eudorapatch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eudorapatch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2019-10-28 08:01 pm
eudorapatch) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-10-28 08:01 pm
Clever title goes here
WHO: Patch, anyone who wants to find her, plus Qubit and Loki.
WHAT: running, exploring, fixing vehicles, offering driving lessons, being deeply depressed
WHEN: end of October, maybe a bit of November. Whatever you want. I’m easy.
WHERE: garage, agricultural level, kitchen
NOTES: Patch is going to get sick, and she’s going to hide from everything while she is sick. So for October 21-25, after she’s realized that she’s sick, she’ll be holed up in her room until her fever breaks.
Also, I don’t like action-spam. I won’t write in it for face to face interactions, but if that’s what you’re most comfortable with, I don’t mind if our styles don’t match. I just ask that you don’t do small text for anything more than a sentence or two.
A. - hallways (October 15-17)
She finds the head surprisingly quickly. It’s perhaps the most unpleasant thing to happen to her. The cheery little voice does not prepare her, just chirps out “someone is looking for what’s in the box” and then falls silent. Like the irresponsible jerk that it is. Patch reaches down, lifts off the lid, and recoils so quickly that she literally falls on her ass. Then she promptly shoves the lid back on, stashes the thing in a closet with a very heavy piece of debris on top of it, and books it the hell away from the horror of the Head In The Box. Who the hell would be looking for that?
The voice doesn’t return right away. It takes a few days before it starts encouraging her to make her delivery. Swapping out her portable phone thing for a new one doesn’t help. It follows her. Even leaving it behind entirely doesn’t help. The voice pipes up out of speakers wherever she goes. She ignores it for as long as she can, until she can’t even sleep, until she has no choice but to go back, find the box, wrap a pair of bungee cables around it so there’s absolutely no chance that the lid will come off, and then begin kicking it down every hallway in the city asking literally everyone she passes if the head inside it belongs to them.
[[ OOC: You don’t have to be Qubit to respond to this. If you’d like to know about the freaky head, go for it. ]]
B. - garage
When she finds herself in need of an all consuming distraction, she heads to the garage. There are parts there to fix, seized up engines and faulty voltage regulators and slipped belts and corroded alternators, and unlike the work that Peter is doing, all of this is stuff she actually knows, things that she can fix. So she does, whenever she can, she takes things that are broken and she fixes them, and it’s not the same as being fixed herself, but it helps.
She’s also still helping Peter with the driving lessons. At some point, it occurs to her that he might not be the only one in need, and she puts up some signs in and near the garage.
Don’t know how to drive?
Want to fix that?
Call me.
[Bad username or site: det @ patch]
C. - agricultural levels and mess hall kitchen
When the plants go crazy in a riot of colour and strange flavours, she’s all for it. Something totally new, something familiar, something positive. She goes gathering, not so interested in naming and identifying as she is just finding something she’ll want to use, something that can bring her a little taste of the familiar. Literally. The chilis that she finds, for example, are perfectly round as beach balls and bright blue, but they taste like poblanos. She can work with that. It’s inevitable that she runs into other people doing the same thing she is. It’s another chance to force herself to be social.
Even more so when she spreads out her newly found harvest in the mess hall kitchen, intent on making her mother’s potato stuffed chiles and forgetting about her problems for a little while.
D. - open for one thread
The shift inside the city sneaks up on Patch in a most unpleasant way. She’s on her way to get breakfast after a shower, turns through a doorway and into the motel room. The last doorway she ever walked through, back home. Everything is exactly as she remembers it, the muted sounds from the bathroom, the god awful ugly bedding, even the box of doughnuts on the dresser and the pills ground into the carpet. The blood on the ground, that’s hers, isn’t it? Or it is just a shadow? She has no idea, but the icy panic that surges up from her stomach is all too real. This is her death, the end of her, all over again.
! - WILDCARD
Except for the time she’s stuck in her room, find her wherever to do whatever. Just let me know and we’ll make it work.
WHAT: running, exploring, fixing vehicles, offering driving lessons, being deeply depressed
WHEN: end of October, maybe a bit of November. Whatever you want. I’m easy.
WHERE: garage, agricultural level, kitchen
NOTES: Patch is going to get sick, and she’s going to hide from everything while she is sick. So for October 21-25, after she’s realized that she’s sick, she’ll be holed up in her room until her fever breaks.
Also, I don’t like action-spam. I won’t write in it for face to face interactions, but if that’s what you’re most comfortable with, I don’t mind if our styles don’t match. I just ask that you don’t do small text for anything more than a sentence or two.
A. - hallways (October 15-17)
She finds the head surprisingly quickly. It’s perhaps the most unpleasant thing to happen to her. The cheery little voice does not prepare her, just chirps out “someone is looking for what’s in the box” and then falls silent. Like the irresponsible jerk that it is. Patch reaches down, lifts off the lid, and recoils so quickly that she literally falls on her ass. Then she promptly shoves the lid back on, stashes the thing in a closet with a very heavy piece of debris on top of it, and books it the hell away from the horror of the Head In The Box. Who the hell would be looking for that?
The voice doesn’t return right away. It takes a few days before it starts encouraging her to make her delivery. Swapping out her portable phone thing for a new one doesn’t help. It follows her. Even leaving it behind entirely doesn’t help. The voice pipes up out of speakers wherever she goes. She ignores it for as long as she can, until she can’t even sleep, until she has no choice but to go back, find the box, wrap a pair of bungee cables around it so there’s absolutely no chance that the lid will come off, and then begin kicking it down every hallway in the city asking literally everyone she passes if the head inside it belongs to them.
[[ OOC: You don’t have to be Qubit to respond to this. If you’d like to know about the freaky head, go for it. ]]
B. - garage
When she finds herself in need of an all consuming distraction, she heads to the garage. There are parts there to fix, seized up engines and faulty voltage regulators and slipped belts and corroded alternators, and unlike the work that Peter is doing, all of this is stuff she actually knows, things that she can fix. So she does, whenever she can, she takes things that are broken and she fixes them, and it’s not the same as being fixed herself, but it helps.
She’s also still helping Peter with the driving lessons. At some point, it occurs to her that he might not be the only one in need, and she puts up some signs in and near the garage.
Want to fix that?
Call me.
[Bad username or site: det @ patch]
C. - agricultural levels and mess hall kitchen
When the plants go crazy in a riot of colour and strange flavours, she’s all for it. Something totally new, something familiar, something positive. She goes gathering, not so interested in naming and identifying as she is just finding something she’ll want to use, something that can bring her a little taste of the familiar. Literally. The chilis that she finds, for example, are perfectly round as beach balls and bright blue, but they taste like poblanos. She can work with that. It’s inevitable that she runs into other people doing the same thing she is. It’s another chance to force herself to be social.
Even more so when she spreads out her newly found harvest in the mess hall kitchen, intent on making her mother’s potato stuffed chiles and forgetting about her problems for a little while.
D. - open for one thread
The shift inside the city sneaks up on Patch in a most unpleasant way. She’s on her way to get breakfast after a shower, turns through a doorway and into the motel room. The last doorway she ever walked through, back home. Everything is exactly as she remembers it, the muted sounds from the bathroom, the god awful ugly bedding, even the box of doughnuts on the dresser and the pills ground into the carpet. The blood on the ground, that’s hers, isn’t it? Or it is just a shadow? She has no idea, but the icy panic that surges up from her stomach is all too real. This is her death, the end of her, all over again.
! - WILDCARD
Except for the time she’s stuck in her room, find her wherever to do whatever. Just let me know and we’ll make it work.
no subject
"Patch! Wait!" he wheezes. The anger's been drained out of him along with everything else, and all that's left in his voice is desperation. Fear. Not for his own sake, though - he may think Patch is an idiot, but as far as he knows, her life is in danger right now, and she doesn't deserve any of what Modeus might do to her. Nobody does.
"The head - that's the danger-!" He tries to stand, but wobbles badly and doesn't get anywhere. "I need you to -"
His hands shake as he fumbles with the controls on the machine he just made. Can't feel his fingertips, that's probably a bad sign. But he does get it open, the wall of the container sliding back with a mechanical hiss.
"In here - it'll stop him making the jump," he says. "Please. There's no time. You don't know him, he'll kill you, I'm the only prison that can hold him-!!"
Is he, though? Can he, in this state? Doesn't matter, he has to.
no subject
That desperation, though, the hint of fear, that's real. Fuck. This guy is either a serial killer and she's about to end up with her own head in a box, or something else is going on in his mind, and just because she doesn't understand it, doesn't mean she can ignore it. Fuck.
She closes the distance and looks at his creation. It's a box. He made a bigger box. With the harvested wall panel to control a much smaller door than intended. So maybe he made a tiny cylindrical room for the head, which she supposes might be a step up from box. Point is, it doesn't look dangerous. Doesn't mean it's not, but she can't shake that timbre of desperation from her mind.
The cube of a box is not going to fit into the cylinder of the new box, that much is clear just from looking at it. Which means she has to touch the remains. Which is just-- such a great next chapter to this story of her shitty week. SHe opens the box, looks at the head, which is still just sitting there motionless and dead, and carefully reaches her hand in. Facing it this way, she knew would be difficult, which is probably a big part of why she tried to avoid it, running on fumes as she is. Can't avoid it now, though. She lifts the head out, carefully and gently, and places it very carefully inside the container. Then she uses the panel to close it, and then sits on top of it. Not just letting him walk away.
If he can even walk away. Guy looks like he might pass out. Was he sweating before, or is that new? "Straight answers, no sarcasm if you can help it. I've had a very long couple of days and this is incredibly weird and I need some straight answers. What has changed in the last two minutes to make you think this head is dangerous? What is the jump? How are you a prison? Most importantly... are you going to vomit or pass out? You look really bad."