bakerstreet | IS THAT... NAH, COULDN'T BE. EVERYTHING IS FINE!

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[warning] horror

IS THAT... NAH, COULDN'T BE. EVERYTHING IS FINE!

HIDDEN HORROR MEME

Things have been pretty normal lately. Going great, in fact. Maybe you've moved to a new town to get a promotion at your job and all your neighbors are super friendly. Maybe your school days are going so well that you have straight A's and a bunch of friends. It's just that something is... off. Just a little. Howls at night that don't sound like any animal you've ever heard, a new student that creeps you out just a little, everyone being just a little too perfect and friendly, anything like that. Something is wrong and you can't put your finger on it. Will you find the source of the disturbance before things turn into an all-out horror show? Sometimes subtlety is the best way to go.

• Top level your character. Include any details you might think are relevant. Or don't. As always, we're not the cops.
• Think Stepford Wives, any visual novel that likes to pretend to be normal at first, anything that's a slow burn, subtle horror.
• Reply to other people's top levels!
• Have fun!

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[Would love to play with Stepford Wives/Wicker Man/Children of the Corn type scenarios (ie. visiting a town that seems like a perfectly normal town, but is full of people who are interesting in fucking with travelers or evil children or demons or something); a canon remix where Molly's Order of the Lycan instead of Order of the Ghostslayer and has been hiding he can turn into a beast at will because it's weird yo; resurrection spells that seem awesome but go weirdly wrong... And so on and so forth. Choose your own adventure.]

( he's an ancient monster with minimal empathy larping as an adorable child in short pants; this is kind of his thing! when you break it down, fma's setting itself isn't very far from hidden horror, but it's also no stretch at all to transpose him into some kind of blissful suburban normality setting. gosh, selim sure is down to earth for being the mayor's son! he's so helpful and interested in his new neighbors! also on an unrelated note that definitely wasn't a shadowy mass and a giant red eye on the ceiling when you woke up, it must have been sleep paralysis, we're fine. )

[looking to fill the roll of creepy neighbor that just moved in... to the apartment building, the house next door, even possibly renting a room you posted online. Whatever it is though, there's something just not quite right about this guy. He keeps all sorts of odd hours. He smells kinda weird even when he's clean. And he just gives you goosebumps; your gut says not to trust him. And wait! Did you just see some flecks of blood on his clothing? But you look away quickly before he notices that you noticed; you have a feeling he wouldn't take kindly to you staring. But hey, he keeps the lawn well kept, doesn't have annoying pets, pays rent on time, etc. He's otherwise practically one of the best neighbors you've had in a while, so for now you'll keep your head down... or do you?]

[hey! hope u don't mind a kinda-paranoid city photographer tagging in, do you? who's this neighbor dude, anyway? hopefully he won't mind if she snaps a shot... or three.]

[go for it! / Don't know what more to say than is in the profile posts. Did you have specific questions? (or is that what she'd be wondering?) / Oh, he'll definitely mind. She'll do so most likely at at her own peril.]

Edited 2018-10-31 05:01 (UTC)

Cesaire had been living in the cul de sac for a little over a month now, renting one half of a quaint little duplex. Rent was cheap because apparently no one could stand the long term tenant that lived there. Noisy, lazy, didn't really get along with anyone. At least the walls weren't too thin.

Who knows, maybe when it was time to move on he might leave a little gift for the neighbors. For now he'd just have to live through Joe's fits.

Bad part about cul de sacs, everyone was freakin' busybodies. Good part about cul de sacs, blend into the fabric well enough and people looked out for each other. Only ones so far that really got under his skin was the Barbie look alike family. It wasn't that they seemed perfect, it's that they were totally faking it.

So here he was at 2 am lugging a shovel over his shoulder back home like a totally ordinary thing. Of course it looked suspicious. But it could easily be explained that it was from a work site, needed repairing, and he couldn't sleep.

Cesaire turned his head quickly and stared at one of the nearby houses. He swore he seen a curtain move. When nothing else stirred he strode straight to his front door. And yeah, he walked instead of drove. He liked the exercise.

A few days later and it was the quarterly neighborhood potluck. He brought some cranberry orange oatmeal cookies (baked from scratch.) Setting down the box on the table where a group of women were sitting, watching their children playing no rules kickball, a couple of husbands lingering behind their wives, sipping drinks in casual conversation. "If you haven't heard there were a couple abductions over at the park on Elmhurst last week. At least they have a vehicle description now." Cesaire squinted as the dappled light shining through the trees shined in his face. "A white van with a bunch of stickers on the side. and some red crossover."

[Hidden horrors are this gent's wheelhouse. Really up for a Wicker Man type scenario - would-be Yog-Sothoth cultists included!]

[Nothing nuch besides if you have any ideas where you might wanna take this. I haven’t really got any squicks or triggers so you have liberty to go as far as you want with this.

oh and in the reply you just put up, just a quick question: is cesaire or a chatting neighbor the one talking?]

[If you're good with spoilers and don't mind checking out the permissions post on his journal, we can totally play with Korekiyo's dark secrets... Or we could plot something else.]

[ No idea where I want to go with this. Completely opened ended, just seeing where it goes. Good to know, TY... (I have a few, but I kind of had to throw them out the window for this character.)

Sorry about that, just Cesaire talking. ]

“Oh,” she says.

Rose had recently moved here in from the city. It was exciting and dazzling and so so busy, but Rose valued space and silence, so life in the suburbs with a commute to the city would have to do. New neighbors, new people, new traditions. Rosebushes in the yard, tall trees and shrubs for fences, and a little house that was only hers. A camera ‘round her neck. A quarterly neighborhood potluck.

The downside being that it was a lot darker than the city, too. It was comforting sometimes, but—it was news like this that sometimes made her question.

“I hadn’t, actually. Uh…” She clears her throat. Fingers her camera bag strap. “Do the police have any ideas why?”

Cesaire turned to the pretty little thing that piped up, eyeing her camera a bit suspiciously. He was about to reply something snarky along the lines of 'Why does anyone do anything? Some people are just bad apples.'

Thankfully one of the other women piped up, "Just seems to be a pattern of the vulnerable. Patty in my yoga class said two were taken from Salisbury last month. Totally awful, but they don't seem to stick around long. I'm just glad you weren't there with the kids," she patted another woman's hand. And she in turn nodded.

"Well, just try to stay alert to your surroundings," Cesaire supplied actually trying to be helpful. "Always. A taser wouldn't hurt to have on hand either," he smirked.

"Oh, and Shelly, congrats on your little one getting into youth league."
Shelly, the one that had mentioned the abductions in Salisbury lit up and grinned. She was about to pipe up and go on a mile long spiel about how good her little boy was at soccer, but Cesaire had switched gears already.

He turned to the one with the camera, and stuck his hand out, "My apologies but I don't think we've met yet. I'm Cesaire, just moved in recently. I'm still putting faces to the phone tree."

A taser’s not a bad idea actually, given that she lives alone. They’re frightening, though. Maybe she’ll just keep that pepper spray—the city has some bad neighborhoods too. The amount of times she’s taken the 2 AM train is embarrassing.

She’s glad for the mutual decision to change subject; Rose has zero interest in stuff like youth leagues and middle school cliques and whose kid did what, but it’d be rude if she got up and left, so she’s happy to shake Cesaire’s hand. “My name is Rose. Rose Red. I’m pretty new, too—got here around three months ago, from the city. Still have boxes.” A laugh. “How’s the town treating you?”

Edited 2018-11-02 05:25 (UTC)

Cesaire tried not to chuckle at the name, it was too cliche given the situation. 'Oh honey, the big bad wolf is in your neck of the woods... and you're staring right at him.' Thankfully his chuckle also came from the bit about the boxes.

"Yeah one never really finishes unpacking; whether you live somewhere for one day or fifty years."

"It's a good change of pace. Usually I only build in these kind of neighborhoods, while living in the slums. Haven't lived somewhere nice like this since... well, it's been a while." Cesaire trailed off, pulling up the sadness he once felt to make the act sincere. He not so absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over his finger where his wedding band would have been.

Rose gives him a sad, knowing smile. Melancholy is something she's very familiar with.

"Well. Looks like things have gotten better if you've found a place here. Uh, 'least there's that, right?"

She laughs a little, distantly, then takes a sip out of a plastic cup as she looks at the kids playing out there. "I'm not really friends with any of my neighbors yet... they're always doing something. Or their kids are. Or they're home and don't wanna be bothered. It, uh. Surprises me when they're all nosy like this—I already got a lot of people asking me where I moved in from. How I'm 'settling in.'" She gives Cesaire a sly little look. "If I've heard about the abductions going around."

She laughs again at her own little joke, though she cuts herself off with another sip, awkwardly prolonged with her teeth gnawing at the rim. That was... a bad joke. She needs wine.

"It's an improvement over how things have been," he replied dryly. "I'd rather things never led to that. But it is what it is."

One of the women had overheard Rose, "Oh honey, it just takes time to adjust. We're here if you need us."

As the others fell back into conversation, Cesaire nodded his head to the side and indicated they casually extract themselves from hearing distance. "Yeah, it's rather annoying, but at the heart of it most of them mean well. It's hard fitting in when you don't share their activities. 'Book club' not your thing?" Book Club was a thinly veiled excuse for weekly drinking and gossip. Sure, they did discuss the material, but it wasn't a main event. He gave a cynical laugh.

"As for the abductions I was just making sure everyone was aware. Looking out for the neighbors. A lot of them take their kids to that park or it's on their routes." He gave a small laugh. "It's funny, I consider myself a loner, yet I'm fitting in rather quickly. ...maybe it's because I miss my own kids. It's amazing how fast they grow up." He took a sip from his own drink. Usually he didn't mention that he had kids. Raised too many questions or it scared people off. He hadn't even told anyone else in the neighborhood that he did.

His eyes going to where Rose's mouth was worrying at the edge of her cup. He leaned forward, just to the side of her so only she could hear, perhaps to let his timber reverberate. "You maybe wanna get dinner tonight, somewhere where these busybodies won't be listening?" No sense in having her feel excluded. Straightening up he added in "just something casual."

“Book Club? I mean, sorta. I like the wine. The… gossip’s at least interesting. Aha—but, usually no one wants to go that deep in discussion on the philosophy and symbolism of Beowulf. Y’know?” Who even reads Beowulf besides her, English majors, and highschool students? Bad topic.

She won’t push. City people can be curious, but usually they don’t get into it with practically-strangers (apparently unlike suburbanites), and she especially won’t ask on the topic of nosiness. It’s hypocritical of her. (But yes, she’d like to know.)

“I’d li—I’d love that, actually. Where are you thinking?”

Edited 2018-11-05 13:41 (UTC)

"I'll admit, I haven't had much time for reading in my life, but when I do, I like the ones with layered meaning. Contemplating the meaning of life and its twisted web of complications. 'Beowulf' is a good choice. I'm more of the outdoorsy type though when I have free time, hiking, walks, all that."

He appreciated that Rose didn't ask him about the kids.

"I was thinking of this little diner I know of in Mid-town. Underneath the overpass, nestled among the older buildings. Outsiders don't usually know it's there but I passed by it one day after work at a jobsite. Excellent food, good prices."

“Oh, I think I’ve passed by there a few times, actually. Hey, that uh, sounds great. When are you free? I’m open on Thursday and Friday nights, usually.”

Finally she’s got the chance to actually know someone, instead of waffling in the corner of Book Club or lingering strangely around downtown and the park. It’s a bit of fresh air, and hopefully they’ll eventually settle into parrying conversation better than how Rose feels like she’s doing right now. She eyes the circle of gossiping women. She wonders if any of them are really friends.

"My schedule varies, but I can usually make something work." Being adaptive was what kept him alive all these years after all. A schedule was nothing in comparison to some of the jams he had been in.

He thought she was doing just fine with the conversation if not sounding as awkward as he felt at these things. Cesaire knew how these things worked, you never really were friends with neighbors like these; they weren't truly pack. 'Keep your friends close, enemies closer' after all. "C'mon, lets go see how Tom's Edinburgh is doing against United. Or something." He tilted his head in the direction of a couple of the guys. And by 'something,' not only did he mean his own lack of interest and not knowing who was playing this week, it was fun stirring up trouble. Because surely Pete would bring up how Tom being an American should getting into more traditional sports or Hanji would mention cricket. Cesaire learned more about them from their reactions than anything they had to say. Whether Rose followed was up to her, but Cesaire had appearances to maintain, and he needed his weekly dose of amusement.

“Ah—alright?” she says, a little spooked at the prospect of talking to other people right away. She does follow, but hangs at a distance, around but still could be interpreted as Hi, I’m not close with this guy.” There was a edge in Cesaire’s voice that put her on edge. She doubted all he wanted to talk about was TV sports.

When they get closer, she can start to pick out the threads of conversation—this guy she doesn’t know the name of but nicknamed Hank in her head is comparing badminton to tennis, and she can pick out a couple of complaints, compliments about that Tom Edinburgh guy. (She’s quite out of touch with sports. Rose’s never heard that name before.)

Ooh. They were already primed for a good cat fight. They were already at comparing sports. Or so he thought. As Cesaire and Rose approached, Pete turned to Cesaire just as he was about to open his mouth, "Oh no, you don't get to come in here and say how Lacrosse is a real man's sport. It has nothing to do with this."
Tom spoke as a united front, "which is it Caesar, badminton or tennis? Pick one or go away."
God, it was annoying they couldn't even get his name right. "Pickleball," he replied smugly. Go ahead, let them try to call him out on it.
A moment of quiet. He was surprised; it had actually worked.
"So Tom, how is Edinburgh doing?"

Cesaire would have been polite and introduced Rose, but it seemed she just wanted to be a wallflower if he was reading her correctly. A desire to fit in, but not quite ready to get in the water.

He’s entirely correct in that assumption.

Days later and they’re at the diner. Rose sits down, hauls her peacoat over the back of the chair, hangs her camera bag off the corner (she really does carry that everywhere, huh?), and addresses their waiter kindly. Once he’s given their menus and gone away, she faces Cesaire with her elbows on the table and her chin resting on laced fingers.

“So. Dinner.” Yeah. “What do you wanna talk about?”

Rose kicks her feet a little, conscious to not accidentally hit Cesaire’s shins. She’s a little antsy; meeting with someone else like this, closed and close, isn’t really in her comfort zone. This is usually reserved for her close friends, all of whom have known her for several years by now. Still. Three months in the ‘burbs and she’s neither friend nor enemy to anyone. This is probably good for her, she thinks.

Cesaire not minding the night air, pretty much came as he was. Well, he had managed to throw on some clean clothes so he wouldn't embarrass the lass. Olive green v-neck, jeans, work boots (cleaned of most the mud and grime.) He had said casual, and he didn't want to give the impression he had any inkling this could be a date. He was a gentleman of his word. When it could be helped.

He didn't touch the menu. It was just a matter of choosing between the Cook's Daily Special or the Cook's Burger.

"I don't know. It's been a while since I'm made much small talk. You want to talk merits of four by fours instead of four by twos, I'm your guy. You need a pipe snaked, I can do that. Hell, I could probably even play Devil's advocate and argue why strategically the Antilles would make a perfect naval base. But daily news, how my day went; not so much." (He could talk about the weather, but that got a bit personal. He'd just end up saying something "weird.") "Usually I just grunt all caveman like at my clients when they get chatty." Cesaire gave a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges, he knew the humor was a bit self-depreciative, but he hoped to lighten the mood. He could tell Rose was nervous.

"How about we start with you telling me about that constant companion of yours," he nodded his head towards where Rose's camera bag hung.

Oh! Her camera?

She fishes it out, a sleek thing that has more bulk to it than your average joe’s nice Kodak. Okay, this is easy. Talking about her profession is something she can do.

“I’m a photographer,” she states proudly. “Wherever I go, there’s always a possibility for a good shot I don’t wanna miss, so I carry it around everywhere. So much exists for only just a moment. I wanna make that stuff last forever. A lot of the shots aren’t super noteworthy, but sometimes you—you just get that one, and that’s it. You know?”

And she can babble on like that forever. Everything about her job, photography tricks, client stories, cameras smashed and gone, she’s more than ready to just lay bare, but she pauses. Just for Cesaire to put a word in for himself.

Edited 2018-11-14 06:02 (UTC)

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Page 1 of 5

IS THAT... NAH, COULDN'T BE. EVERYTHING IS FINE!

MOLLYMAUK TEALEAF | CRITICAL ROLE

pride | fullmetal alchemist

Cesaire | Red Riding Hood - Modern AU | ota

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Howard P. Lovecraft / Necronomicon: Book of the Dead

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Korekiyo Shinguji | Danganronpa V3

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