dankmemes | Test Drive Meme # 2

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!test drive

Test Drive Meme # 2

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.]

Threaded | Flat

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. ]

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. ]

Edited 2015-10-23 00:22 (UTC)

→ 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.]

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. ]

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. ]

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.]

Edited 2015-10-23 02:59 (UTC)

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!]

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.

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.]

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.]

Edited 2015-10-28 01:16 (UTC)

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.]

Edited 2015-10-24 06:18 (UTC)

[ It was chaos, and she didn't know how to handle it.

The creature, small and nimble, grapples at Ashley's knees. She tries desperately to shake it off, but it holds tight, small fingers digging into her thick leggings and the flesh beneath. She screams as a second joins the fray, stabbing gleefully at her, and she topples backwards in her attempt to flee, landing painfully with a screech and a thud. ]

Get off, get off! [ She can't pull herself up, not with the thing--not a kid, but, oh my god, it sounds like one--grasping at her legs. The second stumbles forward as she tries, in vain, to kick the first off. ]

Someone, please! [ It's so close. She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to die! She sobs. ] Help!

[ To say he's disappointed is putting it mildly. He's out, so it's a start, but this isn't how it's supposed to be. He looks down at his hands and they're his hands - scarred, rotting, peeling away. His clothes are still tattered and torn, and when he reaches up to touch his face, there's still the long scar above his eye and the thick plastic dome. This is his body, the one that was torn apart and thrown away like garbage.

Everything was going according to plan. Leslie Withers was brought in, drawn in close, right within his grasp. Everything was in place ... and for some reason, he's here. What's worse is that he's here, physically, his old withered and worn body from before this all ever happened. He's weak. He's not particularly fond of it.

There's a handful of odd creatures prowling about, making noises and chasing after other strangers just as confused about the whole thing as he is. But they're nothing much compared to the grotesque abominations he'd created back in STEM, so he's not overly concerned. As long as they keep their distance.

But of course, once he starts to leave to try and figure out where he is (and why it didn't work), one of them starts to follow along. He knows he's not in STEM, he has no control over this outside world, and his body is weak. He looks over his shoulder as he moves forward, and sure enough it's following behind, so he stops and watches it. Interestingly enough, it stops too, but not before waving a knife at him. Trying to be threatening, apparently, but it seems uncertain whether or not to attack.

Maybe it's not sure if Ruvik's already dead or not, or a similar creature like them. Honestly, it's an easy mistake to make. ]

I'm sure you have something better to do.

[ The creature laughs, a loud and shrill thing, but it only takes a curious step forward. If it's going to keep following him, that noise is only going to get more annoying. ]

hope.

[florian asks if he can help make the salad while ion's busy at the stove, and it only takes about two seconds of dubiously watching his brother wave around a knife honestly bigger than cutting vegetables truly requires before he vetoes that option and tells florian to set the table instead as he gently takes the knife from him.

realization hits sync like a cascade of ice down the back of his neck when he does and there is nothing right about this scenario. the quiet concern he'd fostered for the other replica just moments before disgusts and disturbs him. for a very still moment he looks between florian and the knife still in his hands and considers stabbing the wretched thing now to end its pointless existence.

then he considers doing the same for himself.

he doesn't want to give whoever thought it would be amusing to trap him in this sort of waking nightmare the satisfaction though. a sneer crawling across his face, he turns away from florian, turns his back on ion and settles his gaze on the portrait hanging above the fireplace instead, knife still clutched tightly in one hand by his side.]

He's trying to get his bearings, understand what it is he's walked into. It's a little sickening to think too hard on the whole thing but he tries not to, lets his thoughts fall away and instead be physically aware of the space around him.

That was significantly easier than getting lost in his thoughts.

Listening closely as he moves, there's something familiar up coming up ahead, a sound he is very aware of and it makes him stop. His feet refuse to move forward, his hands tightening around a knife that had managed to come with him.

No.

And yet even though he stops moving, he can hear them coming closer, can hear it being pushed towards him, even though it wasn't really that kind of mobile before.

He opens his eyes and he sees the chair, sees it waiting for him and two of the programmers and doctors looking expectantly in his direction.

"Come on," one of them says. "Don't waste our time."

His heart beats hard in his chest, his mouth goes dry and he can feel panic rising up inside him, telling him to run, to fight, to do anything at all. However, he just stands there, frozen by his own fear.

And somewhere, in a small quiet part of his mind, he says this can't be happening, says that this isn't real and that maybe he's not slept enough, or eaten perhaps. But he can't. He can't convince himself of that being true and instead he's left to feel his fear dictate what he does.

He takes a step back, stumbling a little as the hand that had been on the knife draws it out. His mind is a cocktail of flight or fight and he has no idea which is more likely to win out right now.

[The fuck is this?

Scout has no idea where he is and when in doubt the best plan of action is to yell a lot and start running. So that's what he's doing, swinging his bat occasionally to try to look somewhat intimidating.

The fuck is that?

There's a sound behind him, like laughter, and oh hell no is he gonna stand for someone laughing at him. Sure he's lost, alone, and taking random swings with a baseball bat at nothing, but he's awesome and everyone better know it. He stops running and holds his ground and...

The fuck are you?

Okaaaay, not what he was expecting. He actually backs up a bit, right into a wall. Awesome. No sweat. He's got this. Kind of.]

01.

Just children his ass.

The feeling of being watched and followed really wasn't out of the norm for someone like Tony. Everyone was watching you in Miami, whether you were worth watching or not. He shrugged it off, more interested in finding out what backalley he had woken up in this time.

At least his liver wasn't missing. Though, it might be soon if these little fucks had anything to do with it. When the first child had come bumbling up to him, laughing in its creeping way, Tony had stepped past it without incident.

"Piss off, brat." But then the second one showed its face. The third, the fourth, suddenly one gripping his jeans leg. The moment the boxer saw the glint of knives was when all bets were off. He had already killed enough people in his life, what were a few creepy kids?

act III- "Up Yours, it is His Beautiful House"

[You know what the weirdest part of all this is, right? It's not the delusion that had caught him half-way out an open door. It's not that there's no sky above his head. It's not that he's half-slouched in habit or fidgeting with his hands as if he was recreating some story only he knew the script to or that he's mumbling something about seafood and the necessary spices of. It's that Hawkeye's in his god damn A-Class uniform instead of the most basic of fatigues. The darn thing's got all the decorations on it- brass Caduceus on the lapels, brass "U.S" brand on top of them, all the brass buttons shined and accounted for, silver captain's bars neatly on the shoulders. For some reason beyond him and his comprehension, even in the moment, Hawkeye takes that much into account. He's tugged at the heavy sleeves of the suit once or twice or more in an attempt to get them to roll up his arm but never once did he think to just remove the thing altogether- the frustration of the fact that there's uncomfortable clothes in the way of whatever it is he's trying to do is starting to show. Hawkeye harrumphs, leaves the stove for a second and makes his way to that nearby door.

If he gets yelled at it won't be any skin off his nose- it's not like leaving the water boiling will lead to the house burning down. Besides, his old man is just one room over setting the table and prattling on about the news about town. Did you know the Harrison twins got hitched only two weeks apart? And to sisters? Everyone said it had only been for one to spite the other but now that they're nearing their anniversaries it seems like everything had gone swell. No burned bridges. Hawkeye rolls his eyes, a tired but kind smirk tugging at his lips, and he steps further into that room he had just entered. The pantry. The fire cackling in the fireplace kind of resonates in here more than it did in front of the stove. The smell of the burning wood and the near-done crab legs makes Hawkeye pause for a second before he resumes his fiddling about the shelves. Parsley. Parsley. Where the hell was that... oh.

When the man steps out of the room again, his brows are furrowed tight. He steals a glance upwards- just upwards, no reason- and then casually goes on about his business stirring something into an imaginary bowl. The fireplace had quit its crackling- and his father wasn't talking- and it wasn't any secret that silence made Hawkeye antsy. More than antsy. Just a teeny bit more than... roughly unsettled. But good news- oh good news! There's that old face, that familiar friend, that honored guest and timeless buddy peering into the kitchen now. The captain shoots the person a grin and an order-] Go turn on the radio, will ya. Or if you're coming in here to complain about why this is taking so long, go make yourself useful. I've only got two hands, ya know.

[Come near him, near enough that he can reach a hand out to catch a grip (pretty sturdy considering what a noodle he is) on your arm, and he will. And he'll be somber when he chances a glance at the ceiling again.] And tell pops to call somebody about that. If this places caves in on us while we're all sleeping, well don't say I didn't tell you so.

[Because something's already nagging at the back of his head, like something always does. And it's already telling him "told you so".]

Edited 2015-10-28 18:53 (UTC)

❧ ɪɪ. ᴛʜᴇ ғᴇᴀʀ ɪᴛsᴇʟғ

His armour didn't click when he walked, of the perfect made of a Noldor smith, it allowed Legolas to move as silently as an elf should. He walked the streets of an unknown city, looking around with concerned interest. This was no Drabwurld anymore, that much he could tell right away. It felt different, much like Drabwurld felt different from Arda. Yet a different reality in the fabric of the universe, yet another world that may see its end should matters in Drabwurld go terribly.

A mist surrounded his body, spiralling around his legs and torso and extending out only to return. Sometimes it would take up the shape of a horse, but for the most part it remained an indistinguishable mass. A long, thick braid swayed at his back with each step taken. Legolas didn't fear the strangeness, but it certainly didn't please him to have found himself away from his father and away from where he wanted to be.

He rounded another corner, passing a stranger as he went and stopped dead in his tracks. Suddenly all was still, suddenly he seemed to turn into nothing more but a statue made of fine marble. Pale, paler than ever, with eyes open wide in disbelief and utter terror.

The large bow he held in his hand clattered on the pavement when his fingers became too weak to hold its weight, his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Before him stood a creature he had never expected to see again. Tall, so, so very tall, a creature of shadow and fire, a Balrog. Its wings spanned broad, it held a whip in its hand, and it stood there as if in waiting for him exactly. Menacing and terrible, it seemed to laugh with great pleasure at this encounter. The whip cracked, the laughter intensified, while Legolas felt his back burn along the lines of scars with the memory of a different whip on a different day. And that pain was what brought him back, snapped him back into place from that dark well of panic.

He ducked to grab his bow again and it lit up with power as he bent it, the string was sheer energy and so was the arrow, appearing at his fingertips when he desired it.

"Come, I will fight you this time!" The fear made his hands shake, his knuckles white on the grip of the bow, until a noise beside him drew his attention and Legolas jumped back to keep a distance between himself and the Balrog and... whoever it was hiding in the shadows. He kept both on point, at the arrow tip of light, swapping between one and the other with panic growing all over again. "And you, come out of the shadows!"

fear: 2

[ She lunges, sword flying in a glittering arc before her, but it passes through her enemies like dust. In the corner of her eyes, she sees Solas stagger, sees Varric crash onto the ground on his back, beset upon by a terror, and she cries out in useless rage and frustration.

Cassandra attempts to rush forward, to come to her allies' aid, but her legs are sluggish and her shield is inexplicably heavy on her arm. Something rips through Cole, his body crumpling to the ground in a sea of blood, and she screams, the wind swallowing the sound entirely.

Helpless. She'd done everything she could think of to do - sacrificed so much - and it had all been for nothing. Her friends will die before her eyes. The Inquisition will fail. They will fail, and Corypheus will destroy the world, just as surely as if they had sat back and let him.

And there is nothing she can do to stop him. ]

hope: 3

[ She cannot remember ever being so happy.

She had dreamed of this in her youth. Trapped in the gilded cage of Nevarran nobility, she had had little contact with other children, little joy or diversions with which to entertain herself. Books had been one of the few bright spots of her girlhood, and she had spent hours shut up in the library, entire nights spent reading by moonlight in her chambers, until she could barely focus on her Seeker training the next day.

As she had grown into a young woman, even as she found meaning in her faith and her work, her fondness for escapism had not dissipated. Books were constant companions - romance novels especially. It was indulgent, perhaps even ridiculous, to imagine a heroic suitor coming along and sweeping her off her feet - but if her daydreams were far-fetched and fantastical, well, they were harmless as well. Living vicariously through the young women with their loving young men in the pages of her books hurt no one, but she had never expected to actually be living it herself.

And yet here she is. She brings the spoon to her lips and tastes the soup, surprised at how good it tastes - she had never had a knack for cooking, even when she had been allowed to try. She looks over her shoulder, into kind, adoring eyes, and smiles, feeling warmth and happiness pool in her belly. Cassandra blinks her eyes - and suddenly everything is wrong.

Wrong. She shouldn't be here; this isn't right. Her smile falters, even as she looks to the mantelpiece and the portrait resting there. The room is as cozy and welcoming as it had ever been, but still uneasiness ripples through her, and try as she might, she cannot bring herself to push it away. ]

FEAR 1.

[So... maybe this was a little disappointing. Okay. Maybe it was a lot disappointing.

The Surface was great. There was sun, there was light, there were humans and cars and highways and freeways and a lot of things he didn't really understand, but it was all new and exciting- And now Papyrus is underground again. Not even the underground he knows, a different one. One more empty, and even a little desolate looking. What's the worst of it is that his cellphone doesn't have service down here. He can't call Undyne or Frisk or... anyone.

Being this alone was a little unnerving, which isn't a feeling he has often. But standing around and feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to change anything! A new place should really be exciting! Even if it was actually really depressing and lonely! Rather than get caught up on the details, the Totally Alive and Animate skeleton starts his quest to explore by beginning to march his way down the dusty roads.

But the real question is, what's scarier; a skeleton who's moving of his own violation, or the fact several Grey Children are stalking a short distance behind him?]

Threaded | Flat

Haru Igarashi | zettai kaikyuu gakuen | fear

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

wanda maximoff | mcu | from end of aou

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

The Warden | Dragon Age

Richie Gecko | From Dusk Till Dawn: the series