TEST DRIVE MEME #2

[inthenightmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME #2

Hello and welcome to the In the Night test drive meme for July! Thanks for your interest in our game! Reserves open on July 20, and applications open on July 22.

While you're here...

• Take a look at our rules and faq pages to familiarize yourself with the game.
  
• Note that, for this month, we have an application cap of 9 apps for new players, as we are raising the game cap to 60.
  
• Current players may app a second character this round if they wish, which will not count against the app cap of 9.
  
• TDM threads can become game canon if both players wish. If the situation isn't something that could happen in-game, you're free to chalk it up to some strange hallucination, a shared dream, or other mysterious circumstance.
  
• Note that this is not limited to new characters threading with characters already in-game. If current players wish to thread out the TDM prompts as canon events, they are welcome to do so. They are welcome to make posts in the main comms for TDM events as well. Please note, however, that actual plot clues or happenings will not occur in TDM prompts.
  
• TDM threads can count as network threads for AC.
  
• If you plan to apply, please keep in mind that we do require at least one sample thread on the application to be from our TDM (though it doesn't need to be the current TDM).
  
• You're welcome to use the provided prompts or come up with something on your own, but we do ask that all threads take place in our game's setting.

Thank you again, and we hope you'll choose to join us!

log prompts

HERE LIES PEPERONY AND CHEASE

It happens when no one is looking, when most of the town is asleep and the rest are inside. Dozens of shrines, altars, and other memorials appear seemingly out of nowhere, lined up in rows like a haphazard cemetery. Each one is covered in candles, and each bears an image or a name (or in some cases, both,) of a current resident of the town. The air around these monuments is solemn and reverent, and it instills in visitors an urge to pay respects.

Doing so, however, may have surprising results; it causes one to experience the death of the person whose grave they've honored.

Whether you resist the compulsion or give in willingly (or something in between), you'll also have to wrestle with the fact that a grave exists for you. Will you let your death be known, or try your best to keep it secret? Destroying it sure won't work, as it will return (along with a duplicate somewhere else in town). However you choose to deal with this, one thing is hard to ignore—this a tangible reminder of your death, and the fact that it's probably permanent.

This is a mini version of our July event, Graves.

WHAT'S WITH THIS SASSY... LOST CHILD?

There's something in the woods. You can hear it, faintly: the sounds of a living creature. What manner of creature, of course, is unclear. It may be safest not to venture out alone. Whether or not you travel forth with your companion willingly or not, as you tiptoe through the foliage, the sound grows louder. It becomes clear that something...something is crying. Get close enough, and the sobbing softens to fearful whimpering. But what is it that you've found?

The spirit would be easy to overlook of they weren't shivering in their hiding place where they cling to a tree. They're small, with the vague humanoid figure of a child, though their arms and legs taper into tangled roots. The hair on their head is nothing but leaves and moss, and the tears that stick to their cheeks shimmer like sap.

Get too close, and it cries out in fear, causing your head to spin in vertigo. It's clear that it'll be best to err on the side of caution, but decide to leave it to its own devices and you'll find yourself with a weeping tag-along. It looks like one way or another, you're going to have to deal with this.

network prompts

HEY, I JUST MET YOU

It happens when you're sleeping, or trying your best to relax, or simply staring off into space. Your tablet flickers to life of its own accord and begins to display some rather odd messages. They might be in the form of text, though the meaning is a bit muddled, to say the least, seeing as how they're nothing but strings of numbers. Or maybe you're especially unlucky and get the audio version, crackling out of your tablet's speakers.

Where are these messages coming from? Who's sending them, and how? And most importantly: why? Maybe it's a good idea to hop on the network and see if anyone else has any insight.

KHAJIIT HAS WARES IF YOU HAVE COIN

The general store is exactly what it sounds like: A general store. Its products are basic, standard, boring staples. Its stock works well enough for getting by on the day to day, but anything really worth having needs to be ordered from Rastus, and then you're stuck waiting until the next ferry shows up.

Or so you thought.

You're digging through the shelves one day when you find... it. Maybe it's the last bag of coffee beans. Maybe it's a multitool. Maybe it's a particular size of pants you know someone was looking for. Either way, it's useful, it's a great find, but not for you. These pants won't fit you, you've already got a multitool, and you quit the bean juice years ago.

But, hey, there's a good chance someone else in town does have something you could use. Whether you know someone's been asking around for what you've found or you just want to toss up an ad to the whole town, your best bet is taking to the network. Maybe someone's up for tradesies.

QUICKNAV
comms	|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Comments

number six | the umbrella academy

[materialise]

ARRIVAL

[ wait— where is he?

the last thing ben can remember is standing in a circle holding hands with his family as five transports them away from icarus theater and the impending devastation of the apocalypse. did they make it? if they did, then why isn't any of them here with him?

no. no, this is wrong. this is very, very wrong.

it doesn't take long for him to learn that he has been brought to a ghost town named beacon for the deceased...? this doesn't bode well for him. did he somehow get separated from klaus? he can't sense him anymore, so—

so, now what???

have one very confused and lost guy here trying to rationalize what the hell is going on here. ]

HERE LIES PEPERONY AND CHEASE

[ he doesn't know how it happened (so please don't ask him), but one second he was wandering the woods and the next he has become the designated babysitter of a little... tree spirit? it seems terrified of him, so he has stopped trying to get too close to it. he is attempting to strike up conversation with it though.

maybe soothe it a little.

anyone else who happens to pass by the area or hears the soft whimpers will find ben crouched down on the ground a few feet from the tree spirit. he is offering it some bread he got from the general store not too long ago (and, no, he isn't entirely sure if it even eats bread but whatever). ]

It's okay. Take it. You don't have to be scared.

NETWORK | un: six

did anyone else receive a weird audio just now?

WILDCARD IT

[ ooc; the world is our oyster, so feel free to hit me with something else! if you have any comments or questions, don't hesitate to shoot me a pm. ]

ARRIVAL

[fogey]

[ five hasn't settled anywhere; there's hardly room at the inn, and he doesn't want to be tied down besides. so he's used to trekking, passing through around the town with his pack in tow. it's something of a vigil, maybe, given his reluctance to sleep. he won't be caught off guard.

or so he thinks.

he sees the new arrival, and it does briefly give him pause. fact is: five has never seen a grown up ben. they were children when five vanished, and ben was long gone by the apocalypse. he feels a passing familiarity when he sees the guy, and...then shrugs? and moves to continue on his way. ]

Xayah | League of Legends | ota

[featherknives]

Graves

---

[It was odd... seeing her gravestone like this. No name, no years. Thin, almost the same height as her, all overgrown with moss and flowers. A few feathers dangled in the wind, their purple and golden gleam making her eyes water up.

'She could still hear his voice. Desperately calling for her. Over and over again. Everyone they fought- fell. But so did she. Her body was growing cold, yet the sight above her, the rustling leaves in the wind, clear skies, the wet grass underneath her. A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other pressing into the wound desperately, trying to heal it, to stop the blood flowing.

"Miella, I won't leave you-"

A shiver racked her body and Xayah coughed violently. So much red on brilliant golden colors. Oh, how lucky she is to die in his arms, so lucky. There was no other way she would want to go. Maybe in her sleep- but it would still be in his arms.
Her vision was getting blurry, slowly fading to darkness, Rakan's golden colors dimming with every passing second...

"MIELLA!"

The scream brings her back from what seems to be an illusion. And... those were tears gliding down her cheeks. Hastily, Xayah wipes them away off of her feather coat and tries to hide her expression under the cowl. So weird... it felt as if she was there again...]

Creepy Voice Message

---

[The sound message she received isn't helping the case of "this thing isn't cursed" claims that the others gave her.]

what in the name of vastaya is this godforsaken sound? words maybe?

i told you this thing is cursed

we should break it. all of it. toss it into the bonfire

to hell with this afterlife

[translated from Xayah language: she's freaked out. Will not admit it ever.]

Wildcard

---

[ooc: Any other prompt you wanna play? Hit it up freely here! Or ping me at WindsongWitch ]

creepy voice message

[youngestmentor]

DO NOT DESTROY THE DEVICES WE'VE BEEN GIVEN.

THEY MAY BE OUR SALVATION.

[ This is not a case of accidental capslock. K is Angry. ]

jason todd | dc comics

[mind_blown]

here lies jason todd

[ honestly, it doesn't take him long to find his grave. not because he's trying, but because he's always had the shittiest of luck when it mattered to him. as he looks over it. he can see there are two dates. sure, one is his actual death. the other is very recent, very fresh. the one he considers not his actual death.

jason doesn't like being reminded of death. it's like a ghost that hangs out with him constantly, marking him as "the robin who died." or when he has the misfortune of meeting the joker, "the death that got away." he hates it. it's not exactly a secret, but it's not something he wants anyone just getting to see.

those are his memories of his worst day.

and he's trying to knock the god damned thing over, regardless of who sees him. ]

thrift shopping

[ cool, whiskey. he's well aware of his lightweight status, and he'd rather not be day drinking just yet.

he pauses and muses aloud ]

Guess this could make a nice molotov cocktail.

[ because that's the best use of whiskey. ]

cool audio messages, still creepy

want 2 compare notes @ messages

send pm, thx

wildcard
(send a pm to hypothetical or to this journal thanks)

dm from @viewfinder

[burstmodes]

what kinda message did you get exactly??

[ because he understands none of it, so that's helpful. ]

Forrest Marx | Original Character | OTA

[prepossession]

ARRIVAL

[Forrest staggers off the boat cold, clammy, uncomfortable. Her hair is a mess, her lips are pale, and worst of all she has nothing to her name but a bloody hospital gown. Making her way forward, it’s all she can do to keep the shift clamped closed with the hand that isn’t holding her lantern. This death is mortifying enough without flashing her ass at anyone who happens to catch her at the right angle.

At least this gives her something to think about other than being, well, dead.]

Excuse me.

[She calls out with an apologetic smile to anyone passing by, more hopeful than expectant.]

I don’t suppose you have something I could borrow to make myself decent—just until I find some proper clothes for myself?

PROMPT ONE: NOW PUSH

[This, unfortunately, is the exact opposite of what she was hoping for. She’s gotten herself situated well enough—hair combed, new clothes—but was hoping for more time to let the more peculiar and foreign aspects of the town distract her from her untimely death. But here it is, a marble tombstone, plain for herself and everyone else not only to see but to experience for themselves.

FORREST MARX
LOVING DAUGHTER, SISTER, WIFE, AND MOTHER
ONE OF GOD'S ANGELS

No shit, she thinks to herself, a laugh that sounds more like a sob escaping from her before she covers her mouth. To anyone who approaches, she slaps on a haggard smile.]

Oh, I wouldn’t. Not that I have anything to hide…it’s just a little messy, that’s all.

[cw: anyone who enters the memory of her death will experience the pain of childbirth until their heart gives out. They’ll see themselves on a hospital bed in labor, the energy in the room frantic, the air hot. You’re in the crux of childbirth—but just as the pain subsides and just as you hear your baby cry, everything fades away.]

PROMPT TWO: FOREST BABY FOR FORREST, BABY

Do you hear that?

[She hasn’t entered the woods yet, but just the sound is enough to set her fully on edge. She raises her lantern toward the treeline, as if she thinks somehow a path forward will become clear. Forrest can feel her heart hammering in her chest. It’s not just anxiety, but longing.]

It sounds like something’s hurt or afraid, doesn’t it?

PROMPT FOUR: MAKE IT WORTH MY WHILE

@forrest; text
Does anyone have need of a pair of sturdy men’s boots? I’d wear them myself but they’re just too big for me.

I'm guessing it's also too much to hope for that anyone's found any whiskey and is willing to share?

@kingsknight

[broplaints]

Depends on what size they are
And how many bottles you want
For some reason I found four

Sam Drake | Uncharted | OTA

[seekingmyfortune]

-- 1. ONE PEPERONY AND CHEASE PLEASE--

[Shit.

It was the first thing Sam thought when he initially saw the traps Avery had laid out for any wannabe treasure seekers--the mummies tied to polls and rigged with explosives, unassuming to those who weren't paying attention, or who just took them for a warning without any real threat. Sam had thought of them as an opportunity: a convenient escape from the mercenaries that surrounded him and the asshole with too much pomade in his hair who was leading them.

"Shit!"

It was the last thing he said as he realized that the traps he had set off with a flick of a stolen lit cigarette were exploding faster than he could run. He remembers the moment: the fuses lighting and counting down with insane speed, the mummified faces glowing in the crackling firelight. He had just enough time to glance over at the one that was lighting up just ahead of him before it exploded and he went flying back into the rocky surface of the caves and everything went dark.

And then he was here, crossing a ferry with who knew how many other people. People he didn't know or recognize, from what little he could see of them. In an effort to gain some traction, to find out a little more information, he found himself walking lazily along a row a graves, barely glancing at the names until he stumbled across one:

Samuel Drake
1971 - 2015

It's nothing fancy. No strange shapes, no angels perched on top, no elegant designs creeping along the edges. Just a weathered headstone with the words carved into its center and a sigil underneath the dates.

Sam takes a deep breath, hands coming up to pat down the pockets of his dirtied and bloodied clothes, searching for a lighter and a cigarette out of habit. Not finding any, he lets his hands drop to his sides and sighs heavily.]

Well, shit.

-- 2. Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy --
[Well this isn't ominous sounding at all!]

Jesus Christ.

i don't know about you guys, but i'm about five seconds away from tossing this thing into the river.

anyone figure out where these noises are coming from?

-- 3. Oh Ware, oh ware have my cigarettes gone --

what's a guy gotta do to get a pack of cigarettes around here?

[Please. Someone help him.]

WILDCARD
[I'm game for anything! Just hit me up, or if you want to plot something specific out for this, I can be reached via message here or via plurk at penpoints]

3, response from @redhood

[mind_blown]

if u find out, lemme know

[ this feels like a "need a cigarette" moment. ]

clarke griffin | the 100

[colonists]

WHAT'S WITH THIS SASSY....LOST CHILD?

[ if she's dead, and this is some sort of afterlife — her soul spirited away on a boat to the underworld, perhaps, like one of those greek myths — it seems as though there are worse places she could be. it beats the scorching heat and pain of the cataclysm that was praimfaya; her skin has healed for the most part, and to all appearances and senses she's returned to full health. interesting though that her blood remains natblida black, in what should amount to only a spiritual realm.

after her arrival she takes her lantern, its flame flickering in the light breeze, and heads out into the forest. she's not alone. there are others who've arrived who are exploring, but her attention is quickly diverted by the soft, childlike sobbing coming from between the dark trees.

she's on approach toward the sound, boot steps quickening when she sees that it's a child, alone out here in the dark — but the moment she nears it she's overtaken by a dizzying weakness. the sensation sends her head spinning and body lurching, right into the unfortunate person who's closest to her, even as she tries in vain to stop herself. ] — Oof!

KHAJIT HAS WARES IF YOU HAVE COIN.

[ rummaging around at the general store scores Clarke a few choice items; some old notebooks filled with plain lined paper, some first aid supplies, some tools. she keeps the blank notebooks and the bandages and disinfectant, as well as some of the utility tools she finds, such as a switchblade knife and a hammer. those will prove useful. ultimately though, she decides she doesn't need everything she'd been able to pilfer during her last outing.

drawing supplies are the one thing she searched diligently for, and found the shelf presumably having contained them coming up empty. ]

un: cgriffin
I've located some things in the general store, but not necessarily exactly what I wanted. If anyone has any drawing supplies, pens or pencils or markers or wax crayons - even charcoal - I will gladly trade for some tools and other items. Any takers?

wildcard!

[ feel free to hit up clarke in another scenario of your choice! PM or spinebarrel to plot. ]

stares hard at fellow post-apocalypse kid with weird black bits

[darkeyed]

<sub>[Just as Winters, Will, and Rastus said would happen, the ferry brings in new arrivals. They were telling the truth about one thing. And just as the rest of them did when they arrived, the new faces take off every which way to poke around this hellhole.

The thought of them tramping around on the paths M.K.'s group has started blazing annoys him--but only because he's restless, too, and a bit envious of the as-yet-undampened hope some have that if they look hard enough they can find some answers. That's how he comes to be in the forest as well, a place he's been plenty of times before.

He just wasn't expecting this time he'd encounter something new. He catches her with one arm--only because he's lucky enough to brace himself on a nearby tree on his other side.]</sub>

Careful. _{[One eye winces shut at the cry.]} That's not a kid.

elisha harper ➣ oc.

[fieldhospital]

1. a doctor in the sense that dr. pepper is a doctor

[ Elisha wakes up to the same darkness that his life ended in. For a few minutes, he lies still, orienting himself to his environment - the gentle rocking of the floor would imply that he's on some sort of watercraft - but the reasons for that are unclear. This isn't heaven, doesn't seem to be hell. Surely not the hell the revivalists were picturing, and as far as the Episcopal church was concerned, a lapse in faith wasn't enough to damn a man for all eternity.

Elisha moves forward slowly, feeling for the holes shrapnel had punched into his frock coat with one hand and lightly running his fingers over the space where the crater of a close-range gunshot should be carved above his right brow. The fabric is torn. His skull, and the skin over it, are intact. Slowly, he undoes the buttons of his coat and feels for the welter of his injuries - and again encounters nothing.

Someone's left a lantern for him, he realizes after a few more seconds; he stands slowly with no ill effects, picks it up from where it sits on the floor, and steps out onto the deck. The smell of lake water hits him at the same time as the realization that there are others here, some of them peering off the bow, all dressed in attire from different points in time. A good half of them are completely unrecognizable to him.

Elisha steps forward slowly. His knees still ache like they did the morning before he'd died, and movement only exacerbates that. He slips the first two buttons into their buttonholes as the first breeze over the water hits, allowing his fingertip to linger on the thin ridges of the eagle motif pressed into its surface as he walks. Where the hell am I?

He doesn't particularly feel like talking to any of the others, not while he's trying to make sense of what's just happened, so he makes his way to the edge of the starboard deck and rests both hands on the railing. Of what he did to ensure himself a painless exit. Tabitha may well have been hanged for her hand being the one that pulled the trigger and ended it all. Had his blood stained her clothes? How long had it been before his body made it back to Pennsylvania - to his mother? Had they won?

Naturally, it's then that someone approaches and decides that they simply must stand right here, right within the distance at which it'd be rude to not acknowledge their presence. He sighs quietly, mostly to himself, before speaking up. ]

One hell of a view.

2A. here lies squidward's hopes and dreams

[ The headstone is simple - pale, with shallowly engraved letters worn down over a period of god knows how many years. Elisha has to step closer to read anything beyond his name and rank and the epitaph his mother chose; he can't help but to run his fingertips over the weathered indents in the otherwise smooth gray limestone, confirming its realness.

IN MEMORY OF MAJOR ELISHA HARPER Brigade Surgeon 29th PA Infantry Beloved son of James & Lucretia Harper B. January 11 1830 Mortally wounded during the Savannah Campaign October 18 1864 BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL FOR THEY WILL BE SHOWN MERCY

So this is it. He's dead, and apparently there is an afterlife. It's quiet - so quiet. He waits for the sounds of artillery, or branches cracking under boots, waits for the smell of burning steel and horse sweat and the dry, earthy smoke of burning vegetation - but there's nothing. It's dark, and blank, and restful.

He's abruptly jarred from that thought by the sound of a cough behind him - and turns sharply, quickly, one hand reflexively finding its way to the butt of his revolver. A quick, scrutinizing glance determines that this person is probably another grave visitor - but if he learned nothing else from his godawful time in Georgia it's that civilians can harbor every bit as much evil as armed men - they, too, were civilians once, after all.

His hand doesn't leave the gun. ]

Is your grave around here? [ He doesn't word it with any particular hostility - it's a genuine question, and the silent threat of a pulled weapon probably does the rest well enough. ]

2B. eric burdon probably wrote a song about this

[ if your character leaves an offering on elisha's grave, this is what they'll experience. linked to a journal entry both bc length and because heavy content warnings for guns, violence, and assisted suicide. ]

4. it's a banana, michael. what could it cost, a nickel?

@ EJH

I have acquired a pair of well-made boots and am looking to exchange them for coffee beans. I can be reached around the fire. Additionally, does anyone know where to find a mount?

E. J. Harper

5. wildcard!

[ have another idea? hit me with it here or shoot me a dm on discord (grinchhands mcgee#7599 or at bluehellgazette)! ]

@fuckthis

[evocation]

what is this
an mmo?
we don't have any mounts

Chloe Frazer / Uncharted / OTA

[takeanyadvantage]

ONE - WITH NO CHEASE

At this point in time, seeing shrines and alters should be more of a warning to her than a reassurance, but she cannot shake the archaeology blood in her even now. Chloe has already been walking about, avoiding people while she lets her buzzing thoughts come up with whatever plan she can possibly grasp onto, and her footsteps took her here. It's morbid, to find so much solace in a graveyard, but at least she has a sense of humor about it. That's going to be necessary when faced with the reality of one's (mostly) untimely death. It's not the death that surprises her, it's the after part. Truly unfortunate, having to admit other people might be right about the afterlife.

Chloe is absolutely positive that she has a grave somewhere around here. Too much poetic justice not to, and besides that, she might think she's rather special but not that special. So she is pointedly not looking for it as she wanders around, noting everything from a historic point of view. It doesn't seem too obvious which culture is particularly predominant at the moment, and she should know. Her arms are crossed as she walks, reading the names as she goes.

It's not as if she's looking for a particular name that isn't even her own, nope. It is much easier to accept one's own fate than someone dragged along for the ride.

LOST CHILD, NO THANK YOU

Chloe generally walks the opposite way of children if she can help it. She followed the sound out of curiosity and nothing's ever stopped her from searching before. The crying makes her instantly uncomfortable, as all open expression of emotion does, and she has no idea why that didn't immediately make her turn around. Personal growth is the worst. When she spots the creature in question, it is curiosity again that wins the day, because what in the world is that? She blames Meenu for this brief flicker of softness that leads her closer, and she gets hit with a very clear and distinct sense of vertigo.

"No, no, no. I am not going to be one of those bloody fools in a horror movie, thank you very much." Chloe is not new to speaking out loud to herself, so she very calmly starts backing away from the creepy child creature. Except it seems to be following her and she's more than a little concerned she's somehow just adopted it with how it's carrying on. "Stop that, you're fine."

She has her head in her hands a few minutes later when she's still attempting to walk away with the crying thing following her away. This is what she gets. Thanks, Meenu.

Network: @ cfrazer

What type of barter system do we have going here? Inquiring minds and all that.

@kingsknight

[broplaints]

We've started using sticks as currency

[They 100% haven't but. Time to see how ridiculous he can make this.]

ira colt, original character.

[poge]

» 01. ARRIVAL.
content warning: vomit

[ ira wakes up still feeling sick, gasping, his body racking violently in horrible, drawn-out panic that doesn't subside so much as the shockwave just moves further away from him, still hitting him in waves that don't seem to be dissipating. the constant, undulating movement is a horrible reminder that he's not feeling so hot, wherever the fuck he is. if he's on water he's t-boned. registering the world around him in increments as he sits up – it's pitch black, and warm, sure, but not sweaty, not as muggy as he's used to – he tries to filter back through the last few hours. da nang, at night. seven days of R&R in sydney, starting tomorrow. is this where he is? it can't be.

he must look like shit. he sure feels that way. there's a pressure on his left upper arm that he isn't paying attention to – his belt is pulled tight around it, the tail end flopping even as he ignores it – and it takes some effort to stand up. he's unsteady on his feet, which is funny for a marine. funny-ironic, not funny-ha-ha; he's not laughing. what he's doing, transparently, is doubling over and vomiting, right on the floor beneath his feet. ]

» 02. NETWORK.

un: ira
wsasaasnsjknskjksfnnkkkeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrppppppppsfdfsfdfkfefmng 1111111!1!!!!!!!

[ and then, a few minutes later: ]

do other people actually read these or is it just for crying into the void?

» 03. WILDCARD.

[ i'm lazy and mostly just want to do tag outs but if you want to find ira somewhere else like the invincible or the town square, where he'll be sitting looking very sorry for himself and very ill, i am very cool with that! he's not dressed in full military gear, just a pared down version (forest green tee, khaki pants tucked into jungle boots), but he does have a marine corps tattoo on his right upper arm, so i'd be happy for someone to clock him that way if they'd recognise a serviceman. hit me up at crowders if you wanna hash out something else, though! ]

arrival!

[evocation]

[Yep. This dude... Looks like shit. And has a belt cinched around his arm in true junkie style, so the second he bends over and pukes all over the floor, Kyna isn't even surprised. She raises her eyebrows, trying very hard not to look like she's going to sympathy puke, which her stomach is seriously considering.]

Jesus. Your day sucks way more than mine.

eleven | stranger things | s3 spoiler-free

[telepathos]

here lies ;

...Graves?

[ A girl stands, hovering uncertainly, amid the stones. Her expression is set firmly in discomfort, evidenced further by the way she wavers somewhat in place. The collection is...unsettling, obviously, and there's some kind of nearly-imperceptible force that lies like a fog in the grass around her.

Bad. This is a bad place. The hairs on her arms and on the back of her neck prickle with this knowledge. El swallows, not daring to approach any of the the small shrines around her. She doesn't dare approach, but...almost without meaning to, her hand twitches toward the closest one, fingers trembling... ]


no, it's not moon sugar ;

[ It seemed - it felt - like something lost. Looking at it, lying on the ground, she'd felt as if it would be wrong to leave it there when someone could be looking for it. Eleven doesn't own much at all of her own, but those few things are precious to her for that reason. So... ]

lose something

?

i found something

[ A very specific and helpful message for anyone who might be around to receive it. ]

here lies

[shipsbrother]

[There's nothing in particular that draws Simon towards the small figure hovering between the grave markers. Not beyond a) a general sense of compassion and b) the recognition that this is a kid, even with the flickering firelight making shapes uncertain. He makes no effort to hide his approach, and stops well beyond arm's reach, hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly slouched to make himself appear smaller. More harmless.

There are a number of ways a child could die, but he's seen more than his share of sick children, and she doesn't look sick. That leaves certain assumptions.]

Memorials, I think. There isn't anything buried beneath them.

[Please let there be nothing buried beneath them. Please spare them the horror of having to dig up their own corpses in order to have use of the square again.]

Angela Ziegler (Mercy) | Overwatch

[healingbeam]

HERE LIES PEPERONY AND CHEASE

Being in the medical field meant death was always apart of her life, though it started when she was a child having lost both of her parents to war. As a field medic she's seen her share of miraculous survivals and those who've died in her arms. But witnessing death and experiencing it were two completely different things.

She hadn't quite come to terms with her own death until she came across the graves. So many lives lost and this was not even an afterlife she would have wished for. She spent all her life trying to save others and in the end that's how she died. Talon Agents finally caught up with her and while she fought to protect those she was with in the end it wasn't enough.

Even if it was rather quick, being shot was not a fun way to die.

She didn't know who's grave it was she dropped to her knees beside. It didn't matter. Death was death and in the moment she found herself feeling extremely fragile. To those looking in, she might appear like an angel weeping over someone's grave due to the appearance of the wings on her Valkyrie suit.

WHAT'S WITH THIS SASSY....LOST CHILD?

Angela never was one to turn down anyone in need of help, no matter who they were or what they had done. Some would probably call it a fault, but it's one she'd wear with pride. Helping others is what she does. Even after ending up here. Wherever that was. She won't deny that dying frightened her, and now here in a place of perpetual darkness she was even more afraid.

But she refused to let fear keep her from aiding others. Even in death there had to be something she could do.

When she heard the sound she didn't even have a second thought about finding the source. Trying to stop her would be of no avail. Though trying to approach the child-like figure proved to be not the best decision, as it cried out she felt the whole world spin. Stepping back she reached out to grab a hold of something, someone, anything to catch her balance before she just toppled over.

"I just want to help."

HEY I JUST MET YOU ziegler

Do people normally get strange messages or am I just special?

WILDCARD

[Totally open for anything else.]

( prompt: hey i just met you. )

[mutterseelenallein]

@bestimmt.

I'm worried it might be the norm here. Just got some myself before I want to bed.
Needless to say, I'm not all too eager to sleep now.

Simon Tam | Firefly

[shipsbrother]

i. here lies peperony
So far, Simon hasn't found any of the graves he's looking for, any of the graves he's dreading finding. Hasn't found the one grave in particular it might truly break him to find. Distantly, he knows it should be a relief - if there are no graves, then maybe they aren't here, maybe they're alive. Maybe he's the only one who bled out on cold metal, the last casualty of a monstrous secret. He could live with that.

(Couldn't live with that, in the most literal sense, but that's a semantic argument not worth having with anyone, let alone himself.)

Still, dread coils cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and the thought of retreating behind the doors of the Invincible without checking every marker, without knowing for certain that River, at least, isn't named among the fallen, tightens those coils until he can hardly even breathe.

And maybe it's that dread that fractures his resolve, or maybe it's just that he's passed by so many graves without leaving an offering that the compulsion has compounded to the point of being irresistible. Either way, he's brought a bottle of whiskey harsh enough to serve as engine degreaser with him, proof against further horror, and when he stops to check the name of the next grave, he pours out a measure as an offering before the marker.

Pity no one's thought to warn him about just what that offering is going to result in.

ii. and chease
Simon knows he's dead. Even so, when he finds his own grave, it comes as a shock, something more concrete than the bloody hole in his shirt and the ugly scar where the bullet had punched through him. Those feel unreal, absent the pain and the blood loss. This...

The marker is simple: angled stone, a name, two dates. It isn't a surprise. He'd burned his bridges with home a long time ago, and while he'd like to think his parents would mourn him should they ever find out about his death, he knows better than to think they'd do so openly. Any memorial he might have would be built by far more practical people, and that name and those dates are all they'd think strangers would need to know.

The sound of footsteps makes him stiffen, and he glances over at whoever it is who's just come up beside him. "Don't. No one needs to see that." It's a warning, but one lacking in hostility. He isn't the one he's trying to protect.

(Should anyone ignore his warning and leave an offering anyway, they get to experience this, and the pain of being shot is almost as bad as the horror of seeing his sister dragged away by the Reavers.)

iii. hey, i just met you
Does anyone else broadcast on this channel?

[If you're one of the lucky ones whose tablet hasn't just done its best impression of a demonic possession, apologies for the lack of context.]

iv. wildcard
[Feel free to hit me with anything, PM if you want to plot something out.]

ii!

[marineris]

Bobbie is very much not leaving anything at anyone's grave. She's been warned, and she has no interest. She has no real interest in finding her grave, either. She knows what it will look like. Martians are nothing if not efficient out of pure necessity.

Still, the graves are everywhere and almost unavoidable, and so it's more by accident that she hesitates near Simon's grave. His reaction makes her stop completely, though.

"I'm not planning on seeing anything. Not my business."

John Constantine | dctv

[inconstantly]

1. HERE LIES PEPERONY AND CHEASE PART 1

[A man in a trench coat with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth walks unhurriedly through the monuments. When a person has "exorcist" on a business card one tends to get used to the sort of things.

Finally one of the memorials makes him stop. It's a plain gray headstone adorned with a paltry amount of shriveled flowers. On the stone is written very simply:

JOHN CONSTANTINE

....................../´¯/)
....................,/¯../
.................../..../
............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸
........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\
........('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...')
.........\.................'...../
..........''...\.......... _.·´
............\..............(
..............\.............\...

He barks out a laugh, grinning around his cigarette and shoving his hands into his coat pockets]

Well I guess I've found mine.

2. HERE LIES PEPERONY AND CHEASE PART 2

[The same thing will happen no matter which way a person wants to pay their respects. They will feel themselves falling, blistering to ash in a fiery inferno until their body re-materializes only to fall into a rancid trash filled dumpster.

Welcome to hell. Literal hell. At least one John Constantine is here in the trash with you. And why wouldn't he be? It's his home after all.]

3. NETWORK

@ CONJOB

i don't do computers what is this

4. WILDCARD BITCHES!

[Wanna do something else? I'm p easy going, let's chat!]

[ network ] @d.grayson

[identifier]

[ conjobs? to a cop, that's catnip. ]

it's called texting.

Master Chief | Halo

[bornlucky]

GRAVES

[ The white marble slab is designed much like any other military tombstone. There's a symbol at the top, a name beneath it, and a set of dates spanning from 2511-2557 beneath that. However, three things make this tombstone unusual. The first thing is the name itself: "SPARTAN-117." The second is the number of medals listed: the only one missing is the Prisoner of War Medallion. The third is that, because of the sheer amount of awards, the stone itself is nearly as tall as the seven-foot-two-inch figure standing beside it.

Whoever this SPARTAN-117 was, they must've been one heck of a Master Chief.

The figure appears to be a statue. Its armor is incredibly detailed and shows signs of battle damage. Its posture is ramrod straight; its grip on its assault rifle is firm; its golden visor faces forward. Perhaps it's a larger-than-life representation of SPARTAN-117? If anyone decides to step closer to the tombstone, whether out of curiosity or a desire to leave an offering, the answer becomes clear.

The "statue" moves. It steps forward, movements so fluid and precise they seem mechanical, and stands between the grave and whoever approaches. Its visor faces them, and a deep, steady voice speaks: ]

That's not for you to see.

NUMBERS

@ S-117

[ When he hears the numbers, the Chief's first instinct is to ask Cortana for her analysis. Then he remembers (again) that she isn't here, and he ignores the stab of sorrow (again) in favor of sending a message: ]

Does anyone have experience in code-breaking?

WILDCARD

(( ooc: come at me with whatever! i can be reached at twofouroneten for questions or plotting ))

graves

[eastofeden]

[ Ah. Aziraphale stumbles back a bit, clearly startled, and looks up, and up, at the statue that apparently isn't a statue at all. ]

Pardon me. I didn't mean to intrude.

[ And now he can't see the stone at all. He doesn't try to step around the figure, or even crane his head to peer around him (that seems like a good way to lose said head, and would be horrifically invasive, besides), but he does lower his gaze again, as if contemplating the tombstone through its...owner? Subject? What is the terminology here? ]

You'll be Mr. Spartan, then?

Bobbie Draper | The Expanse

[marineris]

arrival

[As if there weren't enough military personnel running around this town, here comes another stumbling off the boat, all six foot of her. She's wearing what is obviously a military uniform, though certainly not anything from Earth. Strangely, though, for all its differences, those savvy enough might recognize the insignia on her jumpsuit as that of a gunnery sergeant. There's a dark, wet stain and a bullet hole, clear as day, pierced through the left side of the fabric over her stomach.

Bobbie herself isn't doing so hot. It was obvious the second she woke up by that oppressive, constant pull down that she's on Earth, though this stretch of land is so wild and untouched that she's thrown by it.

Turns out she's dead and apparently the afterlife just likes Earth a whole lot. Great.

The sky, as always, is staggering. Bobbie is used to seeing stars, but through the protection of her armor or a dome or the screens of a ship. She tells herself, again and again, not to look up. How anyone manages not to feel like they're going to float away under this is beyond her. It's only her training that keeps her from throwing up, and even then, she staggers momentarily in the doorway to The Invincible. At least under a god damn roof she can think straight.

The second she sits down at the bar, though, she makes a sudden realization and she scoffs, more in shock than derision.]

Earthers everywhere. Did I get thrown in with the wrong group of ghosts?

khajiit has wares

I've got the biggest damn bag of coffee anyone's ever seen. I'm guessing that's as rare here as it is back home. If you're willing to trade a weapon for it, let's talk. I'm not picky.

arrival bc I have to

[donttalktome]

[Will hears that scoff and turns immediately on his stool to face Bobbie. He leans one elbow on the bar and puts his chin on his hand.]

You're not from Earth. [It's a statement, not a question.] Where are you from, then?

[Earthers, Terrans, Earth-People. There are less pleasant nicknames for them, too, but this woman using an epithet at all can really only mean one thing.]

Jean-Pierre Polnareff | Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

[silvercrusader]

HEY I just met you; un: fightinfrenchman

hey

is that

is this normal, like, is this a normal death thing, is this "oh yeah we always listen to that mysterious voice mutter numbers at us a certain hour of the day, why are you worried" or is it, like, something to be worried about

just wondering

unrelated: does anyone have any CDS

and a walkman

and headphones

peperony and chease;

[Jean-Pierre Polnareff, 1965 - 1988, that's what his grave says. It's pretty, ornamental in a store bought sort of way, the decorations on it not particularly suited to his personality, but that's all right. He honestly hadn't expected a grave at all, so it's sort of nice to see this.

Sort of eerie, too.

It's not unusual to see a man looking at his grave, not here and now. What is unusual: the creature that seems to lurk just behind him. Floating a few feet off the ground, the metal man's head peers over Polnareff's shoulder, yellow eyes wide. One hand reaches out, falters, falls to it's side, and Polnareff sighs sharply.

Where did he get cigarettes? But he has them, and tugs one out, lighting it up. And funny: though he straightens up to do it, and he must knock against the metal man, there's no impact. It's as if the creature clips right into him, the two intersecting in a way that is assuredly unnatural.

Weird.

Anyway: if you approach, you're in for a surprise. The death you get isn't easy. And he knows it, which is why the moment anyone moves to set a token down, his hand darts out, fingers gripping their wrists firmly, stopping them.]

You don't want to do that. Believe me.

chease

[mind_blown]

Mind if I bum a cigarette?

[ he's not here to pry. he just smelled the smoke from a mile away, like his body was attuned to it. And this is the kind of situation where, maybe if he had easy access to cigarettes he'd shove off the craving. But now, knowing he doesn't, it just makes the craving that much stronger. ]

Don't worry, I'm not about to go paying respects to anyone's memory.

[ not just out of aloofness. he knows what having a bad death's like. ]

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret | Final Fantasy XV

[luxoraculi]

[ A - Graves ]

[ Death has never been anything that Lunafreya has been afraid of. Which is a good thing, considering that she's always known that her fate was to die at a young age. That's already come and gone, thanks to performing rites and of course, a certain Chancellor who had taken it upon himself to make sure her end was inevitable.

That happens to be one of the last things she can clearly recall from home, as a matter of fact. When Luna stumbles upon her own grave, a small but somewhat elaborate little tomb made of marble, and her brow furrows.

Here lies Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.
Beloved sister, friend, and Oracle.
May the Gods bless her soul evermore.

She does not touch the tombstone, of course. She doesn't need to relive what happened to her, but it's still a strange thing to see. Knowing she was going to pass was one thing, but thinking about having a grave? That's something that she never really put much thought towards, honestly. ]

What a sweet epitaph... how undeserving I am for such kindness. Even still, what a peculiar thing to stumble upon.

[ Because you know. It's totally normal to bump into rows upon rows of graves in cities and all, obviously. ]

[ B - Lost Child ]

[ If she thought seeing her own grave was going to be the strangest thing to happen to her, she thought wrong. She'd heard crying; it's what caught her attention. Ever the helpful soul, Lunafreya had taken it upon herself to go and find whomever it was that clearly needed to be consoled. Color her surprised to find... she's not even sure what it is, honestly. She's not seen anything like it, but she wants to help regardless. ]

You need not be afraid, little one. [ Crouching down, Luna extends a hand, to which the little spirit draws away on itself with another whimper. It's only then that she takes notice that she is not alone, and she looks up and away from the whimpering creature. ]

Do you know anything that could possibly help this little one calm down? [ Oddly enough, the spirit in question turns it's head up to look as well, glancing back and forth between the two. ]

[ C - Wildcard. If you have anything you want to do, hit me with it! ]

a

[spitefullight]

[ Elden had been carrying his offerings in case the urge to leave them struck him. He's been careful though to avoid the graves as best he can. People's deaths...were private in their own way and he had already stumbled on a few. He wasn't too keen on stepping into more private memories of others.

But, what really draws him to this grave is the woman shrouded in white. Her form is only silouhetted by the small lantern she has on her. He approaches slowly, holding up his lantern to give off more light to finally get a better look. She...definitely looked like she had harrowing death. Covered in bruises, blood staining where her abdomen was, dress in ruins. He purses his lips as he approaches, about to speak when he notices the epitaph on the grave.

Lunafreya....oracle. Luna...Oracle.

His head cants slowly in confusion because...didn't that older boy mention a girl with that name and title? Well...it's a long shot but...might as well. He brings a fist to his mouth to let out a cough to grab her attention as if not to startle her off and then goes; ]

Um...'scuse me? Luna? Sorry, this might sound really random but do you now a boy about yay big [ As he gestures about Noctis rough height; ] wears a lot of black...kind of broody looking? And uh...Has duck hair?

aislin abendroth. | original character.

[mutterseelenallein]

i;; the transition of juan romero.

[ as they're disembarking from the boat, aislin feels someone bump up against her.

out of instinct more than anything, she makes a grab for the stranger's shoulder. she's about to push them away, her face pale with fear and shock, but- she stops herself.

is it because the person is younger than her? it is because there's something in the character's bearings that makes her go friendly or ally instead? it's hard to say. but, whatever it is, it causes aislin's grip to become less harsh and more gentle. she finds herself helping the person get steady on their feet, her expression softening to something close to concern. ]

-Are you okay? That ride on the boat wasn't all that smooth, now was it?

ii;; the tomb.

Aurgh!

[ guess who is currently in the process of absolutely destroying her grave?

that's right- this woman. using a shovel, her grit, and her years of suppressed anger and fear, aislin is going to town on a marker that she's halfway destroyed. her hands are clearly bleeding, her limbs are shaking, and she doesn't give a single damn. she seems possessed with a fever, a desire to get rid of this thing.

she's managed to get rid of the top half, most of the epitaph now gone. the only words that can be made out are the following:

SWEETEST OF SOUNDS.

aislin catches the words from the corner of her eyes and, if anything, it causes her to slam down on the tombstone even harder. ]

iii;; the music of erich zann".

[ at some point, at some unholy hour, music begins to fill the air. it's a mournful sound, sharp and clear. clearly made from violin strings being plucked and caressed by a waxed violin string, steady and clever fingers.

if followed, the source of the music is discovered to be from a tall and pale woman, her hair a shock of red against the backdrop of the evening. she's pressed up against the town hall's wall, clearly lost in her music with how she only has eyes for her dancing fingers, her moving bow.

but something alerts her to the other's presence. her eyes snap up, meeting their gaze, and the music abruptly stops as her hands still, her violin falls silent. ]

... Am I bothering you? [ she has the decency to look apologetic, inclining her head towards the person. but she doesn't lower her violin. ] I thought it'll be a good hour to practice, given that no one else is here.

iv;;; wildcard!!

[ want to do something else? feel free to do it here! also, you’re welcome to hit me up/plot with me via my plurk prognostic if there’s something specific you want. ]

ii

[chardismastic]

[ By now at least, Rafe has set up in what little style is available. A tarp stretches from his headstone to a post in front, creating a shanty of a lean-to out to discourage the casual offering from whoever the hell wants to creep around his head. A pile of supplies within include the tablet, some food, a few other things to pass the time. As such he's pretty confident to sit back and... Well. Not relax, but appear to be at least. So he watches the destruction with mild interest, sipping at a canteen while arching an eyebrow.

Eventually, he offers: ]

You get an A for effort, but in case you missed the memo? [ He clears his throat, twisting the canteen closed. ] It'll be back tomorrow with a new twin who the hell knows where.

ahvenrel sychantus | oc

[heartsblood]

  it's always sunny in fuckadelphia (bonfire prompt);

( life is a curious thing. it sinks down into him, curls around old bones and joints and everything crackles to life in a blaze. he's not set foot on the earth in an age. to feel it solid beneath him, to hear the whispers of the trees, to feel the moon overhead and the stars in infinite accompaniment is a boon like no other.

yaeris' absence is a rend in him. but it is one he knows he'll survive for now — after all, wasn't that their promise? anywhere, everywhere, until their flesh returns to the forest? ibrandis had renewed that vow to him just before she put a knife through his heart. his body beneath the bone tree, enshrined alongside his treekeeper. rest, grandfather, she'd told him, though he was much older than that to her. rest.

but death hasn't taken a shine to his soul. he can only give so much offense to the gods, he supposes, before they come together in agreement to disband him from their realm. so he'll wander here as he wandered yzmis, a shadow of himself, and come again to death in some new way.

— it'd be great if people could stop stabbing him in the heart, really. perhaps a beheading next time. and in the interim, he'll celebrate as one does in the country he died to bring to life from nothing. from around the bonfire, he'll select a person from the crowd of pleasing countenance and past the majority age and step into their space. his is a wolfish smile, pleasant the way some pain can be, and he smells like rich earth after a light rain, something pleasant and fresh. renewal.

all things grow from a single moment, and the seed of that moment is him offering his hand in greeting. )

The afterlife is a cruel place to be alone. Walk with me? I would like to learn about your world.

  death wears a gucci suit (graves prompt);

( his monument is a tree. a great, hulking thing that overshadows the surrounding area, with graceful branches that keen towards the ground like a willow. there are bones (human?) tied with red silk to the branches in a way that seems loving rather than any sort of macabre, and here sits This Asshole beneath it.

he's eating some sort of fruit — not quite an apple, not quite anything else, either — with evident relish, and should you approach he'll chuck you one in an easy underhand. did it come from the creepy tree? who knows. )

I was sacrificed by my lover to secure the creation of a free country for our peoples. It worked, if you're wondering. But if you don't think you can endure twenty-four days of ritual fucking, drug use and the eventual prising open of your ribcage with a knife, you're better off passing me by. I'm Ahven, by the way. Pleasure to meet you.

bonfire!

[evocation]

[Nothing good ever comes from some dude smiling like that and getting all up in your bubble, so Kyna makes a face, nose wrinkling. Defusing this with a stupid joke is clearly the way to go here, right?]

What are we gonna do, walk laps around the bonfire? This isn't exactly a beach at sunset.

Aziraphale | Good Omens

[eastofeden]

peperony and chease

[ The stone reads, simply, Aziraphale. There is no birth date; dates hadn't been invented, really, before the Earth, and so there's just a blank spot, then a dash, and 2019 Anno Domini.

His death hadn't been a bad one, as deaths go. It hadn't been a death at all, actually, or at least it shouldn't have been. What it should have been was a simple discorporation - inconvenient, to be sure, but nothing like permanent. And yet here he is. This place that is neither Heaven nor Earth, looking at a grave that certainly appears to be his.

Aziraphale spends some time examining his own grave curiously - who wouldn't? - but it's not long before he's wandered off. There are so many graves here, so many memorials and monuments and little shrines, it might make one think the end of the world had happened, after all. He moves patiently from one to the next, kneeling before them or simply standing with head bowed, as appropriate, and seems set on visiting every one in turn, no matter how long it might take, or how tramatizing it must be to experience one death after another after another.

Including, naturally, yours. Should Aziraphale happen to meet the person whose grave he's just visited, he'll do a classic double take, looking from the person to their memorial and back again in stunned surprise. ]

Oh - hello. I wasn't expecting to meet you here.

lost child

[ From the moment he'd heard the sound of a living being in distress, there had been no question as to Aziraphale's next move. He doesn't spare a second to think of his own safety - in part because he is, after all, immortal, but let's be honest here, even if he wasn't that wouldn't stop him. Not when he can hear that pitiful sobbing, the sound of someone scared and lost and alone.

He doesn't balk when he finds the creature of moss and roots, merely crouching down, holding out an encouraging hand. ]

It's all right, dear, not to worry.

[ The creature screams, and Aziraphale flinches away, holding a hand up to his head with a grimace of pain. Not to be deterred, though, he's at it again a second later, reaching back out again to the child. ]

No need for that, now. Will you take my hand?

wildcard

[ Hit me up! Someone's going to have to teach him how to use the network before it becomes an option, though. Good luck!

chease

[mind_blown]

[ he's nice and bruised up too, thanks to a fight that happened over another version of this monument. this grave. but don't let that fool anyone, he would still fight in a heartbeat, given. you know. he's got a solid two deaths to live through on his grave.

being jason todd is hard and he's his own worst enemy here. but surely being killed by the joker, and then dying after telling his killer he's not evil... those are fine deaths, right? ]

How messed up in the head are you, again?

sumio kodai | the silver case

[sumio]

A - rip in pepperonis
[His arrival occurs without circumstance. In an almost trance-like haze, Sumio takes up his lantern, disembarks from the boat, and wanders into the forest, as placid as if he'd been meaning to visit this place all along. His feet crunch softly in the forest underbrush as he walks, moving at a meandering and almost leisurely pace. A far cry from the rest of the panicking newcomers. And obviously, he doesn't believe the "afterlife" bullshit. Like every other dream he's had these last few months, this place is nothing but a fantasy: only his restless mind, reaching back through the years for a memory of a home that no longer existed. In sleep, as ever, Sumio Kodai returns to Mikumo-77. Maybe this time he'll wake before his subconscious remembers the stench of the acrid, poisoned factory smoke that'd choked the life out of these forests of his youth.

Too bad his assumptions are all wrong.

His own grave stops him in his tracks: simple and undecorated, engraved with nothing but his name. It's enough to yank surprise past his emotionless front. Sumio takes a step back, alarmed, stress knotting in his gut-- and then, shoulders sagging, he remembers his partner's face through a plexiglass wall. Tetsu had sat with him behind that barrier for hours. He had kept his back straight, his voice even, and his eyes dry. He'd wished him courage, finally, and when Sumio was led away, had stopped paying attention long enough for Sumio to glance over his shoulder and see him slump in his chair, buckling at last.

Sumio sinks to his knees.] They pushed the execution up after all. [he says quietly, sitting back on his haunches.]

B - press F to pay respects
[Welp.

For someone who'd actually wanted to die, Sumio's feeling a LOT more anxious about this than he thought he would. It's not like he wasn't expecting this to happen, either. They'd blown up a building and a dozen-odd executives with it. His accomplices had both killed themselves for the sake of the operation months ago. But he had always expected either peace or nothingness, and to have neither? The uncertainty's fucking unbearable, and it's slowly eating away at his nerves.

He needs to think. Figure out some kind of game plan for this wide-open purgatory of an afterlife. No, he can't focus; his hands are empty, he needs something to do. He needs a smoke. Sumio brushes his bangs back and away from his eyes. God, couldn't they have at least given him a haircut before they'd executed him?

For a little while, passersby will see a dark-haired man in an all-white prisoner's uniform sitting against his own gravestone. He closes his eyes tight and leans his head back, wracking his brain for possibilities; he flips through his tablet; he flags someone down, every once in a while, to try bumming a cigarette.]

You would think someone would be smoking in Hell. [he scoffs, if you're one of the most who reject him.]

C, network - but who was phone

Has anyone checked to see if these numbers are some sort of cypher yet?

D, network - got any grapes

I need a smoke. I'm happy to trade goods or a favor for them. I'm decent at fixing radios and other devices like them if anyone has come across any broken ones. If you need anything else I'll see what I can do.

[you can also wildcard me! i'm at smithsyndicate if you wanna hash anything else out!]

B

[reigniter]

Unfortunately, smoking is not a vice of mine.

[Coffee is. Ignis cannot operate normally without coffee. Or, well, he could but he'd rather not to. He becomes very jumpy, suspicious and easily annoyed. Not to mention that trying to negotiate anything with him while he's going through caffeine withdrawal is almost impossible. So he is very thankful for his own stubborn temper not to give in to the cigarettes as well. It would've been very easy, considering all the shit that went down recently.]

Perhaps asking Rastus would be the best solution. By now, even those that have cigarettes should be running out.

[And Rastus is like a hub for ordering stuff you need. He'll get all of it for you. However, requesting complex things will require you to do a favor for him.]

cate | original character

[necropathy]

i. graves.
[ It's almost nice, at first. Being around so many people. The dead's where she lives, where she's found her loves, her friends, her guardians. Everything here is real. Everything here is just like she is -- not quite alive, not quite dead, stuck in a strange place in a stranger time, lit by half-lights and dim lamps. It feels sort of human. It feels sort of like what Cate imagines being human is like.

But death has never felt so final before. None of Mother's girls die, not really, so long as the bones are brought back to Mother.

So what her grave marker (nothing much, just a small mound of rocks with 'CATHERINE' written on every single one of them in a different hand) tells her is that nobody cared enough to bring her back. To bring her home. Which makes sense, she thinks, after how they treated Roy. Cate stands there at her grave for what feels like hours. She bites her nails down to the quick, pulling the ragged sleeves of her zip-up hoodie down over her wrists, again and again in a nervous cycle.

Until someone approaches. She lashes out like a startled animal, tugging at their hand— ]

Please don't look. [ Her eyes are wide, panicked. Urgent. ] Please.


ii. forest.
[ For all intents and purposes, she's just a normal girl now. Cate's hair, jet-black, is tied up into a messy knot at the top of her head. Her lantern swings limply from her hand. She peers into the forest, swinging the light source a little so she can see better, her feet still on the border of the woods than directly in it. ]

It's just scared, right? [ She sounds unsure, but she offers it up anyway. ] Whatever's in there, it's just scared. [ Cate inhales, exhales, then looks up at her newly adopted partner. ] Alone, when it doesn't have to be.

[ Sounds like she'll need a little encouragement to actually head in there. ]


iii. wares?
found some boots
would like some books. or a sudoku
please.
anybody want to trade?
cigarettes instead of books also good.

iii. @Scientia

[reigniter]

while I don't have books or cigarettes
the phone that is given to you has a game app for sudoku

[Honestly though, thank Will for making that.]

kung jin | mortal kombat

[pummelling]

A - finish him

[Surreal as being dead is, coming across his own grave is not an enormous shock. Not with Kung Jin's life. The details are still hazy, but he could probably get the majority of his story right on just wild guesses, anyway: things had gone south somewhere in Outworld. His squad had gotten overwhelmed. He'd done something stupid to buy the other three time, and, well... here he was, his clothes drenched in blood and his head throbbing with a brutal headache.

But-- screw this "afterlife". He knows, like, at least 4 formerly-deceased, and this is nothing like the realms after death that he knows of. Something here isn't quite right, he thinks, pacing in front of the broad upright slab inscribed with his family name.]

At least they've been cleaning me up nice. [mutters Jin, bending down to brush some dirt away from his headstone. He can almost smell the incense in the air as his fingers trace over the finely-cut characters: if this really is his grave, his parents must've really gone in on it.

It's strange, to swell with pride over your own grave. And yet he wouldn't go out any other way.]

B - how is babby formed

[Yeah, yeah. Jin's soft. He's keeping the plant-kid, and you're helping him sort this shit out.]

[Jin pushes some low-hanging branches away with his bow to allow his companion and the odd creature to pass. The child lags behind, staring in fear, so he shrugs and settles for just one.] After you.

[There's a little more walking before he speaks up again.] So, what do you think? [Behind Jin and whoever else is on this lovely forest stroll, the strange child whimpers, then stutters out a quiet sob.] I've read about all sorts of forest spirits, but nothing like this.

[He casts a glance over his shoulder at the child, who quakes like a leaf when they catch Jin's eye.]

You okay back there?

C, network - autotune intensifies

Looks like I found the motherlode today. I've got a handful of those little hotel bar bottles of alcohol, and lucky for all of you, I don't drink. Not even while I'm "dead". Make me a good offer and I'll consider, and I do mean a GOOD offer.

[and again you can wildcard me or chat about other options at smithsyndicate!]

@v

[killah]

running a racket on drinks you wouldn't even drink yourself. impressive!

yaeris of the eldin | original

[boneash]

☾ 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈

⟪ there is little enough to say for what is happening here: there is a woman, easily anything between twenty and forty turns old, at the general store. she is shedding several layers of white, blood drenched clothing, all of fine making, but none of them spared, and she is shedding them right where she stands.

for her, there is no embarrassment to the matter, though you might wish to stop her –– in the middle of her undressing, she’s pausing anyway, reaching out –– ⟫

Would you hand me something to dress in? That white thing behind you?

⟪ hey, you are standing in the way of the shelf. ⟫

---

☾ 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒

⟪ it’s been a miracle, seeing ahvenrel again, and one well-worth dying for, in spite of some… changes. she doesn’t mind changes, doesn’t mind the change of scenery, either. the eldin, her people, are sensitive to the light of the sun, so this permanent light is more heaven than she has ever dared to dream of before.

it’s more kingdom come than yzmis, too, though even to a stranger, she won’t voice that thought. too much has been sacrificed for the new country, to not feel blessed by it in some fashion.

by the lakeshore is where she can be found, setting up an improvised tent, singing to herself. she is so pale she is practically glowing, and her voice has a strange, haunting tune to it –– and then suddenly she is faltering, near-fainting. ⟫

Oh.

⟪ Obvious to anyone passes that she is unwell, though the problem is not an easy one to fix. It’s hunger, but it isn’t food she craves. Like this, the way she is now, it is blood she needs.

Her yellow eyes fix on this passerby. ⟫

May I trouble you for something?

---

☾ 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓀𝓃𝒾𝒻𝑒

⟪ not far from ahven’s tree is his lover’s grave –– it would be closer, truly, one and the same, were this not a different kind of magic at work. it is a simple, round stone, pale white and smoothed by ocean waters. her name, yaeris, is carved into it, and to anyone who wishes to leave an offering for eldin unknown, the vision won’t be a kind one.

You kneel beneath the bone tree, and your agony is unimaginable. It has been time, time has passed since you lost your love, but grief still pulls at your every breath, demanding its toll. Not a moment where you don’t think of the ritual, the four-and-twenty days it had taken you and your people to offer ahvenrel to the gods. the knife you’d wielded, the force you’d used, his blood that had coated your hands, your skin, as you screamed and wept and did your duty.

But there is hope. Like the shape of things sung from trees, you have formed a new hope, hope for his return, and now, it’s just one piece left to set the roots into motion.

You think of your brother, your mirror image, like to find you, like to take over the witchery. He’ll understand, you tell yourself, but you can’t muster up much heart –– too much sorrow, too much to do.

The knife you raise is sharp, but it barely hurts, not compared to the torture you have suffered.

And then you are no more.

⟪ she sits beneath the tree closeby, the woman you’ve just been. ⟫

This was not for you to see.

---

☾ 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒹

⟪ ooc: feel free to improvise or message me at nehelenia or on disco at dracula#1035 if you have qs or just want to plot somethng. c: ⟫

campfire vampire.

[freely]

Hm?

[ He looks distracted, for the most part. There's mud on the heels of his brogues, and dirt on the end of the sleeves of his peacoat. In one hand Daniel carries his lantern, a simple, easy thing; in the crook of the other he carries a small pot-plant, a stone-grey bowl housing a thriving spearmint.

Daniel's attention takes some time to focus in on Yaeris. He takes her in slowly, from the paleness of her skin to the gold of her eyes. The smile that blooms on his face is calmly pleasant. He places both pot-plant and lantern down by his feet, then puts his hands into his coat's pockets; leans in a little, not too far, his body language mimicking the turn of a plant's total attention to the sun. ]

You very well may.

Scott Ryder | Mass Effect | Hadriel crau

[casualryder]

Arrival

[He had expected to die. That was literally part of the plan. SAM stops his heart, his lifeless body falls out of the stasis field, SAM restarts his heart, and bam! He's free, and he can help Liam and Jaal get out as well. Simple. Well, in theory. Dying wasn't simple. The first time he died certainly wasn't.

The last thing he remembered was his life flashing before his eyes, which was already a familiar experience after the first time. This time he saw a little more, though. Weird. Wait, no, what's weird is when he's jolted awake by the fog horn and faintly bathed in a red light. Great, he's dead and gone straight to hell, is his immediate thought. But once he fully comes to and his head begins to clear he...well, nothing is any clearer, actually.

He tried his omnitool, which didn't seem to work at all, he tried contacting SAM, who was once again absent — wait. 'Once again'. That's right. As his mind clears he remembers...this wasn't the first time he woke up in a completely foreign place before. Right on the heels of his death, this was alarming. Is this just what happens when you die? Or is it more of this inter-dimensional-universe-fuckery?

Either way it sucks.

Once he makes his way to the darkness of the pier (seriously, where's all the light, isn't this hazardous?) he takes a look around. He tries the flashlight built into his armor but that doesn't seem to work at all, which means he's stuck relying on a lantern. A lantern.]

So...this officially blows.

Here Lies...

[Alright, this is creepy.

He read it over and over again, just to make sure, and each time nothing changed.]

Scott Ryder
2163-2785

[The gravestone, for as dark as it was out here, was clear as day. The name and dates wouldn't change no matter how much he read them over. Now, he knows he's dead, he remembers dying, he knows when he died, but that doesn't make this any less creepier. It just makes it more creepier, if anything.

And devastating.]

What a grave reminder, [he mumbles to himself. It's his grave, he can make the joke of he wants.]

Hey, I just met you

So, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm going to go ahead and guess that numbers being recited through these tablets isn't normal and I should be concerned.

Anyway, they seem like a random string of numbers. Can't figure it out. And it won't stop. So that's fun.


ooc: I defaulted to brackets but I'll match any format, no real preference! Any questions or anything hmu at nicknacked or Nicknack #8988 on Discord!

and this is crazy

[youngestmentor]

I'm working on deciphering the transmission.

The last time I encountered a similar transmission, the numbers were coordinates.

[ To safety. To survival. If this is supposed to save them, K isn't going to miss out, and she'll share the results with everyone else. ]