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.
For more in-depth information about this event and how it affects your character, to ask event-specific questions, and to plot with your fellow players, please visit the event's OOC PLOTTING POST. |
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cuddlecity2017-08-12 12:00 pm
thom creed | ota | (cw: seizures)
b. You revived me, now I'm sure that I'm gonna be fine
c. Don't you ever let me go
d. Everything's coming up roses, shockingly better than I expected.
b!
bingo.
look. will was trying to be a fucking badass, rocking the cast, showing off his Battle Wound with pride, but even though it's only been a day since the quake, it's gotten old and fast. first of all, the cots suck ass and are uncomfortable as is. secondly, he couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep in with this fucking mass of plaster keeping his arm still, so he's running on empty (as though he doesn't do that on the regular). third? how the hell is he supposed to play his guitar now, provided it wasn't like, smashed to pieces in his apartment during the quake?
rather than draw attention to himself, will hauls himself off of his cot and heads right towards the healer in question, which, wait, isn't that ... )
Hey! Underwear dude! ( coupled with his first genuine grin in over a day, a little wave of his shitty cast. )
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When he hears the words underwear dude however, part of him dies a little inside with no chance of being healed and a high blush that explodes to life in his cheeks.] Underwear dude? Can you like... not call me that? [His voice is probably an octave or two too high and Will's grin really wasn't helping thing. Thom quickly hops down from the cot because he had no reason to continue drawing attention to himself after being referred to as underwear dude.]
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( thom looks completely and utterly flustered, pretty much red from head to toe, and will almost feels bad for the poor kid. you know, if he wasn't a total lovable asshole beneath it all. )
Name's Will. My arm's broken and I'm fucking miserable. Think you can help?
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He stares at the arm and frowns at Will's arm, thinking about it.] I can... but man, why did you let them put a cast on it. [He crosses his arms over his chest, thinking about it. It just made his job that bit more difficult.]
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( listen. does will really want to admit that he was trying to look cool and tough out the pain but decided to puss out instead? to the artist-formerly-known-as-underwear-dude, even?
not really. but it happens, in its own way. )
Well, I dunno. ( a shrug. ) That's just what you're supposed to do when you break your arm, I guess. Shit. I dunno — I've never a broken anything until today.
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How was I supposed to know? This kinda thing happens at home, you go to the ER and sit in the waiting room for four hours so a doctor can see you and decide in three seconds that you need a cast, and then you pay out the ass for it.
( his brow furrows, but whatever, he'll follow this kid's lead, considering will doesn't have a clue. ) You better not like, saw through my arm on accident, dude. I'll be super pissed.
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[He shrugs.] Could be worse, at least I'll have your arm usable again by the end of today, here- [He reaches out almost on instinct, his fingers brushing up against Will's and a little glow of light escapes from his hand.] That should take care of the pain, just not the break. And if I saw through your arm, don't worry... I can fix it.
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but thom does some wacky shit with his magical superpower and, with a pulse of light that courses up his arm from his fingers, the nagging, pulsating pain beneath the plaster cast simply washes away, just like that. jesus, this place gets more and more nuts every day. as grateful as will is for the pain relief, he can't help but furrow his eyebrows at that last comment, commenting in a sarcastic deadpan, ) Thanks, I really feel better now.
no subject
So we either need a kitchen or the shower room... because we're gonna have to soak this first to make it easier for us... unless you think we'll find a buzz saw? [He frowns a little at the buzz saw idea though.] Maybe not a buzz saw.
lead-in to c!
so naturally, he'd grabbed the other man in that instant and brought him back to the remains of the building he'd been searching before it ever caught up with him that maybe thom was in the middle of something else. but it was a thought that vanished just as quickly as it'd appeared when the now familiar panicked cries of a child break through. (she was young. too young to understand what was going on. too young to be living through it.) she was pinned down, unable to feel her feet. so it was the fear of her having damaged her back that'd prompted barry's attempt at finding help. and help had come in the shape of thom.
twenty minutes later, and barry's finally heading back to the building again to meet back up with thom. the child is in the hospital, simply because he wasn't sure where else to take her. he's running low on energy now. needs a shower and a big meal. but any thoughts of inviting thom along to find said meal disappear the moment he spots the man starting to fall. a fall he's thankfully able to break after a quick burst of speed. he may still hit the ground, but barry at least as a chance to cushion his head before it's able to touch the ground.]
Thom. Come on. Hey--
[but then the convulsions begin and barry forces himself to back up instead. to rid himself of the jacket of his suit so it can work as a makeshift pillow while he waits this out. never has he been more grateful that first aid training is compulsory when joining the ccpd.]
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He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing and bring himself back into the moment, his breath ragged as he sucks in deep lungfuls of air, a desperate attempt to ground himself. When he opens them again the first thing he sees is the Flash, some memory of the previous events coming back to him.] Hey... did I faint or something? [His voice sounds raw, even his vocal chords strained from the seizure. He doesn't even know why he bothers asking, because he knew what'd happened he was just embarrassed to admit it.
Part of him hated his sickness for that, the complete loss of control was something Thom had never been able to get used to. Another seizure meant more time without his car, meant more time feeling like he was incapable... more time feeling different. He'd only just gotten to a place where he was somewhat comfortable in this identity of his, thinking that maybe it wouldn't be an issue to him here. He had yet to learn the exact parameters of his sickness, after all, and it would take time for him to get it fully under control.]