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
no subject
He lifts a hand and gently pushes the box aside so he can look down at the woman behind it. He points a finger at his face, an affable smile splitting across it.
"Can't you see I have my own?" She doesn't seem to be in the mood for kidding around, so he cuts to the chase. "I don't know whose it is. Where did you find it?"
no subject
The longer she looks at him, the less it helps her general feeling of unease. There is something she's missing. There must be.
no subject
He'd know.
Looking at the woman in front of him and her sunken eyes, he wonders if they're keeping those people awake at night, too.
"Turn it over, then; get someone else to handle it. Who says you've gotta make the delivery?"
Simple solution to an easy problem.
no subject
She sounds about as thrilled with this as she'd be with a root canal. Actually, the root canal might be preferable.
no subject
That'd teach that voice not to rely on strangers to do their dirty work for them.
no subject
no subject
His wide smile doesn't falter. He isn't being helpful and he knows it.
no subject
Dumb brain.
no subject
"Listen, babe, take my advice and leave it for the next schmuck to find."