Test Drive Meme #6

[hadrielmods]

Welcome to Hadriel's test drive, and thank you again for your interest in the game! As always, our reserves page is here, and our applications page is here! Reserves open February 23rd, and apps are open March 1st.

Two quick points here as well:

1. Any thread made in Hadriel's test drive will be accepted as the sole Action Log sample in the application.
2. All threads made in the test drive can be considered game canon, either through handwaving or through a shared mental experience while coming through the Door!

Test drives will be broken up into specific god mini-events, during which your characters can see how well they fare under the watchful eye of one of the gods. Choose wisely or just simply pick 'em all, and have fun!

F E A R

SCENARIO ONE: BLOBBED
[The Door brings in all that is chaotic and evil in the world. This may include you, may include the person next to you... and may include the monster behind you.

Watch out as you explore the streets of Hadriel, because you're not alone, and there's always something on the rooftops watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to separate you from your group and tear you into pieces. This time, the Door has brought in several Blobs, from the similarly titled 1988 movie, The Blob for you meet.

These gelatinous creatures have no weak spots or brains that can be sliced or crushed to kill them. Instead, their only goal is to absorb and dissolve its prey so that it can grow larger. Think that its, er, blob-like form makes it easy to avoid? Think again- it moves faster than one might expect, as shown in its canon 'kill' video here (with a healthy cw warning for gore and 80's movie effects).]

R A G E
SCENARIO TWO: WENDIGONE
[Hey, that snack you found? It might taste a little too familiar. At least you don't have time to worry about accidental cannibalism too much though, because you've now become host to a vengeful wendigo spirit! The transformation will be sped up for the purposes of this test drive, though you can post at whichever point in the change you desire. Want to tear people to shreds? Go for it. Want to try to clutch onto the last few pieces of your humanity? Be our guest!

On the flipside, as someone who is unaffected, you may be trying to arm yourself and take these wendigos head-on... or, you may be trying to figure out a way you can save them, which would involve somehow trapping them on Hope's altar. Think you can handle that?

This is a mini version of our Who What Where Wendigo event this month!]


H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: CARNATION DAY
[You know those moments in high school that everyone used to dread? Where everyone would spend a week or so with the opportunity to buy a carnation or two for someone they like, only for carnation day to come along and dash any hopes and dreams you had of getting a flower from that special someone?

Well, here's your chance to relive that day- but, you know, hopefully make it end a little happier.

In this prompt, some characters will emerge through the Door- or wake up, or just suddenly appear- with carnations clutched in their hands. These flowers can be any color of your choosing, and all have tags on them. They can be addressed to you or to someone else, and in that FROM category? Well, from your secret admirer, of course- or any other character who may or may not have sent it! Here's to hoping they're a good one!]

Comments

steve rogers | mcu

[starspangled]

Fear:

[This should be disgust. Steve's eyes are on the rooftops more than they're not, expecting a sniper's bullet to come from the direction of one, or for someone to come barreling towards him from the shadows. It's not that Steve goes looking for trouble, not necessarily. It just has no problem finding him.

He thought he'd seen it all by now, but one look at the first blob that he spots at the end of the street reminds him that he should never be so sure about that. It starts blobbing his way, and Steve looks for a head, a limb, some sort of weakness. But it just seems to be absorbing everything in its path, and that will probably include him if he doesn't get a move on. Steve puts his shield firmly on his back and starts looking for a way up onto one of those roofs. He doesn't know if they can climb or not, but he's not familiar with these streets. Better to get a bird's eye view first.]

Hope:

[Carnation Day was a little bit after his time, so Steve has no idea why he has a bunch of carnations in his hand. He stares at them like they're a bouquet of grenades before he starts reading the tags.

From the ways his brows knit together, he's pretty confused by the to and from. Can he go back to fighting the blob things? He's probably more comfortable with that.]

Hope

[wipedclean]

[He's been following the man since their arrival, watching him from the shadows and the rooftops. He doesn't know quite what draws him to the man. He's excusing it by saying he's keeping an eye on his target in lieu of better orders. Keep your distance, don't engage. Watch.

But when he finds himself with a bouquet of red carnations, with the tag reading "to Bucky, from Steve," the soldier is faced with a conundrum. He doesn't want to approach the target, but he wants an explanation. Finally he makes up his mind and comes up to Steve from behind, holding out the flowers suspiciously.]

What's the meaning of this?

fear

[mismanagement]

Up here!

[Under normal circumstances, Maketh isn't the sort to wander straight into the front-lines. Not without an escort of heavily armed troopers, that is. But circumstances have changed, she's no longer who she was, and needs must.

Unfortunately, the only thing she has for a weapon is the sword at her hip, and that hardly seems like it's going to make a dent on Hadriel's newest monstrosity.

On the plus side, the monsters don't seem capable of climbing very high.

Maketh has positioned herself on the low roof of an abandoned store, next to a conveniently placed rubble pile. One of the possible sniper posts she'd marked out a few days earlier, though it works for this purpose as well. She narrows her eyes, one hand on her hip, hunting jacket zipped up to her throat. What she wears resembles no military uniform that's ever been inspected, but she wears it like one just the same, edges ironed to sharp points.]

Soldier, move your ass!

[She barks it, a hard order. She's in no position to jump down and save this man, whoever he is with that strange uniform - and shield, what the hell - but no one, no one will be dying on her watch today. Hopefully he's fast enough to survive.]

hope

[whichend]

[ Arya went into the shop to find some silver polish and some food. When she came out, she didn't expect to find Steve as well.

But that can't be anyone other than Steve, staring at those flowers. She's seen that puzzled look before -- she's caused it many times. Arya immediately breaks out into a grin. She thought Steve was dead, but he wasn't. He was just missing! But now that he's back, everything can go back to the way it used to be. The house won't be so empty anymore.

Arya practically bounces up to him, and gives Steve a tight hug. ]

I thought you were dead. I -- I missed you.

Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn | FFXIV: A Realm Reborn

[bloodbrine]

RAGE: WENDIGONE

[ Monsters are not uncommon in Eorzea. Quite the contrary - most of them are simply part of nature to be cautiously avoided or culled as necessary when the bolder ones stray too close to cities or settlements for comfort.

Wendigo, however... no, those are new. A strange, foreign kind of voidsent more savage than the rest of their kin.
Unfortunately for the Admiral, she's no scholar in dark magicks and therefore clueless as to how one would go about banishing such an entity. An underground city of snail shells and summoned bloodthirsty beasts... she can, if grudgingly, acknowledge the irony of the situation. After all, the Sahagin have similar decorative tastes.

The silence outside the squat home Merlwyb has chosen for her shelter is broken by a distant, echoing shriek. Enough reason to ever so slightly tilt her head to see out the window, one hand settled on the musket at her hip, the other clamped firmly over a rent in her coat courtesy of the wendigo welcoming party. A shallow wound. Just enough to sting, really, although the surprise at not slaying one immediately after shooting it in the head had nearly got her killed.
So, naturally, she'd shot it again - and this time squarely in the eye. The petty satisfaction almost made it worth the waste of ammunition.
Partially because it was a stopgap measure to cover a strategic retreat, yes. But mostly because repairing the tear in her uniform would be a costly venture and it was her favorite Twelves-damned coat.

It's almost enough to make one miss the beastmen and their stubborn bloody eikons. At least they had the courtesy to stand in the open to be shot; none of this painfully drawn out hide and seek garbage.
But hey, maybe you're outside and fleeing from the same monsters, or maybe completely oblivious to the wendigo altogether. Either way, Merlwyb is quick to poke her head outside and wave you over to share the relative safety of the house. ]

Inside, quickly! Seven hells, do you have a deathwish?

HOPE: CARNATION DAY

[ Call her arrogant, but a bouquet of flowers is among the tamest of gifts she's received during her career. And, frankly, she would much prefer a bottle of spirits instead.

But as that's neither here nor there Merlwyb amuses herself by studying the flowers one by one, the faintest hint of a smile on her face as she carefully smooths the petals between her fingers, reads the tag attached, and sorts them according to recipient. House Valentione must be behind this. It seems like something they would do - drawing young lovers together by sending them flowers on the sly from an anonymous 'admirer' and letting them fill the gaps on their own.
A worthy enough cause even if the postmoogle seems to have lost it's way and dropped a parcel in the Storm Admiral's lap.

For the few that have been addressed to her, she tucks them inconspicuously in her belt and flips through the tags of the rest once again. Might as well humor the situation and see these delivered herself. After all, it would hardly do to have half a dozen young hearts broken because their anonymous gifts went astray. ]

Fear

[dogsanddaughters]

[Yep this is a bad day, Miriam thinks, darting between buildings and shadows with her hand curled tight around Barnaby's harness. This is bad, like the time the brothel on the 8th Level got Tarred and everything was on fire. She remembers the sounds the people made when they got the infection stuck in their throats. How they'd staggered and screamed.

Kinda like this, honestly. Only these things were faster.

Aaaand yep, that's one right behind her.

Barnaby snarls, Miriam says a very bad word, and the monster slashes at her. Several things happen very fast then. First, Barnaby yanks her back just in time to avoid the slashing claws. Miriam falls, twists, and gets back on her feet.

And someone shouts out.

Oh! A person!

Miriam promptly turns tail and runs for it, Barnaby growling all the way through the door.

Thankfully, the monster doesn't make it through the door. Miriam sinks to her feet, hugging Barnaby's neck, and tries to grin up at her new best friend.] Thanks, lady! I think it was gonna eat me.

cole - dragon age: inquisition

[residuals]

one - fear

[ Cole remembers this. only vaguely, as if through a haze; like a dream interrupted, that he never caught the threads of. he remembers the streets, and an ogre as it bears down on him. and a friend...

no. it had to have been a dream. maybe his first one ever, but still a dream.

so it's a familiar feeling of dread and foreboding that has his knives back in his hands, and every last nerve standing on edge. it doesn't take long before his hypervigilance is rewarded, but not in the way he expects. a frown crosses his face when he happens upon the thing in the alleyway. it doesn't look like an ogre, nor any other monster he's seen. is it a demon? or the remains of one's dinner? he can't tell.

and then it moves, faster than he'd expected, narrowly dodging as a tendril shoots out at him. it grabs his hat as he stumbles back, and he watches with dawning horror as the thing starts to absorb it. this is— this is bad. and he shouts so anyone in the vicinity knows. ]

Run! You have to run away from here, there's— It wants to eat you!

[ because getting rid of the monster is important, but making sure no one else goes the way of his poor hat is paramount. ]

two - rage

No.

[ something is wrong. something is very, very wrong, and he knows it. he can feel it in his skin, in his bones — it's in the air around him, the sounds and smells bombarding his senses. he can hear everything, smell everything, even as his sight dims. just a shade or two, but he can tell, and he knows this is wrong. ]

No, I— I don't want this. I don't want it!

[ he doesn't know what this is, doesn't have a name to put to it. but it's bad, and he knows that if it takes over, he's going to hurt someone. he can feel it already, a sick sort of hunger that isn't him. Maker, he's so hungry. it reminds him of being locked away in a dark, dank cell, starving and forgotten. this time, though, there is one stark difference:

he's free. and everything — everyone smells so good. ]

three - hope

[ it makes him happy to see the flowers in his hands. happy, and a little bit sad at the same time. he's got more than he really knows what to do with, and even if he can't exactly read the labels, he knows they're for more people than he thinks he can find. would Sera and Vivienne even accept gifts from him? probably not. but that's all right. he can be quiet; if he just left them outside of their doors, they'd never know, right?

in all honesty, he can't remember ever having given anyone flowers. it never made sense to him to give someone something they don't need. but holding them in his hands, and seeing how happy it makes some to receive them — it starts to make sense.

so he shuffles the stems in his hands, trying not to jostle them or squeeze too tight. he doesn't want to kill them before he can give them away. and picks his head up, a small smile on his face as he looks for the first person who needs a flower. ]

[[ i hope it's okay to try this again, now i've recovered a bit from life thoroughly destroying me...!! ]]

[vektor]

[ Chekov hasn't been able to make contact with the Enterprise, with Starfleet, with anyone since he arrived here. He's not even sure where "here" is. It's obviously a cave of some sort, and the city feels distinctly alien. But it's also a little creepy. There's something off about the light, and why hasn't he seen anyone else here?

There's nothing for Chekov to do but explore. He maps the place in his head, searching for life, for clues. The boy wearing what looks like a costume from ancient times is an unexpected, but welcome, surprise. Chekov returns the smile, happy to see someone else at last. ]

Hello. My name is Chekov. [ He says, gently. The boy seems shy. Chekov's voice is genuinely friendly, with a thick Russian accent coloring his words. ] Do you live here?

the winter soldier | mcu

[wipedclean]

rage

[He didn't know what he was eating and frankly, he didn't care. He needed sustenance, and it was available, so he ate it.

When it starts, he almost doesn't notice. He's a weapon, a creature of death. He's meant to kill regardless. The only differences are the change in his appearance, his loss of eyesight, and the general desire to kill everyone he sees, even without a mission.

While he still has control of himself, what concerns him most is the loss of eyesight. He can be found off by himself, doing various things to try to test it, including throwing rocks and knives at targets. It's far more difficult than it should be.

As it takes over, however, his usual stalking of the city changes. Instead of scoping the place out, keeping an eye on the surroundings and the people, he's hunting.]

hope

[Flowers. He's not sure he understands the point. More than that, he doesn't understand the card, and why it says what it does. He frowns at it, then sits down and starts to methodically pick the petals off of each carnation one by one, letting them flutter down to the ground.]

hope

[ethicalproblems]

[Normally the intimidating guy with a freaking metal arm wouldn’t be Topher’s first choice for answers. But since he’s the only person around, and the flowers are doing wonders to remove any menacing aura he may have had, why not? Plus, this may not seem like the attic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a frakked up dream of some sort. What’s the harm?]

Let me guess. You’re wondering whether or not that special girl loves you or loves you not?

tinker bell | once upon a time

[trybelieving]

RAGE

[For the past few days, Tinker Bell has been watching her new friends closely. She's heard about them struggling to fight the transformation, and while there's been no luck yet, it's not hopeless. There's always hope. Something they haven't thought of, a trick they haven't tried. Fairies tend to look to magical solutions, and Tink would readily accept one of those, too. She's not the sort of person who would give in when someone's life is at stake; none of these people deserve to lose theirs to the monster they've started to become.

She's been rambling on about possibilities for the last few minutes, but in her obsession to fix all of this, Tink's gotten a little distracted. She's ignored the area around her, the sounds that were far away now growing closer. Now might be the time to notice that they'll need to save their own lives if they're going to help anyone else.] - What the hell was that?

--

HOPE

[She's skeptical.

It's not that Tink doesn't love flowers, because she does. She used to fly from one to another all the time, and seek shelter in their petals. Carnations weren't her favorite, but all flowers are lovely in their own way, aren't they? If it's a friendly offering then she's happy to take it, but then she sees the words in the FROM category, and well - ] Oh, please.

[What a silly joke.]

[64th]

I'd get rid of that if I were you. [ unsolicited advice, but Cash doesn't trust anything that just appears in their little hell hole. not anymore. ]

You don't know where it's been.

sansa stark | game of thrones

[direly]

( fear )

[ Sansa comes to on the ground, still dressed in her clothes from Joffrey's wedding. Her hair is starting to come loose from the braids but that is the least of her concerns. She honestly isn't sure what she is staring at. It looks... wet. And lumpy. Like nothing she has ever seen. She almost thought it could be some sort of bloody mass of a creature but it's not red. And the sounds it makes are simply awful. Like wild dogs tearing into flesh.

She gets up on her feet, swaying some before she's taking steps away from whatever it was. When she turns to move away further, Sansa stops, eyes widening. Where...? This was not King's Landing. Or anywhere in Westeros.

But she doesn't have long to dwell on it. The sounds from the blob are getting closer and she looks behind her before letting out a startled noise and breaking into a run. It isn't moving particularly fast but she's not inclined to let it catch up to her. She isn't sure where she can go but she just keeps running away from it, hiking her dress up so she can't trip on it. It's when she's starting to get tired and still not sure where she can go, if anywhere here is safe, that she finally yells out, ]

Help! Please!


or


( hope )

[ Waking up to flowers was one of the more pleasant things Sansa has experienced. At least initially. The tags on the flowers and new environment leave her beyond confused. Slowly, she will get to her feet and see she is still in her dress from the wedding. That leaves her even more puzzled. She takes a few of the flowers with her, not really wanting to leave them.

As she walks along the street, looking for anything familiar, her hands are idly tying some of the carnation stems together, almost like she were trying to make a flower crown. She had made some for Marcella back when her father was still alive. Right now, it was an oddly comforting thing in this dark, eerie place. ]

fear

[mismanagement]

[One advantage to residing in a ruined place is that the destruction allows for a multitude of hiding places and makeshift ladders where none would otherwise be present. Though she wore a soldier's uniform not so long ago, Maketh took one look at Hadriel's newest monstrosity and decided that she'd seek higher ground before trying to come up with a strategy.

They'd need a damn flame-thrower to deal with this mess. Or a squadron of TIE fighters.

Unfortunately, this also seems to be the time the gods have chosen to drag the new batch of recruits through the Door.

Perfect timing, really. Probably by design. They're certainly getting people emotional. Maketh stares down from the balcony she's sitting on, and sighs. There's a civilian down on the street, calling for help. The gods must be hungry again. She pushes herself upright and makes a piercing wolf-whistle - loud enough that it almost hurts her own ears. Another trick from the Academy.]

Girl! Over here!

[The building she's hiding out in happens to be unoccupied, with little more than dust inside, but it has stairs and a few bunches of rubble that can be climbed to reach other, safer places, and then collapsed afterwards. Maketh dusts off her jacket and goes down to the ground floor to meet the girl. The monsters don't move very fast, but that hardly means they can be underestimated - nothing about this place is kind.]

pyrrha nikos | rwby

[polearity]

      FEAR.
( there was no telling where this was, and everything about it was unfamiliar. there was one thing pyrrha could count on though, and it was that blob approaching closer and closer in her direction was a threat. having never seen a creature of its kind before, she was taking a cautious stance, her shield positioned outward, holding her javelin tightly in her right hand. if she could just get the angle right and throw hard enough, it might just be able to pierce through...

the moment to act finally came, and pyrrha cast her weapon forward, watching as it hit right on the mark -- and disappeared with a disgusting -- ) Schlorp.

( her eyes widened, heart starting to beat quicker in her chest. was there no way to pierce it? her brow furrowed how with a small pulse of energy her weapon returned to her hand, ripping a new hole into the monster that didn't even seem to notice... and land perfectly, though covered in a unsavoury goo, back into her hand. ) What... is this thing made of?!

      HOPE.
( had she fallen asleep or something without realizing? everything seemed to feel a bit... foggy for some reason. and when pyrrha looked down at her hands, there was a surprised -- ) Oh. When did... ( when she saw the small bouquet of flowers there. these were... carnations weren't they?

red and yellow... but who would send her flowers? looking around quickly to make sure no one was watching her too closely, she looked around for a tag -- apparently whatever she read there bringing a touch of red to her cheeks... forgetting how long she might have been staring at it. )

Fear

[circumitus]

Get away from it.

[Those harsh words come from a woman approaching from behind Pyrrha. On the surface, she doesn't appear to be armed, which is strange for anyone to be wandering even the city parts of Hadriel without a mean of defending oneself. Nothing save for the armor over her body, a hood partially obscuring her identity. Not that it matters -- she's pretty sure she has never met this girl before.

[She stops alongside Pyrrha, her hands clenched into fists. She cants her head at the indiscernible mass before them now, trying to study it.] Haven't seen one of these before. Must be new.

[A single glance casts out the corner of her eye to the girl. "And so are you," is what that look says.]

Blue Sargent ( the raven cycle )

[caerulea]

( ooc: Mask or Menace crau - power descriptions found here )

FEAR

[ This wasn't exactly Blue's first rodeo. She wouldn't necessarily say she's been there, done that, but she's been in deep caves. She's done the multiple worlds thing. She's more like a step below been there, done that.

Because the monster thing? Yeah that one's new.

It takes her by surprise too. Funny thing about her psychic abilities, she actually has to be actively searching the future before it finds her for it to work. Maybe she should have stopped to try, but the futures she saw could be iffy and really she liked to make her own future. She should rethink that motto.

As she wanders Hadriel, trying to figure out where she is and find a place to get her bearings, she turns down one corner. Then another. And finally a wrong one.

The thing that awaits her is large and pink and already is disgusting just to look at. When it moves in her direction she doesn't wait for it to get down the street. She turns to leave, but she catches the way it moves over the ground. A little too quickly. Quickly enough that she's sprinting before it can reach her.

She barely keeps herself from running straight into another person. She glances up at them, then gestures behind her. ]

You should probably start running too.

HOPE

[ It's been awhile since Blue's gotten flowers. For a second, she almost forgets this isn't De Chima. She's not back in the world of superheroes, and she hasn't fallen asleep clutching the wildflowers from the meadow.

That brings reality crashing down fast.

The wander wears into exhaustion quickly, verging on irritability, when she looks at the card. Her brow creases in confusion as she wanders outside, trying to find where flowers might have even been found here.

When she finds someone, she holds the flowers up and watches them strangely. Her mind doesn't leave the card, even if she doesn't much suspect the person she's encountered. ]

Do you know where these came from?

fear

[unknowable]

[Monsters aren't new. Monsters are regrettably familiar, and avoiding monsters is becoming second nature, considering Adam's general lack of ability when it comes to fighting them. There are plenty of other people much better at that than him, and it's much smarter to leave it to them.

He didn't see the monster, but he knows better than to doubt. All that would accomplish would be to get him - both of them - eaten. And it's clear enough that that's what must be there, if someone is running from it.

But it's who that's running from it that stops him, for a moment. Just a moment, though, before he's turning to run with her, because this is a conversation that can happen while they're on the move. Better than getting killed.]

Blue? When did you get here?

Anders | Dragon Age: Awakening

[apurrstate]

Rage
These creatures were easy enough to distract, a little flash and bang somewhere far from him and he'd been able to dodge them fairly successfully, it wasn't like he was looking for a fight, he liked his person intact as it was.

Unfortunately for that sense of self preservation, he was still a healer and if he didn't at least try to heal one person, he wouldn't be able to live with himself or look his cat in the eye.

Hope had said something about his alter being the key, so that was where Anders put himself, standing near enough he might be able to lure one to him and get them on the alter without risking life and limb to wrangle the monsters themselves. Well, he was actually risking life and limb just to try this, but at least that would only be because his magic didn't work and not because he was trying to get a chance to make it work in the first place.

He waited until he could hear one or, well, someone passing by the doorway to call out and hopefully entice the creatures over. "Gee, it sure would be terrible if something tall and ugly happened to be passing by right now and wanted to oh, I don't know, eat me or something. Awful, really, eating with someone is always nice, but not as much when you're the meal." Good thing talking while nervous was easy for him, hopefully the sound would do it's job. And once the thing was in sight, all he had to do was wave his arms around, maybe dance, something to draw it's attention to where he was. Fool-proof plan.

Hope
He didn't know what the flowers where or where they'd even come from, but he'd found them near him and they had his name on them so, ostensibly, they were his. For some reason.

That said, he didn't rightly want them, so shoving them off on someone else seemed like the best course of action. Who didn't like flowers, after all? Even...if they were from a complete stranger who certainly didn't look his best in his bedraggled robes. But a smile and charm often smoothed most things over, so that was what he wore as he approached the next person he found who seemed like they could use some flowers.

"Hopefully this isn't the strangest thing to ever happen to you, but would you care for some flowers? I don't need them or even know what they are, but it seems a waste to toss them." The smile dimmed a bit as he realized once more the flowers bore his name proudly and that it might send a message Anders didn't intend. "And, well, disregard the name on them, I swear I mean nothing by them. I mean-not that I'm sure you aren't a nice person and all, but...I'm not doing a good job of this and I'm rambling. Right. Look, flowers: yes or no?"

hope

[closerift]

As a matter of fact, the Inquisitor isn't particularly fond of flowers, either. In Hadriel, especially, they seem like a slap in the face. You don't bury people alive, feed them human flesh, and then offer them blighted flowers. ... Well, she isn't at all surprised that the gods of their little cave city had done exactly that, and it's part of the reason she looks on them with her lip drawn back in a displeased frown.

"It's a damn sight from the strangest thing that's ever happened to me, actually." Oh, the stories she could tell. Or, better yet, the stories Varric could tell, and would, if he ever ended up penning This Shit is Weird. Cecily offers a thin smile to the stranger, not taking the carnations from him.

For the amount of times that she's read Tale of the Champion, she should, perhaps, recognize Anders. To her credit, it's been a very long... life.

"No, thank you," the Inquisitor ends up saying, and then adds, with a slightly more amused touch to the smile: "But, you're welcome to all of mine. I'm not planning on setting them in the middle of my table, anyway."

Maybe someone else in the house would want them, but she doesn't want any reminders of Hope's charity around.

bigby wolf (the wolf among us)

[glasshim]

rage

[if the wolf from centuries ago could see this, Bigby is absofuckinglutely sure that everything he would be doing right now would be met with the loudest, harshest bark of a laugh possible, before leading into equally vicious snarls of why do you care and good, let 'em see how it is. mind you, both are very valid points, even now. it's not an understatement to say that he knows what it's like to starve — it's a goddamn joke, is what it is. to reach a point where it feels like you're carrying a rock in your body, a dull weight that you can never quite feel but always know it's there, rattling and shaking with every painful breath that isn't spent sucking whatever you can swallow into your mouth, where even the idea of gnawing your own leg off looks promising because even the pain would distract you from that terrible phantom feeling in your empty gut. oh, he's felt it. and the cherry on this bad taste sundae is that humans have always been his preferred way of sating it. every time.

an eternity ago, this would have been hilarious. and there's no reason why he should care even now, even here. he shouldn't care but he does, and as far as Bigby Wolf is concerned, there's no such thing as a wasted effort as long as he still has the strength to give it his all. currently, he's reached a fine point where he's willing to try anything.]

So from where I'm standing, you've got two options. [his voice is level and firm but there's a dangerously sharp edge to it.] You can either get your ass up on that altar on your own two feet, or I can put you on it. With or without legs.

[your choice, dude.]

hope

[as far as consolation prizes go, this one isn't too bad. all considered, it could be something a little more cynical; a bag filled to the brim with shit, for one — a helpful little reminder that he doesn't have a paddle on whatever nasty little creek he's found himself floating up. the worst thing Bigby can say about the tiny bouquet of freshly cut carnations he's found himself clutching is that they smell a little too nice. a little too sweet. his nose isn't used to these kinds of smells anymore because the closest he's come to touching nature these days has been the brief, sporadic occasions where he's had to go past Central Park, a place filled with too much life, strangled as it is through the heavy layers of smog and sweat and filth the city belches out. just holding these flowers is like having his nose shoved into one of those little potpourri jars that have a way of showing up in the Woodlands every so often.

(and they're white — white! — because while he was in the market for a particularly awful visual pun, what he wasn't expecting was something in the category of "objectively revolting"; any doubts he may have had about the intentions of the sender are immediately squashed like a bug the moment he takes a look at the card attached to them, signed anonymously of course.)

secret admirer. Bigby reads the card again, slowly, his nose wrinkling up slightly as he continues to hold the flowers.]

Can't imagine who that'd be. [really, if they wanted to find the way to his heart, they could've given him another lighter because his is already out of fluid.]

hope

[watashinonamaewa]

I'm glad I'm not the only one who got one of these things.

[ New face to the city walking up behind Bigby, more noticeably are her legs-for-days making her a healthy six-five tall. She smells like metal and blood, something a little less than human. A hint of lavender from the bouquet in her hands, accompanied with note. Cheeks flustered from a recent emotional stimuli. ]

I'm sure someone was just thinking of you. That's the sentiment of flowers, right?

[ A shrug. She really doesn't know. Gift giving isn't her forte. ]

pavel chekov | star trek

[vektor]

fear.
[ Is that moving gelatin? Yup, it's moving gelatin. Chekov doesn't really know what to make of it. This place seemed like an average ruined city (as if there was a typical way for a city to fall into destruction and disrepair), but now, Chekov isn't so sure.

Not only is the gelatin moving -- it's alive, too. Chekov graduated the top of his class at Starfleet Academy. He'd remember learning about a creature like this. But no textbook, no simulation, ever prepared him for sentient goop. Chekov shields himself behind a building, staring at the blob with a mixture of delight, surprise, and a healthy dose of fear. The thing looks hungry.

He's tried to radio back to the Enterprise, but there's been no response. And that, out of anything, has been the most worrying so far.

Maybe the person beside him knows what's up. ]

Excuse me? Are you from here? Do you know what zat is?

hope.
[ The flowers are beautiful and everything...but Chekov doesn't really know what to do with them. Right now he's just staring at them, face flushed. A secret admirer? Him? Chekov has always been popular with the ladies -- or at least, he likes to think he is -- but never popular on the secret admirer level. He'd expect that from the captain, but Chekov was always too endearing, too babyfaced, to be someone's secret love. Secret little brother, maybe, but not much more.

But now he's got a whole bunch of them in a wide array of colors. He knows the colors are supposed to mean something, but he can't remember what. Chekov was the sort of person to be fascinated by the symmetry of a flower, not its color.

In the center of the bunch, there's a single flower addressed to a certain Hikaru Sulu. ]

Is this a joke?

[ Chekov exclaims, his accent even thicker when he's distressed. He didn't buy or address this flower. So who did? ]

hope.

[tishinka]

[If he happens to look around he'll find he's being silently watched. Irisa's gaze is intense, something most people would find unsettling. For a long moment she simply observes him.

Human. Seemingly young. He doesn't seem like he'd be much use in a fight, if it came to that. But he's here, just the same as her.]

If it's a joke, it's certainly a strange one. [She finally speaks.

She hadn't been sure what to do with the flowers but there had been one with Nolan's name on it. Pink. She didn't know the meaning but it was addressed to him and maybe it was some sort of strange clue. Maybe he was here instead of somewhere off in space on that Omec ship.

It's the only one she has on her, tucked behind her left ear. It seems a strange contrast when takes note of all the knives she has on her.]

Hugo lamb | the bone clocks.

[suasive]

f e a r.

[ what an absolute shithole, he thinks. he's seen a few, of course — every nation, every city has them, and he's been walking in what feels like circles for an age, with tumbledown ruin blending into tumbledown ruin. plenty of time, then, to have formulated and re-formulated an opinion.

he thinks, too, that there's something unnerving about the entire place; he shouldn't — he's seen and done and been so much worse than a bit of rot and decay, but— he sees something then, gelatinous and viscous and his expression distorts from disinterest to disgust. he moves and it moves, though it also seems to swallow up its surroundings (or maybe, he hopes, he's imagining that—.)

he takes a step backwards, his shoes sounding loud against the rubble and debris. a pause. an inhale and an exhale. he might be an anchorite, but that doesn't assure him against death, and his instinct has always been for flight over fight.

another step backwards, his attention fixed firmly on the thing. ] Fuck—. [ whispered more than spoken aloud, a verbal impetus to make himself turn away. he could always cloak himself, he thinks, but he's no certainty it would be effective, and he'd rather not test the matter. so he turns back the way he came, expecting the path to be as empty as it had been only moments before. ]

h o p e.

[ it's not that he awoke to find flowers, it's the where. it's the who. he doesn't care for the ones addressed to him, or the ones with unfamiliar names — they're cloying and sentimental and wholly unwanted. he's only ever bought and given flowers as a means to an end; as politeness; as formality.

no, it's the one nestled in amongst his ("his") addressed to holly sykes. it casts a strange, tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. jealousy, he realises, though faint and tinged with the palest ghost of regret; he recalls for a brief moment the way he'd felt when he'd seen that postcard from ed brubeck, and he compares and contrasts and drops the flower.

it doesn't flutter to the ground gracefully, it falls, weighed down by that singular card. it was dead — they all were. pruned flowers don't last; it's a neat, if not tired metaphor for them (bone clocks) all. but then footsteps behind him catch his attention and he pauses, the remainder of the flowers in his right hand, lifted as if ready to discard with the first. ]

fear

[residuals]

You should run.

[ he didn't mean to sneak up. he didn't, honest. but he's there, and he may not have made as much noise as he necessarily should have to alert him to his presence. Cole's daggers are in his hands, eyes on the strange blob. he's still reeling just a little from his own encounter, and mourning the loss of his hat, but he won't let this one attack anyone. not if he can do anything.

(in all honesty, he's still not sure if he can, but he's damn well going to try.)

Cole ducks his head, looking at him from the corner of his eye. ]

I don't know what they are, but they're bad. It ate my hat. It will probably try to eat you too.

cibo | blame!

[watashinonamaewa]

F E A R .

[ These things are freaking her out.

She's encountered blobbed masses before, except those normally had a centralized system for a brain or some other weakness to kill them. These definitely don't. Her only option has been to keep out of their way. Making her way through the streets proves more of an obstacle course to avoid the creatures, she climbs to the roof of the nearest building. There should be a way to cross and get around the city from there. At least where the blobs wouldn't risk overwhelming her.

Instead of moving on, she gives the street a once-over to make sure she isn't the only one trying to get away. ]


R A G E .

[ Cibo doesn't need to eat. She can, except it's a pointless gesture to a body that maintains itself.

So when the other humans who do eat start acting strangely, she's on alert. There must be something in the water or food supply changing them. People who would stick to groups are now separating or pairing off; They become hostile and move with a heightened state of awareness. It puts her on edge. She walks the streets with a consistent back-check and trying not to put herself into dark or closed spaces. Eventually that won't matter. If they really want to hunt her, or any of the other humans, they'll do it anywhere. She just needs to be ready.

With a stun baton at her hip, surged with 7.5 million volts of power, she's trying to a find a place to chill out and let this all blow over.*


*Without being eaten alive. ]


H O P E.

[ Flowers are a new thing for her. She holds them and gently probes the various petals, admiring the beauty of the organism. She had thought that she wouldn't be leaving this place any time soon. Perhaps this gift made that official. The card reads,

To: Cibo
— Never stop fighting. Even without me.

She imagines who sent them to her, tears in her eyes. ]

Fear

[circumitus]

[There is indeed someone down below trying to escape the acidic mass that's come out of the Door this time.

[For the most part, the other creatures within the cave can be killed. Or at least, they had obvious kill marks. You could usually just beat them the old fashioned way -- burn them until they're dead. These things? Not so much. Flash fire doesn't seem to work, which means that they'll have to resort to something other than brute strength to beat them.

[Chemical warfare it is. That is, assuming that there are such tools within the city to combat an all-consuming mass that way.

[Although it seems to spread everywhere, Rey's fast, having put a safe enough distance between herself and the creature to allow herself time to rest.

[Cibo should be able to catch her slowing down from atop the building, looking as though she's searching for something.]

snow white ❄ the wolf among us

[wittchen]

one - "unfortunately, it's not the weirdest thing she's seen"

[ Have you ever been told more than once in the same week that you need to take a vacation? Have you ever brushed it aside with the ease of someone who hears it a little too regularly to take it seriously, and then woken up flat on your back in the middle of a coliseum?

If you have, you might be Snow White. Not the storybook princess, mind, or... not exactly. The woman who blinks into consciousness, dressed professionally, is the Snow White of Fabletown, of a vaguely-suspicious town in New York. When she finds herself not at all at her desk, the first thing that occurs is that she must have fallen asleep. ... Though, of course, she isn't waking up in any apartment she knows, so for a wild few seconds of panic as she regains full consciousness, she wonders if it's at all possible that she'd sleepwalked outside to the front bench. But... again, no, this place is completely unfamiliar. It's such a shock that she bolts upward into a sitting position, wide, blue eyes scanning the area around her. ]

Where...? [ For someone who knows everything about her city that she can know, it's unsettling and disorienting to be in a place so foreign. In another striking panic, she worries she's been kidnapped (cliche though it is), but there don't seem to be any restraints and no signs of captors. In fact, the coliseum isn't sealed at all, but is open for her to just walk out when she regains her bearings. Which she does fairly quickly, knowing that to stay put might mean danger.

Naturally, danger has already found her. The Fabletown resident stops short, halfway between her waking point and the exit, freezing where she stands. Off to one side is what she can only think to describe as a blob, oozing and gelatinous, and Snow peers suspiciously at it, slowly drawing away out of caution.

Good thing, too. The blob, apparently alive, or somehow otherwise in motion, seems to lunge toward her at a startlingly high speed. Snow gasps sharply, heart pounding, and heads as quickly as she can for the exit with the monster at her heels.

Another bright and happy morning in the life of Snow White. ]



three - "carnations as white as snow, carnations as red as blood"

[ The flowers are a nice touch, she thinks, despite herself, and hums out a little laugh as she looks through them. There are several carnations of varying colors on her person and she wonders vaguely if their combined meanings are meant to imply anything. Not that she really knows what each signifies, being... a little bit less than a romantic. No, the woman often described as icy and frigid has no special love for... that kind of thing, but she can appreciate a gift. ]

Do you know where they came from? [ Snow questions lightly of another resident nearby. They, too, seem to have been given a handful of the flowers, and she assumes that most, if not all, of the others have been here for longer than she has and have had a longer time to get answers. ] Or, do things just appear like that regularly?

[ It wouldn't be so bad if they were only carnations, but she can guess without much of a stretch of the imagination that what this place and its gods want to give them is unpleasant much more often than it is kind. ]

YOOOOO (one!)

[glasshim]

[sometimes, he's never where he's needed the most.

it's a common gripe Bigby's had to deal with from just about every person who steps into his office. some mornings are worse than others because it's not as if they make a beeline to his department when they get into the building, oh no; nine out of ten times, they have the long line into the business office to sweeten them up first, then have to be told they need to speak to him. and that's where the fun begins.

("They were outside my apartment last night and I could hear them—")

("—kept calling and you never picked up, what was I supposed to do—")

("Where are you when we ever fucking NEED you?")

same song, different dance, crazy ballroom. that's about where he's found himself now, currently.

he wasn't sure what to expect when he caught her scent. it's unmistakable, totally distinct, completely...her. the caves are decrepit and wretchedly moist, filled with smells that reek of sweat and blood and piss, a great deal of them inhuman, but none of them are strong enough to mask hers. he follows it through the caverns, trying to keep his expectations to a manageable level, trying to be realistic and grounded because oh god, what if it's a trick? he's been told that this place isn't above using dirty tricks just to hurt you. that's what this could be. that's what he's expecting when the trail leads him directly into a crumbling amphitheater where the smell of perfume begins to mingle with dust and rot and something...acidic? is that what that is? before he can even wonder, he spots the blob, lurching and oozing across the ground, surging straight for a smaller figure running across the arena.

two guesses as to who it is; the first two don't count.]

SNOW!

Irisa | Defiance

[tishinka]

»» FEAR.
[After everything that's happened in her life, Irisa fits the bill for The Door. She wouldn't argue that, she's done far too much to consider herself a good person. Killed far too many people. Sure, Nolan would argue that some of those deaths weren't her fault. But she can't help but feel responsible, it was her hand even if she wasn't in control.

But that's neither here nor there, as she finds herself in a new place. Some strange world of darkness that is nothing like the Earth she grew up on, if she's even on Earth at all.

She keeps a knife in hand, as she moves through the streets, but hopes she doesn't find need to use it. That hope is short lived when her ears pick up a strange sound. Her gut instinct tells her not to investigate, nothing good ever comes from following after such noises. Yet she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of the noise.

An action she immediately regrets.]

What...?

[Oh, it's starting to move toward her.]


»» RAGE.
[She's familiar with this feeling. The rage, the feeling of control slipping through her fingers. It's frustrating and only seems to fuel that rage. It also frightens her. She can't do this again. She can't kill like that again.

She tries to fight it. Curses in multiple languages jumbled together combined with pleas to kill her spill from her lips.

She can't do this.]


»» HOPE.
Flowers?

[She's not familiar with this tradition of giving carnations to school mates. Partially because schooling isn't really a thing she's familiar with and partially because it's likely a long lost tradition. She gives the flowers a confused look before noticing the tags. Her name is on a few but others have names she doesn't recognize.

There's one for Nolan. Could that mean he's here and not somewhere off in space aboard the Omec ship?

What is she supposed to do with these flowers? Hold onto them? Find the people some of these apparently belong to? Throw them away?

She stares at the flowers for a few moments before looking around. She's no longer in Defiance. Old St. Louis, maybe? No, it doesn't quite look the buried city.

She stands and scowls. She had a call to deal with, why and how is she suddenly here?]

Hope

[dogsanddaughters]

Pretty flowers, lady.

[Miriam beams at her, a set of carnations sticking out of her hair. She has no idea what's happening or where she is, really, but that doesn't stop her from smiling. Until she finds her mom, she's going to be aggressively friendly. That way she'll find someone who will protect her. It's worked in the past.

Miriam flicks at Barnaby's ears. The dog whines, watching Irisa, tail raised.]

Be nice, doggie. I'm telling you.

loki | mcu.

[mischiefs]

FEAR.

( a. )

( ruination. it's a familiar sight, and loki finds himself intrigued by his surroundings if only for the fact that it's not where he should be. he should be on asgard, bound in chains and awaiting punishment for his crimes, awaiting sentencing from the — ha — great odin.

and yet he's not.

he's still bound and gagged; the muzzle round his jaw more frustrating the the cuffs round his wrists. for as useful as illusions are, he prefers them to serve as the accompaniment rather than the main feature. words are his favourite toys and he suspects it was thor that had suggested the muzzle. he's grateful, though, that he can still walk freely, though the sight of creatures — quick moving, gelatinous goops — makes him long for freedom. they'd be quick to dispel, and yet—

—and yet he's reduced to running. movement isn't quite as easy as it ought to be, the occasional clinking of metal as he moves his hands and his arms is, each time, a giveaway as to his location and direction. his first choice would be to stop and to watch and to accrue what he could about this miserable> world, but there's little time and little chance.

he needs, he thinks, to find shelter, to find quiet and time and solitude to work on these chains—

—his footsteps, steady and measured, cease. he holds his body still, head tilted slightly, listening. there had been something—

—movement, he thinks. not his, not the creatures: someone else; it had been too measured, too deliberate, too well-timed with the sound of his footsteps to be anything else. (he wonders, fleetingly, if they'd been using his footsteps as an attempt to disguise their own from the — blobs.)

he can't call out, can't signal greeting or warning, so he moves to sit on a tumbledown piece of wall. he can wait (for a few minutes—). he wonders if they can. )

FEAR.

( b. )

soz same prompt different time frames because yolo

( his jaw is no longer bound and his hands no longer tied. it's — relieving would be trite, infer too much gratefulness, but the feeling wasn't dissimilar. he's on higher ground than he was when he'd first arrived, but the blob from earlier has been replaced by another, still distant and on lower ground.

hardly a concern. (he thinks.)

he has magic, now, and he has words — though the latter will be far less useful in a battle against a viscous liquid. he doesn't bother battling them immediately: he's quite content to do so only when necessary. he can't imagine knives or swords would do much to harm them, not given the way they move, the way they absorb discarded objects in their path. )

I'd step carefully, if I were you. ( spoken aloud and enunciated carefully. he can hear someone approaching from the stairs behind, but he doesn't turn to greet them. )

(b)

[mismanagement]

[Before this place - before a lot of things - Maketh would have laughed if someone suggested she wander alone into the frontlines. Such as they were. But here she stands, dressed in a stranger's clothes with a sword at her hip, and far from her allies. She's collected a few here that might be relied upon, though none nearby.

There's just this strange man, very tall, with an accent she can't place. Maketh clasps her hands behind her back, standing at attention.] You shouldn't be out here.

Malina Sokolowski | Iron Druid Chronicles

[hellwhip]

Hope.

[As if finding herself somehow transported to this odd place weren't disorienting enough, the carnations added another level of confusion to the place. Glaring at them, though, she finds the note--"From a secret admirer"--but that only deepens the scowl, and she tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder, a gesture practiced enough to look spontaneous, habitual enough to both be graceful and further convey her annoyance.

She does speak out loud, though, and her voice is accented when she does--Polish, if anyone were to guess--but not hindering her speech at all.]

"A secret admirer?" Preposterous. [She hasn't really had time for those, and regardless, she doesn't want one. Far more trouble than they're worth.

But, really, the more important part is how, exactly, she'd been pulled from her coven and placed here. Her fist tightens around the flower stems, probably killing them unnecessarily, and she turns her glare around her at the surroundings, speaking again, but this time directing it at a more specific target.]

If this is a joke, Mister O'Sullivan... [She sighs. She can't have his head, the treaty forbids it. And he's the best chance of preventing Ragnarok, besides. He isn't here to hear her complain, either, so what good will that do?

She lets out another sigh, and glares at the flowers again, still not releasing them, and she isn't sure exactly why.]

Zorya Vechernyaya, chron mnie od zla.

[unfollowing]

Mou dame.

[Because fuck you, you're not the only person here who's educated enough to speak more than one language.

Emily is just going to assume you were bitching about this place and there weird shit that happens here.]

Get used to it. Those flowers are one of the nicer things to happen.

Brock Rumlow | MCU

[ukase]

Fear

[Rumlow had grown up on bad eighties movies and effects; he'd had a stint of rebellious young adult boredom flipping through a monster manual for Dungeons and Dragons role-playing once or twice. Both had been gloriously lame, especially compared to some of the stuff he had been exposed to here and there that were real horrors on what men could do to one another, generally making horrible creatures to give people nightmares.

This wasn't quite like that. For one, there was generally more screaming and arm waving in the movies. For two, there were always some pimple-faced asshole shouting about a natural twenty in the other that deserved more than a kick to the groin over midnight pancakes.

Like any good soldier who had seen their share of the badness - take the Battle of New York for one - he knew when to stand back and observe. The thick gelatinous creature was fast, seemed to strip flesh and melt bone at an alarming rate. It also apparently had no cephalization as a weak point. In fact, it didn't appear to have a weak point at all. That left one option by his measure.

Fire. Where were the necessary body shields to keep it entertained and a gas station when one needed it?]

Match or flint would be nice. Dynamite? C-4? Anyone? [Useless tits the lot of them.]

Rage

[This was nothing like Creutzfeld-Jakob disease. This was so much better than any nerve protein-tainted agony on the nature documentaries, so much more focusing. It also didn't actually affect his equilibrium regardless of the loss of his sight, which had always been a matter of pride. Now it seemed like a stupid sense to focus so much on when his hearing could locate a scuff of a boot or even the sound of a small stone being stepped on. His nostrils flared to drink in the scents around him as he tipped his head slowly to one side and then the other to zero in on the sounds around him, normal or otherwise.

Kill. That gentle beat in his veins was almost as strong as the hunger which clawed its way through his guts. Together, the two concepts were all encompassing to his attentions. Hunting was a beautiful adventure, especially now when the reward was full of warmth and momentary struggling, maybe even a scream or two.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and eased forward, throat working as his vocal cords lengthened and then shortened experimentally. He tipped his head back, lifting a hand to touch the cool wall on his left for association and went very still. Then he parted his thin lips and called out.]

Help... please help! [It wasn't his voice, not deep and smooth. It was to lure prey to him for a short-lived chase. Come out, come out wherever you are.]

Hope

[Rumlow had done this sort of thing before on more than one occasion, though it seemed a bit strange to him to suddenly wake up with a bunch of carnations in his hand already pre-tagged. For one, he preferred roses or lilies over carnations, but it seemed to him that these were intended to specific people.

Almost everyone liked flowers. Those that didn't were either allergic or so full of bah-humbug that it was better to shove them stem first where the sun failed to shine. Flowers could open people up, bring a smile to their face but best of all, they were a great way to poison someone. It was tricky to keep it where it should be for the target he found, but it was possible and even more, it was delightful to watch their faces mottling with reds and purples as it took effect.

A little exposure never hurt anyone. Not permanently anyway.

He fingered through the bunch of multicoloured carnations in his grip, perusing the goods before he pulled out a knife from his belt and gently put a slit into each stem. He stood intent on his business as he fed one stem into a hole and then the next and the next until he was binding the stems together with little name tags sticking out every which way but a crown of carnations built and ready to hand off.]

hope

[wipedclean]

[There's a flower in his hand. It's red.

Oddly enough, it has the name of one of his handlers on the tag.

Being who he is, it doesn't take the soldier much time to track him down. But before he can think to ask about the flower in his hand, he's distracted by the flowers in Rumlow's hand. He tilts his head, curious.]

What did you do to them?

Topher Brink | Dollhouse

[ethicalproblems]

F E A R

No, no. No way. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. [ If there’s one thought that makes waking up in an unknown, potentially dangerous foreign place worse, it’s knowing that it means the worst case scenario came true. The Attic. It has to be. It's the only explanation that Topher has for closing his eyes in Tucson and opening them...here. That somehow, after everything, Rossum still won. They found him and they threw him in a chair, and now-

There's only one thing that stops his panic from transforming into full blown hysteria, and that's the Gladiator-esque surroundings. He's had plenty of time to imagine the subconscious nightmares his brain could come up with, and this matches exactly none of them. Not the most comforting thought, but still a relief. At least, it is until he sees something coming towards him. Sentient pudding. Seriously? Thanks brain. He starts to run blindly away from the creature. Dying in the Attic may not always mean dying in real life, but he's no Echo, and doesn't plan on testing that theory. ]

It's not real. It's not real.

[He's only made it out of the arena when he impacts off something. Or, more accurately, someone. Oops.]

H O P E Confusion

[ Aside from adding a burst of surrealism, the flowers don't change his initial panic and (mostly) internal screaming. Once that's subsided, Topher does take a moment to go through them. All of them have different names on them, most he doesn't know. But one of them...

Bennett.

It's red, of course. The only flower that color in the bunch. Suddenly, this scenario is so much closer to his own personal horrors than the monsters. Because, it's a joke. A terrible, cruel parody that someone - or his own mind - created. Knowing that doesn't stop him from keeping a grip on it, even as he drops the rest of them. ]

fear

[watashinonamaewa]

[ Totally happening, bro. Let's get your head straight. ]

Ah— [ —is all he hears before he feels a firm grasp on the front of his shirt, then a swift pull against the nearest wall.

At first, it seems to her that this is the kind of guy to scream like a little girl in sudden situations as the one she's now putting him in. So her other hand moves against his mouth as the other slips from the grip on his shirt to place her forearm firmly against his chest. While the whole motion is swift and strong, she's gentle enough not to hurt him.

She looks back down the street where he ran from. This should give him a good moment to really take in this six-five, pasty-yet-smooth-skin woman. Neck-to-toe black body suit with some spots splotched a fresher rich red. A thirty-inch stun baton clipped to her waist... ]

I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to let you go. [ She isn't looking at him yet. Voice soft to simulate calm. ]

But you're freaking out. And this isn't going to end well for either of us if you hyperventilate right here, right now.

[ Her forearm loosens from his chest and she looks at him with blue eyes. ]

You're not alone. I'm right here. Just breathe.

henry mills | once upon a time

[thetruestbeliever]

fear;

[ Okay, so. A giant blob that eats things. He can handle this, he can totally handle this. It's like something out of one of his comic books. Ordinarily, he'd be asking around and trying to find his family because this whole thing is strange. But a freakishly big and oddly shaped monster is coming towards him so he doesn't exactly have time to think.

His family has taught him how to fight, he can defend himself, he fully believes that. Henry at least has the advantage of speed for the moment. He has no idea how to actually defeat a blob but he'll come up with a plan in a moment, when there's enough distance between him and that thing. He jogs down the street, turning a corner and catching his breath. ]

I really don't wanna be that thing's snack.

rage;

[ Some might say it's heroic to even think about taking these creatures on, trying to save them and everyone else who might be hurt by them. Other people might say it's just plain dumb, especially for a teenager. Maybe it's a mix of both. Henry will admit - privately, to himself - he hasn't always had the best ideas, maybe, but things have usually worked out one way or another. Sometimes the going gets a little rough, but...it always works out.

Having a good sense of how this place works by now, he figures if he gets killed trying to save these things, it's not...too bad. At least he'll come back. But he has to try. He's not really afraid of much - he's seen too much to be afraid easily these days - and that's sometimes a recipe for disaster. ]

They deserve a chance. I have to try, I have to save them if I can.

fear!

[dreamcatcher]

Whoa—

( Emma is a little disoriented, as she always seems to be when she magically poofs to a new place. her hands are up, almost defensively but the curl to her spine isn't quite there. she's a little hazy on what is happening and definitely not pleased to be stuck away from her family all over again. her first thought is to find them, because of course it is, that's practically always her first thought, no matter the situation.

her second thought is, apparently, Thank god Henry is here and the distantly trailing third thought was, of course, what 'thing' was trying to eat her kid? it meant there was no time to talk, or be grateful he was okay, because he probably wouldn't start with a line like that if now was a great time to talk.

she reaches out for his hand, not even bothering to stop and see what he was running from. she'll trust him and decide she doesn't want to be a snack, either. )

We gotta run, kid, come on.

( hopefully there was a place for them to hide somewhere nearby, if fighting wasn't an option. and with Henry with her, not even Emma was particularly interested in trying her chances. )

Miriam Day - Original

[dogsanddaughters]

Fear

[So, this is a new one. Miriam, as she likes to say – and often – has seen some shit. Including all the fetish specials up at Henry’s favorite bar, the aftermath of watching someone get Tarred, and a whole lot of gunfights. But this—!

This is different. And shiny.

Unfortunately it’s also got her cornered. Miriam glances around uneasily, one hand on Barnaby’s harness.] Um. Help?

[Oh shit it looks hungry.]

I’d really appreciate a daring rescue right about now!

Hope

[Flowers, huh? Miriam holds them up in her hands, grins, and shoves her face to them. They smell really nice. She sticks one in Barnaby’s harness.

The dog sniffs at them, and eats one.]

Doggie! No, they’re from mom.

[They have Miriam’s name on them, but also a Lieutenant Lestran in the from box. Which makes them special.]

fear

[dedikated]

What... the fuck. [ Okay, while those blobs may not be the most horrifying thing Kate's ever seen - that honour goes to the Creature whose possessions twisted half the human body inside out - they are weird as hell and... well, they're slimy and sorta gross.

The cry of someone - someone she can't see thanks to the writhing, wriggling mass of gunk blocking her view - spurs her into action, and Kate tosses a nearby rock at... whatever that is. Blobby... Mc. Blobberson. Whatever. All she wants to do is get it to move on with its life, or die. Dying would be nice. Hopefully it's as squishy as it looks and she can just find a few more things to chuck at it until it goes away.

... Or not. The rock disappears into the Blob without making it so much as twitch. ]

Shit. [ It also appears to have made it mad enough to start turning towards Kate instead. ] Run! [ She calls out to the person who had cried out earlier, already twisting on the balls of her feet to make a dash for it. ]

Agent Maine/the Meta | Red vs Blue

[mainiac]

FEAR:

[The Meta isn't really afraid of much, even on a bad day. There's no room for fear in him, only emptiness and rage, frustration over the first that feeds into the second, and he's more than happy to take it out on whatever's nearby.

In this case, that being large piles of slime that seem to move like they're alive, swallowing anything in their path and squelching their way down still-unfamiliar streets. He's thrown a grenade at it already, watched the resulting explosion and splatter of material with a reserved, seething kind of glee, but it didn't last long, only pulled itself back together after a moment and continued on its way like nothing happened.

Which, predictably, only worsened his already dubious mood. So he followed it across the rooftops once he'd gained higher ground, firing down at it now and then although it was obvious after the first few shots it wasn't likely to make any better of an impact.

Fire. Just burn the damn thing to ash, that should work. Just had to find a source. So he glanced along the roofline and tried to scope out the best potential chance and headed that way, one eye on his destination and another on the slime.]

RAGE:

[Rage is all too familiar. The cloak of an old friend, it's a mantle that settles easily once its taken effect. Tugs and pulls the way Sigma used to, needles and prods until his temper, already plenty short on a good day, wears down to nothing, a thinning thread that snaps with the slightest pressure.

He couldn't have said what the last straw was, this time, if pressed later, and honestly it doesn't really matter at this point. They pushed and he responded, in fists and kicks and the solidity of armor against less forgiving flesh and never mind that he probably shouldn't have, that the anger was misplaced or not entirely justified. It felt good. It felt necessary. It was a valve loosened after weeks of building in the absence of the real object of his frustrations and now he couldn't have held back even if he wanted to.]

HOPE:

[The Meta eyed the flower in his hands with deep-set suspicion. He couldn't have said how it got there, who had given it to him or where he'd found it, only knew it was there currently. Which wasn't exactly the best of feelings at the moment, not knowing. He didn't bother reading the label, because it wasn't important. It was a flower, what was the use of it. It wasn't an AI, wasn't a means for him to get one, wasn't an enhancement for his armor at all, only a piece of pointless foliage. It was purple, and ridiculous, and he glowered at it through his helmet like it was the source of all his problems but didn't cast it away like his immediate thought was. Maybe he should. Probably he should; after everything else he'd seen so far, a flower certainly didn't seem like anything he really wanted to be near.]