xii λ the apple

[assassino]

[He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

At first there's just a weird feeling in him, something that makes it feel like his insides are vibrating, reverberating from the Apple in his hand.

Then it bursts, like an explosion, with a gold light tearing across the room in all directions. It vanishes into the walls, and Ezio can't see where it goes, but he's startled enough to drop the Apple. He feels winded.

Elsewhere in the castle, humans may have just felt like something tried to invade their head, and unless the castle chose to protect them from it, it'll hurt like a blast to the head.

And then it's gone.

What the hell was that?]



[Mini event post here! And an video example of what this looks like! Again, it won't effect non-humans, and any psychics who probe "back" at it will know whatever did it isn't organic.]

Comments

[supes]

[He puts his hands up in the air, as a show of no harmful intent, and he moves back a number of paces. This dude obviously wants some space. Calmly:]

I saw the lights, but I didn't feel anything. Can I help you in any way? Maybe sit down for a moment, get you a glass of water?

[workaphilic]

You can help by shutting up.

[He twists in place, his hands in his hair. He's trying to understand, but his thoughts keep stumbling over all the irrelevant ones that have been drawn up to the surface. It frustrates him more, exacerbates the hyperventilation.

Then he whirls on Clark again.]

Tell me what you saw. Exactly. Now.

[Apparently the "shut up" rule only applies when he says it does.]

[supes]

[Clark nods. Anything to make someone's time a little easier, if they're already in pain or trouble.]

Gold lights, spreading outward. I'm not sure where the central point is. [He taps into his superhearing for a second.] You weren't the only one who felt pain from it.

[workaphilic]

[A sound tears from him that should be a laugh but isn't.]

But you didn't, despite being in my immediate vicinity. Nothing. No pressure, no discomfort. Just a lovely light show on the walls for you to admire.

[Why? Why? There's a reason, he knows it, he can feel it. It's hanging there, a scrap of information that got dislodged.]

[supes]

[Pointedly:]

I'm not human.

[workaphilic]

[He waves his hands impatiently.]

You've a brain, haven't you?

[supes]

[Patiently:]

Not a human one. I don't feel a lot of things humans would.

[workaphilic]

No, that doesn't make sense. Shouldn't be relevant unless--

[He's pacing, now. Excess stress released as excess energy.

Until he stops, abruptly, his hands dropping to his sides.]

Oh.

[supes]

[Clark is going back and forth between listening around for Lois and listening to Sherlock.]

What is it?

[workaphilic]

Nothing. Not yet. I need data.

[He can't say it out loud, anyway, and there's no way he's letting any more people find out about his loss. Too many variables.]

[supes]

[Very helpful, Sherlock.]

What kind of data? I might be able to help.

[workaphilic]

Right now you're an anomaly. Can't draw a conclusion from that, can I? I need larger samples, people who were affected and people who weren't.

[This is good, this is progress. A clear train of thought helps realign everything else; things are slowly starting to slot back into place.]

[supes]

Throwing the question up on the journal will probably get you the fastest results on that.

[workaphilic]

Obviously.

[Except he doesn't have it on him, because at it's worst the journal is just a noisy distraction, and the only people he deems worthy enough to interrupt him right now have his mobile number.]

In the meantime, thoughts? A radius of effect, anything actually useful.