Once upon a time, in a land not so far away...
You wake to the feeling of being watched. Of a set of unfamiliar eyes, of warm breath on the back of your neck. A jolt back to the land of the living, and it's gone. No matter how quick you are, how sneaky, the source of the disruption has long since disappeared, so you have no choice but to try and ignore it. To continue on with your day and try to set that moment of strangeness aside.
You eat, drink, speak with others. Perhaps you explore a little. Whatever it is you choose to do for the day, that feeling from the morning won't return. And by the time the sun sets and the moon glows brightly above, you've likely set those moments of strangeness aside. It's not like it's anything new, after all.
It's the same again for the next few days. No better, no worse. Something best ignored, right?
A speck of blood on the doorframe. That wasn't there before, was it?
A snap of twigs in the distance. A crunch of leaves.
Claw marks gouged deeply into the door.
Into the wall above your bed.
Scraps of red fabric, turned darker with blood. Pieces of fur. Of flesh.
Do you run and hide? Do you fight? Whatever you choose, it's definitely time to make sure your body parts aren't scattered next...
...what a horribly big mouth you have.
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Since first waking up on the island, characters have been stuck with that feeling of being watched. It isn't a constant. Isn't more than a few seconds at a time, dotted throughout the day. Investigation has never turned up much, and there's never been any sightings of the cause of it all.
Until now.
Throughout the first half of the week, characters will find themselves suffering from that feeling of being watched on a far more constant basis. Rather than it being a one-off, few seconds occurrence each day, that feeling will last for minutes at a time, and on multiple occasions.
However, it isn't until the fifth day that they'll start stumbling across physical signs of their monitoring. There are claw marks on doors. Spots of blood on the paths outside. A crack of twigs in the forests, or the imprint of bloodied paws in the snow.
Ten days in and those signs start finding their way indoors. Wet footprints, tinged with red. Claw marks in the walls, the floor. Torn sheets and the smell of wet...something. Whatever it is that's been watching you, its finally decided to come and say hello.
Two weeks in and characters will begin to have sightings of the creature, its fur dark and its eyes a glowing yellow. At times it looks like a wolf, prowling in the distance. At other times, it's walking on its hind legs, almost human were it not for the muzzle full of gleaming sharp teeth. Get too close, and it slips away like a shadow, gone between one blink and the next. It decides when to reach out to characters, not the other way round.
It's after characters finally get a good look at the creature that it starts leaving...gifts. Characters will start to find familiar items from their home worlds amidst the mess. The remains of a childhood pet, perhaps. Photographs of loved ones, faces torn almost beyond recognition. It's only once it delivers its final gift that the creature retreats to the trees again: a blood-splattered item of clothing that clearly belongs to the person the character misses the most at the time, alive or dead.
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W-who...
[there's a question there. but one he can't find the words for. he wants to know who she is. wants to know where the hell may is. but instead, it's taking every ounce of his focus to try and remember how to do that whole breathing thing first.]
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[It's a patient explanation. She's not interested in rushing him through recovery. He has every right to be shaken. The important thing is if something comes she will not waiver. He's perfectly safe like this as far as she's concerned.]
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breathe in. out. in. out.
he can do this.]
My aunt. [they're words that're whispered quietly, minutes later. his breathing may not be fully under control yet, his heart still beating out of his chest. but he needs to say something. needs to at least try to regain control.]
Something has her. [because she isn't here. he may not have any way to be certain. but there's still a part of him that knows that.] Something brought this here, and I-- I don't know why.
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[She can't promise she'll be alive. She'll retrieve the woman even if it's only her bones. Gamora doesn't think it'll come to that considering what he has a hold of.] It's a good sign they gave you her clothing. They want you to think the worst because it hasn't happened.
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instead, he's here. wanting nothing more than to hide away from the world. to wake up and find out that this is all a bad dream, and may is really just asleep in the next room. but as active as his imagination may be sometimes, even he can't fool himself in to believing that.]
...I need to wash this. [may's sweater. it's something to distract himself with. not to mention--] She'll be mad if I don't. S'hard to get blood out when it's dried. [because he definitely has a lot of experience when it comes to that.]
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for a long moment, peter just stands there, his grip tight around the material in his hand, entirely ignorant of how it causes drops of blood to drip onto the floor. of how his hands are turning redder by the second. but when his gaze finally flicks towards the sink in the corner--]
I have to go to the lake. [because there's no way he can do this anywhere near where he's staying. not if he plans on being able to sleep through the night again.] ...will you come with me? [never mind that she's a complete stranger to him. she's been trying to help, and that's enough to have his trust.]
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[She might have to double back to get rid of those drops at some point. One problem at a time.]
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so instead, he heads off out the door, only the briefest amount of hesitation there when he has to pull it open to get out. but soon enough he's off towards the lake, silent the entire way. right until he's able to dunk the sweater into the water and start scrubbing at it. it's only then that his shoulders start to shake, tears barely held back as shock finally starts to set in properly.
what if this is may's blood?]
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Gamora takes a swift look around, but it won't change her actions whatsoever. Her nondominant hand goes to grip his shoulder tightly to comfort him.]
You don't have to do this. We'll get her another sweater. [It's not about the sweater. They both know that. Gamora won't touch that topic until he's ready.]
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[his voice is quiet, but no less firm in his words. cleaning her sweater means ridding it of all traces of his possible failure. of not being able to protect her from whatever this place is. if he can just get those stains to disappear, then maybe he can...
can what?
his fingers still abruptly, and peter wipes at his face, anger starting to take root in place of his despair. something here has may, and here he is focusing on her sweater. on washing something that she might never get to wear again. not if he's too busy wallowing in grief to do something about finding her.
letting the sweater go, he pays it absolutely no mind as it starts drifting away, and instead he stares up at gamora.]
It's still out there. [whatever it was that left that sweater. that's been stalking all of them since they arrived.]
We have to stop it before it hurts anyone.
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Even if it hasn't harmed anyone, it is still threatening to. I can't allow it to live.
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We should ask Mr. Starlord to come with us too.
[seeing as he was supposedly up there to fight thanos too. that makes him a hero, which means that peter can trust him.]
I need to go get my suit first though.
[not that karen will be much use here, given that she's offline. but he at least needs his shooters if they're going to try and hunt down the creature in the woods.]
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And whatever you need to get your aunt back. Let's go.
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Wait. You're Gamora. Mr. Starlord's girlfriend.
[and mother of their tree...baby. okay, space is weird.]
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Sorry. It's just-- My name's Peter too, so it's still kinda weird hearing that.
[not that it's the first time he's met another peter. but given how few people there are here, what're the chances?]