the sunken | part i

[groundrules]

THE SUNKEN

---

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Welcome to the first log of Arc VI: the Sunken, which covers 15 May – 2 June and doubles as a test drive meme.

Back/forward date as needed! The calendar date suggestions are indicative.

The TDM is open to everyone! If you decide to apply to the game, you can get an invite from current players or the upcoming enabling meme — or participate in the test drive meme and get in touch @ groundrules to chat things over. We currently have 13 slots available for new players.

Test drivers can use this post for logs and network posts — old timers, please make your network posts at eastbound.

LOST AT SEA | TEST DRIVE TOURISTS

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You wake, gasping, in a stormy sea, your thoughts slowed to a confused trickle. Skill, floating wood or a kindly stranger — who you can’t understand — help you to reach shore.

Villagers discover you collapsed on sand and provide critical (if rickety) communication and translation devices. They say you are in Sunken Yancai, a fishing village progressively overtaken by waters and cursed by the secretive ‘ladies of the lake’ to transit through time.

■ Rescuers group newcomers and supply questionable village couture, warm meals and accommodations in abandoned, half-flooded homes or spare small boats anchored in Yancai’s waterways. Huddle up, recover your strength and don’t think too hard on why your memories are hazy over the next three days.

■ Come morning, you visit village leader Quanze Tsaymien, then the sorceress Karsa — who explains you are otherworlders summoned into Akhuras by undead lords who wish to weaponise you in their battle against humans and one another. Karsa is an associate of the Merchant, who leads otherworlders towards ancient transport beacons east.

■ One such beacon rests dormant in Yancai. The group must infiltrate the village and wait a few weeks until it shifts to a point back in time when the beacon was active.

■ Newcomers are handed passport papers with their new identities in Yancai, where they may be known as a bankrupt merchant, perpetually drunk sailor, whale hunter, raft surveyor, mermaid who has just gained their legs, crab collector... feel free to invent a dutifully hilarious apt role for their seaside sojourn.

OLD TIMERS | THE DRIFTING

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You dragged yourself here in a haze. You arrived long ago, as if in a dream. You were born and bred in this village. In truth, your memories of reaching lively Yancai feel nebulous and alarmingly inconsequential.

Characters are facilitated new identities and dwellings by the Merchant, or believe they have had them all along.

■ A weary Karsa warns to say nothing to party members with altered memories, until the sorcery that affects them runs its course.

■ Memory-altered characters progressively regain their memories within three to five days (by 20 May). They have their memories partially or fully back at night ( midnight to 5 a.m.). Throughout the day, memory regains can trigger migraines, eerie confusion and paranoia.

■ Hauntings begin once characters have fully regained their memories.

■ Once everyone is ‘back to normal,’ Karsa explains that Yancai periodically transits through time. The memory alterations are a magical solution endorsed by the village council, which ensures locals mentally weather these shifts. Villagers continue to blithely accept you as part of the community.

(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH

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Karsa reunites the existing party and newcomers, issuing first assignments. The Merchants’s information suggests the beacon of Yancai will be online once the village travels in time within weeks. A dubious Karsa asks the party to check on the beacon, located in the former House of Commerce of the largely inundated merchants’ district. Reach it by rowing boat.

■ Villagers say the Master of Commerce, a famous musician, took precautions against intruders.

■ All ground and lower floor entryways of the palatial House were boarded to restrict flooding. To enter, pick locks or climb the putrid stairwell towards upper balconies.

■ Inside, the hissing of running water — and, in the lower levels, of thin, slippery leeches whose bite numbs your limbs, while they attempt to feed. You seem to experience pronounced vertigo when entering any decaying rooms covered in black mould.

■ The beacon is located on a dais in the basement vault room, where water rises near 1 meter. Only a few scattered scrolls and golden decorations remain among decorations, while a large ceiling carving writes, greed deafens man to the cries of his conscience; music sets him free.

■ Some tiles of the marbled floor stand out as you wade — step on one, and all doors abruptly slam shut, while dozens of obscured holes in the wall start to rapidly spill water, threatening to fill the room to the ceiling within the hour. You hear the tinny, waning sound of a village song played from a hidden source.

■ To stop the pouring water and open the doors, sing the song you hear, or find the music box that produces it amid debris on the water-covered floors. Wind it, and it plays its song in reverse, revealing the voice of a laughing elderly man who says, Depressingly, Anurr was right to worry.

■ Don’t forget to check the beacon — and report back to Karsa that it looks structurally untarnished.

THEY SLEEP

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After surprising revelations at previous citadels, Karsa tasks you to investigate just how… permanent death is in Yancai. Villagers share that their dead are buried in a strange rite at sea — part of which will take place within days.

■ The dead are ‘entombed’ in one-man sarcophagi ships with carved and chained lids that depict their likeness. These burial boats are set at sea on the first day of each season and return three months later.

■ Join the harbours around 22 May, when mourners gather to receive the burial boats. Characters must pretend to be greatly anguished relatives, acquaintances or debt collectors to join the grieving.

■ The boats float towards you, seemingly of their own volition. Gaze afar and spot a boat carrying a man in black — the same who haunts some characters — who observes until the last burial ship has reached the piers, before he disappears.

■ Sailors draw up the boats and unpeel the untouched chains and lids, to reveal… no corpses. Peer closer and find neither biological signs (stench, liquids) of discomposure, nor the magical chillness of spaces where cadavers have lingered long. Scratch marks litter the inside of some boat lids.

■ Mourners seem grateful that the waters have ‘accepted’ the bodies. Some say that their relatives whose boats have yet to return must have been stolen by the ‘ladies of the lake,’ a villainous witch coven. Speak to mourners or sailors for clues.

■ Linger long near opened burial boats, and you feel tempted to throw yourself into the sea, slowly losing consciousness — until someone rescues you.

AMONG US

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On 25 May, village leader Quanze Tsaymien drags the chained and half feral mistress Miang-si to households and Yancai’s largest market square.

The young woman, he says, was seduced by the ladies of the lake — the furtive witch coven that condemned Yancai to time travel. Luckily, the village elders have… coaxed Miang-si back onto the righteous path.

■ Miang-si is brought door-to-door to point out her 'accomplices.' Ill at ease, villagers whisper of similar witch hunts leading to false accusations and blood-curdling repercussions.

■ Both men and women are suspected and brought before Miang-si. Perhaps she takes an eerie interest in you, getting especially close to catch your scent, touch or remark on (in)visible hurts, or even dotingly kiss you. If you whisper quickly while she’s near, you might be able to ask one question.

■ If you are patient and kind to Miang-si, she briefly squeezes your hand as she withdraws. Within the hour, you find blood writ on your palm that warns, Our fat moon rises red.

■ If you are agitated, or if Quanze rushes her during your visit, Miang-si erupts into sudden, side-splitting cackling — while you find yourself croaking like a toad, or transforming into one and retaining human speech. The spell dissolves after eight hours.

■ Quanze’s long-suffering men say this sorcery breaks faster if you kiss one of the curmudgeonly emerald toads that hide in some of Yancai’s lakes. Catch one such delightful, slime-spitting creature or barter it from merchants at a costly premium.

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

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A full moon is set to rise within days of Miang-si’s visit, on 27 May — just as Yancai shows signs of time shifting. Villagers are prone to stilling and staring askance, seeming lost or adrift.

The village itself evolves: one moment, the same house appears freshly new, then drowned, while waterways overfill with water, then seem barren. Overall, the village deteriorates.

■ That day, the sun suffers a midday eclipse, while droves of black birds circle the woods and village outskirts, attacking those who come close.

■ The waters increasingly thicken and darken, preventing boats from entering certain waterways.

■ An exceedingly bright moon and a diffuse lunar replica rise with nightfall. Come midnight, the village is alive with the sounds of ripping, structural collapse and shrieks. Tar-covered corpses emerge from the waters, clawing on and climbing up piers. They swarm, drawing passers-by into waters to drown them. Help them — and foremost, yourself.

■ Light and fire keep the dead at bay. On some waterways, wildfire now spells, WHAT IS WET WAS WRONGED

■ Weaker alone, fresh corpses climb into your rowing boat, pretending they are innocents who seek shelter. They betray themselves by speaking very slowly, struggling to keep track of the conversation or obliviously peppering it with details of their death. They stubbornly ask questions about you, repeating your answers, and become violent if you say they are dead. Push them into the water at first opportunity.

■ Quanze Tsaymien and other men of the village take arms, urging villagers to barricade in the nearest home, harbour or warehouse and weather the night. They advise to be silent and beware the dead who imitate living voices, warning not to touch any black mould or water that suddenly appear in your home — which alert the dead of your presence within.

■ Some dead try to tear you apart, while others seek to feed you a disgusting, tar-like black mould. A small taste of it makes you sluggish and feeble for two-three hours, while an entire fistful can kill.

■ If the undead infiltrate your house, hold your breath, do not move and keep from screaming. The dead have weak sight and olfactory senses and might pass you by, as long as you stay silent. It can be more efficient to fool than kill the dead.

■ By 5 a.m., houses start to replenish themselves, gaining a new appearance, while water and mould retreat. The dead withdraw into waterways. Outside doors have been marked with blood: vertical lines tell how many living people remain inside; horizontal ones count how many within died overnight.

■ You step to seize a brave new day — while Yancai enters a new time period (further details due in the next plot update).

NOTES

■ The game enabling meme goes up on 25 May.

■ Hit up available NPCs here or in their new inbox!

■ QUESTIONS.

Comments

Clara Oswald | Doctor Who | Old Timer

[makemeasong]

[ ooc: Top levels to follow! My plotting comment is here and her role/assignment/haunting can all be found here. More than happy to whip up individual starters if nothing below floats your boat. Feel free to ping on disco @ lifewasawillow#5524 or DM me! ]

DAYS 1-4

[makemeasong]

Dᴀʏ Oɴᴇ
Sʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ғʟᴀᴛᴍᴀᴛᴇs

[ The contentment Clara's felt at staying in a place like Yancai comes from one primary thing: knowing that her decision would make the Doctor proud. Not the bit about her job, but she helps where she can. Sneaking sweeties to kids, stepping in to teach stories, and keep people hoping for more. She likes her reputation of small but mighty. It's like the Doctor said: She's the Boss.

Clara's done outside for the day and returns home to her villa, wearing the gaudiest of rings on one hand and a tin of cookies in the other. She'll find the nearest roommate and offer a plain, but well-executed sugar cookie. ]

Feel like helping me reap the rewards of a good day of gossip?

Dᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ
I'ᴍ sᴜʀᴇ ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ

[ Another day, another batch of people at the harbor with potential knowledge. There's a brief moment when someone steps in her path and while she would never actually demand anything of anyone, automatically they apologize as if they've done something awful. Waving it off, Clara smiles, all dimples, and carries on.

Just as she's about to hit the docks, right when one of the long piers comes into view, she's hit with a memory, of being on another dock, in another place. It comes and goes so quickly that she stumbles and has to lean against the nearest wall, closing her eyes, feeling faint. She's about the color of wallpaper paste and takes a few deep breaths in and out, wondering what the hell? with one hand pressed to her forehead. ]

Dᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ
ᴘᴀʀᴛ I

[ Today, when Clara is making that same trip down to the docks, the sun glares in her eyes and her head feels like a knife split straight through it. But beneath that, she remembers a friend. A friend with so much red hair. And then it's gone again, but the pain isn't.

This time when she tries to stumble her way to the harbor (trying to find a place to sit) and someone bumps into her, she has the least Clara Oswald reaction imaginable. ]

Is there anyone here who can pay attention? Bloody hell.

[ She winces again and remembers more detail, a conversation on a train but no names yet, before the memory(?) is gone. Forehead still creased in pain she does feel guilty, but she also doesn't think she can do anything until the pain goes away, once again leaning against the nearest solid object. ]

ᴘᴀʀᴛ II
[ It's some time later in the day that Clara makes her way to the apothecary. Her headache hasn't quite abated, she needs something else, and she realizes she has no idea what she's looking for very quickly. Exhaling loudly, she rubs her forehead and then looks around for someone who seems like they know what they're looking at.

She's much kinder this time than she was to the poor person earlier. ]

Sorry, the clerk is busy and I want to find something fast. Know what gets rid of a migraine for good?

Dᴀʏ ғᴏᴜʀ
sᴀʏ ʙᴏᴏ

[ It's been a hell of a thing, trying to reconcile what Clara thought was her own decision with what her life actually is: stuck. Trapped. The good thing, at least, is that she knows she has friends here. She's been holed up in her room for the day, pretending to read when a woman appears; well appears, because this is undoubtedly a ghost. It's always ghosts.

You're going to be the next famous explorer, I think.

The voice—her mum's voice—is coming out of the ghost's mouth, and for a few seconds Clara is stunned into silence, eyes about as wide as they can get.

Your dad and I can't wait to get postcards from all over.

Except her mum's dead, Clara isn't famous, and she never sent postcards to her dad. When the woman in white pats her hand, it breaks the spell; Clara bolts out of her room and into the closest one, slamming the door shut behind her and pressing her back against it. She's in her pajamas and looks like...well, like she saw a ghost. ]

Dᴀʏ Oɴᴇ

[traumatology]

Not really someone that does that.

( while he's heard her come in, he hasn't bothered to look up, assuming that someone would see him and his resting 'everything is awful' face and just bypass him and find someone else.

guess he was wrong. he thinks the quick response might send the person away but she's still there so he looks up.

and then his eyes widen. there's a definite memory of that face in his head, something from a long, long time ago and he frowns. )

Where did you come from?

[makemeasong]

You didn't even look up at what I was offering. Who knows what you're missing out on.

[ An 'everything is awful' face doesn't even faze her, and she waves the tin closer, attempting to waft the aroma. Then she looks a little baffled, glancing around to be sure she's in the correct amazing villa. ]

I...live here? [ One eyebrow rises. ] I know I'm short, but c'mon, mate.

[traumatology]

( he blinks again, thinks maybe he's seeing things but no, he recognizes her face. he knows her. but she's acting like she doesn't know him. )

How are you here? How...?

( he should be used to this by now, seeing people that might be different than he remembers but instincts die hard and he can't help but blink and then glare.

is this some sort of new trick to get at him? )

[makemeasong]

[ Clara lets her smile fade, genuinely worried now. ]

I showed up like everyone else does. Pulled from somewhere, brought to this lovely planet. But I've been here for a while. Are you alright?

[ She has no idea what's happening, and she slowly puts down the tin of cookies. ]

I'm Clara, by the way.

DAY TWO

[yeahmagnets]

Jesse's outside, slinging candles when he notices a familiar face. Clara. He immediately recognizes her from The Sandman, where she'd so graciously let him wait out his "sentence" of housekeeping in her room--a punishment for being caught with dream contraband on the train. He doesn't forget people who do him right, and so he's happy to see her. But, as he approaches, he notices the pallor of her face, and the way she clutches the side of her head and leans against a nearby wall. Forgetting his candle supplies where he stands, Jesse rushes over, brows knit in concern.

"Are you okay? Need some water?" He reaches for a canteen strapped across his body.

[makemeasong]

Clara nods which makes it worse, then manages to open her eyes with one hand braced against the wall. There's another memory that tries to unravel itself, a recognition, and she closes her eyes again tightly, as if against the sun.

"Yeah, water's good. I think I need to sit."

They aren't completely in the way if she sits against the wall, so that's what she does, gracelessly landing on the ground. She's usually better with her words, and after a few sips of water, she finally feels like her head isn't swimming. Squinting up at him, she realizes he doesn't feel like a stranger; maybe they've met and he was a big part of a gossip session, she has no idea.

"Thank you. I think I'm alright, glad you came along." Her eyes peer at him, questioning.

"Have we met?"

(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH

[makemeasong]

[ There comes a point where Clara wants to explore, and what she wants to explore is whatever the ruins are. So, she has to take a boat, she can do that. She's never paddled one, but how hard could it be?

When she finds an oar, it's almost comically as big as she is, but she's gamely carrying it toward a boat, only stopping to readjust her grip. Instead of spitting in the face of the buddy system, Clara looks around for anyone else who might seem to be heading that way and makes her way over. ]

Not that you asked [ She smiles with her dimples, trying to charm with her big eyes. ] but would you mind going across with me? I've learned that going in pairs tends to go over a lot better here.

[downswing]

( Not that he asked, but she is present, and he is arrived, and between them they tally one lone pair of arms that lend themselves to task and purpose. The House of Commerce, the witch spits and hisses between her tempests of bile, and he knows, after Alem, they must settle all doubts about this beacon. Must evacuate, as the invaded citadel did not permit them.

This new village is rags, mould, brimming waters, silence and decay. Cloying stench of perpetual heat and humidity and salt, lingered on his cheek, on the wounds he reaps, half-moons nail-driven on the inner beds of his palms. And his head, staggered and assailing pains, and the ferocity of belonging.

Is it not enough to exorcise him from Yancai? He thinks, he suspects — but then, his true mind hardly matters. Karsa wishes examination. Clara, companion. Between them, Lan Wangji serves, his nod a timid, subtle sketch. Half a dozen boats float aimlessly on nearby offer for a quick borrow, too many of their past owners — departed. )

Choose ship. ( ...all likely to sink, by the hole-poxed look of them, but at least then she'll have cursed them with choice, and not he. )

[makemeasong]

And you're sure you aren't tired of inevitably needing to save me from something?

[ Clara will give Wangji an out if he wants one, even if he won't take it, because she kind of means it. She hates thinking of herself as someone else's burden. And she isn't even sure he thinks of it that way, but it is a pattern. ]

I don't plan on immediately tossing myself headfirst in the first direction that seems dangerous, but things happen here.

[ 'Things.' ]

[downswing]

( Things happen here. Blood, carnage, sorcery. They happen, and they remain bound to these lands, and what is it Lan Wangji can speak of it? Nothing, to no one. Things happen here. )

You will protect me. ( An indulgence, a concession, a point of view. A kindness, by another name. ) My thoughts addled.

( His memories, but there is in the ginseng of that a thorough bitterness that corrupts him to the root, the danger that the storm of uncertainty that surrounds him might forever stoke, never fade. )

[makemeasong]

[ The picked up on kindness oddly moves Clara. He can say they aren't friends, but his actions, and those words specifically, mean something to her. ]

I don't have very many left, but the Doctor showed me how to keep these safe and on me without accidentally blinking out of sight.

[ Clara pulls a single flower stem with two gold-edged petals from nothing better than a rope necklace. She only has thirteen left, but if they go down to eleven well. That's her lucky number. ]

If you pull one, you'll go invisible for thirty minutes. A gift, I think? I dunno. But we have it and I've been learning with my sword.

[ She's actually followed through when she can. She isn't perfect, she has a long way to go, but she can stab stuff with wild and accurate determination now. At the mention of his thoughts, her expression grows serious, and she has to resist reaching out to touch his wrist. ]

I've got you. C'mon.

[ She'll get on the boat first, but she has handed him the oar because he's taller, and it feels like common sense. She'll navigate, keeping an eye out for danger in the water, if he doesn't protest. ]

[damnable]

And here I'd thought you'd never ask.

( Red sends her friend a charming smirk of her own even as she eyes the comically large oar within Clara's hands. She's pretty small herself, but she does have the super-strength afforded to her by being Cerberus at least in bursts, and so she'll reach out to take the top of the oar from her as her smirk widens into something warm despite the danger ahead. )

You can officially consider me your buddy for this upcoming adventure.

[makemeasong]

[ Clara gives Red one of her biggest dimpled smiles, the one that's on reserve for people like the Doctor. Like Red. Essential, as he says. ]

Alright then, we're having ourselves an old-fashioned Goonies moment.

[ She isn't sure if being around teens in Purgatory all that time would clue her into pop culture references, but the context is there: adventuring, just like Red said. ]

Bonus: your hair can be used as a flotation device.

[ She smiles angelically before running to get into the boat, hopping right onto the seat. She's trying to get all her jovialness in now, while she can, before they're inevitably scrambling for their lives or something. She knows it'll happen, but Clara's decided to take the full cup and drink it down to half empty. ]

[damnable]

( Not only did Red pick up on pop culture references from her time in Purgatory High, but also when she lived in the mortal world for a couple of decades so she recognizes it and then smirks. )

And Goonies never say die, huh? So I'm sure this will go fine, more than fine.

Even if I think you're putting a little too much faith in my hair.

( But Clara's reaction makes Red laugh before she follows her into the boat, using the oar to push the boat away from the dock and more out into open water. If her friend's going to a dangerous situation, she wants to go with her - figure out what the fuck is actually out there and make sure she stays alive. She hasn't forgotten about how she nearly died in Alem. )

So if I'm doing the rowing, you think you can navigate?

[makemeasong]

[ Clara settles herself and if she's worried about her close call in Alem, she doesn't look it. In fact, she's thinking she's going to do this and be fine as a final 'fuck off' to Alem. One of these days, she isn't going to need rescuing. ]

I'm putting exactly the right amount of faith in your hair. And maybe I also deeply believe in your oar skills.

[ Which is true, and as they set out, she make sure they're pointed in the right direction, keeping her eyes peeled for anything in the water that may try to sink them. ]

Luckily, I learned a thing or two about climbing back in the desert. Vanessa and I scaled a cliff and lived to tell the tale. Running favors for ghosts is never easy.

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

[makemeasong]

sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ᴀ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ
ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

[ Old habits are hard to break, even if the old habits weren't that old or even hers at all. Clara still finds herself wandering down by the harbor. Something isn't right, that's obvious now, but so far it hasn't been anything like Alem, so she doesn't think she's in immediate danger.

Which is something she should never think, and probably never will again.

When the ripping sound begins, it first seems like it's coming from above, then from below, and then everywhere at once. Covering her ears but keeping her eyes open, she looks around to try and find a source. Just about to make her way back to the villa, the wood beneath her splits and Clara finds herself dropping into water.

Déjà vu, she thinks, just as she plunges into the water. Sputtering, she comes up and grabs onto the broken deck just as she feels something pulling her back. Turning her head she shouts and kicks immediately, scrambling for the wood; her palms fill with splinters as she tries to hold on, and she's yanked back again.

A scream manages to make its way out of her lungs, though it's more primal in an effort to hang on than anything else. Her hands are throbbing and bleeding, making her lose her grip. One more shout and she goes under, trying to fight, trying to punch or kick at it from beneath the water. Her head comes up briefly, a hand above the water reaching blindly for anything to grab. ]

ʜᴀᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʜɪʟʟ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ
ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ

[ She didn't know; Clara didn't know and she touched the black mold on the wall; now there's something in the house. It's dark inside, and for the moment, she's sure she's alone after pushing herself into what she thinks might be one of the bedrooms.

Wishing she could get to her device—which she'd stupidly left in the main room—she focuses on her breathing instead and tries to make a plan. Where are the rest of her roommates? Are they even in the house? She'll try and get to her room and lock herself in, if that even works.

It's only when she holds her breath for a beat, just to collect herself, that she hears something else. Something rasping in the room with her. It's so close that by the time she turns her head, it's on her, the dead thing, holding her down and making sounds she'd rather forget.

Pushing herself up, Clara bolts for the door. Before she can make it to the hall there's a hard pull to her hair, and then she's on the ground again, too dazed for a second to move and unable to do anything about the black that's dripping from the dead thing's mouth and onto her lips. Once it touches, she tries to turn her head, but the more it spills, the less she can think to move. ]

[twelfthsong]

[ Don't ask him what he's doing out on the harbor at midnight. Apparently an oyster shucker never rests, even when it's after the hours when people don't need any oysters shucked. Which is why it's the perfect time for him to explore.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, being transported to a different world hasn't stopped his penchant for finding trouble (although he'd argue that trouble found him). He's by the harbors, trying to see if he can locate any of the burial coffins on the off chance one had been forgotten or left behind. The answer will forever remain elusive however as the town begins to twist and break.

Before chaos breaks out he spots the figure at the end of the pier. He doesn't think much of it - until he hears her scream. He knows that scream. It'd be impossible to forget. His hearts hammer in his chest, urging him, screaming at him to save Clara Oswald. It doesn't matter that the ground beneath him twists and turns. Perhaps it's sheer will, or maybe the twisting has stopped for now but he reaches what is left of the end of the pier, reaching out to grab her hand.

He heaves her up onto what is left of solid ground barely giving her time recover before he's lurching her up by the armpits. They don't have much time. The wood is rotting again. But that won't stop him from scolding her. ]

Are you out of your mind? What do you think you're doing - out on the pier without a life jacket?

[makemeasong]

[ Clara splutters and coughs, choking on water and spitting it up. She's getting so tired of nearly drowning, but she's alive, so she tries to focus on that. Once they're inland she looks up at him, still getting used to...all of that. He saved her life, this version of the Doctor; he heard her, so maybe everything after he regernated—But he comes out swinging, and her adrenaline is still running on high. ]

Who wears a life jacket on the actual pier, it's supposed to stay solid!

[ Although she really should have known better after Serthica, that's the kicker. ]

You can shout at me later, we need to do more running now.

[ There's definitely something coming and Clara has no intention of staying outdoors. ]

I have a house here, c'mon.

[ Well, she did. Does she still? Is it hers if the memories are false? ]

[twelfthsong]

Clara, please that's the first rule of seaside living. Always wear a life jacket.

[ Yeah, about that. He's still going to shout at her, even if it's utter nonsense that he doesn't and wouldn't abide by if left to his own devices. His eyebrows arch as he follows suit, letting her lead the way. ]

Since when do you own a home? And here of all places? You never gave me the impression you enjoyed a fishing village.

[makemeasong]

Didn't say I own it. And I'm here because I wanted to help people who need it.

[ She's looking a little nervous, eying some of the undead and deciding not to take any chances. pulling the sopping, sagging rose with its two gold-gilded petals, she holds it out to him. ]

Pluck one, it'll turn you invisible for half an hour. It'll be enough to get us to the villa if we're quiet and fast. I don't think I'm good enough with my sword yet, so this'll have to do.

[ She's really been living a life here, learning how to survive this stupid planet. ]

[thedreamer]

[ Though not a believer in much of magic and omens at all before he'd arrived here, the course of the day contained far too many disturbances for the Doctor to just carry on as though nothing at all terrible might happen. He's been on high alert from the moment he sensed time beginning to shift again, extra worried about the ones he loves most, doing his best to check in on everyone while also investigating the signs of decay and rot, and everything changing.

Something is going to happen, something terrible, and he seeks to stop it before it does.

But he wasn't exactly anticipating this, and he's caught off guard, unable to keep the dead from rising. But he can help and he will, where he's needed most. Having his messages from Clara unreturned earlier, he assumes she'd been caught by some of the dead and unable to speak, lest she alert them to her presence. He's grateful yet again for his watch that tells him exactly how far away she is, even if not her exact coordinates. But it brings him closer, close enough that he's able to work out the building she must be trapped in, and he begins to dodge his way carefully inside, counting on her still being alive.

The alternative simply cannot be an option. He won't allow for that possibility. She's alive in here, he's going to find her, and she'll be safe. His hearts are pounding as he moves down the hall, worried at what he'll find, and even more concerned when he sees her on the ground with one of the dead over her. Already alerted to her presence, there's no risk in calling to it now. ]

Oi! Over here!

[ It's thankfully drawn immediately to him and the Doctor reflexively dodges its sluggish movements as he hurries to Clara's side, lifting her up into his arms and dashing with her towards an empty room for now. ]

Clara! Say something. Anything, anything at all.

[makemeasong]

[ Of course it would be him, the Doctor with his watch and need to be sure she's alright. She would laugh in relief if she could, but as it is, her thoughts feel like treacle sludging around in her head. She feels numb and cold, but his voice and command finally make it through. In her mind, Clara's told him she'll be alright, but the effort to make them leave her mouth is too much.

Instead, all that she can do is weakly whimper, her head heavy against his chest. One hand manages to wrap itself up in a fistful of his shirt, even if the grip is weak. She heard him, and she's trying to do what he says. Clara wants to ask him if there are more, if he knows somewhere they can go. She wants to tell him that she needs to find her roommates because she doesn't know if they're alright or even in the villa with her.

Instead, she manages to finally acknowledge him. ]

It's [ There are five long seconds before she can get out the next word. ] you.

[thedreamer]

[ He's managed to dodge multiple hordes of the undead on his path here, so he's more than aware that if they just keep quiet and relatively still, they can make it through. Difficult for a man of many words, when he wants to fuss and ask her a million questions about how she feels, though...she wouldn't be able to answer, which is just as well.

The mold again, of course. It's come back, and in horrific ways. Of course it would. As he cradles her like she weighs nothing at all in his arms, he presses a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering with his eyes closed.

Think, think, think, Doctor.

Right now he has to hope he intercepted in time that the effects of the mold will disappear, given enough time. But he can't be sure, and it's that terrible in between that haunts him now. Will she die in his arms again, while he holds her, unable to do anything at all? ]

Course it is, Clara. Who else? Where else? It will always be me.