TDM: NOVEMBER/DECEMBER

[ryslighelpers]

TDM: NOVEMBER/DECEMBER

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

You've stumbled your way out of the graveyard, and you're promptly besieged by the overwhelming sights and sounds of the city. Cars honk at you to get out of the street, and strangers try not to look in your direction for too long. They see your dirty clothes and scraped faces, and pretend to busy themselves with something else. Rarely, a look of pity is cast your way.

But some people try to reach out. Enterprising citizens and those that hope to curry favor with the newcomers pass out new clothes and bundles of food, asking if you have a place to stay the night, wondering about the details of the world you came from. Some are even handing out pamphlets which vary in how helpful they are--"What To Expect When You're Expecting (To Turn Into A Monster)", "Wolpertinger: Fact or Fiction?", "100% ACCURATE MONSTER QUIZ ASSESSMENT: GUARANTEED TO PREDICT YOUR MONSTER!", and "Ryslig Law In A Nutshell".

As you wander from street to street, you come to realize that some of these people seem...off. If you draw close enough to look at them--really look--you'll be able to observe certain uncanny features. A misshapen eye socket that looks more like an insect's compound eye, skin like a loose bag that seems to fit poorly over their own musculature, a backwards hand that seems to function as normal, and, of all things, an opaque mucus that seems to drip from unseen orifices.

Not only do these people look strange, they act strangely, too. One can be seen drinking a cup of whole coffee beans. Another chews on a piece of rubber tire as if it were a stick of gum. A man dressed in a full-body trench coat seems to writhe as he sits and reads a newspaper.

If any of them notice your approach, they immediately stroll over to enthusiastically greet you. When they speak, a droning buzz seems to emanate from deep within their chests. They smile and stare unblinkingly, talking in obscenity-riddled, disjointed sentences.

"Welcome! It is almost a season! Are you ready to fucking party?"

"What the shit! You're monster?"

With time, more and more of these people begin to shuffle towards you in an almost swarm-like fashion. Lose one of them, and more show up around the corner. They're eager to ask questions--most of which make absolutely no sense--and they won't be easily dissuaded from their goals.

Maybe you should run. Or maybe punch one of them. Surely, that won't cause any problems.

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.

Comments

Neku Sakuraba | Neo TWEWY

[unlivinglegend]

Scenerio One

[It's ironic that, for all the time he's died, he's never been in a grave. At least not that he recalls- odds are he would have been cremated anyway. So he doesn't recognize where he's in when he wakes up.

Even waking up caked in mud and scratched up, he doesn't panic. His time in Shinjuku gave him a cooler head as he got older, so instead, he lays there for a few moments, trying to sense out any nearby Souls. Nothing. So he's not in the UG again. Finally standing he clambers free, panting as he eyes his headstone]

Funny.

[He picks a direction and starts walking, calling out as soon as he hears someone... hopefully it's another future monster and not the Gravekeeper...]

Scenerio 2

[The city is more familiar, but even now he's not used to being seen. So the locals mostly refusing to look him in the eye is surreal- somewhere between the two extremes he's used to. He awkwardly untangle himself from someone offering pamplets (monsters? what) when he stumbles into one of the bug-like strangers.]

Fuck? Monster?

Uh, sorry about tha-

[Then he sees the malformed compound eye and sucks in a harsh breath, wheeling back in a panic.]

What the hell?!

[The bugthing crowds closer... and it's clear Neku is about to start swinging to get his space back. Uh oh...]

Scenerio 4 (Nephilim)

[It's his first Fog and honestly, even seeing other monsters and being warned he almost didn't believe it was going to actually happen. Espcially since he feels fine. Neku stumbled on a few other newcomers changing and did his best to help (or run for it for those overcome with hunger) but otherwise HE was unchanged.

That was until he was alone and in a surprisingly dark area. It's strange, he doesn't feel afraid of being attacked. He feels untouchable in a way. Anyone that tried he can easily escape... But suddenly he feels drained. Exhausted. With a curse he swoons, hitting his knees and groaning.

Still, no one would dare try something, he's sure. Never mind that he was usually a cautious and intelligent person when it came to his safety. He's fine, he's safe. That warm glow will protect him from anyone that would make an attempt-

Wait, light?

That is likely what lures other to him. The pulsing bursts of light]

2 fuck off bugs that MY emotional support Phones

[soundsurfing]

[It's about to get so much weirder for Neku in very short order. Beat's been watching for anyone who might come in from home, hoping no one did, scouting areas in his squirrel form. Until now, there's been nothing, and Beat had been about to leave when he spotted bright orange hair in the distance. No no no. Hoping it wasn't who he thought it was, he gets close enough to hear the voices.

No no no!

Taking the chance, Beat leaps from the building he'd been clinging upside down on to drop down ontop of the thing that definitely doesn't smell human. Neku will see a blur of small blonde aggressively squeaking:]

Get the fuck away from him, yo!

[just crawling madly all over the bugthing, causing it to back up with a FUCK?! Enough room for Beat to drop between them and shift out of his squirrel form into well... weresquirrel in greaser clothing. At least the hairstyle is familiar and there's no mistaking that voice.]

You best back the fuck up, or Ima kick yer ass into next week!! You aight, Phones?!

[The bugthing seems...... less distressed and more interested spouting OH! MONSTER! FUCK YEAH! and stepping forward again.]

Ryoko Asakura | Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya

[force_a_change]

Scenario One
[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?

Scenario Two
[The flyers and pamphlets are interesting, but not as interesting as the strange humans (???) that she's noticed around.

And she can be found having approached one of them, getting the usual curse-filled responses and soon well... She's surrounded by them.]

Oh dear, I can't answer all of these questions... [Because there are a lot of them going on.]

one.

[dragonssoul]

[ Draken's eyes widen a little as he spots the girl sitting upright in the grave - just like he had been a few minutes earlier. There's someone else in this absurd situation, too? Things are getting weirder and weirder, in a way that leaves Draken feeling more than just uncomfortable.

But after a moment he snaps out of it, running over to her. ]

Hey- Are you okay? Here. [ And he holds out a hand to help her stand, if she chooses to take it. ]

guillermo de la cruz | what we do in the shadows

[helsinged]

ooc; Please let me know if you'd like to avoid Season 3 spoilers!

one

[Guillermo wakes up screaming.]

[It's very clearly not a sound of fear. It starts low, a rumble before he's even fully conscious, and grows in strength and volume as he lunges into a sitting position, then out of the grave in a single smooth movement. He lands on hands and knees, eyes wild, glasses askew. He's not a particularly intimidating-looking figure on a logical level, but he's fast, and practically spitting in rage.]

LASZLO.

[It echoes off the trees.]

[Nothing happens.]

[He looks at the headstone for the first time. It reads "Gizmo". His expression goes slack, exhausted eyes projecting his internal debate whether or not to walk back into the grave.]

two

[It doesn't take long for him to realize that wherever he is, it sure as fuck isn't London. It reminds him in some places of quaint towns in northern Europe that his friends would send him, back when he had friends who sent him pictures. In other areas, it just looks like a dirty city. Unremarkable.]

[So: not London, not Staten Island, not where he's supposed to be, either. This might not even be Laszlo's fault. Even so, it's still Guillermo's problem to solve, which is typical.]

[God, he's tired.]

[The approach of a wobbly, ten-bugs-stuffed-in-a-trenchcoat humanoid figure immediately baffles him. He puts a crumpled-up piece of paper (the remnants of a monster assessment that did not give him the answer he wanted) into his pocket and blinks rapidly for many seconds.]

. . . What? Am I ready to w— to party? No, not — no, I'm good, thanks. Can you maybe . . .

[Back up a little, he's going to say, because this Unit is approaching him at disconcerting speed. He puts up his hands in front of him, because this is what we call Setting Boundaries, and the Thing crashes into them. And immediately falls apart. To reveal Many Small Bugs.]

[To his credit, Guillermo doesn't scream. He does look mortified, though!]

Oh my god. Sorry. Sorry, can I help you with your. Uh. Ssssself? [what is happening]

three; < memo >

Hey, everybody. You guys talk about a lot of weird sex stuff on here, huh? That's cool. I know a lot about a lot of people now. Thanks.

Anyway, I'm looking for a guy. About six feet, dark hair, beard, wears capes a lot. Weird, he's weird, he basically can't function by himself. Answers to Nandor. You'd know him, trust me. If you see him, can you just let me know? That'd be great.

[. . .]

THIS isn't a sex thing, for the record.

three <goodweather>

[6am]

I can be that man, if you want me to be. ;)

[He knows he says it wasn't for a sex thing but people don't say they're looking for someone after talking about sex and have it not be a sex thing.]

Virginia "Gina" Matthews | OC

[onemillionsubscribers]

one

Gina thinks she hears rain. She has no idea why. She remembers checking her equipment. That was just a minute ago. The smell of wet dirt and mud however wakes her up very fast. She claws herself up to her knees mentally freaking out. What is going on?

"Hello! Is anyone out here?" Gina realizes she is in a grave. That is actually not surprising for someone who has her sort of job. Gina starts feeling around for something to climb up out of this hole in the ground.

"I'm stuck...ish?" Gina snickers to herself when she comes across a root she can use to brace herself as she scales up the wall of the grave.

two

"Thank you?" Gina is confused by all the information pamphlets. They look weird and frankly all of the knowledge she has gained over paranormal entities is in direct conflict with every single word she is seeing.

"This is all wrong. What kind of idiot thinks moldy rye causes vamperism? That was rumored to be a cause for lycanthropy," Gina snaps, then continues on for a ten minute long lecture on the history of werewolves in Eastern Europe. Not that she is certain she believes in werewolves, but she does know ghosts and spirits are real.

She has had a day. Let her be mad about this.

three

< spoopyshit >

I have been here less than a day. I hate everything. Every. Single. Thing.

Who do I have to physically wrestle to go home?

two

[tequila_sunset]

An older man, absolutely disheveled and accompanied by a truly horrible tie is listening to Gina (or THE DISGRUNTLED WOMAN WITH THE PAMPHLETS) with rapt attention, eyes only slightly wild. He has at this point, collected his own share of pamphlets, sticking haphazardly out of the pockets in his green blazer.

He adopts a thoughtful stance, cradling his chin in his hand and brushing his thumb over his thick mutton chops, nodding slightly every now and then to indicate doubly that he is listening. He waits patiently for her to finish.

“I have a question.”

His voice is rough, like his throat his raw, burnt, or both.

Daniel | Amnesia: The Dark Descent | Faerie (Returning)

[downdowndown]

scenario 1

[He wakes up in a grave.

A grave! The words choke themselves in his throat, and instead of speaking syllables, he wheezes, halting and gasping, as he claws his way into the dark, dirt walls, desperately trying to gain his footing. The wings on his back are forgotten in his panic, in his anguish, as he reverts back to the helpless man he's always been. No -- as he reverts back to a little boy.]

Help!

[The words tear out of his mouth. The walls aren't closing in, but it feels like they are, like if he stays here long enough, he'll be swallowed by them.]

Somebody! Help!

[The gravestone above him reads Daniel, but the last name is etched out.]

scenario 2, self-harm ment

[Something is desperately, terribly wrong. He paces in the alleyway where he retreated from those strange men, the ones with sagging faces and too-large eyes. Get a hold of yourself, Daniel, he mutters to himself, his gaze darting. His fingernails are making crescent shaped in his carapace, and his jaw aches from how hard he's been clenching it.

Is this it? Is he finally losing his mind?

When he sees you -- no matter who you may be -- he recoils, backing away like a frightened rabbit.]

Don't hurt me. Please.

wildcard

[ooc: Got something else in mind? Find me at dendrite!]

2

[boneshears]

[The bugs have emerged from Kulen.]

[He can't say he appreciates their skin suits, the too-loose costumes that sag and fold in all the wrong ways, too long fingers like oversized gloves when they gesture and reach for the things they're offering the new arrivals, like cups of coffee beans, or newspapers from years long passed.]

[But one isn't so new, is he? One's ridden this ride before. One's met with a terrible fate once again. The towering cat grins before he follows. He knows that carapace. They've had a conversation before. And unpleasant one.]

[Why not continue that trend?]

Hello, Daniel. [Like this, he takes up the alley's mouth, wings spread.] Fancy seein' you back.

kim kitsuragi | disco elysium

[pinballs]

i. buried and gone

[On the outskirts of a monstrous city, in a cold, unwelcoming graveyard, lies a lieutenant-detective in a shallow, damp ditch.

The sight of the gray, fog-ladden sky is of little comfort to Kim as his eyes flutter open. A sense of deep dread seizes his chest as he jolts upright, his lungs filling with the winter-chilled air. Too fast--his head swims and his vision dims. When the light returns, he lets out a groan, taking off his glasses and flicking the dirt from the lenses. He places them back on the bridge of his nose, eyes adjusting to his surroundings.

A gravestone--one with his name on it. He stares at it for a moment, then lets out a soft snort of disbelief. A practical joke, perhaps. Slowly, he gets to his feet and casts a steady gaze across the misty graveyard. His eyes finally settle on a figure in the distance, their form indistinct. A stranger. Potential help--or harm.

He reaches for his pistol for safety, but finds nothing but air. His eyebrows furrow. Strange. Was he robbed? It's looking more and more likely by the moment, but last he remembers...he certainly wasn't anywhere he would consider remotely dangerous.

In a tentative voice, he calls out:]

Hello? Who goes there?

ii. strange places, stranger faces

[This isn't the Insulinde--that much is apparent from the presence of grotesque monsters. But even if it weren't for that, the technology is far too different. There are no aerostatics zipping across the sky, and the motor vehicles are...unfamiliar. His gaze lingers on a particularly sporty-looking automobile, but he gently directs his efforts towards understanding where he is and how to leave as quickly as possible.

First and foremost, he needs to gather information. He finds a news stand, realizes he no longer has any reál in his pockets, and decides to simply flip through the headlines of the day. Nothing that he can make sense of, beyond broad strokes--politics about monsters, a recent fire in the downtown district, and a sale at a department store.

He notes that there is a crossword section, files that in his thoughts, and returns the paper.

Later, Kim collects and peruses a few pamphlets that are available, but ultimately disregards most of them. Most. He's in the middle of scrutinizing one that details the laws of the continent when he bumps into someone.]

Sorry, I--

[The words die in Kim's throat when he looks up and sees--really sees who he's talking to. The man's skin looks like its melting off his flesh, and his eyes look to be nothing more than dark, empty holes in his face.

The thing's mouth stretches open in an approximation of a smile, showing all thirty-two teeth.

His feet move before he knows what he's doing. As if repelled by some unseen force, Kim turns and walks quickly in the other direction. He squeezes his eyes shut, but the man's face has already been seared into his mind. He doesn't have the capacity to deal with this right now, so he won't.

Of course, with his eyes shut, it makes it even easier for him to immediately make the same mistake as before and crash directly into yet another person--albeit with far more force and intention than earlier.]

iii. network; < kitsuragi >

Is there any logic in what monster an individual transforms into?

iv. wildcard

[Got another idea? Ping me @ wolfnoir!]

2

[boneshears]

Might want t'watch where you're going. Don't know what you're going to step in w' these fellas.

[If Kim opens his eyes, it'll be the closest to human form Gabriel has: human face, right eye covered in a dark leather patch, large serval ears and bright blue wings. If he keeps them open, he'll see the perhaps unfriendly face of Mister Slithers coming up to eye level, tasting the air.]

If you are gonna insist on walkin' round with your eyes close, I'd suggest getting up to date on your tetanus boosters, or you and I are gonna get real acquainted in a way you probably don't want.

Sparkling Cookie | Cookie Run Kingdom | OTA

[charmpagne]

[After months shrouded in rumor and mystery, Moonlighters is once again open for business.

Not quite on the central streets of Bavan exists a seemingly modest hole-in-the-wall type bar that just popped up a few months ago. Despite it's newness, word of its existence spread rapidly, and before long it became quite the talk of the town. The exterior of the building blends in with the typical aged architecture of the city, so much so that you might miss it if you didn't know what you were looking for. A curse for most fledgling businesses, but a boon in the case of a man who once referred to himself as Sparkling Cookie.]

1) DURING THE DAY

[Moonlighters touts itself as being an establishment that's both safe and welcoming to monsters and locals alike. Despite the very nature of the business being that which could breed bad behavior, there's an absolutely zero tolerance policy for violence, whether you have fur and fangs or not. Most who have tested their luck here have been kicked out on their tails or- in more extreme cases- outright banned, and with the way the popularity of the place is rising by the day, most don't want to risk losing their chance to come back. Because of that, coming here just feels safe. It's a haven of sorts, which is exactly what the bar's titular bartender has sought to create.

Sparkling- or "Sparks", as he allows people to call him if they so choose- is the absolute life of the place. It wouldn't be half as popular if it weren't for him taking care of it, which is a surprise to many seeing as how he's the only bartender serving every single customer who comes in. He has a few day workers who help to bus tables or clean while he's working, but otherwise if you're looking for a drink, Sparkling is the person to go to.

And what a "person" he is, these days. No longer made of dough and frothy jam, but instead flesh, blood, and bone. Enough time has passed that he's been able to pull himself up by his suspenders and make something of a name for himself here, but it hasn't been easy. Honestly, this place is what keeps him going. Which is all the more concerning when those patrons coming to the newly opened bar today notice the distinct sadness behind Sparkling's dual pair of eyes. Even as he entertains with fancy tricks with his mixers, pouring drinks backwards or upside down, balancing glasses precariously while somehow managing not to spill a single drop...

The reason being? Why, the whole reason the bar had been closed for so long. The safe haven he'd worked so hard to build had been burned to the ground.]

2) DURING THE NIGHT

[Moonlighters harbors a secret.

As with any bar, Sparkling's stays open fairly late each day of the week. But there's one day a week- his "break" day- that Sparkling closes the bar at 6 P.M. The last call for drinks goes out and the rest of his clientele leave to find some other way to spend their evening.

At least, most of his clientele do.

While he adheres devoutly to the concept of his bar being safe for all to enjoy, just a few weeks on this peninsula taught Sparkling a harsh lesson as to the way monsters in this world are treated. Non-humans like himself, who had never asked to become one in the first place, now standing incredibly tall at the bar in a way he's never quite seen the world from before. He'd become a Nephilim, one of the most alluring of all monsters, and it seemed to blend well with his pre-existing charm. His dual-pair of golden wings seemed unreal in their size and splendor, his perfectly coifed blonde locks starting to grow out into sideburns on the sides of his head, suggesting it might become a mane someday. But not everyone understood the nature of creatures like him, and most of the time he couldn't blame them.

With his long lion tail trailing behind, Sparkling steps quietly from behind his bar as he pulls the shades on all the windows, then switches off the light as he heads for the stairs just between the edge of the bar and bathroom. But instead of going up to his loft, he seems to just...disappear.

One evening a week, Sparkling keeps his bar open all day and night. The locals only ever know it as his "off" day, but monsters...those who can't help but feast on less desirable things know better. They know of the entrance behind the building that's been carefully disguised thanks to the help of other monsters with the ability to aid him in doing so, and they know of the trap door beyond the first flight of stairs that leads down into the basement. A basement that is soundproof and hidden from the outside world, harboring a somewhat smaller but functionally identical bar to the one upstairs. The only difference are the contents of the bottles that line the shelves of liquor behind where Sparkling slips into his second shift for the night as monsters of all shapes and sizes filter in. These drinks...well, they aren't exactly fit for human consumption. But for those monsters who feast primarily on blood, or those who perhaps aren't capable of imbibing flesh on their own just yet, will find Sparkling's establishment to be a boon. That's been the intent from the very start, and Sparkling has no issue with spending one day of his time to make sure that- at least for a little while- some can come here to forget their suffering.

To each monster that enters this evening, the first night Sparkling had opened since some local arsonist had taken a match to his beloved establishment, they will find a drink being slid their way just as they sit down.]

Thank you for coming. This one's on the house.

[No matter how hard Sparkling had tried to keep things under wraps, some word inevitably always slipped through the cracks...and while what he's doing here isn't exactly something he could be apprehended for (not when this land is lawless in its own right), it's not taken kindly by those few humans who felt betrayed by its very existence.

Yet, he intends to keep the bar running. If not for himself, but for others who need it.]

1

[adandyinspace]

[Motherfucker.

As another resident bar owner in Bavan, Dandy's tail always gets so twisted anytime he hears of some new, local competition. How dare people have the same idea as him, and how dare they actually go around being successful. It's rude is what it is. Luckily (?) Dandy's real good about taking matters into his own hands.

Slamming the door open, a large dolphin man in the gaudiest golden coat struts in, lifting the fur collar around his neck in distain as he examines the admittingly nice- HE MEANS GOD AWFUL surroundings. He snarls a bit before rolling his shoulders, time to get this show on the road.]

UGH, can you believe this place?! [Dandy makes sure his voice is loud enough to carry, if no one turns their heads, then he's doing something wrong.] Who would drink in a joint that's already got giant rats?!

[Dramatically, Dandy points to the nearest corner, where it looks like his tiny dog has sneaked off to. Said dog is dressed in probably what is the least convincing mouse costume anyone could ever come up with. Like, it's cute, but not really something to call pest control over...]

Whoever owns this dump should be embarrassed, baby!!

Ken "Draken" Ryuguji | Tokyo Revengers

[dragonssoul]

ONE. [ manga spoilers for tokyo revengers. ]

Of all the things Draken's ever been prepared to experience, waking up in a grave is not one of them.

As soon as he realizes what exactly he's lying down in, he shoots up like he's been shot, quickly standing and stumbling his way out of the pit until he's standing looking down on it from outside. What the hell? Is this some kind of sick prank!?

For a moment, as he stares at the tombstone - his name written clearly on it - he wonders if he's actually died. It's a thought that makes him feel sick - a sudden fear flooding through him that he's only felt once before in his life. But he doesn't remember dying! Surely that'd be something he couldn't forget? Though it's not like he knows how the afterlife works, or anything-

No, he can't think like that! ...But even if he doesn't, this is undeniably a bad situation. He has no idea where he is, and Inupi, Takemitchy - they probably don't know either. And if he doesn't get back, then Mikey...

Anyway- first, he should check his phone. But just as he's doing that, he hears a sound - someone approaching? So he turns around, instantly on edge, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. ]

Who're you?

FOUR. (DEMON) [ cw: suicide, suicidal ideation. ]

[ So this is what he's becoming?

Strangely... the horns that sprout from his head and the long claws he's started to grow don't feel unnatural at all. On the contrary, they feel like a part of him, and he's quickly found himself getting used to his new form as if he's always been that way.

He hates it. Because he's not human anymore. Because he can feel it in his bones - that deep, awful, inescapable craving to do something unforgivable. To take a life... to take a soul.

It's a hunger like nothing he's ever experienced, and if he lets down his guard even for a moment, thoughts start to slip into his head - saying that it's fine, that it's his right - that he can't help his nature, so it's only natural to indulge. And lately, those feelings are all he can think about. He can feel his humanity sleeping away little by little, and all he can do is let it happen.

But he refuses to feed. He won't. Even if that means he dies here.

It's a conclusion he'd arrived at a while ago. He'd rather be dead than have to take another person's soul to keep himself alive - he'd never forgive himself for becoming a monster like that. But he hadn't had the courage to kill himself outright, so he opted to slowly starve himself instead - it's a painful way to go, but maybe that pain is something he deserves.

He's regretting it now, though. And when he sees you, blood-red eyes locking onto you like a predator catching sight of it's prey, the craving overcomes him all at once- and it's all he can do to shout out in fear. ]

Go! Get away from me!!

WILDCARD.

[ Feel free to throw anything at Draken here, or hit me up to plot at Rivenix! I've taken him from late in the manga, but I'm happy to work with different canonpoints to avoid spoilers if you'd prefer. ]

1

[boneshears]

Doctor Morgenstern. Local coroner. Can't say it's typically alive people I'm usually fiddling around with out here.

[The creature - for that might be the most appropriate term - that crouches at the lip of the grave is partially a cat, half blind and examining the grave dirt if the pit Draken's crawled out of. Also blinking at him is the serpentine head of a large, black snake, seemingly part of this feline monster.]

Were you deceased?

Entrapta | She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

[270mpa]

01

[ Hey there, field of graves! What a normal day it is here in the new arrival tdm graveyard. Quiet. Somber. Full of tension and atmosphere. ]

Well this can't be right, can it?

[ Says the woman with more hair than body, sitting up and looking around. She seems... remarkably calm with whatever sort of situation is going on here. ]

I mean I suppose it could be right, since it's happening, but still.

[ A beat. ]

The fact that I haven't carried myself out of this dirt hole, however, could be cause for alarm. Still, though, it's cause for research! ... Even if I have absolutely no supplies, or any idea where to possibly get more!

[ And so, instead of doing something sensible like "trying to leave," catch Entrapta just vibing in this hole! For a given value of vibing where vibing means "carefully inspecting her own hair and the dirt between vaguely scientific muttering," anyway. ]

02

[ This is so much! Everything is so new! Entrapta is positively surrounded by all of these Funny Little Fellows, holding several pamphlets and scrambling to scribble down notes. ]

Ooh, which season? What kind of cycle do you have here? Do you have staple crops? You certainly have colorful language...

[ She... might be in slight danger of being overtaken? Maybe? But she definitely seems to almost be holding her own returning questions. ]

0?

[ Got something else you wanna do? Hit me up via pm! Or just here, I don't mind. ]

02

[downdowndown]

[And that's when Daniel tries to grab her elbow and pull her away from the bugs.]

Are you mad?!

[He delivers the question as only a mad man would -- breathlessly, his eyes darting between Entrapta and the eager insects. Speaking of which, he himself is more than a little bug-like, and his antennae move as anxiously as he speaks.]

These aren't men. They're -- They're imposters, aiming to deceive you for God knows what ends!

Harry Du Bois | Disco Elysium (cw: substance abuse, addiction, violence)

[tequila_sunset]

i. scenario one

(The name on the headstone reads simply: Harrier Du Bois.)

The begradled man groans, rubs his sore neck and simply sits in the dirt. He buries his hairy, swollen face in his hands and laughs. Or perhaps sobs.

“Figures I’d wake up in my own grave. Classic Harry move…stupid…fuck…”

(Get up.)

[I don’t want to do this again. I’m tired.]

(There is a distinct lack of a certain smell in the air: alcohol.)

[Maybe I burned out my sense of smell this time. Who gives a fuck?]

(No, you smell like blood and antiseptic and salt. Your olfactory senses are intact. The earth around you smells exactly like damp, wet dirt.)

(You feel like shit. But you actually aren’t hungover. Congratulations on staying sober.)

(So you blacked out this time for no good reason. Lame.)

(Shut up. Get up.)

[Blood and antiseptic…salt.]

(Yes.)

Harry staggers onto his feet and heaves himself upwards, out of the ground. He falls- miscalculating some step or tripping- he’s not sure which- and lands face forward in the grass. He rolls over with a soft groan, more embarrassed than pained.

(By the way, your bandages are damp, your leg no longer hurts. It is not comfortable but at the very least you no longer feel as though you were shot a few days ago.)

(A miracle! Your wounded body, healed!)

[You know what guys? None of this is reassuring to me. I’m just going to lay here until I wake up.]




ii. scenario three (demon)

(Sure has gotten a lot quieter in here.)

(Feels nice. Feels intimate.)

(We can really get to know each other now, have a real man to man conversation without the pansies butting in.)

(No more sad feelings. Just the cool sexy rockstar ones.)

[…I like quiet.]

(I know you do, baby. You like quiet thoughts and loud music.)

(No, no, no. Put that down. We’re still here.)

(WHAT are you doing?)

[I have no idea.]

(That line works when you wake up naked in a gutter, not when you’re-)

(You are holding SOME DRUNKEN ASSHOLE still by his throat. He twitches and huffs rough breaths around your vice-like grip. Your claws- once blunt nails chewed to the quick- dig into the fragile skin there. His pale eyes are wide and not yet beginning to glaze over with anything other than drink.)

(He’s crying. He’s terrified. He thinks he’s going to die. For god’s sake!)

(In your right hand you are holding a broken bottle, a jagged flower made of glass. Liquid still drips from it, to join the puddle stain on the ground.)

(What a waste!)

(You are also crying. It blurs the features of his face.)

Somewhere on some dark street in Bavan, a demon is positioned over SOME DRUNKEN ASSHOLE, the man is on his knees, nearly gurgling. The demon is shaking, crying. Caught in the throws of a new addiction.

ii

[boneshears]

"Oh dear."

[The speaker is a piebald serval, right eye milky and blind, the other a fierce, intense yellow and focused on Harrier.]

"Gotten yourself into a rough spot? You're supposed to drink his soul you know. Not just the alcohol."

[The cat pads closer, ears flicking. It shoots the man Harry's holding a look that's somehow mock pitiful, from a cat.

Or maybe that's just how cats do pity.]

"It'd be kinder to do it quickly. Then he won't be near dyin' of fear."

jodariel | pyre

[greaterbanishment]

i. awakening

[ In an adjacent grave, a woman grunts. She pulls herself from a deep grave with little effort. To any still having difficulty or dawdling on climbing out as well, she looks down with a steely gaze. When the burly woman speaks, it's with a strange growling timber, despite her serious yet composed tone. ]

Do you require any assistance? [ The younger the person she speaks to, the more gentle she sounds. ]

ii. acclimating

[ When the insectoid-like creatures rush up to her, Jodariel first thinks to calmly explain to them that the term is demon, not monster, but then she remembers, she has not her horns nor her cloven hooves. All that seems to have remained from her exile transformation are the markings on her arms and eyes and her gravelly voice. It's been over half a decade since they've been a part of her, so it is more than strange to exist without them.

The next and more important order of business is her sudden awakening in a grave. The markings above it she couldn't understand, but it appeared to be a gravestone nevertheless. Urgently she tries to interrupt the bugs, once she's ascertained they are indeed not a threat and more like a gaggle of children, but she's run into a snag.

Never raising her voice above her usual low rumble, the over-excited bugs speak over every question she tries to ask. ]

iii. metamorphosis

[ When Jodariel's horns pushed forcefully from her skull, she vowed not to let the other changes affect her. Ten years in the Downside prepared her for the suffering, but nothing could have for the pain. She survived because she pushed herself. She survived because she refused to let the days of agony take her. From that point on, she remembered that pain. Refused to let it slip from her mind. It's why when her feet went next, she barely made a sound.

All this to say, she just about sleeps through the spouting of wings. It's when she's awake and conscious, after the process is over, that she roars with rage, storming to the streets to find the first monster she can and demand an explanation. ]

I wish to hear everything there is about changing the path of my transformation. [ Despite her outburst, she speaks quietly and fiercely. ] There are many things I shall tolerate in this process, but becoming a Harp is not one of them.

[ But only her first change has occurred. And yet, she's already reached an unconscionable pain. ]

iv. wildcard

[ Anything you want to thread out specific? Hit me up at kabunevermind or via PM! ]

iii.

[ibalsamina]

[The monster she approaches has also gone through only her first changes—having gained pointed nails, a set of antennae, and brittle skin that gleams like an insect's carapace—but she responds serenely, only momentarily startled by the request.]

Oh my, well... I'm not sure you can change its path at this point, I'm afraid... [She looks Jodariel over, smiling.] But why would you? It's already quite beautiful.

Synneve Musil | OC

[gyldenkjempe]

1. Scenario One

[The pain Synneve's back is incredible as she stares up at the cloud-choked sky. This feels familiar, a small voice in the back of her mind whispers. Something about falling in a place that should be solid. Something about seeing a place that shouldn't exist...

Synneve shoves herself up, standing up to her full height. With her height she can easily lift herself out of the grave as the dirt falls away from her clothes like the promised rain. This wasn't where she should be. A hall full of warmth and loved ones. Feasting over some small victory, perhaps? Synneve sighs to herself.

She thinks she knows where she should be. Rubbing a sore spot on her neck and--]

A graveyard? [Her words are soft, a voice that startles even her.] This must be some sort of trick.

[Her gaze wanders over the inscription near her grave. "Synneve Musil the Radiant". It makes her wrinkle her nose. 'Radiant'? She hadn't heard that in some time. The fact that the graves surrounding hers all have some sort epithet escapes her notice.

She knew she had some issues with her memory before this. She had a feeling this place wouldn't help things along.]

2. Scenario Two

[Synneve is looking through the pamphlets with interest. Some names she recognizes. Others, not so much. She walks throughout the city with them, focusing intently. The fact that--]

Hmph--! [She nearly gets hit by a car. She imagines her first thought should 'what in the world was that'? Yet, it's not. She blinks. Right as she tries to focus on it a local speaks to her. What foul language. Synneve frowns.]

Can you please hold yourself back?

[Her question is quiet yet firm. That's when she notices the slight movement under the skin. She steps back, a hand going to her mouth.]

What--what in the name of-- [She swallows hard. Her other hand goes for a weapon at her belt that is no longer there.]

3. Network (Nephilim)

< radiantgold >

Excuse me. I'm not sure why but I seem to be glowing in the dark? I don't think I can get any sleep like this. Nothing else has occurred yet.

The pun isn't lost on me.

4. Wildcard

[Basic summary, Synneve is a fantasy paladin... that might be a JRPG end boss, with some amnesia. Basically, if you have questions or scenarios hit me up and we can talk things out!]

Ray Stantz | The Real Ghostbusters

[ghoststanning]

1.

[Ray was idly sitting at a park bench jotting down notes on the world when the strange citizens approach him. He looks up from his notebook and politely grins at the strangers suddenly approaching him.]

Oh, I’m not a monster yet!

[That doesn’t seem to stop the crowding, and Ray finally registers their weird speech and movements.

And his eyes widen in excitement. He quickly stands up ]

Whoa, what are you guys? Are you some kind of shapeshifters? Body snatchers? You don’t mind me performing an interview on you guys do you? Gosh, I wish Egon was here so we could perform some tests on you!

[He genuinely looks like a kid at Christmas.]

2. (Shade)

[Monster changes have arrived and, frankly, Ray was eagerly awaiting this day. Sure becoming a cannibal wasn’t fun, but he was also becoming a monster! In his eyes this was the most fun he’s had being transported to another dimension against his will.

Losing his corporeal form was weird and painful, but once the pain subsided he was over the moon with his new form. He flies around Bavan in his new form, phasing through walls with childlike amusement.

This… this does include flying into residential buildings and other private buildings.]

Wow, isn’t this great? No wonder ghosts love doing this!

[... If Ray notices the invasion of privacy, he doesn’t seem to care.]

3.

Hi everyone! This is Dr. Ray Stantz here! I was wondering if anyone here knows what the policy is for joining both the Fog and Fourth Gods? I want to do as much research on them while I’m here and it’s so hard to pick a single god to study. I’ve already read as much as I could on both of them but I always feel like the best way to understand a deity is to see them in action!

Not knocking the power of reading of course! But sometimes books can have incorrect information and it’s fascinating to discover the little details that are different from the books to experiencing it in real life!

Oh, and if anyone wants to talk shop about monster types and god stuff in general I would love to chat! All of the monsters here are so wildly different from the ones I’ve seen back home, even monsters of the same type as ones I’ve encountered before! I would love to talk to people who know more about the monsters here!

2, faerie

[executivedeliveryboy]

[There's a shriek as a ghost phases through the wall of Fry's apartment, phasing right into a room lined with empty cans of Dr. Slurp. He's started to change himself, his eyes enlarged and made compound, multiple open cans dropped to the floor in a panic from various arms.]

Man, you made me drop my sodas!

[And if he slurps some off the floor when he bends to rescue his cans, that's between him, Ray and god.]

Aqua | Kingdom Hearts

[aquanimity]

Scenario One

[She had been falling. Falling, endlessly, succumbing at last to the darkness, the cracks in her heart split open by the shadows. And then-

”Aqua, are you okay?”

That voice… Aqua opens her eyes, and she is not falling anymore. No, she’s waking up.]

When… when did I fall asleep?

[Talking to herself once again. Had Mickey’s voice only been another illusion, another friend dangled before her, like Ven and Terra’s shadows? Aqua rises to her knees, placing a hand against the dirt wall and peering up at the darkened, clouded sky. It’s strange - she hasn’t felt a need to sleep, a need to eat, not once in this timeless nightmare. What could have brought sleep on now? Her mind traces back to her final thoughts, before she heard Mickey call to her.

Now I can be… one with darkness….

Aqua sighs and leans back against dirt.]

Is this what it is to fall into darkness?

[Slipping away gently, just like falling asleep. It doesn’t seem so bad.... but no, she can’t entertain that thought. She feels like herself still; but how would she know? Her mind drifts to Terra, reaching out in the darkness. A mere illusion, or truly him? They had spoken; it had been Terra, she knows it. And then that voice; her name, said so familiarly... she clasps her hand over her heart.

A trick of the darkness, to give her false hope? Mickey, calling for her, grasping her hand - but hadn’t Terra and Ven also reached out to her, to pull her back from the brink once before, their hearts coming to lift her from despair through their bonds? A warmth blossoms in her chest, a familiar and yet so distant one. Her friends won’t give up on her. She never gave up on Terra, and he’s still out there, fighting. And Ven is waiting for her, asleep.

No, she hasn’t fallen to darkness. Not yet.]

Maybe... maybe I wasn’t ready to give in.

[Maybe her heart had summoned one last hope for her, to pull her back from the brink. Closing her eyes, Aqua breaths in deeply, then rises to her feet. She’ll wander this endless darkness once more, venturing between the fragments of swallowed worlds. She’ll find her way out, one day. Aqua pulls herself from the grave, and somberly looks at the headstone with her name carved on it. She reaches out, tracing the letters, pondering what this new trick of the darkness could mean.

She doesn’t notice the approach of footsteps.]


Scenario Two

[It’s so loud. It’s so alive. This city, fallen to the darkness, is nothing like the fragments of worlds she’s visited in her wanderings. It’s so different from the silence she’s grown used to, it’s almost overwhelming. The sounds, the bustle, everything - had this city been so completely consumed? Or is the darkness once more playing on her wishes, showing her a chance to shed the consuming loneliness of the dark world.

But there’s something different about them, the figures and voices she’s seeing and hearing. They aren’t like the phantoms that have haunted her. None have attacked her, and none of them are from her memories - she has never seen any of these buildings, any of these people, especially not the one who has spotted her and has run up to her, brandishing fliers and talking animatedly.

She’s only half-listening, too stunned by the interaction, something so unfamiliar after the darkness. When the man holds out a flier, she reaches past the paper, grasping at his hand - and gasping softly when she touches skin.]

You’re real. Not just a shadow.

[She marvels at this, but there’s an undercurrent of sorrow; Aqua would not wish this dark fate hers on anyone. And yet a part of her wonders at how different this is from the endless hours, how vibrant and full of life this city is. Could it be…?

Her thoughts are interrupted by the babbling of the man whose hand she’s holding. Aqua blinks.]

I’m sorry, what?

You’re monster? We will fucking party! What the shit!

[Aqua is taken aback, as the man now clasps her hand instead, dropping the fliers.]

I-I don’t understand-

It is a season! Yes! You will party, monster?

[It’s been so long since she’s had any true interaction with something not spawned by the darkness, that all she can do is stare, aghast. She’s been to many worlds, but this… this is new. She doesn’t really know where to begin. An intervention may be in order.]


Network

It’s all real, isn’t it? This place.

[It’s hard to believe, but she’s finally coming around to it. Somehow, this Fog god pulled her from the Realm of Darkness. Somehow, she’s no longer trapped.

It’s a strange world she finds herself in, this Ryslig.]

I’m sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Aqua. I’ve never heard of this world before, but if I’ve been brought here, then maybe my friend is also here. His name is Mickey. He’s short, and has two large, round ears. I’m sure he’s looking for me as well, so if you’ve seen him, please, let me know.

[She’d felt his hand on hers before awakening here - if there’s any chance at all…!]

2

[turnaboutson]

All right, that's enough.

[The nephilim steps halfway between Aqua and the person who is excitedly harrassing her.] Yes, yes, "it is a season". Party later. Leave the poor woman alone for now, hm?

[He turns to her as the bug-person scuttles away, and opens his mouth to say something, but does a quick double-take, recognition in his four eyes. He recovers quickly, though, and says,] I apologize. They seem to act up around the holidays. You're new here, aren't you?

Alfred | Tanz Der Vampire

[heyhohey]

Rise from the Grave

Cold. It's...so cold. Whimpering, Alfred stirs against the ground for a moment or two before springing upward with a gasp, eyes wide and hands flying to his neck in sheer panic. Dried blood, cuts and scrapes caked in mud. Next, his fingers move to his teeth...normal. Not fangs. He’s fine. He’s not turned.

The relief is so immense, it takes him a minute before he realizes...he is not caked in snow. Nor is he safely back in a bed, or even on a bench near the Professor's bed at the inn. His brows knit together as he looks down at himself. Still wearing that frilly, floral coat he had taken at the ball. So it HAD happened, at least to a point. But then, how was he - WHERE is he?

Peeking up at his headstone, seeing his own name makes his stomach drop. “Oh. Oh no.” Messed from laying down, dark curls bounce as he climbs up, looking to the next grave nearby.

'Professor Abronsius.'

A short wail escapes him before he can clap his hands over his mouth. No. No, this can't be happening. It can't be.

"Professor," he starts to sob in a high, tense whine, dropping onto his knees to start digging with shaking hands into the grave. "Professor, I - I'll get you out, I'll get you, I'm here, I'm here-"

He can't hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Not even potential danger - or help - creeping up on him.


Better Bug Out

Getting out of the graveyard had been bad enough. Giving up on the grave of his mentor, sobbing until he ran out of tears, wandering terrified and filthy through the darkness...when he had suddenly hit the city, and it was like nothing he had ever seen. Coming from rural, remote locations in Transylvania and Germany to a bustling city is a different kind of shock, and one that numbs him for just a little too long to the strangeness around him.

Until there are questions being barked at him. One. Another. Is that man...smoking a piece of bone?

Swallowing hard, he backs up, and he hits a wall.

“Oh - hey, no, that’s okay, I’m - I don’t - I can find my own way, thank you-”

The throng of strange, chattering people closing in on him starts to make him quiver, shoulders drawing taut, body shrinking in on itself. Claustrophobia begins to settle in, and panic curls cold against his spine, sapping the rigidity from his knees and nearly sending him to the ground.

So, screaming, he screws his eyes shut and runs, arms up to defend his face - and not looking at all where he is going.


Not Scott-free - Nephilim

Life has done something resembling normalizing, all things considered. Not having to wait hand and foot on the Professor has been...nice, he must admit, even if all of this is strange and frightening. Sure, people keep talking about how everyone is going to turn into Something Else, and sure that’s absolutely something to be concerned with, but Alfred has been reading. Studying. Trying his best to feel prepared, so that when the moment comes, he is able to keep calm and -

CRACK.

The teacup in his hand crashes against the ground as sudden, searing pain registers somewhere near his shoulder blades. Eyes going very wide, he moves to stand from the cafe table, to go somewhere else, to do SOMETHING -

But when he feels twisting, cracking, bones rearranging underneath his skin, all he can do is scream, falling to his knees and clutching uselessly at the front of his jacket. Blood starts to run down his face, there is burning at the base of his skull….

It’s too much. It’s too much, and it’s so much worse than when he had only been bitten.

“H-hel - HELP - HELP ME-!”

Rise from the Grave (sorry i see vampire hunter and i provide)

[wheresmyjuul]

"There's no point in screaming."

It's the deep, rich timbre of someone very sure of themselves. Reverie leans at the edge of darkness, low lamplight just enough to shine off the glitter of his skin.

"Or digging up some poor fool's grave spot. It's rude to disturb the recently - or not so recently deceased."

He moves forward, into the light. He's a glittering, albino thing, with deep maroon eyes and sharp teeth that might just be familiar to Alfred, if he were to try and give name to what Reverie is.

"Are you unhurt?"

Peace Gregory | OC | Troll (Returner)

[pacetua]

↳ { Scenario One; Peace is For Dig }

[She's been stuck in the grave for the better part of 20 minutes, fruitlessly clawing away at the mud to try and make herself a path up. Peace is a small young woman. Barely five feet tall if you're not counting the voluminous red hair that is working itself up into a cloudy mass in her irritation.

She could, could, increase her size and get out of the hole. That would be much easier than what she's currently doing, which is gross, dirty, and getting under her nails. But then she'd have to walk of shame her way home, fully naked, and Peace has decided that is a fate worse than turning A: into a troll and B: death.

So digging it is.

Peace stops digging when she hears footsteps coming near. It's not the big guy, it's someone else.]

Hey! Can you help me out of this? Maybe?

I promise I'm not going to like, eat you or anything.

Which I now realize sounds way creepier than I intended.


↳ { Scenario Two; Peace is For Avoid }

[ Are you ready to fucking party? Comes the droning-sort-of-voice from her side as Peace makes her way through Bavan and towards where she hopes her home is. Still.]

No, uh, I'm good.

[For a little thing, she's got that powerwalk going on hard, and her fluffy, if a bit muddy, tail swishes back and forth irritably. A couple of normal looking humans look at the couple of bug-humans following what is definitely a troll and cross to the other side of the street, cars be damned.

You're monster, though! Monsters love to party!]

I'm good, I'm good though. But hey, uh...

[She makes finger guns at the nearest person she sees; who is, unfortunately, you.]

They look like they're down to clown.



↳ { Scenario Three; Peace is For God, But Not This One }

Damn it.

[She knows the scent and discomfort of being in Dyster. After all, it (maybe) wasn't that long ago (probably? Don't ask her, she doesn't know) Javert had her coming flittering to and fro, hither and yon with her work as his assistant.

But, barefoot, muddy, and growing increasingly more annoyed, Peace doesn't have the wherewithal to really consider where in Dyster she currently is.]

How did I get here instead of home? I couldn't have gotten turned around, could I?

[It's creepier to ask the "people" who live in Dyster for directions, so she grabs your arm in her very (surprisingly) firm grip.]

Hey, sorry, excuse me.

I got turned around and I kinda hate this place, would you mind showing me where you got in so I can get out?


↳ { Scenario Four; All Peaces Wild }

[wanna do something a little more wild? feel free to hit me up at sentralia, or PM for my disco~!]

Peace is for DIG

[gastroentomologist]

Well, I should hope not, [Floofty calls down, sounding amused.] Besides, I've eaten myself once, and I wasn't too impressed. Could have used some sauce.

[They're kidding. Right???]

Let's get you up out of there, then. Can't imagine that's too comfortable. [The kelpie reaches down with an unsettlingly - almost knuckle-draggingly - long arm, ready to help her up.]

artemy burakh || pathologic

[vorakh]

ONE. you're always welcome here.

[when artemy's eyes open to see himself surrounded by damp dirt, he isn't especially surprised. perhaps some mugger finally did him in -- or maybe the sand pest suffocated him. although he doubts that, without the plague's hoarse scratching clinging to his throat. or someone could have mistaken him for his father and tried to bury artemy alongside him.]

[alas, when his steady hands claw his way out of the soft ground all but encasing him, the familiar sight of isidor burakh's grave greets him. or rather, the dirt above his body swelling where it doesn't want to accept him. artemy all but bursts out laughing at the absurdity of it all. typical burakh, he thinks; trying to die with such unfinished business that the earth pushes you back out again. you're taking after your father.]

[and yet, he very quickly realizes this is not home. there is no ashen swish sprouting near the graves, this is not the cemetery he's come to know well, and the damp, foggy air is not to be mistaken for the dry smog of the sand pest.]

[so where is he? artemy brushes off the last of the clumps of soil that still cling to him, recognizing the sound of someone's approach but not yet moving. he isn't especially afraid -- even before townsfolk respected him as their surgeon, they feared him as a ruthless butcher. yargachin either way; with his large stature and serious expression and no fear of wielding knives. the people who did this to him don't intimidate him more than the average townsperson might.]

Did you dig this? [artemy calls to the stranger, shaking dirt loose from his blond hair. he gestures to the grave he crawled out of and tsks as though scolding a child.] You have to be careful. If you dig into the earth like this, terrible things will happen. Don't you know that?

TWO. listen to the town's pulse. it's calling...

[artemy need not confess that he's not especially fond of the city. his home -- the town, the steppe, with its flowing rivers like veins and the ground thudding with a heartbeat of its own... it takes very little to make him miss it, and that threshold was surpassed ages ago. the harsh chemical smells of strange automobiles and constant chatter of its residents make him quickly feel overwhelmed.]

[especially when odd strangers draw nearer.]

[he's seen a great deal of strange and frightening things. the dreams, the pantomimes, the sand pest and its victims... the list continues. artemy likes to think himself unflinching, in a somewhat more humble sense of the word. the kind that comes alongside his profession. but when these creatures shamble towards him, he takes one step backwards. then another.]

Ene shi yuun khun geeshebshe? [the words make their way directly from his thoughts to his lips when he doesn't mean them to, surprising even artemy. he's stared down death eye-to-eye more than once. and yet, he finds himself backing away from the steadily growing group.] I have nothing worth stealing. What do you want from me?

[they largely ignore him. to make matters worse, his pockets are devoid of anything sharp. typical. they would forget his work and strip him of anything with the slightest edge to it, from lockpicks to scalpels, and leave him defenseless in the streets. for a brief second artemy considers raising his fists -- until the moment the size of the crowd dawns on him, at which point he turns and bolts in the opposite direction.]

[but one must keep in mind that this is a city, not a small town whose cobblestone streets are filled with meandering pedestrians. this place is more modern than artemy's ever seen and complete with fast-moving motorcars. artemy forgets for just a moment that he isn't running past townspeople who will generally make way, but instead, directly into traffic.]

[a hand grabs the back of his butcher's outfit like it's the scruff of his neck and all but hauls him back onto the sidewalk.]

Let me go! [he reaches back to grab their wrist, very nearly taking a swing at them in the process.] Tenegh! Can't you see I'm being followed?

SLAMS IN HERE 1

[boneshears]

I'm not in the habit of burying the still living, no.

[The manticore is forced to look up at the large man, who towers over him. He's clearly used to this, used to being the shorter creature in most conversations, his single golden eye watching him warily, the other, milky white with blindness staring off unseeing. There's a bristling to the feathers along the tops of his wings: someone balking at what feels like a scolding from a younger man who doesn't even know where he is.]

Digging into the earth here bodes no more an ill omen than leaving a grave open does. [Here, at least. The graves change so often here that it's like the blinking of a hoard of eyes clustered in the earth.] You won't find much support for that superstition amongst the locals, Grabgeborener.

[He gestures a golden claw tipped hand at his own head.]

You've still soil on you.

Hank Pym | MCU/Antman

[grantpa]

scenario ii -

[Not a day goes by with Scott Lang and the recovery of everything that matters to him that he's not grateful he kept in shape. Really grateful. He's not doing too bad for an old dog learning new tricks and Janet-

To be separate from Janet. Again was a bit too much to take and he's angrier than he probably should be. He should be focusing on recon, he should be focusing on food, shelter, all that SHIELD training he drilled into his head after being shanghai'd into saving the world.

So he stalks through the people trying to offer him pamphlets chewing on the inside of his cheek. He's ready for a fight, hell he'd throw a punch without thinking but here? With this cold seeping in? Being told that he's going to turn into some sort of monster...

He nearly collides with someone.]

No. Get that away from me.

[And then a second person. Because what the hell.]

Did you not hear what I said-!

[Oh.]

I'm sorry. I thought you were one of those...people.

[He lives in a world of Gods and Monsters but it's ...not like he's used to it. Even with his own history.]

Scenario III

Seek us out Henry.

[It's everyone's voice. Janet, Hope, even Scott. Was this how she felt? Wanting to go home like this? Following those ridiculous voices...

Except when one of the robots bump him in the foot he stares down at it, adjusts his glasses, and laughs weakly.]

I can't escape robots.

[It's almost funny.]

Scenario: werebear

[Some might laugh.

No really. It's funny. It's extremely funny because you would think Hank Pym, you would think insect, but he's caught in the fog feeling considerably warmer than he has in days and also larger.

Yes. Larger. When you've spent your life altering your body chemistry you get used to it but that doesn't make it any stranger especially because what he remembered was passing out at home, in that ridiculous half way house, before waking up, rolling out of bed and landing on the floor in a giant pile of white fur.

It's funny and when Hank Pym figures it out later he will laugh - eventually - but right now there is a 10 foot tall polar bear standing out amid the woods. Ants? Ants are team animals, something he was never really a part of. Ants are dangerous in large groups. Henry Jonathan Pym?

Werebear fits.

He feels strangely at peace despite the overwhelming hunger at the site of a few townsfolk giving way to let him lumber by.]

ii

[believeprotector]

[Riku stumbles backwards as well, startled and snapped out of where's been getting lost in his head. The thing that the locals keep telling him about turning into a monster and whatnot… that's now how the Worlds are supposed to work???

He blinks at the older guy – DiZ's age? Maybe even older? – when he apologises, Riku just shakes his head.]

I'm sorry too; I wasn't paying attention.

[He combs back his bangs in a nervous gesture.]

The locals here are something else for sure.

Riku | Kingdom Hearts

[believeprotector]

[ Scenario 1 – A ]

[The last thing Riku remembers is drowning. The dense pressure of Darkness, too much to allow any breath all around him.

The voice in the Darkness, the Other–

He gasps awake with a start, spitting out bits of damp earth with a cough or two. It takes a moment until he can push himself up and out of the ditch that he's found himself in, which–

This isn't the Dark Realm, that's for sure. Or at least not, a part that he's seen before… never mind anywhere near the Dark Margin. Did the Heartless drag him deeper into the Darkness?

Riku climbs to his feet, eyes narrow as he calls for his companion:]

Mickey? [Then, after a second's hesitance:] Aqua?

[Had he been able to somehow pick up her trail maybe? It would be nice if something came of this mess…]


[ Scenario 1 – B ]

[Riku doesn't think much of it when he sees the Gravekeeper at the entrance. Certainly not that he might get threatened with a shovel for asking about the place.

(Or be called a monster for that matter, which just. What??)]

Easy, Mister.

[Riku lifts his hands, no need to escalate the situation just yet… even though he certainly doesn't like the lack of familiar spark under his skin.

…He'll deal with his lack of access to Way to the Dawn when he's not being threatened.]

If you don't want to answer me, that's fine; I'm not here to cause trouble. Just let me be on my way.


[ Scenario 3 ]

[Riku has some experience with voices in his head; Ansem – Xehanort, the Heartless – certainly hadn't been particularly shy about making his presence known. Seeking… Ansem had been all about that too, though there had been less 'us' and more 'Darkness' about that.

Still, even if he's wary, Riku is curious enough to follow the tug he feels. The world he's in doesn't follow the rules he knows, so if he is to learn anything that can help him make headway finding his way back…

The fog around him grows thicker, then gives way to a town. Riku takes in the dancers and the bonfires with a frown, eyes narrow.]

What is this place?

1B

[leggierissimo]

[Another day, another poor new arrival about to find himself on the wrong end of the Gravekeeper's tools. Normally, Joshua wouldn't intervene unless it was someone that he knew. Simply leaving the cemetery is usually enough to get the Gravekeeper off your heels, and if not, the chase was at least entertaining.

Today, though... Well, maybe he's feeling a bit benevolent. Or maybe he's just bored from being cooped up in the house for so long.

Even so, he still lets it go on until the last possible moment before sliding out of his hiding spot, hands in his pockets, a smile on his face and a slight rattle in his tail.]

No need to threaten. I'm sure he was just on his way out.

[Getting direct eye contact with the Gravekeeper would be the best option, but luckily, his tail rattling is enough to at least make the man lower his shovel slowly, as if in a fog.

An aside, to Riku:]

Any time now.

Zack Fair | Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core | OTA (Action or Prose welcome)

[forgottenhero]

i

The man in the grave groaned as he woke, everything sure felt horrible, though he expected that, a bit more than he expected waking up at all really. He pushed himself from his laying position, the movement more heavy than he remembered.

"Where-?" He asked to the air around him, not expecting an answer of any kind. Instead he turned to look around, squinting slightly as he found his vision less than before, but that made sense, didn't it? Catching sight of the headstone behind him and giving a strained chuckle. "Figures... the price of freedom sure is high..." He muttered to himself as he moved to get to his feet, looking around.

"So this is where I end up for what I did..." He added, musing slightly, as he looked down at his clothes, or what was left of them. The sleeveless shirt had a ragged, cut out in the front, exposing a good portion of his chest and abs, the strap holding on his one shoulder guard had been broken nearly through, clinging together just barely. His lose combat pants had an array of holes in them as well, though nowhere as many as his top. With a shrug he dismissed the state of his clothes for his surroundings, finally catching sight of the gravestones near him.

The first he reached hesitantly out to, his expression sad, but not startled to see a name, Angeal, engraved on the stone. "Rest with honor." He spoke softly, before looking to the others. These stole his breath, making it come out in a hitched sound that could have been distress or pain as he lurched toward the next two. "N-no... I thought I... how could..." He said, voice raising in distress, as he touched first one carved with the name Cloud and the other with the name Aerith.

Even with his distress the sound of someone approaching had him lurching to his feet, the emotions shoved away for now to handle the current situation. He reached up over his shoulder, as if to grab a weapon, and paused a moment when his hand closed around nothing. "Oh that's not good..." He said, before starting to strafe to the side, hoping to edge around the source of the sound, at least until he knew what was going on. As he moved further from the graves he gave them one more glance before focusing on getting away.

ii

Zack was a social person, in normal situations, but starting from waking up in his own grave, this had missed a lot of opportunities at 'normal'. In fact it was down right weird. "I think Hojo was given too much of a budget." He said as he stepped away from one of the people who had found their way to him while oozing some... fluid.

Unfortunately there was yet another weirdo right behind him and he nearly bumped into them. He turned around and gave a frustrated growl. "Get back, give me some space." The demand was stated with an air of authority, someone who was used to being listened to, at least for the most part. When they shifted even closer he narrowed his eyes.

"If it's a fight you want... you'll learn not to pick a fight with a Soldier." He declared, shifting into a fighting stance. He made an aborted movement to reach for something on his back that wasn't there. A quick look around him provided a rather sizable board that had one end that was thin enough for him to grip. Snagging this impromptu weapon he held it out in front of him in a ready state, prepared to strike at the first malformed whatever it was that came any closer to him... or even just asked yet another weird question.

iii

'Seek us out,' The voice sent the hair on his neck standing on end, and as he turned to find it's origin the world around him seemed to shift and jerk, until he was standing in a haze of electronic lights, with little robots wheeling around his feet.

"Another lab?" He asked, even as doubt colored his voice, and he lifted one foot to allow one of the robots to keep it's path, passing under him, before setting it back down, careful of the robots. "No... Where is this? Am... I somewhere in Midgar?" He turned carefully around on edge, but not quite ready to attack at a moment's notice.

"Who am I supposed to seek out anyway?" He decided to ask, wondering now if he'd even actually heard the voice, or if this place had him hearing things that weren't there now.

iiii

It had been a while since Zack had arrived. He'd had a few shocks, learning that he was nowhere in his own world anymore, and that whatever had made him end up here had managed to strip him of the advantages Mako imbued in all SOLDIERs. He could still run and fight, but wielding the even light imitation of his old sword wore him out, and he was nowhere near as fast as he'd been.

He had just finished a work out and reached up to brush his hair back out of his face, again, only this time when he pulled his hands away his hair came with it. As he focused on the massive clumps of hair in his hands he failed to notice that in the place of his dark hair a series of lilies had budded and were starting to bloom, replacing his hair with a bright yellow-white color.

What he did notice was as the skin on his arms, and indeed all across his body, grew rough and cracked, starting to glow a familiar Mako green as it pushed out, forming bark around his limbs, and even creeping up onto his face. His eyes had taken on a Mako green color, from edge to edge, looking like glowing emeralds. "What the-?!" He said, pausing when he felt the call of a flower nearby that had been trod on by a careless human nearby, and he felt a righteous anger flow through him. "DON'T STEP ON THE FLOWERS." He hissed, whipping around toward the human, reaching out subconsciously with a vine to entangle the foolish man.

1

[darknessdeferred]

Sam had just given up on looking for his brother when he heard someone else's voice not far away. As he approached, he noticed that the other man had also instinctively reached for a weapon that was no longer there, and held up his hands.

"S'okay," he said quickly, raising his eyebrows and giving the other guy his best innocent, open face. "I'm just ... trying to figure out what's going on here. My name's Sam. You from around here?"

Sam Winchester | Supernatural (S8 Canon Point)

[darknessdeferred]

1: BAT OUT OF HELL
Ugh...

[what hit him? he's not sure. last thing he remembers, Abbadon had knocked him across the church ... he'd heard and felt the clapboards splinter, but he hadn't thought he'd gone down. Sam scrubs a hand over his face and blinks his eyes open to find grey sky and bare branches. outside? how did he get outside?]

Crowl--

[the demon's name dies on his lips as he sits up and realizes he's not outside that ramshackle little chapel anymore. Sam looks down, pulls the sleeves of his flannel shirt up, and inspects his forearms. there's no telltale glow, none of the strange effect that going through the first two Trials had given him. had he finished it? did he just not remember? he felt surprisingly fine. arching his back, he let a few vertebrae pop, then turned to try and push himself to his feet. once he was up, there was no missing that gravestone.

Sammy's jaw hung open for a moment, his brow furrowed, before he gave a little tilt of his head and hauled himself up out of the grave.]

... not again. ... DEAN! DEAN!

2: THE HUNTING GROUND
[The uncaring strangers, the honking cars, none of that really bothers Sam. What does get to him, however, is his complete and total inability to find a phone that will connect when he dials Dean's cell phone numbers: any of them. Or Garth's. Or Kevin's, for that matter. None of the hunter numbers he's burned into his memory connect.

He's beginning to think this is the work of a Djinn or that Abbadon has found some way to get past his wards, when someone asks him about his dimension, and he realizes what's going on. Angels. Of course. Who else had ever been capable of sending the Winchesters to another reality? He answers the woman's question, then accepts the handfuls of pamphlets she offers him. He's wandering down the street, head down, deep in the intricacies of "Venom-Spitting Monsters And YOU" when one of the stranger residents finds him. It's dripping mucus from the corners of its eyes, and somewhere behind the fake wax lips, Sam can see mandibles. He's not sure what it is, but he knows it's Not Good.]

"Greasings, monster! Are you ready to fucking party?"

[Sam's hand claps down on his hip and touches an empty pocket. No pistol, no knife. Dean would punch first and ask questions later, but Sam just takes a slow step backward.]

Depends on what kind of party we're talking... [he spots someone out of the corner of his eye - lucky you!!! - and taps them on the shoulder.] Sorry if this sounds a little crazy, but are you seeing this?

3. Wildcard
[Over the course of trying to get the lay of the land, Sam decides he needs supplies, and for supplies, he needs money. First he hits up a crowded street, not proud of how he manages to pick someone's pocket with a silent promise to give something to charity later. Then he uses what little he managed to get in a dive bar across Bavan, buying a beer and enough chips in a game of poker, or maybe a few rounds of pool or darts. he'll play and hustle until he has enough for a night somewhere, so he can get his head on straight and make a game plan. until then, he might be good company. or he might be taking you for every last solar you've got. who knows?]

2

[alexandercityborn]

[Aaron wrenches away from the tap on his shoulder like he's been burned. The boy's face boasts a barely healed cut, extending up from a torn lip to his hairline, just barely missing his eye. He looks unsettled, frightened, even, though it's not quite a match for the way the boy bunches his fists when the bugs speak.]


...The... Things are talking.

Aaron Corcoran | OC

[alexandercityborn]

[ i ]

[When Aaron awakens in the grave, he thinks - well, this may as well happen. After everything, it feels kind of right to lie there, face aching, and accept that this is what comes after everything else. It's at least cold earth and not the wood that had felt as if it was melting into him as the rest of the room had started to burn.

A brief opening of his eyes tells him he's outside. The stars above are unfamiliar. Not the sky of the desert he grew up in. And it feels like he should question that, like he note that that's wrong and panic - but it's quiet and he's not hurting for the first time in what feels like forever. So Aaron just closes his eyes again.

Perhaps being dead wouldn't be so bad.

He doesn't even open his eyes to whoever moves to stand over the open grave.]

Get your own hole.

[ iiii - Waldgeist ]

[It's the constant, gnawing hunger at his stomach that gets to him first. He's in pain from the way the bone antlers are trying to force their way through his skull, skin reddened where the bone protrusions are threatening to break through, but agony is an old friend, welcomed with a closed fist. Crying out means giving in to it. Crying out means it's won. And Aaron's not about to let that have a hold on him ever again.

But the hunger... It's mind bending. It grips him no matter what he does to try and quench it, and despite it his stomach roils at the thought of eating anything that's not meat. He's pulled apart more burgers to get at the patties alone than he'd ever thought a single guy could eat in one sitting.

It's with another meal that you can find him, sitting on a bench in the city's center. He's irritably pulling toppings out of a meat sandwich from the conbini, the salad items dropped back into the packaging. He glowers up at your approach.]

Can I help you?

[ wildcard ]

[want something else from the horrible little guy? slap it up here. he's hanging around looking like he's going to slap the shit out of any bugs that come close.]

I

[derletztetanz]

...I already had one, thank you.

[The voice is low, the rustle of wind through cemetery trees - but the tone is bemused at best, a little frustrated, a little curious. The figure standing over the grave is what appears to be another human, androgynous, fine dark suit marred by grave dirt. They tilt their head lightly to one side, blonde hair bouncing along their jawline, slightly narrowing their glittering blue eyes.

They're appraising the strange boy, openly, shamelessly.]

But I didn't care to stay in mine. I don't belong there. And I don't imagine you belong here, either.

Norman Osborn | Spider-Man NWH (will avoid spoilers unless you're OK with them)

[certaininequities]

1: gonna end up a big ol' pile of them bones

[Norman uncovers his face and looks up to realize that he's not where he was. It's dark. It's damp. It smells like dirt, in a way he hasn't smelled dirt since - since ... Emily's funeral. His breath hitches in his throat and his eyes adjust to the dying light just as he makes the connection, fingers grasping at the edges of the open coffin he's sitting in.

It's not the sort of thing he would have picked for himself, either: it's a rotting, simple pine husk covered in knots and gnarled worm holes. He remembers what he'd heard from the others, and gets to his feet with a yelp of terror. Is he back? Is that what this is? With trembling hands, he pats himself down, and feels only the ill-fitting clothes he'd worn beneath the armor. No massive wounds, no blood, no trauma, no -

- no voice telling him not to panic. Which, strangely enough, just makes it worse. Norman clambers up out of the grave, his voice high and strangled]

Hello?! Is - is anyone out here?

[on his hands and knees, he crawls to the next grave, this one closed and covered, the stone bearing a familiar name: Otto Octavius. the others surrounding his? Curtis Connors. Flint Marko. and another name he doesn't know, but can only guess belonged to the other man, the one with lightning in his eyes.]

... the sorcerer. He did it after all.

[Norman puts his back to Octavius' gravestone and wraps his arms around himself. He's never liked the cold, and now he's only got a hooded sweatshirt to stave it off]

2. alive in the superunknown

[It's the sorcerer's fault. He's convinced. Absolutely and totally convinced. After all, if string theory and all of that has been proven to be true and feasible - which it undoubtedly has - he's been shunted off to some other corner of reality where none of them will have to deal with him, and no way to get home.

At least, no way yet. Norman's determined to figure something out. He just needs to find a scientist or two, figure out which way is up. Unfortunately, this place seems very technologically underdeveloped, and his spirits sag with each corner he rounds, and each pamphlet pressed into his hands. At least it's a little easier to think rationally, here: the Goblin's voice hasn't piped up once, and that seems odd. He finds a bench to sit on, out of the wind, and starts to look at the pamphlets. They all look like the weird black-and-white tracts that religious nutjobs used to hand out in New York, and even more ludicrous at a closer glance. Norman decides they'd be better served as fire-starters, and stuffs them into the pocket of his jacket]

Garbage. Absolute garbage.

[which is just about when one of the strange, misshapen things scuttles up to him, clacking its mandibles out from beneath layers of a garish winter scarf: "GREASINGS, FUCKER."

Norman's arm darts out and he judiciously punches it in the face. To his great surprise, it does NOT fly backwards into the nearest shop window, but simply staggers backwards. Most people would be screaming and running away right about now, but the middle-aged man in the battered purple hoodie is just staring at his loosely-curled fist in confusion.]

What...?

3. through these carousels and carnival arcades

[when there's finally a voice in his head, it almost feels like relief. or, it might if it sounded anything like the Goblin. Norman follows it, anyway, through the nearest door, and the sight that greets him is so whimsical and familiar that he actually laughs a little in relief.

lights, wires, screens, sounds. technology. even if it's all the stuff of children's pizza parties with a few strange little robots mixed in, it feels like some twisted facet of home. Norman moves through it all slowly, with open wonder and curiosity on his face, a smile full of crooked, bright teeth steadily growing. occasionally he'll reach out and touch something. when he comes close to the red curtains at the back of the room, he'll pause and rub the fabric between his fingers]

Anyone back here that I'm not supposed to pay any attention to?

[he almost wonders if he'll find Strange when he pulls them back. the Wonderful Wizard of Manhattan.]

Zeki Barrone | OC

[drawing_a_blank]

i. and i'm gonna be here 'til i'm nothin' but bones in the ground

Zaki was accustomed to being uncomfortable in almost every way there was to be uncomfortable. She'd even woken up in a ditch once or twice in her life (not her proudest moments) but there was something different about this instance.

Missing time? Check. No idea how she got there? Check. Disconcertingly familiar panic? ... Disconcertingly familiar panic? Huh. No. She wasn't panicked and that in itself was a little disconcerting, but the current situation? Not so much. In fact, outside of the subtle sting of the scrapes on her face and arms, it was sort of nice. It was cool and humid, tiny flecks of moisture floating around in front of her face, backlit by the moon and sent into a swirling frenzy every time she took a breath. Which she was doing deeply and steadily because the wet earth and the rain smelled so bewitchingly fresh, petrichor mixing with bruised grass and mossy stone, so familiar and yet so different from the dirty warm breeze in the subway, street food, and rotting trash that she was more used to.

It was also strangely quiet, come to think of it, and that's what prompted her to finally sit up and take stock of her situation. She patted her pockets - empty - and twisted around to see...

"Oh."

...a cemetery (and not a very good one if they were only burying people a foot and a half down so they could sit up and look around) and her own tombstone.

ZEKI BARRONE
1976 - 2002

That was a little more alarming, but before she could get more than a quiet "What the fuck?" out, a distant heavy jangle alerted her to someone else's presence. Other People had a history of being less than beneficial to her health and well-being, so instead of trying to get their attention, Zeki quietly slipped out of the grave and tried to make as quick and silent a getaway as possible.


ii. people are strange when you're a stranger

Finally arriving in some kind of a city didn't get Zeki any closer to understanding where she was or how she'd gotten there. It wasn't New York, and never had been, (probably?) though it was coastal. Peoples' attitudes were fairly familiar, though: they largely left each other and her alone - except for a few who were handing out care packages (which she knew better than to deny) and pamphlets that she had to sit down and read three times before she trusted her eyes and brain to really be working in sync on this one: Making the Most of Your Metamorphosis? Werewolves, Infants, and Children: A Guide to Resources in Ryslig?

Zeki crunched the paper in her hands as she bowed her head and rubbed at her eyes with her palms. She was too tired for this nonsense.

"What's the shit!"

Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, buddy.

Then she realized it was a slurred question and looked up at what could only be described as the roach man from Men in Black. Her eyebrows lowered in a slow frown that was more and more unease the more and more she observed: the slack jaw and ill fitting skin over a frame that didn't move like a person, but wobbled and writhed.

"Uh...what?"

"What's shit, monster? Do you fucking love socks?!"

She did fucking love socks, but that was neither here nor there.

"Excuse me, I have to uh..." Zeki thumbed over her shoulder and got up, "go. To the...dentist. I have very bad teeth. Goodbye." But when she turned, another of the things was leaning in uncomfortably close and she put her hands up. "Holy crap."

"HELLO. What the fuck it wants for a holiday?"

This was getting out of hand quickly.


iv. ay, oruguitas, don't you hold on too tight

She was hungry. God, she was so hungry. Zeki had continued accepting the generous care packages, hiding them away in a little cache until she'd accumulated what should have been enough to last a week and change, but for a few days, it was all she could do not to devour every single one in a single sitting. Now she was laying on the ground, looking sadly at the remains of the three she'd just put away. With her thin frame, they should've made her sick, but she was just as hungry as she was before the first bite. It was agony, it was starvation, it was relentless, cold, burning, dead-of-winter hunger.

Maybe she had worms or something.

It was getting colder, too. Cold and weak and thin and so, so tired. Jesus, could she even lift her head anymore? What was happening? Her heart began beating irregularly, but she was too exhausted to care or seek medication attention even if she did.

Eight minutes and forty seconds later, she was dead.

Thirty-six minutes after that, her body began to move, but not as if she were the one moving it. It was more like the eerie movement of unseen maggots roiling and bubbling under the skin. Instead of her body changing into a decaying corpse, however, it began shifting, twisting, bending and breaking and becoming something new and different. Like an animal, but stretched and misshapen.

It was near the end of this transformation that she awoke from her temporary death with a scream like a tortured animal, new claws digging trenches into the earth as she felt her head split apart and grow unbearably heavy. She was left panting on the ground without realizing she didn't need to anymore. If this is the point at which you fund her, she'll be trying unsuccessfully to stand up on her skinny, uncoordinated deer legs.

II!

[heyhohey]

CRACK!

"Ow."

The sound is very like a whip being struck against concrete - immediately followed by a young man's exclamation of pain, but still, it helps to draw the bugs' attention. The source is a boy in his mid-20s, dressed in a very dated, buttoned up sort of way and wearing both a polka-dotted bowtie and a terrified expression. Said young man also has a very long, serpentine tail, red at the base and fading to a stony black at the end. He has horns, too, to match - but those are only about four inches tall, protruding from beneath squeaky-clean brown hair.

"Ah - h-hey," he calls out, waving a shaking hand, the nails filed short, but thick, black, and pointed. Alfred doesn't much see himself as the rescuing type, but...he can't NOT try. "Hey, l-look at all of...this!"

He flicks the tail again, aiming for a trash can - but he misses, so he has to run over to it and kick it over instead.

dib membrane | invader zim (2001) | still canon reviewing but lets go lets be gross

[bigheaded]

[ SCENARIO ONE | I'M JUST A KID ]

[A truly nasal wail echoes through the graveyard.]

Nooooooo!

[Two tiny, twelve-year-old fists hammer, once, on the gravestone. There's a big, wheezy inhale.]

I'm dead!! It can't BE!

[The owner of the fists, and the voice, throws his head back and cries to the heavens.]

I'm too young to be a zombieeeheeeheeheeee--

[He's making a lot of noise.]

[ SCENARIO TWO | AND LIFE IS A NIGHTMARE ]

[Dib, short, bespectacled, and very suspicious, is not having ANY of it from these rotting, buzzing, mucus-dripping clearly-not-human-anymore organisms. He's got his arms folded across his shirt and black trenchcoat, and though his body is cocked to the side, he's leaning in, with narrowed, skeptical eyes.]

Admit it. What are you? An aaalien? A bodysnatcher? Parasitic mushrooms, growing inside his guts?

[This kid has a vivid imagination.]

Am I going to have to stop you before your guts-fungus takes over us all? Or is this a natural part of life on this weird, stupid, foggy planet?

[He turns away, talking to himself, in a voice a little less strained and a bit more contemplative.]

On the one hand: that's clearly a brain-eating gut fungus. On the other: what if destroying this guy messes up the ecosystem?

[A beat.]

It's really hard to tell what I should do here!

good old simple plan :') graveyard prompt

[endlesspastability]

[There's plenty of #aesthetic dead and withered trees in the graveyard to sit in, waiting for newcomers in the graves to awaken. It's cold, and Sonic has brought several warm blankets with him in a backpack at the base of the tree he's perched in.

But then there's one grave that's just. Screaming! So much! About being a zombie??? Or something??

It's actually really funny.

He's interested to see how long this goes on. But in truth he'll get bored after about three minutes and hops down.

An itchy but very warm blanket falls on top of Dib in the hole. SURPRISE!!]