camber

by the pricking of my thumbs...

Feeling:
confused

Who: Camber and whoever else wants to join in
Where: Heading towards the Park from Elm
When: Mid-afternoon

Camber wasn't sure if this carnival stuff was sort of fun in a nostalgic, spontaneous way, or really fucking creepy in a Something Wicked This Way fucking Comes way, but it wasn't like she had much choice in the matter. And after living in a house with people for weeks, and then getting stuck in isolation, and now being thrown back by herself...the invitation to come check out the festivities with Glitch, Ronnie and friends wasn't unwelcome.

That didn't mean she wasn't taking a knife with her to said festivities, but hey, she wasn't stupid.

As she walked parallel to Main Street, she could hear the tinkling of carnival music; as she hit Elm, there were signs of food booths and those rigged carnival games, all lighting up as she got near to them. Weird, although she wondered to herself if the noticable lack of carnys meant she could just take the food and giant stuffed animals. Glitch's threat might not have been worth much at all: there wasn't exactly anyone to stop them from just chowing down on funnel cake.

Really good smelling funnel cake.

After having habitually eaten a very rationed, cautious meal three days ago, being denied food entirely two days ago, and yesterday being too stressed and threatened-feeling to even recognize herself as hungry at all, Camber could tell she was verging on the edge of a junk food binge today, what with sugar and starch being waved in her face. She didn't like it: snacking was a waste of calories, calories that should be saved for the next time they went without food. It wasn't a logical decision.

But, hey. It was right here. Their houses were stocked. The stores were even stocked. Tentatively, she took a funnel cake, expecting to be punished for not paying.

Nope. Nothing. The lights just turned off as she stepped away. She took a small bite, continuing on down towards the park where she'd said she was going to meet Glitch.

I'm Going Home

Who: Camber
When: Late Morning
Where: The box, and at the end, back on Elm Street.

Camber woke with a start, curled up on the couch where she'd fallen asleep, hoping beyond hope that someone would get back to her with the keys to unlock the kitchen, but knowing they wouldn't. The bathroom hadn't been as big a deal to her - you do what you have to do. It wasn't like she was going to feel sorry if some scientist flunky had to clean up piss on the carpet.

Somewhere in her brain, though, the simultaneous lockdown of all the niceties of houses had taken her back to the woods, and not in a good way, if there was one to be had. Survival mode had kicked in: there was no food, there was no bathroom, there was no foraging this time and nowhere to run to, there was a whole lot worse it could get and she needed to be ready. And maybe that was why she was sitting here curled up in a hoodie on the couch, not the computers.

Cam was trying not to think about it. The woods. She'd slept uneasily - at least, for a while until whatever They did kicked in - and it had been full of fear and hunger and blood. Nothing clear, but clearer than it had been in a long time. She could never remember those dreams, and yet somehow, with one day of having the kitchen locked. Well, fuck. It had started out all fun and games, right? Pirates. And then almost no one on the lines all day, and she had known this was all going to hell.

When she woke up, everything looked the same. Computers, locked kitchen, everything. No new messages.
And then she saw the door. It was where Jenny's room would have been, if this had really been a big stretched-out version of their apartment. Had someone else been put in here? Was there a way out?

She got up, easily ignoring the pain in her stomach, and getting out the knife, approached the door obliquely. She swung it open with the side of her hand and stepped sideways, fully expecting something horrific to jump out at her.

No. Instead, a cylindrical, closet-like elevator sat behind the door.

Camber looked back at the computers. She looked at the elevator.
There wasn't much of a choice here, was there? She could go and get chopped up or eaten or probed or whatever it was that they were planning to do to her, or she could stay in this place. And this place had no food. And no bathroom. So she stepped in, and pressed the lighted button.

The door closed behind her.

PMs to Kaori, Shane, Camber, and Glitch

Addison rubbed her temples. Occasionally, very occasionally, she wished her grandmother drank. Not that she would've been able to get to the bloody kitchen to get the booze, but sometimes she just really wanted that alcohol. Especially after the message on the central computer. 'Armless Adele Smithe'. What the hell, scientists. What the hell. Was it 'Talk Like a Pirate Day' out in the real world? Or someone just watched Pirates of the Caribbean too many times? Or maybe someone pulled this little test out of a goddamn hat because it sure as hell felt that random.

Drinking Games

Feeling:
bored

Who: Camber and any others who want to join in
When: late
Where: That damn room.

Cam was lying on the couch; two hours of restless frustration after talking to Everett had uncovered nothing but that creepy-ass mask, her roommate's hidden stash of cheap Polish vodka, and two layers of skin off her knuckles from trying to take out various surfaces.

Well, her roomie wasn't going to miss the vodka.

PM to Everett

So the word from Brett is that you have Eris (let's just skip the part where I'm not supposed to know who it is and jump to "I have a giant chart of who can talk to who") talking to you and he doesn't anymore. Or you will shortly. Or something.

Brett wants me to tell you that he said to make fucking sure that you keep talking to her. We don't know if her going to sleep is going to kill her or not and, I quote, "(you) better do it" (sorry, better FUCKING do it) because Brett doesn't trust Eris to keep herself awake.

Kaori wants...whoever...to keep her awake and let her know other people are looking out for her. We've got messages out to Stan but I haven't gotten anything returned to me yet and I'll be getting back to you if I hear anything.

Sorry to be abrupt but I'm transcribing here. And also, tired. I'll be by the computers if you need me.

PMs to Camber, Glitch, and Shane

I've already established contact with one person, but not with you. My name is Addison. If you're active and able to answer this message, I would appreciate it deeply. I'm looking for a woman named Indira. If you've spoken to her or know who someone who has, I would appreciate news about her as well. Thank you.

Addison.

PM to Camber (mid-late afternoon)

Any word from the doc yet?

She's getting sleepy. Really sleepy. I don't know what to do here. She's asking if a cold shower would help, but I don't know and I don't want to tell her to do something that might make things worse.

Looking Around and Messages

Who: Brett and various PMs (to Owen, Hannah, Camber and Eris)
Where: His room/elsewhere
When: Morning

It was the sunlight and the fucking birdsong that woke him. Which, considering it was the middle of fucking winter and he'd been living for several days in a drab and dank house, a dawn chorus was not what he'd expected.

Neither did he expect to open his eyes and find himself lying in some kind of bower, as though he was in the middle of some kind of fucking Disney film. All it needed for completion was a rambling rose or some shit. Damn, the thing even had ivy. He pushed back the blankets and sat up, looking around. The day was nice - warm, even, though not too hot. And he appeared to be in the middle of a wood. His first thought, looking around, was 'what the fuck happened to winter' - since there was a notable lack of snow and cold. What there was was plenty of trees, and grass, flowers even - little wild flowers scattered all over the place.

[private, handwritten]

...so I wasn't expecting THAT.

Those. These things.
Seriously, I think if I get anymore "here, have some distractions from crazy assholery" in the next week I'm just going to go crazy. I have a bass and loud punk music. Bri has a kitten that I am totally going to take advantage of petting rights to.

I have a certain distraction back in my life (even if he needs more distracting than I do at the moment: seriously, if sex doesn't work I'm going to have to bludgeon him until the "fuck up" part of his brain shortcircuits).
I have a certain distraction whose girlfriend took the nice pills.

WHO IS THAT NICE? It's goddamn weird, that's what. "Oh, hey, your kid's dad has a ...thing with me. A thing where we fuck." "Cool!"

...I mean, the only thing I can think of is that this is some oblique way to make me feel weirdly guilty. (Mostly because it's...working.)

I don't even know, dude.

PM to Camber

Camber,

I want to say first that I know this sort of message is even harder to receive than it is to write. I'm grateful for the fact that Jesse trusts you, I want you to know that. Please believe that this is in the sincerest of faith.