[OPEN!] Beneath the halo of a streetlamp -

[orderfromchaos]

Who: Dillon and YOU. Anyone who might be roaming at night, or he could help out someone who got stuck after hours.
When: At night, after sirens, any time in the last week.
Where: Wandering all over the island.
Summary: Dillon exploring.
Warnings: Here be monsters? Dillon repels the Seeping Darkness, though. His permissions post is here.



At first, it had just been early mornings on the roof of Towers, breathing in the cool pre-dawn air, tasting the breeze off the North Pacific as he watched the crumbled concrete resume its smooth, undamaged shape a few minutes earlier than it should . It was such a relief, to just let the crackling, fissioning, endless power of the scorpion star spill out of him, to let it fling itself against the darkness, batter it back a few grudging feet, and draw down the constant riptide inside him.

But soon enough he was spending whole nights on the streets, meandering through the transformed city, deliberately avoiding walking in a grid, just to be contrary, observing the monsters and the people tough enough to hunt them. It's completely different from the port in the day, but it's still an inextricable part of the pattern.

Comments

aaa I hope this format is okay!

[aslandish]

[ Indeed, the world of Siren's Port is very different at night. There are those who slink through the shadows and do battle with the creatures that plague the evening hours. However, there also those who walk and do not faint.

The miasma rolls back as he approaches, a bright figure unlike any other. He sees the young man and pauses, a strange if not unearthly sort of intelligence in those golden eyes. ]

[mouthbreathing]

When he'd passed through Sector 9 during the day, Warsman knew it would be bad at night. There was a terrible inevitability to the despair he could sense that the night only amplified, a hopelessness that seeped into every alleyway and every corner with the acrid reek of the Darkness. The houses around here barely seemed fit to keep out even the sights and smells of it all.

And the monsters.

They almost certainly couldn't keep out the monsters.

His bear claws were getting a thorough work-out tonight. There seemed to be something on every street, a mutated, staggering lump of flesh for every road, and the thought of any of them getting into someone's home-

Warsman jerked his arm back and his claws slid out of the humanoid creature in front of him, splattering dark blood and viscera onto the pavement and across his boots from four neat lines that split it from chest to hip. The creature dropped to its raw, broken knees in front of him and he stepped away, breathing a shallow legato. The third tonight- but as he looks up, observing his surroundings again, he realises that there's something different here. Things seem less ruined, somehow, in a way he recognises but can't quite pinpoint, as if someone had taken the time to clean away some of the decay.

He's cautious as he approaches the trail of repair, a black figure slinking from shadow to shadow, but hopeful too. And it's his hopefulness that's rewarded when he sees the boy walking ahead of him.

"Dillon?" He surprises himself with the sudden sound of his voice, gently puzzled and concerned.