September 2018 Test Drive Meme

[sodder]

SEPTEMBER 2018 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to September’s Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: OCCULT HORROR.

All Test Drive Memes contain at least one clue to the Deerington's upcoming in-game events for the month! Keep your eyes peeled! But...not literally.

Characters may die during TDMs, but you do not need to count it towards a game-canonical death unless you want to. Consider it a freebie. All TDMs can be considered game canon as TDMs introduce minor aspects about the world of Deerington that can be revisited by characters later on in the game. You may also use TDMs for your application writing sample as well as AC.

CW: Ghosts, demons, evil children, deformed faces, long limbs in pictures, facing personal traumas, your basic occult horror nonsense.

Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Prompt Three
Character Arrival
Master Navigation

INTO THE FURTHER

You can’t remember how you got here exactly, much like when you woke up in Deerington itself. Maybe you fell asleep, or you sat down and just rested your eyes for a moment, or maybe you were opening a door and you simply ended up here. It doesn’t matter now; there’s only darkness surrounding you, the only light brought by the lantern sitting a few feet in front of you, seemingly floating in the middle of nothing. You approach it, lift it high as you can, but in every direction, the darkness seems endless.

When you start to walk in any given direction, you’re alone for several minutes of your journey. Slowly, the foggy, glowing shapes of people wandering start to pass by you. Souls of the dead, stuck in purgatory, moaning for their lost lives and the tasks they left unfinished. They seem to ignore you, but are drawn to your light, following you as you make your way further through the dark. Most are strangers, but some of the souls may be ones you recognize from home, loved ones who passed that you never got to say goodbye to. Perhaps they look just like how you saw them last, or maybe others have become deformed, twisted from anger, hatred, and being left alone to wander for too long.

Eventually, you come upon a small group of houses. The images are just as fuzzy at the edges, just as encased in fog as the rest of the spirits around you seem to be. They look just like the townhouses, apartment buildings, and farm homes that you saw back in Deerington. Most of the lights are dark, but you see one building with a solitary light shining through the window. You feel drawn to it, something inside of you telling you this might be your way out. You pull yourself away from the tormented faces around you and head for the door.

When you get in, you notice you are no longer alone. Maybe someone came in through a door at the same time as you or maybe they’ve been stuck here for who knows how long, trying to find the same light you looked for. Even if you’re the type of person who would normally move on alone, you feel compelled to have the company, to stay close. Something about having another person with you in this place makes you still feel connected to the outside world, offering a new clarity, and an ability to press on.

The two of you eventually stumble on the door with light spilling out from the cracks. If you decide to open it, the apartment seems less brightly lit the moment you step inside, but it’s clear where the light was coming from; in the center of the room, on a couch, is both of your unconscious material bodies. Hovering directly behind them are black demons, moving as though they’re made of shadow, the bright yellows of their eyes the only thing that makes them stand out at first. You can almost feel them sucking the life from you, trying to bind you to this purgatory forever.

How you confront them and what is successful varies. Some people may have to embrace the inner demon they neglected for too long and others may have to destroy them to ashes. Will your companion help you and will you aid them in return? Or will you both try to fight for your own survival and leave the other in the (hopefully metaphorical) dust?

COME GRAB THIS CHILD

Walking down the streets of Deerington will often bring about strange sightings, especially for those who have only just arrived. Seeing children, however, is not usually on that list. It’s a town, after all, and the schools are often filled with them. It’s not unusual to hear children playing or see teenagers in the arcade mindlessly playing Pac-Man.

But then there’s him. A young boy, no more than six, with pale skin and dark hair, standing up the road from you, not moving a muscle. He’s staring at you quite clearly, face expressionless, but there’s something about him that makes you realize he’s been waiting. How long isn’t clear, but there’s an air of impatience that suggests it’s been a while. You’ve never met him before, but something in you knows him all the same, like an estranged family member you haven’t seen in years.

You could still walk away. Turn around and go the other direction. He’ll be there every day, waiting for you to stop avoiding him. Whenever you finally give in, you notice the small smile on his face as you get closer, a wave of relief at how angelic it makes him appear. Why had you been so frightened of a child to begin with? Had you even noticed you were scared before? He could be lost, alone, afraid himself - thankful for the help you’re about to provide him.

When you get too close, you’re finally able to meet his eyes. They’re black as night and for a moment, you feel paralyzed. Your head is filled with the sounds of screams like few you’ve ever heard before (if you’ve ever heard them before); filled with agonizing pain, an unspoken begging for mercy. Just as quickly as they started, they’re quiet. Deafeningly quiet. You wonder if it was all your imagination, until you realize the boy has gotten closer, and you still can’t move.

It’s then that it brings out the worst in you; for some, it’s reliving your worst memories, the most painful events of your life that you would sooner leave forgotten, doomed to repeat it over and over until finally someone comes to save you. For others, it makes you live your worst fears, becoming what you hate most, giving in to the darkest part of yourselves. Regardless of how it manifests, you are unable to stop it on your own. Only an outsider can help you. Someone has to get you away from that boy and he won’t leave without a fight.

TASTE THE APPLE IN MY HAND

The crisp feeling of fall is in the air and everyone knows there’s no prettier a place to be this time of year than Maine. People come from thousands of miles to see the leaves change and few seem to walk away regretting it. It might be a little early for the bright reds, stunning oranges, and warm golds to take over the trees, but there’s one activity that’s getting started that everyone can enjoy: apple picking.

The orchard’s large and neatly lined, each tree marked with a different color ribbon to denote which apples are which. There are baskets of all sizes to choose from, but just remember you have to pay by the pound! You can go on your own or off in groups, but the farmer will encourage you not to go so far that you can’t see the weigh station. They say it’s just because they’d hate for you to get lost, but there’s a seriousness in their tone that makes you wonder if it’s something more.

For those who stay in sight of the farmers, the orchard is a wonderful place to socialize and build some (probably rare) relaxed and happy memories in this small town.

For those who venture further, you’ll find why the farmer tried to reason with you from the start.

The first few feet you wander in too deep, it seems like the branches of the trees start to extend farther, twisting around one another, almost blocking out the sun. But the apples look so sweet, so bright even in the dim lighting, and you figure it can’t hurt to just go a little deeper to get the best fruit. You’ll turn around and head back soon as your basket is full and no one will be the wiser.

As you venture in, you start to hear the occasional crack of twigs, a giggle here and there, or whispers that you can’t make out the words to. Eventually the whispers turn into light singing, a lullaby from your childhood that you can’t quite put a name to for some reason. The farther you go, the louder it gets, and then… nothing.

You look ahead in the darkness and you see a young woman standing amongst the trees. She almost seems to glow, her white dress blowing in a breeze you can’t even feel. Her eyes are bright, her hair flowing freely around her. There’s something off about her smile, but you can’t quite tell from this far back.

If you choose to keep going forward, eventually you see the smile is too wide for her face, the teeth nothing like that of a human you’ve ever seen. She moves faster than should be humanly possible and her mouth opens wide in an ear-splitting scream. Her nails are sharp as knives and up close you can see they’re almost as long. You can try to outrun the demon, or if you’re not alone, you can even try to fight her. She can be killed by normal means; chop off her head or stab her in the heart if you’ve got something sharp on hand. The apples make for good weapons if you’re empty handed, and if you are smart enough to snag the rotten ones on the ground, you’ll find that the moment they touch her skin, there’s a sound like burning acid. A few good hits, and she may even run off on her own.

Character Arrival

You can read how all characters arrive in Deerington here.

There is not a collective "all these characters showed up at the exact same moment" occurrence in Deerington. Since characters fall asleep, die, or pass out at various times throughout all their worlds, it wouldn't make too much sense if they arrived in game all at the exact same time. There should be some discrepancy between character arrival, whether by a couple minutes, hours, or even days up to a week.

The players are entirely in control of how/when they want to play their characters arriving in Deerington. For TDMs, you can play it like your character has just arrived and that can be maintained as your game canon, or you can wait until game events for that moment. Or you don't need to acknowledge it at all. The flexibility for character allows a bit more of an organic feel to the character arrival situation, so please play it to whatever feels right for you.

If you are interested in having an "arrival" introduction for one of your TDM prompts, you are more than welcome to explore that option.

Comments

river tam ✿ firefly ✿ will match style

[enchangement]

a. into the further, come to wrestle with yourself

[ river walks alone, for a while, - a slip of a girl, barefoot, dress hanging off as if it belonged to someone who had curves once and not this broomstick child, hair moving in the still air, catching on dust and tangling on nothing - until there are others, until some of the faces are familiar, until there is a house, until there is someone else.

she stands close by and her fingers twitch, but she doesn't open her mouth. afraid of what might come out. a long scream or a truth unfit for hearing?

but then there they are, river and this stranger, and there's dark, black, malignant demons sucking the very lifefourse out of them and river gasps, afraid. frozen in place.

what will you do, stranger? ]

b. come grab this child, those that would rescue and those that need rescuing

b1. rescuing river

[ she looked into black eyes and now all she hears is her own voice screaming, the broken windowpanes in her head crashing into each other's edges, the skip of the surgical knife.

all she hears is screaming, but there's a voice begging underneath it, no please stop i just want to see my brother i just want to see my brother i just want to see i don't want to see it anymore please stop ]

b2. being rescued

[ all she hears is screaming even though there isn't a sound and she ignores the child (wailing, shrieking, pummeling her with fists, breathing fire on the back of her neck) in order to pull someone away with more strength than a girl her size has any business with.

once they're free of it, she looks at this new person and gives a small smile. ]

He traps them.

c. taste the apple in my hand, and abandon hope

[ to be honest river feels no compulsions to leave the warm comforting presence of the others, to wander further into the trees. what she does feel is the fear of those who have encountered the vision in white, and she stops, suddenly, before turning on her heel to run in their direction.

did you notice the girl run off? the farmers are shouting after her and all she says is: ] Too many teeth!

b2

[bird_thing]

[ he's back in that cage again, back there with taylor and this time there's no escape, doesn't even have his bird body to retreat from the pain into, except there's never really been any escape at all has there, trapped in a cage trapped in a body there's hardly any difference in the end but he's screaming and she's laughing and then theres...

... silence.

tobias comes back to awareness in bits an pieces. flexes his fingers, runs a tongue along the edge of his teeth, feels the ground press solid against his feet. it all feels wrong but in that wrongness there is familiarity, there is no pain, and when he turns to squint at the girl speaking to him confirms there is no taylor either.

her words take even longer to filter through, like he's forced to translate them from human to bird then back again, but those too come in time. ]

Trap them? Who...?

[awfulcer]

((OOC: Heads up that I have an opt-out here if you need it.))

[Dixon's not really great at thinking before doing, nor at assessing a situation, which is a pretty dangerous combination. He takes in the bright light and the scrawny girl and isn't immediately shaken by them; the girl looks like that ghost from that one horror movie he saw a bunch of posters for, but she doesn't appear intimidating or hostile. She seems just terrified.

The black demons, on the other hand. Those he can immediately classify as a threat. He lifts the shotgun he's been carrying around Deerington - ever since he got swarmed by police cats for trying to drive after a fifth of whiskey - and points it at the soulsucking creatures looming over their own floating bodies.]

Move, I'm going to shoot them! [The unconscious bodies may be in the way, but life's always kind of been one step ahead Dixon in terms of making good decisions.]

b1

[lednikovyy]

[ Bucky doesn't need to ask questions. All he sees is a creepy kid and a young girl who's clearly in agony and he acts without thought. He's a few houses down, but he drops the shopping bag he'd been carrying and sprints over to her. He blinks and the boy seems to almost vanish, but she's still here and she needs help.

He reaches for her shoulders, one hand cold metal and the other warm flesh, but they move similarly. ]

Hey. He's gone. Are you okay?

Arthur | Inception

[paradoxpoint]

I - The Further

He's not scared of the dark, but Arthur's not exactly happy to be out here on his own, lost and just a bit confused. Actually, he hates it. It's a damned cliche horror movie set up and he doesn't fancy being the hot chick that gets lynched in the dark by some psychopath, thanks.

Which is why he adamantly ignores the wandering souls - he's used to ignoring subconscious projections, these are no more than that. That's what he has to tell himself, anyway. Though it's not that comforting to tell himself that when he remembers Mal and Dom.

Dammit all.

So Arthur's quick to get into that building with the lit window, glock in hand just in case.

Anyone in?


II - Grab the kid

There's nothing quite like getting stalked, and Arthur does not like it.

He ignores the kid, the first time he sees him. Brushes it off as a kid being too inquisitive for his own good.

The next day he sees the kid again, and he's a bit unsettled... but ignores him again.

The third day, he says 'fuck it' and goes up to the boy, staring down at him with a neutral expression. "Hey kid! Can I help you?"

And then his world is swallowed up in the kid's black, black eyes.

His chest is burning, so is his thigh, and he's collapsed on his back trying not to scream from the pain and dissociating from it. Bullet must have gone through a lung, he can taste the blood and he's choking on it. He has to breathe, has to stay calm- stop the bleeding, it doesn't matter that it's just a dream, he has to stop the bleeding because he won't wake up, he can't- he won't-

The world's going dark around the edges and he can faintly hear the rush of waves. Knows he's going to fall into limbo if he's not stabilised.

His hands are slick with blood that isn't there, pressing down tight to gunshot wounds that don't exist while his eyes stare up at the sky with blind horror, unaware of the smiling boy still stood before him or the dead silence of Deerington around them both.


III - Apple in hand

Arthur's not really one for the countryside, usually, but... this is nice. It's relaxing, especially after everything else in Deerington. He can appreciate a bit of normal.

At least that's what he thinks until he hears the singing and laughter. When he notices it's getting darker, that he's getting all the classic signs of horror to get out. But he doesn't stop - he wants to see what's going to happen if he goes deeper, occasionally snagging a bright apple along the way... until he catches sight of that woman.

"... Hello?" he calls, frowning a bit as he moves closer uncertainly. "Are you lost?"


IV - Wilcard

II

[00nothing]

Alex has been pointedly ignoring the younger boy for awhile now, or at least, he's refused to acknowledge him. He knows better than perhaps anyone that age has precisely no bearing on how dangerous an individual can be, and there's something in the strange feeling of familiarity that emanates from the kid while he lurks in Alex's periphery that puts his nerves distinctly on edge. So he keeps his distance, keeps his silence, and keeps his own watch in return.

A long distance staring competition that neither is willing to concede. Until the boy manages to find a more obliging prey, anyway.

Within a heartbeat of making contact the man appears to stagger and clutch at his chest in a manner that has Alex pressing a hand to his own reflexively. He crosses the street without conscious thought, too busy shaking off the phantom memories of that day at the bank to notice until he's practically on top of them. This close, he can confirm that there doesn't appear to be any sort of physical injury, but the man's reactions are real enough that Alex doesn't hesitate to start pulling the man away.

Attempting to. Attempting to pull the man away. Content to simply stand and stare at people up to this point, Alex isn't completely prepared for sudden violence from the boy and barely manages to dodge out of the way of small, clawing hands. It's instinct more than anything that has him spinning on a heel to kick at the boy in response, and a lack of experience fighting anyone even remotely his size that leads to that kick landing squarely on the kid's head, rather than the general chest area like Alex had intended.

Altogether, it's enough to temporarily stun the boy just long enough for Alex to get an arm under the man's shoulder and begin physically dragging him away from whatever strange influences the boy had wrought upon him.

II

[awfulcer]

((OOC: I have an opt-out here for unpleasant content.))

[It's eleven a.m. or so, and Dixon's getting a start on his day-drinking. He's sitting on the porch drinking a beer and reading a comic book and not really paying attention to what's going on on the street outside the shabby little apartment complex he's renting a room at. He's humming to himself and wouldn't look up at all if not for the sound of someone hitting the ground, and then he twists around to see what the noise was.

The first responder training they get at the police academy Dixon went to was decidedly not great, and it's been years, and Dixon was hungover for most of the classes, and there are about a million reasons why he's probably going to perform suboptimally at helping the guy who just collapsed in the middle of the street. He rushes over, baffled by the way the guy's posture seems to indicate he's been shot in spite of the total absence of blood or noise, and gets to his knees to try and get a better look.

What, a seizure, maybe? A heart attack? Hell if Dixon knows, he's not a damn doctor.]

Kid, call an ambulance or something! [He looks up at the kid he just barked an order at standing in the same place and not doing anything, and then he makes eye contact. He feels a sense of uneasiness and exasperation wash over him; he makes a sound between a huff and a sigh.]

Great, more creepy shit.

Hank Anderson | Detroit: Become Human | will match brackets if prefered

[dcpd]

1; Into the further

Getting past the souls had been a bit of a challenge. Because for a moment he’d seen… he’d been so sure he’d seen Cole among them. But even if he understood literally nothing of what was going on, even if he was supposed to believe he had somehow woken up in some weird magical spiritual what-the-fuck-ever kind of world (he didn’t) he knew a trap when he saw one.

When he’d turned around the soul was completely different, anyway. He couldn’t even be sure. It was probably a good thing: he couldn’t have ignored Cole for long, on matter how fake this all seemed.

And so he’d kept on going until he’d reached the weird, fuzzy houses. Once again, he was reluctant to follow the light as it seemed like a very obvious trap but… he was also used to trusting his gut. It had gotten him out of many sticky situations and sometimes it was all he had when there were no apparent leads on a case, and so inside the house he went.

Only to find out that a) he wasn’t alone and b) … demons were eating his body?

“What the fuck?”

He all but screamed, reaching for his gun out of habit.


2; Come grab this child

It honestly hadn’t taken all that long for Hank to give in and walk over to the child.

He wasn’t stupid, and even if there hadn’t been magical dream-related bullshit he didn’t trust easily. And he definitely knew better than to walk into an obvious trap, so usually he wouldn’t have even considered getting involved with whatever was going on without a clue or a plan. But it was… hard, for him to see a child in need or in pain and not try to reach out, not try to help.

And so he’d given in. Ironically enough, because that was the way his life was fucking wired the reason he’d approached the kid to begin with was the same moment that was now repeating in his head, over and over and over. He would have appreciated the irony because honestly? That wasn’t all that different from what his mind usually did on a regular day. Especially in his dreams.

Just a recurring loop of the screeching as a car tried to swerve, the crash, a kid’s cries… and then nothing.

And Hank was on his knees, staring right into the kid’s black, black eyes with a glassy gaze and almost unable to move.


3; Wildcard

IT'S ME, WE'RE FINALLY THREADING TOGETHER

[brickbat]

So, North has had a time, if we may greatly understate for comedic effect. Rows of broken, mangled Tracis, especially when every third one looks just like you, well. She could be having a much better day, especially since most of the time she's been here has already been consumed by warped versions of her own memories seemingly intent on making her engage in some kind of personal growth as afterschool special music wafts gently in the background.

A human with a gun? Much, much easier to deal with, and by that we mean North of course instantly draws hers, further meaning that in addition to demons eating his body, Hank can now enjoy a tiny woman, LED blazing bright red at her temple, all exercising the right to bear firearms and shit. You know, the ones androids don't really have.
>:C!!!!!!!

"My thoughts exactly."

>:C.

>:C!!!!!!

The "my thoughts exactly, asshole," part is just. Kind of implied.

Jason Dixon | Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri | will match style

[awfulcer]

((OOC: I have an opt-out for a bunch of warning-worthy topics here.))

A. The Further

[Dixon neither knows nor cares how he ended up in the dark. There's some will inside him that's gone slack, and he's found himself apathetic about what happens to him next and sluggish about trying to make anything different happen. It takes him a few minutes to get around to lifting his lantern instead of sitting in the dark picking at a hangnail, and then it's not fear and curiosity motivating him so much as a detached sense of "might as well".

The glowing figures, though. Those stir up some emotions, most of which are disgust and uneasiness. It doesn't matter that they're strangers or that's Dixon's got a pretty blunted sense of empathy; there's something very visceral about feeling uncomfortable at the sight of people wandering around moaning. Maybe it's just ingrained instinct to want to avoid a threat, or to deny that pain exists if you yourself aren't feeling it, but Dixon feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and worries the fingertips on his left hand together.

When he looks at the faces of the deformed shadows, it almost feels like some kind of cosmic scolding aimed at him. His own face is permanently disfigured from the unfortunate fact of catching on fire a month ago. God knows he wasn't much of a pageant-winner before, but there's a difference between looking average and looking like half your face is made of melted cheese.

But in spite of any surface similarities, Dixon doesn't feel for an instant as if he's one of the glowing crowd. Most are strangers, but some of the faces look vaguely familiar. Writhing and milling, they're difficult to identify or make out, but Dixon's certain he saw a distant cousin who drowned skinny-dipping a few years back, and a great-aunt he met once when he was ten.

Then he sees a face he can't help but recognize.]

Hey! Hey, wait! [Dixon trots after the figure, but they're soon lost to him in the dark, and in his searching comes across a dim light in a small house. He jiggles the doorhandle, realizes it's open, and enters, only to be faced with a place badly-lit by the escaped light through a doorframe across the room and his own lantern. And met with someone else.]

Did you see Elvis come in here? Elvis Presley?



C. Taste the Apple In My Hand

[Somehow, Dixon's shaken the strange demon woman for now. He's hopelessly lost in the orchards, stumbling around and panting through the bite of apple he's forgotten to swallow or spit out since getting jumped while munching. The combination of being out-of-shape generally and a lifelong smoking habit turned what couldn't have been more than a fifty yard sprint into what felt like a full-blown triathlon.

When he's caught his breath, he stands up, finally swallowing the bite of apple and looking at the only-slightly-incomplete fruit in his hand. His shoulders draw tight, and he takes deep breaths through his nose as he looks around and tries to figure out which direction towards the weigh-station.

The childish sounds that led to the demon woman, in her absence, return again. Now that he's jumpy and prone to go off, the whispering voices no longer seem merely disturbing so much as actively threatening. When he hears the crack of someone stepping on a branch, he twists around and pitches the apple right at the face of the person moving in his direction.]

C

[thebigredog]

[ cliff keeps expecting to come across the witch the deeper he travels into the orchard, keeps expecting the branches to grasp at him like bony fingers, but the weight of the place falls heavy across his shoulders the longer he lingers, the deeper he goes, and nothing about this is as familiar as he'd first assumed.

it's a deep and abiding need to be contrary, more than anything, that keeps him going. that and the niggling thought that this is exactly the sort of place that oscar would get himself lost if he is around here, especially if he went looking for the witch as well. so he presses on until he hears the giggling, wolf hackles raised beneath his human body even as he directs himself toward the sound.

and then a freaking apple of all things comes flying at his head. ]

What the shit, dude! [ cliff yells as he ducks the flying fruit, tracking the apple back to its source with preternaturally bright gold eyes narrowed angrily. ]

Rico Dredd | Judge Dredd

[judgementcrime]

[ooc: warnings for Rico here!]

[into the further]

[Rico doesn't see many faces he recognises. Or rather, many faces he cares about. Some of them, he does. Perps he'd shot, citizens he'd killed with a smile. That's enough to figure out where the hell he is, however he got here. One in particular though... His mouth twists into a sneer at the hunched form that disappears quickly enough back into the mist. He doesn't feel much trepidation, or guilt, or fear about it. Just a small, burning ember of faint betrayal in his chest that he remembers, the disbelief of this was not how it was meant to happen.]

[But he reaches the light. And another person. Short, snappy answers are given, Rico barely engaging or acknowledging their presence, even as he stays close. But behind that door...]

[Rico's demons - are big. Even hunched over, they're monstrously large. Rico works impeccably well under pressure. He'd have to, of course, he's a Judge. But this is sort of the last straw.]

[Rico starts laughing. Hysterically. Loudly. He stands in the doorway wheezing for breath, like it's the funniest thing in the damn world. He can't help it, and it sounds just on this side of sincere, edging on demented.]

[It's also possibly the least helpful thing right now.]

[come dropkick this child]

[Have you ever seen a man in black leather and a helmet sprint up and kick a small child in the face?]

[Now you have. That's one way to break whatever hold he's got on you. He'd shoot the juve in the head, but right now this feels more right.]

Citizen, move! [Rico growls at whoever's rooted to the spot, giving them a little shove if necessary, a barking command that has every inch of 'I am an authority and do what I tell you now'. He's no self-sacrificing idiot, but he's got a very angry bone to pick with whatever this thing is, and you sort of coincidentally happen to be in the middle of that. At least he helped!]

[wildcard]

into the further

[vermillon]

[X'rhun really needs to get a good night's sleep soon, but of course Deerington has other plans. Of course. His ears have pinned back, and the fur of his tail have stood on end-- he's not pleased.

Once again he's being faced with his past, but this time with the faces of people he once knew. Every single one of them he knew in his long life, and has seen dead personally. And now faced with monsters trying to take the aether from his body-- and not just his body.

He sets down his lantern on the floor, and draws his blade. Bumps his shoulder into the other man's, as hard as he can in an attempt to shock him out of his hysteria.]

Get ahold of yourself, my friend.

lance | voltron: legendary defender

[planetonically]

a. the further (FIGHTING OPTION)

[ he feels like they've been walking for ages. which is definitely a feat, considering he's spent the last year or so of his life (give or take a few months) in space, where the human concept of time cannot even reach you. it's a wonder what biological clock he's even using at this point, but there it is anyway, tick-tick-ticking away as they walk on and on and on.

the wails never quite leave him. he can't shake the image of his meemaw and grampy among that crowd of souls, clutching each other, staring at him like they couldn't even recognize him anymore. it's me, he wanted to say. it's lancey lance. he had to keep moving, though, and so he did, like he always does, and eventually (finally) he comes across you, and their walk lapses into a tense but strangely amiable silence. a mutual undersanding. some company in the misery.

they walk on and on and on but then finally — finally — they get somewhere. another source of light, a door at the end of the seemingly endless darkness. he rushes through without even thinking twice about it. they'd been walking through what had to be literally purgatory! there couldn't possibly be anything worse at the other side of this door—

his shoulders slump immediately. ]

Demons, [ he says, sounding dry and dull and so close to the end of his rope that any proper reaction cannot even possibly reach him anymore. ] Of course it's demons. Because why not? Why not?

b. that child (LANGST OPTION)

[ honestly? he should have known better.

after all, he's usually so good with kids. it figures this place would take one of the things he's best at, cover it in spikes, roll it in all manner of feces, light it on fire, and fling it right back in his face. ]

Stop it—

[ to his credit, he does pretty well for the first couple of minutes. this kid, whoever he is — spawn of satan? spawn of satan — works pretty meticulously. he starts off slow, just prodding at first. in fact, lance had been so distracted by the demon eyes at first that he hadn't even noticed them yet. but they got louder.

the voices.

each of them distinct, each of them familiar.

soft, rich, thick with a lofty accent (oh lance. why would anyone ever choose you?)

low, tough, terse (right-hand man? yeah right. face it — you'll always be just a cargo pilot.)

warm, light, full of laughter that never used to sound so cruel (sorry, man, we just have nothing to talk about anymore, you know?)

sharp, calculating, dry (save your energy. it's not like you could actually keep up anyway.)

modulated, careful, sympathetic (don't be so sensitive. not everyone's meant for greatness.)

he hears them all, over and over, a cacophany of his worst insecurities, thrown at him by the people with the best vantage point for aiming — closer to him than any others have ever gotten before. he wants to fight, to fling his arms out and shove this kid away, but all he does instead is slam his hands against his ears and curl in against his friends' disparages. ]

Leave me alone—!

c. these apples (H/C OPTION)

[ when the crazy scary glowing lady finally leaves, lance hobbles his way over to his impromptu partner-in-apple-slinging. he's covered in rotten apple slush, dirt, and all kinds of cuts and scrapes. there's dried leaves in his hair, a twig somewhere down his pants, and he's pretty sure he bruised a rib or two.

but he's alive.

that's starting to become the strangest rallying thought lately. ]

Well, I officially hate apple sauce now, [ he announces definitively. ] Are you alright?

[ he's curled an arm around is torso, but offers his other hand to help you up if you need it or will wake it. ]

cyoa

( none of these prompts work for you? let me know and we can work something out or toss me a wildcard! )

B - oh hello

[shiro2hero]

[Some things make you act on instinct. Like avoiding parts of the town, or keeping a low profile about certain parts of your physique around the locals. Or, in this case, when you hear a familiar voice yelling like that, you don't stop and wonder if it's real.]

[It might not be.]

[But that's not really going to stop him from bolting forward. So what if it doesn't end up being real? There's a chance it is, and there isn't any part of him that can sit idly by if that's the case.]

[That's definitely Lance. He doesn't recognize the other person there. But it doesn't matter in this moment. What does matter is imposing himself between this bizarre threat and his teammate.]

Lance! Are you okay?

markus | detroit: become human

[demonstration]

01. arrival

[ markus has never had a dream. he's read about them numerous times, had even made note of a few for carl as he dictated their strange twists and turns, but he's never felt the weightless immersion of one, nevermind the waking up part.

when he does wake, he lies still for a few long moments, trying and failing to piece together a series of events that would end with him here in this unfamiliar room. north had been with him not long ago and the obvious lack of her brings with it a sense of unease. the last time he'd "woken" alone and disoriented he'd found himself quite literally pulled apart at the seams. hadn't they won the war that had put him in that junkyard just a few hours ago?

there's reassurance in just getting to his feet, but he runs a quick diagnostic in search of anything out of place, the results of which are almost surprisingly normal. he finds a basket and a letter, and perhaps out of an old and withered need to follow the rules, he peels one of the oranges left out in the jar and takes a meaningful if tentative bite before his attention is drawn by what feels like a sudden lack of sound. perhaps it's strange to find comfort in music in a situation like this, but he goes in search of its now quiet source anyway.

before too long, he's emerged onto the street after finding nothing else in the house, basket clutched in one hand. there's a change of clothes amongst his belongings which he's sure would welcome better first impressions then the stained and dirtied coat he wears now, but he starts walking instead of turning back. right now, he'd rather not be alone. ]

02. into the further

[ the darkness reminds him of leaping into the guts of jericho for the first time, the lantern light reminiscent of the flashlight he'd shone down long, empty hallways of what he'd thought would be a sanctuary. this light illuminates even less as he lifts it in the air and starts walking, but at the very least movement feels more like progress than standing still.

when the forms of his people appear in the gloom, his instinct after the initial shock dulls to remorse is to reach out to them, attempting to coax them closer to the light with words of encouragement, but they keep a wide berth. he calls to a few by name, but none of the fallen meet his eyes. and yet he feels the weight of their gaze on his back when he turns away.

markus is almost reluctant to leave the familiar faces—even those streaked in blue or missing pieces—behind, afraid he's led them astray, and so he sets down the lantern before slipping into the house with its own source of light. maybe they'll take comfort in it when he's gone.

when he realizes someone else is in the house with him, he straightens, both on-guard and hopeful. ]

Are you lost? [ his tone is determinedly soft, tamping down on the memories being alone with the dead would like to drum up. ] Maybe we can help each other.

03. a shoulder at the ready (closed to connor)

[ the house that north and connor share feels different then the one he'd woken in, but he's sure that has less to do with the walls and floors and modest decor and more to do with the presence of the two of them. it bolsters him in the same way it had as he'd stood on that stage and spoken to a near endless crowd of free androids. and after, as he'd shaken hands and smiled and ushered his people into a new beginning.

he's not sure how the situation here in deerington compares to all that yet, but when he turns to connor in the living room, he sees an ally, a friend. hard to believe that not so long ago he'd heard rumors of a deviant hunter who seemed to have a peculiar penchant for letting deviants get away, and now here he is, a leader of their shared revolution.

for a few moments, the quiet north left behind after her fierce affection seems heavy, but once markus has shed his coat for the sake of setting aside the majority of the streaks of thirium he bears, he can offer connor a smile, maybe a little worn but bright and sincere. ]

I'm glad you're safe. [ it's worth repeating, even though he's said it at least fives times since the three of them found each other in the street. ] You've been taking good care of each other.

[ it's almost a question, though not because he doubts for a second that they haven't. he just wants to be sure that they're not putting on brave faces simply because that had been their best line of defense for so long.

he also knows they're alone for a reason, and gentle is his preferred approach. ]

you know what i'm here for

[brickbat]

[ It hasn't taken long to figure out there are no normal days in Deerington, little pockets of grotesquery always scattered here and there like she's supposed to accept them as day to day, but--North supposes it qualifies as quiet, at least. The two most significant obstacles to the population, at the moment (contaminated water and enormously intimidating needles), are problems entirely of the organic kind, and so they enter only into her periphery.

Turns out, with a feeling like if North had the frame of reference she'd identify as the exact moment before a roller coaster swoops down its first hill, she'll need all her direct sight to deal with--with this, Markus just ...there, like his appearance in front of the town theater could in any way be something she sees with her own eyes and believes. Deerington doesn't give. It takes. If she has him again, can touch and hold and just be, with him, and then loses it, frankly she really is going to lose it. To the tune of setting the first thing she comes to on fire, and basically continuing on in that general direction until the Authority comes to put a stop to it.

Despite all that, despite that she feels fear and suspicion and self-protective walls springing up desperately as much as, if not more than elation, she doesn't approach casually, or cautiously, she runs.

And manages by sheer virtue of androids being ridiculous physical Mary Sues, to stop exactly one single molecule from just plastering herself to the front of his coat. ]

You... you--

[ Hi. ]

God damn it, Markus, you better be real.

[ ......................................... hi. She missed you. ]

logan / wolverine | xmcu

[danzan]

into the further.

[ Somehow, this seems par for the course. Logan stands in the doorway, looking at himself, and watches in silence as this sleeping version of him is being-- what, consumed? Taken?

The exhaustion that sinks into him, trickling like nutrients through an IV drip in a needle to his wrist, isn't necessarily new. He's felt this before. He knows what it's like to feel your life being sucked away from you more intimately than he knows what it's like to be happy.

Part of him wants to let it happen.

The problem, however, is that there's someone else lying beside him. He doesn't recognise their face, but he does figure that whatever he's experiencing now-- this growing fatigue, this tightening in his chest like someone's slowly pressing down on it-- must be happening to them, too. He doubts they want to disappear the way he does, and it's unfortunate that the only thing more potent than his own self-loathing is the little voice in his head telling him to do better.

So he searches the house. Searches around the house. Steps back outside, even as the fatigue continues to grow inside him.

Then he spots them-- the one who'd been lying next to him, wandering just as he was. Logan wastes no time in jogging over, arm raised in greeting. ]

Hey! [ Not one to beat around the bush, he grabs their wrist and starts to pull them towards the room with their sleeping bodies whether there's resistance or not. ] You're dying, and I think I know how to stop it.

come grab this child.

[ Logan's mind is gone.

His pupils have dilated fully, his lip curled up in a snarl, loud and shuddering and saliva dripping out the corners of his mouth. His clothes are ragged and torn, his claws shining in whatever light there is, and he stands in fighting stance with heavy breaths and anger in his eyes.

Hiding out of plain sight a few ways' away from him is the child, smiling as it looks over its creation. The clawed monster wants to kill. The clawed monster wants to feast. The clawed monster wants everything that James Howlett has been afraid of becoming, and it's the most beautiful thing the child has ever seen.

At closer inspection, there's blood on his claws, oozing down the shining metal and dripping to paint the ground red. The same red is smeared over his mouth like lipstick.

Logan stalks, continuing to growl lowly under his breath, and wanders the streets. The child follows not too far behind him.

The first scent of fear he gets, he'll follow. Only the fearful become prey, don't you know? ]

taste the apple in my hand.

[ He's taking a break from picking, sitting under a tree close to where the farmers are. Logan's not stupid enough to wander far out, not curious enough to give a damn. Quite frankly he's just glad there's an opportunity for honest work out here.

He takes a bite out of one of the apples he's taken, making a mental note to make up for it later by telling the farmers what he'd eaten. He's not exactly eager to be a thief.

For the most part he's docile-- likely the most easily approachable as he'll ever be, even if he's not the type to make first greeting or offer to sit next to him. Feel free to approach him, if you'd like.

Alternatively, seeing anyone trying to move further out will have Logan getting up and grabbing them to keep them from doing so. Just because he isn't stupid doesn't mean other people are, and it's an unfortunate truth that he's decided it's these stupid other people that he intends to protect to the best of his ability. ]

wildcard.

Happy to do arrival logs, other prompts, yadda yadda. Feel free to PM me for any discussion!

apples

[enchangement]

[ river is also sticking close to people and has taken to climbing the trees and jumping from one to another as lightly as she can, possibly startling a few apple pickers here or there with sudden abundance and upside-down slight brunettes. logan is harder to startle, however, because river can tell that he knows where she is, which...

does that mean he knows that she knows? she isn't sure and instead scrunches her nose at him from where she hangs above his head, upside-down from a tree limb. ]

Does it taste like real apples?

major | ghost in the shell (2017)

[imitable]

inner universe; (into the further)
[ Sometimes, she dreams of things she doesn’t really remember. Mostly of her conception, the distant voice of someone calling out procedure, the sound of water. But it’s always muffled, slipping out of her grasp when she wakes up, half remembered and half formed thoughts sinking into the depths of the ocean that is her mind. It doesn’t bother her so much anymore that she doesn’t remember anything upon waking. She knows now why she doesn’t have those bits and pieces — and what she does have are scattered at best, glitched and nothing more than symbols for a world she can’t really touch anymore. She tries to understand — was even working on it back in New Port City with the help of ‘her’ mother, but it’s difficult to feel at home in a life you don’t remember in full.

This isn’t a dream. This feels more like a Dive, plugged into the consciousness of another person or computer. She moves slowly, like she’s dragging herself through water while carrying a weight, but there’s nothing there — just her and the darkness. She pays no heed to the people following her. Fragments of code, she reasons. She doesn’t recognize any of the faces, wonders, briefly, if she should and then shrugs it aside. It doesn’t matter now anyway. She doesn’t know how she got here, what she decided to plug into to come to a place like this, but she trudges on anyway. Surely, there was a reason.

Hopefully someone was back out there, ready to pull her free.

She stops when she sees the houses, brow furrowing. These, she doesn’t recognize either, and her concern turns into annoyance at her own mind, at how she probably won’t be able to get whatever glitch is causing this memory loss fixed. But that door — the one with the light. There’s a feeling in the back of her mind — a message from her ghost.

She reaches for the doorknob and opens it. ]

rise; (taste the apple)
[ Batou would be laughing at her if he could see her now.

Standing in an apple orchard, a basket in one arm, staring up at a tree that’s just slightly too tall for her five feet, four inches to reach even the closest branch. She is, of course, contemplating jumping up and climbing the tree, but she isn’t sure her frame would allow that — she’s considerably heavier than she looks, and she’d rather not destroy the livelihood of these farmers who’ve been kind enough to let the townspeople into their land to, for lack of a better term, consume it. She can’t eat the apples, but she knows people who can.

And anyway, the act almost makes her feel human.

It’s while she’s standing there contemplating that she notices, out of the corner of her eye, a few more trees down just on the edge of the forest. The branches are lower — ones she could probably reach, and she gives the apples above her one more glance as she turns and starts stalking towards the tree line. The closer she gets, the more apples she sees deeper in the forest — and she doesn’t realize how far in she’s gone until it’s almost too late.

It’s dim, quiet. The first giggle she hears she chalks up to a glitch — she’s been having so many since she came here that it barely even registers. But then she hears a footstep, a crack of a twig.

She’s got an apple in her hand and thrown at the source of the noise as hard as she can throw it — about ninety miles an hour, give or take before she even blinks.

If it hits whoever’s following her, it’s gonna hurt. Whoops? ]

rise;

[enchangement]

[ it doesn't hit river, who is feeling very lucky that she dropped out of the tree she'd been climbing in to follow the major. the apple strikes the branch she'd been sitting on and it explodes in a mess of fruit and tree bark and river stands there, tilting her head downward as she looks at major through a curtain of her own hair. ]

Sorry.

Richie Tozier | IT

[trashmouths]

Into the further
[ This wouldn't be the first time he's been in pitch blackness, alone and trying to fight the urge to panic. The problem is that Richie Tozier is away from the Losers, and they were the only things spurring him on in the sewers. He swears he can smell the familiar stink of graywater and something rotting, even if the air here isn't damp. It sets him even more on edge as he stumbles around in the dark with nothing but his lantern.

He sees something out of the corner of his eye and fights the urge to just shut them as tight as he can. He settles on grasping the lantern so tightly his knuckles turn white as he heads into the house and tries to ignore the people. People? No. Figures, phantoms--things that make the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. Even if he's dreaming, which he has to be, it's too unsettling. He feels nauseous, for some reason. ]

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck...

[ It's a quiet mutter, a mantra to himself. Richie glances around for some semblance of courage only to come face to face with someone else, lantern dropping to the ground. Mistaking the other person for one of the ghosts, he does what any normal person would do.

He starts screaming. ]

Apple i
[ Asides from all of the creepy shit, he's starting to like Deerington. It reminds him of Derry, though that's probably just because they're in the same state, and apple picking seems like a perfect way to waste some time. If he can forget about all the crazy shit going on and how horrifying this place can be, then good.

He doesn't stray too far for a while, but he does wind up shimmying up a tree as best as he can, perching precariously on one of the branches, swinging his legs as he grabs at an apple. He wonders if his aim is still pretty decent, and after he shrugs to himself, he decides to find out.

Careful: the next person he sees that looks like an easy target, he's launching an apple straight at their head. ]

Apple ii
[ It doesn't take long for him to wander off on his own--there's so much to check out, so much to explore, this place is like a candy store for someone like him--and who the hell listens to 'you might get lost' anyway? That's a weak excuse. He's navigated worse.

Richie realizes it's a mistake the moment he sees something glowing and ethereal through the trees. ]

Hello?

[ Smart. ]

further, omfg richie please

[tagartist]

[ Chloe's gotten a little sick of the dark and even more sick of the shit that seems to lurk in it. She'd almost said fuck it to going into the house entirely after the last few experiences, but there was something about the light that had drawn her in.

She'd been looking through the nooks and crannies of the building for a while now, trying to find some kind of clue on what she was supposed to do here, when she heard the door creak open and sees another person with a lantern, jumps at the crash, and -- ] Holy fuck -- [ She's grabbing up his lantern and quickly trying to give him a punch to the arm with her free hand, as though that's the best course of action to get someone to stop screaming.

At least ghosts can't punch, right? ]

Are you trying to get us killed? Shut up.

Logan Delos | Westworld | (will match style)

[icanseethebottom]

i - into the further

Waking up in an unfamiliar place isn't something that would cause concern. Logan wakes up in all sorts of questionable places these days and this isn't any worse than any of the other places he's come to lately. No, the location doesn't bother him. It's the waking up part that's laced with deep-seated disappointment these days.

Getting to his feet, Logan stumbles around on his own, ignoring most of the human shaped forms, writing them off as particularly imaginative figments of his mind. Some form or shape of the park that continues to haunt him whether he's awake or asleep.

The heaviness in his bones grows with each step he takes, and that too is familiar. A weight dragging him down, away from the noise and failed expectations, the sneering and quiet disapproval.

But wait, look. Look, over there, that's you and someone else on that couch, wrestling with your demons.

"Are those yours or mine?"

---

ii - come grab this child

He's back in the desert, naked, sunburnt, dehydrated, alone. Leaning against that dead tree trunk, mind slipping further and further, he babbles about exits and mistakes.

"There must be some way out of here."

False realities but back then he had no idea yet just how warped his reality would become once he was 'rescued'.

"This is the wrong world," Logan tells the black and white painted face in his mind.

In this reality, he's on his knees, arms wrapped protectively around the little boy.

i

[paradoxpoint]

"You're asking me?"

Arthur's been watching those things from the shadows, breathing growing increasingly difficult as they sap the life from his body. Seeing the... projection? Soul? Of the other body next to his is hardly surprising, though he does do a double-take on seeing Logan's face.

"What are they?" he asks quietly. "Because I can see what they look like, but..."

He's not sure he believes in demons. And yet here he is having an out of body experience in a way he definitely hasn't had before.

Krolia | Voltron: Legendary Defender

[rattailmom]

A - Yeah, How About I Don't Think So

Okay, so that probably hadn't been her best plan. It was impulsive and crazy as hell and she's pretty sure that somewhere, somehow, Kolivan would be laughing at her. Probably in revenge for how long he had gotten stuck watching over her son. Who was a lot like her in some respect.

But in the end, it didn't matter. She was here now and that was a facet of this reality she was going to have to deal with.

Which had led her to this - her body on the couch in front of her and Krolia growling lowly in her throat, blaster in hand. If these guys think she was going down easy, they had another thing coming. She only hoped the person with her either agreed or stayed the hell out of her way.


B - What Could Have Been

Krolia had seen much in her life - as both a Blade and an undercover spy within Zarkon's army. She had been to multiple worlds, laid with a human and bore him a son. There were regrets in life - the things she had had to do to maintain her cover, having to leave her love and her son behind, knowing that she would probably never see them again, having to be content in the knowledge that what she was doing was right. That by keeping Zarkon and his army away from Earth, away from the Blue Lion, away from Keith and his father, that sacrifice would mean that her son, her family, would live another day.

They would remain free from Zarkon and the Galran tyranny, even as she spent the rest of her life fighting, never knowing how her son and his father were, but trusting that everyone would be all right.

Perhaps that once held belief that she would never see her son again is what drove her to follow the child. After all, in this place, you wouldn't want to leave a child alone, would you? All she can do is picture Keith at this age, in a place like this, and it makes her skin crawl and her steps faster.

But then she meets his eyes and her world falls away.

"They found the Blue Lion."

That's Kolivan's voice. But it shouldn't be - he never said that.

"They took the lion, razed the planet."

No. Her son and his friends had found the Blue Lion. They had taken it from Earth, formed Voltron. Her son had just been on the space whale with her.

"Commander Sendak said he found a half-ling among the natives they took."

She knew what happened to hybrids.

"He's being taken to the arena."

Haggar will get her hands on him there.

No.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"


C. The Apple Doesn't Fall That Far From the Tree

When in doubt, make it explode. When you can't do that, shoot it. Especially when you can't go to backup plan number three, because your son is the one with your knife. So when in doubt, shoot the hell out of it.

That's a plan that works for Krolia. Which is why she'll be playing ninja and hiding and dodging through the trees, shouting something that probably translated to something rather rude if anyone understood Galran, as she lines up a good shot. And when one of the shots ricochets and hits an apple, causing it to fall and hit the ghost, causing an adverse reaction?

Well, she might not quite the sharpshooter that someone else is, but she's not half bad, considering.

C - HELLO and im sorry

[shiro2hero]

Someone's shooting.

Sure, the situation isn't... great. It's quite possibly the opposite of great. More like terrible. He has no idea what this thing is, or how it got here. But isn't that par for the course for literally everything in this town so far?

It's less concerning to him, in this moment, than the shooting. Than the sounds of cursing in a vaguely familiar language -- he doesn't know what the words mean. But they're familiar. And it makes him freeze. Crouched behind a tree. This monster is bad enough, but --

-- one of them?

The monster screams, and he dares a look around the tree. Flash of purple features. Not. Good.

But maybe if this thing dies, he can duck away and warn the others before anything happens. So he scoops up an apple, chucks it at the monster himself.

Abigail Hobbs | Hannibal | will match format - cw: talk of death, impalement, blood, hunting

[illecebra]

arrival.

She moves through the woods, silent - the rifle a familiar weight in her hands. She can feel her father's eyes on her, watching her every move. There's a silent critique with every step, but this was her kill - her chance to prove that she was capable of doing this - capable of pulling the trigger.

She takes a moment, eyes drifting shut as she listens to the sounds of the world around her. The whistling of the cardinal as it prepares to leave for the coming winter, the rustle of the leaves as a breeze gently drifts through. If she listens hard enough, she can hear the water rushing over the rocks in the nearby stream. The snap of a twig pulls her focus, reminding her of her purpose.

She shoulders the rifle, raising the binoculars her father hands her - eyes zeroing in on the target. A tiny voice whispers in the back of her mind to let it go, there doesn't need to be any death. She can feel her body tense, mouth going dry. Her father's hand instantly settles on the small of her back, steady but insistent. He takes the binoculars, a silent instruction to finish it when their eyes meet. She gives a small nod, hands gripping the rifle as she takes a steadying breath.

She can do this... It's not like she hasn't pulled the trigger before...

Lining up the shot, she tracks her target. It needs to be a kill shot, suffering was unnecessary if it could be avoided - All part of honoring the kill. She takes another breath before pulling the trigger, bullet entering the target's heart and killing her in one blow. This was her father's game - not hers. He presses a kiss to her temple, murmuring words of praise, and moves towards the fallen victim. And that's when she notices the doe's form taking on a very human shape, as if an illusion had shattered. And suddenly her father's face is no longer his, but Hannibal's. The panic starts to set in as the heavy weight of her actions settles on her shoulders. It was easier than it should have been, taking another life. There's no overwhelming sense of guilt she'd been expecting and that's more chilling than anything she'd been prepared for.

The vision changes again when she starts feeling the pull, which turns into being dragged. The pain is white hot, her hands moving to protect herself from the antlers as she feels her back being ripped to pieces by debris. The words barely register above her screams of pain, jarring herself awake finally in a bed that isn't hers.

She takes a moment, attempting to slow her erratic breathing and shake off the goosebumps on her skin. She grabs at her shirt, not surprised to find it drenched from sweat, hand moving to run through her hair as she tries to get herself together. The nightmare had been different, jarring. It had felt so real - fingers trying to reach her back to see if she was bleeding.

And that's when she notices her new tattoo on her forearm, a scream ripping itself out of her throat as she rubs at the skin in a blind panic - trying to make it go away. It had to be a hallcination, a visual manifestation of her guilt. It had to be - she didn't remember getting a tattoo. It had to go away. It wasn't real. None of this was real. Oh god.

into the further (a).

Abigail had thought she was walking down a hallway, instead stepping into darkness that wasn't here a moment ago. Picking up the lantern, she starts moving - trying to get through it as best she can. And that's when she sees a shadow, straight ahead - seeming to wander aimlessly.

"Marissa..." It's soft, spoken before she even realizes it. The last time she'd seen the only friend she'd had left, she was impaled on her father's antlers. And then the other girls slip out of the shadows, tendrils of a recurring nightmare wrapping around Abigail's throat like a familiar friend. She freezes, unable to breathe as panic washes over her. Somehow, she finds the power to drive her feet forward, head down as she does her best to ignore the weak murmurs. Abigail takes some reassurance that they don't seem to be approaching her, no angry screaming like she's used to. She could get through this.

If only it were that simple, but they weren't the only ghosts in her closet.

She turns directions, following her gut - running directly into her father. You didn't honor every part becomes his mantra as he approaches, expression etched in rage as he grabs for her. Panic sets in as the fingers make contact, knowing exactly who he was talking about. She tries to rationalize this as some sort of hallucination, a waking nightmare of sorts. Or she was dead. Hannibal had done it and added her to his extensive list of kills.

I'm sorry I couldn't protect you in this life.

Hannibal's words echo in her mind as she starts running - trying to stay out of reach of her father. When she spots another light, possibly coming from a window. Her lantern bounces in her hand somewhat precariously, breath coming in faster and faster bursts. Another figure breaks away from the mass of shadows dancing in the darkness of her periphery, the only thing stopping her from reaching her final destination.

"Mom--" She takes a step towards her, but it falters when the other woman's head cants to the side slightly - gash along her neck creating a disturbing image. Abigail finally screams, the lantern falling out of her grasp as her father reaches her - cold arms wrapping around her from behind. Locked in a memory of when he'd tried to kill her, she doesn't fight it - instead trying to plead with the rushed whispers of anger and apology against her temple. He didn't have a knife, but as she feels herself getting dragged backwards into the darkness slowly... She doesn't fight it. Even if it could possibly kill her. And just when she'd been so close to the house that had been drawing her near.

Damn.

into the further (b).

There's a certain resignation that washes over her as she watches herself being leeched dry by a demon. Almost closure, of a sort. Like she deserved this - it was a fitting punishment. So much of her life hadn't been her own in the last year or so. First her father was the primary draining force, then the weight of her actions in luring her look-alikes to their deaths, and then the blood on her hands from her own choices. She'd concealed the truth and played a victim because... She was. In a twisted way. Yes, she'd been the bait for her father's victims to preserve her own life and she'd been set up in a way as a test from Hannibal with Nicolas. She was nothing more than a pawn in a large game of chess that she'd been a step behind on. Hannibal had been wrong, however -- she wasn't a survivor. She was the monster she knew rested deep within a small part of herself, molded and shaped by bigger monsters in her life.

Something tells her to fight, but instead she just stares blankly - the trauma of seeing her family and the victims overwhelming. Perhaps the demon was Nicholas Boyle. Maybe this was why her father had told her to honor every part of the kill, so they wouldn't turn into soul-sucking demons with yellow eyes.

Or she was finally going insane and could actually say she belonged in group therapy with the others. Locked safely behind walls and bars where she couldn't hurt anyone else. She'd imagined death would be far more peaceful than this, shock wrapping around her in a loving hug. There was a familiar numbness that accompanied it, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tries to find what little fight she had left to even make an effort.

To justify to herself that she was worth fighting for.

wildcard.

[ ooc: CYOA or hit me up on plurk @ hoopskirts if you'd like a custom starter or have any questions! ]

into the further b

[lednikovyy]

Bucky stands behind her, watching the demons. This is what he deserves after everything he's done. No amount of therapy is really going to wash away all the blood on his hands. He can smile and push through it all he wants, but the truth remains: he's living on borrowed time he doesn't deserve.

Deserving doesn't mean much to him, though. He's got people relying on him. They want him around, so he can't stay here, because he might deserve this, but they don't.

His fast twists up and he charges past Abigail towards the demons and their bodies.

"Hey! Get away from us!" He punches at one of the demons, but it moves away and dodges the blow.

Still, it looks annoyed and that makes Bucky want to fight that much harder.

Hana Song ✿ Overwatch

[mekanics]

Into the Further

When she came to, the first thing Hana did was take a quick inventory of herself. She had a bag of supplies - which blessedly included her blaster - but not much else to go on. It wasn't exactly helpful to a person in survival mode. The fog put her on edge but she carried on, holding tightly to her blaster in both hands with her bag slung over her shoulder. Carefully her eyes scan her surroundings as she moves deeper into the fog.

The spirits themselves made her start at first, yet there were worse things than spirits, she knew. Nothing had attacked her yet as she kept moving until she found somewhere to stop. The light in one of the houses drew her in.

"This is it." Maybe someone was there? If not she had a blaster in her hands and enough ferocity for someone twice her size. She follows the houses all the way to the one with the light, gaze hard and determined. She was going to get answers.

Letting herself in to the house, she realizes that she's found where she needs to be. The light is less dim inside, but there might be answers here.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" At the sight of the demons, Hana gasps and raises her gun. Seeing herself was even worse. "What? How?!"

It was like something out of a nightmare.

Come Grab this Child

[Once getting over the initial shock, exploring was easy. She had begun to feel curious about what she could find in this strange place. It was like something out of a scary story. Seeing children about was actually a relief, if not for the one that seemed to be watching her and somehow showed up where ever she went.]

Uhm... excuse me are you lost?

[She finally stops to ask him once it becomes clear he's always near by, though not quite in her space. She was used to people being curious about her back home. Being a 'celebrity' often drew that crowd, but she always greeted them with a smile and maybe even threw in an autograph or two. Anything for her people, really. This was different.

As soon as she approached him, the thing that was off became apparent. His eyes. They were like looking down a bottomless pit, black and all encompassing. Before she even reaches out to touch him, Hana flinches away. She could hear screams - her own and that of her team. The sound of warning alarms fills her ears and suddenly she's back on the battle field, her MEKA taking damage and her team calling for her, in need of backup.]

No- no.

[She staggers back, falling over completely and letting out a scream, completely caught up in the images as they overtake her. It was like an endless loop of fear and anxiety and sounds and the sensation of her canon locking up in her hands. There would be no saving her team. She had let them down. Over and over and over again.]

Wildcard! Network prompt for funsies

[Hana was itching for something to do. Just sitting around and getting used to this place was one thing. If she couldn't find her way home, she wanted something to do for fun.]

Hey~ someone tell me where there's something fun to do around here? I like video games, but maybe there's something just as good? I can also fix things if anyone has something like a bike or a car they need to fix.

[If only she had her MEKA or a hoverbike or something to tinker with. Not that it was important. She would do what she could in this place to keep busy. It wasn't all that bad.]

network | video - un: price is right

[tagartist]

[oh shit oh shit oh shit she's cute oh shit ]

Uh - there's a - an arcade in town that has some pretty decent video games. Whole range of shit, actually.

Are you a mechanic? [ Don't use this for cheesy pick up lines, Price, you are better than this. ]

Hammerhead | Marvel (Earth 26496)

[onethickskull]

A. The further

[Hammerhead had an easier time getting through the ghostly parade than most. Sure, the whole experience was well outside the scope of what he'd consider normal, but if he'd learned anything over the years it was how to shut out the more unpleasant experiences and focus on what needed done. There'd be time to try and figure out what the hell was going on later. Besides, most every one of the spooks were faces without any name to them. The rare few that weren't, he didn't want anything to do with anyway- he was pretty sure he'd even seen his old man wandering around, looking every bit the same bloodied and mangled mess he remembered. No love lost between either of 'em then, either. So on he walked, letting the dead make all the racket they wanted, while he just kept on with a calm, quiet pace.

It wasn't until he'd found his way inside what he thought might be an occupied house that he bothered making any noise at all. Even then, it wasn't to politely call out to see if anyone was home. Words were something he'd save for the living, for now all he bothered with was an irritated, guttural growl at his current predicament. Especially since now that he was inside, the place seemed a whole lot darker than it did out there. He swore he'd seen somebody in here...]


This right here? This shit's why nobody wants to go apple picking.

[Anyone brave / foolish enough to ignore the warnings and go out just a little too far into the orchard will discover they're not alone in short order. And not just due to some murderous she-demon with a slasher smile: Hammerhead's busy trying to stagger his way back to the weigh station. Or rather, where he thought the weigh station was. But getting lost under some apple trees was obviously the least of his concerns at the moment. That nice suit of his wasn't so nice anymore, with large cuts that go clean through and a lot of blood ruining the material in equal measure.

Frankly, he looked like he'd tried going ten rounds with some kind of wild animal, or something that was sporting some nasty claws. Most of the damage seemed to be around the sides of his impressively wide frame, but a set of three nasty gashes ran across the left side of his head as well. He was fortunate he didn't lose an eye, even if his vision wasn't quite what it was this morning. He'd even torn off part of the sleeve on his right arm to make an improvised field dressing around his forearm after having a not insignificant piece of it nearly sliced clean off.]

Quit gawkin and gimme a hand here!

[...well that call for help came out as less of a request and more like an angry, rasping snarl. Nearly getting carved up like a Christmas turkey might have something to do with his shortness of breath and much shorter temper. Really, was it even possible to be this offended at the only person in sight who might be able to keep him from just collapsing in the middle of a field somewhere to bleed out? Signs pointed to yes. Sure, asking for help from the first non-murderous person he came across was a pretty good plan given the current situation, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And to be fair, every part of him was in all kinds of pain right now.]

And be quick about it, the damn broad's still out there!

apple picking

[immaterium]

[Why were all the men here so warp-damned rude? Mita blinks, but it seems to be more at the rudeness of his greeting rather than anything else about his appearance, including his injuries. The sight of an abhuman she's used to, and almost would play on her sympathy if he didn't open his mouth.]

I'll come as I want, ser. [she says, shortly. And maybe he used an unfortunate choice of words, considering she had one arm.] And how exactly do you want to be offered assistance?

Kaihime | Samurai Warriors

[bearwoman]

[Arrival]

[This is bullshit. Kai didn't know where she was, who these people were-- And where was her sword!? The house style is alien, the foreigners milling about outside even more so. The letter makes no sense...

To say that Kai's angry would be an understatement, but beneath that anger is a cold fear. Hayakawa was back at Oishi castle still, wasn't she? Kai could remember battle, and then... What? Was she dead? She didn't remember being struck and a cursory look over herself told her she had no wounds. Whatever. Think of it later.

Much like the bear she hated being compared to, Kai stomped her way down the street, jogging and grabbing at people with a furious look]

Hey! Which way to Oishi Castle!? This isn't a game, I need to get back to the fight! The Toyotomi-- Ugh, look, this isn't the time, which way!?

[The NPC she's shaking looks rather haggard and offended by the rough treatment. Help??]

[Grab The Child]

[It feels like her head is going to split open. She'd been uncomfortable with the child to begin with--she was never very good with kids anyhow--but those eyes...

Kai had found herself on her knees in an instant, hands pressing against her ears in an attempt to block out the screams she could hear, but it felt like it was coming from inside her head. When she looks up at the child, blinking back the sudden pained tears, she can do nothing but gape.

And then the memories well up in her head again, the voices she'd heard suddenly having a ringing clarity on who they belong to. The guilt and disappointment of the old man and her not-brother...]

Ujiyasu-sama... Saburo-kun...! [She clutches at her head and grits her teeth, feeling suddenly terrible weak and pathetic, the guilt crushing as she curls up on the ground]

[Apples]

[Kai had heeded the warning for all of 3 minutes before wandering off in search of the biggest tree with the biggest apples. Her basket is left at the bottom of the tree, which anyone might stumble upon, until an armful of apples comes raining down from the tree limbs above]

Whoops! Hey! Look out below!

[That warning comes a little too late though, since she already just dropped all her apples on the person's head and all but. It's the thought that counts? Maybe? Kai grins sheepishly and waves from where she's crouched on a tree limb.]

You alright?

apples, I meant to tag this earlier I feel terrible

[justbeingknife]

[ Call it an intrinsic hazard; Majima, in the middle of enjoying a crisp autumn apple, was not particularly paying attention to nearby dangers. Kai's apples were on his bad side, and he had time only to bring up an arm and shield himself (and his snack) before the rain was upon him. ]

Ow! Fuck.

[ He lowered his arm and spotted her in her perch. Well, at least she seemed sorry. ]

What, am I the one millionth customer? ...yeah, I'm fine. Gonna take more than a few fruits to do me in.

[keita]

(( ooc: keita has a clairvoyance opt-in/opt-out here!! no content warnings, just for his dubious future-telling capabilities

also please be gentle this is like a baby test drive ;_; ))

COME GRAB THIS CHILD

[ the worst part is being aware that he can't move.

no, that's not exactly it. worse than not being able to move: all five of his brothers riddled with bullet holes, four of them burned beyond recognition (possible) his cousin crushed and bleeding under a pile of hagi castle wall (possible) himself strung up and gutted by the sword takahiro carries (impossible) thaniel blown to pieces by the clan na gael bomb after keita's alarm didn't sound (impossible but very nearly possible) his head crushed under the weight of a thousand tons of steel train (possible) a bomb blast that very nearly kills him (possible).

keita's whole being is a scream stuck in the back of his throat, the sensation of choking on nothing but his own memories. ]

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

[ the octopus is heard before he's seen, in the small tinkling sounds of clockwork and the gentle scrape of his metal casing on the ground. when he is seen, he looks improbable: bronze and nearly lifelike, except that he's clearly a clockwork creature housed in metal.

he comes up to your feet and, very carefully, reaches a tentacle up to touch your ankle. if you let him, he'll push up the hem of your pants if necessary, stroke your sock, and then withdraw and dart off back to his maker, who scoops him up with the ease of habit. ]

Oh—Katsu. [ keita is improbable too, japanese and golden-haired (although his roots are growing in black), small of stature and speaking english with a perfect northern england accent. ] I'm so sorry. He collects socks.

choose your own adventure!

[enchangement]

[ river is wearing her combat boots, for once, and the poor octopus has to reach down a little bit in order to find her mismatched sock, but it exists. all the while river, long brown hair past her shoulders, simply grins down at the little being.

it's so impossible! and so cute! ]

How did Katsu come to be?

[ was he built or born? either seems possible, here. ]

Leonard Snart ❅ Flash/LoT (Tentatively does a thing)

[frostyfelon]

❅ [Come Grab This Child] (CW: Child abuse)

The kid caught his eye and warily, he kept walking, but also kept an eye on him as he passed. He was just standing there, in the middle of the street, smiling. Leonard wanted to think he was cold enough to just keep walking, and had that literally been anyone else, he would have. But he had a bit of a soft spot for kids. Just a bit. Smallest bit. Teeny weeny bit. So, about the time he was parallel with the kid, looking at that innocent smile out of the corner of his eye, he sighed. Perhaps it was a little more forceful than a sigh, as there might have been some feigned irritation etched into it, amplified by the near constant frown frozen in his features, he cut to the left and started towards the kid.

"Hey." He called. "All it takes is one inattentive driver and you're a pancake, kid."

The kid just smiled and giggled, but as he approached, he tilted his head up and locked eyes with Cold. Cold froze. It was like the screams of thousands just pierced his ears for a moment. A breath later and all Leonard could see was his sister, blood, a broken bottle, and their father. Numbing fear like he hadn't felt in decades paralysed his limbs. He could take the beatings, but Lisa...

Over and over, he watched her fall. He watched himself fail to stop it from happening. He watched himself fail Lisa and she would forever bear those scars because he couldn't protect her. He'd even gone back and tried to change the past but...

'Despite your intervention, his future remains unchanged.'

What was worse was that he had a feeling it was the black-eyed kid pulling those memories to the surface, making him suffocate in this hell. The kid that, when he'd looked into those eyes, felt like he'd fallen into a void of torment. Wouldn't attacking a kid be a little counter-productive as he relived this nightmare? That'd make him no better than his father... Not that he could move on his own anyway. So yeah. If someone would like to ground this brat, that would be appreciated.

❅ [Taste the Apple in My Hand]

The apple thing wasn't quite his jam. Neither was the socialising. But as it was, the apples were more interesting than the socialising, so he went on his way. He didn't take a basket. Maybe he should have. Neither did he pay the warning any mind. Again, maybe he should have. It was an orchard. What could possibly go wrong out here? Well, when one asks, the fates with their twisted sense of humour like to deliver.

The first twig that snapped behind him, he whirled around to catch a glimpse of fluttering cloth disappearing into the thicket. Great. Someone had followed him.

"If you're lost, the path is quite obvious." He lilted dryly. "If you're bored, find someone else to play with. I'm not interested." He waited, scanning the treeline for any further movement, listening for any other sounds, but nothing came. That set him more on edge. After another couple minutes, he continued on, but it was more with the intention of catching his stalker rather than out of any false sense of security. His hands might look relaxed at his sides, but in fact, he was itching to reach for the gun that he didn't have with him. An improvised weapon would be better than nothing in any case, so he reached out and snatched a crisp apple from one of the trees. He took a bite and kept walking until he heard yet another sound behind him: faint singing.

The song grew louder and louder until he could almost hear the words, but not quite. Just then, he realised he heard someone else nearby. He caught sight of a glowing figure, but she wasn't who he heard. It was one of the other guests that had been at the orchard. Great. He was not only weaponless in a prison of apples with a ghostly figure, but he was also responsible for a newcomer that said ghostly figure was currently stalking. He hated being responsible for others...

"Catch." Cold called out and tossed the apple directly at the woman's head as she lunged at the newcomer, all claws and teeth. He'd seen a lot on the Waverider, but this was something different. When she screeched angrily at the impact and staggered back momentarily, Snart scooped up another apple off the ground and glanced at the newcomer. "Friend of yours?" Can you hear the sarcasm in his tone? "Might I suggest making better friends? She seems a little hands-y to me."

❅ [Wildcard/Arrival]

'There are no strings on me..'

The bright light had been blinding. It had also been followed by nothingness. A stillness. A weird sort of calm, almost as if he were sleeping. When the overpowering light faded away, he thought maybe he might have been dreaming for a moment. Voices? A forest? Nothing made sense, not even the words being spoken at first. He wanted to groan and struggle, but he couldn't.

When things start to slowly fall together in his sleep-muddled mind, there's a deer standing over him, tugging at him. There's panic in someone's voice and determination from the creature over him and then--

--nothing. Again.

Blue eyes flick open and fix on a ceiling. He wasn't on the Waverider. It wasn't too long after waking that he was presented a handbook and had to contain himself when his eyes wanted to roll out of his head. Theft, breaking and entering. Right. Okay. Sure. That sounded like an invitation and a challenge all wrapped into one and who was he to turn down a challenge? But for now, he was more interested in getting a lay of the land, as it were. So he took to the street, casually and absolutely inconspicuously wandering around.

[OOC: For the Wildcard option, find him wherever you like and approach him. Expect snark. I'll match replay style.]

Taste the Apple in My Hand

[4thwaller]

Wade had realised he was being followed, and while it hadn't bothered him at first, the moment the thing attacked him, he regretted ignoring it immediately. He'd figured it was just one of those situations where whoever it was followed him around for hours walking through the city and then decided against trying to mug him. But this was much different - and a guy Wade didn't recognise - maybe he looked a little like the dude from Prison Break (not that he could really judge since he looked like a sentient scar.) - came to his rescue.

"We just met, I swiped right," Wade replied almost happily. "But I think it's going well!" To punctuate his sentence, he pulled a brick that he apparently had in his jacket's inner pocket out. "Maximum Effort!" Wade did what any sane and stable person would do and charged toward the the Grudge reject, brick at the ready, only to swing it hard into her face when he got close enough. A handful of her teeth went flying out of her face before she retaliated with a swift swipe of her too-sharp claws. Wade stumbled back, feeling blood well up on the scratches across his face.

"I'm doing you and your dentist a favour!" He shouted at the creature. Gonna keep throwing apples, Snart? "Michael Scofield, maybe you should make a run for it."

Mikan Tsumiki | Super Danganronpa 2 | spoilers for the game possible

[discerp]

[Arrival]

[It's a little sad that her first thought on waking up is more along the lines of 'oh no, not again.' There's a sense of dread and resignation and she looks at her hands and her arms and legs and doesn't see anything to indicate she's... Different, for lack of a better term. She carefully replaces the bandages that go all around her right leg and her left arm. Those scars remain, but there's nothing new to them.

Her body looks and feels healthy. She checks herself over a dozen times until she's satisfied enough to start exploring the home itself. Maybe you're a surprise roommate she runs into?

If not, she can be found meekly wandering the streets, hands clutched together uncertainly. Maybe you feel the stare of eyes upon you and try to locate the source, which would be the young nurse staring intently. She looks like she desperately wants to ask something, making motions to reach out or call out for someone, but the words stick in her throat. Any time a townsperson or anyone glances at her though, she immediately shrinks back and looks terrified, on the brink of tears.

The courage to speak up is clearly not with this one...]

[The Child]

[It's a bit silly, maybe, to be so wary about this child, but Mikan knows more than most how truly dangerous children can be. So she watches him warily and knows, instantly, that it was a terrible idea to pay him any mind when she approaches.

It's a feeling similar to when she'd met Junko. A sort of anxiety that twists through a feeling of calm. An expression that just seems oh-so slightly off. It makes her feel strange-- elated and pleased, and terrified and upset all at once.

The screams in her head make her wince and grasp at it, her heart pounding in her chest, but it feels like a spiraling pressure in her heart, her gut. Instead of crying or screaming she begins to laugh, falling to her knees. The laughter builds until she's practically in hysterics, wiping at her drooling mouth with the back of her hand.]

This... This feeling... Eheheh... Heheh... Is this true despair? Ahha! [She laughs and cries, not sure how to feel or how to stop it and she shakes her head desperately] Stop it, stop it! Ahahah!

[Apples]

Kyaaah! [it's a high-pitched scream that breaks the relatively tranquility of the apple grove. Mikan has just had an unfortunate encounter with the strange woman and fight-or-flight has landed firmly in the 'flight' sector.

Except she's not paying the slightest bit of attention to where she's going in her desperation to get away, so she ends up crashing right into someone. With another shriek she falls and immediately cowers, putting her arms up in an automatic defense of her head]

I-I'm sorry! Pl-please forgive me, please don't hurt me! I w-wasn't paying attention! There... There was... [She looks back but either she outran the thing, or it's hanging back or something. Either way, the woman isn't there, and Mikan, trembling like a leaf, looks ready to burst into tears any second]

Th-there was something there, I swear! I'm sorry...!

Apples.

[legendaring]

[Lara is a little stunned when someone comes barreling out of the orchard and smacks right into her, and unfortunately for Mikan she's surprisingly solid. Still, that response is not normal, and the way she's clearly cowering has Lara focused entirely on looking past her for danger. After a moment or two, when she doesn't see anything, she reaches out and puts one hand on Mikan's shoulder.]

It's really alright. I'm not going to hurt you.

[Nevermind that she looks fairly tough and is definitely carrying an obvious gun at her waist. Priority number one is to keep this person from panicking further.]

God only knows what might be hanging around this place. What was it you saw?

Magneto | X-men

[homo_superior]

[Canon point is the end of Days of Future Past when he's erased from the timeline.]

Come Grab This Child

Approaching this child had been the wrong idea. From the moment the screams began in his head, resembling the anguished ones his mother had made when they were separated, and then there was blessed silence. That only lasted a few moments until the memories started to rise up in his mind.

Unfortunately, Erik has got a lot of bad memories in his head that he'd rather not think about. His memories as a child all start with hatred and bigotry, being rounded up and taken to Auschwitz, watching his mother die, Shaw's experiments on him.

Fast forward to a life consumed by vengeance and anger. Revenge on Shaw at the price of crippling the best friend he ever had and knowing they could never be together, no matter how much they wanted it. Losing mutants who had followed him left and right throughout the years.

Years later, losing Charles and Raven all in the span of a few days and then the powers that had defined his life. Gaining them back only in time to see the entire world fall into the nightmare again of his childhood, mutants killed and people rounded up into camps. One last final desperate stand, knowing that they were likely all doomed to fail. Dying, unable to do anything as the Sentinels prepared to wipe out the last of the mutants he'd spent his life trying to protect.

All of this flashes through his head and it doesn't stop. It's on a constant loop that won't end like the worst psychic attack he's ever felt. Anyone want to help an old man out?

Taste The Apple In My Hand

Being in the apple orchard is relaxing enough, and he idly picks one or two off the trees. When Erik wanders off into a more isolated section, he can hear a lullaby being sung that he hasn't heard in almost eighty years. It's one his mother used to sing to him so long ago.

He's fascinated enough to approach the young ethereal woman he sees, but when she comes towards him, and he sees she means him harm, he takes action. Without the expression on his face ever changing, he uses his powers to defend himself.

With a flick of his hand, the nails keeping the nearest apple baskets together yank out of the wood, and come flying towards him at top speed. He sends a few of them towards the spirit and there's a shrill scream of pain when they hit her wrists and arms.

Really, he's faced a whole lot worse in his life than this. Erik is a survivor and this is just one more thing he has to face.

Arrival

Erik had awoken with a start. He'd honestly not been sure what to expect after the Sentinels were to obliterate them. Maybe there would be some sunny Heaven for Charles and his students, he liked that idea, but for him? He didn't expect much. But this was definitely far more different than anything he could have imagined. He'd eaten the food

Now he's on the street, and aside from the questionable fashion choices (shut up, the cape is awesome), he looks just like any other elderly man in his nineties who's just woken up in a strange place. Just be careful approaching him. He's on edge enough after having a near-death experience that he might react with a sharp, flying piece of metal coming your way if he's startled.

Wildcard

[Want something else? Another horror prompt? Some SOL with him getting something to drink at a coffee shop? Want to just encounter Erik in a permanent state of completely being done with life?]

arrival

[danzan]

Logan'd notice that gaudy fucking cape anywhere, but that doesn't mean he's any less surprised at the sight of the old man wearing it (and maybe Erik's sensed him already with those power of his; God knows nothing feels quite the same as adamantium does).

"Erik?" Not Magneto, not any more-- not after the Sentinel War and the respect that he'd built for the man once he really got to know him, the fondness that inevitably came with being comrades fighting a losing war. Of course, both those things are buried under a healthy amount of layers of Wolverine-brand childishness, but their rapport always did make Charles smile.

Not that Charles is here (and Logan's still not sure if he wishes he was or not).

"Erik!"

He's jogging forward now, dressed in the typical t-shirt and jeans as if he isn't on the way to work at the high school. "It's me," he promises, approaching from Erik's left, holding both his hands up in defence (even if one is holding a brown envelope full of papers), "it's... what the fuck are you doing here?"