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

Arthas Menethil | Warcraft III: The Frozen Throne | (content: edgelord)

[prodigalleader]

I
The first person Arthas meets is alive and has a gun pointed at him. This is the most normal thing that's happened to him so far.

He smiles at the man and puts his hands up. "That won't kill me. Where are we?"

He explains. Lake something or other, outside of a city Arthas has never heard of.

The second person to find him on the beach will find him holding a shotgun, reloading it calmly in front of a headless human corpse.

"Let's try this again," he says, leveling his weapon at the new person. He sounds relaxed, but a muscle in his jaw is twitching. "Where are we?"

II
"Monsters?"

He says it halfway to a laugh. The expression looks alien on his gaunt, cold face.

"Right. An awful fate. Can't imagine. Thanks for the heads-up."

Everyone's being nice to him. They clearly have no idea who he is. That suits him fine, for the moment.

Arthas collects one of each pamphlet, and spreads them out on a table. He needs to know where he is. He has a suspicion he knows exactly how he got here. He reads them, annotates them. They're a little helpful, but not THAT much. He's on another world. He's been brought here by a "god." Who cares what the city is called and what tourist attractions it has?

Here's the part where a hulking man in full medieval armor picks you out of a crowd. His tone brooks no argument. His arms are planted on his table of pamphlets like this his command room you've walked into, not a part of a mostly-public area he's comandeered without permission from anyone.

"Hey, you. Are you local?"

III
"Seek us out."

The voice resonates down the over-sensetive pathways in his brain, rattles his teeth, bends his spine. He presses his hands against his ears and hopes he doesn't bite his tongue this time if he seizes.

When he doesn't, he sighs in relief, but only internally. That was embarassing. Weak. He straightens up to full attention, shoulders back, determined to stop making a fool of himself.

He's somewhere else. He's tired of being teleported around, but there's nothing he can do. Move on to the next problem. He strides up to a monster, ragged cape snapping behind him.

"Fine. I sought you out. Stop moving me around and just tell me what the Fog God wants."

IV
He ignores the dull ache of wings growing in and thanks his badly damaged ability to feel physical sensations that lets him not even realize his teeth are falling out until he almost swallows one.

He waits until the rest fall out, collects them in a bowl, and brings them to Dyster on the next fog. Sets them on her altar. This is not acceptance. It's defiance.

He backs away and calls out to her, to her followers, to anyone that happens to be around.

"I expected better. I expected power, not a dental plan."

II

[bouncingback]

"N-- maybe?" Johnny might be a former super hero, but that doesn't mean he isn't still intimidated by large muscular men in full on armor. He's not actually Spider-Man; he's a lot more crushable. "...What answer are you looking for here?"

He's not local, of course. His clothes would normally give that away, but he has no idea what this hulk of a man does or doesn't consider unusual. To him he might look just as weird as anyone else. He tilts his head up, since that's the only way he's going to be able to look this guy in the face.

"I mean. I could like... point you in the right direction."

[prodigalleader]

"A clear 'yes' or 'no' would be nice. I don't want directions."

This expression would be contempt if it wasn't so watered-down.

"What's the size of this country's military? Who's in charge of it?"

II

[bedazzlings]

"Me?" Lorraine asks, pointing at herself. Yes, Lorraine, you, there's only one teal horse-thing towering above the humans in this place. "Sort of! I showed up here last year. Washed up on a beach, actually!"

She approaches the table, hooves clip-clopping across the stone floor, and extends her hand to Arthas with a smile best described as 'relentlessly sunny'. "You must be new. I'm Lorraine!"

II

[prodigalleader]

"Mm. Great," he says, in a tone that suggests he has devoted no attention to her name and will immediately forget it.

Oh, and she's some kind of horseperson. Arthas' reaction to this is the same as his reaction is to snake people, skeletons, space demons controlling human history for centuries, and screaming balls of tentacles emerging from the earth to kill anything that beholds them: Sure, fuck it. Whatever. He's not a naturally curious person. Who has time for that?

"I need to know how large the population is and what percentage of that is trained military or militia."

Johnny "Ricochet" Gallo | Marvel 616

[bouncingback]

i.

Puh, puh puh! [Johnny spits out sand, making his displeasure known to the world.] I know I didn't crash at the beach last night.

[No wild parties here. Not anymore, anyway. In any case, he'd like to think he'd remember an after dark beach romp. It would be a shame not to. He doesn't even have a proper hangover headache so there's no way he's suffering from that type of blackout. He sits up, hurriedly brushing himself off. This is definitely not a beach off the California coast that he recognizes. Though, to be fair, he hasn't exactly been down every inch of the California coast.]

Is this someone's idea of a joke? Did someone fly me here in my sleep? Hey!

[It's really too cold to be out here in just a t-shirt and boxers. And the sand gets everywhere.]

ii.

"What to expect when you're expecting... to turn into a monster." Oh, now that one's clever, right? Ha ha? Who wrote these?

[There's no way that all, or even most of them, are true. Is this some anti-mutant thing? He's seen some scare tactics in his day, but this is just plain weird. The idea that those who were brought here might actually change into something else... Well he can't really dismiss it, given some of the things he's seen, but it still sounds like the plot of a weird B movie.]

...So there's an antidote for this, right?

[He's always wanted to go on a quest. Well, not really. That's edging toward trademark infringement.]

ii

[whipoflust]

It is quite witty.

[ But they don't really do puns or jokes where he's from. Definitely not in information papers and the likes. So it is amusing. ]

Does there have to be an antidote?

[ Turning into a monster doesn't seem all that bad to Chloe. He's been treated as one plenty for being immortal and he's been treated like a lesser being and not like a human plenty, so if people are going to continue to look badly at him, he might as well get something out of it for once in his life. Why not turn into a monster?

[bouncingback]

Well... yeah?? I mean, that'd be preferable! Some of us like being human. [Mutant. Whatever. Close enough.]

[Or is it?]

This isn't some virus or something, is it? Like one that affects mutants and mutates them further? Because if, hypothetically, someone had been brought here to keep them from harming the general populace on account of potential future kaiju-ness, wouldn't it have been better to take them somewhere, I dunno, away from people?

[He really doesn't like this train of thought. If this is the case he'll never complain about being a normal mutant ever again.]

I

[stumbling]

[The harpy looks offended at the suggestion. Is that a joke? Just because he has wings, the man thinks he's responsible for bringing him here. His wet feathers ruffle, and he gives him a haughty look as he climbs stiffly to his feet.]

I can assure you I did no such thing. I don't even know how to use these wings.

[bouncingback]

Well I mean, I wasn't... blaming you. Not intentionally.

[Johnny scratches the back of his head as the bird man stands. This is a little awkward. The fact that he was so close to someone with feathers hadn't even registered. He'd just been complaining out loud.]

I mean I'm sure you're certainly capable! You'll... get those things working in no time! I was, you know, asking in a general sense. To the world at large.

[He crosses his arms over his chest, rubbing his hands over his freezing biceps. Maybe his first request to anyone who could hear him should have been about getting pants.]

So... Where is this?

Alain Johns | Dark Tower

[al_for_one]

Scenario one

"Fuck--" Well, it's more of a 'hfugh' considering that he's spitting out sand and rubbing his mouth at the same time, but it gets the gist across. Alain manages to prop himself up with one hand while shaking his head, heeding the cuts and scrapes with only a confused frown. His clothes are as beat up as the rest of him, and soaked through moreover and--

Well, his first instinct upon realizing the wet is to check his guns, but the holsters are empty and a quick, increasingly desperate search of the sand immediately around him, including a bit of digging, gets him no results. "What in-- If this is some trick or joke, I'm most unamused."

A moment later the stern expression fades to one of dismay and re-emerged confusion. Alain is almost tentative as he calls out. "...Bert? Roland? Anyone?"

Scenario Two: Pamphlets
"Uh, thankee? I think?" Alain is standing there, a bunch of pamphlets in hand--more confusing for the fact that the 'fur-bearing-trout' one is right on top--and giving whoever shoved them in his hands a look that's wavering between instinctive politeness and looking askance. If the confusion wasn't enough of a sign of his newness, his poor beat up shirt and jeans are still on the damp side, with sand clinging, and he hasn't had time to properly tend to the cuts. Obviously he needs help! Or someone could decide to screw with him instead.

Scenario Two: stares
Alain has noticed the cold looks, and he's been doing a good job of ignoring them, until now. But even the most patient of men has a breaking point, so he rounds on one of the glaring folk, and returns the stare, all seriousness and with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Weaponless, but far from helpless, his expression says. "If you've quarrel with me, sai, I'll have you say it plain to my face."

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and at least one bystander is reaching for a weapon, improvised or not. This can't end well.

Scenario Four: woof!
Alain never disbelieved, but the very thought had turned his stomach so he...didn't. Think about it, that is. Which is probably why he freezes and retreats inside the instant the fog rolls in, obscuring the late afternoon sun. When nothing immediately happens, his initial response is relief, then agitation. At least that's how he's explaining his unstoppable need to pace.

Then the sun goes down, and with it, any hope of escaping changes. They're mercifully swift, at least, but not any kind of orderly or painless. The bones of his arms and hands crack, grind and shoot out through skin in sudden growth, tearing through fingertips and leaving shreds of shriveling flesh behind. The flesh does catch up in the next moment, a sweep of muscle and tendons, followed along after by skin that's rapidly growing thick, golden fur. His similarly stretched and altered feet--more paws now--tear through his boots, leaving the mangled uppers caught around where his human ankles used to be, and a rip of cloth signifies the growth of a tail. The ears and fangs are almost tame in comparison, and Alain is left panting from the strain for a couple minutes.

Then the restless energy overtakes him completely, and he's left scrabbling at the door, hands gone paw-like enough and clawed enough that he's at a loss for how to get the knob turned properly.

"Gan-- Out. I need-- I need to run!"

1

[rediscover]

[Anna's gotten a bit more used to cursing in her short time here; she doesn't participate, of course, but it doesn't shock her the way it would have not very long ago. So when she hears a muffled curse from behind her, followed by the mumblings of someone who is clearly confused and brand-new, she turns from where she'd been gathering seashells to see a young man who's clearly just washed up. She trots over on clawed feet, well aware that she's going to look quite strange with green-tinted skin and the tiny spikes emerging from her shoulders and arms, and gives him a smile that's a little sad.]

Just me. Sorry. I don't think I know anyone by those names here...

2: Pamphlets

[lastsonofgilead]

He catches that voice across the room. He's shocked, but he knows he shouldn't be. He'd found Bert on the beach, but it's still a shock. It's another voice he never expected to hear again. Roland makes his way through the people, ignoring the ones still trying to give him pamphlets or get his attention.

"Alain."

It's a half-question, but he knows his ka-brother and seeing him again brings a smile to his face.

Oichi | Pokemon + Nobunaga's Ambition (Pokemon Conquest) | (this double functions as a voice test~)

[roseofransei]

[arrival]

[Well. Wherever this was, it certainly wasn't anywhere familiar or close to home; neither the first, nor the second. It smells like fire and ash and something distinctly like rotten eggs. She isn't sure what to make of it, but it certainly smells like a battlefield.

She'd best be on her guard, although... there didn't seem to be anyone around and she hadn't sustained any serious injuries...?

But where was Nagamasa?]

My lord...?

[She squinted at the lights in the distance and wondered if they were ships. She prayed they weren't will-o'wisps, but silently counted them even so.

(They weren't four, which was some small relief.)

Well! The numbers didn't match, so no use worrying about it. Putting that unpleasant possibility aside, where was her husband? Her daughters?]

[locals]

But I— ah, thank you.

Um... thank you too.

[She really was a fish out of water. A strange land, helpful but too eager natives flooding her with information, making her feel like a small and terribly lost child, so she could do little more than smile and nod, thanking them, while she tried to take in the flood of information.

But, one advantage this situation had over her last was that they came with their advice written down. This was going to be a lot easier to remember! Or so she hoped, until she opened it up, wondering why it was so unexpectedly easy to read, but also what's this about eating humans?!]

E-... eh?!

[Is she reading this wrong?! She'll go through one after the other, then quickly search for someone to please explain, what was this about, is this a strange local prank...?!]

Excuse me? Do these papers really mean what they say...?! I don't mind if I seem simple or ignorant by asking, maybe I am, but please tell me if they're only joking...! [Terribly earnest, if nothing else!]

[wildcard!]

Locals

[reluctantgenius]

Yes I hope these people are joking as well.

[What's this? A familiar face stuck between being tired and exasperated? He holds his arms behind his head, but the abundance of offered gifts, pamphlets, and his missing partner adds probably means he's more peeved than ready to find somewhere to nap.

That would be nice, if this was all a dream Hanbei could wake up from and find himself back in Ransei.]

What a bother.

arrival.

[ufufufufu]

[ Swaying like a leaf directed by angry wind, he wanders. He wanders because there is joy to be found in mindless walking. His eyes roll up when he hears the soft voice of a young woman. He turns his head to look in the direction of the delicately-voiced words. ]

Me? Me? [ Lifting his hand up, he rests it against his chest. Claws lightly dance against his skin as he wonders if she means him. He sways as he turns toward her -- movements shifting to a marionette on strings. ]

I am a lord. Your lord? Doubtful. Very doubtful. Though, though... [ He slumps forward as he peers at her through his hair. ] ... those clothes. Yes, those clothes. They'd look good in red. But that's not the point. All fabric, all skin looks good in such a brilliant color. No, what I mean to say is... that looks close to what I am used to seeing back home.

It does.

9S | Nier: Automata | spoilers will be avoided!

[yandroid]

prompt.one['vandare'] # evening?

[ Where... am I?
I flex my hand, trying to make a fist. As if in response, my fingers twitch.
My motor functions are impaired. Better do something about that.
I try to initiate self-diagnostics, but none of my systems activate.
Something's gone wrong.
I try to navigate to communications, but the feed doesn't open.
Am I... functional?
At my wit's end, I open my mouth and call out.
"Hello?"
"A-anyone, can you hear me?"
...
Nothing.
I am completely, truly alone.

9S opens his eyes and sees, for the first time, an alien world.

he lies there for a few moments, trying (and failing) to take in just what he's seeing. it's... is it earth? no, it can't be. it's dark up there; not like the fading clouds of the amusement park, but actually dark. dark like he's read about on the bunker's data servers.

just where is he...?

he pushes himself up, stumbling to his feet. his systems are inaccessible. he's lost communications with the bunker. he's on a planet he doesn't recognize. so what does that leave him? well... not too much, if he's being honest. but staying here isn't going to do a single thing about it. so he steadies himself on his feet, brushes off his pants, and starts heading inward from the shoreline.

first step: find a weapon. ]

prompt.three['arcade']

[ seek us out, the voices say, and like a moth to flame 9S follows. it's not that he's unaware of the potential dangers - far from it. he's stuck in a fully-organic body with systems he can't even run diagnostics on, much less initiate self-repair routines. his standard-issue combat modules weren't ever as impressive as a type B unit's, and he can't access those; all that's left are the memories and instincts of how to hold the sword in his hand. he's got no backup; an operator isn't going to connect him to necessary intel or modify his hud to alert him of nearby hostiles. and to top it all off, something has managed to interface with his sensory inputs - in this newly "human" body, unconnected to any networks or servers.

no matter how he looks at it, this is a suicide mission. he knows that. but he can't shake this need to reach out, to touch the flame that's dangling just out of reach.

even if it burns him whole.

the voices stop. he finds himself standing in front of an open door: a dimly lit hallway before him, the sounds of electricity and static audible even from this far out. without an ounce of hesitation he steps inside, taking in his surroundings with a tourist's wonder. he reaches out with his free hand, runs it along the wall - smooth, worked stone like concrete. this structure is recent enough to have not eroded. just where is he-

footsteps echo from behind him. even as a scanner unit, he pivots into a fighting stance quickly enough: sword out in front of him, legs spread to balance weight evenly, a slight crouch to lower his center of mass. he hesitates just long enough to confirm a rough humanoid shape, and calls out: ]

This is YoRHa Unit 9S. Requesting immediate identification.

[ and then, after a slight pause, he adds- ]

That means before you get any closer.

prompt.three

[fivebooktrilogy]

[ Fiske startles at the sudden movement--fata's heart, is that a sword? Gaaah. He puts his hands up in a placating gesture and starts stumbling his way through an introduction, trying to be quick, be clear, and not sound too intimidated. It's only sensible to comply before stabbing happens, after all, but he still has some pride. The pride is hard to remember at times like these, but he's making a conscious effort all the same. ]

Ah, I'm uh, Fiske? Fiske Hollis. I-- [ Wait, he's not in the manor anymore. He can't turn this around into "I live here, who are you". Um. How does he finish this sentence. ] --would very much not like to be stabbed.

[ Oh for--Fiske's uneasy smile quickly drops into undisguised irritation. So much for maintaining pride. Apparently he needs to work out a new "nervous and running on automatic" script for himself. ]

3

[peccatore]

[Luckily, Marco didn't intend to step any closer by the time he saw the sword. In fact, he takes a step or two back, holding his hands up.]

M-Marco Evangelisti. Uh... [Just a name isn't really identification, is it? What else can he add that actually means something-- ah.] Priest of the Fourth God.

[Speaking of wanting things to mean something, he's kind of wondering what the heck a YoRHa is. That entire... sequence of words almost sounded like some kind of codename, or... something like that.]

prompt.three

[tsunderoid]

[The arcade is nothing like anything A2 has ever seen before. All the places she's ever wandered in her real life are ruins, wrecked remnants of a world gone long before she ever entered it, and her simulated memories were of the countryside. Most of humanity and their works are an enigma to her. For what use are these boxes and their simulated fights and races? She idly wanders the rows of machines, but something makes her pause.

There's a voice. One she actually recognizes.

She slowly walks out from behind a game cabinet, heels clicking against the floor. She comes to a stop once she's in full view, hands down, stance easy. He's armed and she isn't, after all.

The light from the screens casts an eerie glow over her features. The changes to her body make her feel awkward, unnatural in her own skin. Gone are the processes and augments that made movement graceful and effortless; now each step she takes is careful and deliberate. Who would have ever thought high heels weren't proper combat attire???

She doesn't bother answering him, though. A2 hasn't been one for talking in a very long time. Instead, she just watches him and the sword, waiting for him to make the next move.]

A2 | Nier: Automata - trying to avoid spoilers in tags!

[tsunderoid]

prompt two

[A2 isn't much one for crowds, let alone crowds of pushy people pushily pushing their pamphlets into her palms. She's mostly putting it up with it all out of a rare spasm of social obligation and politeness - these are humans, after all, and isn't it her duty to help them?

Even if it's with something as stupid as humoring this?

She flips through the papers, her eyes narrowing as she works her way through them. Some of them seem educational, but the others...]

What is this crap? Do humans actually believe in this...?

[The worst part is that she doesn't know how true any of this is, or if an elaborate prank is being played on her. What does she know about real human customs and beliefs?

Ugh. What if fur-bearing trout really were real?]

Hey. [She calls out to a seemingly less baffled person nearby.] Is any of this junk for real?

prompt four

[A2 has avoided the cities for the most part, preferring a solitary existence out in the woods, but even she has to return to civilization every once in a while now. The replacement of her original chassis with this new body means she requires much more routine maintenance and upkeep. Food, supplies, shelter, clothes - all these things hadn't been necessary to her before. Gone are the days of living as murder machine hermit, much to her frustration.

So, it's just icing on the cake that today of all days her changes begin.

Alleys are, historically and sanitarily, not the best places to be wracked with horrible physical convulsions, but A2 makes due with what she's got at the moment. If she hadn't thought being organic was a vaguely traumatizing and unpleasant situation to be in before, she'd sure be changing her mind right about now. Why does human flesh have to be so unpleasantly fragile and malleable? She's pretty sure meat and bone were never meant to move this way.

There's really no way around it: having rocks erupt from your skin fucking sucks.

Through the haze of pain and blood that clogs her senses, she manages to make out someone at the mouth of the alleyway. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she yells:]

What are you doing here? Get lost, you idiot! Are you looking for an ass kicking?

Near | Death Note | ota? mostly for app purposes.

[blankpieces]

iv. shade

[Becoming incorporeal hurts a lot more than it rightfully should. And the worst part is that right now he can't control it. This means that instead of being holed up inside the house like he'd meant to be until all this passed, he's outside sitting on a bench.

He'd accidentally stumbled through a wall and then couldn't get back through. Then his hand had passed through the doorknob when trying to re-enter and the whole thing had weirded him out. So instead of using the opportunity to go back in, he'd pulled away instead. With these abilities on the fritz like this, there's no point in risking getting stuck halfway through. That's his excuse, anyway.

So he'll just sit here and focus. If he lets this happen on its own, the chances of him being able to get a better hold of it sooner are much larger.]

[thischaos]

[There's something about being Out in the Open that's ingrained so deeply into him that the sight of Near doing just that raises his hackles. Yeah, he could just walk by, let Near figure it out on his own. And N will; Mello's sure of that much. Still, there's the lingering issue of dwindling resources where it comes to taking care of a mutual enemy.]

[Arms crossed over his chest, a barb-tipped tail flicks behind him. A beat of silence, two before he speaks.]

There are better places than here to figure that out, you know.

[Like inside. Away. He's the picture of rigid even at this distance; there's a good twenty feet between where Mello had decided stopping wasn't necessarily the worst thing he could do and N.]

Garry | Ib

[jemesouviens]

two.

[Down the streets of Vandare lays a man standing firmly on the sidewalk, a pamphlet in his hand seemingly interrogating a young looking human girl with an armful of them, looking as though he must have been threatening her or something to that extent. She's standing with her back almost pressed against a building while the man holds a hand on his hip and the pamphlet out towards her, a stern look that a father would give to his teenage daughter after catching her past curfew set on his face and the front of the pamphlet can be read pretty clearly if you're close enough.

"Substitutes for human flesh!"]

Eating humans?! Now, what would give you such a ridiculous-- w-wait, wait!

[During his chaste yelling, he took a step forward and the girl had let out a small yell -- dropping all of her pamphlets as she tried to shield herself with her arms. Her sudden defensive stance has Garry moving back a step or two, looking incredulously at her before dropping his gaze back down to the pamphlet in his hand.

Eating human flesh...]

Now, now.. d-don't look so frightened. I wouldn't hurt a fly!

[It's hopeless Garry... she's running as quick as she can now that he's moved back and given her some room. Leaving a very confused and slightly perturbed man with a pile of pamphlets scattered at his feet.]

three.

[Before Garry knew it... he had somehow walked all the way to a quaint looking town in the middle of.. nowhere, probably. His feet hurt, his back hurt, his hips hurt.. man, he felt old. Only in his twenties and already worn out from a little bit-- well, alright. He'd been walking for hours, that's probably not anything to actually sneeze at.

Either way, he was here now wherever "here" was. And a nagging voice in the back of his mind that kept telling him to "Seek Me Out" was gone now that he was here, leaving the question of "who" was to be sought. He was going to ask a nearby villager but they looked.. busy. Dancing around a fire, singing praise of a "God" of some kind.. instead, he goes for someone who looks perhaps as lost as he did. Or anyone who wasn't dancing around a fire, at least.]

Excuse me. You haven't happened to have....

[Garry trails off for a moment, before giving his head a small shake and offering an apologetic smile.]

Ah, no. Never mind.

[Now that he thinks about it.. asking a stranger about a voice in his head sounds quite weird, doesn't it?]

wildcard: ANYTHING U WANT FOLLOW UR DREAMS

Walter Sullivan | Silent Hill 4

[11121_assumption]

[ SCENARIO ONE ]

On the beach is a man with blonde hair and a lon, blue raincoat. Walter slowly roused, pushing himself onto his hands and knees before realising just how wrong everything was.

He felt sick. He felt cold and wet. He could feel the sting of little cuts and the dull ache of forming bruises. But he was dead. He had been dead for ten years. He had been waiting, waiting for the Receiver of Wisdom with the Mother Reborn and banging on the door, begging his Mom to let him in. He had tried to kill Eileen but he had stopped himself because she was kind, but that was why he had to kill her-

He retched, bringing up nothing from his empty stomach. His head throbbed as he tried to make sense of it. This wasn't Ashfield. It wasn't Pleasant River or Silent Hill. He had no idea where he was but he could feel. And his heart was beating.

[ SCENARIO TWO ]

He wasn't sure where to go. His instincts told him to find somewhere with shelter. A subway. They had maps, he could find out where he was and he wouldn't be at risk of getting rained on. As he walked he stared steadily at the ground, hands in his pockets. But then people started approaching him.

People had never approached him with good intentions before. An older woman, grey roots emerging from her dyed brown hair, pushed a handful of phamplets into his hands and hurried off. As he began to flip through them, he doesn't seem...too freaked out by what was written in them. Only confused. He stood out of the way, leaning against a wall and reading though them.