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A NEW WORLD COMING ( 024 )
A New World Coming
Hello, and welcome to LifeAftr! We're pleased that you're expressing an interest in the game. Here, you can test the waters, gauge how your character may fare in the world of LifeAftr, and even gain some in-game incentives, if you so choose.
In conjunction with our monthly Test Drive Meme, Reserves are now open! Applications will open on June 24th!
Two important notes:
In the meantime, feel free to refer to our usual rules regarding the TDM. All prompts are miniature versions of events that have transpired in the past. You may visit any of the links provided if you're interested in additional information.

In conjunction with our monthly Test Drive Meme, Reserves are now open! Applications will open on June 24th!
1. LifeAftr's test drives take place on the island of Mu, which is always watching. Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not
2. Due to the nature of Mu, threads in our test drive can not only be accepted as thread samples in your application, but are the game. You cannot choose who you are in this world. You cannot change fate. You cannot change fate. You cannot change fate.

And It's Just Around The Bend
The whole world is ending.
Beneath you, the first rays of a new sun slink across the ice-coated ground, sending whirls of steam curling up into the air. Everything will eventually be reborn to the way it was, much like the sun itself. At the very edges of the island, shadowy creatures that appear to have crept out of the darkest recesses of your mind mill about on the ocean shores, eager to avoid the burning eyes of the sun.
Of course, that's all happening a very, very long way down. Miles below you, in fact. The ground below is still cast in perpetual dark, while the sky itself is sunlit and dazzling.
As fingers of new light creep out across the horizon and ignite the air with a soft, daylit warmth, you find yourself sky high on one of many floating islands that shift and change within your presence. The landscape of these islands is extremely malleable, and not just in a general sense. Each island you make contact with will begin to "mold" itself to you, attempting to reformat its landscape to appear as a place that you desire to see again. Somewhere important. Somewhere comforting. A memory. While it cannot recreate people or exact circumstances, it can imitate landscapes and buildings, or make the nearest attempt to do so.

In short, you'd better run. Run, while there is still ground beneath your feet.
The world is ending around you - and if you're not fast enough, you'll end alongside it, namely by plunging a long, long way down earth. If the fall doesn't kill you, the hungry, burning eyes of the dark shadows lumped below very well may.
There's A New Voice Calling
The Trial of Orpheus is a very particular practice performed by one group of LifeAftr's inhabitants, residing on the draconian civilization settled on the island of Ai'tuoh. Enacted only upon those who break one of Ai'tuoh's many laws, it requires those convicted to pass into the Standing Water - a slumbering city of lost souls.
A city you've just arrived in.
The first thing you’ll likely feel is the crushing, biting, bone-deep chill, paired with the sensation of falling down some great, fathomless abyss. No jolt or sudden impact awaits you, however. Instead, your fall will slow, even out, as though your personal gravity is reorienting itself, and you’ll find yourself blinking awake in...Ai'tuoh.
Or rather, in a very strange version of it - what can only be described as a dark, colorless mirror of the city of Ai'tuoh. The buildings loom darkly overhead, their edges strangely irresolving, as though being peered at through ripples of water.

Your only hope is the connections you make with others. Be it emotional or physical, positive or negative, this journey requires you to remain part of a pair, talking, hand-holding, even carrying each other through the city as you seek out the means to escape. The pervading sense of exhaustion that grips your bones almost seems core to the city itself, and the longer you remain, the more that lethargy will sink into you. There will be nothing more tempting than simply lying down and closing your eyes...but you have to keep moving. Do you understand? You have to keep moving, because if you don't, there really won't be any saving you.
The most definitive way out is a bright strand of color that winds through the abyss, vibrant red and almost threadlike, gradually ascending upward into a glimmer of light. Find someone to connect to, hold onto that guiding thread tightly, and whatever you do, do not let go.
Or you risk sinking into that endless slumber, possibly for good.
You Can Hear It If You Try
Of course, if you'd prefer to relax within your dreams, the white-picketed community of Ziziphus may be precisely what you're looking for. An idyllic town located on a fairly remote island of LifeAftr, Ziziphus comes with all your modern amenities - electricity, cars, showers. Here, you can spend your evenings watching the television, tucking in your kids or playing drinking games with your roommates. And in the morning, it's time to meet the day, whether work, study, or housework awaits you. Why, it's the perfect picture of textbook suburbia, from the neat squares of well-manicured lawns to the incontrovertibly cheerful sound of the newspaper thwacking against the doorstep each morning.
Sorry - you've never had this job before? You don't have kids, or even want them? Of course you have, silly - you've been here for the last five years. You've gone to the same school since you became old enough to study. In fact...you've been living here your whole life.
Is that wrong? Of course it isn't. There's nothing wrong here. There's nothing wrong here. There's nothing wrong here.
Right?

If you think too hard about this eerily cheerful life, about how you technically shouldn't even know what "electricity" is, or about any of the inconsistencies that run counter to the life you thought you had...well, don't think too hard about it. Don't think about the creeping scent of rot that swarms up into your nostrils should those awful thoughts ever cross your mind. Don't start asking questions, posing innocent queries to the perfect smiles perpetually stamped across the faces of your friends and neighbors and children who carry out their daily routines with all the soulless efficiency of wind-up toys. Don't start thinking about how, if you dwell too much on the uncanny nature of this neighborhood, it starts to feel like you can't...quite...breathe...
Oh, god. You have to get out of here. You - you have to not think about it. You have to not think about it, so don't. So don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
Everything, and everyone, is precisely as they should be.
( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )
van grants | tales of the abyss
Koko Himaa (OC) | Final Fantasy XIV
CW: Mentions of death and loss
[Koko was doomed from the start. Not only does she pray to the Dawn Father and the Dusk Mother, but she is one of the Chosen Many. Tainted of a Light so pervasive that she is marked by it. Is learned, dresses in black armor, her horns are pierced, and that sword holstered on her back is nearly as tall and blade as wide as she is. In short, she breaks about roughly twelve laws just by existing! ...and yes, the irony has not been lost upon her.
At least, it wouldn't be if she were aware and not simply waking up in Standing Water. She shudders involuntarily, trying to find some semblance of warmth. Violet eyes that glow faintly in the darkness due to her limbal rings blink at the.... familiarity of it all, despite herself. This almost feels like the Abyss the first few times she'd communed with it. The times she stared into the vast void from which her power sprung from before she set aside the rod for the sword. Yet the rippling of what's around her gives away the truth.]
...Never much cared for the ocean, myself. Or any large body of water for that matter. [The young warrior remarks with a sigh, looking about her. Trying to find a way to orient herself. The whispers in the back of her head like the flickering of a flame that calls her onward to the tiny speck of color in an otherwise colorless world. Just one more time. Put one foot in front of the other. But it's so far. It would be so easy not to. To linger until... she doesn't know.
Wasn't your answer to me then that you would keep moving on with this charade? Koko lowers her chin slightly as her brows knit together. The Voice is so quiet, she can barely... She closes her eyes. Listens to her own voice. Then move. She grits her teeth against the barely audible whisper within her own soul and turns to the person next to her. Her tone has a slight edge to it; a hint of something dark wishing to come out from the wings.]
I know not about you, but I'm not staying here. [Dream or not, she has a son to return to. Friends and a makeshift tribe to protect. New places to see that so many she has both witnessed dying and killed herself will not. Koko begins to move forward through the streets, humming some sort of lullaby in a different language. If nothing else than to soothe her nerves and keep herself awake if her unexpected company is not as talkative. Which is something, because she often is not.]
To the ends of the world...and back again...
[There are so many close to her chest. So many places she's been to, has seen and touched in some small way. What surprises her about this place, however, is what it changes to.
Xaela live with the heat of battle in their veins. Some more than most, and yet... to see the deserts of Thanalan again. To nearly feel the hot winds on her face and hear the rush against her horns as she turns to look into the cavern where she spent so many moons studying the secrets of black magic with three other beastmen brought together for this singular purpose...
How her heart aches to see them again. To sit in that cave again and pour over a tome and try to decipher it's once-thought-lost knowledge. She even takes a step closer toward the entrance when she feels the sand shift in an unnatural way beneath her feet. Her eyes widen as she jumps out of the way. Just in time, as the land gives.]
Fury's tits-! [It comes out without her even thinking about it and she'll kick herself about it when there's a small child around to hear.] Why am I not surprised?
[She looks around to see if there anyone nearby and inquires.] How in the seven hells do we get out of here?!
2
It heralds her coming from a ways off, if Koko can hear those footfalls over her own, but if she doesn't then surely she'll notice the gentle rapping of a fist against the armour of her left shoulder - a firm, stacatto pressure - right before Castor enters her periphery.]
Oh good, [she sighs as she faces Koko properly,] I'd hoped ye weren't my dreams playin' tricks on me again.
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Were that the case, then one would start wondering why you were thinking of me so. [A short laugh follows. Just another day in the life, t'would seem.] As if you would not dream up another of our friends, aye?
[It's a clear tease. She's allowed one after all the blasted adventures a certain SOMEONE kept pulling her along on. She spares a faint grin as she lightly bops her comrade's shoulder.] 'Tis good to see a familiar face.
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gladion | pokemon sun/moon
[Well this is...strange. Unexpected. Gladion looks out over the shifting landscape and feels a sense of unease. The land is shifting, changing into white walls and white floors, trying it’s best to mimic Aether Paradise.
He doesn’t like it. He remembers Aether Paradise so strongly - even after leaving it two years ago, he knows its secrets - but seeing something trying to mimic that… It unsettles him.
He keeps moving, though, not seeing the blackness that creeps up behind him as the world crumbles. There’s nothing to be gained from standing still.
Even so, seeing something that reminds him of the home he no longer has...the one he just might end up going back to now that Lusamine...He doesn’t like it. Not at all.]
voice calling;
[The island is dark and oppressive and Gladion is tired. He’s exhausted down to his bones and he just...He just wants to stop. But he can’t stop. Stopping means giving in. It’s not going to help him, or his team, but he’s just…
He’s so tired.
The world is dark and dreary and quiet, and what harm would it be if he just...took a break on the side of a road, running a hand through his hair and just...taking one moment to breathe.]
if you try;
[It’s a quiet morning in the house - but every morning is a quiet morning. Every morning is peaceful and calm. This morning his mother is making pancakes and sausage, and he can smell the food cooking even from his room.
He heads downstairs, Silvally in tow, and smiles sweetly at Lusamine as she plates the food for her children. Four plates for four people. Her, Gladion, Lillie, and their father. He’s there, of course, just busy in the morning working on a project, but he’ll be there to join them all for breakfast. He always manages to make time for them.
Except it’s strange, isn’t it? Lusamine cooking because she has the time to before heading off to work. Isn’t it strange how the home isn’t the sterile white walls of a lab, but something cozy and inviting? Isn’t it strange how Silvally is there…?
Gladion smells rot and it makes him feel sick, but as he stands in the kitchen staring at something that’s never happened, he doesn’t know what to do.]
What’s going on here…? Stop that.
[The recreation of Lusamine laughs, softly, chiding her son and telling him it’s time for breakfast.]
voice calling
No, she can't let herself down.
She holds that in her mind - a mantra that she hopes will carry her to the red ribbon of energy in the far distance, which has to be the way out. Focus. One step at a time. Keep breathing. But all that calm instruction falls apart when she sees someone important to her on the side of the road. Someone she really wasn't sure she'd ever see again.
Lillie has so many things to say that instead of saying anything at all, she lets out a strangled cry of hope, desperation, confusion, and anger.]
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What is she doing here? She's not supposed to be here. He's...not supposed to be here either, he thinks, but he has no idea what this strange city is.]
What?
[You can't just yell at people and expect them to understand. He moves to push himself up, but his energy has been so drained he doesn't even manage to stand.]
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ii. Voice Calling
He's not going to join them. Not now, not ever, and so he marches onward, rounding a corner in this dilapidated dystopia until he nearly falls over himself catching a hand on the side o a ruined wall when he spots an all too familiar youngster.]
You've gotta be kidding me...! [Hurrying forward to where Gladion rests, GUzma grabs a fistful of his jacket and gives the young man a hearty shake.] Up n' at 'em, brat - I slapped y'all 'round once b'fore, I ain't so nice to stop there. C'mon, get on your feet, I ain't carrying you!
[Only he will, if Gladion doesn't heed his call. Lillie would have Guzma's backside if he left her brother in a place like this.]
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He doesn't know why Guzma of all people is here, and he tenses up as Guzma shakes him. He grits his teeth together, but he pulls himself up to his feet. It's a struggle, though. Every inch of him feels so heavy, so weighed down with exhaustion.]
I don't need to be carried.
[He brings a hand to his face, grimacing. He takes a step back from Guzma, though it's more of a stumble with how uncoordinated and heavy his limbs are, and he huffs.]
What are you even doing here?
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crowley 🐍 good omens
[For someone who can fly, Crowley can't say that he's much a fan of heights. It doesn't help that when he peaks over the edge of the island, everything beneath him is completely dark. There's a familiarity in it that makes his blood run cold, but he's not the type to let that slow him down. Although it does mean he sticks to the island, for now, rather than testing to see if he could fly lower.
As he walks, the ground turns from dirt to concrete and sidewalk, until Crowley is walking the familiar streets of Soho, the appearance of a bookshop stopping him in his tracks.
It's not the bookshop, obviously, because that's all the way back in London, but it's a reasonable enough facsimile that he's caught by the urge to peer inside. So he does. In a way, that helps reorient him, because all the little mistakes are more clear on the inside. A lot of the books are missing titles, the register isn't half as dusty as it should be. And somewhere below him, the ground starts to shudder.
The absolute last thing he needs is this stupid shop crumbling down around him again, so out he goes into the fresh air, something that doesn't solve the problem of the island collapsing. Right. That's enough of that. He was curious at first, but now he's firmly in the camp that this place is shitty, and he's going to go home. All he has to do is concentrate. Physics is, in his opinion, for suckers.
Except nothing happens. No magic. No miracles. To test it, he snaps his fingers to make a glass appear in his hand. That works, but he can't seem to miracle himself to wherever he wants to be. Not a great start to the day, actually. Time to do this the old-fashioned way.
Crowley gets moving again, a little more hurriedly than earlier, although he still makes a pretense at being completely unperturbed by the occasional shake of the ground. The second he spots someone, he's all business.]
Oi, you! [He's not very polite, this tall man dressed like an aging (but still stylish, in his opinion) rockstar, down to the sunglasses on his face.] If you've got any idea what the Heaven is going on, now's the time to spill it.
[He'd like answers, please and thank you. Just without the please and thank you.]
b ; a new voice calling
[It takes every ounce of self-control not to scream on his way down. While this certainly isn't Falling (it isn't fast enough, and it's far too cold), the sensation is close enough that it rattles him to his core. Crowley twists in the air, trying to right himself, pulling his wings from where they're hidden in an attempt to slow his descent, but nothing works.
He's bracing himself for impact, telling himself very firmly that he's survived worse than this, he'll just have to get right back up once it's over and move on, when he slows. As gravity reasserts itself on him, Crowley looks a little like a cat in zero-g, using his wings to orient himself before he touches down.]
Right.
[He says, to no one in particular, straightening up his jacket, putting his wings away and pulling a new pair of sunglasses from out of a pocket, the old ones having been lost in the fall. He slips them back on, hiding his eyes.
And starts walking.
He's not going to let this stupid place get the better of him, not if he has anything to say about it.]
c ; you can hear it if you try
[Everything is fine.
Everything is not fine.
This world, this life, it itches at the edges, like a suit lined with hessian, like a too-tight collar around his throat. The houses are all pretty little cottages, the street is lined with stone walls and all the neighbors smile at each other as they go about their business. It's not quite suburbia, and it definitely isn't American suburbia, but this is what Crowley's brain dragged up when the vines pushed perfect and normal at a demon who really has no touchstone for either of those concepts.
Except something is wrong, he feels it even as he goes through his routine (he's a businessman of some kind, though he can't put his finger on what, exactly, he does. Just that he's very good at it. His bosses love him), there's a piece missing from this version of his life.
At some point, he finds himself standing in front of a church.
It twists something in him that he can't name, a memory or a feeling or - something, equal parts unpleasant while also drawing him in.]
Come on, just go in. It's a church, nothing wrong with a church, what's the worst that could happen? There's not even anyone in there, I can just waltz on in. There's no rules against that. Nothing says I can't just go into a church.
[He's trying to psych himself up, against the strange sense of dread that washed over him when he got too close.]
c ; 👀
Everything is lovely.
Aziraphale hears a voice not far from the beautifully-topiaried churchyard where he's tending to the roses and stops, fingers hovering just above the white, velvet-soft petals of his favorite bush. There's something familiar about it, something vaguely disorienting. It's not what's said that's strange to him, but how the words sound — their cadence, the accent.
He peeks out from around a corner, spotting Crowley.
Hm.]
Good morning! [He chimes, voice ringing like a perfect little bell. He's dressed somewhat down this morning, clerical shirt sans collar and dark jeans; mass isn't for another hour, and the roses needed a trim — no point in getting all dressed up with nowhere to go, no one to orate poetically at.
He's all smiles, bright as the sunshine.]
It's open to the public, you know. All hours.
w h y
That's an odd thought to have, he realizes in the next moment, and dismisses it with a sharp little shake of his head.]
I— well— [A bit of a strangled sound, there, his mouth doing it's best to come up with a handful of syllables that it arranges in no particular order, the way he tends to do when caught off guard by something. It's not as if he's doing anything wrong, but he somehow still feels guilty. Sheepish, even.
Come on, Anthony, say something that isn't stupid.] This is a beautiful garden. Tend to all this yourself, do you?
[There! Nailed it! He's a real functioning person.]
bc I ♥ u
doubt
( ˘ ³˘)♥
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a;
Nothing jumps out at him, so he just shrugs.]
The island's falling apart.
[Which is incredibly helpful, he knows, but he also thinks this has happened before? He has vague memories of floating islands falling from his first time around here, but it wasn't like this. He was never on those floating bits of land, and only saw the result of their crash landings.
And that was...bad. Very, very bad.]
You should probably be careful.
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b team
The last time Yasha encountered a strange, winged man, he tried to kill her. He was also maybe acting on behalf of her god. It was all very hectic at the time.)
Wait- (she calls and gets to her feet, only realising in that moment that she hadn't been on them the entire time. She staggers, a little shocked by it. The man is walking away. His wings are gone now, what does that mean?)
Wait, wait for me.
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a;
If I knew I'd be the first one to share! [ Molly says, turning around to face the voice. His tail is swishing with annoyance, red eyes full of hopeless anger - like the kind where you just know it's nothing you can do about it, but god damn it if he's not gonna be pissed anyway. ]
It's this place, it likes to fuck with us. Just watch your step and try not to die before it is done with us.
molllllyyyyyyy \o/
I am sick as a dog but I could not NOT hit this
I appreciate your commitment to the cause but also pls feel better
I try!
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then I was sick for 2000 years
oh no honey
good now!
well that's good at least
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shouto todoroki | my hero academia
[The world has made itself into the shape of what looks to be a dormitory. The room is decorated in traditional Japanese furnishing, and it gets Shouto to pause in the doorway. He’s surprised to see his UA dorm room here, just...disconnected from everything else, and it’s strange.
...And then the ground underneath him starts to turn black and crumble, and he’s got to get a move on. The process is slow enough he doesn’t feel the need to run, but he does hurry. He can’t quite figure out what’s happening. Is it somebody’s quirk? Or another trick of the islands? He remembers the strange islands that were the Storyteller’s dominion, even though they weren’t quite like this, but...maybe?
Either way, once he comes across somebody he slows down again, before casting a glance behind himself.]
...You don’t want to go that way.
you can hear it;
[He knows this place is wrong as soon as he gets up in the morning. The idyllic scene is just - it’s too idyllic. It’s too removed from reality.
It’s too impossible for the Todoroki family to be a happy, healthy family. For all of them to be together. Touya’s gone, his mother will never be out of the hospital, and Endeavor would never let himself be a family man. Not to mention the smooth blankness of his face, no distinctive marks or scars to be seen on it.
Shouto feels sick to his stomach, and whether that’s because of what he’s seen or because of the heavy scent of rotting plants, he doesn’t know. He grits his teeth and forces himself to leave the house, to run away, and find whatever it is that’s causing this. This wouldn’t happen for no reason, and he’s determined to make things right. This is some kind of trick, and he doesn’t want to be caught in it.
When he sees someone, he heads over to them, bracing himself.]
Do you smell it too?
[Or are you another recreation like the happy family he left behind?
2.
What Shouto says makes her lips curl over her sharp teeth, a low growl rumbling in her throat, as she stares at a massive wall-like hedge, cut to perfection and seeming to almost...box them all in. Looking about, the same hedge spans for miles and miles, encompassing the whole of this false community. Ammy turns back to it, snarling. Oh, she knows what this is, what's going on...and she eels almost sick to her stomach, but not because o the smell. She remembers all of it, having to put down that god that became corrupt, the memorial held for them, and the suffering they caused, in their madness. This is...too much. It's too much to bring all that back. Let the dead sleep, and let their mistakes be forgotten to time.
This is cruel not only to the newcomers, but to those that suffered, and those that died, or lost...someone they knew. Someone different than what they turned into.]
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around the bend
Okay...]
Uh, what-- Why not?
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varian | tangled: the series
2. i feel the danger in the walls
3. this place has taken me
3.
But the image can't be changed, as a stray, white dog--no, not a dog...a wolf, barks furiously from across the street. Now that...that certainly isn't normal. Wolves don't roam around the streets like that, and they aren't quite as...pristine in appearance, like dirt itself seems repelled of her coat. It's off a ways, pacing back and forth, soft whimpers becoming loud, impatient...and those barks continue to grow, paws scratching furiously at the sidewalk. Seems like it wants to draw closer, but something, something is stopping it from doing so.
And, for but a brief second, the scent o rot becomes strong, overpowering, sickening--
Before it's all rewound again. Nothing is wrong. It's fine. Everything is normal. It's all normal. Even the horrible, distressed, panicked barking and scratching is N O R M A L.]
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Itsuhito Hadesu | Hokenshitsu no Shinigami
You can't sleep here. [Itsuhito says, reaching out to a stranger who's sinking down against the wall of one of the shadowy buildings.]
Come on. [He... may not be the most reassuring figure to come looming up out of the darkness, but even someone as... wrong-looking as this gangly stranger is might be better than no one at all when it comes to wandering through this ghost city.]
can you hear it?
[It's normal. The children gather at the oversized table in his dining room, chatting quietly as they work through their homework. Upturned faces with smiles and "thank you, Hades-sensei" when he brings out a tray of cookies or a new tea pot. Paper, scattered pencils, cookie crumbs, quiet chatter and freely asked questions (no unimportant questions, because everything kids worry about is important, no matter how small it may seem to adults).
It's all beautifully, peacefully normal. Except... except it's somehow too much, even this little moment hits him with so much happiness that he feels like he's choking. This isn't for him, this isn't--
The scent in his nose is too sweet, coats the back of his throat like
(blood from a broken nose)rotting fruit.Itsuhito steps outside, just to take a second, just to catch his breath, just to get away from the group of middle schoolers gathered after school around his table because there's something wrong with them, something too fixed in their expressions. One of the boys dropped a pencil and he does that all the time was what Itsuhito thought, not fondly but with a gathering sense of horror and the scent of decay gathering from somewhere, he does that all the time.
"It's like you want to keep living like this", someone said once, frustrated with the weight of years of hoping he would change.
He leans against the fence, wraps cracked hands around the pointed white pickets and tries to--]
Don't-- [he mutters, quietly because...] please don't.
["It's like you want to keep living like this" but he can't anymore, not when he knows somethings wrong, when it's so obviously a--
A trap. It's a trap, there's danger, and as much as he wants to sink back down into the haze, he knows he can't.
There has to be a way out. He's determined, when he straightens back up, when he takes a breath. He steps away from the dense, steps onto the sidewalk, and goes looking.]
We need to get out of here. [He says, when he finds someone who looks... different, looks confused or determined or angry or anything that doesn't match the blank smiles of whatever the other things are.]
Hugh Apiston 🐝 Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children
❱❱ THERE'S A NEW VOICE CALLING
❱❱ OOC
garden
[Place is nothing like home. It's not like the reams of thick woodland in the south, trails spidering off into nowhere and disappearing into sprawling networks of dilapidated buildings seemingly indefinitely left to rot. But there are hedges cut into strange shapes and he's enough of a paranoid bastard to decide that he'd really rather not deal with them, thanks.]
[He moves at a fast clip. One hand slips into his pocket and then out again, hand closed around his lighter. Just - just in case.]
[Turns out it's a hopeless impulse. The ground starts to crack, and Tim immediately catches at one of the hedges with his free hand to stabilize himself.]
God damn it -
[Time to move. The next tremor nearly throws him flat on the ground. He scrambles back to his feet and moves anyway.]
[But he stops when he sees the kid.]
[Of course he stops.]
Woah - kid?
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Roman Gulliver | OC
Roman fell. He'd felt something sort of like this before when the woman outside the night club summoned him with a circle, but he didn't remember it being so cold. A dark city rose up to meet him and almost as soon as his hooves touched the ground, he bent to all fours and scampered deeper into the shadows.
There were no people here.
Was this Hell? Had he been summoned to Hell or wherever it was things like him came from? He'd heard it was supposed to be cold. Being alone was pretty torturous too. Was the tuberculosis thing too far? No, it couldn't have been. Not after what the guy in the woods did to him. This had to be something else...
He considered changing into his human disguise but this place was so strange already that he was just...too tired to exert the energy. Slowly Roman stood up on his hooves again and crept onto the street.
"Hello?" He called, half-heartedly. Suddenly all he wanted was to sleep. He rubbed his shoulders.
sticks leggy out
[What Roman probably had taken before for an odd pile of garbage shifts, and Ed's wings unfurl from around him as he peers up at...]
[Uh. Hm. He can't quite tell if this guy is a demon or a minotaur with the same idea he'd gotten. Mind still clouded with sleep, it's kind of hard for Ed to pose the question in any coherent form.]
Monster?
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