pedalbike | 2nd Event: Choices We Make

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2nd Event: Choices We Make

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Arrival

Not all characters (known as Wickie, singular or Wickies, plural) arrive at the same time, surprisingly enough! That’s life for you. Some Wickies find their way to the island at a pivotal (or very mundane) point in their life, or even after or during their death.

Wickies who were standing or walking often find themselves entering the town South Sister, located on Lighthouse Isle, through an open doorway. Those that were laying down, or sleeping, tend to be found lying prone in beds, bathtubs, showers, couches, and similar places within the cottages on Cottage Row. There’s no rhyme or reason to it all! To Wickies familiar with the era, they will realize that everything looks as if it’s come from the ‘90s.

The house which a Wickie finds themselves within could already be occupied. This includes walking into a fellow Wicke, waking up in the same location, or accidentally scaring a room full of people with their sudden appearance.

Oops.

C-C-Changes

Thankfully the fog has gone down to what it was before, a slow creeping crawl over the ground. And too, the monsters of before are gone, leaving the town much like it was before. Well...close to what it was before.

For now the season's have changed, from a lingering summer to a cooler fall.

There’s new foods to try, even if some things like lattes cause people to slip into warm boots and tie up their hair, and soups make people curl up under blankets on the couch. And it also means decorations of all sorts, made of the leaves from the forest, orange, yellow and red things and...we can not forget...

Pumpkin overflow

Pumpkins! They're everywhere. Wickies will find pumpkins infused into all sorts of things, like coffee, ice cream, even spaghetti options! It's wild.

There’s also many jack o'lanterns. They have been placed everywhere in town, outside homes, and even small ones have been made into table decorations. The Jack o lanterns have very cheerful faces, and seem to watch Wickies every single move.

That is, until a Wickie bashes or otherwise abuses a pumpkin. That's when it changes- there seem to be more of them. Their expressions change to that of anger, sadness and disgust. None of them attack- yet. But their faces become more and more horrifying, as they follow the Wickie more and more- outside of the bathroom perhaps, or found on top of them as the Wickie wakes up in the middle of the night.

It shouldn't matter right? They're only pumpkins.

What a ride

Funny enough, with the pumpkin invasion, there also comes a dull colored horse wandering about the island. Its head is drooped, and it looks depressed and lonely. The horse is tame on approach and will accept pats and treats, even from those who are obviously not human.

But it also wants something, for all that it seems to be begging for attention. It wants someone to ride them, seems to even be begging for it with its big eyes. The horse will help Wickies to figure out how to mount; it will even stand beside the Town Center benches, rocks, or even go down in order to make it possible for the Wickie to get onto the horse’s back.

That’s when it changes. The Wickie is immediately wrapped in chains from their barrel to the Wickie’s waist. The horse turns a coal black and the Wickie’s clothing changes into that of a soldier's uniform, with a hand either holding a whip modeled after a human spine, or a jack o'lantern.

The Wickie cannot get off the horse on their own, no matter how much they struggle. As the horse moves throughout the town, they will go anywhere from a walk to a full canter, seemingly impervious to any magic or physical attacks. The same cannot be said for their unfortunate rider.

If the rider is hit, or simply in pain, the Wickie will feel an impulse that grows and grows until they scream a name of someone in town, someone they know.

And the named will drop, paralyzed. Paralyzed wickie are likely to die within minutes, more so if they are too close to horse and rider. The horse will happily trample anyone on the ground to death.

Even without the impulse, should the Wickie rider use anyone’s name, that person will drop, paralyzed, and unable to breathe.

There is only one way to possibly save the rider: scatter golden objects in their path. The horse will shriek, and promptly buck the rider off, before running away. Just make sure to catch the rider, or at least cushion their fall: they have no way of saving themselves until they hit the ground.

Heart game: confession

Current residents of the island may remember this particular beeping alert, and how it doesn’t go away, no matter what they do! That is, unless they open up the Heart Game, and answer the question.

Welcome back everyone! It’s so good to see you again! Now let’s play that game, Confession! And the question isssssss…

How do you celebrate the changing seasons! Don't be shy!

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[ he doesn't want to see star wars HAH get it ]

A place called Liberio— It's in the Nation of Marley, on Earth. [ but, you see??? that's where things get strange too! ] They say here looks a lot like Earth, too, but I've never seen anything like it. South Sister isn't an island . . .

[ as far as he knows. ]

But it is, here. I was told that there're a lot of different Earths.

[Eyegee what you did there.]

You mean to say multiple versions of Earth?

[This is all so confusing.]

[The flash of light once more takes Catra by surprise, and when she turns back to look -- there's Adora, her Adora, looking just how she's supposed to.

It's true, of course, that Catra has absolutely no more information than Adora. That's an irrelevant fact, and Catra's going to disregard it with a flippant wave of her hand.]

I'm not gonna get distracted by some sword on the ground. [Catra totally would've gone for it first if she'd seen it, but -- shh. She has the higher ground on this one, and she's going to use it.

But her hand pauses in the air, her eyes narrowing critically as she takes in Adora's face. Rounded cheekbones, check. Strong jaw, check. Grey eyes, check. Normal, taut blonde ponytail and poof -- check.

...And no traces of the lantern guts Catra had smeared on them. Which is insulting, given that Catra's fur is stiffened and sticky with the stuff. As casual as she'd been with She-Ra, the way Catra handles Adora - grabbing her shoulder and holding her in place while she steps a quick and offended circle of observation around her - is ease born from a lifetime of familiarity.

And so is the way she gets up in her face immediately after.]

Where'd all the orange stuff go? [She says it like it's an accusation. Which it is, really. How is the process of cleaning out Catra's fur supposed to be any bit redeemed if Adora's not scrubbing orange stains out of her skin next to her?] Don't tell me you magicked it away!

[--She will believe in Adora's magic powers only when it suits her.]

—Yeah! Like alternate realities or different planets that look the same and, [ he’s gesturing a lot with his hands, or at least trying to make them help talk some actual sense. ] I think it’s real. Like, you, [ another gesture, ] I’ve seen tanks and armored machines, but . . . Nothing like you. And for Mister Connor, he’s an android too, but, he looks more like me.

[ the word hadn’t been “excited”, but he was getting pretty worked up in chattering. ]

And it’s all normal for others. [ rather abruptly: ] Can you taste?

[ Catra's manhandling is familiar, but it's still been a year since Adora's been on the receiving end as herself. She goes tense under the hand on her shoulder, until she forces herself to relax into the aggressive touch — in other words, basically letting Catra do whatever she wants to her, with only a raised eyebrow as she stands her ground. (Their casual intimacy has always been like this: demanding, rough, and overly familiar. It'd be more surprising if Catra wasn't in her face, given the circumstances.)

At the accusation, she just laughs, grinning as she crosses her (clean) arms over her (also clean) chest. ]

Wow. Did I do that? [ As if she didn't know already. ] Guess it's another part of my special Princess powers. Thanks for helping me figure those out, Catra.

[There's a beat as IG-11 pauses. If he had a mouth, he'd be frowning. If he had a tongue, he'd be able to taste. But as he has neither, he fixes Grice with a blank expression. Which is not all that different from his full range of expressions, really.]

[Something feels weird about Adora, and it's not just the way she stiffens under Catra's hand. Something about her body just feels -- different, and Catra can't quite put her finger on what it is.

(Later, when they're getting ready for bed, she'll wonder how she hasn't noticed how much Adora's filled out lately. But, then, they spend every day together. It's probably just the day apart that's refreshed Catra's eyes, and made her aware of the extra effort Adora must've been putting into her training.)

It's the folding of Adora's arms that draws Catra's attention down to her clean jacket, and the glint of gold at her waist. Curiosity overtakes annoyance for a second, her ears perking forward; and then Catra gets to relieve both emotions, shoving her lantern roughly and suddenly into Adora, counting on her reflexes to automatically grab for it. Which should leave Catra free to reach down and quickly swipe the buckle that should have been stamped with the Horde's symbol but isn't.

If the rest of Adora's belt comes with it, well, Catra can live with that. And if her shove is hard enough that Adora stumbles backwards and slips on the guts of the pumpkin she'd stomped on, that's all the better.]

What the heck is this? [She's holding it up and squinting at it. It looks like -- a wing?] Where did you even get it? [and then, reproachfully:] You didn't pick this up in the Woods too, did you?

[ Oh, for— ] Personal space, Catra!

[ ... Is not something that exists between them, and Adora knows it. Arrogance turns to annoyance when Catra robs her of the buckle (and her belt along with it), but Adora doesn't bother trying to stop her; only shooting her a reproachful look as she grips the lantern with both hands. ]

... Seriously? It's just a belt buckle. [ There's no 'just' about it — her lack of reaction is a dead giveaway that she already knew about the change, when the soldier thing to do would be to immediately check every inch of herself for other oddities. She's stalling, because as much as the Whispering Woods are a bad excuse to keep falling back on, it's not like she has a better one. Unless... ] It was in my hand when I woke up, and I wasn't going back to the Horde, so... I got rid of my old one. To blend in. There's nothing wrong with it, is there?

[ Don't get defensive. Don't get defensive. ]

[Personal space is the thing that applies to people who are not Catra, and she brushes off Adora's claim for it by turning to face away from her. That's how much she respects you, Adora.]

...Huh. [She's buying it, though. It's a story that's easy to believe only because Catra had a badge in her hand earlier, and absolutely no idea how it got there.]

It's fine, I guess. I just didn't expect you to ditch everything so quickly. [It's kind of unnerving, and both totally like and unlike her. Once Adora has her mind set on something, it's always full steam ahead and nothing can stop her -- but it generally takes a while before she hits that stride. It really raises the question: just how long has she been dying to get out of the Horde, and why didn't she say anything about it any of the (numerous!!!) times Catra complained?

Well. Whatever. There's a moment of pause when Catra looks down at her own belt, the red of the Horde's logo staring back up at her, and she's surprised to find herself feeling -- indecisive about it.

It's stupid. There's nothing there for her. Everything she ever cared about in the Fright Zone is here, standing right behind her. She shouldn't have any problem doing what Adora's done, and just... throw the buckle away.

Instead, she's biting her lip, her tail curling hesitantly near her leg. The Fright Zone's a terrible place, but -- it's home. And Shadow Weaver might be a terrible person, but she's still...

...she's something.

Maybe saying that everything she's ever cared about is right behind her isn't the correct way of putting it. It's probably more accurate to say that it's the only person who's ever cared about her that's here.]

We're really not going back?

[ Adora, for all her ignorance, at least has some idea that this must be hard on Catra. Harder than it was for her, anyway. She had the sword, the promise of learning more about herself, the revelation that the Horde was hurting people, to drive her away. Whatever attachments she had in the Horde, Catra included, weren't enough to make her question the details of why anyone else went along with it, beyond the most simplistic of assumptions.

She'd thought that all of them, every single Horde soldier, had to be either blind to the truth, like her, or serving Hordak out of malice alone, with no room for shades of grey. If not one, then it had to be the other, and at Thaymor, Catra chose the latter. She hadn't understood, then, that the Horde had already hurt Catra, long before Adora did. That she stayed, knowingly, not because she was evil, but because she had nowhere else to go, and maybe that wouldn't have been enough to keep her there either, if not for Adora.

Adora, who left the moment she could, without looking back. Adora, who made her feel second best, who let Shadow Weaver hurt her when she took the fall. She asked Catra to follow her so many times, but it only made Catra hate her more, because she didn't ask when it mattered most. Didn't understand that it mattered at all, until it was too late, and they were staring at each other through the rubble and smoke of blown-apart homes, stuck on opposites sides of a war neither of them were supposed to care about more than each other.

She's never going to make that mistake again. Etheria comes first, but she's not sacrificing Catra for it, no matter what Light Hope says her destiny is. ]

We're really not going back. [ She puts her hand on Catra's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. ] If anything happens... if we don't make it to the Rebellion before the Horde catches up with us... run. Just get somewhere safe, and don't look back for me. I'll hold them off.

[ For Glimmer's sake, she strode into the heart of the Fright Zone and gave herself up to Shadow Weaver. As terrified as she is of the sorceress, she'd do the same for Catra — this Catra, the one who looks so small and unsure of herself, wholly different from the Force Captain who wanted to destroy She-Ra in front of her friends, in front of everything she loved, including the person doing it — in a heartbeat. If She-Ra can't even do that much, can't save one person, then what good is she? What good is Adora? ]

[Unlike the way Adora had stiffened, Catra's shoulders relax under Adora's familiar touch. There's nervousness tight in her stomach, and a foreboding feeling heavy in her chest, but they both ease with the reassuring confidence of Adora's grip.]

What? [The instruction takes her off-guard, and Catra turns her head to look at Adora in surprise. Then her ears fall back, and Catra's eyebrows furrow into a frown as she raises a hand to cover Adora's own.] And leave you out there on your own? No way. I can take on anything they send after us just as well as you can. Just because I can't punch a hole in a tank or whatever--

[Catra scoffs, and moves to turn around to face her again; still keeping hold of Adora's hand.]

Whatever they throw at us, we can handle it as long as we're together. So don't even think about splitting up, okay? [Not least because Catra is terrified at the prospect of doing this alone; of sprinting away to safety, and leaving her best friend in trouble. One night was bad enough, giving her a taste of what it's like to fall asleep without the sound of Adora's breathing nearby. Catra couldn't handle it if she had to do it for any longer than that.] I just -- wanted to check, before I go and ruin a perfectly good belt. You don't have to think that hard about it.

[ after staring expectantly at the droid until his eyes began to drift side to side —he’ll take that as a no, he supposes? he was going to get orange juice since every robot he’s seen until now can taste. don’t worry, ig-11. it’s okay to be archaic. ]

—I’ll just show you around.

[ the town awaits! ]

i. los cambios —

[ There's a shootout, the Charon soldiers bursting into the office—and then Lopez is here, on an average street in an average town in who-knows-where. He looks around, turning in a short arc. ]

Huh.

[ He has a tendency to talk to himself, borne of being the only one that ever holds it together in any given situation, being the only one that can even understand what it is he has to say. So he starts muttering to himself in his usual monotone, robotic voice. ]

Figures I'd end up alone.

[ He starts then, gives another little turn, trying to work out what's going on here. ]

What? Why am I speaking English? I can't speak English!

ii. las calabazas —

[ Lopez walks up to the front of a shop where a line of pumpkins is arranged, almost blocking his way in. Slightly annoyed, he gives the pumpkin closest to the middle a good kick. ]

What do you think you're doing, in the middle of the way?

[ The pumpkin rolls over to the edge of the front stoop and lands on its side. And then the expressions on the pumpkins' faces seem to change.

Lopez looks at them. ]

I'm going out of my mind.

iii. juego de corazones —

[ Lopez frowns when the beeping begins, eventually giving up on knocking the device against the table and selecting the game instead. He's annoyed at the question and tries to ignore it, but he can't. It won't let him. ]

I'm not shy. And I don't celebrate the seasons. I've never been in a place where the seasons changed.

I would appreciate it. Lead the way.

[Sabriel watches the pumpkin roll, and the way the expressions of the surrounding pumpkins shift.]

But they're just- pumpkins. [Perhaps this is a clever bit of magic. Or something else... Sabriel's fairly certain it's not possible to house Dead spirits in gourds, and the pumpkins don't feel Dead anyway.

Still, Sabriel moves the closest pumpkins out of the way of the door, and turns to the armored man.]

I think you should be a little more careful.

[ Lopez turns. He hadn't been aware anyone was watching, especially not this close to him. ]

Oh, sure, be careful of the sentient pumpkins.

[ Despite his words, however, he is a little disturbed by the apparent shift in the pumpkins' expressions. They must be some kind of animatronic pumpkins, he decides moments later. So they could be sentient, just like him. But...it won't do to show any kind of fear toward them. Lopez picks up the pumpkin he had kicked and pulls its cut top off, looking inside. ]

It's just a candle. Not brains.

It could be some sort of spirit. [Sabriel vaguely recalls her father mentioning such things existing in the far north- wood cut and carved to act as a vessel for a Free magic entity.

But those, from what she understood, had legs. The only thing that seems to move with these are their expressions. She kneels by one, observing it carefully, like she half expects it to lunge at her, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword.]

But why would it be inside a pumpkin? Why not choose a vessel that can move?

Spirit. Yes. Because that would make things so much better.

[ Lopez, of course, does not believe in spirits of any kind.

He puts the pumpkin down after replacing its lid, probably a bit too harshly. He can tell it is, really, since the pumpkins suddenly look even more put out. ]

Seriously, who's controlling these?

[ He stands up straight and looks around. ]

It would be an explanation, although while they seem unhappy, they're not hostile. Or perhaps they're just cleverly made constructs?

[Sabriel doesn't quite catch the disbelief... but she closes her eyes and concentrates for a second, before shaking her head and standing up, regarding the man solemnly.]

If something's controlling them, I can't feel it. They seem to be operating independently, so perhaps we should just leave them alone?

[ He looks at her in disbelief, letting out a little grunt. ]

How would you expect to feel it?

Because I'm a mage. [Sabriel touches her forehead, and feels her baptismal mark glow beneath her fingertip]

If the pumpkins were being magically controlled somehow... I should be able to trace the source of it.

[ Adora blinks, surprised, then sets her mouth in a firm line. Overthinking is her whole thing, but she can't just stop. She needs to make sure they have a plan, before something inevitably goes wrong, the way it always seems to. Because, like always, it'll be her fault when it does. ]

You're not being serious about this. There's no way you can take on a whole squad. [ She states it matter-of-factly; not even humouring Catra's attempts at posturing to make herself feel better. The past year has given Adora a hefty dose of reality, and shown exactly what the Horde is capable of. Destruction. Torture. Killing. ] And She-Ra's strong, but even she's... even she's not invincible.

[ She's reluctant to admit it, but Catra carved proof of that into her back just yesterday. Adora hadn't lost their fight, but she might have, if not for all the other Princesses — and while nobody else knows Adora's weaknesses like Catra does, a stun baton and rope would still do the job well enough, if she got distracted. Like, say, by protecting her former best friend.

... Current best friend. The one who's just trying to look out for her, too, but Adora can't accept that, because it's not Catra's job to look after her. It's not anybody's. ]

Look... we stick together, even if the Horde shows up. But for once in your life, Catra, listen if I tell you to run. Find reinforcements, I don't care, but go. I can fight better without any distractions. [ Again: it's harsher than she intends, but she needs Catra to understand. ] Leaving was my idea. I'm not gonna let you get hurt because of it.

[ Not again. Not like all the other times Shadow Weaver hurt Catra for something they both did, something Adora let herself be goaded into taking the initiative on, only to suffer none of the consequences. If she'd found out about the stolen skiff, Catra would have been blamed for that, too, even when Adora was the one who snuck into the vehicle bay and took the keys. Adora's only punishment would have been the I'm very disappointed in you speech, with all its veiled threats, and the painful guilt of needing to be better; knowing she was responsible for whatever happened to Catra after she was sent back to the barracks with shadows licking at her heels, as if mocking her for her failures. ]

Um...

[The concern increaseth. Morgan's brow creases further. And just to reiterate the sentiment: What the fuck.]

Okay, you got me. I mean, I'm told I have a pretty dark sense of humor, but even I'm not sure how to make a witty joke out of that one.

[Are you OKAY, KATE?]

Maybe something about being hung up like a Christmas ornament? Though it's the wrong season for that.

[Well, she did try, at the very least! And doesn't seem offput by making light of the situation either.]

[ He'd almost feel like contradicting her or protesting in some way except that...he just doesn't care that much. ]

Sure. Why not. A mage.

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2nd Event: Choices We Make

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Lopez the Heavy | Red vs. Blue

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ii

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