Test Drive Meme # 2

[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 October 25th, and apps are open November 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!

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: THE LAUGHTER OF A CHILD
[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 some little friends for you to play with.

Grey Children are enemies in the video game Silent Hill. They usually move in pairs or groups of three, clinging to your legs and pulling you down so that they can laugh as they stab you to death. They're not particularly sturdy, but since they hunt in packs, they can kill you just the same. Let's hope your group is bigger - or that you can get away before they get ahold of you. But don't be too mean. They're just children, after all.]


SCENARIO TWO: FEAR ITSELF
[You turn a corner, and there it is. The one thing that terrifies you more than anything, that turns you into a frightened child, that makes you want to run or scream or fight wildly. It could be anything. That person you trusted, who betrayed you. A monster that haunts your dreams. Spiders, maybe? Whatever it is, it's exactly what you fear the most.

And then there are footsteps next to you, and someone else is there. Maybe they can help you. Maybe they can save you. But everyone's afraid of something, and the moment your savior gets close, their fear will manifest as well - and if you're really unlucky, combine with yours to make something even worse.

It's not real. It can't hurt you. Not unless you let it. But if you let it, it will destroy you.

This is a simpler version of October's Fear Event.]


H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: THIS IS NOT MY BEAUTIFUL HOUSE
[A moment ago, you were making dinner. Not alone, but with someone you care about nearby - your beautiful spouse, or your amazing child, or your beloved sibling. Then, in an instant, you look at them and you know: this isn't real.

This perfect house, this perfect family, it's not yours. You can remember your real life now, and that person you care for? You might not even know them. A moment ago they were your world, and now you know this isn't actually your life. Your life is something else, somewhere else.

Above the fireplace sits a painting of you and your happy family. You know that if you destroy it, you'll return to your life. But do you really want to, when you've never felt this contentment, this happiness before? You could have it all, if you wanted. And what about your companion? This is a decision you should make together - if you want to.]

Comments

Haru Igarashi | zettai kaikyuu gakuen | fear

[tinypebble]

1
[ He has no idea where he is right now, but he knows for sure that this isn't somewhere inside the school walls. This is beyond the high brick wall that keeps them inside the school area and whatever prying eyes out there outside.

He grips his painting brush tighter, one of the very few things he's got with him, but everyone around him is a strange face. And those children... they don't really look like children. They're like something that's right out of a scary book.

They're not allowed to watch movies at school.

Three of the monsters come closer, and Haru starts to back away. Shit, where did the others go? Shit, shit, what should he do? He doesn't know how to fight. ]

Go away!

2
[ Water. There's a wall of water right in front of him. It's like it's alive, moving, but not like natural water would. It's as if it's staying there, about to crush him in waves at any second, but it's still.

Haru is frozen right in place. ]

cullen rutherford » dragon age » there is the teeniest trespasser dlc spoiler in this beware

[smited]

fear — one;

[ of all the times to not be wearing proper armor or carrying his usual weapons... the winter palace is not the place to be armed, josephine had said. it sends the wrong message. we need to let the people know we are here for peace, she said. whenever he gets back from--wherever this is, cullen is going to give her a piece of his mind and strap his sword on. she can frown at him all she wants. the daggers he'd stuffed in his boots are not enough to deal with these things. he can throw them well enough, but there's only two of them. not enough to take care of all the monsters coming towards him.

still, he's not completely defenseless. not when he has a mabari next to him, crouched and growling, ready to leap to cullen's defense at a moment's notice. apparently he'd adopted a war hound with good instincts that mysteriously disappear every time cullen thinks of training with him. which is just his luck, really. and something he probably shouldn't be complaining about when the dog is ready to throw itself into danger. ]

Easy, pup. [ he slips a dagger out of his boot and shifts into what he hopes is a passable defensive position. he's a sword and board warrior, not a rogue. daggers aren't really his thing. but there are three monsters coming towards him and he's not going down without a fight. ] Wait for them to come to us.

fear — two;

[ he turns a corner and the world lights up. it takes him half a second to realize that the sudden light in front of him is familiar--it's a barrier. the likes of which he hasn't seen in over a decade. he stumbles, knees hitting the ground hard. this can't be happening. it can't. and yet he can't deny the sight in front of him.

he's trapped and farris' body hovers in the air outside the barrier. it's broken--limbs twisted in ways they were never meant to be, his head lolling too far backward and exposing the inside of his throat. blood covers his armor until cullen can barely make out the sword of mercy on his breastplate. the desire demon behind the body laughs and cullen--cullen can't tell if it's real or if it's memory.

he is thirty-three. he is nineteen. screams and the wet sounds of bodies twisting, cracking, pulling apart and reforming into abominations reach his ears from the harrowing chamber. every part of him trembles and his throat is raw from days spent praying for relief. behind him, his mabari whines and noses at his elbow. except he doesn't have a mabari. he'd always wanted one, back in honnleath, but he was going to be a templar and he couldn't bring one along with him to training.

the dog whines again, licks his cheek, and cullen thinks this isn't real. he is thirty-three. he is the commander of the inquisition. he--needs to get up off his knees and do something other than pray because that is what he did when he was nineteen and trapped, and slipping into memory is the last thing he wants to do. he needs to anchor himself in the present. levering himself up off the ground, he winces at the way his knees ache and the muscles in his legs pull. he ignores it and paces the length of his cage, singing a tavern song about the storm coast under his breath, his dog at his heels.

that won't help you, cullen, the demon croons as it drags farris' body around, making sure it's always in cullen's peripheral. a reminder of all it has done and all it will do. but if you give in to me, i can make it all stop. you could see her again. you could be happy together, away from all this.

he scowls and sings all the louder. if he can just keep his mind on something else, keep focused on the words, eventually it will go away. it has to.

any other option is unacceptable. ]

wanda maximoff | mcu | from end of aou

[divulsion]

→ fear: scenario one

[Wanda explores the underground city alone. If she's going to be trapped there, then she needs to familiarize herself with it. After the unexpected fight in the arena especially, it seems the best thing to do. Everything she knows about her world and how it functions will be of no use to her here. The politics, the players, they're all so foreign to her that she'll need every other advantage she can gain.

So she starts with the game board, so to speak. In an emergency, the last thing she needs is to get lost.

Leaving the neighborhood of houses, she finds herself eventually at the park. It seems pleasant enough from the outside looking in, so much so that she ventures down one of the paths. She reaches up as she walks, tugging loose strands of hair away from her face, and as she tucks them behind her ears, she hears something. A rustling? She pauses, lips forming a thin line as she scans the greenery around her, but sees nothing. Wanda's shoulders start to relax as she prepares to brush it off as nothing, an animal or something, but then she hears laughter behind her.

Wanda spins around, setting her feet apart as she looks down the path she's been traveling down. Her fingers spread at her sides, faintly glowing red with her psionic energy as she strains to listen for further sounds. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea, going out alone. She'd thought nothing of it when she'd first ventured forth, but then she was used to having Pietro by her side.

Anticipation keeps her still, and fear puts on her edge. She's somewhat numb to the freezing effects it would normally have on her after living in a country that's always at war, and after the battle in Sokovia. She's gone through hell before, having lost everyone that matters to her as well as having put her own neck on the line as well. In the face of certain doom she's risen above the emotions that would render her too scared to help herself and others. Whatever is out there, she can deal with it. After gunfire and shelling, after a near unstoppable army of robots, what's the worst that could happen?]


→ hope: scenario three {closed to castmates}

[Her hands are covered in flour.

Wanda looks down at them, kneading dough for bread that they'll eat at dinner later that evening, and for a moment she feels her head spin. Brow furrowing, she reaches up to wipe perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand and then stills to try and shake off the feeling. She probably hasn't had enough water today, busy shopping for food and preparing the evening's meal. Pietro always eats so much ever since his transformation. His metabolism isn't something she can just keep up with, it's something that she has to keep ahead of.

With his abilities he could probably help her with this, being so much faster than she is, but then that denies her the pleasure of doing it for Pietro. For years, the twins have taken care of each other and whatever powers they've gained don't change the fact that they both intend to continue doing so.

As she continues to knead bread, a small, nagging feeling tugs at her mind. Something is off. Something is wrong. Wanda hesitates, fingers locked around the dough now. She stares down at it and she gets that same swimming feeling, as if she's not really there. In the distance, she can hear Pietro watching the news, commenting on the restoration efforts for a post-war Sokovia.

With conscious effort, she pushes the odd feeling away. It probably just feels so surreal because she never expected everything to turn out so well. She and Pietro safe and happy. Their country is in a state of rebuilding. Nothing is wrong, everything is fine. She's just too used to living in a world where everything seems to be in a constant downward spiral. Wanda continues to tell herself that as she continues kneading the dough.]

Eileen the Crow | Bloodborne (cw for descriptions of gore)

[dirges]

fear: (1)

[ She is no stranger to the dark or the frightening. Long ago, she'd taken up arms against the beasts of Yharnam and faced the night with an unflinching stride. Hardly anything has changed and she has no intention of laying down to die now.

You might come upon her when you round the corner, the squelching of flesh echoing as she tears into one of the monsters. It's impossible to tell on first glance if she is man or woman, or if she is something more ethereal, the dark feathers of crows adorning her coat and drifting out at her sides. Both her coat and the feathers are stained dark with blood as she finishes off her kill. The scent of something strange wafts through the air, musky, like incense, and she crouches down to set the 'child' into a more respectful pose in its crumpled heap on the ground. It only seems respectful.

Carefully, she rises, flicking blood from two short, curved blades in her hands, and as she turns, her face is covered by a crow mask, obscuring all features to any onlookers.

She glances at you and makes a quiet sound in her throat. ]

What's wrong? A bit squeamish, are we?

[ With a strange snap, she tucks her weapons away, folding them into a single blade that she keeps at her side. ]

You shouldn't linger on the streets. It's not safe out here for anyone.

[ Even for her, she supposes, but she doesn't mind. At least she knows what trouble she's in for on a night like this. ]

one

[closerift]

[ Out of somewhere, an arrow hisses through the air and into the bodies of one of the little beasts. It shrieks terribly, opening a gaping mouth much too large for any human child. Not that it looks remotely humanoid; the monster's faced is stitched together, practically, its naked body pale and strangely muscular.

Never mind its fellows, all eager for blood, and brandishing knives. ]

They're quicker than they- [ A young woman begins, but falters. Her eyes widen in pure shock, one which she recovers from with practiced swiftness (after all, they're still on the battlefield, reunion or no). ]

Maker's breath. [ The Inquisitor breathes, but there isn't much time for her relief, and certainly not enough of it to wonder over the hound at his side. Instead, Cecily Trevelyan glances in his direction, moving slowly as the Grey Children cry out, brandishing their weapons, ready for a fight. ]

On your guard, Commander. [ She advises with more than a hint of fondness, despite the situation, just before readying another arrow. ]

[smited]

[ with the inquisitor and her arrows about, cullen's chances of survival just went up by a significant margin. enough to have him smirking a little as he throws his left-handed dagger at another child. it sinks into the neck-area of the child. or, at least, what would be the neck if the thing were a human and not some monstrosity. ]

As you say, Inquisitor.

[ it's a relief to have her here, even if he's not quite sure where here is. so long as she's with him, safe, and still fond of him, he can have faith that things will work out alright.

he shifts his stance, nudging the mabari with the heel of his boot. ] Left, pup. [ it's a simple command, but the dog understands, snarling as it leaps for another child as cullen ducks right and swipes at it with his remaining blade.

what he wouldn't give for a sword right about now. ]

The Warden | Dragon Age

[unabatedly]

fear: one

[ Those things aren't children. And when they slash at her with knives, she's all the more certain that the lightning spell she unleashes is a warranted response, striking them down and away from her. Her mabari barks, the sound echoing off the back alleys, and she kneels down to shush him gently. ]

Easy, shh. You're so loud-- They'll hear us.

[ Whining, he licks at her palm, and she rises with him to keep moving down the side streets. They need to find better shelter, hopefully something with food and solid walls that can keep these demons out, but she'll be happy just to get a short reprieve from the oppressive darkness. Any light source seems drowned out in the black and will draw too many unfriendly visitors for her to feel safe in exploiting. Her skin crawls with uneasiness as she goes, and turning a corner nearly leads her into a pack of them. The mabari leaps on two, pressing them into the ground so he can tear at their faces and limbs. Neria, for her part, follows up with a fire spell that sends many of them scurrying away from her. One, however, seems determined to get her to join it in a fiery inferno, clutching hastily at her cloak with flame-licked hands.

Tearing the fabric, she draws her sword and brings it down on the creature's head without a moment's hesitation, felling it in a single blow. It takes her a clumsy minute to tear at her cloak and throw away the burnt portions with a grimace. ]

Shit, shit.

[ The commotion has drawn more to her location, coming out of the darkness and peering at her, reaching for her, hoping to drag her away. She kicks at one and whistles for her dog to follow, and tries to take off--

And runs right into someone else. The mabari barks, urging her and her new companion to move, and she grabs whomever it is by the arm. ]

Don't bother. There's no time, let's go.


hope: three

[ Vigil's Keep has never been so lively. Amaranthine is thriving, bringing them business and visitors almost daily. Now home to a veritable sanctuary for soldiers, retired and in their recruitment stages, Wardens and citizens alike work tirelessly to train those who will be peacekeepers, guard to the King and Queen of Ferelden, and escorts for travelers. The Blights are gone; there are no more Darkspawn, no more Archdemons, and no more Joining rituals. They are free of the curse that binds them by blood...and now their home is a respite for families and friends, for those who have finished their service and for those looking for a new start to their lives.

Partial-advisor to the king, Neria finds her days waxing in and out of politicking and education, training pockets of mages in the way of the Arcane Warrior and Spirit Healing, guiding them through their new lives outside of the Circles. Magic is to serve man and never to rule over him...and here they are, to provide service to their fellow man by protecting them, healing their injuries, and looking after the sick. Circles are a place of education for children and no longer prisons. The world as she knows it has changed.

But it has not changed. Not really. This is all just some illusion.

And whomever is beside her (a comrade, a friend, someone she considers family, even a lover...it doesn't matter) isn't enough to tether her to a foolish dream she's seen dozens of times before.

Neria struggles to keep her thoughts centered on the truth, on the house they are standing in - cold, empty, and more modern than anything Thedas has had to offer her - in a bid to steel herself to the truth. This is a lie. They are both wrapped in a lie.

She lifts a hand, burning with fire, and aims for the portrait. ]

I'm sorry.

[ If she isn't stopped, the lie is going to come down in ashes around them. In her mind, it's for the best. ]


[ ooc: feel free to jump in at any part of the Hope scenario; stop her, indulge in the lie, what have you. ]

[closerift]

[ Were she a warrior, she might have another weapon to offer... but, as it is, there are only the daggers that they both have on hand and the longbow held comfortably in her grip. The monsters are eerily playful, she notes, and likens them quickly to demons. Though, there's also the knowledge, having been around in this strange world for almost a month already, that there are no demons in the area. None of their kind, anyway. These creatures, like the monster with the long tongue and the mutated bears, may have strengths and weaknesses, but they're unknown.

In other words, for the first time in a long time, the Inquisition (or as much of it as is in Hadriel) is flying blind. ]

You were brought alone, then? [ She tosses the question over her shoulder, crouching briefly to let loose a shoot that tears through the gut of one of the children in its path. ] Don't tell me you just happened on a mabari within moments of arriving.

Richie Gecko | From Dusk Till Dawn: the series

[hornrims]

SCENARIO ONE

[Richie doesn't understand. He was supposed to go home. Or at least, what he last remembered from his home world. The Box was hell, it messed with his mind, and now it seemed like he was right back in the thick of it. Being tricked was the worst part. Richard Gecko didn't get tricked.

Because of his lack of foresight he was now faced with a group of three small, faceless monsters that seemed to move together in an instinctual, coordinated pattern. Oh well. Back home he would have been walking into a fight anyway. He draws a knife and bends at the knee, thankful that he hadn't come unarmed.]

SCENARIO THREE

[This place is at once familiar and completely unknown. Richie sits alone on soft couch in the middle of a clean, well furnished house. Lights are bright with the twinkling of Christmas and a full tree stands lush in a corner.

His father approaches alongside an auburn haired woman that Richie has never seen, but instantly recognizes as his mother. When he stands it's with a look of confusion. Geckos were never meant to live in suburbia. How could he trust this woman who had just assumed a role?

As more questions come to mind, the tree wilts. The house fades to one smaller, dirtier, filled with the stench of stale cigarettes and spilled beer. Yet the parents remain, hands clasped in unity.

"Come here, Richard," the mother says, beckoning with a hand.

Richie wants to know more, but he can't trust it. He keeps his eyes wide open behind his glasses and stands. That's when he sees the painting: mother, father, and two boys, all beaming with pride at the bond they share. Resting nearby is a photo of father and uncle together, one that Richie's seen before tucked into a mirror in Uncle Eddie's house. The conversion of real and illusion begin to blur his memory as Richie tries desperately to grasp at what he knows.

When the father smiles, for an instant he shows himself as Richie remembers. Skin tightens before giving way to the appearance of a hollowed skull.]

You should be dead.

[Richie's footsteps ring far louder than his voice as he marches to the fireplace, grabbing the butane fireplace lighter above the mantel.]

Seth Gecko | From Dusk Till Dawn: the series

[bankjob]

FEAR: SCENARIO 2
Not a damn thing seems unusual or out of place. The street is an average street, the weather is typical, no one's chasing or shooting or acting threatening in any way. That in itself should be warning enough, but Seth is ever the optimist dressed in cynic's clothing.

When he turns the corner, and spies his brother, back turned, the only thing Seth feels is a mild sense of relief at tracking him down. There's no reason for any other reaction.

"Hey, Richie! I been looking everywhere, next time you gotta take a leak, you could try using the john instead of some dirty alley."

The figure turns toward him, and yep, it's Richie. Slicked back hair, ugly glasses, black suit. Nothing strange there. Nothing strange, that is, until the man fixes him with a suspicious scowl, one hand slipping under his jacket toward the gun Seth knows is hidden there.

"Who the hell are you? How do you know my name?"


HOPE: SCENARIO 3
"Hey, sweetheart! Almost finished here, you wanna call in the rugrat?"

Seth turns away from the stove, the movement bringing a rush of blood to his head as the room spins for just a second. The nausea he feels the next instant isn't from dizziness, though. It's from the sudden sensation that everything around him is wrong. The sunlit kitchen that looks out at the ocean, the cool linoleum under his bare feet, the sound of childish laughter and the slam of a screen door...

It's all wrong.

There are family pictures on the wall, a sports car in the driveway, a half-empty beer on the counter, sporting a smudge of lipstick on the rim. It feels great, perfect, exactly what he always wanted and never let himself believe he could have. Seth's eyes flick toward a photograph perched on one of those little decorative tables in the corner, the frame leaning a little crookedly against a vase of flowers. Three familiar faces: himself, in a loose white shirt with the collar open; Vanessa, dressed in a pale blue sundress and smiling; a little boy, dark-haired like his parents, clutching a toy train in his hands.

An overwhelming urge to smash that photo against the nearest surface wars with the desire to turn back around and pretend this moment of clarity never happened.


[ooc: Both scenarios are wide open!]

[smited]

What? [ no, really. what? ] No, I--

[ the child in front of him shrieks. questions and distractions will have to wait a moment while he and the mabari take care of it. it's relatively quick work, though it does leave his formal wear spattered with gore in a way that's--unpleasant.

but not quite as unpleasant as the fact that some things aren't lining up quite right here. ] Do you not remember me telling you about how I found him? I know there was, ah, quite a bit happening in that conversation...

[ he lets the sentence trail off. even with all the life-changing events that happened just after he told her about finding the dog, that seems like the kind of thing she shouldn't be confused about. the mabari (who really needs a name other than 'pup' at some point) bounds over to cecily and wags his entire back-half happily. it's that more than anything that reassures him. if there were something truly sinister going on with her not remembering, the dog would be much more concerned. but it is worrying. ]

Sarah Kerrigan (primal zerg) | Starcraft 2: Heart of the Swarm

[swarm_embrace]

1

[The city is twisted and unfamiliar and terribly different. But in some ways, at least, it's familiar. Kerrigan has to be on her guard here, not against any familiar foes, but a foe waiting for an opportunity is enough. She won't run. In a way she's almost glad for it, an opportunity to lash out, to fight against something tangible. An obstacle that can be beaten with claws and blades and psionic blasts.

She can hear them, but she can't see them yet, so she's on guard. Both against the obvious threat, and the less obvious one that might be presented by the other people trapped here.

There's movement out of the corner of her eye so she turns and lifts a hand, but doesn't attack immediately.]

3

[This was far crueler than anything this place has thrown at her. Kerrigan wants to scream, and the walls and everything in the house rattle around her as her anger spikes and psionic energy rolls off her. What did it do to her. She's furious about memories being put into her head, and angry at having a chance for happiness snatched from her. With the illusion broken, she knows she'll never be able to enjoy this life. But the pain at that thought is short-lived, she's not going to mourn something that wasn't real to begin with.

Kerrigan only has to extend her hand and reach out with her telekinesis and the picture flies across the room to her. No illusion of happiness is worth giving up the real world. It's awful, and painful, but it's hers, and real. And she's not done with it yet. She runs the tip of a claw across the photo, but doesn't damage it.]

For what it's worth... living with you like this? It wasn't that bad.

Gren | The Wolf Among Us

[murderpotato]

1:

[A long time ago, back before he left the Homelands, Gren used to be the thing that went bump in the night. He used to be the creature red of tooth and claw, the thing that mothers told stories of to frighten children.]

[So he knows when he's being stalked like prey. He used to do it, he knows the dance even if this isn't his dance floor, and he hates the tense anticipation of just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sucks, being on this side of it. They're up above him, those weird fucking little kind-of-human things, scuttling around on rooftops; he can hear their little feet and hands scrabbling over masonry, but hey haven't attacked him yet, for unknowable reasons. It could be that they can tell that he's damn well not what he looks like, or that they think waiting will give them a better opportunity, or maybe waiting for something else. Who the fuck knows?]

[He's not going to be able to hop up onto the roofs to get at them first, though, and he doesn't like them having the high ground. Best plan he can think of: get to an open space where they can't keep following him above and either force them to give up or meet him on common ground.]

[Gren can handle it. He can handle his own goddamn self.]

[But he's more occupied with what's above him than what's on ground level with him, especially when he's going around corners.]

3:

[There's a pot full of water in front of him in the sink, and everything was fine just a second ago but now it's all wrong and the wrongness itches at him. He's in an apartment, which is fine, and it's not the shittiest apartment he's ever been in; a little small, yeah, but the place is kept up and it's got some shit in it that says people live there.]

[Gren looks up and there's a window across the room with a ledge large enough for Holly to sit on. She's got it cracked open enough to smoke out of it, and she's balancing a beer and a cigarette in one hand like the champ she is. The shirt she's wearing is too big and slips over her shoulder; one of his old beaters, too long on her and a little shapeless, and it looks like she's not wearing a whole hell of a lot else. Something in his stomach twists around like he's just swallowed snakes.]

[She looks up at him and asks if something's wrong.]

No, babe, it's fine. [The pet name comes out like there's years of use to it, even though he knows that this isn't-- he and Holly were never like this. This is a lie and it's a shitty one because he more than half wants it to be true.] Everything's fine.

[He abandons the pot and has to walk past her to get to the mantle-- and he leans over as he does, kisses her cheek because fuck whatever asshole stuck him in this bullshit lotus-eater machine-- and when he gets there, he picks up the picture that's sitting on it. Him and Holly, hanging around at her bar; she's sitting on the bar top and he's leaning against it next to her, her hand in his hair and his face tilted towards her, and he doesn't look like the miserable pile of shit that he normally is.]

[He hates this. He hates all of it, this stupid fucking lie.]

[There's a mason jar on the mantle a few inches away from where the picture was, about a quarter full of change and spare bills; the stuff that comes out of a pocket or from between the couch cushions. A label's taped onto it that says 'college fund' in Holly's handwriting, and another piece of tape just above it that has 'fucking' on it in his. He looks at it for a couple of real long seconds and feels sick and angry, but mostly angry.]

Well, ain't that a fucking kick in the head?

[He slams the picture down on the edge of the mantle, shattering the glass and snapping the frame and tearing the photograph in half.]

Z Delgado | Power Rangers SPD

[isacrowd]

fear 1

[What kind of twisted piece of work uses kids' voices to try and kill innocent people?

Okay, that question answers itself. But Z doesn't stop to think about it. She can't, when a pack of these ferocious, decidedly-not-children creatures is all but nipping at her heels as she runs across the arena. In the back of her head, she's calculating her options, like when she used to run from law enforcement in her and Jack's small-time quest to help the homeless like themselves. This weird place may be unfamiliar, but the logistics of a city can't be too different, right?

For good measure, she replicates, the copy a decoy and sacrifice both. It won't be easy maintaining it while actively running for her life, but it's an energy expenditure she's willing to make. Even a second of time will help. The trick will be getting these things to chase the replica, but at least she's had practice with that.

The replica appears wheb she runs past a pillar, as if it's been there all along, and veers off in another direction. As the crearures laugh their eerie giggles, Z's heart pounds faster. Please let this work. I don't want to die here. I can't die here. She has to go home, so she can fight along her teammates. If she's not there, their combined attacks lose strength, and they can't be weak in the face of the growing strength of the Tropbian Empire.

She shifts her awareness as she runs, replica-Z taking a look behind her. No little monsters. Damn it! They don't seem to be following the real her, either, so she stops, snuffing out the replica as she does. She breathes slow and deep, straining to hear those awful giggles again. Where are they? What kind of game is this?

Only a few feet a way is an exit, but it can't be that simple, can it? For safety's sake, even though it costs her some strength, she replicates by the exit and peers outside.

Nothing.

Well, then. Nothing to lose, right? Keeping her replica up and running, she heads over to the exit, listening for signs of those monsters, hoping, praying that they can't hear her heart thudding in her chest.]

--

hope

[It's the colors in that picture that brings it all back. Or rather, the lack thereof. There's too much dullness in the hues, too much grey. Her life, the one where she's been finding satisfaction and purpose, is vibrant and dynamic, where this, for all the happiness and peace in it, is simply static.

In this living room, she is wearing a pale yellow dress, pretty and comfortable. But it's wrong. She wants her uniform, with its smooth lines and bright yellow stripes, her sturdy, standard-issue boots, her belt and morpher, all the tools of her trade, to fight evil robots and save the world.

She tries to ignore it -- because she should, right? She should embrace this perfect world, where her parents are alive, where no one goes hungry, where she and Jack are neighbors, each with a house and family of their own. She's got a husband -- who knew? all this time, she'd never been sure she'd marry anyone at all, but life was funny that way, she guessed -- and a daughter, and Z's mother just called to say the baby is eating carrots just fine, how on earth were you not able to get her to eat them? "I don't know, Mom," she'd answered. "I guess she just wanted to be fussy with me."

The photographs scattered around the living room tug at her heart, but the warm feeling is tinged with hollow pain. It's wrong, all of it, like the picture. Because Jack is her family, too, and so is Syd with all her princessy habits and her generous heart, and Bridge with all his seemingly pointless rambling, and Sky all stuck up and obsessed with the rules and hurting just as much as any of the rest of them. None of them is in the painting, and her heart aches.

Sighing shakily, she goes up to the picture and looks up at it. And despite the tightness in her chest, Z manages a wry grin.]

It's not you. It's me. [It's her, with her love for her broken, beautiful world. It's her, because she can't be happy with this rewritten life.]

[closerift]

[ Of course, there's also that: the fact that the Commander is dressed not as he usually is, but in the red formal attire that they'd all donned for their trip to the Winter Palace. Thankfully, there's more time for questions once the pair of them (and the enthusiastic dog) take care of the small band of monsters in their midst.

Cecily stops, refitting the bow onto her back, catching her breath. ]

Did you tell me? I swear, I've never seen him before.

[ But she crouches, gently extending her hand for the hound to sniff, scratching him behind the ears if he'll allow it.

Eventually she rises again, smiling wearily. ]

I'm... really glad to see you, even if it is... here.

[ In their bizarre world full of twisted, violent creatures. Never mind all the strange technology, the people... Either way, the Inquisitor reaches out to lay her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. ]

Were you being fitted for new clothes when you were taken? [ She asks wryly, idly fingering the material. ]

[unknowable]

[That - was not what he expected to turn the corner and seem. And wouldn't anyone be a little squeamish, coming across that? Adam has seen more unpleasant things than he'd ever expected to, but each new one is a lovely new form of unpleasantness that takes a moment or two to get used to.

The sight of the - person? - themselves is a little unsettling all on its own, but at the same time not so unfamiliar. Adam glances at the weapon. If she's just put them away, more or less, then she is probably not a threat to him. Probably.]

What are those things? You shouldn't be out alone, either.

[Not that he is going to be any help in that area at all, but - still.]

[smited]

[ the dog not only allows it, he tilts his head into it and pants happily. ear scratches and belly rubs are probably his favorite things in the world. ]

No... [ cullen frowns, even as he reaches up to cup cecily's elbow in his hand. ] We were at the Winter Palace. For the Exalted Council?

[ there's a tension in his shoulders as he studies her. if there were some creature masquerading as the inquisitor, they wouldn't be able to create a perfect replica. and he's fairly certain the mabari would notice. but there's clearly something wrong and he--can't see any evidence of her having been hit with the kind of magic that could alter a person's mind.

in some ways, that's a lot more worrying. ]

Do you really not remember?

1

[isacrowd]

[Z found herself in this place by... she's not sure how, but she's had zero luck locating an exit so far, or another person.

Until she hears children laughing, and a voice whose tone she recognizes instantly. They need help, and goodness if that isn'f her job. She dashes towards the source and takes in the scene. Three things with clear ill intentions for the boy they are approaching.

Nobody's getting hurt on her watch. No one will ever feel as scared as she did as a kid, not if she can help it.

Going off the assumption that these ..things aren't too different from Krybots, Z runs up next to them and kicks the one closest to her in the side, hard enough for it to knock into at least one of the others. It's far from enough to do any lasting damage, but if she's lucky, it'll disorient them long enough to give her and this kid time to get out of here.

Speaking of whom, she now holds out a hand to him, motioning with her head in the direction she'd come from.]

Come on, we need to get out of here!

Hope

[americanclassic]

[Things have been decidedly... off, lately. Visions of friends come and gone, his mother, Bucky, Peggy... all come and gone and lost to him by nothing more than time and circumstance. Still, that didn't stop him from doing his 'rounds', as they were. Making sure no one had run into a stray bear or gotten into more trouble than they could handle. He might not be home, but that didn't make him feel any less responsible for those stuck in the same situation he was.

Even with the random visions, he was still surprised to turn the corner and see Wanda, standing there as if lost in a daydream. Not that he had anything against the newest member to his team, but all the visions had seemed more intimate to him. People that had climbed in and won a place in his mind and heart. Wanda was part of his team, but he could hardly say he knew her very well, let alone had any feelings that would cause her to show up in one of those random visions. Which meant this was either a lead up to something else, or...]

Wanda?

[closerift]

[ Cecily has never had a dog; it's more of a Ferelden thing wherein the stereotypes are completely true. She's spent enough time, though, in Skyhold's stables to know how to be in the presence of animals, though, and thumbs attentively at the back of the hound's neck before looking again to Cullen, frown deepening. ]

The- What? [ Now she looks concerned, more so than when they'd been attacked by demonic, knife-wielding children moments before. The Inquisitor straightens, body language on alert. Tense. ] Why would there be...

[ But she trails off, suspicion growing. Carefully, she steps back, again slipping the bow from her back. She doesn't pull it taut, doesn't aim it at him just yet, but her eyes are sharp. Clearly, there's been some recent trauma, some reason for her to distrust that the former templar is who he appears to be. ]

You're another illusion. [ Cecily says quietly, dangerous in her rigid stance and quick reflexes. ] I've only been once to the Winter Palace. What you've said; it never happened.

[ghflskhu_ph]

[It wasn't squeamishness that stayed Cipher's footing; no, quite the opposite in fact. From the shadows, Bill watched with an air of fascination as the stranger eviscerated the paranormal infant without mercy. Not that he felt pity for mindless flesh, but when squalling bundles of joy are cut down without a second thought, one has to consider how much better off they themselves are when they awake in the body of a 12 year old. Truly, of the hoard of the demonic children that just spilled into Hadriel, Bill Cipher was the Alpha demonic child at the moment. The second question is enough to let his curiosity win out, however.]

YOU SURE KNOW YOUR STUFF--

[Bill pauses a moment, quelling the echoing quality of his voice to something a little less ethereal. He couldn't just blow this off like his romps with the Pine twins or Sixer's dubious sense of friendship. This is someone capable. How thrilling. His tiny shoes scuff the pavement as he slips fully into the light.]

No stranger to this line of work, are you, Feathers?

[smited]

[ well. that's concerning.

cullen lets the dagger drop out of his hand and clatter to the ground. he holds his palms out in front of him, as if the gesture could placate her. it's hard to appear calm when his heartbeat has just kicked up a notch, but he tries. ]

Cecily-- [ he pauses. what can he say that won't end up with him getting shot? ] What's the last thing you remember?

[ where is the divide between them? what sort of a thing could they be dealing with that would affect her like this and turn them against each other? and how does he stop it? because this is really annoying and he would very much like to not have to deal with things ruining the happiness that came with getting married, thank you. ]

[closerift]

[ Unfortunately for Cullen, she'd seen other versions of him too recently. Phantoms of all her friends and companions chiding her, insulting her, hating her. And then hurt, tortured, dead.

It was almost too much, though she'd managed to (barely) get a handle on it by the end. Now, though... the old fear creeps in through the cracks in her resolve and she waves, conflicted. Please, don't take this from me, not again. ]

We defeated Corypheus. [ She says, though she isn't convinced he won't transform or attack at any moment. ] It's over.

[ That was before she'd been taken to Hadriel, anyway. It had finally been peace and calm, something none of them have had in a very long time. ]

How can I know you aren't another hallucination? That you're - That it's really you?

[smited]

That-- [ he has to take a moment and swallow hard. ] That was two years ago.

[ if it weren't bad enough that she seems to be missing two whole years of her memory, the way she asks if how she can know he's not a hallucination hits him like a knife to the chest. he remembers a time where he had been plagued by visions of friends. where he had lost track of what was real and what wasn't. the thought of her having gone through something that would make her question things the way he once had... ]

I suspect nothing I say will help with that. [ and yet-- ] But I swear to you, on Andraste's holy ashes, I am really me.

Haurchefant de Fortemps | Final Fantasy XIV (Heavensward spoilers beware)

[illiegetimate]

Fear 1;

[It's all too quick.

There he was laying in the arms of Aymeric, his hand being held by his dearest friend as he smiled on despite the agony, life fleeting from him with every pain-filled second. Just as everything drew dim, as his final moments left him--

he was awake once more. Somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere... decidedly less cold than Ishgard had been. It was dark, cave-like, and like nothing he had seen before. All the pain he felt from that spear of light had left him, as if it had never happened at all.

But it had happened... hadn't it?

He wasn't left to his thoughts for long, not when he heard some strange and alarming sounds from behind him. Swiftly, he turned to face the source (when was he standing? He hadn't remembered getting to his feet, and yet here he stood), brow creasing as he stared on at the rather... small creatures. They looked like malformed lalafells, without hair, grey skinned, and far more ominous.]

By the Fury--!?

[Drawing his sword, and brandishing his shield (he took notice of the hole and cracks within it, confirming what happened moments ago, really did happen...), he held his ground. He knew not what to think of these creatures, but he did look around for others--whether more of them, or those he might call upon as a comrad. Or even those unable to defend themselves against the approaching creatures.

Out of the corner of his eye he does catch sight of a group approaching someone--who he has little idea of, but it hardly matters when there are but revenants upon them.]

Look out!

[He calls out as he starts to rush over, hoping he will be quick enough to stop the fiends before they make their mark.]

Hope 3;

[Such bliss belonged only in dreams and fairytales.

For as much as he might have fantasized idly about settling down eventually, with the one he loved most--something about this was off. This was much and more than he could ever hope for, especially when he knows he's married to his dearest friend, and something started to feel wrong, like it distinctly was not real, that this might be some lie--but he hardly wished for it to be as such. Perhaps he's getting hit with an uncharacteristic bout of pessimism in light of having such a perfect life? Whatever it might have been, it kept eating at him all through this wonderful dinner that they had both worked upon to enjoy together.

Looking upon his partner just as they're finishing their dinner, he suddenly realizes he has no idea who they are, that, for all the amorous feelings he harbored for this individual it did naught to reveal their identity to him. Whoever he thought they were, most certainly is not who they are now. He stares on in confusion, before looking to his surroundings--while this place seemed like something of Ishgardian make, soon he realizes it is aught but. Perhaps it never was, but his mind made him believe its structure familiar, yet it never actually was.

The thought's unsettling, and it makes his gut twist.

His mind lets the pieces fall into place, and he feels physically stricken with the full realization. Icy blue eyes fall to his plate, and he is left without words. What has he been doing this whole time? How long has he been in this... lie? He's absolutely besides himself, trying to grasp for an answer as his memories of his actual life flood him; but perhaps the best source of such answers would come from his would-be spouse sitting across from him.

Glancing up, his brow furrowing as if he's both parts confused and concerned. When he speaks, however his voice seems uneasy:]

I... must apologize, as this will sound rather bizarre, and perhaps it is, but I have... not the faintest idea who you are, or where I am... and I would rather much like some answers, for I should not be here.

[Probably not the best dinner conversation, but hey, he can't help it if he's woken up in some weird dream-like reality where he doesn't understand a damn thing that's going on. Honestly, it's taking his will power not to react a bit less rationally, because he's on the edge of freaking out a little.

His eyes keep going to the portrait above the fireplace that's just in view from the dining room, and his mind is telling him it's the source of this confusion, but he waits for the assumed sentient part of this illusion to speak, before he decides to make his move for it.]