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graveyardsmash2016-01-13 12:29 am
rysligmods) wrote in graveyardsmash2016-01-13 12:29 am
Entry tags:
JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME
- 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 01/29.
- 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: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.
r.l. stine (goosebumps: the movie)
[creativity. it's one of the few real comforts Stine can cling to in any moment of distress, no matter what the context is. he writes, if not through a tangible medium then in his head. if he can internalize a concept and break it down into the barest pieces of a story, he can rearrange them into something practical; something he can use. maybe it's not the most conventional form of problem solving, but it hasn't hurt him yet.
though, given this decidedly extraordinary situation, it might take him a few tries before it leads to anything beneficial. or healthy. or any outcome that doesn't involve him looking like a giant idiot — a insane giant idiot on the verge of exploding, perhaps — like he does now as he sits hunched over on a rickety city bench barely a block away from the hospital. the welcoming committee (read: mob) has long since dispersed, and now all he's surrounded by is...well, pamphlets. lots and lots of pamphlets. piles of pamphlets.
and some poor, misguided soul, no doubt completely unaware of the terrible door they've opened, has been naive enough to give him something to write with.]
Hm, stellar! They haven't invented the comma here yet, have they?
[he stabs his pen down onto the brochure he's holding and begins scribbling into the the edge of the paragraph he's currently skimming with manic fervor, jotting down yet another addition to the rather impressive collection of grammatical and spelling corrections he's been amassing on this particular page. he's turned semicolons into periods, replaced more than a few "there's" with "theirs", and has even rewritten several paragraphs entirely. why? well, it makes him feel better. what other reason does he need?]
Wouldn't have, not wouldn't of. [the smile plastered across his face is thin and forced and on the shaky verge of collapse.] I can't even— Do you even listen to yourselves talk?
[some people bite their nails when they're stressed. R.L. Stine turns into a grammar nazi.]
[two.]
[disembodied children's voices are never good news. Stine was unnerved even before he made it this far into the forest, but now he can safely say that he's chilled to the bone. he's not going to stick around to find out what's making those noises, thank you very much, and he feels pretty confident in his assumption that his new friend feels the same way. they can discuss the possibility of malevolent ghost toddlers when they get home, but for now? making a beeline for the clear direction of that-a-way seems like a solid plan.
strike that: a better one would be keeping one eye on the ground in front of them, because otherwise...]
YAAAAAGH!
[...you might end up walking straight into a hunter's pull-trap. the loop of rope laying on the forest floor is easily masked under a pile of leaves and dead vines, and unfortunately his left foot connects with it in just the right way to set it off. and there he goes — a shrieking, flailing mess yanked up into the air, dangling upside down. his glasses go flying off his face in the commotion. that's somehow the worst part of this for him because now he's dizzy and blind. whattacombo.]
Get me the— Get me down!
Two!
What lies ahead smells a good deal more...strong than what you would get off a trap however, so the child is naturally a bit hesitant to get too much closer than he already is. Hiding in the bushes however, it's impossible for him not to hear Stine's yelping from up in the air...and just as impossible to ignore what likely happened. So after a few precautionary sniffs and ear-flicks to better gauge everything, out he comes.
Looking, no doubt, like a very blue-brown-grey blur right now.
He pulls up his goggles, frowning at the suspended author.] ...
...If I cut you down... ...am I going to get in trouble.. ..?
[There's a reason he's asking.
Trust him.
It involves the part where cutting that rope means you land on your face.]no subject
[an incredibly stupid one, he decides immediately, and just as quickly realizes that he's responded with an even dumber one because it's obvious he's dealing with a child. not a teenager or even a preteen; someone altogether younger judging by the high pitch of their voice and the diminutive figure milling somewhere a few feet away from him, small enough to blend in with the rest of the molted splotches of brown and green and dull grey swimming around him were it not for the blue. he bites down on his lip as he continues to sway from side to side, but it does little to curb the irritation.]
You'd get in bigger trouble if you left me here. [he doesn't really mean it, but he doesn't sound very pleased all the same.] I can get over everything else. [a pause.] Most of everything else.
[there we go.]
no subject
There.
[The rope was just cut.
Bye Stine~]
no subject
Wait, waitwaitwait, give me a moment. Start counting backwards from five, slowly—
[but his babbling goes largely ignored and grows more frantic when he hears the splinter of wood followed by the whisper of rope unraveling, and then he feels wiggle room for his foot where there was once pressure which comes right before the thing holding him up is jerked up and away. his heart leaps into his throat when he falls with a shriek, landing on the ground with a thunderous, painful sounding thud. a low groan drifts up from the pile of dead flora he's cushioned under, followed by the sounds of unsteady shuffling as he gropes around for his glasses.
better. at least he can see now. he looks dazed, feels dazed, and it doesn't really subside even when his eyes gain enough strength to search for the child's now very clear form.]
That... That was good. Ish. [his hand drifts up to his head.] Do you— You don't hear ringing, do you?
[he's not gonna ask about the stars swimming in and out of his vision because that would just be too much. he's not some kind of weirdo.]
no subject
Reira stares down from the tree for a moment until it at least looks like the other isn't going to be dying/horribly injured/etc, before jumping down himself. It's easy to take that kind of fall when you're undead!
Now that Stine has his glasses, what he's looking at is a wendigo; furry mane, small antlers, hooves...the works. At the question about ringing however, he just shakes his head.]
Sometimes there's laughing but.. ...you're supposed to ignore those.
[He'd probably take you very seriously if you asked about stars at least.]
no subject
I...figured.
[now that he can see again (and, you know, he's not upside down) he can finally take a good long look at his savior. he suspicions are confirmed in that, yep, it's a boy, but the familiarity begins to warp into something altogether twisted when he notices the antlers, the fur, the deer hooves. there's still a person underneath it all, but it's buried beneath what he's grimly beginning to see as an animal; not wiped out completely, but melded in a messy, unnatural way.
it hurts. he doesn't feel disgust or revulsion, but sincere pity, and he's very certain that he wouldn't nearly as much of it if it was anyone but a kid.]
...Thanks, though. [feels like the right thing to say. he rubs the back of his head with a wince, uncomfortably aware that he's staring.] I didn't know these woods were a hunting ground.
no subject
...Hunters sometimes shoot deer here, but...
...But they make these for monsters instead. [It's very mean, to put it in his own words, and he flinches rather abruptly before dropping the snare, bringing his fingers to his mouth with a quiet hiss; that thing's got some silver in the lower end!]
1!
[Ryan would know, after all. He's one of them.
He has his arms folded on the back of Stine's bench, leaning down to glance at his work. The bright yellow, scaled skin covering his hands, arms, and neck mark him as obviously inhuman, finned ears fanned out curiously.]
I don't know who puts those out, but some of them don't have a lot of quality control. You're probably not going to get much out of that one.
no subject
This is what optimism gets you — nothing but a bunch of run-on sentences and paper cu—
[—and he stops short, turning his head just slightly enough in the stranger's direction to catch the tail end of his ears, lingering on the finned edges for far longer than he probably has any right to. images of exotic tropical fish immediately spring to mind, as do reptiles; the scales marring his neck and hands only further that image, and in the glazed-over stupor of his shock, Stine wonders what he'll find if he looks down at the guy's legs. maybe he slithers. wouldn't that be wild? must make shopping for pants a pain. push him any further and he just might start laughing.
instead, he tries to compose himself. reptile-fish-man-thing. he's wrote about those before, no big deal. easy breezy.]
Yes, well. [he pushes his glasses up with his thumb and just...yeah, gonna start edging away a little bit now. slowly.] Compared to the last one, I only counted fifteen misspellings. Sometimes people can surprise you.
[he says it so matter-of-factly that it's almost silly.]
no subject
That last comment startles a short laugh from him despite how the man edges away, leaving behind a small, tentative smile.]
See, it's not all doom and gloom here. Only way to go is up and all that, yeah? [Maybe he's a little too much of an optimist, though.] Maybe you should find the publisher, get some of that fixed. I'm sure the next batch of new folks would appreciate it.
one
If you don't like the pamphlets, you probably wanna avoid the network, man. No spellcheck and difficult controls make for a grammatical mess.
[Or...he'll make it worse. That too. ]
no subject
no. no, no, no no nononono. one step at a time. save that bit of horrible irony for when he doesn't feel like he's about to have a heart attack.
the slow way Stine turns his head to look at Chris is so unnerving and so weirdly comical that he half-expects his head to do a complete 360 turn on its own, ala The Exorcist. and surprisingly, it's not the sight of the weird water-horse-man that makes him look so eerie, nor is it the fact that he crept up on him.
no. it's what he's saying.]
That. Is going to change. [is this really something to bear your teeth at, Mr. Stine, is it really.] This is writing. There are rules.
[he grabs a pamphlet, What To Expect When You're Expecting (to turn into a monster). underneath the header, scribbled messily in red ink that isn't his own, is OR HOW I LEARNED 2 DO TEH MONSTER MASH!!!. he waves it in Chris' face, distressed and infuriated and just...lost.]
Look at this! You don't just get to— to graveyard smash all over the English language!
no subject
...That or it's horribly unhealthy.]
I think they did that to be funny?
[Then off Stien's horrified face.]
Iiiiin the worst possible way?
no subject
Who's laughing? I'm not laughing. Are YOU laughing?
[he inhales sharply. he can go on a good rant without taking a breath; one of his worse habits unfortunately because it wears him out. he feels defeated. ridiculous, of course, but he can't help himself. anger is a detriment and a strength for him; he can use it to spur himself forward, but it does take its toll sooner or later. better to get it out right now.
he slumps back against the bench, running a hand through his hair.]
That was a rhetorical question, in case you didn't notice.
no subject
[There there, Grammar Dude. It'll all be okay. Well, no, it won't, but it might not be completely and utterly horrible forever. Maybe. ]
But hey, it's good that you're, y'know, passionate about something. I think that helps here, a lot.
no subject
Passion is only as good as what you're applying it to. Good grammar and spelling isn't going to magically craft us a way out.
[and then it hits him: it would. at least, it would if he had the typewriter with him. Stine stiffens up and just groans the sad, resigned groan of a man who's played all of his cards too little too late. his grimace of a smile tightens and he shakes his head, slowly.]
...Or at least, it would have under different circumstances. [—is all he can offer. screw it. it's like he's stuck in one of his own books right now; he can at the very least appreciate the irony for what it is.]
no subject
After a nervous laugh, he ventures carefully: ]
Sorry. Do you mean that there's a way good grammar could actually save the day here?
no subject
[Stine looks at Chris with the dead honesty of someone who is slowly beginning to snap out of their hysteria and starting to take things very, very seriously. slowly, mind you]
But you wouldn't believe me if I tried to explain it. It sounds more insane than these. [he slaps the pamphlet down onto the bench.] And with all due respect, horse, this is the second time I've felt like I've gone around the bend in less than twenty-four hours. I don't need to feel self-conscious about it too.
[there we go, snippy mcsnipster. getting back to normal now.]
no subject
Sorry, man. Didn't mean to make you feel like you were crazy or anything. I mean...some of the stuff I know back home would be crazy to other people so-
[Though MAGIC GRAMMAR is something special.]
Uh. And I'm Chris. Hey.
no subject
[honestly. he's just grateful that nerdy horse guy happens to be nice enough to have a straight face as he listens to this craziness. shoulders sagging, Stine turns his attention back to Chris.]
R.L. Stine. Is "horse" too presumptuous? [and that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology.]
no subject
[It's kinda shitty if he can believe this kind of stuff, it means that he's either nuts or his world is...kinda cruddy. Still. ]
That'll probably help you a lot here. Not being at a wrong time, there's no fixing that. But if it's not as crazy for you, it means you won't...y'know, lose it at what comes later as much.
[He gives a shrug. ]
It's okay, I look kinda horsey. I'm a kelpie, actually. Close, but not quite.
(no subject)
(no subject)
2. hi again
But, the locals don't usually venture in to Lager Woods and get caught in a trap. That's the realm of poor, confused new arrivals. As fast as the blink of an eye, Dandy is behind R. L. Stine, and he slashes the rope with his claws.]
You okay?
[He grins, his fangs bared.]
SCREAMS
before he can yell out for whoever it is to get him out, to give him a name, anything, the rope is cut and he feels himself begin to fall which he handles about as well as you'd expect with his already shattered nerves. he yelps, then groans as he tries to rub at...well, everywhere. his skull, his back, his arms, everything hurts.]
In a sense... [moangroanbitch. he exhales, but before it can turn melt into a sigh it stops altogether and Stine once again freezes, a look of slack-jawed disbelief on his face, when he finally squints hard enough to make out the face of the man standing before him. and more specifically, his fangs.
oh yeah. this isn't ending well.]
no subject
[And a ghost might be preferable to a vampire, because although some of them are nuisances they don't actually drink blood.]
Don't worry, though. I'm not a ghost. Just a vampire.
[Dandy knows how to comfort people.]