sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] PLOT: Siren's Call

[MINGLE] PLOT: Siren's Call

WHERE: Anywhere
WHEN: August 25-26
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Mental manipulation, drowning, death
NOTES: Details here. This post is for EVERYONE, not just the affected. Please make sure and note if your thread is locked for plot purposes.

It began slowly.

A wisp of song or familiar sound on the breeze swept in from the lake. No source to be found, only the uneasy feeling it had been heard before as it coiled itself steadily inside the minds of the chosen. The sound was a mantra, pulsing soft at first and then louder, growing over days until it seemed to fill the skull, relentless. Come here, the lake whispered, cajoled, shouted. It is cool and quiet beneath the waves.

Come here, it presses now in time with the melody until there is nothing but to blindly follow. The water is calling.

Threaded | Flat

[CW Mental Health, Possible Violence. Possibly other things too. I may add an open part to this for the 26th but would rather see how this is playing out first. Characters are all, of course, welcome to have witnessed what happens.]

It was supposed to be a good day. Later, when the quiet enveloped her and she had time to look back on what had happened. Rose would remember that. It was one of those rare days when she’d woken up with a sense of purpose, maybe even hope of something good coming their way. What she’d also remember is the niggling feeling of doubt that had tugged at the corner of her mind. The one that had whispered silent warnings in her head all through her run and again as she attempted to eat breakfast. She’d gotten a sense in the time since she’d first arrived here that things weren’t allowed to be good for very long but she’d allowed herself a few moments to think, just maybe? It didn’t have to always be awful.

Her long dark hair, whipped around her face as Rose sprinted through the South Village. No time was taken to even hastily pull it back, before she’d set off into a run. She hadn’t asked any questions when she’d caught the first murmurings of something happening at the lake. She knew Elena would be there, just as surely as she should have known that she was already too late.

The sound of her feet hitting the bridge she’d avoided since the day she first arrived, fell into a rhythm with the blood that drummed in her ears as she pushed her body into motion. The ache of a recently eaten meal barely noticed as she allowed her legs to carry her, any consideration of time and distance lost to the single-minded need to lay eyes on one of the few real friends she had here.

It never once occurred to her that by the time she reached the edge of the shore, there would be nothing she could do. As long as she was moving, there was still that foolish hope that she’d be able to make it okay. Even as she heard Elena’s name pass the lips of several people she flew past, she wanted to believe there was a chance. She needed to, even. The alternative just wasn’t something Rose was ready to consider, let alone willing to accept.

“Elena!”

She never stopped, not even as she crested the hill that slopes toward the water's edge, Rose allowing momentum to carry her as she headed straight for the too still lake. She was vaguely aware of nobody doing anything. Standing around, in varying stages of shock or grief but not one of them appeared to be trying to help the girl that was said to be in there.

Drowned. She’d heard somebody say it. That one word scraping at the inside of her head but she’d refused to believe that of all the people here, that could happen to Elena. Not after everything the other girl had been through. Not after the cruelty of her arrival and subsequent return. Not to the girl who would sooner face down a Wendigo on her own than be sent to a watery grave.

“ELENA!.”

It’s the water that finally slows her as her feet sink into the softened ground. Her body becoming weighed down by the damp as she tries to reach somebody who is no longer there.

I don't know how I got in the water.

When I come to, it's slowly, my awareness briefly drifting as I squint against the wink of afternoon sunlight on the waves. I look down, marveling at the water lapping against my hip, and then startle at the sound of a jagged yell.

Twisting, I can see figures all along the shoreline behind me, some as dazed as I am, others bent over or seated on the sand with their head in their hands. How did I get here? I was walking to the inn, I remember that much, and then...

The water. I needed to get to the water.

I've had this inexplicable earworm in my head for days, a Simon & Garfunkel tune on a loop —

Have her wash it in yonder dry well
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
where water ne'er sprung nor drop of rain fell
And then she'll be a true love of mine

Dreamy and sweet, not really terrible as these things go. But today it had changed.

Where water ne'er sprung
Where water
The water
water water
waterwaterwaterwater

I pull in a sharp breath, my shoulders hitching forward, mind still swimming. I need to get out of this water, right now. In my haste, my feet catch in the sinking silt and down I go, right up to my neck. Gasping, I scramble backwards, kicking up a froth around me.

One might think that Elena would be afraid of the water after all that she'd been through in the last couple of years. Two incidents of near or complete drowning might have that effect, but she'd never attributed it much to the water. It had been more about the cars, the accidents, being trapped, helpless.

She liked swimming, even if she wasn't the best at it. She loved the beach, laying out in the sun.

When the song had first begun, she'd resisted, if only because it felt like the right thing to do. But she'd felt at peace when she'd finally given in, dipped her toes in the water's edge, floated on its surface. She'd spent a lot of time here, but she'd resisted the urge to take it too far.

Until now.

It filled her head until there wasn't room for anything else, this need to swim out as far as she could, to dive until she couldn't dive anymore. It needed her like nothing else had, and she needed it too. She wasn't thinking; the water was doing all of that for her.

She didn't even hesitate. She simply rose from her spot near the edge of the water and dove in, still dressed in her clothes and shoes. They weighed her down, but she was strong, and her strokes were sure as she headed toward the center of the lake.

closed to Jessica;

It starts out innocently like all things related to Kamala. A song starts playing her head on repeat. It starts off as the background music playing gently in the back of her mind. The lyrics filter in as the days follow. Kamala still thinks nothing of it. She goes about her day humming along to the tune. She does most of her chores and runs errands. Generally she stays her normally happy self until something slips into the lyrics. It sounds like something is calling her. That's creepy, but she chalks it up to her overactive imagination until things get darker. It starts reminding her how cool and quiet things are below the water around the time the song mentions death. The voice insisting on this is only getting louder as time goes on.

She's understandably scared. This isn't her. It's never been her. That leaves something outside of her? Maybe? Kamala can't be sure. All she knows is she needs an adult. The pool she can go to with her problems is fairly small despite her worship of superheroes. She thinks of only Jessica and Frank when it comes down to it. Frank is out immediately. She doesn't want to scare him or worse bring back old memories. He seems better these days. She can't ruin that for him. That leaves Jessica who is surprisingly hard to track down when you're in a blind panic about having weird thoughts. She eventually does if only because Kamala has never been one to give up... and it's a small village.

"Jessica!" The shouting isn't new. The vulnerability in her voice is. She's rattled. "Can we talk? Please?"

closed to Owen;

Regardless of how their talk turns out, the voice wins. She stops doing whatever it is she was supposed to be doing and starts heading for the water. It feels like a dream. Kamala is ready to embrace it. She misses the quiet. Wouldn't it nice to be cool? She walks and walks until she finally hits the water. If the vacant expression on her face isn't enough of a tell, walking until the water fully clothed and wearing boots will. She'll keep going until the water hits her waist. All that's left to do is dive underneath the water and enjoy the silence.

[ooc; PM me if you would like a closed starter for the plot! Otherwise, Kamala has an open post here before the plot.]

This isn't the kind of life Natasha leads and it's quietly beginning to take its toll. Even the daily routine she's adopted, no matter what order she does it in seems to have made the days blend into each other. One horrendously long day lived over and over like she's Bill Murray and this is Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. It's one of the few movies she's seen and actually liked. Or, did until getting there. Both places seem to be in the same circle of Hell as each other, as far as Nat's concerned.

When she left the house that morning, it was with the intention to follow that daily routine to some extent. But there wasn't anyone her level around to spar with and advertising the need for a partner wasn't exactly her thing, so, running seemed to be the only thing she could do. At least Eastwood didn't mind. He was getting old enough now to follow commands and he was at least triple the size now than when he turned up two months prior.

The run was good until Natasha stopped when she heard it; a familiar tune that pulled her into some kind of daze that felt.. wrong. When she finally came to she was almost chest deep in water with a scared little dog sitting on the edge whining for her to come back.

There weren't any words to the song that Kat heard but it was a comforting tune, warm and hopeful. She hadn't thought that it was strange, even if she'd occasionally stop what she was doing and listen to the sweet song.

After listening she'd walk away and leave the lake behind her; until she couldn't do that anymore. The music twisted and swirled around her, sinking into her skin and thoughts as it enticed her forward. She wasn't paying attention to the path she took or the sights along the way. Her feet guided her forward as she walked in a trace towards the lake. It wasn't until her boots had sank into the water that she began to feel uneasy.

Another step forward and another.

Did she know how to swim?

It hardly matters and then, the water was curling around her waist, her foot slipped and she stumbled into the rippling currents. Her head cleared and she gasped as she forced herself to her feet, spitting up water a she stared out at the lake. Her hair was wet, matting to her cheeks as panic rose in her chest.

"W-what happened? How did I-"

He'd been at the hospital when he'd first heard the earworm in his head, like a song that he just couldn't shake out. Sure, everyone's had the Macarena in their head and he knows there's no one that hasn't dealt with a pesky Chicken Dance, but this one seems stranger. For a while, he's able to be strong and ignore it, setting up shop in the hospital.

Eventually, though, it starts to get worse. He has to bar up the door and even then, it's not like he can't just undo what he's done, which is when he realizes that he's in trouble. Oh, god, he's in trouble. When he's still fairly sane and able to, Ravi sends a quick text to Major and Liv to warn them that something is happening, but then, Ravi finds himself fretting so much that he decides that it wouldn't hurt to listen to the song for just a moment.

Right?

So, so very wrong.

He's practically ripping away the barred up logs on the door and heading in the direction that the song seems to be calling him, the yearning he feels romantic and platonic and desperate, all at once. Whatever it is, he needs more of it and he's intending to go in that direction without stopping, striding as fast as he can right towards the water. He'll find it, he knows he will, and besides, he's a zombie sometimes. Whatever trouble that he might have to face, it's all worth it, it's all worth it for this beautiful song in his head.

Hey, I just met you,
And this is crazy ..

It's not the manliest of tunes that starts to wriggle its way into his ear and then into the base of his skull, but it's an effective tune nonetheless. He doesn't even think much of it, despite the strange twitch in his toes and the impatient wriggle in his fingers. It feels like when he was eight years old and had accidentally had some caffeine. He laid in bed for hours and hours with a feeling like insects in his legs, his muscles twitching and aching and burning and yearning all at once somehow. His mind had been no better. It's like that, only it's ..

Different.

It isn't the TV static that he'd felt in his legs that fateful evening. It isn't that pork-rinds-crackling firing off in his brain like fireworks. It's .. softer. It's the smell of coffee and bacon cooking in the morning. It's the gentle urge of feet down the stairs towards the kitchen at the warmth and sustenance promised. It's the thrill of a lover's touch on the inside of the wrist, tiptoeing a path to the bedroom.

And for what feels like the hundredth time in the span of five minutes, Major mumbles to himself in song:

"So call me maybe .. Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad, I missed you so, so bad," completely ignoring the fact that it's impossible to miss someone before you know them. He's so focused that he doesn't feel the water at his ankles, then at his knees, then at his waist. He doesn't seem to notice the way the ground falls out from underneath his feet as he goes deeper and deeper still. He doesn't even seem to notice that his mouth is filling with water, until suddenly --

He does, and no matter how he tries, he can't seem to do a damn thing to save himself.

Given that Druitt has something lurking at the back of his mind on a regular basis as things stand, he only dimly notices when the first wisps of something else start seeping in. And even when that wisp strengthens into a genuine song - soft and quiet; an old song from back when he'd been more himself, before he'd picked up the wayward passenger that sits inside his skin and is never entirely quiet - he thinks nothing of it. It's odd for him to be suddenly remembering a song from when he'd been younger, yes. But it's just a song, and not even he's immune to being a little nostalgic.

He puts it out of his mind, even as it starts to become more and more insistent; while he means to go somewhere else his feet have other plans in mind as they turn towards the water, the only things in Druitt's mind the echoing song, and under that the lingering rage that he always bears with him.

It isn't until the water hits his knees that he realizes where he's gone, and it suddenly occurs to him that he doesn't care. That water feels right, somehow. That he wants nothing more than to keep walking, even if it means the water might carry him away.

He walks on, step by step, quite entirely heedless of the way the water rises around him, drawn ever onwards and only dimly aware that maybe he should stop at some point.

When Kamala wasn't at Jess's house upon her return, she feared the worst. She ran to the lake, where some people were still being dragged out sputtering, but didn't find her there. She couldn't have escaped their notice if she followed the water's call. Someone would have fished her out. She asks around until she gets a yes, a girl matching that description was seen sopping wet by someone as they made their way to the lake. Then Jess goes home hoping Kamala isn't there, relieved to find she isn't. She drinks and watches the network for casualty reports, staying up until 6AM before falling asleep with her head on her iWatch.

She sleeps through the afternoon and into the early evening, more fitful as the hours go on. Eventually she pushes herself upright and awake, drinks an entire glass of water, drinks a small glass of moonshine and goes wandering into town. Frank will be able to console her through the alienation from her own instincts. The near-death part too. But he can't apologize for Jess failing to look after her properly. And won't, thank god. She drifts to their house scenically slow, liquor settling in her stomach, the initial harsh buzz gradually dulling. She knocks three times with the knuckle of one finger, willing them not to answer despite the lights she can see on inside.

Threaded | Flat

Rose ][ Closed to Sirius

Liv Moore | OTA

elena gilbert ][ plot: closed to frank castle

kamala khan | closed to jessica and owen

Natasha Romanoff | OTA

Kat | Open

Ravi | OTA

Major Lilywhite | OTA

John Druitt | OTA

aug 26, closed.