TEST DRIVE MEME ( 001 )

[lifeaftr_mods]

Test Drive Meme #1

Hello, and welcome to our very first test drive! 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.

Remember that Reserves will open on July 17th and that Applications will open on July 24th, in preparation for the game’s official opening on August 3rd!

But first, two important notes!

1. The island of Mu exists apart from the real world and possesses a dream-like quality that characters are innately aware of from the moment they appear on its shores. No need to panic or fret. Dreams are odd things, after all - and anything can happen in them. Why would anyone question where their mind chooses to wander in its sleep?

2. Due to the nature of Mu, threads in our test drive can not only be accepted as thread samples in your application, but can be accepted as game canon as well. In fact, certain choices your character makes in Mu have the potential to bear in-game consequences.

Shipwrecked
The white sand of the beach ridges the island’s edge, even if the clear water soon becomes murky the further out you look across the horizon until the turquoise gleam of the tide disappears in a coil of surrounding fog. Indeed, your best prospects may very well be to strike out among the trees or the crags looming out over the foam-capped waves. There’s lumber to be found and made from the palm-like trees, potentially fruit or edible tubers of some kind if you forage about some. The further you travel, however, the more of your surroundings will reveal themselves in a steady unspooling of curiosities.

One corner of Mu’s current construct drops away into a sheer cliff, initially too dangerous to brave for all but the more daredevilish, but if one starts to scan the sharp rocks below, you might catch sight of what appears to be sodden planks of wood - a wreckage tossed up against the rocks. And a little further...a bobbing, shattered wreck of a lifeboat’s remains, potentially bearing supplies that might yet be salvageable.

Fashion what you can from the wood and stone around you or scavenge from the ruin of the land, if you like. But you can’t simply stand around and wait forever. It’s going to get dark sometime - and if a creature of unknown terror doesn’t catch you, the elements surely will.

Storytime

There’s a sense of camaraderie in this cove, you think. As the sun hangs low over the horizon, the world cast into orange hues, long shadows dispersed by roaring fires that dot across the beach.

That’s right, folks: it’s storytime.

There’s no one to preside over this meeting of the minds in Mu. Call it a vague recreation of things to come, if you like, some vaguely fatidic dreamlike state where you may find yourself drawn to the heat and company that awaits you by the fire. And from there, compelled to default to that old instinct that most of intelligent civilization has revered since they were advanced enough to paint geometric shapes on cave walls.

You tell a story.

Perhaps it’s a tragedy, a tale of woe and of personal loss. Perhaps it’s the sort of thing you’d break out after a few rounds of your alcoholic beverage of choice, clapping hands to your knees as you try to bite back your mirth long enough to spill the punchline. Perhaps it’s an adventure of some sort, some unbelievable rendition of your past exploits. The only common thread to be had, as those gathered around the fire share their tales, is the fundamental rule of a ritualistic sharing of stories such as this: its truth.

But how one chooses to define "truth" is, in its own way, another story entirely...

Dance, Sucker, Dance!
The beat of your heart in your chest is difficult to ignore. It judders with a pulsing, rhythmic quality. If you’re one of those that lacks a heart, the beat is still omnipresent and all-encompassing, until your entire body is unwittingly bobbing in time to a metronomic tune that seems ingrained into your very soul. It’s inescapable. You can’t seem to move unless it’s in time to the rhythm that’s now singing in every atom of your being.

But rest assured, you’re not alone in this musical curse. Everything, from the swaying trees to the waves against the beach, jumps in time to the music. And so do the monsters approaching you, that - wait a minute.

Monsters?

Oh, yes. Did we mention those?


It seems you’ve encountered the wrath of the Boogieman, who curses you to only dance to his infernal beat. If you wish to best him, you’ll have to either evade or destroy the blobs of greenish slime that serve as his minions, all in time to the hard beat of the tune in your head. Clear the radius of his curse or risk an open confrontation, if you dare. Don’t worry if you look foolish; chances are anyone else caught in the Boogieman’s thrall feels just the same.

Mu isn’t pulling any punches to start with. It is a flighty creation, after all, and seems to revel in displacing people into new and uncomfortable situations.

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

Karamatsu || Osomatsu-san

[50shadesofburaza]

[It's time.

The twang of his guitar is- not even remotely beautiful. It's not. Have you ever strummed a wet guitar because it's Not Good, to the extent that even he winces just the slightest at the off, distorted chord that hums through the air. Ah...but never mind. N-never mind, because he has something else in store for the poor fucking chumps daring comrades collected about this fire. A story of daring, of wonder. Of love. He calls it...]

Karamatsu and the Philosopher's Stone.




[Copyright Karamatsu, 2k17. Any parallels between past fiction or living people is purely coincidental.]

[ichininyaanshi]

[There isn't much of a corner to huddle oneself into on the beach; Ichimatsu makes do. If there's anything to be said about his more feline tendencies, perhaps one of the more obvious ones is that he seems to gravitate towards heat wherever he goes - it wasn't until late into high school that he re-appropriated his sleeping spot to the very end of the futon, after all - and so maybe it's not that surprising that he's huddled as close to the fire as he can get away with without risking the rubber of his sandals melting off.]

[In any case, he seems to find the warmth a bigger plus than Karamatsu's presence is a minus. Even as he glances right, past his knees, and mutters over the hiss of burning firewood.]

Nobody wants to hear it.

the drifter | hyper light drifter

[hyperlit]

survival of the flightiest;

[The illness had swarmed up their lungs, choking them in a liquid stranglehold, and they’d fallen agains the wall with a pinkish smear spoiling the rock at their back. Everything had dimmed and faded, the rotten pink of the voided world fading to water, pure and clear. The Immortal Cell disassembled, the world finally skewed back into some semblance of balance, and as for the awful hacking cough that coiled in their stomach?

It still plagues them when dark eyes flick open on the sandy shore of an unrecognizable beach. The tenuous reality of the place, the dreamlike cast to their surroundings, seems to hardly bother them at all; this may very well be another hallucinatory scenario, conjured either by the black jackal or the great oily black hulk of Judgment, but regardless, they’ve no choice but to press through it and end up where they may on the other side. And so they pick themself up slowly, steadily, taking only a moment to reassert their balance before they set off, trotting across the stretch of white sand at a brisk pace. The reddish cloth of their cloak flaps about their heels as they start to scale the rocky crags at the island’s edge, eyeing the skeletal remnants of the wrecked boat bobbing in the seafoam. Carefully, carefully, the Drifter begins to slide down to the very edge of the cliff, one claw-like, gloved hand catching at the rock for purchase.

They’re poised at the end when the spasm seizes them, clipping at their lungs and staggering their breath. The Drifter doubles over abruptly, shoulders convulsing. A wet spatter of something the consistency of blood sprays across the black rock, painting it violent pink. The fluid hums faintly as it makes contact with the stone, dissolving in a fizzle of black sparks not long after it puddles there.

They’re losing their balance. If this goes on, they may very well plummet into the sea.

And they don’t very well agree with water.]

dance for your life;

The thumping pulse of a foreign beat is an unfamiliar sensation, even for a drifter well-accustomed to the stranger creatures of the world. No citizen or beast has ever impeded their capacity to dash before, hampering their movements to precise steps across checkered ground to match a pulsing, ethereal beat.

The nice thing is that they still have a sword, and they can still use it. The hard light blade solidifies in a streak of cyan in their hands, and they cleave the first of the slimes cleanly in two with one swift arc. When another two wobble up to take the first’s place, they receive the same fate, curt and direct. The mantle about their face makes it difficult to discern their emotion, but the twin points of black of their eyes are locked in grim resolve.

The Boogieman has set himself up as a foe to be struck down, and they will address him accordingly. One of the slimes goes down in a chopping blur of bright blue, and then another, and then another.

They will fall. Every last one of them.

Survival- THIS BITCH EMPTY

[achievementhunter]

[They imagine that this is the end. A final dream; a last... something before true oblivion. It's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to be irritated at. Why their mind would choose to dream up such a bright, sunny space, full of flowers-

They can't imagine why, really. It's already far too late.

Slowly, they make their way across the sandy dunes, up to the cliff-sides where the flowers are most prominent. None of them yellow, they note absently. No. There's nothing yellow here.

There is, however, someone who is not part of the calm, verge of death metaphor Chara is hinging on. Unless they represent the agony Chara isn't feeling right now, though why their mind would choose to represent that in a person radically different from themself is another question entirely. To see themself suffer in comparison to this would be-

Something they would not interfere with. A hand catches The Drifter's cloak, yanking decisively. With how off-balance they already are, that much should do the trick.]

matsuno ichimatsu // osomatsu-san

[ichininyaanshi]

... eh?

[Noises of utter confusion don't usually come out so personally offended, but that's precisely the sort of sound that emits from a scruffy-haired, bedraggled man as he looks down and sees his sandalled foot tapping against the earth. He's not doing that. He's definitely not... doing that...]

[Ah, shit, he definitely is.]

[His head whipping up, Ichimatsu clutches the front of his sand-crusted hoodie with a strained look, as though physically paining himself not to give in to the rhythmic thump that feels louder than ever in his chest. Is that his heartbeat? Why is it so damn catchy? What the hell is wrong with him? He couldn't be bothered to move more than a few feet from his corner yesterday, but now the urge to break into movement is like a painful Karamatsu-impulse in his nervous system.]

[No way. No way is he going to do something like that...]

A-aughckh --!

[Except there's a flash of green, and only a stylish hip-check that might pass as a dance move keeps Ichimatsu from being gooped alive. A dark look washes over his face at the thing, even as he rhythmically backs away from it with a little cha-cha.]

What the hell you shitty blob I'll kill you...

how fast can I embarrass myself

[yallstupid]

[There's more than just one slime creeping up on this poor sod - they to are moving to the sound of the beat - but before another can launch itself at Ichimatsu, a sizable conch shell goes flying and nails the squishy monster smack between the eyes. Who threw it? Well, the answer is obvious, and accompanied by the debonair tone of...castanets.

Made from seashells.

8|b

Anyway! It's your boy, Guzma, and he looks about as enthused by this whole scene as anyone would. But damn can he move! Those hips, the pose, the cold concentrated look in his eye, the leg lift, the kick that sends one of those monster's flying--ahem. With a click-a-clack, he saunters his way toward Ichi and hisses, through bared teeth.]

You so much as chuckle, homie, and I'm leaving your body to these slimy suckers.

The Batter | OFF | OTA

[unpurify]

1. Round two...?

[For a moment there was nothing but the darkness and silence. And then the gentle sound of waves.

It takes the baseball player sprawled out in the sand a moment to open his eyes and even longer to stand and survey the scenery around him. None of it was familiar. None of it should be here, himself included.

Then was this another Zone the Batter had yet to purify? It was the only conclusion he could reach, the only reason that he would be brought back like this. Luckily it seemed that his bat hand come along with him, but the Batter could no longer feel the pull of his Puppeteer. Interesting.

But not a priority at the moment. He needed information and the location of the Guardian of this Zone. So the nearest person is going to be approached by a baseball player and asked a simple question.]

Where is this.

[Well, it would be a question if he bothered to make it sound like one. But when the Batter isn't busy getting information out of people, he'll be gathering supplies. He can't swim so the wreck is out of the question, but gathering fruit or checking out the edge of the cliff is something he could do. Ever wanted to see a baseball player climbing a tree? Well now you can.]


3. Pepper Steak

["This is stupid.

That's pretty much the only thought going through the Batter's mind along with the infernal beat that is currently dictating his moments as well. One of the creatures is crushed under the weight of his bat as he slams it down, before twisting away as another lunges for him.

It reminds him far too much of the impure girl in the basement of Zone 0. Only his body did not rebel in this manner that time. Still, this beast presented itself as an obstacle to be removed and thus the Batter would treat it as such.]

Purification in progress.

[The Batter's bat glows as he strikes another slime with a Furious Homerun. It splatters from the force and the man moves, dancing his way towards the Boogieman as best as he can.

He's taking the fight directly to the creature and nothing is going to stop him, stupid method or no. Still, the Batter would not mind some help, offered or not. His Add-Ons are sorely missed right now.]

pass back the aux cord

[madnest]

[Shade doesn't mind the beat. And neither does the ＭＡＤＮＥＳＳ. A record player is spinning nearby, jangling out a sweet 50's croon in a language that is acting like its English. It's got good snap, its got her jiving to that brand new so— hey! Record scratch. The audio feedback of baseball meets slime is not in line with the jam she had in mind. This isn't the "dubstep" "remix."

She puts her hands on her hips, which, by the way, are still swaying side to side in time with the Boogieman.]

What are you doing to the sound?

Guzma || Pokemon Sun and Moon (games)

[yallstupid]

Welcome to Paradise, cousin:

[He's dreamed of islands before. Islands not part of the Alola region, that is. Islands that don't have much to offer other than a view, some sun, and cool waters. Perhaps that's why Guzma isn't so perturbed when he wakes on the shores of Mu, dusting sand from his arms and clothes. He's content to sit on the beach and watch the waves for a while, but it's the eerie peacefulness that finally drives him to stand. Even in his dream there was more than just the rush of the waves - there were Wingull crying, Finneon or Magikarp jumping up out of the water in the shallows, a Slowpoke sunning itself on a sandbar or rock...something. But no, there are no pokemon here.

He frowns, then rummages through his hoodie and sighs a little with relief, feeling two pokeballs in a pocket on the inside of his hoodie, where he usually keeps his pokemon in their balls. He removes them and calls out the duo - his Ariados and his signature partner, Golisopod. The two look a little perplexed at first, they can sense far more than Guzma, but are put at ease when he calls them both to walk along the shore with him. Just a quick walk - and he picks up shells and tosses them out into the water, or up into the sky, and has his pokemon uses attacks on them.

A bit of fun, and a bit of training at the same time. Even in his dreams he doesn't stop pushing himself to be a better trainer. Once they reach the far end of the shore, Guzma lets his Golisopod soak in the water, while Ariados suns herself by his side, leaning her head on his thigh.]

...Weird place. There ain't no pokemon here. Y'all can feel it, yeah? [He rubs the big arachnid's massive abdomen, right between the two stingers on her rump, where she likes the best.]

Spider Dance:

[Okay, Guzma was starting to think this place was a little bizarre and a little to realistic for the norm of his dreams, but this? This is a little--no...scratch that, this is a goddamn trip and he's wondering what the ever loving hell he ate to give him a lucid dream like this.

Who the heck is the screwball in the mask? Are those Grimer? Ugliest Gimer he's seen in his life, but what else could they be? Still, they're coming at him and...and dancing. I mean, if that grotesque wriggling and sloshing could constitute as dancing. Thank the Tapu your boy has got mad skills, yo, because even in the sand he can bust a move like a pro.

It'd be cooler if he was in control of his spontaneous twinkletoes, but...yeah, he's a good dancer, at the least.

And Ariados is bopping and twirling around to the beat, the stingers on her rump waving to the beat and her legs tapping along in the sand.]

Ariados, you too? [Said as he slides away from a gooey monster in the most overly dramatic way possible. Who wrote this choreography??] The heck kinda fever dream is this?! Ariados, poison thread!

[The way his pokemon attacks could be called artistic at this point, and Guzma is beside himself. The thread seems to arc and spin, almost sparkle even, as it creates a sticky hold around a few of the slime. He's not expecting it to poison like it should - Grimers can't get poisoned, so he thinks - but it should slow 'em down.] Yo, fancy feet, the heck's your deal?! You got a bone to pick with me?! I'll beat you down without all this--hey, call off your little boogers!! C-C'mon!

[Actually getting gooped by a Grimer is, uh...dangerous. Their slimy skin is pretty darn toxic by Alolan standards.]

Diiiid somebody say Spider Dance? :D

[prettypurpleparlor]

Oh dearie dearie me... What a terribly rude way to ask a lady to dance.

[A sweetly lilting voice drifts across the sands from somewhere behind him, light and amused. The newcomer steps delicately around the sticky threads and puddles of goo, swaying gently in time to the beat.]

I think that rude partners-

[Her lips- a purple so dark it's almost black- curve into a cheerfully wicked little smile, revealing sharply pointed fangs.]

-ought to be stepped on.

[As she reaches Guzma's side, she plants her feet firmly, raising her top two arms to strike a dramatic pose- one that sends a series of bouncing white circles raining down in the direction of the blobs. Hopefully the Boogieman made his minions as good at dodging as they are at dancing, because monster bullets can do a decent amount of damage if they hit.]

Don't you agree?

[Yes. A purple spider lady did just wink at you. Hey, she's pretty sure she's dreaming too, might as well have some fun with it.]

tim wright | marble hornets ( sol raveh crau )

[postictal]

son of a beach;

Last he checked, the castle sure as hell wasn’t an island paradise. The expectation seemed to be that, once you kicked it, you were stuck as some kind of shadowy entity, some fragment of yourself, lost and meandering until one of the living is kind enough to put you out of your misery. The months of navigating labyrinthine stone walls, the cling of rust to storm-soaked chains, the castle that lived in the mist - none of this in any way correlates to an island with clear turquoise waters, trees arching overhead to cast Tim in the shade.

Welcome, as someone once told him, to putting your back into it. If this is some sort of afterlife, it is apparently a good deal more involved than lying about and waiting for something to happen. Maybe a few months ago he would've been content to stand and wait, possibly for something bigger and larger to happen along and scarf him down without complaint.

But too often as of late, Tim's come to understand that in situations like this, there's an unspoken expectation; something required of him, or of the people around him. He runs fingertips around the camera strapped to his chest, but there's no reassuring, blinking red light signifying that it's on. Or...working at all, really.

Feeling around in his pocket reveals the presence of three hard lumps - pills, knife, and lighter. Okay. Good.

He flicks the knife out. Even if the blade is only a few inches long, the firm resolve behind the motion lessens the pressure around his chest, if only slightly. It grants him the illusion that he has a plan, and that he's well on his way to implementing it.

The world feels - odd. A few inches removed to his left, like none of it's quite real. That's par for the course in terms of what Tim might be used to, but it's still not what he'd call a pleasant feeling.

Pleasant or no, he sets off with a beeline for the wooded area, pausing only to dig the blade of his flip-knife into the bark of the nearest tree, scoring it with a hard "X". He starts marking tree after tree as he goes, stopping every few meters to mark his path to himself.

One can never take chances in the woods.

once upon a time;

[Maybe it's the fire that draws him close, the crackle of embers and the sparks that wisp above the open flame. It pulls to him in the same way that water does, the lapping of the waves both promising and hideous in what they represent. But fire - fire is its sanctuary. It sets a barrier the water cannot cross.

Tim sinks into the sand, dreamlike, to sit across from whoever else might be present. The words swim in his head and on his tongue, stewing minute by minute, before he finally speaks them aloud.

Tim's not what you would call a gifted storyteller. In fact, he makes it a point of never sharing any of his personal stories at all, if he can. But the compulsion's swollen like an ocean tide to the point where he simply can't ignore it any longer.]

This, uh...this one time, me and these two other guys got stuck in a cage. It was raining, and we just...we kinda woke up there.

Weird, right?

there'll be shell to pay

[achievementhunter]

They're not actually following Tim. Or rather, they are, if only unintentionally. X marks the spot, etcetera, etcetera. There's nothing better for Chara to do- and so they follow, trying to learn as they go, what it is to walk quietly in undergrowth. Twigs and death leaves crack under their weight- Chara doesn't know precisely how to walk to stifle that completely.

Perhaps at the end of this yellow brick road, there's peace. They can wander into the light, as it were, though the silence is perfectly acceptable in of itself. They look utterly out of place in scenery such as this; a baggy sweater in the midst of a fairly muggy environment. Doesn't matter.

Where, oh where could this trail lead..? That hardly matters either.

Still, it's something to do. Welcome to not putting your back into it at all. Welcome to wasting your time completely.

Pyrrha Nikos | RWBY

[pyrrhaicvictory]

[ i. storytime ]

[ She feels strange. Like she's a ghost drifting in and out of the groups of people, not entirely sure where she belongs. Where she's supposed to be. She sits politely on the driftwood as stories weave themselves into the air, soothing away the phantom aches on her skin. It seems the chill will never leave.

If you catch her attention, she smiles, a touch shy. ]

I'm afraid I'm not a very good story-teller.

[ ii. monsters. ]

[ Fighting, at least, is still easy. She has not been robbed of her instincts as she slams her boots into the Boogieman's face as she swings her signature gun spear to shoot the blobs with alarming accuracy. Her attention is completely focused on the creature as she defeats it with a clean shot to the head. Satisfied, she slips her spear over her back, not relaxing just yet.

It seems to have, at least, loosened her up a bit. ]

[ iii. try your luck with a wildcard! Most likely she'll be wandering the beaches by herself, scavenging and helping others scavenge politely ]

i.

[yallstupid]

Yeah, and neither is anyone else here!

[He nearly spits it, annoyed and a little tense now that he's become aware this isn't a dream and very real. What the heck happened to him? Where is this place? What about his other three pokemon - are they safe? Are they alive? He was sort of hoping to get some information from this gathering of misfits, or at least a distraction from his thoughts, but no.

Where Pyrrha sits politely and rather daintily, Guzma is the worst goddamn manspreader on Mu. Thankfully no one else is sharing the bleached driftwood log he's sitting on, arms hanging off his knees. He could easily make without the log and squat, but no one's shoved him off the log yet, so.]

Wade Wilson | Deadpool (Marvel 616) | OTA

[ishotyouuu]

open the door, get on the floor

Y'know... at times, Wade thinks he should ruminate on the directions his life had taken. He thinks that maybe one say he should sit down and really hash it out with himself regarding the paths he's chosen. He thinks that maybe, if he were the kind of man for that sort of deep introspection, he would be able to pinpoint the exact moment that his life got so fucking weird.

But he isn't. And if there's one thing Wade W. Wilson is good at, it's dancing to a different beat.

The creature that stands before him is an ugly motherfucker, tall and humanoid with a strange looking mask adorning its face like some sort of old-timey gas mask. Surrounding it are amoeba-like oozes that pulse and squelch and shudder their way towards him. But Wade doesn't really concern himself with that. He's got the music in him.

He stands still as a statue, almost impossibly still considering who he is, and stares the masked creature down with a look of confident self-assurance. If he'd come with hype men they'd be losing their shit in the background right now. Slowly his legs begin to move in the stomping, staccato beat of a Flamenco dance, his hips quickly following; succumbing to the music even as he never takes his eyes off his quarry.

"Aww, yeah. You see this shit? Get ready for the thunder, motherfucker. Jose Greco, eat your heart out."

A soft metallic shing of sound as he unsheathes the katanas at his back. The blobs have shifted closer, but he spares them only a cursory glance, never stopping his movements. Hopefully Tall, Dark and Fugly over there will be too distracted by his fancy footwork to notice when he buries the blade in its skull. After he takes out its flunkies one by one, of course. He's nothing if not thorough.

[unpurify]

This continues to be really stupid.

But the Batter is nothing if not determined to see this battle reach its conclusion and the beast purified. Even if the means of doing so are unconventional at best. Nothing like the battles with the specters that he was so used to during his mission.

Things were different in this Zone, that much was clear, and the Batter would have to adapt one way or another.

However that needs to be left to the wayside for the moment. Wade has a new dance partner in the form of a baseball player coming in on his left side. The Batter has been at this for awhile, the creatures the main beast had been spawning have been keeping him quite busy. The Batter isn't tired but it's clear from his moments that....he's really bad at dancing, his movements too stiff and jerky to resemble anything a trained dancer would know.

But that's not stopping him from slamming his bat into the blobs when they come close enough to get into his range. The Batter isn't also one for mid-battle dialog but he has taken notice of Wade and the strange, bladed weapons he was using to cut his foes down. Interesting...

Prompto | Final Fantasy XV | OTA

[want_to_belong]

Initial Arrival - Closed to Ignis

Prompto awoke to the bobbing of a raft. The last thing he remembered was getting on his snowmobile to head back to the guys, then everything had gone dark. He blinked up, shading his eyes from the sun with his arm and wincing at the bright sky. Where...? How...? Groggily, he turned his head to the side to see the snowmobile sitting on a raft with him. He still had his winter gear covering up his normal clothes, but the weather had completely changed.

With wobbly movements he rolled over onto his side and forced himself up. It looked like he was bobbing towards some sort of tropical bay or something, but how he got there he didn't know. This didn't look like the freezing lands of Niflheim at all.

For a bit it looked like he would drift uneventfully to the shore, until suddenly with one sway of the raft he heard the snowmobile scrape across it. All of its weight shifted more and more to one side of the raft. Prompto scrambled to his feet, but before he had a chance to grab the snowmobile it slid off the side into the water. He lost his balance and plunged in after. Cold water soaked through his clothes in an instant, bogging him down with its weight. It was just fortunate that he seemed to be able to stand, water chest height to him.

Still, he grabbed onto the handles of the snowmobile and pulled against the undercurrent trying to drag it and himself back out. He couldn't afford to lose it, he had nothing else to use! Digging his heels into the wet muck, he heaved with all of his might. If only he had Gladio's muscles this would be a lot easier. He flopped around in the water, stubbornly dragging the snowmobile along inch by inch as it lugged through the mud and water tried to knock him off of his feet.

By the time he got it to shore he was panting and out of breath. His coat was waterlogged and weighing him down. His boots squished with each step. He felt like he'd carried out half of the ocean with him.

He took a momentary break to look around the empty beach. Nearby the raft had drifted to the shore safely on its own. Waves were rolling in and sliding under his feet. Nothing looked familiar to him. He checked his supplies. His gun, his cell-phone, his camera... Already he was assessing what the damage would be. He pulled out his camera first, shaking it dry quickly and making sure that it still turned on. A sense of relief filled him when it clicked. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he lost that, too.

His handgun... The water wouldn't be good for it and he only had so many bullets. Maybe he could check it once it had dried. Cell-phone. Amazingly, it still seemed to turn on, but he didn't have time to check everything on it. He couldn't seem to summon anything. Wherever Noctis was, he must have been too far? He stripped off the coat and set it down on the snowmobile. Back down to his vest, he packed everything onto the snowmobile before he grabbed the handles and began pushing again.

Shipwrecked - OPEN

The ship looked like the perfect place to gather some resources. They needed firewood, and hopefully some sort of weapons and food. Scavenging around these jagged rocks wasn't going to be safe for him, much less for Ignis, so Prompto had been determined to come alone. He hated to do it, but it seemed necessary.

Lumber was the easy part. He snapped and carried away anything in easy reached, making a pile for himself on a dry part of the shore. It was when he wanted to search for other supplies that it became challenging. He climbed up the rocks, edging along them towards the deck of the boat, and dropped down as soon as he was over it. He stumbled and fell back onto the deck with a thud that knocked his breath out, sitting there for a moment.

"Eat your heart out, Noct," he mumbled to himself sadly, wishing that his friend was there to joke with.

Glancing both directions, he took a deep breath and finally pushed himself up, heading towards the cabin.

Storytime - OPEN

Evening came too fast when he was desperate to survive, and the glow of a fire on the horizon attracted his attention. Prompto was wary of who else might be there, but hopeful, and they needed warmth. He didn't have the endurance to set a fire as easily as Gladio did.

The fire was a welcome sight indeed. He had a hand on Ignis' arm and another on his back as he led the newly injured man towards the roaring fire. He was quick to help him find a spot upwind, and happy to plop down beside him and start pulling off his boots. He was sore from the day and his socks were still wet. He tugged them off and set his boots and socks near the fire to dry, leaning back on his arms. It felt like he could finally take a breath.

After a moment he tried to speak nonchalantly, strained as it was, "Hey, Iggy. We're by a campfire again."

He was happy to relax there for a while, but should any approach them he would be protective of his friend, keeping a watchful eye on them for anything that would be out of place. He might have usually been a trusting person, but times had been tough and he had a very precious friend here to defend. The small wave he would give would be less cheery than normal, but he would hold back and refrain from judgment.

Initial Arrival - Closed to Ignis

[shatteredlenses]

For a moment, the fact that he can hear waves, is soaking wet, and can still smell the sea almost convinces Ignis he's in Altissia. Pain--dull in some places, sharp and stabbing in others--wraps around him as he fights back the urge to shiver. His hand closes against where it's pressed to the ground and that is when he starts to realize he's not where he thought he was. Sand? Why is he laying in sand when he'd last been pinned to a cold, hard street?

Unconsciously, he rolls away from whatever he is laying half on and half off. Such a small movement, but it causes all his aches and pains to roar back to life. Ignis face is wet, but he's half afraid to reach up. Is it water or blood that is causing the dampness? Most of the pain he's feeling is focused behind and across his eyes, that pain stronger and sharper than the fading pain in a once dislocated shoulder and shattered knee.

Ignis knows he should pull himself up and take stock of his location, but he finds even raising one arm beyond him at the moment. He winces at his own weakness, fingers tightening in the sand once more as the memory of Chancellor Izunia's mocking face slinks through his mind. Wasn't blinding him enough? What in the name of the Six is going on? Where is Noctis? Was the covenant successfully forced? What of the Oracle?

There are a million questions he needs answers to, but trying to approach them all at once isn't possible. With a deep breath, Ignis starts to sort them into order of importance. It's calming, feeding his need to reclaim control over something. How he's going to start finding answers with his vision gone is just one more question on the pile.

Once he's calmer, Ignis reaches toward the armory hoping to pull the familiar weight of his daggers to hand. His heart freezes when there is no response. Perhaps, he's just too tired. Focusing harder, he tries to pull something smaller--a simple potion bottle. There is still no answer and he swears his heart stops in his chest as he finally manages to raise his right arm, pressing the wet leather of his gloved hand to an equally wet face.

As soon as he'd been taken down, he'd written off Altissia as an unmitigated disaster. Now?

A soft, bitter, and broken laugh slips from his mouth.

"Bloody hell..."

Asriel Dreemurr | Undertale | Soulgemmed CRAU

[pleasereset]

[The Beach]

[When Asriel wakes up, it doesn't hurt.

It should, considering the last thing he remembers was being forced to eat a poisoned pie for some sadistic game. But it doesn't. His fur and clothes are wet though, and there's... sand? He sits upright, greeted to the sight of an admittedly beautiful ocean and beach. But this isn't Nyoi-Cho, and he doesn't remember being anywhere near the beach in Nyoi-Cho. He checks himself over quickly - no wounds, and his soul gem is still attached to the ring around his finger.]

... Am I dead?

[If he is, it's probably the nicest death he's had so far.]

[Story time.]

[Oh, there's definitely a lot of stories Asriel could tell. But when he has the opportunity to share, he finds himself not really wanting to get into the story of magi that fight off the monsters that live in other people's nightmares.

There is one story he could tell though...]

Okay. This story is about a ninja who has a powerful fox demon living inside of him, that gives him special powers...

beach!!!!!!

[postictal]

[There's a kid on the beach. A "kid" in multiple senses of the word, and Tim's soul (the one that he has, bizarre as that might sound, twinges in a pulse of familiarity.

Shit. So there's multiple people from the castle here, then. The differences between this kid and the one he remembers are superficial, as far as he's concerned - after all, what's the likelihood that it's someone else entirely?]

Asriel. [He jogs to catch up to the lump of white fur on the beach - a human, stocky and bearing a camera strapped to his chest, his chin ringed with a six o' clock shadow.] You okay?

Maka Albarn | Soul Eater (anime)

[the_word_is]

[ CLIFFJUMPER ]

[It's a dream. It's a dream and well, things are okay. The sun is weird, a blaze of light in the blue, blue sky, and Maka sits on the edge of the cliff, booted feet dangling over the sheer drop down to impossibly turquoise water. She's already mapped out her descent, the series of jumps and tumbles and shoulder-jarring grabs that will get her to the wreckage with the minimum of damage (even though she almost feels like if she jumps she'll just fly) and she'll take that route soon enough.

But right now... right now it's just nice, it's just quiet, it's just a little dreamy break from the stress of a world gone pre-apocalyptic.]

[ STORYTIME ]

[The girl sitting by the fire doesn't have any stories to share (she's a little shy, a little nervous about stories that aren't in books) but she's listening, sitting on her long black coat, knees tucked to her chest (feet carefully positioned to avoid any embarrassing upskirt incidents), green eyes wide and expression intensely focused on any and all storytellers. This kid's a nerd and is totally caught up in the hypnotic surreality of the day and the fire and the deep-as-instinct experience of sharing experiences.

She'll listen for as long as there's someone to listen to, despite the exhaustion that comes from a day of long and sunny adventures.]

[ LET'S DANCE ]

[A survival knife from the cliffside wreckage makes a serviceable glaive once tied to the end of a long stick, and Maka may be a scythemeister but she can survive with any polearm.

There's an unfamiliar beat in her soul, her heart pumping to a rhythm that's nothing like a piano's jazzy tune and it trips her up at first, her own internal pace thrown off completely by her opponent's ability and she stumbles over her own feet for a second (enough of a second that she gets slime all over her boots).

Count it out, pretend you know how to dance. Feel the beat of the SOUL.]

Stand down, or I'll take you out. [She says, voice ringing with the solid confidence of someone who can and has and will fight to her opponent's quick death but is choosing to offer a chance to give up instead.]

[madnest]

It can't hear you!

[A cha-sha slide to the left and a cha-cha slide to the right. Somebody's having a good time with the Boogieman. She is the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen. Or she would be, if she knew some ABBA.]

Let's take out this dancefloor instead.

[An attempt to hip bump one of the smaller slimes is made, but its result is just green goop splattered all over her. It hasn't tried to hurt her, so she obviously isn't trying to attack it.

It just wants to have fun. And she's totally vibing with it.]

Edward Elric | Fullmetal Alchemist ( Ryslig CRAU )

[solperierat]

Cliff-diving

[Dreams of islands aren't common for Edward, compared to many other things, but it's not so odd he thinks much of it. Rather than deal with the annoyance of hooves in sand, Edward opts to take to the skies, though low enough to be able to spot anything that might prove useful. It doesn't take long to spot the bobbing wreckage near the cliff, and Ed has never been one to let opportunity pass him by. Of course, he's hardly the most nimble in the air, so his attempts are...less than stellar.]

FUCK!

[If the exclamation isn't noticeable enough, the loud splash and flailing certainly will be. The bright spot of red fur in the wreckage is probably amusing enough on his own, but one might also find interest in the small pile Ed has already accumulated near the edge of the cliff. Maybe if you're quick enough, he won't even notice who's made off with it all?]

Wicked Beats

[Okay, Ed's seen a lot of weird shit in his life, but dancing snot is definitely a first. The fact that it's making him dance is annoying, but at least he can work the rythym into his attacks without too much trouble. He less attacks the things and more bludgeons them into pieces, causing slime to splatter out everywhere with each hoof slammed through.]

[(He is not going to claw those things, that stuff is going to take ages to wash out of his fur.)]

[But he's not going to ignore those less martially inclined or their plights--anyone having trouble will have what can only be described as a red-furred jersey devil barrels into the fight and sends their opponent across the beach with a solid kick.]

Hey, you alright?

Cliffs

[prettypurpleparlor]

[She blinks, surprised at the loud exclamation- although she really can't blame him for it, considering the circumstances. She walks briskly across the beach, and calls out:]

Are you all right?

Muffet | Undertale

[prettypurpleparlor]

I. Shipwreck

[If you look up, you might see a small woman climbing down the cliffs with the grace of a spider.]

[That's because she literally is one.]

[As it turns out, having three pairs of arms can be very useful for rock climbing- as can the ability to stick a line of webbing to the top of the cliff and use it to hold onto on the way down. She's making quick and steady progress towards the bottom.]

[What she'll find when she gets there is still more of an open question.]

II. Story

[Muffet sits on a log near the fire, legs crossed and hands folded daintily in her lap. Perhaps it's a bit silly to maintain such prim and proper mannerisms on a beach in the middle of nowhere she recognizes, but it's what she prefers and everyone has their little quirks.]

[She listens thoughtfully to everyone, offering a curious comment here and there but taking care to not interrupt. She hasn't told any stories of her own, but maybe if you ask, she'll have something to offer...]

II. :)

[achievementhunter]

[They've been listening as well, drifting from campfire to campfire and catching tidbits from the stories others have to share. They wonder if, perhaps, these are also people on their way to whatever constitutes as an afterlife. It's that, or their mind is more creative than they ever gave it credit for.

Some figures are less original than others.

Chara approaches calmly; but well within sight at all times. Sitting cross-legged at her side with a similar air of poise, they watch her calmly until they're certain at least one set of eyes is upon them, if not more.]

Do you not have a story of your own, ma'am?

Ignis Scientia | Final Fantasy XV | OTA (Spoilers for Altissia)

[shatteredlenses]

Storytime-

A Flickering Light I Cannot See:

Would he be handling this better if he hadn't just been brutally blinded? No matter how many times Ignis asks himself this and no matter how hard he blindly stares into the fire, no answer comes. He should be glad to have Prompto here with him, but the moment he feels any comfort in that, guilt washes the feeling away. Prompto should be with the others. He shouldn't be here playing seeing eye dog to a blind man. As much as he never wants to be parted from Noctis' side, Ignis decided long ago that if he could not keep up or if Noctis wished him to, he would stay behind. He had faith the others could go on without him. Splitting the team in two, though? It's too much. Two people can't face that alone.

They shouldn't have to face that alone.

Ignis leans forward, closer to the fire. Right now, his eyes are so badly damaged that he can't even see the light of the flickering flames. He is sure it is reflecting in the sunglasses that somehow managed to survive Altissia in his pocket, and he can feel the heat slowly drying his clothes and chasing the cold from his bones. He just wishes it could touch the heavy ice block that sits in his chest, a block formed from shock and a kind of dread he rarely allows himself to feel.

No magic. No weapons aside from the pair of small blades he carries hidden on himself for emergencies. No sight.

He's a strategist and a damn good one, but right now the overwhelming odds bring every idea he comes up with to a screeching halt.

And each aborted idea just makes him feel that much colder.

To Tell A Tale of Prophecy:

Ignis doesn't plan on telling a tale when he first comes to the fire with Prompto. He just wants to get warm and have a safe place to think, but as time passes, he realizes he's fallen into over-thinking everything. His mind is racing in a disordered mess like it hasn't since he was a child. At first, he tries just listening to the others telling their stories around the fire, hoping it will be enough to distract him and let his mind settle down. It helps a little, but it's not enough. Despite the weariness that drags him down and the hoarseness of his voice, Ignis knows the only way to accomplish his goal is to do something active. To speak; to spin; to regal the others with a story.

When there is a lull in the tale-telling, he stands, dark sunglasses perched on his face to cover at least some of the terrible scarring there. Those watching probably wonder if the tale he's about to tell will explain those. There is obviously a story of great and glorious battle behind them. But, that is not the story Ignis chooses. That is a story for another day, a day when the pain of freshly healed wounds does't still lance through his head, and the shattering of his pride doesn't burn hot in his chest.

Instead, he tells the tale of a midnight prince. A complex child chosen to bring light back to the world. Ignis knows him like no one else ever could, and while the advisor appears in the story, it is obviously his prince is the important one. The real one.

In a way, it brings Noctis there to be with him--with them--and for a short time it allows Ignis to know peace.

(OOC: Action or Prose responses are fine!)

[Prompto | Noctis]

[want_to_belong]

Prompto was in much higher spirits than he expected to be on his way back to Ignis. This one time he started trotting on ahead of Noct as they got closer. A stack of wood was under his arm and some supplies bundled up in some fabric was slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Iggy!" his tone was notably lighter than it had been earlier. "You won't believe what I found."

Jogging up, he dropped his bundle and turned around towards Noct. He'd let Noct introduce himself. Iggy was going to be ecstatic. It was the first time Prompto felt like he could put on a real, genuine smile since arriving.

Newt Geiszler | Pacific Rim + Haven and Hadriel CRAU

[fortunefavored]

Shipwrecked

[Newt is entirely waterlogged. He's not entirely sure how he's gotten here, only that he is, coughing, wet and soaked, stumbling to his feet to look around on the beach. He stares, blinking once, twice...before stating the obvious]

Well, this'd be freakin' idyllic if it wasn't for, y'know...[and he looks around, slowly, as if trying to piece together what's going on]....everything?

Storytime

[Newt is...oddly reticent. He sits near the fire, elbows resting on his knees, the flickering light making his facial scars look practically ghoulish. Newt's eyes narrow behind his glasses as he stares into the flames, and he reaches up a hand to push them back into place and before he takes a deep breath and begins.]

Once upon a time there was his asshole who was part of a corporation that kept people contained in a ruined city like lab rats. He experimented on them whenever he liked, and though the residents tried to kill him, he kept coming back to life. One day, the people trapped in the city destroyed the machine that kept bringing him back to life, and then they killed him.

[the corner of Newt's mouth twitches upward; it's not quite a smile, not quite a frown. It's small and bitter and yet somehow vindictive, curling a bit wider as Newt reaches to scratch a bit at the scar bisecting his left cheek]

And then I dissected his heart. He had some weird-ass crocodile bullshit going on, so he honestly probably fucked with himself as much as he fucked with us. Basically, dude was a psycho. [He sits back with a huff, then, shoving his hands in his pockets] So the moral of the story is don't be a dick and treat other people like lab rats because they'll find a way to murder you.

shipwrecked yo

[postictal]

[Tim's not what you would call the ideal tour guide, especially since he's still adjust to the almost Edenic tranquility to this place himself. Compared to the Castle in the Mist, this may as well be goddamn paradise.

Then again, his last memory is of a child sinking the blade of a knife into his soul and rending it to pieces. But he's pretty sure that if this were any sort of afterlife, it wouldn't be nearly as peaceful.

But at least he's not alone.

Aside from the camera strapped to his front and the flip-knife in his hand, Tim's not especially assuming - not nearly as much as the guy with a set of scars that'd make the Joker jealous.]

Yeah, I'm pretty sure this isn't paradise.

flowey | undertale | post-game

[wilt]

Storytime

I know a story about a skeleton who walked into a bar. It's not a good one. The guy who told it to me was a real punny guy.

[ Gosh, it's so much easier to be unruly and cruel when you have no feelings, but after his encounter with Frisk and their all-too-happy ending, Flowey's verging on apathetic when it comes to inciting wrath in other people. He'd tried to die last he remembered... and now he's here and he can't anymore. Wasn't he supposed to be ensuring their happy ending stayed? Or... something. ]

I know a story about a dumb kid whose best friend wasn't very nice. They did everything together, including poisoning a king and plotting to kill all the people that hurt one of the kids. That story doesn't end very well either. It's the dumb kid's fault anyway. Who'd be dumb enough to fall for an evil scheme like that? Who just says 'yay, murder?' and goes along with it? Idiot.

Someone else start. I'll think of a good one soon.

Dance, Sucker, Dance!

[ Well, Flowey is bouncing along in time with the monster too, but he's playing a special game with it.

Every little blob of slime that gets flicked his way, Flowey dodges. It seems he's trying to... talk to the boogieman? Or at least convince him to stop his boogie-woogie. He asks him questions about himself, pleads with him to stop-- and just before Flowey finally gets angry enough to strike, he... uncovers a plan. ]

Is-this-what-you-want? 🎵 Someone-to-sing-along-to-your-beat? 🎵
I'll-feel-like-a-real-moron 🎵 If-this-doesn't-lead-to-your-defeat. 🎵

[ also, just saying it here-- not planning on app challenging anyone, just saw a lot of cool characters on this TDM :D ]

[souldeterminant]

[....]

[Ha, ha.]

[It's you.]

[They shouldn't, really. They shouldn't. Even in Frisk's and Chara's best-laid plan, neither of them could account for the Dreemurr that everyone seemed to forget without the help of the CORE. For the prince, or his husk, or whatever he wanted to call himself or be seen as -- the only one who would probably be able to see through their plan, because he exists outside of the both of them and their combined Determination.]

[The exact person Frisk and Chara deserve to see, before they erase themselves from existence completely.]

[Maybe it's the fact that they left Asriel back in the castle that softens the blow - his SOUL intact, just a boss monster who wore a striped sweater to show he was still a kid. Helps reinforce the idea that none of this is real so much as it is some strange, phasing afterlife, a passage on their way to oblivion. Which maybe doesn't make much sense, but who is Frisk to decide how things work? They're just a kid.]

[They're all just kids.]

[There's a shift of the sand behind Flowey, plenty of forewarning before the human child appears at his side. They say nothing; simply sit beside him, pulling one shoe off and tipping a scatter of sand onto the orange-bright earth. If they fear being attacked, even berated, they don't show it.]

... I'll wait.

sans the skeleton | undertale (Sol Raveh CRAU)

[justribbing]

[ shipwrecked ]

So, turns out The End doesn't really happen without throwing itself a little party. A beachside party, no less. And, heh heh, if he's honest, Sans isn't too immediately concerned about any of this 'waking up somewhere else with a bunch of strangers wondering the same thing' business. From the looks of things, this walking, talking skeleton -- dressed in a pair of sand-crusted dustmop slippers, shabby track shorts, and a galaxy-print hoodie with a t-shirt -- is much too engrossed in the view of more water in one place he's ever seen in his whole life.

Only somewhat less intimidating than his first look at the sky.

Can't help but notice the way fog presses in around the distant horizon, though. Imagination's got limits, he supposes, but hey, pretty nice to dream up something so unique. Real cool. Damn shame he can't tell his brother about this.

When this skeleton finally gets his bones moving, roaming the sandy beach with his hands in his hoodie's pockets, he isn't exactly participating in any concerted efforts to scavenge anything useful. It's a heck of a lot more likely he'll stop to chat with someone who is.

If coming face to face with what looks like a stout, 5-foot charicature of a human skeleton and sounds like a rumbly, two-pack-a-day smoker from Brooklyn causes them to freak out, well, doesn't much matter anyway.

That's the thing about dreams. They end, eventually.

"Water day," he rumbles, rolling his shoulders as the small lights in his empty eye sockets roll up towards the sky. Grinning, as he resorts to his ice-breaking mainstay: humor, "Shipwrecked on a kinda-deserted island," one eye socket closes, somehow, as he extracts a bony hand to point a phalanx up, "Boat fear naut, I wreckon help is on the weigh."

A moment later and he shrugs, "Eh. It's funnier if you're reading it."

[ichininyaanshi]

Well... there goes his vague hope that this skeleton might eat him and end his misery.

To be honest, Ichimatsu has literally shot his brother for fewer and less offensive puns. He's got no mini-bazooka hiding out in hammerspace today, though - what he has had is plenty of time to watch that round blob take shape on the horizon and slowly form through the heat-haze. Then again, he's not sure if he would have been shocked if the guy had ridden up in a jalopy fitted with tank treads. Just disappointed. Seriously, a skeleton? On a deserted island? Someone is seriously getting their genres mixed up here.

Either way, the human doesn't seem distressed, leaning bow-legged in the shade against a palm tree thrusting horizontally from the crystalline sand. In fact, if not for his flesh and blood, it might not be too strange to guess at a relation between the two: Ichimatsu, certainly, is similarly presented, with his oversized hoodie rumpled by salt and sand, a lazy lilt to his posture and his eyes, as if he couldn't care less what might happen in the next hour or twenty. The soles of his sandals are buried halfway into the sand, as though they're an unspoken declaration that he has no intention to move from this spot and be productive. At all.

So instead he stares and maintains a flicker of hope that this thing will kill him so he can wake up already. If he's even asleep? He might have just gotten piss drunk and his brothers shipped him off on a boat to nowhere.

Well, fine.

"No, we're probably gonna die here."

clementine | the walking dead (game) season 1 | ota

[takeusback]

shipwrecked

[ This isn't where she should be. Clementine is pretty sure this is a dream, but usually her dreams have her parents in them, and Lee too. If it's a scary dream there's usually walkers as well, but not here though. That's something, at least.

Pretty soon Clementine has wandered over to the bottom of a huge cliff, where damp planks of wood litter the area. She should make a fire, right? That's what you're supposed to do when you're washed up on a beach like this. Even if this place isn't real, and is just a dream, she should definitely try and make a fire to send a signal and keep warm at night. Except... how to do that?

Why hadn't she ever asked Lee how to make a fire or cook food on it? They had time, all that time. And now he's dead and Omid and Christa aren't here and no one can teach her.

Still, she has to try though. She remembers back in the motor inn, the grown ups sometimes made a fire to cook animals they'd caught, and she sort of remembers Kenny using pieces of wood to get it started.

Putting her gun down on top of one of the nearby rocks, Clementine goes to pull on one of the planks. It seems lodged in between two rocks, and takes some pulling, but eventually it gives. Unfortunately, so does she. Immediately she trips, falls, and feels a sharp pain in her left hand after putting it out right on one of the more ragged rocks below her. Blood trickles out from a cut on her palm. ]

Ow! [ No, no, no. Be strong, remember. There's no band aids here. You can't get anywhere by yourself if you cry from a little cut. Lee chopped his whole arm off and he didn't cry. Probably. She closes her fist, takes a deep breath, then another, and then gets back up.

Now though, there's a small nine year old trying to pull along a plank of wood that's almost as big as she is, only using her right hand. ]

story time

[ Clementine knows about stories. She remembers telling her parents stories, and being told stories, and even Lee would tell her about things that happened to him or his brother when they were younger. Back before the walkers came, her stories were full of squirrels, flowers, and stuff she did in school, or else imaginary princesses defeating imaginary dinosaurs. Now all she can think of are scarier things than that. Way scarier.

She offers a small smile that fades just as quickly. ] Um, I'm Clementine. I think I know some stories? There's... a story about about the farmers that ate people and fed people to other people that didn't wanna eat them. That's a scary one. There's a lot of stories about people getting eaten up.

...All of them are scary though.

[ichininyaanshi]

[...]


[A kid.]

[For a good few minutes, Ichimatsu lets her be. Quietly observes from the fringes of the jungle, crouched beneath the wide-leafed fronds of a bluish plant. He cringes in light sympathy as he watches her struggle with the planks, take her fall and slice her hand open. Crap, that's why he's not cut out for this. A better person would have gone out to her right away instead of watching from the shadows like a freaking creeper.]

[The part of Ichimatsu that has better sense is telling him that he should get up and walk away right now, because what could someone so useless possibly do for a kid? And yet he watches her steady herself, grab the plank and start hauling, and... jeez, she's a determined little kid, isn't she? Where's her parents, anyway?]

[Gah. Not even someone like him can ignore this.]

[He comes tromping out of the foliage without much preamble, looking for all intents and purposes like a slovenly man barely out of his teens who just woke up from the longest sand nap in history. There's a hunched, unfriendly set in his shoulders as he makes his way towards her and stops at a polite distance, thrusts out his palm expectantly with a dour look.]

Hey, kid. Let me see your hand.

Mickey Mouse | Mickey Donald Goofy : The Three Musketeers

[souris_keteer]

Shipwrecked

[There's only so long one can call out the names of your friends and superiors before it sinks in that they're not here. It's a bummer, to be sure, but no reason to give up. A real hero takes opportunities and finds the answers! A real hero...

... Is quickly distracted because WOW IS THAT SAND I'VE NEVER BEEN ON A BEACH BEFORE HOT DOG!!! And before you know it, he's starting to build a sand castle because why not? Maybe you should tell him why not.]

Maybe a little of this... Maybe a little of that...

Storytime

[STORYTIME AWESOME MICKEY LOVES STORIES. He eagerly waits his turn, and the second there's a drop of silence he suddenly stands up.]

I got one! I got two! I got...

[A beat, realizing how embarrassing this is, and he sits down.]

That is, uh, I can't decide which to tell. See, I got really neat story about my heroes... but, well, this is a campfire, and if'fn you ask me, campfires are great for scary stories. And I know a really scary one that always makes my friends shake!

So I guess... which one you folks wanna hear?

Dance, Sucker, Dance!

[The good news is that he managed to bring his sword along. The bad news is that he's never used one before. He's spent years practicing and pretending with mops, does that count? (Actually, it does, it appears he's got some hidden talent!) So he can try to slice and dice the minions heading his way... which is made more difficult since he's being forced to dance. Hope he doesn't knick you.]

Wh-whoa! Hang on... Sorry! Aw, gee, the Captain never prepared us for this!

((OOC: feel free to 4th wall him, i.e. "IS THAT MICKEY MOUSE???" expect a lot of confusion on his part.

Dance, Sucker, Dance!

[manasponge]

[ Marcille barely managed to jig to the side, being not particularly gifted in the art of dance-fighting herself. She struck a slime hard with her staff, sending it glorping into one of its fellows.]

Hey!

Who the heck is the Captain?! ...Wait, you're a fighter, aren't you? We shouldn't be wasting our time with these lousy slimes! We need to defeat whoever's controlling them!

Shiro Fujimoto | Blue Exorcist

[lionson]

((OOC: As a note, he is the manga version specifically, which varies slightly from anime!Shiro.))

Shipwrecked

[There were quite a few unexpected surprises in this weird place, the most obvious ones being 'holy shit I'm alive' and 'holy shit my body isn't broken beyond repair'. That had been quite the shock to wake up to, because he had definitely been expecting to end up in Hell.

Well, this still could have been Hell, but it didn't look like it so far. Unless this was one of those 'trapped in your own personal Hell' kind of deals and Shiro hadn't yet found the thing that made this hellish for him. He decided to not wait around for some demons with pitchforks to show up and taunt him, though, and instead focused on the act of surviving. Because, even if he was dead, his body still apparently needed food and rest.

That's fine. Shiro can make this work.

On that particular day, Shiro can be found raiding the shipwreck for supplies. Anything he finds in there is bound to be better than what he had managed to come up with on his own, or so he thinks. But when he sees a person approaching, he decides to give them a fair warning:]

Hey there! I don't mind sharing, but you're gonna have to do your fair share of the work.

[There are exactly three people in the world that are allowed to mooch off of Shiro's kindness, and none of them are there. At least, they shouldn't have been. If they were, Shiro would have been very upset.]



Storytime

[OH BOY STORIES

At least this is something Shiro can do. He's told bedtime stories for years, making up stories comes easily to him. Shiro sits on a log and waits for his turn, and when it finally comes up he grins and rubs his hands together in preparation.]

Alright kids, take your pick: adventure, comedy, or romance?

[He is so ready for this.]

Storytime

[manasponge]

[ Well, this whole experience was something of an adventure, and as everyone knew, LIFE WAS A MISERABLE FARCE. That left only one option. ]

Romance......

[ said Marcille, eyeing the old man (was he old? It was so hard to estimate human ages) with no small amount of visible trepidation. ]

Marcille | Dungeon Meshi

[manasponge]

A: Shipwrecked

You've got to be kidding me...

[ Marcille scanned the cliff for some kind of path that might lead down along the sharp rocks. A carved set of footholds? A rope ladder? Anything?

It looked way too sheer for her to trust, and goddammit, Chilchack had the rope. ]

Ooh... fine! I'll do this my way!

[ She scraped a magical circle on the sandy soil with the end of her staff, chanting as she did so. With an exclamation, she brought the staff down in contact with the sigils, igniting an explosion at the top of the cliff some distance away from her. It exploded, sending up dust and bits of rock tumbling down the formerly sheer cliff face. She coughed, waiting for the dust to clear; her eyes watered slightly. ]

B: Dance

[ She didn't sign up for this! This was not in the plan! Some big, bulky guy made of meat was supposed to be the one taking the hits and drawing all the attention, not the elegant crafter of fine spells and -- ]

What the hell is up with this music?!

[ The familiar, suffocating chill of a viscous slime closing over her face, however, quickly cut the stream of complaints short. She could see through the inside of the slime, but she certainly couldn't breathe through it, making quick action vital. ]

Dance!

[achievementhunter]

[Quick action doesn't always constitute as safe- thus, she's going to have to forgive them if her hair is singed. Flaming knives have a tendency to prove unwieldy- certainly, they aren't intended to be slapped against an enemy stuck to someone's face.

At least the jelly caves under the pressure fairly quickly. And she doesn't get a face full of hot iron, either.]

Music is the least of your problems right now, ma'am.

Commander Shepard | Mass Effect

[tenthstreetbred]

Shipwrecked; Hello future, hello birth, This is your newborn universe

[Waking up nestled gently into the sands of a foreign beach would be jarring for anyone on a good day. Waking up at all when you expected to be torn from reality as you know it is on a completely different level. Her hands grip the sand as her eyes try to focus on everything around her and she gasps into wakefulness. For a moment all she is is pure panic, too many sensations overwhelming her system as her tenuous hold on the world around her weakens. She's an Alliance marine on a potentially hostile world and disoriented beyond belief. She needs to reconnect.

Sight. The wispy tendrils of green radiation, a long walkway, a beam of light that you will never return from- ...No. Incorrect. A beach, stretching as far as the eye can see with waves lapping the shore and palm trees swaying above.

Sound. Distant gunfire, the roar of ships breaking through the atmosphere and the unbearable shriek of the Reapers- ...No. Incorrect again. Water slapping sand, leaves rustling in a gentle island breeze, her own labored breathing.

Touch. The cold metal of a gun, made hot with what remaining heatsinks you used a lifetime ago, a thick red liquid soaking into your clothes- ...Again. No. Soft sand slipping through her fingers, dark brown hair clinging to sweaty brown skin.

Taste. Sharp and tangy iron coating your teeth, bubbling bile rising from your stomach as you face another choice, a choice no one being should make- ...Gritty dirt. In her mouth. She spits it out.

Smell. Bright and burning ozone, the heavy stench of blood and decay, the sterile scent of alcohol- Salt. Sea salt off the ocean. Smoke from distant fires.

The soldier sits up and feels the sand fall off her back in a rush. Some still remains and it's vaguely uncomfortable. There's a lot of unknown factors at work but in the end she's still an N7. Facing the unknown is her job description. She turns her head to look towards the trees, calculating as she stands up.

She's still Commander Shepard. It's time to get back to work.]

Storytime; There's five for the silver, and six for the gold, and seven for the secrets that are never to be told.

[She's already built a satisfactory shelter for the night nearby. She's collected a good amount of what she has determined is edible food from the forest and has noted the locations of a few fresh water springs. N7 training prepared her for situations like this and if you asked her, honestly, this place is practically a 5 star hotel in comparison to the shit she went through back then. Though you would probably question why staying at a supposed 5 star hotel warrants the presence of various cobbled together weapons settled around her but hey. Forgive a girl her paranoia.

The fire is warm and it is welcome. She's still wound up, the ghosts of her past still scratching at her mind but she finds it in herself to muster a small smile for whatever company she's collected around her.]

Wish we had some marshmallows right now. Pair 'em up with some cheap chocolate and sturdy graham crackers and we could have a good snack.

[She shifts a little awkwardly, trying to fill the silence.]

...First time I ever had a s'more, I burned my tongue. Couldn't light a fire in the middle of the city, so I used an old lighter I bummed off of one of my, eh, "friends". It didn't cook right and it ended up as a big mess. The chocolate was still good though.

[The silence rushes back in but this time she doesn't bother trying to break it, instead choosing to stoke the fire quietly.]

Dance, Sucker, Dance!; Man, he never had a chance, And no one even knew, it was really only you.

[What the ever-loving fuck did she do to deserve this??? She's fought some weird battles before but being forced to move in time to be able to beat these godforsaken green slimes is a new notch in her belt. She's got rhythm at least even if she's a bit rusty, but her skills in combat aren't.

Are you in trouble? Might need a hand? She's your gal, coming in swinging in perfect 4/4 time.]

Shipwrecked

[prettypurpleparlor]

[A voice calls out from someone standing by one of the trees. She's a bit unusual-looking, at least by human standards, but she doesn't appear to be making any hostile moves.]

Ma'am? Are you all right?

[Muffet's aware that it's kind of a stupid question, but politeness demands that it be asked anyway.]

The Kid | Bastion | OTA

[builditstrong]

A: Shipwrecked - now here's a kid whose whole world got all twisted

[He wakes up face down in the sand. It's always face down; the Skyways never see fit to land him right-side-up. He can hear a rhythmic, rushing sound from nearby, a little like the sound of wind, but not at all.]

[He sits up, shaking sand out of white hair, reaching up to wring seawater out of a red bandanna. He turns, and sees the ocean.]

[Rucks always said it was big, bigger than anything in the whole world. But he never thought it would be that endless, or that blue. Waves roll up and back out, tossing up seafoam, leaving tiny shells and hissing wet sand in their wake.]

[It's like nothing he's ever seen before.]

[And pretty as you like, sure. All that blue. Yeah, he could sit here all day, just staring at it. But he's never been one for sitting and waiting, and none of this feels right. The Boundless Sea was still a few days ride away, at least according to Rucks.]

[So the Kid gets up, dusts sand from his clothes, and does what he always does--he goes searching. Maybe there's someone here, some misplaced Ura; or maybe there's a Core to pick up. There's always something that needs doing.]

B: Cliffs - learned to build, learned to break

[He figures when he sees the water starting to creep its way up the beach that the beach won't be much for shelter. He's heard about this--tides and such, the water moving in and then back out, twice over the course of the day. With no way of knowing how high the tide will get here, the safest bet will have to be the cliffs. He could see a jungle up there. Plants maybe for eating and for providing shelter.]

[Climbing was a chore, but it's not like he's never had to climb treacherous surfaces before.]

[Now it's evening, and he's finishing the last touches on a lean-to made out of palm leaves and sticks. He's got a small pile of fruit he doesn't recognize, but he watched a few animals eating them earlier, so they must be safe. He can already see a few fires sparking to life along the beach and cliffs. There's people here, more than he first thought, and none of them look like Ura, or Caelondian for that matter.]

[Ain't that something?]

[Maybe he'll wander to some other campsites and offer some of this fruit he's found. Just gotta finish tying up these leaves first.]

shipwrecked

[hyperlit]

[The people here are strange, and talkative, and pale. The tones of their skin are alarmingly drab compared to the Drifter's vibrant blue, untouched by fur or feathers or scales. That is, in and of itself, something of an aberration, but there's no reason to stare. Not unduly, anyhow.

The Drifter spots a pale blur moving across the white sands at a brisk clip, and they're abruptly closing the space between them at a rapid pace, practically reduced to a shaded blur until they skid to a halt several feet away.

That's when they advance slowly, more carefully, head carefully to one side.

If he runs, they'll know where they stand with him.]

kinna nananea | original

[xenophiliac]

[ The trees in the wilds of the island are tall, but so is Nananea. And there are advantages to being on eyes-level with the branches. Namely, she's at the perfect height to spot the strange, brightly-colored fruit that dot the boughs. She's also at the perfect height to get smacked in the face with errant branches as she picks the fruit, but you can't win them all.

Oblivious to her surroundings, ignoring that perhaps she should be quiet to discourage curious wildlife, or maybe even unfriendly strangers, she's talking. Not to anyone or anything in particular. Just to herself, rambling on as she picks fruit and drops it into a bag looped over her shoulder. She seems like she's having a good time. ]

Possibly not even edible--but, I suppose someone will try them. Yes? But they're pretty. Hah, that's worth something!

[ Between the rustling of branches, her voice (which make no mistake, is quite loud), and the fact that she's a seven foot tall alien, it's hard to miss her, even in the dense brush. ]

sanji | one piece

[deviledlegs]

i. shipwrecked

[Sanji's initial survey of the island is a search for one thing and one thing only: food. The island's plentiful vegetation is a good sign for the sea cook, and it's the only reason he isn't panicking right now. As long as there is edible flora, Sanji can take action. He may not know where he is, who these people here with him are, or how to get back to his crew, but he knows how to cook a supper that'll keep everyone on this island alive until they can scope out the situation. That's as good a place as any to start.

Without further ado, he dumps his blazer on the sand, rolls back his shirt sleeves, and stretches his legs. He kicks the ground once, twice. Then he runs thirty meters up the side of the nearest palm tree. His voice rings out in surprised glee.]

Ah, no way! Are these double coconuts?!


ii. storytime

And, no shit, I swear to you, the moment Luffy sees the first zombie crawl out of its grave, he walks up to it and shoves it back into the dirt! Like that was the natural thing to do, putting the living corpse back where it belonged!

[The animated blond cannot stop laughing as he recounts his captain's misadventures one after the other. Sharing stories is a mainstay of pirate life, and he's settled into the routine obnoxiously well. Seated atop a throne of firewood, he accentuates every joke with well timed pauses and illustrates every action sequence with sweeping gestures. If Sanji has a care in the world, he's not showing it.

Any observer may note, however, that he is not featured in a single one of his own epic pirate adventures.]

Hello there, stranger! (Shipwrecked)

[kindledleadership]

[ Food was important, as was water and shelter. They were lucky that such necessities were in abundance, or so it appeared anyway.

Of course almost all of the vegetation was unfamiliar to Toyohisa, his clan probably only traveled by ship to reach the mainland from Kyuushuu, but nothing more. Sanji's reaction was hard to ignore, and he was worth inquiring over it. ]

You know what these are?