Link to article: Hour Zero 3.
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[[include :scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar]] [[include :scp-wiki:theme:much-cool]] [[module CSS]] .info-container{ --barColour: #7A3E09; --linkColour: #E5D7B7; } hr { border-top: 1px solid #7A3E09; background-color: transparent; } [[/module]] [[div class="date"]] @@ @@ ------ [[=]] **[[size larger]][[[esterberg-city-wikipedia|The Living District, Esterberg]]][[/size]]** **T-Plus Nine Hours** [[/=]] ------ @@ @@ [[/div]] [[==]] To the two men laying unconscious on the cold ground of Esterberg's Living District, the first lights of November the 25th's morning sun heralded something more than just the start of a new day. To them, those horrid beams meant only one thing: the beginning of the worst hangover of their lives. Groaning like they were bordering on death, the two Willis brothers sat up, now awoken by the rays of the timidly cruel sun. Without as much as checking their surroundings, they rubbed their eyes and exchanged quick looks. When they were indeed sure neither of them had ended the night prior in actual death, they slowly stood up. The headache hit them almost immediately. "Jesus //FUCK//," Lloyd Willis mouthed, grabbing his head in both his hands. He blinked twice -- only one of his eyes cooperating -- and took a step back, propping himself against the cobblestone wall of some Esterbergian house that had the misfortune of meeting them two. "Yep. Yep," his brother said, similar -- though much less dramatic -- in his reaction. "We are never doing that again." Lloyd scratched his nose, suddenly regaining balance upon his feet. "Hey, at least it's better than [[[uiu-file-2014-158|clown milk]]]." Phillip gave his brother a heavy look. "//Everything//'s better than clown milk." Taking a much-needed break after a grand total of half a minute of being alive, both of them blinked once more (Lloyd finding his organism fully functional, this time), exchanged another wordless "yeah," and took a look around their surroundings, realizing they were, in fact, once again in the real world. What hit them next was the realization neither of them had any idea where they were. "I..." Lloyd began, carefully eyeing his own attire. He was no stranger to being called "extravagant," "eccentric," or "borderline insane," but he had to admit, the Roman-esque robe that covered less than half his body was too much, even for him. As was what he supposed was a phone number, engraved upon the palm of his right hand in permanent ritual ink. "Huh." "Hmm," Phillip continued just as eloquently, scanning his own clothes. Just like his brother, he used the word "strange" rather often when referring to himself, but he had to admit he wasn't particularly used to wearing hooded, purple robes. Even if he had to admit the color was tasteful, he'd never fancied himself a mage. Not unless you counted anart, of course. (He didn't.) "Hrm." Lloyd was the first one to sigh. "[[[a-broken-bookshelf|Why do we always end up like this]]]?" "Iunno." His brother shrugged, his words still only barely coherent; the hood that previously covered his curly, brown hair didn't particularly like that movement. "You tell me." "And here I was, thinking [[[project-proposal-2012-120|you were supposed to be the reasonable one]]]." Phillip shrugged again, letting an awkward silence make itself known to both of the hesitantly sober men. "Do you. Uh. Do you remember anything?" Lloyd asked, carefully eyeing his surroundings. While he himself did look deep into his memory, after a single gaze down there greeted him with vertigo equivalent to that on Olympus Mons (he had some experience in that regard), he decided that remembering anything about the last three days wasn't worth the struggle. "Hmm." Phillip furrowed his brows, massaged his temple, and let out a quiet groan as he too attempted to travel down memory lane. For him, the action was just as painful as for Lloyd, though it //did// grant him the questionable honor of a few vague images pushing themselves down his cerebral cortex: * more people than he could count, dancing to the most exotic of music he has ever heard (for what reason or in celebration of what, he could not quite tell); * the pleasant smell of a purple-lipped woman pressing against his forehead, comparable to that of fresh heathers and freshly cut grass; * some indecipherable countdown on a TV in the background, undertaken by creatures and men he did not recognize (he wasn't quite sure, but he thought he could hear one or two fireworks going off in the distance, too); * the inexplicable loss of any remembrance going further than 00:04 (he wasn't certain whether the three bottles of wine he shared with his brother in those four minutes after midnight had anything to do with that, but even if they did, it wasn't like that mattered anymore); * the sudden and terrifying realization the house they partied in was chock-full of the Critic's portraits and personal insignia. Phillip blinked again, and furrowed his brows even further. "Phillip?" Lloyd said, carefully eyeing his brother's reaction. "Is everything..." In response, the older Willis just sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Hey Lloyd, remember that [[[nobody-s-home|one time we beat the Critic's ass]]]?" His brother smirked. "Duh. Why?" "Remember how, at Angevin's last birthday, I said we could use somewhere new to party?" "Again, yes. //Why//?" He crossed his arms. Phillip sighed, and briefly eyed the building behind them. "Coincidentally, do you also happen to recall how the Critic said he would murder us the next time he saw us?" It took just a moment for Lloyd's grin to fall down. He tightened his lips, and briefly closed his eyes. "Oh." Within a second's notice, his brother lowered himself toward Lloyd's line of sight, a wild spark of sudden fear within his own eyes. "We are terribly fucked, buddy." Instead of nodding in approval, Lloyd took the advice to heart and started running. Even with his older organism, Phillip didn't prove to be that far ahead. They didn't stop until they emerged in the middle of Esterberg's Grand Market, panting like good ventilation was a luxury they normally could not afford. They didn't realize just how crowded the place was until they bumped into the first bystander, which contrasted sharply with how abandoned this place was just a few months ago at the height of the Impasse "Hey, watch your step, maaaa-- oh. Oh, Huh." Lloyd elbowed his brother, pointing nervously to the crowd now surrounding them from every direction. The sudden realization that each of its members wasn't doing what the average Esterbergian was supposed to be doing that time of the year and day -- that is, minding their own business whilst trying to get from one place to another -- but instead was looking at some vague shape in the sky came as quite the surprise. What came as an even larger surprise was the equally sudden realization that they were all looking at a zeppelin soaring through the skies above, the letters "[[[scp-5630|Aviatica]]]" plastered all over one of its sides. Its second part was covered in a screen, some vaguely Slavic woman reciting words neither of the Willis brothers could hear, her tone and face strangely satisfied for a news presenter. Below her, a countdown -- or count//up//, Lloyd figured, judging by the fact its numbers were green and were indeed going up -- sat, indicating something had happened just slightly more than nine hours ago. With another sharp cut of pain, Phillip realized he'd seen that woman before. She was the one that presented on the TV he had recalled, her excited voice contrasting the aggressive alcoholism that characterized the brothers' anticipation of... right. What, exactly? Scratching his nose, Lloyd elbowed another bystander, carefully aiming just below his ribs. "Hey, pal. What's this all about?" The tall [[[scp-1000|Yeren]]] that stood beside them raised one eyebrow, immediately furrowing both of them the moment he recognized the anartists. "Willis? Seriously? The last thing I need to ruin today is you two's bullshit." The younger brother smiled apologetically, briefly tapping his head. "I'm serious. Dead serious. What's going on here... buddy? Pal?" He added, very carefully avoiding actually using whatever name the Yeren might have had. "Could really use a hand to catch us up, hah." In response, he just rolled his eyes. "Seriously? What the //hell// was that you two drank yesterday, huh?" "Look, I--" "No matter." The Yeren shook his head. "Care to check social media lately?" Without as much as another word, both of the Willis brothers pulled out their phones and opened the Void app. [[/==]] @@ @@ [[include :scp-wiki:component:void-post |profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-first-occult-flame-war/surrat.png |username=[/gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-hub Marie Surratt] |handle=QueenOfBones |void-msg=[# #theveilisoverparty] do you think SCP Foundation Overseer Five effectively utilized girl power by funneling money into anti-charter Veilfall operations |echoes=163 |hums=8,495 |time-and-date=00:13 AM · Nov 25, 2021 ]] @@ @@ [[==]] Simultaneously, both of them grinned. **//[/hour-zero/offset/3 No matter the honor and money their previous night had cost them, they were suddenly very sure the next few years' worth of the now-public business would more than make up for both.]//** [[/==]] @@ @@