vacillating [OPEN]

[rudelanguage]

WHO: Knife (as Antigone/Pending), ota
WHEN: Mid-late Oct
WHERE: Assorted, tagged in prompts
WHAT: the up- and downswings of being overly exposed against one's will while stuck in a bubble zoo
NOTES\WARNINGS: mentions of dissociation & depersonalization, violent/suicidal thoughts, violence (attempted or otherwise), rampant swears/coarse language



i. badgerlike habits
warnings: attempted violence (or actual violence if you're up for it!)

[the encampment in Dewpoint can, at times, add some interesting ambiance to the frost-laden area, what with its gentle tinkling of chime-like glass shards and bottlecaps dangling from tree branches. it's a nice sound, even if the aesthetics are rather trashy (in that there is a lot of trash about).

however, now and then, someone gets too close and the tinkling of materials takes on a more intentional sound when a length of wire is pulled underfoot. then, then there's a growling and a sudden glint off metal in the light - a scalpel flung close to the offending foot.]

SCRAM! [the voice is muffled behind layers of fabric - from one of those flapping tent-flaps.] Walk around, wherever you're going!

---

ii. humanlike efforts
warnings: n/a in starter

...

[Maybe...maybe this would feel better if there were more than like. Six fucking people in a place at a time. Right now I feel like the world's shittiest stalker-spy.

...

Maybe I'm THIS world's shittiest stalker-spy.

Yay, me.

Pending's...making attempts to be a person, here. A person doing person-things like...picking up food! at the Otto-Mart! they may or may not be shadowing someone in there and...matching their aisle movements and selections and watching what they do.

or it's simply taking a walk outdoors and stopping short when whomever was ahead of them appears to be doing something of import, watching to see just what that important thing is and whether or not he needs to be making a habit of doing it, too.

or it's just...sitting at a distance and watching someone else read a book or work on something, their own hands empty of distractions. memorizing gesture, maybe slightly twitching a finger here or there to mimic while they memorize features and mannerisms.

apparently people-watching is normal so this? this is normal. this is very normal. Knife just feels like shit regularly so there's no cause for concern that this, too, feels like shit. good job, everyone.]

---

iii. rabbit-hearted impulses
warnings: n/a in starter

[multiple evenings in a row, Antigone makes to approach a diner or a bar or food shop, stands mere steps away from the entrance, fidgets a bit, leaves, comes back, then leaves again. something about the inviting warmth of their interiors is doing the opposite - making them seem ominous, a threat of a bad time. it's annoying that so many of these places never turn their lights off; maybe it'd feel better if she were actually doing something wrong as opposed to just feeling like she is.

it's the prospect of being seen and asked how she's doing that stresses her out the most: a dozen-plus answers bouncing along the sliding scale of cynicism flit about, but none taste right on her tongue, especially when imagining certain faces on the receiving end of them. guilt? guilt for what! not...doing well? fucking stupid, honestly. who even cares?! aside from the...handful of people who decided to make caring, like, their goddamn jobs. which isn't her fault!

...

well, another amble up, another lingering pause, and another failed effort sends Antigone back out of the borders of the street lights, only to hasten with panic when she hears door hinges squeak open. she scrambles into an alley for cover to hold her breath and try and sort this out again, maybe chalk it up to another failure and settle for garbage again.]

---

iv. disruptive tendencies
warnings: n/a in starter

[it's the lack of control that's really the problem, isn't it? the overwhelming pressure of tasks too big to accept as their own coupled with the ennui that makes itself comfortable when all those too-big tasks leave mind and hands free. Knife can control the way they appear outwardly, but it changes nothing but that appearance. laying in a miserable stupor works in little intervals, but hunger pangs cut into that quiet idle time and prompt them to move once more.

create or destroy seem to be the most favorable options: they've picked at clothes here and there when the meditative patience lasts, but the futility of the effort always catches up and leads them to abandoning their work to follow the impulse to move. here and there, bits of newly-embroidered jackets or layered scarves or the like can be picked up around Dewpoint and Alcyone's Wake in particular, no owners come to call.

for now, the grocery store's been pilfered of a fair amount of its egg stock for the day, a boxful of cartons toted away to another street.

Pending is sitting on the backrest a bus stop bench, feet on the seat by the cartons, periodically picking one up and lobbing it out at the water, at nearby animals, at passing helper bots, at signage or buildings within range.

the waste is the point - it's change, however brief. this place is a little uglier until the mess is picked up. childish, perhaps, but he's not here to be a model adult. he's not here for any good goddamn reason!]

Comments

iii

[hammerbearer]

[ The thing about approaching and lingering several times over is that eventually the odds become not-zero that someone ends up seeing a pattern to the behavior.

Or seeing the behavior at all. Maybe some of the ominous air surrounding these shops was because of the observation; not truly intended to be so but it adds to the sense of paranoia and worry. Feeds the fear.

Gaia, waiting for her order at Corrine's, was one of these people. Her glimpses of Antigone were at first fleeting and not really worth wasting thought on. Some animal perhaps- she caught a tail end, a flick of an ear, fur- but it kept nagging while it continued.

Her lips pressed together with what might first have been a measure of impatience. Then thoughtfulness and finally what one might call an understanding.

At the very least an assumption of guesswork. Gaia heaves a sigh and adds to her order. She tries, meanwhile, to keep a discreet and not too intrusive watch on Antigone's movements.

Minutes later it's her opening the shop door to depart and look around. ]

Oh!

[ Was it any surprise to Gaia, really that she startled the nervous... person? Beast? Pet? No it wasn't, but she still admonishes herself internally for the poor timing.

Eventually, Antigone will hear determined footsteps approach the alley's entrance. Cautiously Gaia peeks around the corner, uncertain how deep the figure went and not wishing to provoke a flurry of fangs and claws aimed at her face. Still, she leads with a hesitant call. ]

Hello?

[ There's the sound of a brown paper bag crinkling as Gaia begins to crouch to set it down at the edge of a street's light that creeps into the alley. ] ]

[rudelanguage]

[this is what she fucking gets for teetering between accepting being noticed and fleeing, honestly, so any shame she feels is just desserts.

...doesn't make it feel any better, of course, but hey.

Antigone stays crouched in darkness, eyes narrowed to slits to avoid too much glare from the streetlight giving her away, bristling at the call.

Do I know that voice?

I don't know that voice. Probably.

No?

No. I don't.

...Probably not. Fuck.

well, to be safe, she throws her voice a bit further out and away into the dark - a tiny sense of separation that keeps her feeling safer.]

What? What do you want? I'm not doing anything!

[hammerbearer]

[ Gaia's voice? Unless Antigone's listened to the network lately, when Gaia shouted out a warning about the transformed Vincent-monster, probably not; They've never met.

Probably. Maybe.

Without someone attacking her the moment she peeked into the alley, the teen isn't trying too hard to look for the real location of the individual. Does she have methods? Yes. But she'd need to concentrate on them and this isn't worth the hassle. Thus there's nothing at all to risk the kitsune's trick from working; Gaia's gaze looks in the direction the voice seems to come from.

She even raises her voice a little to make sure it properly carries the distance. ]

Oh, you can talk!

[ She still hadn't been quite sure. But Gaia obviously adapts quickly to accept that this is person and not beast. Her tone is brisk as she continues. ]

Of course you aren't. I just brought you something, since you seemed to be having problems deciding. Just so you know, there really isn't money here.

[ Seems she's assuming that the individual might have been newly arrived and concerned about costs. ]

It's just a muffin and a sandwich. [ Pumpkin muffin. Some sort of lettuce and turkey on a croissant. Gaia seems to have some odd food choices for a 'possible animal'. ] And some water.

[ Pumpkin Spice is not something to jump in on for beginners. Or something. ]

So I'm leaving them here.

[ Yup, beside the paper bag, a clear cup with ice water is left. Then she starts to withdraw. ]

[rudelanguage]

[Problems? What the--who has problems?! Hey!!

Antigone's ears go flat as she scowls at the silhouetted shape straightening up at the mouth of the alley.]

Y-you think I didn't know it's free? Huh?

[hammerbearer]

[ Does Gaia understand the reason for the defensive anger and how it might be born from the nervousness and fear? Sure! But that doesn't mean she has to respond to it with soft and gentle tones when she totally doesn't deserve it... right? ]

It was certainly one of the options after watching you spend half a bell pacing a hole in the sidewalk. [ Gaia's tone is still crisp. She's also exaggerating about how much time the kitsune spent pacing outside the shop. ] No need to bite my head off about it.

[ Watch her just walk off like a sorely offended teenage girl. That is to say, with a casual flip of her hair, a spin on a heel and continuing the walk away as if she has no care in the world. Huff! ]

for accelerator

[rudelanguage]

Shit, right, uh--

[funny how something'll just drop back into your brain, but then, Antigone is just fiddling with the planchette, and that is kind of the key to the something that had fallen out of her brain for...many many days.

woops.

The fuck was that guy again? Speedy-name. Not Sonic. A...auhhhh...

Oh yeah.

Antigone stops walking, wherever the hell she is (rarely does she know what goddamn district she's in at a given time) and tilts her head, ear cocked.]

Hey, uh... Uh, Aurora? Can you make me talk at that Accelerator guy? Like, like make my words go to him? Just that guy, nobody else?

[levelshift]

[Luckily for Antigone, she doesn't have to go through all that effort. Accelerator happens to be walking by, on his way back from both venting, a post-vent talk with Jon, and dropping off some books and crafts supplied by Jon to the farmhouse. He stops when he hears his name (well, 'name') in a familiar voice, and looks around.

And his gaze falls to a... fox?]

Huh?

[Hold up, is that a fuzzy pink fox? What the fuck? That's who he was speaking to before the mission? That's nuts, if Last Order was here she'd be tackling her in a big hug because she's so adorable.

He stares for a moment to process this, realize those thoughts are making him homesick on top of all the awful crap he's felt today, and tries to push it all down before speaking up.]

You're that person Talis wanted me to talk to.

[rudelanguage]

[she's gotten a bit more purply than pink of late, memory of Antigone's proper hues starting to get lost in all the sauce of..........................everything. but yes. candy-colored, looking more like a carnival plush than a proper person.

the cute ear-cocking is unintentional but happens all the same with a little bristle when she realizes that remark is directed at her. because obviously her, who the fuck else is around?! city of tens! tens of people! eugh.

she blinks blankly.]

Who? [Who the fuck is Talis?]

[levelshift]

[Extremely huggable, which is the definition of cute for any self-respecting ten year old. And Last Order isn't picky about cute things, so Accelerator is positive this thing would qualify as such.

He sighs a little.]

Jayce. Talis is his last name. [He's a rude child. Thankfully, not rude enough to not introduce himself.] I'm Accelerator. We talked over Aurora's network?

II

[repaintress]

[ Everything about this place is confusing, even the smallest things. Ordinarily, Clea lives on coffee and pinot noir, but sometimes her body demands actual sustenance. Having seen what passed for food in some establishments and having grown tired of cafe pastries, Clea is in the Otto Mart.

And she has no idea what she's doing. What are potato chips? What are Kit Kats and why are there so many flavors of them? Why are there 25 kilogram bags of rice? What is 'ramen?'

In short, almost every aisle is baffling. Clea picks up a package and looks at it with furrowed eyebrows before putting it back and moving on, a process she repeats several times throughout the store. At least she mostly understands the bakery, although some of the products are just...wrong.

It doesn't take Clea long before she realizes someone is following her. They don't approach her, they just follow. She pauses at the end of an aisle to wait, and to see who it is. It's Pending? ]

If you're going to follow me, you could at least try to be subtle about it.

[ She doesn't hide her annoyance. He'd helped her before. That doesn't make his current actions less rude and irritating! ]

[rudelanguage]

[it is Pending, and yeah, he's about as subtle as a David Cage game. whatever that is.

the bland, concentrating expression lingers for a beat before mirroring a bit of her own agitation, a tusk jutting out in his scowl.]

I was here first. [like that makes it any less weird. DISREGARD...that his own basket is full of near the same shit.]

[repaintress]

[ What does that have to do with anything? She isn't disputing his right to be in the store, only his right to follow her around and...is he copying her purchasing decisions? (Her selected items, she supposes, as there is no currency so it is not, strictly speaking, a purchase.) ]

I never said you weren't. I said if you're going to stalk me, don't get caught.

[ Her eyes focus on his basket. ]

Please don't tell me you're a mime.

[rudelanguage]

[he blinks.]

The...the clowns? [are they clowns in her world? they're fuckin' clowns in Tennebris, that's for damn sure.

at least they don't yell when you steal from their money hat.]

iii catching a rabbit

[quibblingfunctionary]

[Sleipnir has been watching the large fox rodent do her little dance of indecision for some time now. Enough so where his amusement by such a show of hesitancy has faded greatly. In fact, he had decided if the creature didn't come inside he was going to drag the fuzzball in before the attempts grew annoying.

So, when the squeaking hinges send the critter into the alleyway, the door does so because Sleipnir has come outside. His tall and mismatched in length riding boots make no sound as he treads lightly, stalking his prey. His pants are a lavender shade, fit snug, with a deeper, darker purple sash acting as a less formal cummerbund atop them. Sleipnir's top is a navy color which could rival the night sky, with belled out sleeves cinching at the cuff, and ruffles at the neck giving an illusion of a cravat. Dark leather gloves adorn his hands and his silverwhite hair is his usual: braided on the right, wild and free on the left.

When Sleipnir arrives at the alley's mouth he doesn't pause, but continues until he is in front of the creature whereupon he reaches down and scruffs the fuzzball up by their shirt. His lilting voice has something like a Scandinavian accent.]

Grow you not weary of your little charade?

[rudelanguage]

[the confidence with which this purple-assed guy strutted along is deceptive: it couldn't be that he was stalking Antigone of all things, because he'd be more careful about it while she's hiding! he's probably come back here to take a piss and oh fuck he's over here and--]

GNAHH-!!

[WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!

Antigone's leggies kick, arms flapping before she shakes a scalpel free of a sleeve and does some blind stabs at the hand holding her up.]

Let go let go leggo--!!

[quibblingfunctionary]

[What a cute reaction, look at her go with her little silver knife.]

There, there. You mustn't let yourself get worked up.

[Sleipnir shakes her a little side to side in a small attempt to get her to drop it, although he really doesn't seem much at all concerned. Her little arms are adorable.

He begins walking back towards the mouth of the alleyway, holding her at distance from his person so she cannot slash or stab his face or torso.]

[rudelanguage]

Motherfucker, don't you babytalk me! [every day Knife's visage strays further and further away from the real Antigone Wanaeheld; may she never come hear and learn of how butchered her reputation is.

then again, maybe in this case she'd like the filth talk slide...hell, she'd probably shove a bomb in his pants!

Knife doesn't have any of those, though.

with the momentum of one of those shakes, Antigone swings her lower body up enough to nearly be horizontal with the ground, giving herself enough slack on the collar that she can grab and slice to free herself from where she's been snagged. she's no cat, but she still manages to land on one hand and both feet, flipping her grip on the scalpel to swish at his shins.]

I asked THREE TIMES!

i

[pursuitofcappiness]

[ Steve has just arrived and he's just doing some exploring. He doesn't know why he'd come all the way out to Dewpoint. The name sounds pleasant, but that also seems like a bit of marketing, because Steve would not have chosen to name this place Dewpoint.

He approaches the tent, but immediately steps back to dodge the blade, and puts his hands up. ]

I'm just passing by and I don't want any trouble. Do you live here?

[rudelanguage]

[damn, a Steve Rogers would be meandering and find himself near a baseball park. inevitable, really.

Knife doesn't know shit about that, instead more preoccupied with the tinkling of bottlecaps and glass on glass that alerts them to an interloper. they're in no fucking mood to give the benefit of the doubt, unfamiliar with the cadence of newcomers (even after this long? it's almost willful ignorance at this point) and pre-assuming everyone here is just after the mounds of collected...stuff...all over the place.

with Antigone's brash, kind of nasally little voice, they snap back:] I don't recognize you. [granted, they're not looking, but the voice doesn't ring any bells either!] You better not be passing by to gank any of my stuff!

[pursuitofcappiness]

[ Steve, being from Brooklyn, is not really a stranger to this kind of scene. ]

I'm not here to steal any of your things. I'm Steve, by the way.

[ Normally, he'd just walk away, but this whole place might be trapped, and that wouldn't be a lot of fun, would it. ]

I just got here, so I'm really just trying to get a lay of the land. Promise.

[rudelanguage]

This lay of land is taken. [as if it needs saying! but hey, some people need to hear it twice - thrice, even!

she crawls out of the tent partway, an ear flicking like an irritated cat as she sizes him up. more paladin-shaped sorts, egads. and blond? this is starting to get intentional.]

Steve. [she tests the word as though she were trying a new flavor, nose wrinkling. Sounds like the kind of sound a necromancer names his skeletons.] Welcome to the prison. I guess. I'm sure you'll have fun or whatever.

for superb boy

[rudelanguage]

Frh...fnhhrhh...

[Knife is only doing this because of the existential threat of a magic-seeing spyglass and that IS important...but fuuuuck they don't wannaaaaaaaarruuughhhh.

and yet here they are, wearing Antigone's visage, skulking up to the stoop of the library, realizing they spent too much time yelling at smartasses and not enough time thinking on where they heard superpronoun before.

Superman, right? Ain't that the schmuck who was like...oh yeahhh he was like "I have lots of green friends" or whatever!

...How many of these freaks are there.

...

There better not be a goddamn dog here or I'm gonna--]

[solarson]

( jon's been here for a hot minute thanks to his being able to fly and all, but. he's been up in the air keeping an eye out for knife until he realizes that... oh. he... doesn't really know what they look like so... being on the lookout seems kind of pointless. but hey! if someone shows up to the library around the time they said they'd meet, then it's likely to be them??? that's what he's going with at least. seems the most logical and it never hurts to ask, so!

the moment he spots someone there near the stoop of the library, he drops himself down from the sky and lands with a slightly heavy tap to the ground... minimal cracks made, oops! he should have softened that landing a little more.

straightening himself up, he scratches at his cheek as he takes a look at the bit of damage done. )

Aw, jeez. Came down a little too hard there...

( but... it's fine! looking up, he smiles and gives a bit of a wave. )

Uh... hi! I'm Superboy. We were... talking on the network thing, right?

( bruh. )

[rudelanguage]

GEH--

[Antigone jolts, tail floofing up as she hops back a few paces, as though the hairline cracks in the concrete were made of lava.

gawking at the sheepish boy is a three-foot, purple-and-teal fox-creature in layers of assorted fabrics.

an eyelid twitches. this coloration is...

oh yeah. this is the I-have-green-friends guy adjacent for sure.]

Y...yeah... The glass. Yeah?

[solarson]

Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.

( rubbing at the back of his head, he offers a sheepish smile before he's making his way over, red sneakers scuffing against the ground as he goes. )

I didn't get your name and since I'm not fae, I think it's ok to give it to me.