the perishables and leaving the rest out for now. He strips his dripping clothes off and leaves them over the shower rail, toweling himself off half-assedly before changing into jeans and a t-shirt and flopping onto the bed.
"Come up," he says, and pats his chest. Yarrow hops onto the bed and onto him, and Johnny sighs, running his hand over the soft little rabbit. "Is it naptime?" he asks. "I think it's naptime."
Maybe he'll go and see what Gabe's doing later. Right now he has a rabbit on him and he doesn't want to move. Yarrow curls into a ball and Johnny drifts off pretty quick.
[ooc: this is just gonna be a standalone, obvs, I'll edit to add a link to his post when I've set that up]
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She makes her meager purchases with her "credit card" (at some point she'll start using real money, but that day is not today) and heads back toward the pneumatic entranceway to behold the rain. For a moment she stands there under the awning and debates - she could get a cab, but she doesn't like the idea of cheating some poor driver with fake money. And she hates the disgusting, grimy, rat-infested excuse for a "subway" this city has. Ugh. Grow up, girl, you can get a little wet. It's not cold out, and the walk isn't that long. It'll do you some good.
She tucks her bag under her jacket and steps out. It's not so bad, really. Not annoyingly light but not too heavy either.
At the back of her mind she wonders if it would be worth trying a little ethertheft, de-hydrating the air a bit, to create kind of a metaphysical umbrella for herself. That kind of trick was a dime a dozen in her universe, but she hasn't actually tried anything like it since she got here. No way of knowing what effect it'll have with a whole different world, especially knowing that the Rift sometimes gives people 'powers', or takes them away, or alters them slightly. Is it really worth messing around with that just because she doesn't want to get wet?
Probably not. She sighs and stands at a crosswalk, waiting for the damn light to change.
[ooc: Iman's at the northern edge of Chelsea and heading southeast for Greenwich Village. Run into her if you want! She might be persuaded to alter the rainfall, oooh~]
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In the lobby, Dana can see that it's raining outside, and she frowns. She fumbles her phone out of her bag, checking the weather application. The phone emits a faint howling, and the screen flickers to read:
F̛̝̭͕̗͍̩̹ͯ͌̐͐ͥ̆̈a̴ͣ̀ͬͯs͈̖̙̖̫̰ͬ́t̰̖̙ ̵̜͔̙̫ͥ͆ͅͅò̡͉̮̘̜̹͂ř̰̝͐̚͢ͅͅ ̤̀̅ͧ̋ŝ̡̰̊̒l̜̟͈͍͖̖ͣͮ͟ǫ̺͆̅ͭw̧̜̺̻,͑̂̾͒̈́̅̐͘ ̛̻̤͕̭ͪ̀̓͐͐̉̆ḑ͙̲̰̠̤̹ͧ̄̈́̋̋e̗͒̈͑̆͗ͪ͢a̬̱̟̩̞ͥ̐̓̊̏͐ͤt͔ͣ͂̅ͩ͛͂̔̀ȟ͈̣̱̑̊ ͓̦̹̖̱͖ͫ̆c̮̊ͪͪ͆o͗ͯͣ̒̽͏̦͕̮͙͓̯͙m͓͈̭̗̙͍̻̓̽͐ͥͮ̌e̶͎͚̾͛̇ͦͨs̻̘̗̻̳̈͒͌͐ ̰̉ͬͩ̍ͦ̋t̬͎͉̠͍̝̠̏o̧̖͒ͪ̉̏ ̱̖̬̰ͯ̃͋͋̀̔͝Ã̺̗̟̽̓̅̓͌̎L͍͚̙̹̃̍͋L̮͉͓̱͖̯͆͠
Which is exactly the same thing as it said earlier this morning when she went to work, and it was perfectly clear then.
"Oh you," Dana chides her phone, and shoves it back to the bottom of her bag so she can wrangle the door open without damaging her new babies.
Once outside, the rain seems heavier than it did from behind the safety of glass, and Dana is soaked almost immediately. Just perfect, she'll get back from her lunch looking like a drowned rat. Dana huddles over the plants to try to protect them from getting too wet. As she runs in the general direction of a subway station, she isn't looking, and bumps right into someone.
"I'm sorry!" she shouts, looking up at the person after making sure that she didn't drop anything. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you, are you all right?"
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"Whoa!" she reels back, extending an arm to steady the young lady. "Whoa, hey there. It's okay, no harm done. Nice violets."
Nice everything, but she doesn't add that. The poor thing is soaking wet, it'd be a weird time to hit on somebody.
"Here-" She takes off the hijab, fuck it, and wraps it delicately around the flowers. "It's already wet but it'll help a bit. Don't wanna drown those. Come on, let's get you to wherever you're going."
It's not like she's in a hurry. She can take some time out of her nothing-schedule to charm a pretty lady.
(for sunshine)
As he's nearing it's end, the rain changes from a drizzle to an abrupt downpour and he gives up, throwing the remainder down and heading back inside.
It's a couple hours before anyone bothers to come in, but he pipes up from behind the desk, "We're closed," which usually is enough to send people away if they're not put off by the store itself. The woman is not put off. In fact, she seems to be ignoring him altogether. He pipes up again, louder this time. She pauses for a moment then just continues on poking around, so he sighs and pushes himself up from the desk. She doesn't seem to notice him until he's within a foot of her. She jumps in surprise and, finally, he gets her to leave.
The same thing happens another two times before noon, and he's starting to think that something might be wrong.
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There's no obvious sign of Aziraphale when she walks in, but Spike is there, and looking a bit more glowering than usual. The target of his ire is an actual customer - gods, you don't see those often - determinedly browsing the shelves despite the vampire lite boring figurative holes into the back of his head. Sunshine raises her eyebrows, then sidles up to Spike and slips an arm around his waist. "Hey, sweetie," she says, if only to highlight the yawning gulf between 'sweet' and Spike's current expression. The customer turns to give her a confused look, and she furrows her brow right back at him as if to say, 'I wasn't talking to you.' The guy's gaze briefly slides over to Spike, and then he turns back to the shelf.
Well, that was weird. "You've got a stubborn one," she observes in an undertone.
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"There's something wrong," Spike says gravely, pacing back and forth as much as the crowded floor will allow. "One of them started leaving a note. A note!"
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She fails to fully match his gravity when she says, "Oh, gods. Do you think you might be…" she lowers her voice to a dramatic hush, "… losing your touch?" She grins, but Spike doesn't seem inclined to find any humor in the situation. Whatever's going on, it's actually rattled him. So, fine, maybe she shouldn't tease.
Softening, Sunshine reaches out to snag his arm as he paces past her, arresting his progress (limited as it was, given the clutter). "Hey," she says, her tone gentler than it was before, "you look normal to me. For whatever that's worth." Flipped out and grumpy, sure, but it's not like he's frigging invisible or something. "Maybe there was something wrong with them."
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"Maybe. But something's definitely off." He huffs out a huge sigh and plops his forehead down onto her shoulder. Whatever it is, it has him rattled. He doesn't like the feeling of not knowing whether or not he might just start gradually fading from existence. Last time, he'd been headed for hell. Does this universe even have a hell? "Four people is a pretty big number for it to be a coincidence."
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"Well," she says after a considering hum, "maybe Aziraphale did some kind of divine whammy to the whole shop in an attempt to make it less noticeable, or something, and it just… needs some fine tuning." It's a stretch. Aziraphale's powerful enough that she has a hard time imagining any attempted work of his going rogue and fixing itself to the wrong thing, like a charm addled by too much travel. Sure, he might be a bit oblivious at times, but he's still an unfallen angel. Is it even possible for him to churn out a--a faulty miracle?
Well, whatever the problem is, getting out of the shop seems like the most obvious Step One. She turns to press a kiss to his temple, then gently suggests, "Why don't we close up the shop and get out of here?"