central_librarylogs | The 9th Hour... (Phase 1: Sept-Oct Event)

Entry tags:

The 9th Hour... (Phase 1: Sept-Oct Event)

The cold presence is seeping in through the dark shadows. The darkness is reaching further, brushing the minds of the patrons and opening doors to dimensions that should not be open. Something wants in. But in the Central Library, there are ways to get through without crossing entirely… through your dreams. Among other things.

Pick one of the options below and make a post for other patrons to join you in the events. You may make up your own, but keep it matching the event at hand as the different phases of the event will progressively get worse.

1. Your dreams are getting dangerous, violent even. When you wake up, there are bruises and injuries that shouldn’t be there. What is going on? Why are your dreams becoming a reality little by little? And why is it getting so hard to wake up?

2. Things are shifting in the Library. The shadows are moving and the temperatures are starting to drop. There are cold spots that sometimes get colder and sometimes it feels like if you turn around, you’ll find someone right behind you.

3. The monsters are looking a bit more frantic and daring to come closer to the center of the Library where they normally will not tread. It seems you aren’t the only ones scared of the dark recesses any longer.

4. The Market is now a lovely little faire of the early Renaissance with all sorts of fresh grain, fruits and vegetables! It is a brilliant sight, but it seems the ominous plague masks they don still gives a foreboding feeling of the miasma that killed over two-thirds of the world’s population… Perhaps you shouldn’t wander very far.

5. New areas are now opened up. A blacksmith and workshop for the tinkers has been created. You might want to look or contribute... You might also want to stop in the new bath area. The large pool has a Grecian feel and all of the walls are made of crystalline glass where the stars are always shining with a different universe in constant succession.

6. Wild Card: Make up your own scenario. Just remember that all of the things above are happening. Things are getting foreboding and growing stronger by the day. Sleep will be a luxury you might not have… You may not see what’s coming, not yet. But you know it’s coming.

Threaded | Flat

It has been almost nine hundred and sixty years since their mother was taken. Nine hundred and sixty since she Sailed, unable to find rest or healing, even with their father's formidable skills, or their grandmother's power. Nine hundred and fifty nine years since Elladan and Elrohir were too late. But the nightmares still happen with distressing regularity.

He remembers the smell, first. Rank and foul, the smell of disease and filth, of blood and vomit and tears. He remembers the broken, shattered figure that flinched away from them, the bruises, welts and sores that littered every part of her, the ragged scrap that did not in the slightest resemble the lovely dresses she loved so, the filthy chunks of hair and the gouges in her skull where she or they had pulled it out. The way she was left amidst the bodies of her companions and guards. He remembers the way she screamed when they touched her, the way her eyes were wild and unseeing, the way she could not even recognise them. He remembers the blank numbness that settled over him, the boiling fury too great to process. He remembers hate.

Elladan jerks awake with a breathless gasp, his mother's accusing eyes searing into his own, her bitter voiced accusations ringing in the air.

Why didn't you save me?

Logically, he knows she never said that. But he asks it of himself, all the same. Gasping he pulls himself upright and draws into himself with a shudder, wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his face from the tears.

Edited 2015-09-22 07:05 (UTC)

Kara had nightmares often enough as it was, but when she woke up she didn't wake with phantom pains. Not normally at least. Sometimes her face would itch or feel hot where she had been burned. Sometimes her belly would feel cold where the gun pressed to her belly, pointed up and fired three times.

Sometimes it was simple things, but the feeling was still there, a memory pain, most likely.

They were never that bad though. Never bad enough to be a visible pain. Not like this time.

She dreamed about a fight she had with her other face. No, with Agent May, while she wore her face. The first time she woke up she felt as if she had been kicked, like she had just been IN a fight.

The second time she woke up from a dream it had been a bit worse. Another run in with SHIELD, her one time employer and later problem. Kara woke up in her and Ward's bed, nose bleeding, lip swollen and purple, eye around the scarred eye was blackened and bruised.

Grant might feel her stir and suddenly roll out of bed, hand over her nose and face to cover the blood. She hauled on a long shirt and took off for a place to clean up, looking for water and a wash cloth.

To those who are not Grant or currently sleeping with her (aka: Anyone Not Ward), they might find her later in the Library, her scarred face a bit dour as she hit it under a hood of a sweater. Kara was one to hide her face more when she was out and alone, though after the Bambi issues, she had grown more comfortable to sport the scars. Which is to say that the black and blue face was bothering her now.

If anyone makes one comment on her fiancee beating her she might step strongly on the top of their foot. She just woke up this way, okay?

In truth, after talking to Grant and assuring him she was alright, she went out to see if she could catch the Librarian again. She hadn't seen him in a bit and was curious about something. Though she would be willing to talk to anyone. In her wandering she's noticed a few things. Creatures coming closer to the center of the library, as well as a bath house? Clearly something was changing...

Bucky... not the Asset. Not anymore. He was mentally picking up on what Rogers had called him, Bucky. Bucky was not much of a sleeper anyhow. He'd done too much of that off and on for decades and if he could manage with naps here and there, he would. His naps however were restless and he felt like figures were standing in the shadows of his mind, so he didn't really bother to sleep much. Not right yet.

Instead he patrolled round the edge of the center of the Library, deciding he wanted to take care of some things, clean up monster problems, if they were there to deal with. The normal things.

Only, he hadn't gotten very far when he had to stop, turning to look around behind him. It felt as someone just passed there. A figure or something. Like they were coming out of his dreams and into reality.

His eye twitched as something came to mind. memory perhaps? Figures standing over him. At first he thought it was the cold storage chamber, which he remembered much better now, and he didn't want to. He thought it might have been medical things, doctors, the chair. That dreaded chair.

But this was different. His memory was simple. A look up at the sky, a figure leaning over him. A hand offered down to him. Someone offering him a lift up. Bucky stood still a moment, confused, thinking, trying to grab the memory and keep it. There had to be something there. No... it wasn't a hand offered down to him, but a fight coming down on him. at that moment his hands balled up, ready to fight.

He turned, looking around this section of the library, hearing something snicker as it ran past. Not a shadowy figure this time. His eyes stayed sharp as he tried to recall the memory still. His arm came up, blocking the hits. A blond kid came diving into the fight, scrawny but angry looking. Rogers? ... Steve.

He grunted, turning around in annoyance. He swore something was standing behind him, but there was nothing there. The figure wasn't hovering over him anymore. the boy was scrambling to get to his feet, to take chase. Bucky... he stood swiftly, throwing an arm around the smaller kid and hauling him back. Bucky remembered he yelled something at the retreating kids back, and told... told the scrawny kids off for something. He told him... told him...

Damn. Turning he pulled one of his knives and flung it, hitting a short monster like figure in the chest. A goblin, maybe? He'd ran into a lot of them before, but they were never this close to the center of the library.

"What the hell is going on..." He said as he yanked the knife out of the fictional monster. It would be gone by tomorrow. Where there more of the little ankle biters? He felt like figures were hovering around him.

The fact that it was at least fifteen degrees colder in this spot didn't even hit him. Not yet at least. He noticed it but it didn't really hit him yet.

Clara took every chance she could to explore the Market, especially when the place changed locations in time and history or fiction. What ever it was, it was interesting to say the least.

The Renaissance was always interesting to her though, and all she wished was that she had the TARDIS here for a clothing swap. Still, if it was one thing she DID learn about the older eras, it was that most of the time they barely noticed when you dressed oddly.

She had picked up a basket of fruits and veggies, wanting to take them back, clean them up and offer them to anyone interested. It would keep her mind off the empty feeling she woke up with that morning, at least.

Only as she wandered she saw several Plague Doctors walking around, their masks seeming much more... well, frightening then she thought they were in history books. "Interesting..." She said quizzically, starting to wander after one she saw, following him for a ways. Sure, she might find herself some trouble, but what can that hurt, right?

Nightmares weren't something new to Sebastian. He'd had them most of his life. The insecurities of reality seeping into his unconscious mind and recreating his greatest fears in varied and sometimes terrifying forms. They were only part of the reason he rarely slept through the night. Even more frightening than nightmares he had no control over were the racing thoughts he had no control over.

But here he had found some solace hidden amongst the books. The safe ones he didn't have to be afraid of opening. He'd also discovered birds again. Randomly and suddenly appearing whenever he was lost in thought or reading. They seemed just as curious about him as he was about them. They were one of his passions and he'd learned the common and scientific names of so many. But there were no birds to distract him as he made his way to what he hoped would be a great distraction from nightmares.

His father had pressured him so much about joining a sport he had found the one sport he hoped would make them both happy. Swimming was another passion he'd discovered in highschool. Like Jack.

Sebastian turned away from those thoughts and peered past the shelves of books, breath held in his chest for a moment, so sure he had heard or felt something. But when nothing else happened he quickly made his way to the new bath area.

Nightmares he new. But the feeling of not being able to wake up, tormented by the past, by regrets, by the loss and humiliation, and then finding the physical manifestations still marking his body had left him too shaken to simply lose himself in a good story. Soaking in the solace of a bath was something he really missed. And if it really was large enough to swim in he'd be even happier.

What he found was even better. Almost enough to make the nightmares feel distant and fading, unlike the cut bisecting his right eyebrow or the bruise on his cheek courtesy of his highschool bully. There were others. But all Sebastian could focus on were the beautiful stars.

And whether or not he should risk being naked or wear his boxer-briefs as he was removing his clothes.

1.--Nightmares

Alright! This dream had started out great, and Casey'd gotten used to making himself comfy in odd situations given the invasion, aftermath, and his vigilante'ing. Not that his dreams were usually as vivid as his life had been, all things considered.

A hockey-puck with fire-cracker tied to it went flying with a loud crack, fuse sizzling. Followed by another, and another, as Casey aimed smirked behind his hockey-mask at the swarm of foot-bots. "Hah!" Mocking in the tone, higher pitched before he lowered-his voice dramatically. "Evil Robo-ninjas, round 2! You guys haven't got a chance..."

A combination of the explosive pucks, and his usual manic fighting style with his hockey-stick and baseball bat, and Casey was enjoying this dream. The adrenaline rush, the fight, the fact that he was winning... Best of all? Proving he was doing what he was meant to do!

Hockey-stick over his shoulder, satisfied smirk at the pile of robot-pieces, and the teenager was turning to move on through the sewers on his way to the lair. A sucker-punch from the shadows, catching him harshly on the cheek and he went flying. Hitting the wall behind him, as that had hurt, stick torn from his grasp. His vision swam for a bit as eyes scanned his surroundings. Drawing his baseball bat and getting shakily to his feet.

The sewers had darkened, where before it had felt brighter, and Casey didn't see anything at first. Until a shape resolved itself, faint outline reminiscent, with ears and posture alert, whiskers twitching. Eyes opening, white in the darkness, followed a moment more by four more pairs of eyes in silhouette.

"Master Splinter..." Casey breathed, dropping the tense posture. Whoever'd sucker punched him was in trouble now... "Everything alright?" Asking as the tall humanoid-rat-mutant clad in dark red-kimono stepped further out of the shadows. Red-brown eyes narrowed, displeasure clear in the figure.

"Go Away."

Casey's eyes widened. Huh? Echoing his confusion, before the ninja master clarified. "You are no longer welcome." Snarled out, as Casey backed up against the wall as Splinter advanced towards him. Out from the shadows, the other owners of the eyes resolved into 4 humanoid-turtles wearing different colored masks around their eyes, bearing padding on their bodies at various point. Casey tried to peek around, looking for support, trying to make sense of things.

The one in orange, Mikey just shook his head sadly and turned away. Leo, in blue, simply closed his eyes and looked resigned. Donnie smirked in a very unfriendly way, ties of his purple mask shifting with his head almost mockingly. Raph, Casey's best friend of the 4, the one he'd fought with, related to, was glaring murder at him. That hurt, and Casey's eyes widened more. Biting his lip under his Hockey-mask, then flipping it up as his attention was given to Splinter.

"I don't understand, Master Splinter, Raph..." A snarl from the turtle in red, menacing and angrier than Casey'd ever heard. "Yame!" Splinter responded sharply in Japanese, eyes narrowing and spearing Casey where he was trapped. Seemingly taller than ever, and Casey felt a twinge of his phobia. "You are done." Finality to the tone, and the humanoid-rat lunged at Casey, as he threw up his hands in futile-protection."

Casey woke up with a start, bolting up and then twisting, almost falling out of his bed. That wasn't how his dreams usually went. Not even his nightmares were like that, usually. Reaching up to scrub his hand down his face, and wincing. "Ow...what the?" Hesitantly probing at his face, and he could feel a bruise where he'd been punched in the dream. What the heck?"

Sleep was definitely not happening again, so he might as well go exploring. Maybe some skating would clear his head. Carefully, as his body ached in a way it hadn't since he'd first met and fought with Raphael before they'd been friends, he dressed in his vigilante gear. Hockey-mask up, roller-blades down, and moving through the halls as he tried to forget the weird nightmare.

2.Things in the dark

One thing that Casey was definitely enjoying was all the space and epic hallways to skate in. Almost as good as the rooftops of New York, and without his chance of falling off. It'd be even better if Mikey were around, and Casey kind of wished for him or Raph to be there. Especially after the dream he'd had.

Skidding around a corner and rebounding off a wall as he kept going, a Woohoo! echoing with him as he flipped over a desk, landing with a clatter but on his feet. Then something caught his eye, and he turned, skidding to a stop. Turning around fully, and carefully heading towards the corner he'd seen something move. Pulling out his baseball bat, and poking in the shadow--nothing there.

Odd, and a flash of red, with a paddle tail moving, caught his eye again. Whipping around behind him, bat held ready. "Last time I met you things, you got your butt kicked." Well, ok--the dream beavers had been the size of small plush toys. But they'd left for another dimension anyways! What the hell would they be doing here in the giant Library?

Barry hummed as he worked cleaning up the shelves and keeping an eye out of trouble., The Library seemed oddly dark lately and he'd felt like something had been following him. He nervously glanced behind him and frowned. "Hello," he called out, "is anyone there?"

Bruce relaxed in the hot water with a soft moan. The water felt so good on his aching body. He hadn't been getting much sleep lately and he was hoping the heat would relax him enough he wouldn't dream. He wasn't sure it was going to work. He slowly drifted off leaning his head back on the head rest.

Bob sat on the shelves above the baths and watching everyone relax. Something was nagging at him. He didn't want to scan people's auras without asking, but he wasn't happy which was a rare thing for Bob. "Something is weird at the Library," he mutters to himself, "and not the normal kind of weird either."

Nightmares were not uncommon for him; he had seen and done a lot of things to haunt his sleep. He knew what destruction looked like, sounded like. He knew what burning flesh smelled like, both at his hands and the hands of his fellow airmen. He knew what it was like to watch people die. Every morning, just before sun-up, he'd come back to the Airman, covered head to toe in soot and ash, and had scrubbed himself until his skin was pink, but he'd still gone to bed smelling like fires and dragonmetal.

Here, the scent was starting to fade, and he found that he actually missed it. The smell of dragonmetal was the closest he could get to being with his girl again, and without it he felt even farther from home. He tried to be the man his family had wanted him to be, and the soldier the Dragon Corps had shaped him to be, but the truth was he was lonely and a little scared.

Maybe the stress was why his nightmares suddenly grew worse. Amery dreamed of fire and explosions and death, of falling from his dragon over and over, landing on mountain peaks and- He woke with a strangled gasp. It was hard to get his eyes open, but he was used to waking at all hours of the night and day at the drop of a hat, and he forced himself to sit up. His back ached as he did, and he reached around to touch it, but that only made it hurt worse. The back of his head throbbed, and when he rolled his sleeves up, his arms were scraped and bruised.

He couldn't twist around far enough to see his back properly, even with a mirror, so he set out, barefoot and with his shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned, to find someone he could ask for help. Under normal circumstances, he strongly disliked having to ask anyone for anything, but this was something of a unique situation. "Excuse me." His Volstovic accent, something akin to a find blend of Russian and French, was a little on the heavy side, but proper all the same and not hard to understand.

Fire. All around her the forest burned. The forest that had sheltered her from childhood, the forest she loved, her home. Despite her banishment, the Greenwood would always be a part of her. And now, all around her, it burned, and she was powerless to stop it.

Still, it did not mean she would not try. She would fight this enemy she could not see. The ones that dared to burn her forest. She ran through the trees, the branches cutting her as she did not bother finding an unhindered path. She had to get to the King’s halls. If these fires continued to rage, they would be trapped there, and there would be nothing she could do.

Something blocked her way, but the smoke stung her eyes, and she could not see it. Everything around her went dark. Everything was black, and a voice rang out in her head, menacingly taunting her.

“You are failed, Tauriel, Captain of the Guard. You have failed.”

With a cry, Tauriel jerked awake, surprised to find she had fallen asleep where she sat. Elves were not ones to drift off unexpectedly, but lately, she had been finding herself falling asleep more and more, and into a much deeper slumber than she was accustomed. It was strange. Shaking herself a little, she got to her feet, hoping to shake off the dream which still plagued her mind.

It was a dream. No more. It was not something worth dwelling on. Still, she could almost smell the smoke, as if something had burned quite recently.

Suddenly she realized the burning smell was not imagined. Inspecting her hair, she found the ends shockingly singed. That was odd. She could not remember being near an open flame, and she never burned her hair, even when she was. She also seemed to still have the cuts from running through the trees, on her arms. This was also surprising, there was no logical reason her arms would be cut, especially since she always had sleeves.

Something was amiss, and it set her on edge. She did not know what was happening, but she knew she dreaded the next time she would sleep. What would happen if the dream returned?

Threaded | Flat

1-ish

1ish... possibles for 3 or 5 is anyone is interested.

2 with some three elements...

4!