Destination: Carcosa

[polymods]

✖ Carcosa

Ⅰ. THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.

The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?

If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.

The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea.

There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.

Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.

The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.

---

Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.

All of the attendees are wearing masks.

You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.

Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.

Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.

No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.

Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.

---

Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.

The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.


The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.

There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?

Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?

Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.

---

Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.

You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.

There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.

Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.

You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.

It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.

Bonus: What's that? You want a Carcosa playlist? You've got it, babes!

Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

Comments

nathan drake | uncharted | open/closed

[pilferings]

❚❚❚❚❚ i. the temple.

[ Nate is no stranger to ancient temples. When he enters, aside from the general feeling of warmth and security, it's simply familiar based on life experience. You don't get to be a treasure-hunter without locating a few temples and finding long-lost artifacts along the way. And if a couple of pieces have wound up pocketed, no one's the wiser either. (Of course, these days Nate's been on the straight and narrow, but a life in salvage isn't exactly the same now, is it?)

Thing is, most ancient temples in his experience have a tendency of crumbling around him and certainly aren't outfitted with supplies and hot food, but Nate's not about to shoot a gift-horse in the mouth. He makes his rounds, considers a bath (and then decides against it), has a rest, and spends a fair amount of his time in the mess hall, deciding his next steps. If you just so happen to be around, he might greet you with a quick, 'Hi' or a casual, 'Hey, how's it going?'

Picking up a supply pack on his way out, he takes one last considering look in the direction of the strange yellow-painted shape made from sticks, jerking a thumb towards it. ]

What do you make of that thing, huh?


❚❚❚❚❚ ii. masquerade.

[ All things considered, Nate does clean up pretty nicely. In a black suit and matching bow-tie befitting a Scott F. Fitzgerald novel, the only thing that might seem at least a little bit out of place is the mask (coppery in colour, engraved with a subtle patterning but otherwise seems a subtle, subdued kind of face covering) that obscures the top half of his face. ]

Huh. [ Seeing his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, there's a fruitless attempt to shift the mask around but it has no intentions on budging — not an all together reason to panic, but there's a fair amount of discomfort in knowing that it's wrapped over his eyes without much flexibility. This is obviously a future!Nathan problem, however, and after ordering a strong glass of something, he makes his way around the room, easily accessible enough, noting all of the fellow masked guests with yellow sigils to match the one on his lapel.

Later, upon being asked to confess something in order to unmask, Nate will shake his head with a laugh, clearly someone with no experience whatsoever in the matter of secret-keeping, nope. If there's an air of skittishness it is assuredly just your imagination. ]

Secrets? Oh, no, no. I don't have any secrets. [ He offers an easy shrug and a show of empty hands to boot. ] Open book.

[ And later still, as the night crawls slowly towards midnight: ]

Crap — there's gotta be another way to get this thing off, right?


❚❚❚❚❚ iii. lost carcosa.

[ Nate's always liked the beach, and even at night there's a kind of calmness and tranquility in the way the ocean's waves can drown out the most conflicted of thoughts. Shoes in one hand and sleeves rolled up past his forearms (jacket and tie missing), he walks along the length of the shore until something catches his attention about halfway in. From his vantage point, it could be anything — washed up cargo, someone's makeshift shelter, the belongings of some ship that had yet to arrive — but either way, it's not like Nate could ignore such a thing, it wouldn't be in his nature to. (Of course, having a gun or something on him would be a wise idea, just in case whatever it is he's approaching is a trap. Not uncommon in his experience.)

What it is appears to be a handful of yellowing fabric, and an appropriately eery skull nestled within the scent of spice and the off-breeze of saltwater coming in from the ocean, sharp enough to prickle at his nostrils. Nate feels compelled to settle before it, dropping his shoes beside him, chest heavy and shoulders heavier. ]

I — [ His fingers find the metal band glinting on his left hand, fourth finger and he twists it idly, mouth open as though he could the speak volumes in his soul but at the very last second, catching himself. The heaviness in his body is his own to bear, and he can't say it aloud. He just — can't. Not yet.

He shakes his head, tears his gaze away from the skull with its dark and admonishing sunken sockets, and quickly scrambles back to his feet.

To no one in particular: ]

That was strange.

[ But why not make the situation all the more strange, right? As he makes his way back where he'd come from, it occurs to him that the weather has worsened considerably, a thick greying fog obscuring his vision. He can hear the water, but more than that, he starts to make out pinpricks of gold light ahead, a few at first and then more. Are they — are they coming from the ocean? ]

Ah, crap. [ Shapes of hunched over silhouettes shambling towards him have really got him wishing he had a couple weapons. ] Corpses. Why does it always have to be corpses?


❚❚❚❚❚ iv. get in loser, we're going shopping. (closed to sam drake)

[ Several days later, with a small mental checklist of supplies outside of their standard temple packs, Nate enlists his older brother to accompany him into the city. Not that he couldn't do it on his own, of course, but new world, new rules — and Sam insisted he needed cigarettes and a lighter anyway, to which Nate replied: ]

You could always use the opportunity to quit smoking, you know.

[ It's said idly and to deaf ears. Nate's well aware that Sam's addiction runs deep, goes well beyond quitting cold turkey, and that Sam without cigarettes is a grumpy presence he has no intention on adventuring with. It's just lucky that they've found themselves in a place with the modern comforts of their own world like art supplies and lung-blackening substances.

Nevertheless, he'd managed to get what he'd come for: three spare hardcover notebooks and some pencils (of varying lead softness), and the rest of the afternoon can be occupied looking for smokes. ]

Sam. [ There's a pause and a slightly Knowing look coming from the younger Drake as they pass by a wide expanse of storefront windows for what appears to be a department store. Knick-knacks and trinkets are strategically placed on velvet-covered pedestals and stands, the deep reds contrasting with the silvers and golds. Sam's already preoccupied with inspecting a row of lighters of varying size near the front. ] Do you really need one of those?

[ Do they even have enough money for one? ]


❚❚❚❚❚ v. wildcard.

[ feel free to drop a totally different prompt or hmu over on plurk (thwip)/pm to plot smth out! ]

iii. lost carcosa.

[medeiun]

[ She had evaded the skull's pull fairly easily — stepping away from the arrangement, turning her nose from its aroma of something ancient and its sparkling jewels. A stubbornness compels her, or perhaps a fear of what those empty sockets might see in her. Both, intermingled.

Regardless, Maleficent is well away from the thing, out on the sands (alone, she thinks, but not for long). When the fog starts rolling in, it brings Others with it. She can smell the stench of them, the rot. The dark fey tenses, wings unfolding outwards, preparing herself to take flight — though she hesitates, her vision as obscured as it is. She doesn't like this, having one of her senses stolen from her, and her own eyes flash an angry, acerbic green for a moment as she whips her head around, awaiting what fetid things are ambling ever closer.

But there's someone else — a person, whole and human. A man. Maleficent hears him, and moves his way, sweeping closer on foot for now: she's perhaps as frightening of a sight as what's stumbling up from the sea. Tall and imposing, she is a creature with large wings attached to her back and long horns curling upwards from her head; a dark red mouth reveals fangs as her lip curls upwards in disgust of the rotting things. Devil, she has been called for her appearance. Yet when she speaks, she sounds of a woman, and despite the harrowing circumstance she and her sudden companion are in, there is a sort of sardonic amusement to her words. ]

Do you so commonly find yourself in the company of corpses?

[pilferings]

Whoa, whoa, whoa —

[ Nate had been making great strides (or so he's choosing to believe) back towards the city, but at the sudden blur of swooping wings, long horns and a fanged woman accompanying all of these things like she materialized from a nightmare, he stumbles, falls over on his back. ]

You're not — [ He bites down on the rest of his sentence, which may or may not follow along the lines of '—going to eat me, are you?', and tries his best not to let the heebie-jeebies keep him from a clear mind even when half of his brain wants to scream, the other half looking for a way out.

He flicks a glance from the oncoming zombies with their gold eyes back to the winged creature with her green ones. Christ. It's hard not to find the ridiculousness in the situation, how he very well might be testing the limits of his luck tonight if this congregation of things out to kill him decide to team up.

He keeps his hands out in front of him — and goddamnit, he really hates being weaponless right now. Lightly, as though he might stand a chance talking his way out of this one: ]

Ah, believe it or not, I've come across a few back in my day.

[medeiun]

[ Oh, he's fallen down. Maleficent breathes out a sharp sound from her nostrils as though frustrated with him for this (despite the fact she knows full-well her appearance could trigger such a reaction in someone; it has plenty of times before). Ordinarily she might take an almost impish delight in a grown man tumbling right over at the sight of her, but they are in a bit of a bind just now.

'You're not—'

Any number of things could follow that broken, frightened statement. 'Human' is what she thinks of first, because it's the obvious one, in her mind. ]

No, [ she answers, shortly. His hands are up defensively, and she doesn't want to risk him having a freak-out if she frightens him further, but those things are drawing closer still. Maleficent's wings stretch outwards and curve just slightly around his position, a gesture as though to shield him for the immediate moment. ]

Has your experience given you any insight on how to handle these, then? [ Her tone is still cool, but her eyes flare with a hint of urgency — and with a distinct lack of manners, she adds sharply in the next beat: ] Get up. I will not harm you.

ii: the masquerade

[sketchbookings]

Surely everyone's got some sort of secret.

[ Benedict's reply is easy, his mouth an amused and crooked sort of smile underneath the edge of his own mask.

Their predicament is certainly an odd one, though. If it wasn't for the fact that the masks really were stuck, the whole thing seems a bit like a game that London's society might implement at one of their many parties. Tell a secret then reveal yourself to the ton and laugh about all the amusing confessions. ]

Not even some silly thing from your childhood?

[pilferings]

Who, me? Nah.

[ Nate attempts an air of ease, even when he's starting to feel like an animal cornered in a glamorous room full of alcohol and fine fabrics, other party guests around him murmuring their secrets in varying degrees of seriousness, and slowly unmasking for their troubles. There's an uncomfortable tingling along his spine, the anticipation of his own time in the spotlight coming up and he's far from ready.

His whole life is built up from secrets, one false move and the whole wall could come crumbling down. ]

How about you go first, huh? See if the secret-telling really works.

[ He knows it works, he just ... needs extra proof, you see. ]

[sketchbookings]

[ That seems a bit unfair, doesn't it. Surely the man with nothing to hide ought to go first, but, if that's true, then maybe the man is doomed because he hasn't got a secret to share.

Not, really, that Benedict thinks his own secrets are terrible. Mostly, it's the sort of stuff one keeps to one's self for fear of causing some sort of scandal or ripple in society. Either way, he's never been the sort to just openly share things about himself, even the not secrets. ]

What, exactly, constitutes a secret? Is it something that strictly no one knows, or something perhaps a select few are already aware of?

ii. masquerade. u knew this was comin

[tearsinajar]

[ There's a dark amber liquid sitting in the cool glass fitted between her gloved hands on her lap; her silent and only companion for the night, outside of the strangers moving about as they enjoy the evening. The long strings of pearls click together as she shifts in her seat on one of the low sofas. Elena keeps a low profile, her thoughts elsewhere. There's no joy to be had here, nothing that could fill the aching avoid in her chest and nothing that can soothe the heavy knots in her stomach that weigh it down.

Does she want to be here? No. Absolutely not. But does it mean she's far away from him? Yes. Probably. Her jaw tightens as she remembers the motel, and the drink is raised, tossed back on a heavy swallow. ]

Blessed, my ass, [ is muttered under her breath then, the mask partially hiding the twist in her brow as she scowls. Screw that whole talk that happened when arriving; or should she be thanking them? Rising up from the couch, the off-white gown settles around her legs, the pearls hanging to rest between her breasts to somewhat cover skin that would be otherwise left bared in the low cut.

Is it really a damn blessing that she's here and not there? God, she needs another drink. However, something urges her to look across. To let her gaze linger for a few spare seconds, the light from the chandeliers catching on the hair comb sweeping the loose blonde curls off one shoulder. Everyone looks the same—masked, dressed in formal suits or dresses. He was no different from the rest.

And then she's turning away, moving to head for the bar. ]

hold me i'm scared

[pilferings]

[ No — in a hall full of suits and dresses, all of them disguised in masks of varying shapes, colours, sizes, everything that made someone unique is hidden away behind glitz and glamour — he really was no different from the rest.

But Nate feels like he could pick Elena out of a crowd any time; she really was just that special, he really was just that much of an idiot, and he'd memorized everything about her for years. When he catches sight of that familiar figure dressed to the nines, it's 'familiar' that feels like a gut-punch, makes him think he must be hallucinating things, because what the hell are the odds?

He can feel the sudden weight of his wedding band around his finger manifesting his guilt and shame, and he resists the urge to reach for it, to twist it like it could ease the way his stomach churns. (Idiot, idiot.) And the world around him feels like it's slowed down to a heavy blur of music and glittering lights and it's just him and Elena and a wide distance between them. He isn't sure if she'd seen him; he isn't sure she would have stopped even if she had. And he could let her go — hell, it'd probably be the smart thing to do when he'd already dug himself so deep into a situation he's sure he can't come back from. But —


(God. Why did he lie in the first place? Why didn't he go after her? Why couldn't he have come clean about Sam earlier?
No, no, no — he had reasons. He did. And Sam — he needs him. Nate has to save his brother's life, because there's no one else, because he owes him that much at least.)


Still. He's gotta try, right? If this whole journey is about being a better person, making amends and saving lives, isn't it worth something to try? He moves to follow her, parting from the crowd, one hand reaching up to pull at his mask because it feels ridiculous to greet your estranged wife when you're concealed, and yet — even now, it still won't budge. ]

— Elena? Hey! Hey, Elena!

holds g e n t l y

[tearsinajar]

[ Was that a brief pause in her step? A falter? She had to be hearing things. Even with the band playing and the laughter and chatter all around, why was she hearing his voice? It had to do with the fact that his voice was the last thing she'd heard, back at the motel, the excitement in his tone, the giddiness she was so familiar with when he was making good progress on an adventure, being closer to solving the puzzle. That puzzle that she'd stumbled upon, it'd had to do with Henry Avery's treasure.

This puzzle?

Something was telling her to look back. To look for where the voice was coming from.

Elena shakes her head, fights down the urge. To look back now, it would feel like she was back in that motel after pouring over his notes and the maps, not here in the middle of a glamorous event. If she looked back, she would see him. Him and the stunned look, his brows raised high enough that they might reach his hairline. That's what she would see. There was no way she was ready to face him, and on the off-chance that it really wasn't her husband and in fact Sullivan, well...

A trembling breath is pushed down — she needs another drink — and Elena continues on for the bar. Except not. On yet another unexpected turn of events, her mind distracted and her feet moving again on autopilot, her journey for that drink is halted as she collides forcefully with someone unknown; another partygoer? It's so sudden that neither of them realize the glass that the stranger had been carrying had caught between them, breaking. Drink spills between them, bits of glass fall to the ground at their feet, some catching in her strings of pearls — ]

—sorry. I'm so sorry, that was — I wasn't...

[ She wasn't watching where she'd been going; this was on her. Bits of red stand out against the white of her dress at her left breast — had she been cut? Could be worse, she supposed, it could've been standing too close to a grenade, shrapnel piercing her skin. Again.

Jesus, was this seriously her life right now? Elena waves the guy off; they both seem okay. Both had stumbled on their apologies. The night would carry on. ]

ii.

[spoilers]

[ River's finally managed to remove her own mask at some point during the evening. Not an easy task for her either, to be sure. She won't dare chance putting the damn thing back on, but something compels her to hold onto it. So there she is, mask dangling in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other and looking really unfairly pleased with herself. ]

I'm afraid not.

[ She takes a sip of her champagne, tilting her head to the side, and has the grace to look mildly sympathetic. ]

If it makes you feel better, I could share another secret of my own, but you'd have no way of knowing if was telling the truth.

[ She probably wouldn't be. ]

[pilferings]

It might.

[ Yeah, to say Nate's a little jealous, to say the least, would ... be an understatement. And the unmasked woman casually sipping from her champagne does look so damned pleased with herself — as she should be.

He hates this thing. He hates that it's itchy and it's not the easiest thing to see out of, and that it requires a secret to take it off. The whole thing kinda sucks. ]

'Course you're not wrong about that. [ He eyes her loose mask, glad at least that his own hadn't covered more of his face in case this thing is going to be staying put for the rest of the night. ] Can I ask what kind of confession you made to make it work?

[spoilers]

You can ask.

[ Which isn't quite an answer. ]

I did share some hard truths with my husband. [ She takes a sip from her drink, then makes a soft humming sound as she swallows. ] Sorry. My wife. That's going to take some getting used to.

[ There's a small shrug, casual and relaxed. ]

I'm not sure it has to be a big secret, just one you haven't told before.

i; temple

[shapeshistory]

[ The great thing about nobody knowing who you are is that nobody knows that from the moment you've been handed this situation you've been doing nothing but internally screaming. Anne can, of course, but she's Anne, she hardly counts as 'nobody.' She's practically a third limb, permanently attached.)

There are some upsides: Jack can bathe, and he spends far too much time soaking and staring at the ceilings contemplating why the fuck he's here. The mess hall, next, always incredibly grateful that not only is there food but it's hot and fresh, the prospect of a full stomach always welcoming. He has no qualms with stuffing his face as much as he can regardless of manners.

He's about to set out to survey the docks when he notices someone from the mess hall--he'd said hi, and Jack had nodded through a mouthful in reciprocation--and as he shoulders his own supply pack, the stranger asks him a question. ]

I think that at the moment I'm finding myself far more concerned with my current state of being and the fact that I've been brought here by means I cannot possibly fathom. [ His eyebrows quirk up, beady gaze locked onto the other man, finding him to be just about the same height. ] Deliberation concerning this place's aesthetic is ultimately futile until I have a better grasp on what the fuck is happening. [ The man in the boat's little speech is completely insufficient, thank you. He's not used to this magic shit. It's unnerving. He'll adapt, he always does, but jesus christ, this is an awful lot. ]

[ Jack's lips twitch after a moment, internally fighting himself, visibly conflicted despite the surety of his previous statement. He looks pained until his gaze slides over to the effigy after a few beats of silence. ]

...It's fine. [ His voice is casual, flippant. Judgemental. He's clearly thought about this before. ] The yellow's a particularly garish shade. [ So what, maybe he does have far too many opinions on the aesthetic of this place. Sue him. His gaze darts back to the other, looking at him expectantly. ]

[pilferings]

[ Nate huffs a laugh, his posture seemingly much easier than the other man's, because for him this is the fun part — the figuring out of puzzles; the unearthing of keys that unlock mystery boxes; discovering long lost somethings in unfamiliar worlds. Wouldn't be the first time, after all, and back home he's already been eyeballs deep in adventure for weeks now. Hell, Libertalia was right within their grasp, before —

Well. Anyway. This place is just a different location, but still no less rife with potential. (And if there's treasure to be found somewhere, maybe Alcazar will take it over whatever he and Sam find (or don't find) aboard Henry Avery's ship when they get home. If they get home.) Not that waking up on a raft-boat with a guy telling you you're on a journey to be a better person had him particularly jazzed either; and yeah, he might have had his own moment of reckoning, but the rest of it is being taken in stride. Somehow. Defense mechanism? We don't know her.

But he gets it; he gets how this could be kind of insane because it is kind of insane, and when he offers Jack a sympathetic shrug, it's in earnest. ]

Hey, I know a thing or two about culture shock. It's best just to ... go along with it, you know? Roll with the punches, as it were.

[ And now Nate takes a moment to pull his gaze away from the effigy to study his companion a little better. There's ... something mildly familiar about him, not that he's ever met the guy (he knows that at least), but ... there's an air. Even without the plain, unassuming robes they've all been adorned with, there's a feeling of familiarity he can't quite shake. ]

But you're right. The yellow's kind of a weird choice. Fades faster, hard to see under the wrong lighting conditions ... kind of gives off a false sense of optimism. Enlightenment. [ Half-jokingly: ] Maybe they ran outta red paint that day.

just gotta brocure a few items 🛍

[libertalia]

( frankly, sam doesn't see why they're paying for anything when it would be just as easy to steal what they need and be on their way. but nate's turned over a new leaf, apparently (at least for the time being), so he drags sam around collecting his art supplies, exchanges real money for them — and sam, to his credit, only makes one or two offhanded remarks about nate's artistic talents, which is practically fucking considerate of him. (it's cute seeing nate get so worked up about it, and, anyway, he wouldn't exactly be the older brother if he didn't rib his younger sibling at every given opportunity.)

doesn't stop sam from swiping a pack of smokes from a newsstand, though.

or, really, every newsstand. so sue him.

by the time his eye catches the lighters in the window, he's already amassed at least five packs of cigarettes, stuffed into the generously deep pockets of his pants.

he shoots nate a mildly annoyed look at that knowing expression of his — because, yeah, even a blind monkey could read nate's face right now, but at least sam has built up a tolerance to this particular brand of guilt over the years. )

What, you expect me to chew on these cigarettes like candy? 'Course I need a lighter, Nathan. And — ( he gestures to a particularly shiny gold one at the front. ) — as you can clearly see, I am a man of refined taste.

( miss him with that matches bullshit. what is he, a caveman? )

this will be brositively wonderful (or horrible)

[pilferings]

[ They're good drawings, Sam. Come on, you've seen 'em. Or at least — a few of them, right before they wound up in this place and the notebook he'd been carrying around with him appeared to get lost in the shuffle between universe-crossing. Still, he's pretty happy with the purchases he's made here, and he's not-so-secretly excited to test out the stack of pencils too. Imagine that: real art supplies from the 1920s; oh, it's something he'd love to tell Elena about, only — well. Never mind.

Anyway. ]

There were other lighters at the newstands. [ — said in the equivalent tone of 'we have McDonalds at home'. And don't think Nate didn't notice Sam subtly swiping cigarettes out from under newstand vendors' noses, not once, not even twice either. ] Sure, nothing as fancy — [ Nate gestures lightly towards the pieces displayed on red velvet pedestals. ] — but is it really worth whatever may or may not happen if we get caught?

[ That last part is hushed under his breath, and Nate knows it's pretty much a moot argument; he can already tell there's no real way around this, and he's going to be roped into some quick-thought scheme and a lighter's vanishing act. He knows this. Still, maybe it does some iota of good to at least try and attempt to steer them both on the right path, even when he's already casing out the exit routes and watching the uniformed doormen from his position on the sidewalk. ]

temple.

[suckonthis]

It's probably some crude sort of shrine. Could be tied to sacrifices... or vandalism.

[ He's heard of some interesting artifacts from his father's explorations, but Ryo knows people are kind of shitty and this place looks derelict. It wouldn't shock him, even with the small antlered... things walking around. ]

Or were you just wondering if it was aesthetically pleasing?

[ What a ray of sunshine. Greetings. ]

[pilferings]

[ Eh — Nate's dealt with a whole lot worse back in his day; he practically surrounds himself with so-called rays of sunshine on a regular basis. So it probably stands to reason he can take a little curmudgeon, especially in unfamiliar territory — even if it is from a teenager.

(God. When did he get so ... old?) ]

Mostly the former, but — [ He shrugs a shoulder. ] — guess it wouldn't be fair to discount the aesthetics either. Really brings the room together, doesn't it?

[ In a way that's creepy, and 'Blair Witch'-y, and does nothing to comfort most newcomers arriving on ferry boats. To say nothing of the antlered creatures ambling to and from rooms within the temple, yeah. ]

ii.

[kneecaptain]

You could cut it off, maybe.

[ Bucky's wearing a dinner jacket that makes him feel a bit like his father: high waist, black tie, gloves damp from the moisture in his drink. And a domino mask in red, that he hasn't taken off yet. ]

But that might have side effects. Or scarring. But I do have a knife in my back pocket.

[ Wait, does that count as a secret? He tries to yank the mask off, but it doesn't budge. ]

Yeah, that woulda been too easy.

sorry for the delay!!

[pilferings]

[ There's a second or two of anticipation and a breath waiting to be exhaled when Nate thinks ... maybe a confession as simple as that could work? But then the test fails and the man with a knife in his back pocket still has a mask on his face too.

So it'll take something a little more ... revealing, it seems, to do the trick. ]

Yeah, I think I'm gonna leave cutting it off as a last resort. Maybe even a second last resort, right above burning it off.

[ Nate actually likes his face just the way it is. It's a nice face! ]

lost carcosa.

[shove]

( he'd been wandering. not in any particular direction, headed for anything in particular. it's just there's people around that jason would prefer to ignore the existence of, and the beach seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to do that at. until, of course, he'd found the fucking skull just chilling on the beach, looking eerie and, somehow, leading jason to feel like he has to speak about something. jason doesn't like it. but he also opts against kicking the skull over and back into the water, because for some reason, that feels like it could potentially be a really bad idea.

a bad idea he definitely regrets not taking when he keeps on down the beach and sees corpses chasing him down. )

Fuck!

( very eloquently put; jason's fast on his feet, definitely more used to running away from shit than he should be, and he's quick to catch up to nate. moves a hand forward to shove it against him to try and push him to move faster. christ. )

Run, idiot!

( he'd fight them but they look a little watered down, and he doesn't want to get slimy corpse bits all over himself. that sounds gross. )

sorry for the delay! ;;

[pilferings]

That's what I'm —!

[ Urgent as it is to gain some headway from the oncoming wave of zombified, waterlogged bodies crowding the shores, the sudden extra push from the teenager certainly gives the situation all the more pressure to get as far away from the beach as possible and hope that the sea-zombies decide struggling their way to land isn't worth the effort in the end. His own feet feel sluggish, sinking into sand with each step, but he manages to keep a decent pace.

Turning to glance briefly over his shoulder, Nate can only pray that it'll just be water and fog behind them. ] Shit. [ Aaaand obviously that would be too easy, but Nate and the kid are faster at least, barring any surprises up ahead. ]

Quick — [ He shouts now, gesturing towards a crest of land up ahead. ] — up that hill!

iii. (pre zombies)

[chardismastic]

[ The beach is a welcome respite after the party, cool and dark and quiet — everything Rafe had been looking for as an exit strategy the second he'd realized he'd been dropped in the middle of the masquerade. Such events have never been his scene even when attendance had been his own choice, empty smiles sharing empty conversations to cover an agenda here, a motive there. Games he didn't have the patience for in the world he'd come from, and has even less reason to play now that he's wherever the hell this is on the way to wherever it is they're all traveling.

Now that he's out of the press of glittering bodies, has shed the black tie and tails to move more comfortably, another solitary figure is nothing. Easily tolerated even as they travel in parallel lines, keeping apace through the dunes. Though... Something about that figure nags at the corner of his mind. Something that rings familiar — the rhythm of their stride, the cut of their shoulders, the outline of their silhouette. Something that doesn't quite click into place until Nate speaks. Just one syllable but that's all Rafe needs to hear and then he knows.

His feet almost move of their own accord, closing the distance now that Nate's crouched down in front of a partial skeleton, a macabre grin glinting under the moonlight. (How fitting; you can take the guy away from the grave robbing but you can't take the grave robber out of—) He stops as Nate clambers back up, only a few yards away now as he watches his every mood with a laser focus. ]

That's one word for it.

[ Even with his mask still in place, he trusts Nate to recognize his voice. ]

[pilferings]

[ Oh, it'd be impossible not to remember the cadence of that voice, the unimpressed drawl he hasn't heard in years — and now he's been hearing it a hell of a lot more than he ever thought he would again. Go figure, right? You try to move on, move forward, and your whole damned history drags itself out from the bottom of an ocean (or a hidden pirate utopia) for a house call.

Nate is already back up on his feet, deliberately ignoring the glittery skull watching them from over his shoulder. The winds feel different now, but that might just be due to present company. ]

— the hell are you doing here?

[ It's a stupid question, rhetorical really in the grand scheme of things. Rafe is likely here for the same reasons he is. The same reasons any of them are.

And yet, what the hell are the odds?

Much of Rafe's face is obscured by the intricate glint of his mask, the shape of bones defined by the dim light of the moon above, even with a slow fog rolling in. It's hard not to feel just a little creeped out, sandwiched between the shapes of two skulls, and quite frankly Nate's not entirely sure which one of them he prefers. ​]