imaginarylogs | prelude {{ Log 01.

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 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

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[A...six shooter? She realizes that she knows what that refers to. She realizes that it's important to her to know what that refers to.

But she can't remember why.

Still, some of that comes out in the way her eyes light up as he says that.] My name's Sayori! It's nice to meet you!

Do you ever spin it and then say something really cool?

I say cool things sometimes. I don't want it to lose its coolness though, so I space it out.

[ Aw, hell, he'll give the little lady a demonstration. He takes out his gun and spins it around in a way that looks completely natural. ]

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

[Her eyes go wider as he spins the gun in his hand. Once he completes this generous demonstration, she giggles and claps her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet with delight.] Yes, yes!! That was perfect!

[Amazing! Incredible!!]

...

[Then suddenly, with great realization:] Wait, could I say something cool when I shoot too?!

[ He can't help but chuckle at the total ray of sunshine she is. ]

Of course you could. Not like anybody's gonna stop you.

[ He settles his gun back in his holster. ]

Got any ideas?

[She is truly struck with wonder. This possibility obviously never occurred to her before.

But now the question is...what to say?] Oh gosh! Uhhh... It's gotta be really cool!! Maybe...

[Her eyebrows furrow in deep thought for a moment as she ponders this very serious dilemma. Then, abruptly, she gasps.

All in one smooth motion, she retrieves an arrow, nocks it, and shoots, this time striking a tree further away — about 50 feet. She whirls back to face McCree with a gleeful smile, far too excited to deliver the stupid line she's come up with:] "I think you get the point!"

[ McCree lets out a bark of laughter and nods approvingly. ]

That one's a keeper. I'll bet you got a million of 'em.

[ Of course she does. She's Sayori. Words flow from her with as much ease as someone exhaling a breath. But does she even realize that yet? ]

[Pleased with McCree's reaction, Sayori gives a satisfied grin.] You think so? I totally just came up with that one!

[So the answer to that one would be no. She's seen a few short poems in her journal, but she has no idea the extent to which wordsmithing makes up her identity.]

Yeah. They'll start to come naturally to you; don't worry. But hey, you got a real arm on you to pull back that bowstring. You a natural at that too?

[ Obviously he knows the answer, but they could stand here all day swapping cool catchphrases. It'd be better if he got down to the bottom of this memory loss thing. ]

Huh? [Sayori lets the bow hang at her side to hold out her dominant arm and examine it. She can't really see any muscles with her long sleeves, but she turns it this way and that, trying to...feel them? Or something???

Her eyebrows furrow as she turns the question over in her mind. She doesn't remember learning how to use the bow at all, so she just tries to pick out the feelings that surface when she considers the matter. After a moment:] ...I don't think so!

[The idea of being strong enough to bring a longbow back to full draw seems as foreign and amazing to her as making that first shot did.

She shoulders the bow and then pulls the tie at her wrist loose so she can roll her sleeve up and examine her freckled arm more closely.] I probably had to do a million push-ups, ahaha!

Maybe so.

[ She doesn't seem too worried about the memory loss. Maybe that's how it's playing out. People don't realize how freaky it is to have everything gone and to be a blank slate. ]

Think anything else of yours is lying around out here?

[It's a balancing act. There are certain things about this situation that she can't ignore, but for the most part, she's content to accept the strange. She has to be. If she can't smile in this situation, then what can she do?

These questions are following a bit of a pattern, but she pretends not to notice. There's a drawn out, thoughtful hum as she turns to look out over the expanse of the beach.] Probably! People have been finding a bunch of stuff all over the place so I bet my stuff's out there too.

Have you found something?

Couple things, yeah. Found this.

[ He pulls a harmonica out of his back pocket and plays a quick tune. Being a bard means it comes naturally to him, even if a guitar is his instrument of choice. But he hasn't found that yet and it's possible it just isn't here at all. Hoping he can buy a new one at some point. From his scouting he knows the island isn't deserted after all. ]

Found a picture a friend drew for me.

[ He lifts a hand and pats his chest over his heart, which he realizes too late probably looks weird. So he reaches under his chest armor and into the pocket of his shirt to pull out a folded piece of paper. Opening it, he shows it off to Sayori. It's a picture Maya drew of herself, Mia, and him. Maybe it'll jog some memories for Sayori. Maybe she'll just think it's a cute picture. ]

Glad I ran across it.

[As easily distracted as ever, she can't help but grow a little eager as he plays his tune on the harmonica. She does a small, excited clap with her hands under her chin when he's done, but before she can get on a tangent about that, he's reaching for something else. Something that sounds important! If a friend makes something just for you, that's really important.

She leans in to get a better look as he unfolds it. And—

Her eyes go wide at the sight of the drawing. The two familiar women on either side of McCree. She feels—

A few blinks later and suddenly her vision is a little blurry, her eyes a little wet. She doesn't seem to realize at first as she looks up at him, her gaze curious and intent.] Who are they?

[ He sees the change in her straight away, but he doesn't rush to question it. He figures it's best she comes to terms with things in her own time. ]

This here's Mia and Maya Fey. Sisters. [ He looks at the drawing again; how they're styled like it's a family portrait. Like he's part of their family. He hasn't felt that in a long time. Not since things fell apart with Overwatch. He doesn't want to lose that again, so they both better be here. ] They mean a lot to me, so if you see them, you'll let me know, won't you?

[Mia and Maya Fey. Sayori's attention falls back to the drawing as he speaks. After a second, she lets out a shaking breath she didn't know she was holding and suddenly becomes aware of the tears gathering along her eyelashes.

Embarrassed, she quickly wipes her eyes with the cuff of her long sleeve.] Sorry, ahaha. [She doesn't understand the sudden swell of emotion. It just feels like...she's seen a drawing like this somewhere before. And it was important.

She lifts her face again once it's dry, smiling like nothing happened.] Y'know, they look kinda familiar? So I'll definitely keep an eye out! And you should tell me if you see them first, too!

[ McCree tips his head down a little, unsure of the best way to react to her tears. So he quickly folds the picture back up and tucks it safely away once more to give her a moment. ]

I'll do that. Should I let you get back to practicing?

[Wow, super embarrassing. There's a weirdly disproportionate urge to find a hole somewhere to hide in, but she's pretty good at hiding it; her laugh doesn't let on anything more than maybe a bit of sheepishness.] Unless you wanted to practice with me!

[It's a genuine invitation, though it's free of expectation.] But I don't wanna distract you from finding your friends or anything.

We, see, that's the thing about guns. I gotta conserve ammo for when I need it.

[ He gives her a playful smile. ]

Besides, if anybody walked by they'd see you upstaging me with every shot.

[ Reaching up, he tips his hat to her. ]

I'll be seeing you, all right?

[Aw, geez. That's too nice!!

...Too nice? What a weird thought.

Her cheeks are a little pink from the praise and she gives a bashful (but pleased) grin.] Okay, okay. Maybe next time, ehehe~

[And she...tips her hat too!! In a much hammier fashion.] See you later!

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prelude {{ Log 01.

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