It starts with a roll of thunder.
At least, that’s what you think it is—a low growl through the atmosphere that seems to echo deep and low in your chest—as you turn over in bed, or perhaps as you’re finishing your last drink at a local pub with some new acquaintances, or even as you’re walking home on otherwise safe streets, lamps and moonlight guiding your path. All’s well that ends well: the city is your haven, it’s been sold to you as such, and a little stormy weather never did much harm.
You close your eyes. You take a drink. You turn the corner.
But the sound continues, the vibration grows more oppressive, and you may think to yourself: Thunder shouldn’t shake my nightstand.
Thunder doesn’t send a pulse through the tequila in a shot glass.
Thunder wouldn’t compel the asphalt to rumble and churn beneath my boots.
It all happens very quickly after that; things fall apart.
The cheers of late-night partygoers tumble into a minor chord, sliding into screams—a party of five has just lost sight of two of its members as Main Street splits itself in zigzags rippling out from the city’s center. One side surges into the air as the other half plummets several feet down, small ravines forming along the thoroughfare. The damage replicates itself like dominoes, and citizens new and old alike cry for help into the empty night.
Someone is hanging onto the edge of one jagged, yellow-striped mound of asphalt, fingers slipping, grip temporary. Do you know them?
Do you help?
Within minutes, buildings begin to buckle under the stress of the earth shifting. Metal and concrete siding, roof tiles, window panes—what first sounds like cannon fire clearly presents itself as establishments crumbling while panicked citizens race to covered positions or out into the chaos of the openly shaking streets for any semblance of safety.
“Earthquake!” You hear. “Cover your head!”
The tallest buildings suffer the most damage (the bigger they are, the harder they fall). At the city’s heart, the clock tower sinks almost gently down as if feeling faint, seeking solace in the skirts of its foundation. People blink in shock as the dust rolls over them moments later.
Victims covered in soot and debris, looking for all intents and purposes as if they’d been disturbed from their graves, disperse across the city, trying to reach the authorities, to find their loved ones. It’s clear that amidst the rubble, both formed and newly falling, some of these loved ones are trapped. You hear desperate, muffled calls, buried beneath layers of shattered stone and cement. Voices struggling to be heard through the ongoing shriek and groan of the earth… still… shaking. One of these voices may even be your own. Are you near? Can you lead someone to safety?
Can you pull victims from the rubble? Are you, yourself, in trouble?
The city bank’s vault is loose, no doubt. The shops are in trouble, security gates destroyed. Do you take advantage while you can?
Whatever you decide, watch for the emergency vehicles and fire trucks barreling their way toward the center of destruction, rescue crews ready to spot those in need. Perhaps you can help them. Perhaps they can help you, instead. (Perhaps they can apprehend you, too, if you misbehave and don’t cover your tracks.)
The rumble continues, curls its way like a fist further out towards the city limits, losing ferocity as it does, but it takes the temporary housing district for its final victim. The city’s newest arrivals won’t get much sleep tonight. Rifts in concrete walls crawl their way from the ground floors, up, all vine and sinew and spider web. Some are more severe than others. While the first floor rooms may find more damage to their walls, bedroom windows bursting as foundations tilt, the upper floors will see things end up just a hair off in balance—askew. Put a glass of water on the table, and it may not stay in one place for long.
Surely the building isn’t safe enough to sleep in, not now. Can you make it safe? Can you reach out to your neighbors? How do you manage?
Three hours after the initial disturbance, long after earlier news programs had urgently advised all city dwellers to take due cover during the apparent earthquake, a crackling message filters through across television screens, electronic billboards, and on your city-issued devices. Mayor Drake sits in full view in front of the Energem, the symbol of the city, its life force. It is in one piece, from the looks of it, and so is she (if understandably haggard and dark around the eyes). “Citizens of Cadelle, as you know, we’ve suffered quite the seismic anomaly this evening. Tectonic plate shifting is not abnormal in a city so near the coast, but we had yet to experience an earthquake of this magnitude in all our recorded history. Although most of the damage was focused towards the city’s center, that center was hit hard.”
The side of her mouth twitches minutely, as though she is biting back further words, and instead, she plasters on a smile of pure grit. “Our top tier seismology center is already on the case, and the administration will keep you informed of any significant findings. In the meantime, we wish to thank all our rescue workers and volunteer citizens who helped our loved ones find shelter and safety. Please be advised we will begin reconstruction of our Community Housing Facility immediately. Volunteers to assist with this project, and with the restoration of privately owned establishments along Main Street, are welcomed, even encouraged. After a more in-depth assessment, we may be able to create paying job opportunities for the duration of this project. Please stay tuned.”
A constructive spin on this tale couldn’t hurt, could it?
“For now, we wish for you to stay safe. Food and shelter accommodations at the public gymnasium are being made ready for those of you currently left without rooms. We apologize for the communal nature of these accommodations, but it is the best we can provide on emergency notice. We appreciate your patience, and your help.”
And with that closing remark, the feed cuts.
Mayor Drake’s shoulders slide out of their poised position, and she bows her head, hand over her brow.
Behind her, unbeknownst to anyone, the Energem flickers—just once.
On the far side, beneath the cover of the protective wall, a small fissure has formed in the crystal surface.
A kinetic rift.
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cuddlecity2017-08-12 12:00 pm
oliver queen ➹ open
↪ truth is to me that I was caught in the storm (for kara)
↪ wildcard
no subject
in the daylight hours, kara had let herself sink into the patterns of heroism, lifting rubble and pulling people to safety, but as the harsh beat of the sun had dipped below the horizon, even kara could recognize the limits of her particular skill set. she offered no capacity to heal, nor to create food or water on demand. now, as twilight takes over, the city's wounded and trapped have been pulled to safety; they congregate in a crowded community center, queue for food and medical treatment, and wait.
she's never been particularly good at waiting.
as for oliver, she'd known he was okay. she'd seen him, earlier in the day; they'd exchanged tense glances, nods of understanding; you're alive. that was enough. that was then. this is now. and now, she needs to know that he's more than just okay.
they land in soft grass, and his legs buckle underneath him, exhaustion evident in each motion of his body. kara sinks down beside him, pulls his body in to hers, cradles his head in her lap; it lets her brush the hood down to his shoulders, smooth her fingertips across his forehead, wiping the dirt away from the corners of his eyes. )
Oliver, ( her tone is soft, reassuring; her touch is gentle, too, as she brushes her thumb against his temple. ) I'm always going to take care of you.
( she's quiet for a moment, listening to the sound of his breathing, occasionally scanning a limb or two for broken bones or other injuries evident via x-rays. )
I'm just glad you're okay.
no subject
tension eases out of his muscles; comfort and safety being drunk in liberally. to be vulnerable was to die. lian yu taught him that; russia re-enforced it. in steadfast and enduring loyalty she's earned a glimpse behind the veil, to peer directly at the heart of oliver queen )
I know you are. ( unspoken promises made to one another during the quiet hours of falling asleep. she's indestructible; more or less. beyond any limits known before. that makes no difference; she doesn't need him to fight her battles, yet he would, every one of them, in a heartbeat. just to spare her the possibility of pain.
licking his lips, a replay of the day takes hold, the face of each person helped etched in memory ) The bruises will heal, I'm more tired than anything else.
( hesitation; because very few others know, outside of those who were present. a conversation even rarely brought up within barry's company ) Tommy Merlyn. He was my best friend, ever since we were kids. There's a lot of things I did wrong by him but that's...not what this is about.
( reaching upwards to grasp kara's hand, his thumb skims along her knuckles, a soothing motion ) His father set off a device that caused a massive earthquake in the glades. And Tommy...was caught in it, trying to save someone else. He didn't...he didn't survive. ( no an attempt at pity; the last thing ever desired, but trying to explain why his reaction had been to carry on until the point of exhaustion, outside of the obvious ) When it happened here, all I could think was, not saving him...maybe this was my chance to make up for that.
no subject
it isn't the bruises kara worries about. bruises and cuts and scrapes — those can be patched up, salves applied and bandages wrapped to expedite the healing process, and eventually made right. it's the emotional impact that worries her. his tendency to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, to bear the burdens of many to protect others, even when they would happily share the load.
and, much as she expected, there's something more than just achy muscles and physical exhaustion keeping him from fully relaxing. a memory, painful and private, one he hasn't shared with her yet, that had spawned a desire to rectify previous mistakes and make right. like so many actions before it, this was oliver queen attempting to be a better man.
with a quiet exhale, kara smiles, a small quirk at the corner of her mouth as she lifts his hand to her mouth, brushing her lips ever-so-softly across the warm skin. as they lift, she murmurs, ) You've been making up for it ever since.
He'd be proud of you, you know. ( she doesn't know tommy, never had the chance to meet him, so her opinion could be entirely misguided. her assumption could be entirely wrong. but kara's quite convinced she's right, and her rationale is simple: ) I know I am.