TEST DRIVE MEME

[ryslighelpers]

TEST DRIVE MEME: MARCH

Welcome to the Ryslig Test Drive Meme! Below are a few prompts to get you started, but you may make up any prompt you desire! Please take a look at the navigation page for rules, setting information, and links to reserves and apps. Have fun!

SCENARIO ONE

You wake up on the beach thoroughly drenched with your mouth full of sand. The salt water causes various cuts and scrapes on your skin to sting and the sand isn't helping. The air is slightly humid, ruining any feeling of refreshment you might have gotten from your dip in the ocean. There are lights in the distance but the unfriendly scent of gunpowder fills the air. If you're lucky, you're alone. If not, you might find yourself staring up into a pair of monstrous eyes or down the barrel of a local's shotgun.

SCENARIO TWO

So you've just arrived, and already SOME 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." Then there's the people who aren't happy to see you at all. Glares and silent, judging stares if you're lucky. Torches and pitchforks attempting to drive you out of the town if you're not. You may need a friend to help you.

SCENARIO THREE

"Seek us out," the voice whispers in your head, and before you have time to question it you've found yourself in someplace entirely alien. Maybe it's the Fog God's ghostly town of Dyster, where exultant followers dance around bonfires and sing their praises to the skies above. Maybe it's the Fourth God's arcade, with small robots wheeling about amidst the lights and colors of old pinball machines. Only one thing is certain: you are not alone, in this sacred place.

SCENARIO FOUR

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.

Comments

Ardyn Izunia || FFXV || ota

[maledictus_semper]

Scenario 1:

[Ardryn was drowning. Water filled his mouth, choking him. He couldn't breathe. The salt water was up his nose, down his throat and in his eyes. Now, he's being thrown onto a beach face first, feeling his lungs about to burst. He had to get air. Was it too late? Forcing himself onto his back he rolled and spat out a mouthful of salt water and sand. By the Gods, he was alive. Wiping his eyes open, Ardyn felt shaky and weak. Odd. He had never felt weak for a long, long time. Not since he was just human. That was thousands of years ago.]

W-Where am I?

[The Chancellor of Niflheim wiped his drenched wine-coloured tresses from his face and squinted. He wasn't in Eos anymore. That much he knew. He was washed up on some sort of beach, somewhere totally alien to him. How on earth did he get here? Standing up, he looked around and wondered if there was anyone he could ask. Directions. Help. Something.]

Well, isn't this curious?

[He coughed and then felt pain up his back and legs. They stung. The sand must have cut his skin when he was drifting in the open water. Gods. He looked a right state; his clothes all soaking wet and it seemed he was lacking something. His usual aura of power. He felt powerless. For the first time in his life, Ardy felt frightened. Someone or something had taken his power away from him. He was bleeding, red blood on the back of his hands. How was that possible? He hadn't bled human blood for a long time. This wasn't right.]




Scenario 2:

[Ardyn gripped the pamphlet given to him by one of the locals, as he looked around. They were all a friendly bunch, offering to help him with questions and even shelter. They had fed and watered him. It was like they almost expected him to be washed up on the beach. How many others had endured the same fate?

Well, I must admit I wasn't expecting such a welcome. Perhaps one of you fine people might tell me more about this place. Your stories.

[He directed the question to any nearby local, hoping they'd indulge him a more deeper conversation than the pamphlet offered up. Ryslig. That's what it said. Yet, Ardyn had so many questions. Also, he was rather miffed at being knocked out and thrown into the ocean to drift and be washed up like driftwood.]

Izunia, Ardyn Izunia. Who might you be?

[The locals mentioned something about people turning into monsters. Could it be that Daemons inhabited this land too? Ardyn knew all about Daemons and people becoming them. Yet, the locals mentioned monsters in many forms. Was it just idol chat or something more macabre?]

2

[girl_at_the_window]

[Speaking of monsters... From a distance, Susan still looks like she might be human, despite the antennae and the bulges under her shirt where her extra arms are growing out. Her wings, large though they are, could easily be mistaken for some kind of cloak when they're folded against her back. But it's hard to miss the unnatural gold of her eyes, and the longer you look, the less human she seems.]

[Her smile's friendly enough, though, and when he introduces himself, she puts her clawed hand out to shake.]

Susan Delgado. You just wash up here?

Katurian Katurian | The Pillowman

[goryteller]

scenario 1;

[Once upon a time, there was a young man who was being interrogated by the police for something he certainly didn't do -- or at least, something he didn't remember doing -- and during that long, terrible interrogation (that involved far more torture than questions, a ratio the man really didn't appreciate), he closed his eyes and prayed. Please take me away from this, please take me away --

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the sand.

Katurian Katurian, a small man with dusty blond hair and enough bruises to fill a canvas board, chokes and gasps on the shore. The salt water makes his wounds feel larger, wider, as though the cuts and abrasions were encircling his body like eels.

When he looks up from the ground after a particularly harsh cough, he sees a figure in the distance.

Immediately, he shoots his arms up in surrender.]

I'm s-so sorry, I d-didn't mean to -- I didn't mean to run away, I didn't put myself here, someone must have taken me, someone fucking took me, and I shouldn't be sorry for that, that's not my fault, none of this is my fault!

[It's a little hard to tell if his primary emotion is anger or terror. He isn't sure either.]

wildcard;

[Hit me!]

[girl_at_the_window]

[Susan blinks, and hurries over to him, concern creasing her brow.]

Hey, hey! I ain't gonna hurt you. It's alright. You'll be fine.

Can you walk? [With those wounds, it doesn't seem like a given.]

Dandy | Space Dandy

[adandyinspace]

TWO

[You know, Dandy wasn't sure what to expect when he woke up on some planet's dirty little beach. He sure as hell wasn't expecting to be lavished with free shit from far too friendly people after bumbling into town, that's for sure. It caught him off guard, and, well... it's about damn time, why isn't every planet like this?

Dandy doesn't question what's shoved in front of him. Food is gleefully stuffed into his face while pamphlets are casually tossed over his shoulder, his focus instead on the ladies that handed them to him. ...Unless they're a dude, in which case he kinda of just takes their stuff and leaves. Quick glances only tell him there's something something about monsters, but they look no different from any other alien. Hell, he's seen worse.

In fact, he's never really...seen anything like these "monsters."

...Almost as if they're...rare.

Two of Dandy's brain cells begin to rub together and the moment he can slip away from the adoring public, he immediately starts talking into the massive bracelet on his wrist.]

Yo, QT, I think I just scored.

[Which would explain why he was dropped off on this planet to begin with. As far as he's concerned, this is just another one of QT's fuck ups. ...Which ended up working in his favor.

Of course, when no one responds, Dandy can only stare at his wrist and wiggle it around like it's on fire. Water never damaged the damn thing before, why is it acting up now? In his frustration, Dandy can only cause a scene as he continues to shout into his man jewelry, clinging to light posts and swinging around.]

Hello?! Is this thing on?! Son of a— You better not be ignoring me, you ungrateful bucket of bolts—

[Stop the madness.]

FOUR (Mer)

[After about a month or so, even the slowest of people begin to catch on. Dandy's heard all sorts of horror stories, about becoming a monster, how much it hurts. Considering how lucky he considers himself, he was hoping his ship would've somehow magically arrived by now, so to say he was disappointed when the fog finally rolled around could be an understatement.

...Kind of.

Dandy can't say he experienced any pain, mostly because his first changes were pretty benign if you asked him. Even if something did hurt, he's definitely felt worse, so maybe he just didn't notice. If anyone was stupid enough to ignore something so horrifying, it'd probably be him anyway.

The most obvious change was in his skin color, taking on the several different pigments and patterns you'd see on a common dolphin. It also took on the glossy, rubbery look, but he can't say that hurt. In fact, most of the changes just felt annoying. His skin, the weird little growths beginning on his arms and legs, a need to drink...more? Oh no. If anything truly hurt, it was probably the gills that grew in on the side of his neck, those things dolphins normally don't have. Whatever, they make about as much sense as he normally does in general, so it's not like he cares. Like Dandy even knows anything about biology anyway.]

Oooh, so scary~ [Dandy stares at his reflection in a window, wiggling his fingers before sticking his hands back into his pockets. What a joke. He still has his hair, so as far as he's concerned, everything's a-okay.

...So now it's time to laugh at everyone else.

Dandy goes out of his way to seek out any other changing monsters, just so he can have a front row seat to the freak show. This is a totally safe and normal idea, especially when he starts shouting.]

Hey, jackass! What're you supposed to be?

[It's kind of hard to tell who he's shouting at through this fog, but he's fairly certain it's probably someone who deserves it.]

Four!

[goddessblade]

Even though I do not have my sensors, there I predict there is an 97% chance that I am not any kind of donkey. However I am unable to deduce a reasonable explanation why you presume what I am when you need to clarify afterwards.

[The girl there looks young, probably in her midteen years at first glance, and much like Dandy, she's going through her first transformations. While she had been turned human upon arrival like many others, she was obviously losing this short-lived humanity. The girl's tan skin was opening up in patches on her face, revealing not flesh but bark, a heavy oak. All along her body, there were a number lesions, green-grey moss beginning to grow and sprout through her pores, looking unusually like rust. It was even growing in her blue hair and out of one of her eyes. She stares at Dandy with a perfectly neutral expression.

She also had no arms (there were just stumps after her shoulders) though that didn't seem part of her transformation.]

In response to your question, I believe I am growing some of the natural flora on my body, without any mammalian features. This in conjunction to what I know of the various monster types, leads to a 85% chance of my body transforming to the creature referred to by the locals as a nymph.

Dia Kurosawa | Love Live! Sunshine! | ota

[shinebrightlike]

1.

[ Dia thinks, for a very long moment, that she must be dreaming. Which isn't a surprise -- she's a lifelong Uchiura resident. It would be stranger for her not to dream of the beach now and then. It's only when she abruptly realizes just how cold she is that reality looms. She chokes, splutters and generally makes a huge show of herself as she scrambles to her feet. This isn't Uchiura. She's not sure if it's even Shizuoka. A chill, nothing to do with her dip in the ocean, rattles down her spine. She's here in a strange place all alone, no memory of how she ended up here -- if it wasn't for the saltwater burn stinging her into alertness then she might have talked herself back into thinking this was a nightmare. Shuddering and hugging herself, Dia starts trudging towards the lights glittering in the distance. Maybe this is far more innocent than it seems. Maybe this is Uchiura and the darkness is making this more sinister than it really is. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. Hasn't there? She squints and a shape seems to loom out of the darkness at her. Her tongue sticks and she doesn't know if she should say anything -- how can she tell if they're friend or foe? -- but she swallows her fear and finally calls out. ] Excuse me-- excuse me! Would you be able to tell me where this is?

2.

[ Well then. W--well then. She's only been here a day or two -- a grandmotherly old woman had offered her a room for a week in return for some help around the house and having a place to stay and dry clothes on her back has... helped. Just a touch. It's enough that she hasn't fled for the hills without looking back, at least. She's doing a run to the market for her host when she's accosted with flyers and ends up spluttering in confusion and protest. She only gets to glance over the titles to a few before she's spluttering again and calling after a few of the now-retreating pamphlet-carriers with a cracking voice. ] No-- no, get back here! What's the meaning of this?! If this is supposed to be a joke then it's nothing short of distasteful! "Alternatives to human--" Do you think this is funny?! DO YOU?! [ She's uh, making a bit of a scene, continuing in that sort of vein at top volume. Someone should probably tell her to find a fraction of chill. ]

w-w-w-w-wildcard

[ COME AT ME WITH WHATEVER YOUR HEART DESIRES ]

2

[agnatus]

If you're intending to frighten them into running faster you're certainly doing a fine job of it.

[The young man also reading a few of the pamphlets near by doesn't even look up, or seem to care if she hears him over her hollering]

Lucas Baker | Resident Evil

[1019]

[OOC: Potential spoilers/spoilery content for RE7 below! If you tag in anyway but would rather avoid them, let me know!]

A. The Beach.

[Hoo, boy.

Hoo, boy...

Ha ha, some of the initial disorientation's still rolling and buzzing in the inside of his skull, along with - some deep-set disconcertment over having no memory of how he would've gotten onto a beach. (Did she do it? What - no, she can't do that anymore, she couldn't have, had better not have, goddammit.)

But once he'd shaken off the worst of that and taken a (shivering - the hell, it was frickin' summer) look around? The fact that he was far from anything remotely near Dulvey (so appearances and referenced temperature) started to flare rather more... pleasantly in his mind. Charging. Turnin' things over to the bright side.

If They-Know-Who were coming, they weren't going to find him at the house.

They weren't going to find him in the whole swamp.

He doesn't let the smell of gunpowder escape him, but if that is anyone he ought to be avoiding, if they had anything to do with him being here, specifically, they'd already have him locked up.

Maybe he wasn't home free, but he had a head start.

There is a man on the beach taking slow, somewhat-reeling, self-steadying steps backward, flipping off the ocean with one hand and brandishing a strut of driftwood with the other.

A few shaky, voiced breaths through his teeth before he shouts:]

Y'all cram it where that shit don't shine and fuckin' -- twist it till it fuckin' snaps! Do you hear me?!

[He has a strong Southern drawl and accent, and, apparently, the attitude of a twelve-year-old.

Hurling the piece of driftwood toward the water:]

Mother-fuckers?!

[Voice hits a vibrating peak in pitch.

Which after a pause, he lets plummet and restart a rise in a string of high-creaking, keening laughter: "ha ha ha haaaaaaa...!"

Swings his fists downward.]

Whoo!


B. Pamphlets.

[Soooo, it... isn't exactly a structured environment, here, either?

Seriously, Lucas isn't resisting the need to take in... everything that's going on here. He can take the presence of monsters - he's been sharing a house with them for the past three years - and, heck, he'll take the idea of being one, since these ones've got it wayyyy better than those ones did. From the looks of it, at least, and well. There'll be time and chance to figure out the particulars and dig into the details of everything. (Maybe not all of those details, since wow even trying to speculate on how things work here branch out in so many directions, but 'ey - this place's likely to keep a fellow occupied, at least.

The one thing that's actively not sitting right with him about the idea of spending his time on the run here - for a while, at least - is the presence of monsters without him being one.

It seems... well, potentially compromising.

He calls out a passerby with a quick, casual-if-hasty "hey", and ambles toward them with a copy of "So, You're Craving Human Flesh" held up and his head fallen cocked.]

You know how long s'all supposed to take?


C. Monsters. [Goblin]

[There's an alley in Bavan. Open on both ends, with... a catwalk? Some construction beams? Over one of those ends.

In its middle is a tripwire.

When the wire is tripped, that beam, wide as the entrance to the alley, will come crashing down behind the tripper. On the catwalk is a wall made of a couple of layers of nailed-together plywood. On that has been painted the word "BOO!" - in red, of course - above a bedsheet nailed up in the shape of a cheap Halloween ghost. Eyeholes are cut out in front of a black background, and the sheet's stained here and there in dirt and paint. Again, red.

There are at least two positions one could be in, here - maybe you're the one in the alley, and maybe you're passing by on its not-now-cheaply-barricaded end, in time to see a goblin pop out of a nearby cranny, give a quick mutter of:]

Rat in the trap.

[...and then start to pull a gate in the fence at the alley's end closed. It isn't easy or quick-going.]

C'moooon, buddy -- let's you and I make me a niiiice, full energy dinner.

[It wasn't a fancy trap he set, but he's still got to get adjusted to his ever-decreasing size and its impact on both what he can work with in laying traps and in picking targets - mostly, he is just hankering for a feeding, and getting a tad bit frazzled from it at this point.]

D. Wildcard

[Feel free to hit me with or ask me for another prompt!]

Re: B

[maledictus_semper]

I have no idea to be honest. All this-

[He motions to the pamphlet.]

-is all rather confusing. Turning into monsters? [He chuckled a little.] I'd hardly believe it.

[Ardyn turned his attention from the pamphlet to the man holding it. He seemed a little...odd to say the least. Almost...wild. Unhinged. There was something about him that made the Chancellor feel wary around him. This whole place felt unnerving and it made Ardyn want to investigate further.]

I'm assuming you got washed up on the beach too?

Hawkeye Pierce | M*A*S*H | OTA

[getmeoutofthedraft]

[1]
[This is not Hawkeye's idea of a good time. His mouth's full of sand, his eyes are full of saltwater, and his head's full of ache. Far as he can tell, the only good thing is that he wasn't conscious for any of the drowning part, because god knows he doesn't need that childhood memory resurfacing.]

[I mean, what childhood memory? He has no trauma. He has no problems. Everything is fine.]

[He groans loudly, eyes still closed against the sting of salt as he struggles to pull himself onto all fours.] Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?


[2]
[Hawkeye's pretty easy to find in all this. He's the one arguing, increasingly loudly, with the poor bastard who tried to give him a pamplet.]

Because it's anatomically impossible, that's why! How would that even work? The...

...look, no, the muscles are in the wrong place! Don't you tell me how anatomy works, buddy, I've spent my whole life up to the elbows in it!

1

[keeponstrolling]

You freakin' tell me, Little Mermaid.

[Nearby, another man is struggling to get his bearings in the same bank of sand. Completely drenched in a trenchcoat with his hair plastered to his head, he has his hand over his eyes, and he's patting down the sand with the other, seemingly searching for something.]

Listen, you really wanna help me with somethin' here? See if you can't find my shades.

Uchiha Itachi | Naruto | Returning??? | OTA

[peaceloving]

[1]

[What appears on the beach does not, at first, second, or third glance, appear to be a person. Someone who has been in Ryslig a while, who is accustomed to the transformations, might figure out that this is a shade before he moves, but they might well not -- as long as he is still and prone, Itachi appears to be nothing more or less than an indistinct mass of undifferentiated darkness lying on the beach.

Very fortunately for him, he washed up at night.

After a time, he stirs, and slowly sits up, glowing eyes opening in a few slow blinks as he gets his bearings.]

Ah.

[He does not sound in the least surprised -- and no wonder, as a fully-transformed former resident.

Obviously, the most important thing to determine is where exactly he is. And for that... well, unless things have changed greatly in his absence, there will be current residents out looking to help (or hinder) new arrivals, and someone should be willing to at least help him get his bearings.

So a creepy glowing-eyed ghost just asked for directions. Do you point him toward Bavan, or toward the nearest graveyard?]

[bouncingback]

Cassie? Is that...

[Wide-eyed, Johnny blinks into the darkness, looking as though he really has seen a ghost. Then his whole expression and posture relaxes, sobers. No, this isn't his old friend at all. Her eyes couldn't be seen beneath the suit.]

Sorry, I thought you might be... someone else.

[Then he blinks again. Wait a minute here.

He points at Itachi suddenly, eyes wide again.]

Wah! You're a ghost!

Wrench | WATCH_DOGS 2 | ota

[wrenchinald]

[A. IT'S NOT HARD NOT FAR TO REACH]

When Wrench wakes up, he's fucking soaked and there's sand in his mask. That's not necessarily an unusual thing; there have been times he's been drunk, faceplanted on the beach, had some uncomfortable stuff to deal with the next day. Normal day-to-day shit. But this isn't any beach he recognizes, and he feels waaaay shitter than after a bender.

He hauls himself to his feet, squinting through his mask at the lights in the distance.

Okay, back up, take stock: mask, definitely on. That's a plus. Laptop, nowhere to be found. A minus. Sledgehammer, definitely not. Anything in the way of weapons, negative. Anything in the way of anything except his clothes, very not.

"Well, shit."

And wouldn't you know it, there is something wrong with his voice modulator, giving his voice a muffled quality rather than a robotic one. Great, okay. What the hell did he do last night?

At first glance, he seems to be alone, and there isn't really anywhere to hide a camera or anything, so as long as he keeps his hood up he can chance a look at the mask to figure out what's wrong. He starts to take the mask off, but movement in his peripheral vision stops him.

"If you're gonna sell me something, I am not here."

[B. ALL THIS HORROR BUSINESS]

In the middle of all this weird infodump pamphlet stuff is a man who definitely does not belong here, and appears to be holding one of each. And reading them aloud in funny voices.

"Dude. 'Axehound' sounds fucking badass. Can I pick that one? I'm gonna pick that one." If his mask was working correctly, he'd be all heart-eyes on this one. Don't tell him he can't pick, he'll be heartbroken until the next badass thing comes along.

[C. IN SHADOWS GROWING WINGS [HARPY]]

So that fog everyone was all worried about started pouring in, which apparently meant it was time for the changes.

And Wrench was all like, bring it.

And nothing happened.

So he's a little frustrated (or a lot frustrated), sitting in a bar glaring at his drink, when suddenly his back starts itching. One "I'll be right back" later, and he's outside, taking his vest off (since that shit took a long time to work on and he doesn't want his hideous mutations to fuck that up). He raises his hands to the sky, ready for whatever's coming.

And in a rush of pain, black feathers and bone rip through his back (and through his shirt).

Holy shit, he's got wings. He's always wanted wings. He's also bleeding, but that's not the first time. Besides. Wings!

"Fucking finally!"

[WILDCARD]

[hey, whatever else you wanna do is fine by me.]

A

[goddessblade]

Selling involves having materials that are able to be exchanged for your goods or services. This is something that I lack. [As well as arms, evidently. The teenage girl who is within reasonable distance of him is on her side, curling her legs and trying to squirm upright, evidently uncomfortable despite her stoic face. After some amount of kicking, she gets herself sitting up, and she shakes the sand out of her hair like a small dog.]

There is a 2% probability this is Hyrule, and there is a 99% chance that I am not supposed to be like this. [She turns to Wrench, her glassy, solid blue eyes boring into him.] You who adorns a mask on their face. I humbly request you inform me of our present location.

Hans | Frozen

[hanssome]

[no. 1]

[It takes Hans a few moments to fully comprehend his situation. Going from unconsciousness to understanding that everything hurts and your mouth is full of sand is quite a leap. He strains to roll himself onto his knees so he can hack and cough all the better, more aware of how awful he feels.

He's well aware, now at least, that Anna has a surprisingly powerful punch. He simply doubts that she hit him so hard that he lost consciousness and floated for so long without dying. It doesn't explain the sting of the scars he can feel on his arms and legs, though with so much pain it isn't entirely possible to pinpoint the source of any feeling.

Naturally, the first order of business is to gather his bearings and try to figure out if he knows where he is. He's not the most well traveled man, but he's been at least a few places enough times to know them from their beaches. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and raises his head upward, enough that he can inhale and smell the scent of gunpowder in the air.

He's not sure why his initial reaction is fear, when for all he knows he could be greeted with pity and open arms. He probably shouldn't take the risk when he doesn't know what his odds are, so he pulls himself up with great difficulty and begins to make for what he believes might be shelter.

He makes it a good length (or at least he thinks so) before he falters, trying to remain calm in the face of what seems to be.. a face. In the darkness, it is incredibly difficult to be sure, but the glow of the figure's eyes makes him sure something is there and watching him. He can feel that he doesn't have his sword at his hip, so his only choice is to respond diplomatically.]

Hello? [Off to a smooth start here, he tentatively holds out a hand.] I understand these aren't the best circumstances to make introductions under.. But I assure you, I'm not much of a threat. I'm sure you can tell by looking. [He does hate to undersell himself, but it helps to start off meek and save the threat for later.] Are you lost as well?

[no. 2]
[Hans, of course, takes all of the sympathy and generosity he can get. He laps up the attention quite well, with very little protest beyond what is polite. He has warm, dry clothes now. Not nearly as fine as the garments he arrived in, but they make blending in much easier.

Now that he's had something to eat and a few moments of rest, he feels steady and sure enough to begin pouring over these pamphlets. He'd much prefer word of mouth and face to face conversations to gather information from, but these will suffice. He finds the scrawls and messages left from previous owners of the pamphlets far more informative than the content, sometimes.

His brows furrow, then relax when he happens upon something humorous. He hears staring and glances upward, doing his best to look as polite and harmless as possible in the face of some terribly venomous looks. He casts his eyes around the room, searching for an expression that seems a little more inviting.

There's safety in numbers, after all.

When he happens upon someone who seems less disgusted by him, he very carefully rises from his seat and crosses toward the room to sit with the friendly face. Terribly rude to come uninvited, but he's sure the person across from him will understand.]

I'll watch your back if you watch mine. [He smiles as warmly as he can, awaiting a response.]

1

[rediscover]

[It's the first time since Anna's been here that new people have arrived; it would seem that their arrival is far less pleasant than her own. She'd heard of people washing up on beaches, but, having arrived via a mysterious train herself, she's never witnessed it. She's in town when she hears that new arrivals are beginning to wash up; curious as ever, she decides to skip out on work to see for herself. Even though it's dark, she's already back to her former fearlessness, thanks to her newly developing monster features. People tend to give her a bit wider berth now.

Her eyes catch the light of the moon, making them glow an ominous green as she remains hidden in the shadows, her expression already painted in a defiant mask at the sight of the last person on Earth she'd wanted to show up here, looking like a drowned rat—just like the last time she saw him. Taking a deep breath, Anna steps out of the shadows. Her skin has turned a pale seafoam; her elbows and shoulders are lined with deadly-sharp spikes, her hands and feet clawed, and she's lost a few inches, to boot.]

Don't worry, Hans. I know you're not much of a threat.

Fi | Skyward Sword

[goddessblade]

Two: Humanity

[There is a girl without arms in town today.

Not that those with disabilities is a rare occurrence, in a crowded city like this, but having stubs after where her shoulder curves draws attention to how strange she the rest of her is. Even for a newcomer, everything seems not quite right with her, and despite her appearance, she clearly is not (was not?) human. She moves with a certain sense of weightlessness, constantly on the balls of her feet as her blue cloak ripples behind her.

Fi is worried. Or what she would assume would be associated with worry and concern. She had woken up on the beach in this form, dark brown flesh replacing what had once had been shining blue metal, the goddess' chosen hero nowhere to be seen. To make matters worse, she could not sense the Master Sword anywhere, which should have been impossible. She had even calculated the probability to be less than a percent.

Why was she awake? Was the world in danger? Then where was Hyrule. This was not Hyrule. Why was she here? She was a sword, the spirit of it, designed to assist her goddess' hero. Not a breathing human... yet here she was. With pointed ears and fingernails and bright blue hair. In every regards, she was an organic being. But for why? For what purpose?

Eventually, she stumbles into the crowd of locals, all prepped for the bombardment of newcomers. Like many others, she ends being flooded with attention, left, right and centre, but she stares at the local people there with a perfectly neutral expression.

After a moment of being flooded with the questions, and carefully weighing up her option, she turns. Her solid blue eyes scan the crowd, and rather boldly she approaches, bringing her gaggle behind her.]

I would like to procure some of these brochures, but I currently lack the means to do so. [She waves her arm stubs towards the people surrounding her. Some of them look a little uncomfortable, others undeterred.] Would you please provide me some assistance?

--------

Four: Nymph

So this is... what pain feels like...

[The girl is curled up on the corner of the street, her cloak draped over her shoulders and blanketing her. She breathes heavily, each movement laboured with pain. She had calculated that this was coming, and based on the information gathered this was what she had expected, but feeling... feeling things was different. She couldn't look at it distantly, with simple indifference, but she was here, feeling the anguish in her nerves. She feels the burn within her very soul. Her heart cries at the unfairness of it all, though Fi doesn't know why she thinks that way, when this happens to all newcomers.

She whimpers quietly. She should be screaming, but it's just quiet whimpering as she watches her flesh split down her calves, like tears running ladders down a pair of stockings, revealing not flesh, but bark from an oak tree, thin and grey brown. She can feel it opening on her face as well, down the centre of it, ripping part of her upper lip in the process. Her body twists and cracks as it constantly keeps splitting, blood pooling down from her body and mixing with grit on the pavement. Frothing from the separated skin layers comes a heavy dark moss, beginning to form all around her body. They're not flowering now, so it looks completely ugly, like rust growing on metal, seeming like it came from centuries of neglect rather than spontaneous mutation.

She cries. Fi has never cried before, but she cries now. She wants her goddess to guide her, to tell her what was happening, but she's been deaf to her voice the entire time she's been here. She wants someone to help. Someone to make the pain to stop. Someone to come for her and wake her up from this nightmare and stop this feeling.]

...Master ...Where are you?

four!

[expectional]

[He's not her master, but the boy that finds her IS green. Like Fi, he's also become a Nymph thanks to the Fog God, and his skin has taken on a more appropriate hue because of it. Even his eyes have turned a bright, solid yellow-green, with only a dark green pupil and diamond pattern left to indicate where exactly he's looking. He crouches down next to her, a look of concern on his face as he rests a hand on her cloak-covered shoulder.]

Can you hear me? I know it hurts, but you're going to be alright.

[His voice is gentle and calm as he attempts to reassure the poor girl. His own changes have been minor so far, but he remembers how much it hurt when his laurel crown and back-vines grew in. He's better for it, stronger, and he knows this girl will be too but...it still breaks his heart to see a child in pain like this. A child who's also part plant, even, making that sense of kinship and heartbreak all the stronger.]

Stanford Pines | Gravity Falls

[sixfingerednerd]

Scenario 1:

[When you live on a ship, especially one that frequently travels dangerous, unsteady waters, you really don't have any right to be surprised when you inevitably get thrown overboard. Not that Ford is surprised, mind you. No no, he most certainly foresaw this incredibly likely event happening a mile away, because he has an excellent sense of caution and forethought--]

[--Alright, so he's actually just sprawled out haphazardly on the beach, baffled and disoriented, wondering how in the hell he wound up in such a fine kosher pickle.]

[With a good deal of effort (the cold ocean water is not kind on old bones), he pushes himself up onto his elbows and takes a cursory glance at his surroundings.]

Huh.

[This is. Definitely not the arctic. This is nowhere near the attic.]

Well, I'll be damned.


Scenario 3:

[He is too old for this shit.]

[No, really, he's done the whole "voices in your head" thing before, a lifetime ago. It had been impressive once, the first few hundred thousand times, but now - well, now he'd like to have a few strong words with the joker who thought he'd enjoy an encore.]

I want a name.

[It's not a request.]

Whoever's responsible for this, whoever has dominion over this world - show yourself! I've played this game before, and by God I'm not doing it a second time.

[He turns in a half-circle, watching his surroundings with narrowed eyes as he waits for someone to emerge from the shadows or materialize out of thin air, as god-like beings are wont.]


Wildcard!: [Choose your own adventure!]

oh good i'm glad it's the angry muppet icon | scenario 3

[terribibble]

[Both of them are hearing things. Ford is hearing the whispers of gods, and Fiddleford is hearing the voice of a man who disappeared from this peninsula a long time ago. He'd assumed Ford had vanished. Maybe he scuttled out too far into Lager Woods and simply never came back. Maybe he was killed by a mob of angry humans the Fog God didn't see fit to revive him. The point is he shouldn't be here, now, alive and with only two legs. It feels like a trap (or maybe that's just his own paranoia telling him it is?) and he doesn't trust it.

His eyes and the lights down his arms and spine shine bright portal blue in the low light of evening. They flicker like bad fluorescent bulbs, indicative of just how on-edge Ford's presence has him. He wants to flag Ford down, get his attention, confront him somehow and demand an explanation (for what? What explanation could he give?). What he says when Ford happens to look in his direction is:]

Uh.

[OH BOY GOOD JOB WOW 10/10 EXCELLENT GOOD GOING THAT WAS JUST SUBLIME REALLY ONE FOR THE RECORDS BOY HOWDY]

Megumi Shimizu / Shiki / I am horribly rusty I apologize

[deereintheheadlights]

Two
[So, being alive sucks. If Megumi were more introspective, she might think how interesting it is that she'd only been (un)dead for two months, compared to her fifteen years of being alive, and yet somehow those two months were enough to ruin the entire experience of being alive for her forever. How amusing is it, that those two months could feel more impactful and real and part of her than her actual lifetime? But Megumi's not that deep, so all she can consider as she picks her way through the streets of Bavan in an outfit you couldn't pay her to wear but it's all she was given, is that being alive fucking sucks.

That is, assuming this isn't just the actual afterlife.

She hasn't quite put together that she's "other" here, even disregarding how badly her pink hair makes her stick out. And no one's told her about the whole turning-into-a-monster thing. So when she's abruptly handed a pamphlet by someone who almost looks apologetic, she actually reads it instead of instantly tossing it aside. It just so happens to be for vampires. The more she reads, the more her brow furrows and her frown deepens.]

Who wrote this garbage? Are they serious about this? [The pamphlet sure reads seriously, like whoever wrote it buys wholeheartedly into what it's saying.]

I made this up it doesn't have a number
[Remember that whole "couldn't pay her to wear this outfit" thing? We're remedying that. But Megumi's having some trouble trying to find a store that sells something worth fucking buying, and no tailors or custom manufacturers will sell to her. They keep saying weird things like "you're going to shred it in a month anyway" and "I won't have you disrespecting my craft" and also "you don't even have any money". After about five or six repetitions of this conversation, Megumi finally blows up at the next poor clerk treating her like the future monster she is.]

What are you even talking about!? Are you trying to say I'm fat?? I didn't want to buy your stupid clothes anyway!

two

[expectional]

Serious, yet misinformed for the most part.

[She may not have been speaking specifically to the blue haired boy a little ways away, but he's answering all the same. He's not at all bothered by her bright pink pigtails, actually, they kind of help put him at ease. They make him think of Kotoko, even if this girl is a little older than his friend.]

[His arms are full of pamphlets, nearly all of them crumpled up or torn. It's hard when you're a nymph and inconsiderate assholes just throw their garbage wherever. Littering is so inconsiderate!!! Even if these pamphlets are crap, he won't stand for people just throwing them on the ground instead of in the trash where they belong.]

You will turn into a monster, we all do. But these pamphlets were all written by human natives. They don't really know what it's like.

[Well at least the monster thing would explain this boy's green skin and eyes. Not to mention the golden crown of laurels that seems to be growing from his head and the vines hanging down his back, under his suit jacket, from his shoulder blades.]

alice | tales of symphonia: knight of ratatosk

[conceivesfrenzy]

[ 1 | those who rely on power will be doomed because of it ]

[ Alice had managed to get her bearings on where she was until she heard a click behind her. She whirled around and an angry, hulking mass of a man was pointing some sort of stick at her, one that seemed harmless until it released a bang. The sand next to her seemingly exploded on cue, as she yelped and strafed to the side. ]

Hey, you could have hit me! [ ... that was the point. She cackled, grinning wildly as she outstretched her hand towards the man. ] Just for that, I'm going to make sure it hurts extra special, all right? Say your prayers, now~! ♡

[ Apparently, something was supposed to happen. Or at least, Alice thought it was; her expression went from overconfident to confused to horrified in about a split second. She could stretch her hand out as much as she wanted, but nothing was going to come out of it. She was horrified at the concept of not being able to use it, much less be able to defend herself. She talked a big game, but now she was frozen in place, like a deer in headlights.

Guess she really did die and go to hell, after all. ]

[ 2 | biting the hand that feeds ]

Don't touch me, you creep!

[ Alice stood over an unfortunate member of Bavan, her foot placed on their chest, pamphlets strewn all over the ground. It seemed like they were only trying to pass on the information that everyone here got, only to run into one of the most unfortunate people to deal with. Her heel dug hard, as she bored a hole into their head with her stare. ]

Don't you think you should be treating a lady like me more gently? Who said that you could push all this stuff in my face without me asking first~? Don't tell me you wanted to get hurt, did you?

[ She glared with the intensity of a thousand suns, before abruptly grinning, moving off of the denzien with a giggle. ] Why don't you be a good little mutt and scurry off, hmm? I'd hate for you to get hurt by staying out here much longer. I've heard scary things about this place... you wouldn't want to find out, right? [ The person scurried off, leaving Alice alone. Or, she thought she was alone for a moment. ]

Oh? Did you want to play, too? You're not going to be brash with me, are you? Someone fragile like me could bruise easily, you know. ♡

[ 3 | the world will answer to me and only me ]

[ Upon hearing the voices and learning about the way things worked here, Alice found herself wandering around Dyster aimlessly. The voice said 'seek us out,' but... there didn't seem to be anyone here to seek. Unless they were talking about the people dancing around, in which case Alice was just fine not seeking anyone out. After what seemed like a few hours of fruitless searching, she finally stops, groaning loudly. ]

This is the woooooooorst! How is a girl supposed to do anything when there's no one here other than a bunch of weirdos?!

[ Her priorities are skewed at best. ]

[ 4 | wildcard!!!!! ]

3!

[expectional]

I guess that depends on what exactly it is you want to do.

[Well, there's at least ONE other normal person in this town. Or a monster, more accurately. If she looks up into the tree she's come to a stop next to, Alice may be able to make out a small boy with pale green skin and bright blue hair sitting in the branches. Something golden glitters in his his hair as he leans forward curiously, his bright yellow-green eyes narrowing slightly.]

Actually...how did you even manage to come here? You need an invitation from Big Sis Fog or one of her followers to reach this town.

Chloe | Lacrimosa | OTA

[whipoflust]

Scenario 1
[ Finding himself in a new place, without his rapier and whip and the knife, just when he had a burst of enraged panic, and then having the feeling of something being completely wrong and finding out that he's not immortal any more (leaving a gash on his already scarred arm) he's not in a good state of mind.

He needs to explore, find out where he is, particularly in relation to Tudor, and in case he's unable to go back to the Tower he was sealed in with the other Knights, he needed to find a place to stay. One of the problems with that is that he doesn't trust people at all (even if he pretends to do so).

First of all he needs to calm down though, make sure he doesn't lapse back into a panic, and he makes his way down a path, carefully and, at least outwardly, completely calm. Walk it off, he has been told before. It's never really worked, not in the long run, but it's the only thing that he can think of at the moment. ]

Scenario 3
[ Magic is not a staple in Tudor, but Chloe knows it none the less, having been born as an immortal, for some reason or other that he didn't understand.

He is not, however, religious, so when he finds out that the voice he followed apparently belonged to a so called "God", he's very skeptic. ]

A God? Really? I have never believed in God before, why should I do so now?

[ Okay so maybe he did, once upon a time. But eventually you stop believing, when the desperate prayers never get answered. ]

Scenario 4
[ Chloe is a person of elegance. He was taught it was important by his parents. "If you behave as is expected, people will pay less attention to you," or something like that. There were many contradictory lessons, growing up with such a terrible secret.

So gaining a lower body much like a spider's, and having problems moving smoothly due to not being used to the amount of legs and added weight, was frustrating for the shunned aristocrat.

He makes an irritated noise when he once more loses his balance and ends up on the ground (pretty likely with his face in the dirt). Must this be so difficult!? ]

D2 (Carl Adler) | Alive: The Final Evolution | OTA

[smilingbullet]

Scenario 1
[ Because he was pretty damn sure that he was just blown to pieces by the bubble using Comrade, it's a shock to find himself in...wherever this is.

He's not religious, never was, but there's only one thing he can think at this moment, right? ]

I never imagined the afterlife'd look like this.

Scenario 2
[ But he's a person that takes things as they come. People side-eyeing him and hiding that they're whispering insults behind his back while smiling at his face is nothing new, the Special Force is loathed by most of the army and people were already gossiping about him before he was recruited to it, too.

He can understand their worries, sure. He can. Still... ]

It's a little hurtful that they assume that I'll attack them just like that...

Scenario 4 (Harpy)
[ This is all weird. But also interesting. Having the talons of a bird is weird but he's gotten used to walking on them. He can't fly with his wings yet, but hopefully he'll be able to do that later. That will be exciting.

Either way, he wants to try something. So, he swings himself up in a tree to try to hang upside down like a bat (even though he knows very well that he's not a bat) and that's probably not going to end well. ]

wildcard

2

[liquidbaby]

[ Hi D2, welcome to the life of the people you murdered as a job in your own world; a lot of people assumed that about Ron when he was a Comrade. Right now he isn't thinking about that though, he's thinking about how the human kids don't really want to play with him.

He stomps a tiny little hoof. ]

I know, right! I just wanna play!

Cuthbert Allgood | The Dark Tower

[ka_mai]

Scenario 1:

[Well then. This wasn't right.]

[Not the being cut up and bashed about, or the scent of gunpowder. That made perfect sense, all things considered. Last thing Bert remembered was a great and sudden pain in his eye, someone calling his name, all going dark. Very classic sort of battlefield death scene, if he were to say so himself. Fitting a young Gunslinger. Pity he's rather certain there's no one left to tell anyone 'bout it.]

[But there's more pressing matters on Bert's mind. What's this beach, then? There wasn't an ocean anywhere near Jericho. And while he's never been dead a'fore, he's positive that a fellow doesn't have to worry about being wet, or bleeding, or having to take a piss when he's dead.]

[Sitting up and raking his wet hair back, Bert takes stock of himself and his surroundings. Empty beach. Lights far off. Man Jesus, he aches! Is this hell? Is hell the eternal torment of forever being acutely uncomfortable? What if he's going to be in wet clothes, all sliced up, having to relieve himself...and it never ends? That certainly sounds like hell.... On the other hand, both his eyes seem fine and there's a lack of brimstone or demons.]

Mayhap I'm just not dead...



Scenario 2:

Now, now, s'not that I don't appreciate the attention, what fellow wouldn't want a handful of lovely ladies vying for his attention? But really now....

[Man Jesus, what's even happening? How do folks just know that he isn't a native? Mayhap he just comes from another city, not Bavan! And much as he does enjoy attention from the other sex, there's sommat...not quite right here. Oh yes, he's seen the pamphlets and heard all about that, that isn't what he means. It's how he's being received. Who goes out of their way to emphatically proposition a fellow who's going to turn into a man eating beast?]

[And not just proposition! If he's understanding right, three separate ladies have asked him to come and live with'em! He knows he's handsome and charming, but really! He's a stranger! And apparently cursed, if he believes his own ears and eyes. Which he does. Good thing he's got a clear path to back away and mayhap find somewhere quiet or someone actually helpful. Which he does. With an elaborate bow and a whole lot of talking.]

How can a man choose between such rare and enchanting flowers? I'm afraid you've put me in a terrible unfair position, my sweets! Can any fellow choose between the stars in the sky? The colors of the rainbow? Nay, t'would be impossible! So would it be for me to be forced to choose between the bevy of loveliness I see a'fore me!

[Sorry, anyone he backs into while he's trying to free himself from feminine attention.]

2

[girl_at_the_window]

[When she sees him across the street, Susan's eyes go wide. She'd hoped for a while someone from her own world might show up, someone could commiserate about how damn incomprehensible everything is - but she didn't actually expect it to happen, and she sure as hell didn't expect it to be someone she knows.]

[He looks different. Older. But it's hard to mistake Cuthbert Allgood for anyone else, especially once he opens his mouth.]

[She takes a deep breath and starts towards him.]

I figure it'd be possible enough. Choose none of 'em, quit spewin' poetry at the poor girls, and I'll buy you a coffee.

Egon Spengler | The Real Ghostbusters | Ota

[hauntpadour]

2

He was glad to have the chance to get into fresh clothing, and at the very least the locals seemed helpful enough, for the most part. The pamphlets were the thing he focused on the most, analyzing each one carefully and trying to pick out what was real and what was not. Based on what they had told him, things more than likely worked in a different way than what he was familiar with. He had to start, at least mostly, from scratch.

So the scientist has his nose jammed into the “Bunnyips and You” pamphlet, making a face, when he bumps into someone on the street and keeps going. No talk, just looking, well, probably very rude.

3

Facial hair was never something he’d been particularly talented at growing, and it was not something he was particularly concerned with. It got in the way. Body hair had also been almost always fine, and was kept in his jumpsuit during work hours anyway. When fur began to come in rather rapidly at the beginning of the first fog, along his arms, neck, and back it was very much an unfortunate surprise. But not really unexpected.

He considered himself fortunate that nothing yet was painful, but there were minute and noticeable differences aside from the new masses of golden brown hair. The fact that his glasses became suddenly obsolete was the biggest change, as well as sharpening of the other senses. He was barely concerned with the catlike ears any more, with this development. Nothing inconvenient yet, aside from the fur, and he was determined to fix that.

“Excuse me,” He tapped on the nearest person’s shoulder. “Can you direct me to the nearest barber that is willing to work on monsters?”

The last human he’d asked had directed him to a pet groomer.

2.

[thekindestdemon]

New crops of monsters to be are always entertaining. The poor things had no real concept of what was going to happen to them. Perhaps it was cruel, enjoying the dawning horror, but Lust has so few things that bring her any entertainment these days. Besides, she'd been through it herself. They either adjusted or it broke them, regardless of anything she could say.

But she is used to being noticed. When a man with his face buried in a pamphlet knocks against her continues on, not even sparing her a glance....

"An apology is customary."

To ensure she isn't ignored, she lifts her tail and brings it down right in the human's path.

Maya | Borderlands 2 | OTA

[wellplayedbitch]

1

[Waking up coated in stiff, itchy saltwater on a beach is... surprisingly familiar for the siren. She would have preferred it not to be, preferred that her usual driving companions didn't have a penchant for gunning for the nearest ramp like surface. But that was the way of things, and to her credit, she didn't look particularly perturbed as she stood up.]

[Deft hands circled her body, searching for any alarming wounds. The presence of them was concerning, having clearly come from some sort of beast, rather than shrapnel from an explosion or impact with an ocean floor. They weren't the telltale signs of a thresher, either, which surely would have been the first thing to grab her in the ocean.]

[That thought troubled her, goaded her into raking her silver eyes across the coastline. There were no highways stretching into the fog, no towering cliffs, not even a brewery. She'd traveled all across Pandora, and this coastline was not something she recognized.]

[She wanted to puzzle over it further, but there was a chill beginning to creep over her bones. First things first, she needed to find shelter, perhaps a face or two to grill in terms of her surroundings. There had to be civilization somewhere, after all. The smell of gunpowder didn't come from out of nowhere. If she knew anything about this place, she knew that much.]

2

[Maya was fond of literature of all types but even she... was puzzled by the pamphlets being handed to her. She clutched "Alternatives to Human Flesh" within her hands, turning it over and over as she scanned the words written there. Monsters it read. Normal.]

[Maybe it was the kind of thing that needed to be passed around the surface of Pandora, but that didn't mean it wasn't alarming. She clutched the elbow of the nearest person, nearest straggler she could find. Her brows were drawn tightly together, confusion lining her gaze.]

They can't be serious, right?

2

[atjourneysend]

[Raynie can be easily mistaken for another human. She only started to change recently, and today she wears a long sleeved shirt that hides the scales on her shoulder and arms. But Maya will feel the elbow she's grabbing is radiating heat like warm coals, see golded reptilian eyes look back when Raynie turns her head.]

...depends what you're asking about.

Roland Deschain | The Dark Tower

[lastsonofgilead]

1

[Consciousness is slow to return, and it comes with a confusing blur of thoughts. Falling, Jake, the ocean, the monstrosities.

His guns.

And as has happened before and will happen again, he's on his feet before he knows he's up. His hands go to his waist, expecting to find soaked gun belts and a pair of well-wetted guns.

But they're gone.

And that is the most alarming part of this entire thing.

It's not that he can't defend himself without them; it's what the guns are, what they represent. He is the 29th generation to carry the weapon of Arthur Eld, reforged into guns many and many-a.

And. They're. Gone.

But as with all things, it was ka. He would either find them and his way back to where he'd begun, or he would not. What this place and waking like this meant was a question for later.

For now, he would search the beach for sign of his gun belts.]

Ka.


2

[Oh, yes, this is something from Gan or ka or something. Waking up on the beach the way he had after letting Jake die, now pamphlets about turning into a monster. Roland doesn't have much in the way of imagination, but he understand a message when it's being pounded into him.

He'd become a monster, yes. He'd shut the way to saving the Tower, yes. He gets it, he gets it. What he doesn't yet get, ya ken, is that this isn't some lesson that Gan has tired of him struggling to learn.]

I say thankee sais; ye've been most helpful.

[The ever pragmatic part of him doesn't believe this place is mere smoke and mirrors. It's real enough, just not real if ya ken.]

Wildcard

[Hit me!]

wildcard i guess?

[girl_at_the_window]

[One of the things about Roland is that he's hard to miss, even in a crowd. A flash of blue eyes, an edge to the way he moves... even if she hadn't seen a version of him in Eddie's dream, Susan couldn't have avoided recognising him.]

[She stops dead in the middle of the street, her grip loosening on the bags of groceries she's holding, her eyes starting to sting with tears even before she really registers she's feeling anything.]

...shit.

[Then she's moving, her bags dropping unheeded onto the ground, her wings fluttering a little as if to speed her along. She doesn't quite run, not quite, but it's close to it.]

[She stops dead maybe five feet away, and stands there breathing heavily, tears starting to spill out of eyes that were once grey and are now gold. Her voice is hushed, but fervent.] Shit. It's you. It really is.

Peggy Carter | MCU

[missunionjack]

[one]

[ This is certainly not how Peggy expected to wake up today. Choking and spluttering, she turns on her side, the need to get the grit out of her mouth and breathe properly winning over the need to remain quiet until she gets her bearings.

She's scanning the beach in front of her even before she's quite caught her breath, looking for familiar landmarks -- none -- and any sign of people -- and that one hits gold, a figure in the distance, too far for her to make out anything more than a shape. She can't even quite tell if they're watching her; they don't move as she pushes herself into a proper sitting position, and then gets her feet under her, crouching there as she takes stock of herself and the situation. No weapons. No idea who brought her here. Nothing to do but charge forward and hope that, if the figure out there is a threat -- and she's assuming they are, until proven otherwise -- she can outsmart them. ]

Hello? Someone out there? [ She slowly moves to stand upright, taking a small step forward, even as she continues to call towards whoever's out there. ] Could you tell me where we are?



[two]

[ Lucky for Peggy, she's found some of the more friendly locals, even if their desire to make friends and get on people's good sides strikes her as strange. Unluckily for them, Peggy's channeling the shock and rising worry of what's to come into a near interrogation, shooting off rapid questions to the second person to offer a pamphlet. (The first having walked away while she was busy reading and trying to figure out if Alternatives to Human Flesh was some sort of horrible joke.)

The lack of answer to her last question -- whether because the man didn't know or was startled by her stream of questions, she didn't bother to ask -- has her waving the pamphlet at him in frustration. ] Shouldn't whoever's giving these blasted things out be prepared to answer questions about them?



[four (minotaur)]

[ It starts with a headache, two dull points of pressure that roll in with the fog and quickly build, until her entire head is aching. The sudden feeling that the world has grown somehow louder does nothing to help it. It's almost a relief when the horns actually break through her skin. The pain bursts, and even though it still hurts, it no longer feels like her skull is caving in on itself.

The relief barely lasts once she ventures outside, only to be greeted a sharp, high burst of noise from somewhere nearby. Peggy bites back on a yelp, barely making it to the nearest wall to lean against as a fresh burst of pain rolls through her head, doubled over and trying to fight the nausea to stand back up, or at least find someplace she can sit. ]



[wildcard]

[Got something else in mind? Hit me!]

1

[getmeoutofthedraft]

[Hawkeye's still reeling like a drunkard, although for once it's not because he is one. His head's pounding and the sun's too bright, and all the cuts and scrapes and bruises are stinging like hell.]

[He smartens up a little when he hears a woman's voice, though. Not much. Not enough to actually be smart. But enough to look slightly less like a hobo.]

[When he's a little closer, he calls back] Best I've got is "probably somewhere in Asia"! Unless dreams really do come true, which would explain you, sweetheart.

Tommy Monaghan | Hitman

[keeponstrolling]

1

[Waking up in the middle of nowhere with no clue how he got there isn't a completely foreign experience to Tommy. It's either the result of the best night out, or the worst night out. The stinging pain and the mouthful of seawater he hacks out of his lungs gives him probable cause to suspect the latter. He cracks his eyes open, and his shades are missing. Shit. He rolls onto his stomach and groans out his frustration with his head in his hands, loud and clear. Someone must've tried to cash in on the price on his head and tried to drown him, but wasn't too successful at it considering he was still alive. Must've gotten free from the weights somehow.]

[He lazily pumps his fist in the air, and flops back onto the sand.]

Heh. Good job, ya hack hitman. [He crows to his absent attacker, somewhat tiredly.] Serves you right for not being thorough.

[He allows himself this moment of victory before he drags his hand over his face, collecting himself.]

Alright, Tommy. [He mutters to himself as he pats himself down. He staggers to his feet, and puts his hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun, squinting.] Back to business. Who's the guy who tried to off you, and how soon can I get back at 'im?

[A pause.]

And where th' hell are my shades?

4

[Alright, so maybe the wings weren't too bad. He had to get his coat fixed and it hurt like a bitch, but they made him look like a badass, and flying was amazing. The feathers were annoying, but not too inconvenient. But this? This is definitely the last straw.]

[Tommy is sitting at a bar, morose. If anyone gives him the slightest of attention, he'll thrust out his hands in their general direction, showing off his brand new, gnarled talons.]

How th' hell am I supposed to shoot a gun like this? My livelyhood's at stake here!

4

[wrenchinald]

[The guy sitting near him at the bar has got himself a pair of feathery wings too (and has totally been looking at the other guy's wings because wings are fucking cool), although there's nothing fucking his hands up yet. Of course, with a mask hiding his face, and a hood on top of that, it's not so easy to tell if there's anything else to his transformation just yet. He leans over to take a look at the guy's hands with a low whistle.]

Now that is what some people'd call gnarly, in every sense of the word. But, good news, sounds like all you need is a few... modifications. So what d'you got?

Warden-Commander Amell | Dragon Age | OTA

[stumbling]

2 - returning

[The robed harpy has no need for literature. He shares the same damp, sandy appearance of the other new arrivals, but being obviously transformed no one bothers to try and entice him with it. This doesn't stop him apprehending one unfortunate local trying to hand out leaflets on fur bearing trouts. He takes the stack of leaflets firmly, taloned hands clutching at them awkwardly. His grip is poor, but the sharpness of his shiny black talons is a pretty good indicator of why the other man had been so quick to give them up.]

Why provide information you know full well to be false? These people may seem hapless fools now, but surely you realise the kind of enemy you're inviting by month's end.

[This is helpful. Yes.]

4 - still a harpy...

[While his transformation appears complete, he knows there is worse to come. The fogs are kind to no one, and he seems to be one of the special few the so-called Fog God curses with additional monstrosities when her foul mist overtakes the land. Daylen has an intimate understanding of the weather, and in most circumstances knows exactly what to expect from it. The cursed fog is an exception, and it's only a fraction of the time he is able to accurately guess when it will be. In this case he is unlucky, and it isn't until it is already upon them that he knows. The heart of Bavan is no place to experience these changes, but he is left with little choice.

He has the time to retreat to a mercifully abandoned building before his appearance is distorted even further from its true self by the false god's powers, but he stands no chance of making it to his lodgings. He can already feel the itch of new feathers prickling beneath his skin by the time he struggles free of his robes, mumbling to himself a quiet prayer to the Maker. He knows the pain that will surely follow.

Prayer isn't enough. Not for long. Soon Daylen is writhing on the floor, and all thoughts of keeping his screams under control have fled. Feathers force their way through his skin, but that's nothing compared to the agony of his bones reshaping. A toothy beak erupts from his feathery face with a drawn out squawk.

Ten minutes later the screams have finally stopped. He is silent, exhausted by the changes. He lays in a pool of his own blood, arms still raw where they have ripped from his wings. There's no trace of human in him now. Though obviously spent, the black feathered beast cuts an imposing figure. Even one swipe of his taloned feet could easily be lethal.]

4

[worstmage]

[It occurs to Jowan that it's kind of unsettling that he can identify Daylen's squawk-screams from a distance at this point. But discomforting reasons aside, he definitely hears what sounds like his very unhappy friend(?) somewhere nearby. The question is: why? Questions, really: is he going to be more of a hindrance than a help? Does he even want to go near something making Daylen scream like that?

He supposes he hasn't really much of a choice. He still owes Daylen for ruining everything multiple times, after all. And he is a giant spider. That's at least a bit helpful. If he's lucky it's a horrible but arachnophobic monster. It's a little hurtful, sometimes, but he can't deny its effectiveness.

Rushing towards the sound before it stops, he hesitates for a moment outside. For a little longer than a moment, actually. What's his best move? Does he sneak in? Charge in? Maybe he should drop down from the ceiling on the Foe: he was always terrified when spiders did it to him in his brief time as an apostate on the loose. The screaming stops while he's carefully stepping inside, edging his big purple bulk as close to the wall as possible. Not good. Or. Good? Or...something. It definitely means something. Daylen is going to be so irritated with him if he's died and Jowan could have stopped it. He can't feel anything moving, though. What does it mean?

He decides to go for the ceiling method.

The method, naturally, starts with tying his hair back so it doesn't fall entirely into his face. Getting his feet around the door of the next room, he pulls himself through, hunching into his spider body to make it without banging his head on the frame, something he learned the hard way. He's halfway along the wall diagonally when he actually notices the large black shape farther into the room. Big. Teeth. He yells and falls off the wall, scrabbling to get up to his feet. Ok, he's bad at instant web so he's going to have to try and go for--oh, never mind, it's Daylen.]

Oh.

[He's still a bit hesitant as he approaches, moving in very fast but short bursts, not advancing all too fast. He leans on his front four legs between advancing.]

You...alright? I mean, no, that was stupid. Do you...want anything? You know, you're quite large, like this.

Daud | Dishonored | 2am impulse decisions ohdearlordhelpme

[cannotabideamystery]

I. Sandy beaches yes, pleasant vacation not so much

[Waking up to the sound of water breaking on the nearby shore was nothing new to the red-clad old man. His mind barely registered the wetness as more than an annoyance as he woke, automatically acclimating it to the lifestyle he was accustomed to back in Dunwall. Except, his mind belatedly reminded him, that he was no longer in Dunwall. He had left that dreary city behind and headed back out into the wide world, looking for a new place amongst the isles.

The sand beneath his prone body became an astute sensation as it registered in his mind. Had he been swindled by the (supposedly) discreet ship captain and left on a random beach to rot? The thought had it's probability on the positive side. His face was not exactly an unknown quantity but he had banked on it's infamous quality to prevent any untoward acts of thievery and two-timing from occurring. One would think it would be a bad idea to steal from the Knife of Dunwall without expecting some consequences.

A slight tremor passed through the old man's sword arm as the idea played around in his head, the furrow of his brow and slight dip of the corner of his lips the subtle but sure sign that this was no plight to his health. Rather, it was a controlled reaction to something that troubled him, a suppressed anger that he kept carefully in check. He gripped at the sand beneath his fingers and pulled up a pile of it, letting the grains slip back out of his fist as he lifted it to eye level. He did not watch as the sand fell back to the earth as his concentration was not on the idle act. Instead, the moment passed and any trace of his thoughts left his countenance and body, and he wiped his hand on his jacket as he glanced around to assess his surroundings.

These were not the beaches of Karnaca. His childhood experiences would have recognized them instantly despite the number of years separating him from such old memories. Nor were these the dreary shores of Gristol that he had come to know in his adulthood as he made his name known through blade and blood. It was not cold enough to be Tyvia and nor did he think this was any shoreline of Morley. He could not know for certain of course but instinct had always served him well in the past so there was no reason to doubt it now.

That left Pandyssia as the only other choice and the thought left a cold knot in his gut. Not only would that be nearly (though not quite) impossible it also had the distinct flavor of dread accompanying it due to the nature of the continent itself. Nameless wonders--and dangers--awaited those few that dared to sail out so far and very few indeed returned to tell the tales from such shores.

Frankly, he was too old and stubborn to give a damn at this point in his life if it were true that he was on the continent full of life-endangering fauna. But that did not keep him from giving a sigh of resignation that bordered on frustration for the possibility anyway.

So much for peacefully retiring out into the middle of nowhere. He knew without physically checking that his money, supplies, and weapons were long gone. Even the pieces he kept on his body were no doubt stripped away and he was not going to be surprised by finding it to be true. Just the act of standing up told him there was nothing at his side to grip in anticipation of trouble and his fingers itched at the lack of hilt to curl around. Old habits died hard, even for retired assassins determined not to ever take another life.

What he did not anticipate was the scrapes and abrasions that added to his already aching body, joints and muscles already beginning their complaint about the dampness surrounding him. He hated getting old. Even more so he hated what it did to his body. Whether he continued to stay in tip-top shape or not, it was only going to get worse as he kept aging. For now it was easy enough for him to ignore, pretending that nothing was amiss and his joints did not hurt after he stayed still for too long or moved continuously for too long. Habit dictated he not show any weakness to the group of misfits and mercenaries that he brought 'home' with him like strays to take care of and train. Having left them only recently, that had not died out yet. Likely it never would. It was not in his nature to begin with.

The ex-assassin did not bother to dust himself off after he stood up and stretched inconspicuously. The wardrobe he had on was already well-worn and stained from use, and nothing he did now would help the fact that he looked like he felt: that he had taken a dive in salt water and then woken miraculously on a sandy beach with only a few scrapes and abrasions to account for his missing time in the dangerous ocean. He could wash his clothing (and body) later when he had the time and means to do what he could to mitigate this new distress to his old, comfortable wardrobe.

Now he had to assess his surroundings, gather information however he could, and figure out his next step. He would survive. If his bleak childhood had taught him anything it was that one thing alone: survival. If he could manage to survive revenge, betrayal, and witches all in one week then he could survive whatever this was. In his opinion it was only a matter of will power. He may have been getting old but he was not ready to call it quits just yet. He still had a dream. Someone had recently reminded him of that.

Who knows. Maybe this place had locals. If he were lucky they would not be cannibals. But when was luck ever really on his side.

Not often as of late and the first instance was eager to manifest itself as the red-clad man lifted his off-hand with a fisted gesture and--nothing happened. From an outside perspective it simply looked like he was holding his fist out in front of him with a slightly perplexed look on his face. Maybe there was something on his hand that was only obvious from up close? Quite the opposite in actuality. What Daud had expected was a flow of magical energy to flare out from his left fist and briefly stop time as he picked out a place some distance away to transverse to in the blink of an eye. Usually he used it to travel upwards across rooftops, across otherwise impassible gaps, or to travel far distances much more quickly and quietly than it would take to run stealthily. But nothing happened and as he stood there mutely staring at his hand he noticed that something was missing.

To Daud the missing object from the back of his hand was obvious as he did not need to see it to know that it was gone. He should have been able to feel it, especially as he concentrated on it to make use of its magical properties. To a passerby though there would be nothing unusual to see as there was only a glove with no unusual markings covering his hand. Odd, perhaps, or maybe it could be construed to mean something else about the situation at hand. Either way, the old man scowled deeply, if but briefly, at the inconvenience, the scar etched into the his face from eye to chin accentuating the expression into a far more angry appearance than intended. It made his already rough exterior look far worse for wear than it already naturally did.

This was not a good start to his retirement. Damn the Black-Eyed Bastard for all of this. Somehow, Daud knew it was His fault. And why in the name of the Void was his Mark not working as it should? Damn the Black-Eyed Bastard for abandoning him now of all times.]

II. same old song and dance

[It was...different. Daud had never seen a place quite like this before. Sure, the worship and chanting and praises were all essentially the same. None of the religious aspect really surprised him. He had seen it all before. It was the fact that the god here actually responded to more than a handful of people that made his head turn, so to speak. The Outsider had always been picky about those that he contacted directly or even indirectly. Only a very few were Marked, taken to the Void in their dream-like states to talk to an enigmatic god that seemed to care little this way or that, who claimed not to take sides or affect the physical realm in any way other than to Mark a select few with his Mark that granted magical abilities. What the Marked did after that initial encounter that gave them powers and abilities beyond the norm was up to them. The Leviathan god never asked for favors in return, never expected praise or worship (did not seem to care at all for it, in fact), never even attempted to direct his Marked in a particular fashion at all. The most Daud had ever gotten out of the Black-Eyed god was a hint or two out of...sympathy? compassion? mere intrigue or an attempt to create further fascination for Him to watch as His pawn moved across the board in unpredictable ways? Daud was not quite sure how to classify it.

Mostly he suspected it was entertain from the god. He knew the being was ancient by human standards at least so it would not have surprised him to find out the Outsider grew bored watching the same mess go down in human history over and over again. Or maybe it was the Leviathan god's odd and unexpected way of showing His loyalty to those He Marked for His fun. Maybe it really had just been a parting gift. Daud did not expect to ever see the Outside again especially considering the god's final words to him.

He would not mourn the loss. What he told Attano held true. Power was an easy corrupter. Daud always considered himself strong of will, stubborn to a fault, a person not easily swayed against his own ways. And for the most part he was. But only a full lifetime granted a person something greater than power and doubtless he was not the only person out there with regrets. He was, however, one of the few in his particular line of business to survive long enough and not end up with a heart quite black enough to walk away with regret heavy on his chest. Time had finally shown him the error of his careless ways. The power granted to him by a detached god had given him an easy way to turn a profit with skills acquired by unscrupulous events in his early life; he had been granted a power that made killing and getting away with it a simple thing, and he had taken it up with an ease that, now when he thought back on it in his older age, should have scared him. Instead he had determined to perfect it, to make people fear and respect him, to whisper his name quietly else it summon him to their side to sink his blade into their heart, and to create a long-lasting legend that far surpass his reign of terror.

Now he hoped people would forget his name, his scarred face, and slowly let the memory of his legendary killing spree pass into barely remembered fables that would be nothing more than fireside stories told in no amount of seriousness as most fables were. He did not want to be remembered anymore. He did not want to provoke fear and terror anymore. And he never, ever wanted to kill another human life anymore.

That... that brought him back to the here and now with a slight frown. It was a dilemma he would worry about later though. At the moment he had other concerns. Like, how to get out of this worship oriented madhouse. This was far worse than the cold, mysterious Void in his opinion. At least that place had somehow been both disconcerting and yet calming at the same time, much like the rolling waves of the ocean. This was full-on worship and adoration. And a stark reminder that there were gods here, too, and they were currently quite active as far as he could tell. He had not seen either of them yet but the sweet, dulcet tones of whispered promises of power and fame were just under his skin, an aching longing he knew all too well. He would never admit that in the long absences between the Outsider's visits that he missed the Black-Eyed Bastard. But sometimes he did anyway. Daud refused to return to that song and dance no matter how tantalizing the whispered promised appeared to be.

And yet... to have back that power, even a mimicry of it, even just another something magical altogether--it was, admittedly, tempting. It was probably how he had ended up here in the first place. A longing, a desire...

Daud shook his head a little forcefully, quieting his straying thoughts with the gesture. Then he took another glance around at his surroundings. There had to be an exit around here somewhere. He needed to leave before the sweet promises of a detached god tempted him into leaving little familiar gifts at carefully constructed shrines in thanks for the powers granted him. And if anyone ever asked him if he had constructed some of those purple shrines himself he would damn well deny it with his dying breath, the Outsider probably laughing at him all the while for the lie on his tongue.]

III.

[So it was foggy and the dampness was irritating Daud as it tended to do these days and his joints were already aching as it were. Naturally, that meant it was the perfect time for worse things to occur. At this point he knew the stories, had seen some of the evidence or at least what people claimed it to be. He was not really surprised.

Yeah, okay, he was surprised because the suddenness of it was unprecedented and it was still a crazy thing in a crazy world he was still adjusting to. But he was not surprised by the timing and the sheer luck of it as it were. It just figured.

Maybe this was some sort of punishment, but the thought was so stupid, so unlike him that after it registered he found it immensely hilarious after the fact. Possibly because of everything that was happened to him it caused him to laugh out loud. Rather loudly. And hysterically.

Anyone that knew him would be horrified by the mere act of him chuckling quietly at something; his outright maniacal laughter would probably send them running for their lives. Thankfully, no one really knew him too well yet. But that did not make the uncontrolled laughter any less creepy and insane in a time like this.

Not while his lips and hands were bloody. Not while his skeleton snapped and cracked as it rearranged itself into unwanted and unexpected ways to account for new features that just were not natural. His laughter eventually turned into brutal coughing as he gagged on the blood in his mouth that tried to slide back down into his throat, hacking it back up and spitting it venomously onto the ground. It was a lot closer than he had remembered it being actually. That was because he had fallen to his knees at some point in the transformation. No wonder they hurt almost as much as the rest of him. Or maybe they were changing too. He barely had the presence of mind to wonder much less check and see.

Oddly, he did end up having the capacity for a random thought of 'I probably look like a Weeper right about now'. All he needed was blood from his eyes and he would be set. Maybe they would start to change and bleed, too, and the look would be perfect. Or maybe not. Weepers did not change into inhuman creatures after their plight faded. They died. Or wandered around as mindless human-looking things that attacked on sight or sound until something stopped them. Sad, really.

The thought ended there and faded away with a new wave of pain. He bent over double and gritted his new set of blood-soaked teeth as he rode out the torture of bones snapping and rearranging unnaturally.

Definitely a fitting punishment for a murderer.]

I

[bouncingback]

Hey! Heeeeeeey!

[There's another figure further down the beach. The voice is male, and he waves both arms in an enthusiastic attempt to get Daud's attention. Even as he's doing this he's moving closer, bare feet padding across the sand.

Johnny isn't exactly dressed for this weather. He's wearing what he'd had on as he sat casually around his apartment, which is unfortunately only a t-shirt and boxers. (The latter is covered in Spider-Man masks, embarrassingly enough.) He has a pair of socks tied around one wrist, as there had been little sense in wearing them in the sand and he has no pockets to speak of.

It's really cold out here, and he could really use a coat like the one this guy he's just come across has, but at the moment he's glad merely to have found another person.]

Dude. I'm so jealous right now.

[Once he stops, he wraps his arms around himself.] Brrr. Are you trying the powers thing? I kinda tried the powers thing. They didn't work.

Susannah Dean | The Dark Tower | OTA

[ohsusannahmio]

I.

[One moment she was rolling through the unfound door... the next she was lying face down on the beach, with nary a wheelchair or little buggy to help get her about.

For a wild moment she wonders if she's back on that first beach, back before when she was those two impossible women... but the shoreline is different than she remembers and she remembers that shoreline very well indeed.

Which is just as well, given how loath she was to deal with the lobstrosities ever again. On the other hand, she doesn't know if this beach doesn't have lobstrosities. Which means she needs to get further away from the water.

For a woman with no legs below the knee, she sure crawls fast.]

II.

[Things are looking up slightly, in that she at least has a wheelchair again. A heavy, cumbersome one, sure, but she'd spent most of the last five years or so in one that was hardly better. This would do.

She's got reading material too, though sadly it's the furthest thing from poetry there is.]

A fur-bearing trout? Now I know you're pullin' my leg.

[Since she's yet to procure a lap blanket, just looking at her shows the impossibility of that.]

II

[girl_at_the_window]

Aye, that one's bull.

[Susan's just passing by when she hears it, but it seems worth stepping in.]

I ain't sure how they keep on passin' it out. Someone oughtta make 'em quit.

Ibuki Mioda | Danganronpa 2 | OTA; marvel as she takes none of this seriously

[fretless]

[1]

[Well, jeez. If this isn't some sort of weirdly familiar situation! Except last time, it was less passing out on a beach, and more mysterious transportation to a beach.
While still in a classroom. Or something. Whatever, details.
Anyway - it took a while for this wildhaired girl to stir, but it doesn't take her anytime at all to try and leave the beach in question. She has to shake sand from her hair every once in a while, but otherwise, she seems pretty unperturbed about having washed up somewhere new with no explanation.
In fact, the first thing she asks when she spots someone who knows their way around is -]

Hey, hey! Do you got anything to drink?
There's sand all up in Ibuki's throat, and that's kinda her whole moneymaker, y'know? Super important!
Oh, but, no water or anything. Something sweet, like soda!

[She's really in no place to make demands like that...]

[2]

[Later on, Ibuki's still very not hard to find - she's made herself a spot in a park nearby, rolling about in the grass as she flips through one of the oh-so-helpful pamphlets... only to tear out a page and put it to the side.
With a large number of other pages she's torn out of other pamphlets. And next to those are a couple sheets of paper, with little bits apparently glued onto them... they kinda look like ransom notes.
Except anyone who knows Ibuki would realize that's (hopefully) not what they are at all. In fact, if you get close enough to get a good look, the lines on the haphazardly put together page seem to rhyme.
Horribly. Not meaning they're horrible rhymes in quality, of course, they're just... not the kind of things you'd expect from the mind of a cute girl like Ibuki. Maybe.
They're pretty metal. And you could probably get away with snagging one to read while she's preoccupied, if you want.

Just expect some dark lyrics. Of the "vows written in blood" variety.

Or, if you're really lucky (or unlucky), she might even wave you over - still looking through the pamphlets for words to tear out.]

Yo - what's a good rhyme for "gums"?
Stuff like "hums" or "thrums" are soooo overused, and Ibuki's searched all these pamphlets for'em anyway... Umm...
"Tongues"? Would that be in a merman pamphlet or a vampire one...?

[At least she's taken a few of the dumber pamphlets out of the rotation.]

2

[nolemon]

Bums. Bums definitely.

[Thankfully Ibuki's probably met cat Hiyoko before and they're just hanging out. Bandmates, etc.]

Or tums. Wait, no, that sounds stupid.