AI10100
Expert Lurker
ELISE MOORE
-
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Futuristic gestalt ✦ rp
- Thread starter Thread starter Klown
- Start date Start date
Gigglecake
New Member
- One on One
- Group
- Dice
- Quests
- Nation Building
- Off-site
Perhaps it was simply a natural weirdness censor she possessed or maybe it was the power of middle-aged hormones and a guy with a chiseled chest and a tight shirt who was actually interested in her for once, but Joann did not, in fact, notice the strange going-ons around her. Even when her tote purse began to twitch, she automatically assumed it was her phone on vibrate - conveniently forgetting that her phone was plugged in at the charging station and had given her trouble earlier. It wasn't until Jasper loudly announced to everyone in the room that the exit had just become a suggestion. At first, Joann idly wondered if the young fella she had picked up was trying to start trouble or rob the place - in which case, she planned to give him a stern talking to, but when she looked in his direction, she saw that he had meant what he said. There was no handle on the door. No handle on the door.
WHY WAS THERE NO HANDLE ON THE DOOR?
It's also when she noticed that the shelves had somehow turned into cardboard even though she had picked up snacks only a moment ago. Her eyes caught sight of movement by the coolers, and she heard a chirping noise that might have sounded cute if it weren't so out of place in a random gas station. There were yellow vaguely alien... frogs? pushing in great numbers at the coolers and sliding onto the open floor and hopping around - covering more and more square area with each hop and leaving a trail of yellow slime where they went.
"Oh no. No, no, no. NOPE! Ah've done had enough!" She quickly moved away from the frogs.
The twitching in her purse increased. She headed towards the door. "Move!" she said to anyone who might be in her way. "I'm gettin' us outta here!"
She ran at the door a little sideways intending to brute-force it open. Ordinarily, with her weight and the amount of oomph in her run, this would've worked. Unfortunately, it did not this time. All she had to show for her effort was a sore shoulder. She whirled towards the clerk. She side-stepped Elise a little due to her holding one of those slimy yellow creatures. She shuddered, then she gave her full attention to the clerk.
"Now, see here-!! I-I-"
Her mouth fell slack when she noticed that the clerk was suddenly eight feet tall with unnaturally long arms. He definitely was not human. Joann's breath escaped her a moment. Then, she snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. She marched up to the counter. She slammed both of her hands on top of it with a resounding smack sound.
"You listen! Ya can't keep us trapped in here. It's darn right un-American trappin' a bunch of mostly innocent folks against their will-like. Now, you open that door right now, or - or I'll tell your manager about this!" She shook her finger at him in a vaguely threatening manner. Her face had taken on a red hue from anger, and her bosom rose and fell with each powerful angry huff of her breath.
Wyll
,
Klown
,
AI10100
WHY WAS THERE NO HANDLE ON THE DOOR?
It's also when she noticed that the shelves had somehow turned into cardboard even though she had picked up snacks only a moment ago. Her eyes caught sight of movement by the coolers, and she heard a chirping noise that might have sounded cute if it weren't so out of place in a random gas station. There were yellow vaguely alien... frogs? pushing in great numbers at the coolers and sliding onto the open floor and hopping around - covering more and more square area with each hop and leaving a trail of yellow slime where they went.
"Oh no. No, no, no. NOPE! Ah've done had enough!" She quickly moved away from the frogs.
The twitching in her purse increased. She headed towards the door. "Move!" she said to anyone who might be in her way. "I'm gettin' us outta here!"
She ran at the door a little sideways intending to brute-force it open. Ordinarily, with her weight and the amount of oomph in her run, this would've worked. Unfortunately, it did not this time. All she had to show for her effort was a sore shoulder. She whirled towards the clerk. She side-stepped Elise a little due to her holding one of those slimy yellow creatures. She shuddered, then she gave her full attention to the clerk.
"Now, see here-!! I-I-"
Her mouth fell slack when she noticed that the clerk was suddenly eight feet tall with unnaturally long arms. He definitely was not human. Joann's breath escaped her a moment. Then, she snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. She marched up to the counter. She slammed both of her hands on top of it with a resounding smack sound.
"You listen! Ya can't keep us trapped in here. It's darn right un-American trappin' a bunch of mostly innocent folks against their will-like. Now, you open that door right now, or - or I'll tell your manager about this!" She shook her finger at him in a vaguely threatening manner. Her face had taken on a red hue from anger, and her bosom rose and fell with each powerful angry huff of her breath.
Wyll
,
Klown
,
AI10100
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Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
Interaction:
Gigglecake
Zedalith
Wyll
timesink
PawPawkit
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Ambiloquous
AI10100
Alien222
Theasuke
BriiAngelic
Kameron Esters-
efferve
His eyes find Joann. First the right one, then the left, and then his head. Disjointed parts of the same whole. A liberal interpretation of a human. He grew. Swallowing space with a tree root’s greed. His back curved as the nape of his neck touched the ceiling, head bent forward. The walls around him pinched together, sucked in by obscurity.
“You seem to misunderstand.” The curl of his brows read a genuine confusion. “The door left on its own accord. It must have gotten offended by all that unfortunate slamming. Doors are quite sensitive, you know?” He curves down; neck stretched an inch longer, his head tilting as if wobbled on loose hinges. “Perhaps it was given a bad impression.” His smile returned.
The pristine floors are coated in torn lemon skins and viscous yellow membrane, the lemon frogs exploring what the aisles had to offer.
Arms sprouted from the clerk’s unnaturally stretched torso, tree branches to a trunk far too thin. They bend and slither across the gas station, touring snakes that stop in front of each of his customers, where they deposit empty plastic bags for each of them.
“You may place the hatchlings in here for convenience. Please hurry along, my shift will be over soon.” He’s inhumane. A web, a mold, a stain. Something you feel compelled to clean, but don’t know where to begin. There is no malice to his excitement, but an anticipation. A stretch after a busy day, shedding restriction like snakeskin.
“You seem to misunderstand.” The curl of his brows read a genuine confusion. “The door left on its own accord. It must have gotten offended by all that unfortunate slamming. Doors are quite sensitive, you know?” He curves down; neck stretched an inch longer, his head tilting as if wobbled on loose hinges. “Perhaps it was given a bad impression.” His smile returned.
The pristine floors are coated in torn lemon skins and viscous yellow membrane, the lemon frogs exploring what the aisles had to offer.
Arms sprouted from the clerk’s unnaturally stretched torso, tree branches to a trunk far too thin. They bend and slither across the gas station, touring snakes that stop in front of each of his customers, where they deposit empty plastic bags for each of them.
“You may place the hatchlings in here for convenience. Please hurry along, my shift will be over soon.” He’s inhumane. A web, a mold, a stain. Something you feel compelled to clean, but don’t know where to begin. There is no malice to his excitement, but an anticipation. A stretch after a busy day, shedding restriction like snakeskin.
Wyll
Senior Member
GESTALT
Cassidy
McNamara
McNamara
A small prickling of red rose to his cheeks at her smile, giving her a small, slightly-more-confident-than-his-last-attempt smile, bowing his head and tipping an imaginary hat like any good Southerner would. “Not a bother, ma’am. You go take care of business.”
Cassidy had always been one to advocate for putting people in their place and, if they got hurt in the process, then that was just how the cookie crumbled and there was nothing he could do about it. It was definitely encouraging to see that she believed the same.
Cassidy took a quick look around the station, not really looking for anything in particular - something in his gut just told him things were about to start going south. And a man always trusts his gut.
The first sign was the boy who looked dressed for all seasons and yet no season at the same time. Switching his gaze to the door, he noticed - as everyone else did - the door missing the one thing that made any door a door: a way to open it. Un-openable doors. That’s alright. Ain’t nothin’ new there.
The second was the cry from a girl he couldn’t quite see, but he was certain even Ma and Pa had heard her. Screaming girls too? Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout there. We’re good. We’re just dandy. Cassidy slowly nodded his head, accepting everything as it happened, although his face was completely devoid of all emotion - like a computer that was well on its way to crashing; that blue screen of death you receive before everything simply goes black.
One blink later and there was somebody in the door. Cassidy looked away before his eyes were violently yanked back towards the door. There is somebody in the door. The nodding was getting desperate now; his ear twitching; lips pursed and eyes distant. One of them circus acts. That’s all this is. A circus must be passing through. Who’d have thunk it.
And then it happened. The straw that broke the camel's back. The drop that made the cup overflow. The final nail in the coffin.
The lemon frogs.
Cassidy watched as they moved, slithered actually, around the gas station, staring blankly without a single thought behind his eyes. There was only so much tomfoolery he could comprehend and this tom had fooleried a little too hard and a little too long for Cassidy to stay in this station a single moment longer.
He let out a small, terse laugh of disbelief, shaking his head. I had the right idea the first time: nope.
He looked again at the locked door. Or, rather the door-looking wall. Because that's all it was now: a wall. Wall or not, I need to get out of here. Ma and Pa are waiting. Ain't got time to dilly-dally in here like some retired ox.
A train of thought started moving in his head. It may have been one of those old locomotives from the 1800’s that were moving by the power of hopes and dreams, but by both gosh and golly, it was still a train and it was doing its best.
The train arrived at its destination once Cassidy set eyes on the glass that made up the door. Glass was breakable. He'd seen Joann's attempt earlier but he planned to be a lot more…precise.
He walked calmly up to the door, his violent intentions hidden behind a casual stride, lest any clerk stop him. As he strolled towards the door, he began pulling off his light jacket, wrapping it around his hand. Arriving at the door, he simply started at it, like he was looking right through the glass, as he completed the wrap, forming a perfect glove around his hand.
In the same time it took for a bird to flap its wings, Cassidy's entire countenance changed, like a switch had just been flipped.
His nonchalant expression was replaced by one of determination. He threw his right foot back, planting it firmly. A slight squat; a twist that started at the ankle; a clenched fist. The four knuckles of the first were called confusion, frustration, irritation and stress; all compressed into one package for express delivery to the glass that filled the door. A textbook punch, just like Pa had taught him.
However, as fist accelerated toward glass, Cassidy caught the faintest glimpse of a distortion in his reflection. Not a distortion caused by whatever hullabaloo was going on in the store, but the type any contractor had seen: the type you get when you look at tempered glass.
Cassidy had thrown his biggest, strongest, fastest punch at tempered glass; there was only one way this could go.
When his fist connected with the glass, the sound that came from it wasn't…right. Again, not due to anything weird happening with the store. It just sounded painful, hollow…broken.
Yep. That hand is good and broken,, alright. Ain't no two ways about it. If Cassidy was in any sort of pain or shock, he didn't show it. In fact, he acted as if nothing at all had just happened. However, he very deliberately refused to unwrap his hand.
He turned and smiled sheepishly at those around him. “Well darn. The glass ate that punch like a turkey dinner. I coulda bet my car that that would work.” Behind the smile, Cassidy was fighting back a scream of pain as his broken hand throbbed, hidden inside his jacket. After all, Pa would always say that Jack and Jill don't need to know when you fall down the hill. Granted, a broken hand might not be on the same scale as falling on a hill, but the same concept applied. At least, it did to his Pa - a loving man, but a man who adopted Elsa's philosophy of "conceal, don't feel". Cassidy didn't buy into the idea as strongly as his Pa did, but he'd be damned before he had people worrying about his hand when there was a crazy gas station to escape.
“Don't matter though. Glass is glass. And glass breaks. There's gotta be something in here that'll get the job done. Ain't about to sit here and collect lemon frogs for…”
He turned to the weirdest part of all of this, the one thing he had been trying to ignore ever since walking into the station: the clerk. Cassidy looked him over, eyes narrow, features scrunched and gears turning as he wracked his mind, looking for the prefect insult.
“Ain't about to sit here and collect frogs for…for Slenderman over three,” he huffed.
Good one, Cassidy.
Ambiloquous
Graphic Fanatic
- Group
Cheryl Seki-Feigenbaum
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Alien222
Funny lil' Internet guy
- Group
- Off-site
Mentions:
Ambiloquous
(Cheryl)
AI10100
(Elise) Interactions:
Klown
(Clerk)
Wyll
(Cassidy)
Gigglecake
(Joann) Cosmo looked upon the squirming wriggling lemons within the freezers, a silent ‘fuck’ escaping his grinning mouth. For a moment, he considered running out into the snow and leaving the rest behind. They were all lacking in intelligence, decency or both, as he’d concluded for most of the wretched human race years ago. The smell had improved only slightly, now turning to the scent of natural lemons that had just barely reached his holographic nose, a disgusting over-hyped fruit in his honest opinion. A symbol of man’s hubris and the need to breed everything into something else with no reason or rhyme other than the urge to disrupt the natural order; that was what the citron was to him.
On top of that, the scent did nothing to help with the rest of his issues with the cursed store. The continuous drone of the blizzard, the cracks of lightning that lit up the heavens and the lack of a plan were the only factors that kept him within the walls of the convenience store.
Besides, the clerk had mentioned some sort of patron and Cosmo didn't think it was the best idea to go running off if the clerk worked under someone or rather something more powerful than him.
The lemons broke open like egg sacs and out popped…frogs. Out of all the creatures to ever walk, crawl, slither ,or in this case, hop, the earth, frogs were by far one of his least favourite. In fact, it had held the title of ‘worst creature to come out of evolution’ for many years: an award curated and distributed by young Cosmo himself. That was until he turned 12 and discovered the utter useless menace that was mosquitoes.
He backed away from the horde of creatures, hovering near the exit but never going through it, though two redheads that forced him away from it did tempt him into doing so.
‘How do they have less going in their brains than the toads?’ Hatred muttered at the back of Cosmo’s mind as he watched the two try to break down what was most likely an enchanted door of some sort, one of them even going up to the clerk to threaten the creature like it was some McDonald’s employee.
He sighed internally but did not stop them, knowing he wouldn't be able to if he did try. After all, they seemed to be in a panic and retreating to what they were good at, which was strength, not logic.
‘If we’re trapped here for a while, they’ll be useful for something hopefully,’ Rationale mumbled within the pink-haired man’s mind.
He agreed with his own thoughts, however, he was less concerned about the future and more concerned with the present, specifically the frogs presently spreading slime around the store as they bounced further and further from the fridge. So he got to high ground, specifically, the counter. He sat down or rather floated just above it, his smile stretching ever so slightly at the ends at the assurance of the lemon things not being able to reach him.
‘What are you doing? The cashier might-’
Reason began but soon Cosmo remembered how invasive the towering creature behind him could be, so he silenced his 'louder' thoughts, including Reason(able ones). After all, it's not like they were reasoning out something important, just screaming a warning that the clerk might throw him off the counter, something he considered unlikely.
Then came the plastic bags from the twisting amalgamation that was the cashier, pulling out a sigh from him as he realized that indeed everyone would have to participate or was at least expected to. However, he soon noticed something lacking in the clerk’s strategy to allow everyone to collect the frogs: “Excuse me,” He looked up at the cashier, his braids moving up but not fully going down, still hiding his eyes. “What about those of us who are currently…less solid than others? Am I exempt from the task?”
“Also,” he turned to the flame haired duo, not bothering to raise his voice so both could surely hear him as he was quite certain he was about to get ignored again, “I don’t mean this rudely, but not doing what the reality bending, weapon wielding monster in the room says might not be the best idea if you do wish to leave this-"
The sounds of chaos(things toppling over, slipping and sliding) came from the other side of the store, catching his attention for a moment as his mind noted down the two women at the scene, one lying on her back on one of the cardboard shelves. 'Interesting...' He thought as he recognised one as the lady he'd first seen at the counter he now hovered over.
"Store." He finished the sentence, more to fulfil his own strange standards of communication than to actually talk and be understood.
Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
Breaking points—as were typically depicted—were the sharp, jagged edges of something snapped. The unceremonious twang of fibers severed, or the whetted edge of a blade splitting the wind before time thought to blink.
Jasper’s breaking point was none of that. It was syrupy. Meek, and slow, and quiet. His brain souped in the thick molasses of a rationale sloppily melting. He laughed, a soft, breathless sound somewhere between the kiss of horror and fascination. His ringed fingers crawl up the back of his neck for affirmation that his head was screwed straight, that his pulse was still there, that his body still belonged to him. He could only attest to two of the three.
Pulpy lemon offspring speckled the once-pristine tile floors. Joann hollered at the clerk who now crawled up the wall like a tendril of ivy. A guy wearing shoddy reception as skin floated over with the eerie quietude of a phantom and sunk his arm through the floor like it was a puddle. Then, another man approached the expired door and decided to expire his fist with it.
“Turkey dinner? Bro, that sounded like you turned your bones into crumbs just now.” His own knuckles flexed, a sympathetic ghostly ache settling between his joints. He forced himself not to look at the hand, head turning to meet a sun-yellow winky face upon the crinkly folds of a greasy plastic bag. It dangled off the long, branch-like fingers of the clerk’s hand, attached to an arm winding through wide space like a hose.
Jasper accepted it; scooping up the frogs and depositing them into the bag like they were delicate little treasures. Truthfully, he wasn’t thinking. To allow himself the semblance of a thought would crush him under the current surrealism fraying every congruency at the seams. He had to keep moving. If he let his thoughts catch up, he could no longer pretend he was waking up from a dream when all this ended.
He kept picking up frogs, a half made-up song hummed in his throat, spidery and thin with breath. Tremoring with each pulse of his heart and the clumsy juggling of his backpack and guitar case.
“Maybe the faster we get this done, the sooner we can leave?” He spoke aloud to no one in particular. Anyone willing to listen. It’s not like he had anywhere better to be. He sidled beside Joann, smiling warmly. Feeling the distress from her like a heater boiling the air around it. He had no words to offer her, only presence. It felt safe there even with her defiance at whatever the clerk had become—or always had been.
Jasper’s breaking point was none of that. It was syrupy. Meek, and slow, and quiet. His brain souped in the thick molasses of a rationale sloppily melting. He laughed, a soft, breathless sound somewhere between the kiss of horror and fascination. His ringed fingers crawl up the back of his neck for affirmation that his head was screwed straight, that his pulse was still there, that his body still belonged to him. He could only attest to two of the three.
Pulpy lemon offspring speckled the once-pristine tile floors. Joann hollered at the clerk who now crawled up the wall like a tendril of ivy. A guy wearing shoddy reception as skin floated over with the eerie quietude of a phantom and sunk his arm through the floor like it was a puddle. Then, another man approached the expired door and decided to expire his fist with it.
“Turkey dinner? Bro, that sounded like you turned your bones into crumbs just now.” His own knuckles flexed, a sympathetic ghostly ache settling between his joints. He forced himself not to look at the hand, head turning to meet a sun-yellow winky face upon the crinkly folds of a greasy plastic bag. It dangled off the long, branch-like fingers of the clerk’s hand, attached to an arm winding through wide space like a hose.
Jasper accepted it; scooping up the frogs and depositing them into the bag like they were delicate little treasures. Truthfully, he wasn’t thinking. To allow himself the semblance of a thought would crush him under the current surrealism fraying every congruency at the seams. He had to keep moving. If he let his thoughts catch up, he could no longer pretend he was waking up from a dream when all this ended.
He kept picking up frogs, a half made-up song hummed in his throat, spidery and thin with breath. Tremoring with each pulse of his heart and the clumsy juggling of his backpack and guitar case.
“Maybe the faster we get this done, the sooner we can leave?” He spoke aloud to no one in particular. Anyone willing to listen. It’s not like he had anywhere better to be. He sidled beside Joann, smiling warmly. Feeling the distress from her like a heater boiling the air around it. He had no words to offer her, only presence. It felt safe there even with her defiance at whatever the clerk had become—or always had been.
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Kameron Esters-
Fear my godly wrath!
- One on One
- Group
- Nation Building
- Off-site
Darnell had seen a lot in his time on the road: Snowstorms in places that shouldn’t have snow, gas stations too clean to be real, coffee that probably doubled as paint thinner. Kinda like what he's drinking now. But frogs? Lemon-colored frogs hatching from the damn walls?
Yeah. That was new.
He stood frozen near the end of an aisle, halfway through a sip of coffee that suddenly didn’t feel like the worst thing in the room anymore. One of the frogs—a pale, citrus-colored thing with skin like damp wax—plopped onto the floor in front of him. It just... looked up at him. Big, glassy eyes. Its little throat puffed once, like a balloon.
And weirdly?
“…Huh,” Darn muttered. “Kinda cute.”
Reluctantly, and against every logical instinct screaming "Do not touch the weird gas station frog", he crouched and extended a hand. The little thing didn’t move. Didn’t croak. It just let him scoop it up, cold and sticky in his palm like a half-set gummy bear.
He turned it gently, eyes narrowing. “You better not be poisonous, little buddy.”
Another soft pop echoed nearby. Then another. He looked up to see more cracks blooming across the walls, more frogs slipping out like something born from static and citrus and nightmares. A girl shouted near the charging station. Something sparked. A guy cursed behind him.
Darn cradled the frog a little closer, gaze flicking between the chaos and his new, lemon-scented companion.
“Alright. So the gas station's birthing adorable citrus hellspawn now. Cool. Love that.I love that's what's happening right now.”
He looked back down at the frog, who blinked once—slow, unbothered.
“…You’re lucky I'm a sucker for amphibians.”
Darn sighed, but couldn’t help the corner of his mouth twitching.
“You know what? You’re officially Two-Darn. As in, you're 'too darn cute'. And also... me. But smaller and stickier. And who wouldn't want to be named after greatness?” Darn jests.
The frog gave no response, but its throat puffed again, as if in agreement.
Darn cradled it carefully in one hand, raising his coffee with the other. “Alright, Two-Darn. Let's go not die together!"
The frog jumps into Darn's cup without warning, it's big eye peering out of the liquid.
Darn is silent for a moment before shrugging "Well hey, you might enjoy it more than I did."
He spotted Jasper hunched in the chaos, carefully scooping frogs into a greasy yellow plastic bag—like he’d just accepted the new normal and decided to help tidy it up. Kid was balancing a guitar case, a backpack, and what looked like the unraveling of his own grip on reality, all while humming something thin and trembling.
Darn moved without thinking.
He stepped over a trail of sticky lemon residue, dodged a cracked tile that hissed at him (??), and crouched beside Jasper.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice steady in that way people use when they don’t want to spook a spooked animal. “I think you dropped your sanity back there. Mind if I help you pick it up?”
He reached into the bag Jasper held open and gently placed Two-Darn inside with the others. The little frog didn’t protest—just nestled into a crook beside a sibling or cousin or whatever it was. Darn gave it a long look before reaching into his shirt and pulling out a pen. He presses the button and reaches into the bag. He draws "Ⅱ" on Two-Darn's head, then returned his attention to Jasper.
“You’re doin’ good, man,” he said, grabbing another frog that had hopped too close to the coffee station. “Real good. Better than me, if we’re being honest. I was ready to nope out the second the walls started leaking frogs, but…”
He nodded toward Joann. Toward the others.
“Guess we all needed someone to help carry the crazy.”
Darn knelt beside him, shoulder to shoulder now, and started scooping frogs with a weird, methodical calm—like they were picking apples in some twisted orchard.
“Name’s Darn, by the way. Short for Darnell. That little guy I dropped in? That’s Two-Darn. Figured if I was gonna lose my mind, I might as well make a friend on the way.”
He managed a half-smile, crooked and tired. Then, after a beat:
“You think if we fill this bag up, the station grants us a wish or somethin’?”
Klown
PawPawkit
New Member
- One on One
- Group
The frog blinks slowly, it's watery eyes looking at Newton without fear, just with wonder and curiosity. The frog doesn't seem to scared of Newton's droopy eyes, of his rat's nest of hair, of his much taller and thinner frame. In fact, the frog lets out a little meep before it's small, lemony, bulbous body slowly makes its way towards Newton's open backpack, and eventually scrambles in. Newton then gently turns his backpack towards himself to close up his backpack, the fabric rustling against the tiles. Those large watery eyes peek up at Newton, slowly blinking one eye at a time. Every once in a while, Newton will hear scrabbling and scrambling and the whump, whump, whump of metal cans lightly hitting fabric.
As the scrambling and meeping go on for a few moments, Newton realizes how awkward it must for the frog to find purchase on the cans. Newton talks to the frog as gently as he can, careful not to scare the creature.
"Hey, little man," Newton's voice is in his usual laid back tone. "The bag doesn't seem too comfy right now, so mind if I grab you, dude?" The frog lets out another meep, and it stops scrambling on top of the cans. Newton lowers his hands gently into his bag, careful not to let his dirty, uneven fingernails cut the creature. He lifts the frog just as gently, and places it in his hair. The round, yellow frog settles there comfortably.
"Also, little dude, can I call you Thumbs?" The lemon frog let out a little cheep, and begins to suck on Newton's hair the way a baby sucks its thumb, chew on it. In spite of himself, in spite of the fact that a lemon frog is eating his hair, Newton lets out a happy laugh, a short guh-huhuhuhhuhuh, followed by a full, genuine smile. That smile is unlike the half smiles he'd been giving everyone, and it is a neon sign that there is something that makes him happy.
As the scrambling and meeping go on for a few moments, Newton realizes how awkward it must for the frog to find purchase on the cans. Newton talks to the frog as gently as he can, careful not to scare the creature.
"Hey, little man," Newton's voice is in his usual laid back tone. "The bag doesn't seem too comfy right now, so mind if I grab you, dude?" The frog lets out another meep, and it stops scrambling on top of the cans. Newton lowers his hands gently into his bag, careful not to let his dirty, uneven fingernails cut the creature. He lifts the frog just as gently, and places it in his hair. The round, yellow frog settles there comfortably.
"Also, little dude, can I call you Thumbs?" The lemon frog let out a little cheep, and begins to suck on Newton's hair the way a baby sucks its thumb, chew on it. In spite of himself, in spite of the fact that a lemon frog is eating his hair, Newton lets out a happy laugh, a short guh-huhuhuhhuhuh, followed by a full, genuine smile. That smile is unlike the half smiles he'd been giving everyone, and it is a neon sign that there is something that makes him happy.
Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
J a s p e r A n t o v a
location: gas station
interaction: darnell
Kameron Esters-
mentions: joann
Gigglecake
newton
PawPawkit
His song was the battered mechanism of a music box, pitched like the final remnants of brittle glass flaking onto the floor. It was meager comfort. Something sang by his mother once on restless nights—of which there were plenty.
He continued collecting the frogs, not straying far from Joann. Holding one in his palm, he stared into its eyes. Impossibly full of an astounding vacancy, like it knew everything and nothing all at once. When it chirped, he tried matching its rhythm to the song.
Recognition settled on Jasper’s face if only for a second. It was minimal, superficial. The placating voice of the man beside him belonging to the guy who’d pointed out the door was missing. One of his intended partners in touring the gas station before it’d warped itself into a living dream.
“Yeah, me and my butterfingers.” Jasper snorted a soft laugh. His sanity definitely felt lacking. He quietly watched the man pen a roman two on his frog’s head. The ink bled into the thick membrane of its skin, giving it more the appearance of stripes than a number, but the intent was noticeable. With Darnell’s shoulder against his, Jasper felt anchored. Present. A clarity that ought to be harrowing but was instead grounding.
Darnell’s tired smile is met with a bright, rejuvenated one. All ripe, relieved cheeks and an appreciative glint in blue eyes.
“I hope we at least get that,” Jasper shrugged, careful not to cover Two-Darn with the added frogs he slipped into the bag. He leaned in conspiratorially, catching the clerk from the corner of his eye as he giddily whispered, “something tells me a paycheck isn’t even on the table.” Maintaining the scarcity of space between them, like there were still more secrets to share, Jasper held up his fist for a fist bump.
“I’m Jasper, by the way. Not short for anything, so I’ll leave that up to you if you want!” When he does let the space between them breathe, it’s because the sound of laughter drew him away. Pulled into its orbit like a hapless space rock. His initial tour buddy had a frog on his head. The exhausted creases that’d given his features a rugged edge softened into something youthful, almost innocent. Jasper regretted not having asked for his name.
“What would you wish for if this place actually did grant us all a wish or two?” He asked Darnell, returning to the heavy bag in his hands, trying to count the frogs despite their wriggling and indistinguishable likeness to each other—with the exception of Two-Darn.
He continued collecting the frogs, not straying far from Joann. Holding one in his palm, he stared into its eyes. Impossibly full of an astounding vacancy, like it knew everything and nothing all at once. When it chirped, he tried matching its rhythm to the song.
Recognition settled on Jasper’s face if only for a second. It was minimal, superficial. The placating voice of the man beside him belonging to the guy who’d pointed out the door was missing. One of his intended partners in touring the gas station before it’d warped itself into a living dream.
“Yeah, me and my butterfingers.” Jasper snorted a soft laugh. His sanity definitely felt lacking. He quietly watched the man pen a roman two on his frog’s head. The ink bled into the thick membrane of its skin, giving it more the appearance of stripes than a number, but the intent was noticeable. With Darnell’s shoulder against his, Jasper felt anchored. Present. A clarity that ought to be harrowing but was instead grounding.
Darnell’s tired smile is met with a bright, rejuvenated one. All ripe, relieved cheeks and an appreciative glint in blue eyes.
“I hope we at least get that,” Jasper shrugged, careful not to cover Two-Darn with the added frogs he slipped into the bag. He leaned in conspiratorially, catching the clerk from the corner of his eye as he giddily whispered, “something tells me a paycheck isn’t even on the table.” Maintaining the scarcity of space between them, like there were still more secrets to share, Jasper held up his fist for a fist bump.
“I’m Jasper, by the way. Not short for anything, so I’ll leave that up to you if you want!” When he does let the space between them breathe, it’s because the sound of laughter drew him away. Pulled into its orbit like a hapless space rock. His initial tour buddy had a frog on his head. The exhausted creases that’d given his features a rugged edge softened into something youthful, almost innocent. Jasper regretted not having asked for his name.
“What would you wish for if this place actually did grant us all a wish or two?” He asked Darnell, returning to the heavy bag in his hands, trying to count the frogs despite their wriggling and indistinguishable likeness to each other—with the exception of Two-Darn.
Kameron Esters-
Fear my godly wrath!
- One on One
- Group
- Nation Building
- Off-site
He added another frog, and Darn let the bag rustle in his hand; the weight of it, oddly satisfying-sounding like they were collecting proof that the world had gone sideways. Tokens or something for some arcade machine that would pay out into weird little oddities.
He caught the moment Jasper looked over-smiled, wide and alive, as if the sun just cracked through his stormclouds enough to peek. That alone made Darn's jaw unclench-he hadn't even realized it had been tight.
When Jasper leaned in with that half-whispered jab about the nonexistent paycheck, Darn huffed out a short, surprised laugh. "Yeah, pretty sure the only bonus around here is psychological damage and store-brand inconveniences. Oh! And with a cluster of cuties!"
Gave Two-Darn's fist a gentle bump with his finger, mindful not to jostle the frogs too much. Two-Darn jiggled faintly in the pile like a lemon jellybean caught in a weird little cult meeting.
"Jasper, huh?" Darn nodded. "Okay, I'll think up something real good. Got to let it simmer first. Nicknaming's an art."
His gaze drifted for a moment, trailing after Jasper's toward the guy with the frog on his head, the sound of laughter echoing against the wood and brick like it belonged to a dream someone else was having. Darn's expression softened for a second-somewhere between, what the hell and man, I hope we all make it outta here.
Then Jasper asked that question.
Darn stood rather spaced between busy footfall as the gas station buzzed with unnatural hums and the soft, wet chirps of frogs still falling like raindrops.
His voice, when it came, was low and even. Almost gentle.
"I'm thinking I would wish for a nice stretch of road, not so long, not so short; clear skies; coffee that does not taste like boiled cardboard; and somewhere at the end of it feels like home. Even if I've never been there."
He turned back to Jasper again, the hint of a smile returning-not tired this time, just real.
"Simple stuff. You?"
Klown
Last edited:
Zedalith
#-#
Vega Riviera
The Journalist
PawPawkit
New Member
- One on One
- Group
The smile that had just advertised Newton's happiness was gone, and so was a chunk of his hair. The only sign of Thumbs having been on his head at all was the residue that Thumbs lemony body had left behind. Newton hadn't heard anyone approaching, and now Thumbs was off his unkempt head and in someone else's hands. Newton's droopy brown eyes flicked up to the man who was towering over his squatting form. Tired blue eyes were staring at him with quite some intensity, lips were curled in mild disgust.
"Are you stupid, or is there some other reason you're acting all buddy-buddy with it?"
Newton slung his backpack over his shoulders, letting the cans whump against his back. His legs were starting to feel like jello, so slowly, Newton began to rise from his position off the shiny, white-tiled floor. By now, a lot of the snow on Newton's clothes had turned to slush, and with a splat, some of it fell to the floor, making the tiles no longer clean. As it turns out, when Newton was slouching, he was just as tall as the pale haired man with piercings. Newton's brown eyes met the man's.
"Dude, I was originally gonna put him in my backpack," Newton's hands were shoved into his pockets. "But Thumbs here was struggling, so I put the little dude on my head." At the last statement, Newton directed a half smile not at the man in front of him, but at the frog wriggling in his hands. With that half smile, Newton's eyes left the stranger's, mostly so he could keep looking at Thumbs, and partially to avoid any stares of distain and/or confusion the man might subject with his tired blue eyes. A few moments, and then panicked squeaking. Thumbs was being shaken, the way you would jello or cranberry sauce.
"Did all common sense leave alongside your need for hygiene?" Newton's eyes flashed with hurt for a brief singular second before they returned to his seemingly mellow state. His lips remained in that half smile of his, and Newton willed his tired face not to tremble in any manner.
"Bro, I asked Thumbs for permission, and he seemed okay with it. Also, lil dude likes the taste of my hair, apparently." Newton considered this statement, and decided to add onto it. "Or maybe just the taste of hair in general." Another loud, panicked squeak, like a mouse that had been caught by a cat, erupted from Thumbs.
interactions:
efferve
"Are you stupid, or is there some other reason you're acting all buddy-buddy with it?"
Newton slung his backpack over his shoulders, letting the cans whump against his back. His legs were starting to feel like jello, so slowly, Newton began to rise from his position off the shiny, white-tiled floor. By now, a lot of the snow on Newton's clothes had turned to slush, and with a splat, some of it fell to the floor, making the tiles no longer clean. As it turns out, when Newton was slouching, he was just as tall as the pale haired man with piercings. Newton's brown eyes met the man's.
"Dude, I was originally gonna put him in my backpack," Newton's hands were shoved into his pockets. "But Thumbs here was struggling, so I put the little dude on my head." At the last statement, Newton directed a half smile not at the man in front of him, but at the frog wriggling in his hands. With that half smile, Newton's eyes left the stranger's, mostly so he could keep looking at Thumbs, and partially to avoid any stares of distain and/or confusion the man might subject with his tired blue eyes. A few moments, and then panicked squeaking. Thumbs was being shaken, the way you would jello or cranberry sauce.
"Did all common sense leave alongside your need for hygiene?" Newton's eyes flashed with hurt for a brief singular second before they returned to his seemingly mellow state. His lips remained in that half smile of his, and Newton willed his tired face not to tremble in any manner.
"Bro, I asked Thumbs for permission, and he seemed okay with it. Also, lil dude likes the taste of my hair, apparently." Newton considered this statement, and decided to add onto it. "Or maybe just the taste of hair in general." Another loud, panicked squeak, like a mouse that had been caught by a cat, erupted from Thumbs.
interactions:
efferve
Last edited:
Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
J a s p e r A n t o v a
location: gas station
interaction: darnell
Kameron Esters-
newton
PawPawkit
noe
efferve
Jasper could see it. An infinite spread of blue beneath watercolor clouds, a single silvery road sucked into its horizon boasting untrodden potential. He’d experienced it, too. Before reality curled itself into a tangle of fraying thread, before the snow scorched existence with a vengeance, before Joann.
It was him, the sun, and a song that’d followed him off the previous car he’d hitched a ride from. Something sentimental about coming home to a patient love—of arriving somewhere to fill the empty space that’d been waiting for your return, and no one else’s. Lonely company, ultimately, for a guy who felt there were no more empty spaces in the shape of him; no more empty spaces waiting for him.
When the question was returned to his court, Jasper had one answer in mind: The same thing. Instead, he shrugged like the weight of his thoughts weren’t anvils slammed on each shoulder and gave a nonchalant smile.
“Probably an extra sketchbook. I’m almost done with the one I have now.” There’s an unreadable glint in his eyes, maybe irony. “Simple stuff.”
The sound of consistently erratic chirping drew Jasper’s attention onto a scene plucked from a school’s amateur anti-bullying PSA. Two non-threatening figures—one chastising the other for making friends with the frog. Jasper huffed; half amused, half vexed. He gave Darnell a pat on the shoulder. One that said, just one second but lingered with an invitation.
“Hey! You guys need help with the frogs?” He asked, sunshine bursting on his lips as he stepped between the two with a friendly pat to both their arms. Hung from his wrist, the plastic bag nesting his pile of frogs bumped into the blonde. Partially intentional, but subtle enough to be marked off as a clumsy accident. A gentle reprimand. "Oh, my bad, man! Here, let me get that one for ya.” He lets the plastic bag of hatchlings drop to the crook of his elbow while he gently scoops the captive frog from between the lithe, vengeful cage of fingers.
“Here,” he returned Thumbs to his tour buddy with a covert wink. “I’m Jasper—that guy’s Darnell—” He gestured respectively. “What about you guys?” Then, as quickly as he presented the question, he looked back at the blonde as a forgotten afterthought sparked to the surface. “You have really nice hands by the way! You play any instruments?”
It was him, the sun, and a song that’d followed him off the previous car he’d hitched a ride from. Something sentimental about coming home to a patient love—of arriving somewhere to fill the empty space that’d been waiting for your return, and no one else’s. Lonely company, ultimately, for a guy who felt there were no more empty spaces in the shape of him; no more empty spaces waiting for him.
When the question was returned to his court, Jasper had one answer in mind: The same thing. Instead, he shrugged like the weight of his thoughts weren’t anvils slammed on each shoulder and gave a nonchalant smile.
“Probably an extra sketchbook. I’m almost done with the one I have now.” There’s an unreadable glint in his eyes, maybe irony. “Simple stuff.”
The sound of consistently erratic chirping drew Jasper’s attention onto a scene plucked from a school’s amateur anti-bullying PSA. Two non-threatening figures—one chastising the other for making friends with the frog. Jasper huffed; half amused, half vexed. He gave Darnell a pat on the shoulder. One that said, just one second but lingered with an invitation.
“Hey! You guys need help with the frogs?” He asked, sunshine bursting on his lips as he stepped between the two with a friendly pat to both their arms. Hung from his wrist, the plastic bag nesting his pile of frogs bumped into the blonde. Partially intentional, but subtle enough to be marked off as a clumsy accident. A gentle reprimand. "Oh, my bad, man! Here, let me get that one for ya.” He lets the plastic bag of hatchlings drop to the crook of his elbow while he gently scoops the captive frog from between the lithe, vengeful cage of fingers.
“Here,” he returned Thumbs to his tour buddy with a covert wink. “I’m Jasper—that guy’s Darnell—” He gestured respectively. “What about you guys?” Then, as quickly as he presented the question, he looked back at the blonde as a forgotten afterthought sparked to the surface. “You have really nice hands by the way! You play any instruments?”
Klown
(∴✪౪⊗∴)
Interaction:
Alien222
Theasuke
A smile vacantly occupied the clerk’s face. A fixture, a decoration. Peeled away as easily as it was plastered on. The air around him rippled as if bent by a suffocating heat, but the air was static and cold. Cosmo’s approach garnered his attention. At first, an inconsequential flicker. Then, the roiling, tempestuous blaze of a bonfire.
His head lowered on a licorice neck, long and twisting. Skull turned upside down, sideways, then upright. A set of irises pop into his sockets, a perfect mitosis. As if the more pupils he held the more of Cosmo’s fainty transparent being he could behold.
“My, oh my.” A bony hand slithered up the counter, crawling its surface with a centipede’s grace. All wriggling and curving at odd angles. “Quite the precarious state, Mr. Crabtree. What is there to do except nothing?” His fingers wave with the giddiness of a villain eying a hearty meal on a silver platter, but he does not reach for Cosmo before Lucas marched with all the bravado of a man at the edge of the gallows.
The clerk’s neck twisted with the tearing sounds of something stretching beyond what was wise. Large, rounded sockets with a kaleidoscope of irises all fall onto Lucas. The cluster of pupils narrowing and expanding in an unsystematic dance.
Clerk to clerk.
Like drops of water merging and popping into a whole, the clerk’s several eyes all push together until a massive black pupil coated the entire socket. Eyes of nothing but endless abyss reflect Lucas for a paltry second, before zooming out into normal, humanistic brown. The rest of his body seems to adjust to this sudden shift—confining itself to the shape of an average body. A head held aloft before Lucas, completely still in the air, as the rest of his mass is pulled to it.
Neck dragging the body over the counter like a heavy wet rag, a shrinking toy winding its joints and snapping them back into place. Steady, inoffensive neck, squared torso wearing an ironed uniform, arms and legs at the perfect proportion. He now stood just short of a head taller than Lucas, placating smile on pristine lips.
Equal to equal.
“Ah, but you have taken your exchange already, have you not? Quite the eager hands, but not discreet enough.” He looked at the squeaking frog, then extended an open palm in a wordless offer to relieve him of the creature—or perhaps the creature of him. “I see there is a misunderstanding present. Which is inevitable. Your minds are impedingly organic after all.” He casts his gaze towards the store—the people within it, grappling with its surrealism. Like an old, weathered adult watching children frolic carelessly in flower fields, he smiles fondly. Nostalgic.
“I am simply presence in empty air. The eyes you feel when the halls are too dark, but you know nothing is there. The vague shapes you see behind closed lids, where nothing should exist.” He’s standing beside Lucas now. Not a step taken, not a single shift in air. “I do not control this space, I occupy it. Its whims are not mine.” He tilted his head, almost playful. Then, in an exact replication of Lucas' voice, asks “What kind of shitty employee are you?”
His head lowered on a licorice neck, long and twisting. Skull turned upside down, sideways, then upright. A set of irises pop into his sockets, a perfect mitosis. As if the more pupils he held the more of Cosmo’s fainty transparent being he could behold.
“My, oh my.” A bony hand slithered up the counter, crawling its surface with a centipede’s grace. All wriggling and curving at odd angles. “Quite the precarious state, Mr. Crabtree. What is there to do except nothing?” His fingers wave with the giddiness of a villain eying a hearty meal on a silver platter, but he does not reach for Cosmo before Lucas marched with all the bravado of a man at the edge of the gallows.
The clerk’s neck twisted with the tearing sounds of something stretching beyond what was wise. Large, rounded sockets with a kaleidoscope of irises all fall onto Lucas. The cluster of pupils narrowing and expanding in an unsystematic dance.
Clerk to clerk.
Like drops of water merging and popping into a whole, the clerk’s several eyes all push together until a massive black pupil coated the entire socket. Eyes of nothing but endless abyss reflect Lucas for a paltry second, before zooming out into normal, humanistic brown. The rest of his body seems to adjust to this sudden shift—confining itself to the shape of an average body. A head held aloft before Lucas, completely still in the air, as the rest of his mass is pulled to it.
Neck dragging the body over the counter like a heavy wet rag, a shrinking toy winding its joints and snapping them back into place. Steady, inoffensive neck, squared torso wearing an ironed uniform, arms and legs at the perfect proportion. He now stood just short of a head taller than Lucas, placating smile on pristine lips.
Equal to equal.
“Ah, but you have taken your exchange already, have you not? Quite the eager hands, but not discreet enough.” He looked at the squeaking frog, then extended an open palm in a wordless offer to relieve him of the creature—or perhaps the creature of him. “I see there is a misunderstanding present. Which is inevitable. Your minds are impedingly organic after all.” He casts his gaze towards the store—the people within it, grappling with its surrealism. Like an old, weathered adult watching children frolic carelessly in flower fields, he smiles fondly. Nostalgic.
“I am simply presence in empty air. The eyes you feel when the halls are too dark, but you know nothing is there. The vague shapes you see behind closed lids, where nothing should exist.” He’s standing beside Lucas now. Not a step taken, not a single shift in air. “I do not control this space, I occupy it. Its whims are not mine.” He tilted his head, almost playful. Then, in an exact replication of Lucas' voice, asks “What kind of shitty employee are you?”
Wyll
Senior Member
GESTALT
Cassidy
McNamara
McNamara
Cassidy looked over his shoulder to the man who had commented on the sound his hand had made as he punched the door. Perhaps optimistic of him, but Cassidy had hoped that none had heard the sound. He could feel his hand throbbing, but the pain had started fading. Not due to a high pain tolerance, but because he’d started loosing feeling in his hand - including the pain.
He would have replied, likely brushing off the shattered bones as little more than a mild inconvenience. However, it could seem as though he already found himself with different company and so Cassidy’s focus shifted to the pink-haired man. Is this a part of town where everyone has pink hair or something? While his words were logical...at least, logical enough something about simply complying because some big guy said so went against everything his Pa had taught him. Plus, he also couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Not that Cassidy missing something was anything new or rare, but, this time, it felt as though there was something they were all missing.
A small frown was painted across his face as he looked around at everyone obediently following this creep’s orders. As his gaze drifted over to this so-called clerk, and how the pink-haired one “sat” casually on the counter, there was a ringing in the back of his mind, something familiar about the scene called to him.
Slowly, he stepped towards the group, the picture becoming clearer with each step. He recalled the pink-haired one’s words; about the control the clerk had in the store.
“Now hold on...” he began, as he came to a stop between his fellow redhead and the angry white-haired person. “I ain’t know must about a lot of thing, but I do know huntin’ and I know fishin’ and if a hunter’s gonna kill ya, he ain’t gonna do the hokey pokey with ya first.”
He lifts his gaze to meet the clerk, grateful that the creature was no longer twice his height, though even that wouldn’t have stopped him. “But you ain’t a hunter, are you, Slendy? You ain’t trying to kill us. This ain’t nothin’ but a fishin’ trip for ya. You bait us; reel us in; show us off to your buddies and then put us back in the water. Over and over. This ain’t nothin’ but a game to you, is it?”
Drunk on frustration-induced courage, Cassidy climbs up on the register, standing on it with his hands on his hips - careful not to put pressure on his broken hand - as he glares at the clerk. “I bet I could give you a good 'un right in the face and it wouldn’t even mean anything to you."
He breathed angrily, eyes narrowed at the clerk as if he was actually contemplating testing out the punch to the face theory.. For whatever reason - likely because he figured that he needed at least one good hand - he took a step closer to the clerk, looking down at the being that was straight out of a scary movie. “Now you do what you gotta do, but you gon’ learn today that I ain’t no fish. And I ain’t gonna let you keep toying with me; and I’m gonna get out of this here station whether you want me to or not. That right there is a promise and you can take it to the bank. So you might as well just let me out now.” He pointed in the general directions of Joann, Cosmo, Jasper and Elise - the four people he had had any kind of interaction with since coming to the gas station, and so the four most important in the gas station to him. "And I'll be takin' them with me."
Cassidy nodded assertively, more for the benefit of his won confidence than anyone else's as his heart thundered within his rib cage.
Mentions: Joann (
Gigglecake
), Jasper (
Klown
), Cosmo (
Alien222
), Clerk (
Klown
), Vega (
Zedalith
)
Gigglecake
), Jasper (
Klown
), Cosmo (
Alien222
), Clerk (
Klown
), Vega (
Zedalith
)
Alien222
Funny lil' Internet guy
- Group
- Off-site
Interactions:
Wyll
(Cassidy)
Klown
(Clerk)Mentions:
Theasuke
(Lucas)
Zedalith
(Vega)Cosmo didn’t fail to notice what was happening around him: the comment by the annoying noir detective stereotype, the attempt to consume him by the bastard of a creature at the counter—
‘Like it hasn't already taken enough…’ Spite mumbled.
Lastly but certainly not least interesting, he noticed the creepypasta Y/N who came up to insult the clerk and how his act of idiocy had saved his skin.
The clerk was going to ‘eat’ him, or at least intended to consume him in some way; maybe it was part of how it found him intriguing.
‘Dangerous, not to be messed with,’ the label rang out in his mind as he stuck it onto the knowledge he had of the creature.
The emo boy, now he was truly stupid. Far beyond the redheads’ foolishness, at least they had the strength to back up their stupidity. He had nothing: no brains, no muscle, and a temper that would get him rightfully killed. If they had to sacrifice anyone, the smart option would be him.
‘Non-dangerous, to be thrown away,’ another label echoing through his mind.
‘Get off the fucking counter!’ Rationale began to scream at him, but he shut it up. He didn’t particularly want or need that type of input right now from his mind. He was carefully thinking of the next words that would exit his mouth.
‘Hey, I-’ His mind began, but he shot the suggestion down, the tone all wrong for the situation.
‘Listen here-’ He shot down the next idea as well, knowing it would only make him look rude and probably begin an impression he didn't want staying with his fellow prisoners. Then he heard the clerk’s question: “What kind of shitty employee are you?”
He knew then either the man was about to back down or start a fight, the much more stupid latter more likely considering he didn’t seem to be in his best mind. He was just about to speak when, once again, Loathing slithered into his thoughts.
‘Why are we helping him? You don’t save weeds from being uprooted, do you?’ It didn’t rant and rave about his obvious flaws or say anything more, as was its usual talkative nature. Just the simple question, and Cosmo responded with silence, both in the real world twisting before him and in his mind, which already felt like it had twisted in the wrong places long ago.
Then the orange-haired man started to speak, and though Cosmo hated to admit it, he was smarter than his terrible first impression. Not entirely past the idiot category in the artist’s mind. No, that would require Cosmo to not already despise him, and that was a condition not met by any of the ‘utter disgusting creatures that even scum look down on’ within the store. He reminded him of Akinyi: her vibrant hair dye and his own vibrant hair, her thick Cockney accent and his own thick country one, and the strange way she defended him with no benefit in sight for her and his promise to help him for no benefit at all.
For that, his hatred grew for the man, and with that, Spite went back to its chatty state, each word it spoke accentuated by the scar left by his only friend, which was still to heal;
‘He’s just like her. Just like that devil of a girl. One who probably has ‘morals’ so he can convince himself he’s a good person, one who has ‘boundaries’ all to lock people out, one who throws their good little followers like toys once they find a better fool to trick, one more cursed wretch to make us cling onto hope and then strip it from us once it doesn’t work out for them and their precious little idealistic version of life. One more piece of shit in this race of creatures that should be burnt in hellfire.’ Detestation seethed within Cosmo’s mind; his loathing for the man was now even more than for everyone else gathered around the counter, though he didn’t show it.
Instead, he looked into his stark blue eyes full of determination from atop his purchase on the counter, though his own were covered, with not a hint of the detestment bubbling beneath seen in his relaxed pose. “I appreciate the sentiment even if you will die doing what you’re saying you’ll do,” he grinned, the expression a strange combination of polite and mocking.
"And you," He shifted on the counter his body turning towards the cashier creature, picking his next words with as much care as he could, "I'd rather if you did give me something to do, after all, I'd rather be toyed with than eaten, even if everyone does need to eat. Also what is your name? Your real one? Or do you not have one? I'd just rather not always refer to you as 'that' or 'you' especially when you know my full name and everyone else's."
Kameron Esters-
Fear my godly wrath!
- One on One
- Group
- Nation Building
- Off-site
Darnell stayed quiet through most of the back-and-forth, letting the chaos play out in stereo around him. Frogs squeaked. Bags crinkled. Voices rose and fell like the tide of some real messed-up ocean. Folks were yelling at the clerk like it had a conscience. Someone had climbed on the counter like it was a soapbox. And that white-haired guy was still hunting frogs like he was playing goddamn Pokémon Go: Existential Crisis Edition... He'd play that honestly.
He didn’t jump in. Didn’t argue. Didn’t yell. Just kept his hand steady on the plastic sack now half-filled with citrus cuties and Two-Darn curled at the bottom like a lemony emperor. Darn only had him for about a minute and he was already proud of the little toadie. He’d caught Jasper’s pat on the shoulder—read it as both a “thanks” and a “back in a sec”—so he hung back, gave the kid space to play mediator. Jasper had a light touch. People responded to that. Darnell... not so much.
His eyes trailed over the others. The skinny blonde snob was practically vibrating with disdain. The loner with the white streak was on the edge of either a meltdown or a monologue. That guy with the sherbet braids was too smooth for someone in a place with peeling air and reality rot... Which he respected. The Southern ginger guy on the counter had that backwoods bravado like it was armor. Brave, maybe. Or dumb. Possibly both. But Darn respected the fire, even if it was gonna get him singed eventually.
He took a breath. Then another. Mint still clung to the roof of his mouth. Acrid citrus hung in the air, dense and stubborn and reaaallly beginning to burn his nose hairs.
Finally, he muttered to no one in particular, low and flat:
“Whole damn gas station’s startin’ to feel like group therapy for people who don’t wanna be here... Understandable honestly, but I got places to be so-”
He scratched at his jaw, eyes drifting to the clerk as it rearranged itself like meat puppetry was a fine art. Something about it set his teeth on edge—not the look of it, but the way it talked. Like it already knew how the story ended, and everyone else was just catching up.
“You know,” he said, loud enough for the group around the counter to hear, “when something this powerful talks like it’s got rules? That’s your window. Ain’t ‘bout beating it. Ain’t ‘bout barkin’ louder. It’s about figuring out which part of its game it can’t control.”
He thumbed the knot in his frog bag. One squirmed. Two-Darn didn’t.
“I say we keep listening. Get all the info the Clerk has to offer without flipping our lids, so we can not die. I'd like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt that we're smart enough to do that. I get it, guys. It's gettin' freaky here. It's raining fruity frogs right now, this is not lost on me. Be we won't get out of here if cooler heads don't prevail. Because I'm sure none of you want to stay here forever. And in situations like these, where the laws of physics and the rules of nature are being defied, there's a HIGH chance that death is a probability. And I, like all of you I'm sure, would like to avoid dying. Am I wrong? Cause there's no dying like not dying, am I wrong? And the only way to not die is to be smart. So let's. Get. Smart.”
And with that, he stepped forward just a bit—not too close—planting himself near Jasper, still angled toward the others.
Darnell wasn’t the loudest voice in the room. But sometimes you didn’t need to be.
Sometimes you just had to remind folks there was a grown-up in the building.
Gigglecake
Zedalith
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TheRealAngeloftheStorm
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PawPawkit
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Newton, just as before, gently held Thumbs in his palms, and gingerly placed the citrusy, round amphibian in his dark, unevenly cut hair. Thumbs' squeaking had ceased as it returned to its perch on the scruffy man's head. In fact, there was a sort of mlerp sound as Thumbs puffed out his small cheeks, and then splayed himself like a yellow pancake. The half smile directed at people had also returned to Newton's thin, although so had the creases. His dull brown eyes had caught the wink that had been directed at him by the scruffy haired guy with golden-brown highlights. The fact that this stranger whom he'd just met minutes ago was willing to help him out over something as simple as an eldritch lemon frog had minutely slowed down his thumping, erratic heart.
“I’m Jasper—that guy’s Darnell—” Jasper gestured his painted hand first at himself, then at the tied man. Unlike the blonde's, Jasper's blue eyes were less tired, more vibrant, friendlier. That sort of warmth couldn't be faked, not even by the best actors in the world. Newton was drawn to that warmth, as if he was a magnet, and Jasper's kindness was the North Pole. Newton knew that kindness should be repaid, and his brain began to work itself to think of something that wasn't just the plethora of brightly colored cans in his large sagging backpack. Yes, he would still be giving one or two of his energy drinks to Jasper, but that wasn't enough. That would be like giving someone $5 after they gave you a full meal for free. Did Jasper even like energy drinks or protein shakes?
"I'm Noe," The guy who'd snatched Thumbs off Newton's head muttered after a long pause. Noe looked annoyed with the world, but also like he couldn't be bothered to deal with those annoyances. He also looked like he wanted to get the hell out of this formerly shiny-floored gas station, and as Newton didn't want to earn any more ire, wanted to push the memory of Noe's attitude out of his mind, latched onto that. What followed after the look of utter annoyance what the slump of Noe's shoulders. The annoyance dropped his face just as quickly, replaced by a weariness.
"Sup, dudes," the slang word slipped out, almost automatically. "I'm Newton." A little wave. His name was Newton, he was named after Issac Newton, and he didn't really know what was happening aside from the fact that he now had a frog companion who enjoyed eating his hair and that the mirrors were wrong. He didn't even know where he was, where the gas station was located. What information could he gather through this insanity?
“I say we keep listening. Get all the info-" Darnell's voice rang out, his voice confident and sure. And now, Newton could gather one piece of information, and he hadn't even had to ask the clerk. He waited for Darnell to finish his statement, because Darnell had a really, really good idea: not dying. Newton was much less excited about interacting with the too-smiling clerk then he was about not dying.
"Dudes," Newton's voice was louder than normal, loud enough to carry over to people in other aisles and at the counter, and he kept any fear he might've felt out of his tone, aside from a barely noticeable hitch in his breath. "I think this gas station is both anywhere and nowhere. Because I don't think we traveled the same roads, man."
interactions:
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Kameron Esters-
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Alien222
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Ambiloquous
Gigglecake
Zedalith
timesink
AI10100
“I’m Jasper—that guy’s Darnell—” Jasper gestured his painted hand first at himself, then at the tied man. Unlike the blonde's, Jasper's blue eyes were less tired, more vibrant, friendlier. That sort of warmth couldn't be faked, not even by the best actors in the world. Newton was drawn to that warmth, as if he was a magnet, and Jasper's kindness was the North Pole. Newton knew that kindness should be repaid, and his brain began to work itself to think of something that wasn't just the plethora of brightly colored cans in his large sagging backpack. Yes, he would still be giving one or two of his energy drinks to Jasper, but that wasn't enough. That would be like giving someone $5 after they gave you a full meal for free. Did Jasper even like energy drinks or protein shakes?
"I'm Noe," The guy who'd snatched Thumbs off Newton's head muttered after a long pause. Noe looked annoyed with the world, but also like he couldn't be bothered to deal with those annoyances. He also looked like he wanted to get the hell out of this formerly shiny-floored gas station, and as Newton didn't want to earn any more ire, wanted to push the memory of Noe's attitude out of his mind, latched onto that. What followed after the look of utter annoyance what the slump of Noe's shoulders. The annoyance dropped his face just as quickly, replaced by a weariness.
"Sup, dudes," the slang word slipped out, almost automatically. "I'm Newton." A little wave. His name was Newton, he was named after Issac Newton, and he didn't really know what was happening aside from the fact that he now had a frog companion who enjoyed eating his hair and that the mirrors were wrong. He didn't even know where he was, where the gas station was located. What information could he gather through this insanity?
“I say we keep listening. Get all the info-" Darnell's voice rang out, his voice confident and sure. And now, Newton could gather one piece of information, and he hadn't even had to ask the clerk. He waited for Darnell to finish his statement, because Darnell had a really, really good idea: not dying. Newton was much less excited about interacting with the too-smiling clerk then he was about not dying.
"Dudes," Newton's voice was louder than normal, loud enough to carry over to people in other aisles and at the counter, and he kept any fear he might've felt out of his tone, aside from a barely noticeable hitch in his breath. "I think this gas station is both anywhere and nowhere. Because I don't think we traveled the same roads, man."
interactions:
Klown
efferve
Kameron Esters-
Wyll
Alien222
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Ambiloquous
Gigglecake
Zedalith
timesink
AI10100
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Beyond the Red Gate
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Zedalith
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Kameron Esters-
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PawPawkit
Madness.
In the span of a moment, the blink of an eye - everything changed, and everything she’d been so desperately trying to ignore came roaring to the forefront of her mind. The clerk was a monster masquerading as a human, limbs stretching out from all the way at the front to where she was just to deposit a little bag to clean up the mess.
The mess that she’d set off. A stupid little lemon on the ground leading to frog-lemon things skittering about in a store that had long since given up any pretense of it being a store. No, it was a prison, and that thing that had aped at being human just a few minutes ago was the jailor. It spoke in sibilant, sharp tones as if it was testing the language; a mockery of the tongue and a corruption of the mundane. It felt deliberate. A false sense of kinship, like throwing a tarp over a tank; it was covered, but you still saw its contours and discerned its purpose. Unease settled in her bones.
It’s toying with us, she thought, hysteria rising like a tide from her breast and threatening to finally overcome the dam she'd haphazardly thrown together.
All this, on the one day that she chose to run away from a message. Maybe God was punishing her for it. Or whatever that man-thing’s master was.
She almost laughed. Almost. Instead, she ground her teeth, fingers wrapping around the plastic bag offered to her by the man-thing at the front.
“Okay,” she said, breaths coming and going. “okay, okay, ok-”
She stumbled as a weight crashed into her. Her legs steadied, and she met’ Vega’s eyes roaming all over her. A snarl escaped her lips when he issued his simple command. Who the hell was he, to just look at her like that? It was unsettling and wrong and- violating.
“Fuck you!” Margaret seethed. This was not the time to deal with some goddamned-
She snatched the plastic bag from the ground, form crinkling under her grip, turning her back to him as he struggled with his own little lemon demons. She eyed one such menace, but before she could grab it, she heard a voice cutting through the din of the chaos engulfing the store.
Slowly, she turned around to the source. A little impromptu assembly, with the speaker at its head. Margaret trudged over, eyes narrowed and straightening from her slouch. In a few movements of the hand, a cigar was lit. If the jig was up, then she was going to ruin her lungs in the store now, damn the rest of them.
She caught the last bit of conversation from a reedy-looking, scraggly man. Margaret looked down on him.
“No,” she grunted, taking a puff of her cigar and letting the smoke waft in the air. “No, we didn’t. I was heading to a restaurant when the blizzard hit and forced me here. And I’ve been driving down the town’s roads for years now. This ‘gas station’,” she made air quotes, “nothing about it stood out. And I know what the stations in my town look like.”
She folded her arms, the cigar slowly burning away into nothing with every second, a little trail of smoke rising into the air and the familiar stench overpowering the store’s own. “I’m guessing that the rest of you are the same? Sudden blizzard pops out and forced you to take shelter here?”
Zedalith
|
Kameron Esters-
|
PawPawkit
Madness.
In the span of a moment, the blink of an eye - everything changed, and everything she’d been so desperately trying to ignore came roaring to the forefront of her mind. The clerk was a monster masquerading as a human, limbs stretching out from all the way at the front to where she was just to deposit a little bag to clean up the mess.
The mess that she’d set off. A stupid little lemon on the ground leading to frog-lemon things skittering about in a store that had long since given up any pretense of it being a store. No, it was a prison, and that thing that had aped at being human just a few minutes ago was the jailor. It spoke in sibilant, sharp tones as if it was testing the language; a mockery of the tongue and a corruption of the mundane. It felt deliberate. A false sense of kinship, like throwing a tarp over a tank; it was covered, but you still saw its contours and discerned its purpose. Unease settled in her bones.
It’s toying with us, she thought, hysteria rising like a tide from her breast and threatening to finally overcome the dam she'd haphazardly thrown together.
All this, on the one day that she chose to run away from a message. Maybe God was punishing her for it. Or whatever that man-thing’s master was.
She almost laughed. Almost. Instead, she ground her teeth, fingers wrapping around the plastic bag offered to her by the man-thing at the front.
“Okay,” she said, breaths coming and going. “okay, okay, ok-”
She stumbled as a weight crashed into her. Her legs steadied, and she met’ Vega’s eyes roaming all over her. A snarl escaped her lips when he issued his simple command. Who the hell was he, to just look at her like that? It was unsettling and wrong and- violating.
“Fuck you!” Margaret seethed. This was not the time to deal with some goddamned-
She snatched the plastic bag from the ground, form crinkling under her grip, turning her back to him as he struggled with his own little lemon demons. She eyed one such menace, but before she could grab it, she heard a voice cutting through the din of the chaos engulfing the store.
Slowly, she turned around to the source. A little impromptu assembly, with the speaker at its head. Margaret trudged over, eyes narrowed and straightening from her slouch. In a few movements of the hand, a cigar was lit. If the jig was up, then she was going to ruin her lungs in the store now, damn the rest of them.
She caught the last bit of conversation from a reedy-looking, scraggly man. Margaret looked down on him.
“No,” she grunted, taking a puff of her cigar and letting the smoke waft in the air. “No, we didn’t. I was heading to a restaurant when the blizzard hit and forced me here. And I’ve been driving down the town’s roads for years now. This ‘gas station’,” she made air quotes, “nothing about it stood out. And I know what the stations in my town look like.”
She folded her arms, the cigar slowly burning away into nothing with every second, a little trail of smoke rising into the air and the familiar stench overpowering the store’s own. “I’m guessing that the rest of you are the same? Sudden blizzard pops out and forced you to take shelter here?”
AI10100
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