graveyardsmash | TEST DRIVE MEME: MAY/JUNE

[A. NO MUSHROOMS]

[Waking with a start, Dr. Robotnik coughs sand out onto the beach. His flight suit is in tatters, everything hurts, and the last thing he remembers is that ridiculous alien destroying his prototype and knocking him into a portal to somewhere. This must be it.

He pushes his goggles up to his forehead (at least they kept the water out of his eyes) and carefully gets to his feet. The prototype's nowhere to be found, not even the pieces, but this doesn't look like the glimpse he got of the new planet before he blacked out.

Further research is required.

No resources, no robots, no idea of where he is and where he's going. Psh, he'll figure it out. The lights in the distance are his best bet of finding civilization, so that's the direction he starts... and then he realizes he isn't alone.]

[B. NO PAMPHLETS]

No, I already have that one.

[He insistently pushes the "fur-bearing trout" pamphlet back to the well-meaning person trying to foist it upon him... who keeps trying and he keeps pushing.]

I told you, I already have it!

[This man looks like he's about to throw hands with a hapless villager please intervene.]

[C. ROBOT MAN]

[So, he's been here a while, found himself frustrated with the level of technology, built what he could out of scrap metal, et cetera et cetera, and eventually the promised fog rolled in.

He's still not particularly worried. Surely he can figure out how to counteract the changes, right? He just needs to see what's happening. So instead of holing up somewhere until he can assess the damage, he's out and about, mostly window shopping.

Finding an arm a little stiff and a little sore, he stretches it out, and that's when he notices a strange hard white patch on his hand. He brings the hand up to his face to get a better look as the white patch slowly overtakes the rest of his hand. Reminiscent of his babies, actually. Fascinating.

There's no screams of horror, no gasps of fear, except from any locals noticing the slow-going transformation. Only a smug smirk as the man flexes now-artificial fingers.]

I can work with this.

[D. WILDCARD]

[HEY AGAIN EVERYBODY IT'S ME KAZ I'M BACK TO DWRP. if you wanna do something else, bring your own prompt, or hit me up via pm or at

agentkaz.]

ONE
[Waking up coughing up a lungful of water isn't a pleasant experience, to be honest. It's only made worse by being stuck in her school uniform and being absolutely, undeniably drenched in frigid saltwater. The sand is no reprieve from the awful either and as Mina sits up she tries to spit it out. She doesn't really have much luck and winds up just making more of a commotion than she does having luck getting the sand out of her mouth.

Eventually she reaches up to pull a long strand of seaweed hanging off of one shoulder.]

Ugggghhhh!! Where am I?! Where is everyone!? This really really REALLY sucks!!! [She shouts at the air, hands curled into frustrated fists at her sides. It isn't until she's done yelling her frustrations into the air that she notices she's not alone on the beach, and she sheepishly grins over at them sheepishly.]

Woah, hey! How long have you been here?

[Either she's talking to you, or... if she's not they don't look that friendly, as they reach for the shotgun over as they stare her down without returning her greeting. In the case of the latter, she really might need a little help.]

TWO
[Who's going to look a gift horse in the mouth, really? Still damp and honestly really upset about missing a very critical (to her) part of her anatomy, Mina sure isn't going to say no to gifts and pamphlets from seemingly well-intentioned strangers! It's just a LITTLE weird they seem to be kind of obsessed with what kind of diet she has. That's just silly!!

But with arms full of gifts and reading that, honestly weirds her out the more she looks at it, she's not really paying that close attention to where she's going. Hopefully whoever she literally walks into isn't carrying anything too priceless. Mina goes down like a sack of potatoes, flyers and bribes tumbling to the ground as she yelps in surprise, her already damp clothes just getting dirtier when her rear collides with the ground.]

Owwww, that really smarts... [She whines for a minute, eyes clamped shut as she rubs at the small of her back. She's still on the ground when she cracks open one strangley inky black-and-gold eye to peek at who she ran into. Hopefully they're not too mad!]

WILDCARD
[Want to tag but neither of these work for you? Hit me with something of your own! if you want to plot something toss me a PP at

radiantly!]

A. sᴇᴀsᴏɴs ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴀʟʟʟ

( When Will Graham regains his consciousness, he's lying belly-down on wet sand. The tide is low, or lowering, the water barely brushing against his ankles as the waves come and go, their crashing a familiar lull to buzzing ears and a splitting, aching head.

When Will Graham regains his consciousness, there is a distinct absence of a weight and extra pair of arms encircling him and that registers in his mind sooner than the cough that punches through his lungs or the water that rises up his throat to mesh with the metallic taste of blood - His, the Dragon's and his own -, sooner even than the prickling of salt against the gash on his face, on his eyelashes, sooner even than the pain that flares through his beaten body in a grave reminder of a fall he should not have survived.

The agony that courses through him stands firstly at an emotional level and even when he gasps, not unlike a fish out of water, what is permitted of his voice attempts a jumbled, scattered thing: a word, no, a name, a name whose face he procures halfway through rubbing at the salt and sand on his face, his every nerve screaming at him to halt though he can only manage to do so once he sees how empty his immediate vicinity is.

Though he aches all over, the haunting look on his face should be enough to tell any approaching onlooker that what pains him goes far, far deeper.

Will stands with a bit of a wobble and his entire body seems forein to him. He is bloodied still, but no longer bleeding. Nonetheless, one can surmise that whatever force landed him here must have pulled him right out of a fight; they wouldn't be wrong, either - but Will won't know the first thing about that, or about new worlds. In his perception, the last thing he recalls is pushing himself and Hannibal Lecter off a cliff in a plunge towards the Atlantic.

There are lights in the distance, but also people - or at least he thinks they're people. Wary but also worn-out, he decides they're his best chance at figuring out where he is and, hopefully, why he isn't dead.

Whoever you are, he will approach with caution, but be advised: so should you. )

B. ᴀ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ʀᴇᴅ sᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ sᴜɴ ʀᴜsʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ᴠᴇɪɴs

( You're new! and My goodness are you hurt? are the two most spoken phrases filling Will's still-aching head. Though offered a couple of blankets to dry himself off within what was reasonably possible and even some fresh water to both drink and wipe away the majority of his blood-soaked face and hands, it doesn't take long until some of the locals are babbling on about monsters and changes and something or another about human flesh.

One of the men - wide-eyed with thin lips and a stubble, eerily similar to one doctor Frederick Chilton - pleads for him to listen, insistent to a degree that grates at a particular nerve at the very back of Will's skull and he has half a mind to pull his pocket knife on him before he even realises it's gone. Great. The perfect start to whatever bullshit situation he's found himself in: utterly alone, in a small crowd of strangers and devoid of even the smallest comfort in the shape of a blade should it occur to one of these people that he's probably already on the FBI's most wanted list.

Comfort is a strange thing to rationalize when you wake up on an unknown beach on the edge of a city you've never heard of and more so when you're accosted by half a dozen anachronisms of people trying to shove papers in your face while all you're worried about is the fact that one of you is missing or - God forbid - dead. )

Out of my face, ( he mumbles in an almost-slurred tone,) Get off-- ( he adds, shoving past the man and some others with marked disdain. Will is tired, he is sore and he is aching so when there's a "hey!" somewhere, a thing or two about manners and already some man screaming after him, he doesn't even turn back. One of the two is a reckless idiot, no doubt.

Will you help him before one of the locals has the chance to throw a fist at him, or will you stand back and watch? )

C. ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ

( want to do the monster mash? maybe these prompts don't suffice. fear not, there's a wildcard option just for that. feel free to hit me up with your own prompt, DM or PP me at

floralshoppe. for the sake of this TDM, should it come up on a thread, Will Graham will change into a vampire. )

Edited 2020-05-08 14:36 (UTC)

a — arrival

[ On the upside, he isn't dead. On the downside, his suit's absolutely ruined, he's soaking wet, and he has no idea where the fuck he is. It's not Gotham. It's the humidity in the air as much as the absence of the ever present stench that tells him so. But if not Gotham, where is he?

Roman distinctly recalls the abject fear of realizing that that little thieving brat put a grenade on him. He remembers that bitch Harley chucking him off the pier. But after that it's mostly nothing. Did he hit his head? Did he wash up somewhere south? Somewhere really south?

With every step he takes, his waterlogged shoes make an obnoxious squelching noise. He's cold. His sodden shirt collar is chafing the back of his neck. Christ, he can't stand it.

Roman stops at the next person he sees. ]

Hey. Excuse me. You know where I can get some dry clothes?

b — coping mechanisms

[ It sounds like a joke at first. Turning into a monster. Killing and eating people. Not that killing people bothers him. Roman's killed a lot of people. He's not exactly sold on eating them, that sounds gross, but he's willing to keep an open mind. He eats animal meat. Maybe people taste like chicken and he won't even notice the difference.

No, it's the turning into a monster part. Something hairy or slimy or just plain disgusting looking. The thought of being some filthy, misshapen creature makes his skin crawl.

Which is how he ends up here, sitting at a bar in the city. He's got enough money in his pocket—taken from some loud-mouthed cretin he'd knifed in an alley two days ago—to keep the drinks coming for a long time. And he's been at it for a few hours. Thoughts of home and the people he's left behind are obscured behind an alcohol-induced haze.

When the bartender slides a new glass of whiskey his way, Roman turns to the person sitting next to him and lifts it in a toast. ]

What a fucking place, huh? Ryslig. Full of monsters. Where I come from, all we have is a Batman.

c — wildcard

[ want to do something else? just throw me a starter. i'll roll with anything. ]

a) meeting the locals

No! I don't need more help! And I don't want your help! Most of all, I don't need to read this garbage!

[ He had been washed ashore near the village of Rota carrying nothing but his clothes, stripped of his trusted weapons Sandu and Zidian... and most painfully of all, stripped once more of his cultivation powers. There is nothing that Jiang Cheng wants to do less in this foreign place he has ended up in than socialize and play nice with strangers when he isn't even one to do so under better circumstances.

Yet there is a certain need for it, he does need shelter and food and even if he distrusts how helpful people are, and even if it wounds his pride to accept handouts, this is his second time in life stripped off his powers, rank, and home. He knows that survival has to come before all else.

So he accepts the help, reluctantly and with little grace, a storm cloud carrying him through his days as he pokes around and listens to the ever so helpful villagers of Rota. But he can always be seen grumbling and sneering, or as right now, angrily wagging the pamphlets in front of the man's face who has been thrusting all kinds of pamphlets and booklets about monsters at him. He doesn't mind learning but these things are ridiculous. ]

I have been hunting monsters all my life, I have led a sect hunting down such creatures since my youth! I don't need to read about meditative preening techniques for harpies!

b) lager woods

[ Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin, is a cultivator. Hunting monsters and dealing with supernatural dangers is his life. ~~He is trying very hard to ignore that he is now turning into a monster himself, and hunting down prey is exactly in a gargoyle's nature.~~

Of course he would choose to go on a night hunt as soon as the opportunity arises, it is something familiar in a place where even his own changing body soon won't be familiar anymore. Clutching a sword he had bought in town, he walks ever deeper into the Lager Woods... actively searching out the fog he had been warned of.

He finds it very quickly and soon after, realizes he may have made a mistake. There are familiar faces in the fog - people who are dead or are so changed that the bizarre nightmare versions of them haunting him hold little comparison to the people left behind. Paranoia and fear are creeping ever higher, leaving him jumping at every flicker of movement in the corner of his eyes and every noise.

There is a crack somewhere behind him and he whirls around, sword raised high, his eyes wide, breath coming in harsh gasps. ]

Come out! Show yourself or do you want me to hunt you down?

c) a monstrous time

[ When he comes back to himself, there is blood on his lizard-like claws and the mangled corpse laying in front of him is barely recognizable as something that had once been human. Jiang Cheng makes a wounded, keening noise and runs, he runs from that grimy backstreet, runs until his legs tire and he has become hopelessly lost.

In another dark alley, he sinks down, pressing himself into a corner, his large scaly gargoyle wings protectively wrapped around him as if they could shield him from the world. He is trembling and he knows he looks a fright, splattered all over with blood and what else. He must have caught so many eyes running through town in such a state, no hiding what has happened.

Behind the shield of his wings, he rocks back and forth, back and forth. He had thought he had it under control. He hunts monsters, he doesn't become one. He should have been able to control it, should have been able to control himself even when the change happened...

But he hadn't. And so he cries and wishes someone would come and hunt him like the monster he is. ]

d) wildcard

[ Gargoyle. Post-canon canonpoint. Find me on

cynicalharlequin if you'd like to plot ]

Edited 2020-05-08 17:38 (UTC)

a

[Fenris wakes with a violent start, the claws of his gauntlet digging into the sand beneath him as he pushes himself up before even realizing where he is. He grunts as his body registers pain, even his markings are sore right now. He only makes it to one knee before he can hear a loud click. His gaze snaps up in time to be staring into the barrel of a weapon.

Not one he's ever seen before, but it doesn't take a genius to figure this one out. One of his hands slowly reach behind him and for the first time he realizes he's considerably lighter. No sword. Great.

His lips pull back into the beginnings of a snarl, and though he doesn't move another inch, with the way his shoulders tighten and his arms bend, it's obvious he's getting ready to defend himself.

Maybe someone should stop him before he does a violent dumb.]

b

[Once the anger subsides (or returns just beneath the surface, more like) all that's left is this numbed haze. He ends up with a couple of pamphlets shoved into his hands, not much an opportunity to turn them down, his reaction time being slower as he effectively shuts down for a while.

At some point, weighed down by the sheer emotional energy he's exerting by his existence alone, he sits on a bench somewhere and idly stares at one of his pamphlets. All this talk about these things "helping", but—

Another attempts to shove a pamphlet at his seated form, but this time Fenris summons the frustrated energy to smack their hands away with a growl.]

I can't read.

[GO!! AWAY!!

Alternatively, once out of his emotional coma, he'll finally start making an attempt at understanding what some of these things say, which leads to him just squinting and trying to sound out words to himself. He's doing this somewhere more private, but it's not impossible to stumble upon this aggravated elf trying to make sense of any of this.]

c

[It started off as a headache. Or what felt like one. He just ignored it and kept going about his day. Then the pain grew more intense, to the point where it felt like his head was going to explode. Eventually he rushes into the bathroom of whatever establishment he was checking out and hunches over a sink, squinting at himself in the mirror.

There are two protrusions growing out of his forehead, small, dark...but he can't quite tell what they're supposed to be. Not until something clicks, followed by more pain, and said protrusions forcing their way out more and more. His blood runs cold, ice grips at his insides—

—he's growing horns.]

No. [A refusal, as if that singular word will stop the changes from occurring. He's not a monster. He's not a monster.

Except, he supposes he is now.

His gauntlet immediately makes contact with the mirror, shattering it into pieces. Someone is having trouble coming to terms with the whole 'monster' thing.]

wildcard

[canon point; worst possible ending where Fenris is returned to his master. Feel free to hit me up at

nickacked for plotting or questions or anything!]

A: She's baaaaack! (CW: Monster Feeding)

[ A mop of green hair has washed up on the shores of Vandare. Now, it would make perfect sense for some paranoid local to try to bring a gun and aim it at the drenched... Woman? Or maybe it's seaweed or something? It's incredibly hard to tell in this light, but the local lets their guard down.

Big Mistake.

As soon as the local's back is turned, the green manticore rises from her hiding spot and tackles the local to the ground. The local screams, the manticore stabs him with her tail and flies off with his incapacitated body.

... Well. If you need to ask her what the hell that was all about, you'll find her on a nearby roof looting the body of her meal. It's been a while since she last hunted, give a girl a break! ]

B: DEMENCIA TIPS!

[ It doesn't take an evil genius to realize a lot of time has passed since anyone last saw her. But who cares? Demencia is back to terrorize Ryslig and she's starting her reign of terror in Bavan.

So some especially lucky newbie is going to be accosted by a feline neon nightmare. ]

You got some of those pamphlets from the locals, huh? [ She scoffs. ] Who needs to read junk written by people who don't know what they're talking about...

... When you can read this! [ She shoves a pamphlet of her own design in your hands. It's written on printer paper. In crayon. With doodle illustrations. ] From someone who's actually been chosen by the monster life!

[ ... It's true, this pamphlet is pretty accurate about how long and painful transformations can be... But it's also encouraging the reader to not hold back on eating people when they get the hunger. Hm. ]

C: In an alternate universe where she experienced the monster swap.

[ Demencia's fully transformed. She wasn't expecting to transform more, except maybe into some cool mega-monster during the fog. She also wasn't expecting any huge explosions that change every monster into either a different monster or a temporary human.

Luckily for her, she got to skip the boring human bit and become the horrible lizard person she is inside! (It's a long story, don't think about it.)

And being a full on lizard is great! Except for one thing. See, Demencia is used to being able to thrive day or night without consequence, so the whole "turning into a statue in sunlight" thing hadn't even occurred to her until she stepped out of the house this morning. Now there's a petrified statue blocking the doorway. And the sidewalk.

What do you do? ]

WILDCARD!
[ Hey folks, it's Nyanka! I told ya'll I'd be back to party, didn't I? Hit me up at

Nyanka if you wanna plot out something different. ]

i. wake me up inside

[There's the sound of hunters in her ears one moment, laughing like hyenas at her expense — at the expense of all of them. And then it's all fangs and fear and a blip and the sound of waves replaces the sound of her own skull being a bit the wrong shape.]

[Foam hits her in the mouth. She spits, coughs, spits again, brine dribbling from her lips. There's a bit of blood in it. She looks at the ocean as though it's personally wronged her, and it responds by hitting her in the face again.]

Shit godforsaken motherfucking hell bastard Beholding— Basira! [She cries out like an animal already, teeth bared in something between fury and fear. The sound echoes down the beach. Basira isn't here.]

[Okay.]

[It's at this inopportune moment that the cold steel of a shotgun presses against the back of her skull. The moonlight casts a faint shadow in front of her, outlining the person who's drawn a weapon on her — inconsiderate, and frankly stupid — a tall individual, thinner than average, and that's all she can tell from here. The gun, she can feel, has a long barrel. Which is good.]

[Any onlooker might take this moment to a) intervene — or b) wait a moment. Because Daisy only spends a few ponderous seconds staring into the middle distance before a burst of speed and rage push her through the following maneuver: grab barrel, jam upwards, bang butt into jaw, yank barrel, twist, stand up, lift shotgun, hit stranger until stranger falls down on the sand, and then keep. on. hitting. Eyes wide, grip white-knuckled. No sign of stopping.]

ii. beep ba doop

Should've known better than to listen.

[This place gives her the creeps, and she doesn't even have to say it. She stalks the edges of the arcade, trying to avoid making direct eye contact with the robots zipping around. On an ancient radio, a 2017 episode of The Archers is playing. She tries to ignore that, too.]

[There's got to be a way out of here, and she knows that. She's got to follow logic, decent logic — do as Basira would do and anchor herself to something, use it to find her way out. The trouble is what that anchor might be in a place like this, which is so uncanny it reeks, making the blood rush in her ears somewhere close to but not quite panic.]

[In the process of logicking, she stumbles into the back room full of . . . it takes her a minute. It does, it really does. And then some of the robots roll in to clean up a pool of coagulating blood in the corner, and she blinks, pulling herself up by her tightened shoulders.]

Christ, is it — it's a monster minifridge. [Her grip on the holocard in her hand is so tight she's close to snapping it in half.]

iii. monster mash pun #2849374

[Daisy's a bit of a sight right now. Sitting on a park bench in the middle of the night like the sun's shining down on her head, which is covered in . . . it's hard to tell until you look closely. It's very dark and quickly drying, matted in her thick hair so it looks like a very form-fitting dark lace hat. But it's blood, of course, covering from the base of the fledgling antlers poking out of the top of her head down past the crown of her head.]

[What's odder is that she doesn't seem to notice, or at least doesn't care. Her fingers are covered in blood, this even dryer than that on her head and almost certainly from a different source; her mouth, too, has blood in the corners, but her teeth are bright and white and new. Upper and lower canines long and sharp, locking together like a—]

Like a beast. [Murmured. She's looking at herself in a hand mirror, another odd touch for someone who gives off absolutely zero air of vanity on an average day. Looking at herself and touching her fangs, totally unaware of her surroundings, as though she's in some kind of trance. And a final piece: she's absolutely pouring sweat.]

Th' Hunter. [Yeah. She still doesn't notice you.]

iv. wildcard

[Hit me with anything that strikes! PM if you want to discuss a specific starter or anything along those lines. Also, Daisy is from TMA episode 158, so if you would like me to avoid spoilers up to a certain point let me know and I'm happy to do so.]

「ONE」

[ a sudden awareness of cold and wet and humidity makes for an extremely rude awakening. waking up in the surf is like number two on the actual nightmare scenario list, just under waking up actually in the water. if traejan's lucky, no one saw the uncoordinated scramble to crab-walk beyond the reach of the tide because apparently he'll feel better if the water's not touching him directly anymore. if he's unlucky.. well. fuck it. he's going to lay here a little longer and catch his breath.

which.. is weird because breathing is strictly optional. or it's supposed to be. just a thing to do for the effect so people aren't uncomfortable. cold is also a thing he shouldn't be experiencing. ]

Is this shivering?!

[ he sounds completely disgusted. and yeah, it is. not strictly from the cold but more likely some cocktail of cold, adrenaline, and whatever else has happened to him.

traejan sits up suddenly, wincing because in the shuffle he's managed to sit on a chunk of his own hair. pulling it free, he tugs a good half of the high ponytail it's tied up in over his shoulder to examine it and seems relieved that it's still blue, at least. his left arm is still entirely mechanised as well although it seems like the weaponised functions are jammed for some reason. in any case, at least he can scratch 'spontaneously time traveled to an earlier self' off the list of possible theories.

he doesn't think to try feeling for his own pulse until after the fact. the strong, steady rhythm is what one would think should've made him feel more calm but instead generates an expression of pure disgust. he's alive. himself but also not himself. a bit more feeling around confirms that he's kept his long, pointed ears as well. which is good because the jewellery he's wearing probably would have gone with them and those pieces are expensive.

well, he's unlikely to figure anything out sitting on the beach and this is one of those problems that requires more data.

start at the beginning, with what he already knows: what's certain is that he's definitely not where he ought to be. traejan supposes this is the sort of thing that's bound to happen when you mess around with wormholes. he's never had an issue before but—.. law of averages. alright. he wasn't even trying to test it, that would have been next week. and he would've been properly dressed for that and armed! instead, he's dressed for his workshop although it seems all his tools are missing and his pockets are empty, so even more simply he's just an asshole in a pointless tool belt now. oh, his goggles are still intact and looped around his neck, but he'd bet money on them not doing anything more than providing eye protection, ~~so no head-guns :(~~.

he also is in possession of a pulse and lacking magic of any kind, which is completely out of order.

it's an odd feeling being completely alone and with no magic at his disposal to rectify it, alone he will apparently stay. at least in terms of things he directly has control over. no constructs means he feels half blind, so while the scent of gunpowder in the air might ordinarily be cause for excitement at best now he's just cranky and paranoid. someone's bound to notice a very tall elf wandering in the direction of the lights in the distance sooner or later.. ]

「TWO」

[ traejan has never turned down a freebie. spending your own money feels amazing but spending someone else's feels even better. so at the very least he's alleviated the first of his major issues which is that there was nothing to drink.

which is why he's now sitting with his wonderful benefactors with a rather large glass of wine. he's not even sure if what he's drinking is good or not — having no idea what passes for good wine in ryslig — but as all wine seems to universally contain alcohol that's about the only point that matters.

traejan is taking his time thumbing through a pamphlet detailing what passes for a demon around here. he's seated at the corner of the bar, although the way he's turned and seated on his stool so he's facing the rest of the room and leaning with his elbow on the bar itself means those sitting with him have left open spaces on either side of him. the way he seems to sprawl out would have him infringing terribly on the personal space of anyone seated in those places. one man has even pulled up an entirely separate chair, nursing a beer while traejan reads over the pages. ]

Hmm. Eating souls sounds like it'd be completely unsatisfying..

[ he sips his freeloader wine, glancing up after a moment or two when he feels the shocked stares of the natives on him. ]

What? It would be, wouldn't it? I've seen souls. They're all wispy and light. How are you supposed to eat light?

[ it doesn't seem like any of the locals have a good answer for that even if they know exactly how something eats a soul. maybe they're intimately acquainted with that as a concept. still, no one's saying a word. a decent opportunity for someone a bit more bold to get a word in, perhaps. otherwise, he's going to move right along to the next thing in the pile he was given. surely something here has to qualify as undead.. ]

「THREE」

(cw: centipede-related details)

[ the changes catch him when he's outdoors, which is honestly for the best. a restlessness had come over him and he'd done what he would habitually whenever a feeling like that would set in. always better to be out and away for these kinds of things. that serves him extremely well now as what had transpired is the sort of thing better undertaken outside. the fact that he's alone and in a field is just a matter of circumstance.

partly in a field, anyway. anyone travelling down this particular stretch of road would see half a person just laying out in the grass. the long, pointy ears and quite a lot of very long hair might add to the strangeness depending on the person. it's difficult to see what's become of the rest of him, seeing as there's quite a bit of tall grass obscuring the other half of his body, but he seems alive at the very least.

the footsteps of someone moving closer seems to rouse him and while he doesn't stand he at least shifts into a more comfortable position. and tries to smooth out some of his hair. it's important. ]

I'm sure you're wondering what I'm doing here.

[ because.. anyone would be interested to know. obviously? ]

「WILDCARD」

[ ooc: if these aren't very good and you wanna do something specific, hmu! ]

Edited 2020-05-08 20:48 (UTC)

A) One

[Chihiro had remembered very little, upon first waking up on the beach. Half in, half out of the water, frigid to the bone and vaugely aware of sand beneath his face...

It's enough to cause him to startle with a sharp intake of breath, being...outside. He forces himself to sit up no matter how hard it is to do, limbs heavy and waterlogged with his head aching and swimming with muddled thoughts and confusion over what had happened to him.

Then, it comes back. It all comes back.

He's not sure how long he sits there with his hands folded anxiously over his knees, terrified to reach up to feel any other part of him just yet. He shouldn't...be here, should he? He'd been back there, with Owada-kun...and being thrust into some strange limbo would at least explain how he managed to get outside.

No...he can't just sit here overwhelmed. He can't let himself be that person anymore, the one who would sit huddled and cry until the storm passed. He has to at least figure out what's happened.

Chihiro pushes himself to shaking legs, only to find that he's not yet adjusted to having recovered from what should have been his demise. With a startled sound, he falls forward again in the sand as his knees buckle.]

Wah- ah!

[Or maybe someone was near enough to see what was about to happen, and catch him before he ate even more sand. OR, even worse, he just careened into you, potential oldbie or fellow newcomer.

Sorry about that.]

B) Three

This laptop...it's so. Mm.

[Chihiro whispers softly to himself as he sits in an unoccupied corner of the Fourth's arcade. He'd been here for some time, having heard that same voice that everyone else who winds up here does, but instead of finding himself distracted by all the bells and whistles inside...it's the laptop in it's overt primitive nature that has caught Chihiro's attention. He'd managed to find someplace on the floor he could sit, carefully pushing his skirts aside so he can actually balance the laptop on his knees.

It's without a doubt the oldest operating system, if one could call it that, that he's ever encountered. Maybe he should be more worried about everything else, but this building is like. Honestly one of the safer places Chihiro has been to, so. And there's just something about this...]

Ah- oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I'm....I'm not in your way...am I?

[Said to you, who happened to be passing near where he's situated himself.]

C) Four | Simulacrum

[The changes had been extremely difficult for Chihiro to deal with. He'd been expecting a whole host of horrors, from fur exploding across his body to claws, to antlers or horns or the dreaded thirst for flesh.

Instead? Well, literally all of his hair fell out. That was the first thing, and it was less painful so much as it was really, really alarming and scary. Fortunately it had been quickly replaced with not hair, but a synthetic sort of rubber with the texture of soft suede...a similar blonde to before, but a bit more vibrant. Obviously fake in that sort of way. Other, much more painful additions quickly followed. His limbs outright breaking away to be exchanged for metallic ball joints of bright silver in some places and fragile ceramic in others. A voice box that made him sound completely inhuman, more machine than anything else. Cords winding visibly up his neck and parts where old ligaments used to be, and a hollow indention in his chest for a screen almost like a laptop imprinted onto his body, constantly displaying information about his current status.

About that ceramic, though...today's been particularly rough since Chihiro needed to head into Bavan for something, and though most locals don't perceive him as a threat, that also means he's often overlooked entirely. It's easy for someone to accidentally (or not) bump into him on the way into a building, and this particular instance caused him to bump a little too hard into a brick wall. He watches, distressed as his entire left hand breaks from the ceramic of his forearm after the impact, causing him to drop his shopping- and...his hand- to the sidewalk, the telltale sound of cutlery shattering causing many people walking by to take notice.]

[OOC: HEY IT'S CHI, I haven't played Chihiro in a couple years so please pardon the rust. I just wanted to toss him up for fun!]

[A: Definitely not where he thought this was going.]

[All of the gentle light around him suddenly goes out.

He awakens soaked to the skin, sand and grit working its way into his clothing. For all his age, for all his weakness and heartbreak, certain habits have never died in him, and Jean Valjean's eyes snap open wide.

In an instant, he has all of his senses back.

He smells gunpowder. He is out in the open, and it is not safe. The instinct to live, one he has not felt in some weeks, stirs and tells Jean Valjean to move; hide; find cover. Yet that instinct is as weak and as atrophied as his formerly tremendous strength, and Valjean is very, very tired.

He takes a handful of sand and lets it slide out between his fingers, pressing the last of the grit in hard. Is he dead? He does not feel dead. This is not the death he felt he had finally been allowed. He does not want to be here. His old heart rejects this new mystery, this new task he has been set to: whatever it is, he wants no part of it. Enough!

So, when he hears the click of a gun-barrel behind him, and turns to see an armed local, all he he can muster is mild surprise.]

Well, then!

[B: In which walking at night in Ryslig is a great idea. A great idea, okay.]

[Having made it into down, the traveler cannot help being struck by how dissimilar this adventure is to another one, a lifetime ago, when he entered a town and was greeted by fear. Then, all doors had been shut in his face, for he was reviled as well as powerless. Here, he's being treated like a tyrant come to visit cowed subjects. The fear is the same, but the power is different, and it makes him feel not only wrong, but awkward. The ones who regard him with fear and suspicion are better, he thinks. They keep their distance. They have the right of it.

About the only thing he'll accept is information; he will take the pamphlets, and once it's dark, a white-haired, bent old man can be seen pacing through the town, his coat-pocket full of informative literature, looking for a hole to hole up in until daylight comes and he can actually read through these.

The people in this town seem to believe he will turn into a monster and therefore must know all about it as quickly as possible.]

[C: Monster stuff! cw: cannibalism]

[Just outside of a ring of lamplight is a grisly sight--no pun intended. A big, hulking brute of a creature is hunched over a smaller, prone one, in an attitude all too familiar to the residents of the peninsula. There are muffled wet, tearing sounds.

Approach, and a fearsome head, white-furred and red-streaked, will whirl around to look at you, its tapetum lucidum twin pinpricks of yellow in the dark. Blunt bear claws dig into the cobblestones, and a snarl issues from its half-human mouth, which bares to reveal gore-streaked, ursine teeth.

Looks like someone left it pretty late.]

[D: Wildcard, if you've got something else in mind.]

001. I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE

( Waking up sort of feels like the aftermath of being hit by a truck -- something Slade has firsthand experience with. He sits up slowly, coughs, holds his head, grimaces at the way sand and mud threaten to keep him in place. That's at least three washes right there. )

Wintergreen, status.

( He speaks it out into the empty air, an instinct. With no response, he checks his ear to find no communication device there. What's worse? He looks down to see he's in civilian clothes. No suit. No combat knives. No pistols. No katana, no longsword. No Deathstroke.

For a moment, he closes his eye and lets his head fall back against the sand. Naked. Basically naked. Being taking away by the current is shaping up be a better option than facing what this day has in store for him.

It's here that he rests, annoyance barely stifled, when footsteps approach. Wintergreen, it has to be. Maybe Rose? Someone who's going to explain this to him. )

It's about time—

( A gun cocks and he opens his eye to see it's barrel. Angry townie? Scared townie? Definitely not one of Slade's normal opponents. His head hits the sand again. )

You don't want to do that. ( It's not like he needs his weapons to kill someone. But he likes them. ) Think carefully about your next move, buddy.

002. BUT BEFORE THE NIGHT IS THROUGH

( Offerings of food and shelter are accepted without a second thought. And if the people want to hand over their jewelry, who is Slade to say no?

He has to draw the line at first born children, though.

He ends up posted in a home offered to him by a trembling woman and her two kids. It's not the wisest move, inviting who you believe to be a monster into your home, but Slade's not here to pass judgements. What is this monster bullshit, anyway? He's just here to rest, steal, figure out what's going on, and maybe eat a child along the way. Not necessarily in that order, and he's only kidding about one of those things.

He takes a seat on the bed in the overly spacious room and only gets halfway though one of the less helpful pamphlets when he notices he's not alone in there. This woman had invited another. )

They got you, too, huh? ( He shakes an issue of 'Bunnyipyips!' ) A fellow monster, or whatever they're going on about?

003. I WANNA DO BAD THINGS WITH YOU

( It's fair to say Slade didn't take anything this town threw at him too seriously. He's been called a monster before. Then, it was a figure of speech, an insult.

Now, he has claws where his nails should be that won't file down no matter how much he trims at them.

This vampire shit, it's a bad joke.

Killing people is one thing; he's done that more times than he can count. But blood? That's on par with the loons of Gotham, maybe worse. Joker might torture people, but he doesn't eat them. At least not to Slade's knowledge.

These cravings make him worse than the Joker. It's a new low.

He's not particularly vain, but being unable to see his reflection is another drag. Marks at the side of his neck, he can feel them but isn't able to see. Pale skin, sallow cheeks, the change in eye color from blue to whatever shade of red this is, he can't see any of it.

It's going to bother him until he knows.

Catch him late at night on a park bench, or maybe sitting on the ground, staring off into the distance. When someone happens by, he calls out: )

On a scale of one to ten, how fucking awful do I look? It's fine. You won't hurt my feelings.

004. WILDCARD

( Send over whatever! DM or Plurk [disthenes] if you want to plot! )

➸ S H O T G U N
[ There are gunshots ringing in his ears one second and the roar of the surf buffeting him the next, and Daryl nearly inhales a lungful of the sea when he suddenly finds himself struggling to stay afloat and pitching in the waves. Waves. He was in Alexandria one minute and underwater the next but he doesn't have a second to spare to think about that. He's not the best swimmer but he's strong enough to find the surface again each time he's pulled under. He spits a lot of saltwater and can feel his muscles trembling by the time stones scrape under his booted feet. It's only then that he realizes he'd forgotten to kick them off when he was nearly drowning. Idiot, you deserved to be pulled under. He walks the rest of the way out of the undertow, shaggy wet hair whipping his face as he casts frantic looks around himself.

A beach. At night. What the fuck? Where is he?

The water that his jeans and clothes have absorbed weighs him down as he makes his landing and he coughs again, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. Scratch that, might as well sit. He lands hard on his ass on the rocks and groans, just in time to notice the human shape coming out of the gloom towards him quickly enough to make Daryl instantly alert. The closer they get, the clearer Daryl can see that it's a guy coming at him, shotgun leading the way. His hand flies to his belt and he realizes he's weaponless.

Well. At least Daryl is no stranger to this. ]

Hey, hey! Easy...

[ He holds both hands out from his body, indicating his obvious helplessness. He's really regretting sitting down now. ]

➸ E Y E S
[ He's started a driftwood fire on the pebbled beach to get dry, beachgrass and scavenged flat rocks enough to get it going in the right hands. There's a driftwood clothesline beside the blaze, everything but his jeans slung over a thin piece of wood to dry. He's sitting close to the fire to avoid shivering in the coastal breeze. He doesn't like how it's blinding him to the night or how clear a target it makes him in this strange place, but it's better than ending up sick from spending a night soaking wet.

He rubs his arms to keep warm as he uses a sharp rock to whittle a point onto a long spear. His upper body is scarred from his neck to his waist, but his back is a particular horror. And the damage seems so old. Whatever it was didn't happen recently, barring a few newer, pinker scars, like the twin bulletholes piercing one shoulder. Daryl has only undressed because he's alone, otherwise, he would have put up with the inconvenience to avoid such vulnerability.

Or at least... He thought he was alone. But no, there. Eyes, watching him from the brush just off the beach, less than thirty yards away. He can see the glint of the fire hit them. Even as he watches, they sink lower. Waiting.

That is not a walker. Walkers don't hunt. Daryl puts the rock down and shifts his new spear into his right hand. ]

➸ S E L F H E L P
[ Daryl had found it strange enough at the prison when the people he'd rescued from the wild wanted to say hello to him. Being mobbed by strangers has him more on edge and jumpy than being caught in a herd of walkers. He prefers outright aggression to uncomfortable, suspicious pleasantries, so every single one of them gets an unfriendly scowl and a blanket refusal to accept anything they try to hand him.

He's trying to get away from a little gaggle of shawled old women when he bumps into someone else and he whirls, one fist rising like he's ready to punch. ]

Step off, will ya?

[ He sounds way more uneasy than he wants to. Hopefully how grouchy he probably looks makes up for it. ]

➸ W E R E - R Y L
[ Something is wrong with him tonight.

He's been living in the woods, because of course he has, and although he's been diligent about counting the days since arriving here, they don't seem to matter. Nothing has changed, no clear answer to how he's come to be here has emerged, and every story he's heard so far, told with the claim that it will help explain this place to him, has only turned his head around further. The fact that there are apparently monsters here too does explain what he saw on the beach that first night, and it's not as though Daryl isn't accustomed to monsters. Or even to people turning into monsters. He gets that.

But not when it happens like this.

It starts with exhaustion during that day, as though his body was craving the sunset to really wake up, and when it finally came and the woods were doused in their shadows, Daryl found he could see better than normal in them. That he could smell things better, the loam of the underbrush, the trail of a deer that's hours old. Things he could never smell before, let alone so clearly. It's a cloudy night so far but Daryl is out walking, compelled to explore the forest with these new senses and compelled by something else, some hunger that he can't fully come to grips with, and then... The wind shifts, the clouds part, and the full moon comes out suddenly, bathing everything in silver.

And Daryl throws back his head and howls. ]

➸ W I L D C A R D
[ None of this work for you? Have a better idea? You probably do! Give it a shot! I prefer not to write more than a couple threads for each prompt and smalltalk threads are my Daryl's enemy, so get creative. You can PP @

kaitniss to plot with me if you like! ]

{i. arrival}

[This is definitely not where he went to sleep. It's wet, there's sand in places sand really shouldn't be, and there's a smell--sharp, smoky, burning in his nose. Gunpowder? Was he kidnapped? How was that possible, the dorms were--

No. Nowhere was completely safe. No one was ever really safe. And he's not going to learn anything else just laying here.

There's a sound nearby, a footstep perhaps--though it sounds a little weird--and in a flash Shouto's on his feet, right arm lifted as he shifts into a defensive stance.]

Stop right there!

[His voice is confident, at least, and so is his expression, though that shifts into bewilderment as he flexes his hand and...nothing happens. No ice. No fire, either, as he tries to call that to hand, and whatever's happening is clearly throwing him off.]

My quirk...?

{ii. finland, finland finland}

[Okay, so it's another world. Definitely not part of his own. And there are a ton of other people who have come here from a ton of other worlds. Multiple-worlds theory isn't anything too new, even if there's never been scientific proof, so Shouto can at least accept that. And he can accept the people who clearly have been doing this for a while, giving him the run-down about what's happened and what's going to happen, offering him food and shelter and advice. And he can accept that monsters are a very real thing, given the very nice spider-lady who gave him his current outfit, a nice linen suit and a shirt that's definitely real silk.

What he can't accept is what's in the pamphlet in his hands, as he stands outside a cafe, reading intently.]

....I'm not really going to turn into a hairy fish, am I...?

[Please reassure this apparently gullible teen that he's not going to become a fur-bearing trout. Or, you know, do the opposite of that. Whatever floats your boat, sadist.]

{iii. seek and ye shall find...something}

[Voices in his head are definitely something new and frankly incredibly unsettling, but the place he ends up after hearing them is possibly the most comfortingly familiar sight he's seen in the entire time he's been here. It's an arcade. Just a normal, regular, run-of-the-mill arcade. Sure, the games are a little old and there are robots everywhere, but this could honestly just be a place back home, if he closes his eyes and pretends. The little robots could even be some of Hatsume's babies.

The rush of homesickness is intense and unexpected, so much so that he slumps immediately against the side of a pinball machine, folding almost like he's been punched. And he just...stays there, for a long moment, and another, and another, until he hears the sounds of someone else approaching, when he finally straightens up and shakes his head, trying to clear it.]

Sorry--did you want to play this one?

{iv. wildcard}

[Yolo it up, or hit me up via PM and I'll be happy to write something out for ya!]

Scenario One

[Pamphlets were better than the shotgun Daenerys woke up to. There were still looks of judgement and distaste, but it was no different than what she received from the nobles of Slaver's Bay or Qotho when Drogo was slowly dying from his infection. She felt uneasy, but it was easy to brush aside for the more pressing and important matter they presented her with.

It had always been her fear that she would slowly twist into a monster, what so many seemed to assume she was. It wasn't madness that threatened her, it was something more real and physical. She had called herself a dragon, but now she would need to adjust to being something else entirely, just as she was no longer queen or mother to her people.

Some of the reading material she was given was useful, but others seemed ridiculous. She set those aside with a simple scoff of amusement. What frightened her, was how many seemed to fear her and try to warn her away from eating human flesh.]

Is that truly possible? [She turned to the closest person to her.] Will we truly forget our humanity?

Scenario Four

[It was a slow change, beginning with scales around her shoulders, arms and back. The wings had been painful as they emerged, as large and black as Drogon's, speckled with red that glistened in the moonlight. She possessed claws and could breathe fire. She could imagine that she was a dragon, as she had always claimed, but she had been prepared for this. When the sun hit her, she had changed into a jade statue, only to come alive again when night fell.

She was a gargoyle, though it seemed it was close to her children, much to her surprise.

There had been a longing in her for her children. Since riding Drogon for that first time, she ached for the sky again. Now though, she need not ride anyone. She could simply lift into the air with her own wings. Though...it seemed their strength was no fully there. As she tried, her feet barely left the ground, her toes scraping over the grass.

After a few minutes of hovering, she landed again, a bit out of breath.]

I suppose I should have guessed this would not be simple.

Wildcard

[Feel free to craft your own adventure. You can hit me up by PM or PP at:

la_fille_en_histoire]

ONE

The cold shocks him awake, gasping then gagging on sand and saltwater alike. His brain buzzes in circles as his lungs spasm, wracking coughs trying desperately to get some air— There had been water, and sand, humidity there as here making each breath stick in his throat, but the cold is what differentiates Madagascar from...wherever the hell this is.

Rafe forces himself to his feet, ignores the complaints of his body and shoves it down next to the growing alarm at being so promptly...removed. From Nadine, Shoreline backing him up, from Avery— No. No, don't think about that. First things first. Assess the situation. Locate your assets. Develop a plan. Execute it. A cursory scan shows more of the same beach, possible town in the distance if the lights are anything to go by, but much closer than that is—

He'd almost taken the sharp crack of gunpowder in his nose for granted, too many months spent working with mercenaries, but now it drives him up a dune and into the tall grass to wait out the pack of people methodically making their way down the coastline. A rustle nearby almost makes him curse again to be found so quickly but one glance dispels that.

down

he hisses behind his teeth as he reaches to yank whatever moron stumbling by into cover.

TWO

He hates this. Hates the handouts, the patently fake smiles and good cheer behind every "gift". It's plain to see the ingratiation factoring into it, the desperate hope behind their eyes as they offer food, fresh clothes, a dry warm corner to get the sea out of his bones. But Rafe especially hates that he doesn't have much choice but to accept. So he grits his teeth, sets his jaw, and takes — but he stares down every bit of help same as others would a firing squad.

Not an attitude that goes over well with some of the locals, he can tell. Sullen stares follow him, some mutters, but he ignores them as well as he's ignored most of the pamphlets so far. It's a learned apathy that has his eyes sliding over and past what doesn't matter until one overly enthusiastic stranger tries proselytizing about the hidden dangers of jackalopes. The next time a booklet on the same is shoved in his face, his hand snaps up to grab the offender's wrist with an iron grip. Pale eyes bore into the poor bastard's eyes as Rafe smiles, plastic and pleasing.

The muttering grows louder, more agitated as he holds on to ensure the lesson is taken to heart.

THREE

God, he'd never known how nostalgic you could get for neon but here he is. The arcade reminds him of the shitty ends of the boardwalk, lights blinking in time with video game sound effects piped over faulty speakers, some notes distorted by the equipment and some missing altogether. It'd be almost...heartwarming if he bothered with such childish notions.

And if the whole rest of the place weren't a page straight out of the Twilight Zone.

Double and if he weren't soon aware that someone else is here, walking through the aisles of games same as he is.

His voice is level, neutral. Almost blandly amused as he fingers the controls of a pinball machine. Triggers a flipper with a hollow, plastic sound.

WILDCARD

if you want to order off the special secret menu, hit me up at

pistachioed for something else or for any other plotting/questions/etc

Edited 2020-05-09 21:16 (UTC)

ONE: LEISURE SUIT LARRY AND THE MANEATERS

This is not the first time that Larry has woken up from unconsciousness after being washed up on a beach. It probably won't be the last.

This is the first time (at least that he can remember) that he woke up to the business end of someone's shotgun. It's what rouses him from his unconscious state, and if they weren't so persistent and the sand beneath him so uncomfortable, he probably would've just kept sleeping.

With a groan, he opens his eyes and looks up at the offending object and--squawks. He's quick to scramble to his knees and fall backward, then crawls backwards back into the water a few inches before he realizes there's probably no way to extend enough distance to be safe from a shotgun blast.

"W-woah-woah-woah, no need for firearms!" he titters in fear, trying his best to push a disarming smile through his grimace. "She didn't tell me she was your wife! ...Girlfriend! ...uh, s-sister?"

He's definitely not going to be able to talk himself out of this one, on account of having absolutely no idea where he is or how he got here.

TWO: NERF THIS (INVENTORY)

Okay, so he's kind of picked up the 411 on what's going on. It's a little weird because it doesn't seem like the kind of adventure he'd go on, but maybe this is some sort of weird crossover or something? Even if that's the case, it's still weird, because it doesn't seem like he's the best equipped for this kind of game.

Speaking of equipment...

He picks up a pamphlet, skims it, and decides this might be one of the more useful ones (regardless if it is or not). He pulls open the lapel of his jacket and slips the pamphlet into it. He's already looking for the next one to take as he lets go of it, and it falls to the floor with a thwip.

Larry looks down at it, clearly puzzled. He leans down, picks it up, and tries it again, to the same exact result.

Horror dawns on his features and he stares at his pamphlet-weilding hand as if it betrayed him.

"Th...they took it..." he mutters to himself. In a fit of dramatics, Larry drops to his knees. "M-my i-inventory...!"

THREE: NEW HARDWARE

His transformation kicked in without much fanfare, which is not to say that it wasn't a radical change. Instead of getting used to changes as they come in, he just went to sleep sore as hell and woke up in a new, chrome-plated body, which means that he has to learn everything about it all at the same time.

Needless to say it's overwhelming. Instead of developing a tension headache, the inside of his head heats up and he has to take a long, idle break to let it cool off. It's not all bad, necessarily. It's just a lot and it all comes as a surprise.

So here he is, hanging out outside in some sitting area somewhere, taking one of those cool-off breaks. One of the nice things about this new body is that it comes pre-packaged with visual entertainment to while the time away. With his sleeves pulled up over his elbows like usual, Larry holds up an arm to watch the lava lamp that his forearm turned into, the pixels in his eye-displays bouncing cartoonishly with every blink as he bathes the immediate area around him in a warm, golden glow.

[One]

Pfff-tah!

[The young girl washed ashore coughs up what feels like a lungful of sand. She lets out a gasp as she scrambles to her knees, taking in the salty air. It wasn't an... unfamiliar sight, at least not yet. For a moment, she thinks maybe she took some kind of sand nap on the beaches of the Boiling Isles.]

King? Did you bury me in the sand again?

[She looks around, no one in sight. Did King get bored and wander off?]

... King? Anyone? Heeeelloooo?

[Nothing to worry about, right?]

[Four]

[it's been a few weeks since she's seen Eda or King, and a few weeks since she's realized she's not on the Boiling Isles anymore. Or anyone close to home. She hasn't given up yet - she's a scrappy, smart teen. She'll figure a way out of this mess even with the feathers-

Wait.

Feathers?

She glances down at her arms, owl-like feathers growing from them. She gives a surprised yelp, and tries to pull one off. It's surprisingly painful, like they're attached...]

Oooohh, this isn't good....

Edited 2020-05-10 06:54 (UTC)

a

[MacCready wakes up as loudly and as undignified as you could imagine; coughing immediately, spitting out sand and saltwater while grimacing and swearing between choking sounds. He manages to push himself to a stand despite it all, wiping sand off his over sized military fatigues and straightening his helmet — as much as he can straighten it considering it's too damn big for his head.

The first thing he does is reach behind him for his rifle, but when he doesn't feel anything there his eyes go wide and he searches for his knife instead. Nothing.]

Oh fuck off!

[WHO TOOK HIS SHIT!?]

b

[MacCready doesn't trust any of these people as far as he can throw them, but he'll take the free food and stuff, making sure to let these 'good Samaritans' know that just because he took something from them doesn't mean "jack shit".

It's those fuckers who try to give him all those stupid pamphlets that really piss him off though.]

I said get lost. I don't want your stupid fucking papers.

[This earns him a lot of ire and indignant stares, but fuck 'em. He's going to eat this apple now.]

c

[Some of these assholes are aggressive. The ones who just glare and stay quiet like little bitches aren't much of a problem. But these people walking around with pitchforks like they're out of some comic book are getting on his nerves. They're waving them around threateningly and saying shit that MacCready is totally ignoring. Threats? He ain't afraid of no threats!]

You think I'm scared? Get any closer and I'm gonna shove that pitchfork up your butt, mungo!

[He's stupidly not afraid please someone stop this dumbass.]

ONE

[Rebooting on an unfamiliar planet, on a beach dangerously close to water that could rapidly fry his circuits is...not ideal. Not the worst thing he's been through, but indicative of something terribly wrong. Seeing as how the last thing he can recall logging being the coordinates for a new planet to send Dandy and Meow down to, then nothing beyond that...the ship must have crash landed, tossing him all the way out onto some alien beach.

QT groans, reaching out both arms with the intent to extend them so he can pull himself away from the water, his wheels surely so mired in sand he won't be able to-

...Hang on.

He draws his hands slowly back towards himself, suddenly acutely aware of two things. One, his arms won't extend. And two...his hands aren't his hands. They're gloves.]

...Huh?

[And that voice is...not his voice. It's the same cadence and tone, but the usual melodic autotune is not present. It sounds almost like...]

AAAH!?!

[The former robot screams with alarm as a feeling he's never felt before electrifies new veins with emotion so overwhelming that he can't properly comprehend it. Adrenaline, causing a newly present heart to hammer between his ears as he scrambles backwards away from the water's edge...only to scream even louder when he turns to see that human legs have replaced his wheels, bending and kicking to push the water- and by extension himself- further and further away. Hell, he's already soaked through clothes he never remembered putting on and nothing's wrong, he's cold- what??- but otherwise...]

What- is this!? I'm, what am I-

[Panic, fear, alarm, indignation, confusion-

He is on the fringes of some sort of metal breakdown over the deluge of feelings he's suddenly feeling and it's awful and gross-]

This is unacceptable!! I have to find Dandy and get off this horrific planet, right now!

TWO | Manticore

[As if being human now wasn't bad enough. As if it wasn't enough.

Now, he's turning into Meow.

He'd at least gotten used to having hair, but having fur grow all across new human skin had been a bit much. It itched, it was everywhere...oh, what he wouldn't give to have a hard metal exterior again...the only thing he really didn't mind were the wings. The pain he had to experience to get them? Now that he did mind. But you know, being able to fly around like the newer models of things...it's pretty sweet, comparitively.

But that doesn't mean QT isn't going to complain and be irritated about literally everything else...and the only way he's been able to channel that frustration has been spending most of his time at the bar Dandy had (somehow) made for himself here. As the cleaning staff, of course.]

Honestly, how did this place stay clean without me? There's dust everywhere!

[The manticore grumbles to himself, grey striped tail lashing as he pushes a large, flat broom across the floor, spotting dust particles that really aren't even visible hardly and calling that filthy. He wasn't this meticulous on the Aloha'Oe, but he's...aggravated. The only way he can find to get that out now is to channel it into other things, like complaining. Better than going to Mana and begging her to turn him back into a vaccuum cleaner, at any rate...]

[one - arrival]

[This is rather confusing. He doesn't remember losing consciousness and he feels, well, a lot more alive than a person should after being killed.

What's more, Lake Michigan sounds an awful lot like the ocean today.

Chris stretches his arms out, almost like he's trying to make a snow angel in the damp sand. Maybe he is dying. Maybe this is how that works. If it is, it's actually not that bad. He'd been afraid before, but this is almost pleasant in comparison to what he was expecting.]

Would it be more natural to die of exposure on the beach or to drown in the lake?

[He feels like he could get up and walk over to the water if that's the case. Which is odd, because he's pretty sure he was stabbed in the back a few minutes ago.]

I don't know if I'm a fan of drowning, though. What do you think?

[He's not talking to anyone in particular, but a conversation partner would probably be appreciated.]

[two - bavan]

Excuse me! You! Yes, you!

[Chris has been having a terrible time getting an explanation of what's going on. What's more, no one is giving him any fancy gifts. He suspects he knows the reason, but there's nothing to be done about it. He's going to have to be proactive about things if he wants to figure anything out.]

I don't suppose you could spare a few pamphlets? No one thought to give me any.

[The fact that his friendly smile is filled with sharp, shark-like teeth is probably a major contributing factor... He looks like he's already been here at least a month.]

Edited 2020-05-11 00:57 (UTC)

one.

[The sting of the breeze is the first thing Sal notices when he wakes up on the side of a beach. The fact that his face wasn't covered was the second.]

Shit, where--

[He starts, but midway through his sentence he spots his mask only a few feet away to his left. Quickly, he clambers up to his feet and rushes to pick it up, shaking it out roughly before buckling the straps to his head to keep it in place. Better, but there's still something missing...]

Hey.

[He approaches someone near by, blue hair messy and dirty with sand, voice slightly muffled behind his mask.]

Mind helping me with something? I lost my.. eye.

[A second glance shows what he's said, his left eye looking at the person in front of him expectantly but his right... is just an empty hole.]

I don't really feel like scaling an entire beach by myself, you know?

two.

[When you hear a disembodied voice in the back of your mind, beckoning you to someplace you'd expect somewhere like.. a temple. A spooky cave. A cultist's base underground beneath some creepy apartments. Not... an arcade.

It's a bit weird, all things considered. An arcade this big, with so many games and futuristic looking little bots whirring around in a place like this? Granted, he grew up around the same time Bavan's tech looks to be from but it's still really out of place, and really suspicious.

There's definitely something sketchy going on here but... the temptation of video games is too strong. And that zombie shooting game was just.. calling to him. Too bad it's a two player game only...

...is what he'd say, but he notices someone else in the arcade not looking too busy, and he's a stubborn kinda guy. So he walks over and speaks up to get their attention.]

Feel like shooting some zombie brains out?

A. Turnabout Splish Splash

Miles Edgeworth Just. Cannot. Catch. A fucking. Break.

He thought his week had been bad enough with all of the international smuggling ring trouble he'd been pulled into, not to mention the international incident on top of that. And now he's been dumped in the harbor and the air's thick with what he knows is gunpowder...?

Hm. Doesn't take a grandmaster of logic to figure out that not everyone in the newly-reunited Cohdopia is happy with Alba's ouster.

This isn't even his first time being kidnapped this week. He's more angry and annoyed than frightened. After all, he's gotten out of worse situations. Probably. He wipes some of the wet sand off of his suit (a lost cause, really) and tries to get up the beach to some cover. Staying in the open's not going to help.

B. Turnabout Body Horror

He hadn't believed it. Even when he'd seen the evidence, he hadn't believed it. Smoke, mirrors, illusions, hallucinations, mass hysteria...there were always explanations.

Not explanations enough for the tail he'd woken up with and spent a good two minutes swearing about. After sitting down (directly onto the damn thing, which had made him yelp) and screaming into a pillow, he took a deep breath and got dressed, accommodating the new appendage. By ignoring it. As is his wont.

Namely, he's managed to wrangle the damn thing down his boxer and pants legs, and is hoping that nobody notices the lion's tail-tip fluttering madly as it pokes out of the cuff of his pants. Because it's not there, and this isn't happening.

C. uuuuuh fuck it wildcard.

Scenario One — Head Empty

[ Shinsou may not be the most physical of heroes but he can still take a hit. So it's not really the mouthful of sand or the aching cuts and bruises that throw him off. It's that, when he gets up to his feat and has his bearings about him, he notices he's not alone.

And yet he is. There's always been this natural connection between his mind and the minds of others, due to his Quirk. And now it just feels... oddly empty.

So having a gun pointed right in his face could be a real problem. He holds up his hands. ]

What are you planning to do with that?

[ If the answer comes and he can't brainwash them, well. He knows what's happened. Hopefully there's a friendly face nearby, he's not sure the capture-technique he's learned from Aizawa-sensei will help him here either. ]

Scenario Two — He's Tired

[ When he finally makes it safely(?!) to the city, the sudden change of attitude is a bit overwhelming. Granted he's quite used to unrest around him. What he's not used to is people trying to butter him up with offers of gifts and housing and whatever else. Look, even making friends with certain very friendly people has been a struggle for him okay.

He doesn't like this, just let him rest. Nevertheless, he ends up with a handful of pamphlets that he's paging through now as he continues to walk in search of familiar faces. That's when things start to get more hostile again and he's almost kind of grateful for it. Tossing his copy of Bunnyyipyips and You to the ground, he glares across at whatever collection of people disapprove of him now. He will fight every single one of them, do not test him.

But with Shinsou, talk is always first.

Someone's approaching him and it could be an enemy or it could be ally. He really doesn't know at this point, he's so disoriented by the "suddenly transported to a strange new world" thing. ]

I'm really tired so if you could leave me be, we would all be better off.

Scenario Three — Robutts

[ Voices in his head? That's a new one. Can't say he likes it all that much, but being Quirkless now, it's not difficult to succumb to them anyway. They weren't kidding about having no time to question it. He feels like he hasn't had the time to question anything that's happened to him recently.

And here he is. In an arcade, with bunches of robots. Robotic beings are his worst nightmare at home because he can't use his power on them. But now.... now he's almost kind of grateful. He doesn't have to think about how weird he feels just being "normal".

So he shrugs and follows one of the robots over to a pinball machine. If he's not alone, he hasn't noticed yet. Or he doesn't care. He's making friends with the natives okay. ]

So how do I play?

Wildcard

[ Start your own prompt, that's totally fine! I'm open to whatever. Please feel free to pm me or something if you have questions. ]

[Where'd ya get them feets]

Elkestra was unconscious on the beach. She laid there, facing the sky and covered in salty sea grime. It took her a while to stir.

But when she finally did, she didn't immediately wonder where she was, like many of the other washed up strangers. What she did wonder was why the bones of the beach were so soft today and what was she doing last night to have fallen asleep on the shore instead of her cave.

"Ugh..." she groaned, slowly opening her eyes. Still half asleep, she reached up a sandy hand to rub her tired eyes. When said sand got in them, she yanked her hand back and snarled.

"What the fuck!" she shook her hand clean and rubbed the sand out of her eyes, "The hell is this?"

Fully awake now, she realized the beach was made of sand instead of bones. She could hear seagulls instead of rats and ghouls. And something felt very wrong with her body. She bolted to a sitting up position only to immediately lose balance and fall back down.

"Wha-?" She propped herself on her elbows and looked down at her long naga-like tail. Or at least where it should be. Instead there were two perfectly normal humanoid legs.

"AAAAAAAAAA?!?!" She screamed loud enough for anyone on or around the beach to hear. "WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK!?" She hurriedly scooted backwards as if she could escape her new legs.

[I don't want your stupid pamphlet!]

Elkestra was slowly and shakily walking down a street in Bavan, clinging the buildings to keep her balace. Humanoids always made moving around on these twigs look so easy but it was far from easy for the former gorgon. How she even made it this far was beyond her. She must look like a damn toddler!

She was being closely followed by a local reading some pamphlets aloud. The rest of the mob was occupied by other newcomers but this guy had noticed her sneaking away.

"Typically mers are scaled like a fish, with the exception of the fur-bearing trout. Most mers need to be wet 24/7 or their skin will dry and shrivel, again with the exception of fur-bearing trouts. When mers need to-"

"Listen," Elkestra interupted, "When I said I couldn't carry any pamphlets cause I needed to hold onto stuff to stay upright, I wasn't asking you to read them for me."

"But y-you have to learn these things. If you don't know what's coming you could lose control a-and..." He trailed off at Elkestra's annoyed expression, "...I'm sorry ma'am but I'm only trying to help."

[A new kind of monster] (cw:blood/gore/body horror)

It started on another Bavan street, with Elkestra feeling a little stiff. She barely noticed at first but the stiffness gradually got worse and worse. Her joints were aching, like they were grinding with every movement. Elkestra slowed her walking (she still didn't quite have the hang of that) and looked down at her body, concerned her transformation might be starting.

All month Elkestra had been patiently waiting for a better body. She hoped to become a naga to regain her tail and snake hair, but with so many options it wasn't likely. She prepared herself as best she could by studying the various monsters.

She held up her arms and watched as her skin hardened and cracked, looking like she could seriously use some moisturizing lotion. Maybe she was growing scales?

"Woah...That looks really-" she suddenly cried out in pain as the cracks widened and deepened, growing into bleeding cuts, "Oh shit, I was really hoping this wouldn't hurt!" She said nervously to herself.

The process was rapidly speeding up. Her skin kept cracking, the wounds kept growing, her flesh kept hardening, and soon blood covered chunks of it were breaking off to smash on the ground like rocks. Her body was falling apart!

Elkestra screamed in shock and pain. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Edited 2020-05-12 02:42 (UTC)

Dr. Robotnik | Sonic Movie | OTA