[John seems more restless than usual. Where there is usually calm and self-restraint, there is now a contsant shifting and a strange sort of need, as if he can't quite decide what to do with himself. He has his gun on him and is purposely standing in an area where the zombies are common. There are two or three empty cartridges at his feet, and even as he reloads his gun he calls out]  Come on, then! What's it take to get a bit of a challenge around here? All of you can't be this easy....

[All the ruckus, of course, attracts a zombie wandering near by. Even as the thing screams and lunges, John is ready. He turns and fires. Unlike before, he doesn't aim for the head, what would be more or less a quick and painless death. Rather, he purposely hits one of the legs first, making it stagger. Then the other leg, followed by a shoulder and, finally, even as the thing continues to try and crawl closer to him, he fires one final round to the head, this one just off to the side so that half of it's brains blow out. And despite all that, he still seems antsy, needing something more]

[ooc: So John has been the recipient of a consequence that affects him, as well as those around him! I'll be PMing people to explain as they tag into the post, to keep a bit of the mystery going]

[Sometimes, it won't all stay locked away. Sometimes the seal can't take the pressure. Sometimes the maze won't keep the monster in. Sometimes the jar cracks apart and all the evils come pouring out into the universe.

Sometimes, you just can't hide the pain you're in.

And Irving Braxiatel can't, though he tries to make it to the forest before he cracks, because that pain is written all over him. Oh, his clothing is as immaculate as ever, his skin is unblemished, not a single hair is out of place. But his bones are all jagged angles, his muscles constricted, and his mouth is sealed tight to try to contain any expression suffering.

Braxiatel covers his face with his hands, presses at his head with his fingertips. He staggers in his walk—sinks to his knees, shaking. His mouth opens—not to scream, but to soundlessly recite ancient equations, one last incantation against something terrible and old. Because if he holds on just a little longer, he can overcome this, he can take back control, he can draw it all in. If he holds it together just a little longer, he can win.]

[And then Braxiatel goes perfectly still. He closes his mouth and, slowly, draws his hands away from his face. He gets one foot out from under him, pulls himself up, stands for a moment in silence. Then he straightens out his suit and looks himself over without a reflection. Braxiatel sighs a breath of relief, for victory and for hard-won control. Slow, steady, his eyes rake over the Plane. No monsters drawn by his faltering. Good.]

Well. That was more trouble than it ought to have been, wasn't it? I'll have to get something for these migraines.

[ In the library sits Sefton. He clings to a large pillow that he got from who-knows-where and keeps his back to a bookshelf, rocking back and forth slowly. His hands worry at the edges of the pillow, and he seems to be trying to ignore just about everything else in the area... though if he hears someone or watches them pass by, it's with a longing look that he hides as soon as they might turn toward him. ]

This stinks... Why can't we just go home already...?

[ ooc: Sefton has a consequence! Due to this, drop me some form of contact since it'll affect your character, too. However, due to the consequence, you should keep in mind that the activation of his make-people-like-him power is much more likely before tagging. ]