PERSEPHONES IN HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

[pummelgranite]

WHO: Persephone
WHERE: ????????
WHEN: July 12th-15th
WARNINGS: The normal cocktail of Persephone's warnings to be expected (murder, suicide, mental illness, dying teens, etc)

Pop Idol Goddess Dead, read the headlines. After a strange and seemingly unprovoked streak of violence, the Goddess Inanna succumbed to mysterious injuries they received from fellow goddess and gal-pal Persephone, who has been missing from public view since that time. Her publicist released a breathtakingly generic statement offering her deep regret for this incident and concerns for the victims blah blah blah.

The fandom's gone even more insane than the tabloid have. Speculation and discourse abound. Why did Inanna do this? Why did Persephone kill them? Did their victims deserve it? Did they? And just where did Persephone go?

There's just one thing the fandom agrees on: Persephone's gone, and her people don't know shit for where.

Most of her fans can feel it: a cold emptiness when they think of her. Some begin dreaming of a dark, lonely place. And sometimes, if they're underground- somewhere dark and unfamiliar, and maybe alone, they may seem to hear the sound of someone weeping from far, far away.

((OOC: follow up for the Inanna plot for Persephone CR and her Traumatized Teen Nerd squad, but hey the more the merrier. Hit me up at somarysueme or on Discord if you want in or have questions!))

Comments

[couldbebeautiful]

Veronica's underground, for—reasons.

Okay, fine, she's underground because she felt like exploring, and finding herself in the basement level of fuck knows where counts as exploring, surely. And if asked, she'll claim that the croquet mallet she's carrying is protection enough. It most definitely is not, but then, it's not as if Veronica's planning on going to Maurtia Falls. Not this late, anyway.

Her head is too full, right now. It's always full of something, thoughts of guilt and regret twisting around the voices of the dead, ringing in her ears. It's even more full now that Persephone's gone missing, god knows where or why, and the thought brings an empty pang, half-remembered dreams of somewhere dark and lonely.

She brings her diary along. She always does, she never goes too long without that thing.

She's writing when she hears it. Someone crying, softly, somewhere in the distance. Veronica stands, tucks her pen and her diary away, and steps closer, closer, closer. Her heart beats against her ribcage, like a trapped rabbit clawing to get out. Go on, get closer, Heather Chandler murmurs, in the back of her mind, I've always wanted to see a horror movie death in real life.

She shuts her out, and calls: "Is anyone there?"

[pummelgranite]

There are a few doors lining the corridor where Veronica stopped to write, but the door at the end of the hall is a little off- the hardware a slightly different brand, the door jam installed just a little differently. Through that is another hallway, less doors, less lights. It's so quiet, but it's hard to hear the crying now. Was this really the right way?

Any attempt at backtracking is futile now. She is well and truly lost down here.

[couldbebeautiful]

Veronica's having a lot of second thoughts now, but she can still hear the crying. It's fainter, though, and she has to strain to hear it at all, and for a moment she turns around, as if she might try to turn back anyway.

But she is utterly lost down here. She huffs out a breath and smooths out her blazer a little, turns back to the door. There's something off about this door, it's as if it doesn't quite belong in this corridor, and—well, she's come this far, hasn't she? Never mind Heather Chandler's whispers about dying like in a horror movie.

Anyway, push comes to shove, Veronica's got—nothing, actually. Making slushies, imitating other people's voices, and seeing ghosts are not great abilities in combat. But she sighs anyway, and finds herself opening the door and stepping through.

"Hello?" she calls. "I'm—not here to hurt you, I heard crying."

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Hmm." Chilton glanced around, the darkness enveloping. An old subway station, he thought. The mouth of an old subway station, the gaping opening no longer inviting with the bright yellow CAUTION tape strapped over it. He wrinkled his nose, displeased. He didn't remember coming down this way, nor did he recall Maurtia Falls ever having a subway station entrance -- condemned or otherwise -- this side of town.

"A liminal space."

There were too many of those here.

An exhale. Something was familiar, cold, dark, agonized. Something that had once been shoved down his throat -- literally. Something he could not part himself from, now.

"Persephone?"

[pummelgranite]

The wind twists through the street to pass him and sail down into the dark. It tugs on the hem of his jacket. It presses at his back encouragingly. The sound of it can be heard receding down the tunnel, and sounding at every moment like a heartbroken wail. There's no other reply.

[slightlyoffchilt]

His longer, now suffering exhale mimicked those winds, with his tie flapping in the debris of luring breezes. He knew it would be dangerous, he had kept an eye on the news. He knew her spring came with thorns.

Just as he knew she couldn't stand to be alone. He knew she must ache.

Chilton took one step, and then another, towards the subway mouth. He bent beneath the caution tape, pushing it away from his face, and he entered past the threshold. Humming nervously to himself, he tried not to think of Theseus traversing down to the depths of the underworld to help kidnap Persephone (again). He tried not to paint himself with mythic hues. He tried to rationalize that she was a young woman traumatized and in pain, and he was only coming down to talk with her.

The steps were cold, the darkness overwhelming. But Chilton didn't fear the discomfort -- it was all too familiar.

"Persephone."

She was all too familiar.

I know I promised to tag this with Brendan but I can't get his voice to cooperate at the moment...

[dr_eldarov]

Anatoly is waiting for the subway when he thinks he hears something. He should really just go home; he's overworked himself yet again, well past the point in the day he'd sworn to himself he was going to go home. He's tired the way he used to get tired during wartime, days of long hours making his senses both dulled and sharp. But his instincts as a father, a grandfather and a physician make him seek out the crying sound, which he tracks to a maintenance tunnel. Once he slips through that doorway, things grow darker, and the sound less faint, as he keeps walking. The darkness reminds him of countless nights spent walking the length of his city block back home after the news his son died came through, of walking down the slick cobblestones of Leningrad after the Revolution, of eerie early mornings in the veteran's hospital in Novosibirsk where the dying made almost no sound save their breathing, barely an inch away from Death's hands.

He's not in his right mind. He should go home. His feet carry him forward automatically, regardless, compelled by some impulse to help that has always been core to who he is as a person.

"Hello?" he calls out, first in Russian, then, with a sigh, in English, correcting himself for the millionth time since he got here. "Is someone there?"

no worries :3c

[pummelgranite]

The crying stops when he calls out. For a moment it's like the very walls around him and path under his feet- the Underground is all holding its breath. Then there's the shudder of something turning in on itself- a labyrinth adding more twists.

At his back is a light breeze. Maybe behind him is a way out, but it's definitely not the same way he came in.

[dr_eldarov]

The rational part of him wants to make an exit. The part of him that has always been a caretaker and a nurturer compels him forward regardless, voice gentler now. "Who's there? Please, let me help you."

[restingstitchface]

Murder. Suicide. Mourning. Crane loved hearing such experiences in vivid detail. All of the scenarios people created for themselves which each developed a little curiosity-grabbing pleasure-warming twist. He wanted to observe them all at once. He would love that.

He took a very deep breath, a means of steadying his nerves, and delved under the dream this person had imagined for herself. It was something of an impulsive choice, considering all the people he had regarded curiously. The world doesn't quite match up to reality, but it's close. Dark and lonely. Underground in a place where all roads could lead anywhere. The sudden sound of weeping causes more than a few butterflies in his stomach. A shiver runs down his spine in excitement.

Isolation. It's so difficult for some people, isn't it?

[pummelgranite]

It is not quite a dream, not entirely, but it is certainly not reality. Perhaps there's something in there about the nature of her power: pulling the wakeful human mind down into the unconscious, letting people experience as literal reality that which was meant to stay allegorical. And so the knotted emotions of her pain and trauma and grief becomes a maze under the earth, and she becomes the monster in its center.

As he passes through, it's obvious that he's not the only one wandering the semi-real corridors down into her darkness. The curious, the sympathetic, and the stupid all trying to reach her. But a labyrinth is much easier to solve when you can just step over the walls as he can, it's easy to see which doors will lead back on themselves, and which will take him deeper. It will not be difficult at all to pick his way to her- the beating heart of this Hell.

Far ahead of him- too far down his twisting path to really be seen, he should still be able to feel her, to smell the pomegranate flowers and ash and blood on her. To hear the pacing of her hounds as they guard her.

[glassfall]

Something is wrong. Lucifer hadn't mentioned anything he'd thought Cinders didn't need to know (read: he simply hadn't talked about it, because Cinders is a silly mortal and thus beneath him), leaving Cinders to gather what she could from the news. None of it made sense. She'd only met Innana a few times, but they'd been engaging, and kind, and... not this. Not whatever "this" even was.

This was a bad idea.

Despite her misgivings, Cinders is nothing if not brave. She's the sort of person who can walk right up to the Devil and ask for a job (and then become damn good at it). She's the sort of person who can stroll right up to the prince at a Grand Ball and charm his pants off (or she would have, if she'd been so inclined). And right now? She's the sort of person who can walk right into the underground and listen to the sound of weeping without flinching - at least, on the surface. Her heart is aching already. She's been to enough gigs to know the kinds of places Persephone prefers... and she's brought scotch.

You know, just in case.

"Persephone?"

[pummelgranite]

The path down is anything but straight, and the sound of her is too inconsistent to navigate by alone. The rout double-backs on itself, passes through impossibly arranged corridors, and even passes through something that looks suspiciously like Lucifer's basement, should all the lights stop working at once. About the second time Cinder's ears pop from the descent, the crying has stopped entirely.

Along her current path is three doors. One looks old, the architecture a style that seems to have been in vogue in Maurtia Falls around the turn of the last century. The next looks suspiciously like a door that might lead to the back stage at one of her shows. The third looks like nothing at all. Just another random basement for labyrinth to cut through.

[dendarii]

[ This is a bad idea. This is an unbelievably bad idea. But with Kitty gone, his office wrecked, and Miles himself just barely well enough to be out of the hospital - well. Can things get any worse? Hell, if he dies like this, he'll get his arm back. That's almost something worth considering.

So rather than return to his ruined office after his release, Miles goes where he thinks he'll find a goddess with her name: underground. Down via a sewer not too far from his office. This is such a bad idea but he cannot be assed to care. ]

Persephone?

[pummelgranite]

[ There's no answer. Not even crying for you, Mr. Vorkosigan.But only a short way into the sewer the architecture changes to a distinctly Maurtia Falls-esque cobblestone. His ears pop with the change in altitude, though he's gone neither up nor down yet.

There's the groan of air passing through some distant tunnel, but as the sound continues it becomes a howl of anguish and self-loathing that reverberates into his bones. ]

[knaval]

Riptide just wanted to go to the store.

Riptide just wanted to go to the store and stupid humans gave him the wrong directions and now he's standing, arms crossed, in a basement. A basement to a closed store, that did have what he wanted... probably about 30 years ago.

He stands in the cold darkness with his arms crossed, scowling into the void. The light on the stairs went out and now he can't find his stupid phone to get out.

"Well, this is a god damn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation."

[pummelgranite]

LMAO well here's a door that says STAFF ONLY, better not use that one.

[itistolaugh]

Harley wants to find Persephone because she is a good doctor. She can find Persephone because she is a fundamentally broken woman, who also runs to the dark places when she's hurting. So when she starts dreaming at night, she also starts searching during the day.

It would be hard for her to retrace her steps. There was a basement and a door, stairs, tunnels. This is how people disappear if they aren't careful. Careful is the last thing Harley has ever been, so she keeps following the echoes until they aren't echoes anymore.

"Hey girl," she chirps like the world isn't ending. "I brought your monster." Sure enough, the stuffed doll Persephone favors during appointments is tucked under her arm.

[pummelgranite]

Harley went through twisting paths and blah blah, crossed some water, now here she is in Persephone's Tantrum Sanctum, which is like an absurdly big and pretentious underground cathedral, but also with glowing flowers all over the walls and a bunch of huge speakers but the whole thing is clearly a half-finished project.

Down in General Admission is Persephone, curled against one of the Hell Hounds, which are easily visible since hey, this is Hell. One raises it charred and bloody muzzle to boof alertly at her, and Persephone looks up.

"Dr. Harley . . . ?" There's dried blood on her face and in her hair.

[craftpunk]

Woden wasn't doing much of anything at the moment. He was being good, not even weedling Persephone about Inanna's...interesting turn. Honestly, though, he hadn't mentioned it for a reason. He was...Concerned, with the way that Inanna had suddenly...turned on him. He hadn't expected them to be the one who... decided to dole out justice.

Instead, he thought it was going to be Persephone, which was why he wasn't using his Bifrost to go and make fun of her for once. Woden was... scared. Yes, he was scared, and he didn't want to die, or experience Persephone's fury -- of which she had multitudes.

Which was why, when he felt slithering tendrils at his feet, he tried to run, up until the moment that they drug him under, and the god was caught in darkness. "Not again," he managed, and tried to fight. Which honestly? Was like a weak-limbed nerd trying to ward off the entire Varsity football team.

[pummelgranite]

Down, down, down through the dark. He doesn't land, so much as he's caught by her vines. They constrict around his limbs awkwardly, then painfully, pulling joints at awkward angles in a way that may make one wonder just how much she knows about human anatomy and how it compared to her own strength. She looms over him.

"Tell me what you knew."

LMK IF THIS IS OK

[khajidont]

[ Jaime is not, for once, apprised of what's been going on in the news. Things have been so hectic that he's decided to just focus on what's going on in front of him, and what's going on in front of him at the moment is some asshole who thinks that he can escape the Blue Beetle by going into the sewer where he belongs. It is, admittedly, a place that Jaime's really tempted to just leave him in and see how he does, but he can't risk the guy going out to hurt someone else, so down into the sewers he goes.

His entire mask wrinkles as his feet hit the bottom. ] Eughk. It stinks in here. Come on, buddy, just give it up! You're not getting away!

no it's perf

[pummelgranite]

[ There's only one path forward, which makes the chase easier. What doesn't make it easier is when Jaime turns a corner and there is a dead end with no sign of his quarry. How could he have given him the slip? Retracing his steps, he will find an AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY door that it really doesn't feel like was there on the way in. What do? ]

[neverdied]

Jack's not discomforted by the creeping darkness in the basement, or by the haunted wailing from the depths of it. Such things tend to be standard around the Hotel, and were a familiarity long before this universe ever showed itself to him. Gods and their folk always did seem to like a touch of theatrics in their emotions, whether it were wrath or mourning, and Jack complied with the reluctant servitude of a man who'd been down this dark path all too many times before.

The moment he steps within the embrace of that pitch black his nostrils flare at the stench of dried blood, jaw tensing in contrast with the relaxed slope of his shoulders. He knows there's no threat here, wouldn't care if there was, but curiosity is enough to keep him here. That and some distant loyalty.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't really need to. He's just there, a presence in the dark, unthreatening and interested in this wretched sadness.]

[pummelgranite]

She's not wailing when he gets down there, but she is sobbing still, and it's not quiet, but she sits up and sniffles as she notices him approaching.

"Who's . . . Jack?"