memestertrucks | MARCH TDM

Entry tags:

After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment, with all sorts of sharp edges to watch out for. Between that are strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside is cloudy weather and the beginnings of a storm flickering and rumbling.

Beyond the rundown garage is a rundown gas station surrounded by rolling, grassy hills. Close by is a Convoy of vehicles, either parked or driving up to station.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

This time the summoning circle and car garage is attached to retro diner, and an old wind turbine, barely still spinning and providing fading power. There’s also a broken radio playing a message about Nirvana and imploring people to head north. In fact, there’s a large amount of broken electric equipment in here and spitting sparks.

A fan circles overhead, stirring those sparks and creating a breeze. Trails of paper are attached to the fan, spinning lazily about. If Drifters choose, they can easily retrieve those paper talismans with little more than a slight static shock. While the paper is tattered and smeared with ink and blood, the following can be made out: “Broken in two […] Nothing to lose-“ “Moon mourns, call her down, ease her pain-“ “Need […] Better vessels from afar. Stronger souls-“ “Imbue with moon sigils, Give blessings of moon, share her pain. Put the ritual right.”

Hard to say what that all means, but it seems to have something to do with the summoning circle here. And there’s lingering power crackling through the building. The sort that makes the lights flash and flicker… And line up eerily with flashes of thunder on the horizon.

02: START UP 

New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting outside for them, and a collection of vehicles, one of which feels like it belongs to them. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.

…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.

03: STORM WARNING

There’s something odd in the sky; it shifts between a dark cloud, and a collection of birds. As the thing draws closer, it clearly becomes a mix of both. Car-sized, dark feathered birds and skeletal avians fly in a thundering flock, and turn the sky stormy in their wake. That alone is bad… But what’s worse is how the shiny chrome of the Convoy and vehicles draws the birds. As they dive towards the ground to snatch at the shiny metal, they pull the storm and bring a tornado with them. The Convoy does its best to anchor to the ground, but lighter vehicles and Drifters might not be so lucky.

The garage and diner takes it worst of all: the electric devices start spitting sparks and can even act as homing beacons for lightning strikes if a Drifter with electric abilities gets too close to them. Any remaining, intact windows shatter as the storm winds pick up, pelting Drifters with razor shards. And water starts pouring in, further shorting electric equipment and soaking anyone to the bone. There’s even a strange droning, siren like noise to warn about the storm and cut into one’s hearing. It’s difficult conditions for anyone caught up in the blow-out.

04: WEATHERING

Once the main force of the storm hits, the following happens:
Diversion: Those with Fast cars can drive away from the station and divert the birds. They’ll want a second Drifter to come along; either to snipe at the pursuing birds, or keep eyes on the terrain! Eventually the birds will tire or get culled enough that the storm disperses.
Updraft: There is the risk of getting swept up in the tornado winds. Damage, injuries… And a particular quirk this storm has. Drifters who spend more than a minute in the storm winds will find that they begin to take on traits from the Harpy monster. These traits increase in potency if the Drifter experiences hunger or violence. As the weather clears and days become calmer, the traits fade.
Downburst: If Drifters get slammed into the ground by the storm, or the dark birds flying about. They may also find themselves drenched with rain. Any injury they take mends quickly, but is replaced with scales, as the Drifters begin to resemble a Naga monster. These changes grow worse if they tell lies, but disperse with the storm.
BIRDS: The birds themselves are vicious: those afflicted with Naga traits are seen as prey, while Harpies are seen as rivals. The birds are deadly, but also clumsy if forced to the ground. The screens on the Convoy recommend crippling the wings before finishing the bird off on the ground.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, NAGA

This month, Drifters will have access to the serpentine Naga. On top of all Naga species traits being available, the following occurs:
+Cold Blooded: the rain and storms can potentially make Naga slow and sluggish, or inclined to sleep or seek out other heat sources to gain energy; this includes basking in body heat from others!
+Water Divert: With their water shaping, Naga can divert falling rain and even ground saturation to make the area or other Drifters more dry. They can also concentrate water into different areas, and can also change water into mist or ice.
+Blue shift: the scales of Naga become more vibrantly blue, or a strange mottled combination of blue and stormy gray, the more intense the rains become. These scale colors can also reflect their moods.
+Extra arms that are painful and disorienting to grow, and can result in coordination issues.
+Scale Pains: Pain and discomfort when scales grow in, as well as fangs or talons!
+Water glide: during floods from the rains, Naga find they can easily traverse deep water as though they were simply walking (or slithering) across it.
+Thermal vision, making it easy to track others in the middle of storms. Vision may also become disorienting, and eyes become slitted.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, HARPY

The storm will bring a second monster this month, in the form of Harpy. On top of all Harpy species traits being active, the following occurs:
+Storm Rider: high agility and capable of flying through the storm winds without hindrance. Even tornadoes can be mastered!
+Feather pains: itching, or full pain when growing feathers or wings. Talons may also be painful when growing from fingers or from feet.
+Wind Affinity: able to shape wind, including diverting the worst of the storm winds, or summon and focus wind into razors.
+Warbling Voice: words may waver and slip into something more songlike, or even a damaging sonic scream if emotions are heightened.
+Height Call: a need to get higher into the air, whether through perching on buildings or the convoy, or through flight. A sense of euphoria as they go higher.
+Nest Building: a compulsion to create a nest out of spare and soft objects, and feeling more safe inside that space.
+Heightened vision like a bird of prey, able to pick out details even at great distance. This may be disorienting at first, as vision becomes telescopic.

05: RAIN, SHINE, OR SALVAGE

Upon culling enough birds, the storm disperses. The monster avians dissolve as they drop into streams of energy, feeding into Drifter Sigils and providing limited healing. And handful remain intact when they hit the ground and can be harvested for meat, feathers, and possibly even talons.

There is one extra problem, in the form of falling debris. After being pulled up into the sky, wreckage (and possibly stray Drifters) are going to drop back down. It’s advised to look out for falling objects and people. It might be possible to salvage something in the form of scrap metal for any vehicle repairs, but such a task requires two.

06: STORM SHOT 

The storm can be dispersed in one of two ways. One is waiting the storm out. The second is a battered collection of machines melted into the roof of the garage and gas station. When touched they burn the hands of Drifters, but also fire a jolt of lightning into the storm. One shot lessens the effects of the storm, repeated shots completely disperses the weather.

In the aftermath of the storm, something different rains from the sky in the form of glowing, quicksilver feathers. These feathers can suppress one avian or serpentine trait for a month, and can also drain away any Naga or Harpy changes from the event completely.

Alternately, the feathers will allow Drifters to temporarily access flight for one day. Doing so completely robs the feather of its magic: only one effect can be chosen from a feather.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Windy Days: Preceding the storm are gales of strong winds, enough to stagger Drifters or send them staggering into other people or other vehicles.

Diner Is Served: While the retro diner attached to the garage has only limited food stores, curiously there is a respectable amount of cooking equipment that can be plundered. Portable stoves, pots and pans, spoons, and the like are all available for the taking.

Fading Storm: In the aftermath of the storm, the garage and diner look like they’re on their last legs, barely held up by their shelving. Anyone who wants to try salvaging had better move fast and carefully, before the entire thing comes crashing down.

NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Threaded | Flat

Got a question about the prompts? Ask away here! And the full FAQ is over here for general game questions!

001a. Hangover / 001b. Coffee, black, and hot!

001a.

[ It looks surprisingly like the pre-war filling stations he sees along Highway 95. The sleek and swooping boomerang-style support columns, the colorful (if rusting) decor, the old advertisements peeling off the walls. It's the lack of immediately recognizable materials, though. A shuttered garage is familiar, but none of the aging products are smeared with familiar, gaudy designs. The candles and shattered glass he glances at, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he pats himself over with the air of a man who has definitely been robbed and left in the middle of nowhere before. All items presents and accounted for, for now. ]

Some people are into the weirdest shit.

[ He mutters to himself, putting some space between himself and the circle that might give the Cult of Mars a run for their money. One of Len's hands drifts to the pistol at his hip as he eases the door of the cluttered garage open, tensely expecting to engage his erstwhile kidnapper. What he doesn't expect to see is a massive truck parked next to a diner that wouldn't go amiss off the interstate. The former stretches down a ways, the length of a train, parked in the middle of a road in what is decidedly not the Mojave Desert. ]

...now this has gotta be either the worst trip I've had in a minute, or I've really cracked my dome this time.

001b.

Son of a bitch.

[ Len swears under his breath, chucking a rusty can over one shoulder in the darkened interior. The diner feels like a shell of its former self, a visual not unfamiliar to someone accustomed to digging around in the remnants of another time, but not exactly a comfort, either. The ever-present electricity doesn't seem to bother him all that much, though it's clear he's keeping any excessively buzzing machinery in the periphery. Last thing he needs is to get his ass electrocuted.

He crouches down and a fuzzy hum emits from the device on his arm when he presses a switch, bathing the area in immediate proximity in sickly green light. Len nudges a couple objects around behind the counter - coffee carafes, chipped mugs, forks that have seen better days - sending a small cloud of dust off of the middle shelf.

The box he pulls out and examines is an old set of tools, something he picks though with a careful eye before pocketing a couple of pieces out of habit. Len hums to himself before glancing over his shoulder at the person behind him. ]

Hey, you find anything that ain't garbage yet?

002a. Sniper No Sniping / 002b. (chuckles) I'm in danger!

002a.

[ He can smell the rain a mile away, pelting the ground as it starts to sweep across the parched earth and toward this illustrious caravan of metal, as though it were chasing the creatures dive-bombing them. It took him all of a minute to figure out a decent way to clamber up on top of one of the truck's containers, uncomfortable with the exposure but also lacking in altitude. Beggars can't be choosers.

Len takes to one knee to swing his rifle around, flicking the safety off with deft hands and lining up a shot through his scope. A swarm of the creatures shift like a flock of birds, moving with purpose- ]

C'mon, c'mon-

[ -and he squeezes the trigger. A suppressed crack snaps from the barrel as he clips a wing and one of them immediately plummets to the ground, hitting it hard. The screeching from the group grows discordant and one of them breaks away, tucking its wings to go after a target on the ground, someone he doesn't know. Len doesn't hesitate to take aim again, and the subsequent shot blows a wing off of its body before it slams into the dust next to them.

Len gives them a wave. ]

Y'all right there?

002b.

[ Mildly radioactive precipitation is one thing. Precipitation that soaks through his shirt and starts furiously itching is another.

Situated under some sparse cover from the convoy, catching his breath - and assessing his ammunition - Len holsters his weapon and starts rolling up a sleeve in abject concern. The skin of his forearm prickles uncomfortably, then painfully, diamond-shaped scales with a dark brown sheen pressing up through the flesh. He stares at it for a long moment, then at the person next to him. ]

You seein' this shit?

003a. After the Storm / 003b. WILD CARD

003a.

[ When cloud cover clears, so do the unfortunate side effects it brought with it, much to his relief. Len spends the scavenging hours picking up remnants with the others, sorting a few crafting items out for his own use, before bothering to analyze any of the animals that attacked them in the first place.

He nudges the desiccated form of one of the flying creatures with the toe of his boot and pats himself over for a small metal cigarette tin, tucking one into the corner of his mouth and looking askance at the person nearby. ]

I'd ask whether this happens often but I'm gettin' the distinct impression this is a regular occurrence.

003b. [ OOC: Dealer's Choice! If you have something that tickles your fancy that I didn't cover, hit me with it! ]

Summoning Circle

[There is a young woman sitting among the wrecked vehicles and the weeds, her cheeks rosy despite the dusting of frost on her voluminous skirt and the bits of muddy snow slowly melting on her boots. Felicia, unnerved by my the strange surroundings, wiped the tears from her eyes and clapped her hands against her face.]

You've gotta be brave, Felicia. [She muttered to herself, sucking in a deep breath.] You don't want Corrin to worry!

[As much as she worried about the multitudes that she couldn't control-- she could at least do that much. Felicia dusted herself off and marched towards the diner-- but the disembodied voice that spoke of Nirvana knocked her off her feet again]

Awawa-- what-- who is that???

[A knife that didn't seem to be there before appeared in her hands as Felicia prepared for battle.]

I-- I don't want trouble!

I just want to see my friends, okay? We got separated somewhere...

Start Up

What are these weird carriages, anyway?

[Felicia, knives out in both of her hands, circled one of the vehicles that was propped up on cinder blocks in the parking lot. By this time she had learned what a 'radio' was and had found a well worn jacket in pink plaid with a fuzzy fleece lining and flat soled boots-- but the change in her equipment didn't include much in the way of knowledge or understanding. ]

There's no horses... [She realized, suspicious.] So, how does it even move?

Rain, Shine, or Salvage

[She knew what she needed to handle enemies in the air-- but Felicia wasn't trained on a bow and arrow. Instead, she hunkered down in the nearest vehicle and was throwing whatever she could find at the aerial opponents-- empty (or full!) food cans, worn out shoes, sun yellowed books of maps and numbers... Anything but what was physically attached to the vehicle itself.

Blue eyes wide in fear, she reached for more ammunition-- and grasped air. She hunkered down with a yelp when the harpies slammed against the roof.]

Aaaahhh!!! I don't even like Prince Takumi, but I wish he was here!

Wildcard

[ooc: don't see a prompt you like ? Make one up! Hmu at

woodrift for plotting.]

Edited 2025-03-15 23:13 (UTC)

( 1. start up )
cw: vague references to past alcoholism

[ So Qrow has dealt with impulses before. The urge to go seeking that something out is a deeply uncomfortable one, and he strongly considers flinging his keys in a random direction and storming off in the direct opposite one.

But he really, really wants to figure out what it is he apparently wants to find, and it's the first thing he manages to feel since arriving here that isn't confusion, discomfort, or grief. So he keeps looking. At least it's something to do.

Granted, when he finally stumbles across an old hearse and realizes this is what he's been looking for, he suddenly wishes he'd gone with his initial 'flinging the keys in a random direction' idea. But he's here now. All he does for a long moment is stare dully at the car.

Then, with an abrupt snarl, he reels back and slams his heel into the hearse, kicking a huge dent into the rear panel. Then he flings himself down and slumps against the door with a huge, grumbled sigh. Fuck, he already hates this place. ]

( 2. it's raining, uh, cars? )

[ On one hand, it's not like it's actually his fault there's debris raining from the sky. The tornado did that, and his bad luck aura can't actually make anything impossible happen.

But it can make a bad situation worse. Wind catches a chunk of debris at just the right angle, makes it tilt in mid-air at just the right time. Within seconds its trajectory has changed enough to go from 'definitely not going to land on anyone' to 'definitely going to land on the poor soul standing next to Qrow'.

Fortunately, being plagued by bad luck for decades on end has given Qrow a pretty keen awareness of his surroundings. ]

Watch out!

[ That's all the warning the bystander is going to get before they're abruptly tackled. Qrow doesn't hold anything back, either, hoping to fling them both well clear of the impact. Hopefully whoever he's lunging at doesn't dodge or brace themselves too thoroughly. ]

( 4. baby, it's cold and wet outside )

[ Qrow can deal with the monsters, and the waking up somewhere weird, and the stupid hearse, and even the weird patch of scales that's grown over a scratch on his hand.

What he can't deal with is how cold it is. It's driving him crazy. He'd tried to take a hot shower but, of course, the plumbing decided right that moment to start acting dodgy and dumped gallons of ice cold water on him instead. So he's given up on that and gone for a more classic approach: blankets. Lots of blankets.

Like, too many blankets? Qrow appears to have grabbed every spare blanket and pillow in the lounge and now sits huddled underneath a massive pile of them. And he's still shivering. If everything else didn't feel fine he'd assume he was getting sick. Instead he's left to assume he's just losing his mind.

Either way, he's perfectly coherent, which means he meets any inquisitive stares with a flat look of his own. ]

What?

( ooc )
[ Contact me via DM or

begleiter if you have any questions! ]

01: Summoning Circle

Creepy blood writing. [ Kaidan stuffs the paper talisman beneath his chest plate, a piece of it flapping in the wind. ] Odd.

[ Waking to a dystopian scenery of 1950s North America isn’t odd at all—at least no odder than the usual dreams Kaidan has, and certainly not odder than the type of situations the Normandy crew finds itself in regularly. A dilapidated dinner is positively idyllic to the hazardous environments he’s used to, but that’s no reason to throw caution to the wind. Quite literally, in this case.

From the summoning circle at his feet to the skies above, power thrums everywhere, thunderclaps and lightning bolts all setting his teeth tingling. It overstimulates Kaidan, the habitual build-up of static electricity in his body now becoming less a thin layer he’s learned to ignore and more a sodden blanket he cannot shake off. ] Ow. [ All that energy has to go somewhere. So Kaidan becomes a living strobe light, the blue glow of biotics kicking in whenever there’s too much build up, dissipating whenever he manages to electrostatic discharge something—or someone—then build back up again ]

Just…give me a minute. I’ll figure something out.

02: Start Up

Well. That solves my issue.

[ Kaidan supposes if vehicles in various states of disrepair litter this dream then yes, of course the Mako would make an appearance, and of course it wouldn't be spared either. Still, it makes the tech enthusiast in Kaidan flinch at the sight of its popped wheel and gouged side panel. Easy enough repairs for an ESD safe shelter, thankfully.

But it’s a two-person job. ]

Or not.

[ His migraine builds. Despite it, Kaidan pushes forward, massaging his temples as he asks, politely: ] Hey, think you could help me with something?

04: Weathering (BIRDS Edition)

[ Kaidan decides, right there and then, he hates birds.

Maybe it was the bioluminescence that attracted them, or the shiny armor that’s also blue. Birds like shiny things, right? Whatever running theories Kaidan has about that will have to wait, however, because getting divebombed by three harpies seems a more pressing issue.

Problem—it’s a stalemate. Sure, a biotic barrier in the shape of a dome proves impossible for the harpies to penetrate, repelling them like screechy, feathery bouncy balls. All the electricity coursing through the air makes using biotics a breeze, which is a thrill all on its own apart from the adrenaline of imminent danger. But, regardless of hard-won skill and abundant energy, there’s still the human element.

Kaidan’s getting tired. If the harpies don’t do him in, with their razor-sharp talons and blood-curling shrieks, then exhaustion will. And then the harpies win anyways.

One even has plumage that looks like a Canada goose. Awful. ] I could use some help here. [ He really ought to sound more panicked. Instead, it’s dry, almost sarcastic. ]

Dinner Is Served

[ One cast iron pot and pan, a chef’s knife and a sturdy ladle, that’s all Kaidan needs. If this is going to be his new normal then so be it, but he refuses to eat mess hall crap. It’s bad for morale. ] Think I’ll have to season it? [ He holds up a serviceable-but-rough-looking skillet that smells faintly of bacon. ]

Wildcard

[ OOC: Feel free to hit me up with whatever other prompt you’d like. Kaidan is easy to get along with and has a chronic case of wanting to help however he can. Permissions here, character sheet here. Plurk is sschindylryn if you want to discuss anything. ]

Edited 2025-03-15 23:14 (UTC)

Summoning Circle

Sam blinks and instantly goes into investigative mode as soon as his head clears enough. He clocks the empty room, the weird sparks and oddly enough the scents of more people. His nose twitches without him being very aware of it as he tries to figure out the path the scents took.

He also looks up and grabs one of the pieces of paper reading it over as quickly as he can. "Looks like I'm in the weeds again dammit," he grumbles darkly as he continues to look around and try to figure out what is going on.

Start Up

Sam bounced the keys in his hand as he traveled down the Convoy looking for the right vehicle. He stopped in front of a battered look black pick up truck and nodded to himself. For now he tucked the keys in his pocket and started looking for the parts he needed to fix enough of it.

He brushes past someone as he reaches for some parts and smiles. "Sorry....do you need any help?"

Storm Warning

The air smelled electric and not in a good way. That and the silence are all Sam is aware of before his pickup is buffered and he has to yank the wheel to keep on the road and keep from hitting anyone else. "SHIT," he curses before he feels the truck stop and toss him onto the road.

He grabs the rifle he managed to snag back at the station and makes sure it's loaded as the birds and other creatures descend on him. "Bring it on creepy crawlies....must be Tuesday."

( i. summoning circle )

[ The last thing Penny recalls is falling. She was confused and in pain, hundreds of miles from Atlas, and she was falling.

And now she's here! How strange.

Penny creeps forward as well as a girl with faintly glowing green eyes and bright orange hair can creep. And just to further drive home how bad she is at the whole stealth thing, the first time she spots another person she immediately waves at them. ]

Pardon me! I'm afraid I am a bit lost!

( ii. storm warning )

[ Penny has quickly figured out that she isn't in Atlas anymore. She's not anywhere near Atlas anymore. She may not even be on Remnant anymore, as impossible as that seems.

Clearly, she needs to find her way back. But until then, she has to do what she can to help here.

It gets harder and harder to find shelter as the storm kicks up. Harder and harder to brace oneself. The wind is picking up to a fever pitch, ripping at hair and clothing and even pushing vehicles around. And then suddenly it's... not?

Or rather, it's not in an area maybe 30 feet across. The storm still rages on outside, but in that little dome there's not much more than a breeze. Penny stands in the middle of it, green fire gathered around her eyes. She lifts her voice, calling out to whoever happens to be near. ]

Please hurry to safety! I cannot hold the storm back for long!

[ Indeed, even as she speaks an abrupt gust whips through the clearing, kicking up dust and debris. Penny visibly steadies herself and the wind dies down again, but she doesn't say anything further. It's obviously taking a lot of focus to do... whatever it is she's doing. ]

( ooc )
[ Contact me via DM or

begleiter if you have any questions! ]

Summoning circle

[He reaches up and stops the ceiling fan. The faint shock is absorbed by his systems as he snags a piece of paper.]

Did the damage knock us back that far? How long have I been out of operation?

[He mutters as he lets go of the fan and steps back. By android standards he isn’t the largest. But he isn’t small. At six foot six, Zero has cut an imposing figure. He looks out of place. A glimpse of a future for machines among the wreckage of the old.

The irony isn’t lost on him as he gives the paper a shake. He beckons with his other hand.] There’s something written here. About…damn. Not much here. Any of this sound familiar?

[Might as well investigate. He might learn who rebuilt him and why.]

Start up

[Like Zero the bike he walks up to is out of place. It has no wheels. The windshield is reinforced glass that is meant to shield the driver. The bike itself looks made to ram its way through anything. He drags a finger over a dent.

The usual access terminal is covered in a locked casing. He grabs at the edge and pulls. It doesn’t budge.]

Hey. Mind coming over here? I can’t access my ignition.

Weathering

We have two choices. We can wait this out while they try to get the roof off. [His right arm shifts from a hand to a cannon. He is standing safely away from anyone else. He can’t be sure he won’t draw electricity. None of this follows logic he knows.

Well. He shakes his head.] Or we can distract them. You’re heading north, right? Once everyone is away, whoever is on distraction can break away.

[If they survive it. That is as ever one of those things that every hunter has made their peace with.]

Rain, Shine, and Salvage

[It is raining people, debris, and dead birds. He picks his way around a couple dead birds with his cannon pointed down. Until they are on the road. Probably best to keep it on.

The faint hum of a held charge is accompanied by a pale blue glow. He holds his arm up. There’s some alright metal here but.]

…I can haul anything we find. Maybe next ruins we can find replacement glass.

Wild card
[Got an idea? Hit me in pm and I’ll write a custom starter.]

Edited 2025-03-16 00:52 (UTC)

A: Summoning Circle
[The next person to appear in the summoning circle, sitting there looking deeply confused, is a teenager in a black coat with white robes underneath, and a matching hat that sports pointed dog-like ears. He quickly scrambles back up to his feet, turning slowly to look at the symbols drawn onto the floor. What he sees just makes him look all the more distressed.]

Ah... this must be magic. But I cannot read it?

[And that was a problem, but not one he cared to dwell on right now. Spotting the fan up above, he hops up to grab one of the pieces of paper, wincing and shaking his hand out before reading what is written on it. Seeing that phrase about 'the moon mourns' makes him pause, his face turning a few shades paler.

He then stuffs that note in his pocket and jumps again, trying to grab another one.]

What's this about the moon - ow! Cease this! Tell me your secrets!

[Imhotep is just a little too short to make it entirely easy for him to snatch more papers from the ceiling fan, meaning that he's getting shocked more often than he grabs anything, but he's doing his best.]

B: Start up
[Among all of the varied cars parked outside, there's one that isn't a car at all, despite being on wheels. It's an elaborately painted boat, complete with railings and oars, slim in profile and sized down to the point that it is perhaps only as wide as a large truck, if two or three times as long.

After walking through the 'metal chariots' for a time, Imhotep runs over to the boat as soon as he spots it. It's with a mixture of awe and dismay that he takes it all in - the paint has been scratched and scuffed considerably, and there's even a hole in the hull near the front, the wood smashed in as though another vehicle had swiped it with some force. There's a rope ladder hanging off the side to provide a way to climb up to the top deck, but a few of the rungs are sagging, to make the climb more perilous.]

... Atum may be angry at me. Again.

[Imhotep then takes a look up at the sky,] But perhaps he can't see past the clouds! What he doesn't know, he can't lecture me about. I need to repair this hole in a hurry!

C: Weathering, cw: transformation
[Getting caught out in the wind has not been kind to Imhotep. The changes came on so rapidly that there was little he could do but endure the strange, prickling pain of sprouting feathers, and the odd way his feet twisted and grew to sport talons.

Now, Imhotep is perched on the side of his boat, having shed his outer coat, now clad only in a long white robe that hangs from his waist and clutching a summoned staff. He's become nearly full harpy already, wings having grown out of his arms, his feathers a showy pure white with black tips. The irony wasn't lost on him, but despite the strange effects of the storm, he's stubbornly remaining out in the bad weather to search for anyone that might need help.

Anyone who's injured or being tossed around by the storm might find Imhotep on wing rushing towards them - but being new to having wings, he might not be entirely on the mark, or take a little extra time to get there.]

D: Wildcard
[Hit me with anything! You can PM me or find me at

evilbo for plotting or questions.]

{{Canon point is the morning of October 4th, Episodes 1-6. So before any murders happen. I finished the series years ago, but avoiding spoilers for my toplevel.}}

Arrival - the garage
[It was probably obvious to anyone who looked at Natsuhi. Just going from the jewels of her earrings, the elaborate and fine fabric of her dress. Natsuhi was horrifically out of place lying there on the concrete floor of the garage.

She'd only ever slept in the coziest of beds and futons.

That said she'd still not risen. She was awake, her blurry eyes were open as she looked at the ceiling. Just taking in the stains, the markings. Blinking as she tried to comprehend the situation.

After heaving a deep sigh, she shifted, pulling her body up. Pausing to frown as she flattened out a section of her dress.]

What..? [Then she stiffened. The memories rushing back to her. She'd been up, she'd gotten dressed and had been making the final rounds of the mansion before the guests arrived. The frown deepened as she mentally ran through the places on the island she could be... The shed?

Then her head snapped up to scowl at the unfamiliar figure she'd noticed. Whomst?]

Outside
[Then she'd gone outside. Natsuhi's scowl didn't shift as she took it all in. Quite clearly, she wasn't on Rokkenjima. It didn't make sense, talking to others hadn't helped. She inhaled, bringing a hand up to rub at her temple.

Then she pulled the odd object out of her pocket. Squinting at it.

To someone from a more modern age, they might recognize it as a car fob. To Natsuhi, it didn't register as a key. It was just a lump of plastic with a bit of metal poking out... Not that she'd ever held a normal car key before. But it was in her pocket, alongside her room key and a handkerchief. Someone had to have placed it there. That was reason enough not to discard it.

Then she pressed the little emblem. Not even realising it was a button as her fingers grazed the raised shape.

She squeaked, actually squeaked, flinching away from the horn beeping and lights flashing in response.

....

...

Her eyes flicked to the other person there. Staring wide-eyed at them as her cheeks flushed. Then the scowl was back. Almost challenging them.]

D-did something set off an alarm?

Weathering the storm
[Bad weather wasn't new to her. She lived on a remote island which suffered typhoons. Weathering it when all they had were verchiles and a small diner would be annoying, but doable.

Then the windows burst. Natsuhi had, for once in her life, been lucky enough to dodge the worst of it. But it'd gotten her moving. Her luck had ran out there though. The light glinting off of her broach had caught the attention of a 'bird'.

It hadn't swooped. Instead choosing to hop from perch to perch as it followed her, tilting it's head, silently watching. ]

Deludge (cw:body horror, sneks, tooth horror)
[Of course the creature wouldn't wait forever. Eventually it got bored of watching the human it's shiny new bauble was attached to. It lunged, crashing into Natsuhi before it pulled up. Watching her as she remained on the ground where she'd been thrown.

It'd probably expected a bit more retaliation really.

But Natsuhi was far from athletic, with the water weighing her dress down she wasn't exactly mobile. Nor did she have any experience with the weapons on hand. It wasn't as though she had a polearm to hand and well....It was several times larger than her.

Then there was the blood. Natsuhi had never really been injured in her life. She crouched there, shivering, a hand coming up to press at the split lip. Fingers coming back red.

It didn't take long for the bird to realise she was no threat. Then it lunged again, this time reaching out with it's sharp talons.

But neither it or Natsuhi had been prepared for the water to physically rise and splash out at it when Natsuhi had brought a hand up to cover her face.

It landed, looking cautious again even if it didn't seem afraid.

It was kind of hard to be afraid of a little housewife, crumpled on the floor, even if the claws on her raised hand looked sharp.]

Silly sneks
[Natsuhi was still shaken after that. Chosing to hide in the relative safety of the convoy, not really speaking to anyone unless she had a reason. Ocassionally as she sat there, one might notice her toung poking out, doing a little flicker. Then Natsuhi would realise, frown and cover her mouth.]

Wildcard
[lmk if you want anything custom or none of these fit. For the TDM I'm going with naga traits but that's just due to the event.

She was not built for this.]

Summoning Circle

[ Just about nobody could actually be faulted for deep, ominous wariness of the kind of forces that can teleport a person unexpectedly from one place to another, unfamiliar one. Danse would like to think he has a little more reason to feel threatened than most.

All of his memory-wiped speculation about what the Institute would look like has involved a lot more gleaming sterile scientific apparatus, though, and a lot less of...well, what just looks like the wasteland he's already accustomed to, give or take a little more weird occult flair. The sparks are ominous in their own right, but not in the difficult-to-comprehend kind of way. ]

Watch your step. I don't know how much voltage is still flowing, but all this ill-repaired junk is a terrible accident waiting to happen.

[ This to anyone within earshot, spoken with the cadence of someone long accustomed to giving orders and assuming that everyone around him will be of a rank that has to listen. He doesn't always realize he's doing it. ]

Someone managed to strew this cultist nonsense around without getting electrocuted, anyway. I wonder why.

Start Up

[ At first glance, Danse would seem to be in his element, no matter how much of a fixer-upper the tough orange truck he's found himself in possession of might be. He's already wearing a set of slightly-too-small olive-drab mechanic's coveralls, when he would ordinarily be wearing a skintight flightsuit as orange as the truck--go figure, he'd be abducted and dragged here on laundry day.

He clearly knows what he's doing with a wrench, at least. He's just trying to apply an existing skillset to the kind of vehicle he's never actually used or seen in working condition. It's a frustrating business that has him rapidly losing his usually-reasonable temper, as he tries to replace the flat tire and finds something hopelessly stuck somewhere. ]

Son of a bitch.

[ He glances over his shoulder, as if hoping nobody else has heard this uncharacteristic and undecorous display of spicy language. ]

This is ludicrous. They don't have a single suit of T-60 around here. Do any of these vehicles even run on a fusion core?

Storm Warning

[ Danse does not historically fight well in wet conditions. It's a silver lining (amid the many, many angry storm clouds out there) that he doesn't have to worry about rust right now, but at first glance, it very nearly looks like he does. He doesn't know what else could possibly account for that vivid copperhead snakeskin, oranger than his truck or his left-behind Brotherhood uniform, that lines the slash from broken glass along his cheek and his forearms. ]

What the hell? That's disgusting.

[ Someone's not a reptile guy.]

Windy Days

[ This is not the first, second or two hundredth time Danse has wished since he got here that he had his power armor with him, because he's positive he could weather anything short of a tornado in it and make himself all the more useful to the convoy at a time like this.

But anyone finding themselves caught up and whipped against him will be held onto as safely and securely as he can manage, while he anchors himself and makes a solid, brawny windbreak for them until the gust passes. ]

Wildcard

[ Anything else you want to play around with, hit me up at layonmacduff! ]

Start Up

He had real horns now. If Matt cared about what he looked like he would have been laughing about it. But he cared less and less when the years went on. He knows Foggy would have been deeply amused by all this. He has no idea how he is going to drive any sort of car but he holds the keys in his hand and walks down the row stopping at a motorcycle. He can see the chipped paint but not the color over it and he can "see" that it's missing part of the engine block, but not the right pieces missing.

He runs one hand along it and feels it's rightness, as broken as it is this is his vehicle. He tilts his head and picks up some heartbeats nearby. "I'm not really good at fixing things," he admits sheepishly. "Could someone lend a hand?"

Storm Salvage

Matt finds he is surprisingly good at navigating the storm aftermath with his radar sense and hearing. He wonders what his friends would think seeing the Devil of Hell's Kitchen driving and enjoying himself.

He tilts his head as he scents metal on the wind and slowly pulls over. "Not sure how beat up we both are," he mutters to the bike as he stops and gets off. "But a poke around wouldn't be a bad idea."

Dinner is served

A blind demon/human hybrid cooking....Matt would laugh if he wasn't so focused on preserving as much of the food in the station as he could. The Convoy needs supplies and he needs food he can eat without gagging on it.

He hums quietly as he works, quick sure hands grabbing the right ingredients at the right times since he is able to use his fingers to scan the labels as he picks them up. What he's cooking smells amazing and Matt is ready to share what he's made before he packages it up and slides it into his bag.

I. New People?

Coming up on the garage and diner isn't a surprise, really, because they've been running into a variety of other buildings, homes, and shops, so this just seems like one more of those along the long road. Jack parks his VW bus outside, hops out, and immediately starts scoping the place out.

He'd very surprised to find actual people inside, not mosnters. He both brightens and seems worried at the same time as he trots inside to greet them. He looks pretty human, pretty normal, with his crook-toothed smile and restless hands-- except for the six tails flipping around behind him, four fix tails and two serpent tails.

II. Upgrades!

Inside the garage are parts. Big parts. Metal siding and a metal frame for mounting said metal siding onto a van about the size of his. He hurriedly pulls the VW bus up closer to the building and gets to work, defting avoiding husks and newcomers alike. He's not exactly very strong, so if anyone wants to come help hold thins up while he screws them in place, he'd certainly welcome the assistance.

"Oh, I hope these will hold even if I can't weld them," he frets. He has many skills, but welding is not one of them. Hopefully big screws will manage.

III. Tornado time!

Jack is not much help when the storm hits the garage, because as soon as it does, blue-white fire engulfs him and he turns into a good-sized, six-tailed gray fox with white fire glowing from his eyes, pawprints, and the tips of his tails.

"Oh no, not again!" he exclaims, still apparently able to talk. He attempts to bolt back towards his van, but the wind is awfully strong. Anybody want to keep him from getting blown away?

I. Arrival

"Okay, where in Terra is this?" the tall, burly, tailed-and-horned woman demands as she looks around the dilapidated garage, red-tattooed hands on her hips. The tip of her tail is on fire, though its lashing doesn't seem to be burning anything, at least. There's a sword and shield strapped to her back, but otherwise she looks like she's dressed for a trip to the mall, in cargo pants and a crop top.

She stares around in what looks like annoyance at the other people in the summoning circle with her. "And who the hell are all of you?"

II. Machine Envy

"Oh, now these are pretty cool," Nian says, mostly to herself, but also to anyone else who might listen. She's running her hands over various Drivers' cars as she saunters through the convoy. "Who owns these? Can I take a peek under the hood? I bet I could make it run faster...."

She's also collecting tools from the garage and the diner, because clearly if she's here and there's lots of interesting vehicles, she's definitely going to need tools. Cars are not really her first love for working on, but with such a glut of them, she might as well be prepared.

III. Rooftop Machine Envy

She's made her way to the roof of the diner by the time the storm hits, ostensibly to get a better look at those clouds, but she got thoroughly distracted by the bulky machinery there, poking and prodding and opening panels to try and get them to work. She does keep getting zapped, but she just shakes his hands out, glares at the boxy things, and gets back to work.

"Hey, watch out, these things are throwing off a lot of sparks!" she yells over the rising wind to anyone else who approaches. "I think that might be what they're for, harnessing and discharging electricty, but I can't figure out why!"

Start Up-The Gigahorse
Among the collection of vehicles gathered outside of the diner, one of them...maybe stands out a bit more. Two coupes welded together, given monster wheels and then an absolute monstrosity of an engine shoved into the hood. It definitely makes an impression, even looking worse for the wear, not so "shiny and chrome" as it used to be. It's a car that attracts gawkers, especially those who might be hoping this could be their car (or are just fascinated, in a mortified sort of way).

"That is not your car." At least according to the big guy striding towards it with the gas mask with teeth. "Stand away."

Joe approaches the car and places his hand on the side. Flecks of chrome come away in his hand. His eyes narrow for a moment, before he gets to work assessing the extent of the damage. Never one to waste a resource, he'll make use of any gawkers, or at least try.

"If you want to make yourself useful, go around the other side and check the wheels. I think there's a flat somewhere."

Storm Warning
Joe was expecting raiders to attack, not these monster birds. But when it comes, he takes refuge in the diner along with other people. It's a defensible spot, provided they can fortify it. He pulls out one of the two revolvers hanging from his belt. He's got some spare ammo in pouches tucked away, but he needs to be conservative. The Bullet Farm is a long ways away.

"Pull the chairs and tables up, use them to barricade the doors. Anyone with guns needs to find a spot by the windows they can take up a firing position from." He's doing just that, finding a break in the window, and crouching down so he can fire through it and use the wall of the diner as cover. "Make your shots count. Do not waste bullets."

Then the radio on the counter begins to spark, brightly. Outside, it gets the attention of the birds. "Someone get that radio unplugged! It's a target." He turns back just in time to see a Zu diving for his window and manages to get a quick shot off. It clips the bird (ten years ago...hell, five years ago he'd have reacted faster) rather than the headshot he'd been hoping for, but stil dissuades the Zu from continuing its dive, breaking off and and veering away.

But that's just the opening salvo. There are a lot more out there. And it feels like the wind is picking up...

Storm Shot
The storm comes on with such ferocity that Joe's plans to fortify the diner quickly becomes untenable. The blown open windows create a debris field inside the restaurant, and then there's the flooding...

Joe can't remember the last time he saw so much water fall from the sky. Not since he was a young man, when there was still some green left in the world. But he doesn't have time to dwell on that.

The fight's moved up to the roof. Joe empties his first revolver, but pulls out the second. There are more machines up here, generators or something, still sparking like crazy, and a huge beacon for the birds to come attack anyone who tried to take refuge up on the roof.

"Get those bloody generators turned off!" Joe roars. "The buzzards are using them as guides! I don't care how you do it, just get the lights off!" He fires a shot at a shadow in the rain. "Go on, get!"

1: First Impressions

[A 3'4 kobold with draconic wings stands looking at a car, hand on his chin. The car is not his own, he covered that with a tarp the moment he saw it. There had been a symbol on it that nobody should have known about. It's put him on edge

He is a lizard with draconic horns and brass scales in a three-piece suit. He has steel-toed boots for his digitigrade legs, black leather gloves, and a long red coat. A wand, a simple thin bar of metal with a black handle, is holstered at his hip.

He hears someone approach nearby, and in an instant he's turned around, a sword made out of black magical energy pointed directly at them. His eyes are dark, with the faintest tinge of yellow, looking at the Drifter with suspicion.] Did you bring me here? [His voice is scratchy and what some Drifters might describe as British.]

2: Bird is the Urd

[It is not long before Echo Naivallon's already extant wings start to become feathery as a result of the storm. He can be found occasionally sitting on a boulder out in the middle of the plains, not trusting the convoy and certainly not trusting the vehicle provided for him, looking at the gradual expansion of the feathery areas of his wings. He touches the feathery part with his hand, poking at it experimentally, all the while muttering.] What the fuck...? [What's happening to him is so disturbing that he doesn't notice the approach of a fellow Drifter.]

3: Scarlet Storm

[Seeing one of the Zu attacking a decidedly more anthropomorphic shape in the midst of the storm, Echo flies near. A bolt of lightning, scarlet in color and originating from Echo's wand, strikes the skeletal bird creature squarely in the neck. The bird shrieks and turns its attention to the kobold mage, away from whichever drifter it had previously been focusing on. Echo's own eyes glow a slightly less faint yellow with his casting done, his cat-like pupils constricting slightly as he prepares for a fight.]

4: Rest

[With the storm having ended, Echo finds himself perched on the top of a pole, writing in a tome he has with him and flipping through the pages. Even if someone somehow saw inside it, all they would find would be indecipherable symbols. Every once in a while he tries to cast a spell with his wand, to no effect. For some reason only a very small handful of his spells are actually working.

If he sees anyone approach or look at him for any substantial length of time he will fly down to their level, putting his book into his inner coat pocket, and staying the air hovering so he can remain at their level of height, with his hand outstretched to shake.] Hello. My name is Professor Ekkobrahx Sorelk Naivallon. How are you?

01: summoning circle

[ Dazai looks very serious as he enters the diner and takes in the sights. The paper talismans, attached to the slowly spinning fan. The electronics periodically spitting out sparks. The broken radio, talking about Nirvana and adding a certain atmosphere to the entire thing.

He walks underneath the fan, bending backwards at the waist until he's folded safely out of the way of touching any of the paper tendrils. Then he simply hops over to the counter of the diner, dragging a finger down the counter and observing it, as if to see how dirty it is. ]

Well, I've certainly had worse service! [ He says this, cheerfully, and then simply volleys over the counter to start rummaging. Do diners have alcohol? Maybe he can find some canned meat? ]

Canned crab's probably a longshot... [ He's talking to himself, but be patient with him: he's used to having an audience. ]

04: downburst

[ Dazai is a man who is dressed like he walked off the set of a 1920s detective serial -- minus having a hat; he'd rather die -- and he is currently drenched. All those layers certainly make things more complicated when they're adding several pounds of weight. (The bandages wrapped all around him certainly don't help.)

A bird and Dazai have a brief standoff, which is ended when Dazai simply slides on his stomach for the first bit of cover he can find and wedges himself safely inside of an empty trash can, holding the lid in place from the inside.

Except -- oh, no, is he stuck? This proves inconvenient when the trash can starts to roll, and you may be witness to a trash can rolling into an obstacles and yelling: ]

Ow, that really hurt!

05: salvage

[ There's debris everywhere, and that's great and all -- everything blocking everyone's way, people falling from the skies, etc -- but Dazai seems to be up to something. Is he... salvaging? By himself? That would be strange, the pieces of metal are awfully large, and he's clearly straining himself a little pulling them into place on a little pile, and it...

It looks...

It looks suspiciously phallic. It looks like he's building a giant dick out of the scraps. ]

01 Summoning
...he is starting to have the terribly sinking feeling that this is not a mere nightmare after all. The unsettled sensation that's sat in his chest ever since he'd woken up on a cold, strange floor surrounded by suspicious (creepy) markings has only since shifted into an uncomfortable tightness between his shoulder blades, building like ice down his spine.

"Clearly there's some sort of explanation for all of this," Donnie mutters to himself, trying to convince himself as much as distract. With all the broken equipment he finds around, at the very least it's something he can direct his attention to. Something to this place has been interfering with his goggle readings, or maybe there's just too much oversaturating it, but staring too long through them to try and adjust configurations only threatens migraines.

There's still a lot he's trying to digest as he looks around, studying the sparking electronics like they're pieces to a puzzle he's not sure how to work towards finishing. The paper flittering along for the ride of the overhanging fan catches his attention long enough that he snatches one between his fingers, and not without a hiss as he's rewarded with a shock. For a moment he cradles his arm, both still tender from experiences he'd previously ranked up as pretty high on his Never Again list. And once he has a look at the paper he almost instantly regrets having grabbed it in the first place, gross and disturbing as it is. The writing (?) could just as well be gibberish but...something tells him it's not. Absently he stuffs it into his belt pouch as he takes another look around, muttering to himself.

"Keep it together Donatello..."

02 Start
Stepping outside is even more disorienting than waking up in somewhere other than a sewer tunnel. The lack of the towering buildings that he foolishly expected to see just stirs a different feeling in his gut.

The caravan of vehicles is weird. The line of cars that seem to be awaiting someone, even more so. Even when New York had been stolen of its people, or in the aftermath of an alien invasion, never had he seen cars just lined up like that, and these are definitely not the sort awaiting to be compacted at a junkyard.

Well, maybe that's being generous. As Donnie drifts closer he can see that there's some need for repair. His hand trails over the dark metal of a hood at least undented. For the most part the damages he can see are superficial, simple fixes. He'd designed and built the Turtle Tank up from a movie prop vehicle, all on his own. Certainly he can handle flat tires and busted door locks!

...or at least it would have been easy if his body would cooperate. While the turtle's managed to get the needed tools, and with a bit more effort, a couple of tires, trying to operate the carjack is proving more difficult than it should be, and any excessive pressure he tries to apply by hands and arms just makes his nerves feel all spiky with the reminder that he hasn't quite healed up. He sighs frustratedly, sitting down to glare at the jack like it's the thing being the problem. Maybe he should just use his mystic-tech...

03/04 Weathering the Storm
Working on a car is so maddeningly mundane for all that he still has so many questions unanswered. The winds start to pick up, drawing his attention to the skies that had otherwise been pointedly refusing to look at for the constant reminder that this was nowhere near home. They refuse to be ignored now, especially with what seems to be bearing towards the Convoy.

These are things he's only seen in movies. As it is, he is no way prepared to deal with a tornado, much less the things that seem to be attached to it. Of course his first instinct is to run for cover. Buildings are sturdier, have foundations- does the garage have a basement? How common are tornados in this place? His overthink's in full swing but it cuts off abruptly as things start bursting around him.

With a yelp he ducks down, throwing his hands over his head, the wind tearing at the tails of his bandanna, the water coming in from any gaping holes it finds in the edifice. Everything's so loud and it's too much and he can't think must think what do I do Idon'tknowwhattodo!!

((OOC: Will match format preference!))

01, 02
Blinking and finding himself in a derelict garage inside a strange, circular burn mark on the floor is not something Steve Rogers expected today, even given that most of his days tend to go sideways into the strange and extreme. He’s mollified somewhat by the comforting feeling of the shield at his back, even if he’s in civilian clothes: boots, jeans, t-shirt, jacket.

He scouts the garage and diner, then outside it, approaching the Convoy cautiously. He’s calm but alert, wary but not threatening. Every time a new person fails to recognize him or reach for a cellphone, he starts to relax a little more, although the situation is still concerning.

“Where is this?” is the most obvious question to ask. Or you might get, “Who’s behind this?” once he’s learned a little more. And, in cases where he runs into another newcomer who clearly looks like they’ve had a similarly confusing day so far, “Are you all right?”

Outside, he wanders most directly toward an older-model motorcycle, hands reaching for the handlebars before he can really stop them. When he realizes the key in his pocket fits into the ignition… well. Weirder things have (probably) happened.

But it — and several of the vehicles here, it seems — needs a little TLC. So, it’s back to the garage; he doesn’t know much about fixing cars, but he knows motorcycles. Plus, he can offer assistance via a pair of two perfectly good hands.

Also, if your car or van or truck needs lifting to replace a tire? “Oh — let me get that,” he says, sliding his hands under the bumper. Turns out, he can still lift a car like it’s only a minor inconvenience at most, so say hello to your resident human jack.

03, 04
As the storm whips up Steve’s right there, helping to lash vehicles down and crowding people into the garage and diner as the sky grows dark. His shield stays strapped to his back — which turns out to be a good thing, as the huge, dark shapes in the sky star dive-bombing the Convoy.

Then he becomes a shield, diving to cover anyone unlucky enough for a bird to target, which sure is a way to make a first impression. “Sorry!” he shouts over the rising wind, although in truth, he’s not sorry to be crushing someone to the ground if it means avian claws or beak screeched off the shield, rather than rending into skin and bone.

Inside, stations himself by the windows, face practically pressed against them. He’ll say it’s to watch for incoming danger — there’s certainly plenty of it — but as the wind whips up, he drifts to the door. And then out of it and into the driving rain, even as the windows are exploding.

Anywhere flying glass or debris cuts through clothes and skin, dark scales seem to appear as the skin heals. He barely seems to notice, though — he’s too busy… enjoying the storm?

05, 06
The storm finally faces, and feathers start falling from the sky. Steve, still outside and blinking like he’s just woken up, reaches out on instinct and catches one of them.

It melts away the dark, snakelike scales, and he can’t pretend there isn’t some measure of relief — until some of them don’t vanish, but change. Some of the scales on his forearms, his thighs, his cheeks (though he can’t see these) shift instead, shimmering iridescent blue-green in the breaking sunlight, like fish scales.

Well, the best way to not worry about that is to find something to do. He is absolutely available to move debris or salvage anything that can be useful: “Let me help you carry that back to the Convoy.”

(deleted comment) (Show 45 comments)

I. Arrival

Stone picks himself up with a frown. He remembers falling asleep in the upper branches of the colony tree, and not in this form either. This is not a thing he's ever seen.

His lip curls, revealing sharper teeth than your typical human. He's taller than average, well over six feet, almost approaching seven. He's barefooted, with the bottoms of his feet looking hard or almost scaled, and his skin is a colorless gray all over, even inside his mouth. Even the tongue that flicks out, lizard-like, to taste the air. He looks old, but more in a weathered than delicate sort of way, and one blue eye is clouded over as if blind.

"What Fell nonsense is this, now," he growls, and the growl makes the nearby table of broken tools and parts vibrate a little.

II. What is a "car"?

None of this is remotely familiar to Stone. He's from a fairly primitive hunting-farming society, and he's taken a trip once or twice on a flying boats, but that's the extent of his understanding of vehicles that aren't animal-drawn carts.

He circles the convoy and the collection of cars with a confused but curious expression on his craggy face. "If someone wants to explain these things to me, I'd be happy to listen," he asks the nearest groundling, which might as well be you!

III. Storm-forms

The storm hits and Stone clings to the ground with hands and feet, staring into the tornado of wind, dust, and angry birds.

Then he changes. He's not changing like any of the other Drifters, there's no pain or expanding body parts. One moment he's a gray-skinned man, then there's a blur, and then there's a faded black dragon with a fifty-foot wide wingspan crouching against the wind, claws dug deep into the earth and heavily spined tail lashing. His wings look like overlapping scales, like giant feathers, and his body looks mostly humanoid, if just much, much bigger.

And then there's a faded black dragon winging around the tornado plucking people, smaller vehicles, and birds out of the air to deposit down on the ground or bite into as if they were snacks, as appropriate.

IV. Lingering Changes

The black dragon lands when the wind dies down, and changes back into the gray-skinned man. Except his wings remain. He stares over his shoulder at them in consternation. "That's not supposed to happen," he says to nobody in particular.

i. start up

[The run-down diner isn't something that would look out of place in No Man's Land. Nor is the the garage. When Vash wakes up in the summoning circle in the garage, he assumes, at first, that someone retrieved him from the Sand Steamer after he collapsed, and he starts looking around for its owner to thank them for their help, when he hears a jingle in his coat pocket that wasn't there before. Keys...? How did those get in his jacket?

Perhaps it's slightly inevitable that he ends up ah, waylaid en route to finding his own vehicle, though; many of these are in rough shape, after all, in various states of disrepair. Catch him with a toolbox he's found somewhere, a smear of grease on his cheek, and a smile tinkering with a busted axle or stuck door despite the cracks on his own prosthetic arm. It'll be fine, don't worry about it.]

Ah, sorry, was this yours? I woke up in here with these keys and thought while I try to figure out who to give them back to, I might as well fix up some of the rest of these, haha. It should be ready to go in a minute.

ii. mama hen makes a nest

[It was perhaps inevitable; Vash is driving a fairly light vehicle, and he went out into the storm to try to be a distraction for the birds, a nice moving target bothering them and drawing attention so others can shelter safely. So at some point, a couple of those harpy traits start kicking in, and he finds himself compelled to nest. Normally you'd never catch him taking anything from anywhere without asking, but the tablecloths in the dinner and any decorative cushions sure do start to disappear one by one, and then even the greasy cloths used at the garage.

He should probably be more embarrassed of his behavior, and he will be, but at the moment, if he should come upon someone cold and wet from the storm, he ushers them to join him.]

Come on, come on, you must be freezing. I know a spot that's warm and dry, alright? You'll be safer there.

iii. rain, shine, or salvage

[The storm's over. Vash has never quite seen so much water in his life, and he finds himself sitting at the edge of the puddles with a jar in one hand, contemplative. It seems like a waste not to take some along, in case there's a shortage later on. He knows how precious hydration can be, as a man from a largely uninhabitable desert.]

Do you think the stove in the diner still works? It's pretty damaged from last night, but if we could use it then we could boil some of this water...

[Howdy! I have a permissions post/opt-in/opt-out for myself and this character of mine this way; please check it out before tagging! Big thanks.]

Right Down the Line

It's probably the weather - okay no, it's definitely the weather - but V's skin is itchy.

One particularly disastrous morning, they woke up with extra arms. (And a lot of shed bits of skin/scale.) They were manageable to work around, but hard to move in and of themselves.

But they can still drive, so that's what they're doing. Right up until they're not on the road, high speed and all.

They're quick to patch in to the radio. "Assistance, please! I fear I am airborne."

Those with flight transformations may be of assistance here.

Running On Empty

The bull monsters are not present in this part of the plains - which means the monstrous birds hunting them are on the menu in their stead. V contributes by helping troubleshoot the lightning machines, or driving in their damaged-by-now car to lead them on a not so merry chase.
Once someone's started downing birds, though, there's a particular look in their eyes while they help harvest the kill; they want their cut.

A few months ago, they would have been appalled at seeming this vicious. Some newly acquired instincts are harder to fight than others.

Repeat Comforts

In the times when the rain doesn't force them to look and act like a gigantic snake - minus the tail - V is getting more practice as a not-quite-as-giant cat.
That cat finds many places to hide. They may even be in YOUR car! They do try and be tidy, though.

[Will match Action or Prose! And will happily have M-Bot the drone come across people solo, if people want that kind of shenanigans too.]

I Summoning (Arrival)

Senses blanking, falling into a torpor state. It's... surprisingly not uncommon for Vincent Valentine. A dream-like vision of a memory, returning to slumber after being awakened from a nightmare... feeling that terrible, horrorible rush of anger and monstrous rage as he felt control slip away while striving to cling to some thread of humanity that can force that other form to distinguish friend and foe. But it had also been a little different. Awakening was in a way similar except...

An unfamiliar ceiling. Vincent doesn't immediately move. Instead he does a quick assessment of his person. No injuries, no aches. Nothing screams impending threat even if it's rapidly becoming clear that the voices around him are not ones he's familiar with or was last in company of. He feels the weight of his gun holstered at his side, armor still in place and comfortably swathed in black leather and red, tattered cloak.

The only thing that's changed beyond the unsettling (but once again unpleasantly familiar) air of something being different about himself. He's not going to find out laying on the ground. With what might sound to others like a resigned sigh of someone who realizes they need to get out of bed when they absolutely do not want to, the dark haired man sits up. Pale features mostly shrouded from sight, bright ruby eyes. Even odds on whether he had those before coming here or he's an unlucky recipient of the Moon's effects before he even gets to his feet.

"Where am I?"

II Car Parts For Startup

He has an idea of what's going on now. Vincent has accepted the explanation in light of all the evidence that he's not still in his world and proof of it further suggested by the tattoo on the nape of his neck.. Glimpsing it is a rare occasion, given the layers he sports but sometimes the angle is just right.

As the storm is still on the approach, the red-cloaked gunman can be found going through the scrap and spare parts, looking for those that will be the right fit for a vehicle that... well, seems to belong to him now. Ones that are good enough are added to a pile. Ones that aren't are put back. Upon occassion he looks up with narrowed red eyes at the dark clouds.

III Need a sniper? (Weathering)

There's a major advantage of being nigh literally dressed head to toe in leather and thick red fabric when bird storms bust out windows and that's surviving the chaotic first strike relatively intact. As well one or two people who might have been standing near him as he raised the red fabric to shield himself and them; even going so far as to try and reach out to haul them closer.

Possibly one of the first signs since his arrival that he's not as indifferent to others as he appears. The very least, Vincent Valentine knows the value of allies and teamwork.

"Got a good car?" Calls for people to lead away the birds that are attracted to the shine of chrome have not been missed. He hadn't gotten his fully completed before the storm hit. And besides...

"I'll shoot if you can drive." The gun's already in his hand. So if someone needs protection while they're playing distraction...

IV Becoming a Monster? Must be Tuesday. (Just Get In There And Rip Off That Bandaid Vincent)

It's at some point during the torrent of birds, a monster that probably doesn't belong on Revan at all appears on the battlefield. A terrible, bipedal beast larger than most humans and covered in short purple fur which hides none of the long claws and sharp fangs in the gaping mouth of a bestial muzzle. A rippling, crimson mane courses from neck to withers and a tail lashes the air in display of its rage. Horns curled forward look a particularly cruel fate if it were to gore someone with them. Who knows, but it might be similar to a familiar monster back home.

It will greedily fall on the poor birds that get grounded and finish them off and it will roar with particular frustration at the ones that remain out of range; knowing it should be able to hurl orbs of searing heat but for some reason cannot. Wisdom suggests shooting or grounding the avian menace near it to keep it busy and that will definitely prove not to distract it from its joy of hunting the birds.

Probably best not to attack it while it's occupied though.

Where did it come from? Well, some might have seen the somewhat injured Vincent - a new Drifter in a red cloak with a gun - become the creature; those particularly close at the time would have noticed that it was as if a limit was reached; of anger, or the thrill of battle itself or injuries sustained while kiting the birds away from the convoy. Had someone given him a ride around at the time he would have, yes, jumped out a window before this happened.

...And there is after, as the rest of the flock drifts away in another direction and is dispersed and the beast's energy or time seems spent or purged as the enemy becomes no more. And then the man seems to regain control of himself, returning to his original form. Vincent slumps, though not through any particular injury and not in shock. Exhaustion perhaps.

And an expression that suggests he's all too familiar with what just happened to him in opposition to what this world is doing to its Drifters.

V. Wildcard

[ ooc: Anything not suited to the prompts above? HMU. Need someone to catch a falling Drifter after the storm? Help with some salvage? See a stray quicksilver feather caught in his hair? Can be reached on

maruah or on Discord with Everyworker ]

Edited 2025-03-18 05:43 (UTC)

🦇 i. start up

[ she's been running for weeks, if she's being honest. from herself. from her family. from her own mistakes. from everything. she hadn't worn the suit that sat heavy in her backpack in all that time, but—

the very first thing that cassandra cain had done upon finding herself in the disused garage was to slink to a private spot, change into the suit, and start trying to gather information. detective work and observation. the keys eventually led to a skeletal low rider motorcycle that she found very appealing, but all things in their time. she can take that and join the convoy soon enough, if it comes to that.

maybe you're in the garage, similarly trying to get your bearings or work on your vehicle, with the uncanny feeling that you're being watched. maybe you're checking the diner, when the silent silhouette of a bat lands outside and begins to methodically look over the space herself, maglite in hand. if she's registered that there's another presence here, she seems entirely unconcerned by it. as if convinced that there's nothing hiding in the night that stands a chance against her.

batgirl doesn't seem to relax to any real degree as things go on, though she does begin attempting to offer help where it appears to be needed. repairs, first aid, storm preparations. anything to keep her hands and mind occupied. anything to feel like herself again. ]

Here. Let me help. [ the words are scratchy, clipped around the edges. ]

🦇 ii. weathering

[ monster birds? sure. fine. even now, some things are still new to her. wonders never cease. in any case, the batcycle seems to be more than fast enough to act as part of the diversionary group from an initial test. she'd gladly do this solo, but with the chaos that's waiting out there, that... probably won't accomplish much. feel up for riding along, stranger? ]

I'll drive. Can you shoot? [ batgirl may not like guns, but her outlook on them is very different from her father's. they're a tool. and right now, for these purposes, they're a damn useful one. of course, if someone has another option available to them besides guns, that works perfectly well too. ]

🦇 iii. rain, shine or salvage

[ the storm's cleared, and now comes the chaos in its aftermath. once again, batgirl attempts to make herself useful—offering to move scrap metal, help butcher the bird carcasses, and as before, first aid. it might be in the middle of whatever effort the two of you are involved in when she feels the air shift above, spots a shadow— ]

Move. [ the word isn't even completely out of her mouth before she unceremoniously, instinctively pulls whoever she's speaking to by the arm to a few feet away, a split second before a hunk of metal impacts the ground where they had been standing before. ]

🦇ooc

[ want to throw a wildcard, or just want to plot or ask a question first? DM me or reach me at hexennacht. ]

Threaded | Flat

Page 1 of 2

TDM FAQ

Courier 6 | Fallout: New Vegas

Felicia | Fire Emblem Fates (Birthright Route) | new character

Qrow Branwen | RWBY | New Character

no subject