graveyardsmash | TDM: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

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test drive

TDM: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

TDM: SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER

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 | Flat

PSA: This will contain some light spoilers for the whole Psychonauts canon

A- The graveyard

Loboto sits up immediately- sure, this was where the tunnel let out. It seemed a little informal, but now all he had to do was right himself and get back to that camp- surely he could see Thorny Towers from here if he just-

There's a seven foot tall teal man scrambling out of the grave, quickly realizing there's a certain familiar weight missing from his right side. No straps- his arm must have fallen right off in the move. Looking down at his surroundings, things just weren't adding up. There was no way that tube network dumped him out in his own prepared grave, right in between- his parents.

This had to be another construction, though a much less subtle and much less kind one. Probably not the workings of the one in the striped sweater. But he was out of there, he was off the hook-

"Whoever's in here-" The doctor turned in a quick circle, one empty sleeve flapping. "I know you're up to something!"

He had broken down the first mind trap, he would break down this one too. Fully ignoring the approach of a human gravekeeper and his rake.

B- The Tage

There was absolutely something wrong with these people. With the Psychonauts at least you knew what was up- psychics and their unnatural powers and all- but this was wholly something different. For once someone has managed to make Loboto himself look normal, reading the pamphlets and turning down food and trying to slip off occasionally. Unfortunately they're keeping a very close eye on him, as much as he sticks out, trying to drag him back to the campfire songs about becoming a monster and being free. Needless to say, it makes him very uncomfortable for a variety of reasons.

He keeps pulling away from people who want to touch him, friendly back-pats or trying to comment on his appearance, motioning to his missing arm, expression tight before he finally does just decide to bolt off in the opposite direction, looking for a road out of here. What you catch a glimpse of, stranger, if you're not a fellow new arrival following him, is mostly a dirt-covered smock and a pair of glowing red-and-green penlights in the darkness.

C- Changes (vampire)

He's been here for a month, and Dr. Loboto has had to accept that this is all real- it had been too long, and he knew he hadn't gone right off the deep end. No matter what people said.

There was the promise of changes incoming, something about becoming one of the monsters, and he was not looking forward to the experience. He had just gotten past this, sort of. But in this case there was nothing he could do, and that just made it all worse. He had actually moved himself to someplace where maybe he wouldn't be alone during all of this as the fog rolled in- the clinic, in this case. His fellow healthcare professionals here at least had proven themselves to be helpful and not so invasive.

At first things seem just fine. He's been grinding his teeth- terrible habit- but suddenly they hurt much worse than any jaw tension should reasonably cause. The doctor sputters, gasping as he spits and finds two of his very well-maintained canines in his palm, and a quick feel-up finds two much sharper points growing in their place.

"Hey!"

He runs to check himself out in the mirror, scowling at he finds no reflection at all. "Hey! You don't go messing with a guy's chompers!"

That really does seem to be his biggest concern in the moment.

A: The Graveyard
[It's not the first time she's woken up somewhere she doesn't know, and a feeling in her gut tells her it won't be the last. She's cold, it smells like dirt, and potentially rain, and for a minute, she thinks she's managed to knock herself out on the grounds of the Mother's Dwelling somehow. It's not the case, or at least not as far as she knows, when she reaches and her hands land against cold dirt walls.

She sucks in a breath, pushes aching bones and stinging skin as she always does, and gets to her feet to find herself in a ditch. In a grave, her mind helpfully supplies, and maybe it's telling that Kate's first instinct isn't to question how she got in it or to panic, but to haul herself out with a little grunt as her breath catches in her throat as the distant jingle of keys sound. Another killer, is her only guess. Another way to die. The tombstone is inconsequential as to whether or not its her name on it. Not when she hears the jingle of someone approaching. She's not too keen on sticking around to find out. There'll be plenty of time for that later.

The moment her feet are on the ground, she's running away from the sound, and hopping a fence into the woods. There's little interest in looking back.]

B: Rota
["Children Of the Fog, Welcome." That makes a bolt of dread run down her spine in an unfathomable sort of way. And the welcome is less than well received, with Kate having to politely, if awkwardly smile and decline several offers of help, because what else is she going to do with a group of people convinced she's going to turn into a man eating monster? Clearly they have the wrong woman, that she's gotten caught up in something she doesn't know how to deal with, because there's just too much. This isn't the campfire, she can't see anyone she knows, and there's no... Thing after her blood, at least in this moment.

Anyone who looks as uncomfortable as her (and as human) will find themselves with a friendly arm around their shoulder, because two is a better defense than one, as she's far too aware of.]

Hey there, been lookin' all over for you, sugar. Can you come help a gal out?

C: Dyster
[Whatever this place is, it makes her skin crawl. The fog swirls thick and menacing and almost choking, and she feels distinctly out of place. Kate's always been good in a chase, but for some reason the thought of outright bolting in an attempt to escape feels like a bad idea, and so she keeps low, trying to avoid being seen as best she can.

Nothing here feels friendly towards her, and if there are monsters about, she doesn't exactly know how she'll be able to contend with a group of them. Just who is she supposed to be seeking out in such a miserable locale?

A sound in the near distance makes her nerves alight, ready to bolt. It's a bad idea, and she knows it, but she can't help but call out, to try to get a feel of the situation.]

Someone there?

D: Wildcard

[Feel like hunting her down for sport and food? By all means, go for it. She's used to dying, and I'm willing to play it o/ Have at it if you have any ideas you'd like!]

[ooc note: Simon is canonically trapped in a woman's body, so this is a blanket warning for gender and body dysmorphia.]

scenario x. a bar in downtown bavan.

[Imposter. Thief.

At the bar, Simon Jarrett wears bulky, borrowed clothes to hide the body underneath, the corpse he stole from that poor girl back at Omicron. He didn't notice it at first. There was nothing off-balance about his limbs, no shift in his center of gravity that suggested he now had breasts or a shorter stature. He was just himself, Simon, until people started calling him 'miss' with a frequency he could no longer ignore. The mirror confirmed his fears. Poor Raleigh. Where is her soul supposed to be during all this?

Get a grip, Simon, he tells himself, taking a sip of the beer in front of him. It's times like this he wished he had the stomach for stronger liquor. This isn't an afterlife thing. We don't have souls.

When he puts his beer back down, it thonks against the table with the carelessness of a drunk. But he isn't drunk. Just tired.]

Hey.

[He says this to the person next to them, whether they look monster or human. He avoids eye contact while he speaks, instead tracing patterns in the condensation left by his glass.]

You know this is all fake, right?

scenario y. the network.

[It's late at night when Simon makes his first post to the network. There's no philosophizing, no panicking, no anguish. Just a single question.]

< sjarrett >

Is anybody there?

scenario d. wildcard.

[ooc note: If there's anything else you'd like to do, catch me at

dendrite!]

Edited 2021-09-10 21:09 (UTC)

one;

[Peter is having a normal one.

The grave thing is objectively very bad—in fact, probably certainly maybe objectively the worst part of this whole experience—but as far as he's concerned, it can always get worse. For one, he's incredibly dirty, which is untenable. For two, even though he's stubbornly downplaying it, the headstones are kind of getting to him. It's no big deal, but if his loved ones (small handful as they are) died, he's sure he would have heard about it. (He won't think about his own place in the plot. Not his problem! He's alive now!)

No, what is certainly the most pressing issue is the fact that he is hiding, actually hiding, covering his mouth and everything, from some kind of monster. He's long past skepticism in his life, but the mortal terror accounts for a great deal of distress even if he does believe (generally, and with pointed exceptions) in the paranormal. Peter is simply going to plant himself right here behind this enormous headstone of his, anxiously waiting out the thing stalking him, either until it catches him or loses interest or Peter himself dies of a heart attack. Seems like he could use an escape route.]

two:

[Peter, to his credit, is having a pretty good time with all of this. Scary entrances aside, and his own religious qualms, and...actually yeah all of this is confusing and horrifying and strange, but all of that aside, goddamn it, it's not all that bad. He likes being paid attention to. Sure, he may be walking deliberately and with intent into a trap, or some sort of weird human sacrifice, but it's nice to feel wanted sometimes, you know?

Maybe he should make some real friends. Too late, now.

He's not eating (citing irreconcilable allergies, or diets, or something) and he's very deliberately ignoring the talk about Imminent Transformation and the Glory of Change and Big, Big Claws, but he's not exactly in a hurry to leave, either. These people are weird, but nominally friendly, and treat him very well. Maybe getting subsumed into a cult is how his life was just going to end all along. Who is he to deny fate? Boy, he's really stretching to make this at all palatable.]

And you'll never believe what the man said to me next! It was positively bursting with people in there, and he still has the audacity to—to raise his voice, mind, and make sure everyone could hear, and—

[He can be found regaling a semi-captive audience of leather-clad faithfuls in a corner of the room, seemingly unperturbed by any of the less savory implications of what's going on. His survival instincts are so-so.]

wild;

[ just come at my little man with whatever you want! basic info is right here for yew ]

[For this, Need gets the body of her most recent bearer, who... the author's dream cast for Captain Kerowyn is Cher, so imagine 40ish Cher with smooth blonde hair and as much muscle is appropriate for a mercenary.]

sword of alone

[Need is unmoving in that open grave for a long time. It might be hours, it might be less than that, because she's all the way awake, and Mindblind, and Mageblind, and most importantly, something's happened to Kerowyn. Kero wouldn't have laid here passively upon waking up. Finally, Need says something out loud, in Kero's low voice.]

Demonsbane, girl, this isn't like you.

[Nothing happens, and she's realized that her own self isn't strapped to Kero's body anywhere. Need's spent too long imprisoned in a blade that she spelled for calm to panic easily, if ever, but she does feel herself start sweating.]

Aw, hell.

Old habits

[Need doesn't trust the people of Rota. They're friendly and have told her a lot, but they're also really intense and have a weird viewpoint. So it's a Changechild situation, with a full on Kiyamir Ma'ar level of extremity and sadistic edge? If there's any situation that makes her regret being Mageblinded it's this one.

You might find her making a sling out of cord. Good easy weapon, ammunition's everywhere, and these people don't seem to carry slings, so she might be able to carry it without anyone knowing she's armed. The usefulness of a ranged weapon is reduced in close quarters, obviously.

Bow making is harder and might be less fruitful, but she's taught a dozen bearers how and watched the hands of many more do it; it comes easily. So you might find her carving wood with a gifted knife, listening to Tågevalgten rhapsodize about higher beings.

It'd be better if there was a forge, but even assuming she could just walk into one and payment for fuel and materials isn't a thing, making a sword is an involved process and takes longer.]

You think it's even useful to have a sword here? ...Heh. I've lived too long. What a question.

[Need's asking Kero - she's afraid that her bearer is still in here and aware, beyond her ability to hear her, and it will be a slightly less awful experience if Need talks to her - but she's also asking out loud.]

obligatory what is technology

[This doesn't come out of the blue, but if you've had a passing handwaved friendly or semifriendly interaction with Need, she's fully comfortable asking for help. She taps the closed network laptop and raises Kero's eyebrow wryly.]

Permit an old woman to say 'What?' every two seconds, will you? What is this, and is it useful?

1. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; (Scenario 1)

[Niina drags her out of the ditch with the grace of an angry cat. Mud and grime are already clinging to her school uniform as she blows the hair out of her face. Her first thoughts that this was some prank from Uta trying to get a rise out of her. The snarl started to grow in her throat as she realized that she didn't recognize her surroundings--probably not a prank.

Her fists ball at her sides as she shifts her gaze around her surroundings. Of course she had to end up in a strange place just as all their work started to grow fruit, so to speak.]

You! [She snaps at the first person she sees, either you or the gravekeeper, it didn't matter to Niina.] What the hell were you thinking?! If you don't bring me back, I'll--!

[The words 'I'll kill you' fades on her lips. This probably isn't the situation for that, she belatedly realizes so she just snarls out another threat.]

I'll punch you in the gut.

[Nailed it, Sister would be proud.]

2. A silent suffering, and intense; (Scenario 2)

[Niina's anger hasn't diminished in the least but at least now it's turned inwardly. These strangers seem so... strange. Niina's not one for crowds even in the best of times and for all her bluster from before she just goes to the edge of the 'party' with both food and the pamphlets.

The mystery meat doesn't look appetizing but her gut tells her that she's hungry. That she probably should eat and no one else is. That's alarming but--well? She might want to act contrary.

She sniffs the food.]

Doesn't seem rotten. [It's suspicious. It's definitely suspicious! She nibbles.]

... Doesn't seem poisoned, either. [Something about when in Rome?] ...Sister makes better food, though. [She mumbles under her breath.]

3. All that the proud can feel of pain; (Scenario 4 (werewolf))

[She feels like she's been cheated. Niina hasn't obviously started transforming yet. She feels sluggish during the day, more awake at night and her teeth are more fang-like and... that's it. It's disappointing.

So she's taken to the streets at night to take out her frustrations on anyone she finds. There's a monster following her, she thinks. One lurking just out of view. Sneaky bastard, she thinks.

She finally stops in front of a store front. She turns around with a sharp snap of her jaws.]

What do you think you're doing! [Her voice is deeper than usual, growling intensely at... the window. There's a blink then she shakes her head when all she sees is her reflection, albeit one with more pointed ears than usual.]

...what sort of trick is this?!

[She snarls at her reflection. She couldn't have been tricked. Right? That was stupid. Utterly stupid.]

[ ooc: this is dense with spoilers for part 5, so please avoid if you're planning on watching/reading! ]

1.

[ The situation isn't as incongruous as it could be. The rain was only barely clearing in Rome, as he recalls.

It doesn't hurt that he had no expectations whatsoever for what was going to happen next.

The fact that he's in an actual grave with an actual tombstone is morbidly heartwarming for a moment or two upon waking, when he's still too disoriented to really comprehend the reality of the situation - after all, that means that Giorno and the others had to have succeeded. Not only that, but thrived, could afford to bury him like this despite all the inevitable fallout. It's relief enough to bring some peace to his expression for a moment.

Only a moment, though. Dead people don't usually get to see their graves, after all. His surroundings are also very evidently no corner of Italy he's ever seen. Hell? Certainly not heaven. Purgatorio, perhaps, though he can't imagine someone like himself would get off so easily. But Bucciarati is ultimately too practical to linger on the spiritual possibilities. The dirt feels solid enough under his hands. More alarmingly, it feels cold. The sound of metal jingling nearby (which is also surprising to hear, for similar reasons) keeps him from contemplating it all too much longer. He's not alone. And, afterlife or not, he's hardly about to assume he's safe now. ]

Sticky -- ...?!

[ No answer. Nothing. The list of shit he needs to worry about is increasing much more rapidly than he'd like, considering he's supposed to be dead. Fortunately, he's good at compartmentalizing. He hauls himself up out of the grave, about as gracefully as one can manage to do such a thing, and, ignoring the aching and the heaviness lingering in his limbs, ducks behind another wide headstone a few rows back, shoulders tense. Time to see who came to raise the dead. And "ask some questions," if he has to. ]

2.

[ he is not eating or drinking anything at this party, thank you very much - getting trapped in the underworld forever is something he'd rather avoid, and at this point, he's still not quite convinced that this place is anything else. He's endured the brown-nosing and hard-selling with his usual stoicism, expression bereft of anything other than tiredness and the occasional twinge of irritation, but by the time he's handed his fourth pamphlet ("Lich-erally Life-Changing! Undead Tips and Tricks for the Modern Monster"), he folds it up into a square and drops it on the ground with some disgust. ]

Stop screwing around and start talking. I need real answers. [ Bruno's voice is clear and loud, easily audible even in the hubbub of the little gathering. ] Explain why I'm here. No, before that, explain where "here" is. Now.

[ is this some kind of weird cult? Or worse, some kind of weird Stand user and their weird cult? He can't say with certainty that there are no powers that can raise the dead; in fact, he'd say it's looking more and more likely by the minute, especially considering his own is conspicuously absent. ]

Edited 2021-09-12 03:50 (UTC)

➤ I. GRAVEYARD

[When death and the dead are part of your daily life, one tends to get a bit desensitized to certain things. The inherent eeriness of a graveyard, for one, has lost its effect entirely - after all, in Joshua's experience, the only ghosts that would be haunting a cemetery would be Players or particularly sentimental Reapers.

That doesn't change the fact that Joshua's present situation is more than a bit unsettling.

Waking to find that his impromptu bed is nothing more than a shallow grave with a headstone bearing his name had been quite the unwelcome surprise, honestly, considering he’d clearly been moved against his will and he hadn’t noticed a thing. His skin and clothes are caked with damp mud - ugh, honestly disgusting - and the sting of untended and dirty wounds draws his attention to his body, which, to his genuine surprise, is the smaller teenage form he'd taken so many years ago. So, he's been forced down to the RG as well as kidnapped, then. Fantastic.

The names on the headstones marking the undisturbed graves beside his own aren't quite as odd: the names of his previous Officers, his previous Conductor, a couple of remaining Reapers. They were all dead, of course. Graves make sense, even if the situation doesn't. Whoever it was that brought him here, why show him this? What are they trying to accomplish with all of this?

Only one grave earns a thoughtful pause. 'Sakuraba Neku'. Hm. But only just days ago, he'd…

The faint jingling of keys in an otherwise silent environment grabs his attention, and Joshua's head snaps around. The distant bobbing of a faint light just barely illuminates a shovel, and an unfamiliar sense of dread skitters down his spine. Whether this is real or not, it stands to reason that a gravekeeper would not be happy finding a grave disturbed, much less its supposed occupant up and wandering about.

As quietly as possible, Joshua climbs from the ditch of a grave and slips behind the headstone. Upon further inspection, there seem to be woods nearby and no fence to speak of, or at the very least a gap large enough to accommodate the trees. If he's quick, maybe he can go undetected...]

➤ II. ROTA

[The kindness of these strangers feels just a bit too convenient, in Joshua's mind. Their odd dress aside, coming into town to find a space decorated as if they were expected is his first hint that something is amiss. With his abilities effectively blocked, he can't quite get into their heads to find their true intentions, but so far all of the context clues are hinting at the fact that maybe this isn't such a great place to be.

Joshua politely passes on any of the food and drink - he's read plenty enough on the mythology of both the European fae folk and many cultures' underworlds to know that strange food being offered in a strange place is not to be trusted - but the pamphlets are, unfortunately, something he can't quite escape. Giving in and accepting seems to be the only way to get these people to stop badgering him, and so, with a thin smile, he extends a pale hand to take a pamphlet from a woman bearing a headdress covered in strips of seaweed. Seemingly satisfied, she leaves him be, moving on to the next unfortunate newcomer.

Flipping it over in his fingers, one delicate brow lifts in a judgmental fashion.]

'It's Not Just You: A Beginner's Guide to Embarrassing Changes'. Well, that sounds reassuring.

➤ III. WILDCARD

[Any other ideas? Hit me up here!]

a. prime directive (scenario 2)
"Whoa, hey, whoa, buddy, back off."

Mariner's not in a great mood. There seems to be a dampening field here, since her commbadge seems to be little more than a brooch that makes chirping noises, so she can't get in touch with the Cerritos. And now some weird guys who are dressed like animals and definitely pre-warp are all up in her business.

But - and this is a huge but (heh, huge butt) - they know what humans are. So theoretically this should be Second Contact, which is the Cerritos' mission. But these guys are decidedly pre-warp. Their vehicles run on fossil fuels, for God's sake!

Wait. Hmm. This might be a prank. From Jennifer. God! She hates Jennifer.

She gets out of the main party area, just because these guys are seriously giving her the creeps, and says clearly, "Computer, end program."

Nothing happens. "Aw, come on! This is actually real?! Rrrgh!"

b. what does god need with a starship? (scenario 3 - fog god)
In her exploration, Mariner's found her way to a place called Dyster. It should really be called 'Disturbing', because this place is just as much of a cult as the otherkin guys who found her first. This place is just full of people talking to the Fog. She's pretty sure that whoever and whatever the Fog is, it's got something to do with strange energies. 'Cause that's really just what causes most civilizations to do this whole super-intense worship thing; someone gets zapped with those energies and they get delusions of being a god, they get all these powers, blah blah blah, can only be stopped by dropping a boulder on them. Or nut-shots. Personally, she thought that her expert nut-shots had done quite a bit to save the Cerritos.

"Step one, find the Fog. Step two, find a boulder," she mumbles to herself, striding through Dyster with purpose. She knows that if you look like you know what you're doing, people usually don't question it.

c. resistance is futile (scenario 3 - fourth god)
Mariner did not expect to walk through a door and find what looked to be primitive robots toddling around and ancient technology, but she's not about to complain. This is the closest she's gotten to anything resembling a circuit board since she arrived here. Well...aside from the laptops, but they didn't really seem to like being messed with.

"All right, now we're talking," she says, looking over one of the robots.

d. lower decks! lower decks! lower decks! (wildcard)
Ugh, trying not to let on that she's Starfleet is a pain. Not that anyone recognized her uniform, but blending in with the locals' clothes is just...obnoxious. It feels like she's on one of the planets that Those Old Scientists visited.

"I hate it here," she grumbles, collapsing on a bench, folding her arms mulishly. Boimler would either be freaking out or trying to make the best of things, but Boimler wasn't here. Neither was Tendi, or Rutherford, or Ransom, or Shaxs, or Kayshon, or Captain Freeman, or anyone. (She wouldn't admit it to her face, but...she kind of missed the Captain.) "What sort of ass-backwards planet doesn't have gagh?"

e. kirk to enterprise (network)
< ens.b.mariner >

ok i'd say this place is worse than beta iii but at least you're not weird cultists or whatever

.......never mind i take that back those otherkin people were pretty culty

so uh any of you people seen a guy around here, purple hair, total dweeb, answers to brad or bradward or boimler, probably wearing what looks like a uniform? please don't tell me something ate him, i'm ready and willing to go kick ass right now but last time i saved him from something's mouth it was a galardonian spider cow and it ate his clothes off and i don't have any spares to give him 'cause i've seen little boimler once and i don't want to again

Edited 2021-09-12 20:39 (UTC)

(ooc: big SPOILER WARNING for NEO!)

scenario 1

[The only indication that there is anyone in the grave at all is a quiet groan, followed by a hiss. Unlike many before her, the girl lying at its bottom doesn’t bother trying to crawl her way out, even with the sky promising freedom above—or even as the jangling of the gravekeeper’s keys grows ever closer... Or even when someone peers into the grave to have a look at her.

She stares back for several long moments, blankly, before finally speaking up.]

… Uh. You need something, or…?

[She sounds bewildered, annoyed, and exhausted all at once.]

scenario 4 (manticore)

[Shoka had gathered by now that the changes would start out small—but even then, she had still expected something a bit more… actually monstrous than this. In hindsight, the streets downtown had seemed especially crisp today, louder and sharper at the edges, enough to give her a headache. A strange sensation around her face—a certain fuzziness—had prompted her to step aside and take a glance at her reflection in a store window, cat-eared hood pulled down, and there they were: another pair of tufted black cat ears, sitting atop her head as if they belonged there.]

W-woah—… [She brushes a finger experimentally over one ear, snickering when it gives a little twitch in response.] Pfft… Okay. You have got to be kidding me…

[Even now (or maybe especially now, in light of today’s already bizarre situation), there are moments she forgets her own corporeality. Years in the UG had made her accustomed to conveniently phasing right through most others she might have wandered into on the street. Here, however, she takes a step back and immediately collides roughly with a pedestrian.

Startled, she jumps, rigid and catlike, and hears herself make an equally animalistic hiss.]

—Um?! [Wow. That wasn’t cringey at all.] Oh, geez—Uh, sorry…?

network

< SWALLOW >

hey is anyone on here any good at sewing?
i could really use a tutorial. wings just came in and my hoodie is looking pretty busted x_x

I. Graveyard

[There is the steady snap and pop as her fingers grip tightly at the grass above, blades of it tearing as she pulls at it desperately. Lines form in the earth as dirty packs itself beneath her fingernails as Vanessa pulls herself out of her open grave. Vanessa herself is not particularly athletic and her dress does not lend itself to such movements needed to climb like this, but she manages it after a few more grabs at the ground ahead of her.]

[She allows for a moment of respite and lays there curled on her side. Vanessa's breaths are labored from her efforts and it takes her a moment longer still to release her hold upon the clumps of dirt and grass within her fists. Once she catches her breath, Vanessa moves to sit up. Although confident that this is yet another vision, Vanessa is uncertain from who exactly the vision originates. It must be one of her tormentors, she assumes, but the approach seems a bit rudimentary from their usual assaults. Threats of killing those she holds dear hardly rings as a threat any longer, especially not after the deal Lucifer had offered her just days ago. Then again, it is not likely him. If anything, it would be the other.]

[Vanessa rises unsteadily to her feet as her eyes move from the surrounding headstones. Whether it's a snap of a twig, an unnatural shadow, or simply the soft sounds of earth underfoot, something alerts Vanessa to the fact she is not alone. She turns only her head slightly in that direction, spine ramrod straight.]

What is it to be then? What promises have you come to make?

((ooc: given that many of the surrounding headstones will have recognizable names like victor frankenstein, mina harker, dorian gray, and john clare, characters are free to recognize them if they would have any familiarity with them. i am also okay with mentions of them being figures in literature in your character's world [whether it's character or, in john clare's case, a poet], but would prefer we don't teeter into the line of telling vanessa she's not real. homegirl has enough mindfuckery to contend with without that being an Extra Layer lmao))

II. Rota

[Were things a touch more opulent, it would look perhaps a little more familiar to Vanessa. The bored aristocracy of London do so often feel the need to teasingly dabble into what they view to be the macabre and occult to keep themselves entertained after all. However, that's only after a cursory glance at their hosts. Unlike the Londoners, there was fervent belief beneath what Vanessa considered to be a childish approach. For Londoners, their belief was closer to playacting than genuine devotion.]

[Still, she had about as much patience for the people of Rota as she often did for silly games played at parties.]

I have no desire to accompany you, [she says by way of declining yet another invitation to attend a hunt.] I only wish to leave.

[Those paying close attention may very well notice her grip tightening on some cutlery she pinched earlier when declining one of the numerous and similarly insistent offers of food.]

[OOC: My canon familiarity is Post-Heavensward Pre-Stormblood (though I'm pulling Alphinaud here like right before the end of HW's post-patch content), so spoilers for the post and requesting no spoilers for everything else. Also this is me voice testing and literally my first post with him ever so pls be gentle thank you]

A) ONE

[The last thing Alphinaud remembered was pain. White hot, searing agony that ripped its way up his arms and into the entire length of his body. It were as if the claws of Nidhogg himself were raking over his skin in defiance, refusing to relent. Outright rejecting he and the Warrior of Light's feeble attempts to free Estinien from his iron-clad hold. There had been...something. Just there, a vision in the corner of his eye, but-

A sharp gasp tears its way out of his lungs, painful as it is sudden, as he sits bolt upright in a shallow grave. It takes him some time to come to his senses, looking around in the semi-gloom as he tries to piece together what just happened. He knew of the danger going in, but had he truly-?

Well, sitting here wasn't going to answer any of his questions. He's wounded- he can feel the cuts tug at his skin as he moves- but not terribly. He's able to stand despite how weak he feels, dirt falling off his jacket as he pulls himself out of the hole in the ground. It's only when he's out of it that he spots something else out of the corner of his eye. Not a vision this time, it seems, but something real. Someone. His first reaction is to reach at his hip for his grimoire, only to find that it isn't there. Of course it isn't there.

Less apt are his skills in stealth, but what choice is left to him? The only thing he can think to do is to attempt to steal away before he's seen so he can more properly survey the area and regain his bearings.

It's unfortunate, then, that the moment he turns, he comes face-to-face with someone else in the graveyard. Perhaps you've also recently pulled yourself from a grave, or maybe you've been here long enough to know a new arrival when you see one. And while Alphinaud- this boy, really- looks shocked to see you, he doesn't balk or flee. If anything, he seems to be immediately preparing himself for a fight, weapon or no.]

B) TWO

[It isn't long before Alphinaud finds himself whisked away by the "natives", and while he has a good many of his questions answered...there are far more to answer than he'd had originally.]

"Children of the Fog"...

[He finds himself repeating this under his breath, a hand curved near his chin as he eyes the pamphlets that the Tågevalgten have been gleefully handing out to others like him. To be honest, what the pamplets themselves say don't hold a lot of meaning for him. He's run into his fair share of eccentric tribes in his travels, and that's exactly what he assumes is going on here. The thing that doesn't add up is that these people...they're not beasts. He's reasonably sure they aren't, despite their masks and dress...they're not of any Eorzean species he's ever come across otherwise, that's for sure.]

If I didn't know any better...

[He's still murmuring to himself, brows tightly knit. He's watching the Tågevalgten move about, addressing yet more people as they arrive. He has little doubt in his mind that this must be a Beast Tribe of as-of-yet unfamiliar origin, the rest of the puzzle basically staring him straight in the face.

Those pamphlets speak of the Fog God, after all. Maybe if Alphinaud had any reason to think he wasn't in Eorzea, he'd be assuming differently...but now it seems as if there's even more for them to deal with. That's troubling on its own, of course, but made worse by the fact that he hasn't been able to find anyone. No Estinien, no Warrior of Light, no Aymeric...no battlefield. No Ishgard. He hasn't the foggiest how he's managed to be teleported somewhere completely new, but even defying logic...he has no reason to discount the possibility that something strange could have happened to him in his attempt to wrest the eye from Estinien's armor.

But that still leaves the question of where that leaves him now.]

C) FOUR | Gargoyle | CW: The usual desc. of changes, blood, gore, etc

[By now, whether he likes it or not, Alphinaud has been appraised as to the situation in this place. Or rather, on it. This peninsula called Ryslig, where people are transformed into beasts themselves against their will. As far as he understands, it's nothing like the way of the heretics, those who willingly partake of dragon's blood to become as one with their brood. This is involuntary and not by choice. It will happen, it is simply a matter of when.

And unfortunately for Alphinaud, today is that day. He's simply one of the many unfortunate souls who find themselves outdoors when the Fog rolls in and the changes start. He's not sure if it's a mercy or not that the changes he experiences are as abrupt as they are violent. They don't slowly happen over the course of a few days, or even hours. No, they just happen.

The pain is like that of the rage of the eye, only much more unfeeling and pointed. It's just pure agony as one moment he's making his way to the temporary lodgings he'd found himself in and the next he's just...on the pavement. Completely dropped, his legs giving out underneath him and sending him to a crumpled heap on the ground.

And by gods, the pain. He's honestly not sure if he's making a sound at all, though he's certain he must be screaming. Wailing as the back of his coat rips itself to shreds at the shoulder-seams. It may as well not even be a coat any longer with how fully it's torn apart, nothing more than shreds hanging from the wings that explode from his back. He has no idea how they could have appeared beneath the skin without his notice, but they do, and the change is unkind. He can feel his own blood dripping down onto him as the wings fan out, trying to stretch themselves to their fullest length before drawing back against him, shivering and bare. It's difficult to see past the thick red blood and viscera clinging to them, but what does manage to show through are brilliant white-silver scales that cover their entirety. If he could see them himself, he'd compare them to Vidnofnir herself, perhaps...

But that's a thought that doesn't occur to him now. He can't even comprehend what he's looking at much less feeling, so the best he can do for the time being is drag himself closer to the wall of the nearest building, if only so he isn't sprawled directly in the middle of the street. He can hear the agonized howls of others changing all around him, but in his own fugue state he isn't sure if they're experiencing what he is, or if it isn't some sort of attack.

Alphinaud isn't sure it matters, just now. If it is the latter, he has no way to defend himself much less flee. The pain is so great that he may as well be dying long before another can strike him down.]

↳ { I. To thee, my Love, to thee—; OTA }

[Her first thought, after waking in a casket with its open lid, was, One should not be so filthy. This was quickly followed by the rising horror that Erina was in a grave. She sat up quickly enough to make herself dizzy, and held her head in her hands as she stood. It wasn't yet night. Good, good, that would make this much harder.]

[Her dress was the same she recalled wearing last - soft pink, with a scooped next and a frothy, fluffy petticoat. Her shoes grey, high-heeled and altogether useless for climbing. Jonathan would be so worried if she wasn't home soon, but...]

[There was a clank of metal keys nearby and Erina looked up, noticing a pair of eyes from behind her headstone. She motioned quickly for them to come down.]

Hurry; I would not like to see what new horror this place has inflicted on even the dead.

↳ { II. So fain would I come to thee!; OTA }

[The city of Bavan was familiar enough, but Erina wasn't exactly sure how to get there from Rota of all places. The daylight was enough to keep her from being all fuzzy and furry, but to see the cultists parade around in furs and nails sharpened into fake claws, wearing animal masks, it was enough to make one heave.]

[Which she did when one came too close with an uncured pelt. Ghastly, all of these people were terribly ghastly.]

I beg your pardon, but I am trying to get to Bavan. Can you direct me? I'll walk if I need to.

[Anything to get away from them.]

1.Dig that Grave
[Sure, timelines merging should just happen and not do something weird. Like her suddenly waking up somewhere that she wasn't before, this is most certainly not where she had been moments ago. And she hadn't been injured, so this was very disconcerting.

So Asakura is going to sit up, taking in her surroundings which are well... A grave, she doesn't panic though that wouldn't do her any good as she's going to try and get out of said grave. Not hearing the gravekeeper nearby, but... She does notice something, or someone, closer.]

Hello?

2.Rota, Bota.
[This was ridiculous, and the people around her weren't much help.]

I just want to leave. [She protests, trying her best to get away from the Tågevalgten. Even though she had come along peacefully, she was getting irritated now. Which is a miracle, as she wasn't annoyed easily. Anyone who can see her can pick up on that.]

3. Fog (Dyster)
[Sure, weird voices aren't a good thing but. Well, it made Asakura feel nostalgic for being home, when she was connected to the Data Entity and all that. So she had listened to it and was now in some weird foggy town? At least she assumed it was a town, and now she was simply wandering through it's streets.]

Is anyone here? [She asks to the fog, not really expecting an answer.]

① THE GRAVEYARD open to all

[ sometimes you wake up in a grimy ditch feeling like shit and lay there for a bit 'cause this isn't the first time it's happened. awareness sets in properly a little after that, enough for him to realise that he has no idea how he got here or where here is. had he gotten rayshifted somehow without realising it? or maybe he'd been sucked into another one of those singularities that shouldn't exist, in which case— ]

If I find out there's a Nobunaga behind this shit again I'll kill every last one of 'em...

[ but he has to get up first. and he does, but this is when izō becomes aware that there's a lot more about this that's wrong than he originally surmised. his connection to his Master is simply gone; a realisation that at first triggers a hot wash of anger for a second or two before it occurs to him that this isn't the Throne. whatever's happened it isn't because the contract had been dissolved — at least by ritsuka — else he'd have been sent back to where every heroic spirit goes when they aren't summoned as a servant.

the fact remains that he is completely alone here regardless of why he is, and izō preferred anger over what he feels about that now. that hits different when it's a choice. in any case, standing around in this hole in the ground isn't going to help. its when he's just climbed out that izō finally notices the gravestone with his name on it, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

it's not the grave that bothers him — honestly, that never would have occurred to him because who buries dead bodies? — but he knows a grave marker when he sees one, even if it's in a strange style. ]

The hell is this? Ya think this shit is funny?!

[ so much for stealth. or subtlety. there's no telling how far his voice might carry out here. but then there's other gravestones and other names and he reaches for a sword that isn't there. izō can't recall the last time he's been so livid; if he weren't human right now he'd be radiating the sort of killing intent even non-magical people could feel. but since he's not, anyone else will just have to settle for being able to see it. ]

You here to laugh at me? 'Cause I don't need a sword to kill ya; I've slain everybody who ever looked down on me like that...

[ he accosts the first person he runs across — whether it's a new arrival like him or someone who's been here a lot longer. monsters? he's seen monsters and a handful of very weird servants besides. ~~you aren't special.~~ more importantly, right now he thinks you're in on the "joke". whatever that is. ]

[ ooc; since as a fate/ izō also has backstory from actual history, characters familiar with bakumatsu era japanese history are free to recognise the names on the gravestones as historical figures. the other two besides izō's would read sakamoto ryouma and takechi hanpeita. ]

② ROTA open to all

[ make no mistake, izō's still pissed off, but there's nothing a little food and drink can't at least improve. he does a lot more drinking than eating and after a few hours one might think he's actually having a good time.

the people here are definitely strange and he has no idea what exactly all this "children of the fog" nonsense is, but no one's actively trying to kill him right now so he can deal with the rest. as much as he distrusts others he's not suspicious in the right way, perhaps, because he couldn't imagine what they might want from him. it's easy to assume all this monster stuff is just a strange hobby. he's not very smart but he's not a complete idiot; someone's told him what cosplay is before. ]

Hey! Whatcha get on the quiz thing? The fuck's a "werebear"?

[ his experience with monsters and monster-adjacent things begins and ends at figuring out how to kill them. if he'd ever seen one, he wouldn't have known it. ]

A.) A grave situation
[Raz awakens with a yell and the shuffling of his legs.]

"Ah!! No, no, no, not this!" [He kicks up the dirt, scrambling to his feet to distance himself as far from the make shift grave as possible.]

"How did I..? This doesn't look like the Forgotful Forest--! Or does it. If I had forgot?! I guess it could still be." [People did say the place could disorient people trying to find their way. Maybe this is another part of it he never wound up in?]

"I'll just check my bag for my maps and oh no!" [Raz pales as his hand is met with bare canvas. His maps! His psi cards, they're all gone!!]

B.) A dissapointing lack of psychic beasts
[The less Raz recognizes as he wanders the more he is convinced.]

"This has to be someone's mind, it's the only possible explanation. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd even take some crying luggage right about now. Or a censor! Or--"

[A low growl emits from the forest and Raz whips around to view the source.]

"Or a pyrokinetic cougar!"

[He stares expectantly at the silhouetted animal for a few seconds before letting out a dismayed sigh.]

"No. I think you're just a regular cougar." [So a strike against this being anywhere near the motherlobe but not necessarily against a brainscape. Rats. Regardless, the pouty ten year old probably should not standing so close to Ryslig's native fauna. ~~Unless of course you are said native...~~]

C.) Ring, ring, ring bacon phone
[These Tage might be a little on the eccentric side, but compared to mutated fish people, the patients at the Thorny Towers, or even half the other agents Raz spoke to on a daily basis, the ten year old hardly seems disturbed beyond the occasional face twitch at some of the weirder things they've said. If there is one thing Psychonauts did, it was adapt! And when the local populace tells you they think you're going to mutate into some strange creature someday, you politely say thank you and learn what you can.

When they bring out a tray of--] "Bacon! Perfect!" [--the kid makes a beeline for it.]

"Hopefully this still works." [Gingerly Raz raises the strip of cooked flesh to his face, past his mouth, up to his ear aaand begins to talk to it.]

"Agent Cruller. Agent Cruller, please respond!!"

OOC: Most likely not going to app, but hey! Thought I'd take a spin and have some fun helping others test.

scenario 1

[Pulling herself out of the grave had been a terrible hassle, of course, not to mention completely humiliating even in her disoriented state—but she had done it, somehow… only for the heel of her shoe to then promptly catch on something and send her sprawling into the dirt.

She must look ghastly, wild-eyed and filthy, but there is for once no time for her to be concerned with such things. There is something approaching her, a shape in the gloom—a Pokémon? No—a human?

She draws herself upright, snarling, prepared to strike whatever it was away with a tentacle—but Nihilego is gone. So too are her Poké Balls, when she thinks to check for them. She shrinks back then under the stranger's gaze, baring her teeth like a trapped animal.]

Stay—Stay back, you—!

scenario 2

[Truthfully, Lusamine has been rather enjoying all of the attention. The outlandish fashions and offerings of sickly-smelling meats aside, there is a comforting familiarity in being so earnestly fawned over and waited upon, particularly after how jarring her drop into this new world had been. For a time, she is perfectly comfortable listening to her quaintly novel company—the Tågevalgten—natter on, smiling politely all the while.

Alas, there are far more important things for her to be doing. Eventually, the novelty of those silly costumes begins to wear off. There is a new world unfolded before her, she remembers then, glistening with fresh, strange possibilities—and there are real beasts out there to be discovered.

After a moment longer of playing along, thumbing idly through a pamphlet (and gently refusing yet another offer of skewered mystery meat), she decides to reach out to the nearest headdress-less person, lightly placing a hand on their arm before leaning in to speak softly in their ear:]

I don’t suppose they’ll be letting us go any time soon, do you? [She doesn’t seem especially worried, however, instead smiling faintly, conspiratorially.] I think it’s due time we made a break for it. Don’t you?

scenario 5

[The moment someone passes by close enough to hear her, Lusamine speaks up.]

Oh—Hello? Do excuse me. [Excitement and a hint of embarrassment bubble up in a small, girlish giggle.] I hope you’ll pardon my asking, but… What do you call this sweet little creature?

[She holds out her arm then, carefully, to show a large black mosquito perched there, prepared to bite. Lusamine smiles, clearly enamored with the thing.]

It seems to have taken quite a liking to me.

i. from nothing, to nothing again

[A clawed hand emerges from the dirt, and Juno Steel breathes in a lungful of fresh air. He spits out a mouthful of dirt, retching and trying to find his bearings. His head pounds, his vision swims, and all he can feel is a familiar hunger gnawing in his chest, pushing him to move, to seek out fresh blood.

The one-eyed wereraccoon pauses to catch his breath, sitting up in his grave. As the nausea begins to fade, he blinks, panting and taking in his surroundings.]

The hell--?

[Memories begin flooding back. The Fog God. The Fourth. His stupid cat. He shakes the remainder of dirt from his fur, trying to figure out where he is.]

Shit.

[Slowly, he gets up onto his feet, groaning and grunting with the effort. His ears and whiskers twitch as he glances around, trying to orient himself. A silhouette in the distance. Potential help--or harm.]

Can someone tell me how the hell to get to Bavan?

ii. haven't we done this before?

Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.

[His ears flatten against his head as he stares with disdain towards the cultists. They're speaking about how unusual it is to see a wereraccoon, how he must be gifted for being a new arrival and receiving this sort of gift.

They seem to be surrounding him, and judging from the fur standing up on end, Juno does not appreciate it.]

Do you even--I lived here for two years! I am not new!

iii. wildcard

[Just futzing around with my good lady Juno Steel. Wanna poke me for something else? HMU @ wolfnoir!]

[ONE - Meet Me In The Graveyard For an Ass Kicking]

[Tawna sucks in a shaky breath as she tries to get her feet under her after hauling herself up and out of a hole in the ground. Her heart is pounding against her ribs and she's stumbling forward. She is trying to remember how she even got into the ground and drawing a blank.

She turns back to see what she just pulled herself out of, and feels her stomach twist itself into knots.

A grave. A grave with her name on it.

She wasn't dead yet. She isn't dead yet-

Her hands manage to grab onto a nearby shovel, her fingers dig into the handle as she swings it down against the gravestone once, twice, thrice-

The cheap gravestone goes first, and Tawna doesn't seem to stop until the shovel breaks as well. The blade pops off and falls into the hole she crawled out of.]

I'm not dead! You hear me!? [Anger colors her voice as she waves the broken shovel at her surroundings, glaring at the graveyard accusingly.] You think this will scare me!?

[TWO - Lets Throw Down With A Cultist]

[Tawna had been more than nice this entire time. Hearing out the locals, accepting their handouts, being patient as they rambled. One of them grabbing her by the arm to drag her off out of the village is the last straw for her.]

Look, I'm not interested in joining your little group. So I'd advise you to back off. [Tawna warns one of the Tågevalgten trying to crowd her back into the group. She cracks her knuckles for emphasis, shifting her stance enough the man backs off slightly.

Tawna isn't quite sure what this new human body can handle, but she will find out if pushed. She isn't unaware of how touchy and friendly these weirdos have been with anyone else trickling in.] Leave the rest of the people coming in alone too, you hear me?

Edited 2021-09-16 05:29 (UTC)

the graveyard;

[The smell of dirt certainly isn't one that's foreign; not to a goddess who is used to gardens. The vague smell of death, even mixed with rain, doesn't even bother her so much as it reminds her of the Underworld. Which she thinks she's in, until she manages to sit up and pull herself out of the grave she's in. What Persephone is not used to is just how modern things appear. She doesn't recognize any of the numbers on this supposed grave of hers, though she does recognize the names on the ones nearest to hers.

She laughs, something almost entirely sarcastic, and turns to leave. She marches right past the human gravekeeper, barely paying him any mind. If he tries anything, well, she's a goddess and a queen; she can more than handle herself. He's not half as scary as her mother is, after all.]

dyster;

[The voice in Persephone's head isn't one that's familiar. She doesn't get the time to think too much about it before she's off, to a city entirely unfamiliar. At least the people dancing around a fire and singing praises to a god are something she's heard before, though she's not familiar with who it is they're praising. She doesn't ask any of the dancers, though. Interrupting someone in the middle of worshipping never does end well. Instead, she'll walk up to someone else, asking:]

I'm sorry, I've only just arrived. May I ask a few questions?

wildcard;

[anything else. if you're looking for a fight, go for it! if you just want to talk, feel free!]

One [CW SUICIDE]

[He was dead. He finally did it. He was out of that hell and he was finally dead. Surely it can’t be Groundhog Day anymore, right? No one buries a body the day someone dies, right?

… But there was that issue of why he was still aware of everything happening if he was dead. He didn’t question it at first (although he did loudly complain about the dirt falling on his face), but when he rubbed the side of his head he realized that his bullet wound was gone, and besides a dull headache he felt perfectly fine.

His relief and mild annoyance quickly makes way to panic as he sits up suddenly, feeling the dirt walls and staring at his hands trying to figure out what’s going on. Was he really dead? This is clearly not the loop anymore but he can’t begin to fathom why he’s suddenly in an open grave. He was sure that his funeral would be flocked by people mourning his death or… at least give him a coffin.

Phil, frankly, takes an embarrassingly long time to climb himself out of the grave. After taking a moment to catch his breath he notices what looks to be the gravekeeper and starts shouting at him.]

Hey jackass! Make sure someone’s dead before you decide to bury them!

[He notices the pitchfork, and he notices how weird this whole situation is, but he wasn’t one to keep his thoughts to himself, especially after spending years in a timeloop.

But when the man starts shambling to him wordlessly, he starts to realize just how off this situation was. His self preservation skills have all but dried up, but there was a small voice within him screaming at him to take it seriously for once in his life. He takes a few steps back and fakes a laugh.]

H-hey, it was just a joke! You don’t have to get pissed off at me like that.

[There is no response from the gravekeeper as he continues to make his way towards Phil. Barely thinking, he starts running away, and hides behind the closest person to him.]

Look, back off! If you get any closer my bodyguard is gonna kick your ass!

Two

[Phil hated small towns to his very core. He hated the sad size, the sad buildings, and the sad people that lived there. There was only so much you can do in a small town without going absolutely crazy and he was proof positive of that.

So when he finds himself in Rota surrounded by the Tåg, he is more put off by the general vibe of this place rather than the weird worship they were having over him. He “politely” talks to the citizens and offers autographs, and even gleefully helps himself to some drinks.

Still, he wasn’t stupid, and quickly he gets uncomfortable by these strangers fawning over him and offering him “steak”.

He notices someone who looks similarly uncomfortable and leans next to them, speaking in a low voice.]

Hey, you think they’d let us go if I just started screaming and punching everyone?

Four - Pooka

[One day, you will find a furry man lying face down on the sidewalk. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he was dead if he wasn’t mumbling to himself in the most pathetic voice.]

I’m in hell. They sent me to hell. What did I even do to deserve this fate?

[... Yeah Phil seems to be having a real one with his transformation.]

Wildcard

[If there's anything in particular that you want feel free to contact me on Discord at Blankblankity#7335 !]

[A – Rota]

[Despite the flurry of activity around him, Shu's entire attention is on the book in his lap. He's gathered all the resources he's been able to get his hands on and the books and pamphlets currently sit piled up around him as he ignores newcomer and local alike. His eyes track the lines on the page with a feverish intensity that doesn't necessarily seem warranted by personality quizzes and dry catalogs of horrible bodily mutations.

After a while, he pauses and rereads a paragraph, then looks up at whoever is nearby.]

Hello? You there?

[He waves them over and taps at a line in the book, the one that tripped him up.]

What's a bear?

[He sounds a bit too excited to hear the answer of such a simple question.]

[B – Dyster]

[Shu has been listening to the hymns with interest, though he has himself stationed far away from the festivities. His face is blank as his eyes track the action around the bonfires. It's all new information to take in, but he's beginning to wonder how useful any of it is going to be. There seem to be two “gods” recognized in this Lind, but he's not sure if either of them has any connection to the actual god they were all created for.

And watching these fanatics makes it clear that it would probably be dangerous for him if he isn't careful about how he asks. Which means he just has to find someone else to ask or someone else to do the asking. That means he'll need another “monster.” Luckily, there's one nearby.]

Excuse me~

[He's had to adjust how he injects himself into conversations, considering he's a nobody here, but that really just means a few polite phrases have been added back into his regular vocabulary instead of getting hauled out for special occasions.

He tries to wave the monster over, but if they ignore him long enough, he'll invite himself over to them.]

one.

[ Eyes blink open and he finds himself staring up blearily at lazy clouds, grey and looming. The edges of his sight are darkened, like there's an inexplicable sort of tunnel vision and it takes a minute or two to adjust. He realises somewhat belatedly that it's due to walls either side of him, boxing him into some sort of hole, or ditch, or...

Something in his mind conjures up flashes of blue as far as his eyes could see, the distant sound of surf against sand, and the feeling of craggy rock beneath his hands and– Oh, Christ. It's not a ditch, it's a grave.

He died. He's dead. Of that he is absolutely certain. Slowly, hesitatingly, he brings a hand to pat at the front of his chest, doesn't dare follow the movement with his eyes, but then his numb fingers meet solid flesh. A little cold, but wholly intact nonetheless.

Abbacchio isn't exactly a stranger to waking up in unfamiliar places, that's not the problem here. No, the problem is that he shouldn't be waking up anywhere at all.

Reaching out, he brushes against the edges of the dirt, briefly recoils at the sensation of damp earth. It doesn't seem to be actively raining now, but there's that familiar scent of petrichor in the air, drowning his senses and he can't help but curse, because of course there's rain. There's always rain.

He hauls himself up and out of the hole he's found himself in, confirms that it is a grave. There's even a headstone with his name on it, a plain and inoffensive thing that's been carved of some sort of dark stone. Absent-mindedly, he finds himself approving of it, there's an elegance to its simplicity, and he wouldn't have wanted something overly ostentatious anyway. He lets his thoughts wander for a moment, who would have cared enough to go through the trouble of giving him a proper burial? Bucciarati maybe? (That would mean everything had worked out then? That he had at least died for something?)

As he stands there, staring down at the grave – his grave – he wonders if it'd be taboo to watch his own funeral? He can at least admit to himself that there's a morbid curiosity, he has no doubt in his mind it would have been poorly attended (a necessity, obviously,) but he at least hopes no one was too sad, hopes they at least had the decency to wear something black...

It's absurd, and he knows he shouldn't, but he finds himself reaching for that familiarity anyway, searching for Moody Blues– except, there's nothing? There's this… emptiness. Something that he can't quite put his finger on, something that just feels so very wrong, and it has every one of his instincts screaming that this is a trap, or the work of an enemy Stand user... But how can that even be possible?

In his periphery there's a light in the distance, moving slowly. It draws all of his attention, pulling him out of his thoughts and finally causes him to turn away from that hole in the ground to get a proper look at the rest of his surroundings. His shoulders slump instinctively, he draws in on himself, finally taking note of how eerily quiet it is out here, (wherever here is, because he surmises it is definitely not home,) it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. And then there's a sound of some sort, an awful grating noise, like metal on stone, that sends a shiver down his spine, so he ducks as low as he can. Makes a concentrated effort for stealth and starts scanning around for anything– trails, paths, anything that could lead to some sort of exit out of whatever the hell this is. ]

two.

[ This is most definitely Hell. Or, at least some sort of approximation of what his personal Hell would be like, it had to be. What with the overly friendly nature of these people who– what had they called themselves again? Some sort of scouting team? For whom? He hadn't really been listening. Someone had said something about helping with settling him, which was funny because the only thing he currently felt was unsettled, thank you very much. Then he'd been manhandled onto a bus that didn't look roadworthy, and he didn't trust that in the slightest because he'd already gotten a bus There, hadn't he? He'd been told it was the last stop, so why was there another bus?

And now he was at some sort of gathering, silently following whoever looked to be most in charge, being jostled around, poked and prodded by people with less fashion sense than Fugo, and that was saying something. Being shown to tables with spreads of food. He wasn't alone. There were others with him, from the bus ride into this forsaken little town. (Though there was no one he recognised which was probably a good thing.) As he loitered, he caught the tail end of conversation, another person who looked as out of place as he did asking what kind of meat it was, and he rolled his eyes on instinct, not wanting to get tangled up in some nonsensical discussion.

He hated things like this in general, people trying too hard to impress others, going out of their way to appear as though they were helpful in one way or another. The whole thing was a façade. He schooled his face into one of practiced neutrality, brows creasing, and squared his shoulders. An attempt to look as unapproachable as physically possible – usually an easy feat for Abbacchio.

It wasn't exactly a large gathering by any means, at least not comparatively, but there were still too many people for his comfort, too many eyes and false smiles. He meandered as best he could, avoided the tables of food, made a point to ignore whatever drinks were laid out, but it seemed that no matter where he turned, whatever corner he tried to hide himself away in, there was always someone with an eager smile and a pamphlet with the most bizarre titles across the front.

He balls up the last of the leaflets that had been shoved unceremoniously into his hands and tosses it over his shoulder, his frustration mounting. ]

[ ooc: hello. oh god i havent done rp in like ten years, im sorry its so long idk what im doing please be gentle... ]

i. hold it!

[With a loud gasp, Ryunosuke's eyes flutter open to greet the fog-ridden sky above. Big mistake. A large clump of dirt enters his throat, and he chokes, coughing violently. His head swims as he sits up abruptly, his senses overwhelming him with information. Dampness. The chill of autumn. The smell of dirt and moss, and the promise of rain in the air.

A tombstone--no, many tombstones line the rows before him. His vision swims as he hacks up the last bit of soil, and dread suddenly grips his chest as he realizes where he is. His head twists around to confirm that--yes, that is a gravestone with his name on it.]

- Ryunosuke Naruhodo -
成歩堂龍ノ介
What the--?

[CLANG! The sound of a shovel striking the tombstone next to him can be heard, and Naruhodo nearly jumps out of his skin. He scrambles back, heart hammering in his chest as his eyes settle on a rather annoyed looking groundskeeper. No--not just annoyed, positively wrathful.]

H-Hey! I'm going, I'm going, I just woke up here! (Wherever here is.)

ii. adventures in magical translation

[This place was strange, to say the least, but perhaps the oddest thing Ryunosuke had encountered so far wasn't the advanced technology, nor the monsters that roamed the streets--though they are very terrifying. Rather, the signage that seems to populate this world is...confusing.

Upon entering town, he'd spotted a street sign written in what he thought was Japanese. The sight struck him as odd, as the surrounding architecture suggested a European town of some sort. As soon as the thought entered his mind and he blinked, the Japanese characters suddenly warped to become English words.

But that was impossible. Words don't change simply because your expectations shift. Perhaps he was seeing things. After all, he had just woken up in a grave, and who knows what happened to him before that?

As he continues to doubt himself, things become less and less consistent. Subsequently, Ryunosuke finds himself standing outside a cafe in Bavan, staring at a chalkboard that is currently advertising a lunch deal for ten solars. He's not quite sure what a 'solar' is, but regardless of the way he thinks about it, he's certain he understands what the Japanese equivalent of that word would be. His eyes seem to bulge out of his head as they dart around, trying to make sense of it all.

He doesn't realize he's standing right in the middle of the road until someone nearly bumps into him. Ryunosuke jumps, his attention brought back to reality.]

Ah--sorry! [He says, explicitly in English, inclining his head in apologies.] Um, this is probably a silly question, but...do you mind telling me what language that sign is in?

[He points towards the chalkboard, a sheepish expression on his face.]

iii. wildcard

[Got anything else in mind? Feel free to throw it at me!]

A) Scenario One
The scent of disturbed earth greets his nose, dank and familiar, and yet, wholly unfamiliar. It's devoid of the nuances of the soil, of what life crawled beneath or walked upon. As he lifts his head, dizzy -- wondering in a daze as to what happened before for him to be in the dirt -- the look of a gravestone catches his eye.

The shock of seeing his own name has him reeling, backpedaling fast enough - clumsy enough - to hit his head on the opposing soil wall of the grave site. His heart pounds in his chest and all at once he's hit with how wrong everything feels. He can't hear the blood rushing through his veins, nor the gurgle of his stomach or the way his lungs shift with breath.

His heartbeat is also -- he uses a dirty pair of fingers to check his pulse, try to calm down, and count -- slower, than usual, devoid of its usual triad beat pattern.

His hair also feels scratchy against his nape....

Flinging himself out of the grave, Glenn checks himself over in a hurry. His body is still horrifically numb from the shoulders down, and his vision is strangely inaccurate.

The world is moving too quickly, and it's in a growing sense of panic that he whirls around to check his surroundings more, unused to this and trying desperately to keep his calm.

This doesn't do anything good: His mother and Clara's grave sites greet his view, and it's all he can do to get the hell out of there before he truly loses his mind.

"I'm dreaming! Clearly I'm dreaming! Wake up---!!"

His thoughts race, latching onto various branching pathways. His mother and Clara were not buried side-by-side. What sign is that? What kind of meaning is it?

He bets there's going to suddenly be a flood and he's going to drown. He's going to drown like Clara did -- or maybe he's going to age so rapidly that he turns to dust?

Please pay no mind to the young man wearing a very old hoodie and leather-like pants and boots running past in absolute terror.

Or do?

B) Wildcard One
One thing Glenn can confirm, and it makes him want to laugh and cry all at once: the Igaes part of his bloodline has been completely purged, as well as any traits other than the damage the incompatibility left behind. All of that pain, Clara's death, watching his mother die of old age while he stayed the same-- and for what?

He still has damaged nerves. The scar tissue is now even more of a prison than ever. His sense of smell feels like it's dull, his vision blurry, the world moves too fast, and he too slow.

So clearly, the first thing to do to try to calm down is a depressant that he used to go to so long ago: alcohol. He takes it slow as he doesn't mind the patrons, monster-like and not. At this point, living in space for as long as he did, there's a lot to see and to accept.

And so no monster gets a second look from him.

The beer touches his lips, and it's almost exactly as he remembers it: weak, but with some flavor better suited to being part of a soup or stew.

...Soup or stew that, if his hypothesis is correct, he can have again. He can have vegetables again! It'll be wonderful to be able to go back to his original diet.

It'll be like how things should have been.

...But why does the loss also make him feel hollow?

C) Wildcard Two
Or come at me?

Edited 2021-10-15 00:58 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

Dr. Caligosto Loboto | Psychonauts/Psychonauts 2 | Will match style

Kate Denson | Dead By Daylight | OTA