Futuristic gestalt ✦ rp

[Klown]

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Prelude.

The gas station’s blinding fluorescence welcomes you. It’s all straight lines, sharp angles, and spotless windows. The lights hum at a consistent pitch, nary a flicker in sight. The inside seems to stretch longer than the outside, but maybe that’s a consequence of its impeccable cleanliness.

The shelves are fully stocked, each product perfectly aligned by size and coordinated color, as if never having been touched. The air smells sterile, artificial. The soft, fruit scent of lemon cleaner dulling your nostrils. You’re startled by your reflection on the floor, polished white and smooth. Not a single footprint or drop in sight despite the damp shoes of those who stepped in before you, soaked with snow.

A sourceless unease coils around the back of your neck, the distinct feeling of being watched. A clerk stands behind the counter—a little too still, a little too smiley.

The blizzard wails louder outside.

You might as well get comfortable.

 

[Kameron Esters-]

The bell above the door barely sounded as Darn stepped inside, boots tracking melted snow across the too-clean tile.

First, it hit him like a smack: a lemon cleaner. Strong. Too strong. Like stepping into a freshly sanitised hospital room, sharp and artificial, almost stinging his nose. Darn figured he might as well have been sniffing Lemon-scented Pine Sol straight from the bottle. First instinct was to shake off the cold, rub his hands together for warmth, but he hesitated as he glanced down.

The floor was spotless. Like, "see your own reflection" spotless. He might as well have been standing on a mirror.

Despite the storm raging outside, there wasn't a single footprint or wet streak anywhere. Not one traced amid the other customers who walked ahead of him.

Weird.

He could practically eat off this floor if he wanted to.

If Heaven was a floor, this would be it.

He blew out a breath before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat, and started toward one of the aisles, eyes scanning the shelves. Fully stocked. Perfectly arranged. Like a crime had never been committed against a single item. Not a single bag of chips out of place, not one tin dented.

His gut told him something was off, but his brain told him to quit being paranoid. A gas station looking too clean wasn't exactly a crime. Hell, maybe the clerk just took their job way too seriously.

"Okay," he muttered to himself more out of habit than anything. "Let's see if they got coffee in this place."

"Let's see if they got coffee in this place," echoed a voice.

His voice.

Darn stopped walking.

It had been soft, just behind him, like someone whispering over his shoulder. He turned instinctively and scanned the aisle. No one. Just shelves of perfectly aligned snacks and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above.

For a long second, he just stood there, staring at nothing, lips pressed into a thin line. Then, shaking his head, he muttered, "Man, I need sleep... I knew I shouldn't have eaten breakfast before driving..."

He kept moving.

By the time he found the coffee station, he had already convinced himself he had either mumbled under his breath without realising it or just imagined the whole thing. Either way, no biggie. He grabbed a cup, shook out a packet of sugar, pretending to focus on normal things. Regular, gas-station things like... Are the bathrooms as clean as the rest of the place? Because that would be a legitimate first if they were.

Then, just as he reached for the coffee pot—

"You don't actually want that."

Darn froze.

This time, the voice was right there against his ear. Close enough that he could almost feel the breath of it. But there was no breath. No body. No one.

His jaw tensed.

His fingers curled tighter around the empty cup.

It wasn't just the words-it was the way it spoke. Like it knew something he didn't. Like it was stating a fact.

Slowly, deliberately, Darn turned his head, scanning the station again. His pulse was steady, but his brain? His brain was throwing hands.​

His pulse was steady, but something slow had coiled in his chest now.

He blinked. His fingers hovered over the handle. "... Excuse me?"

No answer. Just silence.

Slowly, he turned his head, scanning the station again.

Okay. So. Either:​

1. He was officially losing it.​
2. This gas station was haunted.​
3. Or the coffee was so bad even the supernatural felt obligated to warn him.​

"... Is it that bad?" he asked the air, half-joking.

No response.

He looked back at the coffee pot. Then at his cup.

Then, with the same kind of tired, resigned energy of a man who had seen too much weird shit in his lifetime, he poured himself a cup anyway. "Nothing that a ton of sugar and cream won't fix."

Interacting with:​

 

[PawPawkit]

Newton yanked open the door to the gas station, his backpack on his shoulders, snow on his purple sweater and in his hair. He normally wouldn't be this violent with doors, but his bladder feels as if it's being squeezed, and he really, really needs to find a bathroom. He hastily stamps his foot on the floor, and as he does so, he notices a smell. The smell hits him lightly in the face. Lemon. Not the pleasant kind, exactly, but not the strong disinfectant kind of lemon smell, either. It's somewhere in between.

Ommmmmm, bzzt, bzzt. That's usually not a good sign, the lights sounding like they could go off at any moment. Newton looks up, but the lights are still working...Normally, staring at lights directly is a bad idea, but normally, lights flicker when they hum. Newton blinks, and the lights hum again. Umumumumumumum. Lights also normally don't hum so rapidly....Newton tears his eyes away from the lights. He approaches the counter, hoping to ask the clerk if there's a bath-

The clerk's smile is stretched from ear to ear, standing stock still. Newton's bladder clenches even further, and in spite of himself, the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Although he should ask the clerk where the bathroom is, he can't bring himself to, so he starts walking towards the back of the gas station store, where bathrooms inevitably end up being. He starts walking towards the back of the store.

As Newton scanned the shelves as he was walking, he noticed that the shelves had not a single speck of dust. In fact, nothing was out of place, nothing had been taken...maybe everything was on the floor?

Newton stopped, and saw that the floor was spotless as well. Newton could see the entire store perfectly, he could see that the shelves were even color coded, he could see the clerk(who was still smiling), he could see that he was the dirtiest thing here. He could see the antitheft mirror above the door, he could see-
A person! A moving person, more specifically. Maybe this person knew where the bathroom was, and he didn't have to guess. He could see that the person was at a coffee station. He veered off from his original course, his new destination being the coffee station.


"Excuse me," Newton called out in a conversational tone. "Do you know where the bathroom is, if there is a bathroom here?"


interactions: Kameron Esters-

 

[efferve]

noe alvere

location

gas station

interactions

clerk Klown

Artificial flavors always lingered on his tongue like an overstaying guest. Much like the way snow melted in his hair or how the cold clung to his bones, undeterred by the fact that he had left the blizzard minutes ago.

Three little miseries, each one easily traced back to his own partial fault.

Then, no one had told him to make a quick stop when his destination was only two jumps away. No one had forced him to leave the car without a hat, or even just his jacket. Neither did anyone make him dig through his bag of lollipops like a man actively seeking cavities. Yet somehow, he still found himself with only one left. One that was already on its slow but steady journey into his bloodstream.

Noe swirled the candy in his mouth as he trudged through the aisles, savoring its poor attempt at imitating the taste of blueberries. A bad combination with the scent of lemon tainting the air in such a concentration that he could taste it alongside the fruit. Had someone poured an entire bottle onto the floor and called it a day?

Regardless, his eyes diligently roamed the shelves, taking in all the vibrant colors and exotic flavors vying for his attention, screaming for a buyer. All for the low price of one measly conscience nagging him about maintaining a better diet.

Weird. He thought he had already flushed that down the toilet along with the remains of last week’s spicy instant ramen.

What a persistent companion.

Yet even it couldn’t resist the temptation of discounted—likely close to expiration—lychee-flavored lollies. So Noe took the package, weighed it in his hand, and made his way to the queue-less counter. On his way, he distantly noted the two silhouettes hogging the coffee pot which… again, tempting, but perhaps later. When it was less crowded.

Breezing past the prickling obnoxiousness of the clerk’s plastered customer-service smile, Noe placed his purchase down. "With cash," he said, reaching for his back pocket.

He paused. A soft pat. Then another.

"Ah." His hands switched to his front pockets, checking them slowly. Nothing. "Shit," he muttered. Did he leave it in his jacket?

Noe sighed. Small and short. "Whatever. You take card too, right?"

While fishing for his phone, which he knew he had on him, his head tilted downward. Blinking, Noe met blue eyes in the white, crystal-clear desk. His own reflected face stared back. The same dirty-blond hair framing his face, the same nose, mouth, and even the piercings in his ears. Normal. Unassuming. Motionless and quiet.

Yet somehow, the sight still sent small shivers prickling down the back of his neck. Completely unrelated to the freezing temperatures seeping into the station from outside.

Noe looked up again, staring at the unmoving cashier. His phone awkwardly hanging in his hand in-between the clerk and him.

How odd.

Maybe the nicotine withdrawal was hitting him harder than usual.

code by @Nano

 

[Zedalith]

Vega Riviera

The Journalist

Gas Station

ridin’ that high

interactions

nil

The world before him was a blank canvas. While pure motes of ice clung to his windows, his windshield wipers struggled to keep pace. White as far as his eyes could see, the coal-black road scantly visible behind the vast sheet. Treads of tires crunched into the snow. At first, his ears knew every revolution of the sound. Then, the miles stretched on, and so too did the violence of the sound's intrusion. Cold has a way of numbing. Mind, body, and all facets of humanity become all as one, leaving entropy to starve in its perpetual gluttony.

There–light, neon, blinking, humming. Relief? No, not quite. Hope? No, he wasn't that stupid. But something. A tether, maybe, after all those miles of feeling unmoored. A business in a sea of nothingness. He would not be shocked to find a neatly cut hole in one of the bathroom stalls. But right now? Might as well be a cathedral.

Cool air became a biting knife, edge prodding at the fat of his fingers. The digits traced patterns in the rubber lining of his steering wheel. Anything, anything, to remind himself of his aliveness. Snow blurred the world’s edges, like a dream that stretched into infinity; with each blink, he felt a part of himself dissolving. He exhaled, breath fogging the windshield, tired eyes struggling to focus on the road ahead. I need to keep moving.

His engine purred to a stop and died with a lurching rumble. Car parked neatly within barely visible white lines. His door opened with a crack, ice and snow crumbling under the momentum of his arm. His coat was like camouflage under the wrapping of snow. Dark fur poking around his collar, gloves covering the bulk of his hands. He held himself, forearms close to chest, his face quizzical, as he stepped into the station’s threshold.

Bright, sterile light made him hang on the edge of whiplash. The sight was uneasy, everything clerical. Too neat, too prim to belong to a gas station on civilization's fringe. Like a stock photo he might use as fluff in one of his articles. The perfect spot for a timeless still in a movie. His camera finds his hands before his mind is up to pace; the shutter button clicks, and the colors all blend. White like the bleached bones of a corpse, pink like a wound struggling to close. No grime, no cigarette butts ground into slush, no lot lizards soliciting.

Beautiful, hideous, breathtaking. He sees it as if it’s already happened–this place wrapped in yellow hazard tape, blood falling like petals against this impeccable marbled floor. A body—where? By the register, maybe, slumped over like a broken mannequin. Or near the coolers with condensation hanging over it like mist on a glass door. In his mind, he’s already writing the article. The lonely outpost where the world unraveled.

His breath fogs against the screen. The photo is normal. Just a gas station, silent and waiting. His stomach knots. For what? Breathe in through the nose and out the mouth. The camera fell into place, back to hanging off the ribbon round his neck. He felt like a thief slinking away with the heist of a lifetime, a satisfied smile lazily grazing on his face.

He stretched, large arms intruding upon the sky, cat-like eyes falling into every creak, every crevice. Slot machine.Tucked away in a corner–why are you hiding? He descends onto it, his body smoothly filling the rounded cushioned stool. There’s no rush–the snow outside only offers an ivory scaphism, and this place? It was easy, homely, and falling into it felt like realizing your feelings for a childhood crush.

The coin struggles to find purchase in his still-shivering grip. Pulled from the wallet and slotted into the machine by the dozen. He hears something clink internally as they fall inside, and the machine lights up with a bone-rattling hum. Garish, neon, holy.

Spin.

Cherry.
Seven.
Bar.

The wrong combination. The right omen. The tiles beneath him are too clean. Too perfect. They are waiting. They are begging. His reflection stares back at him from the glossy screen, warped and split by the lights. He does not recognize the man looking at him.

Spin.

Seven.
Banana.
Orange.

His jaw clenches so tight his teeth ache. Heat rises in his throat, bitter, sour. His hand moves before his mind catches up—BANG. Fist to metal, he slams down with a closed fist. “Fuck.” The kiss of it stings his flesh. The machine screen glitches for a second, and he holds his breath. Did it just—? No. No, just his mind playing tricks again, same as it always does. He reaches for another coin.

 

[Alien222]

Cosmo Crabtree

The white rubber of Cosmo's barely worn sneakers squeaked against the floor softly as he walked in. It wasn’t much, it wasn't even loud, but it still set off a fit of anger within the young man; the beginnings of rage that would most likely strangle him for hours.
Still, he didn’t let it show on his round face, a seemingly genuine smile remaining there.

He greeted the clerk as amicably as he could manage after almost having his toes frozen off. He did rather well considering he was thinking of pulling out the blonde bastard's teeth one by one with a plier so as to permanently rid the world of the ugliest smile he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing (in his personal opinion).

He walked over to the snack aisle, denim coat safely tucked under his arm as his mind and eyes wandered around the store.

The floor was clean. Too clean. The type of clean that was so sterile it reminded him of hospitals and a germaphobe of a cousin that he'd rather forget completely. For a brief moment, he considered just messing up the store for the sole purpose of getting it to look normal.

‘But then the clerk would protest,’ logic whispered in his ear.

‘We can always just add his blood to the mess.’ Spite chipped in, ‘Get something good and heavy to do it. Besides, that waste of oxygen clearly has nothing to do with his life, scraping down perfectly good tiles with God knows how many chemicals and scrubs to make it the most useless mirror known to man. And that stench, why? Why all that air freshener that could've been used for quite literally anything else but making us suffer? Waste creates waste upon waste…’

‘Shush. There's consequences to such things, and besides, we can't commit such acts of violence ,’ Logic once again came around, irate this time.

‘Why not?’

‘You know damn well why not!’ Reason shouted, ‘Look around!’

Cosmo looked around the station once again but this time tried to keep looking despite his eyes landing on a few things that irritated him; things were lined up too evenly, every brand he could imagine was present(complete waste of money and time getting all of those brands), and the lights were far too bright, setting off not only his anger but also his sensory issues.

There were people, of course, none he considered decent at first glance (one or two were slightly above scum, everyone else was instantly categorised as beneath it and below them was the blonde bastard behind the counter).

There were the usual items a store like this possessed: mediocre food, drinks and a few miscellaneous things like batteries, and painkillers.

‘What is it? What in hell's name are you trying to show me?’ Rage questioned, furious now - but when was the thing ever not furious?

‘There's no blunt force objects around, you idiot! There is nothing to-’

‘Fine, fine, you don't have to shout.’

Cosmo, no longer wanting to stand awkwardly in the middle of an aisle and give funny little voices to the emotions and thoughts within him, began to peruse around the store, listening out for anything interesting he could eavesdrop on for a bit of fun.

(No interactions currently )

 

[Gigglecake]

Joann's pick-up truck made a few sputtering noises as she slowed to a stop in front of the pump. The snowy wind howled outside. She could barely see, but she was able to notice that the gas station was full. She'd picked up a hitchhiker on the way by the name of Jasper and had taken pity on the poor guy in a blizzard. Now, her momma had always told her not to pick up strangers, but the guy looked scrawny, and she had pepper spray. If he started something, she could take him pretty sure. She made him sit in the back seat because the front seat was reserved for her homemade cherry pie. She still needed to get it to Mary-Beth's house in one piece.

She didn't learn much about him beyond his name, his age, and the fact that he was on a "low budget" (that much was more than obvious), but she found him easy enough to talk to. She shared her name in return and mentioned she grew up on a farm and ran a donut shop but not much else. After she finished pumping gas and cleaning her hands with some hand sanitizer, she shouldered her tote bag purse (pink and with the word "Yeehaw" emblazoned on it in glittery letters) and picked up her pie. She waited for Jasper to get out, then shut the doors and locked them (making sure they were locked - she didn't quite trust her hitchhiking "friend" just yet).

She headed into the gas station and was met with the scent of lemon cleaner and the impression that everything was way too clean. She'd been in a few gas stations in her time, and this was the cleanest gas station she'd ever been in. It was unnatural. No gas station was THIS clean. Heck, her house wasn't even THIS clean. Not that she kept her house that clean to begin with, but even so...

Might have even been cleaner than granny's house back when she was alive. She cast a glance at the clerk who was just standing there... smiling. He looked way too happy for someone who worked at a gas station.

Welp. This is getting weird. Best to get in and get out.

She didn't immediately notice the slot machines instead browsing the aisles for snacks and getting a cup for the cappucino machine that sold hot chocolate. She put the snacks halfway in her purse and announced loudly. "I ain't stealin' none. I just got a lot to carry with this here pie and all. I'll be up in a minute."

 

[Klown]

Interaction: Noe Alvere
efferve

Porcelain white teeth beneath smooth lips aligned as if meticulously straightened by ruler; a cutting white, like a polished blade drawn against the mouth, curved into a smile. He was a man of average stature, back pulled stiffy upright. He looked carved from mundanity’s very foundation; unblinking brown eyes, combed blonde hair, dimpled cheeks. His uniform shirt was as crisp as the tiled floors, a nametag hooked to its left breast-pocket.

Silence filled the gaps of each breath the clerk did not take, his chest a stagnant mass. The torso of a doll held by a taught string.

“Of course.” Even his voice was as polite, placid timbre. Lilted by a taste of sweetly neutral customer service. His arms had not moved to scan the item nor press any buttons on the register. They remained at his sides, permanent fixtures, pretty accessories.

The pin pad blinked awake; the phone screen flashed green with a bold checkmark flicking over top of it. Not a single app had been opened. There was no reception. There was no internet connection.

“Will you be having your receipt today?” The clerk inquired as the machine sputtered and spat out a white piece of paper. His arms moved with mechanical grace, finishing one direction before beginning another. Up, right, down, then up again to pluck the receipt from its printer. He extended the slip to Noe, smile growing every so slightly.

“May the day have you nicely.”

​

 

[Kameron Esters-]

Darn had just taken a sip of the coffee: burnt, watery, and vaguely insulting. "Tastes like... Success," He sarcastically mused to himself "This'll certainly keep me awake on the road..." He muttered to himself when he heard the voice behind him.


"Excuse me, do you know where the bathroom is, if there is a bathroom here?"


Darn turned, cup still in hand, and took in the guy standing in front of him: Young, way too cold-looking, and shifting his weight like he was one second away from an emergency.


His first instinct was to shrug and tell him to ask the clerk. Then he actually remembered the clerk.


That damn smile...


Yeah. No. Not exactly the kind of guy you wanted to ask about bodily functions. Not that Darn knew him personally, but still.


Darn exhaled through his nose, glanced around like he had any better idea of how this place worked, then gave the most honest answer he could.


"Man, I dunno," he admitted, rubbing a hand down his face. "But if I had to guess, it’s either in the back..." He paused dramatically and added, "Or it doesn’t exist at all, OoOoOoOoOoO!"


He took another sip of the coffee. Yep. Still awful. Just the way he liked it...

Interacting with: Newton Lang ( PawPawkit )​

 

[AI10100]

ELISE MOORE

INFORMATION

LOCATION

Gas Station, Alabama (?)

INTERACTIONS

Cheryl

MENTIONS

Ambiloquous

“freezing in bum fuck alabama?!”

Artist

misa

POST

A slew of expletives marched out of Elise's mouth as the snowstorm only picked up in strength as they drove down one of the emptiest stretches of road she had ever seen now completely covered by white. It hadn't even been a few hours since she had seen the sun bouncing off of the asphalt of highway in some nondescript area of Alabama and now, somehow, they had gotten themselves in the middle of a problem. On top of her rising frustration at the odd turn of weather, the music bleeding out of the radio began to sputter and die out to nothing but dead air courtesy of their beloved blizzard.

"I don't think I can see two feet in front of me..." She muttered, not really caring if Cher actually heard the slightest amount of panic in her voice. Elise had done many, many, reckless things in her life but driving through deep snow at the height of a blizzard was not one of them— and she was not eager to face these trials and tribulations.

Like a shining beacon of heaven, an oasis in the middle of a desert, the lighthouse to guide ships to dock— a gas station with a convenience store. Without waiting for Cher's input in the matter, Elise slowly turned to it and parked. "This was not something I expected to happen in any part of this trip." She grumbled before flashing a small, defeated smile that looked more like a grimace than anything at her best friend and passenger princess. "Come on, let's wait this off inside. Maybe you could film the blizzard and like, I don't know, advocate against climate change or something? Because I have no idea what else could explain a blizzard in bum fuck Alabama."

She shook her head as she reached back to grab her bag and slung it around her. She waited for Cher to be ready before hopping out of the SUV and scurrying inside, welcoming the relatively warmer heat inside the convenience store against the biting cold outside. She grumbled another few choice words as she dusted off the bits of snow that clung to her clothing and she lingered by the entrance for Cheryl.

Elise took that short amount of time to take in her environment. Sparkling clean floor, blindingly bright lights, fully stocked shelves— she had to admit, she was mad impressed by whoever was running this place. This has to go into some sort of convenience store review on Yelp. The thought to pull out her phone just to search where she was entered her body at the same time as a full body shiver. "Jesus Christ, I'm gonna look for a pocket warmer or a hot meal or something. I hate this." With that, she took off to look for anything that resembled anything remotely heated for her to hold for the duration of their stay.

 

[Wyll]

GESTALT

Cassidy
McNamara

Cassidy held the steering wheel so tight that the leather of the steering wheel cried under his grip. White knuckles almost blended in with the snowscape before him and his fingers were so cold that he was certain that they had already frozen to the wheel and would need to be pried off whenever he got to his parents’ house, which – from where he stood – seemed like an eternity away.

“I know, Pa, but it’ll be fine.”

Bold words coming from a California-born young man who was entirely a stranger to the concept of snow. Anyone that saw how the car skated across the road would know that he was a novice to driving in the snow.

Despite the, admittedly, dangerous conditions, Cassidy’s pride and stubbornness didn’t allow him pullover despite his father’s understandable protests.

“Pa, where would I even stop? It’s not like there’s a –” He was cut off as the outline of the gas station, lit up by the lights appeared through the snow and Cassidy could only blink at the timing. "Well, I'll be damned." With a resigned sigh, he went back to talking with his dad. “You promise y’all will be alright if I’m a little bit later?” His dad’s response had so much conviction that Cassidy couldn’t argue anymore. “Alright. Love you, Pa. I’ll see you both real soon. Tell Ma that I love her and you’re the reason I’ll be late.” He and his dad shared a laugh, and the call ended as he pulled into the gas station.

It was, undoubtedly, the worst parking job you’ve ever seen, but he made it work. At least, he didn’t crash into anyone’s car and, for Cassidy driving in the snow, that was about the biggest win you could ask for.

He got out and allowed himself the luxury of a full-body stretch, flexing his fingers to get some feeling back in them. If the cold bothered him, he most certainly wasn’t showing it. Once he could feel all his extremities again, he walked confidently into the gas station and was almost immediately blinded by the lights.

Squinting through it all, he took in the impeccable shelving, the obsessively clean floors and the – for lack of a better word – perfection of a gas station. A gas station. Notorious for being anything but perfect. To see one cleaner than most hospitals he’d stepped into was bone-chilling.

Cassidy had been standing at the doors for almost a minute before he noticed the clerk’s unnerving smile. And that was all it took for him to make up his mind.

“Ha! Nope! Not today, Satan.” He chuckled a bit more, shaking his head as he turned on his heel, making a beeline back to his car. “I know the start of a horror movie when I see one, and that was a horror movie smile.”

He got in his car, a small shiver running down his spine from the cold, but he refused to stay too long, fearing that the clerk would come out to try and stop him from leaving. His car, however, seemed to have taken the clerk’s side as it refused to start. It cranked a couple times; it offered a few hopeful clicks; it showed all the right lights; but the engine refused to come to life. Anybody inside the gas station would have heard a single, short beep of a horn as Cassidy’s head fell on the steering wheel in defeat.

First, the gas station showed up out of nowhere. Now, his car refuses to start. This had all the makings of a horror movie and Cassidy had no choice but to be in it. And, somehow, he figured tat this was his dad's fault for making him stop. After all, the car was running just fine when he was on the road. Pa, I swear, if I die in this gas station, I'm seeking you out and haunting you.

He pulled the key out of the ignition and walked around the car. He briefly considered finding out and fixing whatever was wrong with it – his training with his dad making him confident that he could get to the root of whatever the problem was. However, the howling wind and biting snow promised to turn him into a boy-cicle before he could even get a good look under the hood. Meaning he was stuck here, at least, until the wind let up and he got a chance to figure out what was wrong with the car.

“Well played, Satan. Well played,” he sighed as he turned back towards the gas station. Just thinking about the people that he saw in there that had heard his remarks; the mere thought of walking back in there with them was humiliating. Hopefully they would all think he had simply forgotten something in his car.

Mustering up whatever courage he had, he began slowly, dejectedly, walking back towards the gas station. When he opened the doors this time, his face was one of a defeated man, trying to get by without being seen or noticed.

His eyes scanned for the aisle that seemed to have the fewest number of people in it and he made a beeline for it, keeping his head down and choosing to believe that if he couldn’t see anybody, then they also couldn’t see him. A lie? To be sure. But it was enough for Cassidy. Unsure what else to do – because what ***does*** one do when stuck in a gas station due to a blizzard, he began mindlessly perusing the items in the aisle. Not necessarily looking for anything in particular, just passing the time while trying to distract from the artificial scent of lemons that assaulted his nose.

Mentions: (N/A)

 

[Gigglecake]

Joann picked out a couple of bags of chips and a soda for herself before heading to the hot chocolate machine. She saw a man nearby drinking coffee and talking to another man. Well, that seemed a little normal, at least. Though, usually, people didn't talk much in gas stations, either, unless they were asking for directions. She set her pie down on a space on the counter and pulled out a cup for the hot chocolate. She heard someone loudly laugh and declare "Nope! Not today!" and she turned to look. In truth, she couldn't blame him. There was something really off about this gas station. She shook her head and focused on pushing a button for the hot chocolate.

She raised an eyebrow a moment later when the young man came walking back in. Maybe he needed something after all. She rummaged through her purse as she was waiting for the hot chocolate and pulled out her phone. Maybe she should text Mary-Beth and let her know she'd stopped at a gas station along her route. She paused a moment noticing the screen was black. She tried to turn it on, but it refused.

Dead.

Great. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

 

[PawPawkit]

"Thank you anyway, dude." Newton didn't feel like lugging his backpack around forever, so he shrugged it off and left it with the guy in the button down shirt and tie. He continued back on his original journey, the one where he just wandered aimlessly around the gas station store, walking vaguely towards the back of the store until he found the bathroom.

Newton was now alone as he left the coffee station behind. Not in the store, because he'd heard the door open and there were other people, but the aisles that went by him had nobody. All he had were his thoughts, but he had too many to sort through. His hands were sweaty, even though it was cold, and his hands were red.

As Newton continued walking, he could hear breathing. Not his own breathing, or at least, not just his own breathing. These breaths were louder than Newton's, heavier, down his neck, in his ear. But, when Newton turned around, nobody was there, and the breaths had stopped. ...Okay? That was odd...

After a few moments' pause, Newton continued on, and the breaths seemed to have stopped...Was it the caffeine talking? Or were his thoughts getting to him? Those were the thoughts going through his head as his feet carried him on to the back of the-

And there it was, the bathroom. And above it a mirror, one that gave a view of the entire stor-

Heavy breathing again, and Newton looked in the mirror. Looming in the mirror is a man? He's a little bit hard to make out, but what from Newton can see? He's standing by an aisle, he looks tall even at this distance(the man's head is slightly above the shelf), red wide brimmed hat and red coat. This man hadn't been there before.
--
When Newton came out of the bathroom, he looked up at the mirror, but the man was no longer there. Newton blinked, he could've sworn the man had been there, had been breathing behind him, breathing down his neck. Okay, time to move back to the front of the gas station store, where there were no tall men in red hats. Just like with last time, he just let his feet carry him, trying not to think about much in particular so he didn't freak out.

As he made his way towards the clerk's counter, Newton heard cracking noises, and he stopped. He looked up, looked around. First he looked at the lights, which weren't humming (at the moment), and they seemed to be working. Next was the mirror, which seemed to okay...except, the clerk was staring at him. And the stare wasn't subtle, either, but a full on scientific observation. The clerk was learning forward, hands on the counter.

When Newton turned his head to look at the clerk, however, the hands were spaced closer together than in the reflection.

 

[Theasuke]

LUCAS NEIL

LOCATION

Gas station

INTERACTIONS

--

The wind screamed as it was left behind, snow whipping uselessly against spotless glass. Ignoring the people he passed by, a black-haired man stepped in, tugging down the zipper of his jacket. His shoulders relaxed as the warmth settled in, along with a sharp, slightly familiar smell that assaulted his nostrils. He sneezed. Was it... lemon? Lemon cleaner. Not a bad choice.

The place was too bright, fluorescent lights glowing sharply on the polished tile, mirroring the neatly stocked shelves in reflections so crisp they felt almost unreal, as if he'd stepped on the underside of the world.

Lucas felt out of place immediately. After nearly a decade working as a clerk, he knew better than anyone what a gas station should look like on an ordinary day.

Then again, just five minutes ago, he had been convinced he might actually freeze to death inside a barely-moving cubicle. Not to mention, his FM transmitter had cut out, and his reception had died soon after—right in the middle of Paramore, no less. It wasn't exactly an ordinary day.

Figuring he was better off risking being late to an appointment he did not care for—and possibly taken for dead—than actually dead, he had made his way inside.

Lucas stepped forward, browsing the aisles. His gaze flickered over the place. It had more people than he expected, given how unnervingly pristine everything was. He even spotted a flash of pink and glitter under the harsh lights, not too far away. That one sent him straight to next aisle. God forbid.

The shelves were stocked to their absolute fullness, each item standing in their exact place. It looked like a staged display, meticulously curated for an Instagram photo. Calling it organized would be an understatement. No, each and every item was color-coordinated, lined and stacked to absolute perfection. Lined to the inch.

Which crazy bastard did this? For once, Lucas felt truly astonished.

Only then did he have the mind to spare the cashier a look.

The blond stood as impeccably as the store itself, a hideous grin plastered on his face. It didn’t waver for a second, even as he opened his mouth to address the customer in line. Lucas couldn’t help but wonder if he’d accidentally wandered into the Slender Mansion, because the creature standing there could only exist if Jeff the Killer and Ben Drowned had a kid. Maybe the shippers had been onto something all along.

If this was the same guy running the entire gas station, that painfully obvious overenthusiasm would certainly explain some of the madness.

He figured either his entire family was being held hostage, or there was some shady serious money going on here. Lucas wasn't particularly afraid of the former. He almost felt tempted to walk up and ask if they were hiring.

The man pulled out his earbuds, tapping on his phone. But with no reception, there was no way he could actually be listening to anything. Still, he bobbed his head to the imaginary song playing in his ears, parting his lips along with the lyrics, appearing as nonchalant as any ordinary shopper would.

Lucas’s sharp gaze caught something. He ran his fingers through the snacks, grazing the edge of a slightly expensive chocolate bar, then slipped it into his jacket pocket, fitting snuggly against his wallet. Then came another, and another. The hole it left behind seemed to scream in its imperfection. Lucas contentedly shuffled the items around, and the pristine shelf was no more.

Truly a vile act of desecration.

No one saw that, he assured himself.

Then, as if the universe had a sense of humor, the woman with the pink bag reappeared at the other end of the aisle. As soon as he heard the word "stealing" coming out of the redhead's mouth, Lucas flinched, his face muscles tensing and twisting unnaturally, before settling back into blankness.

His eyes tracked her as she walked away, never once sparing him a glance.

Just a coincidence. One hell of a coincidence.

"Scared the shit outta me for nothing," he murmured under his breath.

With a slow exhale, he reached for the nearest extra-large bag of chips.

The weather showed no signs of easing. He might be here for a while.

He needed at least something to show.

code by @Nano

 

[timesink]

VINCENT WARD

location

the gas station entrance

interactions

everyone (?)

mentions

n/a

"Fiat voluntas tua."
​

The Latin syllables slipped into the frost-laden air, dissolving as quickly as the flakes of snow landing on Vincent's priestly garb, stealing away any last shreds of warmth as he shut his car door and began the trek across the snowdrifts. Tired eyes found themselves stumbling along a soldier's instinct, sweeping over and assessing this lone gas station's lot as best they could through the relentless whiteout. A sedan, a few beat-up SUVs, even a pickup truck — all half-drowned in snow, their windshields glossed over like dead men’s eyes. The way they were scattered across the lot reminded Vince of pieces on his grandfather’s old chessboard, abandoned mid-game. Exhaust curled from tailpipes, rising into the air like incense offered to the indifferent void. Vincent counted five cars, maybe more, not a single one of them was familiar.

That alone was strange; surely after an hour's drive along the same route he would recognize at least one. Stranger still was the fact that, for three years, Vincent had driven this route home, over the same cracked pavement, same potholes, same gas stations: BP, Shell, the rundown Marathon where the ‘O’ in its neon sign flickered like a dying prayer, and not once had he ever gotten lost.

And yet, here he was.

In the middle of nowhere, in a storm that hadn’t been on the radar, outside a gas station that had no logo, no faded corporate branding, not even the telltale stench of old diesel hanging in the air. Just a sterile, glowing neon anomaly tucked neatly into the night, as if God Himself had plucked it from the fabric of reality and dropped it here for His own amusement. It really did rub Vince the wrong way; he always checked the weather in the morning. Part of his sacred morning ritual: black coffee, the day’s readings, and a quick scan of the radar to see if God planned on throwing anything biblical his way.

So of course, this must be His will, not mere coincidence. The Lord has a way of pulling men by the collar when He wants their attention. And if this was some kind of divine nudge, then Vincent already had an idea why.

You ever wonder if some sins don’t deserve forgiveness, Father?

The voice curled at the edges of his thoughts, slick with something rancid. It had been an hour since he left the church, but the confession still clung to him, heavy as the cold in his bones, settling deep into the space between his ribs.

Vincent closed his eyes. Just get inside, Vincent.

Adjusting his grip on his briefcase, Vincent squared his shoulders, and moved. Quickly, deliberately, boots crunching over ice, cossack snapping at his legs like the lash that tore Christ's flesh. Snow blinded him, slicing sideways through the air, forcing him to hunch against the wind, his eyes locked on the gas station’s fluorescent glow.

And in that moment, he committed what was sure to be the first of the night’s many sins.

He miscalculated.

Thunk.

A sharp, skull-rattling impact. The doorframe introduced itself with all the grace of a swinging censer to the forehead. Pain exploded across his skull, sending him stumbling forward, boots skidding over the threshold. Behind him, the bell above the door jingled with a blasphemous sort of cheer.

“Shit!”

The curse had barely exclaimed itself out his lips before his briefcase, that ratty, battered companion that had survived seminary, war, and three years of parish bureaucracy, decided the impact was enough to give up the ghost. The latches snapped open with all the enthusiasm of a tired sinner at Sunday Mass, and in the next instant, sermon notes, confidential parish records, and half-scribbled reflections on Scripture went skating across the suspiciously pristine floor in an unholy flood.

Vincent froze.

His vision blurred for a moment, disoriented by the sheer sterility of it all. This was not the sort of floor a man should kneel upon to beg for mercy; this was a floor where saints might slip and break their skulls.

And God, the smell.

The lemon cleaner hit his nostrils like an exorcism, or the clean-up after a murder scene too eagerly performed, a desperate attempt to scrub away something that refused to be erased. It was too sharp, too artificial, too perfect in all the wrong ways.

Rosary swinging faintly at his chest, Saint Michael gleaming at his throat like a reminder that he had, in fact, before this precise moment once been a man with dignity, Vincent crouched down, pressing two fingers against his temple briefly before he began the painful process of gathering his scattered belongings.

And that was when he felt it. The gazes.

Vincent exhaled slowly through his nose, lifting his head to find several sets of eyes now surely fixed on him. Vincent cleared his throat, shifting his collar around with one hand, the other raising in a half-hearted, awkward gesture somewhere between a wave and a benediction. He summoned a smile that was thin, fleeting, and thoroughly unconvincing.

“Don’t mind me.”

His voice came out dry, an attempt at casual dismissal that did absolutely nothing to erase the sheer absurdity of a 6’4” Catholic priest in full clerical garb, crouched on the floor of a gas station, gathering up an avalanche of sermon notes like some tragic, overworked librarian.

Satisfied that he had at least acknowledged the collective staring, he dropped his gaze again, reaching for the nearest folder.

That’s when he saw it.

A single drop of red, striking the immaculate white tiles like a desecration. Then another, and another.

Vincent blinked.

Lifting a hand to his forehead, he pressed his fingers against the skin just above his brow. A sharp, stinging wetness greeted him, and when he pulled his hand away, his fingertips were stained a very familiar colour.

Oh.

He's bleeding.

HIS THEME

jungkook

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AI10100]

ELISE MOORE

INFORMATION

LOCATION

Gas Station, Alabama (?)

INTERACTIONS

Joann

MENTIONS

Gigglecake

“weird ass convenience store...”

Artist

misa

POST

As Elise was making her game plan to get something warm, or hot, someone had slipped into the convenience store with them, proclaimed something that sounded suspiciously like Satan and immediately moved out. She shrugged the man's odd behavior off before moving her gaze back to the inside of the store.

There were only three things she knew would warm her up in these current circumstances— coffee, hot chocolate, and tea. Tea was rarely served in any of these stop-and-go convenience stores so the first two it was. Spotting the machines only a couple of aisles away, the presence of other people nearly made her stop. She weighed her options in her mind; was she in any sort of presence of mind to talk to people?

Yes, you need something hot in your system or you will shut down. Her mind helpfully supplied, still freezing from the short amount of time she spent outside of the vehicle to retreat into the convenience store. With that settled, she bucked up and moved forward with her plan to obtain a blessed hot drink.

Her body almost instinctually pivoted to where a red-haired woman was, preferring that over the two men who stood beside the coffee machine. Elise slipped behind her, securing a paper cup for herself, and waited patiently for the woman to finish with her hot chocolate. Elise noticed how the woman seemed to be frustrated after she pulled out her phone and, well—

"Excuse me, miss?" Elise asked, raising a hand to tap her before thinking better of it. "Sorry but did you need to contact someone? I don't think I saw a payphone in here but I have a phone you can use." It was a risky move to allow a stranger to borrow your phone, yes, but Elise doubted they could get very far with the raging snowstorm outside. Which reminds me... She took out her phone and gave the older woman a bashful smile. "Can't promise there's signal out here in the storm though..."

A slam immediately caught her attention and her head whipped towards the entrance, heart a little out of pace from the surprise. Right there at the entrance was a man garbed in very familiar robes, memories of masses and communions that she hadn't gone to in years entered her mind and it made Elise want to run. "Oh shit... Father's injured." She muttered almost under her breath in a way that only her red-haired companion at the hot chocolate machine could hear.

 

[efferve]

noe alvere

location

gas station

interactions

clerk Klown lucas Theasuke

More goosebumps. The clerk’s voice rang in his ears, as smooth as the surfaces surrounding them from all sides—even his kitchen wasn’t as penetratingly clean as this place, and their standards were thorough. He was already getting a headache from the smell alone.

Ding. Noe jumped. Add an increased heart rate to that list too.

Rattled, he glanced down. The green checkmark on his phone screen flashed into his vision. Big and bold, flickering, then disappearing as swiftly as it had come. Just in time with the register itself.

Did the purchase just…? What the hell.

Noe hadn’t even opened his banking app yet. That wasn’t supposed to have worked. But it did. And why was the clerk continuing as if nothing was out of turn?

The machine printed the receipt. As it was supposed to.

The clock in the background ticked away the time. As it was supposed to.

The register had apparently just remotely hacked into his bank account. As it was—Hold on.

Speechless, Noe automatically nodded as his ears registered the clerk's question. His hands lingered in the air for a moment, twitching slightly, before quickly swapping the receipt and his purchase. His eyes flew over the printout, mouth pressed into a tight line as his pupils lingered on the date, then the product, just to stop at his full name. And as if to drive the point home, the clerk’s parting words weren’t quite right.

Absolutely, fuck no. His teeth crushed the last remains of the blueberry lollipop in his mouth. He swallowed.

Before Noe could even muster up a response, multiple loud sounds startled him from behind: the bell, glass hitting hard, a swear.

He turned just in time to see the briefcase pop open, like some kind of modern slapstick reenactment. If someone saw his lips twitch upwards in poorly suppressed laughter: No, they did not. He’d heard the occasional customer enter the station, one even repeatedly, from the muffled sounds of it, but no one had ever made an entrance quite like that.

"Don’t mind me!"

A sweet invitation to do exactly what he was already doing. Then, the man—the priest—looked two steps away from launching into a full-on sermon right there on the threshold. And Noe hadn’t been kicked out and banned from his local church just to start reliving his missed Sunday masses now. Though, to be fair, the guy probably needed a hot minute to gather himself anyway.

Noe looked away before prolonged eye contact could force him into some sort of responsibility to help. He stepped away from the counter, back towards the aisles. A short detour since the entrance was already slightly occupied. Big steps, for once, carried him forward, because the thought of staying close to the counter was far more nausea-inducing than anything else.

Which also meant forgetting the coffee. No way in hell was he drinking something prepared in this fine establishment. Curse that.

Instead, he walked past the shelves stocked with alcohol and cheese. An odd combination, but alright. Glimpses of the other customers entered his sight, just as quickly as they left. Damn, the brunette was tall. And is that dude seriously on the gambling machine?

Noe shook his head and turned the other way. Just in time to see unbothered hands vanishing snacks. He stopped. Tilted his head. Watched. Something told him the scrawny goth wasn’t going to pay the cashier a visit.

His tongue silently clicked against the roof of his mouth. Hmm.

Why not?

“Might as well save yourself the trouble of doing that,” Noe finally spoke up. Loud enough to startle, but restrained enough to not carry over to unrelated ears. His eyes trailed over the stranger’s jacket, lingering where his hands had disappeared. Then, they flicked back up to his face. A clear sign. A silent accusation. Strong enough to moot any crude or hasty denials. But, well. Don't let anyone get stopped by him.

The ominous receipt weighed heavy in his own pockets. Paper on the tip of his fingers, next to the plastic of the candy's packaging. Mindlessly, Noe opened it. Took one lolly out, crumbled the wrapping and popped it in his mouth. Tropical and sweet. As always.

"The register system is broken anyway, and the clerk apparently doesn't give a damn about the things going for free."

At least, Noe still didn't get charged. Which…yay?

code by @Nano

 

[Klown]

J a s p e r A n t o v a
location: gas station
interaction: vincent timesink ​

There weren’t astonishing levels of similarity between earth-rending blizzards and prison-adapted high schools save for the atavistic human instinct to survive. Wading through seas of depressed, loathsome teenagers could arguably compare to wading through forceful, turbulent winds of scathing ice; one was just warmer with significantly more sweat and sour odors. But unfortunate conditions for the nose weren’t where Jasper drew the likeness.

Jasper remembered Mr. Folner, his freshman year English teacher. A man with consistently dewy temples and a taste for antiquity. He shunned the projector board in favor of the white one hidden behind it, stained by years of ill wiped dry-erase markers. At the end of each class, he’d take the felt eraser and swipe at everything he’d written on the whiteboard, removing any trace of the day’s lesson. The blizzard felt something like that.

A scrubbing of the earth around them, forcing it into an indistinct white canvas. The lecture was over, all that needed explaining had been explained, and it was time to erase it all to make room for whoever was next.

Those were Jasper Antova’s thoughts as he stared out the window of Joann’s pick-up truck, nicking at the chipped nail polish on his thumb. He was lucky she’d opened the doors to him, possibly the best luck he’d had all day. She radiated warmth the biting cold outside envied, perhaps even despised. Talking to her was fun, too. It was hard to remember what exactly was said in the approximate two hours they’d been driving in the storm, but Jasper’s cheeks hurt from laughing and his mouth was in dire need of water.

When it looked like she’d finished filling up the truck’s tank, he hooked his backpack around his shoulders, hugged his guitar case close to his chest, and shimmied out of the vehicle. He’d felt the cold from inside the car, but having it actively whipped at every angle of his body was brutal.

“Did we take a wrong turn to Antarctica or somethin’?” The howling wind swallowed his voice, already muffled by the thick wool scarf around his neck. At least inside the gas station it was warmer. Probably all the lights in the place, screaming so brightly they looked about ready to burst.

A weird clerk. A pristine floor. Products that looked ironed to perfection. The only gas stations he’d been were smeared in mysterious stains and stocked with a wide selection of all the expired snacks you didn’t want. Could he even afford anything here? He patted his many pockets with one hand, the other hugging his guitar case. He wondered if the clerk would be willing to tape back together the torn-in-half twenty hiding somewhere in all his layers.

“Hey, Joann—” She was far from earshot, rapt by the allure of the hot drinks across the station. He was surprised that more people hadn’t raided it. Jasper’s lips pressed into a thin, awkward line as the uncertainty of what to do settled. Did they have hot dogs?

A silent wisp of paper glided across his ankle, landing perfectly beside him. He turned at the announcing jingle of the door, meeting with the rest of the paper’s family, all scattered onto the tiles, a man gathering them all together.

“Woah, nasty spill.” Jasper plucked the paper at his feet, then followed the trail like breadcrumbs, stacking each page in his unoccupied arm until crouched beside the man. He wore of those collars that priests usually do. “You alright, man—uh, sir?” Was that disrespectful? Was that blood? “Holy shhhiii—" He's a car with screeching breaks, face contorting into a painful grimace. "Sh-ship..." Embarrassment festered in the silence for a second before Jasper dropped his guitar case and began patting down his pockets.

“I’ve got a bandaid in here somewhere, I think. It’s superman themed. The cut doesn’t look bad, if you’re worried about that. Well, it looks bad, but it might not actually be bad. You know how the head just bleeds a lot because—oh, pause, it might get on your papers!” Jasper was barfing up words faster than he could catch and swallow them. He stopped patting down his pockets to clear the papers in the direct splash zone of the guy’s blood. “Wait, you’re not concussed, are you? Do you remember your name?” You’re supposed to ask that sort of thing when someone hits their head pretty bad right?​

​

 

[Ambiloquous]

Cheryl Seki-Feigenbaum

INFORMATION

LOCATION

Gas Station, Alabama(?)

INTERACTIONS

Vincent ( timesink ), Jasper ( Klown ), Gas Station Clerk ( Klown )

MENTIONS

El ( AI10100 )

“Why is the gas station clerk faker than me?”

Artist

𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐎

POST

Swirling flakes of white swept across her vision. The delicate crystals reflecting light with mirrored precision were a providence of nature that would never be replicated a second time. She almost opened a window to reach out, but she knew trying to grasp them in her hand would result in nothing but a puddle of what was and what would never be again.

You will never be like us, they seemed to say. We are perfection, fleeting as it is. You are failure, always.

Cheryl had started the day feeling okay. Not great, not even good, but okay. There were three times less hate comments on her newest TikTok than there were yesterday, she’d come up with a new styling concept that she thought could actually get somewhere, she was sitting in a car in the middle of a road trip with El, listening to her her silly radio songs—she didn’t want to dampen her mood by telling her CarPlay was right there—and the sun was out.

Well. The sun was out.

And now she could feel her mood slowly spiraling downwards again. Frustration bubbled up in her chest, and familiar with the sensation, she scrunched it up and shoved it deep down. She hoped it would never see the light of day, vain as it was.

"... Maybe you could film the blizzard and like, I don't know, advocate against climate change or something? Because I have no idea what else could explain a blizzard in bum fuck Alabama."

Squirming in her seat and leaning back to grab her own backpack—surprisingly spacious for a sponsored item—she laughed a little too brightly.

“I’m due for a career change, aren’t I? I’ve been in the fashion influencer sphere for a little too long. Time to switch it up and turn a new leaf!”

“Cherry Sei, environmental activist.”

She patted her chest with an attempted serious expression that unfortunately appeared more duck faced than anything.

“That has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Then the doors were open, and they had no time to say more. Frigid, biting winds tore through her mini skirt and crop top like fresh fabric scissors to crepe, piercing straight to bone in an instant. Wait, she wanted to say. Wait for me. El was so fast, her athletic background and walkable footwear bearing fruit where her skimpy fast fashion and spindly heels did not. Her teeth clattered—she didn’t know teeth could clatter, she’d thought it was an exaggeration this whole time—and her arms shook around herself. El hadn’t parked far but in the fog of white precipitation, the path looked endlessly hazy.

Focus. It was too late to regret. One step. Another step. Another and another and… then she was in. So concentrated on moving forward, she didn’t notice the shorter redhead she had passed by, complaining of devils, or the strangeness of the gas station itself.

She vaguely registered the bell and El moving away—El. She needed to be with El. She took a stride forward, her legs still shaking from residual cold. Where was El going?

Then the lemon hit and she stopped in surprise. Oh, that was strong. Her olfactory system had finally unfrozen enough to perceive the scent of a fanatical employee scrubbing the place down with excessive amounts of cleaner, and she wasn’t sure if she’d rather it not. Weren’t there rules around scents in workplaces?

It seemed the world wanted them separated still as right behind her followed a thunk of a skull hitting a hard surface. A swear. She remembered that sound. She remembered connecting her elbow into an old friend’s head, and the whiplash ricocheting them into the wall. It was an accident during practice, a little too much inattentiveness in a room too small for the number of dancers. At first, everyone thought he was fine. He thought he was fine. The next time they heard from him, he was in the hospital.

She turned around almost fearfully. Ah. Religious robes, cross on a necklace, awkward smile and red hair. What a relief the unfamiliarity was. In her daze, a scruffy boy with badly bleached hair had slid into a crouch to help the man, blabbing about “superman bandaids” and “concussions”. Freeing herself of her recollections, she skidded over herself and bent down, reaching to shuffle the papers that the boy hadn’t yet gotten into a pile. How could she have forgotten that someone was hurt?

Taking another upward glance at the stranger’s face, she winced and leaned back a little.

“Ooh, that does look pretty bad. Just in case, I’ll go ask the staff if they have a first aid kit. There can never be too many bandages, right?”

She thumbed her finger towards the gas station clerk, standing statue-still at the counter. Disregard of the door-banging incident aside, Cheryl didn’t think the average bandaid would cut it for a wound of that size, and any proper establishment would have a first aid kit lying around. Patting the thin stack of paper she had constructed fondly, she took a deep breath and tugged at her hems. Something about the perfectly standard employee made her want to prepare herself for war; it felt as if she was starting a livestream, heart rate ticking up in her ribcage as she waited for the vitriolic arrows to fall.

No more thinking, just do it. Shooting up with a speed any heels dancer would envy, she marched to the counter, heels clicking against PVC tiles. Plastic, right? She could do plastic. Fixing a beam on her face to match the clerk’s, she placed her hands on the counter and leaned over.

“Hi! I was wondering if you had a first aid kit we could use? Someone’s gotten hurt by the entrance, and it’d be terrible if they kept being hurt, don’t you think?”

 

[Wyll]

GESTALT

Cassidy
McNamara

Cassidy barely knew what aisle he was in. As his eyes landed on the products that were on the shelves, he was too busy admiring how neatly stacked were that he never quite registered what products he was staring at exactly. Which, given that he was not intending to buy anything and was simply here to hide from his embarrassing moment earlier, made a reasonable amount of sense.

This also meant that he wasn’t paying a particularly great deal of attention to what was going on around him. Mostly because he didn’t care, but also because there was simply too much happening for him to keep track of all of it. Although, there was a certain aspect of it that reminded him of his time as a libero: always having to watch your team, the opposing team, the ball and its spin; there was so much information that had to be processed in order to make the perfect save. Indeed, there was a lot to process in both situation. The only difference was that has stations didn’t have adoring fans that would scream and yelp when that save was made...there also wasn’t quite anything to save in the gas station.

No sooner than the thought crossed his mind of there being nothing to save did he hear what sounded too much like someone crashing into something. The shelves towered too high over him for him to see what had happened so he made his way down to the end of the aisle and saw the last of the pieces of paper soundlessly landing on the floor. Nothing to save, huh? he chided himself.

He moved to help, but it seemed like two had already beat him to the punch. One was a lot of pink and the other was a lot of...of...everything? He would have observed some more, but he could already feel his Ma’s smack on the back of his head for staring at strangers. Ripping his eyes away from the scene, he looked around for somewhere more useful for him to be. Or maybe something useful to him.

All that really mattered was that something else had happened that he considered to be more embarrassing than him dramatic exit and defeated return. Shame that it had to happen to a priest, but there was that whole saying about beggars and choosers.

In his walking around, he would throw occasional glances in the direction of the door to make sure the priest was being properly taken care of and wasn’t actively on his way to see the Lord. However, it appears that it is rather difficult to walk forward while looking backwards without bumping into someone or something. And bump he did.

He had just enough time to turn, notice the brunette speaking, and even wonder who she was talking to. He received his answer when he went chest-to-shoulder with a fellow red-haired wonder. The clash did little to stagger him, though he could have done without the stinging in his chest. More concerned for the other person, as was in his nature, he instinctively reached out his hand to hold them steady by their shoulder.

The apology started coming out before he had even managed to fully gather his bearings. “I beg your pard- oh...” He’d finally turned around to see who he had bumped into and whatever words he was going to say seemed to get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth and had now been surrender to the ether, leaving Cassidy to stand there, with his mouth ever so slightly ajar.

Cassidy McNamara, she is a stranger and this is not a Hallmark movie, he dutifully reminded himself, which seemed to be enough to snap him back to his senses. “I’m staring, ain’t I?”

The realization brought him back completely and he hastily took his hand off her shoulder, clearing his throat. “Apologies, Miss. It seems I’ve lost my eyes and my manners today. I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

He took a step back to asses the situation. For starters, he had now retaken first place on the “Embarrassing Moments” leaderboard. Two embarrassing moments in just as many minutes wasn’t a record for him, but it came pretty close to it. On the plus side, the hot chocolate was still getting ready and not in her hand. So, at the very least, at least they hadn’t been drenched in boiling hot chocolate.

Mentions: Joann ( Gigglecake ), Elise ( AI10100 )

 

[Gigglecake]

Joann looked up from her phone when she heard the loud cursing and sudden rustling of papers crash to the floor. A priest? Well, the gas station had just reached all new levels of weirdness. Still, she didn't like the idea of not helping someone who'd taken a rough spill - fortunately for her pie and hot chocolate, Jasper stepped up to help the poor man. She beamed. Aw. What a sweet young fella. It made her feel all the more glad for having picked him up.

A voice piped up behind her. Instinctively, she stepped to the side and set the hot chocolate down next to her pie. She flashed a smile at the other woman with light brown hair and casual clothing. "Oh, that's mighty kind of ya, hon, but I never got around to mesmerizin' the number-like."

At least, the woman seemed fairly normal, too, if a bit taller than average, which helped put her at ease some. "Maybe there's an outlet somewhere I can-"

She was interrupted by someone bumping into her.

Now, bumping into one Joann North was like bumping into a brick wall. A soft, womanly brick wall. She didn't budge an inch from where she stood, but she did notice the young man who bumped into her. Hubba hubba. And wasn't he cute trying to hold her steady like that when she'd barely moved? She certainly didn't mind. She didn't notice him staring mainly because she'd done a quick up-and-down look of him. So, when he opened his mouth and said he was staring, her eyes went a little wide. Her cheeks went a little pink, and her grin broadened.

"Oh? See somethin' ya like, sugar?" She batted her eyelashes. Then, she gave a loud laugh and punched him in the shoulder. Affectionately. But hard. Very hard. Hard enough to bruise. Either she didn't know her own strength or she believed people to be stronger than what they were. "Oh, don't you worry your handsome head none. I ain't hurt, and ya can bump into me any day." She laughed again and nudged him in the ribs. Again, harder than needed.

That's when she noticed it.

Right past the slot machines. A charging station!

"Boy howdy, this gas station has everything. I ain't never seen slot machines in a gas station before! Ya folks mind watchin' my pie and hot chocolate? I gotta make sure my sister don't worry none about me."

And knew where she was in case anything happened to her in this creepy and yet very fancy gas station. And also that she met a hot guy... who was staring at her. In a not creepy way. She plugged her phone in. The screen went bright white which didn't seem all that unusual until the word

P R O C E S S I N G . . .

showed up. Her brow furrowed. Processing? She'd never seen "processing" on her phone before. Maybe it was updating? Darn those updates always messing with her phone...

After a few moments, the phone went ding. Joann glanced at her phone. The phone's screen changed, and text slid into view.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE!

"My service?" Joann muttered. She eyed the outlet her phone was plugged into dubiously. Did her phone get hacked or something? Was that possible?

P R E P A R I N G O R D E R . . .

"ORDER?!" Joann shouted, sounding outraged. What order? Did this thing just order something for her? She didn't order nothing!

ESTIMATED TIME:

SOON.

Oh, heaven's to betsy. What in blue blazes was THIS? She tried to unplug her phone, but it turned out to be quite stuck. She tried to turn her phone off, but it stayed on. "Now, somethin' funny's goin' on around here!"

 

[Zedalith]

Vega Riviera

The Journalist

Gas Station

annoyed af

interactions / mentions

Gigglecake
efferve
Klown

Spin.

Lemon.
Lemon.
Lem—CRASH.

Behind him, the sound of something heavy hitting smooth tile ruptured across the gas station. That tower of a man lay strew across the floor, long limbs splayed out like a squashed roach. Vega remained glued to the seat, playing the part of the silent bystander while others rushed to his aid. That clerk was not far off; that smile and those eyes were disquieting. He’s looked into the eyes of mass murderers, felons, and the most upaplogeticly cruel assortment of vermin that humanity had to offer. But none were like his.

Men who could gut a stranger without losing their appetite, men who wore their sins in their grins. This was different. Those eyes weren’t cruel, weren’t even cold. They were something else. Unbothered. Indifferent. Like a god looking down from its pedestal.

Noe Alvere–the clerk’s nametag read. Curiosity captured Vega; the urge to know this man's name was too severe to resist. But what he found was unexpected. Their name is like honey on the tongue. He knew the shape of a dangerous name, the weight of a guilty one. This one did not sit among them. It didn’t belong. That unsettled him. That thrilled him.

His finger twitched against the machine's buttons, his gaze fixed itself again on the plastic screen. It was pitch black–the electric buzz behind it was quieted. His earnings piled on the tray at the bottom. The haul is decent; at minimum, he had earned what he spent back. The metal clattered against one another within the confinement of his pocket as he pulled himself away from the slot machine.

The gas station was busy, for one thrust so far on the outlines of civilization. So many shapes, so many stories–almost nonsensical in their variety. He reached for something to fill the idleness in his hands, wrapping around a package of gum from the aisle closest to the slot machine. A simple thing. Mint-flavored. Clean, sharp, an attempt to reset.

Not far off, a larger woman hovered over the space. She looked like she was pulled straight from a southern cooking show, all curves and rounded shapes. Her cheeks were bright with the kind of heavy, red blush from a life of laughing too loud, drinking too sweet, and possibly slapping someone upside the head with a wooden spoon. Worst of all was her voice, loud and invasive.

He kept his posture loose, his focus lazy, letting his fingers trace the crinkled edge of the gum’s packaging. The texture beneath his touch was flimsy, manufactured for easy tearing. He pressed his thumb against the corner, bending it just enough to feel it resist. He stood with his back to her, his hands and eyes absentmindedly studying the packaged gum.

“Hicks never understand technology and always have to make it everyone else's problem,” he said in a low tone, quiet enough that he was sure it would be audible. Pink eyes assessed the scene from over the shoulder, finger and thumb grasping his chin in introspection.

 

[Klown]

Interaction: Cheryl Seki-Feigenbaum
Mention: Joann North
Ambiloquous Gigglecake

As the counter was approached, the clerk’s eyes widened with delight, the curve of his grin widening a whisper longer as if in subtle replication—or competition—of Cheryl’s politeness. There was no drawing away when she leaned over, barely even a hint of acknowledgement that she’d come closer. His gaze was locked on her and beyond all at once.

There was a beat of silence after her request, not so much pensive but systemic. A fresh new tab loading the page, a video buffering after being skipped a handful of minutes. In a blink, there was a frown on the clerk’s face. Brows scrunched in a rehearsed concern; corners of lips exaggeratedly pointed downward. A concern of cartoonish proportions, whether mocking or genuine was indecipherable.

“That is odd. We don’t sell hurt by that entrance, I hope he did not steal it.” His smile returned, a friend from a past rather forgotten. “Something like hurt can consume entirely and should not be had irresponsibly.”

Suddenly, he broke eye contact. The distant ding of a phone and Joann hollering her outrage. The clerk’s eyes darted in her direction, but his head stayed affixed. There’s a nausea that comes with witnessing the movement, like space itself spun in tandem with the shift in his gaze before violently lurching back into place when he settled on Cheryl again. His smile stretched.

The clerk’s arms lifted from behind the counter, hands sliding two shiny white kits onto it in perfect unison. Both show fat red crosses on their lids: one the standard medical cross seen in almost every health resource, the other a marker for something incorrect, an obtrusive X.

He clicked them open, presented both options.

The one to the right—the medical crossed kit—was a standard first-aid kit with bandages, gauze, disinfectant wipes, and more.

The one to the left—the obtrusive X—contained a polished sterling handgun atop a satin red silk.

“Which is the appropriate tool for this case of hurt?”

​

 

[Alien222]

Mentions: Klown Ambiloquous

As Cosmo wandered around the gas station, his hidden ears picked up on snippets of conversations and short exchanges but nothing all that intriguing: ramblings of Satan(which already made him despise the country man who shouted it), grunts of frustration from the overzealous gambler at the coin slot machine, an odd phrase from the cashier as he looked through a copy of the New York Times near the counter.

The only thing he could pick out as interesting was how fast the customer at the counter seemed to pay for his disgusting lollies, hearing the ding of the phone much earlier into the interaction than he expected. ‘Nothing to write home about though,’ he sighed internally as he stood up and placed the magazine back in its place, considering trying to check his socials to alleviate his growing boredom despite the fact he knew chances of a signal were very thin.

Just as his gloved hand reached into the pocket of his fabric flared pants for his trusty device, he heard glass breaking and paper fluttering. He glanced in the direction of it and where his eyes landed there was a priest, a rather large one, scrambling on the floor bleeding.

‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ Reason whispered, ‘Go help him!’

‘Why should I?’ Hatred grumbled, ‘It's not like he'll help me.’

‘Yes, but we look so antagonistic standing here, while ‘pocketing’ no less. And I have a feeling we shouldn't offend anyone here. Like it might come to bite us in the future…’ Logic grumbled.

‘You know for something that's supposed to be pure logic and reason, you're pretty god damn paranoid,’ Spite spat, ‘Besides, other people are already helping him.’

Cosmo once again looked in the redhead’s direction (he was starting to greatly dislike how many there were within the station) and sure enough, there was a pink haired woman who was not in any way dressed for the weather and another dressed for... honestly he didn't know, there was too much going on with their outfit for him to discern what any of it was for.

Seeing that the man was getting assistance, he decided to go back to his own business and check his socials. He typed his pass code on the peach digital keypad, switched on the mobile data he'd been saving up and…? No signal. Of course, what had he expected in the middle of a snow storm?

So instead, he stuffed his pristine peach phone back into his pocket, all the phone charms attached to it clinking together as he did, grabbed a pack of nearby gummies, and sauntered over to the freezer to grab an energy drink.

The cold air from the freezer hit his face, only serving to add to the many sensations overloading his senses. He grumbled something under his breath about “fucking overstimulation” before approaching the counter and finding it occupied by the same pink haired woman he'd seen helping the priest.

He almost turned away, not in the mood to wait in a line before he heard the conversation going on between the bastard of a clerk and the woman.To call it a conversation wasn't completely accurate though, it was more like the woman was saying normal sentences and the clerk was answering with garbled nonsense.

Interesting garbled nonsense.

So interesting that Cosmo ignored basic line etiquette and stood beside the lady instead of behind her. He stared at both kits before her, his eyes lingering over the handgun, but it wasn't like anyone but him could truly tell where he was looking. He looked over at her then at the grinning clerk and at that moment, everything in his body told him to run, to brave the storm because whatever chaos was going to occur here was not anywhere near a good enough price to pay for shelter.

He didn't do that though, instead, he calmly looked over at the pink haired woman, awaiting her next action. After all, first come, first serve.

 

[Ambiloquous]

Cheryl Seki-Feigenbaum

INFORMATION

LOCATION

Gas Station, Alabama(?)

INTERACTIONS

Gas Station Clerk ( Klown ), Vincent ( timesink ), Jasper ( Klown )

MENTIONS

Cosmo ( Alien222 )

“?!?!?!!!”

Artist

𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐎

POST

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the clerk’s smile seemed to stretch a fraction. His eyes weren’t focusing on her. He wasn’t listening. Against her will, she blinked. No, he was staring straight at her. Deep into her. It felt as if his sight was carving past her skin, revealing layers of muscle and flesh and the thoughts she hid behind her facade. She blinked again. Or was he?

Cheryl barely noticed the pause in conversation until his smile warped into a bizarre facsimile of a frown, an expression that would fit right at home on her latest Saturday morning obsession. Unfortunately, the world was not an animated caricature crafted by the hands of seasoned professionals for the viewing pleasure of children. On a grown man, it just seemed mocking, uncanny. She struggled to keep her revulsion in check, her smile fighting not to twitch. Maybe he was just socialized poorly as a child, she could understand—

Then he spoke.

—She suppressed a shudder. Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope. Her fingers curled inward, nails biting into her palms, and she discreetly dragged them off the counter. This wasn’t a matter of being socialized poorly anymore. The first sentence could have been taken as a badly timed joke, but the second was… it was as if he was reading off a script spat out by an incompetently trained AI, one of many meaningless statements contorted to fit the shape of human grammar. Covered in shadow, they seemed plausible, but under any amount of light, they revealed their hollow nature. Just like the clerk.

No. No, she couldn’t jump to conclusions. She tried to relax her tensed shoulders. When had they gotten tensed up anyway?

Someone yelled something behind her. She wanted to turn to see, but instincts told her not to turn her back on the clerk. A nervous laugh bubbled out of her as nausea hit her at the sight of his eyes. Now she was the strange one.

Or not.

Staring at the open kits, her mind blanked. She looked up at the clerk; she looked down at the gun.

A gun. A gun.

“Haha, that’s… not a funny joke.”

Her smile had frozen on her face.

“I mean! It’s not very nice to imply… you know, shooting someone is the solution to their hurt. I’m sure you have plenty of funny jokes to tell, and I’m sure most of them are nicer…”

She was blabbing. She didn’t even know what she was saying. What the fuck. What the fuck.

That couldn’t be a real gun, could it? If it was, she was way in over her head. El. Where was she? Adrenaline raced through her veins as her eyes darted around, searching for the tall figure of her best friend. They couldn’t chance it. They had to go.

It was then that she noticed someone had been standing at her back. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she turned her head slightly to glance behind her. He looked normal. Well-dyed pink hair with yellow highlights, a distinct style that veered from mainstream trends, a calm gaze. Her thundering heartbeat slowed and adrenaline leached out of her body, draining her of energy. It must’ve been a joke after all. He wasn’t reacting to the silver firearm at all.

She took a deep breath.

“... Please don’t do this again. Just the first-aid kit will do.”

Slamming the lids of both cases shut, as if removing the weapon from view would erase the fact that it existed, she shoved the glaring “X” back towards the clerk. Yanking the medical kit towards her with her other hand, she ignored the discordant scrape of the edge against the counter. Fixing her smile, she forced her mouth to form the words,

“Thank you. Have a good rest of your day!”

She didn’t wait for the response, spinning on a heel and speeding her way towards the infinitely more inviting duo huddled on the floor. Even the puddle of blood forming almost looked endearing compared to… that. Setting the hard-shell case on the floor and dropping to her knees, she tried to conjure up her usual pep.

“Tada! A first-aid kit!”

She nearly winced. Too bright.

“I mean, the... clerk was… nice enough to let me borrow a first-aid kit.”

Mood muted again, she flicked the latches open.

“Alcohol first, right?”