( march event ) outbreak

[officialnotice]

EVENT: OUTBREAK

It must have been something you ate.

Some time between waking on the 22nd and the middle of the afternoon (for some of you, this basically equates to the same thing anyway) your stomach has chosen to rebel against you and whatever it was that you ate that displeased it so. The nausea creeps in slow and insidious in the beginning and then refuses to leave, followed closely on the heels by sharp abdominal pains and diarrhea.

It isn't enjoyable by any stretch of the imagination, but there's nothing particularly ominous about the symptoms either. The only thing to really do about food poisoning is ride out the bad bits and maybe take a good long hard look at some of your recent meal choices and adjust them accordingly to avoid having to go through this again any time soon. Except. Except that the symptoms haven't gone away by the next day, have instead been joined by a new set of them: a tingling or burning sensation scrawling up and down your arms and legs, sinking into the tips of your fingers and toes, and crawling up your throat to settle like a prickling, unsettling mask over your face.

It... probably wasn't something you ate. Especially since a lot of your neighbors appear to be suffering from the same symptoms as well now.

By the 24th, it's clear that the quiet town of Wayward Pines has a full on epidemic on their hands, as the symptoms continue to spread throughout the community and are joined rapidly by problems with dry mouth, shortness or breath, choking sensations, confused or slurred speech, and a loss of coordination. People are on edge, even suspicious, and the streets and shops slowly empty of people with each passing day, making it all the more obvious when someone chooses to cross the street rather than risk walking past you on the sidewalk. (They cross again about a block up to avoid someone on that side of the street as well, so it's probably not you specifically that the good people of Wayward Pines are avoiding.)

The hospital is doing the best that they can with the large scale of affected patients, but it isn't until the 25th that they manage to narrow in on the correlation between worsening symptoms and hydration. They put out a call for blood donors, flyers calling on people's civic duty appearing in everyone's mailboxes and pinned in the windows of the handful of businesses that are still open. If they're to have any hope of engineering a treatment for the outbreak, they're going to need blood, they say, and even if nobody has died from the illness yet, do you want to wait until they do?

(The flyer sounds like it was written by the same sort of person that would guilt you into giving your mother a call a little more often, you only have one after all, but it brings the donors in so whatever works I guess.)

People suffering from the disease are highly encouraged to come into the hospital for treatment if they haven't already, and a number at the bottom of the flyer even offers house calls for those who are already too far along to make it to the hospital under their own steam. If you're not up to donating blood, you might want to give that number a call. After all, you must be on death's door if you can't even do that much to help your neighbors in their time of need.

And while you're at it, why don't you call your mom too?

MOD NOTES

This is a catch-all for any and all threads pertaining to the outbreak!

PLEASE INCLUDE IN SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, date, location, and Open or Closed, to help keep things a bit more organized.

If you have any questions regarding this event, feel free to ask them here.

Comments

Rachel Morgan | March 22, 23: Thistle Do It and March 25th: Hospital| Open

[smuttywitch]

March 22 & 23: Thistle Do It
[Rachel wakes up on Wednesday feeling queasy, so as much as it pains her to do so, she skips her usual cup of coffee before going to her...job? A job that's suddenly feeling familiar, memories of being in a shop that might have been this one when she was younger trickling in as she checks on the plants and gets things ready for the day. It was during the camp years, which were pretty foggy anyway so that explained some things. She remembers being nervous that she'd be too weak and break something expensive that her parents wouldn't be able to pay for. But she also remembers loving it, the dirt and plants if not the people.

Which is why she feels pretty calm at the start of the day, giving welcoming smiles to anyone who comes in. If anyone stops by looking under the weather, she waits until they're looking away to quickly draw up her second sight to give their auras a once over, looking for thinness or empty patches or colors that are fluxing too much. Even if their aura doesn't tell her anything, anyone complaining of an a bad stomach or some other odd symptom may get a suggestion for a tea or tincture, some of which Rachel might actually step into the back to prepare herself, since you don't want to be trying to cut up plants with tingling hands do you? And if the shop smells a little more strongly of redwood right now, it might just go unnoticed by the more ill among her customers]

Reminder!: If you don't want Rachel checking out your character's aura, just don't mention it at all in their tags. Otherwise, feel free to describe colour(s)/general states of their auras for her to work with. She'll be getting plenty of information from human NPCs auras. Any non-human/magical beings are free to peek at hers and pick up on the fact she's doing making more than mundane tonics


March 25th: Hospital

[Even if she wasn't born until two decades later, Rachel can't help feeling an irrational stab of fear that this place is experiencing its own Turn. She's noticed that the people who are getting sickest are human--even if her own illness hadn't passed quickly, she would have noticed that. And the air of fear sounds like the stories she heard as a child, so she's doing the only things she can. The things her parents and grandparents did. She's using her own mixed blessings to try to help.

She closed the shop yesterday to spend the night spelling. Not successfully, much to her annoyance--she's still limited, even with the shop's inventory--but enough that she reeks of redwood and the tips of her index fingers are marked from multiple needle pricks. She didn't learn anything besides the fact she got better and other people didn't, so even though she's still scared about what her blood in particular could tell a professional, she's still heading to the hospital in the afternoon to give her blood and check in on a few people--still decaffinated, so even though she's not sick anymore she might just look it. At least she's been remembering to refresh her hair taming charm so she shouldn't scare anyone too much]

22nd

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx was just beginning to think that something he'd eaten hadn't agreed with him when he ventures into Rachel's shop; the slow curl of nausea in his stomach causing him to frown until he sees her. Then his expression lights up. Not wanting to bother her for the moment as she helps another customer, Nyx steps around the shop.

He's proud that she has it, though he's not really sure whether or not he has any right to that feeling anymore. Nor is he sure what all this stuff is even for. But he can be happy for her anyway, he thinks. Even after all these years he wants nothing but the best for her. He knows that now.

He runs his fingers delicately over fine leaves, getting momentarily lost in a hazy memory of trees and the sound of water bubbling over smoothed stones. Then places his other hand over his stomach when the nausea surges. He's not quite at the 'wanting to hurl' stage, probably, but it's distinctly uncomfortable nonetheless.

Unbeknownst to him, should Rachel check his aura, it's likely a LOT brighter than a regular human's. There's magic in his soul, weaker than it probably should be, but growing stronger the longer he allows himself to rest. It's a vibrant blueish purple, with a grey tinge around where his injuries centered, as if the magic itself was what caused the damage in the first place.]

[smuttywitch]

[while she's still getting used to this shop owener thing, being a Runner at least left Rachel with the instinct to look up when a door opens, bell or not. She gives her own faint smile when she sees Nyx before going back to helping a nauseous human woman find something to settle her stomach. Her own was still unsettled, although at the moment it was less from illness and more from emotion. She's remembered the men who came after him--remembers Kisten, waiting in Cinncinati and probably only not trying to find his way here because he's playing scion--but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy the sight of him. In fact, remembering all the men who came between him and Kisten makes those memories even sweeter--he hadn't been like all the others who saw her as just another notch on their broomstick, who got afraid of what she could do or sold her out for their own selfish desires.

Okay, only one guy had done that, but that betrayal was still fresh enough to hurt.

She waited until the woman left with her mixture of peppermint, rowan, and willow bark--not what Rachel would have liked, but she couldn't quite remember the recipe she knew she had in one of her mother's old books so was playing it safe--to take a better look at Nyx. Even if she was off the market, it wasn't a crime to look, she thought with a grin, even as she rubbed at the black gold bracelet she now remembered had come from Kisten. He appreciated that she was a pure-hearted slut, even if she'd smacked him for saying it that way. He wouldn't mind her apprecating what she'd been too afraid to keep]

Hey there. [she says, warmly, stepping around the counter] Anything I can help you find?

[when she notices the hand on his stomach, she takes a quiet breath, quickly drawing up her second sight--glad she's not spelling, just looking, so the worst he'll hopefully notice if he turns too quickly is her hair floating in the air a bit and maybe the smell of ozone. Focusing just on him, her brow knits a little at the colors and their hues. She's seen blue and purple on quite a few people--Ceri's aura, under all that smut, is blue, that's good. Purple...strong magic, probably. The grey is worrying, of course. The illness? Or did someone--something--attack his aura directly? Either way, not good. She drops her second sight quickly enough, putting her smile back in place]

22nd;

[paragon]

[ Steve's looking healthy as a horse when he steps into the shop early that afternoon. He can't exactly say the same for Natasha, currently home on the couch feeling under the weather with what seems to be some kind of stomach bug. She doesn't have a fever, though — he could tell that much when he'd pressed his lips to her forehead before going out to grab a few things, hence the bags from French's and the video store hanging over one arm — so he's not too worried.

He hadn't exactly planned on the flower shop, but he'd paused outside on catching a glimpse of the flowers in the window, debating internally for a few seconds before heading inside. He browses for a minute or so before lifting his head, glancing around until he sees Rachel, giving her a small smile and a raised eyebrow.

Overall, he seems to be a guy in a pretty good mood. ]

Interesting selection you've got here.

[smuttywitch]

[while she's looking a little harried--she's trying not to wonder if this is how the witches and weres who were around during the worst of The Turn felt--Rachel still smiles when she sees Steve. And, okay, it may be that outside of the fact he's not in a biker get up, he's definitely her type.

Just because she has a boyfriend doesn't mean she's suddenly blind, all right. And a good looking man is really appreciated on a day like this. Deciding he looks well enough that she's not worried about him being sick, she steps around the counter, wiping her hands on the apron she's started wearing to keep her clothes mostly free of plant juices]

Thanks. I...uh, always thought the old herbal remedies stuck around so long for a reason, you know? [there's also the small matter that even if she was as sick as the humans, their medicine probably wouldn't work for her] Some of it's total bull of course, but you could still eat pretty much anything here and just wind up with a bad taste in your mouth at worst. [which is why she's not keeping things like yew around. She might know how to handle the stuff, but she wouldn't dare trust that everyone would follow her instructions, or be able to identify similar looking plants as easily as she can]

Anything I can help you find?

Skye March 22nd-25th | Hospital | Open

[morethan084]

[Admittedly, Skye’s diet wasn’t exactly the best. So when she first gets some stomach pains she doesn’t really think much of it. By the end of the day though, things are a lot worse. Stubbornly she is waiting it out though, because while she feels like shit she doesn’t want to go to a doctor just yet. Especially around here. The next morning she’s feeling even worse, but she tries to get through her day as best she can. Yeah, that doesn’t go so well. She can barely make it to the bathroom much less actually make anything to eat. Not that she actually wanted to eat right now, but considering it’s been almost a day since she’s last eaten anything she manages to make some toast.

By the second day of whatever the hell this is though, Skye is feeling even worse. The small thing she managed to accomplish he couldn’t even manage to do those today. She had woken up from a nightmare where she couldn’t breathe, except she actually couldn’t breathe. In a panic she shoots out of bed, which was also a bad move as she fell on her side. That’s where Jiaying found her, she had heard phone go off multiple times but couldn’t actually make it to her phone to answer it.

Skye tried to refuse to go the hospital, but considering she couldn’t seem to get the words out that clearly wasn’t going to happen. The last time she was in a hospital bed it was because she almost died, hopefully that wasn’t the case this time? At times it definitely felt like she was, but catching wind of the fact that this was happening to a lot of people…? Yeah, that didn’t help ease her fear very much. There are times when she’s left by herself that she stubbornly gets out of bed, even though she can barely stay upright. The risk of falling is pretty high as she clings to the wall once she’s out of the room. Not exactly blending in with non-sick folks with the way she’s hunched over and also in a hospital gown.

Skye can’t help but think that there is a reason so many people are sick, and that she isn’t the only one trying to figure out why. Despite how many times the nurses have put her back in her room, she's finding it hard to just lay there. If someone gets wrapped up into trying to wrangle her back to bed, good luck with that.]

[keephimtalking]

[ After a lot of his regular customers started dropping off the face of the map, Lantar got concerned. Enough to actually venture out of his house outside of work hours to try and find out what the hell was going on, even.

That'd been a couple days ago. Now he's shut the bar down and was helping the hospital staff in full crisis mode. Mostly fun stuff, like cleaning up after patients.

And occasionally, wrangling the escapees. ]

Yeesh, you people sure don't know how to fucking sit tight, huh?

[ That's a familiar voice innit? And an awful familiar set of claws planting themselves on her shoulders too. ]

[morethan084]

[What can she say? She's never been one to just sit still for too long. Especially when she's told to do that, and even more so when it's for her own good.

In her mind though, she was safer trying to find the solution for herself. Not that she gets very far before someone catches her. Looking up at him with slightly glazed over eyes, Skye wobbles on the spot as she steps back to look at him properly.]

What're you doing here?

march 25th

[zymasoldat]

[ When the request for blood donations goes out, Bucky knows it's a bad idea to go along with it. None of the authorities in Wayward Pines can be trusted, and he doesn't even know which of his 'friends' or 'neighbors' are all that they appear. Even his 'cousin' is married to a HYDRA agent, and even if their relation feels so real... She could be HYDRA, too, for all he knows.

But the thing is: he knows it's a bad idea, and he goes and does it anyway. In a strange way, finding out that there's a HYDRA presence in town (even if it's-- potentially-- just limited to Brock Rumlow) has spurred him out of his previous tactics of laying low, blending in, and doing all he can to avoid drawing attention to himself. He did that for two years, and it didn't stop him from getting mired in a conflict engineered around his very existence.

Now, it's time to be proactive.

He can't sit by, keep his head down, and do nothing while people's lives might be in danger. With the serum in him, the sickness doesn't even affect him as badly as the others, which means that even if it is a risk, there's still a chance that some good will come from his blood. He's not stupid, though; he knows there's an even greater chance that the blood samples are going to be used for something other than the stated purpose. But with the mystery sickness showing no signs of abating, he doesn't have time to really go into a full-on investigation into the town and hospital and how this might tie in with the signs and cameras everywhere. Steve's sick, Natasha's sick, Kenzi's sick-- people he knows, people his false memories tell him he knows, total strangers who may be innocent in all of this...

So the plan is simple: go to the hospital, donate some blood, make note of every person who handles the samples, and find out what he can about them and what they're doing.

Easier said than done, of course. They're so busy dealing with this plague, and Bucky's own symptoms have him so achy and wobbly that he gets a quick check-up before he's herded into a room, with a gown and bed prepared for him. And he has a roommate, though he really has no intentions of sticking around once they take his blood.

(However long that'll be.)

Leaving the gown folded up on the bed, Bucky approaches the young woman in the room-- the one who hardly seems content to stay in bed, despite her poor health. He knows he can seem intimidating, but he hopes she won't be afraid when he moves to her bedside and puts a hand-- the human one-- on her shoulder to keep her from flailing right out of the bed in what he figures is the latest in a string of escape attempts. His robot arm is, for the time being, mostly covered up with the long sleeve of his shirt and a fingerless glove, the metal digits still visible, but not immediately so. ]

Easy... [ He keeps his voice soft, hoping they won't be overheard in all of the commotion beyond the room. ] How long have you been here?

[ Might as well see if he can get some information here, see if she's encountered anyone unusual-- well, aside from the unusual townies. ]

[morethan084]

[With how many people had either been brought in, or came in on their own, it wasn't that surprising that Skye ended up getting a roommate. Not that it was going to stop her from trying to get out of bed again, despite being completely out of it. She had tried yesterday and didn't get very far, but maybe her roomie would keep their mouth shut and just let her be an idiot. Or, maybe, they would understand where she was coming from and go with her.

She's barely got one leg dangling over the side of bed and that's with as much effort as she could really put into it without actually falling off. Hand bracing the railing, Skye almost had her foot touching the floor when there's suddenly a hand on her shoulder. She tries to swing her arm back in protest but there's zero strength behind it.

So apparently he wasn't going to keep quiet about her escape. Figures. Rolling onto her back, Skye looks bleary eyed up at him. Brows knitted together as she tried to figure out the words to use to answer his question.]

Days.

[Yeah that wasn't vague at all.]

Um.

[How do words work exactly?]

Two days. I think.

Skye noticed that, while he looked ill, he didn't look half as bad as she felt.]

What are you doing here?

Noah Czerny | March 24 : Pre-hospital & March 25 : Hospital | Open

[smudging]

Feeling a bit.... on & off. ( March 24th )

[ At first, only a few students in his class begin to get sick -- though, it's not anything that anyone gives a second thought, it's that time of the year and teenagers get sick, that's just what happens when you put a large amount of them into a small, confined space. It's when the majority of his class falls ill that Noah starts taking notice, that he starts getting worried. Shops along Main Street close for days, his neighbors stay home from work, and eventually Noah starts to feel a little under the weather, too.

His symptoms are.... different, though. (At least from what he's heard from the hushed whispers of townsfolk on his few ventures down the eerily quiet Main St. over the past few days) He feels lightheaded, dizzy, he blacks out at random and for the briefest of moments -- except for that one time when hours seemed to have passed before he came back to consciousness. -- and sometimes wakes up in entirely different places, and he's had an on-and-off splitting headache.

He's coming home from school when another sharp, stab of pain goes shooting right through his head, like someone had bypassed his skull and gone straight to battering away at his brain.

Ah, shit. [ Noah hisses, a hand flying up to his temple, pressing the heel of his hand hard against the spot in hopes to ease the pain. The world around him fades in and out briefly (and outwardly, his corporeal state flickers. He's somewhere between there and not.), his head swimming as though something inside of it is desperate to break free and make itself known. He stumbles a few steps until he finds a nearby bench, dropping down on to it and covering his face with his hands, breathing heavy and deliberate in hopes to try and will away this suddenly overwhelming feeling. ]

Doctor's orders. ( March 25th )

[ Noah doesn't remember how he ended up at the hospital. Had someone called an ambulance? Had something happened while he was at school? Had he brought himself here on his own accord? The staff refuses to divulge any information (of course not, he thinks. Just like last time) to him and all of his questions about exactly what is wrong with him go unanswered.

Everything with the nurses is all soft tones and promises that "you'll feel better soon, honey." and if Noah could actually think over the recurring pain that's now moving down the entire side of his face, the bruised spot high on his cheek -- the one from the Accident. The one that never healed, strangely enough -- feeling like it had become the focused center of it all.

Noah fades in and out of sleep. Nightmares run rampant through his dreamscape -- images of blood splatter on crisp green grass, the pulsing feeling of something more than just his heartbeat through him and all around him, searing pain that starts from the top of his head and surges quickly through the rest of his body -- the boy's body convulsing and twisting erratically as though he's acting out the moments from his nightmares in real time (but the movements are all the same repeating set, like a mysterious muscle memory.). After some time, it jolts him awake, his eyes scanning the room wildly because sometimes when these nightmares happen, he doesn't always wake up in the same place. ]

Wildcard

[ Anything you'd like, will match styles! ]

Nyx Ulric | 23-24thish | Home | Open

[sirnyxalot]

[The food poisoning was awful, but nothing he couldn't handle. Ultimately he just chalked it up to a failed cooking attempt and made a note to look up later what he did wrong. He knew by now that whoever he had been it certainly wasn't someone who cooked for himself.

It was the burning that got him. He woke up on fire with nothing to put out. His blankets had long since been kicked to the floor, and sweat soaked through his tanktop while he'd slept. He sits up, a tight, pained sound escaping his throat, and his head swims dizzingly.

(There's metal-a hand-around his throat and he's burning. The smell of smoke is thick in his nose, but the pain is a distant throb in the face of his conviction as he uses that heat rising inside him to take the bastard with him.)

Nyx gasps as he remembers, hot pain surging through his arm. He clutches the limb to his chest and unsteadily climbs out of bed to stumble to the bathroom. He shoves his hand under the faucet, bandage and all, and turns the water on cold. It hurts. The heat doesn't seem to fade, only migrate, and Nyx realizes after a moment that the fire's in his mind, not here in reality.

Fever, he thinks, shaking. He splashes his face and takes an unsteady drink. His head feels like it's swimming, his image in the mirror superimposed with the face of a man he once looked up to. A man who did everything he could to try and kill him. He sees a city burning behind him and has to tear himself away from the bathroom.]

Shit. ... Shit.

[He has to grab the door frame as he leaves, trying to draw in air that feels too hot for his lungs. Stubbornly Nyx puts one foot in front of the other. He needs help, though for what he can't quite keep his mind on. The illness? The flashback? This was wrong. Something was so very wrong and he just couldn't name it. Pieces were falling into place like a language he knew of but couldn't speak.

He missteps going down the stairs. His heel catches the step, slipping out from under him, and he slides the last few in a disturbingly clumsy attempt to catch himself. Dizzy, Nyx just sits on the floor for awhile, trying desperately to catch his breath.]

((ooc: Nyx will otherwise be out and about on the 22nd, and in the hospital as things get worse.))

23rd-ish?

[comic_relief]

<sub>[It's not a good idea. He knows it's not as he's walking down the street, taking the usual route to Nyx's house that shouldn't be familiar because neither the street, nor Nyx's house, nor Nyx are really familiar.

It's not a good idea to rely on these rickety, misleading memories that tell him Nyx has been there for him, wants to help him, cares (the last making something uncomfortable squirm in his chest). Even if he still does for whatever reason, Jack's not... really the same person anymore. He never was. He never was that happy, uncomplicated boy. Not once. Not since--

It doesn't matter. Another life lived by another boy in a war-free world is too vast and intimidating a thing to comprehend, and Jack avoids trying, and in so doing he stays out of Nyx's way as much as one can in a small town holding them hostage. Until now. Even Jack knows when he's out of his depth, and the current source of his problems is the yellow, fuzzy creature tucked under his arm.

So here he is, rapping smartly on Nyx's door three times in succession, sighing and telling himself this doesn't have to be awkward for either of them if he doesn't let it.]</sub>

Morning of the 26th: Closed for Eliza

[sirnyxalot]

[It was cold. He didn't mind the long hours alone, really. Even with a corpse steadily rotting beside him. It gave him time to work through the onslaught of information he remembered the other night. But clear weather or not he's definitely starting to regret not stopping back home for some proper pants. These hospital scrubs were no protection against even the last dregs of winter's chill.

He didn't think it would take this long to find somebody who could actually do something about this, but maybe everyone was asleep?

Nyx sighs, spinning the shovel carefully between his hands. It's been quiet. Almost too quiet. With exception to some rustling earlier, he hadn't even seen or heard any wildlife. It was a good thing, but he couldn't help feeling a little restless.

Glancing down at the body, Nyx huffs a short sigh and starts another patrol around the site. This place was already weird without adding deformed humans to it.]

Morning of the 26th: Closed for Ibaraki

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx is more alert than he was just an hour or so ago. After Eliza's information about the people lurking in the woods last night he's not taking any chances. He might be less than par right now, but he's still the chosen elite of a king. To escape his notice entirely is no small thing.

He has some concerns.

The shovel they borrowed is dented now, but he still keeps it on hand. He remembers once having daggers, beautifully crafted curved blades that felt like they'd been made for his hands. He itched for them now, can't remember seeing them at all since he woke up in the hospital.

Nyx scans the trees. This body was suddenly more than dangerous. He had to protect it, or else they'd never get any answers.]

Dio Brando | March 22nd (night) | Random Alley | OPEN (cw: blood-drinking)

[malignans]

[Transcending humanity means transcending all of its weaknesses. That includes illnesses. So, just imagine Dio's displeasure when he discovers that he feels even remotely unwell when he awakens.]

[Although such discomfort is unfamiliar to Dio, it's initially only a mild irritation that Dio anticipates will pass with a little more time. He spends a little more time resting to combat it, not emerging from his bed until long after the sun has set rather than waiting for the last dregs of sunlight to disappear beneath long shadows of trees and buildings. By then, hunger is beginning to settle in, mingling with the increasing pain.]

[It's only a few seconds of contemplation before the bags before he thinks better of it. Never once has Dio experienced such pain, and the only change to his diet is taking what's given to him from the hospital.]

[Thus, when you happen upon him out on the streets, Dio is holding the hand of a young woman as they duck into the small alley between two buildings. They don't get far before Dio has her pinned against the wall of the building, caught in a lip-lock. She breaks it off, giggling that it's too cold outside. Dio murmurs something in her ear that causes her to laugh. She nods, tugging her scarf loose until she can slip it off to playfully loop it around Dio's neck, and pull him close with her head tilted. Her grip on the scarf tightens with a soft gasp, followed shortly by the scent of blood in the air.]

cw: it's going to get much worse.

[dragoness]

[ the night blankets the city like its a secret, and slinking among the shadows is a twisted figure, bright blue eyes cutting through the darkness. claws slip over the curve of her horns and to herself she sighs. this place is fine, if boring, and staying cooped up inside that house, "nice" though it might be, isn't an option. an idol laying around will get flabby and soft, and eliza will never allow herself to be less than perfect.

so on her own, she takes a walk around the city after nightfall, not just to get more familiar with her surroundings but also because there is a restlessness seeping into her chest. showing off for an adoring fan, switching classes, pouring her mana into a spell-casting class, well... it's sapped up more of her energy than she would like to admit. being without a master makes her useless. even with nothing to worry about in a sleepy town like wayward pines, eliza figures covering her bases would be a smart thing to do.

there's a sensation hanging in the air that she can't explain, a feeling that makes a shiver run down her spine. it's an excitement that she hasn't felt in what feels like years, and a slant tugs at the corner of her mouth, arms stretching above her head. she knows this feeling. she knows this smell.

it's been a part of her life, a basis of her afterlife, and the reason for all of her magical abilities. eliza can't help the soft cackle that bubbles up in her throat, and with a hop, her wings lift her into the night sky. by following the scent trail it doesn't take her long to find the scene of the crime — far too indecent for her tastes. and now, she's faced with a conundrum as she lets herself land quietly on a fire escape above the couple. the scent of blood is staggering, and eliza feels her knees tremble as she stands there. ]

Having fu~n?

[ a hand cups under her chin, and though eliza may be as dumb as a brick wall at times, there's no mistaking what's going on here. she's watched her uncle vlad feed on gudako's blood a few times, and with that predatory tenseness pulling taught in the atmosphere... ]

Jack | March 22-??? | Various locations | OTA

[comic_relief]

<sub>[Memories that had once been fragmented and unfocused shift into perfect clarity around the time his chocobo hatches. Jack remembers now. He remembers why it is he shouldn't be in this cookie cutter town with its lack of a Crystal, with its roads that go nowhere, with its teknology the likes of which can't be found anywhere on Orience.

(Because there might not be anything left to find in Orience after the Rursus attack. That's the punchline to the joke Jack will never tell, as it'll never get out past the lump in his throat even if wanted to risk the wrath of Wayward Pines by telling it.)

His head is fit to burst just knowing what he's lost, and knowing what he's miraculously regained, and having a baby chocobo that screams at him for attention every couple of minutes. If that wasn't enough, he remembers more than he should--inexplicable memories of growing up here, yes, but others, too, memories from his real home he shouldn't have, he shouldn't know. It gives him spiking headaches, trying to think straight. The cherry on the shit cake: school. The whiteboards are full of gibberish, and he can't focus to pay attention to lectures, alternating between seeing the orderly Academy classroom, and another classroom somewhere far away. A blasted out wall, scorched wooden seats, a copper pre-dawn sky...

The pain of shredded phantoma comes back when he remembers, like the pain of a phantom limb, reminding him he doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong here.

Still, he wears a smile like he wears a shirt each day. Work hard, be happy, enjoy your life. One good thing about being on Wayward Pines' stage with other actors and an audience watching is that Jack has pretenses down pat. An advantage to acting all your life--it prepares you for acting to save your life. Probably the reason he's held it together this long.

But just when he's getting comfortable thinking it couldn't possibly get worse, people start getting sick in droves.

Just a few empty seats in the classroom at first, then more. When the number of students out sick gets too high to count, Jack takes to the streets, circling around town like a bird that doesn't know where to land, looking for... he doesn't know. Something. A reason. An answer to an unasked question--this town isn't his problem, why should he care if it's dealing with an epidemic? (Can you still see the forest for the trees if the trees around you keep dying?)

His purpose is back in that ruined classroom. A more important question: how does he get it back?

It only takes Nyx getting sick to see Jack back in the hospital, a visitor instead of a patient this time. He's not sure why he's lucky enough to escape with the usual uneventful headaches and fatigue, other than have healing magic that doesn't seem to last long on anyone else--luck of the draw? Doubtful. He's not actually that lucky.

The last time Jack had sat in the hospital waiting room, he'd been a boy with no past. He's still a boy, but one with a history now--and the kind of laid-back smile that belongs on a Pines postcard, not in the middle of an overtaxed hospital.]</sub>

This is a total drag.

<sub>[No lie there, but it's also a place to get an update on what's going on, if there's one to be found. He listens to snippets of conversation, trying to think like Mother would. If she were here, she'd know what was wrong with everybody, how to fix it. If she were--

No. Better not to go down that road. She's not here.]

(OOC: This is a general catch-all for Jack during the event! Aside from maybe minor symptoms, he will not be getting so sick as to be debilitated. Feel free to find him at school, around town, or later on at the hospital, or anywhere else your heart desires. If you'd like to plot out a specific scenario, drop a line for plotting or hit me up personally!)</sub>

23rd;

[paragon]

[ Steve's been well aware of Jack's distractibility in his class (and others, if the gossip in the teacher's lounge is anything to go by). He's yet to come up with the best counter to it, and it's not as though he doesn't understand having bigger things on one's mind. Steve's focus is a singular thing and always has been, but there were plenty of days during his own schooling when it'd still been difficult to concentrate on things that had seemed relatively unimportant at the time, the world around him being what it was; days when he wasn't sure there was any purpose in being there when he could be doing something useful to put food on the table. Child labor laws had been after his time, so it'd only been his mother's insistence (and Bucky's, admittedly) that had kept him from forgoing the luxury entirely. And that had only been when he was well enough to attend.

So Steve's hope to eventually engage him has got little to do with his own historically flexible stance on education, and much more to do with this town they're stuck in together. If he happens to care about his subject and think it's worth the attention for its own sake, well, that's just one avenue at his disposal. He'll use whatever he needs to.

Today, however, Steve's nearly as preoccupied, and it feels a bit like history repeating himself with his mind being elsewhere. Yesterday, he'd just thought Natasha had a stomach bug; today, it's something else, something he's feeling too. Easy enough to ignore the symptoms themselves, but the significance of being able to feel them at all isn't lost on him. He hadn't wanted to come in today at all, but she'd insisted, and it's the only time he ever has or will feel grateful that they must answer the phone when it rings. She will for as long as she's capable, and so he breathes a sigh of relief every time he dials home between classes.

It's nearing the end of the current class and therefore the day. Between his own attention span and the students who are out sick, he gives up today's lesson plan as a lost cause and puts on Rear Window for the class to watch until the bell rings. Natasha was right, though, at least insofar as there being a useful reason to show up today. He can see who's here and who's not, and overhears plenty of the kids talking about sick family members. Steve watches along with them for a bit — it's one he's seen a couple times since getting out of the ice, though the VHS tape had been something of a novelty — and then he makes his way over to the desk beside Jack. He doesn't fit in it too well when he sits. ]

How's Nyx doing?

[ He doesn't know if he's sick, though it wouldn't surprise him. But Nyx's recovery after the hospital has been a slower process than it's been for some others, with that arm of his. It's a relevant question either way. ]

Kenzi Malikov / march 22 / Home / Closed to housemates

[onteamdyson]

[Kenzi might not know how to cool anything that can't go in the microwave, but she DOES know how to bake. Vaguely. It's the one thing she remembers doing with her mother now that she actually has a good chunk of those memories back.

She's got everything out on the counter, ready to go. Mixing bowl, flower, sugar, cookie sheets, eggs, vanilla, chocolate chips, baking soda, it's all there. There is just one tiny, little hitch.

Kenzi can barely stand up. She's already had to delay cooking making twice to throw up and is now in that state of hollow, cold sweat, shivering that typically follows violently vomiting all your insides out. She's got a hand on the counter, trying to keep herself on her feet as her other arm holds her stomach. Is she always this pale? No. Is she always this stubborn? ... Yes.

Listen, these cookies are REALLY important, okay? She needs to make them TODAY! Maybe... maybe just after she sits on the floor for a while. Yeah. Sitting is good. No, you know what's better? Laying down. The floor is nice and cool and she's just gonna lay here for a bit and get her strength back.]

[royalpassport]

[ The perks of having more staff now: Jefferson doesn't always have to be at the tea shop. He can work part-time, essentially, because he's the boss! So he comes home (Home. Yes. It feels nice, thinking of this house as a home.) early in the afternoon, with plans to finish organizing his room. There's a package waiting for him at the front door-- curious-- and he picks it up on his way in, carrying it into the kitchen so that he can grab a pair of scissors and open it up.

Which is how he comes to find Kenzi laying on the floor, looking a mess. Dropping the package on the closest surface, he rushes to her side, crouching down to make sure she's still... alive? Conscious? You know, the usual. ]

What happened? Kenzi?

Aranea Highwind | 23rd | Home | Closed

[unweaving]

[ After a solid week (okay, a day, but a really fucking long day) losing anything she's tried to put in her body for fuel, Aranea's weak on her feet as she staggers back to the bathroom. More water, so she can at least feel hydrated, but her body rebels and there's a wave of stomach cramps, and when the burning feeling in her face gets to be too much it's... easiest just to lay on the floor, really, cheek pressed against the cool tile.

She thinks she might be having waves of delirium. Things that feel like memories keep coming back but they have nothing to do with her life here in Wayward Pines. She sees herself in the open door of a red airship, yelling instructions as soldiers jump down into the fray below. Or standing in front of a throne, biting her tongue as an Emperor all in white orders them after a young woman who'd make ten times the ruler he is. A young man with dark hair and deep blue eyes - pretty boy - on which everything hinges, and --

oh. Oh, no. It's all real.

Her stomach twists, and she barely manages to claw her way to the toilet before she vomits up all that water in a clear stream. ]

im actually afraid for this thread

[failtography]

( by now even prompto's starting to question if eating something bad had been the cause of their problems; where aranea's opted to attempt keeping something down (and failing,) prompto's avoiding food altogether, only hydrating when he really needs to - yet whatever it is that plagues them just won't leave.

dry heaving throughout the day on an empty stomach is exhausting, enough to have the blond crashing on the nearest available surface that affords access to a sink or the toilet in the fewest steps possible in a bid to conserve whatever little energy he has left, but he hasn't heard anything from the bathroom for a while.

prompto's just a handful of shaky paces away when the sickening sound of retching breaks the silence - worry and relief hitting in equal measure - and there's only a soft padding of his own feet on the tile that echoes in the small space; wordlessly, he reaches forward to gather aranea's hair up and out of the way with almost-numb fingers. it's not really the time for speaking at all, anyway. )

Dr. Junyoung Cho | March 22-26 | at the hospital and making house calls | open

[naneunyulyeongibnida]

[ He--and yes, of all the people in all the world, he's one of the ones who should know better, but here he is--lives on a steady diet of microwave dinners and instant cup noodles and drinks from vending machines. So it's not much of a surprise when he starts developing some stomach troubles late one night, as he's finishing a shift.

He can hear Cassian's lecture already. Good thing he's a doctor, right? He acquires some anti-nausea meds from the pharmacy and carries on.

The symptoms linger but he never quite falls completely ill. He doesn't really have time to, not with all hell breaking loose around them suddenly. He's got emergency medicine training--it's his area of focus, his eventual plan--so he gets tossed into the trenches, doing triage as more and more people turn up, checking on the ones resting, helping to move the ones who get admitted.

When he can grab a few minutes to sleep, he falls immediately, as he always does. But his dreams are fitful. School uniforms and classmates who all have features like him. Mountains above a city so brightly lit he thinks it must be visible from space. Rolling dough between his hands while watching tv with... his grandmother? It's like glimpses of a life that isn't his, somewhere far away from here.

He's young and personable, and so far a lot less touched by the illness going around than others. He's also low man on the totem pole, being a first-year resident, so he gets sent on more than a few house calls. He knocks on doors, immediately tending to the weak and the pale when they answer the door. When they don't answer the door he finds an unlocked back door or climbs in a window, searching the house until he finds them. He does what he can for them, and takes copious notes back to report to the others.

A few days into this outbreak and he and his fellow doctors and nurses in the ER are at their wits' end. Nothing's working. Medication isn't working, measures to control vomiting aren't working--for god's sake, even the simple act of hydrating patients doesn't seem to be helping.

By the 26th they're switching patients over to bottled water. A call has gone out for volunteers to give blood samples; he has a gift with a needle, it seems, so he's on deck for a few volunteers. He's otherwise checking on patients, helping with the new arrivals, and available for consultations. ]

[keephimtalking]

[ There's someone trying to into his house.

Lantar's half out of the alcohol induced coma when he hears the distant scrabble of someone doing their level best to open one of the windows from outside. It takes a long moment for his hungover brain to sort out the direction.

Another longer moment to figure if he was bothered enough to do something about it.

In the end, he kind of just dazedly watches the guy squeeze through from over the arm of his couch, squinting. ]

... Oy, [ he protests, finally. ]