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rhodos_meme2022-08-10 10:12 am
rhodosmods) wrote in rhodos_meme2022-08-10 10:12 am
Entry tags:
TDM #1
TDM #1: AUGUST
Jump to: Arrival · Sound and Light · Into the Fog · Waking Up to a Nightmare · The Bonfire
Summary · Questions
Summary · Questions
The buildings of the plaza are all medieval stone construction, but they all have modern awnings and glass fronts. Tables out front display tourist wares: little plastic statuettes, postcards, t-shirts. Among these, it's easy to identify Greek lettering, Greek gods, photos of Athens and Crete. Predominant among the souvenirs are items marked with the name Rhodos.
But there are no vendors selling their wares. Even if characters wander into the shops, they are all empty as if their owners just stepped away for a moment. Lights are on, and some of the larger and nicer shops even have the whirr of air conditioning. Food stands waft the aroma of freshly grilled kebabs, and a gelato cart is cold to the touch and the ice cream inside is frosty and delicious.
The plaza where you arrive is set on a slope, and the direction of the sea breeze and the faint sound of waves against a shore indicates pretty strongly that down-slope is the direction of the sea. But looking down the slope from the main plaza, you can see an open archway in a tall stone wall, and beyond it is nothing but mist. Despite the clear sunny day in the plaza, the mist is a dense fog with barely three feet of visibility. If you enter it, you can see your own arms in front of you, but nothing beyond that. The breeze has gone still and the waves no longer sound so much like waves--the sound is warped through the mist so that it almost sounds like sobbing. After about five minutes of determined walking across what feels like flat ground with no other landmarks, you find yourself back at the archway.
Housing can easily be scavenged. Doors are unlocked and the interiors are clean and welcoming, beds freshly made, as if it is a hotel that's been prepared for you rather than anyone's personal residence. And yet, once you've settled upon a place to live, you start to find little signs that you have lived here all along. The photographs on the wall (which weren't there when you first arrived) depict you and your family and friends, even if you came from a world without photography. Upon arrival, you have only the clothing you are wearing, but within a day the closet begins to fill with familiar outfits from home, and within the first week you may find up to five of your own possessions around your new residence.
Note: Wardrobe is limited to what you can reasonably fit inside a non-walk-in apartment closet, what your character would reasonably wear and possess in canon, or what can be scavenged around town. There are two very small clothing boutiques where you can find most basics and a few cute outfits. For starting possessions two may be weapons or magical items, but you may have an additional three mundane items. All other personal items can only be obtained through regains or events.
The first few days in your new home are relatively uneventful. The days are hot and sunny and the nights are warm beneath a dazzling starry sky.
After not quite a week, the noises of a spectacle will lead characters to a small gate in one of the outer walls with steps leading down into the outer moat. The fog surrounding the city walls has drawn back for just this one little area, revealing an open air theater butting up against the castle wall. A path leads away from the theater on either side, but if you walk into the mist on either side you will promptly find yourself walking out of the mist on the opposite side, as if you'd circumnavigated the entire moat in just a few steps. Behind the theater is another high stone wall. Centuries of weathering has added rough footholds and handholds, but it would be a dangerous climb without equipment. Trees grow from the top of the wall, sticking limbs out of the wall of mist and clawing roots into the stones at the top, loosening them so that they're ready to slip at a touch.
The play that is projected onto the wall features shadow puppets, colored lights, and canned soundtrack special effects like the clop of horses hooves or the burst of trumpets. There is no dialogue or narration, so the story can only be roughly pieced together: there is a king and a queen, then a betrayal that leads to the king's murder. Later, the king and the queen appear again, participating in a ritual which seems to involve human sacrifice, a war and a triumphal procession, and then another betrayal and the king is murdered again.
The story repeats three times every night before shutting itself off. The first performance starts at twilight, and each repetition lasts about twenty minutes. Characters who watch it repeatedly will get the sense that it's slightly different each time, but the whole thing is complicated and confusing without any narration or dialogue to provide context, so characters will struggle to pin down how it's different. A slide projector is set up at the top of the amphitheater, with a pair of old speakers on either side of it. If slides are removed from the projector, they show only blank, uncolored plastic. If something is placed in front of the projector light, the scene is projected onto that object. The projector can be turned off, unplugged, or smashed. No matter what is done to it, as soon as no one is actively watching it, it is restored to an undamaged status and resumes playing.
After watching an entire repetition of the performance, some characters may be overcome by a fit of weeping. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can't seem to catch your breath. Despair clutches at your heart, colored by your own personal sorrows, and the weeping can only be stopped by receiving an embrace.
Others may find that the performance inspires them to reminisce. No matter how secretive you might normally be, you find yourself turning to whoever is sitting near you and telling them a story from your past, something that makes you nostalgic or regretful.
After not quite a week, the noises of a spectacle will lead characters to a small gate in one of the outer walls with steps leading down into the outer moat. The fog surrounding the city walls has drawn back for just this one little area, revealing an open air theater butting up against the castle wall. A path leads away from the theater on either side, but if you walk into the mist on either side you will promptly find yourself walking out of the mist on the opposite side, as if you'd circumnavigated the entire moat in just a few steps. Behind the theater is another high stone wall. Centuries of weathering has added rough footholds and handholds, but it would be a dangerous climb without equipment. Trees grow from the top of the wall, sticking limbs out of the wall of mist and clawing roots into the stones at the top, loosening them so that they're ready to slip at a touch.
The story repeats three times every night before shutting itself off. The first performance starts at twilight, and each repetition lasts about twenty minutes. Characters who watch it repeatedly will get the sense that it's slightly different each time, but the whole thing is complicated and confusing without any narration or dialogue to provide context, so characters will struggle to pin down how it's different. A slide projector is set up at the top of the amphitheater, with a pair of old speakers on either side of it. If slides are removed from the projector, they show only blank, uncolored plastic. If something is placed in front of the projector light, the scene is projected onto that object. The projector can be turned off, unplugged, or smashed. No matter what is done to it, as soon as no one is actively watching it, it is restored to an undamaged status and resumes playing.
After watching an entire repetition of the performance, some characters may be overcome by a fit of weeping. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can't seem to catch your breath. Despair clutches at your heart, colored by your own personal sorrows, and the weeping can only be stopped by receiving an embrace.
Others may find that the performance inspires them to reminisce. No matter how secretive you might normally be, you find yourself turning to whoever is sitting near you and telling them a story from your past, something that makes you nostalgic or regretful.
CONTENT WARNING: Cruelty and violence against (monster) dogs
After the characters have been in Rhodos for about three weeks, a heavy fog rolls into town. Unlike the mist that surrounds the city, the fog smells of smoke. Visibility is reduced to a mere ten or fifteen feet.
The electricity goes out, and shops are no longer replenished. Food may still be scavenged, but the food in shops and restaurants will slowly rot and may run out. Battery operated items will continue to work as long as the batteries still have a charge. Running water inside the houses continues to work, but it is sluggish and smells stale, leaving an unpleasant film on the skin.
While out on the streets of the town, characters will begin to encounter the monster dogs of Rhodos. The sound of a dragging chain precedes them, and then the hazy outline of a dog comes into view. It's walking oddly, however, with a sort of staggering limp, and the sound of the chain is underlaid by a low, feral growl. Furless gray skin peels away in patches to reveal bloody muscle. The heavy iron collar around the neck is studded with long black screws, the ends of which pierce the skin of the neck. Hazy eyes are clouded with decomposition, and yet that doesn't seem to prevent the dog from making its way straight toward you.
The dogs are not very fast, nor very smart. They can be outpaced at a brisk walk, and they will lose track of any character who gets more than twenty feet away or behind a closed door. But they are vicious. If you get within a few feet, they will lunge at you and attempt to bite. If two or three of them manage to corner you in a blind alley, you could be in real trouble.
In addition to the dogs, characters will begin to catch glimpses of Manifestations, both their own or those of others. At first you might just catch a glimpse of them through a break in the fog, but after a day or two they can be spotted standing outside of apartment windows and staring in. In either case, they will not approach or attack characters unless you're foolish enough to get within six feet of them. Then, they will attack, and they will pursue at a fast walk until they lose track of you in the fog.
After the characters have been in Rhodos for about three weeks, a heavy fog rolls into town. Unlike the mist that surrounds the city, the fog smells of smoke. Visibility is reduced to a mere ten or fifteen feet.
The electricity goes out, and shops are no longer replenished. Food may still be scavenged, but the food in shops and restaurants will slowly rot and may run out. Battery operated items will continue to work as long as the batteries still have a charge. Running water inside the houses continues to work, but it is sluggish and smells stale, leaving an unpleasant film on the skin.
The dogs are not very fast, nor very smart. They can be outpaced at a brisk walk, and they will lose track of any character who gets more than twenty feet away or behind a closed door. But they are vicious. If you get within a few feet, they will lunge at you and attempt to bite. If two or three of them manage to corner you in a blind alley, you could be in real trouble.
In addition to the dogs, characters will begin to catch glimpses of Manifestations, both their own or those of others. At first you might just catch a glimpse of them through a break in the fog, but after a day or two they can be spotted standing outside of apartment windows and staring in. In either case, they will not approach or attack characters unless you're foolish enough to get within six feet of them. Then, they will attack, and they will pursue at a fast walk until they lose track of you in the fog.
CONTENT WARNING: Blood imagery
On the 28th, characters are awakened by the sound of their front doors being smashed in. It's your own smashing door that awakens you, but you can hear more distant sounds of destruction from the other apartments nearby.
As you scramble out of your bed, you find that the homey, quilted bedding has been soaked through with blood, and it's sagging in the middle with the outline of a human body. But before you have a chance to properly react to that horror, your Manifestation is coming through your bedroom door — more than one of them, if you were sharing that bed with anyone.
You will have to fight or dodge in order to get out of the room. Your Manifestation is out for your blood. You can do damage to it, creating deep wounds and heavy bruises, causing it to stagger and slow for a moment, but no matter how much damage you do it keeps coming for you. Sooner or later, you will need to run.
When you make it out into the streets, you'll find that the entire world has changed. Heavy darkness fills the city, and no stars are visible in the sky. A few lights glow despite the lack of electricity, but they only provide a sickly, red-tinted light. Streets are slick with something that looks like blood, and the stone walls in many places have been transformed into metal or grate. Through the grate, you can catch glimpses of black metal hooks and gory, dripping meat that looks human in origin.
There is no palatable food or water. Anything you have saved has rotted or changed unnaturally into what looks like rotting flesh or lumps of bile. Liquid has turned into blood or black water. The only mercy is that symptoms of hunger, thirst and fatigue stabilize after 24 hours and don't get any worse. Don't worry, it won't be the dehydration that kills you here.
Your Manifestation pursues you tirelessly, and the monster dogs are faster, smarter, and moving in packs. Your home is no longer safe, and staying on the streets is deadly.
On the 28th, characters are awakened by the sound of their front doors being smashed in. It's your own smashing door that awakens you, but you can hear more distant sounds of destruction from the other apartments nearby.
As you scramble out of your bed, you find that the homey, quilted bedding has been soaked through with blood, and it's sagging in the middle with the outline of a human body. But before you have a chance to properly react to that horror, your Manifestation is coming through your bedroom door — more than one of them, if you were sharing that bed with anyone.
You will have to fight or dodge in order to get out of the room. Your Manifestation is out for your blood. You can do damage to it, creating deep wounds and heavy bruises, causing it to stagger and slow for a moment, but no matter how much damage you do it keeps coming for you. Sooner or later, you will need to run.
There is no palatable food or water. Anything you have saved has rotted or changed unnaturally into what looks like rotting flesh or lumps of bile. Liquid has turned into blood or black water. The only mercy is that symptoms of hunger, thirst and fatigue stabilize after 24 hours and don't get any worse. Don't worry, it won't be the dehydration that kills you here.
Your Manifestation pursues you tirelessly, and the monster dogs are faster, smarter, and moving in packs. Your home is no longer safe, and staying on the streets is deadly.
CONTENT WARNING: Body horror, immolation
Sooner or later, you find your way to the bonfire in the middle of the fountain square. There is no longer water in the fountain. Instead, the whole thing towers with flame, fueled by a viscous black substance in the basin.
A tall man stands by the fountain, gazing into the flames as if he is supervising. His suit is true black, fathomless black, while his skin is a dark red-black like the newly formed crust upon a lava flow. His eyes are black pools reflecting the flames. He takes no interest in any approaching characters, and will not respond to any questions. The only thing that will draw his attention to you is an attempted attack. If you try it, your blow lands, but he doesn't seem to take any damage. His head turns toward you and he considers you for a moment, as if he finds it intriguing that you would attempt such a thing. Then he returns his attention to the fire.
The dogs and the Manifestations will not pursue you into the circle of light cast by the bonfire. You can find a sort of respite here.
Time passes. It feels like days, though there is no way to mark the passage of time. The Dark Figure continues to supervise the bonfire.
At last, your attention is drawn to a sort of commotion approaching down one of the main streets that feeds into the plaza. You hear a rattling of metal, and a sort of gibbering moan. The bonfire illuminates first upon a pale, faceless figure which seems to writhe as it approaches, hovering above the paving stones. As it grows closer, you see that the figure is lashed to a square metal frame and bound with strips of barbed wire. Veiled figures on either side bear it forward, and the Dark Figure turns to watch it approach.
The figure upon the frame has no face and no mouth with which to make its agonized moans, but it continues nonetheless. It has limbs but no hands or feet, each limb ending in smooth stumps.
If no one interferes, the Handmaidens carry the frame forward and place it upon the fire.
The Handmaidens can be attacked, and hurt. They cry out indignantly at any attack, and recoil. They will not fight back, but they also will not be discouraged from their task by anything less than persistent violence.
If the pale figure on the frame is rescued by the player characters, it flails and gibbers helplessly, continuing to moan. If the pale figure is consigned to the flames, it begins to scream, and continues screaming for several minutes until the flame finally overcomes it.
In either situation, you begin to cough. Blood spills from your mouth, dribbling down your chin and spattering upon your clothing. But then the droplets begin to slither into letters, forming words that spell out your deepest guilt, in the words you yourself would use to describe it. No attempt to wipe the words away or cover them will prevent their legibility. The blood shines through whatever covers it, catching the firelight so that those around you can clearly read the words.
The Dark Figure and his Handmaidens made their exit while you were coughing. You are left alone with the other Tourists around you, your guilt, and whatever remains of the pale figure upon the frame.
Sooner or later, you find your way to the bonfire in the middle of the fountain square. There is no longer water in the fountain. Instead, the whole thing towers with flame, fueled by a viscous black substance in the basin.
A tall man stands by the fountain, gazing into the flames as if he is supervising. His suit is true black, fathomless black, while his skin is a dark red-black like the newly formed crust upon a lava flow. His eyes are black pools reflecting the flames. He takes no interest in any approaching characters, and will not respond to any questions. The only thing that will draw his attention to you is an attempted attack. If you try it, your blow lands, but he doesn't seem to take any damage. His head turns toward you and he considers you for a moment, as if he finds it intriguing that you would attempt such a thing. Then he returns his attention to the fire.
The dogs and the Manifestations will not pursue you into the circle of light cast by the bonfire. You can find a sort of respite here.
At last, your attention is drawn to a sort of commotion approaching down one of the main streets that feeds into the plaza. You hear a rattling of metal, and a sort of gibbering moan. The bonfire illuminates first upon a pale, faceless figure which seems to writhe as it approaches, hovering above the paving stones. As it grows closer, you see that the figure is lashed to a square metal frame and bound with strips of barbed wire. Veiled figures on either side bear it forward, and the Dark Figure turns to watch it approach.
The figure upon the frame has no face and no mouth with which to make its agonized moans, but it continues nonetheless. It has limbs but no hands or feet, each limb ending in smooth stumps.
If no one interferes, the Handmaidens carry the frame forward and place it upon the fire.
The Handmaidens can be attacked, and hurt. They cry out indignantly at any attack, and recoil. They will not fight back, but they also will not be discouraged from their task by anything less than persistent violence.
If the pale figure on the frame is rescued by the player characters, it flails and gibbers helplessly, continuing to moan. If the pale figure is consigned to the flames, it begins to scream, and continues screaming for several minutes until the flame finally overcomes it.
In either situation, you begin to cough. Blood spills from your mouth, dribbling down your chin and spattering upon your clothing. But then the droplets begin to slither into letters, forming words that spell out your deepest guilt, in the words you yourself would use to describe it. No attempt to wipe the words away or cover them will prevent their legibility. The blood shines through whatever covers it, catching the firelight so that those around you can clearly read the words.
The Dark Figure and his Handmaidens made their exit while you were coughing. You are left alone with the other Tourists around you, your guilt, and whatever remains of the pale figure upon the frame.
Arrival: August 1
Sound and Light: August 5-20
Into the Fog: August 21-27
Waking Up to a Nightmare: August 28-30
The Bonfire: August 31
Welcome to Rhodos! Going forward, events will take place in two parts. The Normal World part of the event posted on the 5th of each month, and it will be a lighter event both in terms of length and thematic content. TDMs will be bi-monthly and will feature an event element or elements for the Normal World which in-game characters may also play with on their own log posts. The sections on Fog and Nightmare worlds for the TDM will generally be the same every month, allowing players to test drive those elements if they'd like, but not including spoilers for the second part of that month's event. The second part of the event will be posted on the 20th of each month, covering events occurring through both the Fog and Nightmare cycles.
Test drive memes are considered game canon.
This won't always be the case, but for the nerds among you who are enjoying this sometimes-accurate tour of Rhodes, all location images in this TDM and housing are accurate to Rhodes.
Lastly, we are in need of mods! We're most in need of help for processing apps and activity. If we aren't able to get some additional mods, we will have to place a cap on applications, and we're hoping we won't have to do that. If you're interested, please send us a message over on the mod contact page. We've gotten the mod volunteers we needed so we should be all clear to proceed without an applications cap. Thank you to everyone who showed interest!
Sound and Light: August 5-20
Into the Fog: August 21-27
Waking Up to a Nightmare: August 28-30
The Bonfire: August 31
Welcome to Rhodos! Going forward, events will take place in two parts. The Normal World part of the event posted on the 5th of each month, and it will be a lighter event both in terms of length and thematic content. TDMs will be bi-monthly and will feature an event element or elements for the Normal World which in-game characters may also play with on their own log posts. The sections on Fog and Nightmare worlds for the TDM will generally be the same every month, allowing players to test drive those elements if they'd like, but not including spoilers for the second part of that month's event. The second part of the event will be posted on the 20th of each month, covering events occurring through both the Fog and Nightmare cycles.
Test drive memes are considered game canon.
This won't always be the case, but for the nerds among you who are enjoying this sometimes-accurate tour of Rhodes, all location images in this TDM and housing are accurate to Rhodes.
robin buckley ▶ stranger things
— ARRIVAL
❰ she's not drugged — well, not that she's taken any drugs, voluntarily, but when the russians filled her with truth serum and who knows what, robin was aware of where she was. a real place, a real mall, even if every surface and edge waved and wiggled with effervescent light. the objects and buildings in her vision now are dull and hardened, just like the ground she'd just removed herself from.
it's not the upside down. the upside down has a particular smell and the constant presence of a soft drizzle of ashen particles. there are no pulsating tendrils, no hell beasts ready to attack her — and she's pretty sure it's going to stay that way, based on how she's stood there and yelled out 'Heeyyyy batties...helloooo? Any weirdo, freaky creatures wanna come have some not-fun...?' pretty loudly. After nothing rushes out to attack her, Robin shrugs to herself and carefully shuffles into one of the nearby buildings, now refreshingly out of the heat.
despite the nice shelter that this cobbler's shop provides, robin's eyes (finding it difficult to find one particular place to focus in this odd world) land on the gelato cart. she can see the vapors emanating from a small opening in the cart's surface; it can only be assumed that the contents must be melted, right? against all logic, when she approaches it, everything is frozen to a nice, pliable consistency. this is wild.
in the middle of making herself her own scoop, she's in her own world when another person approaches. with a jump, she side steps around to the back of the cart, leaning against it with a sudden familiarity that is in stark contract to how freaked she just acted. ❱
Hey — what can I getcha? ❰ this definitely isn't her cart in the slightest, but it's a funny joke to her that suddenly she's back at scoops ahoy, hating life but fully capable of slinging ice cream. her verbiage is dipped in 'customer service voice'. ❱ Don't forget to ask about our monthly specialty flavor, banastachio. Delizioso.
❰ and she sarcastically kisses her fingers with an exaggerated muah. ❱
— SOUND AND LIGHT
❰ curiosity gets the best of her, continuously. this performance of sorts piqued her interest: on the nights where something was on her mind, there was always a movie or two she'd smuggled out of family video that she could pop into the small and staticky tv in the family room, usually a foreign film or retro movie that no one would miss if she wasn't there for her shift the next day. the shadow puppet performance is a bit avant garde, even for her odd tastes, but it's fascinating. enough so that she watches the repeat performances, first to absorb it again and second to watch what slight and subtle differences would occur on repeat watching.
by the time she's snapped out of her daze of fascination, an hour has passed and her face is wet. robin only notices when she feels her face, presently exuding a faint heat that she doesn't understand the source of. it's then she notices how strongly she's held her breath the past while, as she tries to inhale with surprise to find her lungs constricting by how little room is left within.
she turns to look at the person she's come with, choking as she observes their face. how long has she been crying? how long has this sense of dread been settling into the pit of her stomach, now surging forward up her throat? robin is a strong person — she's grown used to having to internalize so many things that she feels, so much so that it feels like other, safer emotions spill forth like an ocean. the opposite now being the case, she can't help but try and hide her slackened mouth, not so sure why she can't help but hold back more tears spilling from her eyes. ❱
— INTO THE FOG
❰ she's stashed away quite a bit of food, but that doesn't mean it isn't wise to go scavenge for more. who knows how long this fog will last? the acrid smoke; robin can't decide if it's worse or better than the upside down.
revisiting the plaza, she spies the gelato cart that she recalls from her first day in this strange place. no condensation vapor emits now, and even getting close to it she can smell the caustic scent of spoiled milk. leaning into it, she pulls her head back quickly. the gelato has separated, sloshing weakly with her presence rocking the cart it's held within.
it's when she pulls her head back that she catches the movement on her right side. head twisting ever so slowly, she doesn't have to turn far to fully absorb what is stirring with her in the fog. their eyelines meet at the same time, with the dog's reflexes being much faster than robin's clumsy leg muscles. her brain gives her a flash of a good idea, as she turns on her heel and throws all of her strength into knocking the cart over, tipping it just enough that the weight causes it to fall to its side. melted, curdled gelato splashes and spills on the ground, with skidding paw prints marring the puddles behind her. it's given her a twenty second head start, which isn't much — but it's something, especially as she turns to see the beast loping behind her at an ambling pace; not at all a predator with any true chase ability.
her legs slow, almost confused by how slow the beast is going. it's far enough away that she can walk in a rush to hide inside one of the nearest buildings, ducking behind an empty wrack while she watches it pass by after almost a minute.
if there's someone else taking shelter there, or completing a round of looting, she'll turn to them, sighing with what's almost exasperation. ❱ Kind of anti-climactic, huh?
— WILDCARD
❰ here's where you can choose your own adventure! i'm still working on robin's manifestation and solidifying her guilt stuff, but i'm down to do stuff with that if you'd like. you can contact me on plurk at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
haseul or discord me at blush#3016 if you want to discuss tdm prompts or further plotting! ❱
INTO THE FOG... - also I have never been more glad that scooby doo first aired in '69
He's doing his best though, and his best involves holding a dog.
(No, not those dogs.)
'Danny' the great dane is doing his best impression of Scooby Doo it would appear, as Jonathan literally cradles the canine in his arms while taking shelter for their sake. It's easy enough to rush past the dogs- but poor Danny simply quakes with too much fear to run along with, and even Jonathan has limits when it comes to hauling around something that weighs near 200 pounds.
Jonathan looks up from where he's still trying to calm his whimpering companion, and blinks. He's not entirely sure he heard right, but-] Oh-
Is it indeed? [he questions, voice much softer than one would likely expect from someone his size and stature. 6'5'' and a pile of muscle doesn't exactly bring the idea of gentleness of tone.] I hadn't put much thought to that, truth be told...
and robin was def a scooby doo kid with her hippie parents and everything
I mean, it's not like I'm looking to get mauled — like, honestly, the exact opposite. Never want to be mauled. ❰ like people actively want to be mauled or something...god, she sounds like such a ditz right now. the adrenaline is still fizzling in her system, only a minute previously totally ready to run for her life. ❱ It's just that you kind of expect a certain scenario with monster dogs, you know? Vicious, drooling, breakneck speeds? So...great, that's not actually what happened, but.
❰ where is she even going with this? realizing herself, she takes a deep breath and lets it out in a quick burst. robin is now as centered as she can be. ❱ Sorry, that freaked me out and my flight response also comes with a side of word vomit. Your own little rascal there, uh. Is it doing okay? Might be shaking worse than me.
hehehe (ALSO I MANAGED TO FIND AN IRL DOG THAT LOOKS IDENTICAL TO DANNY SO... !)
But the fact is, he can't help but think 'oh, this feels rather familiar'.
(He's a bit wordy himself after all)
And to that end, Robin's word vomit is answered with his own.] Oh no, it's quite alright- this entire place has taken a dire turn for the worst after all, and we cannot be faulted for our habits in the face of such fearful encounters. It is simply a way for us to keep alive, and what more could be asked of any here?
Danny is unfortunately not taking this with good health however, [Jonathan admits with a worried frown.] He's been quite anxious since arriving at all, and I am unable to blame him for feeling so. It was disorienting indeed to awaken here from whence I came, and I've little doubt that there is something sinister here that his keen senses continue to pick up upon.
[He spares a moment to stroke between the dog's ears- Danny does seem to be calming down at least, so that's fortunate- and looks back to Robin with some worry in his eyes.] Be it anti-climactic or not, I'm certainly glad you managed to come in here without apparent injury however. From but a look at the teeth in those vile beasts, it's clear that even a slight bite could end in staggering illness.
omg the resemblance is UNCANNY
once there's a break in the conversation, she pushes out her backlogged commentary as quickly as she can; it's likely more of a disservice than she thinks it is. ❱
So one, thanks for being understanding — but if we have a conversation outside of this one, you'll probably notice that. Well, I tend to talk a lot a lot of the time, which kind of ruins it being a fear reaction but I swear it's just...worse, when I'm stressed out. Two, I think it's super cool that dogs have this extra-sensory perception that I one hundred percent believe is real. I've never had a dog? But I read a magazine article once about how people think dogs really have access to three more senses than we do, including an understanding of the paranormal that we humans just don't have, so having a dog here could be so useful.
❰ now that that's out of the way, she sighs quickly, looking at danny with empathy. whether or not that dog could stand up to one of the hell hounds outside...well, she hopes she doesn't have to see danny try. ❱ I guess the name of the game is not bumping into one of those things since they only look dangerous if they're in your personal bubble. I'm really only outside to grab more food, so...do you guys need some assistance with anything? Scout's honor that I won't loot your loot.
RIGHT?? danny real....
It is perhaps a matter of horrid coincidence that the two so oft overlap.
[Perhaps, given where Danny is, it's clear what his response to sensing those things Is though.] I do so wish that I had thought to keep my sword with me after all however. It would be an effective deterrent at the least, even without the proper power to employ against such beasts!
[There is only a moment of confidence, however. Only a moment. It falls quick, fades faster, and as he gently sets Danny down on shaking legs, there may even be a spark of hesitance in his eyes.] I cannot shake the sensation that there is more lurking out there however- I keep seeing a shadow within that murk, far beyond any dogs that have been on the prowl. It puts one on edge in the worst of ways, of this I have no doubts.
[All said, Jonathan forces himself from this grim line of thinking for the sake of answering Robin's question- it wouldn't do to be unable to help in a time such as this!
....go figure he needs help more.] Some assistance is much appreciated, thank you ever so much miss- it has been an impressive learning experience right from the start, so all of this looting business has thrown quite a bizarre curve for me!
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thank you araki for naming almost everyone for music...thank you....
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into the fog
What she does let show though, besides her fear, is a slight hint of recognition. She knows this girl, she realizes. They're not friends, but a flash of band uniform and a trumpet enter her mind. Yeah, she's definitely seen that face around games and pep rallies.]
Trumpet, right?
[Which sounds crazy and like she's a stalker, so Chrissy sighs and tries again.]
You're in the band at school. I remember you.
[Which gives way to the question, is she even real at all? She could be. Eddie's here. Other people from Hawkins are too.]
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so many instinctual triggers want to fire within robin at once. there's this impulsive need to essentially yell at this girl hey! you're dead! isn't that really fucking weird and so fucking scary right now!? relatedly, robin's breath has caught in her throat, suddenly trepidatious about how to handle this situation. she's in a fog filled, italian-adjacent dimension and who knows if this is just the next big slasher scene, ready to unfold. ❱
Uh. Y-Yeah! ❰ her voice comes out shaky, only half-attempting to mask her concern for this scenario at present. robin mimics a trumpet sound with her voice, laughing awkwardly. even facing a re-alived corpse, she can't shut off nervous tics. ❱ And then I, of course, know you — I mean who doesn't know you. Cheerleader, half of the biggest power couple. Kind of inescapable.
❰ it all tumbles out of her mouth quickly, trying to replace what she really wants to ask about, so much so that it's killing her, with something that actually makes sense. doesn't alert chrissy to the elephant in the room that only robin may actually see and feel. ❱ Didn't expect to see you on this, uhm. Little vacation we've been invited upon, ever so forcefully.
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Those are things that don't matter. They're empty things. They don't show proof of her kindness, or the fact she's far more shy and introverted than anyone would think. They don't take into consideration who she is as a person. They're inescapable, even here.]
I was more than just a cheerleader that belonged to Jason Carver.
[She gently pointed out, voice thick with emotion. She carefully selected to speak of herself in the past tense there, frowning deeply. Robin didn't mean anything by it, she knows, but there's an edge of desperation to be seen as anything other than the image of perfection that had been forced upon her.]
And I think if you're here, you might be dead too. I was hoping I wouldn't see anyone else from Hawkins here.
[The look on her face shifted then, to something apologetic. Maybe Robin had words just spill out, but Chrissy had just carefully selected blunt ones. Not out of cruelty, but a need to try and establish a sense of what this place is.]
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before she can blurt out some form of apology, chrissy says something else that catches her off guard. that's certainly a sentence that takes some unpacking, and robin's brain runs on overdrive to diagram that sentence as accurately as possible. ❱
Okay, so — real quick, sorry about the whole socially objectifying you thing. Definitely a 'my bad,' there. But...so wait. ❰ there's so many things she could say that her mouth is full of a word traffic jam, trying to piece out what nouns and adjectives to put in what order. how to discuss a dead girl being dead with said dead girl is. tricky. ❱ So you know you're dead but you think I'm dead, too, because...this is some Italian resort town purgatory?
❰ robin closes her eyes tightly, shaking her head like that will rattle something into place. ❱ Sorry, I don't mean to be repetitive, it's just. I'm having a hard time with this scenario without thinking about us being in some kind of divine European prison, so that extra layer is really throwing the old noggin for a loop.
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arrival —
Can I have an, uh—
[ Wait. ]
Bana-what?
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You know. Or, well, it's kind of a town tradition; we hawk it every year around the same time, so if you're new around here... ❰ she leans across the cart, pinching her fingers to enunciate her words; every movement of her hand writing an imaginary period. ❱ Banana. Pistachio.
And I get it! Sounds absolutely reprehensible at first, but there's just...something about the vague sweetness of banana and the mellow, earthiness of pistachio. You wouldn't think it works, but it does. It really does. Super popular, every time we put it on the menu.
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He props a hand on his hip, tipping his head a little to one side to consider it on face value. Banana pistachio. Honestly, his initial problem with the combination isn't that it sounds gross, just that it sounds like it'd taste of almost nothing, but he's no connoisseur of weird flavors. He is, however, a connoisseur of ice cream. ]
Now, see, I can't tell if you're tellin' me the truth or if you're bullshittin' me so I don't feel like an outsider to this banastachio sensation that's sweepin' the nation.
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Sono io? I am but a simple gelati, looping you in on the the latest craze in the frozen treat world. I've got the regular crowd in here, of course— ❰ robin leans forward slightly, staring down at her (??) inventory. ❱ Chocolate, can't go wrong...running a little low on mango, that's a big one that goes fast. Coconut's in here, lemon, espresso...but that banastachio, you really just. ❰ robin sucks her teeth, shaking her head. ❱ You can't go wrong with it.
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sound & light
he takes a shaky breath after the second draws to a close, feels dread settle low in his stomach and unease eat away at his insides. he doesn't fucking know what's wrong with him, but something's felt off even before he woke up to sweltering heat on this island.
something before vecna, before the upside down and hiding in a fucking boat house after watching the prom queen die on his ceiling. it's stronger here, now, that sense of dread and unease in his own skin and he's definitely holding in sobs, trembling with it even before he glances to the side robin is sitting at and catches her looking at him. she's crying too, eyes shimmering, and that shit is somehow goddamn worse.
eddie's never been able to hold it in, was always spilling out in all sorts of ugly shapes until he turned those into a facade of confidence and rants on cafeteria lunch tables; remade into something the people of hawkins look down on because he's different but almost fear too. eddie has his arms wrapped around himself, trying to hold it in. ] I-- [ 'Are you okay?' he wants to asks but the words don't make it past his throat. ] I think I'm fucking drowning, Buckley. Have you ever felt like something tore you apart and put you together all wrong?
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and because she doesn't know him, it's why it feels like shit that she's suddenly crying in front of him. thoughts churning, burning to escape her mouth that can absolutely vomit out every nonsensical, non-connected thought she's currently thinking, all at ninety miles per hour. but he's crying too, and something about that shared moment of vulnerability reminds her that they probably are similar in some ways, and that maybe it isn't so scary to let out a small sieve of sadness in front of eddie munson, rest in peace.
which, that's still a hard thing to get over, and it only makes her tears stream harder when she thinks about how the last time she saw this man...he was dead.
but he's not dead now, and he's having a harder time than she is keeping it all inside. when he breaks first, it's surprising to her. ❱
Yeah. I mean...basically every day of my god damn life, but who's counting. ❰ a sardonic laugh lets a few more tears slide down her cheeks with the sheer force of it, and she collects herself enough to wipe at mucous she's hopping isn't horrifically noticeable on her face. ❱ You know, I haven't seen a calendar since we got here, so maybe there's not such a big point in keeping track anymore.
❰ it's sarcasm, but it belies an actual concern she has. time feels pointless here, like it's stopped and yet seconds still tick forward...so is it real, or isn't it? how long can she be here before it feels like a chain, just like hawkins did. to even fathom an equal amount of time spent in this place and indiana feels impossible. robin's hand returns to rub at the tip of her nose, moisture drying and causing an itch. ❱ I can't...I mean, I never really talked to you about anything that happened ever, but. I can't imagine how much you were going through. From, from all sides and. That must have been suffocating.
❰ she cares. absolutely. robin isn't a heartless asshole. but there's an additional selfish slant to keeping this focused on his shit, not on hers. ❱
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[ and isn't that the fucking worst thing in the world, to feel that way and know they're both not immune to it.
he tilts his head up to the sky, wills the clouds to open up and let a downpour swallow them whole so he can stop fucking bawling in front of robin buckley. there's so much brewing in his chest, trying to escape into the world and eddie doesn't know what to do with it. doesn't want it to spill out but he never really has a choice, does it? the world just fucking shoves, punches, and pulls it out of him. ] You mean between the fucking wanted for ritualistic murders part or the saw Chrissy get Vecna'd part? [ eddie's voice shakes. ] Or all the shit before?
Because I've got mountains of baggage and bullshit, Buckley. Shit with my old man, shit with Carver and his fucking maniacal jock cult. [ so much shit just weighing him down. ] So much shit with my old man-- Fuck. You know, I was trying so fucking damn hard to not-- [ he hiccups. doesn't know why he can't fucking stop. ] To not follow in Old Man Munson's footsteps. To not be that fucking piece of shit with a fucking crime record and a fucking murder charge on the list and then fucking Vecna.
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and yet as his words tumble out, all of her own angst seems so insignificant; she's now a two-story business building in the shadow of a skyscraper. her sobs are shocked into submission momentarily, mouth agape as she truly absorbs what this all means. it adds to the weight in her heart, and it's a wonder suddenly how eddie has managed it all enough to crack jokes and be there for those younger, vulnerable kids they know and carry their weights too.
her desire to speak finally breaks as she almost cuts him off, hand shooting out to grab his arm. ❱ But you didn't! You didn't murder anybody! And, and who cares — I mean, I know you care; I know what it's like to care so badly what these fucking...backwards animals that run around Hawkins every day think of you, even if they're wrong and ignorant and blind to so, so many things. But what you know, and what people who really matter know is that you didn't. You're not like your dad, because you—
❰ the traffic jam of words halts suddenly as it simultaneously hits her that his demise feels that much more painful...and that he may not even know. somehow robin knows better than to question a person on whether or not they know they've died; she had some decent practice with chrissy earlier on in their time in this place. she can't talk about this in the way she wants, can't make this that much worse for him. eddie can't know that he dies with the legacy he's so afraid of eternally etched into the town's history. ❱
You're brave enough to want to do the opposite, and help us stop Vecna. How many of those nine-to-five Hawkins wasteoids could say the same?
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SOUND & LIGHT
he's trying not to miss anything, here. which explains why he was watching so intently. too intently, possibly, considering he didn't notice the fact Robin was misting over. thankfully, this time around, he isn't crying in the club about the puppet show. which has happened. if anything he's planning on making a joke, trying to remind Robin of the last time they ragged on some puppets. maybe bringing up the time they were drugged and sitting on a dirty bathroom floor isn't the best thing to reminisce about? but also... honestly, he does look back on the moment with a high degree of fondness, so why not?
but then he turns and Robin is fogging up, hand clamped over her mouth trying to hide exactly how shaken up she is. it is at least a distraction from the Muppets joke he was gonna make. ) Whoa whoa. Hey, hey — ( Steve rubs her back, hoping that will help, even remotely. ) Still with me? I know, I know. That show was terrible, right?
( Steve realistically knows a weird puppet show isn't what set off Robin into ugly crying. it's a joke, okay!!! an attempt to lighten the mood. )
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the tightness clenching her throat is still present, making getting in the air she just expelled hard. the force needed is almost exhausting. she shakes her head, hands moving from covering her face to sweeping her hair to the sides of her head. ❱
When I was younger, I dreamed of going to Europe. Had a notebook, wrote down little lists of all the things I would do, what I would see and eat when I got there. And I finally made it, huh? Benvenuta in Italia! ❰ her arms quickly shoot out, spread open in a gesture of warm greeting, even if it's just the open air in front of her. it doesn't last long, muscles too tired to keep held in place more than a few seconds. ❱ I wanted to go to the theater, like this one, with tons of people around all so excited for this thing that I'm excited about, for once. And it would be this real, tangible world where so many things that mattered so much in Hawkins...I wouldn't even be thinking about them, because you know what? I'm in Italy! And I'm watching a play, a fantastic play, and no one around me cares that I was a band dork or...or whatever other bullshit people in Hawkins care about. These people don't even know Hawkins exists.
❰ her energy stops being re-routed to her diatribe, which means she can get another good sob in, as much as that all just hurt her lungs. ❱ I guess I was right when I realized the only thing that would ever, ever get me out of Hawkins was magic. Some fucked up supernatural wormhole that can't even take me to the real Italy.
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Robin coughs out a miserable laugh and the hand on her back stalls. okay, that's not the direction he was hoping to bring her. Robin openly sobbing is Steve's kryptonite, so thankfully it doesn't happen that often. they fell over in a hidden Russian compound after jumping their tied together chairs too vigorously and she'd mostly just laughed, so. the tears usually only come in the aftermath. and Steve is glad that Robin trusts him enough to let him see her cry, it's just fundamentally awful in every way when Robin is this miserable, that's all.
it's a little blurry, trying to think about dreams and aspirations from the before times. Steve supposes he had those, too, before a faceless monster crawled out of the Byer's ceiling and he was never quite right again. before he sort of got stuck living day to day and kinda forgot how to look ahead and plan and hope for things besides another day that wasn't terrible and terrifying. Steve hurts because Robin is hurting, and his hand slides across her shoulders to put an arm fully around her. this level of tears requires a one-armed hug, facts are just facts. )
Hey now. If you ask me this is sort of a nice change of pace from the Upside Down, stop looking the gift horse in the mouth. Salty air and sunshine instead of ashes and a sky on fire. ( this is terrifying and disorienting, sure, and they're extremely far removed from where they're desperately needed, and it sucks! but the beach is for sure pretty, for these midwestern potatoes. silver lining! Steve relents, a little, because it feels like Robin is clawing ugly deep wounds out for him to see, almost daring him to think less of her for it. cracking jokes about the weather is just not gonna cut it. )
You're still gonna go. One day. And it'll be amazing and fancy and you're gonna send me an obnoxious postcard in Italian because you think you're funny, and I'm gonna have to get a fourteen year old to help me translate it because you're an asshole. Well, maybe he'll be older then. Ugh. ( Steve doesn't even know if he likes thinking about Dustin any older. okay, Harrington, focus!!! ) You can't give up on it, or it's never gonna happen. You'll get a not creepy chance to see Europe, all right? Maybe don't go to sad puppet shows, when you do, because I won't be there to hype you up after.
( Steve attempts to use Robin's own shirt to dab at the salt stains on her cheeks, like a true master of comfort. really she should just be glad he's not using his shirt. )
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She's startled by movement in her periphery, and for all that this has happened several times by now she's caught off guard to be looked at, regarded as another participant instead if flitting unseen in the background. Seeing the other girl crying lets Vee see what's happening with her.
The humanization has left Vögelein quite petite, under five feet tall. Enchanted by having clothing options in something approaching her size, she's adopted a sleeveless top and a colorful, filmy, translucent beach wrap over a white jersey skirt she stitched out of a couple of cannibalized t-shirts. She still has a mild German accent that sometimes also shows in sentence structure.]
I don't understand why it is that it's so sad! It's - they. Aah.
[She rubs her face, feels the unnatural yield of her cheek and the wet of it, and tries to laugh, though it sounds like a sob.]
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I don't know, like. Definitely a cool experience! Some dark, twisted version of Fraggle Rock. ❰ she laughs through a few more tears, scrubbing at her face with the back of her hands. ❱ But it's like...suddenly I don't know what the point of anything is. If there is a point. Like I can't even focus on this cool fucking thing I just watched because why do I even give a shit? About anything?
❰ her hands tousle at her hair, like it could shake free some understanding of why her mind is quickly becoming a void, outside of this dark, deep pit that she refuses to look into as of yet. god, she's being so self-centered right now. with a large sniff, she inspects the pockets of all of her jackets, removing a napkin she used to dry off some fruit she'd taken earlier. robin offers it to the small woman beside her. ❱ It's not gross or anything, just, uh. Previously-dampened. By water, nothing weird.
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I.. I have myself wondered that. From time to time. [Oh that's annoying, having to put effort into breathing normally and speaking. She's seen people rendered unable to speak clearly by sobs and doesn't want it to get that far.] It's an old question. 'Why are we here'? It grows harder to care over time. But I don't want to stop, either. Why go on otherwise?
[Oh right wiping and blotting at tears is a thing. For the first time in at least a century Vögelein feels the need to carry a bag. She didn't improvise any pockets in her half-scavenged outfit.]
No, you can use it yourself. But that's kind. Never did I think it would be so uncomfortable! I don't know how you stand it.
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I don't usually feel like this, it's just...maybe it's easier to not care anymore. Because I care so much about certain things that it feels like my whole body is being constricted by this stressed out snake that's trying to kill and eat me. ❰ the intensity of the tears had previously lessoned, though still falling from her eyes, almost mechanical in nature. now, her internal sight shifts closer to that void, the allure of it becoming too great. the longer she looks, the more her words spill out with only the semblance of a filter. ❱ And I'm currently...I'm miserable so much of the time! Because I care so much and all just so I can go about my business like a normal person, except normal people don't have to think about how they walk, or what they wear, and how people can look. Just look at me and see all these things that I'm trying so hard to keep under the surface, and that takes so much energy! So much energy to care all the time...
❰ speaking of energy, between the crying and emotional devastation and monologue robin just gave, she's totally winded. collapsing back into her seat, you can tell that she's deflated. ❱ I don't even know what it would look like. To not care about what people see when they look at me, and how much they might hate what catches their eye.
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haha i've played a swede so i've got the ö on speed dial
I did a whole meme thread with just 'o' and it just didn't feel right!
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