prelude {{ Log 01.

[imaginarymods]

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 your sea island 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.

NAVIGATION ⯈



code bases by tricklet

Comments

shinjiro aragaki | persona 3

[petsthedog]

i. beach please

[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.

[gogreenrangergo]

Uh...

[ 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. ]

[petsthedog]

Ain't that the weird part, though? A whole bunch of us who don't remember shit wearin' the exact same symbol?

[He shakes his head, frowning.]

It ain't goin' anywhere, either. Already tried pryin' it off, and it's a no-go. And that ain't even countin' the weird gross squid juice this stupid place is makin' everyone drink.

[All this culminates in a huff. There's Shenanigans afoot here, he is absolutely sure of it.]

We all gotta be connected somehow.

[And a cult seems like the most straightforward explanation.]

[gogreenrangergo]

[ Tommy looks down at his own bracer, sighing. ]

Yeah, I don't think these are a coincidence. I couldn't remove mine either.

[ He has to admit, he hadn't considered the cult like undertones of everybody being forced to drink the ichor. Something to chew on later. ]

I think you're right though. The group of people here is a little too...well, out there, to just be pulled together haphazardly. We don't fit here, and I can't place why.

[ He looks at the bracer again. ]

Personally, I had thought these things might be tracking us? Like in one of those movies where everybody gets dumped on an island and they all have to duke it out or something.

[petsthedog]

Would they make these cozy little housing nooks for us if we were supposed to kill each other, though?

[Hm. Maybe. It only just occurs to him that he doesn't remember any of those movies. And in fact, only just remembered this precise second that he knew what a movie is in the first place.]

Seems like there's a bigger goal of some kind, but hell if I know what it is.

[gogreenrangergo]

Huh, yeah, I guess all this would be a little much for that.

[ He thinks for a second about what...whoever or whatever has dumped them here could have for a goal, and as usual when he's turned his mind toward the question, draws a big blank. ]

I agree. It's gotta be something bigger. Why put us here otherwise?

[ He pauses, considering once again for a moment before speaking. ]

You know what I think? I think we've lost our memories because maybe, if we knew who we were, we could sort out what we all have in common.

[ Tommy gives a week smile, gesturing to the bracer. ]

Well, you know, aside from all being in the same cult.

[spaghettimonster]

[Maybe it's the embarrassment of tossing cards in the air, maybe it's surprise at the sight of a skeleton, maybe it's just a matter of deeply preferring one's company. Whatever the reason for the slow hesitant greeting, Papyrus loiters outside the cabana and waves from out there with a polite smile. In so far as as any skeletal expression isn't a perpetual grin.]

Hello! Have you seen... anything that looks like it belongs to me? Or just me, before?

[The small white dog accompanying him ignores propriety like not entering uninvited and sniffs its way into the cabana, examining the falling cards, the various objects on the table, and Shinjiro's legs.]

[petsthedog]

Uhh. I saw another skeleton guy...?

[Clearly all skeletons must know each other, right. That's definitely legit and not like Monster racist or something. But luckily the both of them are spared from the potential awkwardness of this entire interaction by the fact that Papyrus' dog doesn't know manners, because as it drapes itself on Shinji's legs, a minor miracle occurs: his expression immediately smooths out into a smile as he scratches behind the pup's ears and under its chin and lets it roll over onto its back for belly rubs.

This kid really, really likes dogs, it seems.

Papyrus himself is entirely forgotten for the moment. Sorry, bro.]

[spaghettimonster]

[Papyrus nods along; he's seen another skeleton guy, too. If there were more skeletons around, it would be awkward, but if there's only two, comparisons feel pretty inevitable. But if it's the one he's thinking of, well, they look so different! Even more different than many humans from each other.

Then he realizes he's been abandoned by his tracking friend, who's sprawling against the human.]

...Hey, this is just for a minute, right? You didn't forget what we're doing?

[The dog tilts its head just enough to wink at Papyrus, then lets out a soft contented yip, tail wagging against the furniture as the belly rub commences - thoroughly taking advantage of Shinji's good nature. Sure, Papyrus did okay petting its head, but sniffing things out is hard work. The kind of hard work that needs treats and belly rubs to continue.

A little sense of that idea trickles across the familiar bond, and Papyrus rubs at his own face.]

Oh my god. Fine, I'll wait.

iii

[philoxenia]

--Oh.

[ It's been... a day. Mira isn't sure who knows her and who doesn't, and honestly, it sucks a lot. What she wants to do is flop on the couch of the cabana and just sleep for a long, long time, but instead, she sort of hovers at the front of it. She recognizes him.

But she's not sure if he recognizes her. ]

Hello. I think... we might be sharing this.