towerofanimus | 1 - Not the WORST Awakening...

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1 - Not the WORST Awakening...

Characters: Annika Whittenberg and anyone else
Setting: Cafeteria, floor 5 viewing stations, and dorms.
Format: Prose to start, but I'm fine with replying to whichever.
Summary: Seasoned adventurers don't take these sorts of sudden life changes nearly as bad as some. Annika's so seasoned she's positively dried out and dessicated, so she's taking her arrival to the tower fairly well. At first.
Warnings: Undead are gross?

[Cafeteria]

There's yet another new arrival to the tower, one that seems to be taking the whole matter fairly well in stride. For Annika is certain this 'world has been destroyed' business is a bunch of nonsense. Because she's been in strange places, and managed to escape from strange places. And because everyone looks so interesting. Mostly human, mostly... and as far as she can tell, nary another member of the Horde in sight.

She picked up her bowl of oatmeal from the cafeteria staff, stuck a spoon in it, started for an empty table... then hesitated, looked about the place, and made for an occupied one instead. Perhaps the locals would have better information than that simple little letter.

"Hello there!" Yes, that is is a very dead-looking lady approaching you, clutching the newcomer's bowl of oatmeal and smiling. Her eyes have a sickly glow. She smells a bit bad. And she wants to talk to you. "This is a funny kind of place, isn't it?"

[Floor 5 - Viewing Stations]

Any optimism that Annika had managed to gather up at breakfast had been quite rapidly snuffed out. It only took five floors of climbing to find the viewing stations and to see what they were put there to demonstrate. That was Azeroth, blown into pieces, shattered even worse than Outland, for Outland at least held some life within it. There was nothing, nothing remaining with a flicker of life to it. Not even the Scourge, not even the Burning Legion's demons... nothing.

"What could even do such a thing...? How is it even possible?" She pulled away, rubbed at her face, then dipped back in to stare some more. "I've never... never in all I've seen... never heard of even an indication that this..."

It's so astonishing that it has to be said aloud. Everyone needs to hear it. No one needs to hear it. But she has no time to seek about with her eyes for anyone paying her words any mind. She adjusts the viewfinder, continuing to stare in fearful awe.

[Dorms - Room 1-05]

The scent of heavily-perfumed potpourri hangs in the air, and it's especially strong around the bed of the newest arrival to the room. She's sitting upon that aforementioned bed, some rough fabric from the workshop in her lap, busy at work with a needle and thread. And quite engrossed with her work. To work was to put bleaker thoughts out of mind, at least for a little while. And to work was to be useful.

Maybe you're out in the hall and the perfume is making your nose itch. Or maybe you live in the room, too, and it's time to start negotiating a proper roommate agreement...

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He was wanting to eat and scheme in peace. Not talk to anyone, but observe them silently. Normally no one gives a second thought to little old him. As far as many were concerned he was just an unlucky and unassuming kid. And he liked it that way. It helped keep him from getting mixed up in any trouble, and keep his emotional distance from most of the occupants. Which would aid in future plans.

And then the smell of decaying flesh entered his nostrils. He slowly looked over to the voice that seemed to be talking to him. A zombie, a talking zombie who was currently talking to him...wonderful.

"...It's hilarious....ROFL." At least she wasn't attempting to kill him.

A curious look passes over Annika's face. Where had she heard that before? Somewhere in the alleys of Orgrimmar? The gutters of the Undercity?

No matter. She gave her head a little shake and held that smile. "I wouldn't go that far... It's more funny-unusual than funny-ha-ha." A pause. "Right?"

"That would depend on your sense of humor." And unless they were comedians in their lives, most undead he's met this far are rather humorless. Which is fine because you know, they're kind of dead. It puts more than a little damper on that person's views of life typically.

Annika inclines her head slightly to the left, her smile growing thinner. "Slapstick? Black comedy? People pointing and laughing when someone takes an axe to the head? What sort of funny do you think it is?"

Now she was starting to look like the stereotypical undead! That smile only ruined the image for him. He's never seen a zombie smile in any movie, except for Warm Bodies, or in real life. "I like to think of it more like a dramady."

"Hmm..." Her head tilts in the opposite direction, and she gives up entirely on smiling. It does indeed make her look much more like a traditional lurching undead creature. "So it's dangerous?"

Ganondorf often passed by the fifth floor, ever since he had seen the stations were real he had gotten an interested in them, and that is when he spotted Annika. Many people would probably be disturbed at the sight of an "undead". Not Ganondorf. He was after all, demon king of too many creatures. He saw and heard her reaction from afar, smiling at her reaction.

"How?" he suddenly spoke, not bothering to announce his presence or even introduce himself "It's quite simple. A little girl felt lonely and decided you would keep her company. Now, the question is whether or not you will play your part as her toy or not."

Upon hearing a voice call out to her, Annika ducked low and swiveled about, setting her glowing eyes upon him. He had startled her, and she wasn't sure if he was friend or foe.

"A little girl?" ...his words seemed friendly enough for now, so she didn't begin to cast anything. They just raised more questions, though. She frowned thoughtfully, and slowly straightened herself. "I'm a strange sort of toy for a little girl to pick. I'm not sure that I like that. So she destroyed my world, then? For the sake of that?"

He walked to one of the station near hers as she spoke, and nodded at her words. Well, Ruana did not look physically like a little girl, but she certainly acted like an immature, spoiled child. And then came the matter of what she looked like without the glamour...

"A little girl yes, but not one whose description can fit that of the children you know."

He stopped to the station and smiled, though this was more of a pained smile than anything else. He too had lost a lot-- Hyrule and the world it was upon. Which should have rightfully been his.

"Exactly." he frowned "Well, there is a matter of debate: whether she did it willingly or accidentally." "But the result is the same. Wasteland, all form of existence gone as far as the eye can see. All life gone save for one per world. In your case; you."

Annika watched him closely as he moved to the nearby station, turning herself bit by bit. Did he have something to demonstrate?

"A child in the sense of being childish?"

And it did seem that she might have had more to say, but she stopped herself and let him hold forth a bit longer. And then she simply seemed to... stop. Freeze completely stiff, a faintly surprised look on her face. All life but her gone. But she wasn't even alive. She wasn't even important. And she had never even found...

"That's... upsetting."

Her unblinking yellow eyes remained fixed upon him. A hand lifted to cover her mouth briefly as she attempted to force her thoughts into order, and then it dropped limply to her side.

"How have you come to know so much? How do I know that what you tell me is true?"

It was likely true. His look from before said very much. But still, if there was room for doubt, there could be room for hope.

"In the sense of being childish indeed, but who knows maybe the truth is more literal than we expect."

She would be right he had something to demonstrate. Ganondorf, after all, had always tried to turn people into trying to attack and kill Ruana-- And the administrative team as a whole. needless to say, this didn't change one bit.

"I have been here for a long time. It makes little doubt I am amongst the most knowledgeable residents here." he replied to her question with a wry smile before turning to her "Of course you could go ahead and deny my words, but then would it fix your world, to live in a lie?"

"How long is a long time?" This tower still lacked a proper sense of scale, to her. Height had been determined, composition had only been started upon... duration was almost entirely untouched upon. It was less doubt that she was demonstrating, and more a craving for more information.

"I won't deny anything that I can confirm elsewhere. I would think it would be quite possible to fix my world... assuming I could leave this place. But there's no exit, is there? I've heard that much." She shifts her stance, with a subtle grinding of bone on bone. "...at least tell me your name. I'm Annika Whittenberg, of Brill."

"A year and a half." he stated. Given the tower had been active for barely above two years, and given all the people who had disappeared, it was no stretch to say he was one of the most ancient residents. "More time here than most you will meet."

"Possible? Certainly. The way everyone here assumes it? Doubtful." Ganondorf replied simply to her words-- Most everyone appeared to think their worlds were going to be fixed within the next six months, and as far as he was concerned, the very idea was stupid. "You are right, there are no known exit."

Known being the keyword here, the administrators were quite good at hiding what they wanted to see hidden. he smiled however and nodded.

"I am Ganondorf Dragmire, King of the Gerudo. Pleasure to meet you." His tone was surprisingly formal and polite. Probably out of habit.

"A... year and a half. I see." Again, it gave her a further sense of the scale of this place. A year and a half, and that was a small eternity here, no doubt. "What is the way that everyone assumes it's possible?" She knew of the Titans building Azeroth, knew that there was a 'reset', the possibility to reoriginate the whole thing... perhaps other worlds could be brought back in the same fashion. Perhaps.

And then there's a change in her posture, when he properly introduces himself. She straightens, and then smoothly moves into a bow. "An honor to meet you, in kind, King Dragmire." She was one accustomed to addressing those of high station, apparently.

Ganondorf snapped his fingers when she asked what way everyone expected in this tower "This. They assume they'll find a magical switch and everything will be back to normal. Reality however, promises to be much harder and cruel."

Probably an exaggeration and by no small margin, but t was no secret what ganondorf thought of the tower's populace. For the most part, he thought of them as lower than low. At least he was pleasantly surprised that she greeted him with the honor due to his rank. This was a rare feat in this tower.

"Now that you know the truth, I hope you will act in consequence." he said and nodded before turning back to the viewing stations. And by that he meant, get to kick administrative asses.

"If there's a magical switch, it certainly won't bring things back to normal." She lets out a sound midway between a huff and a laugh. "I know my world could possibly be 'reoriginated'. But that would likely just return it to a primordial state. Which... is better than..." She gestures limply at the viewing station. "...that."

Well. That took some of the wind out of her sails.

"I think I see what my goals ought to be, in this place."

David just so happens to be passing by—floating past with the help of his flight system, no less—when he gets a whiff of that potpourri.

In David's experience, perfumed scents that strong, without the cloying industrial chemical smells that accompany most air fresheners or even most commercial perfumes, is the work of magic. Which is funny, to him, knowing the true nature of the tower.

Still, he can't resist floating over to the door and rapping on it with his knuckles. "What kinda spell're you cookin' up in dere?" David calls out, his voice raised a little to carry through the door.

Though, despite his experience, his voice has a facetious tone to it. Can't expect magic to be the ultimate air freshener in everyone's world, can he?

"Aa-ah!" She hadn't been expecting a knock, and she REALLY hadn't expected such a deep voice to be calling out. Sharp reflexes did a mage a world of good when out in the field. Who knew what might be around the corner or coming up behind you?

"N...no spells! No magic! Just sewing!". And she was quick to force brightness and lightness into her tone. For if she could understand the words, then she could possibly reason with the speaker. Another belief picked up out in the field.

"Sewing? With ... what? Scented candles?" David responds, sounding skeptical. It defintiely sounds like there's something that girl's doing which she doesn't want people knowing about. Though David was being facetious when he initially asked, now he's starting to become suspicious in earnest.

Upon further (very brief) reflection, this person just sounded sort of silly. And unlikely to let the matter drop. She let out a loud and theatrical sigh. "I'm sewing, and I've set out potpourri... you can come in and see, if you want!"

Although she immediately felt a twinge of anxious regret, having said that. She set her sewing down quickly, and lifted the hood of of her robe. Let's not scare the dickens out of the poor guy as soon as he steps in. (Let's not give him any reason to try and get combative, either...)

David glances at the dorm room's sign first. He's a little hesitant about barging in on a dorm full of the opposite sex—he does have some gentlemanly manners—but if this girl is offering for him to come inside, it's unlikely that any of the other roomies are present. And if they didn't want visitors, they would've protested, right?

So, into the dorm he goes, floating through the air with a brisk pace. The first thing David does is glance over to the woman's workstation.

... Oh. It really is potpourri. "Man, where do ya get stuff dat strong? I could smell dat all da way out dere!"

Sure, the Tower might be simulating everything everyone owns, but if it's accurate then this would be just like the real deal, or so David supposes.

Absolutely potpourri. It's sprinkled liberally about the perimeter of the bed, and even more strongly scented now that he's inside. She's not looking up from her work just yet, though. It seems more like purposeful avoidance of his gaze.

"It was in with my things when I woke up here. I bought it in Silvermoon City." She pauses. Would he even know of the place? She turns her head so she can actually look at David. And just from the glimpse of her face that he could see from beneath the hood, he'd likely draw the conclusion that she's not well. Terrible complexion. She's awful scrawny, too.

"...have you ever been there?" Somehow, she's... not sure that he has. But she feels that she ought to say something.

David's mouth clamps on the cigar in mild surprise when the woman turns to look at him. Surprise might be the wrong word, there; it's not so much a shockingly unexpected sight as the fact that something about her appearance is reminding him of his experiences in Paragon City. Certain kinds of villain groups used minions with awful complexion like this woman's—and they tended to be the sort that used strongly-scented magic.

... okay, so they'd just established that magic's not in play here, but still. He's having to resist the urge to scan her with the targeting equipment in his helmet; not really to "con" her but to see if a growing hunch he's having is correct.

The question she poses is a good distraction from that. David's mouth pops open again. "Uh—nope," David responds. "I'm from Paragon City. Pretty sure dere ain't no 'Silvermoon City' on Primal Earth."

Annika's not sure that she likes the look on the man's face... but it's one that's not entirely unfamiliar. He seems to have an idea of what she is. But he's still talking to her. Fair enough. She retreats back into her hood, and continues to pass needle and thread through cloth.

"Primal Earth? Isn't that an alchemy reagent...? ...aah, no, I imagine there isn't. I've never heard of Paragon City. I hear we're all from very different places... can't be helped." She affects a laugh, but it's quite plainly nervous, not actually amused.

"Yeah. Dat's da real pisser," David says with a bit of a grumble. "Whatever's out dere dat's killin' off entire dimensions, dere's only gonna be one survivor dey pull from dat world. Dat's how it was explained to me at least." He doesn't really want to believe that, though. This is not the sort of lottery he wanted to win.

... He's pretty sure he heard her mutter "alchemy" just now. And any time that comes up in Paragon City, it's always in a magical context. He glances at the potpourri again. She's saying she's not using any magic, but he can't shake the feeling that stuff is stronger than it should be.

"Dat Silvermoon City place, do dey do a lot of alchemy dere?"

Edited 2013-10-06 04:14 (UTC)

"That's... how it was explained to me, as well." She sounds less bitter than him, and more sad about it. "Doesn't seem the least bit fair.."

She shakes out the cloth that she's stitching together, which appears to be simple curtains. The work was nearly done, she didn't really want to stop, and maybe this was a bit rude... "Mm?" The question did make her hesitate on the next stitch, though. "Oh, yes, yes, it's an elven city, they have some very talented alchemists there, they're up to their pointy ears in that sort of thing..." Not much love for elves in her voice, no sir.

Elves, eh? David muses on that for a moment—and realizes he can't recall any sort of city populated with elves like that. There were some in the superhero community—and with interdmensional travel, just about anything could be found in the superhero community—but it did give him food for thought. Where did those kinds of beings make their home in Primal Earth? Some astral plane, maybe? Or whatever it is the Magic types call it ...

His attention refocuses on the woman after noticing her stitching again. David takes a moment to clear his throat before responding. "'Kay, so—if dey play with alchemy all da time dere, what're da chances dat potpourri's, um, enchanted somehow? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, I see dat stuff in stores back home an' dey never get dat strong."

What was it with this fellow and his magic fixation? She passed another stitch through the fabric, and turned her head towards him again. Just enough so that one eye peeked out from beneath the hood. It glowed faintly yellow.

"Yes, it's probably enchanted potpourri." A pause. "It's not my magic." Another pause, and a little more steel in her tone. "That's not a problem... right?"

Oop. David picks up on the hardness in her voice. He actually looks a little caught off guard in response, like he didn't realize he was telegraphing his misgivings so easily.

"What, with magic? Naw, no way," David says with a little laugh—not a hearty or earnest one, but the sort of timid giggle that accompanies someone who's newly aware of their uncomfortable conversatonal spot. "Just, uh—I was reminded of da kinds'a people who use magical air fresheners where I'm from, yanno?"

David's discomfort puts her... not at ease, exactly. But she's feeling more comfortable having him in the room, now. He's not to be feared, is he? Oh, this is a strange feeling to shake, the reflexive fear of living humans...

"Oh? What kind of people are those?" And it's asked with a softer, more curious tone. His world had Forsaken in it? Likely not, but...

"Usually da type dat use undead for minions," David responds. Which ... probably tipped his hand toward his hunch big-time, but there's no implied threat in his voice. Might as well remain un-subtle about it if she's sensed that out of him so far.

"Usually it's a villain thing, but I seen a few good guys doin' it, too."

"Aaaaah...." There we go, right out in the open with it. No use being all sneaky about it, then. He's pretty clued-in. She sets down her sewing and pulls down her hood. And that ought to be more than enough confirmation that she's undead.

"Villains raise the dead, but the dead that they raise sometimes get to pick for themselves what they end up doing." And she gives him a level, even look, gauging his reaction.

For his part, David seems completely unfazed by the reveal. His only reaction is to idly readjust the unlit cigar in his mouth. No fear or revulsion. He's had plenty of time to get used to fighting against and alongside the undead.

"Sounds about right," David replies. "I've teamed up with a few heroic types like dat." He almost wants to ask where she stands ... but, no, that would be kinda dumb to ask of a person who's just sewing.

"Really?" She smiles, but it's tight and it's sort of sad looking. "There aren't a lot of living humans that care to work with dead ones, where I'm from. You're really not from Azeroth at all..."

Annika shifts herself about on the bed, so she's facing him, her legs hanging off the side. "I'm Annika Whittenberg. You'd be?" And she extends her hand for a handshake.

For his part, David doesn't hesitate too much at the gesture, and floats over to where she sits to return the handshake. Though he is managing his grip on Annika's hand when he shakes it, keeping it tender and light, since he doesn't want to take off chunks of her flesh or wrench the whole hand off.

David might not be a Scrapper, but his power armor doesn't make him a fun guy to play "handshake" with.

"I'm da darin' Little David," he says with a bit of a grin at the end of it. "David Puskás's my real name, but ever since I got in da hero biz, most people call me 'Little David' instead."

He seems proud of that fact, too.

Her hand does feel rather light and delicate when he shakes it. Her grip is not terribly firm, though she's making an effort.

"All this talk of 'hero' this and 'hero' that... I haven't heard that in a while." She glances away a moment, seeming briefly wistful. But then her attention is right back on him. "Ah... it's good to meet you, Little David. Or is David fine? Which do you prefer?"

"Ah..."

For a moment, Enoch gapes. He's seen zombies in the tower; they look nothing like her. But everything about her aside from her movement and the alertness in her posture screams dead, and all he can think of is the first time he'd ever heard of living corpses, on his first evening in Meridian over a year and a half ago. It seems like such a long time when it really isn't. The torture and uncertainty of this place drew out time much the same way the joy of living with Armaros drew out the scant three months in Meridian.

But she's acting nothing like the way Dave had described zombies then; in fact, that description was closer to the monsters he'd seen in the tower. She...well, she just seems like a person that so happens to be dead. It's still unsettling, enough that Enoch stumbles into his response rather inelegantly.

"...It...it is peculiar, yes."

The look that Enoch is giving her is a familiar one. There's recognition there. And a cascade of emotions springing from that recognition. But he's trying to reply. It seems more like embarrassment than fear. Maybe he could be a friend rather than a foe. Or at least friendly. She'll have to be her very kindest, her most professional, her most helpful.

"I'm sorry if I'm a little more peculiar than most. I just woke up here, and I'm feeling my way around. I... don't suppose you'd be alright with answering a question or two?" She stands a little straighter, holds her head a little higher. Maybe it will help to banish thoughts of shambling and slumped Scourge from this man's mind.

"Of course." He moves his food a little closer to himself, freeing up the center of the table in invitation for her to sit across from him.

He may still be tense, but that's not even entirely because of her presence. She's a newcomer, so he'll do what he can to help get her up to speed. That much won't change no matter what this place does to him - precisely because it can do so much to him.

She hesitates a moment when Enoch makes that silent motion to offer a spot to sit, but then decides to take advantage of it. She sets her bowl down, then sets herself down, all the while smiling at the man.

"The trip on the elevator down to here was incredibly long! This place must be enormous. Is the exit anywhere nearby?" If the oatmeal weren't a giveaway that she was new, if she hadn't said as much, that statement would be a dead giveaway. She stirs the oatmeal in her bowl while waiting for a response.

"There isn't an exit we can reach. There are a hundred and six levels we can freely move about, and then many more below us where our hosts live, some of which existed before them and they never use."

That was all right; he'd see to correcting that. The whole point of this conversation was to help her get up to speed.

This was getting her up to speed at a positively breakneck pace. She stopped stirring her oatmeal quite abruptly.

"Oh. There's... no exit? We're trapped in this place? It seems roomy enough, at least..." She let her gaze wander for a moment, the oatmeal-stirring resuming, as she turned matters about in her head. And then her head snapped sharply (not quite humanly) about, so she could fix her eyes on Enoch once more.

"What do they intend for us to do, exactly? Simply... exist? We were 'saved', or so said the note that I received. Is that accurate? Was any of it accurate?"

"Yes, the notes are accurate. The person who wrote them truly does wish happiness for us, but he is not the only host. There are five-...four of them, and each has their own designs for us."

He couldn't believe that had slipped. He'd gone so long without doing that. The pain of losing Dax, for a moment, hurt anew.

Annika hadn't missed that he slipped up on how many 'hosts' that there were. Was that relevant? Did that mean something? But there were other questions that she'd rather ask, first. Ones that seemed, suddenly, very important.

"What sort of designs? What do the rest of them want us for?"

"Ruana is their leader. We're as good as dolls to her, and she plays 'games' with us that are only enjoyable to herself. Jason is the physician here, and he performs experiments. In truth, there's little difference between his experiments and Ruana's games. Lastly, Riki is the architect. He doesn't appear or speak to us often, and his motivations are a mystery. There are things he does to us, but it's hard to say what they are, other than the one we know meant to distract us while he worked on expanding the tower."

The games didn't seem to bother her. Her expression remained mostly blank. But the talk of the physician performing experiments made her stiffen visibly, and so suddenly that her knee and elbow joints ground audibly against themselves. The existence of an architect barely registered in her mind.

"We're specimens. Do they expect specimens to be happy? I know how experiment-performers handle their specimens."

There's a simmering anger in her tone.

Enoch did catch that, and he looked down at the table. "He didn't write that note. Despite having a leader, each of them seems...independent of one another."

"Who did write the note, then? And what's their particular... tic?" She still sounds very, very unhappy.

"Zo. He's only a child, so he doesn't understand just how wrong everything else is yet. He grew up with the others, after all..."

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1 - Not the WORST Awakening...

Cafeteria mmo peeps unite?

I feel like I should be spamming trade chat or something :D

Pff looking to sell cloth linens.

WTB port to ANYWHERE ELSE, pst

Don't forget teh $

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Floor 5

Floor 5

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I am QUEEN OF THE BACKTAGS! :D :D :D

backtags are great!!

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Dorms (Moar MMO Bros? :D?)

All the MMO bros!

:D!

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Sorry again for the long delay! Not the best birthday I've had ...

Understandably! D:

Cafeteria

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Cafeteria

Cafeteria

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