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TRANQUILIZERS ([personal profile] robbies) wrote in [community profile] memesville2021-03-10 05:07 pm
Entry tags:

TDM - MARCH/APRIL 2021


TEST DRIVE MEME - MARCH/APRIL 2021

It's the day the devil in us gets released.


“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

MARCH 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping.
  • If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas.

  • If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player.
And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time.

By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, the morning news is playing.

With their charity luncheon a rousing success, the Happy Home Association later donated all of their proceeds to the Santa Rosita Planning Commission. Debra, a member of the HHA, said the amount they donated more than ensures that 1961 will be an eventful year for us here in our fair town…

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961.

If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke?

A. DRINK UP.

With March incoming, spring is in the air and everybody seems to be excited to get out of their house and enjoy the good weather. Birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and guys and gals alike are out to take a brisk walk and socialize! Wanting to make sure you’re feeling truly welcome to the town, whether you’re brand new or went through such a wild winter with them, your neighbors will be on their way with gifts aplenty. Delicacies such as tomato aspic and potato salad and bologna cake will ensure that your fridge is full to bursting, and no matter how you try to demur, they’re insistent that you accept their offerings.

March also brings with it St. Patrick’s Day, and some of your neighbors are feeling festive! A knock at the door, and you’ll find yourself confronted with a plate full of 7-Up Cheese Aspic, wiggling and bright. “I saw this recipe and just knew I had to try it!” the beaming cook says, pushing it into your hands. “And with St. Patrick’s Day coming up, we should all be getting in the spirit, right?”

The combination of cheese cubes, raw onions, and green olives in a mixture of lime jello and fizzy 7-Up might be a bit off-putting to some. But you never know until you try! Go on, give it a whirl!

B. SPRING CLEANING.

It’s a beautiful, picturesque Saturday in the neighborhood—the sun rising, banishing the dark shadows of night, the birds beginning to peep and tweet, the morning dew sparkling on the grass…

“Morning, neighbor!”

“Hello, pal!”

“Time to brush off the cobwebs, huh, fellows?”

“You said it!”

And as one, several lawn mowers come to life with a synchronized roar, breaking the peace of your quiet Saturday morning.

All over the neighborhood, windows are being thrown wide and the mops and brooms, hedge clippers and lawn mowers, gardening and carpentry tools alike are being brought out as the townsfolk set to combing every inch of their house and yard (and in Mr. Martin’s case, literally!) to bring it to order after a long winter. Everybody has a job, from the oldest old man to the youngest child, and everybody’s pitching in to do their part and ensure Santa Rosita enjoys another beautiful year.

And don’t think they’ll leave you, their new neighbor and best friend, out of the picture! You might emerge from your house one day to pick up the paper and find there’s a Robbie in your front yard, whistling cheerfully as he prunes your front hedges. One of your neighbors might make a cracking joke about how they can’t have you feeling left out as he rolls his lawn mower into your yard, or you might receive some new gifts in the form of seedlings and sprouts all ready to be hardened off and planted (you do know what that means and how to do it, don’t you?). Careful—if you let that salt linger too long on your car, one of the well-meaning neighbor kids might take some initiative and wash it for you! Watch out—first they’ll come for you with the hose for a laugh, but then they’ll come for your wallet when they beam and hint that, “Oh, it was nothing… I was happy to do it…”


HAPPY FAMILIES.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping…

Hey, hold on a second—haven’t we been through this already?

When your eyes open to the sound of your alarm, there’s something pinging at the back of your mind—you might not be able to place what it is right away, but something’s wrong. Maybe it’s the feeling of your pajamas, or maybe the sheets are a slightly greener shade of blue, or maybe your alarm is a tiny bit shriller than it usually is… but whatever it is, it’s got all your senses on alert. Getting up and out of bed, it may become immediately obvious—or maybe not, if your “spouse” has already woken up and gone downstairs for the day.

But sooner or later, you’ll find that your loving family is no longer your loving family.

Something weird is going on with Santa Rosita, and whatever force brought you here seems to be on the fritz. Your “family” can change by the day—you might go to bed in your home on Mockingbird Lane and wake up in an entirely new family on Loomis Drive. Curiously, your belongings seem to travel with you… most of the time. Sometimes they’ll be lost in transit, and that lovely little black dress you bought at Honeybee’s has somehow ended up in one of your neighbors’ closets. Hopefully you’re on good terms with your neighbors so that you can get your stuff back!

Your neighbors seem entirely nonplussed by the frequent swapping of households. Ask any of them and they’ll say you’ve always lived there, that your son has always been your son, and you’ve never had a daughter, silly! As all the photos in your house seem to change along with them, it’ll be hard to find anything that might prove them wrong.

TOPSY-TURVY.

While your families are constantly shifting, that doesn’t seem to be the only thing going sideways. The entire city of Santa Rosita seems to be in a state of flux—days might go from mild at dawn to scorching by noon and back to December snow by dusk. Winds howl in single gusts before dying down, and rain falls such that you can stand on one side of the curtain of rain and stay dry while you stick your hand into the deluge two feet away.

Doors in your home cannot be trusted; similar to December, it’s possible for them to open up to entirely different locations. However, unlike December, the doors don’t all lead to a singular place—where they’ll lead at any given moment is anyone’s guess! You might find yourself on the other side of town, back at the site of the now-gone Christmas village, or even in one of your neighbors’ houses. Maybe you can use your bedroom for a quick commute to work or school if you get lucky or are persistent enough? Curiously, locations like city hall and the police department never pop up when you find somewhere new on the other side of your door; neither will NPC households.

As if that wasn’t enough, ghosts and goblins seem to appear and disappear with the changing of the hour. Paranormal activity of all types run rampant, ranging from innocuous to intense. You may return home to find that everything in your kitchen has been shifted by two inches… or you may wake up to find your dresser floating midair and coming back down to the ground with a resounding crash! Ghosts appear, dressed in any style and fashion up through those of 1961 (or sometimes, strangely, in clothing that’s odd and futuristic for Santa Rosita’s quaint streets), and it might be possible to find other mythical creatures around the town from time to time, though the storybook unicorns and witches seem to disappear whenever you get too close. Further, there’s something that seems to have taken up residence under your bed, though it’s never there when you try to look or catch it. But how else do you explain its cold, withered, knobbly fingers as they lock around your ankle if your leg hangs off the bed at night? Its sharp nails scratching at your heels as it tries to grab you when you get out of bed in the middle of the night? The sound of breathing that fills your room at night and the faint clammy breath on your face in the instant before you open your eyes?

Wandering packs of zombie children may show up in your neighborhoods in the night—surely you’ve stocked up on pumpkins to make a new jack-o’-lantern, right? Doppelgangers and ferthurs appear and disappear in shifts; you may be looking out the window when it happens: A slight shift in the air, almost like a video ripping, and they’re gone, transported back to wherever they came from. Maybe they were chasing you when they disappeared; you might turn around to find that nothing is there (was it ever?).

Still other are the mysterious figures you might see around town. You’ll find that no matter how often you see them, you’ll never be able to describe them to someone else; the words will escape you every time. Are they short? Tall? Stout? Petite? Dark hair? Light hair? Smiling? Frowning? Nobody who sees them can agree, but one thing is for sure: They’re watching you, and they’ll appear at random, whether that’s standing in your corner watching you sleep or trailing after you through the grocer’s. None of the NPCs will notice these figures, though they do seem to give them a wide berth if possible—almost like they can unconsciously sense the prospect of danger.

The only respite from the chaos seems to be that not everything happens at once, and at other times of the month the city is downright peaceful. There’s no reason or rhyme to the starts and stops of the monsters, the figures, the doors or the weather; check the almanacs and mark the night skies (when it isn’t hidden behind snowfall or turbulent clouds), but try as you might, you won’t be able to find a pattern.

All you can do is hope that this passes quickly.


OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's third TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

We’re Still Here is taking a short pause for the months of March and April. This TDM will span both months and we encourage everybody to tag out, tag in, backtag, and start new threads as you please! Apps will reopen in May.

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as a real game-wide event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream.

Please note that there is a lot going on in this TDM — this is intentional! We wanted to give you, the players, a full world and event to play with that could last beyond the usual event or TDM cycle. You may cherry-pick from the above prompts as you please and take reasonable liberties as you would like; if you have any questions, you may use the mod top-level below to ask them.

For current players, the Housing page has been updated with new assignments! These assignments are temporary and will be subject to shuffling once more at the end of the pause. As detailed in the above prompts, you may play with shifting housing as often as you would please; for those of you who do not want to make use of this prompt, the new Housing assignments are there for your convenience.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Please be sure to label any threads with relevant content warnings as necessary. Any questions for the mods can be asked in the mod top-level below (please note that due to the pause, these questions may be answered more slowly than normal!). For new and prospective players, please make use of the Prospective Rolodex!

▶ NAVIGATION ◀
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OOC INFO premise | rules | faq | taken | applications | hiatus/drop/canon updates | reserves | mod contact
SETTING INFO calendar | setting | housing | npcs | death and tranquilizing | the story so far | event suggestions/engagements

terminater: (priscilla ❌ 14463127)

nathan summers (marvel comics)

[personal profile] terminater 2021-03-11 03:30 am (UTC)(link)
Gotcha a 90s-flavored edgelord over here.
Edited 2021-03-11 03:31 (UTC)

loki odinson | mcu

[personal profile] dothelokimotion - 2021-03-11 10:07 (UTC) - Expand

Full Frontal | Gundam Unicorn

[personal profile] frontality - 2021-03-11 20:16 (UTC) - Expand

Long John Silver | Black Sails

[personal profile] coercings - 2021-03-12 01:06 (UTC) - Expand

Ianto Jones | Torchwood

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matt murdock | marvel 616

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ellen ripley | alien (series)

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miracleilluminated: (Default)

Jesse Faden | Control

[personal profile] miracleilluminated 2021-03-11 12:20 am (UTC)(link)
Happy Families

[ when she wakes up, she's confused at first, but after acquainting herself with places like the oceanview motel, the ashtray maze, and other planes of reality in general, this is not so troubling. what is troubling is that her gun is missing, and she can't use-- or feel-- her powers anymore. abilities she's had her entire life, an awakening from a paranatural entity she's known her entire life, one that's almost felt like... a mother to her.

jesse sits at the side of her bed, her hands curled into fists, gently shaking. her eyes dart around the unfamiliar room, taking in everything that she can. which one of these things is going to try and eat her? hell, maybe this whole place is just one big place of power, and nothing makes sense. in a way, that was almost... comforting? she had to remind herself, jesse, you're the director. you're the director. it's time to get up and figure this shit out. that's your job.

so, that's what she did. jesse got up, went to the closet, and rifled through the clothes inside. she scrunched her nose at the row of 60s floral dresses that waited for her, and grabbed a pair of the slacks and jackets hanging from her 'husband's' side. that, plus a blouse and some heels, and she had something she could work with all of a sudden. "welp," she thought. "no time like the present, right?" and so she casually entered the hallway, studying the pictures of her 'family' with muted interest, before stepping down the stairs towards the smell of coffee. oh? there was someone else here. ]


"Oh. Hey." she said, unaffected. "This is weird, huh? So, who are you?"

Spring Cleaning

[ well, when you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? jesse caught on pretty quick about what the ins and outs of this place were. when her neighbors start to look like they're preparing for war, she stands at the doorstep in her yellow rubber ducky pajamas and sips quietly on her coffee like there was absolutely nothing wrong. it was weird... right? she guessed that's why it felt so normal to her. when the neighbor across the street, a portly, middle-aged fellow, jogs over a spare lawnmower (who has a spare lawnmower? ], she waves with a tight-lipped smile. ]

Thanks, Joe! Say hi to the wife for me! [ jesse gently shakes her head. ] I live in the city. I don't even know how a lawnmower works.

WILDCARD

[ thirteen here, batman player. i'm just kinda voice testing and messing around. if you wanna throw whatever at me, i'll roll with absolutely anything you tag me with! otherwise, hit me up at [plurk.com profile] BATGUY ]
Edited 2021-03-11 00:21 (UTC)
inpersonation: (𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋. 🏠 𝑬𝑯.)

( prompt: spring cleaning. )

[personal profile] inpersonation 2021-03-12 11:57 am (UTC)(link)
I don't either but if you let me look at its mechanics, I can probably get an idea of how it works.

[ noelle is getting really sick and tired of changing family-to-family - she literally ran away to avoid this shit, holy fuck - but she does her best to keep her pleasant 'blossom' act going.

which means she's got to try and be helpful as possible without raising suspicions on her. ]
It's definitely an engine-powered one- [ which makes noelle wonder why the guy had a spare one. aren't these expensive? ] -and hmmm... looks like he left us fuel? I guess it hasn't been given any yet.

[ thanks, asshole. ]
terminater: (priscilla ❌ 14463196)

nathan summers (marvel comics)

[personal profile] terminater 2021-03-11 03:15 am (UTC)(link)
🎵 arrival; hey, look at me, casually—
[The man called Cable. The Askani'son. Nathan Dayspring. Nathan Christopher Charles Summers. Whatever you want to call him, there is one fact about him that remains unchanged no matter where — or when — he finds himself: It takes a great deal to surprise him. Case in point, this setup. Being one of the few people on Earth who can brag about riding a dinosaur, waking up in a time period that is most definitely not his own hardly fazes him. In fact, when he wakes up, the only thing that truly perturbs him is that all of his gear has been taken from him — namely his guns. And the fact that all of his powers are gone. And that his body has (seemingly) been purged of a terminal, techno-organic illness.

The point is, there are a lot of other things to worry about before he sets his sights on the other people in the house. It's only after Nate wakes up and clinically, coldly assesses his situation (no powers, no TO, unarmed, potential hostage situation—) that he gets to work and jumps — or rather, sneaks — into action, working quickly and quietly before anyone else in the house knows that he's awake. There isn't any wire or rope around, but bed sheets work just as well in a pinch. It's important to know how to improvise.

What happens next depends on a few things.

a. To the unlucky soul sharing a bedroom with him, or anyone older than sixteen, you'll wake up in bed. Tied to the bed. With your wrists and ankles bound to the posts, it's likely that you'll be very uncomfortable. It's also likely that you may not immediately notice the huge white-haired man — easily 6'8 with a bodybuilder's physique and a stern, boxy face — in the room. He's wearing blue pajamas with yellow ducks on them. His left eye is white, blind. His sleeve is tied off where his left arm should be. He's sitting on the bed across from yours, or leaning against the doorway, looking remarkably calm.

b. To the younger children in the house, you won't receive such rough treatment. Waking up in bed, arms and legs free, everything will seem (comparatively) normal until you spot him, sitting on the ground with his legs crossed. He's patiently meditating as he waits for you to wake up.

His first words to you are the same no matter who you are:]


Hi, my name’s Nathan. I'd like to ask you a few questions.


drink up; walking away like action movie hero boy.
[So, fun fact about Nate: This isn't the first time he's been kidnapped and thrown into a Stepford hellhole populated by smiling zombies. Unlike that time, he still has all of his memories and knows exactly who he is, what he's all about. (The smiling zombies aren't brainwashed supervillains, though, so that's a plus.) So he also remembers that one of the things he really doesn't like is when people don't listen to him. Also, bologna.

The first few times his house gets a Robbie visitor, he accepts it, even takes it in stride. Takes all the inane small talk, the mile-a-minute chattering, the terrible food that either comes soaked in butter, drenched in mayonnaise, or encased in jello — sometimes all at once. But after the fifth visitor, it starts getting a little old, and when his fridge gets so cramped he can't even see the milk or eggs anymore over the LOADSAJELLO, that's when he draws the line. From this day forward, any Robbie that doesn't listen to him the first time gets grabbed by their collar or the back of their shirt like a misbehaving kitten, hauled off the porch, and thrown into the walkway. Somehow, he manages this with only one arm. Also somehow, he doesn't immediately recognize that you're not a Robbie.]


No salesmen, visitors, or jello-and-bologna cakes. Go. Away.

[It doesn't matter if you've never seen him in your life; at this point, even knocking on the door triggers a Pavlovian response. You might be able to beat him to the punch or get a word out edgewise before he tosses you out.]


topsy-turvy; in slow-mo, everything glowing.
[When the going gets bad, Cable has a few mottos, private ones he keeps under the vest but close to his heart:

Be the person you were meant to be. Help them. Do what mom and dad always do. Save them.

He also has one that's even more secret than that, one he whispers to himself in only the direst of times, the darkest of hours.

When in doubt, do what Deadpool does.

Guess which one he picks here.

The streets of Shadyside are rife with Doppelgangers spider-walking around, ferthurs shrieking before they lunge at anything they set their eyes on, and undead children armed with knives and sharp garden tools. Going outside is dangerous. Going alone is suicidal. Luckily, you won't have to worry about either of those for very long.

Alone on the street, the sound of hoofbeats hammering on the pavement is sharp and distinct in the air. A few seconds later, blood hits you like juice from a ripe tomato, square in the face, as a golden horn shoves its way through the face of whatever monster is menacing you. The thing falls, and behind it is a beautiful, white horse with a rainbow mane and a sparkling horn. Sitting bareback atop it is Nate, looking as deathly serious as the situation warrants.

He digs his legs into the unicorn's sides and takes his hand off the horse long enough to offer it to you.]


Come with me if you want to live, [he grimly says, like this is the most important thing in the world.

This is probably the worst thing you've seen today.]


a. [Unfortunately, no matter how sparkly that unicorn's horn is, your luck runs out eventually. Speeding to safety through the streets, you might notice the unicorn is beginning to look at little... transparent. Nate notices too. He doesn't have a chance to say what he needs to say before it disappears, quite literally vanishing into thin air.

You have to figure how painful it would be to fall from the back of a galloping horse — well, unicorn — so the landing isn't likely to be very pleasant at all. If you're lucky, you'll end up on someone's lawn or in a bush, cushioned by the wall. At worst, you'll end up face down on the street.

Nate gets the best of both worlds, landing between someone's yarn and the sidewalk, faceplanted into the grass. He miserably spits out a few blades of grass and drags himself to his feet.]


Stab his eyes... [His voice is a groan and his head is pounding as he walks towards you, rubbing his back. As he kneels and offers a hand to you, he says,] Didn't see that coming... You okay?


wildcard; and blowing to bits, including me.
[i mean, if you want, i won't tell you how to live.]
[ooc: yeah, this is going to be weird. if you want to plot something, throw me a PM!]
Edited 2021-03-11 06:20 (UTC)
inpersonation: (𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋. 🏠 𝑯𝑹𝑮𝑵𝑯.)

( prompt: arrival. )

[personal profile] inpersonation 2021-03-11 07:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ oh what in the everloving fuck.

you've got to give noelle some leeway for reacting the way she does: immediately shooting up and scrabbling back to the headboard of her bed, keeping much distance between her and the new guy as she can manage. she doesn't look scared, as most should be.

instead she looks... focused? definitely angry, wondering how the hell this happened (again) as she tries to keep some semblance of control on her side. after her hand seems to reach behind her, checking for something (the knife she has under her pillow at all times now, since she found herself all alone in her previous house), does noelle relax.

the intense expression melts to what seems to be a mixture confusion and apprehension, like she's uncertain of something or someone, with the man in her room and all. ]


... It'll depend on the questions, I think? [ she uses blossoms's soft voice for this one and will totally pretend that stutter was part of the act. noelle still doesn't feel comfortable enough to let people hear her real voice and she's glad she resisted the immediate urge to curse. ] If the first question is what I think it is- Then my name is Blossom D'Orsay.

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Wildcard~

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dothelokimotion: (We do not have answers)

loki odinson | mcu

[personal profile] dothelokimotion 2021-03-11 10:05 am (UTC)(link)
( i. arrival ) ( cw: mentions of strangulation )

[ my undying — my undying —

loki wakes up with a gasp, his chest heaving. every nerve that should be in pain tingles in remembrance of it. tentatively, his shaking fingers travel to his throat, wincing as he touches the absent marks. gone. all gone. but how? and where was he? there were too many questions buzzing in his head. thankfully, loki knew how to prioritize. especially since he immediately noticed he wasn't alone. quickly, he slows his breathing, keeping his eyelids closed. in and out. normal.

then quick as a flash, he straddles the person's hips next to him, conjuring a knife to stab — except nothing appears. loki flicks his fingers once more except there's nothing. not even a flicker of magic.

he looks down at the person below him. the person looks up at him. loki sighs. ]


Well. This is awkward.


( ii. drink up )

[ loki forces on his most vapid smile as he accepts plate after plate. it is through sheer effort and centuries of perfecting his skills at lying that helps him get through this. though, in another life, he might have been touched at the return of mortals offering him worship. now, of course, he was just as mortal as the rest of them.

no, he thinks, looking at the pale skin under his fingernails, you're still disguised, a wolf among sheep.

loki puts that thought aside, grimacing at the food he's accumulated. what is he to do with all of this? finally, he simply picks it up and heads to his neighbour's house. anyone who stops him along the way will have the plate shoved at them with a bright smile. ]


You look starved. Please. Help yourself.


( iii. spring cleaning )

[ cleaning is a servant's job and not one loki enjoys. however, if he is going to live anywhere, he will make sure it keeps to his standards and no one else's. and he doesn't take too kindly of these "robbies" coming into his space and touching his things. any one of the kids coming to beg pennies off loki is in for a surprise.

well, not that big of a surprise. loki merely picks up the hose and points it at them point blank as they're drenched from the water, not a hair out of place. they run away, squealing. loki holds it up like a pistol, ready and loaded as he mutters under his breath. ]


That'll teach them.


( iv. wildcard )

[ got something specific in mind? feel free to pm this journal. ]
Edited 2021-03-11 10:08 (UTC)
demonicmiracle: (122)

i; bc im terrible

[personal profile] demonicmiracle 2021-03-12 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
[It's been a weird... amount of time. Between getting back his ability to shift, Aziraphale sensing love again, the locals acting particularly insistent about cleaning, the bloody specters he keeps seeing, lurking around town.

And now there's someone straddling him, which he's like — absolutely fine with, until he opens his eyes and realises it isn't who he's expecting. He blinks blearily up at Loki, his eyes fully yellow aside from the thin slit of his pupil, but fortunately he's resigned enough to this place to not immediately panic.]


You're not my husband.

[No shit.]

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iii. spring cleaning

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frontality: (face - you'll never feel)

Full Frontal | Gundam Unicorn

[personal profile] frontality 2021-03-11 08:15 pm (UTC)(link)
I.a) March 1st Only 1 spousal tag-in and two children tag-ins max, please!
    [ It's quiet. Frontal wakes and feels as if his head is wrapped in cotton, his senses dulled unbearably from their usual acute psychic sensitivity. He's slept more than he has in weeks and he feels groggy from it as he sits up. The room is unfamiliar, but that in itself doesn't phase him much. He feels as if he had just been freshly created only he knows for a fact that that isn't true - so then what? Frontal swings his legs off the bed and does make use of the fuzzy slippers that his new lodging seems to have generously provided.

    If this is your house as well, you can find a large blond man in his pajamas in about every part of the house, wandering and mentally taking inventory of what is present - he lingers by the pictures longer than anything, but he does not seem panicked by any of it. He just looks tired. If he notices you first, he might turn and ask: ]


    Does the name 'Char Aznable' mean anything to you?
I.b) Happy Families - An Eternity of March
    [ Waking up gets easier with the next family and then the next one after. Though he does not like it, Frontal now has a clear enough idea of what it is that is expected of him. There is no aimless wandering now. He wakes and gets dressed in whatever it is his closet provides and he puts on sunglasses - even before heading to breakfast. ]

    Good morning. My name is Full Frontal and I have apparently been assigned as the father of this family for the time being.

    [ Toast, anyone? He's making toast. ]

    In the interest of keeping things running smoothly, let's exchange basic information and then we can all be on our way.
II. Getting To Know The Neighbours
    [ Frontal accepts the various food items with a curt polite thanks and just... kind of leaves them in the kitchen for whoever is currently his family to deal with - or throw away, really.

    The flower seeds catch his interest more - by now he's explored a lot of the town and is, frankly, just running out of things to do. In all his few years of existence he's never not been excessively busy, so the amount of free time bothers him.

    Thus you can find him in the garden (sunglasses still on!) staring down a few flower seedlings pensively, a little shovel in hand. Planting things does not sound hard but Frontal knows there are intricacies to matters that may not be immediately apparent. In the end, unless someone offers a helping hand, he will place the seedlings by the porch and wander off in the direction of the library. Doing it by the book is the safest way to get it right! ]
III. Topsy Turvy
    [ Who wears sunglasses at night? Frontal does. If you're out late at night to watch (or run from) the parade of ghosts that has taken over the residential area today, you might find Frontal leaning on his house's fence, silently watching. Whether his eyes are open or closed is impossible to tell through his tinted glasses, but his brows are clearly furrowed.

    Why can't he feel these spirits? Why can't he feel anything at all? ]
IV. Network Time
    If you would take the time to answer some questions for me, it would be much appreciated.

    First, is 1961 the year that you expected it would be?

    If your answer to the above is 'yes', thank you for your time. I don't need anything else from you. If the answer is 'no', please let me know if there are arguments that speak against finding temporary employment in this town and what sort of profession you would recommend for one of solely military background. Thank you.
V. Wildcard!

    [ Hit me with whatever! Frontal can be found all over town, studying his surroundings. He's always wearing sunglasses and generally hard to startle. Meet him while you're dealing with ghosts, show up in his house, run wild! If you want to plot out something specific, PM me or hit me at [plurk.com profile] AppleBlossoms! ]
lithograph: (pic#14689634)

III

[personal profile] lithograph 2021-03-11 10:10 pm (UTC)(link)
... can't sleep, neighbour?

[ quattro calls from his porch, where he's pouring himself some tea. ]

Come and have something warm to drink. It can't be comfortable out there staring and watching all this time.

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wildcard, because i am special

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I. b.) Happy Families

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coercings: <user name=bungalows> (I throw the evidence into a trunk)

Long John Silver | Black Sails

[personal profile] coercings 2021-03-12 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
i. drink up;
[ The only thing saving Silver is his ability to adapt, and that's something he's always done incredibly quickly. It's a survival instinct, a defense mechanism he's had since youth, and one that had seen him through both the best and worst of Nassau's beautiful port. The general approach is that you learn what you can as quickly as you can, absorbing information from everything be it your surroundings, the people around you, and your own experiences, and then hope for the best--and it's something that's worked for him, every single time. Being generally likable helps a little and charm helps a lot. He's got enough of it that he chalks the strange neighbors brushing off his initial confusion about everything as such. They even welcome him to town, all of them with too bright smiles. But for all of his tricks, for all of his survival instincts, and for all of his quick thinking, he truly has no idea what the fuck to do.

This is the fifth dish of what he can only presume is food that's being presented to him on his doorstep. A doorstep to a home that he'd just woken up to moments prior, with uncomfortable fabric and strange manner of dressing. 1961 is a far cry from 1715, everything foreign and unwanted to him, but none can quite top the near-quivering, bright green dish he'd just received.
]

I have plenty, but thank you. [ He's in the middle of reassuring the woman with far too many curls in her hair (rich, coming from someone like him), leaning on the doorframe to compensate for his missing leg. His smile is wide, friendly, matching the woman grin-for-grin, though his eyes tell a far different story. In fact, they lock onto someone who looks similarly out of place--at the very least they don't have the same look in their eyes--and as the woman leaves him with the plate (she insists), the moment she's out of earshot he can't help himself, calling to the person who's met his gaze previously: ]

Forgive me--if you could spare but a moment and separate yourself from what is no doubt an extremely important task and answer a simple question of mine, I would be truly grateful.


ii. topsy turvy;
[ John Silver's able to adjust as well as anyone who's spent all of 24 hours in this strange place--he's beginning to recognize that his plight is far from a dream and is, in fact, a reality that he has to come to terms with: that the warm sun and the commerce of Nassau is more distant than he'd he'd care for, and what is far more closer to his new reality is cool weather and brightly coloured frocks.

What comes next, of course, is simple information gathering. He's got a few dos and donts under his belt already, mostly from keeping an eye out at the strange people's behaviour. There are two types of people in this place, he's surmised: those that smile far too much and those that seem to at least be slightly aware that something's not right.

Perhaps he's being too paranoid. Perhaps this is some sort of reward, a place where he no longer has to worry about survival--or perhaps it's a punishment, thrusting him into civilization fully, a cruel, taunting jape at what Silver sacrificed to find himself some semblance of peace.

He's not doing much of anything--contemplating what's happened, really, staring out the window of what appears to be his own house--when he hears something in the next room creek. A door, he notes more precisely, which means someone else is in here, and his assigned family is out for the day. Silver is supposed to be alone.

He's no longer a stealthy person, as he has to contend with a missing leg and a crutch now, but a man in his world is never unarmed and Silver is no exception. The moment he woke up here he found his way to the kitchen and it had taken him almost no time to zero in on a knife. He maneuvers himself to the only exit from the room the intruder is currently in, blade at the ready, Silver poised to place the weapon at their throat the moment they walk out and into the hallway. ]


iii. wildcard;
[ Feel free to have Silver out and about--he's a pretty unique looking guy, what with the one leg and the whole pirate style. He'll be wandering around town as best as he can, trying to figure out what everyone's doing. Feel free to assume he's at your characters' favourite haunt, or even their house courtesy of the teleporting door shenanigans! If you want a personalized starter or have any questions, hmu at [plurk.com profile] whitespire. ]
ourworldnow: (Default)

drink up

[personal profile] ourworldnow 2021-03-12 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
You can't stop them. Sorry, man.

[Louis is making a big assumption about what the question is, but he'd had pretty much the same one on his first week. Even having gone his teenage years sans yummy sweets thanks to a never ending walking dead apocalypse, a man had to know when he just had too much salad floating in jello. Yet there was no turning the Stepford House Wives away.

He offers a sympathetic look, at least. As he ambles up to occupy the doorway to delay the next wave of Friend Brainwashed Neighbors from arriving.]


They're like death and taxes.

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drink.

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sketchbookings: (029)

Benedict Bridgerton ✦ Bridgerton

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-03-12 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
✦ i. march 1st ( open to one spouse + two children)


[ The whole thing is very, very disorienting.

It's the sound of a (friendly) car horn blaring outside that jostles Benedict awake. It's a sound not heard in Mayfair, and he wonders, for the briefest of moments, if one of his siblings is in the midst of a horrible sort of prank. But this is not his room in Bridgerton House. This is ... Well, Benedict can't even quite begin to imagine where this is. The entire room just looks wrong.

The lamps alone are enough to make Benedict uneasy and confused. But then there appears to be some sort of lamp attached to the ceiling, and Benedict can't understand how one's meant to light it without a visible candle or even a sensible candle holder in place. And the clothes ... And the photographs (Benedict is perplexed enough by how precise the painting seems to be in these bizarre pictures to put his questions about the clothes on hold) ... And none of that really even compares to the fright he gets when he stumbles his way down the stairs and hears the television.
]

What the bloody hell is this about?

[ Forgive his language, he's desperate. And more than a little glad he hasn't swooned from shock. ]


✦ ii. spring cleaning


[ Benedict is only scarcely aware that he's basically going through the motions. He's reached a certain point where it seems that his brain is guiding his body along, as if he's moving through a dream, with no real rhyme or reason to dictate his actions. He's changed from the bizarre bed-clothes into equally bizarre daily wear. The fit feels strange, the fabric too stiff, but needs must.

Not knowing what else to do, Benedict makes his way outside.

It's a choice he partially regrets. While everyone seems to be remarkably friendly, and even familiar with him - to some extent - Benedict is as unprepared for the sound of the lawnmowers as he was for the television. It makes him jump, almost retreating back into the supposed safety of the house. Then a neighbour comes by and asks if Benedict has his own mower, and seems to take Benedict's confusion to mean no. After the strange makes a comment about how the mower must not have survived the move, he generously says Benedict can borrow his, and he's gone before Benedict can politely decline.

Tentatively, Benedict walks towards the lawnmower, and looks helplessly between it and anyone else who might be outside.
]


✦ iii. topsy turvy


[ Having now grown somewhat brave (though still entirely uncertain of what's happening), Benedict has taken to playing with the television set. He's learned by now how to change the channel to one of the other three networks, and he marvels at the different programs he comes across. How any of this is possible, he can't say, but he imagines his siblings would positively love this.

At first, he doesn't pay much mind to the movement he sees out of the corner of his eyes. Other people live in this home, too, and at first he assumes one of them is slipping by to another room. Except that after the third or fourth time, he realizes how quiet the movement is, and he turns his head just in time to catch the glimpse of a shadow retreating around a corner.
]

Hello?

[ When there's no answer, Benedict assumes it's an intruder. He's a gentleman so he knows how to shoot a pistol, and he knows how to fence, but he has neither pistol nor sword. He likes to think he can throw a reasonable punch, though. If his sister can knock a man out, then certainly he can.

Benedict soon finds out that the shadow figure was not a person at all, though, as the next room is empty. He can't deny the way he feels immediately unsettled. Ghost stories are just that, and yet a part of his mind can't drop the idea that he's both alone and not alone at all.

He does what he decides is the most sensible course of action - he leaves his house, television set still on, and walks to the home of one of his neighbour's to knock on the door. Surely someone else can help.

Right?
]


✦ iv. wildcard


Choose your own adventure! Anything is on the table, so feel free to go ham. You can also hit me up at [plurk.com profile] blackspire for anything.
coercings: <user name=bungalows> (Lie awake)

topsy turvy;

[personal profile] coercings 2021-03-12 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He's positive it's one of his neighbours with too-bright smiles. It has to be, simply because they're the only people who have knocked on his door. He's been here only for a few days, and while he has ventured out, it's never been for too long--although once, he took what was described to him as a bus, and it went so fast Silver's knuckles were white the entire time.

When he opens the door and is faced with another man, his face remains mostly impassive, although his blue eyes flick up and down the other. A quick assessment--a habit that's been ingrained in him for a very, very long time. Not one of Them, it seems.

He himself seems fairly harmless, for as imposing as his facial hair and long curls are (he may be wearing a suit but he refuses to tie all of his hair up, just enough to get it out of his face), he's missing a leg and leaning heavily on the door frame. ]


If this is about food, I'm happy to announce that our cupboards are quite far from being bare, and it will not be necessary.

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killedbyapig: (their frail deeds might have danced)

robert baratheon | a song of ice and fire

[personal profile] killedbyapig 2021-03-12 07:49 am (UTC)(link)
[A]

[there are several reasons Robert wakes up already suspicious. for starters, he hadn't thought he'd wake up. there was the possibility that whichever of the seven hells he'd been damned to involved comfortable beds and some of the strangest smallclothes he'd ever seen in his life, but, there was no way he could be that lucky.

then, he notices the strange, small portraits around the room, of himself, with a strange woman and even stranger children treating him familiarly, and he realizes he hadn't been lucky at all.

he feels his suspicions being further confirmed by the witch-box he finds in what seems to be a... he frowns. it's certainly some sort of home, but unlike any he's ever seen: it's far too small to be even a minor lord's keep, and the smallfolk don't have such fine furnishings, or glass in their windows... ah, now there's an idea, he thinks, as he hoists the witch-box over his shoulder and tosses it directly through the front window. he's pretty strong! he gets some good distance with it! and, as it sits, fizzling, on the grass of the front lawn, he brings his slippered foot down upon it. always good to start off things by showing the other bastards who's king.]


[B]

[there is a time, eventually, when Robert comes to terms with the fact that, wherever he is, it is not any of the hells. this time happens to coincide exactly with the first time he eats bologna cake.

honestly? robert is Vibing. he has no kingly duties, no courtly intrigue, no crippling crown debt. he has no (at least he assumes) evil, scheming wife and terrible children. he has no being dead. what he has is cold beer, a tray of lunch meats balanced on an idle lawn mower, and a front lawn that he has become incredibly emotionally invested in the care and keeping of. which is why when a robbie decides he wants to help out his neighbor, he roars, chasing him off with the hedge clippers in one hand and his beer in another.]


Come near my hedges again, and I'll chop your cock off and feed it to your whore wife! [so, overall, just really going great.]
riceandbeans: (005)

b - if king bob is here his archenemy must follow

[personal profile] riceandbeans 2021-03-12 12:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Walter Hartwell White is a man used to scheming under the guise of normal domesticity. His initial arrival to Santa Rosita is bumpy to say the least, but he excels in maintaining a fake family life and interacting with the robbies. All while continuously plotting his own escape.

In fact, while Walt is having a intellectually-draining conversation about the best brand of lawn mower with one of them, he can’t help but overhear his bear-like neighbor roaring at one.

This naturally sets up some alarms off in his head, and he politely excuses himself from this conversation, trudging across his neighbor’s well-trimmed lawn and calling out for his attention. Like he’s here to discuss the weather. ]


Robert! Hey, Robert! Aha. I was, ah, hoping to discuss your - your lawncare with you!

[ And as soon as Walt as close as King Bob will let him get, the former teacher’s tone devolves to condescending daggers. ]

What the hell is wrong with you?

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torchwoodteaboy: (welp)

Ianto Jones | Torchwood

[personal profile] torchwoodteaboy 2021-03-12 07:19 pm (UTC)(link)
MARCH 1st - (open to 1 spouse or 2 children)
[Ianto supposes that he shouldn't be too surprised by this turn of events. After all, he is Torchwood, and stranger things have happened. At least he seems to have his health and still be in one piece, relatively speaking. Though he does wonder how he got here and where the hell his clothes have gone. Ah, yes. A quick rummage around in the cupboard answers that question.

He feels at least a little better with his suit on, or at least -- this suit. He can't say for certain that it is his, nor can he be certain of anything in this place. Especially not with the second bed and closet of clothes that definitely aren't meant to be his. Not to mention the photographs.

Ianto trails out of the bedroom and down the hall to the first floor, trying not to look at this documentation of a life he's never known while being morbidly fascinated at the same time. He's done rather a lot of falsification of documents with his time at Torchwood, what with all the Retcon they seem to toss about, and the very idea the same thing might have happened to him in return... But no. He still remembers Jack and Gwen and the Hub. Certainly if it had been Retcon, wouldn't all that be the first to go?

He hears movement down below, coming from the -- kitchen? And he hesitates, uncertain of just what exactly he might find, before deciding the best course of action may as well be to confront the situation head on. Steeling himself, he rounds the corner before him, putting on his best face as he announces his presence with:]


Hello, there! I don't suppose you know what the hell is going on here?

SPRING CLEANING
[The weather is, of course, beautiful. And Ianto Jones is trying to do a bit of field reconnaisance. It seems that all the neighbors are out and about doing a bit of this and that about the yard and thus so is he. Or at least, pretending at it.

Or at least, he was pretending to pretend at it, up until the point when one of his oh so helpful neighbors actually came over with a pack of seeds and some tips for sprucing up his front garden.

And now here he is, actually planting the damned things and he doesn't honestly know whether that's good or bad. Suppose they could be nanobots? Suppose they might be alien wildlife and he's about to introduce them in amongst his daffodils?

Honestly, any excitement would be better than the happy families he's been suffering through so far.]


If you've come to offer to mow the lawn for me you're too late, they've already beaten you to it. Twice.

TOPSY TURVY
[Ah, yes. Here is the bit that Ianto had been anticipating. The rest of it had been wrong in a vaguely irritating sense of the word, but now? The shifting about of families, the doors that seem to have lost their connection to dimensional reality. Just when he's adjusted to the new excitement, things seem to shift and another wrench seems to be thrown into this ridiculous suburban setting he's found himself stuck in.

Of course, he could do without this latest excitement.

He knows he's been inviting trouble in poking about but honestly, he is Torchwood. All the same, nothing has come of his investigations of the town thus far and so he's surprised when suddenly there is a shift in the air and behind him on the empty street there appears -- a creature. Something the likes of which he has never seen before.

There seems only one adequate response: run.]


WILDCARD
[Have something specific you'd like to play with Ianto? Toss me a pm and let's work something out! Also will match prose/action!!]
tigers: (Causes don't pay.)

Sebastian Moran | The Hound of the D'Urbervilles

[personal profile] tigers 2021-03-14 07:25 am (UTC)(link)
1. March 1st

[ Sebastian Moran has never been married—not in the classical sense, at least. One could say he’s married to his job and to his guns, and he would happily agree, and although you you don’t keep photos of your employer and your firearms on the bedroom walls, he recognizes the pitiful signs of marriage all around. The couple in the photographs, feigning happiness, smiling a bit too wide, are a sign, but the lack of a pistol under his pillow is an even more obvious sign.

This is a far cry from his rooms above Conduit Street, but Moran knows better than to show any trace of fear. It’s all a set-up by his employer, after all, and you won’t catch him thinking any differently.
]

Downhearted old blighter.

[ He speaks of himself, shaking his head at the portraits. He doesn’t waste his time admiring them, though, not when there’s another person in the room with him. He turns to them with an easy smile. ]

Right then, chum. I’ll take a cup of tea and my gun, if you would be so obliged.


2. Spring Cleaning

[ He never felt so alive as he did in India. Of course, London was a jungle in and of itself when he had Moriarty to open his eyes to the truth of it, but in the suburbs, Moran feels like a tiger in a cage. He quite literally prowls the neighborhood, ready to snap at any moment.

There’s nothing particularly dangerous here, nothing to get his blood flowing or his adrenaline rushing. Crime and bad-doing is virtually non-existent, and that’s a problem. So when he spots an overtly happy neighbor trimming his hedges, he approaches with a smile and the intent to cause chaos.
]

Nonsense, my dear fellow. I might have done that myself.

[ He smiles calmly, wrenching the hedge clippers from the Robbie’s hands. ]

Do you find pruning hedges meditative as well, my good man? No doubt you do. But one must be careful—

[ He kicks the poor unsuspecting soul down, pins his arm with a boot, and places the blades of the trimmers right around his pinkie, threatening to snip. ]

Why, one misplaced little pinkie finger, and the slip of a wrist and, well—accidents can happen, can’t they?

[ Lucky for the Robbie, Moran is not a subtle man. A noise distracts him from his chaos, and he turns to see another neighbor watching him, drawn by his antics. He pulls the hedge trimmers back, gives a casual wave, and smiles a friendly smile. ]

I was just teaching our good fellow--Algernon, was it? No? Nonsense, you look like an Algy. I was just teaching our good fellow Algy here some gardening safety.


3. Wildcard

[ He’s chaotic, he’s Victorian, he’s British. Bring me anything. ]
Edited 2021-03-14 07:25 (UTC)
sketchbookings: (019)

2!!!!!!

[personal profile] sketchbookings 2021-03-15 03:00 am (UTC)(link)
[ Benedict probably shouldn't be openly watching, all things considered. Letting a potential mad man know that you're aware of his madness seems a poor idea, but he can't help it. A moment more and he'd have run in to interrupt the whole thing entirely, but fortunately his step on to the grass was enough to put a pause to it. ]

I'll admit I've no expertise in the matter, but I daresay it's an odd way to teach someone of safety.

March 1st

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motiontostrike: (pic#14255608)

matt murdock | marvel 616

[personal profile] motiontostrike 2021-03-15 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
MARCH 1ST

It’s not the realization that he can’t remember falling asleep that’s most distressing. Matt scarcely sleeps any more. If it’s not his own tormented guilt keeping him awake, it’s the sounds of anguish from those around him — the ones they don’t even know he can hear. But it’s quiet now. The stillness is beyond that which he’s ever known. It’s that gentle sense of tranquility that brings Matt Murdock lurching to consciousness. For a man who’s used to an incessant cacophony of sounds and scents and vibrations, the total absence of anything at all is all the proof he needs that something is terribly wrong.

Not entirely nothing; not exactly. The bed beneath his shoulders is softer than anything he’s known in months, and the carpet between his toes is plush and warm. It’s a far cry from a prison cell. Under a different set of circumstances entirely, Matt might even call it hospitable. But with the steady realization that he is blind — well and truly without sight — it’s hard to appreciate these little niceties.

His first instinct is to reach out for anything with which to orient himself, but the particulars of his current environment are further away than they’ve ever been. He checks his face only to find that his mask is conspicuously absent and rather than the rough, unforgiving linen blend of a prison uniform, he’s dressed in something soft and woven. Matt stifles his instinct to call out. He can hear his own hands on his skin, but not his heartbeat, nor the heartbeat of anyone else. If there is anyone at all.

The first thing is to determine where he is. Then, perhaps, he can work on what the hell this all is. Head swimming with static, he takes one bold step forward and promptly rams his shin into the nightstand. The table lamp sways ominously, then crashes to the floor and shatters.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. The Man Without Fear. Who would believe it now?


SPRING CLEANING

Matt doesn’t need to have seen a single primetime sitcom to get the through line here: he’s awoken in someone’s approximation of Leave It to Beaver. Unfortunately, he can think of no one any less equipped to deal with American suburbia than a confirmed bachelor from Hell’s Kitchen. It seems like he’s not the only one who thinks so, either. Since his arrival in this strange town, his doorbell has been nearly worn to its springs by cheerful visitors intent on stocking the refrigerator, pruning the hedges, and commenting on the state of dust on the mantle. The newest resident in Santa Rosita seems to be something of a pet project for the neighbors, and Matt doesn’t have to wonder why.

The mow lines in the front lawn are perfectly even and the trim around the garage is sparkling with a fresh coat of paint. Rather than grateful, Matt has the look of a man on the edge of sanity as he paces the backyard, nursing a beer.


TOPSY-TURVY

As the world outside descends further into environmental and supernatural chaos, Matt finally starts to feel at home. It seems that some purpose has finally been revealed to him, some reason for him being here. The uncertainty that’s plagued him since his arrival and the impotent feeling of powerlessness have been replaced by a sense of purpose. If only his powers were as quick to return to him as his own resolve.

Whoever’s orchestrated this and whatever their intent behind it, he feels sure of it now. Certain that this is all some attempt to confuse and obfuscate reality. Perhaps to make him forget who he is — or where he is — so that they can catch him unaware. Catch the city or the prison without Daredevil and wreak the havoc they know they can only accomplish with him out of the picture.

Without his abilities he’s at a disadvantage, but it’s not the monsters themselves that Matt means to fight against. It’s the source of the delusion itself. Whatever is holding them to this mutual hallucination. And perhaps his belief that this is all this is has made him a little bold.

So yes, here’s a blind man in the middle of the street, squared up against a shambling pack of zombies with no better plan than to punch them down.


WILDCARD

[Prefer something different entirely? Come at me with whatever you've got. If you'd prefer to plot or discuss things beforehand, send me a PM or Plurk [plurk.com profile] stickyholograms.]
terminater: (priscilla ❌ 14463205)

spring cleaning

[personal profile] terminater 2021-04-02 06:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[There's a lot of noise coming from the house next door. People have been going in and out of the yard all day, some bearing food, others carrying paint cans, all of them looking as happy as can be. Someone must be popular with the neighbors, Nate figures as he watches a Robbie disappear around the side of the house, then hears the lawn mower start up a few minutes later. He's just glad it isn't him, for now.

Whoever it is, he can safely say who it isn't. The door is still attached to the frame when Nate goes outside a few hours later, and there's nothing on fire in the driveway, so that automatically disqualifies 70% of the people he knows. Doesn't mean the guy pacing back and forth and chugging beer faster than he can swallow is completely unfamiliar, though — even if Nate can't quite get a solid read on his face since he won't stand still.

Nate leans against the fence, sweeping a look over the yard. He decides to play it cool, casual.]


Nice lawn. Way to make the rest of us look bad.
selffound: (afraid)

Historia Reiss | Attack on Titan

[personal profile] selffound 2021-03-17 12:38 pm (UTC)(link)
ARRIVAL

[ Historia wants to kick herself for not being more careful.

How could she let this happen? She’s the Queen, now. Of course there’d be people who want to kidnap her – it’s happened to her before! And she let it all play out without even putting up a fight…. in fact, she doesn’t remember how she got here at all - just that strange dream, and… what’s going to happen to her now…?

No. She needs to calm down. Even if Historia’s heart is pounding in her chest, thrumming with fear, she needs to swallow down those feelings and assess the situation. She can’t afford to give up here… there’s still too much that she wants to do!

But as she searches the room, it quickly becomes obvious that this is something more than just a kidnapping. For one thing, there’s… pictures of her, hanging on the walls. They’re everywhere. Her surrounded by adults she doesn’t recognize, her at all kinds of ages… it’s unsettling beyond words. What is this? Whoever’s taken her to this place must be obsessed with her – it’s the only thing Historia can think of. …And the thought chills her to her core.

When she eventually gathers up the courage to venture downstairs, things become even stranger. There’s a strange… metal box? With pictures, moving on it as if they’re alive. She doesn’t understand how a thing like that is possible… There’s voices coming out of it, as if somebody’s talking from inside – but that’s clearly impossible. Is this all some kind of strange dream, after all? She’s never had dreams like this before, but…

Suddenly, Historia hears a sound, and whirls around. …She’s been hoping to find something she could use as a weapon down here, but no luck… she’ll have to just use her fists. After all, she may be scared, but she’s not going down without a fight. For one thing, her kidnapper didn’t tie her up like last time – that was a mistake.

She strikes first. Without even fully taking in who it is she’s attacking, she’s lunged at them – trying with all her might to bring them to the floor. Historia may be small, but she’s a trained soldier – she can’t doubt herself here! ]


Yaaargh…!!

SPRING CLEANING

[ When the kid comes for her with the hose… Historia feels a strange feeling wash over her for a moment.

She smiles a little, though her eyes are sad. Because at this moment in time… it almost feels like everything’s alright. A child’s mischief is a comforting, familiar feeling, one that naturally makes her happy, and just for a second… this place doesn’t seem so bad.

…She has no responsibility to anyone, here. No-one’s here to tell her what to do or how to sacrifice herself. But… she also knows that this place can’t be trusted.

She’s alone. She’s been taken from the people most important to her, and doesn’t know if she’ll ever see them again. She had no choice in coming here – someone took her against her will, so they clearly don’t care about her well-being. Even the kids here… they’re not normal. Their smiles are too wide. The angles of their face too sharp.

No. Nothing about this place is right.

It takes her a while to notice that the child’s looking at her strangely, now. She manages to chase him off, and he runs from her with a laugh, but that heavy feeling in her heart doesn’t go away.

To be honest, she’s exhausted. She’s been cleaning for a while, now, but it never seems to end. So when she’s sure that she’s alone, Historia sits down and sighs, looking around at the sight of the houses that have slowly become familiar to her. That’s a frightening thought, isn’t it? ]


The longer I stay here, the more strange everything seems… I wonder if it’ll ever stop feeling that way?

TOPSY-TURVY

[ For a while, she was sure that this must be a dream.

After all, things like this are… impossible. They don’t happen. Sure, Historia knows about the powers of the Titans, and she’s experienced things that by all means don’t belong in the realm of rationality, but… this is on a whole other level. The waking up in different houses – that’s explainable, but… the cutlery deciding one day to float above the counter inside the kitchen, before flying towards her in a mad frenzy – that’s something else. The glimpses she’s caught of creatures she read about in fantasy books as a kid… the apparitions that walk through the walls and give her those strange, eerie smiles… none of it makes any sense.

But after a while, Historia adapts. It’s almost becoming the new normal. She has to accept that this is real, because it’s happening to her, isn’t it? It can’t exactly get any more real than that.

She misses home, misses her friends. Misses Eren, especially. The kids at the orphanage, too… it hurts just to think of them. But no matter how strange things become, she’s got no intention of dying here.

Which is why she’s running now. Away from the creature that’s been stalking her throughout the night, that wears her face – yet slightly off-kilter, with a expression so blank it’s like looking at that of a corpse. …Or was it smiling?

She knows that it’s after her. She’s already been hurt once before. And she needs to find a way to fight back, but for now… all she can do is run. So run she does, controlling her breathing as best she can and ignoring the ache in her legs as she dashes through the street.

Until she bumps into you. ]


Ah-

[ Historia barely manages to keep her balance. For a moment, her expression is full of fear, and her heart skips a beat as she locks eyes with you, unsure of what’s happening. ]

Who…!?

NETWORK

djtbvcownfn

historia

whatis

what is this


WILDCARD

[ Feel free to throw whatever you want at Historia here, I'm up for anything! If you want to plot, I'm available over PMs or at [plurk.com profile] Rivenix. ]
13thcommander: (looking down)

topsy turvy

[personal profile] 13thcommander 2021-03-17 01:44 pm (UTC)(link)
[It's best not to go out at night in Santa Rosita.]

[That doesn't stop Erwin, though, especially not once he hears that the doppelgangers are back. Not everyone here is a trained soldier, and can't defend themselves against them. Erwin can, and he's confident that he can handle himself against most, if not all, of the doppelgangers that might crop up.]

[So he's out roaming the streets, armed a good-sized kitchen knife that Cass sharpened to a razor's edge, when he hears someone running. Based on the footfall patterns, this isn't some evening jog, and he cuts through someone's yard to intercept them.]

[Because of the dark, Erwin miscalculates and the running figure crashes into him. He reaches out to brace them, and blinks when she looks up at him.
]

Historia?

[Someone else from home, then, but who knows from what point in the timeline?]

Do you recognize me? Who am I to you?

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discountstarscream: (tonantzin-carmelo-3254878)

Getaway / Transformers IDW

[personal profile] discountstarscream 2021-03-23 02:52 am (UTC)(link)
1. Happy Families

[Honestly, Getaway's been in a many unusual situations in his life and most of the time it's not by his own doing. So when he goes to sleep one day and wakes up inhabiting a human body in a place he's never been to, all he did was sigh. See, he'd done his absolute best to make sure he didn't run into any nonsense while Captain of the Lost Light, but occasionally it seems nonsense finds them anyway.

Obviously, he could do what's natural and freak the fuck out. However, common sense and spy training says that the best thing to do is to play along until you have full scope of the situation.

And so, Getaway hauls his body out of bed and proceeds to do what he thinks humans do first thing in the morning: Get dressed and go eat gross human food. After he changes into the frilliest pink and white dress with floral print he can find, he goes to where he hopes the "kitchen" is. He notes that there seem to be other people in the beds in the house, but he leaves them to sleep for now.

Getaway's experience with human culture is limited only to Earth media, so the extremely tidy and perfect kitchen doesn't feel out of place for him. Though he has other things he should be doing, personal curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to check out the fridge and cupboards. Things are pulled out and tossed onto the table after he squints at the labels and wonders what the hell any of this is even for.
]

Why do you need such a huge variety of food anyway?

[Getaway wonders out loud as he examines a carton of milk.]

2. Spring Cleaning

[Frankly, Getaway is perfectly happy to leave them to it. In fact, he can be found sitting on a chair on his front porch drinking some lemonade while wearing a very expensive looking pair of sunglasses and sun hat. His dress, now a lovely shade of blue, is spotless and unwrinkled, looking very much like he's never done a bit of work in his entire life.]

What do you want?

[He says to whoever comes up to him on the porch. From his dress pocket, he pulls out a mirror and examines his face before carefully (masterfully) applying some lipstick.]

If you're looking for something to do, all the stuff from the fridge and cupboards are all over my table and counters, so if you'd be a dear and put those back I'd appreciate it.

[He makes a shooing motion with his elegantly painted finger before settling back to his people watching.]

3. Something else?

[Hmu with whatever, I'll roll with it.]
undiagnosed: (pic#14468764)

2

[personal profile] undiagnosed 2021-03-24 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[while he hadn't gone into getaway's garden directly, archer had hopped the fence into the neighbouring garden to basically just take the gardening shears the robbie husband is using. he's starting to realise the easiest ways to take advantage of their unnatural nature. this one being that... he really can't be assed walking to the store. he has a cane! he's perfectly capable of moving around but that's the excuse he uses.

yeah, he... is literally just attempting to take one on the way back to his place, now he remembers he could use one.]


Hey, neighbour, I need your-- whatevers. [archer is not great at this. the robbie does not want to hand them over. he looks to getaway, mistaking the joined front garden for his own.] For rose stuff. Ask your wife, I bet she knows all about that kind of crap!

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trashmouthed: (pic#14379377)

Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier / IT: 2017

[personal profile] trashmouthed 2021-03-27 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)
(ooc: my icons are out of date, and I still need to upgrade so please bear with the lack of faces until then!)

ONE █ March 1st

Huh!?

[It starts with a shriek, not the low groans of a thirteen-year-old that doesn't want to get up. The fabric, the pattern on the god-awful pajamas he's wearing isn't what he remembers going to sleep in. The strange dream is forgotten for the time being in favor of sheer confusion as he glances around the bedroom. None of the usual trimmings, nothing that said, Richie Tozier. His closet? Boring. His room decor? Might as well be something out of a Hardy Boys book.

Is that a little league photo? Richie runs down the stairs with it still in hand and straight into the street. Not Derry.

It wasn't Derry. He should be more shocked that he cared that he wasn't in Derry but here he was, chest heaving like a frightened bird with an old photo of him in baseball clothes smiling at the camera tightly gripped in one hand. It's not until he gets out into the light of day that he realizes the powder blue pajama set is covered in trains. As if waking up in Pleasantville could get any worse.]


Santa Rosita??! What the dick is this? The Twilight Zone?


TWO █ St. Patrick's Day

[By the time the celebrations roll around Richie's realized there's no point in talking to any of the locals about how much you don't belong here. He's taken to swinging what was supposedly his bat around at trash from dumpsters, like some elaborately more violent game of kick the can.

He files into the festivities still holding the baseball bat like a pacifier but when he's served his face might as well be the same color as the 7-UP Cheese Aspic. He's never seen anything quite like it and never imagined he'd miss something as simple as Spaghettios.]


Are we just plating puke now?
selffound: (neutral)

st. patrick's day

[personal profile] selffound 2021-03-28 01:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Historia isn't quite sure why Richie's words catch her attention. But after seeing his look of revulsion directed at the pile of... whatever it is that's on his plate, she can't help but wonder if he's another one like her. Another one trapped in this strange place.

At the very least, it's a little reassuring to see that she's not the only one who realizes how crazy this all is. ]


The locals here certainly have... interesting tastes, don't they? [ The words are directed with him, along with a somewhat awkward smile. ]

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shapegod: (changes you.)

lauren olamina | parable of the sower

[personal profile] shapegod 2021-04-04 10:52 pm (UTC)(link)
arrival; a tree cannot grow in its parents' shadows
[The first time she wakes up in an unfamiliar house, Lauren doesn't know what to think. She's clearly not in Robledo-- for one thing, she's the only person in the neighborhood who has ever had a room to herself, never mind that she's never seen any of this stuff in her life. The breeze out the window is too cool even for winter, all of the clothes look freshly purchased and unmended, and at this hour she should be able to hear the sounds of her neighbors working, not laughing children and-- cars?

She thoroughly searches the room before she slips out into the hall as quietly as possible. She has no idea who would go through so much effort and expense to set this up, but she's not going to wait around for her kidnappers (what else could it be?) to act as they please. Anyone in the house with her will find her crouching silently at the top of the stairs, straining to listen to the TV with a frown on her face-- but as soon as she realizes someone else is there, she doesn't hesitate. She kicks out clumsily at the stranger (pointedly looking away, in order to avoid seeing the results should her foot connect) and tries to scramble down the stairs.]


drink up; all successful life is adaptable
[Lauren is no stranger to this sort of socialization among the neighbors, but she's definitely a stranger to... whatever thing was just handed to her by a cheerful neighbor. It jiggles and she can't recognize any of the individual pieces and it doesn't look like anything that would grow on any of these perfectly-manicured lawns. There is absolutely no reason anyone should be giving out food for free, not even food so obviously dangerous. Is it some sort of weird test to see if it's poisonous? An expected, unspoken trade where she's going to have to give up something actually worthwhile in exchange?]

No thanks. [she says automatically, trying to hand the platter back to the neighbor-- who doesn't take it, not with such an unfriendly response.] I... would rather offer it to my friend there.

[and she points at whatever luckless stranger happens to be walking down the sidewalk at that moment. Save her, friend.]

happy families; any change may bear seeds of benefit. seek them out.
[Apparently waking up in unfamiliar houses is just a thing that happens here. It's disorienting, it doesn't make sense, but it's clearly happening, and so she needs to cope with it. For Lauren, that has always meant writing, no matter what sort of situation she's in. And unfortunately, every time she switches houses, she has to storm over to the old one to recover her journal. Hopefully whoever ended up in "her" old room didn't go digging-- she hides the journal at the bottom of a pile of laundry in the closet, or at the back of the dresser, or anywhere else she can find thanks to some old habits reinforced by having four younger brothers. So the first thing she does in the morning is track down the old house and bang on the door.

She's never sure if she's going to get-- well, one of the townspeople who act like nothing is wrong, or one of the other self-aware ones like her. It's why her default is a mild, polite smile when the door opens and a cheerful]
Hi there. I'm Lauren. Just moved in?

topsy-turvy; any change may bear seeds of harm. beware.
[There is something under the bed.

She can't find it. There's no sign of anything there when she grabs a flashlight to look. She would think that she dreamed it, except she knows what her dreams are like and how to recognize them, and she's positive this isn't one of them. Just like she's positive there was someone in the corner of the room with her that one night, and that something was across the street for a moment, and that opening the closet or bedroom doors didn't used to lead to someone else's house.

She stands there for a moment, barefoot in her pajamas and face carefully neutral as she takes a moment to confirm that she's really seeing what she thinks she's seeing, and then says]
Sorry to barge in. Or are you going to tell me I've got a nice imagination and to go back to sleep?
vampirella: (0061)

topsy turvy

[personal profile] vampirella 2021-04-05 09:01 pm (UTC)(link)
( she's a vampire. creature of darkness and black magic. she doesn't necessarily sleep at night, so the intrusion of her newest not-child doesn't startle her awake. it also doesn't grant immediate attention, finishing her sentence before she rolls an unimpressed set of dark eyes in the direction of the disruption.

she'd have said something sour about the lack of a knock, but, it feels pointlessly petulant after an apology has already been levied on the subject. not that Carmilla can't be pointlessly petulant, but she'd rather follow up on that other thing.
) Depends on what you're supposed to be imagining and what you expect me to do about it.

( considering how this place works, Carmilla will at least hear her out. stabbing her porcelain double a few times and just the weirdness that had been getting on lately means there probably is something, it's just a matter of whether it's enough of a potential threat to force her into action. )

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kk57: (kim2)

kim kitsuragi | disco elysium

[personal profile] kk57 2021-04-04 11:49 pm (UTC)(link)
March 1st

[ it has been a trial of a day from sunrise to sunset, from the moment he woke up in a suburban house, to trying to speak with people who were anything but normal, and going through a quaint town located in a country he has never heard of. he found a wallet full of this land's currency in the house and used it to buy the two essentials: a notebook, a ballpoint pen, and a pack of cigarettes.

now as the sun falls and dusk overwhelms the town, kim kitsuragi sits on a swing in rose garden park flipping through his notepad. the swingset is much too large for an adult man, but it's late enough that no parents are in sight to shoot him strange looks. it a familiar comfort he chooses to gift himself on one of the worst days he has lived... so far. he's wearing clothes he absolutely hates, missing his custom self-made bomber jacket more than he logically should, and holds a lit cigarette in his fingers. his one and only for the day, impressed with himself that he lasted this long without taking it.

but after going through it all, trying to piece things together, he's left with a defeated sigh as he closes the book for the fourth time.
]

None of it makes sense.

[ you can catch him on the swing, wallowing in frustration, or wandering into the baseball field to check on the equipment. his gun has been taken from him (a bitter irony, thinking of his partner) and he is left defenseless. would anyone miss the wooden bat he's holding in his hands? ]

Spring Cleaning

[ dealing with pesky neighbors who keep ringing his doorbell to give him food, or offering lawn appliances that he accepts with a strained smile, is one thing. he's a police officer, he can deal with the worst types of personalities and has. however nothing prepares him for a group of three sly children that knock on his door and insist they wash his car.

even after he tells them no, and shuts the door on them, they go ahead and do it. a poor job at it too, as he looks at the car with swirl marks all around. yet they refuse to leave when he tells them he won't pay.

"It was a very hard job, sir!" one boy pipes up.
"You got a great wash, better than what the car wash will do, and cheaper too," the second beams.
]

You washed the car even after I explicitly told you not to. You will not get a cent.

[ however, seemingly unnoticed, the third child is walking off to the side as he speaks with the first two and looking him over. he sees something in kim's back pants pocket that he suspects is a wallet, smiling mischievously. will you intervene? ]

wildcard

[ ooc: for anyone who wants to throw a prompt my way, or modify parts of the above prompts. do as you wish, or pm me to discuss! ]
sunborne: (412. - 🧭 - YEAH NO.)

( prompt: spring cleaning. )

[personal profile] sunborne 2021-04-05 02:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[ daylight will most certainly intervene - don't steal, kids! - but not in a way that's obvious. last thing he needs is to stand out more with his eight feet height, everyone.

so he pretends to 'accidentally' spray some errant water from his hose over the fence, drenching the child who was trying to sneak closer to the man and his possibly defenceless wallet. whoops-a-daisy, daylight thinks with some remorse as the child lets out an indignant 'hey!'- there must be something in the air to make him so clumsy. ]


Oh whoa! Would you look at that?

I'm really sorry about that, kid! [ he calls out from his as he moves closer, turning off the hose now. daylight makes it a point to look in the child's direction to let the other guy know someone is near him. ] Bit of sun got in my eye. Do you and your dad need a towel?

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cadereagratia: (when did this become my life?)

Barrington Whelk | The Raven Cycle

[personal profile] cadereagratia 2021-04-05 10:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Spring Cleaning;

[Santa Rosita is a nice town in theory. Living in a house instead of a shitty half-bedroom townhouse is nice in theory. Not being alone every waking moment of your life unless you're surrounded by obnoxious co-workers and insufferable teenagers is nice in theory. Having the neighbor kid wash your car for you - a car that is nicer than the one you owned back in your shitty little Virginia town - is nice in theory.

[Barrington Whelk appreciates none of these things. It's creepy that the lawnmowers all go off at once, it's annoying that the neighbors deign to speak to him, and frankly, he's getting very tired of vividly hallucinating living in the 1960s with a family he doesn't want or recognize.

[And this little shit washing his car is about to get the hose turned on him if he doesn't leave Whelk's lawn immediately. Or a newspaper thrown at his head. A newspaper the child very politely handed to him. He stands on his(?) lawn watching the child with a positively rancid expression on his face.]

Really. No. That is not necessary-- Please. Please go away. Don't you have parents or something?

[The child is humming now as he scrubs the windows on Whelk's(?) car. He grits his teeth and looks not unlike he's about to strike this infant in front of him. He glances around for any adults that might be present.]

Yes. Hello. Hi. [He waves one down and gestures to the child.] Is this yours? Can you remove it from my property please?

Happy Families;

[Scarcely had Whelk gotten a chance to get used to living with one family before it was traded for another. He wakes up in bed alone - which is comforting for a moment - but then quickly spots new pictures in his room of him smiling (smiling, okay?) with a different family than he was smiling (smiling!) with yesterday, and he's just about ready to burn the house to the ground. In fact, he might burn the house to the ground. He considers burning the house to the ground for too long before he finally makes his way into the living room and says very brazenly to the first new person he sees:]

Alright. Just who the hell are you and what's going on here?

Topsy Turvey; Network Option [Text]

All,

I am really growing quite tired of the nonsense surrounding this town. It's lasted quite too long to be a nightmare. I have no faith that anyone here knows any more than I do, but at the very least, can someone please offer me some advice as to keeping what appear to be zombified children from congregating on my lawn and watching me through my windows?

I'll offer some disclosure in the interest of being transparent: I've dealt with plenty of batshit crap in my life, but this has truly tempted the height of my patience.

Can you kill the damn things?

Advice appreciated. Wonderful day to you.
Edited 2021-04-05 22:14 (UTC)
reek: (pic#11611948)

1

[personal profile] reek 2021-04-05 11:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Theon feels the exact opposite: Santa Rosita isn’t nice at all, even in theory—and he was a political prisoner for ten years. He can hardly find food that he can stomach, the hum of electric lights and other strange sounds make it nearly impossible for him to sleep at night, and the weather is intolerable. What he wouldn’t give for a light snow to cool things off and send the weaklings indoors.

He doesn’t even try to pretend as if he fits in, and it’s the story of his life. He handles the situation how he handles everything else: with a false smile and a crude sense of humor. He isn’t afraid to scare children off his lawn, either, and where else does that send them but onto other peoples’ lawns?

You’re welcome, Whelk.
]

What a stupid question. Does it look like mine?

[ Translation: is it a smarmy asshole? ]

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happy families

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cleaning.

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@Archer

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happy family;

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notshrinking: (unsure)

Violet | The Walking Dead (game)

[personal profile] notshrinking 2021-04-06 04:47 am (UTC)(link)
MARCH 1st ((Open only to 1 other "child" and 2 parents total, please.))

[Vi goes from asleep to awake in one quick motion from horizontal to seated, body and brain in a weird kind of synergy and agreement that this is ten kinds of wrong. Before she can think it through, she's shouting.]

Guys, this isn't funny! Where the hell've you brought me?

[She flings the covers back and freezes halfway in her swing of legs to the floor. A frilly nightgown?]

You changed my clothes?

[A momentary high pitched shriek, then her voice drops into a lower growl.]

Oh my God, you are all so damn dead when I find you! This is not OK!

[Her feet thump the floor to propel her up into a stomp toward the closet. If her actual clothes aren't there... She freezes again at the sight of neat rows of pristine dresses, blouses, and checkered pants. She could explain away the creepy dolls and vintage magazines. There was bound to be somewhere you could still find all that stuff if you looked hard enough and were committed to the prank.

The clothes...

She reaches out carefully to touch one of the blouses. The crisp cotton is stiff and cool under her fingers. Clean in a way she has never seen anywhere outside of a magazine.]


Fuck me.

[Her mouth snaps shut abruptly. OK, new plan. She quickly picks out and throws on a plain white blouse and one of the blue and green checked pairs of pants. They fit weird, all high waisted and hitting above her ankles, but they do fit. So do the navy and white flats. She's less and less sure this is a prank, more and more sure she has no idea what the hell is going on, if she hasn't completely lost her mind.

The bedroom door squeaks on its hinges when she opens it. Immediately, she's drawn to the sound of a TV down the stairs. She descends as hesitantly as a deer in unfamiliar territory, cursing herself that she didn't even check the room for a weapon. Balling both fists at her sides, she reaches the first floor and shouts.]


Hello? Whoever you are, if you think I'll go down without a fight, you better think again!

Getting to Know the Neighbors

A. Drink Up

[It doesn't get any less weird as the food keeps coming. Vi hasn't passed out or doubled over from food poisoning yet, so how bad can it be?

Even the green stuff on the table in front of her that wiggles when she pokes it can't be worse than horse eyeballs, right? Right. She grabs a spoon and drags the whole thing across the table to dig in. She has just crammed a huge mouthful when she notices she isn't alone in the kitchen. She has no compunction about talking with her mouth full. "What? There's plenty to go around," comes out in unintelligible grunts.

She chews, swallows, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.]


Shit's gnarly, but food's food, right?

B. Spring Cleaning

[The girl in the untucked white blouse and checked pants standing in the open doorway of one of the modest two stories looks way too small for the voice coming out of her, directed at a kid with his cap on backwards and a still running lawn mower idling next to him.]

I'm not giving you shit, you little asshole. I didn't ask you to mow the grass, now did I? You can wipe that grin off your face before I do it for you. Go on. Get out of here!

Topsy-Turvy

[It's the third time in the night the doorbell has rung. Vi has already insisted that the lights are turned out and is sitting near the window with a white knuckle grip on a shiny meat cleaver. She very carefully lifts the shade just enough to take a peek into the yard.]

Fuck! I knew it. Walkers. A bunch of kid ones. We gotta take 'em out, or they're gonna turn the whole neighborhood. You ever fought one before?

[She doesn't look like she thinks much of the prospects.]

Network Post @ Vi - Voice

[The girl's voice is a little scratchy, accent hard to place.]

Hey. So, uh, this thing really works? It looks like some stupid toy. Looks like it would get in the way when shit goes south and you gotta fight.

Show of hands. Voices. Whatever. How many of you ever catch it on something mid-walking or maybe hit yourself in the face with it just trying to scratch your nose? Bet you felt real dumb.

Wildcard

((If nothing here strikes you, hmu with your own thing instead!))
ourworldnow: (pic#14576123)

SCREAMING- I mean spring cleaning

[personal profile] ourworldnow 2021-04-06 05:39 am (UTC)(link)
[Louis had just been walking around the neighborhood, studiously avoiding having to deal with the monthly influx of weird foods and the new thing of kids demanding rewards for unasked for services (what was the point of 'parents' if not letting them deal with everything?) when it happened. His spine instinctively straightens a bit at that tone and voice, long before he consciously processes what hearing them must mean. Years of living with a certain girl will end up with certain reactions. And the poor kid trying to extort her is about to get more or less run over as he charges towards the doorway.

He wants to scoop her up in a big hug whether she likes it or not, he really does. If it had been half of the people from back home? He would have hugged so tight they could never escape. But Violet was Violet, so he is ready to drop her if she starts kicking or biting or whatever else the crafty teen could think of- or it's possible she just dodged him and he's hugging air while he grins.]


You made it!

AAAAAA!

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AAAAAAAAAAAAA

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march 1st

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idodeclare: (Shocked)

America/Alfred F. Jones (Revolutionary War Era) | Hetalia

[personal profile] idodeclare 2021-04-07 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[March 1st]

[This place feels weird.

It doesn't feel like America. Alfred would know if it was; he'd feel it. But he feels nothing. No tether to his people anymore. None of that connection.

Not that that's the weirdest thing about this whole situation.

The architecture is familiar enough, but a little... off. A little less rustic than he's used to. And there are weird portraits on the wall, portraits of him in dull colors that he doesn't remember sitting for. Not the standard "stand with a blank expression" portraits, either; the people in them are smiling, in the middle of things. Playing outside. Blowing out the candles on a cake. Huddled with strangers he doesn't recognize, like they're some sort of family.

But the box in the living room that plays sounds and pictures is the strangest, Alfred thinks, of all. He stands in front of it with his brow creased and his mouth open, just watching, listening.

If you don't catch him staring, you'll definitely catch him looking behind the TV, next to it, all around it, trying to figure out how it's working, how those moving pictures got into the box. He might just knock it over if he isn't careful.]


[Getting to Know - A]

[Alfred's never eaten such decadent food.

Sitting on the front porch of his new home, he shovels big spoonfuls of the stuff called "7-Up cheese aspic" into his mouth. It's so... so good. So filling. So unlike the rations he's been surviving on for the past few years.

When someone passes by or tries to get inside, he'll look up and beam, face messy with his meal.]


How do you do? Fine afternoon, isn't it?

[Topsy-Turvy]

[A shriek.

It pierces the night, loud enough to be heard several houses down. Masculine but high-pitched, and absolutely terrified.

Then, seconds later, Alfred bursts out of his assigned house and into the street. He's in his bedclothes, pajamas and slippers, and looks positively white as a sheet.]


Ghost! Ghost! Ghost in there! [He's pointing back to the house, gesturing to whoever's around to listen.] Bloody hell--!

[Network]

wkwk

hhhhhhh

kajfkdjkfdkjdmcoo k icksk osks alsl ]];;s..sjf.

abdefghijklm nopqrstuvwxyz

alfred f. jones

how doyou do

how do you do


[Someone's not aware that this strange typing-thing is public. He's just having fun fooling around with it.]
ribticklers: (133)

March 1

[personal profile] ribticklers 2021-04-09 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[Sans really needs to stop meeting people in his house in the mornings, he's just not very ready to be awake and it's making it weird. Anyway, Sans isn't sure if this guy is trying to steal his TV or what, but a quick glance at the nearest photos reveals that the new kid's supposed to be here. Sans is still in pajamas, but he's not really bothered about that. Instead, he leans up against the doorway of the living room.]

What's up?

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topsy-turvy

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ewwww: (55💀)

Roman Sionis | DCEU

[personal profile] ewwww 2021-04-07 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[March 1st]

[Roman awakes in a bed that is definitely not his.

It's smaller. Not as soft. And Victor isn't next to him like he usually is, at least when he wakes up early enough to hear the birds sing like this.

Blinking in the light that filters in through the windows, he sits up--

--then immediately stands, on his guard.

There's a woman in the other bed. Immediately, he walks over and shakes her by her shoulder.]


Hey. Hey! What the fuck is this, huh? Who the fuck are you?

[Getting to Know - Little of column A, little of column B]

[Roman is standing on his porch in a robe and slippers, one arm huddled against himself, the other hand holding a mug of steaming hot coffee. He ignores all the "other dads" (as if he's a fucking dad, he doesn't goddamn have kids, he doesn't live here) as they call out to him and mow their lawns. He's glaring at the woman who just interrupted his breakfast to bring him some ghastly-looking thing in Jell-o.]

Maybe if I say it in smaller words this time, you'll understand. [He looks, and sounds, very annoyed with his neighbor.] I don't. Fucking. Eat. That shit. So get it out of my god damned face and I'll let you keep yours. [He smiles "sweetly."] 'Kay?

[The woman doesn't let up. Frustrated, Roman looks over her shoulder, making eye contact with whoever's nearby.]

You-- Do you speak local? Can you tell me how to say "get the fuck off my property" in a way this moron will understand?

[Happy Families]

[Roman knocks on the door of the next neighbor down the street. It used to be his house, but he woke up in another one this morning with half his shit gone.]

I'm looking for a ring. [He says it without any other greeting.] Gold. Emeralds inlaid into it. About a size 6. Should be on the bedside table in the master bedroom. Seen it?
crystaltower: gpose from <user name="darthsuki" site="tumblr.com"> (calm)

Crystal Exarch // Final Fantasy XIV

[personal profile] crystaltower 2021-04-08 05:02 pm (UTC)(link)
March 1st

[Something is very, very wrong right now. The fact he even fell asleep at all is frustrating enough, and waking up in an unfamiliar place is just the start of his problems. In a futile search for his missing cowl, the Exarch finds himself stumbling around the room, balance completely thrown off by sudden, bizarre changes to his anatomy. People's ears are not meant to move, and tails don't just vanish!

The sudden changes are distracting enough that he initially fails to notice that he's not alone in the room, and it is as he inspects his suddenly less familiar face in a mirror that he realises. He whirls around, feeling very exposed in these odd clothes, and stammers a little before straightening himself up and addressing the stranger.
]

Ah... apologies! I fear I didn't see you there. I...

[Is this the stranger's bedroom? Of all places to find himself! Or could it be that they are just as surprised as he is?]

...I don't suppose you know how I came to be here, do you?


Drink Up

[Oh gods, is he hungry. It's a strange feeling to be this hungry, after so long with the Tower supporting so many of his needs. Fortunately, there is no shortage of food, and while the Exarch still feels greatly exposed without robe or cowl to hide himself away, he is happy to sample the foreign food and talk with whoever happens to be near.

It's... very strange, this combination of flavours and textures. However, having spent some years living on Sharlayan food, the bizarre combinations seem almost nostalgic.
]

I am aware that some people will gladly sacrifice taste in favour of nutritional value. I do rather suspect, however, that this... 'food' is deficient ​in both.


Topsy-Turvy

[Not once since he has found himself here has the Exarch found himself able relax, and today has him especially on edge. With the constant changes in the weather, the strange people and creatures he spies out of the corner of his eye, and the abnormal behaviour of any door he dares to step through, he finds himself at a complete loss.

However, he is not about to stand around idle when he could be making an effort to understand! For the moment, he is going to experiment with the doors in the hopes of identifying some kind of pattern in where he ends up. The downside of attempting this, however, is landing himself in a stranger's home.
]

Please, pardon the intrustion! I assure you 'twas not intentional. I hope I haven't interrupted anything?
hoshikiri: (hakaze.)

topsy turvy, lmk if you want anything changed!

[personal profile] hoshikiri 2021-04-08 08:25 pm (UTC)(link)
[In a place like this, it's better to be more guarded. Not that Takame was one to relax anyway, especially when people keep barging into his house. He has all doors open inside even, concerned of repeating the events of Christmas past where he nearly drowned in the lake.

Despite someone barging into his house at random and the Exarch's frantic explanation, Takame was as calm as could be. What the Exarch will see is a man with noticeable horns, scales and tail. Undoubtedly an Au Ra, or Drahn. Hope for his own ears in the future, maybe.

The familiar voice made Takame pause for a long time, but his expression stayed even. Even this person's face... a coincidence, it must be. Save for the stillness of his tail there was no reaction at all. He shook his head.]


You needn't worry. No one is here but me.

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xenoqueen: (68)

ellen ripley | alien

[personal profile] xenoqueen 2021-04-09 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
i. welcome to tranquility lane
[This is not the stasis pod she fell asleep in. That much is evident when she opens her eyes. The question then becomes where and how, for, as far as she remembers, she still hadn't woken up from her slumber from that hellish colony.

The first obvious explanation would be that this ridiculous bedroom, this whole house was the product of a dream. Those that spend long periods in cryosleep often have their brains stimulated to preserve neural functions over several years, resulting in prolonged dreams. But Ripley had never been quite lucid during those periods, and this...this does not seem like something she would dream up.

Her next thoughts are about to the company--Weyland-Yutani, and everything they did to get their hands on that terrible xenomorph. The lengths at which they were willing to go in order to ensure the return of their prized and profitable asset.

Dread sinks into her chest as she steels herself and sets off to explore the rest of the house.

(a) She finds herself face-to-face with another person. An adult. She freezes in the intersection of the hallway, eyes wide in shock before her body forces her to do something. She instinctively backs away, making sure to keep some distance between herself and the other person. She feels for the doorway, as if ensuring her exit hadn't disappeared after turning her back on it.]

Alright, just what the hell is going on here, huh? Did the company send you? Is this some sort of--of psychological profiling or something?

[A thought occurs to her, and fear and trepidation flashes across her face. She backs further into the corner, and she snarls through gritted teeth.]

Where's Newt?

(b) [Or, alternatively, if she encounters a teenager or a kid, her approach is much different. She'll still keep her distance, yes, but she'll try and keep a level, calm voice as she addresses them.]

Hey, hey--can you tell me about what happened before you ended up here? Anything at all?
ii. aspic recipes the whole family will love!
[Ripley can deal with aliens with acid blood and weird little pharyngeal jaws. Hell, she can destroy with a whole colony of those bastards and their queen while living to tell the tale.

What she can't deal with is whatever egg-laden monstrosity has been presented to her. She had been trying to leave her home and gotten as far as the white picket fence before one of her neighbors--Myrtle, was it?--had practically warpped to Ripley's position and shoved a Tupperware container into her arms. A plastic smile seems affixed to Myrtle's face, contrasting Ripley's fatigued expression.]


Oh, thank you, really, but I don't need this--

No, no! [The Robbie's smile seems to only grow wider.] It's no trouble at all--we all have to do our part to be neighborly, after all!

No, Myrtle, I really don't need this. [Ripley replies in a firm and steady tone.] Can't you just take it and...I don't know, give it to someone else?

Nonsense! I have more than enough food at home to make this dish for everyone on the block!

[This goes back and forth for a bit, both being (somewhat) polite but neither party budging on the situation. Please...put an end to this.]
iii. wildcard
[feel free to hit me up [plurk.com profile] wolfnoir if you want to chat about something else!]
feudalladyshandmaid: (Why)

ii

[personal profile] feudalladyshandmaid 2021-04-10 09:47 am (UTC)(link)
[Frankly, it's almost amazing how clearly awful the robbies culinary concoctions are. No two plates Cassandra's seen have been exactly the same. Each one had a special, unique terribleness to it - and usually a different type of fruit-flavored gelatin. It's become almost second nature to accept a fresh tupperware container from the neighbor in the morning, and return the tupperware in the evening, after it had been emptied into the trash.

That's why Cass balks a bit at the sight of someone who is clearly not used to this line of conversation.
]

Hey, don't worry if you can't eat the whole thing. [Because THAT'S what this is about, right?] Sorry, couldn't help but overhear. Why don't I come inside and help you with it. You know, since you see new to the neighborhood?

[A pointed look, one not stretched thin like a cheap halloween mask over frozen features.]

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mutesician: (i have some concerns)

Louis | The Trumpet of the Swan

[personal profile] mutesician 2021-04-10 11:02 am (UTC)(link)
March 1st

[Sorry to whoever wakes up next to this man, because you're probably going to wake up to him flailing and flapping around in the sheets. Finally, he ends up sprawled on the floor, staring at his own hands like he hasn't seen anything like them before. He glances around, frantically opening and closing his mouth before staring at the other person and making a gesture like he's writing. He doesn't seem to have noticed the wrist-radio available yet.]

Food(?) (cw: mild ableism)

[Louis has mostly figured out how to use the text-to-speech function now, and right now he's standing in front of his front door holding a horrible-looking gelatin monstrosity in both hands and trying to nod politely at the Robbie who just handed it over, trying to shove it back at them. Said Robbie is talking in a somewhat loud, slowed-down fashion.]

It's-fine-Mister-Louis. Your-wife-shouldn't-have-to-cook-all-the-time!

[After the Robbie is finally dispatched, he stands there for a bit more before shifting it to one hand and tapping out a quick message on his wrist radio.]

Humans eat this?

Untitled Monster Game

[Louis doesn't have his large wings or sharp beak anymore, but he can still improvise. You might find him outside his front door, swatting at a ghost with a broom, or using the other end of said broom to jab at a squad of zombie children that are trying to swarm him. Of course, if he sees anyone in trouble, it's likely he'll also hurry over to help, doing the best he can with what he's got.]
inpersonation: (𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋. 💻 𝑭𝑳𝑼𝑺𝑯.)

( prompt: food? )

[personal profile] inpersonation 2021-04-18 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
[ urgh.

noelle - having introduced herself as 'blossom' earlier - is unable to hide her look of disgust at the way the weirdo was treating the poor guy. don't act like he's fucking on slowmode, assholes.

her look of irritation and annoyance quickly lifts off her face when she sees him turning to her, replaced with a more appropriately concerned expression because... ick. more 'food' from their neighbors. yay. ]


Yes. It's quite popular here. [ she finds it disgusting but it was a trendy thing back home. a sign of wealth to be able to buy this stuff and put anything and everything in it. ] Um... We don't have to eat it, if you don't want to.
needfully: (pic#14782435)

illumi zoldyck | hunter x hunter

[personal profile] needfully 2021-04-12 12:39 am (UTC)(link)
I. meet the family
a. for spouses
[ Have you just woken up with a start in an unfamiliar bed? Why yes, yes you have. While that alone would obviously be alarming, what's probably more alarming is that there's someone standing there at your bedside, framed photo in hand, an endlessly blank stare boring into you. It becomes very clear that he's been standing there, watching you, waiting for you to wake up. ]


Ah. It's really true. You're the person in these pictures. [ His voice is awfully calm and conversational considering the situation, like he wasn't just eerily looming over you in your sleep. Like the two of you haven't been kidnapped to another universe, or whatever this is. His dark eyes shift between the photo to your face a few times, comparing. ] I couldn't tell until you opened your eyes.

b. for children

Hmm, mind if I ask you a question?

[ With all the spouse and children shifting going on, it's entirely possible you've ended up with him as a part of your household - even if only for a day or two. The ease with which he approaches you with a framed photo in hand isn't necessarily friendly, but at the very least, he's not in a state of paranoid panic. He's just... eerily okay with the situation.

He puts a hand on the newfound child in his home's shoulder, holding the photo out. ]


Do you really play soccer?

[ The photo is of the kid, clearly taken by one of the parents of this household - it's of them playing in some school tournament. ]
II. taste testing
[ All that bologna cake and 7-up cheese aspic that's going to waste or untouched? He's been eating it. He's taken the whole platefuls that have been offered to his family out to some picnic table in the sun, tasting each one by the spoonful right out of the tin. These are all far from the worst things he's ever had to eat, and besides, he'd actually rather give what the neighbors are handing off to them a taste - he wants to see if there's anything... well, nefarious that's been cooked into these things. You know, like rat poison, or something.

After a final spoonful of the jellied stuff, he sets his spoon down with a big ol' sigh, pushing the tin closer to his companion at the other side of the table. Sharing is caring! ]


It's normal food, afterall... pretty surprising.

[ "Normal" being the subjective term, here. ]
III. network
This should send to everyone, right? If so, I'd like to ask a favor of anyone reading.
Does your house have a spare sewing kit?
I'd like to borrow one.
IV. wildcard
( anything else goes here! here's some info from his journal, and feel free to shoot me a pm for anything specific. )
kk57: (kim1)

network

[personal profile] kk57 2021-04-12 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
[ he has a lot of curiosity about this network, and is certain it is being monitored. however this is an innocuous conversation. ]

I have one.
Why do you need it?


[ the phrasing feels blunt even as he sends it, but this wrist-radio is a frustrating device and he doesn't want to spend time being wordy. at least not unless there is a point. ]

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