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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cuddlemods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
cuddlecity2017-08-12 12:00 pm
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[ the rocking chair slows as he starts humming again. foreigner, this time. as the chair slows to a stop, len stands with a move that's smooth and obviously practiced. this isn't the first time he's rocked a baby to sleep and then gently set them down in a bassinet. ]
Her mom's got a fever, [ he says quietly, ] and dad's out digging people out of rubble. There's a couple of 'em here with situations like that. [ hence the rocking and the looking after. someone's gotta do it, and it's easy to see that the hospital staff are pretty frazzled. ] Not the greatest way to start life, but I think she'll do fine.
no subject
sara, instead, simply watches him proceed with this routine, looking more than a little dumbfounded. reconciling this new side of leonard snart, one that she'd never even considered, is admittedly difficult. it makes perfect sense, though, knowing what she does about his childhood — about his sister, who she'd considered one of her closest friends back in eudio, about his terrible father, who'd left len's skin marred with scars he'd rather hide and forget about. of course he'd take care of his baby sister. it's what laurel had done for her.
her fingers clench the arms of the rocking chair, foot guiding her chair back and forth just enough. ) Hell of a reality check for someone so small. ( her gaze sweeps towards the infant in the clear bassinet, lingering for a moment. ) It's people like her that I've always wanted to protect. Those who can't protect themselves, who shouldn't have to.
( which she's not doing a great job of, considering her complacency, sitting in a rocking chair and doing nothing. )
no subject
it's something he enjoys doing. probably for much the same reason sara feels an urge to protect people like this little girl. the innocence and unabashed joy that well taken care of babies can put out always reminds him that the world isn't complete shit and not every parent is as awful as his was. ]
Can't do much to protect people from a natural disaster. [ the cynical part of his mind whispers that there's not much someone like sara could do to really protect this little girl if her old man turned out anything like his either. but he keeps that to himself. ] But you're probably helping the relief efforts out.
[ he looks at her, eyebrow raised to make it clear that, while that is technically a statement, it's also a question. ]
no subject
( sara cracks her knuckles, turns her head towards the window, sees only clouds of smoke and debris rising over tall buildings, the occasional spinning whir or red and blue.
she could take on a hundred men singlehandedly and come out on the other side of it relatively unscathed, but a natural disaster? this is like nothing sara's ever faced before; she imagines oliver must've felt like this trying to save those that he loved from the undertaking that threatened the glades of starling city, threatened her sister. the white canary may not have special powers or be a superalien, but she's still determined to help in any way that she can. )
Could use another pair of eyes to help locate stragglers — they're sending everyone to public gym for safety and shelter until the city's got the all clear.
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leonard sticks out his left foot in sara's direction and pulls up the leg of the loaned scrub pants enough for her to see the air brace on his ankle. ] And I'm pretty sure there's a nurse or three in here who'll stab me with a scalpel if I do too much to this.
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well, sara might think that the earthquake was all just a big diversion from some type of invasion of the body snatchers thing.
her expression shifts as he reveals the brace on his ankle, brow furrowing. in any other situation, she might be capital-c Concerned about it, but from what she's seen so far during the aftermath of the quake, a sprained ankle seems downright lucky. ) What happened?
no subject
[ which, y'know, is a good thing. since he totally stole a mattress with mick and the injury gives him an excuse to have not done it, even if it's not an alibi. ]
no subject
( ha ha, she's very funny. sara takes it upon herself to get up out of her designated rocking chair, close the distance between them until she's standing next to him in front of the bassinet, looking down at the little girl below them for a long moment and then turning her head so she can look up at leonard, study him for as long as he'll allow, finally relaxing a little as the high-stress anxiety that made adrenaline pump through her veins, made her cross the width of the city to the hospital, finally begins to wear off. )