June Event: Chaos, Chaos!

[lifeaftr_mods]

JUNE EVENT: CHAOS, CHAOS!

Who: Anyone and everyone!
What: It's just a little chaos...
When: June 17th - June 22nd
Where: Primarily Io, though also across Ensō and the islets if applicable
Warnings: Violence, possible body horror, potential anxiety and dysmorphia associated with body-swapping

Who Keeps Spinning the World Around?

The morning of June 17th, you'll probably notice things are amiss rather quickly. Your hands aren't your hands, or you're no longer in a squishy human flesh shape, or worse. Maybe your Lawful Good persona has plummeted into an outright Chaotic Evil one. Or maybe you wake up with a brand new power in your hands! Whatever the case is, no explanation is going to be immediately forthcoming, from Eleu or the Storyteller or anyone else. You'll have to figure out this mess on your own. Adjust to your new circumstances, master your new powers, and do what you can to make it through the next few days...because they're going to be some very interesting ones, for certain.

Catch Me If You Can!

Come June 20th, whether you're back to normal selves or not, Eleu has a job for you. A request, even. They're going to need your help to take care of this little problem and put a stop to all this absolute madness.

Those interested in helping can get in touch with any of the honeybees buzzing anxiously about Io, and they will redirect you to the Honeycomb, which has now been provided with several barrels of Honeycomb Sledgehammers for your use. You don't have to take one if you don't need it, but they make a very powerful weapon. Additionally, Eleu will take care to assure that, in exchange for your help, you may keep the Sledgehammer, if you so choose. Those interested in assisting may access our boss fight at its top-level below. This is a single thread with no order, but anyone may participate, regardless of their current state of being. Don't worry about how you contribute, or tag speed. Anyone who's concerned about being left out is welcome to reach out to us to handwave or backtag their involvement, if necessary!

The Clown Box is going to put up a fight, though. And it's not going to be pretty.

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] June 17th: Chaos begins!
[ ♆ ] June 21st: On the eve of the final battle, Storytelling commences.
[ ♆ ] June 22nd: Characters confront the Clown Box, and all parties return to normal.
[ ♆ ] June 25th: All parties become privy to the final outcome involving the Clown Box.

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

Agent Maine | OTA

[bloodbathing]

i. good deeds

[ Aside from a select few, Maine generally doesn't give a shit about other people. What they do with their lives is no concern of his, nor does he believe that his life is any concern of theirs. He lacks the empathy necessary to care about day-to-day troubles; his concern for humanity is mostly tied up in their survival as a species.

But today, something is different. Today, Maine has an inexplicable urge to get out there and help people.

So here he is, on the lookout for anyone who might need help with something. Whether that thing is big or small doesn't seem to matter to him. If he spots someone in a pinch, the seven-foot-tall mass of muscle will stroll right on up and grunt out, ]

Need help?


ii. flash forward

[ It's not the first time that Maine has found his body suddenly aged, becoming heavily scarred and incapable of speech. But this time, it's not just his body. This time, he gains two years worth of memories — and they're not pleasant at all.

To Maine, the memories are secondary to the pain in his head. He's frequently found with his shoulders hunched and his eyes closed, one hand resting over the dataport at the base of his skull. Other times it seems to hit him out of nowhere, causing him to grimace and reach up to clutch his head.

When he's not visibly in pain, Maine practically radiates an unfriendly aura. Far from offering to help others, he's now more likely to glare at anyone who attempts to approach. ]


iii. i am beowolf

[ Say hello to a fucking giant smoky werewolf thing. This creature is absolutely massive, easily standing ten feet tall and built like … well, like Maine: a tank. Its glowing red eyes, gleaming teeth, and razor sharp claws are enough to send any sane person scampering…

But those who don't immediately flee may notice that the creature isn't attacking. Those glowing eyes appear eerily intelligent, and it frequently does things like stand on its hind legs and gesture with its front paws.

Perhaps it's trying to communicate? ]


(( ooc: got another idea? come at me! i can be reached @ twofouroneten for plotting. "flash forward" art was commissioned from nirnroot! ))

the meta | closed to plans

[bloodbathing]

[ This isn't where they're supposed to be.

It's not the first time that the Meta has woken up disoriented. It happens more often than not. They spend their first moments of consciousness trying to piece together where they are and what's happened to them. Trying to make sense of the holes in their mind and the crushing sense of emptiness that pounds through their veins.

Even when they piece together who they are (what is left) and what they're missing (Alpha Delta Beta Omega Gamma Theta Eta Iota SIGMA), they still can't figure out why they're here. Where's the snow? Where's the purple medic? Where's Washington?

They don't know. And they don't understand why they're not wearing their armor.

The first thing they do is locate it. It's not far, thankfully, though they can't imagine why they were … what? Sleeping outside of it? Then they look more closely at the armor, and…

This isn't their armor. It was, once, before Agent Maine's injury. Before Sigma. Before they became the Meta. But this isn't their armor. This is a fucking relic.

It doesn't make sense. None of this does.

They put it on anyway. It makes their skin feel more like it belongs to them. Makes them feel marginally more complete — even if it doesn't quite fit the way it should. Then, with the Brute Shot in hand, they set off to try and figure out what the fuck is going on. ]

[counterblows]

[Thank god he seems to be human again. Not covered in fur, not wobbling in a body that doesn't fall apart so much as falls forward and nearly takes him with it, not any of it. For once, for a minute, Wash seems to be mercifully, blissfully...normal.]

[Well. Maybe "normal" is a bit of a reach. It always is, for him.]

[Still, if Wash is back to baseline, maybe everyone else is too. He starts jogging, keeping an eye out for anyone he recognizes. It's not a surprise when it's the biggest guy he knows that draws his eye first.]

Maine! Buddy! Hey - you back to normal too?

[bloodbathing]

[ They know that voice. They know it well. But the tone is all wrong, pulling at memories from years and years ago. Memories from before they became the Meta, back when they were still a singular being. When they thought that "Agent Maine" was the best that they could be.

That is not their name.

Behind the gold dome of their visor, the Meta bares their teeth in a low snarl as they swivel their head toward Washington. It's a warning, and it's reflected in their body language: head lowered, muscles tense, weight pitched forward as though they're about to charge. There are no words, but the meaning is clear: what the fuck did you say? ]

[counterblows]

[Oh.]

[The shift is immediate and impossible to ignore and it draws him up short with a jolt so rapid that he feels his heart compress, painfully, in the hollow scoop of his chest. There's no mistaking it. There's just no way. The growl, the body language, the hostility, the furious question present in the low positioning of the tension on Maine's massive frame.]

[Not Maine.]

Right.

My mistake.

[His tone, by contrast, has dropped to positively icy.]

Meta.

[bloodbathing]

[ The low growl wanes, and the Meta straightens slightly, satisfied with that response. They don't know why Washington was confused. He shouldn't have been. They haven't been Agent Maine in a long, long time. But it's as it should be now; Washington's cold tone is familiar, and the name is theirs.

As they turn to face Washington fully, they get a better look at him. More precisely, they get a better look at that armor. Their head cocks to the side just slightly — an instinctive motion rather than a deliberate one — and they begin to move closer.

Agent Maine approached all things directly, head held high and confidence (pride) in every step. The Meta does not. They keep their chin tucked and move at an angle, aiming to circle the man and examine his armor from all sides.

Walking directly up to Washington and peering down at his armor from up close is something a friend might do. But Washington is not their friend. Washington left them empty. The Meta knows better than to trust him. ]

iii

[motherfucking_ghost]

[Ohhhhhhhh god, oh, that thing is somehow even taller than Church-as-Faust in all of his 9'3-ness, and listen, Faust may be fit for an older guy, but he's not built like a brick shithouse or anything. He lets out a noise that is very manly and not at all a squeak, hands fumbling for the giant scalpel weapon to brandish. He'll run away if he has to, but if there's a fight, he'll fight!

Only there doesn't seem to be a fight.

In fact it seems to be trying to get his attention, maybe?]

...Hi?

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine has long since grown accustomed to being a big (read: fucking massive) man. He knows how intimidating his size can be, and he knows that this form is even more intimidating than his normal one. That's why he chose to approach the other man, despite having no idea who it is; he figured that someone nearly as big — or at least, almost as tall — might not instantly flee or try to attack.

For a moment, Maine thinks that he might've been wrong. He tenses as the man reaches for a weapon, lips automatically drawing back to expose long, sharp teeth. But then the stranger seems to reconsider, and Maine represses the urge to strike first. Good thing he does; a moment later, the stranger speaks.

Maine's huff of satisfaction comes out a lot more menacing than he intends. Whoops.

The Freelancer raises a clawed hand (paw?) and gives an unmistakable wave. Then he drops to all fours begins attempting to use one claw to write letters in the dirt. ]

[motherfucking_ghost]

Oh, god, okay, you're intelligent and not going to eat me. Good, I don't, uh. Think this body's got a lot of meat on it.

[Listen. The rabbits are killer. And that white wolf running around has intelligence. And he's met a talking cat. He really needs to stop making assumptions about any animal-like creature.

He crouches down by the fuzzy giant, using the blunt end of the scalpel to balance these creaky bones.]

No talking, huh? That must really blow. If you used to be a person. Maybe you weren't! I can't fucking tell anymore; weird body swapping power swapping bullshit is happening and--oh, what are you writing?

[bloodbathing]

[ Whoever this person is, they're a talkative one. A rambler, even. Maine glances up briefly when the stranger crouches down, but otherwise remains focused on attempting to write with his claw.

It's harder than it should be. Maine doesn't write often, and doing so with a giant claw is hardly something he's practiced. But he slowly manages to carve out a few sharp, spiky letters: ]

M A I N E

[motherfucking_ghost]

...Whoa! Maine, buddy! You're even bigger now!

And so fuzzy. [Listen. He has to pet. He has to give Maine a pet atop his fuzzy kind of terrifying head.]

Man, I coulda been a fucking...werewolf or whatever? I had to get stuck in weirdo ultra-flexible old surgeon man? Oh! [Facepalm.] Shit, duh, it's me--Church, it's Church!

ii

[counterblows]

[Wash is, currently, trying to make this body work. It looks like his, at least externally, but it's kicked him out of it more times than he can count, at this point. His actual form is more equivalent to your standard military-grade A.I., and this shape he's propelling around the islands is the robotic body his body seems to have been turned into.]

[Objectively speaking, it's hell.]

[Right now, at least, he's in his ordinary body - which is to say, the robotic one that looks like him in full armor. He hasn't yet figured out how to keep himself from slipping out of it, but for now, he's moving carefully enough that it hasn't been a problem.]

[Keeping tabs on everyone else has been the worst. But when he sees Maine he immediately speeds up - ]

[And then stops.]

[He recognizes those scars.]

...Maine? Buddy?

[Is that you in there?]

[bloodbathing]

[ Unlike so many others, Wash doesn't receive a glare when he approaches. Nor does Maine's posture speak of tightly reined aggression or outright disdain. It's better than it could be — especially since he actually responds to the name, and does so without snarling an objection.

But Maine also doesn't relax the way he usually does when seeing Wash. There's nothing open about his expression. He just looks … indifferent.

After a moment spent looking at Wash's visor (still that updated armor, he notes), Maine raises his eyebrows slightly:

"What?" ]

[counterblows]

[...it's him. It has to be. Right?]

[Unless it's not.]

[No verbal answer. That's not strange. None of this is...strange, yet. But given the way everyone is being shuffled around in terms of bodies and species and everything else, how else is he supposed to read that?]

Just...making sure it's you. I mean, people have been ending up in other people's bodies and stuff. Wanted to check your status.

[bloodbathing]

[ Ah. That.

Maine's yet to experience a shift in species, but he's not oblivious to what's going on around him. He doesn't care about it — cares even less now than what feels (and doesn't feel) like two years ago — but he's noticed it.

He raises a shoulder in a careless half-shrug. ]

"My body."

[ It's not words. Not exactly. It's an attempt at words; Maine's lips, at least, still form them correctly. But his maimed tongue doesn't move the way it should, and what's left of his vocal cords produce noises that barely sound human.

It should be shocking and disturbing. It's not. Maine's had two years to accept it. He just wishes he had Sigma to speak as well. ]

[counterblows]

[Oh, no.]

[The scars on his throat. The way he can't form the words. Wash's heart is a knot of tissue tightening like a fist in his chest, and he swallows hard. Is it just physical? Does he remember anything else?]

[What else does he remember?]

[Sigma?]

[His head has to be empty. It has to be, if Sigma isn't speaking for him. He never hesitated to. He spoke far too much, and - ]

Your - your phone. Think you can...?

[A loose gesture with his hand, mimicking typing on a keyboard.]

ii.

[uptightness]

[She's back in her own body, which is a blessing. Sure, she hadn't been as bad off as some, but it's like slipping back in to something that is completely comfortable. Carolina knows her strengths and weaknesses, knows what aches in the mornings and what can easily be strained. Thankfully it hadn't lasted too long, and nothing seems to be messed up or missing from her items. She can't explain what or how it had happened, but that's typical with this place.

It's her morning exercises that she's gone through, glad for that familiar burn. The other body hadn't been bad, but it hadn't been what she was used to. She's stretching as she walks back towards her own residence, planning on changing in to a drier set of clothing, when she does spot a familiar frame.]

Everything okay?

[Maine's clutching at his head, and it's not until Carolina gets a little closer that she notices those obvious differences from the Maine she knows here.]

[bloodbathing]

[ It takes longer than he'd like for Maine to pull his hands away from his head. Only a few seconds, but it's a few seconds too long. He manages it, though. Drags his fingers away from the back of his skull and sucks in a breath, wiping as much of the pain from his expression as possible. It leaves him looking more blank than anything, but it's better than showing how much it hurts.

When he turns to face Carolina, it's with an attentive posture that doesn't reach his eyes. And he nods; yes, everything is fine.

(It's not true. But she can't fix it. Only Sigma can, and Sigma isn't here.) ]

[uptightness]

[Right. She should have phrased that better, knowing that a yes or no question would get a definitive and final answer, without any of the information to back it up. Emotions and feelings had never been something to be talked about, although lockers may have been punched and tempers may have flared from time to time. All surface stuff, nothing too deep, although she knows as good as anyone how hard it is to let the walls crack a little to let someone in.]

What's the matter?

[Try it that way, as he's as fine as she had been when she had been stabbed in the leg. In other words, not fine at all. This place had clearly been up to something, but it's so varied and all over the place that Carolina has no damned idea as to what.]

[bloodbathing]

[ Sigma should be here to answer. Sigma should be here to speak for him. To speak for them. Instead, Maine is left pressing his lips together as he tries to figure out how to answer a question that requires more than a 'yes' or 'no.'

It used to be easier. A gesture and a grunted word or two were more than enough. But Sigma speaks so often that Maine is out of practice communicating on his own. And it's not as though he can say anything at all.

After a notable pause, Maine raises a hand to deliberately tap his dataport with a fingernail so that it makes a noise. Then he shakes his head: "empty." ]

[uptightness]

[There's a hint of an edge to her, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling, although it's not like he's growling and ripping her AI out of her port. Yet there is that distinct change as well. Her eye brows furrow a little, trying to ponder it over.

Someone had... taken it? Although that seems unlikely, unless it was someone with a lot of power, perhaps less of the physical kind and more of the magical kind. It's not like Maine to lose it either. He'd never been careless with things like that, keeping his weapons in as pristine condition as they all did. Perhaps it had become damaged.

This time she does settle for a question that is more easily answered.]

It's not there?

i.

[a_shadow]

[ Tex was foraging for fruit when Maine approached her. She's working her way down a tree when he asks if she needs help and her response is to give him a light glare. Shimmying up and down these trees isn't fun, just annoying, but it isn't like she can't handle it.

After a second it occurs to her that might not be what he's asking, though. He probably knows that by the time she gets down to where he might be able to reach her she's liable to jump the rest of the way, anyway. ]

You want to help pick fruit?

[bloodbathing]

[ If he's bothered by the glare, Maine doesn't show it. He just waits to see if she'll give any other answer. If not, he'll take the glare as a "no" and be on his way. But she eventually does answer; Maine responds with a shrug, then a nod.

Picking fruit sounds fine. Helping his teammate sounds better. ]

[a_shadow]

[ Tex leaps to the ground and picks up the sling at the base of the tree to hand to him. ]

Okay, well, we can work as a team, I guess. I can pick more if I don't have to carry down what I can hold every few. So just...stand at the bottom of my tree and catch what I throw down.

[ She removes her satchel and takes a few fruits out—the ones she had just picked—and holds them out for him to put them in the sling. ]

[bloodbathing]

[ That "I guess" says volumes. Maine finds himself mulling it over as he nods again and accepts the fruit. It seems like an odd thing to bother him, but it also seems odd that it's so unusual. Why is working as a team strange? Why is it the exception rather than the rule?

Maine knows that he and Texas are teammates. He knows that they should be able to work together at least as well as he's able to work with York. So why don't they help each other?

It's not until Texas has worked her way back up the tree that Maine gives voice to some of his thoughts. ]

"I guess." [ Repeated with the same inflection she had used. He cocks his head slightly, brow furrowed. ] Teammates. Should be normal.