[EVENT] The Simulation Ends

[sixthiteration]

WHERE: 6I Fountain Park & Elsewhere
WHEN: April 1
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
WARNINGS: N/A

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In the snug circle of an old park, a fountain sits burbling beneath a broad, midday sky.

Once-neat paving stones have buckled and cracked from the slow nudge of wayward roots. Benches stand covered in lichen and rust. Three paths push into the underbrush like the spokes on a wheel, the encroaching forest creating lush tunnels through the dark.

But the fountain stands singular and pristine, brightly splashing in open rebellion of the deep, muffled sounds of a place long ago gone to seed. A vibration hums through the ground, there and quickly gone, and the water in the fountain trembles, lapping against the high walls of its cool, pale reservoir.

Far, far away, in a place that isn't really there, people begin to blink out of existance.

It is the first of April.

It is precisely ten o'clock in the morning.



[Please see event details and guidelines here.]

Comments

[underpinnings]

It was harder to notice, if he didn't focus on the men in the crowd, but when she points it out he runs his two good fingers back through his hair. Nothing different about it, and the patches of hair feel normal enough along his jaw. If he could spontaneously grow a beard, now would be the moment--standing out in the middle of some upheaval is usually the precursor to getting blamed for said upheaval.

Getting out of his wet clothes, into some semblance of uniformed and ready, is his best option. If nothing else, it might be assumed he found time for a trim.

"Clinic," he decides, gaze flicking between the indicated buildings. Anyone there likelier to be distracted, and better supplies. If he couldn't get his hands on any, at least he'd have an idea for later--and some insight into the community. Two steps, three, he doesn't look to see if she follows as he tries to piece the rest of it together. Different terrain, buildings in better repair. "So it's a different place," he posits, any other concept beyond him.

[theluckygirl]

He may have looked fairly innocent enough, but given he was new and there were things in the clinic that could be stolen for whatever reason (drugs were limited to over the counter) Claire went along with him, if only to play the unofficial welcome committee. If he had any more questions, she could do her best to answer.

"Yeah, we're definitely not where we were. Not sure how, but it feels different." she tells him as they walk. "But we all came through and no one was left behind which are small blessings."

A beat.

"Mind me asking how you lost your fingers?" Claire asked, deciding it was a fair question and maybe one that would tell her if she needed to be suspicious.

[underpinnings]

The difference is more pronounced for Owen: ghost towns he rolled through were usually worse off. Tore up, carpet bombed, plant life growing over the shells of old buildings. Signs of fire, signs of fights. They could do worse than a layer of dust. They could do worse than a few cows to greet them.

If there isn't something waited beyond the immediate buildings. It's a little early in her acquaintance to ask Claire where the village might store weapons, but he might work it out while answering her own questions. For now, he keeps his eyes on a swivel, assessing shadows, movement, placing people behind them and looking for anyone ahead. No canyon might mean something getting in, as much as it means getting out.

And her question is especially fair, where he's from, so there's only an answering beat before his reply. "Got shut in a door, years ago. Nobody around to fix it." Best he could do to cut the rest and burn the ends, and that had been it's own set of problems.

"I do alright," he assures her. "Don't need a pinky for most tools or weapons."

[theluckygirl]

Nobody around to fix it. Didn't sound particularly happy, not with the way he said it or the tone he said it with. Pair that with the way he was looking around and if Claire had to guess, the guy's world before emerging from the fountain and stepping into this one didn't seem to be all that friendly.

As a nurse, she's heard plenty of stories about how people lose fingers and toes, but she can't help but flinch a little over hearing how Owen lost his. But she says nothing because one would be surprised how often it happens. Especially around the 4th of July.

Coming up to the clinic doors, she gives a small shrug. "Which you'll be using here, too. Only not against people."

Being there involved a different kind of survival.