JANUARY 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

[sodder]

JANUARY 2020 TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to January's Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: OCEAN 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.

PLEASE NOTE FOR CHARACTER ARRIVALS: This month, all players can choose to have their characters wake up in the town of Deerington or on the Titanic.

CW: Ghost of a child, rotting corpses, drowning, hallucinations, paranoia
Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!

Prompt One
Prompt Two
Character Arrival
Master Navigation

WHERE FEET MAY FAIL

For those who were left behind in Deerington while everyone else was whisked away in the flood during the New Years Eve party, they will find that the town is a little more wet than usual. The streets are still flooded, houses are damp, and the chill of winter isn't making it easy to deal with. Your hands can feel like ice any day of the week and it's hard to focus with how badly you may find yourself trembling from the cold.

But it's almost preferable to the visions. They start off while you're sleeping; large sea monsters roaming the ocean, waiting to pull you down into the darkened depths; or maybe it's a strange, ghost looking girl with glowing eyes and tattered clothing, her skin blue and rotting the way a body does when it's been submerged in water for too long. She's calling out to you, beckoning you down, and all around her are the strung up, floating corpses of the people who were foolish enough to listen.

It's just a dream though, right? Slowly you start to see the girl around town. She's still calling to you, watching you, waiting for you. If you get too close, she'll even be able to grab onto you, pulling you down into the waterlogged streets, and into what you thought was only a puddle of water. It's as deep as an ocean, and just as dark and cold too. Someone near by can grab onto you before she can drag you under and the vision will disappear. If no one does, maybe if you're a strong swimmer, you'll be able to struggle free, but when you resurface, there will be a bruise forming on your arm in the shape of a hand – something to remind you that maybe these visions are a little more real than you gave them credit for.

The only way to stay safe is to travel in pairs. The girl seems to keep her distance when there's more than one person around, but it doesn't mean she won't try to find the means to separate you. Whether it's increasing the flooding in certain areas of the street or trying to distract one of you long enough to put some distance between you and your comrade, she'll do whatever it takes to try and grab onto whoever she can.

GHOST SHIP

Those who are on the boat might find that life is a little easier, depending on what class you've found yourself in. The struggles between first, second, and third are certainly rough on everyone, but many seem to find themselves thinking this is just the way of things. Maybe your mind has been altered to just accept the class differences or your memories completely rewritten and you think you've led a completely different life so far; either way, only a handful of passengers seem to fully understand that this isn't the way things are supposed to be.

There's nothing anyone can do to change things, though, and so many find themselves getting lost in day to day activities. Whether it's working on the ship, enjoying the finer foods in the first class dining halls, or enjoying the rowdy parties in third class storage after hours, everyone seems to be finding something to keep themselves occupied. As the days pass, even those who know full well what's coming seem to forget the looming doom, and you might even find yourself feeling lost in the monotony of day to day life.

But those who stare into the water too long, who look at the strange, large shapes swimming just under the surface might find a sense of dread filling them. The paranoia will shake you to your very core, leaving you with a sense that all is not right with this journey. You can try to tell people, but most will look at you as though you're insane. Eventually, your fear will become so heavy that you start to see destruction all around you. Whole sections of the ship will look flooded, rotting wood and rusted steel taking over every inch of the once proud ship, and every section is covered in algae. You might start to realize it looks uncannily like an old shipwreck.

The ship is still floating, though, and the coarse steady. So it's all in your head, right? Staying away from the water will make the visions and paranoia eventually ebb, but any glance at the floating shapes will cause it to come back tenfold. Maybe just stay inside and away from the ship's edge. It seems a lot safer that way.

Character Arrival

You can read how all characters arrive in Deerington here.

NOTE: Character's this month can wake up in Deerington or on the Titanic.

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

QUESTIONS

[sodder]

[shslliar]

Suppose Kokichi stole clothes out of some NPC's luggage and tried to pass himself off as first class so he can get into places he shouldn't be. Is this disguise scheme possible in the first place and how long might it hold up with the other NPCs?

John Smith | Doctor Who; CW: Classicism; Titanic only

[borntolove]

^{(AU notes; if your character has a 6th sense they will notice two souls with him; one soul is very scary)}

Choice 1

Mister Smith can usually be found in the first-class lounge reading one of the latest reads- Charles Darwin; Origin of The Species. Which is - in fact, quite an interesting read and completely brilliant but it does make one wonder where does God fit into all of this?


Choice 2

John is wrapped up in his warm clothes out at night and observing the constellations. He can't explain - mad as it sounds feels drawn to them. He is also using his new book to see if he can map where exactly they are...

Choice 1

[captainspain]

Sitting in another corner their is a handsome young man writing in a leather bound journal. He is humming quietly under his breath as he worked, a quiet song that almost sounds alien.

Peter Parker | Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

[watchmethwip]

Arrival

He'd honestly sworn off the sweatpants and trench days.

But it's cold, Peter has no idea where he is, the streets are flooded and there are way too many monsters around that look like some evil scientist's experiments gone way too right for safety. So he'd grabbed the basket of goodies, grabbed a coat and pants from the closet close to where he'd woken up, and bolted.

So, yeah, the trench and sweats combo is back in full-force, and he feels justified for it.

At least he'd learned early in life as Spider-Man to eat on the go, which is how he ends up thwipping across town, basket hooked on his non-thwipping arm, holding his jar of fries (yes, he got a jar of french fries) that he keeps tipping into his mouth in time with his swinging.

... Look, it's ridiculous, but it's an art-form.


Where feet may fail

Horror movie dreamworld, great.

Complete with ghostly little girl who just wants to drag you down to a watery grave.

Not if Peter's got anything to do about it, though. As soon as he sees someone getting grabbed, he swoops in, not hesitating to land on the ghost girl's head with both feet, kicking down to shove her under even as he grabs her victim.

"Always swim with a buddy!" he announces loudly, shooting off some webbing to the nearest building to swing off as fast as he can because there is no way in hell he's sticking around for the ghost to retaliate his feet on her face.

it took me a sec to get your username and when i did i Yelled (where feet may fail)

[phaseflex]

Peter's intervention is quite timely, as spider-people tend to be. Almost like they have a sense for it, or something. Ghost girl had a good hold on Amara who had been struggling to get away from her as she was dragged down and Peter's kick to the head gives her enough reprieve to wrench her arm out of ghostly hands. It's a weird feeling. This is weird and she hates it.

"Never swim with a murderous ghost, either!" she calls out with a laugh-- look, she's a superhero on her planet, too. She gets the whole smart-ass talk thing. Hers aren't as finely honed, but it's the attempt that matters, right?

Now she has a chance to get some space, Amara summons her siren powers and uses them to boost herself into the air to slam down onto the ground. She lands close enough that it knocks the creepy little ghost back several yards and leaves electricity arcing all over the place for a few moments. It's a little overkill, but... look. No-one here wants to get grabbed again. She sprints to a car, leaping onto the roof and jumps over to a metal awning.

"This is a problem, flying man! She's been grabbing onto everyone!"

Kim Kitsuragi | Disco Elysium

[pinballs]

1. No Blasting Sad FM On *This* Boat

---

[Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi has a rather strict agenda to keep. Go to the Whirling-in-Rags hostel and meet with the detective from Precinct 41. Inspect the dead body hung up in the tree and perform an autopsy. Solve a murder and get back to his respective precinct. Two out of three of these tasks had been completed to some degree.

As far as Kim Kitsuragi was concerned, being on a boat was not on the agenda. He can't remember when he was last on a boat this size, if ever. Trying to carve a path through the pale with something as cumbersome and unwieldy as a passenger ship was sure to result in overradiation. He also doesn't seem to be able to recall when he was moved from his lodgings at the Whirling-in-Rags to...wherever this boat is going. The letter left to him by the individual named "Sodder" does nothing but bring up additional questions, but he pushes them to the back of his mind for now. He's hardly inclined to believe that there is something supra-natural going on, much less being in some sort of dream world with other people--surely, there's a logical explanation for all that has happened, thus far.

Of course, after a few small inquiries here and there, his concern continues to grow. People speak of unfamiliar places and centuries, only adding to his confusion. A man of far weaker composure would have likely cracked under the pressure a long time ago, but Kim pushes on. There are answers that need to be found, and he very much needs to return to Martinaise as soon as possible.

If you're wandering the boat, you may find yourself approached by a bespectacled man wearing an orange bomber jacket. His hands are tucked behind his back. He speaks with a distinct French-sounding accent, although if questioned about it, he won't know where or what France is.]

Excuse me--I am Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi, from Precinct 57 of the RCM. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.

[Nobody has reacted to his position in the Revachol Citizen's Militia yet, but he'll keep trying. Surely, somebody aboard this ship will be from Revachol and be able to relay him the information he needs in terms that he understands. Eventually.]

2. Just Stand There And Nod Silently

---

[His investigation doesn't seem to have turned up much besides very basic information on the boat that he's on. This is the RMS Titanic, an Olympic-class ocean liner. If he knew what an Olympic-class ocean liner was, he would be able to understand the context behind this. But he doesn't. And that lack of information frustrates him even more than being trapped aboard this ship.

Well, perhaps not more. He's still concerned with the fact that with every passing moment, he could be getting further and further away from familiar shores. Perhaps this is a dream world, of some sort, but he's still not willing to buy into that theory while there's the possibility that he might not be.

But he can't do anything about it right now. The best bet he has is possibly gathering more information on his situation and seeing what he can extrapolate from it. Being a third-class passenger bars him from quite a few areas, but Kim can be found throughout the ship, simply standing with his notebook and scribbling down notes. From the rowdy parties to the corridors to the dining halls, he'll be there, ever-watching. Occasionally, he'll look up and observe the scene before him. Don't be alarmed. Or do. He is watching you, after all, and possibly taking notes on you.

If approached, he'll shut the notebook before you can take a look at what he's written and raise an authoritative eyebrow.]

Yes?

3. Wild Card

---

[Have a different idea? Hit me up @ wolfnoir if you want to plot something out!]

1.

[lottarazzi]

[Unfortunately for Kim, he still has yet to encounter somebody who fully understands the significance of his introduction.]

[Instead, he's met by a woman wearing a fleece-lined jacket opened up over a drab tweed vest and trousers. Her puffy hair is held back by the cable-knit yarn headband snugly hugging her forehead, revealing her ears along with the small silver hoops hung from them. ...she seems to be severely lost in thought, restlessly pacing back and forth between two tall vertical beams supporting the dining hall's roof, tightly clutching a camera in her hands- one that appears curiously incongruous with the majority of the technology present in the Titanic.]

[...she very nearly drops this precious piece of tech when her shoulders give a sudden jolt at his approach.] God-! Don't sneak up on me like that! [It... really doesn't matter whether he was sneaking or not. It's a reaction based less on Kim and more on the strange state of affairs she's found herself in at the moment.]

..."lieutenant", huh? Really wouldn'ta guessed by the looks of you... thought you mighta been any other Joe Schmoe on the boat. Suppose it's only fair of you to go 'round telling folk that little fact about yourself, then- else, it's entrapment.

rey ✨ star wars.

[aurebesh]

@ titanic — mess hall

[ the titanic was once known as the ship of dreams, and for rey, it seems to be true. even sequestered in steerage with the rest of the third class passengers, it's more comfort and convenience than she's ever known. sure, there are creaking bunkbeds nailed to the wall, but there are sheets and blankets and the warmth of the machinery to soothe her into sleep, and no first order crisis to jolt her awake in the middle of the night. yes, the mess hall might offer cheap meals, and they may only let her have two, but they're hot, and they taste of something stronger than wet portions cooked to bursting, and no one seems to mind if she asks for larger portions once in a while.

so perhaps it isn't surprising to find rey spending the majority of her time in said dining hall, using half-stale bread chunks to scoop up stew or her fingertips to pull at long strands of spaghetti noodles. all of the food is novel and new to her, and though there is wonder and interest in her eyes as she takes it in, there is little hesitation or delay before she's filling her mouth with yet another bite. it's the eating of someone who has long since known for a fact that the next meal is never guaranteed — and should someone leave a bowl unattended, rey will not hesitate to reach over and take it, unbothered by whatever judgmental looks might be cast her way.

should someone come to sit, whether opposite or besides, they'll be greeted the same way: with a mouth full of whatever she's eating, and a garbled query of, ] What are you eating?

@ titanic — memory loss

[ it doesn't take long for rey to believe in the story as her own. her own pain and loneliness fades into another life, an orphan girl pushed onto the titanic by a kind benefactor who paid her way to give her a new life across the ocean. she has nothing, but she had nothing before, so what's the use of pity?

strangely, this rey seems more carefree, less burdened; she lingers in the general room and the storage areas, where other third class passengers strike up merry bands or host card games, and even dances herself if someone offers to teach her. she knows so little, her former life a foggy memory of endless work, but she's eager to learn now that she has the chance.

to anyone who might stare a little too long, whether from recognition or simple amusement at this slip of a girl in her obviously hand-me-down clothes, rey will simply smile, offering a hand and a welcoming, ] Do you want to dance?

[ the music is quite lively, isn't it? and they've nothing else to do, nothing to worry about, until the ship reaches land so many days from now! ]

# wildcard

[ whatever floats your boat! (womp womp) tentative canonpoint post-tlj for game rule purposes! ]

mess hall

[green_cyborg_ninja_dude]

[He saw her swipe a bowl of food that some man had left it abandoned there. He wasn't sure if the man was coming back or not, but there it went, swiped by this girl. He chuckled faintly under his breath and slide down two seats to sit across from her.]

[He was a scar faced man with dark black hair and oddly green eyes, leaning on the table before the girl.]

It's like they don't feed you here. [He pushed his plate a bit and nodded to it.] You can have my roll if you like.

Kokichi Oma | DRV3 | Entranceway CRAU

[shslliar]

Come Sail Away With Me!
[We're on a boat called the Titanic. Half the people here are judgemental NPCs, and the other half are either brainwashed or gawking at all the old-timey stuff. In any other circumstance, Kokichi would have assumed this was just another event.

A few things are throwing him off, though. For one, that is definitely not his phone in his luggage. He also doesn't think he knows anyone who has been on the Titanic, and the sea around him is devoid of glaciers and making him feel... Weird...

He staggers back inside, stepping over bits of debris that's not really there. At this point he's so used to weird scenery that he manages to act calmer than he actually feels so he can find someone who doesn't think they belong here. May as well ask anyone he sees who doesn't look like a background extra.]

Hey! You have any idea what's going on around here?

What Do We Do With A Drunken Sailor?
[Eventually, he realizes he's not in Wonderland anymore.

Just his luck! He was preparing to deal with an abomination in one world only to get sucked into another. Not that life was ever that fair to begin with, but now he has to start over from square one.

At least he can make the most of a prolonged cruise before the boat sinks. The rowdy parties in the storage room are to his personal taste, but there are dazzling ballrooms and forbidden employee areas he's just too low on the pecking order to get into. But since when has a little thing like fabricated class systems ever stopped him from trying?

That is how he found himself breaking into the crates while all the third class peeps are partying away. He's rifling through the contents, putting the fancy artwork to the side and searching for some fancy clothes from the first class. Not that he's having much luck here either; he's cursing his smaller stature as he sneers at suits too large for him and childish sailor suits that need a larger upper class friend to help-

He hears someone's footsteps. He quickly tosses the clothes back into the crate and scampers off to hide.]

Deerfeed. UN: Stinkbug
[When he's not destroying the storage room or trying to go where he doesn't belong, he's testing the waters on the local network.]

Hi. I'm new here. Are we all supposed to be on an old ship, or did this place just dump us onboard for a while?

Wildcard
((canonpoint is postgame in DRV3, and right before he was dropped from Entranceway. Yes, another weirdo from Wonderland.))

[teamfun]

[Louis has pretty much given up on anyone remembering him from Wonderland. Oh, he knows people here who were in Wonderland- but they were before his time. And the few faces he recognises otherwise certainly don't recognise him. He's resigned himself to the fact he's a stranger to everyone when he first comes across them- even if they're not a stranger to him.

Still, he can't keep the recognition from crossing his expression- nor the smile crossing his lips when he runs into Kokichi. He's at least aware he's not supposed to be on the Titanic - that means he hasn't fallen prey to Deerington's memory bullshit. If he remembers Wonderland or not is another thing altogether. ]

Oh, you know. Sailing on a probably doomed ship with half the people here not realising it's doomed. It's a blast.

amara the siren / borderlands 3

[phaseflex]

bottom side

[this isn't the first time amara's been on a ship. her most recent home was on board the sanctuary iii with the other crimson raiders and vault hunters. admittedly her room was... significantly bigger and nicer than her second class cabin aboard this ship, but she can't complain.

...anymore, at least. she got it all out her system a while ago.

she misses her guns, most of all. fortunately for everyone around her, the ship's warped her memories enough that she doesn't recall the sanctuary being a space ship, nor does she remember her otherworldy siren powers. she doesn't question how her tattoos no longer glow or how she can no longer access a digistruct bank through her communication device. she makes no attempts to solve a mystery she doesn't know needs solving, doesn't feel like the powers she doesn't know she had have been stolen. she continues on as many others on board the ship does, none the wiser.

amara can be found most nights at the third class party, drinking, laughing loudly and telling stories of her exploits. the scars littering her body don't imply any of them are untrue.]

Hello, friend! [she might approach you if you're being a wallflower. or just at the party? look, it's a social occasion.] Are you enjoying the festivities? I haven't done anything like this for quite a while! Well... not counting the last several nights before this, at least!

top side

[the water isn't right. dangers in the ocean, that's nothing new, but this water that's foaming around the ship as it surges forward-- it's not right.

she isn't used to feeling like this. amara doesn't respond to things with fear. she doesn't get scared-- she's a brave hero who fights to protect the weak, the tiger of partali! how can she be scared by the water? those big shapes duck and weave over each other, elegant in any other situation. something deep down tells her they're going to jump out of the water and onto the deck at any moment, even though they never do.

she's staring over the edge intensely having only glanced out of curiosity, gripped with the paranoia. if anyone approaches her, she whips around, expression wild and throws a punch at them.]

Get away from me!

wild card

[ya'll know what to do, PM me or hit me up on jabbers if you wanna discuss anything!]

bottom side

[pinballs]

[Oh, Kim is definitely being a wallflower right now. Partying isn't exactly his "thing", per se, but he needs to know more about this ship. He's been carefully listening to everything that's been going on, scribbling down notes in his tiny notebook as if he were on a case. When Amara approaches him, he shuts the notebook before she can peer into his notes.

He's also refused to dance all night. He will not be making a monkey out of himself in front of hundreds of strangers.]

I will admit, partying in the bowels of a ship isn't what comes to mind when I think of fun. But I suppose it's festive enough.

[His accent almost sounds French, if France were a thing where he was from.]

You have some truly impressive tattoos. Where did you get them?

[They're really cool, actually. If he were not a police officer, he might look into it, himself...but he has to uphold his Image of being a non-delinquent.]

wei wuxian | the untamed

[weiward]

third class storage:

[he grew up in lotus pier, so this is far from wei wuxian's first time on a boat. he doesn't remember any of them being this huge or this fancy, but he hears that a lot from the other passengers too.

this superimposes itself over his memories, but wei wuxian still finds enough familiar things to keep him busy. some people treat the third class passengers poorly, and he always has something to say about that when it happens in his presence. he gets in more than one fight over it, always finding trouble during the day and mischief during the night.

mischief being alcohol. he's drinking more than his share of it while the music and dancing are going on around him. wei wuxian laughs brightly as he wipes some of it from his chin.]

It's cheap but it's good! If no one else wants some, that leaves more for me!

[his grin falters when he looks to his side. it's like he expected someone to be there. or, in the event that there is, someone else.]

on deck:

[he's only slightly buzzed when the party's over, and comes up on deck for some of the fresher night air. there's a more melancholy air surrounding wei wuxian now, and it's not helped by the bittersweet tune that he's playing on his flute.

it's only when he opens his eyes that he sees the dark shapes in the water.]

Huh? [he grips the railing and stares before his eyes go wide.] Water ghosts...water ghosts!

[wei wuxian backs away, gripping his flute until his knuckles are white. he reaches out for anyone else on deck and if he seems like a madman...well, it wouldn't be the first time.] There's water ghosts clinging to the bottom of the ship!

wildcard:

[encounter him anywhere else you'd like on the ship!]

deck

[shslliar]

[Kokichi had just worked up the courage to go on deck again, and now this weirdo with a flute is yelling at him about "water ghosts." Hoo boy.]

Wait, what?!

Genji Shimada | Overwatch | Titanic 3rd Class

[green_cyborg_ninja_dude]

{Arrival:}
[He had stopped to meditate a bit, relaxing and finding his center, when the world around him felt as if it washed away and under him, sending him a drift. Setting him under water and under tow, down, down, and... he woke up, on a ship.]

[He didn't remember, for a moment, why he was here, standing there in striped pants, a shirt that buttoned up the front and suspenders, all of which were worse for the wear. His mask was gone, and he hardly noticed. There was a green scarf instead of a mask, but he used it as a mask all the same, partly wrapped around his lower jaw to hide the metal and rubber implant. That... was odd but natural. he couldn't tell you why he had it, or why most his body was metal. It just was.]

[An old iron works accident at his fathers business. Most of his face was scarred from it, and only one arm was somewhat normal. The rest of him was metal, but he hid it well in grubby pants and grim crusted shirt.]

[A 3rd class passenger from Japan.]

[He woke up in a bunk on the ship, sitting up and ducking his head in the low confinements, he slung his legs over and nearly kicked someone.]

Ah, sorry, sorry. [He glanced down to a bunk mate, head tilting.] You alright?

{The Deck:}
[3rd class or not, he was running the deck and enjoying the fresh sea air, climbing things he shouldn't be climbing and running past people at speed. He laughed, jogging and slowing down as he came to the main deck, to the forward of the ship, sneaking past people and moving to a railing. The sea salt air on his scarred face felt good. Better than the stifling air under deck.]

[He laughed, happy to be on this ship. Happy to be here, away from his father and his brother and his home. His memories were lost to the moment, believing his own story to be true now. A story about a run away boy, buying his way onto a boat, and getting out of First Class Life.]

[At least, he believed for a bit, until he looked into the water. To the first person coming near, he'd wave to them, calling them over to him.]

Hey, do you see that? In the water...

{3rd Class Parties Best:}
[Shimada Genji, the run away son from a high lord in Japan with ties to crime bosses all over, was no longer first class, but was a 3rd class passenger, and he liked it best that way.]

[There was a freedom here, where he hadn't had before. The people on this level weren't stuffy or nose turned up, but instead were alive. Suffering, maybe, but alive. He played card games with anyone who wanted to place a small bet or wager, be it for coin or for dance. He ate the worst food and enjoyed it. And he danced with any lad or lass that would take his hand and dance with him.]

[Old pants, old shirt, and suspenders, he barely cared that he was covered in scars for the world to see. He wanted to enjoy his time on the ship. Swinging around with a woman he bounced and jumped, landing in front of someone else and grinning, a metal hand held out to the other and a smile on his scarred face {his lower jaw was metal and rubber as well it seemed.} His accent was Japanese and happy.]

Dance with me?

{Wild Card:}
[Find him anywhere on the Titanic. Please feel free to start your own. Catch him sneaking around in first or second, or in the mess hall or anywhere else...]

Deck (/screaming internally because Genjiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii)

[no_reload]

[Reaper had been trailing him, easy and casual. From the first moment that he had seen Genji working in the belly of the ship, he had known him. Part of being Reaper was expecting some kind of curse, and his was knowledge. His life hadn't been rewritten, his memories intact, but he knew that talking about it meant that he was more ostracized than usual. Normally, he wouldn't care, but he was stuck on the most famous ship to sail - and sink - in the Third Class.

His usual attire was gone, replaced with dirty slacks, long-sleeved shirt and a jacket. He had sewn on a hood to the shirt, allowing him to hide his head for the most part. A mask actually covered his face, thankfully. He managed to find himself worn work gloves and worn them all the time to hide his appearance as much as physically possible.

And Genji? Well, it was unexpected to see the kid flit around like there wasn't a care in the world, like he wasn't a half-cyborg. Reaper followed him at a distance between shifts, able to blend in with shadows more than anyone should.

Yet, when he was hailed, he further approached and glanced at the water. The wind of the moving vessel caused his hood nearly blow back.]

Looking for mermaids now?

Jesse Pinkman » Breaking Bad » CW for drug references

[heisenbitch]

( ooc; I'm currently undecided on which canon point for Jesse, so these prompts are from different canon points to see which works best! )

» GHOST SHIP

— canon point: Phoenix (2x12)
[ In the middle of floor of one of the myriad long corridors sprawling through the ship lies a young man. He's alone, lying on his side, slumped unconscious; his legs are askew and skinny arms, slack. His mouth is agape, his eyes are sunken shut, and his short dark blond hair is an unwashed mess. He smells, too, if one were to get close enough to inspect him; he smells kind of sour, of stale sweat, like he hasn't had showered in a good number of days. The only clothes he's wearing is a pair of baggy grey sweatpants; his bony chest is shirtless, and his feet are bare. His chest rises and falls with long, heavy breaths that also seem shallow at the same time. He's dead to the world, as though nothing will ever wake him. ]

— canon point: Open House (4x04)
[ Jesse stands at the side of the huge creaking ship, staring down over the barrier into the dark, murky water. He's dressed in all black — black baggy jeans, black t-shirt, black bomber jacket. As dark and bleak as the heavy bags underneath his eyes. He's clutching a crumpled pack of cigarettes in his hands; he'd come up onto the deck for a smoke, in futile and anxious attempt to distract himself from... well, everything. His face is pale, stony with haunted exhaustion, and gaze is hard, nervous, sharp. He's watching something — something moving down beneath the surface of the black water. He wants to think it's a whale, or some other majestic beast of the sea, but the inexplicable churning of dread in his gut tells him otherwise. His mind rattles with thoughts of panic, of death, of punishing decay and savage cruelty; a loud relentless clatter of white noise as accusing and ear-piercing as a gunshot going off. He wants to stop looking but he can't; he's frozen. It's like looking down the barrel of that gun he'd pointed at Gale's head and watching himself pull the trigger over and over. ]

» WHERE FEET MAY FAIL

— canon point: ABQ (2x13)
[ Jesse is drowning. His arms are thrashing about in icy cold, black water, and his mouth is agape with gasping breath. The thick green dressing gown he's wearing is waterlogged, heavy — it's dragging him down like an anchor. That vice-like grip biting into his ankle down beneath the surface of the water, however, is dragging him down faster. God, he'd been asleep — or, at least, he thought he'd been asleep; a feverish, heroin-withdrawal sleep, limbs twitching, muscles spasming, stomach churning with bile. But, no; turns out the dream he'd thought he'd been having of being trapped under the sea, of seeing the dead girl — Jane, god, that dead girl makes him think of Jane — is real. A scream tears out of him, gurgling and shrill as he's yanked underwater. He disappears completely beneath the water for a moment, and then thrashes back to the surface, wheezing, choking, trying to scream for help. ]

» WILDCARD ME!

( ooc; Feel free to toss another starter my way, with any of the canon points I've listed above! If you want to discuss anything beforehand, please shoot me a PM! )

where feet may fail;

[hedon]

[It's not the first time Magnus has seen someone succumb to the fantasies of the sea. The small ghostly girl had visited him more than once, met with only derision and apathy. The longer a person stays in Deerington, the more discordant they become when faced with the mystifying faculty at the town's disposal. Trust nothing to be what it seems, he's familiar with the logic and has generated it himself - more than once he'd glamoured the unwitting mundane just to get his way.

When this new unfortunate soul submerges, Magnus figures him for a dead man. His face isn't familiar, so he had to be new, and the ugly thick robe he's wearing is enough of an embarrassment that he's not all that mournful to see it go down with him. When he resurfaces, however, it's an altogether different situation. Try as Magnus might to not use his talents when unnecessary he's never been able to reject a fighter's spirit, limiting the ebb and flow of the water is inconsequential for him.

Magnus uses the new limitation he'd given the tides around them to pull this new stranger out of the swell that threatened to devour him. The fabric of the lime green monstrosity around him is a soggy porous mess, not to mention a hindrance, Magnus balls a fist into the fabric in an effort to remove it from his shoulders. It's better off overboard.]

Are you with me? Or do you need mouth to mouth?

Guzma | Pokémon SPECIAL

[nihiletgo]

A; Golisopod, we're not in Alola anymore...(Arrival)

[The transition from his world to this one made no sense, but he's never been one to be hung up on details like that. Last he remembered was the captains in Po Town, and the UBs he released making a mess of things—his town, his team, hell...even him. One had grabbed him, dragged him away, and then the next thing he knew he was in a forest being dragged by what looked like a Stantler maybe?

Everything happened too quickly, and now he's here, wherever here is, with no better idea of what's going on than he did back in that forest. Waking up in some unknown bed, in some unknown house, in an unknown town, not to mention who even knows what world this is.

Certainly not his, the lack of Pokémon cements that, but there's no Ultra Beasts neither, which raises even more questions. None of which are truly in the forefront of his mind as he makes his way through this snowy town, hardly dressed for the weather with his short sleeve zip-up hoodie, muscle shirt, and baggy sweat pants.

He's also not alone. Guzma's large arthropod companion seems to be fairing the cold better than it's trainer, at least. Guzma's general poor state of being certainly doesn't help hide how terribly he's handling the cold, but otherwise he seems unbothered by the strange new place he's found himself.

Certainly hasn't hurt his confidence, neither. Not when the moment he spots someone else, he's quick to approach. Walking with a slouch that cuts about five inches off of his height, hands deep in his pockets, as his grey-colored eyes lock onto his target. Golisopod likewise wastes no time to block their path, swinging one of those large arms in an attempt to hook the person by their shirt, lifting them off the ground.

Successful or not, Guzma inquires all the same:]

Yo, where the hell are we? No playin' games, the temp's low and so's my patience.

[Golisopod gives a low rumble of a growl in agreement, those cross shaped eyes locked on.]

B; Child Spooks In My Mind? More Likely Than You Think! (Where Feet May Fail)

[Even past his initial introduction to this town (which wasn't much of anything), it's still cold, it's still shitty, and he's still not fully sure why he's even here. He's even less sure why he keeps having weird dreams. Not that he's a stranger to the torment his messed up and damaged mind subjects him to, but rather he's never had dreams about sea creatures quite like the ones that have been plaguing him.

Even less so visions of an oddly bloated and decayed little girl. He's not nearly as bothered as he should be, not when he's hardly a stranger to morbid thoughts and the like. However, when he begins to see the girl around the freezing town, calling to him, beckoning him...perhaps that's enough to get his attention—and his ire.

See, Guzma doesn't frighten easily, and he's no stranger to ghosts. Not when ghost Pokémon are a thing, not to mention the ones that plague Alola are particularly nasty (looking at you Palossand).

Perhaps to most what Guzma chooses to do about his poltergeist pest seems a bit rash, but never has the Skull boss cared what people thought of him and his decisions, least of which when it concerns some annoyingly persistent ghost. Releasing Golisopod, it's not Guzma who gets close to the specter, but rather the Pokémon as it charges the water-bloated child with First Impression, as commanded by his trainer.

To little success does the attack land, when the girl dissipates like mist as those large blade-like claws should have connected, leaving both Golisopod and Guzma surprised. Just as Golisopod turns back to Guzma—he sees her. The girl rising from the depths of the puddle behind his trainer, only half of her torso emerging as she grabs onto his ankles and yanks him down.

He's pulled down to his waist, fortunately having enough ground to grab onto in his desperate attempt to keep from fully submerging. His Pokémon rushing forward to aid him, but likewise finding itself being pulled down into one of the puddles it stepped in.

The two of them make for quite the sight: both halfway submerged in a puddle, desperately (and angrily) trying to pull themselves free. Who do you help, if either at all: the strung out looking gangster, or the giant bug monster?

Either way, should Guzma notice someone nearby...]

—Hey! Get yer ass over here!

B

[phaseflex]

[that certainly is a sight, and amara takes a moment to enjoy it. they're in trouble, sure, but you gotta enjoy the little things. she saunters over (fortunately without her weaponry, else she would've open fired on golisopod. she knows better from FL4K and their companions, anyway.]

Having fun? [she asks sardonically.] You're supposed to avoid the angry magic child. It's not hard.

[maybe not for someone with literal space magic, but she's overconfident as ever. it's hard to see, but guzma might notice there's several hand-shaped bruises running up both her arms, dimming the glowing tattoos on them slightly. when she gets to guzma, she crouches down and holds her hand out.]

Come on. Let's get you and your friend out.

Noho Hank | Barry

[bulletgram]

with your feet on dry land
[ Hank's no stranger to cold; home's freezing part of the year, much colder than this, and while he's spent some time in L.A., it hasn't been enough to outweigh the memory of it. So sure, he bundles up appropriately, because he's not an idiot, you can still lose toes and such, but not as heavily as he could. Cold and wet is worse, and finding a place to stave off the chill is harder, but he's from a hardy people. He'll endure.

The dreams are weirder. Not scary, exactly, it's similar enough to stories from his childhood there's only the familiar chill down his spine, but they feel more real than that. It's a dead girl, drowned, not so strange or unusual, considering the stories he grew up with, but then he starts seeing her when he's awake, and that's creepier. He rubs his eyes and crosses himself, wracks his mind for some other superstition to keep her away but takes to singing some song his mother sang to him in the colder months. Softer than he might have otherwise, like there's a bargain contained within it.

Except it doesn't keep her at bay. So he leaves gifts for her instead, whatever cookies and sweets he can find, which is ultimately what leads to her pulling him under.

He's not a bad swimmer, but she's stronger than she should be, making for a harder fight, but he'll eventually haul himself out even without assistance, panting and cursing under his breath in his native tongue. ]

unsinkable, that's what you are
[ Hank is firmly lower class, thanks, and perfectly happy there. It's all too evident by his accent that Hank probably isn't his actual name, but it's the only name he gives, and he does his very best to fit in, chatting hurriedly and cheerfully to anyone who will give him the time of day.

He gets caught looking out into the water only once, a harrowing experience that has him babbling mostly incoherently for twenty minutes, but once it dissipates he's back to his normal self; sure, he may be stuck in the crappier quarters, but honestly he's just happy to be here, and it's not like it's all that unfamiliar to him anyway. He can be found trying to start singalongs, or just generally exploring, and overall trying to take in every new experience he can. ]

lmfao surprise

[hitactor]

[Hank might be lower class, but Barry has been all but pulled into the belief that he's a former naval soldier from World War I and a single father to boot. The Barry left behind for this delusion would have been offended, the feud between the navy and the marines went back further than he did, but this Barry short for Bartholomew is a different beast altogether. Softer than Berkman, more socially aware than Block. He is for all intents and purposes the man that Barry could have been had he not chosen the line of work that had completely encapsulated his life into a mess of blood, bodies, and bad judgment.

He's dressed down for a change and isn't wearing his blazer or his hat, despite the clean pressed appearance he still looks a little erratic. Barry narrowly misses body checking Hank on his deliberately fast-paced jaunt across the outer perimeter of the ship, closest to the deck railing.]

Shit. Uh, I'm sorry. My son got away from me again and the last time he went missing he was in the brig, so- you alright?

sarah manning | orphan black

[coppelganger]

ghost ship

a.
[ It had all seemed foolproof, back at port—she'd stolen the money and, wanting both luxury and distance, spending a good portion of it on a stateroom had seemed like the best plan. Now, trapped on the ship and corralled amongst some of the richest and nosiest society has to offer, Sarah is beginning to doubt herself. All she needs to do is get through this and she'll be free on the other side of the Atlantic. The problem is in the details.

The accent, for one. She's comfortable with it, to a point, but hadn't exactly considered that being confined to the ship would also mean being confined to the posh, polished way of speaking she'd adopted for herself. It's easy, when she's not concentrating, to want to fall back into her normal accent—the drawling Brixton one she'd grown up with. ]

Yes, thank you, [ she says now as a waiter brings her another glass of champagne. As soon as he's out of earshot, she takes a too-big gulp of the drink and mutters, in a voice decidedly less polished, ] Bloody hell.

b.
[ Sarah's leaning against the ship rails, staring idly off at the horizon, when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. Something huge slithering, deliberate, just under the crashing waves. She utters a gasp and looks down at the water, but—there's nothing. Her eyes narrow, waiting for the creature to reappear, dread making her feel cold and very, very small. ]

Hey! [ This is yelled, rather sharply, in the direction of anyone who happens to be passing by. ] Hey, are you seeing this?

b.

[oddbod]

[Seeing what?, Clara means to ask, but everything within her falters once she sees the woman's face. It's like stepping into cold water, feeling the first shock through ratty boots, arms wheeling for balance. For just a moment her jaw gapes, and her eyes blink, and she scrambles for the name that feels poised just on the tip of her tongue.

Then, it's gone.]

Seeing... what? [It's clumsy, confused. Trying to shake off the phantom recognition, she finally steps over to see what the fuss is. There's no masking Clara's steerage status, especially to an imposter. Her clothes are plain and rough, her hair pinned simply, and she speaks in an unmistakably working class accent not unlike Sarah's.]

kylo ren. star wars. compliant through episode 8.

[novaturience]

ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴇᴇᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ғᴀɪʟ; ᴏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀ

( bootfalls and the irate zapping of a plasma sword echo sharply through the center of town, where a figure of black and rigid shapes stalks down Main Street. with his face in stark and vivid concentration, he strains to narrow down the source of the voice by direction, and good old-fashioned pursuit.

'-en.'

the saber crackles, red glow like a neon pin-point in the dim street and bloody as it reflects against the wet sheen of the concrete around him, but even its volume can't wash out the voice of the — child, one he can hear, but whose presence feels utterly absurd. there, and yet, not; looming, yet painfully dense and small. at first, it had touched the blind side of Ren's awareness like a hand on the back of his neck, eclipsing just behind him, a predator. to find the shape and size of a youth, something small and pitiable, was a dizzying surprise.

and she was only a glimpse, enough to leave him to suspect he might have mistaken their form.

—'Ben.'

Ren hisses softly when he pivots around sharply on his heel, his sword humming with the momentum of the idle swing. its sanguine stain touches Ren's jaw and lights his face, but only as ominously as it can on a man who only vies for his menacing demeanor...something tragically absent from his true nature. he levels a round and keen stare on the small figure, a water-drenched girl stood eerily still at yards of distance from him. he knows better than to underestimate the being — the gravity that encompasses her is enough to warn him, but uttering his name alone is a siren in his ears. it's enough to deafen him to anyone nearby, be it footsteps approaching, or their very lingering presence. )

I see you...but I can't see what you are.

Who are you?

ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴇᴇᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ғᴀɪʟ; ᴏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ʙ

( when the plasma saber collides with the small figure with a fizzling hum, the entity demanifests briefly — water releases and splashes away where the connection had been between herself and her prey. as swiftly as she had come to animate with a vivid violence, small and icy hands clamping around the unknown bystander, pulling them down into a portal of water, she retreats back into her impossible puddle of water down in a deepening pothole in the street. the vestiges of her presence are nothing more than the steam of Ren's lightsaber having come to contact the girl's form, water evaporating quickly out into the air.

Ren himself stands drenched, garments saturated and hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks where it doesn't coil and drip with cold water. he trembles with an uneven tension, difficult to tell if it's from the cold climate around them, or an irate adrenaline making the muscles in his arms and legs flex with anticipatory twinges. it nearly seems as though he has no awareness of the stranger he's just intervened for, given the mile-wide stare down at the settling puddle of water, until he turns toward them with a pointed motion, attention settling like a stone. )

It will return soon enough. Get up — stay away from the water.

where feet may fall

[soulmakingsound]

[River's breathing hard. She's not used to not being able to win a fight. Especially against a child.

But had she really, truly wanted to fight the young girl? Perhaps not. Perhaps she saw someone lonely and lost and it made her feel more sorrow than the urge to defend herself.

So when the blazing red beam cuts through the water and the girl disappears, River lets out a startled scream, backing away a few steps]

Hard to stay away from something always there.

Gene Cousineau | Barry (HBO) | OTA | Small CW for drug mention, alcohol

[soupson]

Titanic Prompt I: A Cinematic Voyage

[Oddly enough, Gene doesn't really question his presence on the ship. Why should he, when he's got pinot noir and all the trappings of the first class life on the Titanic? Fun fact: He was very nearly cast as the captain in James Cameron's Titanic, but given that it was during the decade Paramount Pictures had him blacklisted...it didn't work out.

For real though, he's running off the assumption that this is just another section of the dream he just had with the deer, so it's something he best go along with until he wakes up. Lucid dreaming and all that. So Gene can be found in the dining hall, ordering more fine dining and wine than is probably in his dream-budget. He's friendly enough, come chat!]

Titanic Prompt II: Pirates of the Caribbean was Ok

[Ok, now things were starting to get fucked up. Once Gene ventured onto the open deck, the luxurious ship he's on started to distort into a rotting mess. The last time he saw this many things that no one else did, it was under recreational drug influence during the bad years. He didn't take drugs in this particular dream, though, so this is just unfair.]

Oh, beautiful. Can't even get some damn fresh air around here...

[He complains very loudly as he goes back into the cabins, in typical Gene Cousineau fashion.]

ii.

[hopecanruinyou]

[ technically as a member of the kitchen staff, thom's job serving the customers begins and ends inside that kitchen. of course, leaving the kitchen didn't suddenly mean he wasn't dressed in a uniform that identified him as staff on the ship, and a good deal of the passengers didn't care about technicalities when it came to asking him for things regardless when they saw him up on deck.

he tries to be quiet and unobtrusive, to avoid those always slightly awkward moments as best he can, but the passenger passing him on his way back to the cabins seems to be under some measure of genuine duress, and there's no harm in at the very least asking if there's something he can help with. it was remarkable what good just offering someone water could do, sometimes, and he's at least well equipped enough to manage that much. ]

Excuse me, sir. Are you okay?

Lindsey McDonald | Angel

[lookattheglass]

A.

[Lindsey's used to the finer things.

It hasn't always been this way. Sometimes he feels like he's never felt anything different, but he's fought so hard to live this kind of lifestyle that he can almost forget where he's from.

He likes to think it makes him more appreciative of things like this, as he runs his hand along one of the ornamental railings, trailing down the stairs into tonight's dinner. He's wearing a fine suit, hair slicked back, the whole nine yards.

It'd be nice if it wasn't all a dream. Or a spell. Or a dream-like spell.

Lindsey's pretty sure that this is the Titanic though, and as much as he's enjoying the quality of it, this can't be real.

But that didn't necessarily mean that everyone else wasn't real.

He leans a foot out, ever-so-slightly, to trip the next person who walks down the stairs next to him.]

B.

[There's something wrong with the water.

It was the little things at first, taking a second to pause and look down, thinking he might have seen a strange, moving shape or two. Could be really big sharks, not his problem.

But he finds himself coming back again and again, because something is definitely wrong.

He's worked at Wolfram and Hart long enough to know what wrong feels like, the kind of wrong that stayed on your clothes and in your hair after a long day, that no amount of showering would ever wash off.

It was like the whole ocean was wrong and that whatever spell/dream/enchantment this was, it was either breaking apart or getting worse.

Or it was the reason why he was here.

The ship is starting to rot.

He grabs the shoulder of the nearest person to walk by him, shaking it as he points to the railing and back over to the cabins.]

You see it too, right?

A. twospidermen.jpg

[especiallyparanoid]

Maybe it's his upbringing. Maybe there is something about the etiquette of it all that just makes him fall back into old patterns; which in turn makes him sink deeper into the shifting of this place. Whatever it is, Wesley slips into this world all too easily, walking around the deck with a manner so uppity and stiff it's surprising he doesn't snap in half.

That is, until someone trips him and he goes down with a yelp, arms windmilling. He comes up a moment later, staring at Lindsey with sputtering indignation, looking around quickly to see if anyone saw.

"You!"

It comes out accusing, then confused because he doesn't know this man – how would he, unimportant as he looks. Newly-rich, surely, from the looks of it, from the way he carries himself.

From the audacity of what he just did.

"How dare you."

There is only one thing he can do, really. Wesley takes off a glove and sniffs in utter disdain. Before he slaps Lindsey across the face with it.

Lan Wangji | The Untamed

[gremlinkeeper]

Ghost Ship:

First Class
Lan Wangji should look out of place with what he's wearing, and yet no one seems to notice. Or care. He keeps to the side-lines, face set in a stoic stare. Listening. Perhaps even waiting. But anyone wearing anything remotely dark will get a second look, quick before being dismissed and the severity of his expression seems to darken just a little more.

Deck
He doesn't let the cold air bother him. It's a simple matter of perception that discipline and practice has granted him. To ignore what isn't important, or just plain annoying. Only one, perhaps two, individuals had ever slipped past that discipline, and he feels their absence here. The chill of the air though is mirrored on the pale face. Perhaps he's just a statue though, made of pure, perfect jade. Standing, staring out, ignoring how the water seeks to affect him.

But eventually even he will have to step away, though makes it look far more elegant than a mere scramble due to fear. He's not one to be easily afraid.


Or Wildcard me! If you'd rather plot it out, comment here, via PM, or

[earthlike]

Nadass' own clothing is more in line with the styles of the day, but she's well traveled enough to have a vague understanding of someone who is dressed so may be from. She approaches the lone man as he stands on the deck, drawing her fur stole around her tighter. She is not so accustomed to the cold.

"Nǐ hǎo," she greets him, bowing her head respectfully. "I couldn't help but notice... Are you perhaps from the Orient?"

Lan Sizhui | The Untamed

[lanofsizhui]

I. Third class to first class
Lan Sizhui woke up alone, far from the warm safety of home of his village in Cloud Recesses. He's on the ship on the lower level. Woke up in the third class, wandering around without his fellow juniors to accompany him. It's unsettling to him to wake up alone.

The youth stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else. He's wearing a snow-white robe with a headband around his head in an ancient oriental fashion from another era. As he made his way up to the higher levels of the deck, he can't find anyone familiar and he felt aware he's one of the poorer classes.

Still, upbeat with a cheerful smile, he did make his way to the dining area to see if he can find anything to eat. This is sorely tempting because everything back home in Cloud Recesses the food is bland and almost vegetarian diet.

Seeing so much food in first class dining room is tempting. If he could even have those chicken wings on the table....

II. Deck
He came upon the higher decks to have some fresh air. But what are those strange shapes swimming beneath the water? Is it a ghost? Just coming close to the rail and he feels a sense of dread, a memory long buried and forgotten.

Very carefully, he steps away from the rail before he becomes overwhelmed and fear this fear is too much before he starts seeing things and flooded with fear.

"Don't come near the water...there's something below, I don't know what is it."

III. Wildcard!
[Want to do something in the town instead? Arrival, going to shops, or get together? Plot with me and hmu!]

First Class

[gremlinkeeper]

Wangji was being led to his table when he spies a familiar robed figure peeking in longingly. He glares at the waiter until the poor man grows flustered, then gestures at Sizhui.

"Bring him in. He will eat with me." The or else is only just left off.

The man scurries off after blustering uselessly for a moment and goes to escort the junior in while Lan Wangji waits impatiently until his son is brought over, then sits with a short nod to the poor man who quickly bows and all but runs off.

"Where did you wake?" He murmurs to his son, visually checking to make sure Sizhui is unharmed in any way.

Alana Bloom / Hannibal (S1)

[guestlectures]

Arrival

[ After three days on board Alana still isn't certain she's not suffering from ongoing hallucinations. She is (somehow) on the Titanic (though it's sailing in the wrong direction) and she's being treated by most people on board like she belongs here. In second class. On a ship destined to sink.

As much as possible she tries to go along with-- whatever this is. She spends a lot of time watching, and after a few days she thinks she's not the only one who doesn't belong here. There are others who don't seem as comfortable with the language and the mannerisms.

Picking her time, making sure they'll both be alone, she approaches-- ]

You don't belong here either, do you? [ There's no guarantee she's right. She might be talking to someone who's firmly part of the world. ]

Ghost Ship

[ Some time into the voyage Alana stops scrutinising her fellow passengers so closely and lets her attention turn to the ocean.

And she immediately regrets it ]

Did you see that? [ She reaches out for the arm of someone passing by. With her other hand she points down into the water ] There's something down there, following the ship.

Ghost Ship

[laminae]

[It's been long enough on the ship that Fern has gotten an understanding of the class differences, and unfortunately firsthand experience with how little tolerance humans from the early twentieth century have for someone who looks distinctly non-human. Understandably, he's a little jumpy when someone suddenly grabs his arm. He might be wearing normal, non-grass clothing, but his arms are still thin and lacking the muscle and bone definition of a normal human limb.

He starts, his free hand immediately starting to form a grass sword before he realizes what he's doing and what she's asking. This has nothing to do with him looking like a monster, it's about whatever is lurking down in the water. The blade of grass shrinks back into his palm and he blinks.]

Uh, yeah. It's probably some monster that wants to eat us.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce | Angel: the Series/Buffyverse

[especiallyparanoid]

i. Where feet may fail – Visions

[That is... disturbing. Dreaming of vicious, horrific sea creatures is disturbing. Having a clearly dead and drowned girl beckoning to you is disturbing. Having these images follow you into the day is disturbing.

All of it is. But Wesley is a professional, so he stares at the vision with what he hopes passes as... some sort of... bravery because he's scared. Just plain human instinct that doesn't care how much supernatural stuff you may have encountered in your life scared.]

Do you see that?

[He isn't sure if he's talking to himself or the person next to him. His voice is small, a little too soft and he blinks, once, twice, shaking his head. He doesn't want to be that guy. He takes that guy as a client, sitting him down, telling him it's going to be okay.]

Do you see her? A... a girl? Do you see a girl?



ii. Where my feet may fail – Almost drowning

[He got too close.

Of course he got too close, it's not like he ever learns. Fortunately, he manages to break free and fight and claw and survival his way out of this puddle that is anything but.

And then he runs (or something of the sort). He's coughing miserably, sputtering, clutching his arm close to his chest and hobbling towards the first person he sees in the streets.]

H-hello!

[It was supposed to be a yell but it's more of a gasp before his voice breaks into another coughing fit.

He's terrified, still in the clutches of almost drowning and frantic from the experience.]

Please, I need some help here!

i - omg wesley!! my fave!

[wronganswer]

[ Anderson is a pretty noticeable figure cautiously wandering around Deerington shortly after her arrival. Her expression is flat and tense, and she's wearing head-to-toe futuristic tactical armor, complete with a badge on her chest saying Anderson. She doesn't have her gun in hand - it's still holstered conspicuously at her hip - but that's all that can be said.

Wesley's not the first person to speak to her, but he is the first person to mention something she's been seeing herself. ] The girl? [ she clarifies, eyes widening a little. ] Not just then, but... I've seen her. I thought it was just me.

[ Being psychic makes her a lot more prone to weird metaphysical bullshit, even if she hasn't been through advanced training yet. She's not a Psi-Judge for nothing. ]

Zevran Arainai | Dragon Age

[mmmleather]

ABOARD THE SHIP

Unchanged ; The Decks
[This... sure is a boat.]

[It sure is a ship. The likes of which he has never seen before in his entire lifetime. There are no sails, for one thing. Only the huge columns spilling smoke like forges into the sky. Everyone is dressed differently -- almost like something out of Orlais, but simpler. Which doesn't say a lot, because Orlais is what it is, and that is ridiculously complex. They are all, additionally, extremely human.]

[Which... makes for more than a few looks thrown in an elf's direction. Especially an elf wearing leather armor, and armed with a dagger. Staring means you haven't got anything like a low profile, which you typically need in his line of work. None of the others appear nearby, either.]

[But hey. Maybe it's that Shale would sink the boat, and Oghren's smell was far too terrible to be allowed out from belowdecks. But the others --]

Pardon me? [As he stops a nearby person with a flourish and an accent of some vaguely familiar land.] This will sound utterly insane, but, what vessel is this?


Changed ; Party Time
[Later on, as time wears by, the Antivan elf has become... a Spanish Gentleman. Of the second class party. What better way to blend in, after all? A perfect way to travel between the classes, to never be suspected, no matter what area of the ship he's in. The dagger, of course, hasn't left his person. It's safely hidden, in case he finds his mark.]

[This isn't a pleasure cruise after all. It's business.]

Might I have this dance?

[He will ask of anyone nearby, extending a hand. The tattoos on his face remain, though his unbraided hair occasionally hides them from view. He's still not tall -- so he will likely have to look up to his dance partner.] It is such a lovely night, though, I will admit... I am shamelessly distracted by your face.

[And the fact he thinks his target may be on the dance floor...]


Changed or Unchanged; The Dreadful Sea
Did you see that?

[Someone clutches at your sleeve. Pulling you toward the rail of the ship.]

It was just there! Under the water... look.


wildcard;
[Hit up this terrible little man elsewhere! I can roll with just about anything! He will be listed as Second Class on the official Titanic Roster, however.]

[notgneiss]

[speak of the devil and they appear. there are heavy footfalls behind zevran, then an irritated voice:] What is it staring at? Have these fleshies never seen a golem before? Perish the thought.

[apparently shale isn't sinking the boat! but... let's not find out what would happen if they skip a few steps.]

I got called a demon earlier. No imagination, honestly! Do I look like something as boring as a demon?

[angelic_archer]

Titanic - Promenade Decks

The Lightwoods were one of the great Shadowhunter families despite the acts that had resulted in Alec's parents being sent to New York. Wealth, power, a family name to uphold... of course that meant Alec would travel first class. He felt a pang of regret as he walked the Promenade Deck. Izzy and Jace should be with him. Izzy would adore the fashions that were on display among the other passengers and charm the unwary men aboard the ship. Jace... Jace would probably go stir crazy but at least his parabatai would be beside him. To deal with the loneliness and a sense that he should be more active, Alec fled to the Promenade Decks, hpoing that exercise and fresh air would settle his mind.

As he paused at the rail, something caught his attention. Something dark moved in the water, teasing at his senses, reminding him of something. All the stories are true. The thought seemed right and wrong at the same time, causing Alec to back away from the railing until he bumped into someone behind him. "Did yous see something in the water?" He pointed to where the shadow had lurked nearby. "It was over there."

Titanic - Dining Room

Without his siblings beside him, Alec really didn't know how to interact with those around him. There'd been someone else who had helped him become more at ease in these situations, but that being's name eluded him as it caused a painful ache in his chest. A memory of golden eyes reminded him how to smile at strangers and be at ease
while dressed in formal attire and listening to the drone of Mundie conversation. Picking up his glass, he took a sip of wine, and then realized he missed whatever the person next to him had said. "I'm sorry. I was distracted. What was the question?"

hope this is ok

[hedon]

It's been some time since Magnus has seen Alec, he arrived shortly after his failed wedding to Lydia Branwell and that had been several months ago. While he still thought of him often he rarely indulged the idea, knowing that ultimately he was better off alone. It's not a world he'd wish upon Alec or any of the others, but that same loneliness set in during moments of silence when nothing else was left to distract him.

Given his status upon the barge, Magnus is considerably less refined than he's gotten a reputation for. He's in a dirty button-up t-shirt over a pair of wide-leg slacks that stay on his body through the use of some second-hand suspenders.

"I was asking if you were done with your plate." Magnus has his memories, he retained them, but much of the ship hadn't been so lucky. People had their history warped to fit the current setting and whatever waters they were traveling upon the celestial bodies visible out on the deck didn't make sense where mapping the stars had been concerned. None of it was astronomically correct which made him tread carefully as a result. If Alec didn't remember, didn't recognize him for who he was in such a state there wouldn't be much push back from him. Magnus has tried to fight against the powers here and failed each time, the last thing he wants to do is involve someone else in the repercussions of that. Alec especially.

Adam | Only Lovers Left Alive

[dalbergiaretusa]

[ Ghost Ship: on deck, sea gazing ]

[ Nighttime over the ocean is dark in all directions, even with the moon and stars overhead. A tall, pale man with messy hair and dark-colored clothing stands looking out over the water. His gloved hands hold the railing as he stands statue still, eyes fixed on something just over the horizon. At a glance, he seems deep in thought, brows furrowed while his grip on the rail tightens ever so slightly. He tries so hard not to let his gaze stray to the shapes he can see under the surface of the water. For so many reasons, something doesn't feel right about this situation.

While his posture may suggest that he wants to be left alone, perhaps it would be better if someone were to interrupt him. Perhaps someone themselves feels the same paranoia that Adam does and needs a bit of reassurance. ]


[ Ghost Ship: third class wallflower ]

[ Regardless of Adam's usual tendency to avoid large gatherings of people, the voyage is too long and the accommodations too crowded to remain in isolation without attracting attention.

On this night, he feels warm and fed and in relatively good spirits despite the dour expression on his face. The sound of music draws him out from his solitude. A pair of fiddles, slightly out of tune but played with skill and enthusiasm. The clapping of hands and the stomping of feet, occasionally a fraction off-beat but all the more charming for it. The cantor making up lyrics on the fly about dry land, better food, and softer beds (with more pleasurable company).

Adam leans against a far wall, nearly in the shadows behind some obstruction or another, to watch. Arms crossed over his chest, his attention is all for the music, scarcely sparing a glance to the people around him. He thinks that his wife would love this, were she to have joined him on the voyage, and how fond of dancing she is. His expression relaxes. Maybe he'll dance one in her honor. ]


[ Ghost Ship: Wildcard ]

[[ a Hiddleston-faced vampire stuck on the Titanic, at your pleasure. ]]

[ Ghost Ship: on deck, sea gazing ]

[lookattheglass]

[Lindsey's been here a little too long, a little too absorbed into the daily life of it all, for him to remember too much of his actual life. He feels like he's merely another passenger--a first-class passenger, nonetheless, but the growing paranoia seems to poke holes in even that.

There's something wrong here he can't quite place, and the ocean seems to hold a lot of that wrongness.

He's exploring the ship, fine clothes slightly disheveled, tie undone, as he walks along the rail, staring at the water.

He pauses, someone else is there, someone staring at the water. Maybe he's imagining it, but he knows that look.]

You see it? You see it too, don't you?

[Please tell him you see it.]

leonardo da vinci ( da vinci's demons )

[inventa]

( virgin of the rocks )

[ waking on a boat had been unusual enough, given where he'd been only the day before, but waking on a boat like this is.. impossible. at first, he'd thought it must have something to do with the book and with the sons of mithras, but the dream lingers with him in a way that's different from those visions.

he knows he need to solve the puzzle, find out where they're going and why, but it's hard to focus on those things when the wonder of the vessel itself is such a distraction.

the torches are a wonder-- such bright, even, unflickering light. not a flame; more like a flash of lightning, caught and held in a small glass bottle. his fingers twitch as he sketches, ignoring what's going on around him, ignoring that as a third-class passenger, he technically shouldn't really be up here. he straightens at last, and as someone goes to pass by him, he slaps his sketchbook practically into their hands. ] Hold this. [ and: ] Please, [ as an afterthought.

he reaches, hissing at how hot the little bottle--lightbulb--is, and draws his hand back to instead cover it with his sleeve. he reaches back up again, then, unscrewing the bulb and passing it from hand to hand with little pained hisses as it cools. ]

There's a-- a metal wire in it, isn't there? [ he brings it up to his face to examine. ] Metal, glass, lightning. It's very like the device I built to defeat the Turks. But how--?

( bacchus )

You! Hello, yes-- [ leo shakes his worn sketchbook with a smile, then offers a hand. ] Leonardo da Vinci, it's a pleasure. Would you mind modeling for me? It's just..

[ the smile and slightly manic energy fade, leaving him looking tired. ]

Well, I need to focus on something a little simpler for a while.

( la joconde )

[ he knew there was something about this ship, about this voyage. it's been messing with his head, with all of their heads, and now--

he staggers, grabs someone's arm to steady himself, staring up pleadingly into their face. ]

Tell me you see it. [ he sweeps an arm out to take in the rest of the ship, the rotting wood and the rusted holes. ] Tell me I'm not going mad.

bacchus 👀

[4thwaller]

[ The sudden invasion into Wade's attention sends him into high alert and his had twitches, wanting to grab the knife in his boot. It doesn't, however, instead he simply watches the artist introduce himself.

A scarred eyebrow lifts up his forehead but he shakes the hand offered. ]

Wade Wilson.

[ His instincts tell him to tell the guy to fuck off and find someone else to bother because he's trying to avoid drawing attention to himself and can hardly hold still for longer than five seconds, but something else wins out for the moment. ]

Leonardo da Vinci? Is that a family name or do you think you're just that good?

[ Which sounds, probably way more rude than Wade really intended, but no one's ever praised him for tact. ]

Willy McLean | the To-Do List

[doggypaddler]

Drown Me In Bullshit
[ Willy was supposed to be going east. Road trip, broadened horizons, the whole nine, except the bright sunshine and open road gave way to fog and drizzle, and then his car stalled and he couldn't get it running again. So he started walking, in the rain, and the fucking cold, and everything else, but it didn't get any better. He just got soaked, which made him increasingly annoyed.

And then there was a little girl. Well, dreams about a little girl, and then she started following him around. He wasn't necessarily a paranoid type of person, but it started unnerving him, putting him on edge. ]

I've seen Poltergeist. Don't come any closer, you creepy fucking kid.

[ Yes. Yes he will start running if she moves closer, extremely undignified and ridiculous; THIS WHOLE THING IS SUPER MESSED UP OKAY. ]

I'm on a Boat
[ William is just lucky he made it onto the ship, honestly. Yes, he's supposed to be there, it's kind of obligatory for staff, but considering he's drunk more than he's not, and not especially great at actually working, far more likely to be found sleeping off the previous night's revelry than making sure the guests are taken care of, it's not necessarily altogether helpful.

One night, he finds himself staring off over the railing, and there's...something out there. Something ominous, and slithering, something that saddles him with lingering unease and paranoia, which really only makes him drink more. Helpful. But he tries to be; he tries to tell the rest of the staff, and the passengers, mumbles about it whether or not it seems important or relevant. ]

Stay away from the ledge, there's somethin'...there's somethin' out there.

bullshit.

[sscuriosity]

Hey. Sasquatch.

[Did he just? Oh, he definitely did. One Dustin Henderson is perched on the roof of a nearby building in the rain and he slips the ladder he used to get up there off the eaves to this new unsuspecting victim.]

Yeah, that's right. Over here. For the record, this has nothing to do with Poltergeist.