The Docks, Thursday

[sexyanglerfish.livejournal.com]

The weather may have been dreary, but that didn't seem to bother the woman standing on the docks by the gangplank of the ship bobbing slowly with the waves (well, maybe not entirely with the waves, if you were paying attention). Then again, nothing much had bothered the woman for a long, long time. Not since before she'd been less and more than she was now.

Isabela, though, Isabela was hungry, and her timbers creaked, and the rags of her sails flapped in the non-existent breeze.

[Open.]

Just Outside the Park, Friday Morning

[truth-lost.livejournal.com]

She needed to get back in.

There wasn't a single other thought remaining in Cassandra's head but that; it had been the one thought on her mind for... well, she wouldn't know how long, would she?

She needed to get back into the village.

But she could not.

Every time she brushed too close, she felt the wards prickling against her skin, and she would pull away-- then walk a few feet further and try again. Over and over she circled the camp, her sword dragging behind her. Touch. Ward. Try again.

Over and over, forever and always, she needed to get back in.

[[ open! ]]

Caritas- Friday morning

[throughaphase]

Kitty had planned to go to Caritas and get it set up for people who might want to come in for help, and that had gone south very quickly due to a scary version of Tino. Who'd fought her. Inside the bar. It took a ridiculously long time before he tried to hit her and actually did get transported out to somewhere.

Once she'd taken care of that, she put up a sign on the door saying SANCTUARY SPELL ON THE FRITZ.

[Not a nighttime post, expecting one but open! Needed to establish that the sanctuary spell is an oops.]

The Roof of the MCA, Friday Morning

[certain-dume.livejournal.com]

He needed to leave.

That was the compulsion that had been thrumming through him ever since he answered to a name, back when words like 'Kanan' and 'Caleb' had still meant something to him. And that compulsion had remained, even while all of his other memories had faded. He had fought it. He'd fought it hard, let himself be guided by the Force and it had helped him to hold on to who he was for as long as he could.

But not even Kanan's connection with the Force had been able to save him, and as Kanan slipped away, something else formed in his stead. Blind, though he could see. Quiet, though he was desperate. Peace, yet...

He walked in almost drifting, wraith-like movements around the place where his ship stood, the Expedient having been replaced with the Escape long ago, and the Escape having seen better days. A once black lustre had been beaten away to the silver-grey that lurked under the paint, and one wing had been removed entirely, lightsaber scars still visible where it sat severed, on the apartment roof.

He had to get away, but no ship could take him from this place.

[OOC: ... Had to get this guy out. Was procrastinating because icons. SCREW IT. Open for SP during my work day (I miss being able to say that).]

The Woods in the Preserve, Friday Afternoon

[hollowed-queen.livejournal.com]

Karla could sense new people on the island; new minds brimming with life and vitality. Slow, stupid minds that hadn't yet grasped the horrors that were waiting for them in the dark. What a pity. Soon so many of them would die, prey for the predators on the island. As one of those predators, Karla smiled--with her real face, not the soft, fleshy one she put on for company.

And then started getting ready for company. So many scrambling new people, frightened and disturbed by the dark, dreariness around them. And so she set new webs, tangled ones, making her section of the woods seem less grim, just a shade brighter. Not too much, or the trap would be obvious, but the kind of thing that would make people move towards her without thinking about it, shift left instead of right, head down instead of up. The kind of decision that seemed random but was influenced by hundreds of subconscious factors. And beyond those webs, she laid her real ones, the thick and fibrous ones, sticky, the kind that clung and wrapped and held until she decided to come out and relieve her pantry of its burden.

Come to her, little insects. Karla was hungry.

Streets of Fandom, Friday morning

[raven-unhollow.livejournal.com]

Raven prowled through the streets of Fandom, keeping a wary eye out for any villagers foolish enough to be out by themselves (herself excluded, of course) or those who had gone hollow. She was also looking for any of these new visitors to the island she'd both sensed and heard about. Some of them felt...familiar in a way, though she couldn't really explain how -- due either to her empathy being turned down by choice or tiny fragments of her memory drifting away. If they were friend, she'd direct them to the village and safety. If they were not, well, she'd deal with that, too.

She didn't want to get her hopes up that it was help. Hope had long since evaporated, the last traces of it gone after she'd lost Karla. Now it was just protection and survival.

[Open to any villagers, transplantees, hollows, monsters, whomever!]

Rocky Bits, Friday Morning

[moodyvagrant.livejournal.com]

It was a cold morning, and Anders shivered inside his ragged jacket as he picked through the rubble on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. It wasn't a bad place to scavenge: Sometimes there was wire there, or glass, and once a plastic bag holding a precious half-full box of bandages.

The bit of him that had once been Justice was contented by the act of humble service, though Anders knew from experience that he wouldn't have peace for long. He glanced warily into the fog from time to time, wondering whether the monsters or his own demon would be the first to break his concentration.

[OOC: Open!]

Pinkie Pie's Party Palace, Friday

[locointhecoco]

Pinkie Pie's Party Palace had seen better days. The happy colors had all faded to sickly yellows and blood reds, no matter how many times Pinkie tried to repaint them. The shingles were so patchy it looked like her pinata facade had mange. Something had actually melted the fiberglass Pinkie, into a weird, pasty piece of sculpture that looked like it might have been made by Salvador Dali. As a reproduction of the horse from Guernica.

Pinkie was just about ready to give up on opening today.

[open! Note: Pinkie's thread with . . . Pinkie . . . will be the last one chronologically]

The village in the park, Friday morning

[intotheout]

Tip had headed for the park by the time the sun was setting yesterday. The dorms did not look secure, so she was relieved when Peridot's tip had turned out to pan out. Sure, the place was ramshackle as all get out, and kind of stank, besides, but Tip had spent a summer living in a car with an alien while driving across the southern US. She could deal with ramshackle and stinky.

She took pictures of everything. She wasn't sure why, it just felt worthwhile to document it all.

Plus, you know, it distracted her a bit from thinking about the giant, creepy, busted up Tip statue out by the Post Office. She was pretty sure she could just see the top of her own head out over the remains of trees and buildings.

Yeee.

[Villagers and refugees ahoy!]

The Coastline Outside the Village, Friday Afternoon

[no_siren]

The Park came so close to the water. So close. Anyone who crossed the wrong side of the street was close enough to the shore and the deeper waters that she could come out and snatch the fool, but the Park itself was too far for her, even without its wards.

But she could taste the fear and chaos and fresh meat, and it was enough to draw her over from where she'd been haunting the dock yesterday, a shadow circling under the waves that would occasionally spyhop or crest, especially if anything interesting was going on.

There was something in the water, and it was hoping some of the meat would come down for a swim.

[OOC: Open! Because Murderfish are fun.]

Streets of Fandom, Friday Evening

[myownface]

So, the great thing about this whole situation so far was that all of Sparkle's pointy things and shooty things were still on him when the island had swapped over, because Sparkle had been paying attention on Wednesday, and he wasn't stupid.

Or maybe he was stupid, because he was still fucking here. But besides that...

The less great thing was that there was nothing edible in the damn apartment. Even the houseplants had long since died, dried, and fallen to dust, and Sparkle was pretty sure he didn't want to know what out there would be so dire that he'd leave Pauline to the not so tender mercies of dehydration and horrible doom, but maybe that was for the best. She probably wasn't an edible plant anyway.

The trouble with being hungry was that after almost two days without eating, even Sparkle was willing to do something stupid like actually go outside instead of waiting for more competent persons to sort this out, and if he was going to do that, well, better to do it before he was completely ravenous, as opposed to uncomfortably running on empty.

So. Here was Sparkle, walking the streets, wide-eyed and pretty sure he was the island's biggest idiot right now, looking for some indication as to where to find food. Had to be somewhere, right? This place wasn't completely deserted. It just mostly looked that way.

Maybe he should have tried gnawing on the upholstery or done one more sweep in the pantry for some petrified Pop-Tarts or something. Just one more.

[OOC: Boy hadn't had his seasonal dose of trauma yet. THAT CHANGES NOW. Open!]

By the Post Office, Friday afternoon

[intotheout]

They had a giant, slapdash sling. They had three bowling balls, one for each of them. And they had something of a plan.

Tip stared up at the massive stone-and-metal thing that had reportedly once been her counterpart in this hell universe. The crack wasn't as big as she thought it was. But it was bigger than she'd been afraid it was.

"I really hope I'm right."

[ooc: For Hanna and Hanna and Tip]