Participants:
| Scene Title | Tabula Rasa |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Yamagato Park residents and guests lose something important to them. |
| Date | March 23, 2018 |
Yamagato Park: Oishī Noodles & Sushi
The weather outside may be frigid, but inside it's warm in the brightly lit, cheerful fast-dining noodle and sushi restaurant this evening. A two-foot-tall mechanized "lucky cat" waves its paw as visitors step inside the bright white-and-red interior. The employees smile and wave, as they tell the visitors to sit anywhere they like, the greeting in either English or Japanese depending on the customers.
The restaurant does have a long, diner-style counter, borrowed from the aesthetics of the American diners, but there's no sushi chef to watch here. It's authentic but it's fast, and there are a few chefs behind a plate-glass window instead, visible behind the counter. Booths allow diners to punch in their orders from digital monitors, and eventually pay (and tip) in the same way. Even so, servers do stop by to check on people and get their drinks while they peruse the digital menus, complete with photographs, on the displays.
The advantages of living in Yamagato Park is, amongst other things, knowing where to get a quick bite on a break. For Marlowe, it's a combination bowl of noodles and four-piece sushi that she's digging into. She sits alone at the diner counter, towards the middle but nearer to the main exit. Seats on either side of her are empty, and she's currently chatting a server up in a friendly discussion of recent events.
Delia is sitting at a table, quietly talking to a red headed woman sitting across from her. She's wearing a deep purple t-shirt, worn jeans, and a casual black dinner jacket that pretty much dresses up the rest of her outfit. Between smiles, nods, and quiet laughter, she's sipping a small cup of green tea. Her boots are well worn, but polished to a shine today, presumably for her dinner companion.
"Oh my god Tania, he had a what?" Her laughter suddenly gets a bit louder before she claps a hand over her mouth to conceal a snort. "You did say gong right?"
While she does have chicken and sausage gumbo at home that's usually better the second day, Cassandra Baumann, after traipsing through the sewers twice this week, decided to treat herself. Restaurants were few and far between in the safe zone, save for one place - Yamagato Park. While the fine dining establishments were a bit uppity for a southern girl like her, a diner-style sushi bar? That's a place she could get lost in.
Waving to the Lucky Cat as she slips past (And tucking a folded $1 beneath it's base for luck), Cassandra quickly found herself seated at the one of the booths near the middle where she could watch the men behind the glass while they did their jobs. While this place doesn't serve fresh shucked oysters, it'll do in a pinch. Her bag near the wall, she sips from a cup of green tea and peruses the menu, trying to decide how hungry she feels and if her wallet will sustain it.
When Delia laughs, Tania also laughs, a warm sound. Warm and amused. "Yes. Gong. Some people never learn how important it is to enunciate." She knows, though, because she had to learn English as a second language and that is a wild ride. In front of them, Tania has ordered a spread of sushi that appears to sample from all over the menu. Chopsticks are in hand, but she hasn't actually eaten anything yet. The story had to come first. "In any case, I expect it's going to be very popular," she notes, wryly.
This is one of Elaine's favorite places to eat. Who has time for food? Certainly not a workaholic, and Elaine's rapidly becoming one of those. She's seated alone, picking through the menu casually, as if she did have all the time in the world. She's not paying too much attention to those around her, she's busy looking at noodles. Mmm, noodles. Even still, she's aware there are people in her peripheral vision, she just hasn't noticed who they are.
Alvin has a couple things in front of him, a plate with a couple rolls of sushi, as well as a bowl of ramen resting steaming on the table. He thanks the server as they deposit the food and starts prepping the food, a little soy sauce poured out to dip the sushi in. He breaks apart the disposable chopsticks and dips his first piece, popping it into his mouth and chewing as he looks around the little fast food place, taking in the people present, always watching and looking.
A blonde woman in a sharp red blazer and pencil skirt, carrying a matching purse over her shoulder steps into the restaurant and scans the interior a moment before she approaches the dining counter and settles in to the seat on Marlowe's right. "Well, hi, stranger," she greets in a friendly tone, her southern accent thick and sweet like syrup.
"They been keeping you busy over in R&D?" Director Damaris pulls a little silver object out of her purse, decorated with an enamel and martini glass with a green rhinestone for the olive. The felt-padded underside of the decoration is settled against the counter, the metal stem hooks underneath and holds her designer bag so it doesn't have to sit on the floor. "I hope you don't mind if I join you."
There are only two servers, the heavy lifting being done by the three chefs in behind the glass. These two pleasant and efficient, making their rounds now and then to check on those still looking at the menu or to field questions from those who can't quite figure out how to work the technology or who need to ask about ingredients. it's not a busy evening, perhaps because it's the sort of place more people go to for lunch or weekday dinners than Friday nights. Of course, the turnover is fast, so only a few at any given time adds up over the course of the night.
The pleasant environment and the sound of chatter and laughter among the pair of friends and the coworkers is interrupted by a strange vision of nothingness. For an instant, it feels like a blanket of gray-white nothingness being forced across one's eyes; the ears feel like they've been stuffed with cotton. Smell, taste, touch — for a few startling seconds, there the utter lack of sensation. There's no heat, no cold, no light, no sound.
When it passes, it's a relief — the sensation is not unlike coming up from being underwater, taking a breath and hearing the noises that were stifled beneath the surface.
It's a relief, until it's not.
It takes a moment to register… the faces here: none of them are familiar. Not the server refilling a drink. Not the person sitting at the same table.
Letting the second server go to do their job, Marlowe is turning back to her meal when she's joined by Kay. "Hey! Damaris-kacho, styling as always, and of course," she notes with a nod over to the director's purse-holder and bag. At the question about her department, she grins. "You know it. Otomo has Jiba running everybody on quite a schedule. Projects, deadlines, the usual." She's about to go on until the strangeness falls upon her. Words stop. Everything does. And just like the sensation of coming up for air, she sucks in a startled breath. There's a completely blank look given to Kay, and then an attempt not to panic when she looks around and feels totally out of place.
The older of the two redheads sitting at the table gulps in a deep breath and then blinks twice as she shakes the nothing out of her head. When she looks up at her companion again, her brows furrow in worry and confusion. "I— " she doesn't have any words, the cup of tea she's holding in her hand is lukewarm and half empty but she just can't remember draining it. Running her tongue over her teeth, she presses her lips together in a thin line before saying, "Uhh.. what?" No who, not how, just… what.
Cassandra is in the process of typing in her order when the cloud overtakes her. Sitting back in the booth, Cassandra closes her eyes and rubs them with the heels of her hands, opening her mouth and breathing through her nose like she's trying to get her ears to pop. Then, when it finally fades into color again, she finds herself in an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar room, and surrounded by people she doesn't recognize. There's a moment as she blinks, looking around, looking down at herself, before she sits straight up. "W…what?"
Tania gasps in a breath when she comes back to herself, as if she might hae forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. Of course, coming back to herself is hard once things settle. And she doesn't recognize the woman across from her. Or the restaurant they're in. Or herself. What is spoken is a string of frantic Russian. It is likely a curse of some kind. Because she looks over at Delia to answer her. "I don't know." She looks around, standing from her chair as she takes in the other faces. Who all look as confused as she feels.
It reminds her, briefly, of the sensation you get before you're about to faint. So Elaine braces herself as the sensation washes over her, certain that she's about to pass out on her seat and that everything will go to hell afterwards. But suddenly she's unaware of what's going on, the sensation fades and she can breathe again.
She reaches forward, grabbing her glass of water and chugging the whole thing. She looks up from her water glass when she's done, her brow furrowing. "Nani?! Nani ga okotte iru? Jemand bitte erklären. Nugunga?" She looks as bewildered as everyone else. She turns her seat to face the majority of the others around her.
Alvin looks up to speak with one of the servers to ask if he can get something when that sensation hits. Then he surfaces from it, that nothing slipping away and the world comes into focus again. His eyes widen as he realizes that he recognizes… none of the faces around him. He scans the place again. Sure he wasn't sitting with anyone, but he'd remember the people around him right? Shouldn't he? And… where is he? And… who is he? His eyes widen further, then narrow as he starts patting himself down, looking for his ID. People carry ID right? "I umm… I don't remember who I am. Does anyone know how I got here?" He recognizes some of the words that Elaine uses and just… flips into Japanese. He's as fluent in it as he is in English. Unbeknownst to him right now. I don't know. Something strange. A feeling of nothing and now my memory is gone. This a reply to Elaine, Alvin slipping off of his stool as he takes a slower look around the place.
Kay wears a bright smile as Marlowe starts telling her about Otomo's projects, chuckling quietly. She can imagine how busy they must all be. He's a visionary. They all are, as far as she's concerned.
But then there's no vision. Taste, touch, smell, sight, hearing - all of them gone. There's a sharp gasp from the Public Relations Director as everything comes back into focus. "That was… weird. I…" She's about to say something to the woman on her left, who looks as panicked as Kay feels, when she realizes she has no idea who she is. Not only does she not recognize her apparent dinner companion, she realizes she doesn't remember how she got here. Where she was before. Or… anything before this moment, actually. "Okay," Kay says to Marlowe slowly, reaching out tentatively to rest a hand on her arm. "Focus on me, okay? We're gonna be fine."
The servers, too, are clearly confused, the young woman dropping the soda she was refilling and turning to look around. The uniforms that she and her male counterpart wear give some context at least, and she looks to the counter and sees the chefs behind the window; they look as confused as she does. The woman turns to run out of the restaurant, but the man heads into the back to discuss with the chefs, leaving the customers to sort things out for themselves.
When the employees have no memory of who they are or their employer, they aren't too worried about dine-and-dashers, clearly.
"I…" Marlowe's voice comes out unsteady, but she seems to latch on to Kay's contact and instruction. She remembers to breathe. Given that everybody else around them is looking equally confused or in the case of at least one server, panicked, there's almost a transcient sense of comfort for the shared experience. She's not the crazy one. Maybe.
Marlowe's head tilts at the Japanese being spoken, other languages murmured and flying around the diner, then back to Kay. This time, her brows creased in thought. "OK. Something's going on. But, we should… we need to figure out what the hell just happened…" Something, but, even she's not sure just yet. "How'd we get here?" She turns her gaze towards the exit that the server ran through.
"We— we're here together?" Delia says, leaning in to speak to her dinner companion a little more quietly. Her hair is red, the other woman's hair is red. Her skin is pale, the other woman's skin is pale. "Are we related?" Except the other redhead just blabbity blabbed something in some other… what? She shakes her head again, her hair flying a bit into a shaggier mop than her previously quaffed look. Blame the lack of hair product.
"I mean…" looking down to her right, she lifts her eyebrows. "Oh.. hey!" Grabbing the purse beside her, she digs through it.
Cassandra glances down, around, to her hands, to the people across from her that look just as confused as she does. "Okay. think…think…." She came alone, so at least she's spared the confusion of being with someone who's a lover or friend who's face she doesn't recognize. She turns, her hand brushing her messenger bag, sitting with her feet in the aisle, trying to make sense of it all. the voices of confusion surrounding her lead her to believe that she wasn't the only one affected by this, and she does her best to push down the panic building in her chest. "O…okay, everyone…this is weird , but let's just all stay calm.". Cassandra has a calming voice, like someone who might have some kind of authority, and she reaches back to pull her messenger bag into her lap, clutching it to her chest for a moment before undoing the buckles and opening the flap to see what lies inside. it was next to her…it has to be hers, right?.
"It would seem," Tania says to Delia's question, her attention moving back to her friend. And she sits again. Because standing is strange. But when Delia reaches for her things, Tania glances around until she finds a purse near her feet. Setting it on her lap, she digs through it, too. "Tania Kozlow," she says, flipping her ID from front to back and back again. The name doesn't feel familiar to her, but that is her face on there, so it must be so.
Ah! There's someone speaking something she understands. Something in her mind clicks that she's speaking Japanese, but given that she doesn't know where she is or what's going on and all she's making out are frightened noises, she's sticking with the Japanese that feels familiar and safe. Elaine looks over to Alvin. "«You too? I was sitting and thought I was going to be sick but then I couldn't remember who I was.»" She slides off her stool, reflexively picking up her purse. Muscle memory. And then she realizes she has a purse. "«Oh! This should help!»" She pulls out her wallet, rifling through it for any help as to what was going on or who she is.
"Well. I am pretty sure judging by the food and drink in front of all of us… we came in of our own volition." Alvin comments in Marlowe's direction, a small smile to go with the amusement in his voice. Not quite a smirk, but close. "But yes. I would like to know what is going on as well." Alvin turns back to his plate and plucks up a piece of sushi to inspect it, looking around the place. But not everyone has the same food. "Not all of us are eating and drinking the same thing, and the staff look just as confused as us. So I do not believe we've been poisoned…" So he shrugs and pops the piece of sushi in his mouth. No need to sleuth on an empty stomach right? "I'm apparently security for some place called Yamagato. And my name is Gregory Mott. Maybe we can find some commonalities?" He asks, looking around the room at the other people. He also looks down at himself, then back up, then back down again. "I do not really… look like security…" He isn't a very big guy after all. «Me too. Everyone in the building it would seem. The staff and others at the tables are also quite confused. My wallet says that I am a security officer for a place called Yamagato. And my name is Gregory Mott.»
Kay nods her head slowly to Marlowe, taking deep breaths and holding eye contact, instinctively trying to encourage the other woman to sync her breathing with hers to help instill calm. "All right. I'm going to reach into this bag and see if I can find anything to shed some light on some of this. You probably have a wallet on you with an ID. Why don't you go ahead and take a look at it."
The purse is taken off the hook and opened up so the blonde can examine the contents. It's incredibly organized, which is helpful. A black leather wallet and a cell phone in a purple case are easily found. She sets both out in front of her, catching sight of her reflection in the darkened phone screen a moment. It matches what she sees on the ID. Kaydence Lee November Damaris.
Right, focus. For a good couple of breaths, she manages it. But then. Flashing a sharp look in Gregory-Not-Alvin's direction for his commentary, Marlowe snaps at him with an annoyed tone flickering through her mixture of English and Japanese, "We don't need any of your mansplaining right now, «buddy»." It's followed by a shove her hand into a pocket, pulling out a chain attached to a small hardcase wallet. Badge pulled out and read, she looks from it to Kay a few times. "Marlowe Terrell… Yamagato Industries, Engineer?" she reads softly, but aloud enough for those nearby to hear it as well.
Flipping open her own wallet, Delia pulls out an ID card and stares at it for a little while. Then reaches up to feel her nose, pinching it lightly all the way down. "Wow…" she emits, then clears her throat with a light ahem. "It's uh… kind of big isn't it?" She flashes the ID card at Tania and then turns it to herself again, "Delia Ryans… so nope, not related… unless you're married." Because this girl isn't wearing any jewelry but the other one… "If you are married, Mister Kozlow must be riiiiiiiiiiiiiich!"
As Cassandra rummages through her bag, things of interest are moved aside to be checked later - the gun is left entierly alone - for the goal hidden in one of the smaller side pockets. The little bundle of identification and the badge marked with her SESA ID number. declares that the person pictured here….
Cassandra pauses and then rummages around a bit more, a black zippered pouch opened, a small compact with a mirror lifted up to check the face attached to the body and then looking at the ID. "Cassandra Baumann." She checks the picture, checks herself. This must be her. Driver's license, SESA Badge, Evolved registration card….oh boy. Cassandra tucks this all away, shoulders her bag, stands and starts to carefully move through the restaurant to help calm anyone who might be starting to panic. "Check your wallet or purse. We're all in the same boat." is her calming mantra as she moves from table to table.
"It's not big," Tania is quick to say, "it is only a trick of the camera." And Tania is wearing jewelry, although nothing like a wedding ring. She checks. "Perhaps I am just rich on my own," she suggests. It's a distracted suggestion, lighthearted in an attempt to counter the worry. it only sort of works. She picks up her phone next to scroll through contacts and recent messages. Her eyes widen a little. And then she slides her phone back into her purse. "What do we do?" she asks Delia, even though they are, in fact, in the same boat.
"Oh, I understand that," Elaine says when she realizes she's comprehending both Japanese and English. Flipping through her wallet she nods slowly. "I'm Elaine Darrow, I'm a Translator for Yamagato." She tucks the wallet back into her purse. "Elaine, Elaine, Elaine…" She repeats to remember it. "Translator would explain the Japanese." She lets out a breath. "Languages are weird, I wonder if that's all I know." It's mostly an aside as there are more serious things to worry about. "Gregory Mott. Well, Mr. Mott, we work for the same company, perhaps we know each other. Maybe that's a start. I can't imagine everyone works for Yamagato, but at least we can stick together." Right now, Elaine is looking for a friend in all this. Two heads are better, right?
Alvin lets out a soft chuckle at Marlowe's reaction. "Mansplaining? I am not even sure I know what that means." His shoulders lift in a samll shrug, though his head does dip forwards when she mentions that she works for Yamagato as well. "So there are several us that work at Yamagato. Perhaps we are close to this Yamagato place?" He asks, looking around as if that's going to solve the mystery. He walks over to a window to peek out and around the restraunt. "Perhaps some of us do know each other. Especially if we work at the same place. And some people are obviously sitting in pairs or groups…" Alvin's eyes narrow a momen as he thinks on that.
The badge hanging from her lapel is examined. Kay reads the text upside down and nods, letting the plastic identification drop back into place. "Director of Public Relations for Yamagato Fellowship." She smirks faintly. "Sounds so fancy." She smirks faintly. "All right, so I'm Kaydence and you're Marlowe. Mister Mott and Miss Darrow over there are apparently co-workers of ours. Maybe we can find someone there who can help us make sense of this mess."
What happens next is both familiar and utterly unfamiliar, an onslaught of memory and sensations of striking vibrancy and realness but also jarring surrealism. Cacophony. What’s familiar, known, and private wars against the unknown, the unfamiliar, the alien. It’s as if someone found a video of a moment in each person’s life and played it in extreme fast forward, before, after, and in between a dozen other people’s.
A pretty, young Japanese girl grips a man’s hand tightly, glancing over her shoulder as she leads the way through a verdant garden. The air is rich with the scent of soil and flowers, jasmine and orchids sweet on top of the scent of earthiness. Suddenly a male voice speaks, in Japanese: “Daisuki!” The girl laughs and throws her arms around the person whose memory this must be; she smells of roses and lemons, her hair soft against skin and her laugh merry like bells.
A black casket stands, covered by white roses. A sea of black clothing and black umbrellas help to obscure the faces of the mourners. Raindrops feel wet against the skin; tears burn hot as they slide down the face. A gloved hand comes to wipe them away, rough against the skin.
A knife chops through the pink flesh of fish. The scent of the air is salty, briny, but pleasant. Suddenly, the knife slips and the hand holding the fish in place jerks as metal connects and drops to the counter with a clatter. The pain is an abstract thing as the skin blanches, before liquid red blossoms from the parted flesh. The air suddenly tastes of copper.
The scent of cookies fills the air comes from the kitchen of the clean, modern apartment. From behind, the artificial sound of a camera shutter clicks and whirrs, and in front, a bright light flashes on a toddler boy’s beaming face as he cruises around a coffee table. A cheerful female voice from behind exclaims, “Yatta!”
The air smells like muddy water, sweat, body odor. Boots stomping in time, a female voice sings out in time with her group of soldiers in response to the drill sergeant's calls keeping the team in time. The woman keeps up, but muscles are protesting. They've been at drilling for a while.
Burn it all, a voice says.
Worn shoes crunch against gravel mix with the sounds of the liquid splashing out of the cannister. The smell of gasoline hangs as heavily in the air as does the fog of all too calm breath. Stone steps are climbed in the slow pace of a sleepwalker or shuffle of a zombie, clomp, clomp, clomp. The smell only grows stronger as waves of petrol are thrown in splashes onto a heavy wooden door.
A clean, white kitchen in a nondescript neighborhood. A transistor radio plays zydeco music quietly in the background as an older woman with strong, sure hands, uses a spoon to portion out small dollops of sweet filling into little muffin tins. She looks over with a smile. The smell of rum and bananas fill the air, and a soft giggle escapes. "Avoir faim, Mama Marie. Avior faim."
A military truck sits idle on a snowy gravel road. Under it, a cheek is pressed into the dirt, limbs shaking. Not from the cold. From the fear. To one side, a man's crouched figure blocks the view of a dying man. To the other, a pair of very nice shoes seem to prowl along the side of the truck. Both of these sights bring out a sigh of relief. And the only warmth at all is a trail of warm tears running down a cheek.
A hospital, the smell of sterilization with the slightest hint of some flowers that were placed in the room. The room is quiet. A voice comes from one in bed. "I need you to tell me why. Exactly why." The woman near her, yellow eyes and short hair, answers. "Because I was wrong t' begin it."
A man looks up, his eyes pleading, desperate. The smooth black lines of a gun and the cylinder of an attached silencer are pointed at the man, unwavering. "Yes, I'm almost done here Ryans. I'll be there within the hour." A phone is hung up and tucked into a pocket. "The time for pleading is past. Tell me where the girl is." The man shakes his head and there's a soft sigh before the trigger is pulled, a snap echoing in the room before the man falls to the carpet. Dead. "I hate loose ends." Is muttered before the speaker moves forward and kneels to begin cutting the carpet surrounding the fallen man.
"I see the moon, and the moon sees me shining through the old oak tree." A woman's voice sings softly, accent almost indistinct in the way that news anchors are. "Please let the light that shines down on me shine on the one that I love." There's a sleeping baby wrapped in a cream colored blanket with purple flowers cradled in the arms of the singer. A man's hand rests on her shoulder from behind and stills the rocking motion of her chair gently. The scent of sandalwood and and cloves fills her nostrils, her mouth pulls into a smile and she closes her eyes, blissfully happy.
With that onslaught of memories, both personal and strange, return the sense of personal identity and individual memory. Personhood.
But with these, too, come The extreme wave of exhaustion and a migraine so intense, it's like being slammed in the head. The pain makes it nearly impossible to think, let alone make sense of what's happened. Every muscle seems to be sore; even blinking seems to hurt.
Behind the glass, where the chefs and server stand, one slumps suddenly to his knees, his hands going to his heads. Another slumps against the wall, rubbing his face with a grimace. The other two are more stoic but turn to look at one another, their mouths moving, inaudibly — perhaps checking on one another's welfare.
The rush of memories flashing past in a confusing jumble, only to end in the return of identity and a killer headache, have Marlowe in a painful tailspin. She catches her seat, leaning heavily against the diner top, hands barely missing getting splashed into hot noodles and soup. Her eyes grow wide, but then immediately snap shut with a grimace of pain. "Urgggh," groans the woman with a shake of her head. But even that little movement hurts.
The rush of memories flashing past in a confusing jumble, only to end in the return of identity and a killer headache, have Marlowe in a painful tailspin. She catches her seat, leaning heavily against the diner top, hands barely missing getting splashed into hot noodles and soup. Her eyes grow wide, but then immediately snap shut with a grimace of pain. "Urgggh," groans the woman with a shake of her head. But even that little movement hurts.
Hurrrk
Delia's dry heave happens less than the blink of an eye after the wave of pain hits her head. She squints her eyes, against the light and brings up a hand to shade herself from the light. "What the hell is in this tea…" she whines, pushing the cup away with her other hand. Unfortunately, Miss Ryans is not prepared for all emergencies and sadly, has no asprin.
The memories crash in and Tania whimpers at the pain in her head. Her hands come up to clutch her forehead, eyes closing as she leans forward to rest her head on the table. Exhaustion and pain aren't new to her, really, but she's gone a few years without them as constant companions. It's a wonder how quickly she acclimated to it. She picks her phone up again, finding her way to Sasha's number— his work number, of course— she doesn't call, mostly because she's not sure she can actually talk, but having it there seems to bring her some small comfort.
Elaine's head hurts so badly she nearly vomits. She doesn't, but she feels like she's going to as she slides moves to a wall and slides down it until she's seated on the floor, putting her hands over her head. Somewhere in the back of her skull she remembers her painkiller and the anti-anxiety pills in her purse. Fishing them out, she dry-swallows painkiller and anxiety pills alike. She doesn't move from her spot on the floor, too drained and in pain to move.
Alvin closes his eyes as the memory comes crashing into his head, but there is something from it that catches his interest, but then his actual memories are there. They're back. He blinks a few times, looking around himself at the others in the restraunt. His hand reaches out and he plucks up another piece of sushi, dipping it into the soy sauce before popping it into his mouth, chewing as a hand fishes his phone out of his pocket. He fires off a text then puts it back, his attention swinging to the people around him. He feels the headache sure. But those are not something he's unaccustomed to. So while he does retake his seat, and his brow is pinched from the pain, there's no undue amounts of stress on his features over it. He pops another piece of sushi into his mouth, this time with his chopsticks, a glance given in Delia's direction. She gave her name earlier, and it's a last name he recognizes. Sure there are bound to be other Ryans in the area. "I need an aspirin." He mutters, then spots Elaine on the floor now and walks over, crouching down, only a slight wobble from dizziness and pain as he crouches down. "Are you okay Elaine?" He asks, concern drawing his brows together.
"Oh, fu—" Kay stops herself just short of swearing, more because it hurts to try and make any sound than because she feels the need to police her language. Tipping forward, she folds her arms on the counter in front of her and rests her forehead against them, creating a dark space for her to hide in while she rides out the horrible throbbing pain in her skull.
The server can be see patting the chefs, one of whom is crying, before coming out with a pile of to-go boxes. "We are very sorry for the inconvenience," he says quietly; his face is lined with pain and the remnants of fear and worry. "We do not know what caused that but it seems to be not just in Oishi. Still, we apologize and your meals are free tonight. We are going to close because we are not feeling well, but take whatever you like with you to go."
The young man makes a small bow and puts the boxes on an empty table for people to help themselves.
Outside, the mini city crawls to life again, but without the vibrance it normally has. Everyone in the Park is exhausted, tired, and frayed after the night's strange events.