TEST DRIVE MEME #5

[inthenightmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME #5

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

While you're here...

• Take a look at our rules and faq pages to familiarize yourself with the game.
  
• Note that we have a reserve cap of 20, and a (current) application cap of 10 apps this month for new players, as the game has a player cap of 60. An accurate count of current players will always be available on the taken page.
  
• 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.
  
• 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

MAMMA MIA

The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...

While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever... Right?

This prompt is a mini version of the game's Bury a Friend event.

GIMME! GIMME! GIMME!

Although the month is already well underway, residents of Beacon will notice a brand new shipment being delivered to the general store—only this one comes via the forest, as a small legion of spirits quickly drop off crates of boxes at its doorstep before scampering back into the woods. Hopefully nobody is riding too hard on hoping for further rations or supplies, because opening them up quickly squashes any notions of a full month's restock. Instead, it looks like each crate is bursting with costumes! Coming in all shapes and sizes to fit anyone of any age or decree, there’s plenty to choose from. Something scary? Magical? Clever? Or maybe even a bit on the sultry side? Dig deep enough, and you’re sure to find something to suit your tastes, props, accessories, wigs and all!

If nothing else, surely you can find an alternate use for a bit of spare fabric in your size, but what's the harm of having a bit of fun? But, oh, be careful if you're playing dress-up while the hallucinations from the event are in play... These costumes might just have a funny effect on you. 🤔!

network prompts

S.O.S.

The morning is interrupted by an alert. The text, which helpfully converts itself to automated speech when opened, reaches every inbox across Beacon, refusing to disappear until acknowledged. The problem? The username it comes from is glitched and unreadable, and all attempts at responding directly appear fruitless. The message is simple, three words:

SOS. SEND HELP.
There's nothing that seems to be able to be done about it, but with the earnestness in which it appears, maybe it would be wise to discuss it with the other residents. Isn’t there something you can do, even to track down the source? Maybe that will help you better put it from your mind.

TAKE A CHANCE ON ME

The longer you stay in Beacon, the clearer it is that you’re here for the long haul. And, on that note, the clearer it is that this place is going to need a lot of work to meet your standards. Obviously there isn’t much that can be done about certain things, like the state of lighting, or some of your potentially missing powers, but there are a lot of things that would certainly improve your personal quality of life. And for that matter, maybe some of your ideas would be agreeable to others, as well.

Whether you’re here to call for the establishment of a club, a new business, or even some kind of monthly therapy circle, the best way to get your message across is to turn to the Network and give your pitch. Whatever skills you may be lacking in the organization of this project, there’s undoubtedly someone out there who can provide. What are you waiting for? No time like the present to start collecting signatures!

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

Comments

[thebleakmidwinter]

SOS
Is this some kind of joke? Because if so, it's in poor taste.

Hands
Tommy is at the bar nursing a whisky. He might have been here all night, but since night's all there is, that doesn't mean much anymore. Dying had been bad enough, waking up was worse, and the way the world's been twisting around him is making him wonder if this isn't just another nightmare.

He downs the whisky and raises his head to signal for another when it happens... Hands, reaching around his waist and pulling in tight. Hands on his shoulders. Cold fingers on the back of his neck. Tommy lets out a strangled shout, revulsion shuddering through him and he throws himself to the side, striking out to knock the hands away. He meets no resistance, just empty air. The stool he's on overbalances. He hits the floor hard.

hands

[witherstalk]

Daithi is only stepping to the counter, watching a stack of spirits act as barkeep, when the other man shouts and topples to the ground. Daithi turns, staring in some alarm. ...then walks the pace or two between them, offering his hand (his only hand).

He resists the easiest suggestion, that the other has indulged too much.

"— alright?" he asks, instead.

Hands

[o2gone]

"Well, that was exciting."

For her part, Senka just sips her wine. She tips her head to the side and watches the man to see if he'll right himself or keep on flailing on the floor. It's too early to decide what face she wants to wear around these people, so she's fallen back on old habits. Quiet, drunken gangster is always a good option. Makes her seem sharp and mysterious, just dangerous to leave alone.

"Are you having a seizure?"

She doesn't move to help him. It won't do to show she can be bought. Compassion hurts a person more often than not. Better to wait and see it play out first.

[pinkdress]

Dressing up!

"Don't touch it."

Maybe you hadn't been about to take the Venetian doctor's mask from the pile, maybe you'd been aiming for something else, or maybe you'd seen the white and gold peeking out from the pile and wanted a closer look, either way, you're now on the receiving end of a flat and empty stare, coming from a young woman who'd look more at home sipping a latte in Ugg boots than here in Beacon. Except... that stare, it's strangely cold. The longer you look, the less you see behind her eyes. Then suddenly, her face is transformed, a bashful smile, a flutter of eyelashes, human again.

"It looks old, antique maybe? You don't want to break it."

Wildcard
So. We're all dead here. Yes? I just want to check some things, like, how did you die? Did you get strangled to death by your tie getting caught in a lift, or poisoned by your perfume, or maybe stabbed in the face by a hairpin, to pick three, totally unrelated examples.

fuck yeah killing eve what what

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley's hand freezes over the mask. This girl looks like the sort of person who would be taking a lot of selfies and being pretty vapid in every sense of the word, so it would be pretty easy to just disregard her----another troll to head into Hell in a few years once she'd discovered MLMs and all that---but then she's got that stare fixed on him. Cold, vacant, like she's trying to bore into him.

And then it's gone, just like that.

He's met less terrifying demons.

"I'm used to breaking things," he says.

dressing up

[lunchbreaks]

"Oh," he says, taking the mask into his hands. "I assure you the design is quite modern. I happen to be a collector. Antiquarian, actually, not just for Venetian masks, if you are wondering. But you can have this one," he says. "I'll find something else.

dana scully, the x-files

[paraskeptic]

MAMMA MIA (here i go again).

[ considering everything that dana has been witness to in the past five years and her years of practice and belief in the catholic faith throughout her life, the idea of an afterlife shouldn't be that outlandish to her. it's not necessarily the fact that an afterlife exists that's shocking, it's the fact that it's this place with its odd rules and structure that she feels compelled to rebel against immediately out of frustration. that and the fact she remains in her own body, still feels the ache in her arches as she walks through the town in her heels, still wears the shirt she'd been killed in clinging uncomfortably to her body with her blood.

the most likely place to find answers from people who have been here long enough to fill her in on what she can expect and not just what she's been told by the people who'd told her the rules is the inn, but she'd like to find a clean shirt before she tries talking to anyone. she pulls her blazer tighter around her, both to block out the chill and hide the stains, and starts heading towards what looks like a general store.

she's a few feet into her journey when she hears a voice, and the voice in question is enough to make her freeze in her tracks.

"dana..."

the last two times she'd heard that voice, it had been over the phone. and one of those times was right before the woman the voice belonged to had been killed. ]

Missy?

[ it's not possible, or at least it shouldn't be. but then she's dead too now, isn't she?

dana swallows hard before turning slowly around, expecting to see her sister standing behind her. her mouth drops open slightly when she sees no one.

"dana."

the voice comes again, from the opposite side, and dana whirls around again, faster this time, a frantic gleam in her eyes. her pulse pounds rapidly in her chest, blood rushing through her ears, drowning the sound of the woods and the fire and the town out as she keeps searching for the source of the voice, but there's no one. she's alone. ]

Melissa? Melissa!

(darling can't you hear me) SOS.

I'm sure that my title doesn't carry the weight here that it did back home, but I'm a federal agent. My name is Dana Scully. I know I'm not the only one who received an SOS message on their device this morning and I want to find whoever sent it and send the help that they requested. In order to do that, a few questions need to be answered.

Has there been anyone who's gone missing in the past few days? Does this place have a history of disappearances and does anyone know the typical causes? If so, has anyone noticed a pattern?

If anyone's got any information, please contact me as soon as possible. If you're uncomfortable discussing this through the network, I can meet you in person. Thank you.

(take me through the darkness to the break of the day) WILDCARD.

[ you wanna get nuts? c'mon, let's get nuts! ]

username: subzero

[saibot]

Many have gone missing due to various circumstances.

It would be in your best interest to ignore any plea for help given on this network.

Mohammed Avdol | Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

[prometheanflame]

Clothing
[Having arrived in less-than-ideal condition (even barring the issues immediately pertaining to his death), Avdol has to freshen his appearance if he is to squeeze himself into a leadership position while hoping that the others would take him seriously. The jagged hem of his sleeves ought to be replace or covered with something fashionable. Something elegant, regal, and refined but not ostentatious. His weird pants filled the Bizarre Article of Clothing quota. Who was he, someone so vain the he took little care in how he appeared in public? Dead or alive, a man needed to convey his maturity.

The undershirt is tucked under his long sleeved cloak with its sleeves rolled up. Yes. That will do. Add to that some new jewelry for his arms, and why not some beads for his boots? It can’t hurt to add some extra mysterious flair.]

Excuse me. [He turns to another exploring the contents of the box with him.] Do you happen to have a sewing kit?

SOS
I assume everyone received that message.

Whatever we do, we cannot afford to run into the darkness alone and without a plan. This could be a trick by the enemy, but I won’t ignore it if it is a genuine cry for help.

Meet me at the bonfire in ten minutes and I will join an expedition to uncover this mystery.



I’m serious about not running off. Don’t expect me to run after you if you get into any trouble.

[antiwhat]

[ Elle has been combing through the costumes with her usual studious flair, trying to figure out if they're all the same innocuous thing or if there's something else going on. So far, no results, and she's feeling frustrated. But she's so focused that she doesn't register the person beside her until he speaks.

She blinks, and then her face smoothes over with something approaching a smile. She can't summon the actual thing yet. This approximation will have to do. ]

I'm sorry, I don't. [ There isn't even one at home. She never learned. ] I... [ Woah, wait, wait, look at the flash on this guy. ] What are you trying to do?

Ellever "Elle" Brandt 🙣 OC

[antiwhat]

01

To say that showing up here had been a shock is putting it lightly.

Ellever had always had mixed feelings about mortality. For one, nothing had ever really hurt her, and some of her... 'cousins' have lived hundreds of years, if not perhaps thousands of years in the case of Dewan. She isn't even the youngest. But none of them were named The Harbinger of the End, the catalyst of the end of the world, with no further useful notes on how she'd cause the end. The end she very much did not want to cause. More than a few times, in notebooks and scribbling on her dry erase boards, Elle had considered that perhaps her death would do it, however that happened. Was that preferable to her unknowingly setting off the end of the world? She had no idea.

And now, staring down at the crate full of colorful costumes, Elle feels empty and numb. She doesn't recall much of her death, and it's eating her up inside. Whatever had happened after, if anything, is a mystery. Reaching up, sending her rainbows-under-clouds earrings wild, Elle scratches her fingernails against her scalp, wispy blonde hair going in all directions. The color she's seeing in front of her eyes is almost jarring. Taking a deep breath, Elle reaches down and pulls up a costume that appears to be a pink princess gown.

"Is this some sort of... joke?" she wonders out loud, voice rough from dis-use. Her gaze is intense as she examines the dress, in futility, for some sort of clue.

02

Uh. Hi. Has anyone figured out where the SOS came from?

[ If only this were back home, where Elle has access to tracking equipment and leads and important things like that. ]

01

[witherstalk]

"Of what sort?"

He certainly seems less frazzled with the meaning of the shipment, sporting a cartoonish wizard hat — night blue, moon and stars, plush around the rim — for no more reason than the hat sitting first in a crate he had rummaged.

It isn't much in terms of supplies; and although clothes are important, easily salvaged for other uses, these clothes hardly seem suitable for autumn wear. Daithi is of the distinct sense he is missing something. Being wholly unfamiliar with Halloween, however... The answer is difficult to piece.

He shifts on his heels, turning to address the woman.

— smiles, a little crooked, when he notices the costume in hand. "Not your style?"

sally owens | practical magic

[wantsnormalcy]

clothing |
[Her jeans are soaked from both knees down and she's managed to lose a shoe. Which is great. But there are crates being loaded from the forest of all places, into what she thinks is a general store. Which is also great, in a less sarcastic sense of the phrase.

Sally raises her lantern and squints into the dark- before following the movement. She's trying to convince herself that it won't be all that different from going to a second-hand store; after all there are plenty of creaky floorboards and strange smells to fit the bill. But those hopes are abruptly dashed when she looks from the first delivery, to the next.

Her shoulders drop and her eyes squeeze shut.]

Of course they're Halloween costumes.


drinking |
[She isn't looking for Gillian, but the thought comes to her and can't find anywhere else to go: if her sister was here, this is where she'd be.

Sally lingers by the door for a long while, watching the occasionally empty stools and chairs, the play of light and shadow through the room as figures move and their lanterns bob alongside them. When she can't bear to keep waiting anymore she looks at her palm instead, the scar across the meat of her left palm.

She would know. If Gilly had come here too, she would know.

But she doesn't see her sister, or the aunts. Thank god she doesn't see either one of her daughters. But she doesn't see the people who do belong here. Not her parents, or Michael. Not Jimmy Angelov.

The thought pushes her from the wall and off towards the bar. Instead of waiting for someone to play bartender, she rounds the corner instead. One arm raises and she pushes the hair back from her face and reaches for a bottle of wine, prying up the cork with short, familiar twists until she's able to pour, generously, into a highball glass.]


texting |
What's going on with all of these hands? Who's doing that?

drinking (SCREAMS ABOUT PRACTICAL MAGIC AND THAT SOMEONE HAS SUCH GOOD TASTE AS TO PLAY FROM IT)

[catholicisms]

( it's usually the best call to go and get your own drink at the Invincible. yes, people can and do take the job on occasion, though it's like ships passing in the night most of the time. or, if you have the misfortune of Matt being the bartender, he hands out the wrong thing on purpose. Sally is overall lucky that he's heading in as she heads behind the bar and not lingering behind it, because he's the worst.

that said, he hears her at work and has to assume she's following the advice of the sign and doing her part to keep the town mildly tipsy. he doesn't actually expect her to do any work besides identification, though he does sidle against the bar to wonder, )

I don't suppose you could find me the whiskey. ( why does a grown man need help finding his own alcohol? well, he's wearing sunglasses in an eternally dark town, and there's a walking cane that he's slowly folding up to place neatly on the bar. the only bigger tell Matt could have that he's blind would be a guide dog snuffling around, and sadly he didn't even have one of those in life. not a good chance of one in death. ) I can pour it myself, but last time I tried to find it I had to drink an entire glass of peach schnapps. Not what I was going for.

Duster | Mother 3

[mindofathief]

Here We Go Again
[Something touches Duster's back. He doesn't know what it could possibly be, only that it's heavy, smooth, and thankfully not slimy. Whatever it is, the phantoms of everyone he protected are screaming at him to turn around quickly and strike before it does!

He spins on his right foot and raises his left for a strong kick at whatever was behind him - a building, the air, a person.]

Texting
hh

[Give him a moment; typing is strange and just touching the screen messes up his work.]

how do i take a picturE its allblack

texting

[lunchbreaks]

Dearest [username],
Simply press the largest button on your device to return to the main area, then select the black box with the circle on it by pressing your finger onto the image. That is the camera. There should be a white glyph with an arrow that you can select to denote whether you want a picture of what is in front of the device or what is behind it. Then, press the white circle at center bottom when you wish to take a picture, and it should install it directly to your device. Do enjoy!
Yours,
Aziraphale.

inquisitor lavellan ( dragon age ).

[witherstalk]

I. Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

( as it is, Daithi already appears costumed for a certain holiday (or convention). the classic wizard's hat he sets on his head, however, is rather incongruous with the nutcrackeresque uniform and plate armor. one sleeve, folded as best one can manage, is somewhat tattered and bloody.

an end on the more gruesome side of things, that much is certain.

Daithi crouches, rummaging through the shipment and lifting one of the costumes from the pile, a strap or sleeve of some sort across two fingers. the fabric is bright — as much as one can tell in the dark — and terribly thin. unsuitable for autumn in Daithi's opinion, even in the middle of the season. )

Is this how people dress in Beacon? ( he returns the costume to the crate. )

II. Mamma mia, does it show again?

( Daithi has seen a myriad of strange things in his life.

in fact, his life — what was once his life, he supposes, the thought leaves him hollow — only seems to be a series of strange events and sightings. all the same, he recoils when countless hands thrust into his vision: gone as quick as they came.

he pauses, glancing here and there in the dark of Beacon, then... slow, poised like a cat to leap to (or from) action, he approaches the building in question. nothing reveals itself round the corner, or the adjacent side, but that only prompts Daithi to inspect closer, feeling the wall, peering into the window.

A. | ...finding it occupied although not with a sea of hands or any monstrosity that might have need of so many.

no, only a fellow resident, now justifiably offended.

Daithi straightens, slow as his initial approach, stiff with a new and particular horror. he steps a pace or two from the window. in his experience, saying nothing is the safest option (although he's certainly willing to apologize and answer for himself when the offended party allows).

B. | ...finding nothing there as well.

"what are you doing?"

Daithi startles, turning in an instant. he clicks his tongue in place of an "uh," shifts his weight as he gathers himself. gesturing — unconsciously to the building behind him — ) There are spirits in this area. ( ... ) Aren't there? Any known to be dangerous?

III. Knowing me, knowing you

( ooc | aka choose ur own adventure!

Daithi is visibly elfy (and 5'4" depending on the brand of elf ur character is accustom to) and an amputee, lacking his left forearm; the latter is new to him. he is, also, hopelessly tech ignorant. so feel free to use the obvious to start something else off.

he can be found near anywhere for the sake of exploration, although he is most likely to frequent the Invincible and drunkenly consult the log book; meditate in the church; or go out his way to poke around the armory. assumed acquaintanceship is a ok for any thread. Daithi would introduce himself as "Lavellan." )

1. gimme dat dragon age

[callada]

Hm?

[Rosinante hadn't noticed the box yet. He's sorting through one of the shelves in the back of the store, hoping to find some sort of sugary treat for Mary. His tiny roommate has had a hell of a time in the last week or so - they all have, really - but at least when it comes to a child, a lot of things can be fixed with a hug and a bit of sugar.

But he pauses his search and looks over the top of the shelf - for he's quite a lot taller than it, head nearly reaching the ceiling - at this armored individual and their colorful find.]

Not... necessarily. What is all that?

Castiel | Supernatural

[freetobe]

Ia. Mamma Mia
[ The man is tall, and moves with purpose despite the worried glances he casts around. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and tousled as if wind-swept. His eyes are perhaps a little too blue, and his attire is striking - a black suit with a blue tie and a tan trench coat.

There's a determined clench to his jaw, and a slim silver blade in his hand.

Anyone who sees more than just the vessel he inhabits might realize that this isn't, in fact, technically a man. Castiel is the angel of Thursday, a creature of light and grace.

He looks remarkably grumpy for one. Attached to his belt with what looks like fabric from his trench coat is a lantern filled with cold blue, swirling, moving light.

Some might recognize that as grace.

Whatever the case may be, this angel nearly bumps into someone. By the widening of his eyes and the immediate, defensive raise of his blade it's safe to assume he doesn't quite see what the person actually looks like and might just be more likely to strike first, just in case, and ask questions later.]




Ib. Here I Go Again
[Or perhaps he can be found facing and looking at something no one else can see, not minding anyone who approaches him initially. There's a determined set to his features, and he raises a free hand. Something glows under Castiel's skin, in his eyes, and gathers in his palm. Of course, it doesn't illuminate the surroundings, but to humans, this is near painful to look at. It fades fast, with a release of energy.

That glow does, in fact, look a lot like the glow in his lantern... and that lantern looks a little more depleted than it did before, if one's inclined to notice.

Still, Castiel staggers back a step and blinks, confused - whatever he saw has dissipated, and it does not seem to be what he expected to happen. He glances around, eyes landing on a bystander. ]

Where did it go?




II. Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!
[ Castiel's posture is stiff, and he looks at the garment with a mixture of bafflement and utter disappointment - whenever he thinks he has some shred of faith in humanity, he's confronted with something like this.

They're fluffy white angel wings that you can strap on. They come with an attached glittery halo and a harp. ]

We don't have... harps.

[ He sounds like the costume personally offends him, and looks at the nearest person like he really, really hopes for an explanation of this. ]




III. Wildcard | Network
It's been suggested we're dead. I have no issue in believing that - this may not be the Heaven or Hell I'm familiar with, nor does it appear to be a far corner of Purgatory as there are too few Leviathan for that to be likely. I do wonder; is anyone here who has by chance died more than once?

III | PRIVATE @ANONYMOUS

[shadowsran]

At least one such person.

Why?

Armitage Hux | Star Wars

[therewillbeorder]

mamma mia

[He didn't remember how he died and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Either the Resistance somehow managed to take down his ship or Kylo Ren finally snapped his neck, it didn't matter now. He was dead and stuck in the dark on a strange planet he didn't recognize. His commlink didn't work, there was no response from Finalizer or any other First Order ship.

He was stuck here and had to find a way out.

The changes were subtle at first. The world felt like it was shifting around him. Little details that shifted and went changed back so quickly he thought it was a trick of the very limited light coming from his lantern. It got worse as the minutes went by, he saw pale figures starting to surround him. They began to multiply until it was just one mass of white light around him. Tentacles of white light reached for him, the sound of whispering surrounding him, accusing him. His hand was shaking as he drew out his blaster and the light vanished as soon as he fired it, leaving him standing there looking confused, blaster in hand.]

network

Is it common not to recall the manner of one's death? Out of all the places I expected myself to be in the afterlife, it wasn't in a place like this.

Text @ANONYMOUS

[shadowsran]

I've known it to happen before. Can't speak to here, and I wouldn't be shocked if somehow it does that to people itself, but it's a lot for someone to take in regardless. Head trauma would do it, too.

You're new, right? Don't worry too seriously until a month or two goes by. Give yourself time. Plenty else to worry about.

Miriam Maisel | The Marvelous Mrs Maisel

[maisel]

Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie!;
[ She's only arrived here a few days ago--enough to learn the bare minimum the scantist of the ropes--and it's enough for her to decide she absolutely hates it. It would be one thing if it was like a retreat in the Catskills, but it's not: it's an endless night--evening?--and, to put it bluntly, it fucking sucks. It sucks, and it's less because she looks like hell, although she does. Her version of hell, anyway: she's only got a three lipsticks in her purse, and her hair isn't perfect and prim, although she's done her best with what she's given. It's more that she feels completely and utterly useless. Her life has fallen apart for the second time.

She's from the upper west side, what the hell does she have to offer here?

Bright side of the situation: there are new clothes. Clothes! Midge is over the moon. There's a giddiness that settles pleasantly in her stomach, and she finds it's similar to walking into B. Altman when she has cash to burn. Something new. Something interesting. Something she's good at.

The clothes themselves, they're more costumes than anything, but that doesn't seem to bother her as she shifts through them, looking just a little bit like a raccoon sifting through garbage. A fabulous raccoon, of course. A Chanel raccoon. Finally, she thinks: somewhere I can be useful. ]

I can work with this. I can definitely work with this--Oh. [ She pulls out a rather risque looking version of a cat costume. ] I think there might be some lingerie mixed in here.


SOS;
If they want help, don't you think this guy ought to be a little more specific? At least draw us a map. It's the vague leading the blind over here.

Wildcard;
[ Despite her refusal to take off her heels, Miriam's trying her best to at least help out. She's one hell of a cook--don't be surprised if she grabs you to taste a soup she's put together. Otherwise, there's a girl dressed as close as she can to the 50s, trying her best to smile, sometimes writing in a pink notebook. If you want something more specific, go ahead and message me! ]

Gimmie!

[knifecollecting]

[Jo has been browsing the costumes for usable clothes. She's too practical to think of taking a costume to ever use as a costume.

She isn't really paying attention to anyone else in the store, but when a woman speaks, she lifts her head to find the voice.]

I guess we might still need it. [Jo only arrived wearing one bra. It might be tricky to replace it.]

Goro Akechi | Persona 5

[justcawse]

Mamma Mia ;

[What are you supposed to expect out of death? There was a lot of different ways to think about the after life, but there was no way of knowing for sure. It's not like you could tell your findings when you've kicked the bucket; not unless you were foolish enough to try to use a Ouija board or some other sort of loophole.

So for the first few days here, Goro has just been trying to adjust. He didn't know what to expect after death, but this certainly was not something he anticipated. It was intriguing to see how long it took to see just how reliant people were on the light. It took dying to his cognitive self to realize that his after life seemed to be nearly completely void of life, aside from his lantern and the very few sources this would had for light.

He'd been pretty quiet ever since arriving; mostly because he had a lot of things to think about and re-evaluate in his life. Well... you could hardly call this living. Those whispers were noted, but he put them out of his mind as soon as they were noticed. He was doing alright for a while before they started to get worse. Suddenly he was standing in front of what looks like to be.... himself? Or rather to be more accurate, his cognitive self. Sporting a wound to the head, it was like he was mocking him.]

No... That's... not possible. I killed you already! [Or so he can assume. The last few moments in his life were a little fuzzy. Pulling out his gun and pointing it to the Cognitive Akechi....] Stay back! You're already dead!

[Well, duh. Everyone here was. Too bad his hallucinations are getting bad enough that the person he's pointing the gun to isn't just an hallucination this time. Sorry to whomever he's pointing a gun to right now. You may need to knock some sense into him.]

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! ;

[Costumes.... Why were there costumes in here? The last thing he remembered, it was already a few months past Halloween for him. Maybe this world celebrated it? It was hard to say what was normal here when he was still adjusting. He didn't particularly seem to care much at first, but curiosity killed the crow. Looking inside, he just briefly scanned through the contents until he stopped on a particular costume.

Pulling out a black outfit, all he could do is glare at it. He was silent at first, reflecting on his last moments before finally reacting.]

What kind of joke is this...? Are you trying to piss me off?

[The one time he wasn't monitoring what he was saying.... Dropping the outfit back into the box, he stepped away to regain (what was left of) his composure. Even if they meant nothing now, old habits die hard; even if they were never really his to begin with. He was just playing the role he knew so well by now for the general public.]

Wild Card ;
[OOC: Have anything else in mind? Feel free to bring it up! Voice is rusty yet and I'm in the middle of replaying Persona 5 for review, but come at me bro!]

A Man After Midnight

[mindofathief]

[Duster looks up from his crate of practical farming clothes, even if the fabric isn't all that suited for long hours of hard labor and more for looking nice from a distance. There have been some nice suits mixed in this crate, but nothing offensive at all.]

...Is that not your color?

[Black is too drab for his liking, but he's not getting angry over it.]

Senka Dragovic | OC

[o2gone]

Mama Mia - cw for allusions to drug use

[ There are hands scrittering across the walls. Grasping. ]

That is not a pleasant experience.

[ Senka is currently sitting at the bar, making good headway at finishing a bottle of red wine. She's a young woman, though she looks older, and her expression is both weary and oddly determined. Currently she's wearing a battered jacket covered in patches and a battered pair of pants, tucked carefully into heavy work boots. In contrast to her workman's appearance, her hair is long and loose, hanging over her face.

She snaps her fingers, gesturing to the seat next her. ]

Sit. Sobriety is so boring.

[ She prefers her hallucinations to be self-induced. Therefore she plans on getting very drunk. But, in the meantime, she's going to enjoy her wine. ]

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

[ Senka has found a truly glorious hat and has no intentions of letting it go. She balances it on her finger and spins it around, admiring the shine of the feathers by the light of her lantern. ]

I had no idea death would be so fashionable.

Wildcard

[ Hit me! ]

Gimme

[callada]

[Oh damn that's a cool hat. Rosinante is absolutely jealous. Sure, all right, it's very pirate, but if he's learned anything at all in the past four years, it's that his brother has doomed an entire kingdom and probably ultimately the world, and pirates sure do know how to experiment with fashion.

So. Two very important facts.

He's made this discovery while trying to shove his feet into a pair of really fantastic boots, but he'll absolutely pause for that hat.]

Whoa. What a find! Yeah, this is actually the best we've seen in months, I dunno where it all came from-

[Well, at least he'd almost finished his sentence when his instability caught up to him. He teeters backward, one foot halfway into one boot, and thunks onto the floor.]

maes hughes | fullmetal alchemist

[dadandgone]

1. Hands
[When Maes was shot his last thoughts were of failing his family. When Maes arrived here his first thoughts were, well of his family, but pretty soon after that it was of getting something very stiff and very dark to drink. It hadn't taken a lot of prodding to find an answer and Maes seemed rather comfortable on that bar stool at The Invincible.

Or at least he was before the floating hands started playing around with the bottles, shuffling them around. Maes watched them, not sure what to make of anything here because he was dead and anything after that seemed like it could be acceptable. Of course, he was also a little drunk by this point too, but he'd never had hallucinations like this before today.

Ever analytical, he couldn't help but wonder if that was a side effect of dying. That was easier to think about as opposed to where his thoughts had been drifting of late.]

Hey, if you're gonna be movin' bottles you should move'm over here.

[His speech is slurred, and since to anyone else it might look like he is talking to thin air he probably comes across as even more of a drunk than he means to. Not exactly the best first impression.]

2. Costume
[It had been a long, long time since he'd had to wait around for shipments and supplies. It was annoying as hell and he didn't miss it, so when he heard there had been a drop at the general store he finished what he was writing and headed that way.

Unfortunately by the time he got there the crates were opened and had been revealed to be nothing but costumes. He supposed costumes could count as extra bits of clothing, but they would have to sort out some of the supplies first. Still, Maes can only be serious for so long before plucking a pair of cat ears colored like the emphasis Cheshire cat and popping them in a slightly crooked manner atop his head. He gives whoever is in the store a big grin.]

Well, what do you think?

3. SOS

Username - m.hughes
I'll be the first to admit I'm new to all this, but can someone tell me if there's a way to reply to a message or find out who sent a message that doesn't seem to come with a sender?

It just seems that with something of this technological degree that there would be a way to investigate further.

((OOC: I am debating bringing him in with CRAU memories of a previous game, but I haven't fully decided on that yet, so for the sake of simplicity I'm going to play this like he's fresh from canon))

costumes

[withsadness]

[Mary herself has yet to pick out a costume, but when she sees his ears, she breaks out into a big smile.]

I like them!

[She claps her hands together.]

Now you need a tail!

Kethel | Books of the Raksura

[kethel]

Take a Chance: Text

What stories do people know where you're from?

Mamma Mia

Hallucinations are creepy, and hard on Kethel's very literal approach to the world. It isn't at all comfortable, shying away from unseen, grasping fingers in a very undignified fashion that looks especially funny given the size of even its groundling form. Honed combat reflexes these may be, but the effect is still a massive hulk of muscle flinching and ducking like a startled fawn.

But it's far more annoyed than frightened. It's immune to most of them, but there are plenty of plants and fungi in the world that make people see imaginary things. It's not fooled. Mainly because they don't have a smell. Kethel's eyes are quite sharp, but its Fell ancestry and its caste will out. The world is much clearer to it in scent than through any other sense, and there's no there there without a smell.

Yup. Annoying. And an annoyed Kethel is slightly alarming when it's not wincing in every direction. There's much less chance of mistaking its groundling form for an especially big human when it's growling periodically. Eventually the effect is just too irritating. "What's doing that?" The voice is as heavy and deep as you'd expect, but something about it, or maybe the petulance to it, makes it pretty easy to tell Kethel isn't exactly a mature example of its kind.

Mamma Mia

[scarsolderthanyou]

Lucky Kethel. Most of Stone's hallucinations have been scent-oriented, mostly because he sees worse than most Raksura. He's been prowling through the village on the trail of a kethel-scent, half-expecting it to come to nothing, like the last time he smelled a predator.

That particular kethel, though. That... isn't what he expected. "Kethel?" Is he actually properly seeing things now? Since when was that particular kethel in Beacon? Since when did that particular kethel die? He kind of hopes he's seeing things, actually.

Bodhi Rook | Star Wars

[onlyeverdoubted]

Gimme Gimme Gimme

Bodhi is allergic to fun, but he isn't immediately picking up on the nature of the clothes. Most of what's here looks at least a bit strange to him, and when you're used to everything from dehumanizing helmets to elaborate embroidered robes in the street, a princess dress or a wizard hat don't look that weird. There's a distinct lack of shapeless ponchos and old flight suits, and while he does find some goggles they seem to be made of flimsy plastic, so that's a bit disappointing.

Until he stumbles across an Admiral's cape. His odd little sense of human is quirked against his will. There's no one around who'd appreciate how funny it is that an ensign (and a deserter) could put the thing on, but he does entertain himself, anyhow. He slips the thing over his shoulders where it immediately slides off a bit, too long and a bit too wide. They must recruit for height. Or he's just short. That's always possible. "Insufficient boot licking going on, step that up," he says quietly, a register or two beneath his usual voice and in a ridiculous attempt at a coreworlder accent.

SOS: text

Is there a protocol for distress calls or a band for that sort of communication, or really any options at all that aren't wing it?

Gimme

[worthallthis]

"Boot licking."

The term makes the Soldier want to scowl. It watches the skinny guy with the cape, guesses he's not being serious, but still. It doesn't like the phrase.

You want somebody who might fit that cape, Bodhi? The soldier might.

yang xiao long / rwby

[vytal]

mamma mia
[ dying hasn't exactly been pleasant. when yang took her last breath, she could only think of her friends -- of blake, especially -- and it really, really sucks that the last thing she saw before she died was adam taurus' face. she'd hoped that at least she'd end up somewhere nice, somewhere a little better than remnant; this is far from what she expected. this place is a nightmare -- at least, that's what she's gathered after being here a few days. not quite hell, but far from heaven. it's just unpleasant.

the hallucinations certainly aren't helping her feel any better about being here. she's minding her own business when she feels something brush against her arm. yang swats at it and stops in her tracks as another hand reaches for her. and another one. and another one. ]

Get away from me!

[ maybe you're seeing them too...or maybe she looks like a fool, swatting at the air. ]

SOS
Just checking to see if anyone else got that SOS Send Help message just now?? With all the hallucinations going on, I can't exactly trust that this is real, buuuut I guess we should still treat it like it is.

So. Any ideas on how we can track down this mysterious sender?

wildcard
[ hmu with anything! ]

peter maximoff, xmcu.

[punctually]

mama mia, now i really know,

[ everything happened too fast — one second he was going after jean, and the next he was hurtling through debris, pain shooting down his spine and then then everything turned black. it's almost funny, in a way: he'd never been able to slow down in life, so it should come as no surprise that his death would be quick.

this part, was at the very least, unplanned. he spends the first few moments doing a lap around the area, snooping around the invincible, the bonfire, and everything else in between. beacon is a far cry from xavier's mansion, and if he felt out of place there, he definitely does here: standing out with his silver hair and shoes amidst the dark. but he's not the only strange thing here. ]

Hey, you got something — [ he says, despite what you were saying before or maybe you weren't saying anything at all. he points at something just above your head and maybe you try to reach up and figure out what it is, but he shakes his head. ] Uh, a little more to the right... nope, too much... here, just let me —

[ he takes a step closer, reaching over to grab the hand sitting on your head, but his fingers go through it. ]

... Huh. Weird.

gimme gimme

Wanna trade?

[ turn around and there's peter wearing a mask that's likely unrecognizable to most but, the irony that is his life continues even in death. anyway, it clashes horribly with his hair, and it was funny pretending to be logan at first, but he can do without the urge to sniff at everything and wanting to smoke every five minutes. or something. he doesn't know, it just feels weird. ]

wildcard;

[ hit me with anything! feel free to catch a glimpse of peter doing his speedy thing or just randomly popping up out of nowhere like some kind of vampire. maybe you noticed a random breeze while you were hanging out in your room, or that glass of whiskey you were gonna spill? it's now secure in your hand. funny, that. ]

gimme

[reheals]

[ Logan lifts his head only after he's been addressed and cants his head. Its the universal but mute sign of either dry amusement or complete lack of humor. On Logan, it can be hard to tell the difference. ]

Real cute.

[ He drawls, but doesn't make a grab for the mask Peter is wearing. Instead, he drops the mask he'd picked up back into the pile. He's not sure why he'd picked it up in the first place. Idle hands, maybe. ]

alice | resident evil films

[alicefelldown]

h a l l u c i n a t i o n s

[ The knife Alice carries should be red from all the hands she's cut but every time she strikes out with lightning fast reflexes, they're just gone, as if they were never there at all. There at the edge of the lantern's light, disappearing in and out of the bonfire's reach, around the corners of buildings... She sees them everywhere, feels them grabbing at her clothes, at the lantern at her waist.

And then there are the faces. Decomposed in places, dried blood and gore around the lips, eyes so very hungry. In every person she passes, she sees those eyes, each instance putting her more on edge until finally she snaps, grabbing the nearest person with her fist tight around the fabric over their chest and her knife at their throat. She only just manages to stop herself from doing something she would so very deeply regret. ]

You shouldn't sneak up on people, it's not polite.

[ There's tension in her voice and just the smallest hint of fear in her eyes showing through the tough exterior, and there's no mistaking the slight tremor in her hand that doesn't pull away the knife. Not yet. Not while they still have those eyes. ]


n e t w o r k

I just have one question. Do the dead stay dead here?

Hallucinations

[requiemshark]

[ It feels more than a little fucked up to be wearing armor when his fucking soul or whatever is stuck in a flimsy little lantern, so Sharkface hasn't been. There's really no point without anyone to fight. He was dead until suddenly he wasn't. Should have been easy, should have been a hail of bullets and something like a blaze of glory or at least some fragile peace, but no. He's upright, mobile, breathing. Not even a bruise for all that trouble.

And the Freelancers are still kicking somewhere out in the universe. Probably laughing. Probably think they've won.

He really ought to do something about that.

But that's for later, when he can get his hands on them and set those fuckers on fire. Right now there's a knife at his throat and he's got no armor at all, nothing but his survival suit and the flimsy clothes he's scavenged to cover it up with.

Sharkface grins. It hurts his face to smile, with the scars, but he does it anyway. ]

If you're going to threaten someone, commit.

[ He presses the muzzle of his pistol into her gut. She'll probably slit his throat if he moves wrong, but he'll get her too, and they'll all die hard. Won't that be nice? ]

Sharkface | Red vs. Blue

[requiemshark]

Mamma Mia

[ So, this happening.

Sharkface, half out of armor, is sitting in a corner of the bar and throwing knives at the wall. To be more precise, he’s throwing a single knife at the hands dancing across the wall and then standing up to retrieve it, headless of the damage he’s wrecking.

He’s fairly certain he’s gone insane, but that’s not going to stop him. ]

What.

[ He’s not wearing his helmet and his scars are on full display, along with his bad eye. But despite the perpetual scowl he’s wearing and the knife throwing, he’s oddly calm about the whole thing. ]

SOS

we doing anything about this?

Wildcard

[ Hit me! ]

mamma mia

[fuzzbeat]

[ What do you mean, "what". ]

You're being rude.

[ She signs it as she says it out loud, her voice markedly different from a hearing person's. Then, for further emphasis, she arches her eyebrows. Dick. ]

buffy summers | the vampire slayer

[first_summers]

gimme! gimme!

[ While Buffy is never one to turn down new clothes, especially when she can't exactly go down to the mall to retail therapy away her worries, but this is an entirely different pile of fabric. Costumes. After that one incident of turning into an accented damsel in distress, she's been a bit leery of pretending to be someone else. Even for the ill-fated Gachnar-summoning frat party, she'd opted for a trusty homemade costume just in case.

She pokes one of the crates with the toe of her boot, staring down at the brightly colored, sparkly, and feathered fabrics like she's expecting one of them to come to life and attack her. Which, yeah, she totally is. ]

Do any of those have a tag for Ethan's on them?


network; @ slayer

wait, so I saved the world again and ended up in interdimensional purgatory for it? whose amazing idea was this?


wildcard

[ It's the midnight hour, just throw something at me, idek. ]

gimme! gimme!

[freetobe]

There does not appear to be anyone named Ethan to whom the clothes are adressed.

[ The comment comes from a crate to Buffy's left. A man stands there, dirty trench coat over what look like dirty hospital scrubs. There's a plastic bracelet around his wrist. Currently, he's not looking at Buffy, but frowning at something he's pulled from the crate he's standing in front of. The number involves puffy white wings, a silver halo, a harp and a thong.

The man scrutinizes the garment. ]

This is highly inaccurate. Who is Ethan?

[ The first part muttered to himself, the second towards Buffy, and this time he does turn his head to look at her. ]