graveyardsmash | TDM: MAY / JUNE

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test drive

TDM: MAY / JUNE

TDM: MAY / JUNE

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 in a dark ditch, the sky cloudy overhead. Dirt cakes into your cuts and scrapes. The air is clammy and damp, and it smells like rain.

You’re in a grave. And when you sit up to inspect the tombstone marking your spot, it has your name on it. Maybe the graves next to you have the names of familiar friends, family, acquaintances. Not all of them are open like yours are. RIP.

There’s a light dancing in the distance, and you hear the jingle-jangle of heavy keys, or worse still, the gravekeeper’s massive pitchfork or shovel. If you're lucky, you can sneak out beyond his notice, and get out alone. If not - you might find yourself on the wrong end of a shovel’s swing, or worse yet, tripping headfirst in front of a pair of monstrous eyes.

SCENARIO TWO

So you've just arrived, and you’re surrounded by an incredibly odd group of natives. Some of them wear elaborate headdresses that resemble a deer, or a horse with seaweed instead of a mane, or a ferocious cat. All of them are covered in tattoos and piercings, and their clothing mirrors their ‘beast’ of choice, from snakeskin boots for the snake-people to cowhide and leathers for the minotaurs, manticore-kin, or kelpie-kin. These people introduce themselves as members of the scouting team for the Tågevalgten, and they’re here to help you settle in! They load you onto a rickety old bus and take you into Town.

The Town is called Rota, according to the rusted road-sign. And the central lodge is all decked out and ready to go for a reception, Children of the Fog welcome. There are food and drink aplenty, mostly meat-heavy, and if you ask them where the meat came from… Well! Maybe you shouldn’t ask.

The Tågevalgten gladly share helpful pamphlets for you. “Embrace Your Fog-Given Gifts,” they proclaim. Most of them are fashioned to sound like self-help with a religious bent favoring a divine entity called the Fog God: “Monster Types And YOU: What Fits Your Personality? Take Our 99% Accurate Quiz Inside!”, “Shed Your Human Skin And Thrive,” “Be Uniquely You And Uniquely Free,” “What to Expect When You're Expecting (to turn into a monster).” There's even some thick books carefully cataloguing certain monsters and the changes they might go through. Some of these seem to have been passed down from one monster to the next.

After awhile, it’s clear that the Tågevalgten are a bit too friendly and enthralled with buttering you up. In fact, it’s clear that they don’t want you to leave their fold, happy to keep you strapped together with a kumbaya around the campfire. They might not let you go until you take a bite of their Soylent Green or accept a group hunting trip with other newbies, and so on and so on. There’s always some excuse.

Maybe someone else can help you out of these uncomfortable pickles and get you away from here.

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? Does it fit you, or does it feel incongruous with your nature? Feel free to pick any monster type for this prompt, but note that you may not get the same one in game.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

scenario one: [ The faint sting of small cuts and bruises is a common background radiation to his life, so he doesn't notice them. He notices the dirt and he notices the hole and as he pushes himself up, he recognizes the grave stones from something out of a movie. He doesn't look at the name, doesn't look at the graves around him; after all, he's clearly not dead. Instead, he looks at the light, and he doesn't even see the rest.

Kiryu's going to try and get out as quickly and quietly as possible. Of course, if he sees someone else covered in dirt, trying to do the same thing, all evidence ~~and so so many substories~~ would point to the fact that he'll do everything in his power to help them get out too. ]
scnario two: [ There is absolutely nothing about these people that makes Kiryu feel comfortable, but given the kind of whackadoodle personalities he's both known and helped over the years, his tolerance lasts through the bus ride, through the offers of food and drink, past a very skeptical look at the decorations and some quiet acceptance of their cheerful welcome, allll the way to taking their pamphlets ~~since he doesn't have to conserve inventory space~~ even if he has no idea why he needs to know about this Fog or the 'monsters' or any of what they're talking about.

When they get pushy and start talking like he's going to stick around, that's when he's going to start looking for an exit. There's something about the insistence that he eat something that makes him lose his appetite, the urging towards a 'hunting trip' that sours his usual open-minded attitude about trying new things.

So honestly, as soon as no one's looking directly at him? He's just going to start walking towards the edge of town. You want to ask him why? You want to go with him? You want to try and convince him otherwise? Go right ahead. You'll definitely have more luck with some of those options than others. ]
scenario three / wildcard: [ None of this experience has been particularly enjoyable, but a second dose of ending up somewhere without knowing how he got there is probably his least favorite part so far. The voice in his head (how? why? nani?) doesn't seem apt to give him much more than that, so he starts looking around. He's not the sort to shout out looking for anyone, but if he sees anyone else wandering lost and looking as confused as he is, he might make his way to them. ]

1- Slippery When Wet:

[DJ blinks awake with dirt over his face and too much light in his eyes. Squinting, he forces himself to sit up. Is he… in a fucking grave? He sits for a solid minute wracking his memory on how he may have ended up in a creepy cemetery in the middle of the afternoon, mouth half open and staring into the middle distance - but comes up with nothing. Last he remembered was passing out on his friend’s couch after a few beers. Huh.]

Shit, they must’ve been pouring something different.

[He mumbles mostly to himself, finally heaving his body up and out of the grave in a smooth, quick series of motions- you’d almost think he’s done it before. Then again, being tall and built doesn’t exactly hurt.

Once he’s out of the grave he spends a second brushing himself off, even scrubbing his fingers through his hair and shaking like a dog. He huffs a long chunk of hair out of his eyes before squinting into the fog. He doesn’t even bother to read the headstone, it was probably some poor sap still waiting at the funeral home.]

Where… the hell am I?

[This didn’t look like Jersey, at least, nothing in his part of town. You had to drive for at least an hour to get somewhere this heavily wooded and creepy. Is that a light in the distance? He cups his hands and calls out-]

Hey! Any idea of how to get the fuck outta here?

2- For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge:

[So… this is definitely some kind of hippy-dippy commune right? The people introduced themselves as just the “Tågevalgten.” Try saying that five times fast with a Long Island accent. But honestly, the appearances didn’t really phase him. DJ himself is pretty covered in piercings, tattoos, and even looks to have a few body mods himself. One woman in some high snakeskin boots seemed particularly fascinated with his split tongue, and nearly stuck her fingers in his mouth to see it.]

Woah! Careful sweetheart, you ain’t a dentist are you?

[They seem to back off patiently when he raises a fuss, good thing too, because he’s antsy and doesn’t like this much crowding. But then come the pamphlets: DJ frowns as he skims over ‘Embracing Your Fog Given Gifts,’ and it only grows when he finally opens ‘Shedding Human Skin.’ He’s finally starting to realize exactly what sort of place he’s gotten himself, and why they’ve been complimenting his appearance so much.]

Ah, fuck.

[Yeah he needs to get out of here. He’s not a stealthy guy, so there’s a few locals following him as he starts to quickly walk toward the outside of town. They sure can try to fight him, but it’s not going to go well for anybody. He pulls his leather jacket a little higher and pops the collar, getting ready in case they try and jump him from behind.

He stiffens as he crosses the town line and is marching down the road. If they were gonna do something, it would probably be now. Maybe he’ll get lucky with some outside help.]

Wildcard!

DJ is a go-with-the-flow kind of guy, and from a world not dissimilar to Rylsig! He doesn't have much of an opt out, besides the obvious swearing and somewhat crass personality, but feel free to just open up a CR!

Edited 2021-05-14 19:12 (UTC)

i. gravedigger

[Her eyes open like a switch being flipped; she sits like a marionette whose strings have been yanked up by a bunched-up fist in the sky. Upright, she's not visibly injured, but something in her face is off, not as in wrong but as in the opposite of on: nobody's there.]

[And then her absent gaze lands on the names on the headstones around her. The inscriptions are faded, the graves poorly-kept, given names obscured, but all along the row she sees the same surname. Ushiromiya. Twisting in her grave, she reads her own headstone: ▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. Illegible.]

[What she makes of this is hard to say for a moment. She's still off. And then, out of nowhere and heedless of the distant scrape of shovel and bob of lantern, some hellish light comes to her eyes, rage and savage delight in equal measure. Letting herself fall back flat into the grave, she kicks her feet in the air, voluminous skirts fluttering like a parachute in reverse — and she laughs, a low chuckle at first that grows and grows and grows to something breathless and high-pitched and cruel, ramping into a sound so mad as to verge on the profane.]

ii. meet-and-greet ( cw; GLEEFUL cannibalism )

Gentlemen, gentlemen . . . !

[Far from being unsettled by the Tågevalgten, Beatrice seems very much at home being waited on. None of the rest of the gathering seems to faze her, either: she rips hunks off of the dubious meat provided with her back teeth, speaks to the heavily-modified humans before her as though there's absolutely nothing abnormal about them, demands tobacco and tea in such commanding tones that the Tågevalgten scramble to procure whatever it is she desires.]

[But she draws the line at Cosmo quizzes.]

I told you already. I have no need of divination. I'm already the very best monster of all. Here I thought you were devoted, but maybe you're all ignorant children after all. [Ignoring the genuinely crushed looks of several Tågevalgten before her, she flips the page in the pamphlet before her and jabs one line with the end of her pipe.] And what is this? Slime? That isn't a monster. Slime is what happens when monsters are finished with their prey!

[So saying, she flings the pamphlet into the fire and slams her hand on the table.] Enough of this! Bring me something more entertaining.

[Or maybe you're the entertaining (or at least unusual) thing she chooses to fix her attention on. Leaning too far into another new arrival's personal space, she gives a smile that trips over the line into leer territory.] Why so down? It's a parrrty. Don't you like parties? Eh?

[There is absolutely a finger bone on her empty plate. She absolutely has given no visible fucks about this.]

iii. come, try to remember ( lich | cw; death, decay, explosions, amputation )

[With the fog well under way, it seems Beatrice is taking it poorly. She looks dead rough, as in rough and also dead, body paling and mottling where blood is beginning to pool. There's a massive wound at her shoulder joint, so large that "wound" doesn't even seem quite right. More than anything, it looks as though she lay down on a land mine.]

[That's not what's caught her interest, though. With a hoarse cackle that shows off her white-pale gums, she tosses something red and oblong up in the air, then catches it. Up and catch. Up and catch.]

[Then she turns towards you and yeets it.]

Catch!

[Hope you do, because that is deadass her heart. Oops.]

iv. wildcard

[I will not be going into any of the dozen CWs relevant to Beatrice in this TDM (other than nasty gore obviously), but please let me know if you'd like to opt out of spoilers up to the end of episode 5 of Umineko.]

Edited 2021-05-14 19:08 (UTC)

a. Scenario One

[Kavinsky never expected to open his eyes again, yet here he was. Brushing dirt from his face, he sat up slowly. It didn't take a genius to figure out where he was. Twisting around to see his headstone, he read his own name off of it. To the left and right, the other headstones also read Kavinsky, first names obscured. His lip curled. The whole family was here.

Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, he started to laugh, abruptly cut short when he heard the distant jangling of keys. Raising his head, he squinted in the direction of the sound before silently climbing out of his grave. He didn't know what he expected the afterlife to be like, but he doubted it was full of nice things.

Just as quietly, he crept towards the cemetery gate. He was no stranger to sneaking around; it didn't phase him.]

b. Scenario Two

[He was used to attention. Thrived with attention, really. But this was too much. He felt like a caged animal, trapped, unable to leave. He wanted to go, not hang around the bonfire some more. He wasn't interested in the food or going hunting or whatever else these people were offering, no matter how friendly they seemed to be.]

I said fuck off. [Backing away did nothing; someone snagged his arm, pulled him back to the bonfire.] I mean it, I'll fucking bite. [He bared his teeth.]

c. Scenario Three

[He'd been about to ask who the hell he should be seeking out and why he should care when he blinked and found himself somewhere he hadn't been standing just a moment before.

It was an arcade, old-fashioned, a small robot rumbling around his feet. Kavinsky resisted the urge to kick it. Something told him that wouldn't be a good idea, and for a change, he listened to that little voice. Stepping around the robot instead, he made his way to one of the pinball machines, laying his hand against the glass top.]

This shit's gotta be older than I am.

[He said it before realizing that he wasn't the only one there. Turning to face them, he quietly eyed them, sizing them up.]

d. Scenario Four

[He'd been trying to get his bearings, meandering down a street in Bavan, when the pain hit him. At first, he brushed it off, did what he could to ignore it. But then it doubled, tripled, the searing pain in his back bringing him to his knees on the sidewalk. He ground his teeth together, told himself to get the fuck back up but choked on a shout instead when the skin on his back tore open.

Three pairs of wings burst from his back, absolutely shredding his shirt. They were slicked with blood in places, more blood running down his back, soaking into the material of his shirt. Kavinsky felt dizzy from the pain, even as it started to fade, his new wings flaring and flapping once, twice, testing their muscles.

There was a throbbing in his head next, and it was only getting worse. His suffering, it seemed, was not yet over.]

What the fuck.

[ i - this hole you put me in, it wasn't deep enough ]

[There are few things quite so bad as dying. But perhaps among them you could find waking up in a grave, not actually dead, and looking out at the sky above. Fitz is cold, and pulling his way out of the grave is a struggle, the short, skinny man grimacing as he pulls himself up and out as best he can, looking around himself. The graveyard is unfamiliar, and doesn't even look like back home. Perhaps he can figure out more by exploring.]

[ ii - grab a chair and fill your platter | Cannibalism CW ]

[The strangers are a little... Overfriendly, when you've spent as long as Fitz has alone. He's wary of the food they offer, not entirely convinced it's in his best interests to eat it, having read some of their leaflets. What is comforting is that none of the tattooed, leather wearing cultists seem too worried by Fitz's silence, understanding his sign language as if he's speaking aloud to them. Okay, maybe being dead wouldn't be so bad after all.]

[When the pressure becomes a little too much, he takes the chance to slip out of the gathering, taking deep, shaking breaths in the air outside, feeling the worry slip off now that he's not being poked or prodded to sample things or read things or talk about things.]

[He might only get to enjoy solitude a few moments, but it'll be nice while it lasts.]

[ WILDCARD ]

[ I can be reached at talloran for plotting. ]

Edited (broken link) 2021-05-14 20:34 (UTC)

[ Given how he grew up and honestly, most of his life after that, Kiryu's seen his share of angry, foul-mouthed young men. Which is why he steps forward between the villagers and the young man, grabbing the villager's arm and squeezing it until the fingers let go. He lets go shortly after, flicking the villager away. Then, ignoring them entirely, he looks the young man in the face as he asks with a quiet intensity- ]

Would you like to go for a walk? [ He raises his voice a little to make it clear to the villagers. ] We could both use some air. It's a little too warm near the fire.

[ His eyes are pretty clear- I am getting us an exit. And given the young man has exactly as much on his person as Kiryu does, he'll bet, what they do once they have that exit is something they can discuss on the way. His words might be more diplomatic, but he's an old hand at exuding the kind of menace that says anyone who objects to what he wants to do is going to end up tasting dirt, seasoned liberally with their own blood. And that is exactly what he wants them to know right now. ]

↳ { i. stranger in (another) strange land; }

[ although kugel had indulged in some of the luxuries the seemingly endless bounty of earth provided, other things hadn’t changed. he still took his rest in the cockpit, never quite able to get used to the way people slept in the fleet — in their soft beds, feeling every shift and movement of the ships. it was easier to pretend he was still in space and that the next time he woke it would be to greet an enemy.

perhaps he should have been more specific.

without striker, he’s at the mercy of his senses to inform him something’s changed. the stillness of the grave is too similar to the silence inside the cockpit to disturb him, but the sound of dirt and gravel against the visor of his helmet is certainly not something he could have anticipated. a lifetime of combat experience sets kugel to action even before he’s able to assess the situation entirely. even the sharp pain that lances through his chest when he takes his first actual breath in a while doesn’t give him pause. he at least knows it’s not Hideauze, so lethal force isn’t needed, but the man on the other end of the shovel doesn’t have a chance. in an instant, the gravekeeper has the wind knocked out of him as the metal handle of the shovel connects harshly with his gut, kugel having grabbed hold of the other end and wrenched it from the gravekeeper’s hands.

other things are starting to come into focus now. on their own, the man in his strange attire and the primitive tool isn’t that unusual. he’d seen all sorts on the fleet even if his awareness of them began and ended at simply noticing them in passing. it’s the earth and the great stone slab. real stone. the fact that it bears his name registers as an afterthought. he climbs quickly from the grave, brandishing the shovel like a weapon threateningly just in case the other man decides to try and take a shot at him. he’s confused to see familiar names on other stones adjacent to his own, unaware of the significance of graves, but he’s sure that can’t be a good thing.

well, it’s fairly obvious he’s not on the fleet anymore. ]

Identify yourself. What is this place? What have you done with Striker?

[ it doesn’t occur to him that he might have just appeared here alone because that would be an absurd impossibility. implausible edge case scenarios are for the scientists. ]

I have no reservations about killing you, but if you provide me with the information I need, that won’t have to happen.

[ so he’s apparently just a weird spaceman threatening to beat a guy with a shovel. you know... as one does. ]

↳ { ii. network; }

<STRIKER>

[ somehow it feels wrong to associate humanity's highest technological achievement with this lowly machine that barely deserves to be considered one at all, but it's only fitting he should continue to speak through it anyway. ]

Is there a competent individual in this place who can give me a useful SITREP? What exactly are we facing? My understanding is that these "Tågevalgten" are a vocal minority, and I have no desire to take anything people dressed like fools have to say as fact without verifying.

[ some might say he has no room to talk, but everyone else is strange from his perspective. ]

↳ { iii. activation; } [ cw: body horror, violence, death ]

[ when the changes started he was sure that whatever this is — his life here — was coming to an end. that would make sense according to the way the natural order ought to be. kugel is surprised to discover this seems to be quite the opposite. it hurts, of this there is no doubt. but out of that, he feels stronger than before. he requires less sleep over time until he stops sleeping altogether. but he still looks perfectly human; no one can see from the outside what’s going on underneath his skin.

on this night, it’s as if someone’s flipped a switch, activating something that hadn’t been there before. he doesn’t know what, only that it is. but he still looks perfectly human, just a jackass wandering the streets in a purple rubber suit. like bad cosplay. he probably looks like an easy mark for a couple of street thugs with knives.

kugel senses the attack before it happens; it feels strangely familiar, like being plugged into striker’s systems and feeling as well as hearing an alert for oncoming danger. he turns and extends an arm, but of course, it’s his own and not his machine calibre’s; there’s no beam rifle. there’s something else there instead he couldn’t anticipate — and apparently, neither does one of his attackers given the horrified scream at seeing “living” wires sprout from the palm of his hand — but it’s too late now. kugel’s already moving, the wires grasping like vines even before he gets a hold of the man’s throat. when he does, his fingers grip like a metal clamp, his arm barely shaking despite the frantic thrashing of the man’s attempts to free himself.

curiously, he watches as blue and magenta lines light up along his fingers and his arm, just the same as they did when he was piloting. it’s fascinating enough that he only remembers the man he’s still holding when he notices it’s gone much quieter. shocked, he lets go of the desiccated corpse and watches the wires recede into his hand, having emerged through the control port on the palm of his suit.

something flashes in his peripheral vision, and he realises too late that it’s a knife. he anticipates pain and blood, but instead, there’s only a sensation of tearing and the sound of metal striking metal. another hesitation borne of a fear response — it’s almost pathetic, these people — and one good strike snaps the man’s arm, and the blade slips from his fingers. ]

Leave.

[ he hadn’t intended to kill. still isn’t quite sure how he killed, but the body on the ground is no illusion. he’ll let this one go. tentatively he reaches up to feel at what should have been a nasty wound but finds only a cold, hard metallic surface, not unlike a machine calibre’s armour plating and the torn edges of his skin, like his face is only just a mask he’s wearing. ]

What the hell is happening here?

↳ { iv. wildcard; }

[ ooc; kugel's canon point is post-canon, so let me know if you want to opt out of any spoilers. if you wanna plot or do anything else, hmu @ koutenko ! ]

[The light in the distance is not, in fact, friendly. The grave digger had not been polite or happy about Fitz crawling out of his grave, and had taken a swing at him with his shovel, Fitz dodging back and immediately turning tail, running from the man as fast as he's able. The man he sees up ahead is going towards the light, towards the man who was not happy to see them, and-]

[Well. Fitz isn't going to let someone get hurt. As he draws level, he reaches out and grabs the wrist of the other, pulling him to one side as the man approaches and back against the wall as the man runs past, yelling something indistinct about performing violence on them, once he's gone, Fitz breathes a sigh of relief, and signs and apology.]

Sorry. Tried asking him for help. Attacked me.

[God, if there was ever a time he wanted a mysterious stranger to swoop in and save him--which wasn't often--now was it. He was equal parts amused and impressed to see how easily the man got the villager to let go of him. Usually, Kavinsky could handle his own problems, he didn't need to be saved, but right now was different.]

I'd love to, man. You're my knight in shining armor.

[He was both teasing and serious, grateful though he wouldn't exactly come out and say it in as many words.]

[ Kiryu doesn’t need the thanks; he appreciates it but he just needs the situation de-escalated and a good exit for both of them. He bows his head to Kavinsky and turns to scowl at the villagers, daring them to try and halt them before turn back and gesturing for the other man to lead. He’ll follow.

Once they have a little space- ]

I’m sure you could have handled yourself. But I think we agree about the people here.

[ They’re creeping him out. Like cult level creeping out. He’s been waiting to see where the ‘give us your life savings’ donations start but he doesn’t want to be there any longer than he has to. ]

[Back from the dead—or rather, back from the the cold embrace of the Sea of Stars—Dandy doesn't look too pleased by the grand display set out for him. Of course, he knows he's a star, and this is a Star's treatment. But this hut, and these... people? They just scream commoner filth.

Not the lady next to him, though, she's hollering and ordering everyone around like they're her personal servants. He doesn't mind her either, freaks like these need to be put to work; but when she turns her attention to him and points out his sour mood, Dandy rolls his eyes and exhales a heavy, melodramatic sigh.]

This party is boring. [Dandy groans as he plucks up a knife off the table and pokes at the eyeballs settled on his plate, like a child playing with peas. One rolls around, its once-green glassy gaze staring right past him,] I mean, I already know what monster I am. I'm a vampire.

[His head lolls in her direction, and when his red-tinted lips peel back from his teeth, two sets of overlong fangs are bared in her direction—one slightly smaller than the other.]

I was hoping something interesting would happen, but I think I'm going to have to make my own fun.

Probably could have.

[He let the 'but' go unspoken, the but that said he appreciated someone intervening on his behalf. He could count on one hand the number of times that'd happened.]

That they're creepy as fuck? They give off the vibe that their hunting parties are all the most dangerous game, you know what I mean?

[He wasn't sure if that would be better or worse than hunting animals. On the one hand, hunting down people could be considered an actual sport, but hunting people was generally frowned upon.]

[ a pause before he nods. Yes, that. Exactly. ]

I don’t know what that means but I know that I don’t intend to sleep in that town.

[ After a moment more of walking, he offers- ]

Kiryu Kazuma.

001 ⦁ the arrival.

( Leon Kuwata. Sayaka Maizono and Mondo Owada on either side. He's all sobs and gasping for life and breath once he climbs his way out of the hole, dirty fingers clenched down into earth.

There's a jingle of keys and — someone calls out to him. He gets up and he runs, still heaving, jumping expertly over graves and flowers. Until he ends up tripping and wiping out into another hole.

It might be funny if he weren't so hysterical. )

002 ⦁ spill this blood.

Fog-given gifts? Uh ... Haha.

( He blinks at the locals in front of him, feeling uncomfortable. )

Does this shit get better? Is that what you mean by gift ... ? 'Cause, listen, I already got a gift and it didn't do fuck-all for me in the end ...

( Please help him. )

003 ⦁ wildcard.

( hey i'm over @ ragekind for plotting if you want something else ^^ )

[Scenario One]

[Quasimodo easily climbs out of his own grave, but he stares at the name on his tombstone for a while. It doesn't even register to him that he's outside and that's not good.]

Am I... dead?

[He doesn't notice the shovel being swung at his head.]

[Scenario Two]

[The people dressed up as monsters reminds Quasimodo of the Feast of Fools, and there's no way he's sticking around for that. He's desperate to find some kind of hiding place so that he can figure out where he is and try to get back to Notre Dame before Frollo notices he's gone. But before he can do that, there's people in costumes stuffing pamphlets about monsters into his hands. He looks very awkward standing there, trying to read them and walk away from the crowds at the same time.]

[Scenario Four - Nephilim]

[Quasimodo didn't want to believe that he'd turn into a monster - he already was one. But as he's wandering through the building, he collapses as a sharp pain shoots through his back.

He lets out a yell as six, feathery wings burst from his back.]

[ There are some things you can expect for, going out on a foggy day in Ryslig. Some horrifying sights, some uncomfortable atmosphere... Usually some blood, some people screaming and their limbs twisting.

So far, however, Riley's never had an actual organ thrown at her.

She shrieks and leaps back, unwilling to catch an actual heart. All her feathers poof up. ]

What in the world are you doing?!

[Most people would consider the fancy teeth a talking point, but then again, most people would consider the eyeballs a talking point, too, and Beatrice hasn't said shit. She's a lot more interested in the conceptual aspect of what this young man with his very stupid starched collar is saying vis a vis making his own fun.]

[That does seem fun. Instantly, she decides that she is also bored of this party and dismissively throws the last of her meat over her shoulder, ostensibly towards some bushes (although it does manage to smack a passing Tåge in the cheek along the way).]

Oh? Like Dracula? You don't look as old-fashioned as Dracula. [Too bad she doesn't know about the Cullens.] What kind of fun do vampires have, mm? Drinking virgin's blood? Hypnotizing people? Laying waste to countrysides?

[This is the countryside. Hint, hint.]

Or do you get more creative than that here in the land of the Fog Witch?

[The heart does not bounce. It squelches, then sort-of-rolls to a stop. Beatrice, looking extremely dead, also is now looking extremely pouty.]

Hey . . . you didn't catch it!

[What kind of bro are you, Riley? Pointing accusingly at the Literal Heart on the ground, she waves her arms.]

You could have flown in the air to catch it! You have wings, make use of them!

What? [ Riley all but squeaks. She looks at the heart in front of her. She didn't even need to try and fly, honestly. ]

Of course I didn't catch it, you just- just threw it at me! [ She holds up a clawed hand. ] What if I punctured it?!

[ Her voice... It's like two octaves too high. ]

[Excuse you, sir. This grave is occupied.]

[Before Leon manages to fully collapse into this open grave, all four of its occupants limbs are kicking and punching to get him out. There's a high, loud noise, too, which eventually coalesces into actual words, which, together, make up . . . basically a small tantrum.]

Go get your own! This is mine, it has my name on it. What kind of boor simply falls into other people's graves—

[Pretty words for someone who is trying very hard to kick Leon in the groin to get him out of her personal dirt square. Man, there's a lot of flying skirt down here. Amazing that it all fits in the grave.]

[She makes a dismissive noise. Kind of like, pfft but whistly, air being let out of a balloon.]

You wouldn't have unless you meant to! Hearts are gristly. People don't eat them because they're hard to chew. [A gnash of her teeth, demonstratively.] Even your wicked claws would have to do more than catch.

Anyway — I'm hard-hearted.

[A beat. And then she cackles at her own joke.]

[From somewhere near his feet:]

If you walk for long enough, you'll hit water or get eaten. Or both.

[There . . . is a woman in the grave next to his. She's been fairly still up to this point, watching him rise with a guarded expression, but now that she speaks and calls his attention, she seems pretty comfortable. Elbow resting on the edge of her grave, chin in her hand, skirts spread out behind her, she levels him with a sardonic gaze and grins.]

No chains, see? You're free to leave whenever you wish. Whether you can get where you want to go is another question.

[ Riley doesn't want to explain that because of her harpy instincts and urges to hunt that've been difficult to fight lately, she's thought of eating a heart, and she's seen her claws cut through things that look harder...

But then it's pun city central and she can't fight the scowl that's crossing her face as the air fills with cackles. ]

How can you be so chill about this? Your heart is outside your body.

Why are you so serious about it? Yours is in yours!

[In other words: it's not her problem, so why does she care what Beatrice does with her personal organs? Her body, her choice (to be irreverent).]

The real question is, why am I not more worried about keeping it safe? [Because she does know the lore at this point. She is aware of the concept of phylactery. And yet here she is, tossing her heart around like a tennis ball. Well?]

What do you think, miss? Tell me your reasoning.

Means they could be hunting other people, man.

[Kavinsky would normally argue that he was at his most dangerous while sleeping, but not here, not in this place. Something vital had been stripped from him and he felt insignificant without it.]

Kavinsky. Have you been in this shithole long?

[He really wanted to ask if other people had woken up the same way he had, but one step at a time.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

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TDM: MAY / JUNE

Kiryu Kazuma | Ryu Ga Gotoku/Yakuza

DJ Dupree | OC | OTA

beatrice the golden witch | umineko no naku koro ni

Joseph Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle

Theo 'Fitz' Fitzpatrick | OC

B

kugel | suisei no gargantia

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leon kuwata | danganronpa | demon.

001 ⦁ the arrival.

002 ⦁ spill this blood.

003 ⦁ wildcard.

Quasimodo | The Hunchback of Notre Dame | Nephilim

iii

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i

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