If you'd like to apply to Snowblind and would like to test the waters first or get a sample set up for your application, this meme is for you! We've even provided some prompts for you to use if you want (but feel free to make up your own). Here's how it works.
✭ Reply to this entry with a character you're considering apping into the game. You can include the name of your character and the fandom in your subject line. ✭ Comment around to others on the meme, whether you're in the game already or not. ✭ Now you have a sample ready for your application! ✭ So go reserve and apply when reservations and applications are open. ✭ Seriously, do it.
Network Prompts
ONE: WAKEY WAKEY You're drawn out of your slumber when your tablet emits an earsplitting SCREECH. No amount of shaking it or hitting it will get it to shut up for five whole minutes, but at the very end it cuts itself off what sounds like a piercing scream. Well, that was weird. Maybe you should check in on the network - someone might have an idea of what that was. Or maybe they'll be just as lost as you are. At least you can all be confused together...
TWO: DON'T LET THE BEDBUGS BITE... It's past curfew, and you've been locked in for the night. But for some reason, you just can't manage to get to sleep. Nightmares giving you grief? General insomnia problems? Well, at least you've got the network to keep you company. Maybe you can get someone to tell you a bedtime story.
Action Prompts
THREE: INCONVENIENCE STORE Congratulations, you've managed to stumble upon the Mallard River Market! But you're not alone. Among the shelves of junk food (just as well-stocked as you would expect from any normal store) you'll find one - or more! - other people there with you. Here's hoping you're not both after the same box of Frosted Toaster Pastries, because things could get ugly fast. Don't linger too long, either; at 7PM, you'll be compelled to leave whether you want to or not and will only have about an hour to find somewhere to take shelter...
FOUR: RUN RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN It's late. It's cold. There's a bunch of snow around you and you can sort of make out vague shapes in the distance that might be buildings, but in these conditions it's hard to tell. Regardless of what they are, though, you're going to want to hustle - if it hits 8PM and you're still outside, you're not going to make it through the night. Perhaps that person up ahead can help you? Or - if you're already safe and sound - maybe you should head outside to get that poor soul struggling outside in to shelter before they freeze. Good luck!
[Freya was fortunate enough to find shelter in a mostly-intact house before sundown, so she’s had plenty of time to start settling in for the night. As the sun sets and curfew approaches, she checks the door again to make sure it’s sealed tight—and, through the one intact windowpane, she catches sight of something moving out in the snow.
She squints out into the storm, her nosetip nearly touching the grimy glass, and her heart sinks: there’s not something, but someone outside, and they’re not doing too hot.
She snatches her tablet up, and taps hastily at the glowing screen:]
No, no… “user-name”? I don’t have their user-name! Oh, please—I want to talk to that idiot outside!
[it’s hopeless, and she knows it. She sets the tablet down at once, and instead grabs her crude spear from where she’d propped it against the wall. She jams her hat back on her head and turns up her collar, bracing herself for the cold.]
Useless machine…
[she yanks open the door, ducks outside, and shouts into the howling wind:]
Hey! You! Over here!
Four- flipping the script:
[Well, damn. While investigating the enormous wall of snow to the West of the town, she'd barely noticed how low the sun was getting behind the heavy clouds. Now the snow is starting to fall again in deceptively gentle flurries, and she’s running out of daylight—and with it, time to find shelter.]
[As luck would have it, it’s not long before she finds a secure-looking house, but when she tries the door, she’s dismayed to find it already shut tight. Not one to resign herself to a slow freezing death if something can be done about it, she knocks boldly on the door and shouts:]
Hallo, in there!
[She presses an ear to the door and listens, but there’s no answer. She pounds on it again with a fist:]
Open this door, or—or so help me, I’ll kick it down and we’ll both have to find somewhere else to sleep!
[Nope. At the sound of someone very pissed off banging at the door, Gaius is going to do what any man would do when confronted by a giant anthropomorphic rat banging at the door and demanding to be let in: not open the door to find out what's actually at the door in the first place. Yet. It's 7:42.]
[she stops banging at once when she hears his voice, and takes a couple steps back, looking for any windows she might catch a glimpse of this mysterious dude through. She clears her throat, and answers through gritted teeth:]
My deep thanks. And the feeling that you've shown a stranger kindness. That ought to be enough.
[she adjusts her pack on her shoulders, accidentally sifting some snow down the collar of her coat. Awesome.]
[...the gurgling in his stomach is a staunch reminder that he's pretty damn hungry at the moment. He somehow managed to save his last candied fig and that was pretty much it in terms of sweet provisions. And provisions in general. He did have a can of spam stashed somewhere, but spam wasn't sugar.
They had a few more minutes for negotiations.] What kind?
[Because if she had anything sweet it was going to be his. Besides. He could handle any trouble behind the door.]
[If it wasn't for the fact he was staring at the...taguelish? Except not a taguel? The lady in front of him (and thus Freya had plenty of time to shove her way in or otherwise block the door from closing again or even merely walk in) this would probably be the point in which the door would swing shut again out of concentrated what. Neverless, there's a certain amount of what going on at this point.]
[the high levels of what on his part don't even register at first, since she ducks inside as soon as the door opens enough and immediately pushes it closed behind her.]
There, see? That wasn't hard!
[she's padded a few more steps into the house and started brushing snow from her coat when she finally notices that he hasn't moved. She looks up at him, meeting him stare for stare.]
[WHAT HAS HE DONE IF SHE'S A TAGUEL...ISH THAT MEANS SHE MIGHT BE ABLE TO TURN INTO A GIANT MONSTER RAT AND EAT HIM HE IS SO FUCKED.]
Nothing...er, Tails. [Hahahaha, a friendly nickname. (Fuck. So fucked.)] Just making sure no one else is caught out in the snow so late and all 'fore I close the door for the night.
[This is a very smooth lie and there is no way of telling that he's possibly incredibly fucked right now. This is also sarcasm and it's actually a mediocre lie.]
[she looks at him incredulously. Now he's an altruist? Sure.]
..."Tails." Keep that up, and I'll change my mind about sharing.
[It's not clear whether or not she's joking. She takes her hat off and beats the snow from it with the back of her hand; one of her long ears twitches at the chilly air.]
My name is Freya. I'll guess you've got a name, too?
[ Link has his winter hat jammed over his ears but he can still hear the shout. The wind hasn't swallowed up all noise, thankfully. His head snaps up in its direction and he squints through the snow. It's nearly impossible to make out anything through the flurries, but he thinks that might be a house, and that might be dim light spilling out from an open door.
He sets his shoulders and drags his feet through the snow. Hunger gnaws at him, making it feel like his stomach is trying to eat his ribs, but he forces himself through the lightheadedness. Shelter. Warmth. It had to be close to curfew time by now.
Struggling through the snow, he raises up his hand to show he'd heard her. Vocalizing would take up effort he didn't have. Dropping his hand, he started to run - or at least, to plod through the snow at a quickened pace. ]
[she hovers just outside the door for a moment, watching him, her heart pounding—she doesn't want to risk her own life, but if he's moving too slowly to make it on his own, she's not about to let him die, either. She swears loudly, kicks a broken wood plank on the floor over to prop open the door, and charges out into the snow.]
[the deep snow makes it hard for her to run, but she lifts her feet and takes long strides, anxious to reach him. She keeps a good grip on her spear—she can't be too careful, after all, even if this guy looks like another helpless survivor. She calls out again:]
[ He offers a grunt of acknowlegment that's lost in the howling wind. The snow is thick and slowing his stride to a crawl, but he surges through it, carving a path through with his limbs alone. The least he can offer himself is that if anyone is behind him they could follow the furrow to the house. Even if the snow was covering it, it was a deep enough trench not to be filled in immediately.
There's something odd about the way his erstwhile saviour moves, but there's no time to focus on it. Link hauls himself through the snow to get to where she's meeting him, panting with the effort. ]
[she finally reaches him, and just in time, too, from the look of him. If she can't get him moving, she knows they'll both die out here, so she wastes no time in grabbing his arm in her off hand and lifting him onto his feet. She ducks her head down to make it easier for him to hold onto her, and tries to nudge him into place.]
Don't plan to. Come on—arm over my shoulders, that's it. I'll carry you, if I've got to.
[she grits her teeth and keeps her eyes on the warm glow of the open door. Come on, stranger, work with her here.]
[ She doesn't have to worry about him not working with her. Hunger and exhaustion eats at him, but he doesn't let it get him down. Would he have reached her door in enough time without her? Not likely, and he knows that, but he certainly would have tried. With help and assistance from her, they both just might make it.
Doggedly, he puts one foot in front of the other, leaning weight on her where he needs to and refusing to do it otherwise. He needs his limbs to shove snow aside even with her help, and he can't do that if most of his weight is on her.
She looks and moves strangely, but that's secondary to her assistance. Link grunts in response to her and keeps his way on. ]
Thanks, [ He huffs out, and it's brief, as low-energy and anti-distraction as it can be. He keeps his eyes focused on that nearing door. ]
[she blows melted snow and her damp hair away from her nose in reply, not wanting to waste breath on words. She appreciates his efforts, but it's still awkward going, and she digs her claws into his backpack for a better grip. Her hat's been knocked askew by his arm, making her squint half-blind through the snow at that warm pool of light, and she prays she doesn't tangle her legs in his as she strides through the deep snow.]
[she's strong, but the weight of two people (when he needs to lean on her, that is) and a backpack in snow this deep is no small thing, and her legs are aching by the time they reach the door. She shoves him through first, worrying more about getting him in the house than about maybe hurting him, then stumbles in after, kicking the door stopper away and shoving the thing closed.]
[she leans against it, still standing but breathing hard, her eyes closed. Her hat falls off and onto the floor, but she doesn't have it in her to care yet.]
[ For the time being, all Link does is collapse against the wall beside the door. He closes his eyes and breathes hard and heavy. The shock of being out of the screaming wind disorients him for a moment and he takes a second to pant and re-align himself.
It takes him a little time, and then he pushes off the wall. His hands are shaking and his legs aching, his stomach churning nauseatingly against the nothing inside of it.
Shucking off his pack, he sinks slowly to a squat and moves with arm-trembling carefulness to take out some splintered wood and a tinderbox. It's only after he has these implements in his hands that he looks up at his saviour and offers her a nod. ]
Thanks, [ He repeats, not really able to say much else.
[Armin has been careless, he knows he has been, and if he freezes to death here, he will have no one to blame but himself. The wind cuts through him like a blade, and Armin lowers his head slightly, one arm up to try and keep his hood from blowing back, the other arm wrapped around his stomach, keeping the reason he was out so late for in the first place close to his person.
In all honestly, Armin doesn't really know if there is any use searching the ruined and abandoned buildings that dot the landscape, recording everything he finds that seems out of the ordinary in a small notebook he had found, but even if it is meaningless busywork, it gives him something to do. Everything is better than just sitting still and feeling the walls close in on him.
The wind howls in his ears, sounding almost like a voice-- No. No, wait. That is a voice.
Armin jerks his head up, squinting into the distance, trying to find the source of that voice. When he spots it, or rather the cabin it must be coming from, his knees feel shaky with relief. He doesn't shout back, mainly because he doesn't think his voice would actually reach that far over the wind, but he waves an arm, before starting to trudge towards the cabin. He doesn't know if whoever is in there is friend or foe, but honestly, if they wanted him dead, they could've simply let him freeze.]
[she leans forward for a better look through the falling snow, but keeps one foot inside the threshold and one hand firmly on the open door. She sees the figure raise a hand—good; they've heard her. They also seem to be moving at a pretty steady pace, which is another good sign; she's very reluctant to leave her shelter and risk the both of them freezing to death.]
[as she watches, something else strikes her: under the pack they're carrying, they're small. Whether it's just a short person or a child, she isn't sure, but her heartbeat picks up anyway. She cups her hand by her muzzle and shouts again:]
[It hurts. Everything from the cold wind on his face to the air rasping his throat to the straining muscles of his legs, it all hurts. It reminds Armin of their winter time exercises, and he can almost hear Shadis yelling at him across the years, telling him to just hurry up if he's going to die already so he won't hold back the others.
Redoubling his efforts, Armin forces himself through the snow, towards the cabin. He's going to die. He feels like he is going to die and not for the first time in his life, Armin curses his body, too weak and fragile. And then puberty too, for good measure, for not delivering his promised growth spurt. The cabin keeps growing bigger with each pump of his legs though, and the figure standing in the opened door comes more and more into focus. There is something off about it, something that doesn't look quite normal, but Armin hasn't got the brain power to worry about that now.
Finally he manages to make it into the little circle of light cast out from the opened cabin door, and he stumbles, going down onto his knees as he gasps for breath, shaking, feeling slightly sick with relief and exertion. He made it. He's not going to die.]
[well, damn. She swears out loud when Armin collapses in front of her, and she lunges forwards out of the doorway towards him.]
No—! Come on!
[she crouches behind him and goes to hook her arms under his, to haul him up and onto his feet—or to drag him bodily inside, depending on whether his legs will hold him. She might not even get that far, though, depending on if he struggles: she's nowhere near tall enough to be a titan, but getting scooped up by someone/something strong and not at all hesitant might set off his panic button anyway. Sorry, Armin...]
[When she hooks her hands underneath his arms to help him up, Armin tries to struggle back to his feet. It's okay. He's okay. He's just exhausted. And strongly considering either puking or passing out. Maybe he'll go for gold and do both. He always likes going to extra mile to make a good first impression on strangers.
Still, with her help, he manages to struggle back onto his feet, even if they are shaky and numb with cold.]
Sorry, sorry. Than--
[Here he glances backwards over his shoulder at the face of his rescuer and his words of thanks turn into a strangled yelp of surprise as he pushes away from-- from-- what is she even?]
[she wasn't expecting the push, and she staggers back with a yelp. Surprise quickly turns to panic: he's scared, yeah, but he's also wasting time, and she does not want to die. Recovering quickly, she grabs him by the backpack and drags him into the open doorway, her head craned back in case he tries to hit her.]
[Armin doesn't try to hit her again. In fact, for a moment he just freezes, half in panic, half in exhaustion, which makes it all the more easy to heave him over the threshold by his pack. And as she does so, he cannot help but notice, in a small region of his brain not grippe by panic, that she is helping him, that she helped him while he was out in the wasteland and that she is helping him now when she could've so easily left him to die.
Once he is manhandled over the threshold, Armin doesn't immediately respond, giving her the chance to properly close the door and himself the chance to force down the panic and fogging exhaustion and actually think. She helped him. Twice. She also seems to have some sort of crude spear, which means that if she wanted to rob him or kill him, she could've easily done it already when he was on his knees. But she hadn't. Instead she had pulled him inside, saving him from sure death.
He chances another glance up at her face, and while it is still startling and like nothing he has ever seen or heard of, it is the face of his unlikely rescuer.]
Sorry. You-- you startled me.
[Which is the diplomatic way of saying nearly made me piss my pants.]
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snowblindmemes2015-06-23 03:54 pm
Freya Crescent | Final Fantasy IX
[Freya was fortunate enough to find shelter in a mostly-intact house before sundown, so she’s had plenty of time to start settling in for the night. As the sun sets and curfew approaches, she checks the door again to make sure it’s sealed tight—and, through the one intact windowpane, she catches sight of something moving out in the snow.
She squints out into the storm, her nosetip nearly touching the grimy glass, and her heart sinks: there’s not something, but someone outside, and they’re not doing too hot.
She snatches her tablet up, and taps hastily at the glowing screen:]
No, no… “user-name”? I don’t have their user-name! Oh, please—I want to talk to that idiot outside!
[it’s hopeless, and she knows it. She sets the tablet down at once, and instead grabs her crude spear from where she’d propped it against the wall. She jams her hat back on her head and turns up her collar, bracing herself for the cold.]
Useless machine…
[she yanks open the door, ducks outside, and shouts into the howling wind:]
Hey! You! Over here!
Four- flipping the script:
[Well, damn. While investigating the enormous wall of snow to the West of the town, she'd barely noticed how low the sun was getting behind the heavy clouds. Now the snow is starting to fall again in deceptively gentle flurries, and she’s running out of daylight—and with it, time to find shelter.]
[As luck would have it, it’s not long before she finds a secure-looking house, but when she tries the door, she’s dismayed to find it already shut tight. Not one to resign herself to a slow freezing death if something can be done about it, she knocks boldly on the door and shouts:]
Hallo, in there!
[She presses an ear to the door and listens, but there’s no answer. She pounds on it again with a fist:]
Open this door, or—or so help me, I’ll kick it down and we’ll both have to find somewhere else to sleep!
[let her in?]
Script-flipped four:
Cripes...listen! What's in it for me?
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My deep thanks. And the feeling that you've shown a stranger kindness. That ought to be enough.
[she adjusts her pack on her shoulders, accidentally sifting some snow down the collar of her coat. Awesome.]
...I also have food.
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They had a few more minutes for negotiations.] What kind?
[Because if she had anything sweet it was going to be his. Besides. He could handle any trouble behind the door.]
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Jerky. Some crackers. Soft biscuit things with fruit paste inside. ...Other kinds.
Enough to share; that's what matters—so please open this door.
1/3
[The door was hastily unbolted and he was going to swing it wide open to let in his visitor and-]
2/3
3/3
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There, see? That wasn't hard!
[she's padded a few more steps into the house and started brushing snow from her coat when she finally notices that he hasn't moved. She looks up at him, meeting him stare for stare.]
...Yes?
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Nothing...er, Tails. [Hahahaha, a friendly nickname. (Fuck. So fucked.)] Just making sure no one else is caught out in the snow so late and all 'fore I close the door for the night.
[This is a very smooth lie and there is no way of telling that he's possibly incredibly fucked right now. This is also sarcasm and it's actually a mediocre lie.]
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[she looks at him incredulously. Now he's an altruist? Sure.]
..."Tails." Keep that up, and I'll change my mind about sharing.
[It's not clear whether or not she's joking. She takes her hat off and beats the snow from it with the back of her hand; one of her long ears twitches at the chilly air.]
My name is Freya. I'll guess you've got a name, too?
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original flavour four
He sets his shoulders and drags his feet through the snow. Hunger gnaws at him, making it feel like his stomach is trying to eat his ribs, but he forces himself through the lightheadedness. Shelter. Warmth. It had to be close to curfew time by now.
Struggling through the snow, he raises up his hand to show he'd heard her. Vocalizing would take up effort he didn't have. Dropping his hand, he started to run - or at least, to plod through the snow at a quickened pace. ]
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[the deep snow makes it hard for her to run, but she lifts her feet and takes long strides, anxious to reach him. She keeps a good grip on her spear—she can't be too careful, after all, even if this guy looks like another helpless survivor. She calls out again:]
I'm coming! Just—just keep moving!
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There's something odd about the way his erstwhile saviour moves, but there's no time to focus on it. Link hauls himself through the snow to get to where she's meeting him, panting with the effort. ]
Don't - get locked out.
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Don't plan to. Come on—arm over my shoulders, that's it. I'll carry you, if I've got to.
[she grits her teeth and keeps her eyes on the warm glow of the open door. Come on, stranger, work with her here.]
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Doggedly, he puts one foot in front of the other, leaning weight on her where he needs to and refusing to do it otherwise. He needs his limbs to shove snow aside even with her help, and he can't do that if most of his weight is on her.
She looks and moves strangely, but that's secondary to her assistance. Link grunts in response to her and keeps his way on. ]
Thanks, [ He huffs out, and it's brief, as low-energy and anti-distraction as it can be. He keeps his eyes focused on that nearing door. ]
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[she's strong, but the weight of two people (when he needs to lean on her, that is) and a backpack in snow this deep is no small thing, and her legs are aching by the time they reach the door. She shoves him through first, worrying more about getting him in the house than about maybe hurting him, then stumbles in after, kicking the door stopper away and shoving the thing closed.]
[she leans against it, still standing but breathing hard, her eyes closed. Her hat falls off and onto the floor, but she doesn't have it in her to care yet.]
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It takes him a little time, and then he pushes off the wall. His hands are shaking and his legs aching, his stomach churning nauseatingly against the nothing inside of it.
Shucking off his pack, he sinks slowly to a squat and moves with arm-trembling carefulness to take out some splintered wood and a tinderbox. It's only after he has these implements in his hands that he looks up at his saviour and offers her a nod. ]
Thanks, [ He repeats, not really able to say much else.
Behind them both, the latch snaps shut. ]
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In all honestly, Armin doesn't really know if there is any use searching the ruined and abandoned buildings that dot the landscape, recording everything he finds that seems out of the ordinary in a small notebook he had found, but even if it is meaningless busywork, it gives him something to do. Everything is better than just sitting still and feeling the walls close in on him.
The wind howls in his ears, sounding almost like a voice-- No. No, wait. That is a voice.
Armin jerks his head up, squinting into the distance, trying to find the source of that voice. When he spots it, or rather the cabin it must be coming from, his knees feel shaky with relief. He doesn't shout back, mainly because he doesn't think his voice would actually reach that far over the wind, but he waves an arm, before starting to trudge towards the cabin. He doesn't know if whoever is in there is friend or foe, but honestly, if they wanted him dead, they could've simply let him freeze.]
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[as she watches, something else strikes her: under the pack they're carrying, they're small. Whether it's just a short person or a child, she isn't sure, but her heartbeat picks up anyway. She cups her hand by her muzzle and shouts again:]
That's right! Over here!
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Redoubling his efforts, Armin forces himself through the snow, towards the cabin. He's going to die. He feels like he is going to die and not for the first time in his life, Armin curses his body, too weak and fragile. And then puberty too, for good measure, for not delivering his promised growth spurt. The cabin keeps growing bigger with each pump of his legs though, and the figure standing in the opened door comes more and more into focus. There is something off about it, something that doesn't look quite normal, but Armin hasn't got the brain power to worry about that now.
Finally he manages to make it into the little circle of light cast out from the opened cabin door, and he stumbles, going down onto his knees as he gasps for breath, shaking, feeling slightly sick with relief and exertion. He made it. He's not going to die.]
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No—! Come on!
[she crouches behind him and goes to hook her arms under his, to haul him up and onto his feet—or to drag him bodily inside, depending on whether his legs will hold him. She might not even get that far, though, depending on if he struggles: she's nowhere near tall enough to be a titan, but getting scooped up by someone/something strong and not at all hesitant might set off his panic button anyway. Sorry, Armin...]
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Still, with her help, he manages to struggle back onto his feet, even if they are shaky and numb with cold.]
Sorry, sorry. Than--
[Here he glances backwards over his shoulder at the face of his rescuer and his words of thanks turn into a strangled yelp of surprise as he pushes away from-- from-- what is she even?]
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You trying to kill both of us!?
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Once he is manhandled over the threshold, Armin doesn't immediately respond, giving her the chance to properly close the door and himself the chance to force down the panic and fogging exhaustion and actually think. She helped him. Twice. She also seems to have some sort of crude spear, which means that if she wanted to rob him or kill him, she could've easily done it already when he was on his knees. But she hadn't. Instead she had pulled him inside, saving him from sure death.
He chances another glance up at her face, and while it is still startling and like nothing he has ever seen or heard of, it is the face of his unlikely rescuer.]
Sorry. You-- you startled me.
[Which is the diplomatic way of saying nearly made me piss my pants.]
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