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( PLEASE NOTE, THE SETTING INFO WILL CHANGE AS THE KNOWN AREA EXPANDS )
The following is a suggested format for posts, but hey, you didn't get here by following the rules, did you?
( PLEASE NOTE, THE SETTING INFO WILL CHANGE AS THE KNOWN AREA EXPANDS )
The following is a suggested format for posts, but hey, you didn't get here by following the rules, did you?
Preparation
Doc F had announced to everyone that the people from Auradon were coming to help. He sneered as he informed everyone, like he wasn't holding out much hope for anything, like he was annoyed perhaps. But still, they had only a day to prepare. He suggested they made the best of it. And informed everyone that classes start again soon. Time to do whatever it is one does to get ready...
Those who were left behind
Once again the group heading for Auradon had left. Then all that was left for those who remain to pick up the pieces. The supplies had been left with Folques as usual, soneone who wanted them
would need to ask him for what they needed or wanted. Other from that, people could move back into their less damp rooms. Also, they needed to figure out who was in charge now that Doc F had gone to the mainland. Lady Tremaine had declared herself to be in charge, but Doc F had said Professor Song was. So that was... going to be fun. Right?
The floods were gone. Trying to get back to the way things have been has been difficult however. The halls of the school were much cleaner then they had been, but they remained damp. Every room still had ceilings dripping slowly, always just in some irritating space. Just enough to be annoying. Just annoying enough that Doc F. canceled classes. Floors are still slick, no matter how much people try to dry them.
The walls are constantly becoming slimy again in the darkest dankest corners, even if people tried to clean them. Before long moss and mold began to grow in those dark corners. Is it edible? Is it poisonous? Will it give anyone who eats them horrible nightmares that will last until the next Isle visit?
Yes.
Outside isn't any better.
The ground is soggy and swampy. It is hard to walk without loud sucking sounds and difficulty. Going inside will trail muddy steps. Staying outside would be miserable. And the garden would be problematic to tend. The trick would be keeping any plants that survived from drowning as the soil just isn't drying enough.
Of course those odd blood red and black flowers are still just fine. But... whoever said they were a deadly poison probably wasn't joking... right?
Right?
Of course right.
But at least it isn't actively raining.
Oh, and there is that area that River keeps inspecting along the vine wall. Might want to see what that is about?
The walls are constantly becoming slimy again in the darkest dankest corners, even if people tried to clean them. Before long moss and mold began to grow in those dark corners. Is it edible? Is it poisonous? Will it give anyone who eats them horrible nightmares that will last until the next Isle visit?
Yes.
Outside isn't any better.
The ground is soggy and swampy. It is hard to walk without loud sucking sounds and difficulty. Going inside will trail muddy steps. Staying outside would be miserable. And the garden would be problematic to tend. The trick would be keeping any plants that survived from drowning as the soil just isn't drying enough.
Of course those odd blood red and black flowers are still just fine. But... whoever said they were a deadly poison probably wasn't joking... right?
Right?
Of course right.
But at least it isn't actively raining.
Oh, and there is that area that River keeps inspecting along the vine wall. Might want to see what that is about?
The rain stopped long before the water levels went down enough for people to start coming off of the roof and reclaiming the spaces they had carved out for themselves before. Many things were broken, waterlogged, or both. Much of the paint on the walls has been washed away, though there are now plenty of salt deposits everywhere. Are they a mess to be cleaned or a way to spice up meals? That depends on imagination and bravery.
But it remains that everything is soaked. A lot of the plants are worse for the wear, though some could weather salt water well enough. Anything growing on the Isle had already proved to be hardy after all. The Witchblood flowers seemed completely fine, of course. Because that was the luck of those stuck here. The helpful plants suffered, the deadly plants thrived.
On the plus side, though, salt wasn't the only thing left behind when the ocean receded. When the rains ended. There were clumps of sargassum that may be useful - if stinky. And a few classrooms have a fish or three that couldn't escape in time when the water abandoned them.
Of course, starting a fire to cook anything would be difficult until things dried out a lot more. Hopefully someone knows how to make sashimi?
There was one more big change though. A section of the vines had been so damaged by the salt water and rain and the soil being washed away. And so when the water left, the section of vines was in sad shape, and could possibly be hacked through and removed?
No matter the focus, everyone has a lot to do now. Anything brought onto the roof with the characters was probably soaking wet, but probably intact. Anything left below, however, might well be destroyed. Maybe things could be repaired. Maybe they could be broken down for parts? Maybe they just have to be disposed of.
The one thing that seems to have stayed safe, however, were books. Text books, fiction novels, music books, notebooks. They all seemed to be just a little waterlogged but otherwise fine. But everything else?
With so much still to do, surely Doc F wouldn't demand classes also be held, right? Right?
Wrong.
Doc F has made it clear that classes need to be fit in around clean up and repair, though he did relent and add that anyone who was fixing things in areas other than their own could count that time as class time. This week only. After that, he wants to see students in seats and teachers haranguing them. He also let everyone know that a new sign up sheet would be going up by week's end...
But it remains that everything is soaked. A lot of the plants are worse for the wear, though some could weather salt water well enough. Anything growing on the Isle had already proved to be hardy after all. The Witchblood flowers seemed completely fine, of course. Because that was the luck of those stuck here. The helpful plants suffered, the deadly plants thrived.
On the plus side, though, salt wasn't the only thing left behind when the ocean receded. When the rains ended. There were clumps of sargassum that may be useful - if stinky. And a few classrooms have a fish or three that couldn't escape in time when the water abandoned them.
Of course, starting a fire to cook anything would be difficult until things dried out a lot more. Hopefully someone knows how to make sashimi?
There was one more big change though. A section of the vines had been so damaged by the salt water and rain and the soil being washed away. And so when the water left, the section of vines was in sad shape, and could possibly be hacked through and removed?
No matter the focus, everyone has a lot to do now. Anything brought onto the roof with the characters was probably soaking wet, but probably intact. Anything left below, however, might well be destroyed. Maybe things could be repaired. Maybe they could be broken down for parts? Maybe they just have to be disposed of.
The one thing that seems to have stayed safe, however, were books. Text books, fiction novels, music books, notebooks. They all seemed to be just a little waterlogged but otherwise fine. But everything else?
With so much still to do, surely Doc F wouldn't demand classes also be held, right? Right?
Wrong.
Doc F has made it clear that classes need to be fit in around clean up and repair, though he did relent and add that anyone who was fixing things in areas other than their own could count that time as class time. This week only. After that, he wants to see students in seats and teachers haranguing them. He also let everyone know that a new sign up sheet would be going up by week's end...
The rain rain rain came down down down. Again. And Again. And again. It wasn’t unheard of for the storms on the Isle to so bad that the basement of the school flooded. The last time that had happened it had been bad enough. This time it somehow managed to be worse. Spectacularly worse.
For one thing, the ocean was beating the shore so much worse than ever that the gators and crocs weren’t a danger. Being there at all was, however. Fishing would have to be held in abeyance unless someone was certain they couldn’t be knocked out and dragged out to sea. Any fishing equipment that had been out when the storms started up might not survive. But if everyone was smart, the people would. Probably. Maybe. See again: if the people were smart.
But it was worse even than just that, bad as that was. In no previous storm that anyone could recall did water rush in through the vine walls like a dam had burst. On all sides where the thorn walls existed. Rushing water full of dirt and muck and the occasional interesting bit of trash from elsewhere on the Isle. Oh look, is that half a hair brush?
Doctor Facilier declared this a good time to focus on lessons, since they could be held indoors. But even that didn’t last long. It wasn’t just that the thunder was so loud as to drown out most attempts at teaching. It was that after a few days of unrelenting rain the rest of the school joined the basement in a rush to be underwater. By the end of the first week, the roof was looking tempting, even though that would be staying directly under the rain. A few days later tempting became imperative for anyone who couldn’t natively breathe under water.
The roof was slanted however and crowded for all the people on the Isle. It was time to become very friendly with each other, and maybe River would forgive people for messing up the message written in stones that had been up there since soon after she arrived. But at least it would only be a week or so of enforced togetherness before the rain eased enough that the bravest could consider going down to bail out the school, if - that is - they could figure out where to bail to. The whole area around the school was also under water for a few days more. The roof and the tops of the vine walls were the only things high enough to stand on, though perhaps standing atop the vinewall was only done by those very sure of their balance when wet and slippery. That said however, this might be the first time anyone has had a real chance to get up on top of them...
For one thing, the ocean was beating the shore so much worse than ever that the gators and crocs weren’t a danger. Being there at all was, however. Fishing would have to be held in abeyance unless someone was certain they couldn’t be knocked out and dragged out to sea. Any fishing equipment that had been out when the storms started up might not survive. But if everyone was smart, the people would. Probably. Maybe. See again: if the people were smart.
But it was worse even than just that, bad as that was. In no previous storm that anyone could recall did water rush in through the vine walls like a dam had burst. On all sides where the thorn walls existed. Rushing water full of dirt and muck and the occasional interesting bit of trash from elsewhere on the Isle. Oh look, is that half a hair brush?
Doctor Facilier declared this a good time to focus on lessons, since they could be held indoors. But even that didn’t last long. It wasn’t just that the thunder was so loud as to drown out most attempts at teaching. It was that after a few days of unrelenting rain the rest of the school joined the basement in a rush to be underwater. By the end of the first week, the roof was looking tempting, even though that would be staying directly under the rain. A few days later tempting became imperative for anyone who couldn’t natively breathe under water.
The roof was slanted however and crowded for all the people on the Isle. It was time to become very friendly with each other, and maybe River would forgive people for messing up the message written in stones that had been up there since soon after she arrived. But at least it would only be a week or so of enforced togetherness before the rain eased enough that the bravest could consider going down to bail out the school, if - that is - they could figure out where to bail to. The whole area around the school was also under water for a few days more. The roof and the tops of the vine walls were the only things high enough to stand on, though perhaps standing atop the vinewall was only done by those very sure of their balance when wet and slippery. That said however, this might be the first time anyone has had a real chance to get up on top of them...
Open/locked?: OTA
Who: Severn and whoever
What: Arrival
Warnings: Dark setting, dark pull point, death, murder, guilt
( Hands Red With Memory )
Who: Severn and whoever
What: Arrival
Warnings: Dark setting, dark pull point, death, murder, guilt
( Hands Red With Memory )
Open/locked?: OTA
Who: Noctis and whoever finds him
What: Arrival
Warnings: FFXV spoilers, could be some darker stuff to do with war and death
( Something about a sad, wet cat- er, bird? )
Who: Noctis and whoever finds him
What: Arrival
Warnings: FFXV spoilers, could be some darker stuff to do with war and death
( Something about a sad, wet cat- er, bird? )
Open/locked?: OTA
Who: Anakin and whomsoever he encounters
What: Arrival
Warnings: It's Anakin. Episode III.
( Balancing On A Saber's Edge )
Who: Anakin and whomsoever he encounters
What: Arrival
Warnings: It's Anakin. Episode III.
( Balancing On A Saber's Edge )
Once again it was time for the school to be a school. Doc F was patrolling the school between his own class. There were few enough of them teaching that he could stretch out the schedule so that no two classes overlapped. And if that meant students who wanted to take more classes than was wise suffered, well.... through suffering came learning. He was not opposed to the suffering he could cause. Especially if it was suffering he could justify, suffering he could cause without losing his chance at going to Auradon. Not that he thought that was even still likely. More and more he watched others be allowed to Auradon while he was left behind. A villian getting bitter? Who could have called that one?
Still, classes were in session, and he intended to hedge his bets with his classes. Things he learned in the service of what was so thinly called evil, perhaps, but they could in theory be used for other reasons. Plausible deniability. Just one of the many things he planned to teach to his newest batch of unwilling pupils.
For those choosing their classes, they would have been able to find the class list here, where it is posted both just inside the entrance to the school and on his door. If it was torn down, he would simply put it back up. It wasn't about wanting to be sure students had the opportunity to know what classes were offered. It was to ensure no one had an excuse to give for missing classes. Or for not knowing when a class was.
And if some people disliked when certain classes were scheduled, they were certainly welcome to come argue with him when he was in his office.
Of course, given he was teaching classes and patrolling between, he was rarely actually to be found in his office. You know what that isn't? A coincidence.
Still, classes were in session, and he intended to hedge his bets with his classes. Things he learned in the service of what was so thinly called evil, perhaps, but they could in theory be used for other reasons. Plausible deniability. Just one of the many things he planned to teach to his newest batch of unwilling pupils.
For those choosing their classes, they would have been able to find the class list here, where it is posted both just inside the entrance to the school and on his door. If it was torn down, he would simply put it back up. It wasn't about wanting to be sure students had the opportunity to know what classes were offered. It was to ensure no one had an excuse to give for missing classes. Or for not knowing when a class was.
And if some people disliked when certain classes were scheduled, they were certainly welcome to come argue with him when he was in his office.
Of course, given he was teaching classes and patrolling between, he was rarely actually to be found in his office. You know what that isn't? A coincidence.
Clean Up
Doc F was in a foul mood as he collected up his masks. His scheme, his perfect plan, foiled! And he didn't even know whom was to blame. That was what really stuck in his craw. Someone needed to suffer for this, and they would. Even if he had to make everyone on this magic forsaken place feel his wrath. But first he needed to take his masks before anyone else could. He didn't dare to leave them behind. He gathered them all and locked them away, then stalked to his office to fume. After several minutes he had the first part of a plan at least. He was going to use the newly set up network.
He opened the connection, voice only, sent to every device on the Isle. "THE TOMBS NEED TO BE CLEANED UP. GET TO IT! I WANT THEM SPOTLESS BY MIDNIGHT!" He cut the connection, and resumed pacing. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. Especially since he suspected no one would actually go clean. No. Someone needed to suffer. And he was just the evil mastermind to figure out how.
Fine, I'll Be The Bad Guy
Two days after his demand to clean the tombs, the not so good Doctor sent out an all hands alarm. He used the Network again, that and an airhorn sound on repeat at different volumes and frequencies. The only breaks in the horrid noise were the points where he cut in to say that the sound will play on loop until absolutely every remaining person on the Isle attended his meeting in ten minutes in the front hall of the school.
Of course that meant for whoever arrived first... they got to hear the same sound from every other device as everyone else began to show up. But Doc F. wasn't bluffing. If even a single person didn't show, he would make his proclamation over the noise, but he would leave the audio pollution running 24/7 until every last lost soul on the Isle reported to him. Even those who arrived later in a fit of desperation to make the noise stop would get the same information that everyone who bothered to show up would.
"Someone tried to sabotage our ball and with it the chance to go to Auradon for those of us who wanted it. Seemingly things have been too kind here. Too easy. Everyone seems to have forgotten that this trash heap is a punishment. Well, if that is what those fools in Auradon want, then a punishment it will once again be! Classes will now be mandatory. For everyone. You are a teacher or student or both, but you will spend a minimum of five hours a night, every night, in a classroom! Everyone will sign up with me as either a student or a teacher by the end of tomorrow night, or I will find a sound far worse than an airhorn, and it will not stop until everyone is accounted for. If you will be teaching I have to approve what you will be teaching, and you will have to take attendance and assign homework. If you will be a student you will have to attend. Anyone who fails will find a personal noise attached to them at all times until they comply. The classes will continue until people want to go to Auradon badly enough to make it happen! Now, if there are no questions, the sign up sheets are on the wall there. This noise stops once everyone has signed up, or if everyone has not by the end of tomorrow, then it only stops to be swapped with something worse until the lists are filled. I don't care if you sign someone else up so long as they do what they are signed up for. I'll be in my office for anyone who needs their classes approved. Of course those who were teaching here before do not need approval for the same classes."
He looked at everyone through narrowed eyes. "That is... unless someone wants to claim credit for convincing those Auradorks that we were planning a rebellion. All this stops as soon as I know who it is. So... anyone want to gloat? Now is your chance!"
Final Preparations
As they had gotten ready for the party it had been pointed out to Doc F that he didn't need a scout after all. He would have preferred a volunteer to logic, frankly.
A volunteer meant buy in, meant someone had been taken in by his plan and wanted to help see it come to pass. Well... he would work on them in time.
Until then, he all but lived in the tombs - where gym class was held - getting ready for the party. On each wall hung a mask. They were the first decorations he had put up, after taking them out of storage in the forbidden library. He had hid them when he decided he would do what it took to get brought to Auradon - when both his daughters were taken by that sickeningly sweet place. But to be with his girls, and have his powers back... he'd pretend to be a friend to the other side. As long as it took.
But now they had a use. He had hidden them for a reason. They were magic. Dark magic. A temptation that if he did get to go he'd bring them with him and he'd fall back on his old ways. He hadn't ever thought there would be a use for them that would help convince those suckers that he had changed. But now they would.
They were dark magic, these masks. And in the presence of magic they showed their true colours. Who needed a scout when he would be alerted as soon as the barrier fell so long as he stayed awake to watch the masks.
Surprisingly he did receive offers of help with that at least. And from sources he wouldn't have expected. Lady Tremaine, and River Song. Also someone kept bringing decorations and such to the hall outside the tombs but running away before he could see who.
It didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd have all the warning he'd need to get everyone in place before the Auradorks could make it to the school. They'd see how grand a party the Isle could throw. He was disappointed in Mal that she seemed to have forgotten that. No matter, it just meant that he'd get to dance her across the tombs and convince her that he turned over all the new leaves to be found on this miserable trash heap. Maybe he'd even make it back before things were fixed.
Either way, the Isle was overdue for a blow out and what better time?
By the time the masks lit up, the tombs had been transformed. The floor was covered on overlapping bits of dark coloured paper. A carpet of litter confetti. Some of the most unreliable lights in the school had been hauled down, giving the room an almost strobe light like ambiance. In that poor lighting, the cobwebs he hung liberally around the ceiling and walls could be mistaken for gossamer streamers. In place of balloons, there were some jars filled with chemicals that were left behind in Yen Sid's lab that not only floated but gave off an eerie creepy sickly green glow. Perfect!
He had been putting the patchwork tablecloths on the few rickety tables he had hauled down when he saw a different glow. The masks! PARTY TIME!
He dashed up the stairs, glad for long legs and told every villian and Misery-called he could find that it was party time. He handed out non-magical handmade masks then hustled them down to the tombs.
It had been so long since he'd had a truly devious plan, and he was quite proud of this one...
Rock Around The Clock
After the Auradon people headed off, Doc F looked at everyone who remained. Hiding his bitter frustration at having been left behind once more, he leaned forward on his cane to address everyone. "Now that those wet blanks split, let's get this party started for real!" he said. He spun on his heel and headed back for the tombs. He was going to sing and dance and whatever else it took to swallow down his rage. There was only so much one man could take, after all.
Doctor F. had been hiding out in his office since the accidental video from the king and queen. Anyone who had seen him in his very few forays out for food or supplies would see a man looking intent and focused.
And then finally he emerged, grabbing everyone he could and using them as messengers spread the word. A special assembly in the entry hall. The now... oddly clean entry hall. Not that Sun and whoever might have helped him would have gotten any thanks for it.
Once he had everyone gathered, Doctor F addressed them all, leaning on his cane. "So. Some of you may have heard that the royal flush in Auradon is planning to throw a ball. And they're also going to throw us a bone. A pittance. A scrap so that they can feel good about themselves as they party," he said, bitterly.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward even more, speaking like he was on stage, like this was a performance. His natural theatrical nature was in full force now.
"We have, many of us, worked hard to show those in Auradon that we deserve to be moved to Auradon. And all we get is scraps! SCRAPS! Still. Well no more. No more, I say! Misery-called, fellow villains, it is time to show Auradon that we don't need their scraps!"
Lady Tremaine looked smug and vindicated, her chin raising. If anyone was expecting interest from Gothel, however, they would be disappointed. Unless what they expecting her to have interest in was posting selfies on the newly repaired network.
"So what we're going to do is we're going to show them we don't need their pity party! We'll throw our own ball!" he proclaimed dramatically.
Tremaine looked disappointed and disgusted, shaking her head.
"We have all we need here. We have art skills, creativity. We have some of you who have shown skills at preparing food, as well as catching it from the ocean. We are Islanders! We've never needed handouts before!" he projected. "So when they come with their pity offerings, we'll be ready! I want everyone working to prepare. And I need someone to be our scout, watching the shore for any sign they are coming so that as soon as they hit the beach we can all be in the tombs in costume, looking like we've been partying for a while already. Showing them we don't need handouts! We're the ISLE! We're where the strength in this world has always been! So let's start showing it!"
And then finally he emerged, grabbing everyone he could and using them as messengers spread the word. A special assembly in the entry hall. The now... oddly clean entry hall. Not that Sun and whoever might have helped him would have gotten any thanks for it.
Once he had everyone gathered, Doctor F addressed them all, leaning on his cane. "So. Some of you may have heard that the royal flush in Auradon is planning to throw a ball. And they're also going to throw us a bone. A pittance. A scrap so that they can feel good about themselves as they party," he said, bitterly.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward even more, speaking like he was on stage, like this was a performance. His natural theatrical nature was in full force now.
"We have, many of us, worked hard to show those in Auradon that we deserve to be moved to Auradon. And all we get is scraps! SCRAPS! Still. Well no more. No more, I say! Misery-called, fellow villains, it is time to show Auradon that we don't need their scraps!"
Lady Tremaine looked smug and vindicated, her chin raising. If anyone was expecting interest from Gothel, however, they would be disappointed. Unless what they expecting her to have interest in was posting selfies on the newly repaired network.
"So what we're going to do is we're going to show them we don't need their pity party! We'll throw our own ball!" he proclaimed dramatically.
Tremaine looked disappointed and disgusted, shaking her head.
"We have all we need here. We have art skills, creativity. We have some of you who have shown skills at preparing food, as well as catching it from the ocean. We are Islanders! We've never needed handouts before!" he projected. "So when they come with their pity offerings, we'll be ready! I want everyone working to prepare. And I need someone to be our scout, watching the shore for any sign they are coming so that as soon as they hit the beach we can all be in the tombs in costume, looking like we've been partying for a while already. Showing them we don't need handouts! We're the ISLE! We're where the strength in this world has always been! So let's start showing it!"
With everyone asleep for so long maintenance has fallen by the wayside. The Misery-called will awaken to a disgustingly damp school. It doesn't help that they each woke up in a trashed classroom they didn't well know, alone. The hallways are dim and have mildew on the walls. Here and there in corners are clusters of scary looking fungi. Stalks so pale they almost seem to glow, and black heads with dark red stripes. If anyone is brave enough to sample one though, they will find it to have am okra-like texture, but a very bland mild taste. It is wet and squishy, but won't kill those who eat them in moderation.
Any harvested mushrooms will remain until used or until a week has passed. Whichever comes first. Those left on the walls and on the grounds will fade at midnight. On the beach lot of sargassum has washed ashore. The smell is horrendous and it is crawling with small insects. It will need to be cleared away before the beach can be properly utilized again. There is a lot of it, and this task will require something the Isle isn't really famous for - teamwork. Also even if the person power is present to move it, the question remains what to do with it all? Any unused or unprocessed sargassum will remain for at least a month, and that smell isn't getting any less noxious with time.
Should it be concerning that late one night someone so tall and thin it probably was the headmaster was spotted sneaking through the shadows to harvest some before hiding away in the school once more?
Nah, that... Should be fine... Right?
Any harvested mushrooms will remain until used or until a week has passed. Whichever comes first. Those left on the walls and on the grounds will fade at midnight. On the beach lot of sargassum has washed ashore. The smell is horrendous and it is crawling with small insects. It will need to be cleared away before the beach can be properly utilized again. There is a lot of it, and this task will require something the Isle isn't really famous for - teamwork. Also even if the person power is present to move it, the question remains what to do with it all? Any unused or unprocessed sargassum will remain for at least a month, and that smell isn't getting any less noxious with time.
Should it be concerning that late one night someone so tall and thin it probably was the headmaster was spotted sneaking through the shadows to harvest some before hiding away in the school once more?
Nah, that... Should be fine... Right?
When All Things Young Are Old Again
Eventually the weirdness of adults being children came to an end as it began. Everyone slept at the same time and woke up once more themselves, though perhaps with a new understanding of their fellow islanders. Or perhaps more confused than they began. Either way, it was time to face the music and the others on the Isle.
Get Ready, Aim, FIRE!!!!!
Just a few hours after everyone awoke as themselves again there was a roiling stench of smoke coming up from the basements. Those going to investigate might notice a slightly singed programer on loan from Auradon rushing up the stairs, shirt over their mouth, coughing.
"Well...." Ian said, "Clearly that was not a grounded outlet after all..."
The fire is out, but even those who don't deal with Ian directly will have to deal with the smoke filling the school. But if people gather outside to get some fresher air, well... that's a good place as any to talk about what had just happened, is it not?
The sound was terrible. Like a great beast under the Isle was snoring. A horrible rattling noise that started in the middle of the night and just got louder and louder. There was something to that sound that struck primal fear into whoever heard it, even those who normally would show no fear. This was that core hide under the bed fear, that fear so bad it makes kids forget that the monsters under the bed are scary cause whatever this is... is worse. So much worse. The sound trips and triggers every possible fear and anxiety all at the same time. Those hearing it - which is probably everyone on the Isle, since it sounds loudest under the school but can be heard over the ocean at the shore - will feel the constant need to run. To hide. Like an itch under the skin. If it is in their nature to bring others with them to hide, they can, but as the night goes the urge to hide will get stronger and stronger until it feels like something has to snap.
And snap it would.
For each of them, at some point... it would become too much. For those more... biological... the brain would shut down in self defense, and the person would pass out. For those more technological in nature... Hello, BSOD followed by an emergency BRS (Big Red Switch/static reboot).
Those oldest would pass out soonest, and would stay out longest, trapped in their worst nightmares. Actual nightmares, as in they are asleep and no one else is seeing them. For once. The youngest would be able to hold out longest, though their nightmares might be the sharpest.
When the youngest of those on the Isle awake, they would find themselves alone in a room of the school they hadn't fallen asleep in, but searching.... where are the adults?
Where are the adults?
Well, they aren't. Adults, that is. During the nightmares, the adults have reverted to child form. Whatever that means for each of them. None older than eleven years old. They will wake up in the clothes they would have fallen asleep in at the age they awoke, but with no memories past that point in their childhood. No clue how they got here, or why. And worse? They woke up from the worst nightmare ever! And their adults! Are! Not! Here!
More, the dark feel to the Isle is libel to bring out the worst childish impulses. Temper tantrums. Bullying. Bossiness. Greed.
Welcome to The Isle, kids. Specifically the Isle from The Lord Of The Flies...
And snap it would.
For each of them, at some point... it would become too much. For those more... biological... the brain would shut down in self defense, and the person would pass out. For those more technological in nature... Hello, BSOD followed by an emergency BRS (Big Red Switch/static reboot).
Those oldest would pass out soonest, and would stay out longest, trapped in their worst nightmares. Actual nightmares, as in they are asleep and no one else is seeing them. For once. The youngest would be able to hold out longest, though their nightmares might be the sharpest.
When the youngest of those on the Isle awake, they would find themselves alone in a room of the school they hadn't fallen asleep in, but searching.... where are the adults?
Where are the adults?
Well, they aren't. Adults, that is. During the nightmares, the adults have reverted to child form. Whatever that means for each of them. None older than eleven years old. They will wake up in the clothes they would have fallen asleep in at the age they awoke, but with no memories past that point in their childhood. No clue how they got here, or why. And worse? They woke up from the worst nightmare ever! And their adults! Are! Not! Here!
More, the dark feel to the Isle is libel to bring out the worst childish impulses. Temper tantrums. Bullying. Bossiness. Greed.
Welcome to The Isle, kids. Specifically the Isle from The Lord Of The Flies...
One day started gloomier than the other recent days. Just everything seemed more dank and depressing, and outside things looked even less colourful than the drab nothing there had been before.
By the second day it was worse.
By the third day there was a horrible stench of some sort of acrid smoke that seemed to have no source, but where it passed, everything seemed just a little more dreary.
By the fourth day even the graffiti had lost its bright lurid colours.
And by the fifth day, if anyone was unfortunate enough to pass through the intermittent smoke they would find their own clothes leached of colour.
By the midpoint of the event, what plants they had managed to grow would be drooping. Even the vine walls seemed to droop a little. Not enough to deal with them easily though, and it would b beyond difficult for anyone to rally themselves to want to go to the effort.
For with the lack of color gloom spread like a malaise. No one could shake themselves out of it, however... with effort those on the Isle could perk each other up. It would not restore their colours, but they could help each other re-find some small joy or energy to beat back the lethargy. What they cannot do for themselves they can do only for each other.
At its peak gloominess at mid-event, they might hear shuffled footsteps and hushed voices now that so few people are actually stirring at all.
"Just think," one voice would hiss whisper, "one day all the lands will be as dark and gloomy as this!" he gave a quiet gleeful cackle.
"It's all dark and gloomy, there aren't any pretty flowers, Murky." That voice was a little louder and sounded like the owner had a stuffed up nose.
"That's the point, and keep it down, chowder for brains! I think I saw a closed door, help me get it open so we can see if there are any..." you could almost here the shudder "colours."
"Oh goodie! Maybe we'll find a yellow hat. I always wanted a yellow hat!"
"Just open the door would you?"
"Okay, Murky!"
Whose door did they open, one wonders. And was anyone inside to see the dreadful pair?
Either way they would go in, weird grey steampunk looking gun at the ready.
Two days before the end of the event, those sensitive to the magical shield around the Isle would feel it take a hit or two, but not falter. Those outside would be able to make out through the clouds a flash of colours so bright that it seems almost painful after the dullness the Isle has decended into, but it won't last long. An hour at most.
At the end of the event, the pair, having either been dealt with or ignored, will have vanished and slowly over the next few weeks what little colour the Isle once had will slowly come back, and moods once lifted will not immediately descend once more.
Whatever it was seems to have passed.
For now.
By the second day it was worse.
By the third day there was a horrible stench of some sort of acrid smoke that seemed to have no source, but where it passed, everything seemed just a little more dreary.
By the fourth day even the graffiti had lost its bright lurid colours.
And by the fifth day, if anyone was unfortunate enough to pass through the intermittent smoke they would find their own clothes leached of colour.
By the midpoint of the event, what plants they had managed to grow would be drooping. Even the vine walls seemed to droop a little. Not enough to deal with them easily though, and it would b beyond difficult for anyone to rally themselves to want to go to the effort.
For with the lack of color gloom spread like a malaise. No one could shake themselves out of it, however... with effort those on the Isle could perk each other up. It would not restore their colours, but they could help each other re-find some small joy or energy to beat back the lethargy. What they cannot do for themselves they can do only for each other.
At its peak gloominess at mid-event, they might hear shuffled footsteps and hushed voices now that so few people are actually stirring at all.
"Just think," one voice would hiss whisper, "one day all the lands will be as dark and gloomy as this!" he gave a quiet gleeful cackle.
"It's all dark and gloomy, there aren't any pretty flowers, Murky." That voice was a little louder and sounded like the owner had a stuffed up nose.
"That's the point, and keep it down, chowder for brains! I think I saw a closed door, help me get it open so we can see if there are any..." you could almost here the shudder "colours."
"Oh goodie! Maybe we'll find a yellow hat. I always wanted a yellow hat!"
"Just open the door would you?"
"Okay, Murky!"
Whose door did they open, one wonders. And was anyone inside to see the dreadful pair?
Either way they would go in, weird grey steampunk looking gun at the ready.
Two days before the end of the event, those sensitive to the magical shield around the Isle would feel it take a hit or two, but not falter. Those outside would be able to make out through the clouds a flash of colours so bright that it seems almost painful after the dullness the Isle has decended into, but it won't last long. An hour at most.
At the end of the event, the pair, having either been dealt with or ignored, will have vanished and slowly over the next few weeks what little colour the Isle once had will slowly come back, and moods once lifted will not immediately descend once more.
Whatever it was seems to have passed.
For now.
As usual, the horrible thing happened around midnight. There was a terrible noise like stone scraping on stone and the whole school shook briefly and then they appeared. Crudely hewn stone statues that still somehow managed to evoke the memory of who they were meant to represent to those who knew them.
The statues were of enemies, foes, rivals, anyone that one of the Misery-called might never want to see again. The statues look like rough hewn stone, but any attempts to deal with them the way one might a stone statue would fail. Even moving them would prove impossible, even with team work.
There is one blocking the doorway to every room used as a bedroom currently. A person could get in and out past them if they are small enough, nimble enough, or just don't mind losing a chunk of skin to the rough stone as they scrape past. Those ones would especially be targeted at whoever sleeps there.
But the rest of them will scatter the halls, making them hard to transverse. The majority of them were blocking what little light sources existed in the halls, making the passageways darker than usual. Much darker. Darker enough that it almost seems like a prime place for jump scares...
Blocking the doorway out of the school were three such statues. One was of a young man with short hair. One was of a young woman in a ballgown with a skirt that alone took up most of the doorway. And one was of a barefoot girl with impossibly long hair that snaked down the hallway, making a tripping hazard all the way between the door and the room Mother Gothel had claimed.
Getting in and out of the school until at least one of the statues was removed was going to be nearly impossible.
The statues in general couldn't be moved or broken in any conventional way, however. But some trial and error... or just happenstance might well provide the answer. If the Misery-called who knew the person the statue represented talked about the person to someone else in front of the statue... That would work. Though what they said would matter.
If they managed to dredge up something to say, some tale or anecdote or comment that was actually positive... the statue would vanish in a haze of black and silver glitter that would spread everywhere in easy reach and defy all attempts to clean it.
However, if the story or comments are negative, or give away some secret that the person the statue is of would not want shared the statue will explode in a shower of stone, one stone of which would hit the Misery-called hard enough to hurt but not to break skin. However where the stone struck the Misery-called would bear a new scar. A small pile of stone would remain where the statue had been, also resting all attempts to move or remove it, causing anyone walking past to have to carefully step over it so as to not trip. Which is not ideal if one is carrying something, or for example, running away from a crazed animatronic.
A week after they appeared any remaining statues would just vanish with another loud and horrifying noise. As would all the scars, all the rubble piles, and all the glitter. In their place where each statue had been would be a small bunch of grapes covered in rock dust. They are extraordinarily sour. In theory edible once the dust is washed off. In practice only the desperate would want to eat them. Whoever does eat them will be plagued by nightmares about whoever the statue had been of, even if they didn't know the person themselves. The nightmares will only happen for one night after eating the grapes, but if someone stretches out the grapes to eat a few every night for a week... that is a week of bad dreams. And also, again, they are sour. The sourest candy in the world isn't half as sour as these grapes.
The statues were of enemies, foes, rivals, anyone that one of the Misery-called might never want to see again. The statues look like rough hewn stone, but any attempts to deal with them the way one might a stone statue would fail. Even moving them would prove impossible, even with team work.
There is one blocking the doorway to every room used as a bedroom currently. A person could get in and out past them if they are small enough, nimble enough, or just don't mind losing a chunk of skin to the rough stone as they scrape past. Those ones would especially be targeted at whoever sleeps there.
But the rest of them will scatter the halls, making them hard to transverse. The majority of them were blocking what little light sources existed in the halls, making the passageways darker than usual. Much darker. Darker enough that it almost seems like a prime place for jump scares...
Blocking the doorway out of the school were three such statues. One was of a young man with short hair. One was of a young woman in a ballgown with a skirt that alone took up most of the doorway. And one was of a barefoot girl with impossibly long hair that snaked down the hallway, making a tripping hazard all the way between the door and the room Mother Gothel had claimed.
Getting in and out of the school until at least one of the statues was removed was going to be nearly impossible.
The statues in general couldn't be moved or broken in any conventional way, however. But some trial and error... or just happenstance might well provide the answer. If the Misery-called who knew the person the statue represented talked about the person to someone else in front of the statue... That would work. Though what they said would matter.
If they managed to dredge up something to say, some tale or anecdote or comment that was actually positive... the statue would vanish in a haze of black and silver glitter that would spread everywhere in easy reach and defy all attempts to clean it.
However, if the story or comments are negative, or give away some secret that the person the statue is of would not want shared the statue will explode in a shower of stone, one stone of which would hit the Misery-called hard enough to hurt but not to break skin. However where the stone struck the Misery-called would bear a new scar. A small pile of stone would remain where the statue had been, also resting all attempts to move or remove it, causing anyone walking past to have to carefully step over it so as to not trip. Which is not ideal if one is carrying something, or for example, running away from a crazed animatronic.
When The Mess Fades - A week later.
A week after they appeared any remaining statues would just vanish with another loud and horrifying noise. As would all the scars, all the rubble piles, and all the glitter. In their place where each statue had been would be a small bunch of grapes covered in rock dust. They are extraordinarily sour. In theory edible once the dust is washed off. In practice only the desperate would want to eat them. Whoever does eat them will be plagued by nightmares about whoever the statue had been of, even if they didn't know the person themselves. The nightmares will only happen for one night after eating the grapes, but if someone stretches out the grapes to eat a few every night for a week... that is a week of bad dreams. And also, again, they are sour. The sourest candy in the world isn't half as sour as these grapes.
Open/locked?: Open to all
Who: Sora and whomsoever finds him.
What: Sora's arrival on the Isle
Warnings: Mentions of violence, possible PTSD mentions, murder mentions.
( Some people are going to be more accepting of their fate... )
Who: Sora and whomsoever finds him.
What: Sora's arrival on the Isle
Warnings: Mentions of violence, possible PTSD mentions, murder mentions.
( Some people are going to be more accepting of their fate... )
The Rain Rain Rain Came Down Down Down
Just over a week after the Isle visit people would find themselves drawn outside. The weather was finally getting warmer, but that wasn't all of it. A strange foul smelling - and fairly toxic - mold had begun growing in some of the classrooms. Thankfully not the ones where people were sleeping but it was still enough to make it unpleasant to remain indoors. Some might blame the growth of the mold on a certain obsessive compulsive cleaner, though others might say that he just discovered it and accidentally gave it access to oxygen and such.
Whichever the reason, sleeping outside for a few days was sounding like a better and better plan with every passing minute. Even the drizzling weather couldn't make the indoors terribly appealing for anyone with a sense of smell.
And it was over night on one such night that the rain was... different. Warmer and a bit tingly. And some people would awaken quite a bit older than when they fell asleep, perhaps. Their memories might have caught up with their age, or might come to them slowly. However it happens, there might be some very confusing moments as those who seemed to be young just a moment before are now... less so.
Gift In Time Gift In Time Nary A Reason Nary A Rhyme Gift In Time!
Weirdly, there was something good to come not long after the rain. In addition to aging some folks up, it also seemed to wash away the worst of the mold, allowing people to return indoors once more. And each of them would find, soon after, in some place that they considered theirs... a small gift. It was rare that positive things happened on the Isle, but perhaps this was a sign of things to come.
Or perhaps even a broken clock is right once in a blue moon...
First Awareness
Those used to this by now probably knew what it meant when they felt their magic return for a moment. For the rest, suddenly their powers were back. Just for a few minutes, but a lot could be done in a few minutes. If the person even noticed their powers were back, that is.
Of course those on the shore might have seen the hazy indistinct shape through the barrier coming closer, might have seen the moment the hole in the barrier opened. Might have seen King Ben leading people down a gangplank through the barrier with crates of supplies....
Unions, Re And Otherwise
Once the supplies were unloaded, the barrier was sealed up again. King Ben seemed to be in charge during the unloading, Once the barrier was closed again, by the green magic streaming from the Queen's finger, it was Mal who seemed to be in charge.
"Alright, listen up. We have 2 hours and the clock is ticking. I'm not FG but we're keeping to a deadline anyway. If you want to come to Auradon or know someone you want us to bring back, you have 2 hours to convince us. You and everyone else, sharing the same 2 hours. Along with anyone who has a supply request for our next visit, or updates. Those of you bringing supplies to the school, time to get cracking. Two hours passes faster than midnight at the ball."
Those What Remain
Once those going back to Auradon had left and the barrier was back in place, it was for those who remained on the Isle to sort the supplies and figure out how to get done everything that needed to be done with the people that remained.
The night before, everything was its usual miserable self. The school was damp and cold and smelt faintly of mold. The ground outside was the definition of unpleasant.
But anyone who slept in might be woken to an angry shout from the headmaster, Doc F. "THE LOCKET WAS SMASHED!" After which there would be crashing around in his office, but his door would be locked and he wouldn't reply to anyone knocking or calling in to check on him.
Lady Tremaine wouldn't be speaking much, if at all, her classroom door closed like a warning.
If Mother Gothel noticed anything amiss, it would be hard to tell as she sat in her classroom primping as usual.
But the Misery-called would not be so easily able to ignore what was going on, talkative as some of them could be.
The spray painting on the lockers that had words could no longer be read, nor could any other text. Since the television was generally locked in Doc. F's room there was no way to check on that to see how widespread the problem might be.
But a problem it is indeed...
But anyone who slept in might be woken to an angry shout from the headmaster, Doc F. "THE LOCKET WAS SMASHED!" After which there would be crashing around in his office, but his door would be locked and he wouldn't reply to anyone knocking or calling in to check on him.
Lady Tremaine wouldn't be speaking much, if at all, her classroom door closed like a warning.
If Mother Gothel noticed anything amiss, it would be hard to tell as she sat in her classroom primping as usual.
But the Misery-called would not be so easily able to ignore what was going on, talkative as some of them could be.
The spray painting on the lockers that had words could no longer be read, nor could any other text. Since the television was generally locked in Doc. F's room there was no way to check on that to see how widespread the problem might be.
But a problem it is indeed...
