#plot drop 1

A COLETIVA DE IMPRENSA

A pacata vizinhança de Jackson Garden se mostrava mais agitada e apreensiva com a circulação de tantos forasteiros. Pela primeira vez, um mês depois o desaparecimento de Victoria Patterson, o xerife Quentin Murphy aceitou falar publicamente sobre o caso na subprefeitura do distrito. Dezenas de repórteres de Bridgeport se reuniram no local, preparado como um auditório para a coletiva de imprensa, e aguardaram a chegada do xerife enquanto alguns moradores curiosos se aninhavam nos cantos da sala para obter informações. Nunca antes a subprefeitura estivera tão cheia.

“Bom dia a todos” o xerife Murphy disse, testando os vários microfones apoiados sobre um palanque central. Era um homem alto e forte, com o semblante abatido quase se escondendo atrás da sobrancelhas escuras. Ele olhou para a família Patterson, reunida a poucos metros de distância, como se estivesse se desculpando, e começou a falar.

“Como vocês sabem, três semanas atrás encontramos Victoria Patterson, de vinte e um anos, sem vida em uma residência local. A investigação acerca das circunstâncias da morte ainda estão em andamento e não podemos compartilhar todos os detalhes, mas gostaria de oferecer meus agradecimentos à força policial de Bridgeport, que tanto tem nos ajudado.” Ele limpou a garganta com um pigarro, os olhos fixos em um papel sobre o palanque. Parecia nunca ter feito algo do tipo antes. “Também gostaria de deixar meus sentimentos à família da vítima e à comunidade, que tem sido tão forte neste momento tão desafiador na história de Jackson Garden. Quanto à segurança dos moradores, estamos com reforços na delegacia e providenciando medidas para garantir que nada mais aconteça. Até o caso ser solucionado, todas as festas no distrito deverão ser autorizadas e acompanhadas por nós da polícia.” O xerife reorganizou os papéis e levantou o olhar para os repórteres. “Obrigado. Agora sim. Perguntas?”

Diversas vozes agitadas se sobrepunham em resposta, sem que nada pudesse ser compreendido. Quentin Murphy apontou para uma mulher loira de meia idade, usando um terno verde limão.

“Xerife, a causa da morte já foi determinada? É verdade que a vítima sofreu uma overdose? Por que medidas tão estritas em uma vizinhança tão calma?” ela questionou, o olhar firme e crítico.

“Os testes toxicológicos ainda estão em análise, mas o mais provável é que a causa da morte tenha sido um ferimento à bala no lado direito da cabeça. Foram encontradas diversas impressões digitais na arma do crime, porém ainda não descartamos a hipótese de suicídio. Existe a possibilidade de termos um assassino à solta, então precisamos fazer de tudo para proteger as crianças de Jackson Garden.”

A repórter fez anotações sobre a declaração e Quentin Murphy apontou para um homem alto no fundo no auditório.

“Onde o corpo da senhorita Patterson estava? Onde aconteceu o crime?” ele perguntou.

“Ainda não estamos certos de que aconteceu algum crime, mas o corpo da vítima foi encontrado no quarto do pânico da residência onde, dias antes, ocorreu uma festa com os jovens locais. O legista estima que Victoria Patterson tenha morrido naquela noite. Como o quarto estava isolado e climatizado, os moradores não teriam como perceber o que estava lá.”

Assim como a mulher anterior, o repórter voltou a atenção a um bloco de notas.

“Última pergunta” o xerife disse, e apontou para mais um jornalista.

“Vocês tem algum suspeito? Quem foi interrogado? Alguém foi preso?”

“Estamos atentos a algumas pessoas de interesse e conversamos com diversos moradores locais, a família da vítima e os convidados da festa, naturalmente. Por enquanto é tudo que posso dizer. Obrigado pela atenção.”

Alguns repórteres se levantaram para tentar alcançar o xerife, contudo, outros policiais os impediram. Quentin Murphy passou por uma porta e desapareceu de vista, provavelmente destinado de volta à delegacia.

“While I have you here, Ash,” Fen says, as she shuffles through her pocket, digging around for her phone, “Do you think you could put the wifi on here? Knowing you, it probably has a hundred layers of firewalls and crazy passwords,” she teases gently. “My nephew would probably love it, though, he’s all about tech these days.”

                                                CHAPTER ONE : THE CITY

WHEN: August 15th, 1915

WHERE: Cairo, Egypt 

There is one week until the expedition begins, and it’s already a mess. With little preparation and planning in advance, they are down to the wire with a bare bones team and minimal idea of where they are going. The worst part about not being prepared is that they don’t know exactly how unprepared they are. Which is exactly why they need some local professionals to join them in order to prevent a silly mistake from causing total disaster. 

So, BEN GOODWIN, is currently roaming the streets of Cairo, asking the citizens if there are any tour guides for hire, or even just someone who could give them some insight as to how to safely cross the desert. Most of the people of Cairo ignore him and others offer wild goose chases, but there is one name that keeps coming up repeatedly: RAMSES SAMIR. It took awhile to find him, but now that Ben has united with the young local, it’s imperative that he convince Ramses to join the mission, or else the team might be headed out into certain danger totally oblivious. 

Meanwhile,  VIOLET OLDFIELD and HAROLD BERL are at The Eygptian Museum of Antiques, going through the Goodwins’ temporary office. With both the personal collection and some borrowed pieces accessible to the team, the two must pack up what they feel is necessary and won’t be useless weight for the journey. Perhaps, it was Edith who should have been doing this but she delegated the job to her assistant and nephew. The two of them are in charge of packing maps, translation guides, and any other book that might offer some insight on how to survive the desert and the tomb. 

EDITH GOODWIN is preoccupied anyway, currently at the hotel in Cairo where the group is staying. In the lounge, their designated meeting place and collective recreation area, Edith was writing a letter when she was interrupted by the sound of OFRAH SELASSIE and MERYEM ALKAN arguing, rather loudly. As the self-declared leader of the mission, Edith should be the one to quell arguments as they break out. But Ofrah and Meryem both seem  determined to stay at each other's throats when discussing varied opinions about how to approach the mission and stay safe. With antagonism rising so early on, the expedition is sure to be filled with disagreements. 

While that’s going on, ANTHONY PEREZ, the benefactor of the expedition is trying to find more assistance for the team. He’s heard rumors of twin brothers who can offer services vital for any adventure. So he heads to the combination mechanics shop and boxer’s gym where the two have been seen hanging around the past couple days. There he finds them, looking even taller and broader than the rumors caused him to anticipate. SEAN and SHAWN RHODES-GOLDMAN are available for hire but Anthony suspects no one would be stupid enough to go out into the desert without some convincing. 

THE OBJECTIVE: Prepare for the expedition and recruit additional members. 

✵ when the dust finally settled and the uneasiness faded from the air, cass genuinely had no idea anything even happened. magic folk moving into the area meant more weird events happened and who was she to question something that seemed sooooo harmless. guess you could say the jokes on her because it isn’t until she’s accidentally taking her work locker off the hinge that she realizes maybe things are completely fine in rome pines after all. 

✵ she isn’t exactly sure how to take her enhanced strength, and honestly is very concerned about hurting someone accidentally and for someone who would rather choke than call out of work- she does. multiple days in a row. 

                             𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐀-𝐅𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐀 ── 01h30min.

As luzes piscavam no ritmo das batidas da música eletrônica que soava por todo o campus, a festa de boas-vindas da OSU parecia estar ainda no começo mesmo que houvessem alunos e alguns funcionários já embriagados. O falatório demonstrava o quão envolvidos todos estavam… E vulneráveis. Tão desligados, ninguém percebeu as figuras estranhas que saíam do prédio principal aos risos, entrando em um carro e indo embora. O DJ contratado por um dos alunos se preparava para a próxima música que tocaria, quando todas as luzes se apagaram. Um enorme apagão que atingiu toda a universidade. Os alunos não se encontravam apenas na escuridão, como também no total silêncio até que veio a explosão de vozes se perguntando o que tinha acontecido. Tentativas de restaurar a energia foram feitas e nenhuma teve sucesso. Apenas meia hora depois as luzes voltaram na companhia de um barulho ensurdecedor de sirene se fez presente por todo o campus. Então a voz de um desconhecido se fez presente pelos alto-falantes que antes tocavam a música da festa. “Vocês acharam mesmo que iriam ter um início de ano tão calmo, tigers? Depois do que fizeram com a gente no ano passado decidimos dar o troco. Pegamos o precioso troféu de vocês e escondemos. Vocês tem até o amanhecer pra encontrar. Se não conseguirem só vão provar que são uns perdedores. Fomos bonzinhos e colocamos dicas em pontos específicos… E umas surpresas também. Tenham muito cuidado se não quiserem se sujar. Peace, suckers!” E desta forma deu-se início a tradicional gincana entre a OSU e a Columbus State Community College, uma competição amigável que resulta em prêmios para os alunos de ambas as universidades. Que vença o melhor!

INFORMAÇÕES OOC.

They made it into the cave and rested for a bit out of the sunlight at last, but soon enough it got dark and there was a great sound from outside.

They went out to investigate, Darby bringing the bag with them so as not to have it be taken or swept up in the water that had begun to rise. They were wading now through calf-deep water and she didn’t want to know what would happen if the water kept rising.

Outside there was shallow enough water on the shore to walk, hugging the cliff walls, around towards the bay where the water was choppy.

“The cave may flood,” she said, clutching her breathing device in her hand, watching the water nervously.

Aesha hummed nervously to herself as the whispers around her grew louder and more forceful, though she seemed to be unable to decipher anything for herself. It seemed to be this way often, for the cleverer forces of the universe seemed to always tread far beyond her grasp. She knew if she were to garner any information of real value, she would have to turn to those around her, hoping that the the more loquacious instincts of the people of Parakram would bear well in her quest for information. An open ear, as it occasionally turned out, could often produce rather successful results. 

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to know what everyone’s chattering about, would you? I’ve managed to catch something about a tiger, but I some how feel a tiger loose in the palace might have caused more commotion...” 

There was really no telling how long Katara had been standing there, back against a wall away from the chaos that had exploded in front of the Fire Nation courtyard, watching the protesters. Though her intent had been to follow Aang’s lead and keep an eye on things outside during Zuko’s council meeting in case anything had gotten out of hand, the moment the mass of people began to swarm the streets, eyes alight with a mixture of passion and desperation for change, Katara found herself glued to the wall. And there, she had remained. Through the protesters’ loud, angry calls for representation. Through Aang’s attempt to calm the crowd. Through Zuko’s speech. Through it all, Katara had done something so far outside of her own character that she felt a tiny sliver of guilt—she had done nothing.

It wasn’t because she had been afraid. (After all, the gang had found themselves in much scarier, more dangerous predicaments over the past few years.) It wasn’t because she didn’t support Zuko. (If she was going to support anyone, it would most definitely be the person who had fought so hard to do the right thing.) It was because something about the crowd, loudly rising up to make their feelings known, reminded her of all the times during their travels they had encountered downtrodden people who had been silenced by their oppressors—of all the pain that had just been accepted as part of day to day life. And these protesters? They had silently suffered under the rule of a narcissistic despot, whose idea of a great nation was synonymous with its military prowess, for simply too long. No one should have to live like that. No, the protesters’ concerns were valid; their voices should be heard.