maskormenacelogs | under the fog there are shadows moving

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under the fog there are shadows moving

WHO: MK & friends. or acquaintances. or people she harasses.
WHERE: various.
WHEN: throughout March.
WHAT: MK is shady and weird, others endure her.
WARNINGS: themes of depression/death/violence. Some spoilers for Orphan Black: Helsinki in one of the starters.

( SPOILERS for Orphan Black: Helsinki. )
She has been careful. Slow, even, to move and begin and to construct. She still needs to understand this place better, but there is one thing that she knows, and that is that she will not be made a victim. She may run, and she may hide, but she is not a scared forest creature, or a child. She belongs to shadows, now, or they belong to her. Since her return, MK has found herself—

Fortified, perhaps that is the word. No more playing by the rules of other people. There is Veera Suominen, the girl that died with her sisters, and there is 3MK29A, the ghost that will haunt all those responsible. And here there must be more: there is Marja, the public face, and now perhaps she will need to be a wizard, as well, a master of spells and deception.

In the great scheme of things she wondered if she was Dorothy, wandering a yellow brick road. Niki, though, was not Tin Man or Toto or Lion or Scarecrow. Niki was more important, more essential. Jade and Justyna and all of the others, they were important too, but Niki? Niki had been everything. She has cast each of them in different parts. It is foolish, though: her sisters are dead, and the stories written about them do not bring them back to life, only confirm that terrible things happened to them. There had been mirages, moving incarnations of her sisters that haunted her, and MK’s response had first been to cry, and then to rage, and now she is throwing herself into work to try and forget how it had felt to see Niki and their sisters judging her - despising her for being living, rather than dead and with them, or for dragging them into this whole disaster.

MK sits behind her collection of screens, and starts to type. There are new dangers, now. There is more work to do.

ELENA — FRANK — ROBBIE — SARA

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( Hooking into the surveillance and security cameras around different cities was not so difficult. Shops, parking lots, elevators, buildings, all the places where people can be watched that they do not even suspect.

MK is idly browsing when she sees it - a woman walking down a street, where the lighting could be best described as “adequate, barely.” One of the lights flickers, and her brow furrows a little. She twists, looking to another part of the screen, and frowns at the sight of five men. A touch of the screen, and she can sharpen part of the image - something catching the small bit of light there is, and she swears softly. Knives.

It takes her a few moments. She doesn’t know the woman’s name or her contact information, only her location, and she is still learning the nuances of her abilities.

Her fingers grasp at one of her burner phones tightly, the fingers of her other hand twisted tightly into her hair.

Ring ring. )

[Elena isn't stupid—she knows the risks of going through shady areas in service of a story, and she knows there are shady characters in this shady place. But she doesn't have enhanced senses or awareness of everything around her that would allow her to detect anyone after her, so when she answers the phone, it's only with a sense of general concern.]

Hello?

Quietly. The sound of your voice might draw attention.

( MK's voice is altered by a device, blurring her accent and her age as she tries to speak quickly. ) Go left. In case the men ahead hear your voice, you need to go left.

( One of them is looking in the direction that the phone ringing came from, and MK's jaw clenches. )

[Well. That's not what she expected, but she's an investigative reporter; it's also not the first mysterious phone call she's gotten out of the blue. Time for a split-second decision, and Elena goes with her gut; she'll do as the voice says, and trust them. For now.]

All right. I'm going.

( She is getting a little better at this, these sudden interventions. They are less sudden now, just because she is trying to keep an eye out. Sometimes it is difficult to make people listen, but those are the people who wind up news stories for being mugged or hurt.

Perhaps with all these strange things starting, more people will be ready to listen. Then again, maybe they'll just want to listen even less.

MK sees it a little before it unfolds: a group of people from a historical period she can identify more in general familiarity rather than any particular familiarity with it. Mauritia Falls seem depressing at the best of times; with rain coming down and the clatter of it on rooftops and on the street likely makes hearing approaching footsteps a little more difficult, just as it limits the view from the camera she is using to look around from the camera of a derelict looking petrol station. MK suspected some people needed to stop visiting parts of town near seedy bars, but there was a cheery looking diner a few blocks away with neon lights that flashed enticingly in the rain, so she could almost forgive the poor decision making.

Bedsides, she preferred the seedier parts of town, herself. Made it easier to hide.

For all the rain, she does see a woman and a threat, and then she recognises the woman, and her fingers tense before she flicks on the element that masks her voice a little and she tracks down the number. It was easier, knowing who she was trying to contact. Come on, pick up. )

[She stops when she hears her phone ring -- kind of like how some people turn down the radio in their car when they're looking for the right street to turn to, as though the sound has an effect on their vision or something -- and answers it.]

Hey, what's up? [Said in a super casual-slash-friendly-slash-chill tone. Yes, she does pretty much always answer her phone this way, ok.]

Sara Lance.

( A device alters her voice - masks her accent a little, clouds her age, generally just makes her a little harder to pin down without being dramatic. )

There is a group of men ahead of you. They are wearing viking uniforms and have swords and shields. You can't go the way you're going, they'll attack you.

( Mauritia Falls is, by reputation, rainy. It's not like she is unfamiliar with the rain, she's from Finland, but she's never had much reason to go to Mauritia outside of harassing Dr. Chilton, so her own experience there is limited. It isn't like her home. That and her disdain for registration, which makes her movement between porters reliant on her ability to latch onto shadows, and even that seems risky. It wasn't like she could ask anyone how it would go for her, to do so.

Even so, she was learning a sort of familiarity with Mauritia Falls, the same way she was mapping out many places. Collecting some schematics, learning where sewers networks lead. Which, incidentally, might be helpful here. She'd rather not take that route - it wasn't like there were cameras in sewers to make sure people were following your instructions.

The point is this: there is a pirate ship docked in Mauritia, somehow, and she has been tracking the progress of the pirates, who mostly seem interested in pillage and plunder, as pirates tend to be. They are armed to the teeth - and possibly even with their teeth, she wouldn't put them above biting.

When she spots a man, she scowls and types up a quick message: TURN AROUND. PIRATES TWO BLOCKS AWAY. They move quickly, though, and she has no option but to call, switching on her voice distortion. It isn't heavy, but it is just enough to make her accent and her youth a little harder to pick up. She blurts it out before there is much chance for the person to respond, )

They are coming towards you from two sides. One group of seven, one of eights, with pistols and cutlasses.

Edited 2017-03-03 21:40 (UTC)

[At first, Frank didn't think much of the tall ships that showed up in the small canal that cuts through town. Pennsylvania loves its historical reenactments, or it could just be some waterside festival to drum up some legal tourism for a change.

Screaming and the sounds of glass smashing, however, quickly force him to reassess. Frank sees people running, and just as he's about to book it in the opposite direction, his comm buzzes and tells him to do just that, with the added detail-- Pirates. How the hell did the Coast Guard let that happen, he thinks, but immediately labels it a stupid question for this place. More importantly, who the hell is watching him? Frank looks up from the screen and over his shoulder-- whoever they are, they're right. Then the voice comes through, and he scoffs. He's not doing this one handed.

Frank takes cover behind a parked pickup truck and slips his comm into the front pocket of his jacket. He's not in full gear today. The walk around town in broad daylight was reconnaissance, getting a lay of the land on this new turf, not an excuse to find trouble. Too bad he seemed to be a magnet for it regardless. At the very least he has his vest on underneath the jacket, a precaution that was evidently paying off.]

Who are they, and who are you?

[Frank asks as he pulls out a tactical shotgun from inside his jacket. He checks the rounds and releases the safety before peeking back down the street from behind the truck bed. Sure enough, men in patchwork long coats, dog eared tricorn hats, and filthy white ruffled shirts are roving down the street, flipping over food trucks and taking what they want from window displays.]

What the fuck-- [Frank huffs with exasperation as he stands and squeezes the trigger, sending a tight volley of scattered buckshot in the direction.]

They are pirates.

( She's not sure how literal she wants him to be. ) Historical figures that have either come to life, or time travelled, I don't know. Their faces are not recognised by any of my software.

( But her software is a work in progress, admittedly, still in very early days.

There's a food truck of some sort of delicious bavarian foodstuffs, and near it a man laments his sauerkraut being destroyed. People can be weirdly sensitive about cabbage related tragedies, it seems. Frank could possible notice a security camera above it rotating, looking around a little faster than it normally might. ) I am MK. I can tell you how to get out safe.

( Or. The or is pretty audible. ) They are destroying a lot of property. Better if someone stops them.

[No shit.

Frank doesn't let his frustration slip out while he's engaging the enemy, but that doesn't mean he can't think it. Something about the voice guiding him hits the ear wrong, and it isn't just the ringing from the gunfire. No time to dwell on it now.

The reaction to the shotgun blast starts normally-- a smattering of holes appears in the closest pirate's chest as he flies backwards and lands hard on the pavement while the others duck and flinch. Instead of the usually mix of bravado and scattering he sees, they all start babbling about miniature cannons and magic, in what words he can understand of the badly slurred accents. So he fires again. After another pirate's forearm dangles off his elbow by a thread, the sense of self preservation kicks in, and they charge. Thirteen to one. Frank smirks as the adrenaline starts to swarm his veins. He's had worse odds.]

That your camera or you borrowing it?

[Frank drawls as he quickly stores his shotgun away and takes out a much more wieldy Beretta. He shoots two more rounds at the pirates he catches taking out their flintlocks. He doubts those can do much damage against Kevlar, but he isn't taking the risk.]

Borrowed. The shop employees probably would be less helpful than me.

( Simple enough. It would be impressive if a bored security guard or store employee of some kind were instructing him, but probably also a huge disaster. )

Careful - there is a trio with cutlasses trying to come around behind you. I think one has a peg leg. Probably will topple over if you take it away.

( She frowns, and cleans closer to the screen. ) A small group are falling back from the rest. I can't see what they're doing.

( The tone says but I will, a grim, determined thing. They might draw into the shadows, but she can find ways to shine light on them - possibly metaphorical, possibly literal. )

[After firing a few more shots into the approaching group of pirates, Frank whips his head over his shoulder when his comm speaks up again. A pincer attack-- they're rowdy and ragged, but they're not stupid. Frank grunts and kicks some of the bullet casings he's dropping down the closest sewer drain.

He turns around completely and spots the peg leg on one of the bigger men. The brass buttons on his coat are still shiny, and Frank recognizes a rope of dried ears strung around his neck. Maybe not the leader, but definitely someone on the crew with clout. He's still about fifteen feet away, and Frank charges. The sight of him sprinting towards him like a freight train catches his target off guard, and the moment of hesitation is all Frank needs to drop into a sliding kick. The steel toe of Frank's combat boot slams hard against the wooden leg, worn and whittled by salt water and ocean winds. It splinters instantly, and with an undignified yelp, he collapses on top of Frank. Though he loses his cutlass, he recovers more quickly than Frank expected, pressing his knees onto Frank's chest and wrapping his hands around his throat.

Grubby thumbs crush his windpipe, but rather than struggle, Frank grabs a long piece of the broken leg off the street beside him. The wood is sharp enough that when Frank shoves it into the pirate's eye, it sticks. He sucks in air as his throat is immediately freed. Blood spatters onto his face as he holds the splinter in place, pushing it a little deeper. The pirate is screaming, crumpling to the ground, but Frank can barely hear it over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He scrambles to his feet and drags the pirate up with him by his disgusting necklace so he can use him for cover.]

Update.

( Despite pulling cameras up on her screen where the others are retreating to, it's hard to miss the carnage unfolding where the fighter is on screen. The sprint takes him from the scope of one camera onto another. Her knuckles go white as he struggles under the pirate, and her jaw clenches as the peg leg presses eye tissue.

MK watches in silence, disgust and fear and fascination all mixing together. Each of them are pressed down in the name of being careful - analytical. He is very effective. Brutal, practical, creative. He does not hesitate. That is important, MK thinks. Carefulness and hesitation are two very different things, the first preparation, and the second doubt.

Commentary as to effectiveness will have to wait. ) They're regrouping, behind the blue Buick.

( The two other pirates that had been following after Peg Leg had retreat back at the sight of Frank barrelling towards him. One steps out again now, and hurls a dagger at Frank, and then another - his aim is surprisingly good, and MK flinches as the second dagger finds purchase. The remaining advances with two cutlasses, coming around the other side of the car to move closer to Frank. )

The one with cutlasses is hiding behind some crates, the knife thrower is just trying to distract you. There's some netting on his side, he might try to tangle you up with that.

[When the other pirates fall back, Frank pulls the necklace tight around his new shield's neck. Even as the one legged man weakly scratches at Frank's arms, he holds on until the windpipe collapses and the pirate's body goes limp. Around that moment the first knife flies by Frank's head. He drops the corpse and ducks, but not quickly enough to dodge the second one. It misses his vest and plants neatly into his shoulder. The sharp pain digs in like a dog bite, even with the adrenaline pulsing through him.

Frank falls back behind a news stand on the sidewalk and pulls the dagger out of his arm with a harsh grunt. Blood blossoms against his shirt and dampens his coat, but there's no time to stem it. He slips the dagger up his sleeve and takes out his Beretta again. Though he's cut their number in half, he can't risk much more close combat. Frank leans out of his cover and fires at the man with two swords. The bullet punches a hole through his cheek, and a burst of bone and skin blows out of the exit wound behind him. Ten shots left in this round, by Frank's count.]

Other group. Where'd they go?

[He focuses on the one man left of the Peg Leg crew, still hiding behind the car.]

( MK isn't sleeping. It's not a big deal, because MK rarely sleeps. This whole interactive historical mess thing is really enough to compound it. She's going on her second day fuelled by ragged threads of sleep barely pulled together, cola, iced tea and other items that don't count as "food" so much as "sugar."

She's sitting at her computer, having moved into uninhabited government housing that she less than legally is squatting in - it's more like a rotation, because she hasn't fond a non-government place yet, and moving from place day to day seems better, safer. Not all the equipment she would like, but it'll do for now.

What her cameras let her see makes staying awake easier and worse, simultaneously, and makes having to trace and contact a stranger's device all the more effortless. On her camera there is a building, a rooftop made visible by the security cameras on a taller adjacent building. It's a fully flat roof of what could be an apartment block, and on it stand five pyres.

The phone rings, and she speaks bluntly to the answering person, chosen by virtue of proximity. )

I need your help.

[Robbie actually pulls the communicator away from his ear and stares at it for a second, like he's not sure if this superspy shit is actually happening to him. Strange calls demanding his help like they know where he is even though he's just making his way down a city street.

Like, he knows Daisy Johnson, and by extension her whole mess of SHIELD friends, so he shouldn't be that surprised. (He still is, somehow.)

He almost grudgingly holds the phone back up to his face. Debates opening with are you kidding me? or just simply no, but grits his teeth and settles for:]

This better be good.

You aware of the strange things that have been happening, yes? The people from other times?

( MK debates waiting to let him reply, but given the tone that the stranger has taken, she opts instead to forge onwards. Like Justyna and Sarah, he is probably a person who needs things bluntly laid out rather than taking things on faith. )

There is a group of them on the roof of a building. It's a couple of minutes from your location. ( She squints at the screen, brow furrowed. Her voice changing device makes her accent and her youth harder to pick out, but there's part of her that is nervous of being recognisable, regardless. ) I think they are about to burn witches, but— the witches are women from this world. Their clothes are different.

( It's the clatter of garbage can lids that might attract attention - the sound of someone tripping into them and then the scrabble of them being on the ground, and investigation would find a teenager, huddled. Seventeen, thin, with pale skin and dark hair that's cut messily enough to suggest she does it herself. Her hoody is purple and grubby, and she's sitting on the ground with her back to the wall, holding her wrist.

The light from a streetlight shines on her face, hood fallen back, and reveals skin pearled from burns down the right side of her face. And the face itself is familiar, for two reasons - because it belongs to older women who Jess is already acquainted with, and because it's the same face on the faces of the six guilt ghosts looking down at her. Each dressed differently, different hair, and none of them with the burns, but each of them very young, the same age as the girl on the ground.

Two are dressed identically in sportswear, red, with hair bleached by chlorine and the sun. They stand leaning against each other, almost, and their posture and build is that of athletes. Another is in a denim skirt with black leggings and a grey t-shirt, an orange headband around her hair. Her hair is a little past her jaw, and each of her ears have upwards of five hoops in them. The way she holds herself is awkward. There's another girl, painfully thin, bald from hair loss rather than from a buzzcut, and her eyes are hollow. She wears a dark hoody that seems far too big for her. The fifth is all aggressive attitude - black mesh over a white shirt, cargo pants, chains and spiked jewellery. She moves like she's ready for a fight.

The sixth, she's the one that the girl can't stop looking at. Blonde hair that falls in amazing waves, a blue sweater. You'd think she was sunshine made into a shape that could walk, save for the look on her face. MK swallows, and backs up against the wall. She calls out to the gathering, frustrated. )

Why are you here? Why are you here but not really here?

Edited 2017-03-16 07:49 (UTC)

[ jessica jones is a goddamn mess. well, perhaps she always is, but she's been taking it to extremes as of late. smelling of booze, she exits a liquor store with a bottle of bourbon wrapped in a bag, only to stop at the sudden noise. her head turns as her eyes widen. for a moment, she sees sarissa or maybe one of her sisters, but no, that's not right. this girl is younger, noticeably different from the other women upon a second glance.

she doesn't have to be here. who gives a shit if some stranger is suffering in the middle of a random alley? she's got her own problems to deal with.

one of those said problems is standing beside her — a lovely woman around jessica's age, with bright blonde hair and green eyes. she's radiant, similar to the sixth girl next to mk, and a glimpse at her from jess halts all thoughts of escape. what would jessica do? be a selfish prick, of course. but what would trish do? well, there's only one answer to that question.

slowly, jess approaches the stranger standing up against the wall, stopping a few feet away from her and the group of other girls. this entire situation is out of a creepy, crapass nightmare, and she's shit at comforting anyone. still, she makes an earnest attempt. ]

Hey, kid. [ she exhales, brow furrowed. ] It's gonna be okay. Just breathe.

( She doesn't need help. She doesn't need a stranger intruding on this. It is too late to hide her face completely. Even in the poor lighting afforded by the streetlight, the scars on her face are highlighted, the ripples the burns leave on her skin highlighted and shadowed. Despite that, MK tries to pull some of her hair forward over the scars, and her gaze drops.

Be clear. Be assertive. Tell her you don't need any help. Tell her you know how to breathe. )

They shouldn't be here.

( Her voice is accented - European to the untrained ear, Scandinvanian to one that's a little better, Finnish to someone who'd probably need to be more local.

It's not what she meant to say, and she despises how shaken it sounds. The six clones, six sisters all looking at her look incredibly disappointed. ) How can you say it's going to be okay?

[ jesus christ, those scars. she catches a glimpse before mk covers them with her hair, and jess lets out an exhale. ]

It's not. You're right.

[ not comforting perhaps, but it's the truth. that's what jessica would want, if she were in her position. she inclines her head, looking at her own phantom to prove a point, then takes a step closer to mk. ]

But you'll get through this.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

under the fog there are shadows moving

ELENA — EARLY MARCH.

I'm gonna assume this is EARLY March and before her mirage starts following her around

YES a+ also I'm so sorry for my slowness

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SARA — INTERACTIVE MIRAGES.

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ahhhh sorry for my lateness ;;;;;;

FRANK — INTERACTIVE MIRAGES.

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crawls back in here, I'm so sorry

it's fiiine

ROBBIE — INTERACTIVE MIRAGES.

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JESSICA — GUILT EXTRAVAGANZA.

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