2021-03-09 - Pipe Dreams and the Flames of War

You wander home from karaoke, narrowly having escaped the horrible fate of being marched up on stage by your so-called friends, and all you want to do is face plant. Ravn passed out more or less on top of his cat in his trailer in Huckle... Kickle.. Hufflepuff Trailer Park (he'll never get that right), more than a bit drunk. He looks more than a bit frazzled when he finds himself standing here -- a tall, lean figure wearing a pair of black sweatpants and an amazing copper blond bedhead.

He looks around. The thought occurs to his still not entirely sober self that this is not his trailer. Then he looks at the water that is casually defying gravity, and his reaction is a quiet, "Well, fuck."

It's not an unreasonable reaction as things go. Could at least have let the man have a pair of shoes if he's heading into a drain pipe.

Wes stands entirely perplexed, gazing at the water in confusion. He's wearing unremarkable clothing, jeans and a t-shirt, with running shoes on his feet. He also has a winter coat on, a slim design with Thinsulate to keep the wearer warm, but not bulky, and a knit winter hat on his head. "Huh..." He utters softly, twisting to look around and take in the surroundings. Then he spots Ravn and tilts his head slightly to one side, gazing at the other man. "Are you supposed to be here?" He gestures at the pipe, "Is that a backed up pipe?" This is what happens when you're apprenticing as a pipefitter. You have weird plumbing dreams.

Michel had been laying in bed, trying to sleep. The ghost that was his ever present company had been keeping him awake until he finally drifted off. Shivering he becomes aware once again...only he is not in his bed. He blinks looking down at himself and blushing. He is only wearing a pair of thin black boxers. "Of all the ways to lucid dream." He sighs and closes his eyes trying to will his clothing to at least appear appropriate, it is a dream right? And the laws of reality don't apply to dreams. At least so he has heard.

Ravn takes a second look around and then grimaces. He raises a hand in a tired wave to Michel and then glances at Wes. "I wish I could get into the habit of sleeping fully dressed." Unlike Michel he does not seem to be able to conjure up clothing on the spot; all he's got is a pair of sweatpants and a European accent. "Howdy. My name is Ravn, don't think we've met in the waking world."

He nods towards the water and the drain pipe. "If this works like these things usually work, the only way out is through. I guess we're going cave spelunking."

Wes looks down at himself, "I don't have my tools with me, but I guess I could take a look." He pulls off the knit hat and stuffs it into a pocket of his coat, then shrugs that off to tie around his waist. He glances at Ravn, then seems to take the sudden appearance of Michel in stride before heading into the pipe. "If the water is spilling out the top like this than there's some kind of blockage backing it up. But..." As he sloshes into the water he takes in it's gravity-defying properties, "Huh. Well, ok, maybe it's some kind of optical illusion. I'm Wes." He offers to Ravn before following the pipe without much further consideration of the weird situation. "I'm still an apprentice, but I've cleared a lot of blockages." Because this reality is obviously about plumbing. Is he supposed to be thinking he's in a dream if he's in a dream? Well, maybe it's a dream about dreaming. That would check out.

Michel opens his eyes and sighs as he sees what he is wearing. "Well. Its better than nothing." He admits. Spotting Ravn and Wes he blinks. "Hello. I suppose I have crossed through the infamous veil then? This should be enlightening. I'm Michel by the way." He introduces himself to Wes then peers at the drain pipe cautiously and approches it. "Well we might as well explore a bit?" He glances to the other two and begins to carefully enter the pipe.

"Water telling the laws of physics to bugger off is a good hint that we're on the other side, yes." Ravn glowers at the water as if he expects it to apologise and start flowing in the right direction. "I wish I at least had a pair of boots."

It dawns on him that he may be the one person here with any actual Veil experience; for a moment he fights the urge to laugh hysterically about it but manages to dismiss his anxieties. There's a time to have a quiet nervous breakdown in a corner and this is very much not it. Looking at Wes instead and then up the drain pipe the Dane murmurs, "Let's do this. Just, be careful. Don't know if anyone's told you, Michel --" he glances at Wes as well but doesn't make assumptions, the other man could be a highly experienced Veil explorer he's just never met before "-- but getting hurt in here is real. It'll carry over to the waking world. Don't take anything for granted, don't do anything stupid because hey, it's just a dream."

Another glance to Wes. "I really hope you're an apprentice in something that includes sewer navigation because I am not. What I do have is a bit of claustrophobia." He plods along all the same, splish-splashing on bare feet in the cold current. The light up ahead causes him to fall quiet though. "Let's not rush into things."

He cranes his head, trying to get a look at what's going on further ahead. Could be a lost tribe of friendly sewer surveyors. Could be a lost tribe of cannibals. Could be an oncoming train.

Wes is moving along slowly, at first trying to avoid stepping into anything particularly slimy or gross. But as the light is fading he gives up on sparing his shoes and just settles on keeping good footing. He looks at Ravn and the entirely confused expression on his face is probably telling, as he doesn't seem to register any sort of recognition in regards to 'other side', 'the veil' or even mention of 'waking world'. "I... mean, some of my training was in sewer repair, so I've been in them." He comments, then shakes his head, "We shouldn't get hurt if we're careful. Just watch where you step, there's all kinds of crap in pipes. You should really have some shoes or boots on. That's not safe." He says warningly, digging in his pocket for his phone, because it has a flashlight!

Michel nods to Ravn. "I'll be careful. Thank you for the warning. I thought it might be a bit like lucid dreaming...just a bit more real." He smiles weakly and peeks around the corner, trying to keep his steps as light as he can as he sloshes through the sludge. He lets the other two take the lead for the moment as he tries to sense or see anything that might be nearby.

Ravn certainly wishes he had some shoes or boots on. And maybe a shirt! The man's got what looks like a relatively recent gun-related injury as well; a fresh scar on the right side of his chest, as if a bullet entered his body from behind and exited out the front -- definitely one of those lucky to still have you with us injuries. "Very real," he murmurs with a glance to Wes. Now might not be the best time to sit the poor man down and give him the welcome to Gray Harbor speech.

"What the..." is his immediate reaction to the little scene there. "No, I have no idea what this is supposed to be."

There are weapons on the ground. Even a sharp stick is better than nothing. He grabs one. Where's all those big burly combat veterans when you need one?

"What the heck, my phone is bugging out or something." Wes squints at the flickering display, wincing, before holding up the flashlight and shining it at the ground. The last thing any of them want to do is step on something sharp. As they turn the corner, however, the young adult gazes up at the moss. "Whoa... I've never seen that before..." He shines the light upward at the moss, then ahead at the ... guard stand? "What in the world? What is that? Did people set up some kind of Halloween or Dungeons and Dragons game down here?" He points the light ahead and sloshes towards the weirdly shaped guards, reaching out to lightly poke at one of the bodies. "Oh man, this is disgusting." He wrinkles his face up.

Michel does not move. He watches, keen grey eyes observing the scene before him with critical attention to detail. "This cannot be good." He mutters softly. "Dead men? But what killed them?" He scans the area carefully and with the utmost attention trying to see if he can spot any clues about what they are seeing.

"I wish," Ravn murmurs in response to Wes' inquiry about live roleplaying games. "Long story short? You're in a dream, but it's real. Anything can happen. You get hurt, you'll be hurt when you wake up. Yes, I realise how crazy it sounds." A glance to Michel and his magically appearing clothing and he adds, wryly, "Gray Harbor, where you learn to not sleep naked."

He glances at the planks. "I guess we need to go in, find out what's in there? Your guess is as good as mine -- but there's always, inevitably, some story that needs to play out, so just sitting on our hands won't get us anywh--"

He stops. Inhales. "Oh shit. I do know what we're dealing with."

Looking back at the two others the tall copper blond takes a few breaths to steady himself and then nods. "We call them gremlins, but if these were gremlins before they died, then they've grown bigger. They steal things. Sounds harmless except, the things they steal is stuff like the brakes off a speeding bus, or the hull seal of a boat, or the screws that stops a half-ton electrical armature falling on someone's head. We need to be very careful because these little jerks will fight dirty. All we know about them is that they live in the sewers, and they seem to be evolving."

Wes gets a full whiff of the stench from the body as he pokes at it and backs up, gagging slightly. "Oh ... augh... what the heck? These aren't people, what is that thing?" He rubs at his nose, the flashlight moving around spastically for a moment as he moves before he steadies it and looks at Ravn, who is dumping a lot of explanation on him. His blue eyes grow wide and there's that obvious skepticism of the younger man trying to figure out if he's being messed with or the person in front of him is crazy. "Gremlins." He echoes, looking over at the corpse before looking back at Ravn. "A dream." He scowls, "So is this some kind of prank? Did someone slip something into my drink?" He asks, a defensiveness leaking into his voice. He looks between Ravn and Michel with suspicion and a heavy dose of uncertainty. "Fine. Sure. Go in there." He'll head towards the plank structure, holding his light up.

"I wish this was a prank," Ravn murmurs. "I've seen these little assholes kill two people, though. They're definitely not human."

Nothing inspires trust like a near-naked man with a gunshot scar that's fresh enough to still be discoloured, holding a make-shift spear that once was a kitchen utensil. Welcome to Gray Harbor, everything is fine, indeed. He takes another deep breath -- not because he likes the smell, oh hell no, but because claustrophobia and anxieties are things that occupy a considerable part of Ravn's life, and right now is a really bad time to address those issues. "Let's do this."

What's said is said and done is done. Plodding past the barricade and through the cold water down the tunnels it soon becomes easy enough to tell what way to go -- assuming one wants to find the gremlin tribe. Ravn honestly doesn't but he knows how stories work. "The only thing I know of that scares these little jerks is cats. I don't suppose that either of you can do mind tricks, conjure up illusions of cats, something like that?"

From the tone of the man's voice he's completely serious. Possibly certifiable, but serious.

Wes falls in next to Ravn because he's the only one that has any answers down here, whether they're believable or not. "Uh-huh..." The younger man murmurs, a guardedness to him that seems more about the man next to him than the strangeness going on. Though, as they walk, he voices tentatively, "Let's just say for ... humor's sake... I decide to believe you. Weird dream. Creepy dead alien things. Strange pipe. I mean, I feel like I'm on some kind of really bad trip because that's the only thing that even slightly makes sense, but ... cats? How would I even know a mind trick? Do I just think really hard about a cat?" He peers in the direction of the fresh air, and then the direction that Ravn seems to be going. "Why are we-... If we're trying to leave, I feel like the other way is better." Not that he's striking off alone just yet. Besides, obviously Ravn needs Wes to hold the flashlight.

There is a loud splash from the tunnel behind them and and outraged groan. Maggi stands, partially covered in tunnel stuff, her brain doesn't want to get more specific than that. She looks super pissed, her messy hair in a side knot to expose the shaved bit. She blinks, trying to get used to the light or lack there of.

"I can't do mind tricks either," Ravn replies quietly. "Some people in this town, though? Absolutely capable of conjuring up -- things. " He glances sideways to the other man. "Don't blame you for thinking this is some kind of bad acid trip. First time it happened to me I found myself running through the woods to escape the Headless Horseman."

And then, suddenly, Maggi Gyre. The expression of relief that washes over Ravn's face is literal; you'd think he just saw his lover, or at least somebody he's extremely delighted to bump into in a sewer of all places. "Speaking of people who absolutely do tricks. Maggi, am I glad to see you."

"Oh, well, okay good. Neither of us can do mind tricks and make cats appear out of nowhere. Good that we covered that ground. I feel better now." Wes says with a snark to his words that only the young can truly master. "And the last time I had a bad trip I-" He twists around at the splashing sound, expecting to see Michel having slipped and instead seeing someone else that's entirely new. He points the flashlight right in her face. "Hiiiii....? " That's a very questioning and confused greeting.

Maggi hisses and flails at the light which LASER BEAMS HER IN THE FACE "The fuck is going on Casanova?" Maggi attempts to shield her eyes and then dust her hands of on her murky black skinny jeans. The misfortune she faces is likely due to her T-shirt's lack of sarcastic quotation. "I had one of those dreams where i was falling...and..." Icy blue eyes look about, her pale nostrils flare as she picks up the putrid scent. "Oh no," Her eyes widen and look almost ablaze with fury. "Them" She does not question the other voice in the space, as she is trying to summon the will not to murder them, whoever they are.

"Yes. Them. Maggi, meet Wes. It's his first rodeo, I think." Ravn glances at the other man and then down the tunnel where the smell seems to originate. "They've grown, they have weapons, and they're that way. I don't suppose you went to bed carrying a literal hand grenade? I swear to God, I'm going to start sleeping in riot gear with a utility bag."

He starts plodding towards that smelly tunnel; after all, the only way out is through. Claustrophobia does not invite the man to sit down for a long discussion in cold water, bare feet and darkness penetrated only by a phone. "Let's do this. Ugh. I hate these things almost as much as you do, Magpie."

Wes moves the light from Maggi's face and Ravn is moving again. "If these things are-... Augh! Whyyyy? The air smells better that other way and bad trips only get worse when you look for more bad stuff." Despite his protest he's going to follow Ravn. For now. To the LEFT. "Smells like death this way. And, uh.. hi Maggi..."

Maggi is still attempting to blink the spots from her eyes, but chooses to salute her fellow tin foil hatter. "We aren't going to dick measure white hoods. We both got a lot of hate in our hearts at the moment." Anger spurs on her movements, despite the stench, she follows the well made choice of her comrade. Wes gets a vague wave. She was bad with names at the best of times, this man was a menace with a flashlight whom had never been to her bar.

As they approach the precipice, she looks down and a smile slowly spreads across her thin lips. Her mouth then opens wider, teeth showing like fangs. Maniacal laughter bursts forth from her and she is tapping her finger tips together in plotting. Maggi's eye's glint a bright blue and a lean to ignites in a torrid of azure flame. She raises her hands to the sky, cackling at epic volume.

"Bloody hell," Ravn murmurs in disbelief. "They evolved, they built a civilization, and they -- polluted themselves to death? Christ. If the next thing we find out is that all they ever wanted was our help I'm going to sue the living daylight out of whatever Veil entity came up with this. They killed people."

His disbelief does not lessen when the bar owner calls down apocalyptic fire -- not one bit. He stares from her, to the city, to her, to the city -- while all kinds of scenarios race through his mind. A lot of them involve gas explosions. Some, the fact that these things probably have highly flammable children. A couple of others, the dead woman at the pet shop, and the dead woman at the Safeway.

"Christ on rollerskates, Magpie," the man murmurs, face sheet white. "Don't blow the town off the map. Gray Harbor's probably on top of us."

As they move deeper into the stench and the moss-light increases, Wes will turn off the light on his phone and tuck it away. He tightens the winter jacket around his waist, trying to keep it from getting dirty in the muck they're sloshing through. He rubs at his arms, an increasingly worried expression growing on his face as they walk. "Okay... bad trip, wandered into a sewer pipe... garbage all over..." He murmurs to himself, checking his other pockets, "I don't have anything on me." He inspects his arms next, as if searching for some telltale sign that he was shooting up. "This is- yeah... this is different. Just gonna go with the flow. Stay chill. Just work the problem and sort it out later... Easy does it. Eaaasy does it." He reaches the ledge with the others and stares. The murmured mantras fade to silence as he tries to work out what he's looking at.
Beside him, Maggi suddenly bursts out into that laughter and Wes nearly jumps out of his skin as he's startled. "What the fuck?" Then a hovel bursts into flames and she's laughing like a villain out of Star Wars. Worst drug trip ever. He scrambles back from Maggi and Ravn both, doing his best to put distance and also not fall off the ledge. "Did she just--?! How did she?!" He sputters. "What the fuck am I on?"

"Bloody hell," Ravn repeats, staring wide-eyed at the inferno. His knuckles on the hand holding the make-shift spear are white but he manages to keep himself from losing control. Strange how much easier it seems to become over time; he remembers running in terror through the woods the first time, pursued by a ghost on a black horse, armed with a broadsword and a really shitty temper. He remembers how terrified he was. Now? Oh, he's still terrified, it's just that he's kind of gotten used to the feeling of existential dread. Like a familiar, if not particularly comfortable old coat.

"You're not on something," he tells Wes quietly, without taking his gaze off the fiery apocalypse. "You're in Gray Harbor. This sort of thing happens here. And some people here can do things like that." He glances at the blond woman. "We'll work through this and we'll wake up wherever we were before, and you'll be telling yourself to check the date on the shrimps next time. And then you'll meet either of us in the street and we'll ask, you over that smell yet. And that's when it really hits you that it's real, believe me."

A beat. A stare. A shudder. "I'm seriously contemplating a vegetarian lifestyle after this."

One would believe that the screams would cause pause in the one causing this mass chaos, yet this grim reaper has judged their crimes and found them wanting. Maggi continues to stand there and stare off in wicked amusement, the flames echoing light back to her retinas. No one had perhaps bothered to ask Maggi what she had been doing with her free time. No one had questioned the amount of bonfires the Gyre's had during the cold months. What had in fact been the cause, was all the more disturbing. After that ferris wheel...the blonde had vowed her husband would never suffer alone, she would not be useless at his aid.

There was laughter, and then silence from her, as she turns her back and walks from the way they came.

Wes hears the screaming first and brings his hands to his ears to try and muffle it. He might not even hear what Ravn is trying to explain to him -- to ease him into all of this. He has a horrified, frightened, expression on his face and the blue glow of the flames is only enhancing that visage of fear. The horrific odor hits Wes next and the newcomer feels his stomach twist. He reels into the tunnel they had come from and gags. Before he can stop the reflex he's vomiting into the sludge on the floor of the pipe, hunched over.

Ravn watches Maggi turn to walk away and the cinematic that plays out in his head is one of those big fiery explosion scenes where the hero walks away, hair and coat billowing, cool as a cucumber, possibly lighting a cigarette on some flaming lightpost or piece of debris. It's awesome. And absolutely terrifying. Don't ever forget to tip, the little voice in the back of his mind suggests in a most helpful fashion.

He knows that they need to go. Can't argue with nature though, and he waits for Wes to finish saying goodbye to his dinner before gesturing at the other man to follow. "We need to go, it's not safe here," he tells him, hoping that the message will get through over the roar of the flames below. It's getting hot up here and he follows Maggi, looking back to make sure that the younger man does in fact move.

Back at the cross roads, Maggi is waiting for the men to catch up. She is not smiling, nor frowning, simply neutral. Part of her wants to be sympathetic, to maintain humanity within circumstance. The bit that has tipped the scales screams that everything that comes from the veil deserves that fate. She stretches on arm above her and tries to decide what they would try next. Stench didn't work. "I think we should go far right." She calls out as they approach.

Wes looks positively ill now, but Ravn's words reach him over the noise and screaming creatures. He doesn't need to be told twice. He rushes after the other man in a reckless rush, heedless of getting slime or worse on his shoes or pants. "Why did you do that?!" He finally blurts out as he catches up to the pair, voice a higher pitch than it was previously. He's looking at Maggi, unless she looks his way with that wicked laughter. Then he'll look anywhere else, rubbing at his belly as his stomach still twitches.

Ravn bites back a comment about yes, actually, genocide does seem like we're going far right. This is not the time, though, and fact of the matter is that much as he detests the idea of taking a life (or a few hundred lives) -- these things have done exactly that on several occasions. Maggi Gyre may very well have made the one right choice, even if the Dane's guts are honestly quite tempted to mimic Wes' reaction.

"Let's argue later, when we're awake," he says quietly. "We're still here so whatever this is about isn't over yet. We need to stay focused. Lead on, Maggi."

"Nothing from the Veil is good. NOTHING. It's probably better you get that through your head sooner than later. Everything in here is meant to harvest suffering from us." She stares at the machines and cannot make heads nor tails of them, instead looking at the group. "So, now what? Anyone see a way out?"

Wes looks leery about going with Maggi, but she happens to be picking the direction he wanted to go originally and Ravn seems mostly okay, despite being entirely crazy. He rubs at his arms and looks around nervously, but moves along with the other two. "No more fire. Okay?" He mumbles as if expecting his opinion to have any value. As they approach the machines he blinks, gaze going up over the giant mechanics. His brows furrow as his eyes slowly go over the different pipes and valves and sputtering joints. "I think... I feel like these are what was making-" He looks over at Maggi warily, then back to the machine. There's hesitation, but her words motivate him to speak his mind. "This is why they were sick, I think. It's like... it's what keeps them alive? But it's not working right? Does that make sense? I don't know why I know that. They're all dying because this is... broken."

"If this thing keeps them alive and it is broken, then maybe the merciful thing to do here is break it completely," Ravn says quietly. If he's batshit insane, at least he's not a loud and violent erratic; it all counts for something. "It's a little late to restore health to the community you torched back there, after all, and I'd be more sympathetic if these creatures did not kill, repeatedly, in front of me. Can we break it?"

Maggi rolls her eyes dramatically and looks at Wes solidly, focusing. Her blue eyes look more blue, but there isn't any fire. "If you want it broken without fire, I suggest you break. Do not ask me six billion questions. Focus on it, try really hard, and will it broken. It's all the better anyhow for you. Pretty sure you are stronger than I am in here to a degree." She crosses her arms and stands back from the machinery.

Eyeing Ravn in an apologetic fashion, she tilts her head. "This place is what messed up Leon, I'm gonna do any damage to it that I can." She seemed resolute, like that was as much an apology as he was getting for the time.

Wes looks over at Ravn, then to Maggi. His gaze rakes over the machine again and he points, "If you open that valve there, and there, that should kill the pressure..." He scratches at his chin, making a face as he still has that bad taste in his mouth. "Without the proper flow the mechanisms will overheat really fast and crack the seals." He looks down at the tools strewn around the dead gremlins, obviously unsure about assisting in the genocide. Then Maggi is giving him that solid look and laying things out. He opens his mouth, about to ask questions, but she's telling him not to. Instead, Wes scowls at her, "I don't want it broken! You do, if you're set on murdering all these things!" He says with a flare of temper, but they're going to die anyway and Ravn isn't wrong. It's probably more merciful. This is all messed up drug trip anyway. He glares up at the machine and tries to imagine the specific weak points cracking apart completely.

"Tell me that story sometime," Ravn murmurs. "But for now, let's just get this job done."

Easy for him to say. All he's got is a sharp stick. At least he can look around for some moving part to obstruct with it -- and fail to find a suitable one before everything sort of falls apart like a cracked mirror. "That... will do it. Yes. Yes, that should about cover it."

Just going to hold on to this stick, then. It is a very nice stick. Sharp and everything.

Truthfully, Wes has no idea what's he's doing or what is even going on, but he's scared and frustrated and the drug-dream-people are telling him he can use the Force. When everything suddenly starts breaking to pieces and falling apart, the man's eyes go wide in disbelief. "Ok. That just happened." He says in a shaky voice. "Now we just need to make cats appear out of nowhere. Fuck what did I take?" He's mostly talking to himself, a slightly dazed look to his eyes.