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Rhodos Mods ([personal profile] rhodosmods) wrote in [community profile] rhodos_meme2022-08-10 10:12 am
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TDM #1

TDM #1: AUGUST
I. ARRIVAL
Upon arrival, characters awaken in one of the main plazas of the town, lying on the paving stones around a central fountain. It is a bright sunny day and very hot, so you'll quickly want to find some shade. A light breeze brings the scent of the sea, but there are no cries of sea birds to be heard.

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.
II. SOUND AND LIGHT
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.
III. INTO THE FOG
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.
IV. WAKING UP TO A NIGHTMARE
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.
V. THE BONFIRE
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.
SUMMARY
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!
unwilt: (🥀 018.)

thomas richardson — apostle

[personal profile] unwilt 2022-08-10 04:05 pm (UTC)(link)
GENERAL CONTENT WARNING: recent amputation of fingers, blood from various recent injuries, drug addiction mentions

001. ARRIVAL
[ Thomas has been haunting the town like a ghost since he arrived, pale and gaunt, still bloodied. His left hand is little more than a pincer hanging by his side, possessing only a thumb and index finger while the stumps of his three missing fingers have been wrapped carelessly in a makeshift bandage from which blood is still gently dripping. While the other new arrivals may be more interested in discerning where exactly they are, and why they've been brought here, Thomas has had no interest in playing detective. Instead, he finds a place to sit on the ground with his back against the fountain and stares hazily at nothing in particular, looking for all the world like another statue. ]

002. MIST
[ It takes him two days to prise himself out of the fugue of emptiness that's overwhelmed him, enough to find a place to stay and to come to the conclusion that the town of Rhodos is strange, but perhaps not for the reasons it intends to be. There's something oppressive about the town and its architecture that Thomas does not like, and the lingering force of stillness makes it so much worse, though if pressed he wouldn't be able to explain why. He doesn't like the tourist stands, the strange materials and clothes they're offering, and he continues to stick out like a sore thumb in his painfully old-fashioned (and still very bloody) attire. Finding a change of clothes, apparently, has not yet occurred to him.

He's been limping around the town to get his bearings, but he stops for a while in front of the archway into the mist. It's thick, grey and soupy, and every cell in his body screams at him not to step into it, which is why he's lingering by the stone archway. If he finds himself with company, he'll make a suggestion. ]


We ought to see what's out there.

003. SOUND AND LIGHT
[ Thomas might as well be termed a regular of the shadow puppets and their strange, disconcerting story. He stays for each performance, though the subtle, indistinct differences of each one leave an unpleasant feeling crawling down his back. His mind might have been dulled a little by his regular ingestion of laudanum (an issue he has yet to resolve, but would very much like to, considering the lingering craving and the fact that his body seems to be poisoned with a near-constant, all-consuming ache), but this feels like something outside of his mind preventing him from understanding it all.

If he has company, he'll sit in silence until the end of a performance. His eyes stay dry, but his throat stings a little before he clears his throat, and with a sigh he says, ]
My sister always loved shadow puppets. The ones you make with your hands, especially. She'd wake me up in the night sometimes, to ask me to show her the animals.

004. INTO THE FOG
Wait.

[ Thomas holds his arm out to stop whoever he's walking beside, both coming to a halt in the middle of the road. There's a slow, limping animal approaching them, barely visible through the thick fog, but he can see enough that he knows he doesn't want it to get much closer. He lowers his voice to a grim murmur. ]

I have no intention of finding out what that creature is. We should leave.

005. THE BONFIRE
CONTENT WARNING: mentions of witnessing a very unpleasant death involving skull/brain trauma if you ask him about his guilt
[ It made sense that he would end up here – amid the darkness and the blood-red light sinking down upon the town (and the sinking feeling of being followed, pursued, though he hasn't looked behind himself enough to see what may be chasing him), Thomas made a beeline for the one point of light. It had felt like a refuge, for a moment – the dogs don't seem to want to follow him here, at least – but there is the figure, the impassive man standing guard over the flames... and the flames themselves. The longer Thomas stays, the more haggard he begins to look, until he sits down on the ground and pulls his knees to his chest, wraps his arms tight around his legs, and shuts his eyes.

Unless he's disturbed by another, the only thing that will draw him out is the commotion of the procession approaching the pyre. It's the figure's awful moans that catch his attention, remind him all too clearly of the horrors of his own past, and almost like his body is responding he feels the burns seared into his back flare into painful life again. He pushes himself up to stand, watching in frozen horror as the figure is carried into the fire. He should help, should rush into the fray and wrest the veiled figures away, do something, but he doesn't. He just watches, until he starts to cough. The taste of blood fills his mouth, blurting down his chin and spattering onto the ground when he spits it out. His glassy-eyed stare is still focused on the fire, so at first he doesn't notice the blood forming words at his feet, spelling out just three words: ]


THE HEATHEN'S STAND

006. WILDCARD
[ Feel free to throw anything at me or let me know ([plurk.com profile] crowders) if you want something more specific! Also please do mind the content warnings, Thomas's canon is excessively gory at parts and I can't guarantee that descriptions of it won't come up in narrative even if he doesn't talk about certain things aloud. ]
blooddyd: (pic#15853132)

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd | Fire Emblem: Three Hopes

[personal profile] blooddyd 2022-08-10 06:28 pm (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL
[ Upon first look, Dimitri almost blends in too well with his new surroundings; a tall man in armor roaming the streets, lost though he may seem, would not be such a strange sighting to come across in a medieval fortress city, like a knight patrolling the castle walls just a little ways ahead. In a sense, it feels too close to home.

It's not until a few days later that he begins to realize just how accurate a thought that might be. The formal suit of the King of Faerghus has materialized in his closet, along with Areadbhar, and he can't help the distinct feeling his chosen lodgings have been decorated as though meant especially for his use -- complete with a slew of familiar faces hanging on his walls.

So he sits outside his apartment one afternoon, the lion on his chest plate facing down the handful of frames splayed across his lap: one of tan, brooding man in armor, one of a quartet of children with toy wooden swords in hands, one of a little girl in twin tails. The portrait in his hands is more mirror than painting, the armored blond king with such broad shoulders beaming up at another who could easily pass as his younger self; near identical, if not for the smile. ]


They look... so real.

II. SOUND AND LIGHT
[ Rhodos does, indeed, hit too close to home, but the puppet play? That's almost a little too on the nose.

The first time he watches the play, his eyes never move from the stage, intent like he tries to decipher a secret message. For the second session, his chin rests on his knuckles, his body sagging forth with a weight he doesn't recognize as his own, his muscles lacking in his usual strength. Anyone who stumbles upon him for the following repetitions may find him:

a. reminiscing over his past, though the memory doesn't inspire nostalgia. Whatever the case, he swallows down the knot in his throat, and casts all sense of propriety aside as he pours his burdens out to the unfortunate bystander who happens to be seated next to him. ]


The same happened to my father that day. That woman... she betrayed us all.

[ Well. At least there was no necromancing involved?

b. weeping uncontrollably over the mechanical remains of the slide projector, thoroughly cut to pieces with the help of his sword and the kind of desperate frenzy that overcompensates for the loss of power. Silence takes over the theater, but his sobs promptly break it, the hand on his chest gripping metal as though trying to physically hold on to a breath he couldn't take-- and in failing that, to rip the pain out and his heart with it. ]


I swear, I will avenge you... Just please... please wait a little bit longer...

III. BONFIRE
[ It's a survival secret well-known to all: wild beasts fear fire. Moved only by instinct and years of training and the pointed knowledge he could not afford to die here, Dimitri eventually finds that both the deathly hounds and phantoms that were once after him are no longer giving chase. For as long as they could not be killed, he would have to either run or seek refuge; an open plaza felt like it suited neither option, but it is the only choice laid out before him.

But wild beasts fear fire, and he is a beast himself. The faceless figure and the Handmaidens make it clear this is closer to a sacrifical pyre instead, he tries to put up a fight, to save this soul who still cried out for their life, but their anguished moans-- and later, their dying screams as the flames consumed them... it is all too much, and again, he is helpless. Again, he feels that familiar pang of too-close-to-home, of faces both old and new writhing in their final moments, of voices he has heard for years-- taunting him, inviting him, rallying him up.

Again, he relives the agony of Duscur. And when the fits of coughing catch up to him, his blood spells out another secret well-known to all: ]


You should have died with them.

IV. WILDCARD
[ Got something else in mind? PM this account and hit me up! ]
songmother: <user name="palisades"> (016 that filled up her lungs)

3 - sound and light

[personal profile] songmother 2022-08-10 07:34 pm (UTC)(link)
and the dark was opening wide, do or die
under the mask of vermillion ruling eyes

[ Sarah had returned to watch the shadow puppets for the second night in a row, and their tale of murder and betrayal. She found the theatre comforting, surrounded by nature with its open setting and stone walls around them. At the same time, she could not shake the instinct of something heavy and ominous, increasing as each day passed.

It had been a week, and the witch had somewhat gathered her bearings, as much as one could upon waking in the plaza of a strange island that was both abandoned and abundant. There was some comfort in the ocean breeze, and that the only other people who could be found were just as perplexed and disoriented as she was. Still, the absence of her power and lack of explanation regarding how or why they were there was always on her mind.

She noticed there seemed to be more people who had wandered out of their adopted homes and reveries to see the show tonight, some whispering if elements of it had changed, some crying softly - later weeping, some appearing physically pained, but most people were silent. She softly adjusted her fitted, black velvet dress-coat, smoothed the similar leggings, and rested her hands in her lao.

The first night she had weeped, albeit, mostly in silence, inexplicably overcome by such heart-wrenching sorrow she could hardly breathe, rushing out when it became hardest, a panic at the thought of choking. It had been difficult to sleep when she returned home, as various events that had caused similar ache in her heart played through her mind in a cruel mockery of actual memory, as if she had taken the puppet show home with her.

During the day, in her various activities and exploration to keep busy and do anything besides panic and worry and despair, Sarah had stopped being angry about the shadow theatre and instead decided to return. She could tell it had left an impression on others as well, as some of the same people were back, and either by word of mouth or some supernatural lure.

With tears on either side of her cheeks, blue eyes that in some hues appeared violet, seemingly glowing from the tears and emotion, Sarah took a moment to regulate her breathing as her throat felt tense and strained, her jaw protruding more than usual with some discomfort. She tucked her long, black with a few streaks of grey, hair behind her ear to better see the man beside her as he spoke, turning her head to listen. Sarah found herself incapable of resisting the otherwise unnatural urge to be open and vulnerable with a stranger, but the content of his words caused her no regret in this feeling. ]

My sister loved them as well. We would stay up some nights with candles lit, trying different characters. On nights it wasn't safe to have a light, we would play with dolls we had made, whispering stories.

[ These were not the memories the show brought out from her, but the pain she felt, thoughts of her sister and then all the witches who would later become sisters and daughters, all taken from her, and unable to access those who she loved who lived, made her more than willing to let this man speak of his own sister. She added: ]

I miss her, my Abigail. Is...your sister here with you?
killed: (pic♯15570432)

sou hiyori | your turn to die

[personal profile] killed 2022-08-10 08:19 pm (UTC)(link)
a. i'm bleeding where i bled
( entrance )
Well, well... This isn't at all how he expected Hell to look, but then, he was never one to indulge in the comfort of a life after death. Even now he's not quite certain he believes it to be so, as it seems far more likely to be a simulation or some other human construct. Is that more comforting than the idea of magic or less? Either way, he has no choice but to surrender to this unsettling predicament.

First thing is first. He'd already given the various buildings his attention, including swiping a to go bowl from the gelato cart and adding one or two more scoops than he probably should have. Then off to the exit he went, pushing through fog that melted into nothing but sound and an indeterminate setting. It's a closed loop that leads back to down, not unlike a game where the coding extends only so far - but computer or magic, either way, this seems to be a closed world.

He's still holding the ice cream and taking bites out of it, a little frown on his face as he starts walking back into town like he didn't just disappear for five minutes and reappear back where he started. ]


It's an awfully small world that we've found ourselves in, isn't it...?

[ Another bite. It's disconcerting to be certain, and his brow furrows, but panicking will beget nothing but further anxiety and poor decisions. ]
b. i'm hiding where i hid
( into the fog )
[ The dogs are fairly easy to avoid. They're slow and clumsy, and Hiyori is a fit young man who has mastered the disappearing act. His memory is fair enough to create a roadmap in his mind, but accidents do happen, and sometimes one of those accidents is finding himself backed into a wall with a few mangy mutts. It's not the worst situation he can think of, and far from the worst that he expects, but it is rather inconvenient.

More fortunately, he found himself backed into a tall fence, one with jagged spikes on it. It rattles quite a bit as he pulls himself up, taking care to avoid it, but he's taking far less care in jumping down onto the other side. There's a half decent chance that anyone on the other side will be greened with some combination of a six foot man hitting the ground near them, followed by the loud rattling of a dog smashing their head into a fence in an attempt to get at them. It's quite the commotion.

Either way, if he sees you, he'll lift a hand, ]


It seems I've overstayed my welcome, ahaha... Shall we?

[ Even as he speaks he's going to continue moving. Have fun with that if you're staying behind. He's... Pretty fast. ]
c. i'm entertained by the sicker things
( nightmare )
[ Hiyori can be found slinking about the town in the nightmare world. He keeps the appearance of calm, but the panic has been welling up in him ever since arriving here, and by now it's an effort to keep it swallowed down. But he carries on just as always, taking deep and calming breaths as he carries on with his work.

One might find him inspecting the various fluids, taking bits of blood and black water and rubbing his fingers to test the texture. He peers through the grates as he comes across them, placing his hand on his forehead to use as a visor as as he tries to get a closer inspection, mumbling something or another about how a buzzsaw might work, or trying to use a cell phone to take pictures of this and that, tapping in notes...

That aside, he's a coward, so he's going to duck and hide the second he hears something coming. ]
d. and everybody said i'm burning out instead
( bonfire )
[ I tried to think of something for guilt but this man really be like.

It's a horrific display, and Hiyori watches with all the shock and horror that one would expect as a faceless figure - person? - is thrown into the pyre as though they were burning a witch at the stake. He questions, makes a token effort into interrupt before having no choice but to back off as he's ignored entirely. He covers his mouth and flinches, looking away as the creature screams despite its lack of a face to do so with, coughs and hacks as the disgusting smell of burning flesh fills the air. It's enough to make one throw up all by itself, but what comes out is just a small amount of blood that dribbles down his cheek.

He pulls a napkin out to wipe it away, frowning as he notices that it's already stained his clothes. Rather than concern himself with his own situation, he'll instead look to the nearest person. ]


Are you-- [ He coughs into the napkin again, moisture forming in the corner of his eyes as he does so before trying to speak once more, ] Are you alright...? That was quite the gruesome display.

[ He shakes his head. Gruesome is an understatement. ]
e. the softer side of unbearable
( wildcard )
[ Choose your own adventure! Hiyori can be found around the library in particular, combing through books in an effort to find something of use. He can also be found inspecting the walls and doors of the palace and running mental calculations on how to best approach it. Alternatively, you just might find him snooping around the shops or eating half his weight in sweets. He's the type to get into everything, so feel free to find him anywhere. ]
Edited 2022-08-10 20:21 (UTC)
somatosensory: ꜱᴏʟᴀʀᴀɴ (Default)

aristaeus — original.

[personal profile] somatosensory 2022-08-10 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)
𝙸 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙳 —
[ arrival/sound & light; no warnings ]
( it hadn't taken long to conclude that, whatever else rhodos was, there was something strange happening here.

following those first moments of furious denial in the plaza, aristaeus has spent every waking moment exploring. seeking, more accurately, any signs of life. so far, anyone he's encountered has been every bit as confused as he is, which has done nothing to allay his rising frustration.

the days quickly run together. long enough that the food left out in the plaza has begun to look inviting—not a challenge, perhaps, when its chief competition is his dwindling supply of ration bars. not that he makes it that far.

a noise ruptures the quiet, drawing his attention away from the now familiar path and away, toward one of the outer walls. )


Interesting. ( a hand lifts, as if to assure himself that it's really there. once satisfied that this isn't some elaborate hallucination, there's absolutely no question that he's going to investigate further. )


𝙰𝙸𝙽'𝚃 𝙰 𝙵𝙸𝚃 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙽𝙾𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚂𝚃 —
[ into the fog; cw: violence, probable injury and violence toward animals ]
( the fog rolls in, thick as nightfall and twice as smothering.

common sense says this would be the time to retreat, to take shelter indoors until whatever this is passes—and, to his credit, aristaeus does consider it. it's just that he's halfway to his destination already. and, with the better part of a month passing without anything more notable than a mysteriously appearing gate, he can perhaps be forgiven some complacence.

not that he doesn't immediately halt at that first sound of metal dragging against stone. head canting and senses straining to hear further. if someone is with him, he will hold out a hand, a quick silencing look before he reaches for his knife. )


𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙳 —
( ooc; if you'd like to try out a different prompt or want something more specific, feel free to hit me up. or you can ping me either via pm or [plurk.com profile] resurrectionist on plurk.

otherwise onto the world's longest elevator pitch: arisateus is an original character from a far-future post-apoc setting in the vein of dune or mad max.basically he's a powerful biokinetic from a militant theocratic society, who is tasked with hunting down other individuals with power intending to bring them back to his creepy hivemind for conversion.

further world info is here (please mind the warnings) and a basic character run down is here.

needless to say he is currently sans any of those abilities and connection to said hivemind, so the adjustment period post “i am clearly concussed and this is just a fever dream nightmare” is going to be brutal. otherwise, feel free to also hit me up for any questions or clarifying needed and if this hasn't sent you running for the hills let's get down to the good shit. )
Edited 2022-08-10 22:09 (UTC)
distastes: (pic#15854196)

bu chonghua | tunhai/swallowing the seas

[personal profile] distastes 2022-08-10 10:28 pm (UTC)(link)
01. ARRIVALCW: MENTIONS OF DROWNING, BLOOD & INJURY, DRUG BUSTING.
— PLAZA.
[ that bu chonghua awakens to the warmth of the sun and not the cold embrace of a watery tomb comes as something of a shock to him. his most recent memory, both in mind and in flesh, down to the very marrow of his bones, is of desolation and winter. a repurposed mine concealed deep in the forested mountains, its drug manufacturing facilities shielded by a raging snowstorm. his pursuit of his partner and their joint hunt for one of the most dangerous drug lords in the trade was coming to a close — successful, but undone by their opponent's desperation. they were being flooded and death was near. in one of the mine's treacherous reservoirs, he remembers: blood in his teeth, a promise. no air, and then a vast noise like the bellow of some great monster. his whole world jolted, devoid of gravity, and then sighed.

he remembers hope.

yet, the young captain awakens on hot stone with the sweet taste of ocean air on his tongue rather than brackish water. only the blood remains. he gasps and his confused body cannot tell whether it is water or air; in the next moment, he's up on an elbow, making a fine racket coughing up what sounds like an entire lung. luckily, he reorients, steeling his body into submission by blowing a smattering of fresh blood all over the cobblestones from his nose. festive!

that seems to do the trick in acclimating his system to oxygen, but now there's an injured man poised on the ground panting for air, hard amber eyes fixed on whoever is within sight. dressed in tactical gear, he looks like he wants to reach for a weapon that isn't there.
]

State... your name.

[ yes hello, sorry he looks insane right now. ]

— EXPLORING/ARCHWAY.
[ once he's had some time to adjust, bu chonghua cleans up nicely. there is, in fact, a handsome man beneath the insanity. he wastes little time in finding an apartment as home base and tending to his injuries — noting that many are less severe than they should be. (like, his organs are all in working order.) there are many mystifying things about this situation that only prove themselves to be moreso when he canvases the area, broad stokes and minutiae both.

but first thing is first. cleaned up and dressed down, he's taken advantage of the outdoor seating beneath an awning of one of the food vendors' establishments. can't exactly people watch, but for him, there is something comforting about having a wide field of view. there's a spread of food and drink before him: skewered meat and fragrant rice, dressed greens, black coffee. notably, a plate of fish and roasted vegetables is pulled aside. if approached, he peels his eyes away from where he'd been staring with acute interest: the misty archway in the distance. bu chonghua doesn't look welcoming, but gestures anyway, concentration somewhat broken.
]

Sit and have something to eat. [ he knows you guys are bad at taking care of yourselves. he knows this deep in his heart. ] There's no point in exploring this place if you're not going to have the energy to do so.

[ and, if you take him up on his surly offer, he will eventually ask with a quiet nod towards the sighing ocean laced with sobs. ]

What do you think of that?

02. SOUND AND LIGHTNOTE: TEARS AND TRAUMA BONDING WELCOME 💔
[ attending the play with any sort of regularity over the course of the first few days of its appearance will yield a figure occupying the same amphitheater seat, night after night: bu chonghua, feet sternly planted on the ground, arms crossed, and eyes fixed on the shadows. every night he shows up and stays for all three plays, brow darkened as dusk melts into the deep black arc of night. (and sometimes, he brings gelato, looking just as serious with the tiny spoon hanging out of his mouth.)

he doesn't exactly look like a puppet show enthusiast, but "rapt" would be a pale word for how closely he pays attention.
]

I don't think this display is simply some kind of whim. [ a soft intonation. frustrated. ] There's a message here, but it changes. Did you notice?

[ no, even with ice cream, his cop brain doesn't turn off. ]

03. INTO THE FOGCW: POTENTIAL VIOLENCE AGAINST MONSTER DOGS.
[ in his field, one becomes accustomed to things going south in an instant. back home in jinhai city or here, it seems he was right to expect the same. they are beset by unfathomable creatures, and luckily his suspension of disbelief is in full swing, because the first time he sees a monster dog with its humid breath and exposed muscle, he's certain the nightmares of his youth are spilling out into the streets. hunting hounds with strident howls piercing into a warm night —

but he is nothing if not resilient and with his firearm appearing his apartment not some days prior, you might find him with his shoulder pressed to one of the narrow arches that lets out from an alleyway into the plaza. on approach, his eyes drift over and he lifts a finger to his lips to advise silence and caution.

there is growling nearby, the slow, screeching drag of chains. gun in hand, he simply waits, inviting you to become an accessory to his confidence. or to simply take shelter with him. he smiles, a dim glimmer that is somewhat comforting and somewhat alarming in the same breath.
]

Do you think what's already dead can be killed again?

[ mister sir here looks like he's about one sniff away from trying to find out. ]

04. THE BONFIRECW: VIOLENCE AGAINST THE HANDMAIDENS.
[ somehow, bu chonghua always returns to fire.

time flows in uncertain and coagulated patterns in his mind's eye; he's certain that is has only been days of this, but it seems longer, less linear. the acuity of his mind is what buffers him against the traumatic scrape of these events: the turning of the sky, the quaint town now wet, sick, and severe. something has been stalking him, a violent creature who'd shattered his door and attempted to burn his apartment to the ground, so the display at the fountain isn't his first immediate choice when it comes to finding safe harbor — a beacon can just as easily lead someone astray to slaughter. yet on approach, there are others in its halo.

he isn't one easily bested by thirst, hunger, or fatigue. it's less comfort that he seeks and more a place to gather his wits and formulate a different plan of attack. yet the utter distaste he has for the flame shines in the color of his eyes, the damp shadows of his face, kissed by soot.

what interrupts him is the unearthly noise of new procession, the march of the handmaidens and the creature they bear. from his seat on the fountain's edge as if in scorn of the raging fires behind him, bu chonghua starts, knowing well in his heart what a display like that means. climbing to his feet, his gaze fixates on the figures who hold the metal grate. assessing and calm, but not exactly sound. in one fluid motion, he draws his gun from the holster beneath his arm. quietly, he takes aim.
]

They're going to throw it into the fire.

[ what is this, a cult? can he not be done with cults already? ]

WILDCARD ME.
( ooc: general info: he is 29, the captain of a criminal investigation unit who deals mostly in murders but more recently in cults and drug rings, and is sort of unhinged in his pursuit of justice. his canon is a crime drama with a fair few content warnings. if you have a different idea hit me up i'm game for anything. he will be everywhere. )
orobashi: (56)

Sangonomiya Kokomi ☆ Genshin Impact

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-10 10:58 pm (UTC)(link)
i. arrival
( The warmth of the sun here is different. It's intense, and though she can smell the scent of the sea on the breeze, it's faint and lacking in life. The stillness is what causes her to finally move, pushing herself up and blinking blearily around the town center. The scenery is so wildly different from the Watatsumi she knows that it feels immediately like a dream. The eerie stillness adds to that, as does the lack of any sort of company in her walk down along the shops and down the slope of the plaza itself.

The sea. The sea is what calls to her in between everything, giving her hope. Small breezes laced between the blazing heat, and the occasional scent of ocean has her pressing forward without stopping to look through the vacant shops. As the sights around her grow less and less expected, she becomes more certain that this is not a dream. Mist blocks the view from the center of an archway, but the promise of waves brings her closer, stepping through it and holding an arm up to protect her own face as she moves. As expected, the mist is a thick wall that she can't see beyond, and her cautious steps forward seem to bring her nowhere closer to the sound of the waves.

And then, another step forward brings her right back to the archway she had begun at. Odd. Curious. She steps backwards, out of the mist, to behold the very same archway, and then folds her arms, one hand propped beneath her chin now. )


There's something more at play, here. ( And the ocean she was so hoping to be able to access was nowhere in sight. She turns at the sound of a stranger, be it a footstep or a breath or a word, and her eyes light up slightly in hope. )

Mm... I hate to trouble you with this, having just met, but may I borrow you?

ii. into the fog
Wait!

( A delicate hand claps over the shoulder of the next stranger who passes in front of her. Her eyes look urgent, firm, and she looks from the person to the path ahead, heavily clouded by this foul fog. It's near housing of some kind, with walls and buildings and bushes barely visible in the small distance before them. And listening carefully, there's the sound of chains occasionally highlighted by terrible, low growls. Perhaps this stranger has already noticed. Kokomi seems to be aware of that much, at least. But her fingers still curl slightly, hoping to hold their attention. She speaks softly, so as not to draw attention. )

While it may be easy to lose these poor creatures, I've seen that they may still stray off from their normal path. Causing too many to gather in one area, especially an area where so many have found temporary homes, would be dangerous.

( The dogs, gathered in one place, may gang up on someone, catch them off guard, and tear them apart. She can't bear to think of it. )

I'm in the process of guiding them away, so please wait for me to finish so as not to interrupt.

iv. wildcard
( ooc. I love all of the prompts, so if you want to do anything else, let me know and I can work something out. ♥ )
orobashi: (44)

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-10 11:08 pm (UTC)(link)
this might be a silly question, but for the projected play, if a character were to take notes on what happens in an attempt to single out what has changed, would there be any different information to gleam? or is it the same as if she had just been watching?
songmother: <user name="palisades"> (008 and all we endured)

3 - bonfire

[personal profile] songmother 2022-08-10 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)
no light, no light, in your bright blue eyes
i never knew daylight could be so violent

[ At first, the bonfire was a comfort, despite the tall, demonic figure observing and seemingly honoring it. He gave no indication of being a threat, and proximity to the wretched flames, for once in her life, provided sanctuary from the demons at her door. Or it did, for awhile that she could not track in terms of hours or days, but it was certainly more than a day. Sarah had spent most of it staring into the flames, reflecting on everything she had experienced, mostly with a tinge of guilt and regret, afraid to take her thoughts too far.

Until there wasn't a choice. When the Handmaidens came, taking a wretched, faceless prisoner towards the flames, she could only think of all the witches sacrificed - hanged or burned alive - not to appease some ancient God or secure safety, in any reality beyond religious fervor, but because humans could not handle their existence. And while this island was still a mystery, apparently containing Hellish threats, she could not help but rise and shout. This being, surely, did not deserve such a death. No one did.

Sarah had joined the handsome young knight and others in an attempt to protect the being, and fight off his captors, (while personally electing to leave the tall, smoldering stoker of fire alone) but nothing could die and it was a futile effort.

As the creature burned, she screamed, for a moment, seeing the face of every witch she had ever known -sister, daughter, friend- where the creature had no face. She was distraught, and beyond herself, anger turning to violent tears streaming down her face as she screamed in agony for all of those lost. It was, admittedly, never about the thing they were sacrificing, but about her guilt, failure, and inability to protect generations of those like her, despite her power and authority. She coughed and choked and spluttered up an inky, ominous message before her in her own blood: It should have been you.

Dazed and disoriented with grief, sobbing, she noticed others were having a similar experience, and glanced at the words before the blonde young warrior near her. Eager for the distraction from her own pain, she turned to him, inching closer, though not standing. She could not find it in her to rise, yet. ]

No, you should not have died with them. We must live, and honor their sacrifice.
orobashi: (11)

2

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-10 11:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Mm... I have noticed that.

( Kokomi may not be as loyal of an attendee as this gentleman, but this is her third night here in a row after discovering it. The first night, she had wandered closer to the projector but not wanted to interrupt or alter the images appearing. The second, she stuck to the back, arms folded, a journal in her hands as she jotted things down. Tonight, that same journal is in her hands now, but she's finding it difficult to focus on the words while her eyes begin to sting.

This is new, and while she tries for a moment to manage a note, the most she can scribble down is "tears?" before closing her journal carefully in her palms. Ah, just when someone has addressed her, now this has to happen? She doesn't want anyone to see any unfortunate sides of herself, but... These tears are far out of her control. )


I wonder if we might... ( A gloved hand wipes at her eyes, and she turns slightly to try and hide her weeping. But it's becoming too apparent, too out of control. Her voice wavers. ) ...compare the stories we see as we understand them, so that together we may grasp...

( sob. Her Princess brain is trying so hard to engage in the interesting conversation that his cop brain has to offer, but. )

Ah, this is becoming difficult. Please excuse me, as I'm normally able to stay in control of myself, but I'm not sure why this is happening...
orobashi: (45)

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-10 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
That's great and perfect, thanks so much!!
jetboot: (pic#15860566)

peter quill —— marvel comics

[personal profile] jetboot 2022-08-10 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)
one — arrival | plaza

[ is he dead? the way his head is pounding sure makes him think so. christ, he is so hungover. or maybe he's still drunk, maybe that's why he's waking up on the — floor? — of his room, and why he's steadfastly refusing to open his eyes in spite of the whole floor situation because he feels like if he does, he's going to throw up.

he thinks he remembers groot trying to wake him — which he'd ignored because he'd really wanted to sleep; and the guardians — the new guardians, since rocket was—

—well, he's not talking about rocket, and he's trying not to think about him either. the same goes for gamora. whatever. the new guardians had been having teething problems with regards to 'being a team' and 'getting along' and 'letting peter have some peace and flarking quiet' and apparently that's still an issue this morning based on the noises coming from—.

(fuck.)

reluctantly, but with the kind of dismayed urgency that occurs only when you've suddenly realised that something is very, very wrong, he opens his eyes: he's not in his quarters. he's not on the ryder.

he's not even in space.

he sits up abruptly, nausea being replaced by a swell of dread in his stomach. it's not often anyone gets the drop on him, and okay, he's not been living his best life just lately, but he's still him and more than that, for him to be here — wherever here is — it means whoever's out there had to get through his crew.

that's problem number one.

problem number two is that he's not alone and the person near him, the one that looks to be enjoying their nap on the unpleasantly warm stone as much as peter had been enjoying his, isn't anyone that he recognises.

he lifts a hand to just behind his right ear, fingers coming to rest on—

—nothing.

he exhales, audibly and irritably, frustration catching in his throat, and— )


So. ( is what he starts with when his companion slash associate slash mysterious stranger starts to stir. )


two — sound + light

( the photos and the belongings that slowly start to appear in the building that he's (temporarily, okay, temporarily) claimed as his own unsettle him. they're photos that he's never taken, photos that he's never been featured in. they're him and mantis and drax. rocket and groot and gamora. him and rich.

he — they, he supposes — haven't managed to receive satisfactory answers about where they are or how they got there. it seems like earth, but even though it's been a while since peter's been back and even longer since he's spent an extended amount of time on the planet, he's pretty sure that earth doesn't have magically replenishing shops and restaurants; or houses that fill themselves with not-really-personal-but-kinda personal belongings of their inhabitants.

it gives him, quite frankly, the heebies, and more than anything he finds himself wishing there was something to punch or to shoot or to argue with, or—

anything.

or at least, that's what he thinks until he finds himself watching a play projected onto a stone wall. it's weird, he thinks. discomforting in ways he can't quite put into words.

gaze shifting sideways, he looks at the person that had joined him during his second watch. an odd emptiness sits in his chest, a strange feeling of despair that he doesn't quite know how to react to. his breath hitches in his throat when he opens his mouth to speak and he pauses, hesitancy flashing across his features.

he coughs once, then twice, then a third time, as if doing so will shake the unusual feeling of melancholy that's overcome him. )


three — into the fog

( his elemental gun had turned up some time after he'd settled in one of the apartments. it'd been a little while after the series of photos had made appearances on the walls and atop furniture, and a smidge after some of his clothing had turned up in the wardrobe.

when the city turns from bright sunshine to darkness and an all-encompassing humidity that he could really do without — he finds himself increasingly grateful that he has it. the stillness of the air is almost suffocating, and as the food in the shops and the restaurants start to rot, the stench makes rhodos less and less palatable to inhabit.

the first time peter hears them — the dogs and the chains — there's a moment he thinks he's imagining it, until he hears the sound of scraping metal and flesh against stone for the second time, the third time, and he acknowledges the fact that there's definitely something in the town with him (them), and it's probably not friendly.

he comes to a stop, hand resting on his gun, trepidation and caution playing in equal parts. )


Here boy. [ beat. ] Who's a good boy, [ he half-whispers, one hand raised with the palm outstretched towards the god, other resting just above his hip, near his gun. he's not entirely convinced that drawing their attention is the smartest idea he's ever had. )


four — wildcard

( if none of the above takes your fancy, feel free to drop me a starter for something else — I'm totally open to ideas! or shoot me a pm and we can discuss options. )
octaplicitous: (Default)

[personal profile] octaplicitous 2022-08-11 12:04 am (UTC)(link)
If a character tries to throw the photographs of themselves away/out of the house, do they just come back?

edit: or what if he tries to burn them lol I'm sorry he's like this
Edited 2022-08-11 00:15 (UTC)
octaplicitous: (true yes)

Azul Ashengrotto | Twisted Wonderland

[personal profile] octaplicitous 2022-08-11 12:23 am (UTC)(link)
A: Housewarming (Arrival)

[The tiny apartment Azul has taken refuge in is not exactly to his taste, but he does appreciate the chandeliers in the living and bedroom and the kitchen should shoot his needs. Perhaps he can redecorate over time, he thinks, then dismisses that thought, because he doesn't intend to stay here any longer than he has to.

Or that's what he thought at first, but then the clothes started showing up: first his school uniform, then his PE clothes, then a few of the casual outfits he's accumulated. He's near worn out the soles of his dorm shoes and then his athletic shoes looking for a way out, but the fog keeps him from accessing the sea, and there isn't a single magic mirror to be found.

It's the photographs that start to appear, after a day (or two, or more?) has passed, that get him though: photos of himself with his parents during his birthday party, the twins on their first day of school, himself and Idia in board game club, and photos of himself when he was young, including ones he thought he had destroyed. The photo of the class trip to the museum.

So that night, after dark, when he hopes no one is paying attention, Azul drags a trashcan just outside his front door and sets the pictures inside on fire.]


B: Appreciating the Arts (Light and Sound)

[The play ends, and then starts again, and Azul feels like he hasn't gained any useful information so he starts to watch it again, trying to pay closer attention this time. Maybe it doesn't contain any clues at all, but it's the only thing that has changed about this town since he's been here so it must mean something. That's the only thing he can think of.

The king is killed again, and Azul feels his eyes mist up, not for the first time since he sat down; something in the air must be affecting them. He blinks quickly to get rid of the wetness, but the tears are heavier this time, and he realizes, with a building dread that wells up alongside the sorrow, that he's going to start crying in public.

He hasn't felt it this badly since...

He stands up.]
Never mind. I'll learn nothing from this ridiculous, mindless- [His breath hitches. Tears grow heavy and he can't see anything.

He trips gracelessly over a seat and ends up on his hands and knees crying like a child. Well. So much for looking dignified.]


C: Wildcard

[[OOC: If you'd like to do fog, nightmare, or bonfire stuff I'm open to it! Feel free to hit me with your character running into Azul somewhere, or hit me up via PM or on plurk at [plurk.com profile] dandywonderous and I can write us a starter!]]
pejorative: (3758738)

albel nox / star ocean 3

[personal profile] pejorative 2022-08-11 12:25 am (UTC)(link)
i. where in the world(s)
(arrival/exploration)
[ disarmed, but at least not literally, for one of the first times he can recall, Albel finds himself very much on guard as he explores his unfamiliar surroundings. not that he isn't always on guard, but the tension roiling through him as he wanders the peculiar, unpopulated streets is almost enough to make his muscles ache—at one point, he has to stop just to tilt his head to the side, his jaw working, to break himself of that tension. this is far from the most fantastic and unusual place he's ever wound up, and quite frankly this has nothing on outer space, but that had been something he'd undertaken by choice, whether he fully understood the choice he was making or not. to arrive unexpectedly someplace without his weapons, a familiar face, or any concept of what's happening... well, it's aggravating.

but there aren't any threats. none that he can find after wandering the expanse of the plaza, lingering at the edge of the mist but passing on crossing the archway and continuing on. it isn't that he's afraid of it, but not being able to see what's on the other side is a gamble he hasn't decided on. better to at least find something he can use as a weapon, when his gauntlet just might not be enough to cut it.

and so, instead of pressing on, Albel backtracks. finds himself at one of the food stalls, drawn in by both the look and the smell of it. he's not familiar with kebabs, and he's not concerned with it being dangerous or inappropriate to just take one right off the heat-top. what really interests him, though, is the skewer the food's been cooked on. turning it around between the claws of his gauntlet, he takes a bite of the juicy, savory meat, and then pokes one finger of his right hand against the pointed end of the skewer. it's no sword, but... ]


Hn.

[ please don't let him go out into the fog with a meat skewer for a weapon. the gauntlet would've been more useful. come on. ]

ii. regicide theatre
(sound and light)
[ while hardly a patron of the arts, Albel is nonetheless drawn to the... entertainment at the theater. by this point, he's feeling somehow more comfortable and yet more pressingly on edge than ever—reequipped with his sword, the Crimson Scourge, and having found a place to settle for the time being, there's less imminent concern for what he's meant to do by way of basic survival needs for however long he's stuck here. on the other hand, this place isn't as devoid of life as he'd thought, and he's not sure what to make of the people he's seen (and/or met) so far. perhaps no obvious danger, but the fog that stops them from getting far is a problem, too. he doesn't know his way around the sorts of questions to ask to gather a proper understanding of where in the universe he is, and even if he did, his willingness to engage with others is next to zero.

it's tough, not having other people around to do all the talking for you, when all you're interested in is stabbing whatever, or whoever, needs to be stabbed and carrying on your way. funny... he'd gotten used to that.

at any rate, the shadow-puppet show. it's the peculiarity of it that attracts his attention, the odd sound effects and the use of shadow figures as actors in this macabre little play. he stands on the sidelines to watch, well away from anyone else who might be in the area, and moving elsewhere should anyone come near. of course, there aren't any words in this performance, and he's hardly creative enough to parse the concept out all in his own, nor does he care to. but he can comprehend the gist, at least. there's an odd smirk on his face when the crowned figure of the king dies, but whatever is so amusing about it to him doesn't reach his eyes. and in fact—all too abruptly, as the "show" comes to an end, he finds his eyes full of tears, standing ones that he squints against to keep from trickling down his face. they do eventually, in spite of his best efforts, and then more come, and more, and more, and then a choked noise that forces its way past his gritted teeth.

baffled and infuriated, Albel's fist curls under his nose and in front of his mouth, almost as if he intends to disguise it as simply coughing into the side of his hand. he can't remember the last time he cried, truly. it wasn't even during the incident that ultimately left him with a gauntlet for a left arm, something he'll have the joy of having rooted out of him in greater detail later. by his recollection, he's never cried (not quite true, but fair enough), and so this... this episode he's finding himself uncontrollably overwhelmed by is utterly outside anything he'd been prepared for. his eyes burn and his face reddens, and before he can get any worse, he turns with a whirl to leave, quickly. ]

iii. fire doesn't cleanse—
(into the fog/waking to a nightmare)
[ when the fog rolls in and the lights go out, Albel draws his sword. he doesn't need to see or hear, doesn't need to be told to know that the other shoe's dropped and that no imminent danger he hadn't fully counted on was never anything more than a calm before the storm. it couldn't possibly happen any other way, really. he should have expected this from the start. the monstrous dogs, although unsettling and hardly worth the energy, are cut down without a second thought by a katana that sings when it slices, cleaving some of its victims clean in two. if anything, this might even be a positive turn of events, for Albel. it's something he understands; the only thing, really, when you come right down to it: fighting. the other people around him aren't of any concern to him, whether they're in danger or if they can handle themselves. he's not above kill-stealing, swooping in with quick, fluid movements and a dancing twist of his blade with expert finesse to dispatch any shambling canines someone else might've been facing off against. even depowered, he doesn't need symbology or any special skills to be deadly.

but mid-battle, he sees the flicker of flames stumbling in from out of frame. he hears a sound that fills him with a terror he's almost never felt before, the rattling, agonized deathscream of someone close to him. Albel turns his head in the figure's direction for only a moment, his sword still raised in his hand to strike, but he doesn't linger long enough to truly allow his eyes to catch up to his ears, neither of those to his mind. that bloodcurdling scream, the red-orange fiery glow... he's fucking gone, bolting away down the main thoroughfare and as far from that sound as he can possibly get, as quickly as he can get there.

by nightfall, he's convinced himself it was nothing but a hallucination. it wouldn't be a stretch, although waking nightmares like that have never come on so suddenly like that before. there's a first time for everything, isn't there? it isn't any use thinking about, and there's no sense going out and cutting down more useless, shambling dogs when they aren't much of a match for him, so he stays inside. the doors and windows shut tight, he goes to sleep. but he doesn't sleep, because the hair-raising scream comes back to him, again and again, disturbing him. the distant glow of flame becomes an inferno that consumes the entirety of his vision, just like it always does right before everything goes dark, before he awakens with a shout in the night and finds it was all a dream—

only this time it isn't. that scream, just like back on the street, is real, and it's here in the room with him. although the creature is engulfed in blazing fire, the space around it doesn't seem to be sent ablaze as it stumbles into the walls and furniture. it screams, heinous and haunting and in horrible, horrible agony, and Albel screams back, drenched in blood that soaks through the bed he'd been sitting partway up in. panic rises in his chest and makes his whole body go numb as he staggers to his feet and into the far corner of his room. his hands grope for his sword, but he's too momentarily rattled to grab ahold of it and pull it properly from its sheath. the longer he stares, the more the features of the figure take form before his eyes: the misshapen, badly burned shape of his father, his face grotesquely melted, the mouth a gaping void that screams just like it did the day he died. two great, dragon's wings, made of flame, seem to fill the whole room as they spread and yet set nothing ablaze. it howls: Albel. but when it reaches for him, it's to strike with a weapon he can't make sense of.

the sword comes out. he parries, wild with fear and disbelief, and does so again and again, each time in greater desperation as the towering size of his worst nightmare bears down on him with blow after blow. there's no way out, no way past it, except to leap through the flames and risk being burned alive again himself—or a window to his left. naturally, Albel chooses the window, and throws his whole body through it to escape the house. heedless of any injury and absolutely inconsolable, he hastens to his feet and takes off in whatever direction momentum sends him in... and bodily into another person, probably also fleeing their own Manifestation.

or maybe fleeing the pack of now considerably more dangerous monster dogs headed their way. Albel raises his crimson katana without caring that someone is directly in the way of the oncoming slash, almost as if he doesn't see them. sorry, he's short circuited. he doesn't actually mean any harm.

maybe. okay, doubtful. better move. ]

iv. —it blackens
(the bonfire)
[ there's almost never been a time in his life when stand and fight wasn't the answer. or rather, that it wasn't his answer. running away was never an option, because the alternative to fighting is to simply die, and he holds himself to that standard as much he holds anything else. but eventually, fleeing the horrific Manifestation of Glou Nox, Albel finds himself at, god, wouldn't you know it? another fire. someone there tips him off, stops him from leaving by telling him it's safe there, and he's in no frame of mind to do anything but listen for once, to catch his breath and try to calm himself down.

naturally, that doesn't end up happening, either. when the veiled figures bring their captured quarry to the flames to throw it in, Albel finds his sanity fraying, finds himself reacting uncharacteristically strongly to the entire scene. he'd ordinarily never dream of wasting his time with interfering in affairs that don't concern him, but immolation is kind of a trigger of his, and that combined with what he's already seen tonight has him acting on wild impulse, fighting frantically to stop the veiled figures from throwing the wailing figure into the flames. ]


Stop, damn you! Stop—!

[ jump in and help him or don't, it doesn't matter. Albel won't rest until he's torn both those figures limb from limbs with his own hands if he has to. not that it does him a lick of good, in the end, because just as soon as it's over and that deformed creature is left laying on the ground, spared a terrible fate in exchange for living in miserable, mutilated suffering just like its savior, Albel starts to double over with violent, racking coughs.

blood spills from his lips and pools on the ground, and he takes a knee to keep from falling backwards into the bonfire himself. that leaves him with a front row seat to his own mockery: the smeared and congealing word father forming on the ground in front of him. eyes wide, blood seeping between his fingers, the coughs subside and he's left too weakened even to feel rage. his voice comes out hoarse and disbelieving. ]


Enough... enough of this...


( wildcards always welcome! pm this journal if you want to run anything by me, would like to plot, or for anything else. )
octaplicitous: (i admit that in the past I've been a nas)

IIa

[personal profile] octaplicitous 2022-08-11 12:30 am (UTC)(link)
[Azul still isn't sure what to make of this play; it changes every time, but he can't quite track when or why, other than the vague sense that it is different.

He's pretty engrossed in the performance when the man seated near him starts talking, and it actually pulls his attention away, because this sounds like someone's sorrow.

And in this place, with his magic gone and no help foreseeably coming, connections are a good thing to have. And Azul has one tried and true way of making "connections."]


Oh? Well, that sounds absolutely horrific.

[He moves from his seat one away from Dimitri to come closer, his voice full of concern and yet, if Dimitri listens, it doesn't sound particularly sincere.]

Why don't you tell me all about it? Talking about ones troubles and sorrows is the start of addressing them, after all.
octaplicitous: (they're looking for my heart)

b

[personal profile] octaplicitous 2022-08-11 12:40 am (UTC)(link)
[As it happens, Azul has himself pressed against that very fence, and when someone suddenly lands next to him he starts, but that's nothing compared to how he stumbles when the fence jolts from the impact of the dogs.

He barely has time to recover before he catches sight of Hiyori.]


Ah, wait, hold-

[Too late, he's moving. And unlike Hiyori, he's... well, slow.

So it likely won't take long for Hiyori to get a few good meters ahead of him, with Azul following as fast as he can, calling after him.]


Wait! Let's... make a deal! If you help me, I'll... help you! Hah...

[Why does he have to do so much running!?]
seaboard: (⌜𝙽𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2022-08-11 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
[ Like many others, she is drawn to the sound. It feels like a shattering, in this city without life. Breaking apart the strange days that feel like waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. She dresses herself comfortably rather than grandly, she finds food, she walks about this empty place, and it feels like a prick against her senses.

Until, at last, it does. The sudden appearance of something new and sudden draws most people. She follows behind him, though she does not know him - if he is so keen to stride forward first, she is happy to let him. This world of strangeness that does not feel real at all, she watches him test it. Come away unharmed. Her hands lay flat against her apron, eyes flicking between him and wait laid beyond. ]


What do you see?

[ It was important to know if they were seeing the same thing, in times where spirits were strongest, it could be difficult to know whether they all saw the same thing. ]
orobashi: (43)

1

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-11 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
( Even the temptation of the sea can't keep her from seeing something like this right before her eyes. A man, injured and clearly suffering. It makes her heart ache, and though she's never seen him before now, Kokomi approaches and kneels to his side. She's careful to make herself in plain view while also trying not to obstruct the way he stares out.

She removes the white, lace-ended gloves from her hands one by one, tucking them into a fold of clothing at her side before he holds out one delicate palm. )


May I?

( His hand, she means. The one so terribly injured. A reach into herself tells her right away that her normal healing powers cannot be accessed, but... There must be something more she can do to stop the bleeding. A fresh change may help. )
orobashi: (51)

2

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-11 01:05 am (UTC)(link)
( After so many days and repeats of watching this, Kokomi has taken to shifting between different spots for viewing. Most lately, she's made an effort to step near anyone else who might be watching this strange play. The more that she watches this, the more confused she is about the plot, and the changes— but the more certain she is that companionship is crucial.

His coughing seems to solidify that, though she won't be so tactless as to point that out. Instead, she holds a journal close to her chest, chin lifting ever so slightly and her gaze changing from the stage to the man beside her. )


I find myself saddened by the Ruler's death no matter how many times I watch it. I cannot say for certain whether it may be one Ruler again and again, or many, or some combination of the two, but...

( Her eyes look a little more firm, her stare more insistent. Do you need a hug, sir?

Ah, well, she's not so forward as to ask just yet, but she's working up to it. )


To be blindsided even by your most trusted... He must have felt such unbearable loneliness. No one should have to feel such deep and twisting sorrow, especially at the end of their lives.

( She'd feel bashful about her rambling at this point if the memories in her own mind weren't crashing forth and sparking old regrets. Still, she looks insistently at the stranger, like her little speech alone should pull the courage out from within him to ask for help.

She has backup plans, of course. )
seaboard: (⌜𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢⌟)

1

[personal profile] seaboard 2022-08-11 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
[ It is stifling.

Had the fire been banked too high the night before? She knew her maids worried about her, ever so much. But this felt beyond that, it felt like she was lying directly in the sun on the hottest days of summer and she had just come in from pulling the harvest.

Enough that for a second, when she opens her eyes, she does think she might just be in the fields after all. The sun beating down from above, a bright endless sky. That she has not done harvest rituals in years, that she should not be outside at all, only comes later.

Then she realises just how wrong it all is, and she sits upright with a gasp. With it, the full regalia of a queen of a land far more of snow and ice, moves stiffly with her. Pearls that sway from her kokoshnik crown, the veils flutter, where she is snuggly wrapped against even the slightest of chills.... and now sweltering. Sweat beading on her brow, the fur edges were blotting it at least. Spirits bless, what was happening? Where was she? How had she come here? What plot was this?

It's then she notices him. Dizzying for a moment, her nose turning pink with overheating and undoubted sunburn, she takes him in blearily like she had drunk too much in her cups the night before. The world is a churning, sickening sensation. Her head felt as if a drum was playing upon it.

But he was certainly not her husband or wife, nor her guard, and definitely not her maid.

So she does as her spouses had taught her. Her hand pulls the knife from her belt, a gift of marriage, and holds it in the space between them. The grip clumsy to anyone with an experienced eye. But determined, as she keeps it between him and her. ]


I know not what game this is, sir, but you shall return me to my people.

[ But even as she says it, and she truly looks at him - it felt wrong. He does not look like anyone she has ever seen. Nor does he look or seem like a villain, to have captured her. ]
Edited 2022-08-11 01:23 (UTC)
seaboard: (⌜𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚍 ⌟)

sound and light

[personal profile] seaboard 2022-08-11 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
[ The tears seem almost like a sickness that spreads from one person to another.

The prickle of it sharp in her eyes, and it is practised, practised from childhood about even when it got the better of you, to say and do nothing to acknowledge it, her jaw shut and her eyes up, to act like just because she feels, nothing comes of it at all. Even when her shoulders shook, and she wanted to rock and soothe herself.

Her mother had never been kind about displaying this.

The show is not strange in so much to see puppets. This was the show often done for children in her own lands. It was every so often that the Mummer's would come to play from them, but only in the spring weeks when the trader hailed them. Winter in the Keep would have many of these displays put on, though usually, it would have someone to speak over it and tell the story. But this would happen too.

It is a fearsome story, one that feels familiar yet distant, playing over and over again, with the odd music, and the bloodless death of the shadow shapes. It does not surprise her that she weeps, truly, tracking down her cheeks, silently. The cut of the knife still felt raw, even all these years later. The ache in her throat. Never to heal. Proof always that the world was not kind. But hidden away where no one could see it, behind her wimple and veil.

It's only after it ends the third time that the spell of it breaks across her senses and she can break to look around her - and see that others weep as she does, though the man beside her seems so overwhelmed.

She does not know him, so she does not fully embrace him, but her fingers lift as if she means to do so - hovering above his hand as it catches her. No one ever held her when she wanted to weep, anymore. It seemed so awful, to leave someone else to the same fate.

So she settles between the two, moving to lay the gentlest brush of her fingers against the outside of his hand. An offer, and no more, easily rejected. ]


There now, what strange stories they play for us. It is not a good tale at all. Would you like to hear another instead?

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