TDM - JANUARY 2021

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - JANUARY 2021

Good to the last gasp.
CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma and other problematic material, body horror, dolls, violence

---

“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.

---

JANUARY 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. The newscaster, a man in a gray suit and horn-rimmed glasses, keeps shuffling his paperwork on his desk as black and white footage of people in the midst of celebration — throwing streamers, wearing paper hats, toasting flutes of bubbly liquid — is interspersed between his droning report: ”New Year's Eve was in full swing last night as citizens from all over Santa Rosita came together to ring in 1961. A surge in ginger ale and sparkling cider beverage sales was reported by Honeybees as early as eight o'clock in the evening, a boon for the store…“

---

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. CLOWN AROUND. If December was a time for sweet treats and good food, January is the month where everyone is trying to unload their leftovers. Who better to enjoy them than you, the newest family on the block? Your neighbors have quite a bit of food to share: Throughout the month, they'll stop by to say hello, bringing a new sugary dish with them each time. As always, jello molds are a staple. One plate turns into three turns into five, and by the end of the first week of January, you're likely to end up with a collection of jiggling pink, green, and orange lumps taking up space in your fridge. From mountains of Whip 'n Chill to Broken Window Glass cake, you'd be forgiven in thinking that there's no end to it. And yet, there's the occasional exception. Someone comes by with a Bundt cake lathered in vanilla icing and topped with rainbow sprinkles. Were it not for the giant candy clown head topping it, it would almost look good enough to eat. "There's a rumor going around that you've been a bit under the weather, so I thought this would cheer you up!" they say, right before thrusting the technicolor nightmare into your hands, the clown's dead pink frosted eyes staring up at you. Your neighbor is quick to tell you to eat it while the icing is still fresh (you never know who might lick it off when you're not looking, eh kids?), but not that the clown itself is made out of styrofoam. That's something you'll just have to find out for yourself when you take it back inside and start chowing down!

B. SNOW DAY

What awakens you one cold Friday morning isn't the blare of your alarm clock or your family getting ready to start their day or even the chilly air that tickles your toes as they poke out from the bottom of your covers, but the sound of hooting and hollering outside your window. The sight that awaits you when you go to investigate is something out of a Norman Rockwell painting: The entire neighborhood is outside, playing and carrying on in the snow. While everyone was sleeping, Santa Rosita got four inches of snow, more than enough for the schools to close but not enough to stop everyone from enjoying it.

And enjoy it they are! Children build snowmen in their front yards while their fathers work on shoveling their driveways. Most, however, are busy erecting snow forts in their yards and the middle of the street, running back and forth as they collect ammunition for an ongoing snowball fight that takes up half of the neighborhood. Nobody is spared from their assault, not even the adults, and especially not the newly arrived ones who leave the house. Good luck getting the mail, mom and dad!

"Come on! There's plenty of snow!" one young boy yells at you over a snowdrift. "You can join my team!"

"Nuh-uh!" another boy shoots back. "You can join my team!"

And on and on it goes. Well, for the pacifists among you, making snow angels is always an option!

---

THROUGHOUT JANUARY.

CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma, and other problematic material

There’s no business like show business! And business is hopping at the Starlight Drive-In, which has been boasting about its all-new film premiering on January 2nd and playing all month long. The critics are raving, the townspeople are flocking, and plans to go to the drive-in seems to be all anyone can talk about. “Make sure you get there early to see the serials,” many of them suggest, eyes wide with excitement. “I couldn’t look away!” Whether you come with your family, your friends, or simply come on your own, the lot is packed, Robbies and normal townsfolk alike beaming as they hook the individual speakers onto their cars. Apropos of the cold weather, the concession stand has added seasonal items to their menu, serving up hot chocolate and kettle corn in addition to its usual soda and popcorn. Watching a movie against a backdrop of gently falling snow while you're sipping on steaming chocolate and melted marshmallows has a certain je nais se quoi to it that even you have to admit is appealing. At last, when it's finally dark enough to start, the projector clicks on from the booth in the back of the lot and the movie begins. A. COMING ATTRACTIONS. The movie, Curse of the Doll People, is a horror flick. A real chill-o-rama, starring actors you've never heard of playing a group of archeologists who unknowingly trigger a deadly curse that sets a group of murderous living dolls upon them. The poster pasted on the ticket booth promises it'll be the most fun you'll have screaming. Unfortunately, you have to sit through several minutes of previews first. The coming attractions aren't anything special — a bunch of westerns, a romance, even a beach musical. Far from being bored to tears like you might be, the people in the cars around you are glued to the screen, popping snacks into their mouths and whispering their commentary among themselves. The movie is the reason why everyone's here, sure, but you don't just get one flick out of going to the pictures! There's also the serials, little 5—10 minute long chapter plays that tell a story in pieces. Nothing can beat those, and when the first one starts, everyone sits in rapt attention as if it were the feature presentation itself. But as the scene opens up on a sight that is instantly familiar to you, and your own face stares back at you from the projection screen, it becomes clear that this is no ordinary film. You watch your memories play out in grainy black and white footage, aired for all the world to see. Or perhaps not — though you may not realize it, the movie playing out on the screen differs from person to person. No one sees the same thing. The person next to you might see one of their worst fears come to life, whether imagined or real, practical or fantastic. You might see one of the worst moments of your life — the death of a friend, your hated enemy bringing you to the brink of death, your absolute lowest point — exactly the way you remember it... save for the way your double on the screen occasionally turns to face the audience, staring directly at you with a knowing smirk and a wink. Or the way your loved ones will sometimes go off-script, gazing at you with pleading eyes as they beg you to help them. The people of Santa Rosita will see an exciting battle between two pirate ships, swashbuckling and cannon fire in place of the traumas you're witnessing. When the serial ends on a cliffhanger, much to the disappointment of everyone around you, it's almost a mercy. "Tune in next week for the thrilling second part!" Well, you will, won't you?

---

END OF THE MONTH.

CW: body horror, dolls, violence

Aside from the horror of the drive-in, January might seem to be passing calmly... until one night, something changes. In the middle of the night, once you fall asleep in your comfortable bed (or on your couch, or with your head lolling against the kitchen table), a nightmare comes to you. The shift from whatever dreams you were having to the cold, dark void you find yourself standing in happens gradually and quietly. So too does the image that plays out in your mind's eye: From out of the darkness, a featureless mannequin stands ramrod straight, facing you with its arms pressed rigidly to its sides. It has no face, no identifying marks, no features at all. It's a blank slate in every sense of the word... until it isn't. Slowly, the material of the lower half of its face begins to split as a searing pain tears through your own, as if invisible fingers are ripping your lips off inch by inch. The slit on the doll's face widens and deepens until, finally, mercifully, its new mouth opens as yours disappears, replaced by a flat, smooth barrier of skin. Like it was never there to begin with. The pain returns, this time in your arms and neck — right as the doll's own begin to jerk. Your joints are hardening, seizing up as the doll's arms go from minutely twitching to slowly flexing. While every nerve and bone from your fingertips all the way up to your shoulders grows heavy, the doll tilts its head and looks down at its hands, as if seeing them for the first time. By the time it takes its first step, you've taken your last: the pain has spread to your feet, ankles and toes hardening and locking into place. Every part of you is claimed this way; what isn't taken by force simply fades from your body and shifts into being onto the doll's, your skin replacing its cloth body, your clothing dressing it, your hair filling out its head. Your tongue goes numb as the licks its newfound lips, coarse cloth and batting surging up from your lungs and all the way to the back of your throat. By the time it's over, you can't move. You can no longer breathe. All you can do is stare at the perfect, eyeless double of yourself standing before you. As your eyes begin to burn, the last thing you see before everything goes black is the sly curve of a smile — your smile — before the face wearing it turns away and walks back into the darkness. Luckily, you wake up to a room full of sunshine and the distant sound of traffic as the neighborhood gets ready for another beautiful day. The morning air feels cold and dry on your skin. You're you. As much as you've always been. Right?

A. DOPPELGANGER.

It's the kind of morning that makes you want to sing. Where the sky was once dull and grey, it's now a deep blue. Barring the usual hustle and bustle on the streets of Shadyside, the first sound that greets you when you wake up is the steady beat of water trickling outside your window as the snow begins to gently melt under the rays of the sun. You may even hear the chirp of a bird! January, in all its dreariness, is nearly at an end.

When you leave the room to go downstairs — or upstairs, if you slept in the living room — the house is quiet and flooded with sunlight. With how perfectly silent everything is, it's easy to mistake the calm for solitude and think you're alone.

This is not the case.

Waiting to greet you is a familiar figure. If you go downstairs, you'll see it sitting in your kitchen with its head bowed and its arms hanging limply at its sides; if upstairs, lying in your bed on its back. There's no mistaking who it is. Even at a distance, their hair, face, clothes and features all instantly recognizable, and you know who it is before you even fully register their presence:

You.

Motionless, your doppelganger looks more puppet than person. Its chest is still, not a single breath leaving its mouth. Its eyes are closed. They snap open when you get closer to it, wide enough to see the whites, as its head jerks up to look straight at you. In a staccato imitation of your voice, it chirps at you:

"Hi!"

"Good morning!"

"Hello!"

"Rise and shine!"

Your clone is a good imitation, but not a perfect one. Its movements are stiff and uncoordinated, like a marionette being commanded by unseen strings. Though its cheeks are rosy, its skin is pale and almost glossy with the texture of newly polished porcelain. None of these setbacks bother it in the very least. If left alone, it goes about the house mimicking your morning routine, though given how awkward just walking is for it, it's almost certain to do a very bad job. Still, it tries its hardest, following you all day around the neighborhood, trying to imitate your movements — all with a smile!

That is, until you become aggressive with it.

It doesn't take much to set your doppelganger off — a simple shove will do it. When that happens, its eyes will do the impossible and open even wider, its mouth yawning into a wail that pitches louder and louder. That's the point when it will lunge at you. Its hands will try to go for your throat, but not always. It's resourceful enough to improvise with whatever it has around it, whether that be a kitchen knife, a paperweight, or even a letter opener. Luckily for you, they're fragile. Just hitting them is enough to crack and chip away at their skin. With enough strength, their limbs can even come off. Unluckily, they don't stay down for long; even a severed appendage can be popped back into its proper ball-jointed place.

All the while, they never stop childishly whining and shrieking at you.

"Not nice!"

"Why are you so mean?!"

"Not nice, not nice, NOT NICE!"

The only way to shut them up for good is to keep pummeling them until they're nothing but a pile of doll parts. But be thorough — even a mouth that's nothing but a shard of porcelain can still talk.

---

OOC INFO

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

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real 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. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to February 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper. Additionally, starting today comments made to the TDM will now count towards Activity Check. Current players are permitted to use up to five comments from it for this month's Activity Check — half of the required amount to pass. The other five must be made within the game's communities.

If you would like to have January or other winter-themed content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

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

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

A note about the drive-in theater: Players are in full control over what memories, phobias, or fears the serials before the movie will depict. You can also specify whether or not other characters will be able to see your character's serial. Be sure to label your threads with relevant content warnings if needed!

---

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Comments

QUESTIONS

[robbies]

[ribticklers]

1) How will characters already in the game experience the time situation/distortions of who's in their house? I assume it won't seem like a dream to them, at least?

2) Since this is canon, are characters in the game allowed to take prompts from this to use with others currently in the game? I wouldn't want to take up space here from people who want to app in new characters with a top level.

PROSPECTIVE ROLODEX

[robbies]

If you are not presently in the game, please feel free to post a link to your top level here for easy visibility! Current players, please do not link your top levels here but do welcome your potential new neighbors to town!

Number Five | The Umbrella Academy

[oldmanfive]

I actually did a top level this time around!

Ken Amada | Persona 4 Arena Ultimax

[whatsamada]

A - Snow Day

[There were a couple of things Ken noticed when he woke up in a strange environment. One, he was convinced this was a fever dream he was having. There was no way he was stuck in 1961 and having to live with his family. Two, he wondered if he had eaten something terrible that made him have this odd dream. He was sure he had a normal dinner before making his way to bed. Whatever the case, he couldn’t deny that he was out about trying to help his mom and dad attempting to shovel the snow out.

Even if he was supposed to be a normal thirteen year, he still had to help his father out in some way! Although, the problem was how he just wasn’t use to shoveling this much snow! Does anyone dare to come and help him out?]

B - Coming attractions [Warning: Mentions of death]

[Ken had figured now that he had all the time in the world, he might as well go and see this hot new movie everyone had been talking about. At first, the movie didn’t seem anything different. It appeared to be your general B rated movie Junpei or Yukari making fun of whenever they had the time to spend with him. With a small frown, it was clear he was getting pretty bored as he kept watching preview after preview.

However, it became clear that something seemed rather off shortly after. As his eyes slowly widened, he wondered why he was seeing a younger version of himself. And yet, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the screen.]

Wait, that’s…!

[ But as the screen kept on playing, his eyes grew bigger at what played before him. He could hear the sounds of a horse as the sound of a woman could be heard. As the younger Ken screamed out, he was pushed aside by the women before something large fell on top of her.]

Mom! [He didn’t mean to shout but he had to look around to see if anyone was looking at this. Did they see the same thing he did…?]

C - Doppelganger

[Ken was very familiar with the concept of a copy image. He had to fight his shadow and he would not hesitate to do so again. However, it was different when he didn’t have his Persona with him. As he stared back at the poor copy, he had to keep calm. He knows the moment he makes it angry, it will want to start a fight. Instead, he was trying his best to keep it happy as he tried talking to it]

Nice day we’re having, right?

[He said to his copy before responding in the same manner. There was something unnerving about having this strange doll like copy of himself mimic every movement in such a way. But as he was trying to do a bunch of movements for said doll to keep up, he just had to wonder what its intentions were.]

Wildcard

[Surprise me!]

A

[petsthedog]

[It's not the loud yelling of children outdoors that gets Shinji's attention. Two years of living out on the streets takes most of the thrill out of snow, and he has little interest in engaging in snowball fights, snow forts, angels or snow shenanigans of any kind.

No, it's a certain dog that finally gets him to go out into the cold weather outside. Koromaru barks excitedly and bounds out the door, stopping at Ken's feet and wagging his tail happily and trying to lick Ken's face as he bends down to shovel snow.

Shinjiro, for his part, is not quite as fast as the dog; he jogs to catch up with him, calling out before he even sees where the dog has stopped--]

Oi, Koro-chan, what have I told you about running off like tha--

[His voice goes dead in his throat, heart suddenly hammering a mile a minute. Is that....?]

...Amada?

tsukasa domyouji | hana yori dango

[humingyay]

[wake up]
[ It takes Domyouji Tsukasa a good ten minutes to even start waking up, at first covering his eyes from the sunlight that filters through his room before consciousness starts to take hold. He's not one for loitering around in bed yet for once Domyouji can't help but stare at the ceiling, brows furrowing into a frown as he takes note that his ceiling looks gross. Wait no, his room is too small. Wait —

What the fuck?! Not for the first (or last) time in Domyouji's life he can't help but pause in confusion. This isn't his room! This is someone else's room and instantly he throws the covers off and jumps out of the bed, spinning around on the spot as he tries to take everything in as quickly as he can. He'd been...what had he been doing? Right! He'd been on his way to prom, ready to ask the only girl for him an important question! Now he's in some poor person's room, some disgusting commoner's place and Domyouji grabs the nearest figurine and clicks his tongue at it. Trash. The item is promptly tossed aside before the teenager begins rifling through the nearest wardrobe. His clothes are gone. No more Gucci or Ted Baker, no Louis Vuitton or even Chanel. No, just more poor people clothing. Whatever, it will have to do for now, it's an emergency.

God, did his mother somehow have something to do with this? Domyouji wouldn't put it past her, that old hag. Soon enough the teenager leaves his room, expression thunderous as he makes his way from room to room. He's not even quiet with his words; if someone wants to fuck with him and kidnap him then he's not going to be happy about it! That and how is he meant to stay calm when he's meant to be proposing at the prom??]

HEY! SHOW YOURSELF ASSHOLE! HOW DARE YOU TRY TO KIDNAP ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT!

[ Domyouji pauses when he catches sight of a photograph. He's in it along with some others. He doesn't recognise them but everyone seems happy enough, as if they all know each other well and it's enough to have him pausing in his indignant rage to let out his confusion.]

Haa? What is this shit?

[meet the neighbours]
[ Domyouji has been wandering around in a foul mood, glaring anyone who dares to even try talking to him. He's trying to find the person in charge but all he's getting is vague answers to his specific questions. No-one knows anything about a kidnapping, they all believe he's been there the whole time and Domyouji can feel his blood pressure rising. He's been better about using his fists and getting into fights since meeting and spending time with Makino; he was a better person for being around her, yet she's not here right now and these people are sorely testing him. Besides, they all think it's 1961 and they're in America. How stupid are they? How wrong they all are. It's 2007, duh.

He eventually takes a seat, crossing his ankles as he watches the pile of plates that start showing up, an array of colourful desserts and sweet things. Poor people food. Commoner crap. No way is he eating that and Domyouji is already turning his nose up. It doesn't look healthy and who the fuck knows what is in it? It's only when the clown cake comes out that Domyouji makes a scoffing noise, unable to help himself as he clenches his fists, tone more surly than anything.]

Stop fucking around! How am I meant to cheer up in this place? I am not eating that!

[doppelganger]
[ Maybe it's a small mercy that this place decided to provide something that Domyouji could truly justify beating up. Certainly it's a horrific thing, something straight out of a nightmare to see right in front of him. Yet those feelings are overridden by the indignant realisation that something is trying to copy him and poorly at that too.

Anyone passing in the street will have to duck as porcelain limbs are suddenly thrown out into the street from Domyouji's open doorway. He's having none of it and he stamps down a foot to crack another one of the thing's arms before getting ready to throw that in the street too.]

How dare you copy the great and almighty me! You can't even do that shit right!

[network]
Stop messing with me.

Hostage situations are stupid and my old hag of a mother wouldn't pay shit anyway.

Don't make me come and find you.

If Makino is here I'll kill you!

[wildcard]
[ ooc: anything goes, feel free to PM, I'm sorry he's a very angry teenager.]

network

[niteowls]

Who is Makino?

Claude von Riegan | Fire Emblem: Three Houses

[bowfaire]

1. Clown Around

(It's early in the morning when one (1) Claude von Riegan knocks on your door and holds up a tray jello cake wrapped in cellophane or something and offers you a charming smile,)

Hey, neighbor.

(His words are punchy and sarcastic, like someone who is definitely trying to imitate other Robbies going door to door. He definitely isn't one, though. He's not quite selling the act completely and he isn't really trying. (... Did he just wink at you?))

Happy New Year. (Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, he's going to try and thrust that tray over in your direction,) Here you go.

(It wiggles and jiggles and all the other -iggles and once he's successfully(?) off loaded it, he's going to turn on his heel and… head back home? Hit the town? Hm. Anyway, did you really need another weirdo jelly dish or clown cake? Neither did Claude. Maybe he'll go back to the house and try to get rid of those other platters before anyone else catches on to his clearly genius regifting plan.)

No need to thank me or anything. I was just thinking about you.

(He doesn't even know you.)

2. Coming Attractions

(At first, he doesn't seem to react at all. He stays leaned back in his seat, seemingly relaxed. His reactions are carefully controlled, as if he's mindful not to let anyone watching him see too much. He starts to sit up as the scene progresses but it seems to match with the rest of the audience watching their totally ordinary pirate serial.

As it ends, he excuses himself from the car. Or well, he tries to. How does he get out of this steel carriage again? After a second or so fighting the handle, he grabs a soft drink from inside the car and holds it up to show that he's clearly going to go get a refill or something.

This is basically a prompt saying you can catch Claude over at the concessions drinking a very fizzy cola and avoiding the movie that's now started. He'll hang out over here for a while! Long enough to finish his drink and just make loud noises with his straw and empty drink.)

… How long is this again?

(It's his first movie. He has no idea how long these things usually are.)

4. Wildcard

(Hit me! You can reach me via PM or eski . As a heads up, I'm traveling for work this weekend so I'll be a little slow.)

1

[ribticklers]

[Okay, so in spite of having been here for a while, Sans still thinks the food here is hilarious, and he doesn't actually object to having another weird wiggly thing around. But that doesn't mean Sans isn't going to follow this guy and shove the food back at him anyway, because you should never make this kind of regifting easy. His grin is wide but natural--not a Robbie, just a general annoyance.]

Hey, buddy, I can't in good conscience take this food right outa such a great guy's mouth. [Sans doesn't even know him.]

bo-katan kryzie | star wars

[niteowls]

I - Clown Around

[ whatever this... thing thing? that these 'neighbors' have brought her as a gift for recovery and cheer (two things she does not need at this time)? it has to go.

they didn't let her get so much as a breath of a word in before thrusting this monstrosity onto her and walking away with cheerful grins. she's left stunned at the front of her door, holding the large platter with both hands, uncertain how to discard it. no way is this cursed depiction of some matter of creature coming inside the house where she has to sleep.

she walks down the lane of the house and onto the sidewalk, staring hatefully at the gift, almost certain it's mocking her. her eyes dart from the cake, flicking onto another person coming down the street, and an idea comes to her head. she smiles, incapable of looking anything but mildly wicked, and closes the distance in a carefully measured approach. ]

Good day. Would you like this... cake?

[ the ones that pushed it on her said it was a cake, so that's what she's going with. ]

II - Doppelganger (cw: dolls & violence)

[ when walking past a quaint little house on a pleasant stretch of street, you may be stopped in your tracks by the sound of heavy bangs and muffled screams. it's clear they come from inside the house, with the door slightly ajar. the angered sounds of a battle continue and you can either enter or observe.

if you enter: inside two women, near identical in appearance and dress from head to toe, are locked in combat. one is swift, coordinated in the combination of jabs and kicks that put to display her training. the other is stiff and barely able to keep up, unnatural in motion. blinded in rage, the first delivers a swift kick to the other's stomach and knocks her back right toward the door, where you just came in.

if you observe: the noises continue for several lengthy seconds until a woman suddenly stumbles out and falls on her back. her porcelain face is impounded, cracked and hollow, and the only eye she has left darts up to you. she speaks, quiet and fearful: Help... me.

only a moment following, the aggressor comes out from the house - a woman identical to the one on the ground, only clearly human. she scoffs. ]

Asking for help? You're a pitiful imitation.

III - Network (voice)

Has anyone else had something stolen from them? If so, have you any idea where it is?

...Additionally, what is the name of this atrocious planet?

[ ooc: for II, indicate which of the options you want to thread for in the subject line! any spoilers for mandalorian s2 will be tagged as such, though my goal is to avoid them more or less. ]

for buyce

[niteowls]

[ bo-katan is not a deep sleeper, and yet this morning she wakes up with the sort of grogginess that only comes with waking from heavy slumber. she rubs her face and immediately notices how lighter she feels. as if she dropped fifteen pounds.

it strikes her fast, urgently, that she has. the haze of sleep clears in a blink and she springs out from the bed and scans the room. it's clearly a bedroom, though not decorated like any she has ever seen. the wallpaper is an ugly yellow with white floral print, the furniture cheap and unrecognizable in origin (what planet puts a fabric shade over a vase?) and this red get-up spites her.

she quickly locates a closet door and doesn't hesitate to open it and begin to search, desperate, frantic, angered. where is her beskar? her helmet, her gauntlet, her jetpack?! she doesn't even get more than a few seconds into the search before she's ripping out everything and tossing it out into the room, intent on not leaving any stone unturned. ]

Mary | Spirit Hunter: Death Mark

[dollfie]

A. Arrival

[She expected to wake in a small box, not in a bed like this. The room is like nothing like what she'd have back home, full of dolls and pink and frills. Mary stares at it all very unimpressed and sits up, looking around.

Her body felt...oddly fleshy. She pokes and prods at her arms, frowning, brows furrowed (That's weird too,moving her limbs like this, moving her face), watching the flesh give away under her fingertips.

Slowly she tries to get up and finds herself instantly sprawling as she tries to get up. It takes some trial and error for her to get to the stairs, but whoever decided to give her a human body didn't take into account giving her the knowledge of how to use it.

SHe manages to get crawling down after a bit, but the stairs prove a problem. After a moment she frowns and starts trying to scoot down the stairs, but near the bottom she slips and slides the rest of the way down with a grunt until she lands with a loud thump in a heap at the bottom.

If not found inside, Mary might be found outside the house, but still crawling on hands and knees in her nightgown, trying to collect her bearings.]

B. Snow Day

[She stands amidst the falling snow and shrieking kids with a blank look on her face, staring down at herself as snow begins to seep into her shoes and her socks.]

It's...cold. I've never been cold before. [She muses out loud, holding out a hand to catch some snowflakes. She turns her head to watch some of the children throwing their snowballs and tilts her head]

I fail to see the point of this.

C. Doppelganger.

[Perhaps you live with Mary, or perhaps the shrieking and sounds of fighting carried all the way outside and you're trying to investigate.

Either way, one can find the completely shattered doll all over the floor of the living room, Mary sitting with a book in hand, casually flipping through it.

She glances up, then closes her book on her lap, sitting up straight. She bows her head, her voice formal and polite.]

Hello, my lord(/lady). I hope the noise did not disturb you.

D. Wildcard!

[obligatory wildcard for anything else!]

B

[thotsandprayers]

It's fun.

[Says the adult who is also cold from having been caught in the middle of the ongoing snow war. She doesn't mind though, if anything it's nice to see children running around and playing since she spent her childhood indoors.]

Give it a try, especially if it's something you've never experienced before. You might actually find it enjoyable.

[Kiara smiles since that's pretty much her way of getting through life which hasn't steered her wrong so far. Except for uh...probably a number of things. Maybe she's not the best person to give life advice to be honest.]

randall flagg / the stand

[hardcase]

1. january 1st /

[ Flagg is used to waking up in different worlds. What he isn't used to is waking up in a house with people in it. He's a drifter by nature, always outside, always alone.

Except now, apparently, he has a horribly saccharine little family unit to look after, like something straight out of an old magazine. Alright, sure. Let's see where this goes. He sneaks out of bed quietly, figuring he'll let his 'spouse' wake up on their own time as he gets to know his surroundings.

He hangs around the living room quietly until he hears footsteps. ]

You know, I don't usually photograph so well. [ He's staring at one of the pictures on the wall. Otherworldly entities don't generally pose for nice photographs, but there he is smiling for the camera like it's a regular thing. ]

2. clowning around /

[ It doesn't take long for Flagg to accept that he's stuck here. It also doesn't take long for him to embrace the horrible culinary creations that this place has to offer and, after a good read-through of a particularly tacky cookbook he's ready to start handing his own creations out to his unsuspecting neighbors.

He rings the doorbell. If there's no answer, he'll ring it again. He's old, and persistent, and he damn well saw that light on upstairs.

Whoever answers will be met with a man in a denim jacket and an apron with 'KISS THE COOK' written on it in a frilly cursive font, holding a gelatin monstrosity that may or may not be edible. ]

Howdy, neighbor. Just thought I'd introduce myself. Name's Randall Flagg. That's 'Flagg' with a double G.

[ And he grins, offering the culinary disaster to his hapless target. He's more curious about whether or not his neighbor will actually eat the terrible thing he's made for them, but getting to know people can't hurt either. ]

3. wildcard /

[ Anything goes. ]

1

[bindsthedead]

And I don't recall posing for ones with you. [Because there's Sabriel in those photos- Sabriel at her current age, smiling while seated at a piano, a younger Sabriel dressed up as a witch, Sabriel smiling up at this man like he's her father...

And then there's the real Sabriel, eyeing him suspiciously and holding a knife with an alarmingly steady grip for a teenage girl.]

Who are you and where is this place?

Dinah Drake Lance | DC Comics (New 52/Rebirth era)

[sonicsiren]

1. Clown Around
[This has been enough of a nightmare as it is. Despite her life with Kurt Lance - and god, that feels like a literal lifetime ago, even if the calendar suggests that she's living in a time where she technically hasn't even been born yet - marriage and kids isn't what Dinah has ever imagined what her life would be like. She's been so many things - a spy, a superhero, a rock star - but a mother? That was never in the cards. Her life has always been too volatile, and for someone who was abandoned by her own mother, she's never quite felt she had it in her to be a good one for one of her own.

All of that is different, now.

What is also different is the creepy candy clown staring at her from the bundt cake on her Formica dining table. It doesn't look like the Joker, thankfully, but clowns are always creepy - Dinah's maintained that ever since watching IT back at the foster home had horrified her as a child. Still, the cake's not Jell-O, and Dinah is a little hungry. Plus she has you - her neighbor, or one of her family members - in the kitchen with her. She's gotten plates and forks together, and she's even managed to make coffee - though warning, Dinah makes TERRIBLE coffee.
She cuts into the cake, morbidly starting with the head of the clown - and -]

Styrofoam?!

2. Coming Attractions

[Dinah's used to the fact that Big Brother - or in her case, Big Sister, thank you Oracle - might be watching and recording. It's not a concept she's always been at peace with, but she's also aware of how helpful a practice it's sometimes been. What she's uneasy with is watching this. It feels like her, but at the same time, it doesn't feel like her. There's that twisted smile for one thing, an expression that Dinah's sure she's never made, even in her darkest moments against an enemy. But this isn't even that. This is Dinah, as a Gotham City street kid, scrounging for food, fighting to survive, fighting to live, before being taken in by Sensei Desmond...and the movie goes ahead up until his death from brain cancer. That's not the worst of it, though.

The worst of it is Desmond, staring straight at Dinah, as if pleading for him to save her - so different from the Desmond who had bravely accepted his fate - while her teenage self gazes brightly at Dinah with that cold smile.

Is she going to tune in for the second part? No. She doesn't want to. But she will.

For now, though, she stumbles out of her car and goes in search of refreshment. What're the chances that they'll have something stronger than a soda at the concession stand?]

3. Doppelganger
[For the last month, there hasn't been any need for Dinah to resort to using her sonic scream. There are no assassins here, no costumed villains. A lot of creepiness, sure, but nothing that's caused the need for Dinah to do her destructive best. Unfortunately, now that she's presented with the opportunity to use her greatest weapon, she literally can't use it. It's gone, and instead she's left screaming like the pretty blonde heroine in a B-grade horror flick as she assaults her doppelganger - WHAT THE HELL - with its own arm. It's screaming back at her, wailing, and even it has a more powerful scream than Dinah herself currently does.

She's only a little jealous of it.

Luckily for her, while her scream might be gone, all of her martial arts training isn't. If anyone's watching from the outside, they'll see her doppelganger - sans one arm - come flying out of the kitchen window, with Dinah following it soon after, still only dressed in her silken, dark blue nightgown, brandishing the doppleganger's other arm in her hand like a bo staff. The next moment, they're in the rose bushes, with Dinah giving it a severe heel palm strike to the chin, following it up with a flying knee to the chest. Oh yes, she's delightfully violent, isn't she? Stand back if you don't accidentally want to get hurt. Or come closer and cheer her on. After all, it's quite a show. Plus, you might be able to answer the question she's asking the doppleganger as she pummels it within an inch of whatever passes for its life.]

Who sent you here?!

4. Network. (Text)

You know, I've never really been technology girl, but this archaic stuff is somehow WORSE than the Q-phone I used to have back home.

That's not why I'm messaging, though.

Anyone seen any really creepy movies lately? Or had, I don't know, an overly familiar houseguest show up?

Drop me a line if you have - let's talk.

Or let's just make plans to meet for coffee, if you want. But please, I beg you. No Jell-O.

5. Wildcard!

[Surprise me! Or PM me on here if you'd like to plan something else out.]

coming attractions

[niteowls]

[ bo-katan does not like the movie screening tonight. a feature film about how she saved her planet from the brink of destruction, only for it to be attacked again by an even greater force and conquered. it has been years since she has seen home and yet the wound is as fresh as it was thirty years ago.

she's at the concession stand, leaning against the wall with a cup of some dark sugary water that fizzes angrily underneath a plastic cover, when she notices dinah approach. there isn't any line right now, and only a scattering of people are around and chatting about the film. strangely, everything they say? it's about how scary the lizard monster going after those teenagers are. bo-katan observes and listens, not all that discreet about it. ]

chirrut îmwe / star wars

[whillpower]

» waking up

[ this is not death.

chirrut has, by all accounts, spent considerably more time alive than he has dead but he can still say without a sliver of doubt that this is not death. death does not come bearing incredibly soft beds, or comfortable clothes, or the sounds of children playing just outside. death does not ease you gently into consciousness with the warmth of morning sunlight streaming through a window.

it's not death, but it's nothing familiar, either. he sits up, closes his eyes, and focuses on his surroundings, trying to pick up on anything that might indicate where this is. there's a person a few feet away on his left, sleeping or unconscious by the sound of their breathing, but chirrut can only be sure that it isn't baze — their identity otherwise is indecipherable.

another peal of childish laughter rings out from somewhere outside, cutting through the silence — this isn't scarif. it also lacks the sterile scent of a hospital; even jedha city's dusty, back alley clinics had smelled of bacta.

a broadcast is playing from somewhere downstairs but he can't make out what it is.

ah, and perhaps most notably, the force is absent. not silent, not still, just gone. chirrut's connection to it is tenuous on the best of days but right now he feels like a drowning man scrabbling for safety and finding nothing. the first pinprick of fear begins needling its way into his chest. to quell it he furrows his brow and launches into a familiar prayer: ]

The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force; and I fear nothing, because all is as the Force wills it.

[ even, he thinks, when the force is being decidedly stubborn. perhaps especially then.

his expression tightens and he cocks his head, shifting his attention back to the other person in the room. they're stirring now, which surely has nothing to do with the stranger spouting a prayer over here. ]

Are you awake?

» coming attraction

[ the promise of a real thrill-o-rama at the drive-in isn't what's drawn chirrut out tonight. in fact he hadn't even heard about it. he's already making a habit of walking the town each night, covering every square foot he can reach, trying to memorize every path, every alleyway, every storefront. his uneti-wood staff is gone so he uses a cane he'd found to guide him instead. it's flimsy and won't be much use in a fight, but it will do.

the sound of blaster fire is what draws him towards the drive-in. it's the first sign he's had that this might be somewhere closer to home than it seems, but as he gets closer he realizes that it's not real fire at all. it's a recording, but not just of blasters. he can hear himself praying, and baze calling his name. he hears an explosion.

he's listening to his final moments, or what should have been, but how? he can't even begin to make sense of why this would even exist, let alone why it would be playing here.

there's a presence to his left. someone's there, so he turns towards them, brow creased into a deep frown. ]

Are they playing a vid?

» wildcard

( i didn't do more prompts bc i intend to tag out but if you wanna do anything just lmk!!! )

( prompt: coming attractions. )

[sunborne]

Unfortunately.

[ the person speaking to chirrut is clearly a young man, his voice crisp and clear in both youth and discomfort as he continues to talk. it's almost like he's trying to drown out what's being played before them. ]

So, like, I don't know about you but I'm hoping this is one of those budget films, you know? Scrappy team pooling their stuff together because they got these big dreams in show biz, hullabaloo like that. They're usually thirty minutes long, maybe forty minutes if the cast and crew were feeling ambitious, but I don't think this is going to be the usual hour-long film.

[ he pauses and there's some shuffling where he stands. then someone rapping their knuckles on a solid, wooden surface. ] I hope it isn't an hour-long.

Monika || Doki Doki Literature Club

[peninhand]

1. Snow Day
Snow... Was it the first time she'd ever seen it? Certainly she did have memories of it, but could one even call those fleeting fragments stuck in her head 'memories?' It was all so foggy and unclear... She could see herself with her parents playing in the snow, yet she couldn't remember their faces. She couldn't remember the sensation of touching snow, she couldn't remember what she'd been doing. Why, she could barely remember anything! What she remembered could be summarized as a short sentence.

It was probably to be expected, after all her past was nothing but an after-thought. Not actual memories, but lines of code that translated as memories in her mind. Bits of programming to maintain the illusion of her being an actual human. If only her creator had cared more about her... Ahaha. What a silly thought.

Thus one could find Monika isolated from pretty much everyone else, holding a snowball in hand. Half-melted, at that. She was absolutely lost in thoughts and contemplation of this very simple yet fascinating thing.


2. Doppelganger
It would appear today was garbage day, for Monika could be found taking out the trash! She came out of her house with a black garbage bag in hand, doubtlessly filled with all sorts of unsightly things best taken out. And of course being the polite person she is, upon spotting you Monika flashed a bright smile followed by a greeting.

"Good morning~!"

She put the bag into the garbage bin, sighing with relief. Just another day in paradise, to be sure. But alas, ere she could do or say anything else, a noise emerged from the garbage bin. Muffled and broken as it was, one could still recognize it as doll-like imitation of Monika's very own voice.

"whY dId YoU cUt Me InTo TiNy PiEcEs? It iS sOo MeAn!"

Upon hearing that, Monika's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed— That... thing was still working? After how it had tried to imitate her, how it had tried to replace her and kill her? After how she had dismantled and broken it? Why, how? It was not only scary but also infuriating. Gritting her teeth, she took the lid of the garbage bin and put it back on top, slamming her hand onto it, as if trying to flatten the garbage bags beneath.

"Ah... Ahaha...!" Needless to say, she was more embarrassed than ever. Her smile cracked up, her hand slamming upon the garbage bin once more to definitely shut that doll up. "What a silly toy!"


3. Network
Hey everybody! My name's Monika.

Don't you think what we're going through kind of feels like some kind of... I dunno, video game? We've got very clear boundaries in the world around us that we can't trespass, we're supposed to follow a very specific script and are punished if we deviate from it, we have things we must go through...

I don't know, maybe that's a silly thought. I guess that's just something I had in mind and wanted to share, ahaha!

2

[thotsandprayers]

Kiara'll just wave and be polite at her new neighbor, not terribly interested in anyone's trash. At least until it talks, that's concerning. Or would be if she were actually concerned, her friendly expression won't waver a bit, listening to that muffled voice. Which might raise a few questions about if she's had a run in with one of these, but it's hardly polite to burden the neighbors with her problems.

“It certainly sounds like it. And so easily broken as well.”

Okay, so that probably answers those questions. Still, she's polite enough to spare the details for now.

“So really it sounds like it's in its proper place now.”

She's supportive of this really. She's sure she would've reacted much the same if she were younger, assuming she'd managed to get the better of the thing and wrangle it into a trash can.

constantin d'orsay | greedfall

[takeroot]

I. arrival/home

[The pajamas are a surprise. The rest of it, too, but baby steps: the pajamas are a goofy, polka dot experience, and it's easier to focus on upon waking up somewhere he did not go to sleep. So. Okay. Strange room, strange bed, stranger in the other bed— Constantin makes his hasty retreat from the master bedroom as soon as he's awake enough to get his bearings, sidling into the hallway for an impromptu tour of this... happy home.

The pictures are the second surprise, not a familiar face or cogent memory among them, and yet— well! Well, despite himself, Constantin can't help but linger some at each one, curious at first and then bittersweet; wouldn't it be something spectacular, he thinks, if any of these were real? If, indeed, this very happy family in these pictures all over the house were truly his? Hmm. He shouldn't dwell on it— he doesn't, pointedly leaving the evidence of family in this house behind to go, ah...

Break stuff in the kitchen. More or less. Even 1961 is far beyond his technological know-how, and so these appliances? Absolutely bonkers! There's a note stuck to the fridge in his own handwriting about how to operate the coffee machine, which he makes his best attempt to follow, and so the smell of... slightly burnt coffee might just wake you up and draw you down here.

It's a mess, alright: rogue coffee beans on the counter, some kind of unholy sludge in the coffeepot, a stronger burnt smell than what made it upstairs, and Constantin in his pajamas, standing there sipping out of a kitschy personalized mug with his name on it. The other Family Mugs (tm) are arranged in a cute little line on the table. Despite All This, he perks up when someone comes in.]

Oh- morning! Which, ah... which one is yours?

[The mugs. Are you thirsty.]

II. neighbors

A. clowns
[Jello is an exciting new substance for Constantin, and until his entire home is filled with it (or he finishes one serving, whichever comes first), he isn't going to tire of it. Somehow. It's novel! Food that wiggles and is fascinating to look at, what's not to love?

The sheer amount of it, perhaps, which is why if you happen to be trying to foist your own jello and cake terrors on the neighbors, Constantin is already holding a plate of that broken window glass cake he's picking away at when he comes to the door. The look on his face immediately becomes one of a man who is so very, absurdly curious about Weird Food but is also psychically predicting just how sick he's going to be come a few hours from now... oh, the dilemma...

So:]

More? I'm starting to think this food delivery is targeted! Well, come on— [And he steps aside, gesturing; get in here, total stranger.] If I'm going to take another plate, you'll at least afford me the simple courtesy of a conversation! Come!

[At least he's not demanding you also eat a load of jello??]


B. snow
[Or, the short prompt: See Constantin brave the street full of rowdy children and their snowballs, see Constantin get beaned in the side of the head and go down, like, immediately. He's out. Goodbye, cruel world...

He's just going to lay there and play dead (read: not interesting to throw stuff at anymore) until someone comes to see what the hell he's doing, at which point he will speak up, arm thrown dramatically over his face:]

I am slain! Go on without me— [ahem, and flatly:] and do refrain from burying me in any more treacherous snow, thank you. I have had enough for a lifetime.

III. doppel effect

[Being aggressive with a life size, identical puppet thing just feels like a bad idea all around; yes, it's creepy. Yes, it stares a little too hard and its voice is a little too chipper to sound totally on the level. Sure, these things are true. But Constantin is most definitely just as fragile as a literal porcelain copy of himself, and so: he's embracing the weird and taking it along for his day, instead.

He's dressed differently from the doppelganger, at least, so it's easy to tell them apart even when they aren't moving— he's put forth the effort to make sure his spooky copy has mittens and a cozy hat for the winter chill, see, which he is currently stopped on the sidewalk adjusting and trying to insist to the double that he is still not wearing a hat, thank you, stop reaching for his head—]

You'll catch cold! [it chirps, to which he says,] For the hundredth time, my dim little golem, I am profoundly touched by your concern. However—

[However it has spied a friendly neighbor!! and twists away from him to jerkily step towards, well, you, instead. It is a haunted doll on a mission and it will not be deterred!!]

You'll catch cold! [ h e l l o ] You'll catch cold!

IV. misc

[wildcard? mayhaps? you can reach me by pm or jojoveller if you want]

( prompt: doopel effect. )

[sunborne]

[ he was just coming out to shovel the driveway. why is he being punished for trying to do chores?

daylight is a deer-in-headlights as he holds the snow shovel in a tight grip, his eyes looking back-and-forth at the twins(?) who seem to be having an argument. this is... this is something he's going to either get used to or never get used to. he's not sure which scenario is the worst one to face, honestly. ]

Um... Hi. Yeah. [ he forces himself to have one of his hands let go and give a wave, flashing a faltering but trying-to-be-honest smile. ] I know I don't have a hat. I'm just going to clean up my driveway and dip back in. It won't be for too long.

[ daylight looks over to the other guy to see his response to the situation, eyebrows raised and his expression a clear what-the-fuck. ]

The Mandalorian | Star Wars

[buyce]

[I. JANUARY 1st

He isn't sure what frightens him more. Waking up next to someone else, or the fact that his armor is nowhere to be found. Either way, the Mandalorian doesn't linger in the bedroom for long. He throws something else on and exits the room quickly, quietly, and makes his way downstairs.

Framed photographs line the wall leading downstairs. Himself, as well as strangers that he does not recognize. There's a faint hum in the den below, and what sounds like a holo must be playing, but the words barely seem to register. All he can focus on is his own face staring back at him. He looks... happy. Not like himself.

Eventually, his journey takes him to what must be a garage. Perfect. He needs to find something to start taking down the pictures framed to the wall. What he finds instead is an old motorbike. Not quite as large as the swoop he'd borrowed on Tatooine, and there are wheels instead of repulsorlifts. But on the seat of the bike...

He grimaces, taking the helmet in both hands and staring down at it. It isn't the same. But it will have to do.]

[II. SNOW DAY]

Hey!

[His ire's directed at the children playing on the street, the both of them doubled in laughter at the expense of the man in the helmet and the clothes he's definitely too old for. The snowball's remains slowly drop along the back of his jacket, his rigid posture conveying his displeasure.]

Don't do that again.

[With that, he turns and starts to walk away. That is, until another snowball is lobbed in his direction. This one bounces off the back of his helmet. The children's laughter doesn't stop even after he whips back around, snarling:]

Dank farrik...! I'm not kidding!

[But the children don't take this mighty hunter seriously. Perhaps if there was someone else at the Mandalorian's side, they could even the score...]

[III: WILD CARD.

If there's a different option you'd like to thread, please reference it in the subject line. Feel free to PM this journal too if you'd like to plot or brainstorm together. In addition, please let me know if you're okay with any spoilers for S2 of The Mandalorian, and I'll be sure to mark accordingly.]

I spoilers ok!

[convor]

[Hearing someone else make their way through the house, Sabine immediately begins to search for something, anything that could function as a weapon. She's been stripped of her armor and her own equipment, but that doesn't mean she's giving up so easily.

So as the Mandalorian contemplates his motorcycle helmet, the garage door bursts open suddenly to reveal a girl in her late teens wearing soft pink pajamas but very seriously brandishing a baseball bat.]

Who are you.

Yakko Warner | Animaniacs

[outoftoon]

January 1st

[Something is definitely not right.

Yakko can tell that immediately. He feels... stiff. Contained. Like his body is forced to stay in just one shape rather than bounce and bend and detach in whatever cartoonish way he needs it to. And this definitely isn't the Water Tower? It's much smaller than the inside and much bigger than the outside and entirely lacking in his siblings. He doesn't even think he's in Burbank.

He can't feel his tail. Come to think of it, his ears feel weird too. He frowns and reaches up to touch his face. It's... not furry. His nose is all flat and non-button-y.]

Oh, no.

[He sits up and scrambles out of bed, nearly slipping on some comic books.]

Oh no, oh no.

[He scrambles into the hall until he slides in front of a mirror. And... yep. That right there is a human face. He raises his fists in the air.]

NOOOOOOO I'm a human teen!!

[A pause. He takes another look at his face, poking and stretching at the skin. Does he really look like a teen, though?? There's a certain youthfulness of course, and the clothes and expressions are right, but he doesn't look nearly as young as a real teen. He falls to his knees and raises his fists again.]

NOOOOO I'm a human teen from a CW drama!!

[TRULY this is a travesty.]

Getting to Know the Neighbors

[Considering Yakko's tendency towards zaniness (to the max!!) it's maybe surprising how gracious he is at all the jello he's getting. He's been downright gentlemanly, smiling and chatting at the neighbors and calmly and quietly filling the fridge.

All the while, he's been preparing. He's a professional, after all. Just because he can't pull gags out of nowhere doesn't mean he's going to give up on them. Once he judges he's collected enough Jello, he loads them up carefully into a bag and goes out into town to find his next victim.

Which is to say, that you might be minding your own business living life as you please when you suddenly get a faceful of jello hurled at you.

Look up and you'll see Yakko cackling, rolling around on the ground.]

That never gets old!

January 1st

[spaghettimonster]

[Papyrus is slow to rise today, after staying up to midnight and discovering the strange lack of shift in the calendar. He's still in bed when the yelling starts, and so stumbles out still in pajamas to squint at the scene in the hall.

He doesn't recognize the specific person, claiming to be a human teen while looking older than a teen... and maybe, older than Papyrus? But he recognizes the scene itself, the moment of standing at a mirror and screeching about being human now, after a life of something else.]

Are you a monster...?

[Half-asleep, it's not the most graceful way to ask. But he's not horrified by the idea - if anything, hopeful to find another person from home.]

And, what's a CW drama??

Theon Greyjoy | A Song of Ice and Fire

[reek]

1. January 1st

[ For a moment, Theon believes he’s had another night terror. The flames, the shrieks of terror, Ramsay—none of it was real. He’s perfectly fine, still curled up beneath his furs in Winterfell. He thinks, if he stays here, perhaps all of his mistakes will melt away.

But that doesn’t seem likely. When he opens his eyes, he isn’t met with the stone walls of Winterfell at all. He’s met with a bright, slightly too warm room, and he doesn’t recognize it at all. Thoughts racing, he bolts upright, searching for anything familiar.

On the walls, he finds…himself. Granted, there’s a stranger there with him, but the pictures are leagues more detailed than any sort of portrait he’s seen painted before. These are so realistic that give the illusion of watching a scene through a window

He turns his head slightly, wondering if he’s peering into some sort of strange looking glass. In the end, he settles for staring at the photographs, transfixed, waiting for them to move. ]

2. Snow Day

[ It’s the first familiar thing he’s seen since arriving, but it’s so…pitiful. Winterfell was cold and grey and seemed to be blanketed in white more often than not. Four inches is just a little skiff.

But it’s fine. He’s well versed in the art of the snowball fight by now, and he may as well show off a bit. He joins no teams. Instead, he forms his own team, consisting of himself, and no one is safe from his wrath. From the youngest child to the oldest grandparent, everyone is a target, and he doesn’t miss.

He may have just a little bottled up anger. ]

3. Doppelganger

[ No one hates Theon Greyjoy more than Theon Greyjoy, and the surge of rage he feels when he sees his own face staring right back at him rushes through him like a wildfire.

He puts up with it, allowing it to follow him down the street for a grand total of about two minutes, but when it opens its porcelain mouth and chirps, “nice weather we’re having!”, Theon reels around and begins to pummel it. ]

What’s so nice about it?

[ He sneers, attempting to yank the doppelgänger’s arms behind its back. One pops right out of its joint, and Theon tosses it aside to continue his assault upon the puppet. Don’t trip! ]

4. Wildcard

[ Whatever u want]

2

[heraldingangel]

[ Walking down the street wearing sensible shoes, a two-piece suit, and a trenchcoat to ward off the cold, this angel of the Lord is on a mission for answers. He's traversed the entirety of the town by now having needed to do it by foot considering his driving skills amounted to driving his car into his water heater five seconds after he turned it on. Walking was the better choice. At least until he found himself on the wrong side of a one-man war.

The first snowball hits him square in the back. The white powder smears across his trenchcoat and he stops long enough to get hit a second time. Turning around, he finds the source of the attack when a third snowball catches him on the shoulder. He doesn't flinch or gets angry but merely looks at them with a perturbed look. ]

What are you doing?

Merton J. Dingle | Big Wolf on Campus

[freakenstein]

-January 1st-

[He'd died.

That's something he remembers very vividly. So waking up at all is a bit of a shock, but waking up in a brightly lit bedroom covered in sports memorabilia is definitely helping to add to the shock of the moment. For a fleeting second, he thinks he might be in Tommy's room. He'd never actually been in his friend's room. Always gotten the distinct feeling the other boy's parents weren’t all that fond of him, so he’d never really stuck around much. Never even been past the living room, come to think of it. So it wasn’t impossible that this was his room.

But Tommy wasn't into baseball as far as he knew. Or 1960’s style decor. And he was very sure he wasn’t into sweater vests. And...huh...well...those definitely weren't pictures of his friend or his family decorating the halls. They were of him...and a pack of strangers…

Panic setting in, he starts to make for a hasty retreat from the house when he gets to the door and sees snow outside. It hadn’t been snowing back home. It had been late spring, where the hell had snow come from?

And then the sound of the tv catches his attention. Going back further into the house against his better judgment, but leaving the door open in case he needs to make a run for it, he looked down at the ancient tube tv with a deepening look of concern as it went on about the exciting “New Year”. 1961]

Huh...So...this is hell. [He takes a better look around the room and the snowy scene outside the front room window.] Less flames than I thought there would be. Suppose it could be worse.

-Wakey, Wakey, Eggs and...Bundt Cake...-

[Despite politely taking the clown-tastic confection with a sweetness that may have been a bit too forced, bordering on mocking with the way he mirrored his new neighbors smile back at her as she left, he headed straight to the trash with it after kicking the door closed.

Looking up at one of his fellow housemates as he held the thing over the open kitchen trash he at least bothers to ask -]

We can agree this one is probably poisoned or something, right? We’re not actually going to try and eat this?

[He’d made a point of not eating anything the neighbors gave them. Not the jello molds, the meatloaves, or the leftover fruit cake. Even if he saw his other “family members” eating it. There was a chance he might just be a bit paranoid.]

-Coming Attractions-

[Hell or no, how could Merton possibly pass up an opportunity to see an authentic drive-in movie, old-timey serials and all? The advertisements for it had even boasting a horror movie he’d never seen before, he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Sitting on top of the car with whoever else the teen had managed to plead into coming with him, he was about as engrossed in the previews as the rest of the crowd, excitedly commentating on any of the movies being advertised that he recognized, and trying to nudge his companion into jokingly speculating with him on the ones he didn’t. For that short ten minutes or so, he was the happiest he’d been since he’d gotten here.

Then the serial started. And that was him on the screen. Not him right now, he wasn’t being recorded. That was him, back home, laying on his bedroom floor in a self-pity pile surrounded by empty Yoo-hoo bottles that may or may not have had some alcoholic additives before he’d downed them. And there was Lori trying to comfort him and-]

Oh, what the fuck...Nonono.

[Panicked, he looked around at the other attendees, who seemed oblivious, reacting as if they were watching something completely different. Looking back to his companion he nudges their shoulder and points to the screen.]

A-Are you seeing-?

-Doppelganger-

A -

[He woke up in a screaming cold sweat. Nightmares were nothing new, but that was...that was something else.

The doll, duplicate, thing slowly taking his form was bad enough on its own, but the painful creeping paralysis that had come with their exchange of features hit home hard. So like being turned to stone all over again, but far more agonizing, with every convulsive twitch setting his nerves on fire, and so fucking torturously slow. And that look on his doppelganger’s eyeless stolen face before it turned and everything went black, that smile had seared itself in his brain. The idea that there was another him, some malevolent replacement walking around back home while he was stuck here...it wasn’t exactly something that had occurred to him before, but now he couldn’t get the delirious thought out of his head.

Throat hurting as he tried and failed to catch his breath, he choked out a sob between harsh gulps of air, sitting up and rubbing at his arms as he unconsciously tried to reassure himself that they were flesh and blood, not stone or cloth.]

B -

[After that nightmare, his reaction to seeing his own form slumped over the kitchen table hadn’t been great. It probably wouldn’t have been great regardless, but it certainly hadn’t helped. There may have been a lot more screaming and running.

But creepy as the thing was, it didn’t seem to be out to hurt him. It made no moves to attack, just clumsily followed behind him or at his side, occasionally spouting chipper platitudes and awkwardly copying him. Monkey see monkey do. In a way, it was almost pitiable. And to that end, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt it, or even push it away. Instead of finding himself very reluctantly trying to help it as it awkwardly navigated the world around them, occasionally gently guiding it so it didn’t hit walls or street lamps. He didn’t particularly want to see how much worse that smiling porcelain face would look if it cracked as easily as it looked like it would.

At a stoplight, the thing almost walks right in front of traffic and he was forced to grab its arm and pull it back.]

Hey, hey, HEY! Watch it! Green means go, red means no!

( prompt: doppelganger, b. )

[sunborne]

Whoa!

[ unable and unwilling to let something like this from happening right in front of his eyes, daylight reaches out and grabs the other arm of the almost traffic victim. his expression one of shock and surprise but steels itself into determination and he helps with yank and pulling the person away.

it takes some effort but with both of them tugging the guy back, they're able to keep an unfortunate traffic accident from happening.

when he's sure the coast is clear, daylight huffs in relief and takes a step back to collect himself - and to give the trio more space as the light turns green and people surge forward, paying them no mind. ]

Good thing you have quick reflexes, buddy. Your friend would have-

[ daylight stops speaking when he finally notices the quality of the 'person' he just rescued, seeing it's not a person. ]

... Oh. [ he looks at the real individual, his expression one of sympathy. ] You too, huh?

castiel | supernatural

[heraldingangel]

i. Arrival

a. Clowning Around

[ A man, tall and slender, greets him at the door when he pulls it open prompting him to stop. Assessing this new obstacle Castiel stands there long enough to catch sight of two women walking down the street. They catch sight of him, turn to each other, and stifle little tunes of laughter that make their shoulders shake as they walk by. ]

Did you hear what I said?

[ Mouth turned down and brows slightly creased at the odd behavior, Castiel looks back at the man still blocking his path and moves past him. ]

No.

[ Is all he says as he marches forward-looking every inch like a man on a mission dressed in pale blue pajamas with white polka dots. Hurrying after him, the man cuts him off, a feat that earns him a narrowed look. ]

You really have a fast gait there, my friend. But do you really think it's a good idea to come out here in your sleepwear?

[ Having enough of his intrusion, Castiel cuts him off, voice deep with flecks of irritation. ]

What do you want?

[ The man's eyebrows shoot up, surprised, but he takes it good-naturedly and hands him an abomination. ]

It's my Betty's special cake for the new neighbors.

[ He explains before telling him he lives next door - 'We're neighbors!' He manages to listen to a full minute of his ramblings before another figure walking down the street catches his attention. He nods at the man - Bill Horton - and takes his leave to hurry across a neatly trimmed lawn on bare feet. He throws the abomination - Betty's cake - into a trashcan with Bill still watching and hurries over to the person that looks out of place, same as him. ]

How did you get here?


b. Always Dignity

[ Wasting no time on decency or dignity, Castiel can be found walking barefoot throughout the neighborhood. Still sporting a fashionable matching set of pale blue pajamas with white polka dots, he stands out in a crowd. In fact, there may be an APB out for him courtesy of a tip from one of the 'friendly' neighbors. Feel free to run into him before he runs into the police. It's not long before the broadcast reaches a patrolling police car that just so happens to drive past him at that very moment. Hearing the sound of sirens blaring as the car executes a quick u-turn, he has enough common sense not to stick around and darts into an alley where he runs straight into you. ]


ii. Snow Day

[ It's been a few days since his run-in with the law. Thankfully, he managed to get away without getting caught. Lesson learned Castiel walks the streets wearing sensible shoes, a two-piece suit, and a trenchcoat to stave off the cold. Still looking for answers, he explores the town on foot because as he found out when he drove his car into his water heater that morning, driving is harder than it looks. While the plumber fixes the disaster he left behind, he runs into a bit of trouble when he's pinned down by a group of kids. Snowballs sail past him as he gets caught up in a fight that he means to end. Collecting his weapon of choice, he comes out of his hiding spot and starts launching snowballs in quick succession. Most hit their mark and he gets pelted in return, but it doesn't matter. He keeps launching his not-so-deadly ammunition, hitting every last opponent including any poor soul that happens to walk by minding their own business. Sorry, but there are always casualties in war. ]


iii. Doppelganger

[ With his car now in the shop for a front bumper repair, Castiel remains on foot. The mechanic gave him an odd look when Bill - the one who ended up driving the car to the mechanic shop - explained his situation. Ignoring the oddities of humanity, he continues his search for a way out. With his grace depleted, he can't call one of his brothers for assistance. He can't even call Bobby or Dean because their numbers are disconnected. He's on his own. Or so he thought.

Later when he's fighting a shapeshifter that takes on his spitting image, an unexpected thought crosses his mind. Fighting this monster is better than listening to Bill ramble on about 'the game'. He doesn't even know what game he's talking about! At least here, fighting against a creature that means to kill him, he knows exactly what to expect. He kicks the thing back, grabs the closest thing to a weapon he can find and strides forward. ]

Why are you so mean?!

[ It shrieks at him but he pays it no heed, raising the small garden shovel to deal a deadly blow. But the thing - not a shapeshifter he finds out through the skirmish - rolls out of the way and quickly darts down the street with a warrior of god at his heels. With its face chipped from where it took a right hook, it looks less like his spitting image and more like some decrepit thing. Knowing it can't win, the doppelganger shifts gears. The moment it catches sight of someone it runs straight for them yelling about a madman chasing after him and asks for help as pounding feet hit the pavement behind it. ]

Get away from it!


iv. Wildcard

[ ooc; make up your own scenario, i'll make it work! ]

b

[sonicsiren]

[Some would say that an alleyway is no place for nice girls - certainly no place for a happy homemaker in the '60s, and while Dinah Drake Lance might be a nice person, she's not exactly what one would call a happy homemaker. Still, she looks the part, in a very nice deep blue wool coat, low-heeled boots, and a little hat. It is a little brisk out, after all, and you need to dress warm if you're going to investigating the bizarre town you've woken up in.

Not that Castiel seems to have gotten that message.]

Please tell me the sirens aren't because someone's reported you for public indecency by way of pajamas.

[It's immediately clear that, despite her clothes, she's not someone who's exactly from around here.]

bigby wolf (the wolf among us)

[sweariff]

i. arrival

[Funnily enough, it's not the absence of the sound of city life in all its congested, noisy glory outside his window that alerts Bigby that something is terribly, horribly, and yes, stupidly wrong. Nor is it the snoring coming from the bed across from his, or the feeling of fleece rubbing against his skin, a sensation as alien as it is unfamiliar and ten times more uncomfortable than lying in a stiff armchair like the one he fell asleep in last night.

Instead, it's a knock at the door.

Mattress springs creaking as he jolts upright, Bigby looks around the room, his eyes moving from one side to the other, taking in everything with the smooth but wide-eyed panic of an animal caught off-guard. His nose feels... funny, stuffed up and dull without actually physically being stuffed up. It's the same with his hearing. He feels like he's only operating at 50% capacity, like some irreplaceable part of himself has been snatched away. Maybe he's under a spell. Maybe he's been kidnapped. Maybe he's going to beat the hell out of whoever is knocking at the front door.

Once he calms down and realizes that the other person in the room is actually sleeping and not just pretending, Bigby quickly and quietly gets out of bed and leaves the bedroom. Further testament to the magic spell theory, the cavalcade of what-the-fuckery he sees on his way downstairs is enough to make him stop for a moment and stare in a daze, looking at one of the many pictures of a happy family hung on the wall, with himself in the forefront of all of them.]

... What the fuck.

[Eventually, he gets to the door and opens it to see a terrifying... stranger with a cake platter. After what feels like an agonizing amount of time, wherein the Robbie spends the next several moments happily prattling while all Bigby can do is stare, he's handed the platter. The Robbie waves goodbye and leaves the way they came, leaving Bigby standing there dumbfounded in his stupid purple fleece pajamas with— Christ, what even is this thing? Clown cake.

Of course this is the moment one of the people from the pictures finally wakes up and comes downstairs. Bigby slowly turns around and looks at them, holding the clown cake as if it were a bomb. He's silent long enough to make this uncomfortable, looking at you like you're the one who somehow has the answer to this mess. Or at least what to do with the clown cake.]

Uh. Hi.

[Sometimes silence is a valid option. This is not one of those times.]

ii. snow day

[For someone who's been a New Yorker for centuries, it would be easy to assume that Bigby doesn't like snow. Not true. Truth is, Bigby likes snow; he'd even go so far as to say he really likes snow, perhaps winter in general. He likes the cold. He likes the way fresh snow looks, and he likes the way it reminds him (rarely, sometimes, more often than he'd like to admit) of his real home.

What he doesn't like is being pelted with it the moment he gets one foot out the goddamn door.

All he wanted to do was go down to the store to get some cigarettes. Where he ends up at is leaning against a tree that's just wide enough to provide him ample cover from the children, who are lying in wait just down the street — standing between him and freedom. He's still covered in snow by the time someone finds him, rubbing the bridge of his nose where some brat nailed him between the eyes.

To anyone who makes his mistake and starts heading in that direction, all he has to say is:] Trust me, you really don't wanna go that way.

iii. coming attractions; cw: violence, mild mention of gore and death

[Honestly, he doesn't know why he bothered to come here. It's not as if he likes movies (it's actually the opposite) or doesn't have better things he could be doing, things that might even bring him a step closer to getting back to Fabletown. Maybe he's just morbidly curious or trying to be social; it's not the first time those things have gotten him into trouble.

Whatever the case may be, Bigby is on the lot when the movie begins, hovering by the concession stand. He's lived through the 1960s and knows full well what serials are, how they really just seemed to exist to justify the outrageous price of a ticket, and so on in that regard he doesn't look away from the menu when the first one begins.

Until he hears a familiar voice.

"You alright back there? I mean, your eyes, and the teeth..."

Bigby's attention snaps to the screen. On it, a dark-haired woman wearing a ribbon around her neck kneels on a grimy street, looking at the figure standing beside her. Both of them are covered in scrapes and bruises. Only one of them looks familiar to anyone around who might by some miracle see what he's seeing.

"You're not really supposed to do that, right?"

Mute with shock, Bigby watches himself shake his head on the screen.

"Not if I can avoid it."

The scene continues for several minutes, and Bigby remembers each of them as if they were yesterday. For him, they might as well have been. The woman — Faith — pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her handbag. Bigby sees himself light her cigarette, sees the small, tentative smile Faith gives him, sees her beckon him closer and whisper into his ear: You're not as bad as everyone says you are.

It doesn't feel real, but it is: staring him down on the big screen, no less. It's equal parts alarming and heartbreaking, but not horrifying. Not yet.

The scene changes, and Bigby realizes what's coming next the moment he sees himself crouching at the front steps of the Woodlands. There's a jacket spread over the steps. Underneath it is a lump the size of a basketball. As the Bigby on the screen pulls the jacket away to reveal Faith's glassy, half-lidded eyes and the shiny white of bone and blood, the Bigby in the real world hears someone laughing beside him: some middle-aged man munching on a bag of popcorn, watching the gruesome scene play out as if it were a hilarious comedy. From his altered perspective, it is.

But Bigby has no way of knowing that. All he can see is red. Blinded with rage, he hauls back and punches the man in the mouth, hard enough to send him and his popcorn flying. The commotion is loud enough to draw attention from a few nearby cars, the occupants poking their heads out the window to watch. With how angry Bigby looks and how prepared he is to take this further, this might turn out to be a better show than the movie.]

iv. wildcard me up

[got an idea? hit me with a pm and we'll do it to it.]

1

[magic_to_do]

[Trucy had been creeping down the stairs half expecting to confront her kidnapper. And ask about all the photoshopped pictures. But between the awkward silence and the clown cake... yeah.

This guy is probably not a criminal mastermind.]

Hi. Soo... what's with the cake?

[She has no answers. Only questions.]

falco grice 🐤 attack on titan

[grice]

ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛ

[ it’s the same beginning as everyone else: falco wakes up in a room that isn’t his, with toys and drawings that weren’t his, medals and certificates hanging proudly on the wall of a promising theater child that, you guessed it, wasn’t his. the clothes, he’s never seen this fashion neither the eerily preppy architecture (or the pajamas he’s in, how comfy?). he’s not in the right time period, maybe some, what— sixty or seventy years into the future? one hundred? if they had a future. there’re photos and family portraits hanging on the wall, of him (that’s him) holding the household’s prized pooch in an adorable shot, fishing trips with an older man, hugging a woman tightly as if it were his mother, maybe others, sometimes together and sometimes apart . . . the kitchen fridge is decorated with lists and artistic talent, of hand drawn crayon portraits and loving notes at the bottom like: Happy Father’s Day, Pops! Love, Falco. since when—

the small blond, a child no older than twelve for the time being, has in his hands (pulled cautiously from the fridge) an invitation to a middle school junior musical, staring . . . falco? his heart is beating in his ears and he feels numb at his fingertips. he feels like his head could spin and that he needed to breathe and somehow forgot to. the front door opens then, or maybe footsteps have snapped his attention enough that he’s startled into a gasp to stare widely at the newcomer, very much like an abandoned fawn in the middle of a busy street. the first thing that comes to mind is to blurt out a question, many questions. by the time his parched throat croaks out any words, he’s as pale as a sheet of paper— ]

—H-hi, [ he swallows, straightens his back— and does his absolute best to lie right through his fright. results may vary. if you’re the man, ] Dad. [ and if you’re the woman, ] M . . . Mom.

[ he probably can’t bring himself to name siblings and can very well mistake them for parents, if they’re old enough. if they aren’t, they’ll simply get less words and more watching. the hand holding the invitation falls to his side, as natural as he could make it. those more acquainted with body language could tell: this boy is frightened, but he seems to have enough sense to blend in and probe rather than lash out. ]

I was just, [ hm, ] I thought the— musical was today, and. Got worried.

[ that seems to fit. good thing it’s only at the middle of the year! he attempts a quirk of his lips, as if to laugh it off, but it’s short lived. ]

ʜᴏᴡᴅʏ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀ!

[ everyone knew his name. all the kids knew his name. most of them were outwardly friendly and wanted him to come out and play. others were a little more naughty (but not unhappy) and teased him with names like ”tweety bird” and “panty waist”. he doesn’t even know what that is unless— was he being called girl’s underwear? oh, there’s way too much going on for him to really pay heed.

one of two things can happen, especially when falco wanders the winter wonderland alone, searching for things and people and talking to himself— “friends” think he’s rehearsing lines and playfully flag down young or older adults to take a jab at his sudden oddity. finding out what’s wrong? a little girl’s voice asking for help? it just earned booms of adoring laughter that followed “gee, falco! you sure are funny!”), ]

—I’m just rehearsing!

[ he’ll try to assure you that. or . . . you might just happen upon a group of mischievous teens cornering him for a snowball war. beating. he’s not fighting back in the slightest, looks like—

well. are you going to let the lad get pelted while he’s down and called a panty waist? ]

ɢᴀʟᴄᴏ ғʀɪᴄᴇ cw: violence

[ the doppelgänger was, without a doubt, creepy. it followed behind falco down the street and to school, wherever that was— truly, he had wanted to explore town and its corners, hidden or not, but with the puppet-like doll scrambling to follow him made attracting attention a complete show. it would squeal and wave its hellos, and . . . well, let’s just say something happened, and it wasn’t deliberately falco’s fault. short stopping right in front of it just to see what would happen causes the haunted marionette to run right into him. from there, it was all shrieks and danger.

down an empty slope, one would find the snow on the ground thrashed from its perfect sidewalk sheets. following the disheveled powdered ice would show signs of trouble, a blood splatter or three that smeared into white and fractures of porcelain. not far from it and at the little slope’s bottom was the ruckus: a boy struggling to hold off two glass arms held over his bleeding temple, holding a rock as large as a baseball stained red just at the tip while dangly legs bent at the knee sockets to trap the boy. MEANIE! BOO! NOT NICE! it whines, and in his dizzy attempt to hold the doll off, falco kicks it off of its incoming straddle (he swears he heard a crack), gets on his feet, and— oh no, stumbles sideways. he really got his head hit, and just in time for his doppelgänger to come swinging once more with a dismembered lunge: SERVES YOU RIGHT! ]

ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ɢᴀɢᴀ

[ individuals might receive a call that comes from a muted end; falco doesn’t say anything at first, trying to figure out how the thing works— hell, he might’ve called you for the third time by now only for you to be greeted with crawling white noise, provided it’s a voice call. the same thing might happen if it’s a video call, though not only does it look like he isn’t aware his face is onscreen, he’s . . . looking and prodding like he’s never seen something so advanced. eventually, he speaks up: ]

They’re moving—?

[ or, if you’re lucky enough to get a text: ]

aaaaaaaaaaabc d e f
f
Falco
GRICE
Hello_?

The Start

[magic_to_do]

[Trucy is very familiar with body language so she can read the fear in poor kid easily. That's why she's approaching slowly, and with a gentle smile. She kneels down. Not that she isn't already pretty short, but it can't hurt to seem as non threatening as possible.]

Hey there. It's okay, you don't have to pretend. I'm kind of in the same boat, you know?

Charlie Kelly | It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

[jobbies]

JANUARY 1st.

[Charlie's eyes blink open, not to the sound of cats yowling outside his apartment window or of Frank's snores, but to the sounds of kids playing outside. He sits up suddenly and blinks around half-dazed at his very unfamiliar surroundings. This is not his one room apartment or his pull-out couch bed and these are not his clothes. He looks down at himself, tugging at the fleece pajamas. Nope, he certainly doesn't own anything this new or clean. If there's someone else in the bed next to his, he hasn't yet noticed.]

What the hell is this? [He looks up from his clothing, a horrified expression on his face.] What... Where am I?

[At some point, he throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt he found in the closet and some vintage sneakers and makes his way downstairs. The whole time he's looking around in utter confusion at the portraits on the walls, seeing himself and a family of strangers he's never seen before in the framed photos. He's still a bit dazed and half convinced that maybe this is his real life and his memories at Paddy's Pub were all a dream. You'd think he'd remember getting married and having a kid, though. Yeah okay this is getting real weird. He ventures into the living room where the TV is on and stops to watch.]

1961? What the hell is this?

[Later on, he'll venture outside to encounter his next door neighbors whom he immediately finds extremely weird and irritating. Whenever he asks them a serious question, they smile and make patronizing jokes without ever giving him a real answer. Then one of them hands him a cake and he's left standing there at the end of his driveway, holding a cake and looking around completely lost. Finally, he just throws back his head and screams.]

WHAT THE HELL?!

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

A. Clown Around.
[Charlie is highly suspicious about this free food thing. These people are creepy as shit, always smiling and giving him food and acting super nice. He doesn't like it. But at the same time... it's free food. Which presents him with his current dilemma. He sits at the dinner table locked in a silent staring match with the clown cake. Eventually, he speaks.]

...What are you.

[After some time, he takes a swipe of icing and licks his finger, never breaking eye contact with the cake. Here, his expression softens a bit. It's actually kind of good and he's hungry. If your character walks in, they might find him staring at the cake or happily digging into it with a fork later on. They might also catch him getting ready to bite into the styrofoam clown head or maybe the head is mysteriously missing.]

B. Snow Day.
[Despite how this place is weird and creepy and it isn't Philadelphia, the joy and laughter of kids playing in the snow is kind of contagious. Charlie steps outside in whatever winter garb he found in the closet, walks right past the snow shovel and grabs a sled. Fuck doing work. This isn't even his real driveway. He climbs to the highest hill in town, jumps on his sled and away he goes. Anyone below might want to get out of the way; he's having trouble steering this thing. Or maybe don't get out of the way and go on an accidental sled-venture with him?

Or perhaps you'll find him later on chilling in a snow fort with some beer. But if he's had a few, watch out, you might get hit with a snowball.]

END OF THE MONTH.

Doppelganger
[This place is weird but today is especially weird because Charlie just found a life-sized porcelain dummy in his bed that looks just like him. Utterly disturbed by what he sees, he stands over the bed staring at the lifeless form with its terrible rosy cheeks and painted on beard and eyelashes. Especially after that crazy dream he had last night, this thing freaks him the fuck out. He hates it. It gets even worse when the thing sits up ramrod straight and swivels its head to look at him. Then it starts talking in his voice. Charlie jumps back, his eyes as wide as the doll's, and he lets out a blood curdling scream.

If anyone happens to walk by his house or look out their window, they might see him attacking his clone with a hatchet in the front yard. It's also entirely possible that the clone has gotten hold of the hatchet and is chasing Charlie around with it. Maybe you're walking by and Charlie's clone tries to strike up a friendly conversation with you while the real one hides, or maybe Charlie has just pulled you behind a car to spy on your weird clones while they do creepy clone stuff together.

At the end of the day, Charlie can be found sitting atop his clone while he beats the ever loving shit out of it. He looks like an absolute madman and a mess with blood on his knuckles and face from the broken shards. He'll look up only to scream in a guttural roar:]

I HATE THIS PLACE!

[ ooc: Open to WILDCARD options if you want. Not sure if I'm gonna app this round yet but I'm very interested. 8) ]

Snow Day

[whatsamada]

[After spending the day shoveling snow, he figured he could spend some time being a kid for once. For all the strangeness this place had to offer, it might not be that bad to have some fun. As Ken started to throw a couple of snowballs at one of the kids, he didn't realize there might be a sled coming his way.

What would Charlie do now?]

Xiao Xingchen | Mo Dao Zu Shi

[binghua]

I. January 1st

[Waking up in a new place isn't necessarily new to Xingchen; after all, he's spent a portion of his life traveling the world, stopping in various towns and spending the night in countless inns or camping out under the stars, but for the last couple years, he's at least had one place to call home. Even if it wouldn't be classified as a proper house.

Waking up in a plush bed instead of a coffin is definitely a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

But that's where the pleasantness ends. If this isn't the coffin home, then where is he and why does he have no recollection of how he's gotten here? Not to mention, his clothes don't even feel the same! Where are his robes and...and the cloth covering his eyes?

He gets out of the bed and starts to feel around for any answers, discovering more questions along the way. Where is his sword? This is just one room, though, so assuming he hasn't been locked in, Xingchen cautiously searches for the door and finds that it's...wide open. Okay, so that's probably good.

It's good until he reaches the staircase, unaware that it's a staircase at all. The first step lands where he expects, flat on the ground, but then the second meets...air. And then a delayed stop that throws him off balance. With a gasp, Xingchen throws out his arms, one of which hits the banister, which prompts him to latch onto it entirely, saving himself from bouncing down the stairs farther than the few he already has. This is going to leave some bruises.

Someone please help your new, and very blind, dad navigate this nightmare dwelling.]


II. Snow Day

[The joyful cries of children slowly pull Xingchen from his slumber, but as it sinks in, he can't help but smile. He likes children and any time they can enjoy the life around them, he considers things to be good. He's unsure why they're still home when they should have left for their studies by now - unless he's massively overslept, though it doesn't feel like it - so he dresses, slips on some sunglasses to cover his empty eyes, and heads downstairs. Successfully, this time.

He's just closed the front door behind him when something hits him in the arm. Surprised, he turns toward where he's been attacked, only to be accosted by those childrens' voices. He smiles, but shakes his head in answer to their pleas.]

I'm afraid I wouldn't be a very good teammate.

[You know, what with being blind, and all.]


III. Doppelganger

[Well. That dream sure was awful. But that's all it was, right? A dream? Surely. Xingchen has woken in a cold sweat before, having dreamt of his own traumatic events, but nothing quite like this. Never has he seen himself be transferred to something else.

So when he heads downstairs to try to make some semblance of a normal day, he thinks nothing of it. It's only when he's made some tea for himself and set it down on the kitchen table that his his hand brushes over someone sitting in the chair he's about to claim. It must be a member of his "family" here.]

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were there.

[It's then the "person" gets up, pushing the chair back with a scrape and says, "Good morning!". And that voice is so alarmingly familiar and yet altogether foreign that Xingchen gasps and takes a step back, suddenly feeling horribly uncomfortable.]

Who...What are you?

[To which this entity replies with a tinny laugh, soft and mockingly gentle like Xingchen's own, "I'm a person, of course! Don't be so silly!"

He wishes he were being silly.]


IV. Wildcard!

[Want to do something else with Xingchen? Bump into him (or be bumped into by him) when you're both out running errands? Hit me up! You all know how this goes.]

ii

[weifinder]

( Wei Wuxian enjoys kids most days, even if these ruffians have as much respect for their elders as seems to be convenient at any given moment. It's somewhat nostalgic, ignoring everything unfamiliar about the situation, and how odd it continues to be finding all these boys with short cut hair, and only the girls sporting anything longer.

Snowball fights are a fun sort of mischief he doesn't mind engaging in, partly to observe the people in the neighbourhood. Enough of them are "native," such as it is; but he's looking for discrepancies, odd notes to their activities. There's an odd sort of tenaciousness to the beliefs of these people, and their resistance to certain lines of conversation, versus how readily they embrace the repetitive inanities.

What he doesn't expect is to hear a voice that takes a long moment to register as familiar; most of his experience in talking with Xiao Xingchen was either almost two decades old, or through the eyes of a young woman who'd lived her life pretending to be blind, next to his own blindness. It's those memories he'd witnessed with Empathy that have him dusting off cold hands and jogging over, ducking a snowball lobbed at him and wagging a finger at the giggling children responsible, his smile bright with nothing much reaching his eyes. None of it is their fault, but he's distracted, and he's calling out to the man in the clothing of this place, with the odd frames on his face, and the long hair so few seem to favour with a: )

Shishu?

( He's a dead man with a shattered soul: is it even possible? Also reasonable enough a call followed up by what's more practically familiar: )

Daozhang.

( Is this another strange hallucination in this place. Xiao Xingchen, please advise? (It doesn't occur to Wei Wuxian there's... no way... he's ever met Xiao Xingchen before. Or that calling out shishu can be all but meaningless, in its own ways.) )

wei wuxian | the untamed

[weifinder]

NUCLEAR FAMILY WAKE UP CALL

( When he wakes, it's sudden: sitting up in a bed too soft to be standard, comforter and sheets tumbling down, the brush of fabric against him alien for its lightness. The chill air of a winter's morning strikes him, and while his hair, utterly unbound, cascades over his shoulders in a mess, he's scanning this deeply unfamiliar space and tossing back the covers, sliding out of bed with the lingering memory of a little girl's cry for help in the back of his mind.

The decorations here are senseless; the realism of the paintings he finds incredible, showing him in odd outfits, showing him with unfamiliar people, and at this point, showing him in creative situations that make no sense, and are eerie for their likeness. Coming from a world without photography, this goes so far past portrait art it feels Uncanny Valley, even if he wouldn't understand the terminology.

He searches for anything to wear that looks proper, instead finding more and more which simply fits like underclothing, no ties, plenty of other means of staying on. He gives up on dressing for the moment, stealing out of the bedroom like a thief in the mid-morning light and slinking down the stairs. He's been a lessened cultivator for a while now, but this complete binding, this lack of any of his cultivation, reminds him of other situations, other times. He whistles, not thinking hard about it: even were there dead or resentful creatures or energies around to listen, it would be meaningless noise, neither inviting nor commanding.

Whoever he meets first, some living, breathing human being (or so it seems), he flashes a smile at, straightening a fraction and chuckling under his breath as if this isn't all extremely unsettling. )

Hey, you, ah, wouldn't happen to know what's going on here, would you?

( This is not the inn he fell asleep in. This is no place he knows. )

TRASH CLOWNS CAN'T FROWN

( The food, such as it is, keeps coming. He tries a little, mostly out of politeness, but jellies are a particular disaster of sugar that gives him a near immediate headache, and by the time the clown cake arrives, he smiles as Stepford as the Robbies and politely says his thanks and carries the abomination (all of these foodthings are abominations, says the man who can manage spicy cooking and nothing much noteworthy aside) inside to place on the counter.

He gives it a full minute before he unceremoniously delivers the cake to the rubbish bin under the sink. Once he'd learned their function, and the whole strange dance of disposal required for the excess or the unusable, he's taken particular pleasure in throwing things out.

Sure, this means he has to then take this odd bag to the other bin waiting outside, but it's so efficient. Also mysterious. He'd be tempted to go after the large machine that whisks away all the refuse to see where it ventures toward, but he's not figured out the contraption in the cold room yet, and isn't sure when he will.

Nor does he think, from having tried to walk out of this town, they're particularly allowed to go.

Anyway, welcome home, family, or welcome over, neighbour, and witness Wei Wuxian cheerfully tossing a jello mold creation or a clown-cake into the trash. As one does. )

I'd lament the waste if you were vaguely edible, but alas...

COMING ATTRACTIONS LEAVE AREA MAN UNATTRACTED

( We're not wondering how he got here. Maybe he came with you. He sure didn't drive over, but why let that stop him trying to explore and figure out the nonsense of this town?

The problem comes when the screen, which has already been as fascinating as the small one with the moving pictures back home, starts playing out desaturated, blacks and whites when life has never been anything less than shades of gray.

It's one thing, witnessing memories as if they're on display. He feels denuded of pretense, seeing that screen, but not seen in spite of it. This is a manipulation, but to what end, he doesn't know, and how shared it is, he also doesn't know.

What he knows, when the screen shows Jiang Yanli, his martial sister, his adoptive older sister, collapse; when she's in Jiang Cheng's arms, reaching out to Wei Wuxian, crying, cradling his cheek as he and Jiang Cheng cry too; when the man who Wei Wuxian couldn't recall anything about other than his death that followed moments after strides up behind him and pulls back his sword; when Yanli shoves him and takes a sword through her chest and the him on screen turns his way and smiles...

He knows in that moment it's a manipulation, and he cannot stay. Out of the car, no words, chest constricted, eyes burning, and furiously sad, because that pain is newer to him than he likes to admit, and there is something this place wants, something it feeds on, that comes from this.

Of course, what it looks like is he just stormed out of the car and started storming off, screen at his back: to either run into someone upset in their own way, or to turn back around for whomever he came with, sliding back into the car. Whichever the case, he fixes dark eyes and his almost fully buttoned shirt and all the mess of his long queue of hair that fits with a part of the 1960's that hasn't even arrived, but not with this part, and asks: )

The display up at the front there, did you see something personal on it? Something important.

DOPPLEGANGER? MORE LIKE STOPPLE-GANGER

( ... So, family. Are you getting home? Or friend, are you visiting. Because when you do, you'll find Wei Wuxian sitting in a kitchen chair turned backward, his arms crossed over the back, staring at the bound figure of... himself? Tied to another chair, with a tie used as a gag to keep the doppelgänger from speaking. The twitchy way the bound creature moves, the saliva that streams from beneath the improvised gag, the unending muffled complaints that turn into some litany of mean, mean, mean are all met with Wei Wuxian's ongoing scrutinization. )

You know, I'm starting to suspect...

( He turns to regard you, dear family, friend, visitor, whomever you are. Then smiles, laughing a little: )

... Someone really, really likes me!

( This has nothing to do with what he's suspecting, but it sure beats answering the other question of what the hell and why or how is a copy of you tied down to a chair, and where'd you even get the rope for this? )

---

( ooc: feel free to wildcard as well, or PM to set up some scenario. multiple takers for all prompts welcome! )

Nuclear Family

[blackwaterchild]

[She's not at all a fan of this. At all. Her first priority was clothing, of course, managing to find an outfit not too unlike her usual, though she had to take some scissors to the skirt to make it a shorter length she deemed acceptable.

At least marginally pleased, she set about trying to figure out just what the hell all of this was about now. Weird pictures on the wall with people she didn't recognize, a picture of herself with a woman that was probably supposed to be a 'mother & daughter' portrait that made her lip curl in disgust.

Everything was so... 50s America like she'd see in Grease or something. What the hell.

The sound of someone else moving around upstairs gets her attention and she waits, head tilted and listening. Danger? Or someone just as confused? She rests her hands on her hips, tilting her chin p in an attempt to look more authoritative, but considering Wei Wuxian is at least 30cm taller than her, but she's trying and that's what counts, right??

His question gets an unimpressed look and she looks him p and down a moment, taking in the messy hair and pajamas, and then decides he's probably not a danger.] ...Well, you don't look like a ghost, so... [Miu trails off a little before looking away around the room again.] Probably you're just as lost as me, huh?

Number Five | The Umbrella Academy

[oldmanfive]

1. January 1st.

[ Five's pretty sure he's stepped into the Twilight Zone when he finds himself waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom. Though on the nightstand he's greeted to a photograph of himself dressed in a baseball uniform while holding a bat. He's standing next to people who look like they could be his family...if he knew who the hell they were. He sits up grabbing the photo to examine it closer. But then he finds himself looking around the room. It's filled with things that a typical thirteen year old boy would like from comic books and model kits to various sports memorabilia. And there's more photos in frames on the desk next a kit that looks like it was being worked on.

What. The. Fuck. If he didn't know better, he would be convinced that he's tripping balls. This shit has to be drug induced or something! He glances down at his clothing to see he is wearing pajamas that remind him of the academy pajamas but without the logo. He eyes the closet door cautiously before opening it to reveal what he can only assume is his wardrobe. It's not a bunch of uniforms, but the sight of the clothes make him groan anyway. ]

Okay, suddenly I'm Leave it to Beaver.

[ He scoffs, pulling out one of the outfits with a frustrated sigh. Fuck. He doesn't even know what the fuck to think anymore as he changes and heads down stairs to see if he can find the other people in the photos. Maybe one of them knows what the hell is going on. And well he could use some fucking coffee. It's at the thought of coffee that he realizes that he can't use his powers for some reason. And it is not the normal exhaustion or hunger that is keeping him from them.]

Fucking great, just what I needed.

[ He mutters to himself as he heads into the kitchen and starts looking through the cabinets. There better be coffee or someone is going to die. And it won't be him. ]

2. Coming Attractions CW: Blood, violence & death. (His serial is totally viewable if anyone wants to see it.)

[ He's not really sure how he got talked into coming to the movies, it's not really something he's interested in. Yet, he is, sitting in the car, looking a giant screen, waiting for the short films before the movie to start. However once the screen lights up and Five suddenly sees himself and his actual siblings surrounding his brother Diego and the Handler's daughter, Lila. Five remembers the heartfelt words that he gives to Lila. You're one of us. We can be your family. Diego tells her. She looks confused and Five's brothers and sisters look sympathetic, however Five notes that the unnerving smirk on his face is not the look he remembers giving.

Then the Handler comes out of nowhere with an ambush shooting Five and his siblings down with a machine gun. Blood splatters everywhere, while his siblings' bullet riddled dead bodies are sprawled out all over the barn's dirty floor. Pools of blood, slowly soaking the hay beneath them. Five on the screen manages to gasp out as he awakens, desperately trying to look around for his siblings but he's gravely injured and slowly dying a painful death himself.

Oh good, you're still alive. It's only fitting you got to see how this all played out. The Handler speaks, pointing her gun down at him, just about to pull the trigger. Though she is shot from behind three times, blood bubbles up from her lips as she falls to the dirty ground. Meanwhile Five continues to gasp and choke on his own blood, fighting to gather what strength he has left to use his powers. The serial ends as a tall Swedish blond man walks over to him and points his gun at Five ready to put him out of his misery. The film closing in on Five's eyes that are looking toward the camera in a moment of fourth wall breaking a cold murderous gaze surfacing and then that the part of the serial is finished.

Five's poker face falters at what he's just seen. His chest tightens and suddenly he feels the need for air. He frowns in an effort to maintain his usual surly demeanor. Though he feels as if the car is closing in around him.]

Screw this! I'm getting another drink.

[ He announces as he quickly jumps out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he heads toward the concessions. Luckily it is cold outside because he can use that as an excuse as to why his hands are trembling as he orders himself a hot chocolate. All the while he contemplates walking home rather than subjecting himself to anymore of the movies. ]

3. Wild Card

[ If you would prefer a different scenario with Five, hit me up through PMs on this journal or PPs on plurk. I'm at ariyanaforever if anyone wants to plot something out specific. Otherwise I am also cool with playing things by ear and seeing how it goes.]

Coming Attractions

[measuringdistance]

[Five isn't the only one who's been trying to ignore the screen. Not that Chikai's about to leave over it - it's all just stuff he's lived through already, so there's nothing to be bothered about. Obviously. He's just spent the last fifteen minutes at the concession stand trying to decide between different kinds of candy because he's picky and their selection is garbage, that's all.

Then, to his surprise, the film starts showcasing someone else. What appears onscreen may be objectively pretty nasty, but as long as it's happening to someone else, it's an improvement. Chikai's finally starts to head back for his own car so he can sit out the rest of however long this 'film' is supposed to last, when the kid he thought he just saw die walks past him on the way to the snacks. It's not really his business, but... curiosity wins out and he decides to linger a while longer.]

So, that all real, or you just a really great actor?

Chikai Kuji | Sarazanmai

[measuringdistance]

[A - Wake up]
[When Chikai first woke up, he assumed that he’d been saved somehow. Maybe Toi had managed to get him help after all, or someone else found him and took him in. That was before he saw the person sleeping next to him, and he had to quickly try to judge whether the whole night before had just been some shitty nightmare. Maybe he’d gotten drunk enough he just couldn’t remember what actually happened - it wouldn’t be the first time, he had to admit.

He’d almost convinced himself, before he saw the pictures. The framed photo on the nightstand first, then more on the walls, featuring himself and a bunch of strangers all looking completely inane. And then he thinks to wonder where his own photos are.]

Shit, shit, shit...!

[With absolutely no mind for the person sleeping next to him, he throws off the blankets on the bed, rummages under both pillows, and then makes for the closet to see if maybe his actual clothes were put away there. It’d make as much sense as anything, right? They couldn’t really just all be gone, right?]

[B - Snow day]
[All it took was one gaggle of neighborhood kids throwing a snowball at him, and Chikai was in. Not like he had anything else to do in this shitty town - not anything that mattered. And he was already desperately looking for a distraction, so why not take the opportunity presented to him?

It doesn't take long before he gets totally absorbed in this little spat. He’s build himself a fort on his front lawn, and is currently in the middle of a battle against three kids half his age. Still, while being outnumbered hasn’t usually bothered him, he really doesn’t wanna add to his list of recent losses so quickly after arriving. So when he spots someone walking by, he grabs them and pulls them behind his fort with no warning.]

Hey, you any good at this kinda thing?

[C - Doppelganger]
[All things considered, Chikai feels like he’s done a pretty good job of adjusting to his little magic kidnapping. After that first day, he hasn’t freaked out about anything. He’s taken everything as it’s come. Hell, he’s even found a way to put up with the creepy fake family he’s being forced to live with. He’s been doing great, and had every intention of taking whatever this place could throw at him as it came. Even when he came face-to-face with a weird mannequin version of himself, he still managed to grit his teeth and put up with it. He didn’t scream or freak out. He ignored it, best he could, and tried to go about his day.

But it just kept following him. Those stiff, jerking movements, the irritating chirp of its voice, and every time he got a look at it from the corner of his eye he just wanted to pummel it’s stupid grinning face in. Even when he left the house, hoping it might be stuck in there, if just went shuffling after him, limbs clacking unmistakably so he could never pretend it wasn’t there.

He gets about halfway down the block when he finally turns and fulfills his own wish, punching the thing right in the face. It caves in, but the mannequin keeps moving, trying to grab at him and fight back. Before long the two are outright brawling in the middle of the street where anyone can see - any maybe help?]

[D - Network]
So like

Does anyone have a decent cell, or are we really stuck strapping these bricks to our wrists?

[E - Wildcard]
[Have another idea? Feel free to him me up either through a PM here, or at liliales  on Plurk! Also: will match style/tense.]

D

[magic_to_do]

i think they're cool!
it's like having a spy radio.
like from those old movies.

luther hargreeves — the umbrella academy

[spaceboys]

01. SNOW DAY

[ the first snowball that hits him explodes against his chest in a mess of white. luther, distracted as he is, doesn't even notice. he keeps walking, feet sinking into the wet snow and soaking his pants.

the next snowball that hits him gets him right in the cheek. that's enough to make him stop, a look of confusion appearing on his face as he glances up, trying to find the source.

that proves impossible though because there's people running all over the place, tossing snowballs at each other. reaching up, he wipes the snow off his cheek and frowns. ]

Ow.

[ that had really stung. when he thinks to just ignore and start walking away, someone runs over to him, pressing a ball of snow into his hand and patting it. she tels him he's on her team, she picks him and...luther's caught off guard enough to let that affect him in a much deeper way than it should.

it's a stupid snowball fight, he has no idea what's going on and why he's here but someone chooses him and that gets underneath his skin.

which is why he's chucking a snowball at the first person he sees, using his considerable strength to try and knock said person over.

he'll apologize later. ]

02. COMING ATTRACTIONS

[ when's the last time he'd been to a movie? luther can't even remember. after the whole thing with the moon and the apocalypse and the...not really being able to fit into chairs with his size, he'd just stopped going. easier that way. no one was screaming at him to duck down or go sit in the back.

but, luther's managed to shove himself into a car, head pressing against the top almost uncomfortably. but he wants to watch a damn movie. he wants to do something normal.

shoving food into his face, luther's attention is more on the snacks than the movie until he glances up and sees himself.

not just himself but himself and his family. everything that he's lived is playing out right there on the television screen and luther points accusingly, looking around to see if others are seeing this.

when a particularly intimate scene between he and allison appears, luther jumps, knocking off popcorn onto his pants and lurching out of the car. ]

Hey! Hey, how are you seeing that? How are you doing that?

[ around him, people just shush him like he's the biggest nuisance in the world. ]

03. DOPPELGANGER

[ it's not the strangest thing to ever happen to him. he's half man, half ape, he's lived on the moon, he's helped caused apocalypses and his mother's a robot thing so having a clone of himself tailig him?

not too strange. okay, it's a little strange. it's very strange and luther doesn't like it. he peeks back behind him, watching the imitation of himslf smile and look behind him, mimicking luther. ]

Okay, that's weird. That's weird. I think I've officially lost my mind.

[ he stops looking back but he knows the other luther is there. it doesn't stop following him and when luther runs, the clone runs too, keeping up easily.

out of breath, luther comes to a stop, hands on his knees and panting. the clone does the exact same thing but he doesn't look out of breath. ]

Oh, shut up. [ maybe he needs to cut out the sweets. ]

04. WILDCARD

[ if you have any other ideas, feel free to throw them at me. i'm game! ]

3

[sonicsiren]

It won't. Not until you destroy it.

[She's been watching Luther for the past couple of minutes, running, the doppelganger chasing him - or, rather, running after him. Dinah's already had a run-in with hers that morning. Now she's coming back from the hardware store, having picked up some supplies to fix some things around the house that she'd broken while fighting her clone.]

I came across mine this morning, and let me tell you, it gets worse before it gets better. I just bought a hammer, if you'd like to use it.

[She'd offer to fight the thing itself, but really, this seems more like something Luther should get the opportunity to do first.]