Repose

[After this.]

[Call: Cat C]
[Ring!]

[The package isn't delivered in any sort of normal way. No courier. No mailman come with a wee box, no. It was delivered by the store's raven Scéal, who came gleefully rap-tap-tapping at his window. The package itself is not large, slightly smaller than a paper towel tube, wrapped in white paper with a single piece of gold ribbon tied at each end and looped in the center for easy carrying. Inside is a small roller ball phial, filled with a slightly yellow tinged liquid; on it the label reads migraine cure, and in her own even handwriting is written: Apply topically to temples. A green sachet contains two packets of willow bark tea, already in American style tea bags, with a quick handwritten note: Steep for five minutes. Drink hot. The third item is a small tube filled with golden, viscous liquid - the promised honey, just enough to sweeten two cups of tea if used indulgently. Finally, and tucked against the side of the roll is a purple and gilt-gold business card for Chrysalis.]

[When the bakery opens on Tuesday morning, the same employee is working the register, but there's someone else in back baking. The blonde head bowed over the kneading table is familiar to regular (long-term) customers of the bakery, and it can be noted that the offerings are once again just a little bit better than they have been for the past few months. She talks to just a few people to confirm that she'll be helping with the baking but not with the register. And that it's a trial basis.

Though the bakery is still open for its usual hours, the baker is gone by noon.

The sorts of people that gossip will note among themselves that she goes straight from the bakery to the preschool to pick up the adorable little daughter of that one veterinarian - you know, the one that works with the farms. And did you know? Apparently they're living together. Oh, that's old news, she's been there for months, where have you been? She doesn't look as sick, so at least there's that, though her shirt is far too big on her. Don't be stupid, that's obviously not her shirt. Did you hear...?]

[She's out the next day with her sprayer again, but the plants have changed. Which she sees and notices and is even more upset about, but unfortunately she gets too close too fast. And she knows it immediately.

In future days, she'll never quite remember how she got back to the woods. And especially not to her cottage. She's seen too much over the years, and some of it starts to come back, twisted and warped. She knows it'll fade - eventually - if she just holds on.

The last three people (the only three people) she contacted on the forum all get the same message:]

STAAY AWY FRIM THEM

[From there, she tries to brew tea, something to clear away hallucinations, but she drops everything on the floor, throws the kettle across the kitchen (at something crawling out of the shadows). With the spores in her lungs and on her skin, she gets herself into the shower and lets it pour over her and her clothes, hoping that the frigid water will help wash it all away.

It doesn't.]

[She was trying to be nice, spreading a little comfort around a little town devoid of it. But when this happens, she gets a little cranky. The Star of Bethlehem keeps popping up around town, but now it has friends. Silene Capensis, the dream root, and coming into contact with it causes vivid, vivid nightmares. The little white flower's effect goes on for hours and hours, and it must be a very special blend. But there has to be some color in the garden that is claiming the town, and Desfontania joins the little white bulbs. The bushes pop up like weeds, and inhaling the spores is said to cause visions. And the visions this strain causes, they seem to be very real. Luckily, not all residents are susceptible.]

[After this.]

I know I saw him. He was here, just outside.

I know it was him. I know it.

But I can't-

He's got to be around here somewhere.

Has anyone else seen him? Tall? He was wearing a dark suit. And he's got an accent... Scottish. Impossible to miss.

[After this edition of the paper runs, The Cat offers a free drink to anyone who brings in a copy. They get to leave with their publication, and they only need brandish the legally-acquired paper at the bar. The offer is valid from opening-closing on Tuesday.]

[Locked to Gwen R]
Gwendy!

[While waiting for May to get out of the shower.]

Stay away from the flowers. Both the wee white ones, and the red bells.

I wonder if we change the name of the town from Crazy Town to Funky Town things will get weirder or stay the same just with a little bit more rhythm.

[Matt D]

Want to bust me out of this place for a few hours? I've got like fifteen newspapers. :D

[Witch sibs lock]

Hey!

So [...]

Something kind of came up and I want to talk to you about it before I decide anything.

[The story in the paper that runs that week is less puff piece, more editorial. It traces the computer incident back to its origins, indicates the forum as an outlet for those seeking absolution or confirmation from their peers and without spelling out a name and in exacting line with the letter of the law on libel and slander, lays the burden of the ransomware at a particular individual's feet. There's a token reference to the pile of strange incidents stacking up over the course of the year. It runs alongside a piece on the Capital chaos and a small column on the church hysteria of a few weeks back that is now passing memory but of course, no provcation has yet been traced.]

Oh, of course the town goes insane the very moment I get my head screwed on right. The carnival will be closed this weekend due to unforeseen floral circumstances.

[Locked to Casey D]
[During this.]

HEY. This Etain chick says she was fucking Neil and that he's in town. He isn't in town, is he?????

Clerk at the gas station outside town had an acid trip in the middle of counting change earlier, and it didn't look like she knew it was coming. Had to take her to the hospital, what the fuck's going on?