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graveyardsmash2015-09-18 11:43 pm
rysligmods) wrote in graveyardsmash2015-09-18 11:43 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE SEPTEMBER EDITION
- You can only app ONE character per round so choose wisely.
- We now have a Quick Game Facts that simplifies the basic information about the game. Good if you want to see what the game is at a glance!
- Ryslig's FAQ is located here, so please take a look if you have questions.
- The reserve date is 9/26.
- Test drive meme threads can be used for your roleplay sample!
- Players with characters already in the game can earn up to a maximum of 6 coins by replying to potential character threads! You cannot use this to go over the bonus 20 coins per month total, but you can use it to reach that coin total. Same rules as normal bonuses apply.
Sample scenarios:
SCENARIO ONE: So you've just arrived, fresh out of the hospital, and already the natives are trying to get on your good side. Offers of food, shelter and other luxuries in return for hoping you don't eat them. They even have some helpful pamphlets to share with you. "How To Deal With Changes", "Alternatives to Human Flesh", "What to Expect When You're Expecting (to turn into a monster)" are all great pamphlets. There's even some detailing certain monsters, and the changes they go through. Some of these seem to have been passed down from one monster to the next.
Among these however, are some... not so helpful ones. "Bunnyipyips And You", "Axe Thief Axehounds," and "So you're becoming a Fur Bearing Trout" among others. Sometimes they have marks on them from previous people who had them saying they are lies, or pointing out good "jokes."
SCENARIO TWO: You've become hopelessly lost in Lager Woods. Paths don't seem to lead where you remember them leading, and you feel as if you're going around in circles. Childlike giggling can be heard from no direction in particular. Suddenly, you stumble upon another character, who seems to be just as lost as you! Perhaps you can find a way out together. Or maybe they want you for lunch...
SCENARIO THREE: The time has come and you've found yourself becoming a monster. Is the change instant, or gradual? Are you familiar enough with monsters to know what's happening, or is it a complete shock? NOTE: Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.
SCENARIO FOUR (New):The claws, the fangs, the pangs of hunger - horrible as they all are, it's manageable given enough time and perseverance. Local monster hunters, though, not so much.
Maybe it started with a few wayward glances on the outskirts of town, critical stares and disapproving whispers, or just the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever it was, deserved or entirely unprovoked, you're being hunted: a handful of aggressive, well-armed humans doggedly chase your trail throughout city streets and out into the open, and if you're not careful (if you don't find help soon) you might wind up as the next trophy kill claim on one of those hunter's walls.
hannibal lecter | hannibal (tv) | ota
SCENARIO ONE
Convinced he was experiencing a dream, Hannibal is unable to repress his amusement. He gives a little chuckle after flipping through half of the manuals and pamphlets giving, deciding that his dream is some sort of bizarre Jungian arrangement of archetypes, mixed with artistic overtones related somewhere between the Decadents and Symbolists of the Romanticism. Usually, he expects a setting more renaissance and grandiose, so overall, he is unimpressed, and finds the monster theme rather juvenile.
Still, he cannot deny the uncanny realism of it, and decides he should engage the background of people and see what becomes of the interaction. In theory, actual people would provide vastly more dynamic social interaction, but unfortunately, for a man like Lecter, even real people were not as engaging as he would prefer, so this would be a difficult series of observations.
It was upon glancing the manual giving alternatives to human flesh that caused him to pause, and if anyone who was not familiar with him could ever succeed in reading his expressions, when not plastered intentionally onto the mask of his person suit, this near frown might mark the occasion.
Obviously, his subconscious had turned against him and sought to mock him through this dreamland scenario.
The very tall, immaculately dressed man folds the papers into his coat, pulling it closer against him, and sets off to find an inn. With a sudden surge of heat to his head, he makes a motion to touch his brow, nearly toppling over in a rare display of lost control. From his perspective, a burning shoots through his skull, nearly blinding him with pain, and his ears begin ringing with intolerable noise. He stumbles, only a slight grunt to indicate pain, directly into a moderately busy street...
SCENARIO TWO/FOUR
Having had time to assess his surroundings and adapt to survive in its disconcerting realism, Hannibal has decided that assuming it is truly his new reality, and this isn't a dream or episode brought on by the possibility of being drugged by someone, is the best course of action. The pain and hunger and exhaustion was as real as anything he'd experienced. He could bleed, and that meant that whatever else was happening, he certainly wasn't going to make however long he spent here worse by treating it as something less than what it was, in the most basic level. It was still life, and it was still an experience. One should make the most of all of them, and never fail to adapt accordingly.
So it was that he had begun luring folks wandering through the forest. He wasn't brave enough to go in town, try to blend in and adopt something similar to the trust and life he'd had in Baltimore, because his pains and odd physical sensations caused him to end up in unforgivably helpless scenarios. So before he made the wrong impression and was permanently banished, or worse, ended up indebted to a stranger, he had elected to survive nearer to the forest, acting like someone with some trader or a business which takes them through its roads often. It provided ample opportunity to offer aide and assistance, and end up leading people astray.
Of course, living off of human flesh was not something new and horrific for him to adopt to. It was the same as back home. His only disdain came from having to feast like some medieval outlaw over a campfire, rather than actually cook like a civilized person. Also pressing his grip of sanity caused by material comforts, having no one to share company with for social purposes, as well as the most appealing part of cooking, was really starting to take a toll on him. Not as much as the hard bumps indicating the horns really were preparing to grow out of his skull. The feeling of bone mass beginning to push its way out from areas like his elbows. His back felt tight and everything ached almost all of the time. His eyes felt like he had been looking into the sun, and occasionally, vision blurred and he felt the most overwhelming sense of vertigo.
Also the hair. It wasn't on his face yet, or at least, it was the reason for a growing beard, not long yet, but softer and browner than he knew fit his natural color or texture. His nose felt larger, thicker, and his skin felt leathery and more durable. It was simultaneously curious and distressing. He hadn't decided what to do yet, besides adapt in general.
One thing he did know, was that he felt safer in the forest, and that a man had to eat. Waving his hand from a cart full of produce he pretended was stuck in some mud alongside the road, he attempted to flag down the light indicating passersby approaching. It was dark, and he could only make out humanoid shapes. He ignored the uncomfortable growl that came from his stomach, and put on his most engaging set of facial expressions.
"Good evening! Would you be so kind as to help me get this out of the mud? I seem to have gotten myself stuck."
4 | You have a small wendigo, tadaaah
But no one said he had to enjoy that part.
He carries with him his own kill, which could perhaps be how his shadow seemed so large in the first place however. If he doesn't kill a human, it's 'okay', he has long decided.
So really, if a human manages to run himself into his own knife trying to chase a small monster up a tree, that is his own fault. It just means the small monster has to haul a very large and awkward to carry human back home.
His ears prick at the sound of a distant voice to say the least--and with his otherwise keen vision he can easily make out the cart that is there, an idea coming to mind. Maybe they can help him get back. That should be fine right?
what do you mean carrying around dead bodies is weirdAnd so the boy approaches, shifting the weight of what he carries until he's close enough to better speak to whoever it is that is...
...Stuck?
...Reira blinks at the mud, and then back at the one in charge of the cart itself.] ...can't push it... ..?
[Monsters are very strong sir. You are definitely a monster. How on earth are you stuck in this sort of mud?]
no subject
He adopts a casual expression and leans against the cart, clasping his hands together and resting them on his stomach.
This little monster was small, but matched the information he'd found about wendigos, the creature he was certain he was becoming. In truth, it was one of the first he read up on, considering the irony that he would become the description of the terror that had haunted many of Will's dreams. Not that the metaphor of it had been lost on him then. ]
Heavy body? [ He inquired casually, almost musically. ]
no subject
With the question of the body, he shakes his head immediately.] Nh-uh. ...just big, [he clarifies, keeping short with his words.] ...'M s...stronger here, [He adds. The boy seems rather slow to speak, sounding even monotonous when he does say anything. As it is, he seems to be offering the body up.]
...I... I can push though... [...He sounds as if he isn't sure--not so much about his ability, but more if he would even be allowed, however. Monster strength is fairly impressive after all--he might not be anywhere near as strong as an adult, but he can certainly push a cart.]
no subject
The cart was never stuck. I can help you with your friend there, if you'd like. We can push him in this.
no subject
.................oh.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Best to move on then.
Leaving the matter of the cart to things unsaid, he nods, awkwardly handing the corpse over.] S...still has his knife, [he admits, biting his lip a bit.]
T...thought Bucky would want it...
[The knife, in question, is embedded quite thoroughly in the man's chest, though the hand was pulled loose from it when Reira was trying to figure out how to even carry the fellow. As it is.
He can't really get it in the cart too easy on his own, and he figures it would be more polite to let the owner do it right now. Otherwise whatever else is in it could get shoved around where it shouldn't.
And that's no good for anyone.] Th...
...Thank you...
one. be gentle i'm voicetesting like whoa
It's Will, not that there's any room for doubt. He's wearing a jacket that isn't his, likely to cover up the poorly-bandaged stab-wound along his shoulder blade and the blood thereof. Not much could be done about the one on his face save for cleaning it up as best he can and trying not to waste many words. Inner-mouth wounds bleed plenty and heal slowly, and the Dragon's knife wasn't exactly kind to Will's tongue or the inside of his bottom jaw.
A car horn blares on the way by, scolding how close the both of them were to the roadway, and Will's eyes jerk to the vehicle at once, following it with a sharply drawn brow as it passes through an intersection and disappears from sight. Then his eyes lift to the path ahead, and in his next exhale he says, "I don't suppose you have any theories." It's a quiet question, whether or not it sounds like one. Because Will typically prides himself on his ability to reason through a situation, but he makes a point not to consider 'I've gone crazy again' to be a viable explanation.
the most gentle c:
He would not create a place for them that involved disorienting pain. For himself, in any case. Vision clearing, glancing around them, he resolves himself to refusing the belief that this is a world of his internal creation. Which means they are physically somewhere, and that this is actually Will. That is all he needs to know for now. The rest can be improvised once he has had time to rest. He keeps an arm on Will's for support. It looks like an embrace, and might even seem intimate to a stranger. Lecter is far beyond caring about such appearances. The ambiguity of interpretation is part of the appeal.
"I would have suggested Hell, but I do not think it would be so poorly orchestrated. I am uncertain exactly what time we have arrived, but it is certainly a different dimension, though I must admit, I was not a believer that such travel was going to be possible in our lifetime." Our, like one might effortlessly include presence of family in a conversation about any mundane thing.
"Will..." A long pause of saying nothing, which he realizes could be interrupted by a physical separation. In absolute honesty, he could use the support at the moment, but the control the touch offers is also irresistible, and he isn't willing to let go yet. The doctor offers a light touch along the scar of Will's face. "I can clean and re-bandage that for you."
my icons are all so old, omg.
Either way, the man's grip on his arm gets barely a thought in light of the - well, 'theories' that Hannibal's offering. Were they coming from anyone else, Will would have assumed they were making fun. As it stands, his brow knits just barely further, and one corner of his mouth twitches upward in what could almost be a dry sort of smile.
"A different dimension," he echoes, "is that all?" Not exactly the kind of hypothesis he expected out of the blue. Explanations dealing in memory palaces and other such constructions of the mind are a little more typical. Alternate dimensions, though?
Will almost for a minute wishes he'd actually engaged in that branch of theoretical academia - at the very least in some kind of light pre-bed reading. If he had, he might have a more tangible grasp on what exactly he should be thinking and feeling about this 'alternate dimension' idea. Or better, ways in which to prove it, or disprove it as the case may be. A part of his rational mind still clings to the fact that aside from the 'monsters' aspect, this place isn't entirely unlike something that could be found somewhere on Earth. In northeastern America, even. Here they are discussing alternate dimensions, and the pair of them could be mere hours from home. Granted, it wouldn't explain the monsters... But Will's no stranger to the unexplained interspersed throughout everyday life.
The touch to his cheek registers just a moment belated, and his eyes refocus at once, glancing to Hannibal's quickly before diverting his gaze somewhere slightly less direct and nodding in acceptance of the offer.
"Where?"
Perhaps Hannibal has already found them somewhere less exposed to lick their wounds, but even if not, he's sure to at least have a direction Will can bodily steer them.
but shh, precious glasses will is precious.
Ideally, he'd wake up first and this will all be a wretched dream to lock away forever in the place in his memory palace where things go to never be thought of again.
Where? Was that a where, explain more of your theory, doctor, even though I see you can barely walk straight, or agreement to go with him somewhere less full of noise and people? Usually, he processed things quicker.
Blood tricked out of his nose as his eyes glazed over, and he put a hand to his own forehead again. "There's a motel near the forest....Abandoned....Have supplies there."
if i app i'm gonna overhaul alla these tho.
A seedy motel. That seems right about their speed at the moment. But even in the corner of his eye, the blood oozing from Hannibal's nose draws Will's attention at once, and it has him lifting his eyes yet again to the man's face, this time to briefly assess condition. It's not a question of whether or not Hannibal can make it to the hotel, however many places he's bleeding. There's no version of things in which he doesn't make it, that much is the same no matter which dimension or reality they currently inhabit.
No, they're unquestionably going to make it to that hotel. So instead, it's a matter of the quickest and simplest way to reach it.
A half-cough bubbles up in Will's throat, a reflex as some of the blood in his mouth drips down past the mouth of his windpipe as he inhales. It stopped for a while, but talking did him no favors and now the blood is fresh. But that's a superficial danger, enough to trip his instinct not to drown in his own fluids but ultimately harmless. Even the hole in his chest, painful as it makes it to lift his free arm, missed all the vital areas as far as he's aware. Funny how it's harder to visualize your own internal anatomy than that of a stranger. Regardless, there's nothing to stop him from heading off in the general forestward direction now, setting a decent but manageable pace.
After no more than a few steps, the hand between Hannibal's shoulder blades slides up to wrap his fingers around the doctor's opposite shoulder. "Close your eyes." Because yes, he's absolutely noticed the forehead-touching and that reads as either dizziness or some kind of headache, both of which could be alleviated temporarily by not taking in quite as much of the bright late-afternoon sunlight. Will's pace doesn't slow down any despite the suggestion, but it's not as if he'd let Hannibal stumble.
yes, good.
When it came to folks hoping to rest, there was a sort of mutual understanding. You replaced what you took in exchange for the place to rest and feel secure from whatever you were hiding from, while you made plans for whatever came next. In many cases, newer monsters like himself had wound up there, apparently by accident. They'd found solace in clean linen, at least, though the rest of the locale was unsettling at best.
There were warnings about what came out at night, mostly because it would be rude for him to interfere with another's hunt. That agreement was part of why he hadn't been rousted out of his den yet. And den is certainly how he saw it. If someone killed here, they had to clean it. If they didn't, he was within his rights to fight them off.
He was much cleaner when he lured prey himself. More often than not, the cellars is where he kept his meat, brought from hunting elsewhere. He may have learned a thing or two about killing where you sleep. Not that murder was uncommon here.
Will's advice was welcome, even if he did not favor the vulnerability of having his eyes closed so close to a man who, despite his attachment, he knew had tried to kill him every chance he got, and could very well be planning to do so again. The pain was something he could not allow to continue, however, so he did so. Moving his feet forward by coordination and familiarity with their area.
Running into a door or tripping was not on his agenda, though, so he uttered somewhat lower than intended, "Blue door."
That was the office, where the first aide kit was locked in the manager's desk. He'd had it stolen so many times he was debating moving it to the cellars. What a wanderer would find there would, in most cases, assuredly deter further investigation.
:')
The journey to the motel in question is relatively uneventful. Occasionally he offers a quiet 'step' or something like it, muttered just loud enough that Hannibal can compensate without having to open his eyes. It's a necessary forethought as they near their destination and the fog swims at the edges of his vision. If the other man were to stumble over a curb or something similarly unyielding, Will's not entirely confident in his ability to keep the both of them standing.
But then they've arrived, and just in time comes Hannibal's instruction. The blue door, he says, and at once Will spots the door in question. He offers no verbal confirmation, but Hannibal might feel their direction shift just a touch to the left to compensate. Not long after that, they're slowing to a stop as Will fumbles the doorknob just barely too long and pushes the door open to reveal the office inside.
Three more steps, and he deposits Hannibal in a chair - not the nearest chair to the door, but rather, the passably-comfortable one parked behind the manager's desk. "Where is it?" His stockpile, no doubt hidden behind one of the room's varying locks. That's the only reason Hannibal would've brought them to the office. Precious few of the guest rooms, if any at all, would have locks worth even attempting to trust.
If Hannibal opens his eyes, though, he'll find that Will has closed his own now that he's no longer moderately responsible for the both of them, and much of his weight leans on his palms on the edge of the desk.
one
"Be careful," comes the harpy's gruff voice. If Hannibal looks up (Blackquill stands at over six and a half feet now), he'll see the former prosecutor frowning down at him. Black-white splotched wings which had half-flared out when Blackquill had made a grab for the other man begin to tuck themselves at his back.
Re: one
"Thank you..." He wasn't sure what to add. Polite conduct called for gratitude, but he did not seek out debt to a stranger and certainly didn't feel prepared to engage in conversation, with the ringing dying down, the pain was still numbing his thoughts.
"You're a...harpy. Is it uncomfortable?" Even he wasn't sure what he was referring to, in particular.
no subject
"No," he answers. His taloned hands curl into fists. "Not any more."
As if it isn't enough that he resembles the monstrous bird known as a harpy, the loose clothing he has taken to wearing by necessity (with the back modified for his wings) lends an East-Asian air to his appearance. And if Hannibal is familiar with the mythology of that region, he might spot the resemblance to a tengu.
Blackquill moves briefly to rub at one of his eyes and adds, gruffly, "It is surprisingly easy to accustom oneself to the changes."
4!
It's not that Vila enjoys having to make such a scene, but the man's conduct had been completely unacceptable, trying to mug her, even having the gall to stab her - it's why she ignores the way her touch is beginning to freeze his hand. Her antlers are small, eyes a pale gold against the lantern light.
"Have you considered investing in an automobile? They seem fantastically convenient. Hold this, will you?" Not the lantern, because that goes on the ground at their feet - the guy, she means, hold this wailing half-frozen ruffian while she does this. "Just for a moment."
no subject
"With pleasure."
One! I haven't canon updated her for this season just yet fyi
Dr. Lecter?
[ The demon is torn between relief at his familiarity and concern for what his presence could mean. ]
:D ! would you like him to try to avoid future references?
He blinks a few times, quite certain his is hallucinating at first. If that is actually Margot, then she has either become as inhuman as the papers said would happen, or he was seeing versions of people, similar to what Will had experienced. ]
Either I am in severe need of an evaluation, or you have found your true form, Margot.
Re: No, he can smugly know things all he wants tee hee
Mason would agree with you. After all, he's often tried to save me from the devil inside.
[ Pity he hadn't seen fit to spare her from his own. ]
smug is definitely the word.
He makes his tone casual, as if only vaguely interested in what he asks: ]
Is Mason here with you?
[ Why not? Nothing else made sense. Judging by the fact that Margot hadn't immediately tried to attack him for promising to kill her wife and threatening her son, it is logically deduced that she is from earlier in their lives than he is. Mason could be here. That would be... interesting. ]
Re: smug is definitely the word.
Should I drop this in favor of in game threads that we can count for AC?