natha: (Default)
ɴᴀᴛʜᴀ orbiters ❰ mod collective ❱ ([personal profile] natha) wrote in [community profile] nysalogs2018-04-09 07:55 pm
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( introlog #5 ) strangerer things

You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?

Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE.

THESA STATION    
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!

You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)

The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...

The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.

As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
ON A BEAM OF LIGHT    

Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.

You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.

Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?



A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.

As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—

[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]

Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!

To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!


As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS    

Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.

But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.

They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.

Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.



WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!



FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.

Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...

But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
DECISIONS, DECISIONS...    

The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.

They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.

A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.

This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.



OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.

Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!

Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.

Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?



OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.

The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.

At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.

The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
FINAL OOC NOTES    
An AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 REP POINTS FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE AND HERE RESPECTIVELY BY APRIL 29th 11:59 PM EST.

We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP.

1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR.
bruxisms: (a song of ice and manpain)

stannis baratheon | a song of ice and fire

[personal profile] bruxisms 2018-04-11 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
HE NEVER FORGETS A GRIEVANCE
i. any gods so monstrous
[ a sullen-looking boy reaches the top of the parapets, while his older brother claps him on the back, celebrating his victory. the weather seems ill-suited for a homecoming, but that hardly matters. both of them have prayed for the safe return of their parents, and with the ship in sight, it was nearly certain that they would be welcoming their father back.

but something is wrong.

the longer that the two boys watch the ship, the more obvious it becomes. something isn't right, men rush across the deck, but it seems to do them little good as the ship is smashed against the rocks that give the bay around Storm's End its name.

is it Robert who is yelling, or is it him? it's impossible to tell. they have to be fine, they can be rescued. Robert isn't even a man grown yet, far too young and selfish to be lord, and Renly is still in the cradle. he did what he was meant to, and still this happened.

if the gods did exist, they were truly monstrous. ]


ii. mutiny
[ he is only ten-and-nine, but he is certain that his end will soon be near. nevertheless, he swore an oath to his elder brother to hold Storm's End, and so he will. and he will not leave his younger brother at the mercy of the Mad King.

Ser Gawen, the master-at-arms, tried to sneak out of the castle and surrender with a small entourage of men. nearly a year into the siege, and he would sell them out. even as his body feels so weak that he can barely stand, his fury is fresh and there, in the courtyard, in front of all the men that remain, in front of his younger brother, who was little more than six, he roars with anger.

"If you want to leave so badly, then for your treason, you will leave from the parapets. Strap them down and fling them from the catapults."

he must be half mad, he feels half mad. Ser Gawen says as much, that he was dooming them all, that Aerys would be victorious, that he was condemning even little Renly to death.

maybe he is. maybe this is the price of treason. but regardless, he has a duty to serve Robert, and dispense justice.

in the end, no one was flung from the catapults, and relief came in a number of different ways. but Stannis never forgot. ]


iii. a king's hand
[ “On your knees, Onion Knight.”

“Your Grace?”

“For your onions and fish, I made you a knight once. For this, I am of a mind to raise you to lord.”

This? Davos was lost. “I am content to be your knight, Your Grace. I would not know how to begin being lordly.”

“Good. To be lordly is to be false. I have learned that lesson hard. Now, kneel. Your king commands.” ]
A FORK IN THE ROAD
[ Stannis is unimpressed, moving his teeth from one side to another. but again, what exactly is new? still, should you approach him, he only frowns. ]

I mislike this. Do not trust flatterers, for they will only lead you down the wrong path.

[ although, when all you face are flatterers, that makes things somewhat difficult. ]
WILDCARD
[ have something else in mind? want me to go into a little more detail for a custom memory share? let me know over at [plurk.com profile] roflskate or via PM! ]
Edited 2018-04-11 03:46 (UTC)
ausuben: (pic#11829273)

a fork in the road ( I'm not new but wanted them to discuss this bribery anyway hope it's OK o7)

[personal profile] ausuben 2018-04-11 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Lancelot tries to smile, anyway, despite the man's clear discontent with the situation.

Lancelot is not technically part of this latest wave of new comers, but he might as well be in terms of feeling knowledgeable considering he barely was able to get used to this place before returning to stasis for a month, which was longer than he had hoped.

So, of course, he's going to find interest in those with opinions, especially strong opinions because that usually stresses... experience and perhaps someone who had been witness to the events of El Nysa for some time. He's looking for perspectives outside of his friends, trying to get a sense of the other refugees and their stances compared to their time spent in El Nysa... or select experiences thus far.
]

Your sentiments are surely not unwarranted here, sir. Nevertheless, might you feel there may be still some hint of sincerity to their actions?
milesedgelord: (pic#11715849)

1.

[personal profile] milesedgelord 2018-04-12 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
[When did he manage to find himself by the sea? How odd, he was in the town proper only a few moments ago.

And then that huge ship came careening into the rocks. He looked up to see the young boy, obviously distressed. He made his way carefully, approaching.]


Are you hurt?
wheresmyfingerbones: (Default)

mutiny

[personal profile] wheresmyfingerbones 2018-04-20 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
(( Before there was Daovs the Hand of the King, there was Davos the Knight. Before Davos the Knight there was Davos the Smuggler.

This, in this yard, yes, Davos remembers the men here, the young man aged so much - still so young as lord. This was before Davos the Smuggler. Davos the Smuggler never existed until he rowed into Storm End's with onions and fish.

A septon once told Davos the darkest is always before the dawn, and perhaps that is true. Davos only saw darkness, not the degrees of darkness. Either way, it was the darkest moment of the siege. After that, more would have tried to escape. It was good fortune Davos decided to ply his smuggling trade to Storm's End.

He looks at his young lord - his young king - confused, wondering what should he do. ))


Your - My Lord?
punshots: (Default)

prompto argentum / ffxv / closed.

[personal profile] punshots 2018-04-11 04:09 am (UTC)(link)
( starters below! if you would like one please feel free to hit me up at [plurk.com profile] retroscape! )
punshots: (✘ maven.)

➟ noctis.

[personal profile] punshots 2018-04-11 04:42 am (UTC)(link)
[ For all Prompto has been waiting, month after month after month, for Noctis to wake up, it's still surreal, like he still can't wrap his mind around it, like it's still not quite real. Even after he beams down from the Station and they meet up at the teleporters. Even after they camp, like the good old days, and travel back to Wyver, where Prompto has extended the obvious invitation for Noctis to stay with him and the twins. It's all very by the numbers, which is somewhat helpful, given how dazed Prompto still is that Noctis is here, talking to him, walking at his side. Almost like nothing has changed at all.

But a lot has changed, and...he'll get to that. He hadn't wanted to overwhelm Noct all at once while he was still getting used to this world, but now that he's had some time to process everything, Prompto had better broach some, uh, more...personal topics.

He hasn't said much about the twins yet, except to explain that they're from a world similar to theirs, and for all Prompto is bursting at the seams to drop The Bomb on his best friend, it's surprisingly difficult to broach. He sliiiiiiiightly understands now why Alisaie hadn't told Alphinaud about their engagement right away. It's hard to catch people up on things like this, to illustrate so profoundly just how much they have missed out on.

So, one thing at a time. With a little spring in his step, Prompto leads Noctis towards their little house on the far side of Wyver and up the walkway to the door, chattering the whole way there. ]


Check out the digs! Not too shabby, right? It's no Citadel, buuuut it works. It's got, like - furniture, and everything!

[ Look, it's still a big deal for him to be an Adult with a house and furniture. ]

i'm here finally

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oh gosh sorry for the delay!

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no worries!!

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nineteenfortyfive: (PORTAL)

claire fraser | outlander

[personal profile] nineteenfortyfive 2018-04-11 04:11 am (UTC)(link)
[It's a wedding. Claire's wedding, to be exact, and the church feels more like a tomb than a place of worship. No windows--but the father will be given enough money to afford them for marrying Jamie and Claire on such short notice. Men crowd the front of the room to watch Jamie wed the sassenach.

She looks like she's before a firing squad. While her dress is full and elaborate, a delicate ribbon tied around her throat, Claire looks about ready to bolt or faint. Hard to say which.

She has one hell of a hangover.

"I, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my wedded wife..."

It's a goodbye. She no longer wants to leave. It's a cold day, snow on the ground in some spots, and somehow all the colder by the circle of standing stones.

Her hand moves to rest over her stomach.

"How will I explain all this? How can I go back?"

It's a quiet evening, the fire in the hearth warming the lavish room. This place doesn't feel like Claire Fraser because it's not. It's Paris, but Claire is there, talking softly to Jamie. She's heavily pregnant. And now she has her doubts about being a mother.

"What if I'm terrible at it?"

It's a grave. Faith Fraser. 1744.

It's the last fight. Claire is livid, as is Frank. Nearly two decades of resentment is coming to a head. He wants to leave, and he wants to take her daughter with him now that she's graduated high school.

"You've been waiting. All this time... you've just been waiting for the clock to run out! Well, Brianna is my daughter, and you will not take her anywhere."

It's an argument. Claire's older now, hair straightened and in a time more modern than before, and she's exchanging heated words with the young woman before her. Her words are as fiery as her red hair as she slaps Claire's hand away.

"Just admit it! Admit that you are not a perfect person. Own up to the fact that you fucked someone else while you were married to Daddy, just like a million other bored housewives!"

It's a printshop. Claire nervously fixes her hair before she steps inside, the bell at the door jingling. Slowly, ever so slowly, she walks further in.

It's Jamie's voice that makes her heart leap into her throat.

"That you, Geordie?"

-

Claire, at the end of it, looks mortified. All of it, bits or pieces, or just one memory is enough to have her pressing her palms into her eyes as she gathers her bearings.]


Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.
originallutece: bread makes you fat (shock; reeling from the revelation)

[personal profile] originallutece 2018-04-18 01:55 am (UTC)(link)
[It's a dizzying storm of memories, but Rosalind's eyes widen from the start, because she knows that man. She knows him very well, and it's not as though she didn't know he was married, but it's one thing to hear it and another to see it happening.

And the pregnancy, and her daughter yelling . . . Rosalind's hand goes to her stomach, fingers pressing tightly there for a moment. The scenes barely last, and she's grateful for it, because the last thing she needs right now is to have anxiety over a situation that won't even be a reality for god knows how long. But the memory hits home, because oh, that fear certainly has lurked in the back of her mind once or twice: "What if I'm terrible at it?"

And once it ends, Rosalind feels as though she's run a marathon. She blinks, exhaling harshly, only looking over at the other woman when she curses.]


You're Jamie's wife.

[It's very odd to know someone so distantly and intimately at the same time.]

Good god. That was the first time I've seen so many memories at once.

[Belatedly, her hand drops from her stomach.]

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persistor: (pic#12010476)

red | transistor

[personal profile] persistor 2018-04-11 05:48 am (UTC)(link)
ONE. THE TRUTH. ( CLOSED TO NEW CR. )

[ It's the silence that tips her off — because before it's a happy coincidence it's also a technique, used for dramatic effect. To suddenly raise tension, amplify unease. The dramatic pause before the music starts again.

But in this case, the silence comes ... but never quite leaves; no moment comes for her to relax again, or take a breath. The strangest part is, nature isn't supposed to do that ( or, based on what she knows of nature ). Her head turns, lips thinned. There's little hesitation when she reaches out for a passerby to tap them on the shoulder. And before they can get a word out, she holds up a finger to them. Wait.

Their patience, should they choose to exercise it, is rewarded. She quickly turns a phone screen towards them, a typed-out message prepared to be read. ]


Your name. What is it?

TWO. FORGETTING IS SO LONG. ( CLOSED TO OLD CR. )

[ A) it starts inconspicuous, at first; a bar, with most of its patrons keeping it to their own tables. At the corner of the establishment is a redhead, the mic to her lips and a guitar in her hand, as she sings. The occasional person turns to watch her, until the view disappears, and —

The light comes from beyond the curtains, this time. Up ahead is a stage, beautifully decorated and entirely filled by a single individual ( unsurprisingly, it's the same redhead ). The silence fills with the same guitar again, and she's singing the same melody. This time, the crowd ( barely seen from backstage, but there nonetheless ) seems entranced by her music.

( The singer on the stage also stands behind the curtains, along with whoever is also watching this memory. Unlike the one performing, this one's eyes are cold. )

B) It's the same stage as before — except a glitch-like white has replaced parts of the floor, and the woman no longer stands at the mic. In her hand is a glowing sword — and at her feet is a ... being. What looks to be a mere shadow of a human, its entire body black except for a brilliantly white head. Slowly using its arms to crawl towards Red, while she watches. There's barely any movement from Red herself ( a voice, from the sword, asks What now? ), until she turns the sword in her hand, and she —

Strikes the ... thing on the ground with little hesitation. It cries out in pain, as if it's human ( maybe it was, once ). As it fades away, a distorted voice speaks, relieved, Finally, finally, finally we can be....

The scene darkens, until they're back on the road once more. Red seems to be looking at where the figure was — jaw tense, hands curled into fists at her sides. Anger radiating off of her frame. ]


THREE. WHITE AND GOLD.

[ And finally: the obligatory beach episode. Because the sun is shining, and a certain someone wanted to — not that he's around, at the moment. At the same time, that doesn't mean she's alone, either; no more than a few feet from her is a robotic canine, eyeless with a floating head, as it sniffs along the sand. When it barks, there's a machine-like, static-clinging sound to it. Red seems more than content to simply watch.

Until its — her — ears ( "ears" ) perk up, and suddenly, her snout points directly at anyone watching this happen. She barks once more, before easily leaving Red's side to close the distance between her and them, before starting to sniff at their feet. Once they seem to pass some kind of test, she grabs a stick sticking out from the sand, and drops it down at their foot. Play?

( If they were to look up, they'd see a redhead with her lips threatening to curl up. A nod at the stick, if they haven't gotten the hint yet. Don't disappoint her dog, now. ) ]


WILDCARD.

( the usual — if none of these prompts interest you, then hit me up with a wildcard! or find me at [plurk.com profile] charred to hash out details. )
underwhelms: (feel good look good eh)

2a

[personal profile] underwhelms 2018-04-11 10:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ By now, JJ has a little more experience with this. This stepping into memories and another world. The storm, if it's the cause of this, is relentless, with no respect for privacy or the pain some memories might bring. For his part, JJ tries to be uncharacteristically sensitive, trying not to look too closely when he stumbles across something that someone might not want him to see.

This doesn't seem like one of those times. Unlike Red, JJ's eyes are bright as he watches the performance, as entranced by the music as the crowd past the stage even if he can't see as clearly from backstage. Red is a sight to behold even when she's not performing, but right not the most breathtaking part of her isn't her looks. It's her music; her voice and talent.

JJ would be envious if he were the type, but instead he's only excited by it, elated that there's someone close to him with such skill that him and his greedy hands can learn from.

Red is tense from where she's watching the memory unfold, but JJ is all bright eyes and eager attitude as he steps next to her, one finger poking politely at the whorl in her hair. ]


This memory business is kind of invasive, but it's a treat to actually hear you sing. [ Completely tone deaf, he nudges her. ] It's motivating you to work even harder to get your voice back, eh?

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2b (or not 2b)

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wildcard.

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i'm so late, i'm sorry

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i'm never tagging you again

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weeps

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The truth

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sorry for the delay on this!!

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right back at you!

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▼ closed to richie.

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the truth.

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WE CAN DO THIS

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lustration: (for forgiveness my friend)

Adria | Stargate: SG-1

[personal profile] lustration 2018-04-11 07:25 am (UTC)(link)
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW
    Adria frowns as she pulls her shawl a little tighter around her bare shoulders with one hand. In her other hand in a cup of something warm and yet, it doesn't really seem to be doing much. Perhaps it was the shock of everything that has happened, everything she has learned. Whatever the reason, she feels chilled and tired and yet, she can't seem to pull herself away from the fire because she wants to learn more about... Everything.

    She steps closer to the fire, just as someone else seems to and for a moment her frown deepens and she looks as though she might have something... not so pleasant to say. But she remembers herself and reminds herself that being pleasant will enable her to learn more.

    "I apologize, I did not see you."




FORGETTING IS SO LONG.
    There's suddenly a beautifully decorated room, lavish in an older fashioned sense, though what seems to catch one's attention are the four people there. A woman in her thirties, two men about the same age and a teenage girl. All are dressed in what one might consider medieval style.

    One of the men holds a staff weapon aimed at the other man. Her frowns as he yells, "Move!"

    "I said kill him," the young girl demands looking at the man with the weapon.

    He fires and there's a "No!" from the woman and she's pushing the other man out of the way and is hit instead. She crumples into a heap on the floor and the girl looks surprised and is quickly rushing to her side.

    "Mother!"

    The man with the weapon drops it and is also scrambling to the woman's side. They roll her over and the woman cries out in pain. Both of them look worried, but the girl places her hand on her mother's wound and the pain starts to ease from the woman's face.

    But then there's a zapping sound and the young girl crumbles to the floor beside her mother just moments before another zapping sound is heard and the same thing happens to the man who had been holding the weapon.

    Adria frowns, a spectator on the sidelines and her hands are balled up in fists at her side. It's obvious that the scene that has just unfolded before her and the unfortunate person who'd been pulled in with her has got under her skin.

    "What is this?" she whispers as her nails dig into the palms of her hands.



WILD CARD
    [Want another prompt? Feel free to start a new one. She'd most likely decide to go to Olympia because lol camping.]
baguablade: (52)

campfire's glow

[personal profile] baguablade 2018-04-11 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The frown, and the way that the woman very much seems to change her mind about what she's going to say doesn't go unnoticed. Cain makes a mental note; she's not exactly subtle in the way she's choosing her words, her thoughts clear on her face, and her expression not matching what she's said.

But what she's said is polite enough, and he'll give points for making an effort to get along in a strange new world. After all, finding out that your world is gone, that this is what you have to look forward to, the chaos of El Nysa, is hard on anyone. That she's trying goes a long way, and Cain isn't someone who takes offense easily to begin with.

He takes a step to the side, leaving room for her to sit down first on the log he'd meant to use as a seat in front of the fire. She's not wearing nearly enough to keep very warm as the night chill sets in, and he can only imagine that she's tired after the excitement of her arrival.
]

Don't worry about it. I was blending in. [ He's wearing dark colors, and it's not like he's carrying a flashlight or anything, after all. With a grin, he waves her toward the fire's cheerful warmth. ] It's all yours, if you'd like it.

forgetting is so long

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CAMPFIRE'S GLOW

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gekkajuu: commissioned, please do not steal (eatsushi095_zpsz1wecsyy)

Atsushi Nakajima | Bungou Stray Dogs | cw: child abuse

[personal profile] gekkajuu 2018-04-11 11:36 am (UTC)(link)
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. because we all gotta get that character torture in, dammit

[The scenes are familiar, every detail experienced as vividly as the first time - or maybe even more so. Atsushi couldn't have described the scent of the orphanage or the way its walls bounce back the sound, but now that he's experiencing them again, they match his memories with such intensity that the scene almost seems more real than reality.

It is reality, he's pretty sure. Even if you don't know Atsushi, it's probably not difficult to recognize the child with a similar choppy haircut - 11 years old; 8 years old; even younger than that - as the young man who stands there, witnessing his own past like a ghost. The surroundings are so dreary, they seem to mute the harsh things happening - or maybe that's just how Atsushi has managed to live with the memories. There's nothing positive to see here, only beatings, abuse, constantly being told that the world would be better off if he were dead... He's kept in chains, injected with God only knows what, drowned... One scene fades into the next seamlessly, and there doesn't seem to be an end to them.]


I don't... understand.

[How did this happen? It's unpleasant, yet he can't seem to tear himself away to look for an exit. None of the memories disturb him as much as they should, acceptance having always been a prerequisite for surviving in that place, even if the fear never went away. Only the appearance of one particular man unsettles Atsushi at all - and even then, he can't seem to leave.

That man is dead, and Atsushi knows it. If he tells himself that often enough, maybe the memories will disappear again.

Or maybe he's just using that as an excuse for why he can't seem to move.]
thetaintedsorrow: (Sympathy)

[personal profile] thetaintedsorrow 2018-04-11 01:43 pm (UTC)(link)
[There’s absolutely no warning before Chuuua is pulled into this odd dreamscape, and he blinks, confused as his surroundings suddenly melt away and are replaced with the sight of a dreary building. He’s been trapped in illusions made by ability users before, but this is like watching one of those goddamn simulations on Thesa Station. It’s all so vivid that it’s almost like Chuuya is standing there in person, watching the torture of a young child that is undeniably Atsushi Nakajima.

It’s cruel; of course it is. No child should be treated that way. It’s awful, terrible, heart wrenching, and just about the saddest thing that Chuuya has ever witnessed, and yet his life is just fucked up enough to expect this kind of thing, especially for the orphans of Yokohama. It’s brutal, and Chuuya is damn lucky that he hardly remembers his own childhood, considering what he’s been told.

There’s nothing he can possibly say or do to ease the pain of reliving these memories, but Chuuya speaks up anyway, brows furrowed beneath the shadow of his hat.
]

You just can’t catch a break, can you?
Edited 2018-04-11 13:44 (UTC)

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nanamari: (I KNOW YOU NEED HEALING)

ana amari | overwatch

[personal profile] nanamari 2018-04-11 02:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ PM this journal or message me @ [plurk.com profile] themightysra if you'd like a custom starter. I'll be adding more open ones below. ]
nanamari: (captain amari)

forgetting is so long

[personal profile] nanamari 2018-04-11 02:31 pm (UTC)(link)
the crisis
[ It might be hard to recognize Ana at first glance; here, she's in her thirties, wearing light body armor. She's also on top of a huge three-legged robot, elbow-deep in what appears to be an opening in its head. She's ripping cables out of it and shouting, as you do.

The sound of gunfire is nearly deafening, but voices come across clearly, as if the person who's invaded her memory is wearing a headset of their own. A male voice says: Pull the red one, Amari! and Ana replies I'm pulling all of the red ones, Reyes! Watch your aim instead! Soldiers on the ground are busy shooting at the robot, distracting it. Maybe you've dropped in among them, or up beside beside her with bullets flying past your head.

Past this skirmish, the ground is littered with bodies. Human and robot alike, they've been shredded by bullets to the point that they're nearly unrecognizable. The impenetrable haze of smoke that blankets the area is a small mercy in this regard - it hides the extent of the gore. There's a perceptible tremor in the ground as the omnic army advances, a seemingly endless number of silhouettes outlined by the haze.

Look alive, soldier. It's the end of the world. ]
Edited 2018-04-11 14:31 (UTC)

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chaostic: (pic#12102146)

loki laufeyson | mcu

[personal profile] chaostic 2018-04-11 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)
The Truth Is Out There

[ He hasn't the faintest idea where he is. Olympia became a maze perhaps after the fourth, fifth, or sixth time he passed the same house with the the same foliage with the same odd structure. He stopped every other times, examining it as if he was trying to recall where he had seen it before but this time he enters. Surely there is something inside he needs to see?

Whatever. What else is there to do with a Storm eating away at existence? Nothing particularly matters, not after the destruction of Asgard he felt most in his bones and then this. What a dull end. ]


Don't say it. [ He stops in front of someone, presumably because he definitely remembers this conversation. ] If you so much as utter another sarcastic remark as a hello I may just curse you.

[ A scoff. ]

This has to stop. [ What he's referencing is up for debate but clearly he's visibly frustrated with the circumstance. ]

Forgetting Is So Long

[ Loki might have been arguing, insulting, or perhaps making a genuine connection but that all fades. Like a dream. It's there and then it's gone replaced by the walls of stone that encompass Asgard's spires in the palace. They're a flash of wealth to the eyes compared to the tomb of a prison cell Loki ends up in with a person he swears he was having a normal conversation with. The white walls of the cell are imposing despite how bright the room appears. The chair, the books, the table--they all seem friendly for what it's worth. It's better than anyone else has. ]


What are you doing here? [ Not here in this memory, but in general. Why has this person appeared and why can't he quite place them in the has of this memory. Something feel fuzzy around the edges but the brush strokes of a time passed are too thick. ] What compelled you, of all people, to visit?


[ ooc: if you'd like another prompt, or you want to make your own feel free! [plurk.com profile] vulcanmind ]
seeingscarlet: (snark; 194)

ii

[personal profile] seeingscarlet 2018-04-12 12:58 am (UTC)(link)
[Not again.

Wanda's seen enough of Asgard in Thor's memories to make an educated guess as to where they are, but once again, she didn't do anything to trigger it and she can't break free.]


I didn't do this. Something is forcing it on us.

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Forgetting

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np, understandable!!

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lifespanned: (pic#12123246)

misa amane | death note

[personal profile] lifespanned 2018-04-11 11:17 pm (UTC)(link)
I. memory laneee
a.
[ Maybe you've been stuck in a string of memories, maybe you just happened to just walk into one - but either way, she's absolutely had it with the TMI of this whole situation. She'd been blessed so far with avoiding any of her own patches of memory getting depicted, but that's all about to cease once she finds herself (and whatever companion is near her) in a very familiar forest.

Not too far from where she's standing, there's herself, a year younger, sitting on the ground and wailing her eyes out over a notebook and a letter addressed to her. It isn't until - wait, what's that in the trees up there?! Is it gonna kill her??? It looks horrific (sorry Ryuk), and maybe you consider running... at least until the crying girl leaps up at the chance to hug him.

Misa herself had stopped watching the scene right as it started to unfold, almost frantically looking for an exit because - well, there's a reason she has totally not brought up her My Little Shinigami in the 8 months she's been here, and if she remembers this memory correctly, her other self is about to spill all the beans. There's the tiniest crack that she sees that she points to, obviously trying to draw your attention away from... whatever That is with her shrill voice. ]


Oh! I think there's an exit over there...

[ Please don't mind the fact that she's clearly friends with the figure, as the memory plays out her offering an apple to him, saying something along the lines of Light told me to bring this. ]

b.
[ Alternatively, maybe you find yourself next to a parked car - pretty normal, right? But there's a lot of clamor coming from in there, people screaming and shouting. Yelling about... execution sites, and being accused as someone called Kira. Misa is one of the people in the car who's apparently signed up for execution (though admittedly she looks pretty gross, like she hasn't showered properly in a month), and since you're beside her also viewing this quite traumatic scene, she begins forcibly tugging at your arm as soon as the driver puts a gun to the young man's head in the car. ]


Okay, this is, this is totally not what it looks like!!!!!! I swear!!

[ Are you convinced?? Or maybe this young woman who's pulling you away best she can really is some type of criminal... ]

II. the truth? it's out there
[ Wyver isn't exactly the easiest terrain to navigate - she already has trouble remembering where she's been, what with all the foliage and stuff. So this weird sense of feeling like she hasn't been going anywhere, when she's been hurriedly trying to return to her home to avoid any of the wackiness that's been going on with the weather? It's really annoying. So annoying, that when she passes you, she makes an annoyed (and loud) sigh, stomping her foot immaturely. ]

Ughhhh, not you again!!

[ Whether or not you've noticed her all these times, she definitely remembers seeing you at least three times, and this time she's had enough. She' marches right up to you, fists on her hips, obviously Very Unhappy. ]

Hello? Haven't you seen me a few times by now? Or are you just following me?
lifespanned: (Default)

closed to yoruichi

[personal profile] lifespanned 2018-04-11 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Yoruichi and Misa were likely enjoying some of their regular banter, maybe Yoruichi decided to tag along while Misa (reluctantly) did errands - either way, the fact of the matter is that they are together. Whatever tirade Misa was likely going off on is rudely interrupted by their surroundings melting into something much cleaner and more air-conditioned than the streets of Wyver - her apartment from Earth.

It takes her a few seconds to fully realize where they are, but as soon as she does, she can see that in front of them is the open door of her bedroom, herself and another tale, pale figure talking there. As soon as her other self chimes, tell me how to kill a Shinigami!, she can't help but give out a nervous laugh, already frantically trying to come up with an excuse that would make this seem normal.

In fact, let her just, take a quick step forward so she can get her hand on the door and try to close it, the two voices inside chatting quietly about the possible ways to kill one. ]


You can't look at this! This film set was obviously top secret back then...

[ Yeah. Yeah, she'll just pretend this is a film. She's a talented liar, but obviously doesn't think as far ahead as her "romantic" counterpart, and right after she says this, she can already see that there are a lot of..holes...in the explanation that this was for a movie. But she'll stick with it for as long as she possibly can, searching the other's face for some sort of reaction that she could build off of. ]

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memory lane a

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inreturn: (11)

Kaden | Fire Emblem

[personal profile] inreturn 2018-04-12 12:11 am (UTC)(link)
i. rain rain go away

[Oof, and double oof. What is it with new arrivals and getting wet? Kaden just wants to check out the roads, really. After spending a month healing up, he wants to unleash his bestial form and go for a long run in the surrounding area on all fours...but as soon as he grabs his beast stone, storm clouds roll in faster than he can even smell them.

That’s not great.

So enter Kaden, dressed like he always is in his vaguely Japanese clothing with way too much chest showing, running through a field while rain splashes down on him relentlessly. The rain is so cold it sinks through his clothes all his way to his bones, and covering his ears and his face isn’t really doing him much good.

Fortunately, he’s not alone! Whether there’s a character with an umbrella or someone who’s found shelter underneath a large tree or small structure or in a shed, they’re no longer alone, either. Because here comes Kaden.]


Ahhh! Make room for me, I’m coming your way!

[Please help the wet fox.]

ii (a). good memories

[Deep in the mountains of Hoshido, there’s a small hamlet known as the Kitsune Hamlet. Very few people know of its existence; the kitsune rarely leave their village, save for a village chief who loves to wander. Kaden can hardly believe his eyes as he walks down one of the streets, kitsune passing by left and right. Some are napping in the shades of the building, and some are proudly strutting their four-legged forms.

Kaden’s mouth hangs open before it turns into a smile.]


It looks just like I remember it!

[He doesn’t really care who’s with him; he turns to them, an extra twitch in the tip of his tail, an extra bounce to his ears. Who’s good and happy fox? He is.]

Hey, come on! I’ll show you around.

[He knows it’s not real, but why should that stop him from showing off? He’s the chieftain after, all?]

ii (b). bad memories

[Or maybe one moment you’re on your own, and the next you find yourself in a sea of gingko trees in the mountains. They’re beautiful. Nearby, there’s a river, and the mountain air is a little chilly but otherwise it’s crisp and refreshing.

It’d be perhaps more beautiful if it weren’t for the bodies laying about.

On each side of the obvious path through the forest there are corpses—kitsune corpses. Some have been downed with weapons, others with magic. The only constant is that they all have fluffy ears and tails, though even Kaden can’t find those features beautiful in death. He doesn’t seem to notice that this part of the memory involves an army retreating far in the distance—no, he chooses not to, because no running would have him catch up.

And if memory serves, this is right when the storm happened. These are the memories from right when he died.

He squats near a young kitsune man and sighs forlornly.]


So you didn’t escape, Youta? I’m sorry. You were really looking forward to the full moon celebration the most, weren’t you?

[What a bummer.]
Edited 2018-04-12 00:11 (UTC)
thetaintedsorrow: (Blushu)

Wet fox smell

[personal profile] thetaintedsorrow 2018-04-12 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
[It’s just Chuuya’s fucking luck that he’d be caught in a downpour, because of course it is. He doesn’t make a habit of carrying an umbrella with him like, ever, so the best he can do is keep from getting soaked by stopping the raindrops before they hit him. How, you ask? By manipulating the gravity around him so that they still midair as Chuuya walks along. It’s a neat trick, but still, gravity won’t protect him from goddamn lightning, so it’s best to take shelter in a nearby cave until it passes.

Just as he leans up against the wall of the cave, legs drawn up to his chest, a very wet kitsune invades his personal space. He scoots over enough to let the guy in, because he’s not an asshole, but still, he’s managed to stay dry up until now, so don’t ruin it, Kaden!
]

Oi! Don’t be shaking all over me! I’m nice and dry over here.
Edited 2018-04-12 01:14 (UTC)

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hedonistic: (pic#10783591)

Shuusei Kagari | Psycho-Pass

[personal profile] hedonistic 2018-04-12 12:13 am (UTC)(link)
forgetting is so long [cw: child abuse in the first prompt, gore and death in the second]

one.

[You're in a prison. But there's something strange about it; inside the barred glass doors are children. Young children, some that appear to be as young as around five or six years old. Some of them rock in place on the bare cots of their sterile, empty rooms, others sob pitifully. They're inaudible, through the glass, but their distress is visible, palpable.

Among these cells is a boy of about seven, with pale brown hair and eyes that look a decade older than they are. Across from him, another child beckons challengingly with two fingers; lips reading as if to say, Let's play a game.

---

The 'boy' then told Kagari 'he' too would start playing a game of life and death.

"The games played with you were fun…"

"Wait."

"But it’s time. I’ve already been contacted, so I’m going to play my final game."

---

Days upon days passed, but he didn't get to see the 'boy' again. So he asked an officer one day if the kid was dead.

"Eh? But that room has always been empty from the start."]


two.

[Or: you're in a vast anechoic chamber. The light inside is bright and harsh, as opposed to the dimness of the basement outside. A young man with bright orange hair stumbles in, clutching a bleeding shoulder as he stares around in horror at the scene before him. There's an older man there, laughing and filming everything on his phone. He seems thrilled, while the younger man just continues to stare speechlessly.

"This...this is the true form of the Sibyl System! We don't even have to destroy this. If we make this public, it'll be the end of this country. And this time, real riots will occur."

The older man's gloating is interrupted by the sound of footsteps, clanking loudly on the metal. It's what appears to be an old woman, holding a strange, transforming weapon.

{Target's Threat Judgment has been updated.}

The older man fires his own weapon at the woman, but he's a second too late. His head swells and bursts, splattering the younger with blood, and the woman -- not flesh and blood at all, but machine -- turns the weapon on him. It transforms back automatically, Nonlethal Paralyzer, before something forcibly overrides and it transforms yet a third time. An iridescent green light starts to fill the room.


"Oh, give me a break...this bites."]


three.

[It's a kitchen, this time. There's a freshly made cheesecake on the counter, garnished with raspberries and chocolate sauce. The young man with the brightly orange hair stands nearby, a mixing bowl in his hand.

A petite brunette stands across from him, smiling cheerfully. "Huh, you're as good a cook as always, Kagari-kun."

"Heheh, yeah I guess."

"It might be not my place to ask this, since I've also gorged myself on your handmade food before, but still: doesn't the calorie count go through the roof if you cook your meals by hand?"

He shrugs, continuing to mix the bowl. "So what if it does? All humans will die regardless of what they eat. Perfect food, perfect healthcare... No matter how perfect those things are, everybody will still die eventually."

She seems vaguely stunned at that reaction; all she manages is a small "oh."

"What's important is the process, Akane-chan. I spend my time and efforts on cooking because I want to enjoy my journey through life while I'm still alive. You can call me the Cooking Idol!"

"I'm not calling you that."]
Edited 2018-04-13 15:30 (UTC)
almaredemptoris: (Default)

un

[personal profile] almaredemptoris 2018-04-15 11:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[It is unlike any prison Jean Valjean has known - the facilities appear clean and sterile in white, a stark contrast from the dirty brick and imposing iron of his past - yet he recognizes it for what it is. The latticed bars guarding each cell instill in him the old feeling of entrapment and ignite in him the old instinct for escape. What horrifies him most of all, however, are the faces he spies between the bars: children, all of them, but stripped of the joy that God rolled into their beings.]

What is this place?

[This question he asks the surrounding dimness, casting his eyes about in search of someone who might answer. His voice, at first hollowed out by his horror, fills now with his compassion.]

Why are these children here, locked up like convicts? Who could do this to innocent souls?

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apricitous: (glasses: wistful)

Clark Kent | DCEU

[personal profile] apricitous 2018-04-12 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
by campfire's glow | southern outpost

[ Clark's been a little anxious about leaving the city very often since everything started, but given what happened the last time new arrivals had come to planetside, he'd decided to be on hand. Thankfully, nothing like that had happened, nothing so severe, but even good things require a bit of effort and care. That's why he's in the tent city, helping people cook what they like over the fires, find what they need among the supplies, and whatever else he can think of to help around the little settlement. He can't help it. It's just how he's wired.]


close encounters - we got cows!

[ After the first of the tornadoes springs up, Clark's on the ground and keeping an eye and an ear out for more, any kind of unnatural or harmful weather patterns that people could get caught in. He'll do his best to help like any 'normal' person would, but he's well past he point where he'd ever let anyone come to harm if they're in the way of something truly harmful. Especially, as one might imagine, a tornado. Even if that gives him a bit of a hitch in his breathing when he gets to close to one for reasons that have nothing to do with the danger. ]


forgetting is so long

one
[ An older man walks through a corn field, slowing as he finds a small boy sitting on the tailgate of an old pickup truck. The boy looks over at him, blue eyes bright with fear and tension, dark curls wild from the run that'd brought him to that spot. His teeth grit and his arms tense as he looks at the old man. He's the first one to talk.

"I just wanted to help," he says, all defense, all shaking stubbornness.

"I know you did," the older man agrees with an easy nod, "But we talked about this. You HAVE to keep this side of yourself a secret."

The boy looks anguished, lost, caught between a rock and a hard place. The question, when he asks it, is edged with horror. "Was I just supposed to let them die?"

The old man takes that in, watching him, clearly thinking before he answer. The word that comes out is, perhaps, not what the watcher might have expected:

"Maybe."

The boy's clearly just as surprised. He looks like he wants to argue, but the older man continues.

"There's more at stake here than our lives," he starts up, swaying a little with the Kansas winds, moving as easily as the stalks of corn all around them. "Or the lives of those around us. When the world finds out what you can do, it's going to change everything. Our beliefs, our notions of what it means to be human. Everything. You saw how Pete's mom reacted. She was scared, Clark."

Clark, the boy, lets his head sink a little, his eyes dropping in dismay, in frustration and confusion. What can he do? How can-

"Why?"

"People are afraid of what they don't understand," the older man, his father tells him quietly.

There's silence between them for a moment, silence and a trembling tension as the boy takes in his words, as the man hopes that he'll be understood. But after a moment, the boy speaks again.

"But is she right?" he asks, fear shot through his words, "Did God do this to me?"

The older man looks at him, unpleasant truth clear on his features as the memory fades.]


two
[ The memory starts with a view of the Arctic, of a white-covered mountain, of a pale sky. A moment later, there are small pebbles slowly rising around a tanned fist, the faint flutter of a red cape in the corner flickering in the wind. After another moment, a heartbeat, the view blasts off, flies up through the mist, through the clouds, and stares around for a moment in pure wonder, pure joy, before bursting forward to keep flying. Over water, over the plains, through the canyons and past the clouds. There's a sense of the most amazing joy before the memory fades. ]

three
[ In a desert bunker, a dusty looking place, a red-haired woman is being held captive, held hostage, by a man with a knife. There's a boom, the destruction of a ceiling, and the crumbling of rocks is the only backdrop to a very brief exchange that leaves the red-haired woman smirking just a little as the man with the knife is rocketed away from her and... ooo, possibly through a wall. It's a short memory.]

four
[ The memory is short, from a third person point of view, where a little five year old is running around with a puppy. The boy has a red cape tied around his neck and he's bouncing around on a sun-soaked afternoon, a woman waiting on the porch of a farm house watching with a gentle smile on her face. The little boy poses dramatically before giggling himself silly and chasing the puppy. This goes on for a while before the puppy ends up running into a small gaggle of geese, which has both puppy and boy scampering off in the other direction with a cry of dismay. The boy and the dog head for the porch but while the dog runs inside, the boy wraps around the woman with a strangled little squeak of 'Mama!' before she laughs and scoops him up to carry him into the house and cover him with kisses.]


wildcard

[ whatever you like!]
Edited 2018-04-12 04:15 (UTC)
assholic: (Upset - 2)

Forgetting: Four

[personal profile] assholic 2018-04-12 04:54 am (UTC)(link)
[She's standing in a grassy spot in a place she's never been. Other than the fact that she was just standing in the kitchen, this lets her know this isn't a memory of hers. The only other person in the house is Clark, and she looks for him before she really focuses on what's happening around her. She doesn't know how bad it might get. What might happen. Who might be there. It isn't until she hears the shriek of the geese that she looks over to see a small boy, red towel tied around him and a dog yapping around his heels that she takes in the actuality of where she is. Whose memory she's in.

She watches, because what else can she do? She watches him play with the geese, with the dog, and she watches a younger version of the woman she'd gotten Alan to paint a portrait of gather up the young boy, smothering him in kisses.]


Oh, thank god.

[It's what she says out loud, because she'd been so terrified this would be another nightmare. Another thing she shouldn't see. But it was... sweet. Gentle. God, everything that made Clark what he was. Love and that freedom of being able to run around and just be. She stood there watching a younger Martha smile and coddle a younger Clark, and she ignored the single tear slipping over her cheek.]

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forgetting is so long (one).

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assailed: (pic#11927773)

killian jones | ouat

[personal profile] assailed 2018-04-12 07:41 am (UTC)(link)
a. campfires and shepherds

[ At some point these sorts of things have stopped being surprising to Killian Jones. As man who once lived in the Enchanted Forest only to find his home in Storybrooke this sort of travel isn't much for him to wrap his head around. He's been through portals created by magical beans. This is far more technological in it's efforts, but it doesn't leave him in awe. He simply accepts it as part of his new sort of norm. Cell phones and televisions were strange for him. At this point more gadgets would only be more things on the list for him to master.

Camping though among the wildness is what he's familiar with. Somewhat. Most of his life has been spent at the sea, but he's no stranger to this. Surviving. This is quite the welcome though. It's a relief not to have to set up camp themselves. But Killian does engage with his fellow arrivals if only to find word of where his wife might possibly be. He's a dedicated man when he wants to be.

The ones who were here before their arrival are unsettling, but only because Killian doesn't know their intentions. He's been through far too much to truly just accept "good intentions", but at the same time Emma's family has taught him some trust. He's in between a rock and a hard place. They seem to have made things quite comfortable for their new arrivals and Killian has no problem settling in despite the strange announcement come morning. He's an odd fellow, but he's not the biggest blowhard he's seen in his time roaming the lands. He simply tunes him out until things settle down ]


b. of white and gold

[ He's here because Emma is here. He has no ties or loyalties to Olympia. He's never been that big on political issues like this. As a pirate he's seen what power does to leaders. It corrupts. It ruins. Absolutely. He's seen it happen to himself as well. When he was the Dark One it didn't take much to nudge him into the darkness. It didn't take much for him to take advantage of his power to take vengeance out on those who had wronged him in the past. He's no stranger to war or what it can do to people. Olympia doesn't hold his allegiance and neither does Wyver. Emma does however.

Which is why he's participating in this tour. Tours. Either way he's going about a city. Likely because Emma's had enough of him trying to explain what their future holds for them. Trying to explain what becomes of them from the point she last recalls. A bit of space won't hurt the situation. He doesn't want to pile everything onto her. He'll get acquainted with the city while she processes. It'll take longer than a tour or two, but he's prepared to wait as long as it takes. They've gone through too much for him to just abandon his wife. Especially given that he knows that's her fear. Just as it's his. ]


I wouldn't mind going to have a free drink or four.

[ He puts on a crooked smile. ]

c. forgetting is so long

1. we're all young once

[ Killian's stomach turns the moment he recognizes where he's standing. A ship stuck out at sea while a storm rages. The boat sways and moves with each wave. A young boy lays in his bed looking dreadfully afraid. The fear only amplifies the moment the lantern in the cabin blows out. The room grows dark and he sits up in a flash yelling out for his father. A man bursts in reassuring his son that he's there. The young boy looks visibly relieved simply having his father in the cabin as the elder relights the lantern.

It's all right, son. I'm here. See? There's nothing to be afraid of. Now--remember, whenever you feel scared, all you have to do is look inside. We're all braver than we think if we just look deep enough. Before you know it, you're gonna be a man, so I'm just trying to prepare you 'cause then you're gonna have to answer life's big question. What kind of man are you going to be?

The boy looks deep in thought until finally he lets out the smallest of laughs. Finally he seems to have an answer for his father.

OOC: Here is the memory. The rest of it will play out in his tags if this is replied to. The written bit is cut down to save scrolling space. ]


2. saying goodbye is the hardest part

[ The sight is familiar to Killian. Maybe to no one else, but he knows exactly what's happening here. Him and Emma racing through what seems like an underground cavern. He knows it's not. It's the Underworld. Hell. Emma has Killian by the hand as she pulls him towards what appears to be a freight elevator. Killian comes to a stop as they finally reach it.

Come on, we don't have that much time before the portal closes. What?

He doesn't make a move to join her inside it. He hesitates and watches her step into it. He remains outside it. He looks devastated as he finally tells her the truth. It's the only way to give her a life outside of this.

I'm not going up with you. I never was. We're never gonna find anything up there to save me.

But you said--


OOC: Here is the memory. The rest of it will play out in his tags if this is replied to. The written bit is cut down to save scrolling space. ]


3. the making of captain hook

[ The call of seagulls and the sight of the deck of his ship make Killian curious. There's a hundred memories that could take place here. More than a hundred. The crew bustles and moves until finally Milah comes aboard supporting an injured Killian Jones with two very functioning hands. No hook. A crew member approaches them as they head up the gangway.

Milah, what happened?

Fetch some water. And get me that prisoner from below deck, along with the goods that he carried. Now!


The crew members hustle about as another man steps up the gangway behind them. He doesn't look human entirely. His skin scaly There's no telling what he is. Who he is.

OOC: Here is the memory. The rest of it will play out in his tags if this is replied to. The written bit is cut down to save scrolling space. ]


4. the loss of a brother

[ It doesn't take him very long to recognize what memory is before him. The group of men stand by the side of the ship with a plank of wood holding a body up. The body is wrapped in white sheets and silence seems to overwhelm them. The only sounds that are heard are the ocean and the sound of the ship rocking.

The men lift the wooden board up and the body slides down into the sea. A younger Killian stands in the middle of the men. He's dressed as a Naval man. At this point he's still in the King's Navy. A man of honor and discipline, but that seems to be edging out of him. He doesn't flinch as they drop his brother into the ocean. It's a burial at sea. If his brother were breathing it's likely what he would have wanted. One man steps forward with a leather satchel of sorts and hands it to the younger Killian.

This belongs to you now--Captain.

Surprise covers his face as he hears his new title for the first time. A harsh reminder that his brother and their captain are gone. He takes the satchel running his fingers over the emblem before speaking in a low whisper.

You will never leave my side, brother.

OOC: Here is the memory. The rest of it will play out in his tags if this is replied to. The written bit is cut down to save scrolling space. ]


5. hell beasts are the worst

[ The only difference between this Killian and the one watching this unfold is the hair length. Longer and shaggier not to mention the bruised and bloodied face. Smeared blood all about his face. When he awakens from the ground one of his eyes seems to be severely swollen. It doesn't open completely. It's difficult to say how he's still alive, but that's Hades. Taking you to the brink only to start all over. He struggles to breathe as he forces himself upright. The agony is in his voice when he yells.

Is this a bloody trick?

He gets to his feet entirely before stepping out just barely before another voice echoes out. Female. Located in a "cell" directly in his eye line.

Stop. That's an exactly what it is. A trick. Don't move. He wants you to think you can escape, but--you can't. No one can.

Aye. We'll see about that.


OOC: Here is the memory. The rest of it will play out in his tags if this is replied to. The written bit is cut down to save scrolling space. ]
sheriffing: (🌟 257)

saying goodbye is the hardest part

[personal profile] sheriffing 2018-04-13 04:08 am (UTC)(link)
[ he's telling the truth, she's sure of it. her super power can be compromised by her emotions, but she can't see it swinging in his favor when it comes to their marriage and the stories Killian has been sharing with her. it hurts him when she questions it, when she protests and argues for the life she knows over the one he lived - but what else is she supposed to do?

before the storm, she might've been ready to date him, and suddenly the two of them are the only ones awake (and could be sent back into stasis at any time). he's wearing a ring and promising her they'll get through this together, and all she can think is that it's too much too soon.

unfortunately, that argument doesn't hold when the storm pulls the two of them into a memory. of course it's not one that the two of them share - it's probably one of Hook's, definitely not one of hers. and for a moment, she tries to catch up to the scene in front of them.]


No. Killian, I came to the Underworld to save you. I'm not going back without you.

I'm afraid we don't have that choice, love. ... Look, I just want to say my goodbyes down here, without everyone watching.


[ the Underworld? she straightens up with that explanation, trying to connect the dots as he talks about the two of them having had more time than they meant to, and throwing in a Camelot mention. then she studies this other version of herself; the tremble in her voice and the tears in her eyes, the way her heart seems to break as she accepts what he's asking of her. that's love, there's no denying it.]

What the hell is this? I thought you said we were happy.

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defenses: (╏ 138.)

vane, granblue fantasy

[personal profile] defenses 2018-04-12 01:57 pm (UTC)(link)
[ dropping down some personalized starters! if you'd like me to write you one, please feel free to comment and i'll figure something out!

if you wanted to plot something, please feel free to hit me up at [plurk.com profile] cages! ♥
]
defenses: (╏ 102.)

clair,

[personal profile] defenses 2018-04-12 02:13 pm (UTC)(link)
[ the trek probably isn't simple for anyone, so it's kinda nice to have the companionship of someone he knows the whole way through. between the weather on the fritz and the fact that they haven't exactly been met with the most ideal conditions overall, he's pretty grateful that clair seems to hold her own pretty well. though, that isn't to state he hasn't done his best to cover her when he can.

but, well despite his attempts there's only so much he can do in the face of a particularly bad rain storm. while he's done his best to try and shield her, the rain cloud doesn't appear to be letting up any as it almost seems to be following them. both of them. his clothes get drenched through easily enough, and as if that wasn't enough, it seems to be getting colder!? but while this seems like a horrible set of circumstances...

fortunately, they're close enough to shelter he doesn't think twice about grabbing her arm and pulling her towards that.
] Hold on, Clair! I got you! [ he yells through the clapping thunder. when he pulls the door open, he allows her in first, as he breathes in a sigh of relief.

he closes the door shut, and rubs a hand through his wet hair with a trouble smile.
] Hahaha, looks like we might be stuck here for a while. You all right? [ that's first and foremost, right? it'd be bad if she got a cold over this... he was the one who chose this path, after all. ]

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crawls on you as promised!

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the smoothest rune

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accomplice: all by cornballer. (b058)

fiona | borderlands

[personal profile] accomplice 2018-04-12 02:31 pm (UTC)(link)
arrival.
[ A lady appears dressed for the planet— or one like it, in her fancy steampunk gear and tough boots, topped off with a fancy hat. More notably, she appears to have received two (2) starter kits through various means, with the first hooked over one shoulder 'cause she's cool™ and the second in her hands, presently being explored. Perhaps she stole it from you, when your back was turned, or you witnessed her sweet-talk it out of some nice lad’s hands. Regardless, she appears unimpressed, frown pulled tight. ]

the truth is out there.
[ Abruptly, Fiona comes to a stop. She flicks up the brim of her hat, so her travelling companion can see the sharp arch of her brows. ]

You see that? [ She points to a nearby tree with FIONA WAS HERE and two tally marks sloppily scratched in the side. Maybe there’s an indicator that you passed this point, too. ] I did that. Me. Twice. [ a beat. ] We’re going in circles.

[ little does she know that she only thought to make a mark on the seventh go around the block. ]

forgetting is so long.
[ The world fades in, smelling of exhaust and rust. Dust fills the air, spinning off tires. Engines rev all around, and the crowd roars. With the stadium lights up, the circular dirt track comes into view, penned in by jagged fences and rickety metalworks with a pit in the center. Single riders wearing manic masks and massive vehicles in varying states of disrepair speed past. You find yourself on a flat, open hunk of metal, pulled forward by two masked motorcyclists, as if it were a chariot.

A booming, tinny voice pierces the din: And now — degenerates and scumbags — it’s time for what you’ve been waiting for! The first motorized killtacular event of Murder Rally twelve-thousand! Also known as That Big Chariot Race Thing Where Everyone Dies! Whoever is the last mongrel still screaming at the end will win the one, the only Hyperion Mystery Case of Wonder! ]


Hey! [ Fiona lifts off her own mask to give a scathing look. ] We gotta win this race and get the case.

[ Oh, it’s a we now, is it? Welcome to the Death Race. ]

a fork in the road.
[ An Olympian jeweler has caught Fiona’s attention, holding out necklaces on his slim fingers, but one of his rings gleams brightest in the light. Must be a precious gem. ]

C’mon, man. An example of what’s to come? Really? Sounds like an empty promise. [ then, drawling. ] I’m an eligible refugee, blessed by the gods, sent from above to change the world, the whole package — [ she sets one hand on her hip and tilts up her chin expectantly. ] — so I’m gonna need you to make me a better offer. How about… you give me that gold ring? I’ll wear it whenever I wave my hands and chant “Olympia strong!”

[ Ah, the sweet smell of bullshit in the morning. ]

wildcard.
[ do whatever you want / pm me or hmu @ [plurk.com profile] locution for something special! ]
Edited 2018-04-12 14:41 (UTC)
daemonized: (16)

forgetting is so long

[personal profile] daemonized 2018-04-16 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
We?

[Oh, this is different. The sound of engines, the chaos, the dust being kicked up by absolutely everything.]

Oh, my. Did I hear something along the lines of 'Murder Rally'?

[Amusing, for he knows this is but a memory. So seems to be the trend as of late.]

How can I say no? What do you require of me?

a fork in the road

[personal profile] exorion - 2018-04-17 17:16 (UTC) - Expand
exorion: (027)

Cayde-6 | Destiny

[personal profile] exorion 2018-04-12 11:40 pm (UTC)(link)
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE
[Being a robot doesn't affect Cayde much. Exo tech is advanced enough that he's never been bothered by the stuff that generally messes with technology. Even an EMP wouldn't do anything to him, or at least hasn't so far. And he's faced off against stuff a hell of a lot more advanced than anything he's seen here on this planet.]

[So consider it a surprise for him when he's enjoying a drink or maybe talking to someone, or whatever someone like him does, and his whole body shuts down. If he's holding something, it falls out of his hands as his arms fall to his sides and his eyes flicker off, body still and immobile.]

[It's like an enforced micronap, one that only lasts half a minute at most, but it's enough to leave him groggy and disoriented, blinking and addressing the nearest person.]


Uh, what was I saying?


WE GOT COWS
[This is just a prompt where it spontaneously starts hailing in Wyver and Cayde gets smacked in the face by a giant hunk of ice that knocks him down.]

[That's it, that's the prompt.]


FORGETTING IS SO LONG
I:
[Six Fronts. Cayde remembers this. The Titans held the wall, blah blah blah. He's heard the story a bunch of times, like he wasn't actually there himself. Granted, he wasn't doing anything as glorious as standing defence on the City's perimeter — he'd be crushed in seconds trying to stand against a frontal offence like that — but a hunter has a different set of skills to use.]

[Wherever he was in the real world, the streets around him become one of those settlements at the edge of the City's walls; the Traveller high above them, the worst of its injuries plainly visible from this angle. In the distance, there's fire, explosions, gunfire. In the back alleys though, it doesn't get much worse than the odd Fallen patrol that's gotten separated from the pack.]

[Cayde's leading a group of normal folks — mostly humans, the odd Exo or Awoken, a few children belonging to the one family in the group — through the backstreets. It's a long time ago, he's not wearing the same armor or using the same gun, but the real Cayde seems pretty enamoured with himself anyway. Pumping a fist in triumph as he watches himself take down a Vandal in two shots, four arms flailing and a gutteral noise of pain that he recognises as a curse as it goed down, without so much as slowing his steps and just keep going.]


Man. [Cayde puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head proudly.] I look great in action.


II:
[This place is gorgeous, Cayde's always thought so. Suspended miles in the air, the floating platforms, hunks of metal and abandoned Vex technology. One misstep and it's a long fall to Mercury's surface, but there's a lovely view of the sun huge and close overhead to look at in the meantime.]

[It's a game of Clash, 3v3, most kills wins and the score's pretty even at the moment. Cayde knows they're camping the top near the portal and he has a super ready, the kind of thing that's tough to come back from if he nails it. And of course he will, he's awesome.]

[So here he comes, up the side, and he pops his super. Body emblazoned in golden light, gun made of flame, his gun comes down and--]

[--A sniper nails him through the forehead, Cayde doesn't get a chance to fire before his body falls to the floor and his Ghost is hovering over him. A shiny ball of light obediently counting down before it resurrects him.]

[Boy that would be embarrassing for someone else to see.]


III:
This one isn't one of his memories, but Cayde remembers his side of it, up in the Vanguard hall with Eris trying to translate her ooky-spooky magic stuff.

It's the caves under the surface of the moon, way deep in the Temple of Crota. Almost pitch black, you can barely see your hand in front of you. Chitin and rock crunches underfoot, and just ahead is a woman in light armor, hooded cloak pulled over her helmet, her Ghost shining a beam of light that only manages to illuminate the ground just in front of her.

Cayde follows, curious, especially when he hears his voice over the comms, "Okay, you've got the crystal. All you have to do now is fill it with Crota's soul. The Hive are in the middle of some kind of funeral, so—"

"Not a funeral, a death ceremony." Eris' voice, deep and breathy and annoyed, cuts him off. Cayde, the real one, rolls his eyes. "Crota's essence is being prepared for the next realm."

"I mean, that's a funeral, right?" Cayde says at the same time the him on the comms dismisses Eris.

"Right. So when you get to this funeral, Oryx will be watching close. Use Rasputin's cloak to slip past the Taken. Find Crota's soul, wrap it up, and get out."

Curious, Cayde keeps following as the Guardian moves further into the temple. It'll be cool to see what that protege of his is capable of as close to in person as he's gonna get.


WILDCARD Let's party.
Edited 2018-04-12 23:42 (UTC)
objectionattorney: (This is the face of a man who is doubtin)

Phoenix Wright | Ace Attorney

[personal profile] objectionattorney 2018-04-13 04:34 am (UTC)(link)
I. The Campfires Glow

[Phoenix still hadn't been used to the long and strenuous trips that were occasionally required of him every time a new group of refugees had been announced. Despite his six months on El Nysa, he was still just a lawyer from a fairly mundane world. So all his time adjusting had been spent merely accepting that things like magic and mythical creatures were real. The physical aspect this world tended to take was still holding quite a toll over him. But at least this time he was not alone.

He had hitched a ride most of the way towards the peninsula, and whenever there was a decent enough road he was willing to bike it. It was the non-paved travel that was the real pain. The staff he had recently received had been caked with dirt as it was being used more as a large walking stick than anything else, and the bike often proved to be more of a hindrance than help.

And yet, eventually he had managed to make it. His boots dirty and his forehead speckled with sweat, he did his best to be as helpful as he could in helping greet the new arrivals from Thessa Station.

A bonfire wasn't that hard to set up right?

And so, kneeling on the dirt ground (he didn't want to get his nice blue slacks messy), his bike on the floor next to him, he leaned over the small jumble of sticks and dead wood he had managed to gather. His face taking on an expression of extreme concentration as he anxiously knocked some flint together.
]

Come on... I've seen people do this all the time in movies...

[He really was hopeless at this whole 'survival in a magical world' thing.]

II. Forgetting Is So Long

[Thankfully, thanks to much of the hype involved, getting back home to Olympia was a much easier trip than getting to the peninsula. He was now recognized as an emissary to Dharma after all, so many of the civilians were suddenly happy to help offer him a ride or carry his bike when he couldn't use it. After all, he was helping convince the new refugees to come to Olympia.

In fact he was talking up Olympia and all his experiences as of so far at that moment. His hands in his pockets as he looked over towards the person he was talking to.
]

It's kind of surreal when you think about it. I've already been here for nearly a half a year now. But with all that had happened I suppose it makes sense that it all went by so fast. Though I won't lie... I'm kind of looking forward to just going home and having a nice big warm meal and a glass of grape juice.

[He laughed, his head tiling back as he thought of the "home" he had to go to.]

It isn't much a of a place I guess, but it's good for what it is I gu-- Huh?

[He blinked. His eyes seeming to no longer focus on the person he was talking to. Instead seeming to look into the distance.]

What's this?

[Sure enough, as he was pointing it out, the sun seemed to have faded, as if they had walked into an area that blocked it's rays. The temperature, as well, dropped considerably along with it. A cool mist rising from the floor. Phoenix's own expression suddenly growing far more serious than what suited him.]

Something's not (w)right...

III. Of White And Gold

[He had to admit, he wasn't expecting such a celebration to happen upon their arrival back to Olympia. After all, it was only two months ago that there was a large festival to commemorate Nythor.
But he also wasn't one to turn down a good deal when he saw it.

Discounts for all refugees huh?

It was one stall in particular that caught his attention. If it couldn't be seen by how distracted from his conversation he had become.
]

Hey... Do you mind if we step in there?

[Ah. He was pointing to the Silk Wyrms.]

As much as I love my suit, perhaps it's time for an upgrade.

IV. WildCard!

((Questions, Comments, or Wish to play something else? Feel free to leave a starter here! Or you can contacts me at [plurk.com profile] chohakkaifan to ploy things out!))
milesedgelord: You know shit is real when the glasses come off. (pic#11685264)

1 Campfire Glow

[personal profile] milesedgelord 2018-04-13 06:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[When Phoenix headed over to assist in welcoming in the new refugees to the country, Miles went along with him. He had figured it was better to be on the border of the country so it would be easier to slip off into Wyver with the new refugees.

He had left his usual jacket and suit to dress down for the occasion, opting for a set of black jeans and a burgundy t-shirt instead, and a pair of sturdy boots, a backpack that may have had a small dog peeking out of it. It had felt really good to be able to stretch his legs after such a long time being cooped up indoors, and though the terrain was rougher than he was used to, he didn't really have much to complain about.

The ride there was quiet, much of what he needed to talk about being left unsaid.

Currently, he was kneeling over his friend with his hands over his hips, watching him struggle.]


You do realize that that wood is still far to wet to actually light, correct? We need dryer wood.

[The first words that came from him in a long time were critical. Classic.]

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smithandwesson: (Saiyuki 1997)

Genjo Sanzo | Saiyuki

[personal profile] smithandwesson 2018-04-13 07:15 am (UTC)(link)
A. A Shepard Of The Flock

[... How did this asshole get word of the refugees arrival here?

No, but seriously, Sanzo was standing just outside the crowd around the pulpit. His gaze deep-set and in-amused. Not that he did not appreciate Vos's 'lesson of the month' in that civilians should treat the refugees to El Nysa with respect. He was fine with that.

What he did not enjoy was how Vos seemed to treat those who arrived to this world as emissaries in which Dharma herself spoke through. Although she did help them, he knew just as much as the others that they knew jack shit in regards to Dharma's incentives and plans. And yet here this guy was practically worshiping them for something they were very much not.

He hated people like that. People who expected things from those who had no intention of helping.
]

'Tch. And who was the asshole who told this guy that we were all going here anyway? Last thing we need is him preaching his holy bullshit at us while we're simply trying to settle in.

[Says the guy who was very distinctly dressed as a shaman of Volkkra.]

B. We Got Cows

[Truthfully Sanzo wasn't much interested in many of the events or celebrations going on. All he wanted to do was get the new refugees settled quickly and get as many good god points as he could. This wasn't his first escort mission in this new world after all, and it most likely wasn't going to be the last.]

All right losers. Keep moving. We should be hitting a major road shortly and with that we will hit a fork. There is the point that you go in the direction of whatever country you chose to live in. If you haven't made up your mind yet I suggest you do so quickly.

[Amazing how bored he sounded as he announced this. But then again this was probably the safest escort he had done since he got here.

Perhaps it was his thinking that which jinxed it.
]

Oy! You there! Hurry it up!

[Spotting a straggler from the group he was herding, he walked over to see what was up only to suddenly see a large and absolutely ominous storm cloud follow not too far behind.]

...What the hell?

[There wasn't a cloud in the sky a second ago. Where the hell did that come from?]

C. Of Red And Black

[Home sweet chaotic home. Or at least that's what Sanzo thought as he wandered the streets, casually looking over all of the various events and festivities going on thanks to the refugees arrival. What an extreme change from how the last batch were treated.

Truthfully he had no real interest in any of what he saw. Especially since he knew better than to go for the offer that the spas were giving. And so he casually looked over everything. Quietly enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the city. (Or at least as peaceful as Wyver can get).

That was, until he notice The Forged offering free lessons in weapons crafting.

Now, he highly doubted they knew how to fix up and upgrade a proper pistol, but there was one other thing he had that he was curious to mess around with. And so, more out of boredom than anything else, he slipped past the curtains of the shop, peaking in on whoever decided to take a few of the courses.
]

Oy. If you want to give 'em some practice weapons to test out their skills on I've got something for ya.

[And so he nudged at the hilt attached to his hip, lightly tugging out the katana to revel its blade.]

Been looking for a reason to get this thing sharpened.

[Would probably be cheaper if one of the newbie forgers sharpened it anyway.]

D. WILDCARD

((OOC: Questions, Comments, Or have another situation you want to throw this grump monk into? Feel free to contact me at [plurk.com profile] chohakkaifan. Or just leave a top level here for me to respond to! I am usually open to pretty much anything! ♥))
baguablade: (21)

Cain | Granblue Fantasy

[personal profile] baguablade 2018-04-14 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
( twicetold tales )
[ A blink, and you find yourself standing elsewhere, Cain beside you. He's uncharacteristically grim as you watch the scene playing out before you — a memory, from Cain's past. For once, the smile's vanished from his face; he watches with his hands clenched into fists at his side. ]
i. divine retribution
[ You stand at the edge of a city block — what once was a city block. There's signs of the life that used to be: rich store fronts, their windows blown out, carts upturned, expensive wares spilled into the streets, bright pennants torn and lying muddied in the dirt. But the street is carved in half; feet beyond where you stand, it simply ends, a cliff jutting out into a cavernous canyon where the rest of the marketplace used to be. Broken rock, jagged cliffsides, and rubble stretches out before you, giving proof that where once a splendid capital stood, now there is only ruin.

A beam of light lances from the midday sky above, carving its merciless way further through the city. Screams echo as people flee its uncaring path.

Distantly, you can hear: Divine retribution! and The king has brought this upon us! and The gods are purging the corruption from Torhid!
]

ii. oh brother, where art thou
[ Another ruined city block, this one a residential district, the ground intact though the houses still ruined, from looting, vandalism, and worse, if not a great light from above. At first, it seems like the street is abandoned. There's little reason to be here, only broken glass, splinters of wood, and the burnt-out shells of houses, everything of value already stolen.

But something stirs beneath the moonlight. A small shadow that under the pale light reveals itself to be a boy — a teenager — a shorter, slighter version of the man standing beside you, the same dark hair, a handful of years younger, dressed in grubby, torn clothes. The younger Cain lets out a cry as he sees the destruction and makes a dash for one of the houses — a charred wreck, obviously not safe to enter, and yet he starts digging at the rubble blocking the door, frantic, calling out— a name. Abel! Abel!

There's a shout down the street. Another man, older, calls his name, comes running up to him, scowling, grabs him by the middle and drags him away. Cain's hands are cut, blood running down his wrists, but he still fights, twisting, trying to escape the hold.

What the hell do you think you're doing? Trying to get yourself killed? The man demands, but Cain's answer is too quiet to hear. Your brother's not there. He's dead, he was in the palace during the first attack, he's gone, Cain!

Cain slumps, going still, tears dripping down his face. The man hefts him up and carries him away.
]

iii. the substitute
[You find yourself in a cramped bedroom with two twin beds. It's shabby, but clean, everything neatly put away. The only other furnishings are a shared bedside table, a desk shoved up against the wall beneath a cracked window, a set of drawers and a wardrobe, and a chipped, full-length mirror. One door leads to a tiny bathroom and another leads out to a hall.

Of the room's two occupants, one is familiar: Cain, a few years younger than he is now, holds the other, a woman a few years his elder, in his arms. Both of them are dressed in the simple garb of soldiers; affixed to Cain's lapel is the pin of a junior officer. The woman is crying, her face pressed against Cain's shoulder.

Cain... I really wish Abel were still here with me, if he could just be... alive... The woman breaks off, sobbing, and Cain rubs her back, lets her cry. If he were only alive...

It's okay, Leo-nee—
Cain tries to say something, but she interrupts him.

You have to stay alive, Cain! If I lose you, too... You're all I have, now. You have to, I won't let anything happen to you!

Cain stares fixedly into the mirror, his expression blank as he comforts her.
]

iv. to the dearly departed
[ Cain, the same age as the one beside you, stands at the edge of a cliff, the wind whistling by. Beyond, stretches a vast sky, stained with the pink and gold of a sunrise. Just visible at his feet is a small grave marker and a fresh bouquet of flowers that he's just set down. A few petals caught by the breeze, drift away on a swirl of wind.

It's been a while, brother. Sorry I haven't been able to visit lately... But I've been busy! Some pretty interesting people are visiting right now. They came all the way from the other side of the Grim Basin.

Cain tilts his head up, staring absently out at the sky as he rambles on at his departed brother.

They aren't the only ones. Do you remember Reinhardtzar? Apparently he met you once... A long pause, before he adds: He actually asked me why I'm in such a hurry to die.

Cain's expression twists, betraying a mixture of resignation and relief.

I still often wish that it had been you who'd survived the fall of the Torhid Kingdom instead of me. If you were still around, Leona would probably be more... Another pause before he adds, nearly inaudibly: I just can't seem to move forward from here.
]

v. the makings of a king
[ You stand watching a confrontation: Cain (appearing the same as the one watching with you), a female knight, an adventurer, and a girl in blue stand facing off against a bandit king. They're being held hostage, outlaws ranged around them in a circle, weapons trained on the group.

And then the bandit king laughs and asks them, Why don't you become my allies instead?

Cain balks, visibly startled. You need even more allies than you have here? Are you trying to build an army?

The bandit king answers. Yeah, I guess you could say that. I want to build a country. But for that I need even more power. I'll make the rules. I'll build a country where even the powerless like us can live in peace.

The knight scoffs. That's a joke. What about the villagers? How can you threaten them one moment and spout your powerlessness the next?

And the bandit king asks her: Have you ever wanted to be a ruler? A ruler means reigning over others. Me taking money from the villagers is no different from them paying taxes. Besides, we spare them their lives and a fair portion of their fortunes. In exchange for all that, we protect the village from enemies and monsters. Until we showed up, there was barely a village here with all those monsters disrupting their way of life. Those folks aren't afraid of us. They're afraid of us leaving them. So? You'd say we're a threat to the village still?

Cain breaks in without hesitation. I'll say you're a threat. The way you tell it, a ruler's job is to bully the citizens. This coexistence you're talking about might work as a system, but no matter how you look at it, those villagers live in fear of you.

The bandit king answers him. To reign is to be feared. That's what comes with power and responsibility.

And Cain snaps back: I'm telling you that's backwards! People want to live in happiness with smiles and all.

The bandit king regards him for a moment, smiling, then asks him: Then why don't you tell me what sort of lord you'd wish to serve? What sort of ruler keeps people happy and smiling?

But the Cain of the memory has no reply.
]

( wildcard )
[ Available at [plurk.com profile] idelva to plot for other scenarios from the event! ]
pebblestone: official art (fe:a) (pic#11550777)

iv, what if it didn't take me 205892308424 to tag into anything

[personal profile] pebblestone 2018-04-16 08:18 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The expression on Cain's face is one Frederick's unused to seeing, one solemn rather than mischievous. It transforms him almost into a different man, and for a moment Frederick wonders just which is the real Cain, the cheerful man he's known up until now or the one that stands before him with a heavy weight on his heart.

It feels wrong to peer into such a deeply private memory and Frederick wishes for nothing more than to escape unseen, but Cain - the real Cain, made of flesh and blood - turns just as he's about to leave. Would it be ruder to leave without a word, or stay and pry even deeper?

Frederick hesitates a moment, then stands his ground to ask: ]


Do you still speak to him here?

[ His brother, that is. ]

same tbh

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ii - late with sbux

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desistor: (Default)

the boxer | transistor

[personal profile] desistor 2018-04-14 07:09 am (UTC)(link)
FORGETTING IS SO LONG.
1. (she shines.)

[As far as memories to wander in on, there's something quietly ordinary about this one. It's a theater. The air is dark and a little smokey, lit with golden light at the wide stage in the distance where a woman sings. Voice clear and powerful. And the audience is rapt, adores her. None so much as the man standing backstage, leaning against a wall by the edge of the lights and watching her intently. Closer than he should be, maybe, to the stage. But he can't find it in him to care, much.

This night, this time, it's just a show. Just any other night. Remarkable only in that they'll never have that kind of thing again, not in the same ways, or the same places. And it hits him harder than he expects. To hear her sing one more time.

And he spends...maybe a little too long, just watching. Quiet and still, an intent but unreadable expression on his face, and that strange, blue blade still set down to lean on the wall, next to his feet. It's not an uncomfortable memory—just the opposite, really. There's little danger to be had in it, little deep dark secrets ready to be revealed. (...But there's something dangerous about how easy it is to stay, just another song, just a few more seconds.)

So maybe it's a good thing his attention isn't too taken to realize when he's not alone. And anyone who doesn't read Cloudbank enough to him gets a firm hand on the shoulder before they happen too close to the reach of the spotlights, or the dark maze of the backstage Set. And, after a beat, a reluctant little jerk of his head away from the stage, easier than trying to be heard over the swelling music. If there's a way out...it's probably not that way.
]

2. (old friends.)

[Or, one finds themselves alone in an abandoned alleyway on the water. Nighttime in the city, somewhere empty and quiet, save for the rapid flashing of light from nearby. Coming, it seems, from the long, strange, green-blue blade embedded deep and fatally into the still and lifeless body of the man slumped into the ground. Flickering frenetically with light in time to the faint filtered voice that echoes out of it. A breathless, desperate litany that comes into earshot as one gets closer.

"Red, where are you? Where are you, where are you... Don't be gone, please don't be gone, I can't— I'm here. I'm over here, I'm over here, I'm... still here. Look if she's hurt, if she's hurt I'll... I'll what. I'll what...? I'll nothing. Stuck. I'm stuck. Inside— Am I...inside that thing? Inside it. What is all this, there's nothing— ...Nothing."

A beat of quiet. Then, a little steadier—

"...No... Wait. I'm okay... I think? I'm okay, I'm... Still here. So it could be worse! It could be worse... But where is she? Where is she, where is she, where is she. Where are you. You were there, you were right there, you and me both. We just... Come on, just— Where'd you go, where did you go..."

Get close enough to catch its (his) attention during any part of this, and the rattled rambling voice stops to call out in hushed and breathless hope. Pitched to carry, this time. Hi.
]

Hey! That you?

3. (moving out to the country. - closed to existing cr.)

[Wherever this is, it sure isn't El Nysa. Or Cloudbank, for that matter. There are fields of golden wheat as far as the eye can see. Dirt under one's feet. The air is calm, and comfortable, and quiet. If...eerily so. Like despite the placid fields and the crisp air, there isn't a single living soul around to inhabit it. No birdsong, no buzzing insects. Nothing. For miles and miles.

Closer examination finds that the sky above is reddish and roiling with stormclouds. Lightning flashing in fractured, circuitboard flashes. Looking up with enough focus finds something there, in the sky. Every now and then the sky parts. There are images, there and gone like a thunderclap. Nightmare flashes of a broken tower, something huge and white and red and angry, sounds of furious battle. A woman, with bright red hair and a torn golden gown. What can be made out seems... Distant. Far away. There's a sense, somehow...that you could almost (almost) reach out far enough, once, that it could seem close enough to touch. (But only almost.) But now it's gotten faint, and flickery, and gone, and even thinking at all might seem to take a little more effort than necessary. Like there's something in the air that's slowing you down. Ringing persistent static through your bones, the air in your lungs, the space between your eyes.

Or...not.

Either way, somewhere in the great wide empty, stark against the grass, is a man. A dark blot against the slow shifting sea of gold. Bent in on himself and scrubbing a hand over his eyes as if in pain, or disorientation. Which doesn't clear at first, when he looks up to see someone—anyone—here with him. The moment he does, he stutters to a stunned stop. (Because this is definitely, definitely, not how it's supposed to be.) Kneejerk, something hushed and horrified and heartbroken, for the heartbeat it takes for anything to make sense again—
]

Oh no...

WHITE AND GOLD
4. FLONA COVE. (the not-drama option, I swear.)


[Inconvenience aside, all the flashbacking does have a way of making one nostalgic. And if there's one thing he misses most about his old place in Cloudbank...it's living down by the water. So he's had his eye on visiting the shore almost as long as he'd been in Olympia to hear about it. And as nice and as bracing as it can be to walk the crowded boardwalks and all, there's still a few things that fail to stand. So, leaning on a rail near a dockside bar with the Transistor propped up beside him and watching the patrons picking at their drinks and their fancy barfood, he happens to remark in grave disappointment and (mock) despair—]

This...is a travesty. I don't think I want to live in a place like this, anymore.

[What the hell is he even going on about.]


(ETC as always this is Very Long and most of it is incomprehensible High Drama so if nothing here works for you I 100% encourage wildcards (esp for memshare stuff, please give me your favorite canon bits, I love this.) I'll be tagging out soon for other stuff too but feel free to hit me up to request something more specific and I'll type it up for you instead!)
originallutece: and STILL able to argue better than you (talk; look at me with my shirt half off)

2

[personal profile] originallutece 2018-04-18 01:35 am (UTC)(link)
[She doesn't know where she is, but that seems par for the course this week. It's a city, at least, though the dark colors and neon lights are as different from Columbia as can be. She takes a few steps forward, conscientious enough to avoid the puddles, her mouth pursed as she glances around.

There must be a reason she's here. Some memory, some reason . . . and sure enough, a desperate voice reaches her ears.

Red, he says, and she wonders if he means her. Heaven knows people tend to use nicknames liberally around her.]


I'm someone, anyway.

[She wrinkles her nose. A corpse isn't intimidating, but it's not pleasant to stumble across. But oh . . . that's interesting, isn't it? The voice seems to be coming from the sword, and not only that, but it seems conscious. That's new.]

Who are you? Can you see me, or simply hear me?

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3, you monster, etc

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as always we're slow together

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ofhousetarly: credit: <user name="recadreuse"> (17)

Sam Tarly | Game of Thrones

[personal profile] ofhousetarly 2018-04-14 04:35 pm (UTC)(link)
By campfire's glow:

[ Sam felt a sense of trepidation prior to stepping onto the transport, but he couldn’t deny his curious nature and what this exploration may lead to. He follows the lead of others and mirrors their actions, getting the impression that they knew what they were doing. The process makes him feel queasy and Sam is hoping that it doesn't take too long for him to reach his destination. He closes his eyes for a few moments, breathes in deeply and then suddenly the queasy feelings ends; is it over?

He opens his eyes to take a good look around, watching other people head towards something that resembles a campsite of sorts. It's familiar and yet not at the same time - Sam doesn't know what the coolers were and the fires didn't look like they were set for cooking on. Still, he won't deny himself food and a warm fire to sit in front of. The company would be nice as well.

It isn't long until Sam makes his way towards one of the tents, finding it empty. Good. This one he will claim for tonight. Not that he wasn't opposed to other people stopping by, but he also needed somewhere to sleep. Sam leaves his bag down before examining a nearby cooler to see what was inside, discovering that it contained food and bottles with a clear liquid inside. He lifts a couple of the bottles with the word 'beer' on it and another container with 'vegetable soup' written; it was all very well and good but how was he going to open it?

Sam frowns and glances around for something that would pierce the soup container, then realises that he would need a way to heat the food up.

Someone help him please. ]



A fork in the road:

[ From his brief time at the Thesa Station Sam remembers some information about each of the cities and what they had to offer. It doesn't surprise him that the citizens would try to lure people to stay, to secure their allegiance and grow in both strength and numbers. The opulent items that those from Olympia displayed reminds Sam of the rich nobles of his own world. Families like the Lannisters. He takes a particular interest in the Pegasi, finding them strange and fascinating at the same time, wondering what manner of creature they were. Sam is also equally interested in the serpents and the dragon blood; once again he is reminded of his home. Or well, a particular family - the Targaryens. How fascinating would it to be to potentially see a real dragon for himself?

At the same time, his interest in Olympia is sparked by the mention of temples. Maybe they had libraries and books about the history of this world. Sam's desire to learn and seek knowledge had, for the most part, never steered him wrong. He also thought about Gilly and baby Sam; if they joined him in this place, he would want for them to well looked after. Would that mean having to secure wealth or a weapon to protect them? Sam was conflicted about where to choose to live. He didn't want to make the wrong decision.

He stands in the middle of the road, looking between each of the paths, hoping that someone would be able to help him make a choice through expressing their own experiences of whatever city they lived in. ]



Wildcard! Exactly what the word suggests! Hit me up with a prompt or contact me on plurk @marymoo or via PM and we will work something out!
song_of_ice: ([Jon] Beams)

A Fork In the Road

[personal profile] song_of_ice 2018-04-14 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Sam!

[After having seen his friend on the station and among the other new arrivals, Jon had felt a renewed sense of optimism and eagerness that had been lacking for the past month. While it seemed a stark contrast to the greeting the last set of arrivals received, he could at least be grateful that Sam would be met with kindness by the different cities.

He gave him a quick hug before looking around in mild amusement.]


What do you think of it all?

[He could almost predict how Sam would feel. He read so often and knew so many different stories. This would be familiar, even in its strangeness. The dragons, the clothing and cities, he could likely reference them to some book or tale he had been told.]

You should visit Wyver. Men can ride dragons easily, it's not like what they said about the Targaryens.

[Or Daenerys.]

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sorry about the delay!

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so sorry for the delay!

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rechained: (★ smoking is bad for you 'k)

Gilbert Nightray | memshare prompts fight me

[personal profile] rechained 2018-04-15 02:29 am (UTC)(link)
[ ★ — THIS IS FINE ]

[ The air is hazy with smoke, not-so-distant fires crackling all around. The sharp metallic stench of blood undercuts the acrid odor of burnt fabric, burnt wood, burnt flesh. It looks to be the inside of some kind of palace, with bloody corpses fallen in all the corridors, in doorways, sprawled over the stairs.

In the middle of it all is Gilbert himself, sitting cross-legged on a clean spot on the floor. He looks entirely unconcerned and perhaps even bored as he lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. This isn't the first time this has happened to him, he doesn't suspect it'll be the last. No point in getting worked up over it. Either it'll clear up on its own soon, or he'll shake Raven awake to get him out of here. He really doesn't want to resort to that, however. Since he's already using his Chain to keep Elliot's Chain under control, the extra exertion will probably cause him to pass out for the better part of a day, and in the meantime who knows what mischief Humpty Dumpty will get up to. Sigh.

Yeah, best just to give it some time to clear up on its own. He flicks a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette in the general direction of the mess around him, then has another mildly disgruntled, ultimately unconcerned drag. ]


[ ★ — WELCOME TO YOUR FUNERAL ]

[ Gilbert blinks and he's standing before a casket. A priest drones on about a young life lost too soon, the tragedy of it, the peace that comes with death, how Elliot is well met by his family waiting for him on the other side—

Elliot.

His head jerks up, looking around him in disbelief. Vincent is next to him, that drab and overcast day, all of them in funeral blacks. Vincent sniffs into a handkerchief, though Gilbert doesn't see any tears. There are other nobles assembled, some representation from each of the houses, though neither Duke Nightray nor Leo are there.

Elliot's in that casket.

It's small. It's too small. Elliot shouldn't fit in there. How could they fit all of him, all of his strength, his presence, his personality, into that little polished box? How can he be gone when he was just here, was always here, as as much family to Gilbert as anyone has ever been?

Elliot's in there. He's in that box and he's never coming home again.

There was so much to deal with after the party. Not just Elliot's death, but Vanessa's. Everything that came to light that day, everyone who was hurt, all the greater implications of what they learned.

Gilbert never got to take a breath until this day, never had a moment for it all to sink in.

Now that one hysterical thought keeps repeating in his head.

Elliot's in there. Elliot's in that casket. Elliot's in there. They're going to put him in the ground.

A wave of nausea tears through him. How did he get here? Why is he here again? He turns, just as he did that day. He knows no one will come after him. He runs from the cemetery to the far tree line, runs until he reaches a clearing, crashes to his hands and feet. He doesn't want to be here. Hunching over the base of a tree, he dry heaves even as tears burn at his eyes, blurring his vision. ]


Dammit. [ He swears under his breath, trying to banish the sight of that fucking box. Get a grip, Gilbert. Elliot's not in there. He's waiting for you. He's at home if you just pull yourself together and get out of this mess. He just has to get up, get out of here. But he doesn't move. He chokes on his breath. He can still hear the rambling, meaningless eulogy. A gasping sob escapes him. ]
yelliot: (//Bitchslapped)

the worst

[personal profile] yelliot 2018-04-15 05:10 am (UTC)(link)
[It takes Elliot a moment to realize he's not where he should be and yet it's somewhere familiar. He's been here before. The cemetary isn't a large one, but it's a place he's had to visit more often than he wishes he ever would. This is where his older brothers were laid to rest, the specific plot of land dedicated to the Nightray family.

He shouldn't be here.

Wasn't all of this supposed to be gone?

There's a nervous swallow as he walks down the footpaths between the graves, spotting Fred, Claude and Ernest's names are all there in a row, before he stumbles upon a name he never thought he'd see. Vanessa Nightray is there and the grave is fresh. For a moment he thinks he's seeing things, blue eyes wrenched wide as he moves closer to examine. This couldn't be real...this had to be some bizarre dream. Had he fallen asleep without knowing? Was this another nightmare?

There's another fresh grave, just beside her's. He's afraid to look at the name but can't look away, can't peel his gaze from the inscription carved into the stone.

E L L I O T -- N I G H T R A Y

Never so quickly has the air in his lungs escaped him. Seeing his own name there, staring back at him...it's too much. A hand is raised to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt, the color draining from his face. He has to get away, out of the cemetery, and so his feet begin to move at a brisk pace, taking him god knows where. There are trees up ahead and so that's where he heads, breathing shallow, steps rough and uneven.

It's only when he spots a familiar figure up ahead that he stops in his tracks, hanging back. Gilbert's...sobbing. Was it because of the graves back there? What sort of fucked up dream was this?]


...Gilbert?

[He calls out to him anyway because what else is he supposed to do?]
Edited 2018-04-15 05:11 (UTC)

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Welcome to your funeral

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