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text.

Hi, it’s Ren again. Got a couple questions for the crowd.

1. Do any of you know anything about food preservation? My knowledge starts and stops with the freezer, and that’s getting pretty full. There’s still a lot of food here that we can collect to take with us when we leave. We should probably try to take advantage of that.

2. Do you believe in fate? This one’s just personal curiosity. Feel free to elaborate on why or why not.

Also, I made stew. Stop by the kitchen if you want some.

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[Audio] A Little Traveling Music Please

Greetings, fellow convoy-ers. ...okay that didn't sound right ANYWAY-

I've been thinking we need better jammy-jams than whatever haunted soundtracks the Convoy decides to play for us, because even the worst of road trips needs some sort of music to help hold us over.

...of course since it's limited to whatever MP3s I've got on my phone, I hope that at least some of you have a taste for techno and eighties pop music. But if anyone else has happened to have some of their own music on hand, I will be happy to add it to the collection.

Ah, you say, but Donatello- how will we listen to your amazing tracklist? We've sorely neglected the localized radio network for other potentials- don't get me wrong, it's important getting the creepy messages whenever the thing picks them up, and yes, communication is a priority, but porque no las tres?

You are welcome to tune into the station, frequency seven-three-three-seven, at any time, barring any power outages of course.

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alien stage: ivan

002 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ | Week 4

[There's a light knock at the murmur. It isn't demanding, just gently asking for attention, like tentatively clearing one's throat before addressing a crowd. As before, he's a little awkward—performing is one thing, but addressing an 'audience' is still new.]

Hey again.

[Do you remember him? He's the guy who asked about tethering with a plant before. This time, he actually appears through the murmur with an awkward wave—last time, he only used his voice. He figures if he's making a request, he ought to show exactly who he is, especially given the nature of it.]

So... I can see colors. Uh, I mean, like—around people. I didn't realize before that it wasn't, y'know, normal. I just figured everyone here could do the same, too. Thought it was just a byproduct of being in this place. But, apparently, that’s not the case.

[Absolute news to him.]

I know we're all fighting for our lives out here, but I have a potentially stupid request if you've got a minute. I kinda wanna figure out what the hell it all means. If anyone's bored or curious enough, would you be up to talking in person and answering a couple of simple questions? I just want to see if there's a pattern with these colors and all.

[There has to be a meaning behind them. If he digs around enough, he thinks he'll unearth a bit more. He already has some ideas, but having a wider crowd and some answers to questions might make it all a bit clearer.

There's the likelihood that people could lie. Or purposefully fuck with his results, but... he doesn't want to be underhanded about his reasons and questions to begin with. That sounds too much like an unwitting experiment, and he's not about conducting something like that. So he's hoping for the best.]

You can always opt out of answering certain questions if you want, but I'm gonna try and keep them pretty generic. You don't gotta get into super detail or anything. Just be honest.

[Please...?]

So... yeah! If you're willing, come visit me today at the fountain in that Washington Square Park place. I can, I dunno... draw you a quick sketch or something for your time?

((OOC: The color aura form is here!))

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01; week 2-ish

[The tug at the mental connection between all who dwell in Sleep's domain is gentle, at first, a cat idly pawing at a toy out of boredom, wrapping itself up in the string to encourage you to attend to it. The longer the tug is ignored, though, the more insistent it becomes. The idle pawing becomes a scratch-scratch-scratch at your door to be let in.

When one relents, they're initially met with a sort of mental sigh from a young man.]

No matter how many times it happens, being wounded is always so dreadfully dull for so long. At least I'm not tied to a bed this time, I suppose.

[What's that about? He doesn't seem like he's about to clarify. A few moments of mumbling and grumbling later, he continues:]

I take it the Blood Moon still holds, out there? The call of Sleep's madness seems to be especially strong of late. Perhaps those of you yet resisting its pull might indulge me in a distraction, for a time.

Tell me of a riddle, or a puzzle, or paradox, where you come from. Something that captured your thoughts, in some small way.

I'll start us off. Imagine there exists a certain machine, that is capable of providing you with any experiences you could possibly want, fulfilling all of your wildest dreams and most intimate desires. This machine is guaranteed to work, and once plugged in, you wouldn't be able to tell these experiences apart from the ones you had outside of the machine or otherwise identify them as false. If you could, would you choose to be hooked up to this machine for life, or would you remain within reality?

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Don’t give up, skeleton!

I have good news and ill.

First, Hosts cannot be returned to their original selves. They are lost forever.
However, I was told that as Vessels, there may be hope to rescue even those of us who have Succumbed.

Secondly, has anyone encountered the three-eyed bird?
I spoke with him. He was Three.

He tried to tell me of rituals and Two's remaining fragment. It seems he's unable to communicate for very long.

T_O'S FRAG__NTS: O_E MO_E LEFT
I H_VE THR_E RI_UALS N_EDED
FO_R, Y_U NEE_ US.

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EMP & ATP 003 ● NOVEMBER 2025

( Read more... )

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A time to build up, a time to break down

Who: Donnie, Edward and Root
What: A meeting of minds and maybe some surgery (no not really. ~~probably~~)
When: Mid-this-month
Where: By the farmhouses, the Turtle Tank
Warnings: N/A

( Things take time. )

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01.

[ A voice creeps out into the Murmur, and with it, a certain inquisitive feeling, the dedication of someone on an information gathering trip. It's not the kind of voice that populated much of the city they now live in before it succumbed, but it's close - there are many points of overlap in the patterns of pronunciation in New York City and those of the people who grew up on the edge of Lake Ontario five hours north, Freddie among them. It's something less brash and severe than a true New York accent, but it's pinnable enough as Upstate, at least for those with a certain degree of familiarity. ]

Has anyone here had experiences with—tethering to the animals and plants here? Trying to speak to them through the Murmur, sharing your thoughts? What did they share back? Did you make them trust you?

[ Trust is a work-in-progress with the once-Golden Retriever who's accompanied him since he proved his usefulness by freeing him from the medical office building he got trapped in—Shadow hasn't come inside yet, but he lingers around, and he waits at the stoop for the food Freddie brings at the same time every day. He follows him through the city, closer, now, than he used to. It's a comforting feeling. He wants to be closer. ]