MISSION: THE SLEEPER

[ximilian]

● ● ● M I S S I O N   3 . 1

INTRO • MAY ALL YOUR BACON BURN • IF YOU HAVE A DREAM DON'T WAIT • FYI

// INTRO. beam us down!  

It’ll be during the early hours in the morning when the communications device pings the Orbers in the midst of whatever you may be doing: whether it’s sleeping in, having a leisurely breakfast, or being deep into whatever task it is you’ve planned for the day. Viveca’s familiar voice filters through, a cheerful interruption.

// VIVECA.AI

Hi everyone. We’ve got your next mission ready, but I was asked to give you the file a little bit in advance so you could prepare better… so here it is. I don’t think I can delay the teleportation machine more than a day, so early tomorrow morning it’ll be time to go. The situation in Kilnan is a little strange, so I’ve prepared an antidote for you just in case. Pick yours up from the infirmary before you get going. It’ll only work once, so be careful. The orb is somewhere in the castle… I trust you’ll find it. Good luck.

Without any further fanfare, the comms go silent and you’re left with a new mission file and some rather concerning information within the report about a sleeping sickness. But instead of the immediate departure like you might be used to, you’ve been given the day to rest up and prepare for the trip down. So pack your things, grab the antidote, maybe enjoy a hot shower and a good night’s sleep … or if you’re not the sleeping kind, find a good song to jam to and get you motivated for what’s to come.

The next morning before most of your alarms will go off, the teleportation machine will hum to life, crackling with stored energy. Those who have been here for longer might notice this difference and what Viveca had meant when she said she didn’t think she “could delay it for more than a day”. As soon as you’ve been gathered together, you’ll feel the pull — and a tug that removes you from the station.

For what might seem like an agonizingly long moment, you simply hang there in stasis, white light surrounding you accompanied by a strange, ethereal chorus that whispers in your ear, informing you of the goal currently set before you and the cost to achieve it, as well as the exchange for its power —

But before you can venture to open your mouth and respond, the light around you materializes into a fog of cool, damp cloud cover. The moment your feet touch solid ground and the fog parts as you move through it, you’ll see a marble road ahead.

Welcome to the country of Kilnan, Orbers.

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// PART I.MAY ALL YOUR BACON BURN  

Around you, the courtyard of the Crystalline Palace opens up — white marble pavement, extravagant sculptures half-covered in moss, and fountains that have long since dried up — its splendor abandoned and left for time to neglect like a long forgotten secret.

If you look behind you, you’ll see nothing but clouds; and underneath you is mostly open sky. Faintly (if you really squint), you might be able to make out the grassy earth somewhere below the clouds but the distance seems a little treacherous to even consider taking your chance to get there. As such, the only way is forward — up the wide steps and through the imposing, but majestic, double doors of the castle.

1.0   Once inside, a seemingly empty castle greets you. There are no servants rushing to greet you, no hustle and bustle that you'd expect from a castle this size... just silence.

You’ll find yourself standing in the middle of a grand foyer. Daylight filters in through tall windows framed with long flowing curtains that seem to sway just a little, even though the casements are clearly shut. Further in, you’ll notice multiple staircases leading you to the upper floors, some of them straight, and some of them curved, while others wind upwards in a seemingly endless direction towards one of the towers. Most of these stairways will appear to be your regular run-of-the-mill means of egress, but the moment you turn away and look back to where you’d just come from, you might notice that the stairs have disappeared … only to be right in front of you when you glance back. Another set of stairs may take you in one direction, but try and retread your path and you’ll find the very same staircase you’d just used will take you somewhere completely different.

These stairs might be playing tricks on you, or maybe you need to get your eyes checked.

From the foyer, hallways appear to sprawl in all directions of the wind, some of them lined with paintings from a very deft hand (or hands). Walk along and peer at one of these incredibly detailed depictions of vibrant rich cities, lush idyllic countrysides, alluring, well-manicured gardens and find that all of them seem so incredibly lifelike — almost uncannily so. If you study one for too long, you’ll find yourself losing focus of the world around you, only seeing the painting that beckons you forward … and helpless to resist, you take a step forward and wind up within the world of the painting. Is it as beautiful as it seemed from its frame? Of course it is. Just look at that colour! Feel that breeze! Take a deep breath of the air around you. But remember that you probably can’t stay here forever; you have to get back. And the way to the castle is … somewhere here. You just have to find it.

2.0   Inside the castle, your task is clear: find the orb.. and for some of you, perhaps try and look for the people sent to the castle before you. To do that, you’ll need to search through the different rooms and accompanying towers… but the moment that you try to, it becomes apparent that this is no ordinary castle and the rooms are not exactly just rooms either. Some have stark differences in scale: in one room you enter, all the furniture within appears to be made for giants; while in another room, everything has been shrunk down to its miniature.

Further still, another room will appear to be deceptively normal… but the moment you step past the threshold, the door will lock shut behind you and then fade into the wall like it’d never been there at all. You only have one clear objective then: search through the room for a way to get out… or make yourself a way out.

3.0   When you enter this next room, you find yourself having to pause to take it all in, it’s so incredible that you can barely believe your eyes: whatever this room holds within seems to cater specifically to your individual interests and desires like it sees into your soul. It might offer rare books to those interested in knowledge, the best entertainment for those who seek self-indulgence, decadent foods you’ve always wanted to try for those with a discerning palate. What a wonderful time! So wonderful, in fact, that it’s too easy for you to forget the passing of time … what was it you were doing before? Nothing important, surely. Right?

4.0   There are rooms that don’t even seem like rooms at all once you’ve entered them: you open a green painted door and instead of the marble floors, you step right into a hedge maze. When you turn to glance over your shoulder, you’ll find that the door has vanished, and your hand lingering on the door knob is now clutching at a cluster of prickly foliage. With nowhere else to go but to brave the labyrinth, you move forward. The path you take will twist and wind until you realize that the best-case scenario here is coming face-to-face with a deadend rather than the other delights that the maze holds in store. One end greets you with a particularly angry tree, hell-bent on wiping you off the face of this plane; at another turn, a creature that looks suspiciously like a Sphinx, sitting on her hind legs and blocking the way, might ask you a riddle in exchange for passage; and there is always a chance that the right-hook you take will pull you through a cloud of deceptively beautiful fluttering dots of lights that whisper to you with the voices of people long-dead before you.

5.0   Another room will pull you — quite literally — into the eye of a storm. Hail and rain pours down, drenching you immediately, while lightning flashes in the open sky — it almost looks like the countryside you saw beneath the castle, but that couldn’t be, right? You don’t remember leaving the castle… And more importantly — the rain really is coming down, and that lightning is striking dangerously close. It might be wise to find some temporary shelter, perhaps a little cottage to hide in, or at the very least, get to that overturned hay cart and hide beneath it — and wait for a chance to find your way back to the exit door … wherever (or whenever) it may appear.

6.0   Not all of the castle will be entirely strange, however; there, too, are regular, non-eventful rooms scattered within. A large dining room with the table set for one, a thin layer of dust collecting over the silverware, for instance; a library filled with old tomes and scrolls that don’t appear to have been touched in years; a storage room full of strange items; and, if you make it into the cellar, you’ll find the kitchen, its food storage still robust despite the fact that some of the meat has begun to gather mold, and some of the vegetables have darkened and gone a little mushy. On the layer of dust settled over the floor, there is exactly one set of footprints, perhaps smaller than you’d think, but even those seem at least a number of weeks old.

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// PART II.IF YOU HAVE A DREAM DON'T WAIT  

It’s almost too easy to become distracted by all of the strange happenings within the castle, easy enough to forget about the sickness you’ve been warned about — and perhaps, with so far there having been no sight of anyone actually affected by it, it’s easy enough to think that there might have been a mistake or a misunderstanding. But the longer you spend within these beautiful white stone walls, you become aware of a whisper: quiet at first, the barely-there breath of a language you know you understand and yet you still can’t quite grasp it, the meaning frustratingly close to the edge of your consciousness. And the more you try to touch those not-words and too-light-whispers, you feel a little dizzy before the world around you suddenly changes.

7.0   At first you think you’ve simply fallen into another room, just another hidden trap-door or painting you’d stepped into. So perhaps you don’t even realize that you’ve fallen under a spell at all when everything around you is just … dark. Beneath your feet, if you focus your gaze, is a still surface of a black lake glinting — and yet you are not sinking. Every step that you take forward creates a little ripple across the glassy surface. As your eyes adjust, so do your surroundings begin to take shape. It will be different for everyone, this dreamscape morphing and melding into a scene (an island, a meadow, a small patch of forest, or will it remain the lake?) or setting that reflects you — it’s where your soul feels most at ease … for now.

8.0   As expected, the dreamscape does not stay still for long. The more time you spend here, the more it seems to draw inspiration from your memories. Suddenly you find everything around you materializing into solid form, the experience being dragged from the depths of your mind into manifesting a vivid study in touch and sight and smell and sound. It’s something you’ve already been through before, but whether you like it or not, this memory is being replayed around you and now you’re the observer … you and the lucky (or unlucky) person who has entered this memory with you.

Do you stay, or do you try to run from it?

9.0   The stronger the memory, the stronger its effect on you: the heaviest memories, whether they’re happy ones or sad ones, may latch onto your subconscious so tightly that it pulls you right into the memory itself.

Just as these dreams often do, it’s hard to tell whether this is made up or reality itself — perhaps you remember that this has happened before and you’ll try to change the course of events. Or perhaps you think you’re living this memory for the first time. Whatever it might be, you find yourself fully convinced of its authenticity … but the power of belief is a dangerous thing. Beware that the injuries sustained in this state will become real, visible to those who might be observing this — and observing you — from the outside. (You know the line: if you die in the game, you die in real life.)

NOTE: These strong memories might also draw you into them as yourself from that time, so someone wandering into this re-lived memory might find you there as a child, a teenager, a young adult, or perhaps someone with the same or a different face — whatever you were at the time of the memory.

10.0   Once you become aware of these memories, you may push them away or will them to stop. The moment that you do, the dreamscape will immediately shift to become its unaltered state once more. The other way to escape these memories is to leave. At the edge of your dreamscape, you will find that the air shifts and shimmers just a little differently than the rest of this space … and once you get close enough, the doorway will open to let you out of your dreamscape and into someone else’s like a chain of several small links. If your dreams are more akin to nightmares, perhaps you enter the door willingly. But just as likely, you might simply get too close and are sucked into the passageway.

And you never know just whose dream you end up in next …

The only way to leave the dreamscape is by being woken up by someone administering the antidote to you, and it will only work once. So if you fall back asleep, remember — if it takes you in again, you will remain under this sleeping spell, unable to wake … at least until the cause of the sickness has been found.

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F Y I

• The events in this log take place during the month of November.

• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.

• To submit a search request regarding exploring a specific place during any of the prompts, please do so HERE.

• Voting for how the characters will get the orb will go up November 22. Though voting will be done in an OOC post, it is an IC vote in the sense that you should pick a choice your character would ICly make. What the characters choose to do will determine the conclusion of the mission.

• And finally, have a soundtrack for this log! ♪ ♪ ♪

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Comments

questions

[ximilian]

For any questions regarding the events or information on this log, ask them here. General questions about the castle, the dreamscape, etc go here.

[savingthrows]

Hi mods!

I'm having some questions:

1. Are there paintings/pictures of the wizard around in the easily accessible parts of the castle?
2. How would the changing architecture read to Redwing's scanners? Would his sensors get confused by the magic, too?
3. Is the entrance hall a "safe zone" from the changes to the architecture? How about the kitchen?
4. In the maze, can other characters hear the dead-people-voices a character hears, or is it in people's heads?
5. (last one for now fff) If one were to fly around the outside of the castle, would there be similarly strange shifts in architecture, or would it be possible to navigate the outside and enter through windows/balconies/etc without the magic inside the castle tripping one up until one entered? Same question for the hedge maze actually - can one fly over it / can Redwing get a layout of it from overhead, or is magic at work here?

search requests

[ximilian]

Exploring the castle? Poking around for information? Tell us what your character is doing to gather information and we'll let you know what they happen to find out.

As there is only the castle to search, each character is limited to one search request. If you are unsure how search requests work, please read this mini-faq on search requests.

[business]

"On the layer of dust settled over the floor, there is exactly one set of footprints, perhaps smaller than you’d think, but even those seem at least a number of weeks old."

rhys, if at all possible, would like to try and track those footprints and see where they disappear off to. if the trail goes cold, are there other tracks he might be able to find of a similar size around the castle? basically if there is or was anything living in the castle, he wants to try and find them.
EDIT for clarity, rhys wants to see if he can find any unconscious persons and wake them up with his mind powers — obviously costing himself the spell, but in such a case he'll be teaming up with alina starkov, who can interrogate them while rhys is unconscious. that's if he can find anyone, ofc.

NPC threads

[ximilian]

NPC thread: closed to DRIFT (@aurable)

[ximilian]

10.0   As Drift steps through the doorway from his own dreamscape to that of someone else, for a moment, he seems to hang between the two, as if the dream he's about to enter resists him somehow... but then, he makes it in, and what a dreamscape it is.

It's immediately obvious it is a dreamscape in its unchanged form — a soft forest view spreads all around Drift, trees swaying slightly in the wind, damp moss under his feet, little batches of berries growing here and there. An owl hoots once, twice.

And then, a voice, coming from behind the trees:

"Go away! I'm on vacation."

Megatron » Transformers IDW

[flickerandfade]

2.0

Megatron (and whoever might be accompanying him on his search) step through the doorway and into a seemingly normal room. He is larger for this particular adventure--standing closer to fourteen feet than the usual nine. He stoops and finds that this room is more sized for someone his size than someone the usual size of the organics--and the door slams shut behind them. He turns, reaches for the handle and finds the door has vanished, leaving him and whoever's accompanied him trapped in a room with no seeming exit. There's a disgruntled sigh.

"...Is there a hidden door, do you suppose?"

7.0; Content Warning for murder, references to warcrimes/genocide

There are flowers. They are all of them blue and they stretch for what feels like kilometer upon kilometer over gently rolling hills. In the midst of them stands a plinth upon which stands a statue. That statue is Megatron, as large as he ever was in life and his name is engraved upon the plinth below, just to make sure no one can forget. The flowers away lightly in a breeze, the rustle of their petals combining with a soft chiming, as if a hundred thousand wind chimes had been caressed by a passing breeze.

Megatron stands amongst the flowers, grim faced and unhappy. As he watches, they change. A flower blooms upwards, forming horrifically into the shape of another Cybertronian. Bright yellow and white armor is smeared with soot and dust, purple liquid that almost looks like blood trickles from his mouth. On his chest is the same red badge that the Megatron the inhabitants of the station knows wears. The prisoner’s face twists, and his voice is strident.

"Please! We surrendered! You can't do this!"

"I made no promises," comes Megatron's voice. The statue has shifted itself and stepped down amongst the flowers, it's chest emblazoned with the angular purple symbol that seems almost the opposite of the four red face. Each step crushes them underfoot to leave gaping footprints that seem to fairly simmer with that same purple liquid trickling from the other's mouth.

"No, please--!"

The statue calmly reaches out with one hand and grabs onto the other's head and squeezes until the other mech's cranium cracks and shatters, spewing more Cybertronian blood onto Megatron's hands.

The statue continues it's march, not bothering to look back and behind in its footsteps come the dying cries and screams of a trillion lives, some terrified, some pleading, some defiant, some confused. All dying. All dying to his hand.

Cities burn. Planets burn. Whole civilizations burn in his wake.

A last loyal revolutionary in the shape of a giant mechanoid cat is torn in two while Megatron watches.

And Megatron has realized his regret too late to change the dream to what it should have been, all those eons again.

8.1; content warning for violence and police brutality

Megatron is in pain. He’s handcuffed, chained to the floor of a dirty, dingy cell as some other mech, spindly and stork like, beats him with delightful, sociopathic precision. Each blow is fresh pain, fresh outrage, fresh anger. And with each blow comes the realization that as lovely as poetry and political ideas are, they cannot change this. They cannot change the system that degrades people like this, that turns them into victims or tools of oppression and leaves no other option but to die or submit.

The beating continues and Megatron suspects that he will die here for a crime he did not commit. The spindly mech assures him that he will die and that he, a police officer, will claim self-defense. That his death will mean nothing.

But Megatron knows he will die a martyr. And others will take up the cause and stain the world of Cybertron with the blood of their oppressors. Maybe that makes dying here worth it.

Then, miraculously, he is ordered released. A police captain, red and blue and self-righteous, tells him that based on the evidence provided by a bartender and the content of his political treatise, he does not seem to be a violent person. That he encourages Megatron to continue speaking out.

Megatron leaves, battered and dented and angry.

This system cannot be overthrown except through blood and death.

The other Megatron, the 'real' Megatron, watches with an impassive expression, his optics dimmed and hands folded behind him.

8.2; content warning for violent imagery, reference to genocide, torture

"So long as you stand in my way—so long as anyone stands in my way, I will respond by killing. Murder on an industrial scale. Because in the final analysis, I would happily wade across a river of corpses, chest-deep in rust and grease and engine oil, just to crush the spark of the last Autobot standing. And I would not do so simply as a means to an end. No. I'd do it, Prime, because it would give me pleasure.”

Megatron is restrained in a strange sort of harness that leaves him spread against a wall. He spits the words in the face of another Cybertronian, red and blue with his face hidden behind a mask and there’s glee to his voice, a sick pleasure in watching the way it twists a knife deeper and deeper into Prime’s soul. The same police captain who had once told him he believed in Megatron’s words, who had thought him a non-violent activist, who had freed him, now listens as Megatron lays out that he would kill and kill and kill only because he enjoys it. It pleases Megatron in that moment to know that it has hurt Prime to hear that and that it will make Prime angry. That it will make Prime hurt him.

Also in that moment, Megatron realizes that those words are not merely a taunt. They are true. He would kill for the sake of killing.

He is a monster.

He knows he is a monster.

He is laughing in his own mind when Prime activates the voltage on the harness that restrains him and pain arcs through his circuits again.

Wildcard

[ Happy to set up other scenes, or write a starter for someone specific. Also happy to use either traditional prose or brackets as people want! ]

8.1

[coordination]

[ The first thing Yzak does when he notices the scenery shift around him is glance around, confused. But just as soon as he notices Megatron does he also notice ... another Megatron? So he shuts his mouth that he started to open to ask what the hell was going on here when he hears the first sound of the strike.

That sort of sociopathy is familiar. Yzak recalls a memory of his own, during the first war. Sitting in the cockpit of his mobile suit watching his comrades gleefully slaughter soldiers who were exiting their tanks, hands up in surrender. There are still probably people like that within ZAFT's ranks, despite everything. Only quiet, now, that they know they wouldn't be able to get away with something like that.

Still, what is this? A dream? A memory? Yzak isn't sure, so he'll just speak neutrally for now, to catch Megatron's attention. ]

I've known a few assholes like that.

rhysand. — a court of thorns and roses

[business]

may all your bacon burn — 4.0.

( though it isn't, rhysand immediately recognizes the palace as fairy.

confusing and frustrating as it is. endlessly changing rooms, backwards always being forwards, except for when it's sideways. the nonsensical tune of riddles made reality — doors that lead to storms, to different times of day, to the unruly hedge maze he stubbles into now, decidedly throwing his shoulders up in a shrug and saying fuck it. at least the weather is nice, in here. he sets off with little to no determination, whistling a merry tune as his hands tuck into his pockets, while he challenges the maze.

it takes almost no time for him to be bored with it, sighing up towards the sun (?). though he has no clear understand if he's alone or not, he talks over his shoulder, as if used to having someone be there. )

I never much cared for foliage. ( one step at a time, he reaches out to pluck a deeply green leaf from a hedge, rubbing the waxy length with his thumb. ) Too ... spring-y. My allergies, you know. Much better in open air.

( dramatically, he tosses his head back — and with a shout, ) O, Hedge, reveal to me your secrets. I am terribly bored and not having much fun.

if you have a dream don't wait — 9.0.
cw: violence, torture, sexual content.

( it's starfall.

such is the meaning behind a grand event like this — the cavern like walls that reach well past fifteen feet in the air decorated for the event the only way these devils under the mountain know how to celebrate. paintings depicting carnal actions of vice and sin litter the walls in crooked, uneven lines — intercepted every so often by a spiky torch burning purple fire, flames scorching licked marks onto the stone walls behind. the preferred decoration, however, for the succubi and incubi and shadow-wraiths and dullahan all dancing somewhat lewdly around the floor are thus — human bodies of barely living souls chained and naked to the walls. cut and sliced in unforgivable ways, their groans of agony only adding to the frenzy of the party.

children of the blessed. how blessed they were, to trust the fae who bled them dry.

a quiet settles in the party. at the center of it sits a lazy, red headed queen on her throne of bones and blood, her dress revealing more than it's concealing. a blackened, bloodied crown sits on her head, perfectly balanced as she clears her throat, casting her gaze to the male beside her. if one should recognize him, they'd know rhysand — tall and brooding and dressed in black finery. but he is pale, in stark contrast to his usual tanned skin — pale, and thin, and tired. he looks to his mistress and smiles, sharply. )

Do you know what day it is? ( she asks.

he does. she knows he does. a sacred holiday for his people, perhaps his favorite night of them all. playfully, he lifts his brows, smacking his tongue on his upper lip. ) I cannot say that I do. ( he gestures to the crowd. ) It's so hard to keep track of the day, here Under the Mountain.

( the crowd laughs. her eyes don't leave him — cold, black things. reaching her hand out, her nails sink sharply into his forearm, but rhysand doesn't bat an eye at the pain. used to it. knowing there's worse yet to come. ) So flighty, my little executioner. Where has your head gone? It's nearly the Spring Equinox. We must celebrate.

( with a wave of her hand, two giant doors swing open from the back, and the attor comes stomping in, a chain in hand, and three faeries collared and dragged in. they're all vaguely full of nature — flowers and mushrooms sprouting from their joints, thin moth wings from the spine of one. brought to them in a row, they stay on their knees, frightened and shaking. a puddle of liquid seeps from underneath one — though, blood or piss is impossible to tell, with the black flooring. )

Traitors. ( amarantha explains, standing to move behind rhys, both hands laying flat on his stomach. imperceptibly, he stiffens. in his ear, she coos ) Kill them.

( so he does. with a small hunch of his shoulders — all three of them scream in agonizing pain, clutching their heads as talons sink inwards. of course, he should be putting on a show for the holiday, but — they're quickly dead and out of their misery, laying in lifeless heaps on the floor.

again, he shrugs. ) Their minds were too weak. Apologies, Amarantha. You can't expect much, from your enemies.

( she grins, red and deadly. ) That's okay. I have more for you. Later.

( after then, the party comes back into full swing, a queen on her throne and her executioner dismissed, leading himself to an overfull banquet table of fairy delights. most members of the mountainous court give him an exceptionally wide birth, and for that he is grateful, reaching a pitcher of glittering, blood red wine and pouring himself a glass. shall you approach? or wait for more prisoners to die by his hand? )

wildcard

( anything else! feel free to pm me with any ideas/if you need help tagging into the dream. i've got lots of ideas ok. )

9.0ish, holla

[peasant]

[ something's wrong.

no, that isn't right. everything is wrong. these cavernous walls are rotten with the stench of death, as alina sets about wandering through a labryinth that feels like a desecration of life. dark and damp, buried where nothing can grow. stained with rivers of blood that flow from the broken bodies shackled like grim decorations, pooling into a crimson lake. from afar, she watches as ghouls and fiends frolic through it, splashing their feet in those bloody, shallow depths.

she doesn't belong here; life and light have no place in this prison — in this nightmarish afterlife. it's no easier to draw in a breath here than it had been in the fold, a stifling chokehold of darkness on her lungs, and no less filled with monstrous creations — creatures that have shaken off any of their humanity. perhaps as poisoned as the volcra, once merzost had mangled and misshapen them.

instinctively, she knows where to find their master. amarantha, her bright hair dripping down her shoulders like gore. and beside her: rhys, looking like a shadow of the man she has known, all of the glowing color drained from him. sapped, like simply existing at amarantha's side has leeched his heart. alina's jaw grits, a tight clamp that nearly makes her teeth creak as she watches those clawed fingertips graze down his stomach, scarlet lips wrapping around a purred order.

a moment later, those frail fae bodies fold and crumple like paper dolls. a shriek builds in her throat, but alina imprisons it there, claps a palm over her mouth through the unsteadiness of her breath. monster, he had called himself; those broken and bent limbs accuse him of the same, now. those lifeless eyes peer back at her as she flinches away, back into the nest of an alcove, and —

waits, slumped on the floor. she knows what it is to be a weapon enslaved in the hands of another, a harbinger of destruction in her own right. but this — she swallows through the bile that wants to rise in response, tucked away in her hiding spot until she hears amarantha usher rhysand away from the party, like a pet she doesn't have the patience for. a hound whose master has no more use for it. he's a blur as he passes alina by. she quietly peeks around the corner, then dusts off her dress — some gauzy, fae creation that keeps snagging on the points of her antlers — and rises from her knees.

she would know where to find him, even without his footfalls to follow. there's an otherworldly stirring in the air she can't pinpoint. a faraway song she can't reach, a distant chiming whisper of — something she can't name, calling to her. no — calling to him. squinting through the darkness, she slides into the space at his side, just as his hand reaches for an imposing door. amarantha's chambers, no doubt, where ...

her blood goes cold with understanding. heavy, like sludge in her veins. she swallows through the lump in her throat, hoping against hope for him to turn to her with a flicker of recognition in his gaze. ] I've been looking for you.

[ more accurately: i've been looking to save you from this rotten place, and free the piece of him that seems to eternally dwell in this nightmare. ]

Drift | Transformers IDW

[aurable]

1.0

[ For once in his life, Drift was grateful to grandiose architecture when it became clear the massive castle could easily accommodate someone of his stature. Moving slowly through the corridors with the naked expression of curiosity clear on his face, Drift finds himself stopping near a series of paintings in an eastern wing of the seemingly never ending series of hallways. ]

Those look like ginkgo trees. [ Drift says to whoever might be nearby as he motions to a large painting of a garden surrounding a small pond with a stone cottage off in the distance. Three large trees with rich, black barks and fan-shaped leaves stand in pride of place, each loving rendered in a brilliant golden hue. ] There were some of my favorites while in Japan. Pleasant to look at, but they seem out of place here somehow.

5.0

[ Every room appeared determined to be more chaotic than the last. It was with great reluctance that Drift opened the door, and- , of course, he found himself over the threshold before he could blink with the door disappearing on them. Yet again. This room presented yet another physics problem as it proved not even to be a room at all. What opened up to Drift and whoever was unlucky enough to tag along was the vast countryside.

Above them, where they had first been greeted to the sight of serene white clouds gently floating below, was a sky torn about in a riot of sound and fury. Massive black and grey clouds fecund with hail and rain roared as they broke open and delivered a tremendous storm down upon them. Out here in the open, they were pressing their chances to be a statistic on the casualties of lightning strikes or hail. ]

Quick, get in! [ Thinking quickly, Drift lunged forward to give himself the room to transform. Once in his vehicle mode, his rear tires kicked up mud and grass as he spun in a frantic half-circle before throwing open his doors. ]

8.1: Delphi
CW: body horror, violence, and aggressive diseases

You know, Ratchet, one day you'll say something nice to me—just before you tell me I've got a terminal illness or something. [ A thinner, more compactly built Drift stands off to the side out on a snowy landscape in the company of two other Autobots. One was a red and white, thickly built mech with the chevrons of a medical vechical and a frown permentanly afixed into his expression. The other was smaller and blue and looking fidgety as they pair aruged outside a large door with a giant 'X' painted on it ]

Ratty... [ The present-day Drift was watching the scene play out exhales the name like the sound of someone getting the wind punched out of them. He stared, transfixed on the medical Autobot like someone seeing a night sky full of stars for the first time after a life having only known darkness. It was dazzled amazement and bittersweet longing interwoven together.

Just then, the nervous-looking blue Autobot transformed and abruptly careened himself at top speed into the hangar doors. The one called 'Ratchet' was quick with a rebuke, shouting: ] That cross on the wall? The one you just ignored? It's the universal plague symbol. It means "stay the hell away" in a billion languages. It does not mean "ram raid a morgue!"

[ The younger Drift sheepishly raised a hand before saying: ] Hands up, who thinks this trip's just taken a slight turn for the worse?

It never occurred to me how...ironic that whole conversation was. [ The 'real' Drift intoned before gripping the hilt of one of his swords strapped to his thigh. ] I was right about one thing: This is about to get a lot worse. Stay close to me.

8.2: Dead End
CW: drug abuse and police brutality

Your hands are shaking again. I though you got clean? [ A round-faced, friendly looking mech with chrome and chipped yellow plating gingerly touched the wrist of the one he was addressing. Just two of a small group packed in tight beneath the overpass of a ruined street somewhere in a darkened city. It was Drift, but a Drift from a long time ago. This Drift was gangly with the crouched posture of a hunted animal with a haunted face and the hint of something vicious behind sickly reddish-orange optics. ]

Just a little something to even me out before it gets to bad. [ This Drift snapped waspishly, a hint of fangs poking behind the mouth of his dirtied and haggard face. A sad smile from the other mech and Drift deflated and more calmly said: ] Don't worry, Gasket, I'm not looking to get more. It'd mean another trip to the Relinquishment Clinic for that kind of shanix, and I like keeping myself off the market, thanks.

[ The conversation was interrupted and a sudden tense air rippled through the small group, all of them huddling closer to each other like startled animals. The cause of this was a group of heavily-built and heavily armed Senate enforcers parading a whip-thin mech in cuffs down the alley. One of the enforcers laughed after nudging their detainee, nearly making the cowering creature trip.

Behind Gasket, Drift quietly let lose a low and terrible growl that was a more feral sound than something that looked so human should be able to make. ]

Calm down, Drift. [ Cautioned Gasket, ] We steal, we break the law. As far as the system is concerned we're the bad guys.

[ This did very little to talk Drift down as his hissed through gritted teeth: ] If it weren't for this corrupt system we wouldn't have to look out for ourselves like this.

Maybe one day we'll- Whoa!

[ Out of nowhere, one of the enforcers rammed the butt of his gun against the back of the prisoner's head with a thunderous crack. The handcuffed mech could only cry out in pain before doubling over. Shivering on the dirty concrete as his tormentors jeered at him and hauled him to his knees. ]

Hey! [ Gasket stepped out, hands up. ] Come on, there's no need to-

[ Everything escalated from there in a cascade of one poor decision after another. One enforcer roughly shoved Gasket, which gave the detainee a window to knock his bound hands against the Senate goon closest to him. That only panicked the other enforcer, who hastily fired off his weapon. The stray shot caught Gasket point-blank in the center of his chest.

Dead before he even hit the ground. ]

NO! [ Drift lept out of the shadows on the end of his anguished cry. No longer shaking or curled in on himself, Drift reacted with the blind fury of any cornered animal kicked one too many times. He was throwing his full weight at the offended enforcer, driving them into the ground before stealing their rifle.

What followed was a massacre.

Some distance away, the 'real' Drift watched in silence with a blank expression. ]

Wildcard!

( ooc: got a request? feel free to drop me a line at bretons or on discord at bitchard#0228 o7 )

wildcard; if you want to stop to gawk at robot drama feel free

[flickerandfade]

[ Megatron had done his best not to fall asleep himself. It seemed to come with so much odd, uncertain danger (though God knew the Lost Light had run into enough of this kind of nonsense) that he wanted nothing to do with. If he had nothing else, even after his centuries of imprisonment, he had his mind. And now, he even seemed to be sharing that.

Cybertronians do dream, though it is different for them than for organics. Fragmented memories and bits of garbage data floating through electronic haze. This sort of thing feels different from that in how solid it feels in spite of the bizarre way memories shift and come apart, seemingly at a touch. This one is shared.

An alien skyline is lit by flames and smoke beyond shattered windows in some sort of luxurious high rise--the fanciful wall hangings and curtains have been torn down, artwork smashed or vandalized. Someone has painted a lurid purple symbol across one wall, along with the words YOU ARE BEING DECIEVED. That same wall is pock-marked by bullet holes and energy burns over the crumpled corpse of an alien mechanoid, half-covered by some of the curtains that have been torn down and casually tossed onto the body.

A rounded table is here and Megatron, some version of him, sits cockily in a chair that might as well be a throne, looking cooly at the gathering around him. A blue and yellow marked Cybertronian with his face covered in a mask, sits stroking the back of dark feline-shaped mechanoid sprawled across the tabletop. A sleek flyer leans against one wall, smirking about something. A collection of other faces and forms, all looking towards Megatron with rapt attention. There's a familiar-and-yet-not form in the small group clustered around the table, though if you called him 'Drift' he might not answer to it. The Megatron seated on his 'throne' smiles. ]

My Decepticons. My Conclave. We have earned a victory here in Kaon and our people celebrate.

[ Through the window beyond, fires and smoke continue, along with the pounding and clattering that sounds like a million washing machines filled with spare change having a dance party, overlaid with cheering, crowd noise, and celebratory gunfire. ]

Tomorrow we will bring the joy of our cause to bear against more targets, against other corrupt, powerful mechs who thought they could be saved by their money or their infuence or their police. Tonight though, my friends, my comrades, we have earned a celebration.

[ He raises a glass full of something glowing. ]

You are being deceived!

[ The cry is chorused back and the gathered break into excited conversation and laughter a moment later. Someone starts playing music. It's the world's strangest house party taking place in a trashed penthouse. And this younger Megatron watches, grinning over the rim of his glass.

Off to one side, the current Megatron watches with a grim air. ]

...We could have had the world that night. That's what it felt like, anyway.

takeshi kovacs | altered carbon

[kovach]

( ft. open & closed prompts for both parts: )

OPEN — part i

[kovach]

PART I —

---

3.0 — [ he spends a good deal of time exploring the rooms, slipping into one and then the other, often finding nothing of particular interest (though some have had its own share of small puzzles). but so far, the rooms have still been very consistently rooms, standard and believable in its shape and space, so it's not as if he expects to find himself suddenly on the shoreside of a lake, outdoors with a clear view of two moons, even in the midst of daylight.

his breath stops, held for a long moment as he observes the world around him, feeling the rocks shift beneath his boots, the breeze brushing cold against his cheeks, the scent of salt heavy in the air. if it's a construct, it's a damn good one, because every detail he picks up is an exact duplication of harlan's world — it's home.

investigating is no longer in the forefront of his mind, a tight lump in his throat like he can't even swallow as he takes it all in, imagining himself running across these shores with rei, overlooking the waves of the water with quell by his side.

his eyes remain closed for a moment, listening the empty vastness, opening them only when he hears movement on the rocks behind him. his fingers curl around the gun in his coat pocket, boots giving a sharp turn as he aims the gun straight towards his new company, instinctively on the defensive until he's sure it's not a looming threat. ]


5.0 — [ the rain comes down hard and heavy, stinging over his eyes that he can barely see anything in front of him. luckily, he does manage to make out the cottage a short distance away, and in noticing someone else trying to make their way through the storm, reaches out to grab their arm. ]

Come on! [ he shouts, dragging them without waiting for an answer towards the cottage. whether it's supposed to be locked or not doesn't matter, giving a hefty kick with his boot to swing the door open, pushing his soaked company in first before he follows in. closing the door behind him, he wipes at his soaked face, breathing heavily. ] Real bullshit construct, using a storm like this.

Finn | Star Wars

[hatejakku]

I.6.0// may all your bacon burn

[ Finn, when not exploring the castle with someone, has taken up shop near the kitchens with Sam and McCoy. They've made a little base of operations to help with medical care, people who can't seem to wake up, and helping others prepare for their next exploration in the castle.

He can be found in the kitchen a lot, trying to forage for decent food to feed people with, get some clean water, and maybe even get a fire going for those who got soaked in that weird storm.

He'll also be wandering the library from time to time, not really investigating as others are working on that, but mostly just trying to set up another quiet place to chill out sometimes.

Lastly, you better believe that you can find him in that storage room, rummaging around every now and then. ]

II.9.0// if you have a dream don't wait warning: child soldier/abuse/etc

[ It's not a surprise, really, that Finn ends up falling to the curse. Not once but twice... ]

[ THE FIRST TIME, somehow, is the least pleasant. He can't be no older than nine. At the time, this was just a normal day.

They stand in a windowless room with metal walls, benches next to them and racks of weapons on the far wall. There's a small herd of kids there, maybe twenty in all, dressed in black body suits and paying rapt attention. They're all silent, all still, none of them distracted.

There are adults there, too, of course. A few people in white armor are dotted about, helmets on and standing as still as statues. Two stand by the only exit.

In front of the children is a training mat. One of those people in white armor is there, teaching one of the kids hand to hand combat. They're going easy on them, the situation far more about teaching than anything, but it's clear the armored-clad person has no qualms about not going too easy. The kid hits the mat several times but continues to get up, stubborn.

There is also one more individual, the one that sticks out the most and carries an air of control and superiority. They're tall, clad in a similar armor, but a long cape is draped over one shoulder and their armor and helmet is red. They oversee the lesson with hands tucked at the small of their back. But eventually, when the child takes a little longer to get up, the one in red ends the match with a voice that sounds masculine. ]

That's enough. FN-2199, you can take a seat.

[ Though brief, the kid shoots a glare to their superior but does as told and faces no consequences for the look he just gave. It's not even mentioned. Of all things, your mind supplies that was the odd part.

But then the red helmet turns towards you. ]

FN-2187. Step forward, please.

[ There are several things about that exchange that may leave you confused, but apparently the man in red wasn't talking to you. It's a kid next to you that steps forward, shoulders square and not showing any fear. His hair's cut close and he's a few feet shorter, but you may recognize that determined stare. ]


[ THE SECOND TIME, in comparison, might as well be downright cheerful. It's loud, you're standing on something metal and sloped, the wind is whipping at your hair and clothes. But when you look around, you may realize that you've gotten into more than you can probably handle.

Ships shaped like gigantic triangles are everywhere by the thousands, locked in formation. By the time you register that much, a couple of ships scream past and you realize that you're in the middle of a battle.

There are soldiers on the deck with you shooting at each other, some clad in red armor, some not armored at all. There's fire and explosions and shouting and chaos and-

And then the deck begins to tip. You may recognize the scene if you went to Newton's movie night party. If not, well, it's not much of a surprise what happens next.

The ship groans loud, more things explode, and it continues to tip forward, sloping further down and down until you'll eventually be forced to lose your footing. There are plenty of things to grab on to if you can't fly, thankfully, but they won't help you forever. It's hard to tell since everything on the ground looks the same, but there is a ground down there and the ship is plummeting to it fast.

Finn's here, though. He grabs you with a bruising grip, helps you to an extremely temporary ledge, and looks equal parts terrified and confused. ]

What are you doing here!?

[ But if you can fly... maybe you can play the savior here? Not sure how far you'll get with the dog fighting and ships exploding but it's a better option than the alternative. ]

XXX.0.0// wildcard

[ ooc: I'm up for anything. These are just some basic prompts. If you want to plot something, hmu! Otherwise, if you don't like any of these, make up your own prompt! I'm down for whatever. Consider Finn any/everywhere during this event. ]

I.6.0// may all your bacon burn

[flickerandfade]

[ When Finn returns from one of his excursions, he may find a stranger bent over one of the sleeping patients, fingers gently touched to their neck as if taking their pulse. He looks up at Finn, then speaks in the same rumbling voice as Megatron--which is when the robotic warlord's stooped form might be spotted in one out-of-the-way corner. ]

Still no change in any of them, I'm afraid.

Edward Elric l Fullmetal Alchemist

[chrysology]

[cw: dealing with loss, violence in loss of limbs. Talk of war, of sacrifices in creating the Philosopher's Stone.]

1:

[Ed is not unused to strange settings, given some of the places he traveled, even that one time he was inside Gluttony for example. But that doesn't mean he is used to this. Magic or however this actually worked. He's still working on actually believing, rather than just assuming it to be something scientific he just hasn't been able to figure out yet. But he's unsure how to account for this. The stairs. He raises an eyebrow, confused when he looks back and doesn't see the stairs but when turning back ahead of him they are still there. Some sort of optical illusion or something somehow?]

Weird.

[Then when he tries to double back....]

Wait, I thought this went....huh?

3:

[For Ed, the room specifically catering in indulging him is full of books. Specifically, books on alchemy. He sits among piles of books which possibly indicates he may have already been there for a while, reading through one of the books in search of something. Maybe this book would have the answer. To help Alphonse. To stop Father and the homunculi. He's supposedly comfortable enough sitting there on the floor surrounded by the books, anyway. Or at least, distracted enough not to notice or care of any discomfort from it.]

4:

[A maze. Very original. Ed sighs, frowning as he pouts slightly at needing to figure this out. He could mark his way as he goes? With some chalk? Transmute his arm to just cut through the hedges to get through quicker? He's not sure if that might be considered cheating or not though.

He won't hesitate to transmute his auto-mail arm into a blade to cut at the tree that attacks. Complete with lots of jumping and flipping around in dodging and attacking to slice at it when he sees an opening. Nor does the voices help in improving his mood, making him immediately both furious and aching all over again at the reminder of those he had lost. In hearing his mother's voice again.]

What? Look, I know this can't really be...Our mother is dead, so cut the crap.

[He's pissed, furious at the idea of this happening yet again that anyone could do something like this in messing with the dead somehow.]

6:

[Maybe Ed's in the library, checking to see if there were any records in there on the orb and where exactly in the castle it was, what it was used for in this world. Similarly to his particular room earlier, he might be sitting surrounded by books in his search for answers about the orb. Or he might be in the kitchen trying to salvage making something to eat (he's a growing teenage boy, a bottomless pit and eating for two!) though he might not be the most impressed with what is on offer.]

Is that mold? Maybe the vegetables or something....

8:

Gluttony:

[There's blood everywhere. Like a flood of it or something. Amid the darkness kept at bay from firey torches. Ed and Ling fight Envy in the homunculus revealing his true form as they bicker about how they ended up inside Gluttony, about Envy being the one that started the Ishval Civil War in being the one that shot that child. Only, Ed's fighting spirit deflates as he realizes what was going on with Envy - that the homunculus was also comprised of the people whose lives had been taken in creating the Philosopher's Stone that sustains Envy and keeps him alive. Ling tries to yell for him to snap out of it as Ed is pulled inside Envy's mouth.

Ed remembers this. How he had come up then with the plan to use Envy's Stone to get them out of Gluttony. How that had felt in using it. How he had encountered Alphonse's body at the Gate on his way out.]

Winry:

[He goes to return the gun to Riza after returning from Gluttony, talking to her about how he couldn't bring himself to shoot. After the experience with stopping Winry from killing Scar for the murder of her parents. Riza says how Ed must protect her, given how he feels about Winry, which causes Ed to stammer that of course he does, they're best friends and all!

Which they were. Are. It's just. There's been something more there for a while, just neither of them able to actually admit it to the other. Ed so focused on his promise to Al and all for the time being to worry about relationships on top of that. That being in one with Al in that body would seem so unfair. That Al couldn't also do that.]

9:

[The setting is in the old Elric house, and Ed is noticeably younger here with shorter hair and all. He has his limbs at this point. Though not for long, as he and Alphonse start going over the ingredients, making sure they have everything, drawing out the transmutation circle. The last thing was the information on the soul, something as payment. Ed figures their blood should do, so he pricks both their fingers before they kneel and put their hands at the drawn chalk circle on the floor. The transmutation starts but it is quickly clear something isn't right. Al disappears, his whole body being taken, as Ed screams, crying out and reaching for him.

Then he's suddenly in this wide white space with a grey door, a Gate, behind him. There's a fuzzy outline of someone else with him, as it talks about the toll Ed needs to pay for what he has learned from this, as Ed says how close he had been to cracking it, how to bring her back. Except then, the figure's leg becomes solid - Ed's leg. Ed screams, crying in pain as his leg is gone. As he bleeds, the blood trailing behind him as he crawls to an old suit of armor, pushing it down to the ground as he cries about being willing to give anything as long as he gets his brother back, drawing an array to attempt to bind his brother's soul to the armor. For that, he pays with his arm. He's briefly back at the Gate again as he pays the toll this time with his arm before he's barely conscious for long as the armor comes to life as Alphonse. The younger's voice is tinny, almost an echo quality to it as he says how it should have worked, the theory seemed sound. Ed apologizes that all he could do was to bind Al's soul to the armor in exchange for his arm.]

--

[ooc: If people want another scene for a memory, let me know! I can go with any moment from up to when Ed is up North and passes out after fighting Kimblee, so there's a lot of possible options depending on what you want your character to learn about! Feel free to pm me or discuss on Plurk @ Caprican, plot on the plotting post for the mission for Ed.]

1

[pursuit]

[ Deuce has spent some time wandering up and down stairs. It's getting a bit frustrating, actually, as he swiftly loses sense of which way he has come or gone. When a staircase has vanished on him for the umpteenth time, he's had enough, raising his fists at the now empty air from whence he'd come.

Someone has to be messing with him, right? The whole place can't be enchanted to turn itself around like this without someone being behind it, and that'd take an enormous amount of magic. He may be no match for such a mage, but he's going to issue a challenge just the same. ]

C'mon out and fight me like a man, you coward!

[ Meanwhile he's oblivious to the fact that a guy who looks about his age is literally just a short distance away... ]

erik stevens/killmonger | black panther

[scarcastically]

( 6. 0 — the library )

[ the library is usually the first place he’d like to check. he adjusts the fake glasses on his face as he grimaces at the sight of it. it’s quite clear, this castle hasn’t been used in a long time. many of the rooms were in similar disrepair unless, of course, they were influenced by magic.

but this? this is straight up a crime. ]

If they ever had a librarian, I’d like to straight up fire ‘em.

[ he sighs, glancing at whoever is nearby. ]

Shall we pick what’s the least dustiest?

( 8. 0 — for in that sleep of death what dreams may come)

[ all things must sleep and all dreams must live . . . ]

( a — a talk between lifetimes cw: grief )

[ it’s the apartment. erik could never forget it. he watches himself walk into it, immediately heading towards the false cupboard. he feels old. he feels young. he feels he is an outside looking in, always looking into places where he wasn’t allowed. his fingers open the book written in xhosa, fingers skimming over foreign words. familiar words. all detailing the secret world of wakanda. where it is, what customs, how to get there.

and a ring on a chain.

All these keys, all these notes . . . all to help a lost boy go home.

”What have I told you about going through my things?”

a child looks up. a man. a son. an orphan. all these things are layered in, jagged and distorted. his father sits there, untouched by time. he weeps for the man erik has become. he weeps for the sunsets he’ll never see. he weeps for all lost boys until there is a tear tricking down erik’s cheek that he quickly wipes away. ]

( b — the throne )

[ wakanda. a gleaming city, rich in culture. and that is no different when erik strides into the throne room, cuffed but utterly confident. it doesn’t even waver when t’challa rises from his seat to walk over, saying in a low voice, ”I don’t care that you killed klaue. The only reason I don’t kill you where you stand is because I know who you are.”

if he had doubts before, they slip away after that. so he says casually, ”I want the throne.”

the elders laugh. jeer.

”It is not our way to be judge, jury and executioner for people who are not our own.”

who then, erik thinks, who is your own? wasn’t I your own? wasn’t my father? you had no problem treating us as such. not wakandan enough. not american enough.

pontification. running in circles. until they finally come to the crux of it. ]

”I am N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu!”

[ and the challenge is underway.

( 9.0 — Believing in Fairy tales, cw: death, impalement, suicide )

[ hell of a move.

it had been one lucky shot, one moment up in the air. erik knew that. even with all the skill in the world, sometimes life deals its cards this way. it has nothing to do with right or wrong. you could perform every proper action there is and still fail. and he wasn’t bitter, not about this. it’s fitting to be cut down. dying by the hands of the black panther. just like his father had. you could do worse.

his breathing goes heavy. he can barely walk when t’challa takes him to the cliff. the sunset, oh it’s such a beautiful thing. it’s everything his father said it would be. his voice chokes at the sight of it. but he can’t stay. he won’t be locked up to wither. he won’t let wakanda treat him like a leashed dog. or worse.

his hands go towards the weapon, slowly pulling it out . . . if he’s not stopped, this is where the dream ends. ]

( wildcard )

[ got a prompt in mind, please hit up my plotting comment / pm this journal / hit me up @ timmtams ]

6.0

[droide]

[ Elthree is not a historian. She doesn't deal in paper records of any kind. She belongs in a cockpit, not a library.

But, when needs must, etc. etc. ]

Seems like a decent enough plan.

[ She turns a full 360°, doing a complete scan of as much of the room as she can see, before pointing to a particular shelf that looks somewhat less dusty than the others. ]

There.

Newton Geiszler | Pacific Rim

[groupiedrifter]

PART I. MAY ALL YOUR BACON BURN

1.0

It's kind of creepy, huh? I guess not really like Scooby Doo, but an empty castle is still... yeahhhh...

[Newt's not really sure what to make of this place.

Armed with a fully-stocked science kit (only the best they've got to offer!), he wanders the castle alongside his fellow crew with all the caution in the world. While he appreciates Viv's heads up, he's not so sure the information they've gotten helps them all that much. What a big ol' mystery. Sleeping sickness, huh? Ugh, what a typical mission. He's already preparing himself mentally for long hours slaving over a microscope and slides again.]

Y'know, the first cure situation we had was rough enough; I really don't want to deal with a part two, so maybe make sure you all shotgun some Red Bulls before you pass out around me, huh? I'll pinch your arms and make sure nobody falls asleep... If that's how it works. Ugh.

... Weren't there stairs behind us?

3.0

Whoa-ho-ho! Haaaa! Look at this!

I've died and gone to heaven!

[Stepping into this room has given Newt a smorgasbord of goodies to ogle at. Holy shit! There are museum-esque displays of dinosaurs littered throughout the room, and bubbling fish tanks full of exotic little creatures — not of Earth, but entirely new and strange and glowing with extraterrestrial energy. On the left-hand side of the room there's a huge collection of musical instruments: guitars, keyboards, drums...! And a vinyl record player. Old-school as hell! Let's not even mention the library of comic books and manga on the bookshelves, nor the monster figurines that line shelves on the walls. Is that a pile of monster movies? It sure is.

You'd think this place specifically catered to Newton.

(Because it is.)

He hops from one place to another in here, beaming with newfound excitement.

(Mission? What mission?)]

Maybe this place isn't so bad after all...!

5.0

[NEVER-FUCKING-MIND.

Newt finally makes it to the kitchen area in the castle — one of the only non-fucky parts of the place. He is completely drenched head to toe in water, and as he stomps through the space with his suitcase in hand, his socks squelch and he tracks water. Guess who just got back from being stuck in a literal storm? Looking over with his hand on his hip, he says grumpily:]

Don't you look at me like that! I take back everything I said about this place earlier. It sucks!

[Time to get to work? Lucky him, he's really good at staying awake for long periods of time, so hopefully that's not what causes the sleeping sickness.

Of course, even Newt's hardcore insomnia binges can't prepare him for this one.

Despite his best efforts... he, too, will fall victim to the sleeping sickness.]

PART II. IF YOU HAVE A DREAM DON'T WAIT

[Part II of the mission, along with Newton's memories and dreamscapes, have a separate log that can be found here!]

3.0

[firstroar]

[Blue follows Newt inside at his own, slow pace, lingering at the threshold to keep a hand on the door frame. Newt's flood of excitement makes Blue's eyes flutter a moment before he can refocus and follow his rapid pace of attention at all the things to behold.]

How strange... [he lifts his head to look about on his own at last, though it's hard to ignore the tether of interest that Newt creates as he flits about.] This room is...entirely unlike the others, even in structure...

Sabriel | Old Kingdom

[bindsthedead]

Exploring
[It's a castle owned by a powerful wizard- and a much smaller area to search than either of their previous missions. Sabriel's on guard, but these are, in theory, more familiar dangers than what she faced in Gyeonje and Braccia. So she moves cautiously through the halls, stopping to mark her path when she finds something that seems useful or significant, trying to build a mental map of the place in her head.]

No servants, whether construct or otherwise... and this place's defenses seem more centered around disorienting us than harming us. Well, the file did say he was a pacifist.

[It's odd, in a way that sets Sabriel just a little on edge. There are fates much crueler than death, after all, and being unwilling to kill doesn't mean the mage is unwilling to inflict such things, out of some misguided belief that death is the worst thing you can do to a person. So far, she's had to jump in and out of a painting, not to mention she's still drying out from that storm. But...]

I wonder if this Remi specializes in illusions- it would certainly explain a few things, like the paintings and the rooms that seemed to be outside.

[But unfortunately, illusions are not an area Sabriel is familiar with even when it comes to Charter magic, so all she can do is guess.]

Taking a break
[Sabriel has seen bedrooms in her journey through the castle. and she does not trust them. Not when everything here seems to be saturated in magic designed to confuse and entrap- although not kill, so it seems Viveca's report on the wizard being a pacifist was true.

Still, given the reports of a sleeping curse, Sabriel's elected to find a corner of the kitchen, one of the few rooms that seems mostly normal, and bring some pillows and blankets she found elsewhere to create a base camp of sorts.

It also has the advantage of having some food that doesn't seem to be enchanted, and some mornings, Sabriel can be found making porridge, or in the evenings making her best attempt at cooking something.]

It's a odd though- there's even more magic than at Abhorsen's house, but no construct servants.

[Then again, given that such servants would probably see them as intruders, perhaps it's for the best. But still- Abhorsen's house might go unvisited for years at a time, but the Sendings would keep everything dust-free and tidy. While this place, for all its grandeur, seems neglected.]

Perhaps we should see if there are quarters for living servants somewhere in this place.

Hedge magic

[Sabriel had expected a castle belonging to a powerful and senior wizard to have potent magical defenses. What she hadn't expected was for some of them to be so... whimsical. And whoever had created the maze had apparently anticipated someone trying to light it on fire, as Sabriel's attempts to clear a path, only for the hedges to regrow behind her- an unpleasant surprise when she leaps backwards to avoid the pummeling branches of a very angry tree.]

Charter- curse this place!

[She can see the exit, at least. She just... needs to get past the tree.]

Mosrael
[Magically induced slumber isn't an odd concept to Sabriel. Magically induced slumber that resists more conventional attempts at awakening?

Not that odd either. So when Sabriel finds one of the crew asleep, it's not the antidote she reaches for, but Mosrael, the second of her bells, the Waker.

Mosrael's song is the opposite of Ranna, loud and raucous like a flock of screaming parrots, discordant even when properly sounded. But among Mosrael's powers is the ability to rouse those sleeping from slumber, regardless of the cause of that slumber.

And as soon as she sees their eyes open, Sabriel wraps the fingers of her free hand around the clapper, stilling the bell even as the echoes linger, like the word's most obnoxious alarm clock.]

Wake up!

Dreamscape/wildcard

[Let me know which of Sabriel's memories/what kind of dreams you'd like, and I'll write up a starter! Or if you have something else in mind for the castle.]

For Erik;

[bindsthedead]

[Sabriel's dream bleeds in with mist so thick it obscures everything else, and a freezing current that rushes knee-deep, black water that seems to leech the warmth and color out of everything.

The fog pulls back, just enough to show two figures- Sabriel, and a man who between the shared features and identical surcoat, could only be her father, hugging her with one arm, the other holding a bell by its clapper, Sabriel returning the embrace with her free arm as well.]

I have not been an ideal parent, I know. None of us ever are. When we become the Abhorsen, we lose much else. Responsibility to many people rides roughshod over personal responsibilities; difficulties and enemies crush out softness; our horizons narrow. You ar my daughter, and I have always loved you. But now, I live again only for a short time- a hundred hundred heartbeats, no more- and I must win a battle against a terrible enemy. Our parts now, which perforce we must play- are not father an daughter, but one old Abhorsen, making way for the new. But behind this, there is always my love.

[And at this, tears have started to stream down Sabriel's cheeks, both her dream-self, and the one watching. This had been the moment when she'd realized they were too late, that her father had lingered too long in Death, that he was going to die, despite everything she'd done.]

Yzak Jule | Gundam SEED

[coordination]

01. Arrival

[ Yzak prepped for the mission just fine, as he would any other. As a Major, he knows how important it is to be rested and alert for whatever awaited them. (if anybody on the station did seem like they were slacking in the prep department, Yzak definitely yelled at them) So when they're transported, he's ready, willing, able and determined to spring into action!

The moment they arrive in the courtyard, however, after they're informed of their personal goals, Yzak can be found just

staring into space.

Oh, no, he thinks to himself. How is he expected to do this one? Stealing? Fine. Eavesdropping for secrets? That's nothing! This one? Sincerity? Feelings? Oh fuck, oh god. ]

02. Down With The...?

A sleeping sickness, huh?

[ Yzak mulls idly over the term, as he wanders through the castle's halls, preferably with a teammate so they can not only cover ground, but watch each others' backs. He peeks into a room or two, tilting his head and uttering a what the hell at the stranger of them; the giant-sized one, one where everything is on the ceiling instead of the floor, one without gravity (though that one is easy to navigate for him). But as they explore, he continues with his thought. ]

I wonder if that'll have any effect on me. Coordinators aren't really supposed to get sick. Even though it looks like they're some level of magic involved here, too, judging by some of these rooms.

03. Other Castle Things

[ Throughout the mission, Yzak keeps busy and helps out where he can. When it comes to other teammates falling victim to the sleeping sickness, if they happen to pass out somewhere inconvenient, Yzak is stronger than he appears, so can carry and help (most of) them so they're resting somewhere comfortably until woken up. At one point he's looking down at what they can just make out of the earth far below, his uniform drenched from the room with the storm. ]

Why did that look so familiar...?

[ He also checks out the library, sifting through tomes and scrolls and brushing old dust from them as he unfurls one of the latter. ]

Eugh, this is disgusting! [ He wrinkles his nose. ]

But let's see if there's anything interesting hidden in here.

[ The situation in the kitchen is a little depressing. But seeing as they're on a mission and need to keep up their energy, Yzak will offer: ]

I guess I can make something at least satisfactory for you ... if you want.

[ And in the dining room, Yzak's eyes fall on the set up, reaching down to give a small nudge to one of the forks with a finger. ]

Just for one, huh? Must be pretty lonely.

04. Dreamscape

[ So much for Yzak's pondering about whether or not a Coordinator can be affected by this 'sleeping sickness', because the answer is a big, fat, yes. His absence would definitely be noted as he's always some form of active when awake, and once anyone goes looking, he is passed the hell out, fam. Probably somewhere really embarrassing and ridiculous, too, like the room with the tiny things in them, now crushed because this dumb bitch passed out on them, or next to the angry tree that's now beating his unconscious ass with a branch, or in the storm room, face up and nearly drowning like a turkey, oh god please help him.

But where he falls asleep is irrelevant, as this is the dreamscape prompt. So anybody who happens to be in their own and gently wandering out of it and into Yzak's will find it shifting, warping into something else... ]

OOC

For the dreamscape if we have no solid plans or if you want to just go ahead, drop a short/OOC comment in response to that prompt and I'll get rolling with something random. Otherwise I'll be pinging people and maybe throwing up personal starters as well. ♥ As always, let's double up because I plan to tag other dreamscapes, too, and multiple replies to my TL for other prompts are fine for other non-dreamscape things on the side! Contact me at gaignun, PM here, or at Tara#1768 for anything! And my plotting comment is here for anything specific.

For Andy

[coordination]

[ This memory begins in the medbay of a military spaceship - clean, sterile with white and soft blue walls and floors. The alerts start to blare that they're approaching the enemy and to get into position. And Yzak moves - he's in the med bay, clothed in his uniform (which is red instead of the white he's usually wearing) and looking younger than he is now. Over the entire right side of his face is a bandage, and it's something recent, something that he's still clearly feeling with the way he stands, moving to the door and needing to lean on its frame to hold himself up. One of the doctors reaches to grab his shoulder and plead for him to not go. But Yzak sharply shrugs him off, telling him to shut the fuck up and to let go of him - and leaves, his expression carrying an anger unlike the (usually) harmless outbursts he has on the station. There's something wilder, more twisted in his eyes (...eye) here.

And by the time he changes into his flight suit and climbs into the cockpit of his Gundam (a ~20 meter high blue-and-white giant robot, equipped with bulky armor that includes more fire power from its shoulder area), he's sweating, nearly breathless and clearly in pain. But even when the mechanics call to him that he can't go, he's not ready to fight, he brushes them off just as rudely as the doctor, telling them to shut their mouths and to guide him out. Despite constantly looking in pain and on the verge of passing out, he's very clearly running on sheer, wrathful adrenaline here. ]

[ Actual Yzak Himself is not experiencing the memory first hand (thank god, he thinks to himself, he doesn't want to feel those emotions again - merely thinking about them is enough) but is watching from the sidelines as it plays out. He doesn't look pleased, though not completely fussed about it, either - he looks perplexed. Why the hell is here seeing (dreaming?) something like this? ]

General Kirigan / The Darkling | Shadow and bone

[cruelyethuman]

PART I.MAY ALL YOUR BACON BURN

5.0 In the storm

[The orbers are scattering almost as soon as they land, and the Darkling takes the winding staircases and the mysterious hallways, always seeking to find the heart of the castle. Taking whichever crossroad seems to lead deeper in to the midst of the chaotic layout of this place.

He finds himself staring at too many painting, dragging his eyes away from the vibrant colors and backtracks too often, when he heads in to a dead end or a locked door.

This is why he wrenches the next door open, almost falling through the doorway and in to a bright-green hedge.]

This is, by far, the second-worst Palace I've been to.

6.0 Library

[It is wall-to-wall books, the scrolls and tombs he pulls down with gentle hands, as dust flies up around him, and he coughs. Waiting for the air to clear, before he opens the first volume.

Everything seems abandoned.

Left to rot or dry out, the paper crinkling underneath his fingers with each turn of a page. The room reeks of neglect and something forgotten. That doesn't stop him from looking at the books, reading the spines, and hoping to find anything that might lead him to the orb.

Anything to make this end]

I would not sit in that, if I were you.

PART II.IF YOU HAVE A DREAM DON'T WAIT cw: murder, gore, violence

8.0 watching me come apart at the seams

8.1. Happy days

[He knows this place, as soon as the fog lifts, and he sees the small hut between the tall pines. The windows glow with a golden light, the heath and the candles lit inside.

The Darkling is standing outside, watching as Luda comes rushing out the door. A much younger him trailing behind. The younger him in clean-shaven, long hair pulled back and tied in a knot at the back of his head with one of Luda's leather straps.

Luda stops beside the hut, arms pointing as his younger self leans his hip against the doorway, biting in to an apple. An amused smile on his face.]

And we could have chickens right here- [Luda explains, happiness shining on her face]

Next thing, you tell me, is that you want goats, too.

Of course, I do! Aleksander, we need the milk and a couple of sheep. For wool.

[She slinks closer, hips swaying under her heavy skirts, and the frost covered ground creaks under her feet. The younger him abandons the apple in favour of catching her in his arms, planting a smacking kiss to her lips.]

We can be happy here. [She smiles in to his chest, and Aleksander laughs, low and warm.]

And you think I require sheep and goats to keep me happy. All I need is you.

8.2 - warning violence and gore, death, abuse

[cruelyethuman]

The Slaughter

[The dream shimmers in to existence, a small village coming to life all around him.

The town square, lined with tiny open stalls, peddling their wares and the people chatter and laugh, baskets filled with freshly baked bread and picked fish. Children gibber in childish voices, chasing each other as they race past him. A wind rushes past him, ruffling his hair, and the child giggles, hands out.

There are more evidence of this being a Grisha settlement. The casual use of Inferni powers to stoke the flames higher of a bonfire, a woman holding her hands out over her flowers and they perk up. Rain, but controlled to a small area.

Another hiding hole for his people, and the Darkling remembers this, as he walks softly through the daily lives of people long dead.

Within minutes, a deafening horn blares across town and chaos spreads like wildfire.

A raiding party gallops in to town, 50 men on huge horses, armed with swords and spears, barking dogs running before them. The Grisha are not battle worn, not trained, and when the first hut goes up in flames set by the man in heavy furs, the screams start to ring out.

Children, crushed underneath the pounding hoofs of warhorses or ripped apart by the Drüskellen hounds. Women pulled screaming from their husbands, as the witch hunters hunt them all down.

Those not killed by the sword, are dragged to the town square. Arms tied behind their backs- and it takes so little time, a blink of an eye - before everyone has been rounded up or killed. The Drüskelle stands up in the stirrups, voice booming over the frightened Grisha.

You have been deemed guilty of heresy! And you will burn for this!

[A pyre is lit, the raiders too proficient at stoking the flames until they roar, reaching for the sky and they start throwing the captured on to the fire. The screams reach a fever pitch and in the shadows of the trees, it's possible to see a young Kirigan, the same pale face, high cheekbones and black hair, clutching his mother's hand before they vanish in to the forest.]

Eleven | Stranger Things

[savingthrows]

⦿ // WILDCARD. [OPEN - OOC] Plotting & Contact

[ Eleven @ OOC Plotting.

Powers, Permissions, Opt-Out.

Open and Closed starters in the comments under this TL. If you would like a different, closed starter for something specific, feel free to hit me up on the plotting post, or on inkcharm and Discord inkcharm#4573. ]

---

Part I - OPEN

[savingthrows]

⦿ // PART I. [OPEN - Around the Castle] May all your bacon burn.

[ Eleven has never seen a castle outside of picture books, so her wide-eyed fascination is quite genuine. She observes the base camp set-up with some interest, but in the end has much less interest in that than the rest of the castle. So, as she is prone to do, she wanders off - with or without company.

3.0: The Room.
Anyone following Eleven into this room will find themselves inside a slightly run-down looking, wooden cabin. Larger on the inside than the room has any right to be. Beyond the cheap curtains on the window, there's a lush forest. The furniture is old, mismatched. Everything looks well-worn, but well-loved in its own way. The tables practically overflowing - pens, 80s magazines, phonebook, notepads, bills and coupons, a list of phone numbers for emergencies, the take out menu of the single local pizza place. The decorations on the wall scream 'american mancave'. The lights are warm. The very old TV is giving crackling static. There are stacks of random books and board games scattered throughout. One bedroom is curtained off. The bathroom has a foldable screen door. The only room with a proper door is off to the side, and it looks a little nicer, like some recent care and work went into it - the walls are green, adorned with mismatches posters and pictures. Eleven is in there - sitting on the bed, flipping through a comic book - Wonder Woman. Nothing in here is modern - for those aware, it's all incredibly 80s.

4.0: The Hedge Maze.
Here is where Eleven quickly loses her patience. She's gotten completely, irrevocably, horrifically lost, and whoever is with her will notice that she doesn't look so much scared as endlessly frustrated. Patient, this child is not. Perhaps it comes as no surprise, therefore, that when they round a corner to find a large, angry tree blocking the way forwards, Eleven is just completely and utterly done with the maze - and with holding back. She's not really shown her powers much, mostly held back or at most moved some small things. Here and now, she's over subtlety. The murderous tree tries to take a swing at Eleven and whoever is with her, and she quietly steps forwards. ]

It's okay. I'll protect you.

[ She stretches out a hand, jerks her chin up in defiance, and for a moment it feels as if the air pressure changes, ever so mildly. The tree's limbs come to a quivering, groaning halt, trembling as the magic tries to keep moving, wood groaning and creaking painfully. Eleven's fingers splay. She grits her teeth, exacts more force onto it. She can move trucks, trains, seal the rift to the Upside Down, force the Mindflayer's flesh to retreat - she can handle a tree. Branches bend at unnatural angles, twist, snap off with thunderous cracks, and finally, the entire tree uproots, Eleven expending so much force she has to lean forwards into it, before she flings the entire thing sideways through the hedges. The trunk breaks, toppling over itself a few times and leaving a devastation of ruined, flattened hedges in its wake - they regrow within seconds, blocking the view of where the tree ended up. ]

There.

[ Eleven takes a deep breath. Blood is running from her nose, dripping down her chin. ]

---

L3-37 | Star Wars

[droide]

Part I. may all your bacon burn

  1.0  

[ Elthree used her day of prep to arm herself with a heavy blaster rifle, figuring that it can't hurt to be armed when entering into the unknown. This being her first mission, she doesn't know quite what to expect. Upon arriving in the courtyard outside the castle, Elthree takes her time observing what she can of the exterior of the building, climbing up to peek into first floor windows, peering around the sides, careful not to step too close to the edge, lest she fall through the clouds.

Finally, though, she must enter. It shouldn't be too hard, she figures, to walk her way from room to room, mapping it out as she goes. That plan falls by the wayside, however, as she climbs her first staircase, only to find the steps she's just climbed have disappeared behind her as soon as she turns around to look. ]

Well. Things just got a lot more difficult.

  4.0  

[ The rooms of the castle don't seem to follow any sort of logic at all, which is difficult for a computerized being like L3-37. This latest door she's opened has found her in the middle of a hedge maze, something she's never seen before and doesn't quite grasp the purpose of. It doesn't take long to figure out what whoever placed the maze here wants her to do, but really. Kriff that. ]

Let's take a more direct route, shall we?

[ And without any more fanfare than that, she unslings the heavy blaster from her back and fires a gaping hole into the wall of the maze, creating a person-sized hole through which to climb. ]

In we go!

[ However, no sooner do Elthree and her companion climb through the hole, the edges of which still smell of singed vegetation, does the hedge begin to grow, filling in the gap and closing the hole behind them. ]

Alright. That... shouldn't be a problem. We just keep moving forward.

Part II. if you have a dream don't wait

  7.0  

[ It doesn't occur to Elthree right away what's happening. She's continued on with her plan of going room to room, wandering for days at all hours of morning, afternoon, and night, not needing to sleep unlike her organic counterparts. In fact, she's been operating under the assumption that she, being a droid, is completely immune to this mysterious sleeping sickness.

She could have no idea how wrong she is, until she feels herself start to falter, tripping over her feet, her movements becoming sluggish and heavy. ]

You go on. I'm just going to... Keep watch here.

[ It's with that vague declaration that she leans against a wall and finally succumbs, her dome bowing and her optic going dark.

She comes to again in a serene place, standing atop the a perfectly still lake, the darkness and stillness mirrored in the surface of the water at her feet. ]

What's going on? Are we in another room?

[ It would seem she hasn't quite intuited what has happened to her yet. ]

  9.0  

[ When one walks into this dreamscape, it is instantly clear that one is in the memory of a Ximilia crew mate. The setting is crowded, a bustling city street full of stucco buildings that have seen much better days in decades past. The scene unfolds down an alley off the busy street, in the open backyard of what looks like it might be a junkyard, or some kind of hangar for worn-down spacecraft. A green-skinned man with many tentacles instead of hair seems to be performing repairs on a scorched and dirty R3-series astromech droid. He's brushing dust and debris out of each nook and cranny, and welding together bits that have come apart.

Finally, he looks satisfied, and sets down his tools. ] There you are, all set. Now, where did I put that restraining bolt?

[ Just then, a voice calls out from somewhere in the house. ] --Jek! Come look at this!

Not now, Kossah, I'm in the middle of cleaning this droid.

Kriff the droid! You're going to want to see this.

[ Sighing, the Nautolan male (Jek, apparently), abandons his search for the restraining bolt and enters the dwelling to go see what could be so important.

The R3 droid swivels its dome, letting out an inquisitive whistle. When there comes no response, and it becomes clear that Jek isn't coming back out right away, the R3 takes the opportunity to make a break for it, wheeling away down the alley as fast as its little droid legs can take it, coming careening into the legs of whatever outsider has come to witness this dream.

It bounces back, blaring a string of beeps that one can only assume are profanity, before tilting its optic up to look at the intruder.

You're not going to stop me, are you? It seems to ask, a sense of urgency in the low trill it emits. ]

Wildcard.

  0.0  

[ Have any other ideas? HMU @ millennialfalcon / ©hris#1234. ]

9.0

[spacedisaster]

[ The castle seems to have been designed by M. C. Escher while on drugs and Peter has decided to walk around it with his aero rig on to avoid unpleasant falls. The jetpack is not active, but he's wearing it over his usual red leather jacket there is what it looks like the top part of an armor, the metal covering his chest and part of his back. He's been exploring, not finding as many clues as he would like it when the incessant whispering had started. Ignoring them works only for a little while, and when then he tries to pay attention to figure out if there is a way to make them stop. That is a mistake, as he's quickly feeling dizzy and falling unconscious.

When the world around him reshapes, it's a place he doesn't recognize. Peter is at least standing, as opposed to finding himself lying in a ditch, and he considers it a win. He hears real voices this time, but by the time he's actually paying proper attention, jet is out of the picture and the astromech droid is practically ramming into him. ]

Woah, ey...I come in peace. [ Peter raises his hands to show he's not a treat. After listening to the beep, the man huff out a laugh at the amount of cursing he hears when his translator implants let him know what is being said. ] Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Not like you really have a mouth but...ah, yeah, yeah not going to stop you. [ There's a brief pause before he adds; ] What are you doing exactly?

billy butcher ( the boys )

[cheapbastard]

→ BILLY BUTCHER PLOTTING COMMENT

→ PART I

[cheapbastard]

1.0 where's the welcome wagon?

Fuck me.

( it's not often that billy finds himself impressed by something but he can't help but exhale when he steps inside the castle. sure, it could have one with a few butlers and maids running up to him to take his coat or try and give him something cold and bubbly to drink but he's not going to hold it against them.

tucking his hands in his pockets, billy finds that his attention's caught by one of the paintings on the wall. it's a cityscape, rain pattering down and cars moving left and right. something about it is...fascinating. he doesn't know what it is because he's seen plenty of fuckin' cities in his life but he steps closer and closer until his nose is nearly pressed against the painting.

for a moment, he thinks he can feel the rain on his head, matting his hair and he can hear a car honk as it passes him by. but that can't be because he's in a fuckin' castle until — )

What in the fucking fuck?

( when he looks around, the castle is gone and he's standing on the curb of that same city in the painting. it's raining harder and harder and he feels something he rarely is: confused. )

Okay, great party trick. I get it, haze the new guy. Now, get me the fuck out of here!

3.0 belly up to the bar

( he's not going to admit that he's gotten a bit turned around but he has. so, when he opens the door to this next room, fully expecting to either drop off a fuckin' cliff or end up in a closet, he's pleasantly surprise to find — )

Oh, now that is what I'm talking about. I knew someone up there liked me.

( it hasn't been that long since he'd had a drink but right there in front of him is a fully stocked bar with every single liquor, beer or spirit that he could think of. with a grin, billy sidles up and behind the bar, grabbing a bottle at random and reading it. )

Ah, bourbon. Good year. Come on, who wants a drink. Ey, it's on me. I'm just that nice a fella.

( when no one answers, billy uncaps the bottle and drinks directly from it before he hops up on the bar itself and starts walking around on it, pleased with things at the current moment. )

Think I could pack this all away, take it home? It might fit in my carry on.

5.0 rain rain go away

( it's the second bloody time he's been rained on since coming to this castle. he' opened the door and, as soon as he had, he'd been standing in the middle of a raging storm, lightning arcing in the sky. billy curses low under his breath and looks up, shaking his head. )

The fuck is this, huh? You just wanna piss me off?

( the rain seems to be coming down harder now and billy pulls his coat over his head, trying to see a spot that might provide him a little shelter. in the distance, there's what looks like a shed and billy heads for it, tromping through puddles and mud as he does. good thing he'd worn his boots for this.

the door to the shed is locked but it doesn't feel strong so billy just kicks it with the heel of his shoe until the lock breaks and the door flies open. he steps inside and immediately grabs his nose. )

God, it smells like something fuckin' died. Jesus Christ, get me out of this place.

( can he go back to the room with all the liquor now? he'd prefer that. )

Syrlya (Pact Commander) | Guild Wars 2

[chronosynthesis]

[4.0 | Hedge Maze]

[Moving halls, disappearing doors, mazes... what a pain in the ass. The worst thing about the maze is every part of it looks the same. The second worst part is he, somehow, manages to keep getting turned around into the maze as soon as he escapes.

He could continue to walk in circles with the poor soul who got stuck in here this time. But he holds out a hand to stop them before they've walked more than a few minutes.] Wait. I have a better idea.

[He races the hedge wall and puts his hands around the branches. With a deep breath, he lifts his foot into the leaves. As he does so, the branches shift, bending together to provide proper support for his hands and feet.

So that he can climb right up, standing atop the hedge so he can survey the layout.]

[Antidote | LIMIT 1]

[This time, Syrlya doesn't walk right into the room--he cracks the door open so he can peer in, and if it looks like another maze he's going the other way.

It's not, at least, but what he does he is the figure of someone else from the station. Not... terribly mobile?] Oh dear.

[He pushes the door open the rest of the way, digging the antidote out of his pocket. Now, how is he going to administer this...]

[8.0 | Dreamscape]

[At some point, Syrlya stops in a quiet room to really try and listen to the whispers that reverberate in his mind. He knows he shouldn't, from prior experience--but things have felt so empty and without a lot of clues to the orb, maybe that will give some sort of direction.

It doesn't, obviously. His focus fades and by the time he realizes something's going wrong he's already been dragged deep into slumber.]

((A list of available memory options can be found HERE. I'll be writing a separate prompt for each tag-in, and multiple people can pick the same memory. If you wanna work something else out you can grab me by PM or monochromic. Feel free to clarify if you want a positive or negative memory since some of these encompass both.))

[Wildcard]

((For anything else around the castle, general dreamscape things, etc.))

For Newt

[chronosynthesis]

[The moment Newt's conscious reaches Syrlya's, everything in his dreamscape shifts. It completely throws Syrlya off, as one second he's in a reflection of--crystal? And the next he's underground, deep in a cave with the dusty and cracked ruins of some abandoned civilization, being slowly overtaken by new stalagmites and... actually, maybe it's best to not look too closely as the gooey, glowy residual that's splattered occasionally.]

What the--? [Syrlya looks around, locking his gaze on Newt in bafflement.

Before he promptly turns away without even a hello, deciding Newt probably doesn't know what's going on.] Oh. This is...

[A memory. Walking through the cave is another Syrlya, who looks visually exactly the same if much less confused by his surroundings. Walking with him is a large rounded robot slightly larger than a human that, upon closer inspection, is a mecha for a small Asuran girl. On her other side is a Burly teenager that, despite his stature and height well above a human, still has boyish youth in his face. He's the most tense of the group, coiled like a spring ready to pop. And walking a few paces ahead of the three of them is another Sylvari, thornier and around a head shorter than Syrlya and Newt.

None of them, of course, notice there's a Syrlya Number 2 and a scrawny human in their path.]

Zari Tarazi | DC's Legends of Tomorrow

[catchatting]

1.0
[ Zari's been wandering around for hours, sure that she's passed those stairs at least three times without actually turning around, so with a sigh, she'd pulled out her lipstick to mark the banister only to happen upon her own mark 40 minutes later. ]

No no no. I've already been here.

[ She pulls out her lipstick and draws a little arrow on the first stair pointing in the up direction and then starts to head up the stairs, but she pauses when she sees someone approaching. ]

How lost are you on a scale of one-to-being-in-this-castle?

3.0
[ It's a dressing room that gives Zari pause, with a well-stocked vanity and perfect light. The makeup is the older kind--home made and not processed and probably half-poisonous so she's not going to wear it, but still it's a nice place to pause and rest her feet, maybe think about swiping what is clearly a very nice hair brush.

Even though the room is empty, she looks around guiltily before slipping the brush into her sweater. It's not her fault that she's not finished with the action as the door swings open. ]

I wasn't doing anything!

4.0
A hedge maze? Cute.

[ Her voice carries through the shrubbery, dripping with sarcasm and frankly over the whole maze of tropes she's been losing herself through. She's glad they don't have to fight, but there are moments when she's alone in here that this disorienting solitude of being left alone with her thoughts is almost worse.

There's a loud sigh and then she uses her totem to blast a hole through the shrubbery wall so that she can pass through it. ]

The door's that way.

[ She points in a direction that looks just the same as any other as soon as she steps through and sees someone else. ]

5.0
[ Zari opens the door to the storm and tries to slam it back closed, but the winds are too strong and they almost seem to beckon her in the way a gust tugs her through. She doesn't have a moment to even process before the door she came through is gone and she's being pelted with hailstones the size of marbles. They're cold and wet, near-bruising in the way they hit her and fall into her clothes where they hang open.

She lets out a yelp that's all but drowned out by the storm and waves her hand over her totem. The air around her doesn't still entirely, but it seems to swirl around her more gently as the Air Totem takes control of her immediate space to some extent. She's still cold and wet, but she can at least get a better look around and run for a big tree as she looks up at the sky yelling. ]

Seriously?

8.0 (TW: sibling death)
[ She's on the Waverider, with all its timeship glory. It feels like home and she almost forgets why she's here for a moment, because she's missed it and all the people who inhabit the little ship that's become her home.

The moment of peace is short-lived as forms come into view, though. Specifically the last thing she'd had to fight to undo: Behrad. Her brother's lifeless body materializes slumped on the floor in front of her. He's dead. She knows he's dead without checking, because this is when she'd been inside the totem and he'd died protecting her. Even after they'd gotten him back, she can't forget the feeling of utter hopelessness she'd felt in that moment and she can feel the familiar pinprick of tears forming. ]

No.

[ Her voice is soft. Unsure. This isn't real, but it feels so real and she can't lose Behrad again. It had nearly broken her the first time. Hell, the whole reason Zari exists is because the other Zari had saved him. Her world can't be the same without her baby brother. Even thinking about it hurts her heart. ]

No. No no no...

[ She drops to her knees next to his lifeless form, feels her mascara smudge and sting her eyes and she doesn't care. It's not fair. They can't have this. They can't take this from her. She'd face a million zombie hoards and being trapped in a million stupid tv shows all over again just to keep him safe.

Around her, the other Legends start to materialize, but before much more than the silhouettes can come into view, she bolts up and tries to run. She can't face them right now. ]

5.0

[morethan084]

[It's hard to breathe against the harsh winds and rain, one hand raised to shield her face as best as she can while the other is held up at her shoulder with a flashlight to see a little better in the darkness. Spitting out the rain that manages to get in her mouth, Daisy catches sight of someone not far from her looking up at the sky.]

Hey!

[Daisy shouts, her hand that had been shielding her face reaching out to grab her arm. She remember seeing her before on the station.]

Come on, we need to find some place to hide.

Daisy Johnson | OTA (be mindful of the TWs)

[morethan084]

5.0

[Daisy’s blinded by a bright light that she quickly realizes is thunder. The sounds of the storm overwhelm her senses as she brings up a hand to try and shield her eyes in order to see through the heavy downpour, the hail bouncing off the ground as she squints in order to try and get an idea as to where she is.

She knew this place was trippy, but how did she end up outside in a storm that definitely wasn’t happening a minute ago?

Her eyes widen when she spots someone not far from her, hunched like she was in an attempt to keep from getting hit by the hail. Daisy doesn’t think twice as she runs towards them, ignoring the hail that scrapes against her face.]

Hey!

[Daisy shouts, but the storm mutes her until she’s right next to them. She reaches out to grab them by the arm or hand as she looks around for someplace to take shelter in.]

Are you okay?!

9.0 | TW: Torture/human experimentation,and mutilation mentions as well as severe injuries and mentions of death

[Daisy doesn’t remember having visited other people's dreamscapes before ending up here, in her own. Relieving something she never wanted to go through again, but experiencing it as if it’s the first time all over again. She wants to scream out in pain, wants to tell Nathaniel that he’s going to regret this. That she will kill him. But she can only mouth something inaudible as she’s lifted from the table and dragged back into the other room. She’s aware that someone else is here, someone that’s not Daniel, and yet it doesn’t seem odd to Daisy.

The pain that shoots through her body is overwhelming, but she’s so exhausted and high on whatever drugs Nathaniel gave her that she can’t even cry out even if she wanted to. Her body is covered in sweat despite how cold to the touch she feels.]

Jiaying.

[Daisy struggles to get the name out, using whatever she has left to try and talk to someone who is definitely not there, but in her mind, she can hear her mother talking to her.]

It happened. It happened before.

[Her mother tells her to fight, to do whatever she has to get out of here, so she doesn’t end up like her. Her mother had been torn apart, butchered. The man who experimented on Jiaying for her Inhuman gifts took what was left of her body and dumped it in a ditch.]

Jiaying.

[Daisy says her name again swallowing thickly as she tries to lift her head with a sense of urgency before she collapses back down onto the cold dirt floor.]

I can’t.

[She can’t use her powers. Hell, she can barely even move. Daisy is going to die like her mother did and, there’s nothing she can do to stop it.]

WILDCARD

[Daisy will be exploring the castle just like everyone else. So feel free to have your character join her in that. Or maybe Daisy goes out of her way to find your character(if they know each other) and check up on them. If your character is overtaken by the sickness Daisy will be quick to find the vial of the antidote they have all been given and administer it. Just be warned, Daisy is not a doctor.

Anything else feel free to reach out to me on PM or punkchica321!]

9.0

[homeostatic]

( Bones feels like shit, coming to leaned up against a wood wall, the scent of dry alfalfa hay and sweat in his nose- some sort of tack room, maybe, or storage. The disorientation starts to slide away, as his focus rapidly sharpens on the small, limp figure unceremoniously dragged in, dropped like a rag doll into the hay a short distance away. Were they captured? By who? )

Daisy? ( His wrists clank unpleasantly back together when he reaches for her, amazed and dismayed to find the cuffs, his ankles equally locked together. Bones turns back to the retreating figures, issuing a sharp snarl: ) Bastards. What did you do to her?

( Not waiting for an answer, he flings himself toward her, managing to more or less shimmy his way to her side, and brushes his warm hands to her clammy forehead, smoothing back her sweaty hair. The blood's pretty damn concerning, but she's not bleeding out– it just looks slipshod, like some shitty backwater surgeon's work, which means his greater concern is in whatever they gave her to knock her- and her powers -out. )

Daisy, hey- Daisy. Honey, you gotta stay awake for me. Stay awake.

Rosinante | 8: Dreamscapes | Closed

[callada]

[Closed to the people I've already talked to - sorry! Busy month.]

1. La familia (cw: violence toward children)
"They're storing their explosives here, underneath the town hall. Trébol, you stay back on the Numancia and hold the ship. Pica, your army will come in from the south-"

Rosinante watches from his seat at the table while his brother, dressed as always in something sharp and tailored, motions to the charts describing their attack on the next island, where another rival pirate gang is probably about to be utterly crushed, with everything they own clamed in the name of the Donquixote Family. That part doesn't bother him too much, though more weapons in Doflamingo's hands is never a good thing. The real problem is the islanders that will likely be caught in the crossfire.

He takes a drag from his cigarette and watches, memorizing every detail. It's his job twice over, of course; he'll report in tonight with the details in case Sengoku has anyone nearby who can come and intervene, if it's deemed a priority. The explosives are concerning, but then again, they can't have someone come after the Family every single time or it will become too suspicious.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Baby 5, that tiny little thing with the bow in her hair, carrying around a tray full of tea and biscuits like it's the proudest job she ever had. He pretends not to notice, while inwardly he steels himself for what he's been asked to do. She giggles as she pushes the tray upward toward him on her little route around the table. "Corazón, your tea!"

Rosinante looks down as if just realizing she's there and takes the little porcelain cup, wondering what she did to it this time. Too hot? No, it feels fine to the touch, but at the corner of the door he can see Buffalo and Law holding back laughter, so it has to be something. He takes a sip, then immediately spits it out once the foul taste of soap fills his mouth.

Before Baby 5 can bolt, he grabs her by the hair and hurls her right out the door, and he can hear her squeal of laughter immediately turn to a shriek of pain. Somewhere, she lands out in the hallway, and he sets the cup aside and turns his attention back to Doflamingo, who glances his way, inscrutable behind those sunglasses, before continuing on.

Inscrutable to anyone else, anyway. Rosinante knows his brother well, knows he's likely wondering how many parts of him broke all those years ago to change him from sweet, timid child to the bumbling mute who hates kids. Not why, though, for they both know exactly what happened.

When the meeting ends, he slips away from the table to go find somewhere else to be - not to call in right away, but just to escape. Behind him, he hears his brother call him by that ridiculous officer title, as if he could ever be compared to his brother's monstrous heart, and ignores it.

"Rosi."

Insistent, isn't he? Rosinante stops and turns to look, cigarette hanging from his lips and hands in his pockets. Doflamingo is frowning in concern, as if concern and sympathy are emotions he can even feel anymore. Every day spent here tolerating the man makes his skin crawl, and it's been over a thousand days now.

And of course, once he's been noticed, the frown transforms into the smirk of someone who thinks he's just won some sort of bet, but Doffy always loved attention, didn't he?

"Stop by the armory in an hour. I have something just for you," Doflamingo purrs. "Automatic. You'll love it."

And with that, he turns to stride cheerily down the hallway of the fort like a king in his castle, leaving Rosinante to wordlessly accept that he's going to have to shoot someone again later if he wants to keep his cover.

2. La tregua

There are only so many times he can get away with feigning a hangover, so Rosinante has to make this count. While Doflamingo and the others are out partying, celebrating their latest successes and victims and the sure increase of the bounties over their heads, he stays back. Waits until the whole base has fallen silent, aside from the wind and waves outside, and the cries of the gulls as they find their own treasures in the trash heap out the back door.

Just to make extra certain he won't be caught, Rosinante taps a palm to his chest, and the calm takes effect. There are no audible footsteps as he makes his way to Doflamingo's private quarters. The door doesn't creak on the hinges as he pushes it open, there's no rattle of the lock as he picks the drawer and pulls out a sheaf of messages.

Encryped, of course, but he can crack the cypher later. From his sleeve, he slides out a tiny metal tube and unrolls the paper inside, and then uses his own ink and quill to copy every letter with exacting precision. Who knows which parts might hold the key to breaking open their secrets?

He's good at this, but he's not perfect, nobody is - and so the sound of toes on the stone floor outside catch him off-guard. He has just enough time to shove the drawer shut and make it look like he's writing a note to his brother to leave on his desk when the door creaks. He swallows every sensation of anxiety he's ever felt and hopes his bangs cover the sweat on his brow when he looks over to see who has caught him.

The eyes looking back at him are as golden as ever, contrasting against the dark rims and white-splotched skin of long-term illness. Law peers at him with confusion from under the brim of his spotted hat. Rosinante, meanwhile, blesses his good fortune.

They both have secrets to keep. Law doesn't know this particular one, but he's been forgiving ever since they came to an agreement on the docks a couple of months ago. Rosinante shakes his head with a soundless laugh and holds up the quill with a bright smile, miming letters in the air, then dips a finger in the ink and flicks it at Law. It adds another couple of spots to his hat, and a few black ones to that white-stained cheek, and earns him a snort and a middle finger in return. Kid loves that gesture, doesn't he?

"Fine, I'm going," Law says with all the irritation a teenager can pack into a few words, but Rosinante knows he doesn't really mean it so harshly. He won't ask why Law is still here, and Law won't ask why Corazón is in Doflamingo's private quarters, and they'll continue on in this shaky truce until something gives.

3. Pájaros enjaulados

Rosinante's breath rattles in his lungs, now, just like Law's. He can feel the kid's heartbeat against his back, where he's tucked away under that feathered coat, so at least one of the two of them is warm. His own hands are blue-tinted, or were last time he saw them. Blood's going the wrong way. Can't warm his extremities when he keeps leaving it behind in the snow.

Off in the hills above, he can hear the ongoing slaughter as the parasite strings wreak havoc on Diez Barrels' crew. Is that soon to be his fate, too? Maybe this island will become known as the grave of turncoats.

He forces his wandering, slightly delirious mind to focus. He has to get Law out. The glistening strings of the cage surrounding the island shimmer in the starlight, just barely visible, but a far more impenetrable wall than their appearance suggests. This is going to be the only way, now. One of them is warm, one of them will survive. One of them will be free from all of the horrors they've had to brave just to get this far.

And as he sees the stacked chests in the snow up ahead, splashed with the blood of the pirates who had once owned them, he makes a quick decision before they can run out of any more time.

"Cora-san?"

The voice on his back is muffled and shaky, comes as a whisper as Rosinante speeds his pace to reach the hoard before anyone can spot what he's doing. It occurs to him that Law is probably worrying about Rosinante's health again instead of his own. He can surely feel that the strong back carrying him has an ever-weakening heartbeat within, that their ragged breaths echo each other in ways that they weren't earlier that day.

"It's okay, Law. Almost there. We're gonna be safe," he lies.

The response comes as a nod against his back, and hell, he'll take it. Let the kid save his strength. He spots the largest chest in the pile and drops to his knees, shifting Law around to his arms so he can set him inside.

"Okay, Law," he breathes, ignoring the protests of pain in his lungs, his cracked nose, his missing teeth. He doesn't really want to know what his face looks like right now. "This is their blind spot. They won't find you as long as you stay put here."

Hard to say goodbye, even harder to run. Hopefully if the kid remembers anything about him years later, it'll be his smile.

La tregua

[chrysology]

[Ed tilts his head, raising his eyebrow. He can't say he himself isn't also curious, but also that he hasn't pulled the same sort of gesture himself, as a rather troubled teen and all. No names were exchanged so of course he isn't necessarily picking up on the other being Law. Even if Rosinate may or may not have mentioned the other to Ed before.]

What's all that about then? Who was that? What're you doing, copying this?

[Ed himself is no stranger to codes. He himself keeps his own journal written in one that not even his brother could crack.]

the doctor (11) | doctor who

[lateness]

closed to any planned cr —

[lateness]

●●● PART I, 6.0 — wherein we acquire a hat!;

[ The excitement of a real-life painting and a hedge-maze really couldn’t compare to a regular old investigation of the castle they’ve actually found themselves in. Yes, it’s all a bit dusty and he doesn’t know if one dusty room might lead to a far less … pleasant space (please no room full of sharp pointy things), but that’s all a part of the fun, he supposes.

Besides, this is an attempt to really get a good sense of the motivations, the habits, and the lifestyle of the wizard who commands this castle. And if luck is on his side, the orb might just be knocking about it in one of these rooms. That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?

Worse comes to worse — ]

Oh, a closet! Don’t know why I’m surprised to see one here; whole big room for a fancy wizard. Let’s take a look, shall we?

[ Does the Doctor have intentions on perhaps doing a thorough inventory of the inhabitants’ hat collection? Maybe. Oh, he’ll leave something behind as a trade, don’t you worry.

Maybe the orb is in a hat box! ]

Come along, then.

●●● PART II, 7.0 — inside the TARDIS ;

[ The Doctor opens his eyes, one after the other, slowly, a bit dramatically, hands clenched to his sides in fists, as though he’d been expecting something much much worse to happen. But then he’s just … standing on nothing, and this isn’t the first time he’s stood on nothing, there was the Nothing Planet which is a bit of an oxymoron in itself, isn’t it — but ah, another time for that monologue. Right. The thing is, he remembers taking a step forward, because that’s what one does on any sort of planet, nothing or not, and in that instant, everything comes together. Like someone putting a very, very large brush to the scenery around him, shapes and colour and light replaces the darkness, and the Doctor hops forward to catch it in action as it materializes. Large discs bubble up the sides of the walls and fill with light, the floor beneath his feet solidify to glass, and below that, more floor and wires—so many wires. A staircase stretches past the limits of this space, and then another pops up to mirror the other. Both lead to other rooms, though what those rooms might be now are a mystery. Always were.

The light takes on a deep, warm glow contrasted with the sudden green light in the centre of the room. Just a few steps forward, an elaborate console begins to take shape stretching up towards the ceiling with the old familiar wooshing sound that he hasn’t heard for some months now. ]

Oh, I’ve missed you. [ The console beeps and hums with the all familiar sounds of home. This is the TARDIS, the Doctor’s spaceship and, really, his very first companion.

It chimes this time and the Doctor’s expression, wistful and just a little sad, suddenly brightens with laughter. This is all in his head and he knows that, but it still feels so real. Points to his subconscious, then. ] Oy! Not in front of company, eh?

[ Turning back, he offers you an expectant look, like he's absolutely waiting for something. ]

So! What do you think?

●●● PART II, 9.0 — fantastic! ;

[ With every regeneration, the Doctor collects the memories and the lives of his past. Not that he could ever forget a single moment of each regeneration, even if he tried to, but more than that he never wants to. All those lives he touched, all the people who have become an imprint on his hearts, why would he ever want to forget a single second of any of that?

He glances down at his hands, and then down at his front — oh. Oh. Yes, he remembers this. The maroon jumper, the leather coat. The leather coat is so cool. Fantastic. Oh, that tastes nice on his tongue, too. Familiar, that.

He sees you; he remembers this day. Remembers this moment; remembers Rose Tyler, and he watches it all start to take on very vivid detail, about as clear as the (big) ears on his head. Better than the chin, he supposes, though it’s certainly no bowtie, now is it?

Taking your hand, he leans in and utters a warning, his voice firm. His accent sounds a little like he’s from the North. ]

Run.

andromache | the old guard

[oiorpata]

PART I: CASTLE
1.0 - 4.0 🗡 A MAZE

[ this is definitely not andy's first castle but she has to admit it has been a very long time since she had to infiltrate one, and nothing quite like this. ] Castles in this good shape are never this empty.

[ she's got her axe, naturally, strapped to her back, but it's the only weapon she's outwardly carrying, dresses once again in black because it's the only color she seems to like these days. she'll move forward alone, but if she finds herself alongside another orber, she'll easily fall into step with them, even if her steps keep trying to take the lead on instinct. ]

[ she exits one door and ends up... outside? in a hedge garden? she takes her axe out on instinct, even if nothing is happening, but it's an empty suspicious castle. she's not hedging (ha) her bets on no dangers in these, especially when she can't see what's around the corner. ] I hate mazes. This whole thing is a goddamn maze. Stay close, we don't know what might be ahead.

[ whether it's the tree or the sphinx, both of which remain unknown but still a potential threat. ]

5.0 - 6.0 🗡 A SIEGE

[ andy steps through into the next room... and immediately gets soaked in the storm. she doesn't duck for cover, she just sighs, holding up her arm like it'll help her see further. ] Fucking great. We gotta get out of here. Or back inside, I guess.

[ and she will, eventually, though if you asked her how, she'd just complain about stupid doors. she wipes her eyes, face, dripping a little as she explores through the kitchen and library, the latter of which she takes care not to get any of the books wet from her still damp clothes. maybe there are some clues in the books, which she runs her hands over, skimming the titles. in the kitchen, she picks up some of the fruits and makes a face. even she isn't going to eat this. ] Food's going bad. It's been sitting here for a while.

[ in the storage room, she's definitely rummaging through things... perhaps a little too intently. she is looking for something to take back for her personal task, not that she'll admit this aloud, and her investigation is both selfish and for the greater good. ]

PART II: DREAMSCAPES
7.5 🗡 A CROWN

[ the baseline here is a meadow. the grass is high, the sun is bright, and there is a sense of wild, vast openness, like it goes on and on and on. there's a light breeze and the faint smell of a campfire. being here and one cannot help but understand why andy spends so much time in the sunlight room - there's a feeling of peace in this field. at least for now. ]

[ andy stands in the meadow. the grass is high, the sun is bright, but she looks quite different. her dark hair is long, hanging free down her back, and a golden crown sits atop her head, welded with animal bones as part of its design. her belt is leather and gold, fanciful around her waist. though she's wearing pants and a tunic, it's well crafted with animals sewn in patterns over the hemlines, and there's a woolen cape over her shoulders too; gold bangles go up her arms and around her neck, accentuated with one necklace made of bones. she wears no armor, just the gold and bone decor. she looks tribal and regal at once, like the most powerful person in the room. and she is. ]

[ there's an axe in her hand, and if you've seen her around the ship, you've seen it before; it's her labrys, the one thing she carries on her more often than not. it drips blood as she moves, walking over to a golden throne atop a mound, taking her seat with blood spattered across her face too. the air hums with soft whispers like a chant, the language indiscernible as it's a dead one, long dead and never written down. this is a temple, and andy is at the top. ]

[ she can't remember details about this time, but she remembers the feeling, and the dreamscape seems to capture it. it's old and powerful and hollow and lonely, and that's how the atmosphere feels. that's how andy looks. ]

What do you want?

8.0 🗡 A FAMILY

[ andy dreams frequently of her family. often times she is with a vietnamese woman, and the camaraderie is clear. it starts in a desert, finding her lost and hungry, with andy coming to the rescue. they battle together practically in unison, they laugh, they stargaze, they share meals and share a life. they lay side by side in a field, and andy, the real one standing beside her unexpected guest, cannot take her eyes from the sight. this is quynh and not once does she appear in any modern attire - she and andy match in their old school armor or old school comfort clothes, the passage of time marked by the changes in style, but the one thing that remains the same is their niche for combat. it's almost like watching an action-adventure movie, only there's a lot more death as they slay their opponents without hesitancy. ]

[ she doesn't say anything, even when she notices she has company. she just watches quynh. ]

[ or maybe there are flashes of her boys instead. three men, all of them tall, working in tandem with andy in varying styles and eras of fashion from the early 1800s onward - they move as a unit, andy always in the lead. war torn france, both in the 1840s and 1940s. early railroads across north america, tsarist russia, the late ottoman empire. when she isn't dreaming of their missions, she simply dreams of them together: a gambling game. all of three of them bringing her baklava. booker and nicky yelling at the football (soccer) match on the tv while joe and andy wrestle in the background. her affection for these men is undeniable, far from the stoic, distant woman she is on ximilia. the air is warm. she is happy here. they make her happy. ]

[ joe, a middle eastern man with outstanding curls, offers her some baklava. nicky and booker, gangling white men, immediately start betting while andy carefully and gleefully takes a bite. she hums. "aegean, almonds." she keeps eating, enjoying the looks on their faces as she narrows down every ingredient before naming the place: "northwest turkey. on the porsuk river?" joe covers his face in his hands while nicky yells in victorious italian at booker who just drops his head backward on the couch. andy simply enjoys her snack, with joe digging out and offering an entire plateful. ]

It's a game. [ the real andy speaks up, finally, and there is pure fondness in her tone. ] I've never gotten it wrong. But they're determined.

9.0 🗡 A TRAGEDY
closed to existing cr / cw: references to torture, hanging, drowning, blood

[ after the happy scenes of quynh come something worse. the meadow dims, the atmosphere becomes oppressive. haunted. ]

[ there are idle flashes of what looks like something straight out of an inquisition. andy hanging from a noose, swinging side by side with a vietnamese woman, the both of them breathing despite the presented execution while the crowd watches in fear. the pair of them chained to walls inside a prison. it cycles jaggedly through tortures and attempted murders, but the images are blurry sometimes, like she can't quite remember what happened. the grass looks dead, the walls of the prison propped up like a cage. it is a cage, that's how andy relives this experience. ]

"Andromache!"

[ the voice pierces sharply through the scene, and the meadow disappears underneath a sudden rush of water. out of the water pops an iron maiden with a woman inside. she screams again, desperate and wailing and striking deep inside whoever can hear. ] "Andromache!"

[ and then there is andy a part of it this time, her long hair ragged, her white gown filthy and torn and she's chained to a wall some twenty feet away and unable to get free, screaming right back with that same desperation as she lunges for the woman locked up; the handcuffs make her wrists bleed from how hard she fights it, how recklessly she fights. ] Quynh!

[ the coffin slips beneath the water, disappearing. ]

PART III: WILD CARD
0.0 🗡 ????

[ hit me up here for other plotting or for various combinations!! for cr if discussed, if you would like to build up to the more dramatic iron maiden quynh scenes i will gladly start elsewhere and work up to it! c: alternatively we can start at ancient andy and whoosh forward through the quynh story, whatever path you'd like - 7.0 is the most open ended if you wanna start there and do other stuff too! ]

[ i can also be reached on discord @ romanitas#5368 or communism for more plotting or something more personalized! ]

a walk on the wild card

[aurable]

[ A door opens and Drift finds himself stepping into oblivion. Any sense of direction or spatial awareness plummets with him, and Drift is sent reeling to his knees with a half-formed scream shattered on the back of his teeth. Ripples fan out the color of dead space with the hint of starshine beneath his hands. Drift watches in mute awe as the ripples grow and fan out, with each wave bringing with it a hint of color and soon the beginnings of an image. The hot mirage on sunbaked tarmac telling you there's a river, but now the river is there. The scene speaks in a whisper but grows upward and outward into a chorus of sight and sound.

Rolling green hills and a vast clear sky erupt around him with the ferocity of two hands clapping around a gnat. Drift pushes himself to his feet in time to see uniformly blue flowers sprout up around his feet. Blooming all around him until they reach a weather-beaten stone plinth several yards away. Drift squares his shoulders and approaches what he know will be an empty monument with a single name and silent condemnation on all his sins when- ]

No.

[ He reaches out and traces the engraved letters of a language he doesn't recognize and looks up at a holographic image made to look like the stone-carved bust of a strange, handheld weapon he thinks might be an ax. Drift was transfixed, stuck flatfooted looking up at the sight before him. ]

This isn't my field.

R0-GR / Roger Freemaker | Star Wars

[thelastb1]

The Castle

1.0: Roger Roger

So there they are now. In the castle. The whole environment seems warped, but that’s nothing Roger can’t get over. He sort of loiters in the foyer for a while, walking around and considering the possible paths he can take. At certain points, he looks at his antidote for a time in contemplation, then turns to one of his fellow Orbers. “This place shouldn’t be able to put droids to sleep, should it?”

3.0: Roger’s Room

R0-GR’s room does cater to his desires and captivates him as any others does. He is entranced by the elegant and luxurious furniture. Presented on beautiful tables are cans of motor oil of varying weights and viscosities that to Roger are analogous to fine wines. In fact, he spends hours in this room simply sipping from these cans and relaxing on the couches, almost oblivious to what he’s supposed to be doing. However, more than that, it offers him a safe space to work. In the center of the room is a forge and workbench, and although it is of a considerably lower level of technology than Roger is used to working with, it is sufficient for his purposes.

Roger knows that his personal task, to spy on someone for a day undetected, is not something he can complete using his own stealth. However, he is determined to complete his personal goals at any cost. This necessity eventually snaps him out of his daze. So he works on developing a small stealth drone using the machinery that makes up his own body. He removes his own left forearm and hand and his right eye, setting them aside and working using only his remaining hand, spending days in the room working.

He works in secrecy, though if anyone knocks on the door or attempts to open it, he answers by opening it just slightly enough for himself to get through and then holding it shut with his only arm as he addresses them. “Hello. Is there something you need?”

6.0: Roger’s Drone

Eventually, R0-GR completes his work. Once he’s completed the goal, there’s no reason to hide the drone, and doing so may actually be counterproductive. He uses the drone to find the safer and more normal parts of the castle, then actually goes there, mostly hanging out in the kitchen or the library, looking through the books available. The drone sits on his shoulder as he investigates each room.

The drone stands at about 7 centimeters tall, having a single eye and a silver dome-shaped spidery body, with two orange antennae. The drone has six legs that allow it to climb up walls and move almost silently, if it so chooses. Occasionally it simply lurks near Roger as he encounters people, watching them from the shadows in silence.

The Dream

9.1: Nal Kapok

Roger’s first memory, his first dream, is of a galaxy at war. The Clone War, as it was called due to the Galactic’s Republic’s use of clone soldiers, dressed head to toe in white armor. The Seperatist forces, meanwhile, consist mostly of varying types of battle droids, with the clumsy and flimsy B1 Battle Droids making up the vast majority of the droid forces. The war is so great in scope that even the least important battles are fought over entire planets.

But to Roger’s life, the battle of Nal Kapok is far from unimportant. To him, the forest planet hosted the bloodiest and most chaotic battle of his entire life. Roger’s dreamscape shows a forest. Miles above it hovers a Seperatist Lucrehulk battleship, which takes and returns fire from a fleet of Republic Star Destroyers. In the distance, other capital ships fly in similar combat with each other. Starfighters swarm around the ships, some firing bombs or missiles onto the forest below, others crashing, resulting in large fireballs engulfing several of the trees and the soldiers fighting below.

The soldiers, meanwhile, try to survive, avoiding the bombardment from above and the barrage of constant blaster fire from the enemy lines as they return fire. Among them is a single Seperatist B1 Battle Droid, his cream paint job over his entire body covered in a layer of mud, soot, and blood. He runs through the forest, hearing demands spoken to him along with thousands of other droids through his transmission pack in the arrogant voice of a tactical droid, before the antenna is shot off of his back by stray blaster fire. As he runs toward a downed AT-TE tank, hoping it will be empty of clones and that he will be able to take refuge from the bombardment, his voice incoherently babbles a prayer to the Maker that he simply be able to survive the battle. A clone trooper runs in front of him but is shot down by the blaster rifle the lone battle droid carries. Eventually he reaches the six-legged tank, and hides underneath it, aiming his blaster outside and watching what happens in terror. The droid’s designation is R0-GR, and it is he who is the source of the dream.

9.2: The Wheel

“And that’s how I survived the battle of Nal Kapok!” Roger says enthusiastically, now in a childrens’ bedroom with two beds and a crib. Roger now has an orange paint job with a brown torso, with a single mismatched arm still cream colored. However, his paint job is new and pristine, a state much different from his current appearance. He sits on a chair facing two young children, a boy and a girl, with a datapad in one hand and an even younger boy in the other, who sits on a pillow on Roger’s lap. The older boy being named Zander, the girl being Kordi, and the younger boy being Rowan, all with the surname Freemaker. The two older children look at him with expressions of horror, while his own mood is rather chipper. “Right,” he says, putting the datapad on a table beside him. “Your parents told me to get you to bed by 1900 hours, and I’m not programmed to disobey an order.”

Roger puts the children to bed, and after doing so he exits the room, closing the door behind him. He then sees a stranger in his dreamscape. “Oh! H-hey! Are you a client? Because the Freemakers are out on a salvage run. And the shop’s closed.”

9.3: Home One

Around a decade later, Roger observes an award ceremony aboard the starship known as Home One. He, along with the Freemakers who are now teenagers, have joined the Rebellion against the Galactic Empire. Having constructed a starfighter for the Rebellion known as the Arrowhead, a ship capable of destroying entire fleets, the Freemakers are awarded medals and ranks. Kordi is recognized for her intellect and frugality, Zander for his skill as a pilot, and Rowan for his designing of the Arrowhead.

Meanwhile, Roger complains to a nearby pilot about how he, the lone droid member of the family, was not awarded a medal.

9.4: Chandrila

Another decade or so passes, and the Freemaker children are now adults. Rowan has mastered the art of building using the Force, Zander is a racing pilot, and Kordi has moved into the realm of politics. The Rebellion is over, having overthrown the Empire and become the democratic New Republic. The empire is a memory, and the First Order is yet to become a serious threat. There is peace in the galaxy.

Roger stands on the porch of a large house on the planet Chandrila. His own house, with a lake on the side, and a rather expensive speeder car parked out front. Surrounding the house is an open field with a forested area nearby and a large city in the distance. It’s the middle of the night, and he looks out into the stars, to the other planets on which his family are finding their success. In the distance, however, he sees movement: a visitor in his dream world, approaching his home. Roger waves at the approaching figure.

3.0 | Roger's Room

[attackbrows]

Consider this a dull walk in the park for The Doctor. While the castle continues to contort and twist on a whim, the ever so nosy time lord pokes and prod every door, closet, nook and cranny he can set his blue eyes on. Some of the crew members may choose to be polite and knock at Roger’s door, he opts to open first and answer questions later. But Roger is much quicker to the punch when he holds the door steady.

Curious…

The Doctor raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing. Just poking around,” He says while contorting his lips into something akin to a friendly grin.

Yelena Belova | MCU

[laviny]

[All the prompts are open to anyone. If you want something else, or something specific please feel free to hit me up in a PM or at etceteras.]

Exploration

[laviny]

(3.0) Puppies, Puppies Everywhere

[Yelena enters this room and is so surprised by what she sees she almost stumbles. Once her shock passes her face breaks into a genuine grin.]

Puppies.

[Her tone is pure delight. Because, indeed, the room is filled with puppies of various ages, sizes, breeds and breed mixes. They run up to greet her, all wiggly fluff and happy tails as they approach her, eager for attention. One pup in particular, it appears to be a shepherd breed of some kind, is equipped with a vest complete with pockets. She scoops that one up for a closer look.]

Oh. Perfect.

[On the walls are shelves with an assortment of treats and toys. She puts the puppy with the vest down, and gives it a pat on the head before turning her attention to those. She grabs some toys and a bag of treats and then takes a seat on the floor amid the flood of puppies. Some try to climb in her lap. Others try to steal the toys.]

Okay, boys and girls. It’s play time.

[She might be here awhile.]

(5.0) Eye of the Storm

[Yelena regrets leaving the puppy room. Warm puppies are infinitely superior to the rain she suddenly finds herself in the middle of. Honestly, this isn’t even a room. It’s a monsoon, and she’s not happy.

She utters a sullen, Russian curse as she tries to make sense of her new surroundings. She needs to find her way back to the castle, if she can, but she’s got to get her bearings. A sudden flash of lightning startles her, but it also illuminates the area enough that she can see which direction to head in for shelter. It’s not the castle, but it’s better than nothing. She heads toward the cabin, muttering to herself.]

If I die of pneumonia in a magic castle in space I will be so mad.