Roleplay

In a manner strangely reminiscent of that featured in the popular childrens' novel, tickets silver as gold - which is to say, they were white with black print - began to surface, the first on a fine, autumnal Wednesday night. The air was warm and humid with the last of August's heat, not to mention the absolute slurry in the air of New York City by the time this year rolled around. God knew what next year would bring, but for now, most citizens (and tourists alike) did not seem eager to find out how much more pollution their feeble lungs could deal with. Unlike the rest of the human body, the three organs deemed casually the 'vital' ones - brain, heart, and lungs - were scarcely messed around with; not even for the purpose of upgrading them.

The tickets, however, were a nice change of pace for this bustling (to say the least) tourist trap. A distraction from lunging at one another on the streets for weapons and cash, and a nice, sweet transition to lunging at one another in case passerby was holding a ticket. No one really knew what they were for, either, aside from the lovely printed calligraphy up front detailing a curious address in the west of the USA. Those who had managed to snatch a ticket, by whatever means, and who were uninterested in tracking whoever-the-heck lived there, passed it on.

The tickets, and hence information on (redacted)'s address, made their way slowly but surely out into the wider world.

Who found them, pray tell, and are they headed to that mysterious cottage in the west of the world?

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@Kingman
@CrypticMeaning
@Silikiyu
@IAmTheBleh
@AutopsyJuice
@CaspianSeas

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OOC THREAD HERE

The cold night was chilly against the man’s skin as he sucked in a breath of the cigarette, breath coming out in small white clouds that drifted off, smelling thinly of nothing, really.
He had been doing it recently-for no real reason, really, except for the undeniable oddness of the ticket that was on transit to his house. Doctor Karlsson slicked back his dark hair, streaked with a couple spots of grey in there. Despite his long life, old habits died hard, and smoking (a bad habit, he knew) was one of them. Of course, nowadays it wasn’t like it could do any damage to his lungs anymore-no, they had eliminated the death aspect long ago. Perhaps that was for the worse-the world had seemed worse and worse lately. One of his colleagues had nervously explained how she now kept a handgun in her desk, just in case someone tried to attack the doctor for a prescription.
He knew she was telling the truth, as her eyes, large from young age, were full of fear, not hate.

He sighed. Fear was a painful root of an evil tree that seemed to be getting worse in New York. The pollution of the city didn’t reach him often-his house was located in a high-class area, and besides, he was contributing a bit to it in order to ease his nervousness as he looked over the smog that blanketed the city.
Buying that ticket..it was nothing in the eyes of his fame and fortune. A magazine cover could be bought more easily than a real ticket, and he planned to fly there with a couple other elites as soon as possible.
Dr. Karlsson put out the cigarette, walking back into his house and tossing it into a trash receptacle.
The place was nicely decorated (not his doing, really). He supposed he would head back to the hospital. It was the only true home he had ever known, and Elmer was much more comfortable among his scrubbed fellows than in the middle of Times Square. Taking out his keys, he pulled on a doctor coat and opened his door, locking it behind him, lights still on, to walk across the street.
They were used to having him show up in the middle of the night, anyway.

Blythe sat alone on the porch of her house, deep in thought. She lived in the wealthy part of town, of course she did. She had more money than she knew what to do with, thanks to her father's business. In one hand, she held an old book, one she barely understood. In the other, a ticket. The material seemed cheap, but elegant. Maybe it was for that reason that she had wanted it. Or, maybe it was the mystery surrounding the thing. She couldn't quite tell, but that was unimportant. What was important was that she'd had one.

It wasn't actually Blythe who'd come into contact with it first. It was her older brother Luke. He had no use for such things, and was focused too much on his own endeavours. The Coventry's were known for their economical ambition, as she liked to put it. She had no idea how Luke had gotten such a thing, nor did she care. It was hers now. But, was it worth it to follow? She couldn't say, not without knowing where exactly the address was and who had sent it.

She put her book down, she wasn't really reading it anyway. It was a story about a boy who found a ticket similar to the one she had. It was old, and she didn't care too much for it. Back in the days it was written, stories all had to have some meaning, some inner message. Now, they were there just to entertain, to distract from your everyday life for a little while. She almost liked that better. That didn't stop her from trying to read the classics, it just discouraged her.

Blythe sighed, as she walked back inside, the lights turning on as soon as she opened her door. She lived alone, and Renaya was busy this week, with family stuff. That meant she had the large place that she normally shared with her closest friend all to herself. The thought tormented her. She wasn't going to stay by herself for a week, she'd end up driving herself insane. Instead, she called her assistant, asking to arrange a flight out west for the mid-afternoon of the following day. She was going to find out where this ticket led her. What sort of adventures would follow? She went to pack a bag, not knowing how long she'd be gone for. This should be, at the very least, interesting.

Kris couldn't sleep. How was it that her mind couldn't switch off when her life at the moment was so incredibly bland? To the hospital's credit, they had tried their best to make her comfortable, giving her a private room with a television and a nice view of the uppity neighbourhood surrounding her - but even mansions get old when you've been staring at the same ones for nearly a month. At this point she felt like a guinea pig. She was well beyond recovered, yet the hospital insisted on monitoring her every move.

But maybe that was for the best. Though she didn't want to admit it, if Kris was released back into the world she had no idea what she'd do. She told herself she'd go back to the military, but having a break from her work for the first time in nearly a century led Kris to question whether she was truly destined for a life of police work, or if it was just the only thing she'd known.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of her door clicking open, and she turned over to look at the nurse standing in the doorway. "Here to test my reflexes again? It's a bit late right now, don't you think?" Kris retorted, raising an eyebrow. The nurse appeared surprised for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Sorry, Krisantha, I didn't know you were still awake. I was just going to leave this here for you - someone delivered it to reception." The nurse placed a plain, white envelope at the foot of her bed, then quietly made an exit before Kris was able to voice her confusion.

Who the hell still sent letters? Eager for a distraction either way, Kris sat up and took the envelope in her hands. It was addressed to her, but whoever had sent it to her had left none of their own information. Now even more curious, Kris quickly ripped it open, and a small ticket slid out into her palm. All that was on it was a neatly-printed address. Kris had heard of these tickets before, but only in passing. She'd initially thought it to be some strange urban rumour.

But now that she had one in her hands, Kris realised that she had the answer to where she was to go. At the same time, she decided that she was going to get out of her mundane, white-walled room right that instant. Flinging open her door, Kris burst into the hallway. "I need to speak to a doctor!"

As the night grew longer cold dew found itself resting on top of a once very busy house that now rests silently. Papers and odd contraptions can be found scattered around within the house with only a soft Blue light illuminating the room. The light itself moved and bobbed, tracing over the contraptions and papers almost like a dance to avoid them. The light then came to a halt upon a table which was covered with papers and blueprints but there was something else? A small paper, a ticket perhaps?
A robotic figure leaned down and picked up the paper gently, almost as to not wrinkle it. The light blue light That emitted from the robots blank face dimmed a bit as wonder and questions started to rise within himself. is this an address? If so where too? What is it for? How did Dr.Grant get it? However this was no time to ask questions, he quickly placed the ticket into his pocket With haste before making his way the the door.
He quietly turned the door knob and opened the door before looking back to make sure that there was no one else awake and that there was no prying eyes locked onto him. Taking a step outside and slowly closing the door, he put his hood on and tied a bandana around his face while fixing a bag that was strapped around his shoulder. He looked up at the sparse amount of stars in the sky before continuing down the empty street and taking in the environment around himself.

As any who arrived would know, the location itself that the tickets were directive toward was nothing short of a disappointment. To some extent, anyway, it seemed to be frantically opposing visitors, rather than beckoning them.

In the long-forgotten forestry found in the north of California (once beautiful, now overgrown), shuttered away in what one might once have considered a prime vacation spot, perfectly suited to hiking and birdwatching - there is a cottage. Its own little picket fence, faded almost into nondescription (crumbling at its tip, having taken far too much weathering without repear) encloses a garden overgrown almost in synonymity with the wilderness around it. That's really the only word fit for it at this point - wilderness. God knows what lives out there, aside from this dainty little woman perusing the newstablets over tea in her cluttered store of a sitting room. Not even god wants to find out.

Said woman drops the tablet out the window as one might toss food for the dogs. Almost expectantly, she gazes outward. The sky, here, is almost blue, although nothing can mask the unmistakable smog in the distance. San Fransisco. The city is, in reality, thousands of miles southward, but its unofficial expansions, suburbs upon suburbs of depressed little households, produce enough waste to decorate the scene even here.

Personally, if she ever was asked - consulted about anything more, really, than the odd, misplaced hopeful note on when her next project might be expected - Claudia could say with surety that she'd disliked it. Her own hope for what man could do, if granted sufficient - that is to say, endless - time was long gone, and it had been proven worthless anyway. Trust, once broken, is not easy to regain, and hers has been shattered beyond any shadow of a doubt.

She pours her tea down the sink, tosses the cup into the steadily growing mass of unwashed crockery, and reaches for her belt. Whipping out a can of handy dandy perfume, she sprays it around herself, then straight at the mass. If you pretend your problems aren't there for long enough, they almost seem to disappear.

Try it. She's been doing fine so far.

Ali kept in a crouched position on the rooftop she had grappled onto, watching Blythe as she packed a bag. She had been observing Blythe for a while, waiting to find an opening to steal something, like for her to leave her house. She had learned from the Internet (idk) that Blythe was a rich heiress, so she had figured Blythe would probably own something valuable that she could steal, and thus had followed Blythe from a social gathering she had attended recently all the way to her house. From where Ali was, she couldn't quite tell what Blythe had been holding when she was outside, a book and a small something else. It had looked just like a normal slip of paper, but she couldn't be sure. Curious as to what it actually was, Ali took out some high-tech binocular things she had stolen a while ago and peered at the said object which Blythe was thankfully still holding. There appeared to be text on the slip of paper-looking thing, so Ali made the binoculars zoom in, allowing her to read it.
An address?
She wondered if that's where Blythe was going and if maybe that was why she was packing a bag. Just in case she might need or want it later, she took a picture of the address using the binoculars before putting them away and continuing to stalk Blythe.

The doctor walked through the hospital, crumpled lab coat barely clutching onto his shoulders as a couple small hairs drooped down over an eye. He slicked the rebel back onto his head, though his hair, specked with silver, refused to comply. Longevity was not perfect.
A nurse approached the man, gently tugging on his coat as she looked to the older man.
“Um..Doctor, Miss Krisantha wants to see a doctor..” she said. The woman was smaller than he, but built stronger than the old man, with hair pulled back into a severe bun. He nodded. “Ah, I see, which level is she on?” he asked, taking a clipboard from the rack and clipping a paper to it smartly, mouth flat and voice low and intelligent. His voice was raspy from no sleep or water, but he cleared his throat as he listened.
“Level 31A. Private room,” she said, and the man nodded to her before setting off.

He didn’t like taking the stairs, which was why when the Doctor found that the elevator was not functioning, he sighed, begrudgingly opening the door of the stairs, slowly trudging up the linoleum steps, shoes loud as he slowly labored his way up to the level that the Miss was on.
By the time he reached the correct level, his breath was laboring and his hair was even more a mess, sucking in air in and out as he doubled over, coughing lightly as he regained his feet. His hand was white around the railing as he opened the top floor door, seeing the woman in the middle of the hallway.

He had to say, half-humans both intrigued and disgusted him. Some were terrifying generic abominations who ought to be put out of their misery, others were like this woman, who looked mostly normal..if somewhat distressed. His own enhancements were more prosthetics, as they mostly functioned to stabilize his eyes and hands for other’s safety. But this woman had a cerebellum that’s wasn’t totally human, which..was both interesting and somewhat terrifying. Was she even human anymore? However, he supposed it wasn’t his humanity on the line, and the poor thing had been wobbling around like a sad top for a while before they fixed her up, so he supposed the risk was probably worth it to this woman.
“Miss...Kris, is it? I am Doctor Karlsson. You asked for a doctor? Bit odd, for one in the morning, but I can hardly fault you on that. I’m awake, anyhow,” he said, smiling at his own joke.