Imaginary Island Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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imaginarylogs2020-07-12 05:21 pm
imaginarymods) wrote in imaginarylogs2020-07-12 05:21 pm
Entry tags:
- ace attorney: phoenix wright,
- ddlc: monika,
- ddlc: natsuki,
- ddlc: sayori,
- digimon: erika mishima,
- final destination: alex browning,
- final destination: clear rivers,
- golden kamuy: hyakunosuke ogata,
- homestuck: terezi pyrope,
- idolm@ster: nana abe,
- jjba: guido mista,
- original: christine delacroix,
- original: mira delacroix,
- overwatch: jesse mccree,
- persona: shinjiro aragaki,
- power rangers: tommy oliver,
- prelude,
- red vs blue: agent washington,
- red vs blue: leonard church,
- steven universe: rose quartz,
- story log,
- the good place: michael,
- umineko: lion ushiromiya,
- umineko: willard h wright,
- undertale: papyrus,
- undertale: sans,
- wktd: venus
prelude {{ Log 01.
Island Prelude ; Log 01
Life's a beach—
You wake up on the beach.
Okay, scratch that: you wake up on a beach. Some beach, somewhere. You don't know where it is, much less why you're there. You can feel the warm sun and a light breeze on your skin, along with the insidious prickle of sand worming its way into your fantasy Nikes. You have no memory of being here — but then again, you might not have any memory of being anywhere else.
At least you're not alone. There are other people scattered along this beach, toes trailing in the surf as they brush sand out of their shirts or shake seaweed from their weapons. Each and every one of them has an unremovable bracer locked around their wrist. Maybe you should get up. Lend a helping hand, or ask for one. Maybe somebody else knows more about the situation than you do. Maybe somebody else knows where that music is coming from. Is there a beach party going on?
—& then you d̵̡̪̻̿̽͒i̸̟͓͍͌̾͐ë̸͖͇̪́̔͊.
There's only so far you get before noticing that something's wrong, though. Even if you've got no memories but your name, something in you knows that trees aren't supposed to look like that. They're not supposed to be so . . . low-res. Right?
But these trees, not to put too fine a point on it, kind of suck. Some of them, anyway. Every few trees has one patch that flickers in and out of existence like an old neon sign. Every couple rocks seems to have spasmed and frozen up in one large pixel blob. If you touch these glitched spaces, nothing happens to you, but it certainly doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're touching anything at all.
Looking back to the space you woke up, you might notice a pattern. The section of beach strewn with newly-conscious amnesiacs is exceptionally glitchy. There are a couple small patches of sky that seem to just be missing. And out at sea? There's way more of them out there.
If you're a strong swimmer, you might try swimming out toward the horizon. There's only so far you can go, though. After about half a mile, you hit some kind of resistance and blip back onto the beach. Watch the sea long enough, and you might see some boats making the same mistake — although they just end up closer to shore rather than beached, fortunately for them. Boats are expensive, and the barrier, whatever it is, seems to be doing its best not to damage them.
(Jaws Theme)
Walking up the beach towards the source of the music, you start to feel a little bit watched. Turn, and there's no one there. Just a quaint thatch-roofed vending machine with a strange cat face on the plate. Innocuous, though, and certainly nothing to worry about. So you keep going.
Except then you feel it again. And if you manage to pause in time, you'll hear this shuffling sound, like wood dragging through sand. Turn again, and the vending machine is right behind you. Like, right behind you. There's no way it moved fast enough to close that distance, and yet.
There are some options here. You can run — but it'll catch up. You can try to fight it — but you'll just hurt your hand (or other appendage). You can try to reason with it — but it's unrelenting. What it wants, as you'll soon discover, is to yeet a small bottle of dark, thick liquid at your face. It's also very insistent that you drink it. If you don't, it'll just fling another one at you, and keep flinging them, until you're crushed to death by vials or drink one, whichever comes first.
Everyone gets this treatment. The vending machine is never in two places at once, but its ubiquity might make it seems as though it is. When one inevitably breaks down and drinks the Kool-aid, it tastes just awful, but at least it's over and done with now. Surely this will never come up again.
This sparks joy
If you follow the music for long enough, you'll find yourself in easily one of the busiest places on the Island. The marketplace that spreads out before you is known as the Boardwalk, a fact that's easy to discover from any of the friendly locals. For most of you, these will be the first people you've encountered who didn't wash up on the beach alongside you. They're very fuzzy faces, too. The Animalians, a menagerie of anthropomorphic animals, almost all speak Common and seem pretty unfazed by the cluster of bewildered strangers. After all, new faces mean new customers!There are a truly ridiculous number of things for sale on the Boardwalk. The predominant one is food, of course, and the smells hanging over the canvas tents and open-air stalls are positively mouth-watering. There are a wide variety of foods represented here. Maybe one or two of them will strike you as familiar, or trigger a memory? Pretty much all of them are delicious, though, so there's nothing to lose by digging in. Other goods include clothing, weaponry, art, and jewelry in a variety of styles. If you're lucky, you might find a tent that sells beautiful locally-made instruments — a Bard's dream!
Lack of coinage won't be too much of a handicap here. Barter is welcome, and should you not have enough to barter with, most sellers are happy to trade goods for services. It's highly likely that a newcomer or two will be found up to their elbows in dishes by the end of the night, or doing similar odd jobs for vendors.
Still, no one gets through an excursion to the Boardwalk without being swept into at least one dance. It comes out of nowhere: an Animalian's paw or claw on your elbow, a gentle nudge at the small of your back, and you're swept toward the gazebo, the source of the music that's been swelling all day and into the evening. It's joyous and captivating, the Animalians' love of dance infectious. Even buzzkills might be tempted to softshoe just a little.
What's this? What's this?
The Island seems to be sprouting miscellanea. Extremely distinctive weaponry stuck up a tree, books half-buried in sand or earth, clothing neatly folded or possibly being worn by an animal, or Animalian . . . At some point, it just becomes chaos. There's a great deal to recover, or to steal if that's more your bag. On the other hand, you might choose to be helpful and match belongings with their owners. You never know: a found item might help someone find the memory that goes along with it.Just west of the Boardwalk, there's something else that might be familiar. At the center of a saltwater lake, easy to get to by rowboat, is a miniature island and swim-up bar. Each place is adorned by a menu listing strange and deja vu-inducing items, from nanchos to decaf espresso paradox. Some are helpful. Some are harmful. Some are just weird? He'll make you anything on the menu, but nothing more. Strangely, should you be overcome by the urge to ask the chef for something special and unique, he will gravely extend one of his tentacles and place a single, smooth, heart-shaped stone in your palm. The squid does not speak Common, but you understand an IOU when you're delicately, slimily handed one.
There's so much to explore here that, by the end of the day when you stumble back to the cabanas and attempt to sort out where you're going to collapse for the night, you haven't covered more than a sliver of it. There's tomorrow and the days after for looking around more, for stumbling across more of your belongings (or other people's), for discovering ruins and murals and memories. No matter how much time you take to fuss over sleeping arrangements, everyone ends up more or less in the same place: an open-air cabana, with the breeze blowing over them through the night and into the morning.
Everyone dreams — peacefully — of the moon.
OOC
Welcome, everyone, to the first Island log, our Prelude! While we will not be taking RNG requests during this log, we encourage you to stretch out, explore the space, and get yourseaisland legs. For questions pertaining to this log, go here. For general questions, head to the FAQ. For more places to explore in this first log, check out the Setting and NPC pages.
Questions
in loving homage
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what happens if someone tries to move their stuff out prematurely because they definitely want Personal Space, but i, the player, would like them to suffer instead
asking for a friend
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Re: Questions
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[He's awake. He's looking at the sky. He's lying on the sand. It's really warm. His name is Sans. Everything else is blank, a swirl of mist. That's what makes him sit up, sharp and quick. The sunlight dazzling off the ocean is almost blinding, for an instant, and he looks down at his hands. Scratch that, his hand. The right one ends at the wrist. He has no idea if that should be frightening or not. What is that stuck to his left arm?
Okay, no, that's enough of that. Stop. Focus. Think. What's in his pockets? Bingo, he's got some pictures. A photograph, a drawing. There's him. There are--some other people. He sits there for a long time, staring at those pictures. It has to mean something, right?
He's distracted, obviously so. The other way this is obvious is that when someone tries to get his attention he vanishes in a whirl of mist, only to appear three feet away and one foot in the air before crashing to the ground.]
B
You're a real pushy sales guy, y'know?
[Sans is talking to a vending machine. Considering it's been following him around, though, he thinks it's fair to strike up a conversation. The vending machine, for its part, spits more weird inky goop at him. Sans sidesteps. The vending machine tries again. This time, Sans teleports. The vending machine moves in that instant Sans can't see it. This is the stupidest fight ever.]
C
[The stars are out. Sans has spent time wandering the island, talking to people, poking in and out of cabanas and getting food from a squid and meeting Animalians on the boardwalk, so he doesn't notice until he's back by the beach, where it's quiet and dark.
He stares straight up immediately. His eye sockets widen. There's a feeling, like this is special, like he hasn't seen this kind of view often enough. He doesn't know the names of any of these stars, but something in him thinks they probably have them. Constellations--he doesn't know them, but he knows they exist. There's a spark of something warm in his chest. Tomorrow, he thinks he'll try to find a book about them. Sans doesn't look away, but he does address anyone who draws near.]
You recognize any of these?
D
[Wildcard! Come up with your own scenario or hit me up at
C
That's not the point, though. He looks up at the stars. Stars...he's seen those before, too.]
No. But they're so far away - don't know how I would from here.
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a / wildcardish?
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D: who stalks the stalker?
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christine | ota
[ The sound of waves in the distance and the feel of sun on her skin awakens Christine and she lets out a groan before covering her eyes with the back of an arm. But then she hears movement, conversation, and she comes to realize she isn't alone.
Sitting up, she shields her eyes from the sun and takes in her surroundings. A beach? Pulling herself to her feet, she brushes sand off her clothes and considers where she might be. She shouldn't be here, right? Wait, where does she belong? Who is she?
Christine. She knows that. But who is Christine? Staring down at her hands, she gets the sense that she's done something unique with these hands. But what? And where is that music coming from? Music... dancing. Something about dancing. ]
How did we get here?
[ It's said to the nearest person. Things feel familiar, but not. Maybe if she takes a moment to take stock of this situation it'll come back to her. ]
{ this sparks joy }
[ By now Christine's memories have come flooding back to her and she's sure to come up to any Reclaimer she recognizes to touch base and see if they're all right. But while doing that she also does a bit of shopping. It's best to be prepared, right? ]
{ what's this? what's this? }
[ Christine comes across the chaos in a clearing and does her best to find her own things. She was never a visitor to others' rooms, so she can't really help with finding their things before they do and returning them. Eventually she has a little selection of her items from the moon base on her: a pink shawl draped over her arm, a short sword in a scabbard, a small book, a compass, and— ]
My music box!
[ It's said to a Reclaimer who happens to be lifting a jewelry box out of the sand. Should they open it, a tune will start to play as a ballerina twirls in the center, a tiny mirror behind her. ]
what's this? what's this?
Weird place to leave your music box. [He says it like a joke--it's obvious something weird's going on, after all, and he doesn't think she actually left it here on purpose.
Something that Christine may notice: Sans, who always made a point of at least knowing the names and faces of every Reclaimer, shows absolutely no sign of recognition when he sees her.]
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life's a beach
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[When Rose Quartz wakes up on the beach, the feeling of sun and sand is familiar enough that she's not really worried until she realizes she doesn't remember how she got to this beach, or much of anything besides her name, which glitters bright and important in her mind. Rose Quartz. Just Rose.
Standing up, she wiggles her toes in the warm sand and, impulsively, darts forward to meet the waves as they crash onto the beach. It's cold, and she laughs, and she's not really sure why but it's fun anyway. When she spots someone else, she waves a them with a similar level of delight.]
Hello! Do you know what this place is called?
B
[Rose is drawn to the music and the dancing. She needs no encouragement to join in, whirling around with motions that come naturally to her, even though she doesn't remember ever learning. Her long white dress swirls around as she spins. She's still barefoot, but it doesn't slow her down any. Anyone she spots lurking on the sidelines is liable to get grabbed and pulled into the party.]
Come on, join in! It's really fun!
C
[It starts raining at 5PM on the dot. Rose doesn't know what time it is, but the downpour catches her by surprise just outside of the cabanas. She stands there longer than she should, until her hair is soaked through and her dress is sticking to her skin, before she runs to the nearest cabana, laughing all the way, sand stuck to her feet.]
It's really pouring! [Rose starts talking as soon as she's just barely inside, heedless of who else might be in here sheltering from the rain.] Isn't it great?
[She can't remember anything, but she still feels like the way she felt that rain was special somehow.]
D
[Wildcard! Come up with a scenario, or hit me up at
B
[ Monika is easily swept up by Rose into the dance. She had been watching innocently, but woah she's in it! She stumbles a bit as she tries to get her footing, looking up at the giant woman. ]
How are you so good at this?
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C for cee
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C/D - rain on a later day?
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Monika | Doki Doki Literature Club | OTA
I. Arrival
(( CW: mild panic attack ))[ Green eyes flutter open as she wakes, and pale hands dig their fingers into the sand. Monika picks her head up slowly as she tries to orient herself. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t actually do it because she has no idea where she is. More importantly, she doesn’t know who she is. There’s only one thing in her mind:
Just Monika.
That’s her name, but it doesn’t give her any answers. The girl gets up, immediately takes off her jacket and ties it around her waist, and moves up the beach. Staying here isn’t going to give her any answers either. Her goal is to find someone who can help her out. However, she doesn’t make it far though. Once she sees the glitching tree, she completely freezes up.
Monika can’t break her gaze off the glitch. Why… Why is it like this? Why does it make her feel so uneasy? Why is there such dread in her heart?
She doesn’t even realize how heavily she’s breathing. How hard her heart is pounding... ]
II. Heart of the Cards
[ Later after that little episode, Monika will be a little less panicked. She had her encounter with the vending machine, but weirdly, she wasn’t afraid. Actually, she felt really compelled to comply. Maybe ink is the cure to anxiety?
After that additional weirdness, she wanders over to the cabanas and finds her own. She at first lies back on her bed to rest, but she feels too unsettled for that. So instead she sits up and starts going through her new tarot deck. What is this supposed to even be? She doesn’t know anything more about this than herself right now.
Perhaps you’re looking for your own Cabana or just seeing who’s around, but Monika will glance up when she hears someone at the door. ]
Oh hi! Um… sorry I don’t have any idea what’s going on if that’s what you’re here to ask. Don’t let the fortune telling cards fool you!
III. Power of the Merchant
[ Her restlessness continues through the day, so eventually, Monika will ditch the Cabana and head to the market. There’s a lot to take in, but it actually makes her smile instead of overwhelm her. The distraction is welcomed honestly. Her eyes drift through the different stalls, ooo’ing and awing to herself. There’s nothing she really wants, but it doesn’t hurt to window shop, right?If you’re struggling to make a deal, though, she may sidle up beside you to lend a hand. She gives a little wink before speaking up. ]
You know, I think I saw this a little cheaper down at another stall. Surely you’re better off over there.
[ Why does this come so naturally to her? Monika’s not sure, but it’s kinda fun! ]
IV. Wildcard
(( If none of these prompts work for you, feel free to contact me on the discord or atI
Sans sidles up beside her, keeping enough distance that if she's startled, hopefully she won't smack him or anything.]
I'm thinkin' this part of the beach ain't worth stickin' around. What about you?
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II
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II
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I :)
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III - Merchant
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II.
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wildcard
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iii
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[He knows his name, Phoenix. Phoenix Wright. Where is he? Who is he? It's all a blur. Well, not all of it.
The part where he is face down in the surf isn't. With a sputter and a gasp he is pulling himself up, kneeling in the surf to get his bearings.
Of course, even without his memories, one thing Phoenix is good at is vocalizing his thought process for all to hear.]
Hello? Anyone? Where am I?
[D - The Boardwalk - Court Begins]
[After getting his bearings a bit - though not remembering anything yet, still - Phoenix has worked his way the open bazaar - though perhaps bizarre is the real word for it, looking at the collection of animal-esque people hocking wares. He's getting pulled into various conversations, trying to explain he doesn't actually have any money, he's pretty sure - once he gets soe coin, he'll absolutely come back - what is this? This looks interesting - he promises, once he comes back, he'll peruse more.
Of course it might in fact be a little odd to see a man in a full three-piecec sit wandering this market, so perhaps, if you yourself are looking for strange people, he's not hard to miss.]
[E - Across the Island - Investigation ~ Opening]
[Phoenix has spent the whole day seemingly distracted - there are plenty of items that appear to be, well, not what he expected the people in the market to be interested in! He's collected a few himself, but he can't help but feel these items aren't what he's looking for? He isn't sure why. But he's been negotiating with various locals - no, really, he's pretty sure someone needs this, he isn't sure who, but doesn't it seem strange it just turned up? He can make sure to find the person who that item belongs to - no, no, it's really no trouble-]
[It's entirely likely you might be running into Phoenix with something of his, or maybe he has something of yours? Collected as he's wandered around like an amnesiac adventure game protagonist.]
[F - Wildcard - It Doesn't End Here]
[Need a specific thread prompt? Hit me up on Discord or
E
Sans decides to teleport, appearing suddenly next to Phoenix, and just grab the scarf (red, identical to the one Sans is wearing) out of Phoenix's hands. He's already stowing it away in the pockets of his hoodie.]
Hey, thanks for findin' this for me.
DEJA VU, I'VE JUST BEEN IN THIS PLACE BEFORE (1/2)
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E; i'm sorry not-bro
are you, are you really
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E
D
sayori ♥ doki doki literature club!
[It's such a beautiful beach. At first, Sayori doesn't even notice the strangeness, the little chunks of it that aren't quite right, even though it is pretty weird that she can't remember anything but her name.
When she finally does — when she notices a tree whose form keeps distorting in odd discolored bars — something about it strikes a dissonant chord within her. It draws her in as much as it unsettles her.
She approaches the tree with tentative steps, and for a moment just watches it with an unreadable flat expression. After a beat of contemplative silence, she reaches out a hand to lay her palm against the trunk.
The tree glitches again and her hand shoves right through it.
She yanks her arm back as if burned, eyes wide and face going pale beneath the sweat that suddenly breaks out along her hairline. Her feet take her backwards and she stumbles, though she doesn't fall. Her brain brushes up against some ugly recollection, something familiar in an awful way.
It's at this moment that she realizes she isn't alone — she looks away from the palm tree, eyes wide with a fear she doesn't entirely grasp yet. And just like that, it's buried, shoved back behind the heavy curtain of her wide smile and disbelieving laughter. Her hand waves it off in a dismissive motion.] Ahaha! Sorry— it's super weird, it just surprised me!
♥ 2 - bottles, and other things! (OTA) ♥
[Sayori approaches the vending machine, of course. Where there's food, there's Sayori. And she takes the bottle of weird black stuff without complaint, but that's because she gets distracted by...a poster stuck to the front of the machine. She peels it off and stares at it with eyebrows furrowed. That's...definitely her face, and definitely her name!] Me?
[Weird! She looks at the selection of stuff in the machine after a moment of considering this poster, like maybe the food inside will have the answer?
It doesn't, but she does want ice cream, because it's too hot and she's hungry. So she purchases an ice cream. And what comes out is not the flavor she selected, but a mascot face ice cream, accompanied by a very tacky keychain with—]
Whaaaa? Why's all this stuff have my face?? [What is this SORCERY???]
♥ 3 - determined bowmaiden! (OTA) ♥
[It's sort of a funny sight, little 5'2" Sayori wielding a glimmering silver longbow bearing the screaming faces of two vengeful elves. Her expression is curious as she draws an arrow from her quiver and nocks it, her eyes wide with wonder as she discovers that she knows the exact place that it should lie on the bowstring.
Then she lifts the bow and aims at a (non-flickering) palm tree about twenty feet away. She takes a deep breath, draws the string back with surprising strength, and then fires.
The arrow buries itself straight into the trunk of the tree. Sayori looks at it for a moment.
And then, amazed:] That was so cool! I can do that?!
♥ 4 - boardwalk boogie! (OTA) ♥
[The Boardwalk is Sayori's kind of place. She's mesmerized at all the people, the sounds, the colors and smells of all the wares on display. It's easy to find her with some kind of food in her hand, shoveling it in her face at way too quick a pace for such a small girl. But she's an easily distracted sucker, so what really draws her in is the salsa she can hear coming from the gazebo at the center of the Boardwalk.
For a while, she just watches with transparent amazement as people float on and off the dance floor, some experienced with dance and some clearly just winging it. They all seem to be having so much fun, though, and so—
When someone offers a hand to Sayori to join in, she takes it, laughing. She's not wearing a skirt to twirl, but she holds the corner of her cloak between her fingers and thumb and lets that fabric flutter with her dance instead, imitating the movements of the Animalians with imprecise but enthusiastic glee.
Inevitably, she reaches out and offers her hand to— well, you! With the brightest beaming smile she can manage.] Wanna dance?
♥ 5 - wildcard! (OTA) ♥
[got another idea or want Sayori somewhere else? hit me with a prompt or plot with me at
2
Guess you must be pretty popular.
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cabana buddies; closed to clear & will
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4 (i changed my mind)
4...........heh
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2 + 5
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boardwalk boogie
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natsuki | ota
i.
ii.
iii.
III
Hopefully things he recognizes, but until then, things that look out of place. Whether they're buried in the sand of utterly not-sand colors, or are distinctively not fruit but stuck in plants... Like the brass knuckles hanging from this tree, for instance.
But his attentive search doesn't prepare him to be shouted at, and he startles at it, twisting to look at the shouter. Small, pink, with lace all over. He looks at the brass knuckles, then the lace, and back.]
Uhh... Bold accessorizing! If it's yours, it's yours.
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III
1/2
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Kneeling on the shore, breathing, feeling sun through cloak, sand through metal, looking up into light through fluttering blue. I think, therefore, I am. Erika. She feels as though she's done this before. This - whatever this is - being here? Or being lost? She is an open book, pages blank, or a - a - not a book, but information in another form, a -
I might believe you if you tell me more.
Okay! Where should I start?
Hehe. Well...the "link beach". What's that like?
The link beach? Things wash up from the electric sea, like weird boxes, sometimes buildings. And, near the beach, there's a forest, and it goes all the way to the valley of buildings. And in the forest -
...Hmm.
- you don't believe me! Mmmm! I'm doing my best trying to describe it!
The more you describe, the more unrealistic it sounds.
- - -
...
She feels lost.
And yet.
Someone is waiting for her. And that, she thinks, makes it alright.]
[A - Reclamation]
[Sometimes the direct approach is best.]
Hey.
[And if that doesn't work to get their attention,]
Hey!
[then she can chase after a person on the Boardwalk and shout, sharp and short. Probably grab their sleeve, or the hem of their shirt, and give it a little tug. If they're tall enough, she'll take a few tight steps back to avoid craning her neck when they turn around. For a moment - a quick but awkward beat - she stares, searching, but then she'll ask, terse and pointed:]
What's your name?
extra prompts
A - Reclamation
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A??? A.
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PAPYRUS | Undertale | OTA
[There's sand... absolutely everywhere. That's the first thing Papyrus is aware of, even before his inner monologue catches on to the part where his name is Papyrus. The sand's covering the ground, spilling into his clothes, grainy against his bones and pinching where it gets caught under the metal around his wrist.
He doesn't know how he got to be lying half-buried in sand, or why he's wearing these things, but he has words for a lot of the things going on. This is sand, that's a glove, the thing on his arm is some kind of metal... Maybe armor? Above him is full of bright, and Papyrus squints at the sky like he's never had to compensate for so much light in his life.
The sand falls in little streams as he pushes himself up, some of it catching in folds, and some of it... Well. Some of it, he has to look down and rap on the side of his skull, to knock it out of the holes in his face. The sensation, he finds, is not enjoyable. It's good to know he has preferences.]
☠ IT'S DANGEROUS TO GO ALONE ☠
[The marketplace is full of more things he doesn't remember, but all of it's better than the sand. Shops and carts selling various things all over, and his lack of money no obstacle - plenty are willing to haggle a trade of a short chore for a sale. Crowds of people, in a good variety of shapes - though not many skeletons to speak of.
There are at least some bones on display, in the windowsill of a spooky shop with plenty of crystals but no door. It's almost like it's not a real shop at all, the way nobody else stops there or looks at it. But Papyrus is drawn to it, long enough to examine the bones, knock on the window frame, and get appraised by a cloaked and shadowy figure within.
'Start with meditation,' the probably-a-merchant intones, pushing a bundle at him. 'Take this. Now get going, I'm closing for the day.' The curtain swishes shut with such force it should've been accompanied by the sound of a door slamming, leaving Papyrus with a robe, note, and candle in his hands. He considers them, then looks to the nearest passerby.]
Hey, do you know... how to meditate??
☠ A CULINARY EXPERIENCE TO ROCK HIS WORLD ☠
['Surprise me,' Papyrus had said, not wanting to reveal that he didn't recognize many of the items listed on the menu. The chef bobbed in response, extending a tentacle his way without any cooking at all, uncurling it to reveal:]
A... rock?
[A heart-shaped one, at that. Papyrus accepts it, pretty sure he's recognizing it well enough to have the right word and an idea what it is - and none of those ideas connect to food. But he's not the expert here! Bottoms up.
...No, he concludes a painful moment later, it's not meant for chewing on. He shifts it in his mouth, stone clacking against teeth in a gentle cacophany, and stares pensively into the distance as he considers the flavor. Maybe he can politely spit it out, the moment the chef stops waving a tentacle in his face and turns away.]
☠ HOMEWARD BOUND ☠
[The sun is well past setting, he's given meditation a shot... and wound up with a small white dog for his trouble. A dog who insists it smells something else like him on the island, the way his clothes do. Maybe it's where he lives, they reason, and off they go! A dog and skeleton, on an island-roaming adventure.
It takes some wandering, and checking places he's already been through the day. Random shops in the boardwalk, a loop around the beach, even back up to one of the dents where the vending machine accosted him with vials.
But eventually, they reach a cabana he's sure he doesn't remember stepping into. And sitting right out in the open on a table is a set of keys with a skull, which almost certainly confirms it.]
Aha! This must be where I lay my head, huh? But... there's not much in here...
☠ WILDCARD ☠
[OOC: Looking for a different prompt? Papyrus will roam all over the place through the day and much of the night, so you can tag me with something, or catch me in the discord, plotting post, or
it's dangerous to go alone
(Sans, for his part, is wearing a scarf that looks identical to Papyrus's, but that's not on his mind right now.)]
Pretty sure you gotta sit real still and think about absolutely nothin'. [It's probably more complicated than that, but Sans could never get past the "don't think about anything" part, anyway.]
outside the secretive necromancer's shop is the best skeleton meeting spot
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beach
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a culinary experience to rock his world
i love her
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Either Homeward Bound or Wildcard and also I'm so sorry
the start of a beautiful friendship???
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beach
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What the fuck.
[So, Church is Church. He knows that. (There's another name, too, just underneath. He is...less certain about that.) Church is a robot. He doesn't know that. And yet he doesn't at all, at least at first, try to take his armor off. Why would he? He's in a weird place. Doesn't know shit for shit. And it's pissing him off.]
What. the fuck. is going on.
[He seems to be addressing a tree. Hell yes he's noticed the glitches. The not-rightness of the world, the computer coding gone awry that is the physical place that he is, and there is nothing there. But there is. But there isn't. He's got his fingers set on a glitchy spot that seems to phase in and out of existence.]
Oh my god. We're in a shitty boogleg Matrix. Like just the stupidest floppy disk burned copy from a garage sale. Can't even get a beach right. If I don't see a non-glitchy lady in a red dress, I want a refund!
ii. I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
[The...the people. The people are all ranges of adorable and anthropomorphic and yes, yes at some point he absolutely says something along the lines of 'Sonic fandom dream', but don't--let's just not ask. (He thumbs the little hedgehog charm on the bracelet he seems to be wearing. He doesn't remember this thing, but like the bracer, why take it off?)
There's not a whole lot, goods-wise, that really gets him going. Clothing just seems like a non-starter. Still hasn't taken off the armor and really doesn't seem to plan to. The food smells delicious, but he doesn't have any kind of appetite. (Or a mouth, but, he hasn't quite realized that yet, either.)
But the weapons? That feels important. He feels like he needs to be armed, even though he can't find a reason to hurt anyone here. So you can catch him...ugh, bartering, and by bartering we mean arguing with a poor boar-person over some bows and arrows.]
Does it look like I know how to sharpen a sword? No, I'm not gonna do your job for you, unless you're gonna teach me and pay me some cold hard cash. I just washed up on a beach programmed from the 90's, what, you want me to go out in the world, punch some enemies, come back with gold for better items? Like a main character on a quest?
Oh my god, I'm in a fucking RPG. [stop leaning on the 4th wall there buddy]
[But, the thing that improves his mood is the dancing. Not...not at first, mind, because the second he gets a wing guiding him along, he's grouchy and jumps the gun.] Is this a kidnapping? Help, help, I'm being accosted? Yeah, try that aga--oh. Oh? Huh. [People seem to want him to dance. And...he's...not great at it, doesn't put in a lot of effort at first, but he starts getting into it the longer it goes on. He's still not great, but now you've given him somewhere to be at the center of attention, so he's gonna lean into that, whooping and hollering and being mildly raunchy with his dancing and shaking his moneymaker.] Heheh, yeah, maybe I can make it rain this way!
[no please don't]
iii. I'm breathing in the chemicals
[So the freako rainstorm is a downer, but it doesn't last too long, and hey--he's waterproof! There's so much to fucking see, and occasionally he points to something in the distance--is that a gold wall? Or a hint of some menacing dark spines?] Whaaaat the fuck is that all about? [But nobody really gives him much in the way of answers.
Which, okay, that's fair. And everything's weird and people are either as lost as he is or they're funky animal people? And he's looking for an inn. There isn't an inn, and he realizes he still doesn't have money to pay for an inn, so...so somehow or another, he ends up back at the cabanas. Picks one. Frowns, or, he would be frowning, if he had a face, and he does not have a face, which he doesn't realize, but he doesn't take off his helmet. The frown is still palpable.]
Better than nothing, I guess. Really needs more blue. [...For...some reason.]
II - leaning on the fourth wall is dangerous and summons skeletons
But with this latest pause in the monologue, he takes the chance to address the shopkeeper.]
Do you have any weapons... made out of bone? I'm looking for something sturdy! And cool-looking.
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iii, fuck me up shawna
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Michael | OTA
b. ethical consumption???
c. serene and primal, undimensioned
d. wildcard
B
[She may have made the same mistake today.]
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Terezi Pyrope | Homestuck
[Terezi may remember precious little except for her name, but even she knows trees aren't supposed to do... that.
What is that anyway? She can't tell what it is, and it certainly doesn't smell right. There's a strange spot in the midst of a blob of salad-y freshness that almost seems to flicker, the scent there one moment and gone the next. Even on the inhale! It doesn't make any sense.
Curiosity gets the better of her. Shimmying up one of the trees takes some effort, but it comes far more naturally to her than she expected. It's trivially easy to balance on one of the branches and tightrope-walk her way over to the offending patch of smell. Hunkering down, she takes a big, deep whiff, and just really gets her nose all up in the glitch.
Astonished, she sits back on her haunches, a look of utter confusion writ on her face. Like poetry, like music, summoned up from the wellspring of the collective unconscious, shimmering and bright like an ephemeral dream, Terezi says:]
What a conksuck piece of shit.
(Jaws Theme)
[Okay. She's. Hm. It appears Terezi's being stalked by a fucking vending machine.
It's always just at the edge of her nose, a little whiff of straw and bamboo here and there, and then it disappears, only to reappear closer to her. It's creepy. It's unnerving. It's like one of those stupid statues from Troll Dr. Who Gives A Fuck, always moving when she's not watching. She never thought she could desire a delightfully refreshing carbonated beverage less in her life (or as little of it as she can remember), but here she is! Very adamantly trying to avoid chugging one! She has upgraded from a "cat's first time in a harness walk" to a "sternly unsettled white person half-jog" and as she turns a corner, time and space have warped to place her face to sniffer with the fucking vending machine.
And then, as though entirely sick of her shit, it lobs a bottle right at her face.
Trolls are made of sterner stuff than humans. Dismemberments. Stabbings. You name it, they've survived it. But that doesn't stop Terezi from letting out an undignified yelp of pain and surprise. Excuse me? Excuse me?? Hello??? She kicks the bottle away from herself as she cradles her cheek -- only to get shot at yet again. And again. And again.
Oh god. It's out to get her. This vending machine wants her ended.
She takes off at a dead sprint, bobbing and weaving in a desperate attempt to dodge the hailfire of bottles.]
Help! HELP! I'M BEING OPPRESSED
Jaws Theme
Yeah, it'll do that. Sucks, huh?
[Sans is not helping at all.]
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conksunk threads...
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lion ushiromiya | ota
b. see food, sea food
c. singing in the rain?
b
I mean... why wouldn't he be? [ it's said as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet. ] He's got an arm for every kind of utensil. I feel like that would make things way easier?
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a
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[ Wait, what? Life? That's not right.
The first few thoughts pass on autopilot. First, there's noise. Static is converted to recognizable data. Wind through trees. Ocean against rocks. Distant music. Error in audio processing: occasional dips to bit rate of 64. Damage in acceptable range. Second, there's light. Black spots of dead pixels snap back into proper colors, revealing a clear sky that seems flatter in certain areas. Error in visual processing: depth perception loss at- Redact error. Upon posture adjustment, it is apparent the error is on the sky's end.
The third thought is when things start to derail a bit. Why is he sitting up? How is he sitting up? Words cannot change their state of matter. Ink does not become flesh.
The personal memories are blank aside from a name. This is not a cause for anxiety. Somehow, it even feels normal. The others ask questions. Hello. Where am I. Do you know how we got here. Easy. He should ask the same. But. Repeating the same question would be pointless. New topics are better for the gathering and dissemination of information. ]
Are bodies standard issue?
[ The question mark is a bit incorrect, since the entire sentence is monotone save for the last syllable, but even there, the inflection upwards is barely noticeable. What a weirdo. ]
2. This sparks joy (in other people, possibly, he will defer to the opinions of others in this matter)
[ Maybe you got lost, or you're shopping, or you saw one of your possessions on the shelf of this one clockmaker's booth. A rabbit behind the counter is running back and forth so quick, he's practically a white blur. In front is an android, handing out flyers in monotone. Crafts. Fine dwarf rabbit crafts. Straight from Orzammar.
What's an Orzammar, you ask? Doesn't matter, you got to close. A flyer gets forcibly offered to you in apathy. ]
Buy something or get lost.
[ The rabbit pauses in his time-warping long enough to smack the faulty device upside the head, before darting back to another customer who walks up. ]
My apologies, dear guest. Is there anything you need assistance with?
3. Wildcard
[ We all know how this works by now. Discord me or just throw a prompt in my face, I am Literally Down For Anything.
Though for an OOC note, the way I'm rolling with the memory loss is since Furniture =/= People, is that his personality is very.... Questionable. If something triggers a memory he'll phase back into his usual self for a bit, but otherwise? He'll pick up and mirror speaking habits of whoever's talking to him after a couple of tags, but without any of the emotional investment into it. Use this for crimes and hilarity. ]
1
That's... a really good question, actually? I feel like if you didn't have a body, you probably got one at some point. Or is this one just new for you?
[ it's strange, how easily the idea of switching bodies comes to her. hm. best not to think too long about that one! ]
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Closed; Solanum 602, some point in the week after Alex ran into Clear
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Venus | We Know the Devil
arrival
Sans raises his right hand and holds it there. For Venus, it will feel like she's being gripped by the very culmination of her being--and she'll stop moving entirely as Sans levitates her in place.
He didn't know he could do that, so he's just kind of standing there staring at her in the air. Uh.]
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Wash | Red vs Blue
[He opens his eyes to sunlight and the readout from his HUD. Temperate climate; proximity to ocean (wait, his boots are in the water, aren't they); location unknown. Motion trackers indicate movement nearby. Not reassuring, but not bad either.]
[There's...something he needs to be doing, isn't there? There's always something he needs to be doing. Time to...get started. Take stock. Start at the beginning.]
[His name is David.]
[He stops short at the sudden unease that statement causes, sliding down his back like ice, never mind a temperature controlled suit of armor and the warm weather. It's wrong. It's wrong. He hasn't been David since-]
[The sudden tidal wave of memories that washes over him impacts like getting hit by a car.]
[(He'd know a thing or two about that, wouldn't he.)]
[His name is Agent Washington. His friends call him Wash. He's a Reclaimer for the Bureau of Balance, because his home was eaten by a cosmic horror called the Hunger. It needs to be stopped- it's on its way-]
[And he's on an unknown island, fully equipped but without a goddamn clue how he got there.]
[Well, he wasn't wrong about there being something he needed to do. He pushes himself to his feet . Time to get going.]
1. There's No Such Thing As Ghosts
[It takes Wash about ninety seconds to realize that he hates this fucking beach.]
[He likes to think he can handle a lot, and maybe he can, but evidence that this might damn well be - and hell, probably is - a digital simulation, created by an unknown force and trapping them there for an unknown purpose-]
[They might be Alpha's memories, but that doesn't mean they can't still fuck him up.]
[Keep an eye out and you may see a heavily armored man all but speedwalking to get off this damn beach, because he is not staying here a second longer than he has to.]
2. The return of the Salt and Pepper Diner
[It doesn't take long for Wash to realize that, not only are his fellow Reclaimers here, but that not all of them got their memories back as quickly as he did...or at all. Yet.]
[Hopefully it's a "yet."]
[There's an easy litmus test for that, and all it takes is an hour of meditation before Athena is back in his arms, meowing loudly and batting at his helmet. There you are! She was getting worried.]
[She's now scouting ahead of him, so don't be surprised if a fifteen-pound gray Norwegian Forest cat bounds up to you and starts rubbing against your legs or pouncing on your feet. She's helping!]
[It'll take a minute or two for Wash to come by, and he's definitely got an eye out for your reaction. If you recognize Athena, you remember something; if you don't, you're still an amnesiac, or someone he's never met.]
3. Stuff and Things
[It started off small - finding the omamori Maya had given him for Candlenights tangled in the branches of a tree. Getting it down had shaken loose a few other items, and it had become a full-blown scavenger hunt, gathering up whatever scattered items he recognized as belonging to Reclaimers (and a few he didn't, but he has pattern recognition and he might as well) and bringing them back to a not-horrifyingly-glitchy part of the beach. He's currently sorting his current armful into a pile system - weapons, armor, magic items, miscellanea - with a number of other, smaller piles off to the side. If you express interest, he gestures at the larger piles:]
Go ahead. If something looks familiar, it might be yours.
[It'll get sorted once everyone gets their memories back, he hopes.]
[If he knows you, however, he'll gesture instead to one of the smaller piles.]
That one's yours.
4. Wildcard
[Want to do something different? Hit me up!]
3
He doesn't like it. But, looking at the pile, Sans gets the idea he's right. A whole pile of shutter shades, a definitely magical bracelet, a just as magical belt, and a hand mirror.
Why does this guy know this is his stuff?]
You startin' a lost and found?
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Tommy Oliver | Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers | OTA
[ A thatched roof vending machine is certainly new. (Or is it? It seems new, but whatever it is that's new to him is hard to gauge in the hours since he woke up on the beach). A bit of light exploration of the island has led him to the cabanas and their tiny, autonomous, thatched roof curio shop. In his hand (on the same arm that now sports a bracer he can't seem to pry off) is a vial filled with some sort of black goop. He's been looking at it for a couple of minutes now, trying to read the label but finding the symbols seem to shift under his vision; it's not that he doesn't understand it, like a foreign language or something. He just can't read it. One of the few things Tommy can parse however, seems to be telling him to drink the contents. ]
You want me to drink this? It uh...it doesn't smell very appetizing.
[ The vending machine makes a quiet KER-PLUNK, answering in the affirmative by way of the flap opening once again to pop a second vial out that rolls to a stop at Tommy's feet. ]
I don't know about this one.
2. Orchestral Maneuvers in the Park
[ Today, Tommy has decided to make his way around the perimeter of the island as best he can, both to familiarize himself a bit better with the main island, and to scout out the archipelago from the beach. He still doesn't remember much, really only that his name is Tommy Oliver, he's good at karate, and he seems to like green clothes. That's what makes what he finds on his walk today something special: it's something that feels familiar. Lodged in a coconut hanging from a glitching tree that's grown in a lazy diagonal arc is a strange green and bare-steel dagger that seems to have been smushed together with a clarinet. ]
Huh...
[ Tommy makes his way over to the tree, hopping out of the sand and onto the trunk with practiced, athletic ease, shimmying his way up it in a matter of moments before turning to sit atop it where its arc is most horizontal. He reaches down, yanking the coconut off the tree by the hilt of the dagger before pulling the blade free, pausing a moment to drink some of the milk from the coconut before tossing it down to the sand below.
He looks down at the dagger in his hand. The strange symbol on the hilt seems familiar and important, but to his frustration he can't place it. Still, he knows somehow this is his dagger..and that he might not like everything he's done with it. He shakes his head, letting his muscle memory take over as he lifts the mouthpiece he somehow knew would be in the hilt to his lips, blowing into the weird flute assembly on the weapon's side, producing a bright, trumpety fanfare that rings down the beach. He looks to the ocean expecting...something? He finds he's disappointed, sitting in his tree looking out over the water as the trumpet-flute-dagger fanfare rings off into the distance. ]
3. Island of Illusion
[ Over his time here so far one thing has become abundantly clear to Tommy: he is not supposed to be on this island. From the glitching trees to the memory loss, something is very rotten in the state of...of course the saying escapes him. He's forgotten what its from. Hell, he's forgotten he's forgotten.
He hasn't asked any of the friendly animalians to take him out on a boat, or really asked much from anybody who seems to fit here. After all, if this place is meant to keep him here, they probably wouldn't be allowed to help him out of it anyway. For similar reasons he's decided to conduct this particular experiment on a bright, starry night.
And he can't help but feel like he has been held in something like this before, but trying to focus on the memory just calls to mind an image of a strange golden-ape-dog-man, so that's probably a dead end. ]
Well, only one way to find out if I'm stuck here.
[ Finishing this encouragement to himself, Tommy tucks away the dagger he had found, which he had taken to carrying all the time now, before walking out into the surf until it's deep enough to swim. He swims out, and everything is relatively smooth sailing for about 20 minutes. But once he's out about 1/2 a mile from shore, he finds that the water's resistance has increased ten fold, and a second later finds himself landing stomach down on the beach mid-stroke. He sits up, dusting wet sand off his soaked clothes and frowning out at the surf. ]
Guess that answers that question.
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[Having approached from somewhere behind Tommy, Papyrus leans around to look past him at the thatched vending machine in question - and visibly frown at the machine. His skeletal facial features crease up not quite like skin, but close enough.]
Hey! Stop throwing vials of terrible soup at people. Nobody wants it!
[The vending machine, very helpfully, shoots another vial at Papyrus. This one catches up in the folds of his scarf, then slowly rolls off to plummet into the sand. His frown turns into a scowl.]
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shinjiro aragaki | persona 3
[There's a disorienting feeling of deja vu in waking up in a new place, unaware of where you are and how you got there. This has happened before, in some form or another. That's the only thing that he feels like he knows, aside from his name. Shinjiro Aragaki ... he used to call himself by the latter, didn't he?
The rest is as so much sand in his mind, too loose to hold onto before it slips away. He decides not to worry too much about that part, for now. There's nothing to be gained by panicking, nor will it bring back what's missing. Instead, he has more pressing concerns. Like getting the sand out of his coat and his beanie and somehow also his hair??? This is the worst. Sorry if you happen to be walking by at that moment, as he absolutely shakes himself out like a dog might which means some of that sand is going right in your face. Please punch him for his sins.]
ii. drunk the kool-aid
[At some point in this afternoon, one may have seen Shinjiro pick a fight with the vending machine. He ... may or may not have injured some toes in the process, inquire at your own risk, what with that impressive resting bitchface that seems to be going on with this guy as he makes his rounds through the cabanas, looking for evidence of a Bracer attached to their arms. Eventually, he stops, satisfied(?), and the scowl in his expression only deepens.]
So...someone's gotta have said it by now, but. We're in some kind of cult, ain't we?
iii. all around me are familiar faces
[He doesn't know quite how he recognizes the things set up for him in his cabana. Again, it's deja vu more than true recognition from an axe and strange, apparently fake gun laid out in the end table drawer that has him investigating further, and he finds ... letters? Addressed to himself, from various people, along with various miscellaneous items. Toys and ornaments in either a dog or unique horse-esque shape, cookbooks, baking supplies. Cooking seems to be a particular theme, really. Must have been a hobby of his ... and the writers of these cards must have been his friends.
...Why does that thought make him feel happy and vaguely guilty at the same time? He's not sure he wants to examine that too deeply, but he's nonetheless distracted by it enough that when someone happens to walk by, perhaps en route to their own cabana, he startles and stares like a goddamn deer in headlights as several pieces of cardstock gently takes flight several feet into the air.]
Uh. Hhhhhey.
[You'd almost think he was doing something shameful in here.]
iv. banana me to the moon
[Something, at the back of Shinji's mind, tells him that he should not trust the food from the giant squid's bar. However, there is only so long one can avoid said food when they inevitably get hungry. Especially without access to any proper kitchens ... or, you know, memory of how to cook in them. Or of dishes to cool, for that matter.
By mere happenstance, Shinji largely orders foods with either subtle or no magical effects whatsoever...up until he gets to the banana treats at the end, which become a source for nearly immediate regret as he slowly feels the weight of gravity depart from his limbs and starts hovering into the air. At first, he sort of tries kicking his legs and pinwheeling his arms trying to get down, like some kind of frumpy teenage boy version of Wile E. Coyote, but it is to no avail. Soon, he starts hovering even higher, up above the swim bar ... to which he only has the following undignified yelp:]
That damn squid owes me a refuuuuuuund!!!!
II.
[ On this particular afternoon, Tommy happens to be sitting in one of the cabanas, having a snack of some nuts he had grabbed from the vending machine before planning to set out to explore the island a bit more. He looks to his left and his right, just to double check the question had in fact been addressed to him, but he seems to be the only one around at the moment, aside from the sullen looking teen who had asked. He glances down at his bracer before looking back at him.
Wasn't this this guy who had been kicking the vending machine earlier? Not important. ]
I don't think so. If we were in a cult wouldn't we be like, brainwashed or something? Instead of just having amnesia, I mean.
[ Something about the word brainwashed doesn't sit well with him, but he shakes it off. Tommy hadn't spoken to this guy yet, but given everybody else seemed to be flying blind he had come to assume they were all dealing with at least some amnesia. ]
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Alex Browning | Final Destination | OTA
ii. truth or dare.
iii. fantasy island
iv. wildcard
for mista and lion; anxiety house
The one he's hovering around right now? A hoodie hangs from one of the shelves, one that catches his eye. ]
Is this...mine? [ There's a raven on it! He thinks he likes ravens? At least he doesn't dislike them. ] Shit, it's mine! Or...well, it's mine now.
[ Casual theft. Why not. ]
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mira delacroix | original | ota
wild shape
Nngh, hey! Cut that out!
[Nana crudely grabs the cat and holds it high up into the air.]
Umm, whose sassy lost child is this? Anyone?
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