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
kimberly hart • open
( o2. ish. )
You're okay.
( For someone who finds it difficult to make friends, Clary's ride or die the minute you are one, and so her concern is real and legitimate as she pulls back, eyes roving over Kimberly's face. )
I checked the apartments and I couldn't find you. ( And she was clearly very, very worried. Worried enough that she's still holding on to her friend. At least she doesn't look too worse for wear - neither of them do - the only sign Clary's been caught up in anything is the dirt on her clothing. Runes help. )
no subject
clary's concern, though, is sweet and genuine in a way kimberly never quite knows how to be, and it's with a soft squeeze that she returns the girl's hug, a wry smile on her face as clary pulls back. ) I'm fine, Clary. Not a scratch. ( it's not untrue, exactly, but it's not the whole truth either. a part of her feels a twinge of guilt at having to lie to her friend. it's been a long time since kimberly's made a real friend, outside of the rangers or the mean girls adoption that had been the cheerleading squad. she doesn't exactly have a lot of experience with it. )
I was... out last night. ( again, not untrue. the implication is obvious. she might have — could have — been in someone else's bed, or on a date, out on the town with one person or another. she wasn't, but the implication is easy enough to believe. no reason to complicate things. ) But I'm fine, I promise.
And, look, I saved you a spot right here.
( changing the subject. excellent diversions. )
no subject
Clary smiles then, palms sliding down from Kimberly's bicep to her hands so she can give them a gentle squeeze. Then she's letting go, folding her arms over her chest. She's still covered in soot - which is unfortunate because she liked this jacket - but she can focus on that in a minute. Instead she takes her place at the end of the bed, stretching her legs out in front of her. )
So, that was a thing.
( A Thing. )
Earthquakes aren't really common in Brooklyn. I had no idea what was happening.
no subject
Seems like it's mostly over, now, though. Just have to fix it all up, I guess.
( which really doesn't sound like an enjoyable process, but at least the city seems willing to pay for their efforts. kimberly had passed by a few signup sheets while she was still exploring the community center, even overheard some exasperated city officials whining about the apartment buildings being near maximum capacity already. she had no intention of moving, but at least they were aware some people would want to. )
I think I'm going to sign up to help repaint or something. What about you, miss art school? Feel up to it?
no subject
( Clary's definitely not put off by hard work, and besides, having something to do might keep her occupied. She's been struggling a little since arriving here. It's hard to go from fighting for you life to chilling, at least it's harder than she thought it would be when she agreed to come here. )
But I really hope this isn't something that happens often here. I just got my apartment looking less like a dorm room.