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[Dwarmin]

What we've got here is failure to communicate.

Aurora

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The garbagemen have come for you.

That's surely not a sentence you ever thought you would think, nor did you assume they would interrupt your date with the handsome Errol Flypp, who had invited you to his beach house for some 'fun in the sun'-he seemed to think this was an excellent pun. He seemed really confused when they zapped, and hustled them into their truck.

And, now they're coming for you. Six men, clad in identical green-grey outfits. They do seem intent on forcing their way inside the beach house through force, and apprehending you-looks like they brought some sort shiny spheres with them...you get an uncomfortable feeling that's not unlike a jar for a lightning bug, at least in relation to you. You watched one of the spheres zap Erroll unconscious before he hit the ground, so they might function as both weapons and containment devices. And the beach is suspiciously clear of any bystanders or witnesses...strangely enough, just learning you're not actually crazy (they actually ARE out to get you!) is an amazing relief. Still, who would have known that pushy Alien Mayor was actually right the whole time?

...

Of course, you know you could turn to light form, and get away...but, by design or intent, they seem to have trapped you in a moral issue. Leaving now means Errol will probably disappear forever, or at least until the next issue.

The worst part is you specifically did this because the bad stuff was supposed to be, like, a week away! You felt that quite clearly. Someone has absolutely no sense of pacing...or they jumped the gun on the whole 'ominous portent' deal.

So, what are you going to do now? Hero? There's not a whole lot of time for exposition when the Garbage Men are coming to TAKE YOU OUT.

Sorry for that.

Eins

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Well...

One moment, Eins is happily eating breakfast, squabbling with Zwei over what color and shape the cereal they were eating actually was. The cereal, by the way, is clearly blue with shapes like Tryantosaurs-NOT green, with shapes like little trees and 'Chrissmiss' ornaments. And who knows what a 'Chrissmiss' is anyway. Zwei smugly implied this is an important Holiday in her world, where she gets lot of presents because she's special. Eins is horrified at the unfairness of the cruel universe...

In the next moment, the house seemed to be shaking out of it's foundations, and lifting off into the air. How curious. More curious was the message that had just appeared on the drawing board above the sink.

YOU'RE COMING HOME. NO IFS/ANDS/BUTTS. PLEASE DO NOT EXIT THE TIME-HOUSE UNTIL THE PORTAL IS STABILIZED. BOTH OF YOU!

Eins never knew it was a time-traveling house. Zwei implies she knew all along, but it's a lie.

Zwei suggests they should jump out of the house, while they still have time. No one tells us what to do! Then again, you'd still be stuck in Farfield, waiting for those assorted boobs, dimwits and simpletons to figure out all the simple, well written clues put before them before the 'bad stuff' happens. Not that Eins knows what exactly that is herself. Zwei claims she already figured all this out a week ago.

Of course...you always arrive to the same decision anyway. It's entirely possible if you ever disagreed completely, the universe would implode in a cataclysmic disaster, destroying the entire space-time continuum in a violent anti-matter explosion, which would at least mean no more school. At least, this was the explanation you were giving once or twice to stop fighting, and eat your breakfast.

Strange, the fate of so many to rely on so small a thing...

Either way, are you going, or staying?

Johnathan Block

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

John could feel me as soon as he woke up this morning.

It was just another day in the life for him, but for me it was going to be quite exciting...meeting new people (or becoming new people), is always good.

They put me on someplace, weighing down a small letter. You could call me just a sliver, but I am alive as he is. And, soon he'll make us whole. I know. Once he gets the rush, he'll never quite feel happy again...until he has the Whole Heart to himself.


...

Johnathan Block feels the sliver of the Stoneheart in his mind, and it's solidity burns away at the fiction he is buried in. This is a good feeling, the very best. In truth, he felt it as soon as woke up this morning, and probably even in his dreams. He would have known if it had been here all along...no, someone hid this, and brought it here. Like a matchhead flaring in the darkness of his mind.

He has no particular reason not to go. He is just drawn...as if by magnetism. He knows where to go-it's not far. In fact, it's one of his old, unused quarries. Hasn't been there for a few years...or maybe decades...

That someone would leave something so precious, in a way he could perceive, is almost abominable to him...and yet, he is eager to find it. It overwhelms all senses, even that miserable feeling of doom he seems to have had lately-only five days away now.

The sliver whispers to him, that it is his only salvation. He must have it.

His rational mind quietly raises objections, implying that while this is all no doubt very interesting, anyone who would actually be able to find a piece of this-knows his nature, and his secret. It's excellent bait for a trap. Doubly so, because of the knowledge implied is also his desire. Isn't it?

Sometimes, a man might question his desires, and what he really wants...and if he's willing to die for it. He has no idea of what sort of threat might lurk, but...

It is garbage day, after all.

Abram

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Gear sheriff was in a bad mood. How many times had she arrested and re-arrested that particular horse-thief before she realized she was being conned? Or that it was the same horse every few times? How much of her past of crime-fighting was inventive playacting to keep her docile and content? Hell, even her armor and weapons were not top shelf. More like props, given a little bit of flash. Not that she didn't modify them a bit...

It depressed her to Hell. So, being who she was, she decided to do something about it. Especially with that...thing...that's coming. Like a bad storm on the horizon, she can smell it. Five days, at most.

...

A lot of this plan relied on finding the young man who up and vanished on her, to be honest. You can't really leave Farfield normally-you tend to get turned around and end up walking right back where you started, almost as the whole place was some sort of infernal snowglobe.

She arranges these following points in her mind, as if giving a briefing to her subconscious.

Point 1. Aldair King is  currently aware of how weird things are in Farfield.
Point 2. This young man is a Hydromancer. He controls water, can sense it's movement.
Point 3. Mayor Emerald Star has pointed out that following the trail of the towns utilities is probably the best way to actually escape this place.
Point 4. Aldair King has raised the idea that he could follow the towns underground water supply to it's source. Even if it's some sort of hallucination blocking them from leaving, it probably couldn't fool a 6th sense with something to orient them.
Point 5. He is currently missing, at least of this afternoon.
Point 6. It's Garbage Day.

...

The best gear-sheriffs know there is a time for the steam-fist and the clockwork rifle, and a time for the smile and the nod. Their very anonymity allows them quite a bit of latitude when investigating crimes-something they don't advertise widely, of course.

The question is, what's her next move (if she has one), and how's she being clad?

In generally comes down somewhere between 'ask a bunch of questions, and investigate' and "lead a violent assault against the no doubt shadowy sanitation department'.

Aegis

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Wymond tendeth his shop with love and care, preferring old-fashioned hard work. to most 'modern' convenience. He didn't even have an Autoteller (a sort of calculator, I have heard tell), preferring to do business with a handshake and a headcount...he dealt in old things, well made things. Folks call them antiques, but...they seemed alright to him, in some deep way. Natural. Not like those new, clanking smoke machines everyone was using, the 'Hotspots'. He'd never been comfortable with using those, by his own admission.

Today, he considered the inscription, if only to take his mind off what a popular writer might call a 'Palpable sense of Doom'.

"From Anna, with love". Writ from my own hand, straight to his heart.

These words increasingly taunted Wymond as he considered them. Was it a true declaration of heartfelt concern, some deep proof of his heroic chivalry? Or perhaps something darker...a cruel joke? If she loved him, where is she now? Why hasn't she come for him? Doth she even exist? I wish I could answer his questions, but he may not enjoy the truth he so desperately seeks...as much I might enjoy telling it.

...

Ah, but that feeling of tension just won't seem to go away. He feels deeply, that he only has a week left in Farfield. Five days and...something will happen. Or maybe something did happen, maybe the date was important...it was...

His ruminations are silenced by the ringing of his doorbell-three silver bells in ringing harmony, an old custom he felt was right. A customer...it was a lot more enjoyable for him to see them before he began to feel the gulf between the 'Sleepers' and the 'Awakened'. That curious drowsiness in their eyes, even when their wide awake...a sort of genuine happiness, untroubled by questions of reality, time and space.

One can pity them...or perhaps thyself...

His customer to-day was a young woman of shortened red locks, a thin waist, and a pale freckled composition-seeming to me almost sickly in pallor-though in this time, she would be remarked upon for her looks and demeanor as wholesome, which ironically was not unlike mine own-robust, disagreeable and often hot tempered.

Her temper was certainly warming to-day, no doubt due to the blazing, unseasonable heat that had fallen over the sleepy little berg of Farfield. She had a part to play in the story I tell, so listen closely.

...

The young woman's name was Anne Fleich. She had visited Wymonds shop four times, in the interminable time he had kept business-once to buy a wedding ring, once to sell the same wedding ring back, once to buy a large bronze cookpot, and once more to buy a pair of heavy cloth pot holders, and some bandages. You might remark upon her as a fool, by the judgement of those certain items. But, perhaps you are kinder than me.

She began her usual method of speaking to people who subtly intimidated her, as Wymond did-despite being haunted by my spirit, Wymond was often remarked on as both single, goodly, handsome, motivated and with a curiously singular nature, that inspired a feminine desire to 'befriend' him-ripe for the plucking as it were. Even his little 'oddities' seemed to enhance his value. In many ways, he was like the antiques he sold, or try to sell. Well made. Solid. Dependable. Not frivolous. Cast from something stronger than ordinary men.

I'm quite happy to say he was often confused and distracted by the peculiarities of this era, and sometimes unaware of this exact effect he had on people.

In any case, Anne spoke quickly and without pausing, before courage ran out.

"Mr. Wymond! I'm glad you're here....you're always here, aren't you? You know me. Ms. Fleich? I have an...odd request. Do you take odd requests? This is going to sound strange! It's already strange, isn't it? It's all very strange, the whole thing.

I just need to buy something made of crystal. Anything will do, or lots of things in particular. I know it's odd. Money is no object. It never has been before!" She rambled, sound quite seriously upset.

Wymond remarked to himself that oddities in Farfield were often not what they seemed to be.

Emerald Star

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Tension. Stress. A breaking point. A ticking clock.

Arc words, from the Stele.

"Entropy Always Wins"

...

Emerald Star sits at her desk, in the City Hall, and wonders where all the trash goes.

We actually asked this question, a long time ago-at a board meeting. No one seemed to notice we had spoken, and we immediately doubted if we spoke  aloud-in time she forgot herself, though I always remembered for her. But, it pestered at the back of her mind...such a simple little thing. There's no local garbage collecting service in Farfield. No dumps, no recycle-points, no Hotspot Incinerator-units. As far as she knows, they 'pay' a neighboring town to collect their garbage and dispose of it, every week. She has never found any documents confirming this fact, the payments, or the neighbors-and I was too smart to even try.

She has become increasingly convinced the garbage-grabbing-humans (these trash~men) are, in fact, alien infiltrators (if you may pardon a slight pun). They seem to be the only actual strangers in town, quiet and dutiful men who do not stop and do not talk to the locals, often dressed quite alike. They do their job and then they vanish just as quick.

She ponders this often, and perhaps wonders if the entire issue is in fact a side effect of a mind and body disintegrating under the steady, brutal barrage of radiation from the second sun. That cursed orb! Most detested celestial sphere! A sparkle-fly bringing ruin upon our house! What I would not give to smite it from the sky!

On most days, she refrains from extending the idea of smiting down to the Earth itself. I am not so forgiving.

At least Adam, our pet octopus, seems content with his own sanity. The clever little fellow is almost halfways to completing a simple human puzzle called a Rubik's Cube-one that relys on aligning shapes and colors in a square. He's working on it now in his tank, this one which is of course located in the office. Tentacles move with industrious efficiency, sliding links back and forth. I'm actually sure Adam is colorblind, so I'm actually unaware what sort of puzzle the little fellow is trying to solve in his brilliant little cephalodian mind. Perhaps she knows.

...

Star is not actually sure what is going to happen in five days. Much like her friends, she just feels it instinctively. Something bad, anyway. Maybe not *to* her, but *about* her?

....Over the years, in truth, she has become increasingly concerned that whatever force or forces are keeping here are, quite frankly, idiots. I'm dying, you fools! Don't you know we can't stay here, in some sort of happy oblivion, like the rest of these ignorant mudlarks? We have run some simple experiments and the end results are not very hopeful-at best, we might end up in a tank alongside Adam, playing with colored blocks. At worst, they may have to pick us up in an ink blotter, and bury us in a teapot.

We have to GET OUT OF HERE. You and me!

Wherever here is.

RIGHT NOW!

Are you listening to me?

I hope you are, because it's garbage day.

Erase

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

"His name is Jack Liefeld and his passion is art, it has always been art, even though he does not remember the reason."

I remember writing this, just a little jot. It just about sums him up, doesn't it? Wish I had thought of a better name, though...sadly, such one-dimensional characters don't deserve much effort in that regard.

...

You know Jack's a liar (a LIEfield), but I don't entirely blame him. He really has nothing else....and to be fair, he does have a reason to be afraid, doesn't he? Even now. He's got that peculiar itching in the back of his mind, usually some sort of paranoid rambling, but this time it's quite real. Like the rest of them, he knows he's got a week-five days-before 'something' (something bad for him, but quite good for me) happens. Now he wonder, who can he trust? Even the others-that pathetic little band he calls friends, even though he has perhaps not shared his secret with them...

For me, this is an endless sort of amusement. A man driven to protect the secret of his past, at all costs. And yet he cannot recall a whit of that past. Not yet! Like a man chained to a locked chest, filled with gold and gems he can never share, nor know of that wealth himself.

He can drown wondering what was inside.

....

Jack Liarfield has even worse problems at the moment, however. Mostly, it comes down to a small note written in a sharp, spiky hand of his manager, Lily-marked on the metal of a fridge door, with a lemon magnet. Seeing these words fills him with conflicting feelings, so many I won't bother listing them all.

You're drowning, Jack. And so am I. Ever since you woke me up, things have been alot worse between us...mostly that's on me. I think I was happier before.

You know what we have to do.

I know it was dangerous, but I have to try. For the both of us.

Please don't follow me. I'll try to get word to you, if I ever get back.

This charming suicide note needs a little bit of context. You see, Jack and friends were content to wait, watch and think. Lily Amberroyal (her full name is rarely used, though I think it's quite beautiful) is not the sort of person who sits around, however. When she found a lonely, pathetic little man she gave him some ultimately self destructive personal advice, rather than just minding her own business as she should have done-though, it was no doubt better than any alternative.

Lily had the basic idea of leaving the city by sea. Simply packing up, and sailing away. A simple plan, and one we both know won't work at all-see, Jack knows she's quite an accomplished sailor, usually out on the bat every other weekend but...things conspire to keep you in Farfield, or make sure you never come back. They had both considered and rejected the idea as too vulnerable. Even the most inept of guardians would note such an attempt to escape, and...fix them.

Like other people have been 'fixed'. Jack has good reason to be paranoid. Lily might just come back as something like a walking corpse, her mind flushed of all those annoying questions and worries that keep her up at night, along with those particular aspects of her personality Jack has come so to rely on. This has happened before. And yet, those same aspects her may admire are what compels this woman to do this in the first place...to try and save him. The famous painter, the recluse. She really does care, mores the pity.

So, now we sit and watch (flitting above the chamber door, though Jack's home has no bust of pallas, alas-and yes, that's an intentional reference), waiting to see if Jack will show his true color-piss yellow-or maybe dash, dash away heroically to save his lost Lenore before she gets on that boat (a boat named Left Hook, for reason you'll figure out later) and does something monumentally stupid.

All this, and nothing more.

[TheBiggerFish]

((My goodness.))

[IamanElfCollaborator]

The question of Aldair King's current whereabouts and what-if any- relevance the movements of the seemingly suspicious sanitation officers had on his disappearance were ones weighing heavily on Lillian Oakley's mind.

However, there were times for such thoughts, and times for other things; things to keep up the veneer of normality that descended upon Farfield.

Currently, Lillian was not in the guise of the relentless Gear Sheriff Abram, the Clockwork Deadeye, prowler of the night streets and bringer of justice and freedom to the people.

She was in the guise of Lady Oakley, the sweet, wealthy young woman who lived on the edge of town, who loved kids, tea and books and worked part-time at a nearby school as an English teacher. Part-time, of course, because the headmistress didn't want to give her more responsibility, reasoning that Lillian had other things to do. Currently, of course, she was not on duty.

Instead, she was on her daily schedule. In one hand was her walking stick; not that she needed a walking stick, but she liked the feel of it in her hand and it was useful for fending off uncouth muggers when she couldn't put her armor on in public. In the other was a small basket; a kettle of tea, a side of beef and some biscuits. Today, she was off to see a friend of hers; Wymond, who was the shopkeeper of a quaint antiques' store in town, one she frequented often. Not that she bought much, but she always liked old-fashioned knick-knacks; after all, her house was filled with them. She was off to give him some tea and food, as she often did, and maybe make some conversation not related to the conspiracies they discussed off-work.

After that, she was off to Radia Verana's house; the young girl was a student still, and had arranged something with Lillian at one of her parties after a discussion on her studies revealed some problems. Lillian had volunteered to be Radia's tutor, and so every other day, the lady would make the trek to her house to tutor her for an hour in what she knew- mainly English, but the sciences and mathematics were not beyond her either, especially considering that she knew how to maintain her suit of powered armor.

And then after that, a personal investigation would be mounted, and Lillian would take the guise of the Clockwork Deadeye once more, taking to the streets and investigating King's disappearance. Possibly, she might need to take her weapon; after all, it would be rather awkward if Lady Oakley was caught gallivanting around town, asking weird questions and being suspicious, but if Gear Sheriff Abram was seen, there may be a few fights.

For now, however, it was tea and beef time. There was no use heading into the unknown unprepared. She needed time to mull over her plan first. Maybe recruit those two into her investigation as she saw them; after all, the more the merrier, right?

[TheBiggerFish]

Spoiler: This is probably very un-canon, but I can't resist the urge. (click to show/hide)

Thomas Murphy sits in his office/house/lab, once again wondering how he's able to pay the bills on this thing when the police consultant work is coming in for five minutes and a tracking spell and the private jobs you'd expect even in this town are never really there.  Or the job he had practically automated, tracking down what seems to be the only horse that horse thief ever targets, to the point that he could tell by the sound of it that he'd need to bust out the same tired bowl, water, needle, and hair sample.

It struck him as odd that no-one ever thought of just securing the horse better, despite his repeated recommendations otherwise.

And on top of that, he has this ominous foreboding about something five days from now, the event so important that the echoes are drifting back in time...Yet he has no clue what.

Let alone the pervasive fog this town has, a blur upon the senses that obscures even the memories of those looking at it, something dangerous and likely evil.  He has taken the utmost pains, made a circle in his lab that to the best of his ability will keep everything out...But he can't stay in there forever, so here he sits, at his desk, in a constant battle of wills to keep what memory he has left before he becomes yet another victim of the compulsion that someone laid upon this place and these people.

"Fuego", he whispers, and the fireplace lights, Thomas not trusting the Hotspot that originally came as a lighter.  They're far too easy to break.

He looks at the door.  It was forced, he saw that when he came down.  Who would want to rob him is unknown, considering that he works exclusively with stuff brought from the general store on the cheap in exchange for some help with loss prevention.  Mostly, bribing the faerie with stuff from the general store.

It's not like anyone would take offense at his place, except maybe the garbagemen.  Weird people, those...

Maybe someone will call him.

[Twinwolf]

Radia had been having a really nice day, too.

She'd been getting ready for yet another really average day- putting aside the distinct sense that something bad was happening in a week- when she'd gotten the call from Errol. While she certainly wasn't expecting a real relationship out of the deal, it might be fun to get away from the house for something other than school or the bar, so why not? A fun diversion until the bad stuff goes down. She was scheduled for a session with Lillian, but she'd probably be back in time, and if not, Skype or something.

So she packed a backpack with the essentials- books to read, a change of clothes just in case, nice swimsuit because beach house, and assorted other things a young woman might take to such a trip- and drove over. Perhaps there'd been time for some of the promised "fun in the sun", or maybe the garbagemen came soon after her arrival. Whatever happened, Radia was in what be called a "situation".


Radia- or rather, Aurora, since she's entered her powered form- takes a moment to assess the situation.

Firstly: Phone. Does she have it, and does she have a connection? If so, call people. Like, any of the superpowered people or anyone else that could help. Location, brief explanation, all that.

Second: Where is Errol? Did they take him into a van, leave him where he fell, what? If the latter, where?

Third: Was there any more feeling beyond "Bad Thing"?

Fourth: Description of the house. Exits, layout, etc..

Fifth: Guys. Anything she recognizes? Anything notable about them other than the (really insulting. Screw you guys) firefly-jar-thing?

Sixth: Any guess as to the range of their weapons and the (insulting) jar thing?

[Dwarmin]

Firstly: Phone. Does she have it, and does she have a connection? If so, call people. Like, any of the superpowered people or anyone else that could help. Location, brief explanation, all that.

Second: Where is Errol? Did they take him into a van, leave him where he fell, what? If the latter, where?

Third: Was there any more feeling beyond "Bad Thing"?

Fourth: Description of the house. Exits, layout, etc..

Fifth: Guys. Anything she recognizes? Anything notable about them other than the (really insulting. Screw you guys) firefly-jar-thing?

Sixth: Any guess as to the range of their weapons and the (insulting) jar thing?

1. Communication over long distances is best done with wireless telegrams! Which is called 'Sky Typing', or 'Skype'. Though you have read about some nifty ways to communicate usual visual means and hotspots-ie. the 'magic mirror'. Still, such things are far from common and certainly not be found here, in an out of the way sort of place. The idea of a hand-held communication device is quite comical, and scientifically impossible-purely the realm of science fiction, silly girl.
2. Errol seems to have been stowed in the creepy, tank like car the garbage men drove in. The sort with six wheels, and a lot of armor.
3. All you felt was that things were going to change....for better, or worse.
4. A two story beach house facing the ocean. The entrances and exits are 'secured' with heavy wooden storm shutters, but there are least a dozen windows and four large doors on every side to let the cool sea breeze in, and apparently kidnappers. Currently, all the doors and windows on the bottom floor are secured, though less locked more than closed tightly. The layout is entirely open, with no supporting walls to be found at all-both floors are single large rooms, connected to a central spiral staircase. The building is made entirely of local timbers, except for the floor which is constructed of sturdy stone-whoever the mason was, he really did an exceptional job here.
5. They literally look allthe same. It's sort of creepy, actually. Same hair color, cut, and general physical build, and they all look extremely dedicated.
6. They approached fairly close-about 10 ft-to attack Errol, and he went down more or less without a fight. The weapons seem very light, perhaps more like pistols than rifles-generally, the closer you are, the better they work, but effectiveness rapidly falls at distance. The fact they are not filling the house with energy beams implies this may be the case, or perhaps they need a clear shot without obstruction.

[Twinwolf]

Focus Aurora, no getting confused with that book. Seriously, that science fiction novel is so well written it's occasionally hard to remember it's fiction!

Alright. Vehicle. The fact that it hasn't left yet means that either they're all out or they're waiting for these guys to get Aurora. Assume the latter so as to be prepared.

What door are they coming through, or are they going through all of them at once?

[GiglameshDespair]

Eins, as by far the smartest of the two, was immediately of the opinion that they should bail.
After all, even if it's one of them, it might also... not be, and that would be bad.
She pointed out the incident with the timeraptors, and the mess that had made.
That had really pissed Big Sister off. And Zwei totally had to get rescued!

Zwei made the counterpoint that she was sure it was Eins who had to get rescued.

Eins politely disagreed, and after the squabbling had died down for a moment she pointed out that the house was, in fact, getting higher, so Zwei better concede the argument so they could escape. Zwei foiled her plan by leaping out the window into a tree without accepting Eins was correct, so the Best Elysia huffed in annoyance and in a much more reasonable decision took the door.

While they're now stuck in Fairfield, they could definitely break out, easy as pie. Zwei claims she could do it today if she wanted, but she'd feel sorry for Eins, stuck back here, so she wouldn't.

Eins grumbles. Now what?

She hadn't finished breakfast, and neither had Zwei, so  they were both still kind of hungry, and breakfast was the most important meal of the day. If they didn't eat breakfast, they wouldn't grow up properly (the notion that that may have already occurred was studiously ignored).

Now where could they get something nice to eat...?

Eins didn't have any money. They might be able to pinch something, but the horn(s) was rather distinctive.

Her thoughts were cut off as something happened to the house.

Still sitting in the tree, Eins watched the house for whatever would happen next.

[Powder Miner]

Wymond Ledford knew with more distinctness than the rest of his thoughts that today was one of his bad days. His awareness tended to waver so far as he knew; some days he had a grasp on just about everything that he could understand, and was quite active in the little group he was a part of. Some days he didn't remember a lot besides the fact that he was Awakened, a few vague things, and, of course, that Anna was important... today was one of those latter days. Things kept eluding him. Things that he knew were important but just couldn't grasp. The... not being in Farfield anymore. It was... five days from now. No, it... there was something... why couldn't h--

ding-ding-ding-ding. The tinkling of his bell snapped him out of his train of thought, and it was lost. "Oh, goodday, Dame-- er, Miss Fleich." A customer. A store like his wasn't exactly busy every hour of the day, so when he did have a customer courtesy dictated that he give them all of his attention. He often wondered about the coincidental closeness of her name (Anne) to Anna, but he always concluded that she definitely wasn't Anna. But she was a pleasant enough woman the times she had visited his little store, if a little excitable. Her current tone, for that matter, as she rushed to explain, gave him a bit of consternation (was there something important today?) but in the end he responded to her calmly enough, looking at her eyes to see if she was Awakened or not (he just couldn't remember and it would reassure him): "Crystal? I believe I've got just the thing for you. I have a large crystal chandelier hanging in the back of the store; I could retrieve it for you. I shan't be but quick. And I know you said money was no object, but it wouldn't feel right charging so much as my listed price for such a large thing, and I was looking to get it bought anyway, so I'll give you a discount."

[TheBiggerFish]

The idea of a hand-held communication device is quite comical, and scientifically impossible-purely the realm of science fiction, silly girl.

((Or actual magic?))

[IronyOwl]

Garbage day. Garbage day. Garbage day.

Emerald Star had a plan. Well, it was less a plan and more an impulse to lash out as a result of being ever so slowly dissolved, but around these parts that might or might not qualify as a plan.

The garbage grabber humans were one of the ways out. They had to be! An obvious exit route, a way for things to leave. Things like herself, maybe. The problem was that they were probably one of the more dangerous apparatuses of whatever was keeping things here: You didn't risk operatives in a containment zone unless they were capable, expendable, or easy to retrieve.

Which was exactly why they were looking like such a tempting target. Sure, there were a lot of possible avenues in and out, things the town needed but couldn't or didn't want to produce or dispose of itself. But something about attacking them head on struck her as satisfying, a good start to disrupting their plans.

It also struck her as a good way to trigger a contingency designed explicitly to counter her intentions.

So therein lay the dilemma: Did she give in to rage and go mug some operatives, or hide herself in some trash to smuggle herself out? Either was a stupid, rash idea, but the third option involved ever so slightly more disintegration followed by some kind of Incident. Punching garbage grabbers was striking her as a better and better idea.

And besides... there was that arrogance coming back again. Was she really afraid of these imbeciles? Morons who couldn't even keep a specimen without letting that celestial abomination bleach it to a fine paste? Somehow the idea that they were actually a threat struck her as laughable.

Intellectually, she knew she was just begging to get stuffed in a net or something like that. Whatever these primitives used to collect specimens. Maybe a loop on a stick?

She needed...

---

Half an hour later, she's pretty certain she's an idiot. This isn't a plan. This isn't even a plan by the local standards.

This is a cartoon. She's seen this one before. The mammal wants to catch the avian, so she leaves a line of garbage cans into someone's house, then peers at the avians from a window. This can't possibly work. They're going to take one look at it and realize something stupid is going on. They're going to take one look at it and literally see her through exactly the method she's seeing them.

But... she kind of wants to see it happen. How they'll react might be more important than what she can accomplish with it. They're garbage grabbers, so they have to grab the garbage. What happens if it's not how they expect it? What happens if it's clearly someplace strange? Will they get it anyway, ignore it, call in reinforcements or specialists? She doesn't know, and somehow that seems more important than actually getting out right now. It's hard to get out when you don't know what you're escaping from.

So nothing to do now but wait. Wait and wonder if whoever's house this is will mind the inevitable property damage it incurs from being dropped on an idiot mammal's head as she tries to catch some birds. If she's not mistaken- and the mammal seldom is- they should be through here soon...

[TheBiggerFish]

Spoiler: Yeah, this is so not canon...I wish it was though. (click to show/hide)

Thomas looks out his office window at the strange spectacle of the Mayor setting up a line of garbage cans into the house across the street from his office.

"What is this, some crazy garbageperson horror schlock novel thing?  Good grief."

He returns to the interminable paperwork.

"I don't think I have any trash I'm not going to burn.  Can't risk it."

[IamanElfCollaborator]

The bells ring in Wymond's store as Lillian makes her way in, waiting by the front of the store for his current customer to finish her business. She looks around the store, examining the various knick-knacks.

[Kansa]

Jack lay sprawled on the couch, he had not slept well but that had been the norm for a while now. His tired eyes were fixed on the fridge, his mind filled with the note that had been left on it. Mostly wishing that it had not been written at all. He already had known it was pointless, they had even talked about it and agreed. So why had she done it?

He slowly rose to his feet, staggering slightly as he did so. His tore his eyes away from the fridge instead focusing on the paintings that lined the walls, it had been them that started this. He headed back to the one that he always visited, the first one that had been so familiar. It was simple really, a child lying in a bed a figure standing over him but it was like he could almost imagine himself being there, in that spot.

He shouldn't have told Lilly about it, just kept it to himself but it was too late for that now. She was gone and Jack knew he was probably never going to see her again, even if he did head off now the chances of catching her were minuscule. That's what he kept telling himself at least. He turned away only to descend into a violent coughing fit, it was over quickly but it still left him wheezing afterwards. For a while the artist stood there looking down at the floor, then he draped the familiar costume over himself. The person that the outside world knew him as, trying to pull on some of that façade's strength.

It did not help of course but it did give him resolve, he had to go and find her. He couldn't go back to living the life he did before this, he just couldn't. Slowly he walked towards the door and opened it, striding out into the outside world. Underneath the illusion he was nervous but nothing of that inner fear was reflected in the man that the outside world saw, a bright smile on his face as he got a taxi heading towards the docks.

[Criptfeind]

Johnathan stood in the threshold of his house as he looked over the the street and considered the shard and the quarry. One of his large hands was gripping the wood of the frame lightly, or at least lightly enough that it wasn't splintering in his hand and no more then the occasional disquieting groan was lightly squeezed out of the wood as it tottered on the edge of finding an exciting new career as a pile of kindling. His need for the feeling of the stone heart briefly warred with his fear of the unknown and the very real possibility that these people, who apparently already knew about him, were exactly the same people who had placed him her in this town under the mental lock and key. Still though, he knew he couldn't ignore the summons of the stoneheart. It was too strong, to pleasant. And the fact that it lifted the fog from his mind was far too important to ignore.

But wasn't the pleasant feelings, the need to have the heart, just another mental prison that was being placed on him?

With a loud cracking sound the frame of the door split under his suddenly tightening hand. Jolting him out of his pensive pause he took a startled step away and onto the street. He briefly looked back to examine the rend in his doors frame, one more casualty of his rapidly changed, or restored, physiology. He did not stop long enough to examine the thought that had brought about this minor piece of destruction, instead as he was already out the door his mind took this opportunity to quite dissenting thoughts as his body quickly shut the now slightly broken door and quickly stroll down the street in the direction of a particular old quarry that he had not visited in quite a long time...


Johnathan moved closer to the quarry stealthily, or at least as stealthily as a man of four score inches and approaching four hundred pounds can move. He still found he had too much dignity to actually try to crawl across the brush strewn ground to get closer, but he made an active effort to hunch down in an effort to reduce his size and to try to hide his bulk behind any available cover in the land as he approached the pits. As he moved closer he examined the pits and the surrounding area. They seemed... Familiar? He knew this must have been one of his quarries at some point in time, he could even recall bits and pieces about overseeing work here, but his memory failed him exactly when. Was it years ago? Longer? He was disturbed that he could not recall the past with any clarity. Certainly there was more in his mind. He needed the stone heart, that would be the answer he was seeking, he knew that was what would be required to solve this mystery.

And so Johnathan crept into the quarry.